#To think she's heading an entire security division after everything she's done in her life is... insane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lady-literature · 3 years

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Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form.

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet…

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion.

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time). She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day.

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #mlb x dc #jasonette #my typewriter #platonic dickinette #platonic timari

1K notes · View notes

writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Note

I got a prompt for you ^^ if you ever wanna get into it

Person A is athlete at a press conference and Person A makes comment to his buddy about Person B and Person A forgot his mic was on

For Feysand/Rowaelin~

Love your writing 💕

I loved writing this! Thanks so much for sending it in and for reading!

...

Has potential for more parts. Feel free to send me prompts if you wanna or if you’d just like to see more of this, let me know.

And I know more about basketball than any other sport, so for the sake of reality/my sanity basketball is the sport of choice here.

Warnings: none

...

For the Love of the Game

And the final game of the regular season comes to a close! In a clutch shot Rowan Whitethorn hit that three-pointer and brought the score 109-107. No overtime for the Wendlyn Wyverns. Whitethorn has been having a hell of a season--surprising since the slump he was in last year. But he actually managed to be listed as MVP and leading in most assists for the regular season.

Aelin listened to the announcer, Duke Perrington, as he gave the wrap up of the game. Duke was a sleaze as his name could only attest to. And he would be leading the press-conference tonight after the post-game wrap ups. Hell. She didn’t want to deal with him.

She straightened her skirt and checked, again, that there were no runs in her pantyhose. Dorian Havilliard Sr. had made certain she knew what the dress code was. Pants were out of the question (she was a woman after all). Shoes with a heel less than two inches were laughable. And she always, always, had to have her make-up done.

Aelin had no problem with dressing up. None at all. The more glitz and glam the better. But doing it for Havilliard? The man, who owned the sports magazine she wrote for, hardly appreciated her.

She muttered a string of oaths under her breath.

After the slow start of the first quarter, it was good to see the usual energy of the Wyverns come out. And of course, getting to see Lorcan Salvaterre fouling out of the game made everyone’s night. Who won the pool this time?

As Aelin slipped from the bathroom, she made sure her reporter’s badge was unobscured. She couldn’t count the times security had tried to escort her away from press conferences just because they couldn't be bothered to look for it. Maybe if she clipped it right over her breasts.

She was usually the only female reporter in the conferences. Mostly because Cairn Valg, owner of the Wendlyn Wyverns was a misogynistic pig-headed man. And then Havilliard never bothered to listen to Aelin when she asked that he put her name on the list of reporters.

“Aelin,” Nox Banner, one of her fellow reporters and a good friend, walked beside her down the hall of the stadium towards the conference rooms. “Havilliard actually let you cover tonight’s game?”

She punched his shoulder when he howled with laughter. “Screw you.”

“I’m just saying,” Nox said, grinning madly, but Aelin cut him off with another punch.

“I am just as qualified as you to be there,” she said.

Nox threw his hands up in defense. “I know. You’ll cover the game better than any of us too.”

“Damn straight,” Aelin agreed. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Dorian helped me get on the list.”

“Of course he did,” Nox said, making sure to waggle his brows.

“He’s a friend,” Aelin said. Nox managed to dodge the next punch.

Nox cackled in laughter as they were led into the conference room. Aelin rolled her eyes, grateful to have at least one person on her side. Being a female reporter in a male dominated environment had always been hard. But she’d grown up with the sport. It had been her life in the foster system, through college. Almost to the WNBA.

The conference room was packed with reporters, cameras, and a line of the players up on an elevated stage. Just as she always felt with conferences and interviews, Aelin felt a rush of adrenaline. It wasn’t as intense as when she would be on the court playing--but close enough. The closest she ever got nowadays.

Ignoring the glances from her male counterparts, Aelin pushed her way through the reporters, Nox at her side. She wasn’t quite at the front of the crowd as she would like to be, but close enough.

Aelin watched as two delegates from each team--the Wyverns and the Sea Dragons--came onto the stage. Rowan Whitethorn and Lorcan Salvaterre for the former and Sartaq Khagan and Sam Cortland for the latter. Aelin never understood how such attractive people could get drafted for both teams.

Rowan Whitethorn in particular had always caught Aelin’s attention. He’d been signed from the European league after dominating some private university division. The Wyverns laid their claim on him five years ago and it seemed he’d found his home in Wendlyn. It was his story, his history as a player that had always intrigued Aelin.

His striking silver-blonde hair and piercing green eyes also helped.

“Live in five...four...three…” a technician counted down giving a signal to Duke Perrington who stood in front of the main camera.

“Here we are at the post-game break down,” Perrington said, his slicked back and signature smirk of a smile ready for viewers. “Wendlyn barely cinched this win, as has been the norm for them through the entire regular season making everyone question, how are they going to do in the finals?”

Aelin wanted to roll her eyes. Perrington had washed out as an athlete in college and barely had the credentials to be a lead reporter for a major sports station. He only had an in with Havilliard because the two could be sleazes together. And money. And they had similar values. Demoralizing and inhuman ones, but similar nonetheless.

As the questions began for each team, Aelin got more and more frustrated that she’d never been able to pose a question. Every time she’d raised her hand to ask a question, she’d been ignored. Every time she tried to push her way through to that front of the line of reporters someone would nudge her back. Even with Nox at her side, Aelin was at every disadvantage.

“I think,” Rowan Whitethorn said, his accent rolling off his tongue, “it took far more teamwork than anyone really notices to get us here.”

Teamwork. The five best players for Wendlyn hated each other. Rowan, Lorcan, Connal, Fenrys, and Vaughan. Gavriel had finished out his last season five years ago and was now working as assistant coach but she was sure he hated the others as much as they hated him.

It was a nice sentiment really. And even though Whitethorn was leading in assists, it was clear there was a rift in the team. As was made evident by the Wyverns barely scraping their way into the finals.

Perrington made the mistake of pausing too long and Aelin sent a well-aimed kick at the instep of the man in front of her. She had seconds to push her question. It led to a larger theme that she was interested in as a sports writer, but one no one--no man-- took seriously.

“And what would you define teamwork as, Mr. Whitethorn,” she asked loud enough that any microphone would be able to pick up. Aelin felt eyes and cameras turn to her, giving her a thrill of excitement. Almost as good as being out on the court. “It’s become fairly evident that there is a divide among the Wyverns and how you all play together. It would seem that teamwork only exists on the court, not off it.”

Silence.

It seemed that everyone had forgotten a woman could be a reporter, let alone exist in general.

Rowan Whitethorn’s pine green eyes bore into her. Even at a distance, Aelin could feel the intensity of his gaze, the scrutiny he was putting her through. And she loved it. Far too often men, and women, dismissed her as nothing more than a blonde bimbo. Even though she’d risen high and mighty among the ranks in her college classes. She’d become valedictorian even while playing basketball herself. She’d been one of the best on and off the court.

Until Arobyn Hammel.

Now all she was known for was that she made good coffee runs in the office.

“Teamwork is trust.” Whitethorn didn’t have an opportunity to say anything else before Perrington swung the attention back around to how both teams would approach the finals and having to play each other again.

Whitethorn’s gaze continued to flick back to Aelin through the final questions. Aelin alternated between glaring at him and Perrington.

Perhaps her question wasn’t the most interesting to them. It was a bit more of a touchy feely sort and less about statistics and the male-esque propriety of victory. But it was something worth considering. Especially when the Wyverns hadn’t been playing their best in years. Despite their successes, they were still being held back.

And Aelin wanted to know why.

She wasn’t able to sink her nails into the questions however. Perrington called a final question and cameras flashed as the conference wound down.

Aelin seethed to herself as she faded back into nothing. No one, not even Nox tried to say anything to her. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She shouldn’t even be as disappointed as she was. This was everything she should have been expecting.

“Who let the skirt in?” Salvaterre muttered to Whitethorn as soon as someone called a loud “clear!” to indicate the conference was over.

Aelin was more than ready to let it go. The microphone was muffled as the giant of a man moved, the fabric of his sweatsuit rubbing against the sensitive item. She knew she should just forget the comment and get on with the article. She had enough information to get something down. Even if she did utterly fail at getting treated like a real reporter. Again.

Until Whitethorn opened his mouth.

“At least it gave us something to look at.”

The prick hadn’t turned off his microphone, hadn’t put a hand over it, hadn’t even bothered to check if it was still on. His words echoed over the din of voices.

Aelin didn’t think as she spun on her heel, head cocked to one side. She could hear Nox cure under his breath as she stepped up to the stage where the players were still standing.

I was gratifying to see Cortland and Kahgan shuffle off to one side, expertly avoiding her.

“So I was right, was I?” Aelin asked before she could stop herself. “You are as big an ass off the court as on. Is it alright if I quote you on that?”

“Aelin,” Nox hissed behind her. Ah, so now he wanted to talk to her. She ignored him.

Whitethorn stared down at Aelin, his ridiculously handsome face passive and unreadable. If not for those green eyes that pinned her where she stood.

“As long as you call it a great ass, fireheart,” he said, his accent growing thick as he leaned over the press table to grin at her. “I don’t find I care.”

Aelin wondered if she would get fired for slapping a multi-million basketball player in the face. No. Punching. Punching would be far more satisfactory.

“Buzzard,” she hissed, instead.

“Princess,” he replied, that insufferably sexy smile never leaving his face.

A hand grabbed Aelin’s arm and she had to stop herself from swinging a right hook at Nox.

“Havilliard is gonna kill you,” Nox said, he gestured around them and Aelin realized the scene she was making.

The cameramen had their cameras not quite in a position to start recording, but it was pretty damn close. All the other reporters had their own recording devices not so secretly hidden in the flaps of their suit jackets or just out right ready to catch anything that might happen.

Aelin took a breath and shook Nox off. She then put on her most charming smile--the one that had gotten Archer Flynn to give up VIP season passes to the Lakers last year. And again this year. The poor beautiful fool.

“Mr. Whitethorn, Mr. Salvaterre,” she purred, looking at each man in turn before leaving the conference hall with the loud, efficient snap of her heels echoing behind her.

...

thanks for reading guys!

tags:

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed, these are for TOG fics:

tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @booksofthemoon @fangirlprincess09 @highladysith @tillyrubes10@bri-loves-sunflowers @rowaelinismyotp

#rowaelin #aelin and rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #Anon #answered #asks #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #for the love of the game

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lorei-writes · 3 years

Text

Virtue: Patience

Or a story of a certain return at the beginning of winter

Nobunaga x MC Fluff Content Warnings: none

Ahh, finally, I’ve been dying to post this for the last...The last... MONTH! @kamesama you were my victim! Have a Happy New Year and...! I hope I did well as your Secret Santa.

Air pricked her fingertips, morning winds – not warm, yet not quite cool either – whirling between buildings, pulling few stray leaves remaining over the streets into pirouettes and carrying them above rooftops. Mai rubbed her hands together, hot breath warming her skin as she exhaled. Faint redness marking her ears and nose, she tightened the scarf around her neck, haori over her shoulders keeping her pleasantly warm. With a sigh, she turned around one last time, sliding door closing shut behind her as she abandoned the comfort of their shared castle, her day beginning with that very first step outside.

Mai busied herself with work, hours beginning to slip between her fingers, the sun setting seemingly as soon as it had risen. Following a well-practised pattern, her fingers guided needle through layers of fabric, neat seams falling in place according to her plan. Her brows knitting together, she strained her eyes, light slowly becoming much too dim for her taste. She bit on her lip, her pace only increasing as her shoulders tensed, final touches being added with masterful precision by her – so very tired yet still dexterous – hands. The knot was tied off, the residual thread was cut off... Air held hostage in her lungs begging to be released, Mai exhaled sharply, her memory failing her whenever she tried to recall the precise moment she stopped her breath. Hurriedly, she folded the garment and rose to her feet, passing the door of her sewing room the very next moment, wishing to fulfil the last delivery of the day. Perhaps if she returned late enough, she’d… Patience is a virtue, she chastised herself for even considering the possibility and shook her head frantically.

If asked, she’d claim she had adapted to her life in Sengoku well enough, her goals and aspirations having crystallised in her mind long ago. It wasn’t exactly like what she envisioned herself doing, her future becoming past, clogs of time turning her desires somewhat anachronistic – yet she managed to find fulfilment in it, her creations bringing joy to others, just the way she wished for them to. The order held securely in her arms, wind played with her hair, a stray strand daring to try and obstruct her vision, her hand reaching to push it back into its place behind her ear. Her brows knitting together, Mai stole a glance at the sky, houses she passed on her way lighting up on the inside. She picked up her pace.

Another greeting, another praise, a happy customer she hoped to see again – and yet, when she stepped out onto the streets again, Mai suddenly felt summer creep into the air, as if a wormhole opened somewhere nearby just to invite it into her world. Frosty wind sped past her, prompted to life by a sea of horses rushing towards the castle gates, hundreds of hooves drumming against the ground. Snowdrops of familiar pennants grew around her, the crest she was waiting to see blooming over them. Whinny, and laughter, and shouts, and bickering – a joyous cacophony unlike anything else she had experienced in her old life, forming a melody just for her to indulge in. The head of the column flickered away, lights seemingly glowing brighter upon it passing them – and he shone, his black armour reflecting warm yellow lights, ember-like sparks inviting themselves to dust over his form. Mai ran.

Patience is a virtue, she had to remind herself, each step bringing her closer to seeing him again. Her elbows pushing through the crowd, she shouted her apologies, faces of passers-by disappearing in the overall commotion of her surroundings. Cold nibbled at her skin – and yet she felt warm, only the fire materialised in a form of a human far ahead of her mattering in the moment. Her chest burned, the crowd gradually thinning out as the division approached the castle gates, the bridge trembling under the impact. Surrounded by soldiers from all sides, Mai leaned against the railing, her body forcing her to rest as her lungs struggled for breath.

As if she called him, Nobunaga turned around – and he stood high, still seated in the saddle over the black horse, certain kind of longing igniting his carnelian eyes. He saw her, from over the bridge and through the crowd, despite dim lights and conversations that would muffle her regardless of how hard she would try. Nobunaga dismounted, his voice rising above the crowd as he gave his orders, his legs seemingly moving on their own to carry him to her. Their eyes locked – and it was quiet, at least in this snippet of the universe between them, her arms moving to cross behind his neck, as if to traverse the distance that kept them separated in both time and space. “Welcome home,” Mai uttered, a few more words getting stuck in her throats. I missed you, you ass. “I’m home,” his voice rumbled through his chest, his embrace tightening – although he seemed to have somewhat relaxed, stiffness melting away from his form.

Voices broke past the obliviousness surrounding them, reminding them of what was yet to be done before they could retreat for the night. Reluctantly, they broke apart, his hand lingering over her shoulder a little longer than it should have, as if to protest against the decision of its owner. “It will be over soon,” Nobunaga whispered, redirecting the entirety of his power to turn away.

Patience is a virtue. Yet she despised the idea of waiting any longer. It couldn’t have been helped, however, that much she was aware of – ruling came with its set of privileges, the price being equally grand if one were to treat their duties seriously. Minutes stretched into hours, quarters becoming weeks – or so it felt, her mind tricking her to believe the corridor ahead of her was vaster than the world itself. Mai sighed, letting her fingers comb through her hair, no pins keeping the strands from falling down her shoulders and over her yukata. Soon, she tried to soothe herself, soon.

Mai closed the door behind herself, a faint laughter startling her. She turned around abruptly, Nobunaga already waiting for her inside, a cup of sake in his hand. How..? Had she taken that long to get ready for bed? She blinked fast, a smile she’d rather keep to herself finding its path to come over her face. Having snuck inside through the balcony, a wind pushed her forward. Without thinking, she reached for the cup, pressing its rim against his lips a moment later – and then followed with hers, her eyes catching a glimpse of surprise hidden in her lover’s features. Straddling him, Mai let her arms cross behind his neck, alcohol burning her tongue. The beverage having disappeared, she hummed into the kiss, his hands falling onto her hips to draw her closer. She gasped, his attention turning towards her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as frost from outside crept up her calf…

Frost. Mai opened her eyes, her head snapping to the side. “Fireball?” Nobunaga asked, looking up at her. He followed her gaze carefully, a certain emotion he couldn’t quite decipher pooling in her irises. Her fingers pressing into his shoulders, he waited for her to reveal what troubled her – until he realised he had misunderstood the situation, her entire form appearing to shift as to embody delight. White specks flew inside through the balcony door, circling above the ceiling before inevitably melting upon contact with the first object in their way. One by one, they became more daring in their conquest, a single snowflake finally finding courage to oppose the very lord of this domain. Gracefully, it landed on the very top of Nobunaga’s head. The blow was fatal, the universe collapsed – although not so much from the direct impact, but from her laughter, her lips curling up as body form shook, her hands already pushing her up and away from him, her feet rushing her outside. His enemy appearing to slow him down, Nobunaga struggled to hurry after her, the distance between them only growing… Perhaps he didn’t mind.

He didn’t need any source of light to see her – her eyes were brighter than any and all of the stars above them combined, shining with desire and emotion he wished he was able to match. Her lips parting slightly, Mai rested her back against the railing and leaned over it, her hand reaching for his. Nobunaga accepted it without question, holding it securely as not to risk letting her fall. “It’s beautiful,” she gasped, turning her gaze towards the city below them, life seemingly buzzing between the buildings as humans huddled for warmth. However, he didn’t reply. Mai straightened her back, their fingers entwining as he pulled her forward – and she wanted to ask, to see whether everything was well, but she couldn’t have, the loving affection in his eyes causing her to blush. His arms closing around her waist, Nobunaga turned her around, his cheek pressing to the side of her head as he hugged her from behind. “It is, indeed,” he let out a soft light. “Yet you’re equally fascinating, Fireball.” Mai burst out laughing, hiding her lips behind her palm. “Oh? How come?” she teased him, her hair tickling his neck. “Because I could have all the stars in the world, but it is the joy in your eyes that I would never get tired of watching.” Sudden honesty – flattery? – caught her off guard, hot blush spreading to the very tips of her ears. “I think we should drink a toast then. Or perhaps hot tea would be more fitting…” she trailed off, her voice but a low hum. “I want to watch it a little longer.”

Steam rose into air, hot stream flowing out of the kettle and into the cups resting over the tray. Seated onto the balcony floor, they leaned into each other, a blanket thrown around their shoulders keeping cold at bay as they huddled for warmth. Snow shimmered, stray lights prompting it to glow as it dusted their forms. Somehow, he still held her hand in his.

***

It seems lakes have frozen over completely, just the way we discussed.

It will take me another day or few more, but I shall find time for us to go and “skate”.

Prepare yourself. I won’t have frost marking your skin.

I missed you the entire time I was gone and I do intend to make up for that.

I want to see your joy, Mai.

Nobunaga

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @jiyuu-chan, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @plumpblueberry , @nimeryaa, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom , @mineko811 If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me. If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

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gmariam19 · 3 years

Text

Hi, friends! I hit a follower milestone not too long ago - thank you thank you thank you! Like I did for some other milestones, I wanted to share some of my writing. So here is the first chapter of my big WIP, the one I laid out almost a year ago, the one where Big Things Happen to Poe and Finn Does Big Things, the one that got stuck several times but is now moving nicely thanks to NaNoWriMo. (I’ve added another 10k already - and it’s only halfway through November! Yay!) It’s not much--a long introduction, really. But there is so much going on in this story, I can’t wait to finish it and share it! So thank you - and enjoy! There is more below the break - and more to come! :) EDIT: This story is now posted! It is called Reclaim the Stars and can be found on AO3 HERE! Thank you for reading!

Chapter One

Poe Dameron is bored.

There are at least a dozen different things he should do, from reviewing the latest intelligence data to the briefing with Connix he keeps putting off; from going over the maintenance specs on the two Y-wings they'd found abandoned on Dantooine (and wouldn't he rather be working on ships instead of always reading about them) to the tactical, medical, and supply reports for their new base of operations. And that doesn't even include the constant stream of communication with the New Republic and various other planetary governments that Poe dislikes because he's terrible at it, lacking the patience and tact necessary for sensitive diplomatic discussions.

There is always something to do now that the war is over, and yet sometimes Poe wants nothing to do with it. It had been good at first, in the heady days after Exegol when they'd been so relieved to finally stop fighting, ready to move on and rebuild the galaxy they'd fought so hard to preserve. The galaxy had believed in them, had listened to them, because they'd destroyed an entire Sith Fleet, hadn't they? Leia Organa had been telling them for years that they were in danger; she'd been more right than anyone could have possibly imagined, and it was her Resistance that had saved them.

And yet, six months later, it's as if the galaxy has already forgotten the lessons of the past. After skirmishes with both the Resistance fleet and the New Republic, the First Order finally surrendered, and every day it seems a new treaty is being signed somewhere to ensure peace. In most parts of the galaxy, planets are rebuilding, and that peace seems to be slowly settling. Yet the one thing they need most now is the one thing no one will even consider. They don't need more diplomats, or treaties, or promises to sign more treaties with more diplomats; they need security, and no one will listen to him.

Poe isn't bored; he is frustrated.

The New Republic is still slow in pulling itself together, has been since the destruction of the Hosnian system. The fall of the First Order has splintered it even more as some systems call for a more central government to bring stability to the galaxy, while others maintain they will remain independent. It's the same argument, the same players; an endless cycle, it seems, of war and peace.

The galaxy doesn't need a central set of governing principles—recent history has proven the near impossibility of such a thing. Better to step back and let memories of oppression fade. Yet the discord between so many opposing philosophies after the fall of the Empire had allowed the First Order to settle in the Unknown Regions and slowly build its fleet, as well as its power. That can't be allowed to happen again.

Poe believes more than anything that now is the time to put in place new organizations to maintain security in the galaxy. He isn't calling for a governing military power; both the Empire and the First Order showed that military strength could be defeated. No, they need people in the Outer Rim, and the Unknown Territories, even Wild Space, guarding them against another Exegol, another Sith Fleet. It had been too easy for Palpatine to disappear into deep space and spend decades rebuilding. The New Republic needs to make sure it never happens again. Poe has been suggesting it for months, has volunteered to lead a division of the New Republic Navy devoted to patrolling the borders of deep space and gathering intelligence. Yet no one bothers to listen anymore, and they’ve found little support outside of a handful of allies who scraped together a few starfighters and a small cruiser for them.

It will happen again if there is no one to stop it. They know that something is happening out there already. They are rumors of entire villages being wiped out on distant worlds, and Poe had hoped that after Exegol, their word would be taken seriously. Apparently, that isn't the case; the New Republic is turning a blind eye yet again. Small villages on backwater planets apparently aren't worthy of concern.

It has been weeks since Poe has been up in his X-wing, and he misses it, wishes he was back in the cockpit making a difference, even if it's only recon and intelligence gathering. But more than that, he wishes the Senate would listen to him before another First Order springs up from the birthplace of the old.

Poe spends the morning helping set up more rooms in their new base, an impersonal prefab monstrosity some Senator had sent over as a thank-you gift to the freedom fighters who had saved the galaxy from a fleet of Sith Star Destroyers. Sure, they aren't sharing quarters in a cave any more, or sleeping in tents, but there is something about it that feels different, almost wrong. Maybe he isn't used to something so permanent, this symbol of victory— or of life moving on when he feels stuck.

Maybe it's too much like a consolation prize, a way to get them to stop talking about new threats when the galaxy wants to forget the old. The building reminds him of everything that needs to be done but isn't, everything that is happening and yet being ignored, and sometimes he is tempted to go back to the cave. He needs ships and people, not bricks and mortar.

After lunch Poe forces himself to find Connix and Kin and sit through the briefing. There is no news on Poe's latest appeal for funding the proposed Sentinel program. The criminal gangs that have grown in the vacuum of the First Order's sudden withdrawal are growing bolder and the Senate doesn't seem to be doing anything about them either. The New Republic is still a struggling morass of governments who can't agree on a damn thing, other than the Resistance is getting mouthy and needs to step back and let them handle it now. Some days it feels as hopeless as fighting the First Order. How had Leia done it, after the fall of the Empire?

Kin starts to go over his intelligence reports, but Poe stops listening and stares out the window, his leg bouncing restlessly. He tosses a speeder bolt from his pocket up in the air and resists the urge to spin around in his chair like a cadet. He thinks he hears something about another village attack, about Vi Moradi, about something going down on Nar Shadda, but he is too distracted.

Connix begins to go over the state of their new headquarters—it has only been a week since they moved in—and says something about a volcanic eruption on the other side of the moon that is threatening to rain down fire monkey piss. Poe frowns, wondering if he's heard her right. "What?" he asks. "Did you say fire monkey piss?"

"Yes, General," she replies.

"Is that a real thing?"

"Of course it is. From the volcano."

"What volcano?"

"There is no volcano," she tells him, shaking her head with a smile. "But it got your attention, didn't it?"

"Sorry," he says. "Kind of distracted, I guess."

Connix exchanges a look with Beaumont Kin, who shrugs and goes back to his datapad. She smiles, which Poe knows is her way of softening the coming blow. "Why don't you take a look at the Y-wings, sir? Commander Pava said she's making good progress. The Falcon should be back soon."

Damn, she knows him too well. He jumps up with a sheepish grin and leaves as fast as he can. Only to be kicked out of the landing area by Jess, then the maintenance area by Rose, and even the medical area by Dr. Khurana. So he finds BB-8 and goes for a walk, trying to work off the restless energy that is plaguing him that day. If he's honest, it’s been building for weeks, and it started not long after Finn left.

Finn is currently on his way back from an extended mission with Chewbacca, their official goal to search for other Stormtroopers who defected from the First Order after the surrender. In truth, they are the Resistance's unofficial eyes and ears at the borders, making contacts with every operative they can, gathering the intelligence they need to maintain the borders when the New Republic won't. They are the beginning of the proposed Sentinel program. Poe did the same thing before Finn had left, and Finn before him; they agreed to take turns, alternating their time away so that one of them is always around to deal with the New Republic.

Unfortunately, it also means they have barely seen one another for the last six weeks, and Poe misses Finn—going out on missions with him, leading with him. They make a good team, and in the weeks and months since Exegol, they've grown even closer. Not as close as Poe would like, but maybe someday. He thinks about it more and more, wonders if Finn feels the same. Of course, they’d have to be on the same planet at the same time. And one of them would have to work up the courage to say something to the other. Poe’s still too scared to lose what he does have, so it probably won’t be him.

At least Finn finally told Poe that he is Force sensitive. It makes so much sense—so many things had clicked into place—that Poe often wonders how he hadn't figured it out himself. Finn is a natural leader, a brilliant fighter, and so in touch with his sense of self that of course it is the Force guiding him. He will be a great Jedi—maybe not a warrior, as Finn seems less interested in fighting now, but he could be a teacher, a leader.

Rey is training him, to help him understand his powers and learn some basic techniques. He trains in addition to his duties with the Resistance, and Poe worries about him. He feels like sometimes Finn struggles to find a balance between the two and hopes Rey isn't pushing him too hard. She went with Finn and Chewie, to continue working with him.

The Falcon has been gone for two weeks. They ran into a few remnants of the First Order, but nothing major, and Poe isn't sure if they've gathered any important intel other than what they felt safe transmitting. They are returning several days early, and Poe is glad. He's missed them all, though if he admits it to himself, he's missed Finn more than anything, maybe even flying. He's grown so used to having Finn by his side over the past year, through the mission to Exegol, and as co-Generals, that he's felt almost incomplete the last six weeks.

And that’s the real problem: Poe is distracted. Finn is coming back, and Poe can't concentrate. It probably doesn't say a lot about his leadership skills, or his emotional state, but it's definitely the issue, and he continues around the lake again, talking with BB-8 about Finn and Rey and how much they have to catch up on when they return. If he complains about the New Republic and their lack of organization and support yet again, BB-8 has the good grace to listen and agree when he's already heard it a hundred times.

He goes around the entire lake a second time, ignoring the sun and the heat and the need for some water, and is about to start a third time when the little droid beeps excitedly and tells him that the Falcon has landed. Poe can't hold back a grin, and they hurry to the landing area as fast as they can.

The Falcon is in its usual place, and Chewbacca is coming down the ramp with some bags. Poe greets him warmly while BB-8 asks impatiently about Finn and Rey. Chewie tells them Finn's gone to find Poe.

"Only Connix said she kicked you out of your own briefing," says a voice behind them, and Poe turns to find Finn standing there, hands on his hips and a crooked grin on his face. "Because you couldn't concentrate."

Poe grins in response, closing the gap between them to pull Finn into a warm embrace. Maybe they aren't reuniting after a battle, but it has been a long time and Poe can't help it. He missed Finn and is relieved to see him—and Chewbacca, of course—unharmed when he knows anything could happen along the borders of unknown space. And he likes the feeling of Finn in his arms too much to resist holding him for a little longer than he probably should.

"Welcome back, buddy," he says, finally stepping back, but still holding onto Finn's arm.

"That's General Buddy," Finn laughs, and Poe rolls his eyes.

"That joke is getting old, you know," he tells him. "How are you? Where's Rey?" Apparently, that is the wrong thing to ask, because Finn's smile immediately disappears. Poe feels his stomach drop; has something happened to her? Why haven't they said anything?

"She's fine," Finn says, relaxing as he shakes his head. "You don't have to panic. She…well, she left. Went off on her own. Again."

Poe doesn't need the Force to know that Finn is upset about it, and in a way, he understands. Rey certainly does her fair share of running off by herself, headlong into danger, and often without saying anything. Having worked many solo missions himself, however, Poe can also understand why. Sometimes working alone is easier, with less responsibility, less chance of getting someone hurt or killed. Get in, get it done, get out.

And Rey had grown up alone, abandoned on Jakku for years, until Finn had appeared and quite literally dragged her out of her solitary existence. It makes sense that after so many years on her own, sometimes she needs to be by herself. And Poe understands that as well: though most people wouldn't believe it, he needs time alone almost as much as he needs to be with people. It is one reason why he's such a good pilot, because he likes spending time in the cockpit with his own thoughts. And BB-8, of course.

Finn, however, had grown up surrounded by other Stormtroopers, never having a minute to himself yet always alone in a system that discouraged individuality and attachment. Finn seems to crave contact and companionship, and though he understands when someone like Poe needs their space for a little while, Rey's stubborn desire to go off on her own without warning—or protection— is still something Finn finds frustrating even after all this time.

"I see," says Poe, though he doesn't know the first thing about it, other than Rey is gone, he hadn't got to say goodbye, and Finn is upset. "Well, I'm damn glad to see you, and I have all sorts of questions, but I won't bother you yet. Want to see your new room?"

Finn’s eyes light up and he smiles gratefully at Poe. "Yeah, I would. I'm sorry you had to handle the big move without me."

"It's not like we had a lot to move," Poe points out. "We were living in a cave, remember?"

Poe leads him down the path to the new building, set in a clearing not far from their expanded landing area. It is a large, three-story building, housing offices on the ground floor with crew quarters on the upper floors. Finn and Poe, as co-generals, have two of the larger rooms on the second floor. Poe guides him upstairs, shows him the code for the door, and motions him inside.

Finn stops a few steps into the room, gazing around with his mouth literally hanging open. They are in a large open area, with a sofa and chair along one wall, and a desk opposite. There is a small kitchenette tucked into the corner with table for eating, and a door leads to the single bedroom and private refresher. It is clean and new and bright, unlike any place they’ve ever lived. There is both wonder and gratitude in Finn’s eyes, and the look on his face right now is one Poe wishes he could see more.

“Are you serious?” Finn asks as he starts moving around, examining his new home. “This is all mine?”

“I’m not going to show you someone else’s room,” Poe laughs. “It’s all yours. it’s not much. It’s just a lot better than—”

“Living in a cave,” Finn finishes. “Or a ship. Or a tent. Poe, we’re in an actual building!”

“I know, buddy. It’s taken some getting used to, but it’s good.” He glances around and smiles. “And I’m right across the hall, if you ever need anything. Like a lesson how to use some of this stuff.” He gestures toward a small communications panel set into the desk.

“It’s perfect,” Finn says. “I can’t wait to get a good night’s sleep in here!”

Poe nods. “You’ll sleep like a baby—or you’ll miss the jungle so much you won’t sleep at all. I’ll let you get settled, maybe try out the fresher—it’s private, all yours.” Finn pumps his fist and Poe laughs again. “Think you’ll be up for a debrief later?”

Finn nods. “Yeah, give me an hour. Where should we meet?”

“Command center is on the ground floor, we either pull up chairs or move to the conference room. Is an hour enough?”

“More than enough,” Finn tells him. He turns and walks back to Poe, pulls him into another embrace. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Poe breathes him in, his heart skipping a beat at their closeness. It seems Finn being gone has definitely had an effect on Poe.

“You’re welcome,” he finally says. Finn steps back and Poe thinks the other man glances down at his lips before ducking his head with a smile. It’s probably wishful thinking, though. Poe has to deliberately look away from Finn’s mouth.

“It’s really good to see you,” Finn says.

“You too, buddy,” Poe says. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ll see you in an hour?”

Finn nods and Poe turns to leave. He really is glad to see Finn. He’s just not sure how to move forward now that Finn has returned.

#Finnpoe #Stormpilot #Finn #Poe dameron #My writing #WIP #Working title: Ruthless

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mavspeed · 3 years

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First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon.

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10.

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11.

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13.

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14.

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

#whew this is super long i apologise #u can pinpoint the exact time i replaced taron with james as my number one boy #fic tag #fic meme

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americanroyalty-phff · 4 years

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Chapter 7 - Dinner with the Cambridges

After arriving at Harry’s and some _alone time _together, we decided we would both shower and then go out for lunch.

Harry got in the shower first while I laid in his bed on my phone. I was texting my parents to let them know I had gotten to Harry’s safely when I got a text from Jesse.

I texted with him until I heard the shower shut off. I went back to texting my mom while texts were still coming through from Jesse. I ignored them and tried to appear a lot more calm than i was feeling inside.

“The shower is all yours, babe.” Harry walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

“Okay, thanks.” I got up from the bed and pulled on a shirt Harry had laid over the back of a chair beside the side of the bed.

I dug through my bag to find my hygiene things. Once I found them, I stood and walked towards the bathroom, but Harry pulled me by my waist into him.

He bent his head down to kiss me. When I gave a weak kiss back in return he pulled back looking confused.

“Is something wrong?” he asked me.

“No, of course not. Just tired. You wore me out.” I smiled, trying to joke with him.

“Beau, something seems off.”

“Jesse texted me and wants to talk to me. He is saying that he is selling the house and he has to pay me alimony.” I sighed and blurted. I really wasn't wanting to tell Harry. Harry has always been on the defense whenever Jesse was brought up. I knew Harry was just protective over me but I really didn't like when he got upset about Jesse.

“You're not going to let him pay you alimony? You should take his money he gives you because of what he put you through.”

I looked down at the ground. I started tracing the intricate design of Harry’s rug with my toe.

“I guess I have to let him, its court ordered. I just want this chapter of having to deal with him and be in contact with him to be over. it makes me so upset every time he texts or calls me.” I looked back up at him.

“I know, I'm sorry. Do you want me to talk to him?” he offered.

“No, that might just make things worse. He already seems annoyed that he even knows about us.”

“It’s none of his business what's going on in your life anymore. He gave that right up when he wanted a divorce.” he said.

“I know. And I’ll call him eventually so we can get everything sorted and done. Just wanted to be able to spend time with you and not have anything interrupt us.” I went on my tippy toes to peck him on the cheek. “I’m going to shower and then we can go to lunch.”

He kissed my cheek and he went to his dresser.

I closed the bathroom door, sat my stuff down, and started the shower.

When I got in and started washing my hair, I couldn't help but let my mind wander off.

Being with Jesse was my happiness. I met him when I was 18 and he was 23. I was now 29 and he was 34. I spent almost all of my twenties with him, and then he decided he was going to dip out on me all because he wanted things on done on his timetable even though I wasn't ready for certain things. I had only really finished my schooling two years ago. I had earned my doctorate in both criminology and anthropology and I was working the entire time through college. I worked even more after I was done with school.

But I really thought Jesse was supportive of me. He cheered me on all through college, when I got my dream job.

I had luckily met Harry. I truly believe he was sent from God himself. While I may not be too keen on certain things of Harry’s life, he is truly the best man I know. I would say I'm falling in love with him. I could definitely see things heading towards a very serious direction.

I snapped myself out of my thoughts and hurried to finish the rest of my routine.

Eventually I was walking out of the bathroom dressed with minimal makeup and my hair dried. We were just going somewhere lowkey to eat.

“Jesse called you.” Harry said nonchalantly.

“What?”

“He called you. I told him you would get back to him when you were free.”

“Harry that's not funny.”

“I'm not joking.” he smiled at me.

“Well that will have to be dealt with later.” I went to stand between his legs where he sat on the side of the bed. We were about the same height when he was sitting like this. “You’re lucky you're cute.”

We finished getting ready and went to Harry’s car.

As we pulled out of the grounds of Kensington Palace, a big black SUV followed us. I knew it was only Harry’s security but it was still odd to me for someone to be following me.

Harry held my hand over the console.

We were headed to Soho House. Soho House is a members only place. They have locations all over the world, so if you have a membership you can get in anywhere. I had my membership for a little over two years now and it was certainly becoming very useful. When you're there, you cannot take pictures in a lot of places. The privacy was something that Harry loved. And I loved that I was able to introduce him to this place. He got himself a membership so he can go there with or without me.

After eating there, we enjoyed a great walk around the place, away from the harsh flashes of cameras.

We soon went back to Harry’s cottage and enjoyed our time together. Tomorrow I would be meeting William and Catherine.

——————

“Do I look okay?” I asked Harry.

He was standing in the kitchen, unpacking a bag of takeaway food. We decided to get Indian food, apparently William and Catherine’s favorite.

“Like I've said before, you look amazing.” he said.

I looked in a mirror he had on the wall. I smoothed my hands over my outfit for the umpteenth time.

“Stop worrying. They are going to love you. Come help with the food.”

I went to him in the kitchen and got out cutlery and glasses and dishes.

“Do I curtsy to them?” I suddenly worried. This was something I hadn't thought about.

“Absolutely not. That's way too formal for cheap takeaway, Beau.” Harry came over to me and out his forehead on mine. “You’re going to be fine. Plus I have alcohol. That always helps.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come on.” Harry kissed me and said. I followed behind him and tried to put a calm smile on my face.

Harry opened the door and ushered them inside.

“Hey, how are you guys?” he asked as he hugged William and gave Catherine a kiss on her cheek.

“We’re good! And you must be Ms. Beau Kennedy! Harry is always talking about you.” William said and all eyes fell on me. “It’s so lovely to meet you, I’m Will.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smiled as we exchanged the typical British greeting, two cheek kisses.

“I’m Catherine, but please call me Kate. Catherine is so formal.” Kate greeted me.

“So nice to meet you guys. Harry speaks so highly of you two.” I said.

“Alright, well we just got the takeaway so its nice and fresh.” Harry said, leading us all to his kitchen and dining room.

Harry and Will walked in front of Kate and I. We made small talk with each other. She was so lovely.

We fixed our plates and opened a bottle of wine, which I noticed was from my family’s winery, and sat down together. I smiled to myself over the fact that Harry got a bottle of it.

“This is good wine, Harry.” Will commented. “Where did you get this?”

“I ordered it from Beau’s family. They actually own a winery in New York.” Harry said, smiling over at me.

“Oh that's so interesting, I’ve always loved wineries. I’d love to see it some time.” Kate said.

“I’ll have to take you sometime. It’s my grandmother’s pride and joy, honestly.” I said, smiling at the thought of my grandmother, Ethel.

“Harry has told us you work for the FBI in New York City. How’d you get there? What do you do there?” Will asked me.

“Well getting there is an interesting story. My father, Joseph, was a politician, much like almost every man in my family. So my two older brothers were really expected to become politicians. I grew up around all my aunts and uncles and cousins so politics was always a topic and so many of them are in politics. It sort of piqued my interest but I was really a lot more interested in the crime side of things. I went to New York University and after a few years there I signed up for the FBI. I completed the training and actually got a job. So I did that while I was completing my schooling.” I explained, knowing my story was complex. “I work in the white collar crime division which deals with things like embezzlement, fraud, copy right, things of that sort.”

“That's amazing!” Will said.

“Thank you.” I said.

“Tell us about your family.” Kate said.

“Well, that's a quite a task.” I laughed. “Do you know of President Kennedy?”

“Yes.” Will and Kate said in unison.

“Well, he was my great-uncle. My grandfather was was his brother. My grandparents and my father. My father and my mother, Sheila, had my two older brothers, Joe and Matthew, who are twins. They had me a few years later.”

“We’ve always heard about the Kennedys. You’re family is a very big deal and very successful.” Kate replied.

“They can be a lot to take sometimes but I love them.” I said.

“Beau also has her doctorate in two different subjects.” Harry said over the top if his glass.

“What’re they in?” William asked.

I felt like i was being interrogated but i was feeling more at ease.

“I went to New York University and double majored in Criminology and Anthropology.” I said.

“She really is the whole package, Harry. You don't let her get away from you.” Kate said to Harry.

Harry looked over at me and took my hand.

“I’m working on it.” He winked at me.

We continued to talk for a few hours about anything and everything. We told Will and Kate how we met, my divorce and the issues surrounding it, their patronages they work with, their children, how to deal with paparazzi, etc.

As they left they promised that we would get together again for sure.

As Harry closed the door, he smiled at me.

“I’m so happy. They really love you.” he said.

i went over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Do you really think?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah. Which is good because I think I love you.” He said against my lips.

“I think I love you too.” I closed the distance between us.

Things were starting to feel great again.

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esoanem · 3 years

Text

VIII.

“I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t“

Major Content Notes:

None!

Wikipedia Synopsis:

The hunt for the Urca de Lima begins when Silver divulges the schedule to Flint, taking them to the ship's location. Rackham stops paying Ms. Mapleton, which causes her to threaten to blackmail Rackham. She threatens to tell the locals what really happened to Mr. Noonan. Meanwhile, Vane makes his way back to New Providence with his new crew. Eleanor's situation changes when a small band of men take over Hornigold's fort and start sinking supply ships in the bay. Gates threatens to call off the attack of the Ranger, so Flint kills him. The final scenes of the season show that the Walrus has beached itself upon the same isle as the Urca de Lima.

This is the final episode of the season so quite a lot goes down, but for the first time I don’t think we’ve needed any major content notes. There is some blood & gore, and nudity at various points, but nothing especially graphic

Summary:

Rackham is docking Mrs Mapleton’s pay because of her skimming. She threatens to tell all the merchants that he murdered Mr Noonan, saying that they’ll band together and see Jack hanged for it. Jack calls this insubordination and fires her. As she reiterates her threat, Max arrives, and points out that the merchants are all enjoying steep discounts (affordable now the books are in order) right now and that because of that, they won’t much care what Mapleton has to say

At sea there is a terrible storm, with the Walrus and Ranger climbing waves as tall as their masts. Belowdecks, as the crew play music and card games, Dr Howell has made a peg leg for Randall and is trying to get Silver to convince him to wear it, saying that a crutch is too big a risk in this weather. Randall is reluctant. Silver tries to convince him by sarcastically pointing out how he’s helped Randall in the past, before throwing the peg leg to him, but Randall just tosses it to the floor and goes back to eating his apple

“Oh, Mr Silver, how can I ever thank you? First you save me from ending up as a stain on the Walrus’s underside, then you secured my position on the crew on the verge of an historic haul, and if that weren’t enough, you’re still trying to find something comfortable to put at the end of my stump. From the bottom of my heart, thank you“

Two crewmen come down from the deck saying that a launch from the Ranger has arrived with Captain Gates. Logan wonders “what could be so fucking important that he has to row through all that shit out there for it”. Silver hears this and hurries to Flint’s cabin

He sits down, and Flint pushes an inkwell over to him saying they’ll make landfall in the morning and need the last part of the schedule. Flint compares what Silver writes out to a book of his own reconnaissance, of bays and inlets in the right area that could reasonably be used for the Urca to take on water. Flint tells Silver to take the information to de Groot and set a course for Division Bay. As Gates says he better get back to the Ranger, Flint says it’d be better not to tempt fate and pulls a bottle up

“Talbot Rhodes’ private stock. I’d been waiting for an occasion. My reckoning is, tomorrow we’ll be able to afford a lot more of it or -”

“- we’ll be too dead to care”

Mr Scott comes into Eleanor’s office to tell her that Captain Lawrence is almost ready to leave. She is worried by the storm, calling it a ship-killer and wondering if God is on Mr Scott’s side in opposing this plan. Mr Scott reassures her, saying that the trouble might have happened anyway, with or without the schedule

“Tomorrow, a thing that you conceived out of thin air becomes real. A thing that will give this place a chance to find some small measure of peace. That is not nothing”

Back on the Walrus, Gates & Flint are finishing the bottle, and reminiscing about the man who found it, Mr Cregg, the carpenter’s mate who could sniff out booze on a prize ship like a bloodhound. Flint tells a story of one time he found a bottle hidden behind a baseboard on a prize and, thinking it was the captain’s best booze he took a big swig in front of everyone, only to realise it was piss. Gates is trying to seem friendly, but in cutaways he seems melancholy, mourning his lost friendship with Flint, whilst Flint seems to be acting as if nothing has happened between them. Gates remembers that he brought Cregg over with him, having both served under Avery together as kids, before getting up to leave, a tear in his eye

"For years, he went on how he’d got this huge stash hidden away, and I should live to survive him because one day, I will be a rich man. As you know, we lost him on the Pembroke.

So I open his locker and what do I find?

Twelve pesos, a busted pocket watch, and a letter with instructions to deliver it to his sister in New York.

Lying sack of shit was Mr Cregg!

So I bought the boys a round with the pesos, traded the pocket watch for a bit of tail, and spent two weeks that winter in New York, trying to deliver that fucking letter to his sister. Looked high and low, never found her. So on the way home, I waited until we were in open water and I could see no land in any direction and I dropped it over the side. Return to the sea.

There are no legacies in this life, are there? No monuments, no history. Just the water. It pays us, and then it claims us, swallows us whole as if we’d never been here at all”

Anne bursts in on Jack whilst he’s taking a bath. She yells at Jack for cutting Mapleton loose without telling her, saying she could tell the entire island about them killing Noonan. She then says the fact he’s keeping council with Max is bothering her even more, and accuses Jack of fucking her

"Jesus H Christ I can’t win with you. She’s in the camp with the men and it’s ‘come on Jack, let’s go kill everyone see if we can’t get around there, hope you don’t mind, made that decision on your behalf’ and now she’s out making us a small fortune by the way and you’re pissed off about that too, might you consider making up your fucking mind about her, please!”

After telling him to fuck himself she leaves, and sees Max standing by a mirror naked, drying her hair. Anne looks bashful, and hurries downstairs as Max turns around and puts on a dressing gown smiling

Vane arrives at Nassau with a few rowing boats full of the men from the lumber camp. They row past a series of lobster pots before beaching the boats and stepping ashore

The Walrus & Ranger are sailing along the coast flying Spanish colours, Division Bay is just past the next headland. Flint gives a brief speech to the crew, before ordering full sails for their final approach

“Llisten here! When we clear the point ahead and spot the Urca at anchor, we’ll begin our final run at her. The Spanish banner may earn us a few hundred yards of confusion before the captain identifies us and opens fire so we’ll close fast on her, hammer her well with our guns, and then take the fight to her decks. That fight will be the fight of our lives make no mistake. But on the other side lies paradise!”

As they round the point though, there is no ship to be seen. The entire crew, including Flint are dumbfounded, and after asking de Groot if he’s sure of their position, Flint storms into his cabin leaving the crew bemused on deck

Eleanor meets Naft, Frasier, & Lawrence at the end of the pier, where she hands Lawrence two manifests, one true, one false, and a substantial purse and wallet for bribery. Lawrence is impatient and wants to leave. As Eleanor comes off the pier she is met by Hornigold & Scott. She tells them that she still needs to remove her father entirely, that she knows he’s on the Underhill estate scheming to undo everything they’ve done. Hornigold reacts in disbelief

“You’re truly amazing, in the moment when stability is at hand and the world is at your feet, your first instinct is to go out in search of someone new to fight”

Scott asks for a moment with her but is interrupted by cannonfire, the shot landing near Hornigold’s ship. After a couple more shots, they realise the cannons being fired are from the fort. Hornigold realises someone other than his men must be in the fort and, as we see a mast break Scott says they need to get off the beach. As they march towards the tavern, Jack comes out of the brothel to ask what’s going on, when he’s told that someone’s taken over the fort he looks over at Anne who swallows anxiously

Gates comes aboard the Walrus and is led to Flint by Dufresne who tells them that the crew have agreed to Flint’s plan. They will land the Walrus and then he has two days to send out scouts to find the Urca. Flint gives the order and heads into his cabin. Dufresne tells Gates that de Groot is bitter that they didn’t listen to him about the cook, that he says there’s no Urca out here, that justice has been delayed long enough, he wants Flint tried immediately, and he believes that for all his talk Gates is just protecting Flint

“I’m protecting all of us! These men are right on the edge, and he wants to rile them up more by talking about a lying thieving captain, then stand on a deserted beach and talk about elections? Before you know it, half a dozen men will have laid claim to the captaincy, council will divide. it won’t be dark yet before the fighting starts

We’ve got to see Flint pay for his crimes, but we’ll do it at home, and we’ll do it like civilised men and that’s how we avoid the abyss!”

Dufresne asks how they can trust Gates, as they know the two of them spent the last night together drinking. Gates hands him a letter asking if it’s good enough, which Dufresne reads and seems surprised by

Sails are spotted, a Spanish man-o-war, and it will be on them in half an hour. Flint signals the Ranger to raise the black and fire two shots off the Walrus’s bow, as well as rigging a spring to the foreward anchor and dropping her immediately. Below you can see, the main anchor cable connected to the bow of the ship running straight up, with a second line, the (slightly slack) spring tied onto this and connected to the stern. By tightening the spring, he can pull the stern out to windward, and turn the ship without moving

De Groot is astounded that Flint means to fight the man-o-war, but Gates shouts to the crew that they have their orders before dragging Flint into his cabin. Dufresne and de Groot share their concerns

"If he engages that ship in battle, we’re dead!”

"I know”

"I know you know, but does Mr Gates?”

Gates tells Flint he can’t let him go down this road. Flint ignores this and explains his plan to Gates, the man-o-war will see them as a Spanish merchantman under attack by pirates, the Spaniard will pass them by to give chase and, before she realises her error they’ll turn and have her trapped, the Walrus raking her stern to bow, and the Ranger raking her bow to stern, and that the warship shows that the Urca is here after all

"all I see is an empty bay, a gardacosta warship, and a captain that’s lost his fucking grip on reality!”

Flint says that the ship isn’t a gardacosta (coastguard) here on patrol, that the only explanation for it being here at this time is that it’s an escort. Gates points out that the entire justification for the venture was that the Urca would have no escort. Flint suggests that they changed their plans, at which point Gates says he’s leaving with the Ranger, leaving Flint dumbstruck in disbelief. They hash it out, furious at each other

“What did you just say?”

“I’m going to weigh anchor, I’m going to make a run for it, and if I can keep ahead of her before dark there’s just a chance we could slip away”

"Without the ranger, I have no chance against that ship”

"I know”

"So you’re deliberately challenging my authority here? Deliberately violating you duty?”

"My duty? My duty is to them, not to you! Although I have violated it more times than I can remember in your defence. Helped you deceive good men, who put their trust in me because I was convinced they would be better off for it! But not here! Not this! This is fucking madness!”

"Mr Gates, if you walk through that door with the intent of subverting my plans, I will have no alternative but to interpret that as an incitement of mutiny”

"You think I’m inciting mutiny?

"You are inciting mutiny!”

"I’m managing one! There are men out there right now that know about Singleton, the book, the cook, all of it! They know! And they mean to see you hang for it!”

Flint goes quiet, asking if Gates told them

"After Billy, I just, I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t. That’s when I realised that this has got to end.”

"So what then? You preside over a trial that sees me hanged?”

“No. I’m going to go home. And I’m going to see you and Mrs Barlow secreted away before anybody knows you’re gone. You’re going to go to Boston. You’re going to take the pardon that she’s offered you and that is the last that you and I will ever see of each other”

Flint looks ashamed, and downcast, and begs Gates not to do this. Gates tells him to take a moment, that he’ll deal with the crew, and goes to leave. Flint looks up, and stares intently at the back of Gates’ head, his lip quivering into a snarl

He starts up, slams Gates into the door, and chokes him from behind, repeating “this is not what I wanted, I’m sorry” before snapping Gates’ neck. He repeats “I’m sorry” as his snarl softens and he starts crying, cradling the body of the closest thing he had to a friend

The door creaks open, Flint’s face immediately hardens again and he draws his pistol. It is Silver, saying he came to back Flint up in his case that the Urca can still be won. Flint drops his arm, looking exhausted. Silver comes in and hurriedly closes the door behind him, locking it, before checking Gates’ neck for anything incriminating. Flint bats his hands away, asking “what the fuck are you doing to him” before telling Silver to stop. Flint is utterly defeated, but Silver tells him there is still a way out

"There’s no way out of this”

"Take it from me. There’s always a way”

A letter is delivered to Hornigold and the rest of the consortium, saying that a small band on men were seen approaching the fort from the west that morning, but no-one could identify them, and all the local crews are accounted for. Mr Scott asks if the fort’s great guns could be repositioned to aim at the street. Hornigold’s only response is that he hopes whoever it is won’t be mad enough to consider that and proposes to retake the fort when he is interrupted by Vane & his men on the street outside demanding to speak to Eleanor

Flint steps out of his cabin and, looking Dufresne straight in the eyes tells him that Mr Gates’ heart gave out. He gives orders to signal the Ranger with the plan, telling Mr Thompson he’s in charge, to sail North and, when the Walrus fires on the target, to tack hard to port and join them. Dufresne barges past de Groot into the cabin. As he looks down at Gates’ body, Silver starts speaking

“The question you need to ask yourself is what good can I do.

You can call this murder, a number of the men might even believe you, but will that be enough to stop this fight that is about to happen?

Because if it’s not, a fight we might win becomes a battle we are doomed to lose because the men went into it infected with your suspicions, with your doubts.

So, Mr Quartermaster, is that truly what’s in their best interests?”

Dufresne steps out and walks straight past de Groot again, over to Flint.

"When the warship draws close, she’ll ask our last port of call. Saint Augustine is the closest and as she’s likely a customs ship, we must identify our cargo as anything but tobacco; Seville regulates the trade heavily”

Vane is Eleanor’s office, his boots up on her desk, rolling a cigar as she comes in, and sweeps his feet off asking what the fuck he did

"Spend enough time on an island, you begin to forget there’s a whole world out there. A world where the rules are different” he puts his feet back up and goes back to rolling his cigar “I went out there and found men who don’t know the rules here and who don’t much care to learn them. They helped me surprise Captain Hornigold’s men, we took his fort, and not once were any of them burdened with the though ‘what if this were to upset Eleanor Guthrie’”

He threatens to keep sinking ships, and maybe even sink the Walrus when she comes back with the Spanish gold, just out of spite. He says that because the fort controls the bay, Hornigold was her partner when he controlled the fort and so now, he should get to be her partner. He says being a tenant didn’t work out so well, and now he’d like a stake

He then describes the first time he saw her, when she was thirteen, and sneaking out despite Mr Scott’s rules. He says that despite her age she walked between the camps like she owned the place, completely fearless. He then suggests that all she really wants is to not have any men bossing her around, and that he has no intention of telling her what to do as long as he gets what he wants. She begrudgingly agrees, but promises that she will drive him out once he inevitably gets comfortable

“I know you. Better than your father, better than Scott, maybe better than anyone. You don’t give a shit about money, or respect, or the things you’ve built here. I think you’re just tired of fathers telling you what to do and so I’m offering you a life free from them. With me in that fort, you do as you like as long as it doesn’t cross me you’ll hear no complaints”

"You know I have no choice but to say yes. But before I do, know this: you’ll sit in that fort for a while, you’ll get comfortable, and that’s the day I’m going to push you and your men right into the fucking sea”

As Vane saunters out, he dismissively nods at Hornigold, calling him “Ben”. Eleanor tells him that Vane now has his seat on the consortium. She tells Hornigold that it’s no use him trying to take the fort, because she told Vane about the tunnels he’d have used to launch a surprise attack. She defends this as acting in everyone’s best interests and Hornigold leaves, promising that this won’t be the end of this

“You told me to keep emotion from clouding judgement, to act in everyone’s best interest. I believe that’s what I’m doing”

Vane enters the brothel and is met by a nervous Jack. He says that in some ways it had to come to this: him deciding if Jack lives or dies. We see Mapleton standing behind Vane’s men. Vane confronts him about killing Hamund and his men, and we see Jack speechless, and Anne wearing a frightened expression for pretty much the first time

“Hamund brings you out of bed, marches you down to the wrecks to look for a stash of stolen pearls and somehow only you and your dog make it back alive?”

“Quite a moment. Jack Rackham with nothing to say. Had I a shrewd quartermaster right now, he would tell me that I can’t let what you did stand, he would say that an offence like that demanded an example be made of both of you, the bloodier the better, but today I’m a little less worried about perception than I used to be. As long as I own that fort, it doesn’t really matter, so the street will know what you did, they will know that you betrayed your brothers for a woman. That story will spread far and wide, and you’ll never sail beneath the black again. You’ll sit in this place and rot with the rest of the whores. Something tells me that will sting worse than dying”

The man-o-war comes alongside the Walrus, and Silver shouts across, with Flint behind the rail next to him feeding him lines. He says that they were attacked by pirates, that their last port of call was Saint Augustine, and that they are carrying tobacco. De Groot questions Dufresne about this

"If I’m not mistaken, you told him to state us as anything but a tobacco trader did you not?”

"II did. He means to prove that ship is not gardacosta, that it’s here for the same reason we are. If that ship lets us pass, he will have both renewed the men’s lust for gold and their faith in his judgement”

“Time and again he gambles with our lives, that is when he’s not taking them in cold blood and once more his influence grows. We’re at his mercy with no way to challenge him”

The Spanish ship sails on and Flint orders all hands to quietly go to their stations, and to fire at 300 yards. The Walrus starts pulling on its spring line to bring the stern out slowly, so the Spanish ship thinks they’re just drifting. At 100 yards, he orders the gunports opened and sights down a gun saying “we only get one shot at this. If we miss, we die”

Just after 200 yards Dufresne pulls his pistol on Flint, accusing him of piratical crimes against his crew, that he murdered Singleton, Billy, & Gates, and that he planned to steal a portion of the treasure fleet for himself. Flint gives the order to fire, but the crew do not. Belowdecks, de Groot is taking Silver into the Surgeon’s cabin. Dufresne hands the letter to Logan saying it is a confession from Mr Gates of his knowledge of & complicity in Flint’s crimes, and Logan confirms that it is written in Gates’ hand

Flint continues to repeat the order to fire growing frustrated at the crew’s inaction, shouting that they’re going to lose the enemy and don’t have time for this. Eventually he strides down and grabs one of the slow matches used to fire the cannons and goes to light the touchhole firing the cannons, but is shot in the shoulder by Dufresne

Silver wrestles with de Groot, but is knocked to the ground. As de Groot readies his pistol, he is knocked out by Randall who has hit him on the head from behind with the peg leg. Flint is pressed against the side by a gunport watching the Spanish ship slip away when one of the Walrus’ cannons fires, taking him, and the entire crew by surprise. Silver looks out at them, saying that it had to be done. Flint tells Dufresne to fight

“There’s no running now. Fire, Mr Dufresne. Everything you’ve got. Don’t waste this moment”

Dufresne hesitates, and the Spaniard’s sternchasers fire, hitting the Walrus. At this, Dufresne and Flint both start shouting orders to hire, and the crew slip into battle. Both the Walrus and Ranger get some volleys in, scoring several hits and causing a small explosion and fire onboard the man-o-war

The man-o-war comes about, her gunports open, and she fires. The Spanish broadside tears into the Walrus sending yard arms crashing down, and gun carriages flying. We see the Ranger’s magazine explode, and more and more holes be shot into the Walrus. As Silver tries to help an injured man, crying out for the doctor, Flint is knocked into the water. Seeing people and debris continue to be sent flying from the Walrus, he stops treading water and allows himself to be dragged under by the weight of his clothes and equipment

Eleanor is on the bridge between the tavern and brothel and Max comes out to meet her halfway. Eleanor starts to apologise to Max, but she tells her not to, saying she was “standing between you and your dreams for this place, you did what you had to do” and Eleanor reminds her of her words, that Nassau is just sand and cannot love her back but Max pushes back

"Sand has its virtues. On sand nothing is fixed. Nothing is permanent. Fates change so quickly.

Yesterday Captain Hornigold was immovable from that fort and Captain Vane was a beggar, now look at them today.

Yesterday I was a whore of little consequence, easily dismissed, easily forgotten, today I am a madam with an income and allies, and a woman who has learned the most important of lessons, never let anyone stand between you and your ambitions. Thank you for teaching it to me”

Vane sits in the fort as we see Lawrence push off, Hornigold’s damaged ship still in the bay, and Hornigold and Scott look on. Eleanor watches in the shallows, teary-eyed over what her ambitions have lost her

Flint wakes up on a beach, topless, a bit of cloth pressed to his wound as a dressing. He sits up and we see Dufresne, Silver, several other pirates, and the Walrus next to them on the beach with several holes clean through her hull. Flint asks why he’s still alive and Dufresne tells him to get up. As Dufresne leads them over the island they’re wrecked on, Silver says he was certain about his information regarding the Urca

“Unfortunately, you & I failed to take into account the weather. The Urca de Lima wrecked at sea last night. Dashed by the storm”

As we peek over the brow of the hill and see the Urca broken in two on another beach, the Spanish sailors unloading her onto the beach with the man-o-war at anchor in the bay, Flint seems to regain his resolve

#black sails #black sails content notes

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philipholt · 3 years

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Looking back on Software Development in 2020 and forward to 2021

I think we can all agree 2020 sucked. Hopefully 2021 will be better.

I've been a remote worker for 13 years by choice but in 2020 I HAD TO DO IT because, well, most programmers and tech workers did. I wrote about how Remote work != Quarantine Work while our whole division and then the whole company moved back home! We were a fairly remote-friendly company before but I have to admit I didn't always think my coworkers had really deep empathy for the remote...until they, too, were forced to be remote.

Last week on the podcast, I got to speak with Amanda Silver. She's a CVP in the Microsoft Developer Division who has been coding and thinking deeply about coding for many years. She's leading the creation of tools like Visual Studio, Visual Code, Live Share, Code Spaces, IntelliCode, and other collaborative productivity products. She's always thinking about what coding will look like in 1, 5, and even 10+ years.

We talked about her thoughts on moving the division remote and whether it would slow us down. Would it change how we develop software? What about when everyone comes back? After talking to her about her thoughts on 2020 and where she thinks we're heading, I got to thinking myself and wanted to put those thoughts down.

2020 broke everything, and developers like to fix things

Somewhere in the spring as we started into lockdown, developers started making sites. Sites to track COVID, GitHub projects with scripts to scrape data and analyze it. Javascripters started making D3.js visualizations and codepen users started building on top of them. Bots on twitter would tweet out updates and parse new data.

When there's a problem - especially a scary or untenable one - developers run towards the challenge. Necessity breeds invention and 2020 was definitely a year where we were collectively reminded there was a bunch of stuff that was always possible, but we needed a push. Cameras and mics were upgraded, ring lights were purchased, home networks got fancier, and everyone who could called their ISP and got an upgraded plan. We could have done all this before, but why? Remote work happened for the first time in 2020, and I say that having worked remotely forever.

We HAVE to collaborate remotely now

Back in 2010 I spoke to PhDs at Microsoft Research about how people feel when they are remote and what they can do to be more connected. Ten years! Folks thought it was pretty "out there" but I sure needed my virtual cubicle buddy this year.

2020 accelerated what was possible with remote collaboration. I spent hours coding with Live Share, pushing text and coding context over the wire, not a ridiculous 4k worth of pixels. Having two cursors (mine and my friends) - or even 10! - in one Visual Studio seemed like magic. Even more magic is me pressing F5 and my coworker hitting their localhost and seeing our app running! We needed tech like this more than ever in 2020.

I heard one story where a company sent everyone home but folks had disparate desktops and laptops so they set up 100s of Virtual Desktops over a weekend so everyone was able to log into secure work systems from their home machines.

For us, since we use Github and Azure DevOps here in DeviDiv, our collaboration model is asynchronous and distributed whether we are in the office or not. Can you imagine everyone working remotely while using a locking source control system in 2020? I feel bad for those who are in that predicament.

Can something be BETTER remotely?

Many of us miss being in the same room with co-workers, and we will be together again one day, but are there some things that the constraint of being remote can make better? In the podcast episode Amanda said that our new hire bootcamp was so much better remotely!

She said (paraphrasing a bit):

We have a bootcamp for anybody who's newly started on the team. They actually fly out for two weeks. And the first week is introduction and the second week is our customer driven workshop. And our customer driven workshop is basically this really intense team project where you break up into groups of five to six people, and you're given a business assignment like - how could we double the number of Python developers using Visual Studio Code.

You're basically doing like stickies on the wall the entire week - that's how you collaborate. I've been so amazed that that has transitioned to be remote first. And it's better. It's better. That was a brainstorming process that I thought was only possible in person it's better.

When we moved remote, we had to essentially reboot the way that we thought about our meeting culture to actually make it much more inclusive. And if we go from 40 to 50% of the people participating to just 2 people participating, that's a huge, not only degradation, but you're wasting people's time. Right?

Now if we can actually take six people who've never met each other before and get them to work super collaboratively on a new problem area that they've never worked on before. It's incredible. And the thing that's also really awesome about it is they are forced by nature of the fact that this is remote to actually create it as digital content. Whereas in the beginning they would literally walk us through sticky notes on the wall and they had fantastic ideas, but it was really kind of somewhat unorganized and, and it was hard to be able to see and, and retain and share out afterwards what these incredible ideas were that they came up with.

But when remotely starts with this digital format by necessity because everyone is remote first, we actually now have all of these things archived. We can come back to them, we can go back and actually see, you know, what was the genesis of the thought and, and pursue a lot of these things that we really weren't being able to pursue previously.

Constraints breed innovation!

It was nice to be reminded that People are People

2020 normalized being a person. Having a boss welcome a sad child to sit with them during a meeting reminded me that, what, my boss is a person? With a life and kids? Having meetings while going for walks, talking about treadmill desks, and video called parties with family, and OMG when will this be over is the most horrible team building exercise ever.

It's forced us to rethink our group's culture, how our interpersonal dynamics work, how many meetings we have (let's have less), and it's given everyone the joy of somewhat flexible hours. We talk more now about 'is everyone in this meeting being heard?' than ever before. We use the "hand raising" tool in Teams to make sure all voices get a chance to speak.

If 2020 hadn’t happened, we may not have made these important leaps forward. MAYBE this would have happened by 2025 or 2030 but COVID was the pivot point that forced the issue.

Here's some other blog posts that are both reflecting on our last year and hopeful for the coming year:

Software Development in 2021 and Beyond by Amanda Silver

4 Open Source Lessons for 2021 by Sarah Novotny

Low-code Trends: Why Low-Code Will Be Big In Your 2021 Tech Strategy by Dona Sarkar

PODCAST: Living through 2020 as a Remote Developer

Sponsor: Looking for free secure coding training but don’t know where to turn? Check out Veracode Security Labs Community Edition to start hacking and patching real apps online. Try it today.

Looking back on Software Development in 2020 and forward to 2021 published first on http://7elementswd.tumblr.com/

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fan-enby-anonymous · 4 years

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Foiled AU Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Be Not Afraid

Waking up to Commander Root's bulging features is the stuff of nightmares. Holly's eyes flickered open, and for a second she could have sworn that there was concern in those eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by the customary vein-popping fury.

“Captain Short!” he roared, mindless of her headache. “What in the name of sanity happened here?”

Holly rose shakily to her feet.

“I…That is…There was …” The sentences just wouldn't come.

“You disobeyed a direct order. I told you to hang back! You know it's forbidden to enter a human building without an invitation.”

Holly shook the shadows from her vision.

“I got invited in. A child called for help.”

“You're on shaky ground there, Short.”

“There is precedent, sir. Corporal Rowe versus the State. The jury ruled that the trapped woman's cry for help could be accepted as an invitation into the building. Anyway, you're all here now. That means you accepted the invitation too.”

“Hmm,” said Root doubtfully. “I suppose you were lucky. Things could have been worse.”

Holly looked around. Things couldn't have been a lot worse. The establishment was pretty trashed, and there were forty humans out for the count. The tech boys were attaching mind-wipe electrodes to the temples of unconscious diners.

“We managed to secure the area, in spite of half the town hammering on the door.”

“What about the hole?”

Root smirked. “See for yourself.”

Holly glanced over. Retrieval had jimmied a hologram lead into the existing electricity sockets and were projecting an unbattered wall over the hole. The holograms were handy for quick patches, but no good under scrutiny. Anyone who examined the wall too closely would have noticed that the slightly transparent patch was exactly the same as the stretch beside it. In this case there were two identical patches of spiderweb cracks and two reproductions of the same Rembrandt. But the people inside the pizzeria were in no condition to examine walls, and by the time they woke up, the wall would have been repaired by the telekinetic division and the entire paranormal experience would be removed from their memories.

A Retrieval officer bolted from the restroom.

“Commander!”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“There's a human in here, sir. The Concusser didn't reach him. He's coming, sir. Right now, sir!”

“Shields!” barked Root. “Everyone!”

Holly tried. She really did. But it wouldn't come. Her magic was gone. A toddler waddled out of the bathroom, his eyes heavy with sleep. He pointed a pudgy finger directly at Holly.

“Ciao, fulletta,” he said, before climbing into his father's lap to continue his snooze.

Root shimmered back into the visible spectrum. He was, if possible, even angrier than before.

“What happened to your shield, Short?”

Holly swallowed.

“Stress, Commander,” she offered hopefully.

Root wasn't having any of it. “You lied to me, Captain. You're not running hot at all, are you?”

Holly shook her head mutely.

“How long since you completed the Ritual?”

Holly chewed her lip. “I'd say…about…four years, sir.”

Root nearly popped a vein.

“Four…Four years? It's a wonder you lasted this long! Do it now. Tonight! You're not coming below ground again without your powers. You're a danger to yourself and your fellow officers!”

“Yessir.”

“Get a set of Hummingbirds from Retrieval and zip across to the old country. There's a full moon tonight.”

“Yessir.”

“And don't think I've forgotten about this shambles. We'll talk about it when you get back.”

“Yessir. Very good, sir.”

Holly turned to go, but Root cleared his throat for attention.

“Oh, and Captain Short …”

“Yessir?”

Root's face had lost its purple tinge - he almost seemed embarrassed.

“Well done on the life-saving thing. Could have been worse, an awful lot worse.”

Holly beamed behind her visor. Perhaps she wouldn't be kicked out of Recon after all.

“Thank you, sir.”

Root grunted, his complexion returning to its normal ruddy hue.

“Now get out of here, and don't come back until you're full to the tips of your ears with magic!”

Holly sighed. So much for gratitude.

“Yes, sir. On my way, sir.”

Root turned to two of the Retrieval agents behind her. “And you, go with her! Make sure no other incidents happen tonight!”

“Yessir!” They chorused in unison, and took off after Holly into the night.

***

One uneventful flight later, Holly would never dare to break the rules, however tempting, with two witnesses from Retrieval on her tail, Holly arrived at a ritual site just off the southeast coast. It wasn’t far from Tara, but it would have far fewer tourists. Besides, it was easy access from the air, but remote and desolate for land-bound humans, so no one could accuse her of putting herself or her companions in harm’s way… again. She touched down, knowing her personal guardian angels would continue to hover just above her as she completed the ritual.

Holly hooked the wings over a low branch, unstrapping the helmet to give her ears some air. You had to be careful with elfin ears - a few hours in the helmet and they started to flake. She gave the tips a massage. No dry skin there. That was because she had a daily moisturizing regime, not like some of the male LEP officers. When they took off their helmets, you'd swear it had just started to snow.

Holly paused for a minute to admire the view. Ireland certainly was picturesque. Even the Mud People hadn't been able to destroy that. Not yet anyway…Give them another century or two. The river was folding gently before her like a silver snake, hissing as the water tumbled across a stony bed. The oak tree crackled overhead, its branches rasping together in the bracing breeze.

Now, to work. She needed a seed. Holly bent to the ground, brushing the dried leaves and twigs from the clay's surface. Her fingers closed around a smooth acorn. That wasn't hard now, was it? she thought. All that remained for her to do was plant it somewhere else and her powers would come rushing back.

Suddenly, something whizzed over Holly's head, something that glinted in the starlight. Holly had enough on-the-job experience to realize that she was under fire, and immediately curled her elfin frame into a ball, minimizing the target.

She drew her weapon and whirled around to see who had cornered her. However, she needn’t have worried. The retrieval officers above her had taken aim and knocked the two humans approaching her out cold. Holly stared for a moment. Lying on the ground was the largest mudman she had ever seen, and his cub lying beside him.

“Gods…” Holly whispered. “How did they find us?”

The retrieval officers touched down beside her. “D’arvit… I… we never would have seen them coming.” One of them blabbered.

“I know.”

“I mean, you’d be… we could have all been!”

“I know.”

“How the hell are we going to get them underground to be wiped. I mean… I mean Foaly is going to have to want to know how they managed to track us down, right.”

“Yes… yes he will.” Holly sighed. “We’re gonna have to call for backup on this one.”

“But…”

Holly grimaced at the thought of making that call. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but what else are we going to do?”

“We could wipe them ourselves. We have field kits.”

“Yes, but imagine reporting back with that. These humans clearly had valuable intel on our society, enough to track officers to a ritual site without being detected, but we lost everything we could have learned about how they got their intelligence because we panicked and wiped them. Sorry.”

“Fine… fine, I’ll call it in.”

Holly turned back to the oak to finish completing the ritual. She was going to miss being in the LEP. But, apparently, the universe was telling her that wasn’t meant to be.

#Artemis Fowl #artemis fowl fanfiction #Artemis fowl fic #foiled au #chapter 1 #Holly Short #julius root #if anyone can tell me how to link these posts together like a legit fanfic I'd really appreciate it

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 114

It was genuinely a lot to ask of you to keep your cool and not break down. But you were facing questions from police and had a child that was probably traumatized in your care- one that you’d brought into this dangerous situation- and- also- what if you and Tony had gone on vacation? Would all of these people there tonight have died because of you? And that man- being lifted out on a stretcher after the EMTs had called it- you’d had no choice- it was either him or Harley-

“Ma’am- are you still with me?” A detective just trying to do her job. Failing because she was dealing with a partially shell shocked Avenger. Must have not been an easy night for her. Everyone was struggling.

“I’m sorry. Where was I…?” Letting yourself speak but drifting again as you saw an EMT hand Tony his jacket back and drape a blanket over Harley’s shoulders in its place. They’d checked you out earlier and suggested you really needed to go to the hospital. An idea you waved off, telling them to just pack your wound with gauze and wrap some medical tape around it.

The bullet had gone clean through and it would be looking better by tomorrow. Aside from that you had no time to deal with a useless visit to the emergency room right now. The guests that had fled were being placed back in the building just to keep them all in one place for questioning. They were all also trying to give you and Tony their heartfelt thanks for saving their lives- and of course their valuables. Almost everything being said to you was going in one ear and out the other.

At least until you heard Happy’s familiar voice arguing with some of the police posted at the front door. “Get outta my way! I’m- do you not see my badge? I’m head of Stark security!” Looking up you waved with the arm currently not throbbing in pain, signaling the officers to let him through. He came barreling right up to you, though took stock of Tony and Harley sitting a few feet away. “I got here as soon as I could.” Putting his arm around you in a careful hug.

One you were surprised at how much you appreciated. You half-returned it. “Thank you, Happy. Can you pull the car around back? I don’t want any press bothering us.”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright. ...how’s the kid?”

An unexpected flash of sadness and guilt hit you so hard it nearly knocked you off your feet. Moving your hand to cover up a hitch of a sob that seemed to strike from nowhere. When he reached out again you just shook your head. “I’m sorry- I just- I need to go home- I’m okay-”

You had thought you’d been doing something good for Harley. By manipulating him into wanting to be here. The end goal was part of a greater good, so everything else was easy to excuse, right? Right? Wasn’t that what you were always telling yourself? In this life of extreme gray areas… where did it all stop?

Happy stood there for too long a moment, staring at you. Feeling something quite terrible for seeing you like this. Maybe you were all suffering under the same strain. He then just nodded and walked away- saying a few quick words to Tony before exiting again. Yet your selfishness continued, as you realized your heart was weeping over the loss of a life you’d never have.

This had just been a charity gala. And yet sinister people had invaded it and taken the evening away from everyone there. And a child you were looking after nearly paid the price. What if it had actually been your child? But it would never be your child. And this was why. You had no regrets falling in love with Tony, pairing your life so intimately with his. But that’s what this was. Your life with him was only this. It could only ever be this.

You hoped it was fair to let yourself grieve just a little for the concept of maybe one day having a normal life, a normal family, having to be buried now.

Get it together. The only thing you allowed yourself to think after, especially when you caught both Tony and Harley looking up at you. Trying not to make even more of a scene you carefully turned away, pulling out your cell phone. “LUNA get me Maria Hill, complete encryption.”

The line rang twice before she answered. “Seems like you’re having a busy evening.” It was probably all over the news by now.

“Oh, you know. Just doing our jobs. ...listen, I know you said you need something a little more substantial. Can you take charge on Damage Control? I need some movement on this.”

“Sure thing. Little bit early for a promotion, but it beats filing applications. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got Hydra agents posing as SHIELD. They tried to blow up the building. I doubt they’ll talk to the cops. I also doubt this is the last time they’ll try and pull this stunt.”

“And maybe you won’t be there next time. Yeah. Got it.” The disappointment in her voice wasn’t hard to catch, especially paired with the sigh she let go of. It was always something. “I’ll contact Coulson. He’s working with the last remaining live agents in the division.”

You had a lot of questions about that… because it sounded an awful lot like SHIELD was still up and running. Just in a much smaller capacity. Now just wasn’t the time. “Okay. I trust you. Whatever you need to get the job done, it’s yours.”

“Even better.”

The goodbyes were quick after that. With the cops mostly finished taking all the information down you had to give, and now sufficiently distracted with everything else they had to clean up, you went back over to Tony and Harley. As he handed you your purse, found amongst things about to be entered into evidence and pilfered, “Happy has the car pulled around back. Let’s go home.”

Harley, thank god, seemed a little less paralyzed and disturbed than he had an hour ago. “Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”

You served a weak smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Standing, Tony slung his jacket over his shoulder and offered a hand to help Harley stand. “We’ll stitch her up back at the Tower, don’t worry.” Easily lying because… now was not the time to go into all that. “So. What did you think of your first fancy party? As bad as we promised?”

Relief washed over you when Harley grinned, weak though it was. “The part before all the shooting wasn’t that bad. I still think you’re both being babies.” Resilient and tough. ...how lucky you were that was the case. When fresh chilly air greeted you around the back of the building, he looked up at you before getting in the car. “Can you teach me to fight like that?”

Tony nudged his back. “She’s cooler than you thought, right? You can admit it.”

The ribbing earned an embarrassed groan and a little shove. “Stop.” A whine, too, before Harley disappeared into the back of the car.

With him gone, you allowed yourself a little bit of gentle reprieve, turning to wrap your good arm around Tony’s middle, burying your face against his shoulder. It was the best feeling in the world, having him hold you back with that steady squeeze. His voice was low when he spoke. “Thanks for saving the day.”

“You, too.” Breathing both words out.

You felt the hitch of his chest in a dry short one-note laugh. “I just pulled some wires. You cleared out all the bad guys.”

“You pulled the right wires.” Easing up to press a kiss to his cheek.

As you moved, he lifted his hands, cupping your cheeks in his palms. Gazing at you in that deep sort of way. “You okay?” Asked after another long moment.

“That’s not really a discussion we have time for right now.”

He dipped his head in a small nod. “Understandable.”

...and yet… “...it was him or Harley.” Saying it. Saying it so that the universe understood. So that the thought would go away.

Regarding you for another long moment, his thumb swiped just underneath your eye in a careful stroke. “It was.” He hadn’t even seen what had happened, but already he agreed. Already he was by your side. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

Anxiety spiked in the back of the car so close to you, and you dropped your head. “Are you eavesdropping?” Raising your voice to Harley who most definitely was.

He poked his head out of the car, sitting sideways with his legs dangling, head down. Hands pressed together. Thinking. “You’re talking about him- that guy- but you did what you were supposed to-” Struggling, same as you, with what had just happened.

Dropping to a kneel you opted to try for comfort, laying a careful hand on his shoulder. “Harley, I did what I had to, not what I was supposed to. ...or even what I wanted to.”

Confusion took him. “But- you’re an Avenger. You kill bad guys all the time.”

“I don’t when I can avoid it. Taking a life should never be easy, Harley. No matter who you are. It isn’t for me. I know it’s not for Tony, either. Or any of the other Avengers. We do it when we’re locked into situations when there’s no other choice.”

Who were you really trying to convince here?

He purposefully kept his head down. “It was my fault.” Avoiding your eyes as he squirmed with these terrible feelings.

“You tried to help me.” Even if he’d disobeyed- and, yes, even if it had been his fault- you couldn’t pin this on a child. Never. He didn’t have the cognitive ability to think something like that through. To assess the entire situation, to figure out all his resources- and, yes, even to follow orders. He sprung into action to do what he thought was best, to do what he could.

Tony put his hands in his pockets. “We all make mistakes, kid. It’s not easy being under that kind of pressure. You jumped into action to help. That’s better than most.”

If the Avengers had ever made an after-school special, you imagined it’d be exactly something like this. But it was important to… what was the phrase for debriefing a child? God- had it really come to that? Decompress and discuss, you supposed. But Harley very quickly hit his tolerance for learning a lesson and talking about all of this heavy stuff. His hands pressed together before he turned back around to sit a little more fully in the car. “Can we go somewhere and get dinner?” Deciding it was time to stop talking about this stuff.

That was fine. Your nerves were wearing thin, too. But. You made a mental note to ask Deja for a list of child therapists later… “Sure. Anywhere you’d like.” Once he moved you edged down to get into the car with him.

Tony was not far behind, and after he closed the door he held up a finger, “She means that literally. So don’t blow this.”

“What about… Denny’s?”

Putting a hand to his chest, Tony gave off an award-winning air of offense. “I’ve been slaving away every morning to make you breakfast- you get one chance to go to the fanciest place you’ve ever been in your life- and you pick Denny’s?” Two huge offenses in one. “You could have just told me you didn’t like my cooking. Would’ve been easier to swallow.”

His antics seemed to lift Harley’s mood, probably precisely why he was going on about it. You gave him a little pat on the leg. “To be fair, you didn’t make pancakes with smiley faces on them.”

“Is that the measure of a good pancake? I’ll remember this for next time. And not in a good way.” Huffing and puffing, though in the darkness of the backseat you caught the edge of his grin, when Harley found the courage to laugh.

Reaching forward you gave Happy a little touch to his arm. “Do you know where the nearest Denny’s is?”

“GPS says Brooklyn… we’re going all the way to Brooklyn for pancakes?” Looking up into the rearview, making sure this was real life.

Easing back with a sigh, Tony put his arm around you. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

----

Full of two smiley pancake stacks and adrenaline of the night completely worn off, Harley was out like a light before the car even pulled up to the Tower. You had Happy make sure that not only would the restaurant be empty, but you established a dead zone a mile out from the Tower upon pull-up. And it was a good thing you did. Tony ended up having to carry a very passed out Harley all the way upstairs.

It was hard. All of this was hard. There was a deep resonating pang that wrecked you so completely. It was strange, to feel such devastation, watching Tony carry a sleeping child in his arms so carefully- tuck him into bed so gently- after an evening that almost certainly proved you could never have this. Strange, too, when years before the two of you had given each other wide-eyed stares over a Plan-B cocktail-

Something of his own invention. Something he was so deeply used to that he’d had it at the ready the very next morning after things had gotten wonderfully hot and heavy. Had you wanted kids? Had you wanted kids with Tony? It didn’t matter anymore. This was all proof that that sort of life wasn’t yours to have. How could you knowingly and willingly expose a new life to this?

Halfway through a too-hot shower you grieved. As quietly as possible so as to not disturb Tony in the next room. Grieved a life the two of you had only barely talked about, never really investigated, and would never have anyway. You could get by- you were fine with the idea that it was just the two of you. You loved him. Dearly. Desperately. Unfathomably so. Bringing another life into this world with him- that wasn’t everything. And it didn’t mean you couldn’t be a family, just the two of you. And Dvahli, of course. But…

You must have wanted it. Somewhere in you… you must have wanted the chance to have that. For Tony to be a wonderful father. For you to nurture a small soul that only the two of you could have. And in knowing, now, you never could, it also put an end to wondering if life would ever be normal. You’d gone to a charity banquet that had had a bomb planted in it. And not so long ago aliens had attacked the city.

There was no normal. It just didn’t exist. You and Tony had been handed- given- maybe even forced to own keys of heroism. The knowledge and the power to do the right thing. To help people. To take a stand. To save lives. There would never be a time when that wouldn’t be the case. It had never been more clear than tonight. You would have to make peace with that. And to do that… you had to grieve the loss of a normal life- the one you’d had, minutes before Pepper had said she was resigning. From that moment on…

Everything had changed. Nothing was the same. You were burying your old notions, your old wishes- even buried as they were, your old… everything. You needed to grieve this loss of self and future. So you did.

Tony’s sudden presence spooked you- when you’d gotten out of the shower after perhaps too long a time. He had his hand on the door frame, and the way he was looking at you said all you really needed to know. Eyes soft with a telling sheen of wetness, and a sad longing gaze.

“Sorry.” Your voice was a weak murmur as you wrapped a towel around yourself.

Bypassing you, he moved to the mirror cabinet above the sink, pulling out some bandages. The wound on your arm was closed, but angry and red still, not fully healed. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Nudging you then to sit back on the counter.

A motion you followed without thought, looking away as he carefully wrapped your arm back up. “I made you feel-”

“I can have my own feelings, too, you know.” Quiet, not angry. But tight. Perhaps trying to hold that cracking wall at bay. That one sentence pushed you past your own selfishness. Because you were not grieving alone. Tony, clearly, had been thinking about this too. And probably had come to the same conclusion. “Mothering hasn’t really been an interest of mine, but… the way you are with the kid-”

“Don’t.” Ejected out of you almost in a panic, reaching your other hand up to touch over his heart. It was his heartbreak that threatened to end you completely. The way he was looking at you. The way he was feeling. Deep blues just spilling out of him. “...you would make a good father, Tony, but… it’s so obvious now. We can never have that.”

He finished tying off your fresh bandage. “Alright- well- first of all- let’s not start telling each other lies. I don’t exactly have the pedigree.” Flash of a hurt grin crossing him before he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “But... never say never.”

“I am saying never.” There was no way to make peace with this unless you were both on the same page. Why was he being so stubborn? “I love you. This life is hard but… it’s good. The way it is. And it has to be. Because we can’t-”

“Why can’t we?” The look he was giving you was just shy of pleading. “I told you… I’m working on something. Let’s get past the concept phase before we start offing possibilities. Alright?”

You shared a long gaze with him, for about as long as you could. Then weakness found you, and you crumbled forward, wrapping your arms around him, hiding your face in the side of his neck. “...is this something you even want?”

“What? A life with you? Crazy concept.” He huffed out a bitter sounding laugh, holding you back. Tightly.

“A life doesn’t have to have… that.” Scared to even say it after all this. “We have a life right now.”

“Yeah, and we’ll have a different one, when I’m done. Quieter. Better. And if… that fits into it… if it’s something you want…” His hands moved up to hold the sides of your face, if only so he could break your cowardice, lifting your head so the two of you could face each other again.

You reached up, your own hands holding at his wrists. Just looking at him. Terribly bare to each other for this small moment in time. “...is it something you want?”

His smile was a nice consolation prize. “Honey, we’re very soon going to enter into a feedback loop. And- I asked first.”

A brief feeling of wetness graced your eyes, and you were having a hard time figuring out if they were good or bad tears. “You did not. ...but ask me again after this thing you’re working on is past concept and through launch.”

He seemed hurt- for barely a second- but there was no hiding it from you. Pressing his lips together, his eyes lowered with a nod. “Yeah. That’s… that’s completely fair.”

The two of you held each other together for the rest of the night, perhaps as you always did, with small kisses, long embraces, and words of love. Filling in the cracks as best as you could right then. It was all you could do.

----

It was a true testament to just how worn down Tony was, and just how wound up you were, when early the next morning (a measly one hour after you’d felt yourself fall asleep) you were awake. And he was dead asleep. He’d more than earned the right to sleep in. So you got up as quietly as possible and resisted a loving caress at his temple or a kiss at his cheek. No matter how much you wanted to, scared you’d ruin one of the only truly peaceful places he got to be in.

You were just as carefully silent as you rolled on some deodorant and then slipped into a pair of leggings, sports bra, and Stark Industries zip-up, taking your sneakers out with you. Harley was up. No surprise. Sitting on the couch watching what seemed to be a Pixar film- Monsters Inc? Or maybe it was the sequel… The bright lights pinged your temples, setting off a resonating pain. Or maybe it was just everything else that had a headache brewing.

You tried to ignore it as best as you could. What was a surprise- “You’re really still eating?” Asked as you sat down next to him on the couch, starting to lace up your shoes. This child had a bottomless pit for a stomach, munching on a bowl of cereal.

Perhaps not even his first, considering the box of Captain Crunch and the jug of milk were sitting on the coffee table. He just gave a shrug. “What’re you doing up?”

“I was going to go for a run and then get some coffee.” A good way to exorcise all this frantic energy and sour feelings. The treadmill would have been fine, but going out for some fresh air seemed more ideal. Then you’d waste it by amping up your caffeine. Solid plan.

He quickly slurped up the rest of his cereal, testing your patience with how annoying a noise it was, and then set the bowl down loudly. “Can I come with you?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “You’ll barf in the first five minutes.” The kid was full of food and now full of milk, too. He’d never make it.

“Will not.” Grumpy. “I can do it. Let me come with you.” There was a twinge of desperation here that you couldn’t place. He really wanted to go. You just weren’t sure why. Safest place for him was here in the Tower, so why did he want to go outside so badly?

Finishing an extra tight double knot on your shoes, you sat up with a little stretch of your arms. “Why do you want to go?” Deciding to just ask rather than speculate. Sometimes that worked.

But he gave a shrug and looked away. “I dunno.” You made a pointed eye-roll and stood to stretch out your muscles and joints a little more. Staying silent. Waiting for him to either give in and answer or ignore you. In which case you were sure he knew he wasn’t coming then. How important was this to him? ...well… “...you do it. For training. Right?”

Oh. “I like to stay fit because it helps, yes. But this is- ...I just want to go for a run. It’s not that serious.”

He made a face at you. “What do you mean?” Clearly confused. “I hate gym in school- they make you run for no reason all the time. Why would you wanna do that?”

“It just helps sometimes.”

“Helps with what?”

Gee-golly-gosh. You were suddenly rethinking last night’s sorrow. Kids were really annoying when they wanted to be. “It helps clear my head.”

“Why? Of what?”

“Okay, Harley. You can come with me. Go get changed.”

He’d won this battle. And not in a way he’d like.

----

He barely made it ten minutes, in his pajama pants, no less. Seeing as how his little shopping trip with Happy had only resulted in tees, hoodies, jeans, and a single pajama set. ...too late now to regret not having supervised that trip. But his complaining, wheezing, and eventual falling behind had you slowing. And slowing more. And…

After that it eventually just became a comfortable walk through Central Park. It wasn’t doing you any favors of helping yourself, but Harley seemed to be enjoying himself so… that was important, too. Especially considering the heavy guilt you were still facing for getting him into all this mess in the first place.

Conversation was trite yet not entirely meaningless. You found yourself fielding Avengers questions. Harley’s interest in the hero life seemed to have spiked infinitely after last night’s dealings. You supposed that was to be expected.

“How come I never see anyone but you guys and Dr. Banner?”

“Everyone else has their own things going on. They show up from time to time. It’s not like they’re hiding from you.”

“Where’s Thor?”

“Probably somewhere with Jane- Dr. Foster.”

“Who’s that?” “His girlfriend.”

“Oh. Gross. What about Captain America?”

“Out on a mission.”

“Black Widow?” “Same.”

“Hawkeye??” “He went dark after SHIELD fell apart. I think he’s taking it pretty hard.” Honestly, you had no idea what the hell Clint was doing. He’d been entirely unavailable and Nat had told you to leave him alone. Considering she knew him better than you ever would… you couldn’t do anything but respect that.

“What does going dark mean?”

“It’s when an agent cuts all communication for a while and stays off the grid.”

“What if he’s in trouble?” “He’s not.”

“But how do you know?”

“I-”

Someone had sneaked up behind you. They’d been following for a little while now, but you assumed it was probably just paparazzi. Nothing to get worked up about. And certainly nothing to cause a scene over, especially with Harley right next to you. But while you were busy fielding endless questions, they’d gotten close enough to put a hand on your shoulder. Startling enough to kick your instincts into overdrive.

With your opposite hand you reached up, pinning their wrist, and then slid your other arm up to trap their movements. Then you twisted their arm up and around, pulling them forward and holding them down in a lock. It was over in a matter of seconds. “Big mistake.”

“Fuckin’- get offa me!”

Harley had jumped back. You stayed steady. “You think you can just put your hands on me and get away with it?”

“...dad?”

If it wasn’t Harley’s shocking revelation, it was the fact that you noticed a reporter- wouldn’t you know it- a WHiH reporter- same one that had been following you the entire week- with his camera up. Recording this whole interaction. ...so that’s what they’d been doing. You released the man immediately, less fodder for them to say you attacked him. But you were quick and careful, stepping half in front of Harley. A little surprised, too, when he clung close, peering out from your side. You kept your attention focused forward. “What do you want?”

“Me? Are you outta your mind? You steal my kid and you ask what I want? You’re something else.” He was raising his voice. Causing a scene. Very purposefully. This was not going to end well for one of you.

“Harley came to us under our Internship program-”

“What a buncha horse shit. His mamma didn’t sign no papers- and neither did I. So whose permission is he here on?” His fists were bunched at his sides. Getting over-dramatically angry. For the camera. And the people now stopping to watch.

“How much is WHiH paying you? They put you on a plane? Bring you here?”

He stayed stunned for only a moment. “That ain’t got nothing to do with this.”

“Oh. Sure it does. But, that’s besides the point. I assure you we have the correct paperwork. Would you like to come look at it?” You had some, but you could always forge more, if need be. Didn’t seem like this family was really cohesive. You’d wager you’d win that court battle. Not that you needed it to go that far. “Or why don’t we cut to the chase, and tell me the payout you’re looking for.”

“My kid’s worth more to me than money.”

Before you could open your mouth, Harley’s hands were on the back of your legs, using you for stability as he craned over and shouted, “Since when!? Go away! No one asked you to be here!”

His father pointed a striking finger his way. “You shut your mouth, boy. Do as you’re told. Get over here. Now. Or else.”

It was the easy and heavy fear he struck in Harley’s heart that made your next actions easier. You stood much firmer. “You’re not touching this kid. Now we can settle this civilly-”

“Fuck you and your corporate bullshit talk. You’re not taking my son for your little child-army. We’re gonna go to court and take everything you got.”

This absolutely blew you away. “Is that the story WHiH thinks they’re running? Christine is out of her fucking mind.” Child army?! Seriously? That’s the best she could do?

“Fuck you and your fucking company. And your fucking pussy-ass boyfriend and all your little pissant Avengers horseshit. You’re gonna get what’s comin’ to you.”

You found yourself nodding. Okay. That’s how you feel? “You seem very angry. We really don’t have to do this. I don’t want to. I’d like to take you to the office and we can talk. But you’re just riled up aren’t you?” Projecting wave after wave, turning his ripples the nastiest red until he was shaking. Deep in that space you gave him a little shove. “Would you like to calm down?”

Attack me.

“Fuck you!”

Reacting like an exploding volcano. One rush of footsteps with a fist extended. You side swept to keep Harley behind you, while catching his father’s wrist easily and twisting him down onto one knee. His sharp gasps of pain and subsequent begging did nothing to help him. Leaning in, raising his arm just to the point of breaking up on his back you kept your voice low and close to his ear. “Let’s try this again. And we’re going to do it my way. I expect some honesty. You know what that is, don’t you? Something genuine?”

“I don’t understand- what the fuck do you want you crazy bitch-” He was panicking.

But that was easy to turn into your advantage. “You ever put your hands on Harley?”

“I- What’s that got to do with-”

“Answer me. You’re in a very weak position. Some truth will do you good.” Convincing him was a snap.

“Sometimes- yes-”

“What about his sister?”

“When she needs to learn a lesson.”

“Their mother?”

“Yeah- her too- bitch has it coming more often than not-” You didn’t mean to break his arm. Really. Truly. But it sort of just happened anyway. Maybe it was minor. His yelp got you to stop fairly quickly, releasing him to let him stand. You stayed close as he swayed, clutching his shoulder. “You’re fucking crazy- you’re gonna pay for this-”

“You attacked me.” Laying it out straight. But, unthreatened, you came close even as he stiffened and looked like he might try to strike again. When you were just close enough, you lowered your voice enough for only the two of you to hear. “Listen to me. Very carefully. I know it must be hard carrying around all that. Knowing you’ve been such a shitty person. I know you must feel terrible. Guilty. You feel awful. Don’t you?”

“I… I…” He was fogging over. Faster than most. Easy to manipulate, seeing as there was very little in the space between his ears.

“The weight of it is crushing you. What you’ve done. How you’ve hurt this family.”

He shook his head. “It’s not… it’s not my fault… god- they just don’t fucking get it-”

“Yes it is. And you know it.” Tears started. “God- I dunno- what do I do? What is...” “Here’s what you’re going to do.” Shoulder to shoulder with him then, you leveled a hard gaze on him, and in that bright space you laid your hand on him one more time. Imparting to him exactly this: “You feel the weight of your actions- so heavy it’s killing you. You’re going to turn around. And walk. Walk as far as you can until you can’t anymore. You’re going to stay away from Harley. His sister. His mother. Forever. Isn’t that right? You feel like that’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m gonna… stay away- but… where should I go…?”

“Let that guilt carry you. Help people, to make up for everything you’ve done. I think that’s a great idea. Let your guilt carry you all the way to some godforsaken place that needs help. Make amends there. And never come back. Do you understand me? But the first and last thing you should do is apologize to him.”

Like an empty shell he simply nodded, taking in anything you were giving him to fill all the holes you’d just poked inside of him. Looking beyond you, to Harley, he offered something extremely pitiable. “Harl… I’m… I’m sorry. For… everything.” And then, half turning he started murmuring. “I’m leaving now… I’ll go…”

You stayed. Watching. Waiting. But Harley suddenly running out a couple feet past you that had you nervous. “Where are you going!?” Coming to a dead stop, imploring as he turned to look at you. “Where’s he going? He can’t just fucking leave!” There was no correct answer. It was why Harley didn’t wait to look away from you and back to the retreating form of his father. “Hey! FUCK YOU. I HATE YOU.” And when that didn’t serve to make his father stop, he ran further and you found yourself chasing after. Coming to a stop just as he walked right in front of his father, putting his hands up to push at him. “Are you listening to me?! I fucking hate you! You ruined everything! I hate you- I HATE YOU-!”

But his father no longer belonged to himself, and treated him simply like the obstacle he was. Shoving him. Hard enough to get him to stumble, but you moved in to steady him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Harley… let him go…”

He was shaking. Hands down tight at his sides. “I hate him- I hate him-... how can he just- how can just fucking take off- again- after all this- I HATE YOU!” Dropping to your knees, you tried to get him in a sturdier grip, but he was shivering violently, whipping his head from side to side. “I hate him- I hate him-!”

“Harley.” Just a sharp enough call to break him free of this endless loop.

But it punched through him completely. Caused him to jump and then well up with hot shame that then soon drowned in a sudden tsunami of pain. His hands went to his face as the tears started. “I hate him…” Voice pitching in a sob.

He’d been holding on for so long. And it was all breaking now. Reaching up you did the only thing you could. You put your arms around him and drew him in. He fought for only a second before giving in completely. Just crying against you. Reaching up you pressed on one of your cuff earrings, while your other arm wrapped snug around him. “LUNA, get Happy. I need security on my location immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was too much for anyone to handle, let alone a twelve year old. Last night, and now this. You could only imagine Harley had built this moment up- standing up to his father- probably ever since the man had come back. You also knew this was probably not how he thought it would go. Would any circumstance have lived up to it? Had you done the right thing? There was no changing some people. That man would never change. You were sure of it. Sending him away was merciful. Maybe mercy he didn’t deserve. But it was the best you could do. Now he’d never hurt Harley or their family again. And yet…

Like everything else in your life, you just had to hope you’d made the right decision. Live with the consequences either way. And lose sleep over the ghosts of what-if...

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

Agent of Hope - 7

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Description of injuries, swearing, angst, threats, distrust, pain, doubt, hate. The usual. A/N: Please reblog if you liked. I try to update the taglist according to requests and frequent rebloggers. Probably won’t get a lot of writing done the next week as I’ll be busy getting used to new job, but check out my masterlist for other stuff.

7 - The Captain

… Romanoff’s PoV …

Steve arrives just an hour before Natasha has to leave for hearings on a grey Monday morning. At no point has the former spy attempted to sweeten the impressions of what will be happening after dumping all the files from SHIELD online, so she knows that this is only going to be the first of many sessions with men in suits thinking they know better.

That’s not the reason she doesn’t want to go.

“Whatever you guys do,” the redhead hisses at Sam Wilson and the Captain, “do not question what she’s been through.” Sam looks like he’s about to crack a joke, but a glare silences him. “And don’t question her sanity, or I’ll carve out your kidneys and sell‘em on the black market.”

“We’ll behave, Nat, don’t worry.” Solemn, blue eyes underline Steve’s promise.

Turning on her heel, Natasha stalk out of the kitchen where she’d cornered the two guys, heading towards the garage. [Y/N]’s parting words still echo in her head: “They’ll need you, all of you.” It’s comforting to know that the strange woman who knows more than she should is adamant when it comes to the future of the Avengers.

Avengers. Not too long ago, there was no official name for the odd group of people who ended up saving New York, but the name was on everybody’s lips before the dust had settled and the shawarma had been eaten. Heroes. That’s how they’d been seen by a lot of people even if it didn’t seem entirely true to the image they’d had of themselves (not counting Stark, who’s always more than happy to bask in the spotlight). A good team, sure, they’d coincidentally worked very well together and even in the midst of battle, Romanoff had dared hope that this would clear her of some of the sins. It’d worked out for a while. Kind of.

… Reader’s PoV …

The arrival of the men surprises you in more ways than one. First, there are two. You’d not expected anyone to accompany the Steven Grant Rogers, but you’re honestly happy for it because the second guy has an aura of relaxation and trust about him. The Captain himself? Not so much.

Watching Captain America is in many ways similar to watching Brock, even though they are like night and day, the few similarities are striking and make your guts tighten and feet twitch from wanting to run away. Brock and Rogers are both unbending, disciplined and meticulous to the point where they shape the people around them rather than vice versa. Tall and broad, they fill the room with their presences, preventing any competition of the alpha-male title. Icy eyes push you off the couch and to your feet and set your hairs on end all over your body, and as the man steps closer, it’s like moving back in time to the few times you’ve seen Brock advance on someone who displeased him. Automatically, you retreat.

“Sorry.” At least Rogers sounds like he means it. “I didn’t mean to erm…to make you uncomfortable.”

The moment you take his hand in greeting is the moment invisible “lightning” strikes you out of nowhere, carving through the crown of your skull all the way to your toes. Skull with octopus. Sunglasses. Colosseum. A big, dark hand reaches up towards iron bars. Laughter as sunglasses shatters on stone, revealing a milky eye in a serious face. Someone calling out for a [Y/N]. The man’s name is Fury and Captain America is charging into the cell where he’s kept. [Y/N].

[Y/N]. It sounds closer. “[Y/N]!”

Strong arms are supporting you as the world revolves on its own and you have to close your eyes in order not to puke. It’s a relief when you feel a steadier surface beneath you.

“Shit, Steve,” another voice comments with horror, “Romanoff’s gonna kill us, man!”

Steve. Captain America! Waves of adrenalin help the eyelashes to flutter open briefly, enough to spot the veteran’s face near yours.

“She’ll be fine.” Regardless, he still asks Jarvis to fetch Stark. “Hey, [Y/N], can you hear me?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

Oh yeah, you can hear him more than plenty, the voice is sending new stabs of pain through your brain. The skin of your face folds and cracks like drying sand when you fight against the urge to keep your eyes closed, and you’re relieved at how tears and eyelashes block most of the view to the blue eyes, because they aren’t the ones you really want to see and neither is the face that’s peeping at you from behind Roger’s shoulder.

The words are clumsy in your mouth. “They got…him...Fury?” Looking to the men for confirmation is useless, but what else can you do? “I saw…in Rome…”

The explanation is rambling and you have to try several times before especially Wilson gets past the point where you know who Fury is and that he’s alive, but eventually they accept the baseline of what you saw and that it requires action. Now.

…

“Don’t throw any toga parties!” Tony Stark grins jovially, hiding a worry behind the sunglasses. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I don’t like it.” The words aren’t yours even though they could have been. They’re coming from Sam who’s biting his lip as he looks back at you from the ramp of the jet. The statement has been repeated several times already. “Natasha’s gonna kills us, guys.”

Roger’s heavy hand is warm and reassuring on your shoulder, the little squeeze a gentle comfort that you aren’t actually all alone in this mess of a life. “I know, but we owe it to Fury –“

“Besides,” Stark butts in like a cat wanting attention for the mouse it brought home, “I’ve designed the security here and both Jarvis and Happy is just a call away to help take care of our little prophet!” Pausing a moment at Sam’s side, the glasses are lifted momentarily. “And I’m not gonna tell Romanoff we left, are you?”

The worried man sees the opportunity and takes it. “Uhm err no?”

It would be nice if you could be as easily swayed as Sam Wilson is in this matter, but as you watch the quinjet taking off, the apprehension of being left alone at the so-called Compound is settling in as a deadweight on your chest.

… Rumlow’s PoV …

It hurts to move. It hurts to look in the mirror and see the crust-covered wounds that crack and ooze from the tiniest of movements. It hurts more, however, to know that [Y/N] is getting cozy with Captain Fucking America and his buddies…that she didn’t even let him try to explain things to her so they could recover what they had and move on together.

Freak. The term applies more to [Y/N] than to himself even with the view as he stands here by the sink. All this time, and he didn’t even know he was sharing a bed with a genetic miscreation – a monster that has decided to throw everything aside and flee with the tail between its legs, taking the one useful aspect along with it and out of grasp from Brock. Mine. No one takes anything away from him.

Straightening, the upper body protests as joints move and muscles tense under the torn skin, and Brock hisses at the pain.

“Ya shouldna be up ye’.”

The wise-ass nurse is silenced with a curse.

I need to be up.

There’s revenge to be had and a monster to catch, and Brock will be damned if he’s going to miss out on any of it.

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

Text

Flying True

Title: Flying True

(formerly ‘True’)

Author: Gumnut

2 – 8 Aug 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: It was the core philosophy of International Rescue. And he broke it.

Word count: 5571

Spoilers & warnings: Angst, injury, blood, some language

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Nutty’s Fandomversary Fic Nine – Prompt: Scott and ‘stay gold’ for @lightning1999 thank you for all your wonderful support :D

This one was stubborn and I had to fight like crazy. Many thanks to both @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for their patience and reading. This ‘ficlet’ took an entire week to write ::glares at it:: There is an optional epilogue that I might post later, but for the moment this is the entirety of the fic. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

He cradled his brother.

Virgil was limp beneath his hands, barely breathing, blood dribbling down his cheek, the remains of the bubbling cough that had sent him under.

“John, tell me the GDF are coming.” His own voice was harsh in his ears.

“They’re not coming.”

“Please, John.”

“Trust me, I have tried.” His brother’s voice was filled with the same desperation in his own.

“We need evac and the bastard is still here. Can’t they-“

“Scott! He’s done his homework, you’re now in a no-fly zone. Aunt Val has them on the ground, but it is going to be over an hour.”

“They can’t-“ I can’t, I can’t...

The warmth seeping out between his fingers was determined, pulsing with Virgil’s heart. God, please, no.

“There is no rescue, Commander Tracy.” The ‘commander’ came out as snarl. “Not unless you would like to invite another of your brothers to this little party?”

There were two snarls and a forceful expletive over the comm line.

“Or perhaps a sister? A grandmother would be interesting. Then there is that little mastermind of yours. I’d be very interested in meeting him.”

“No...nothing.” It was rasped and little more than a whisper.

“Virg, stay still.” His brother’s eyes were fluttering, desperately trying to open.

“Don...don’t let him.”

“He won’t, I promise.”

“And what exactly do you think you can stop me from doing?”

Scott didn’t answer. The presence of his brother was the only thing stopping him from planting a fist in the bastard’s face.

That and the gun that had already shot Virgil in the chest.

The call had come in just after the sun had disappeared over the horizon on Tracy Island. Tourist fallen in an abandoned gas mine in the middle of the Australian Outback.

It was pure chance that Scott had chosen to go with Virgil. It had been a rare night with just the two of them on the Island and they had been looking forward to a little alcohol and brotherly bonding. Didn’t happen often.

Didn’t happen tonight.

It was obviously a Thunderbird Two call out, but Scott, used to it but no less annoyed, was determined to spend the evening with his brother. Thunderbird One followed her sister off the Island and the sun rose in the west.

As per usual, Scott hit ground before Virgil, but had to wait for the green behemoth because she held the equipment needed. A jeep sat abandoned not far off. Scans of the hole in the ground revealed the single life sign John had reported.

Part of the mine had caved in.

The job required heavy lifting and Virgil donned his suit and down he went. Twenty minutes later, Scott was assisting a shaken tourist to his feet as Virgil climbed out of the hole in the ground.

The man stared up at Scott and a smirk curled his lips. “Him, I expected. You, not so much. But then that is fortunate, because you might be worth just that little bit more.” And the ‘victim’ pulled a gun and shot Virgil point blank.

Scott would never forget the surprise on his gentle brother’s face, the shock, quickly followed by the pain.

And his suited body falling back over the lip of the mine.

The suit.

The exo-suit.

Apparently, the bastard hadn’t counted on that piece of hardware either.

Virgil was rigged for cave and mine rescue. His left arm came up and his built-in grapple gun fired. The target, his own ‘bird. The grapple thunked and instead of plummeting into the abyss, his falling body pivoted on one foot and was dragged past his attacker, coming to rest in a heap beside Scott.

God.

He didn’t hesitate, fumbling at his brother’s suit, turning him over.

The neat hole in his uniform was ringed in a fast spreading halo of red.

“Shit, that hurts.” More breath than anything else.

“Stay still.” Virg, oh god. Ribcage. His paramedic training came to the fore. Pressure, elevate, prevent air getting into the lung cavity...

“I wouldn’t bother. He is going to die. And if he doesn’t, well, I’ll make sure he does.” The gun came up again.

“No, oh god, no, don’t!” He threw himself across his brother. Please, no. How had this happened so quickly? A night of brotherly chat and now they were lying in the dust of a godawful desert with some asshole trying to kill them.

“Hmm.” The gun was casually waved through the air above them. “Maybe you are right. He could be useful.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“Want? Money. Simple as that. You have it, I want it. All I need is one of you and the rest will pay. Hell, the world will pay for one of the Tracy brothers. God awful saviours of humanity.”

Scott didn’t think it was possible to get angrier. Apparently, it was. “You lured us here with a fake rescue in order to kidnap and hold one of us for ransom.”

“You’ve got it in one. You are billionaires, after all. A couple billion should be enough for the eldest Tracy, shouldn’t it.” The gun gestured in Virgil’s direction. “If he lives, an extra few million wouldn’t hurt.”

Virgil shuddered under his hands and attempted to pull himself out of his exo-suit. His fingers brushed the buttons that released his uniform and the frame slipped off his body. A groan and he had one arm out before the gunman started waving the weapon around again. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Ne-need to breathe.” It ended in a gasp and then Virgil was coughing.

Scott reacted, ignoring the threat and pulling off his brother’s helmet, attempting to free him from the suit’s framework.

Blood dribbled out the corner of Virgil’s mouth as his eyes rolled up in his head and his body fell limp.

“Virgil!”

Elevate, pressure, prevent air from getting into the lung cavity...

He gently lifted his brother into his arms, propping him up and rolling him onto his side, his head resting against Scott’s chest.

Check breathing, pulse...c’mon, Virgil, don’t do this...

“Is he dead yet?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hoo, the role model of a generation has a tongue on him after all.” The bastard crouched down and sat back on his heels. “Oh, if you think the GDF will be coming to save your asses, think again.” The man held up a control device and pressed a button. The ground rumbled and shook. The plain around them cracked in places, soil collapsing in on itself. A haze drifted across the ground. “Ah, the wonderful fragrance of hydromethane in the evening.” The man smirked. “You’re not going anywhere in those rockets of yours and no one is flying in.” The smirk became a grin. “This abandoned mine network has just enough left to create a lovely cloud of flammable gas for your entertainment. Now, tell that Eye in the Sky brother of yours that they can have you back in mostly one piece if they transfer the money to an account number I will give you shortly.”

So followed a negotiation with Thunderbird Five that sported more expletives than he had ever heard from his quiet brother. Two other brothers were looped into the conversation on delay. Gordon and Alan were on Mars chasing up that professor who had discovered the underground rivers of Mars and then promptly got himself stuck in one. Kayo’s colourful expressions were launched from the far side of the Arctic circle. She was caught up with the Chaos Crew, but dropped everything immediately and was tearing across the planet as they spoke.

She wasn’t going to get there fast enough.

And neither was the GDF.

“John, tell me you can get an ident on this guy.”

“I’ve been trying. Could be a holographic mask for all the result I’m getting. Eos is hacking the GDF intelligence division as we speak.”

Shit. “Be careful.”

“We will do what we need to do, Scott.”

He closed his eyes for just a moment.

The earth rumbled under him and suddenly everything was shaking. Metres to his left the soil collapsed and a crack opened up, gaping to the sky.

The gunman clambered to his feet. The smell of hydromethane increased. Scott coughed and Virgil’s breathing staggered. Hell.

“We’ve got to move.”

Their assailant didn’t answer. He stood staring at the crack, puzzlement on his face.

The earth gave a deep-seated groan and shook again, more cracks appearing.

A blink and the dirt beneath the man’s feet collapsed, taking him with it.

Scott froze for a split second before tightening his hold on Virgil and scrambling backwards as the newly formed crack tracked its way towards the two brothers. The abandoned exo-suit half slipped into the crevice.

The movement aggravated Virgil, the younger man coughing weakly into Scott’s chest, crimson splattering on the blue of his uniform. “Sc-t.”

“Hell, Virg, sorry. Need to get you onto Two.” The gun was gone. They were free. It was the only fact registering on his mind.

“Help!”

Scott wasn’t game to leave Virgil out here so he could grab a stretcher. The ground was still groaning. Moving him was going to be unsafe, but he couldn’t leave his brother out here with the very ground falling around them.

But he could drag him.

“Help me! Please!”

Easing his brother into a secure grip, hands under his arms, he relied on Virgil’s tough uniform to take the brunt of the abrasion and carefully began dragging his brother towards Two.

“God, please help me! I’m bleeding!”

Virgil groaned as they moved, his head falling against Scott’s arm. “Sc-t needs help.”

“It’s okay, Virgil, we’re nearly there.”

“Please help me!”

“Needs help.” Virgil attempted to sit up. “Sc-t needs help.” His brother’s voice was little more than a rasp. Blood bubbled on his lips. “Need to h-lp.”

“Stay still!”

“Needs help. Got-ta h-lp.” His hand came up and hit his comms. “J-hn, situation.”

“Virgil!” He stopped, crouched down and gathered his brother in his arms, the man was likely suffering hypoxia. A quick check of his vitals had no good news.

“Scott, I’m reading surface instability for at least a kilometre radius.” There were unspoken questions in John’s words. “You need to get out of there.”

“John.” His voice was a harsh rasp almost as bad as Virgil’s. “The bastard fell in a hole.” He leveraged Virgil gently and began dragging him again. His brother was restless, muttering about help and rescue.

“God, please don’t leave me!”

The nerve...Scott killed the thought as Virgil responded to the voice in the distance, again struggling to sit up. He held him firm, finally reaching down to activate his brother’s holographic interface on his left arm, commanding the ship to lower its hatch.

It did so with the familiar clunk and hiss.

He dragged his brother aboard.

“Please don’t!” It was faint now and once the hatch was swallowed by TB2 it was shut out.

The only sound remaining was Virgil’s bubbling breath.

“Sc-t, need t-sve.”

“C’mon, bro, let’s get you safe.”

“Safe, need to safe.” Virgil’s eyes were barely open, his body limp in Scott’s hands.

He gently lay his brother on his side and pulled down the gurney. Activating its hoverjets and disengaging it from the wall, he lowered it to the deck and manhandled his brother on to its padded surface. A gentle motion and he redocked it.

Alarms started screeching immediately.

Oxygen, elevate, stop the bleeding, manage the air intake, watch for tension pneumothorax, get him to a hospital...

Get him to a hospital.

Thunderbird Two has something her sister did not.

She had wheels.

His brother continued to mumble, his head moving in aggravation. Scott secured him to the bed and primed the monitors to alert him to any changes.

Two steps and he was in his brother’s pilot’s chair. Flipping switches, he brought the giant cargo plane to life and rigged her for extended taxi.

She wasn’t built for this. Taxiing on a runway, yes. Across rock strewn desert sand? Not so much. She didn’t have a great deal of clearance and Virgil would likely kick his ass for the damage this little trip was going to cause, but there was no choice.

Choice.

His heart hardened.

As if reading that heart, his brother moaned. “S-tuation, need to h-lp Scott, need to help.” The words faded into a bubbling cough.

Scott engaged the engines and TB2 turned her back on the danger zone. A shift in the controls and his brother’s big green bird made her escape.

-o-o-o-

It took forever.

A forever punctuated by struggling breath and mumbled words that faded to unconsciousness. But as soon as the hydromethane concentration dropped below the explosive mark, Scott engaged VTOL, lifting the great ship off the abrasive desert floor. Enough clearance and the Thunderbird breathed her name as he kicked in her rear thrusters. She shot forward as if elated to be free from the godawful ground. Course allocation and their ETA shrunk from hours to minutes as they targeted the Western Australian city of Perth and her medical facilities.

Minutes.

And he was requesting landing clearance from Australian Air Control.

Minutes.

Two’s great landing feet sunk into the turf of the elegant gardens in front of Royal Perth Hospital.

Minutes.

Moving his terrifyingly still brother from his cockpit to the hands of medical staff.

Minutes.

Thunderbird Shadow landing beside her sister. Kayo darting out of her ‘bird, worried eyes catching his. Her gloved hand on his cheek as they turned to follow their brother into the massive hospital building.

Hours.

Plastic chairs. The inevitable media shitstorm. Police. Colonel Casey. Questions.

John appearing at his shoulder, fire in his eyes.

And finally, sudden quiet as his brother corralled him into an empty room and shut the world out.

Quiet except for the blood pressure roaring in his ears.

The soles of his uniform footwear peeled off the linoleum as he paced.

Back and forth.

“He is still in surgery.” The sentence said more than it said.

“I know.” John stood quietly to one side. Kayo was off organising security for their brother, terrorising hospital staff in the process.

“He just shot him.” Simple words, so much pain. “For money. The bastard just wanted money.”

Back and forth.

“He didn’t have to shoot him. Why did he shoot him? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, he won’t be doing it again. Our lawyers will see he pays.”

“Scott-“

“God, what if Virgil doesn’t fully recover? What if he can’t...” No, Virg would be okay. He had to be. “I’ll show the bastard exactly what that money can do.”

Quiet. “Scott, he’s dead.”

It took a moment for John’s words to register. “What?”

“Virgil’s assailant died shortly after you left. The hole he fell into collapsed, he was buried and suffocated. The GDF are on recovery. It is going to take a while for the gas to dissipate. We won’t be able to retrieve Thunderbird One until at least the day after - woah, Scott!”

His legs were suddenly jello and unable to support him. His heart was in his throat and breathing was impossible. His brother’s hands caught him, dragging him across the room to a chair. His butt hit plastic and a pair of turquoise eyes filled his vision.

“Scott, you with me?” Cool, ever calm, John’s voice was a balm.

Blink.

“I ignored him. I could have saved him.”

“You had to get Virgil out. You did everything you could.”

He shook his head and the world spun just that little off kilter. “No, no, I didn’t. I heard him. He needed saving. But I...didn’t.”

Those turquoise eyes flinched. “You did what you had to do.”

Voice raw. “He hurt Virgil.” A swallow. “I hated him. Dad-“

No, Dad would have saved him anyway. Everyone deserved to be rescued. That was the core philosophy of International Rescue. That was what Dad believed. That was what Scott believed.

Had believed.

“John, what have I done?”

“What you had to do.”

“I left a man to die.”

“Virgil rescued him, Scott. The guy shot him. You have every right to refuse him. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have injured you as well? He broke up the gas field. He created the situation that endangered both of you as well as himself. You have no obligation to save such a person, especially when another’s life is at risk as well as yours.”

The words were logical, but they just didn’t equate to the hole in his gut where his belief used to lie. He had been tested, sorely tested, and had failed to fly true to the mission.

He had failed.

His head dropped into his hands.

-o-o-o-

His usually bigger than life brother was so small against the white sheets. Face half hidden by an essential oxygen mask, Virgil was pale as a ghost and just as silent.

Scott sat beside his bed and simply stared at him. John sat next to him, worry emanating from the astronaut in waves.

Scott hadn’t spoken an unnecessary word to John in the last hour. The taste of failure was raw and bitter in his throat and it strangled any words that tried to escape.

Virgil had made it through surgery and his doctors were optimistic for a full recovery. It would be slow and his brother would be out of action for weeks, but he would recover.

He would.

Scott reached out a hand and caught his brother’s limp fingers. He brushed across familiar calluses and the cut on his palm where a screwdriver had slipped last week. Virgil had sworn a blue streak over that and scared the crap out of Gordon who had been in the hangar with him at the time.

How many people had that hand saved? How many times had it been offered in help?

Virgil wouldn’t hurt a soul. Hell, the man stepped over ant trails and released insects caught in the house. He was a gentle man who only wanted to help.

That was why it hurt so much. Why Scott had turned his back on their assailant, and on everything he believed.

Not everyone was worth saving.

He closed his eyes.

“Scott?” John was ever so hesitant.

“What would you have done?”

“Exactly what you did.”

He opened his eyes and turned to face John. “Why? Because he is our brother? Because he is Virgil?”

“Scott, I would have done it for anyone, especially a brother. That man forfeited his rights by breaching yours and Virgil’s. You did the right thing.” John grabbed his arm as if to transmit the intensity in his eyes through touch. “If you didn’t, Virgil could have died and that...is not acceptable.”

Not acceptable.

“Dad-“

“Is not here. Did not experience the situation. And...” An indrawn breath. “...He would have done exactly the same thing.”

Scott stared at his brother, part of him desperate to believe, part of him horrified that his father might breach the golden rule.

“And what would Virgil have done?” Perhaps that is what he feared the most. The derision in his brother’s eyes. The loss of faith, of trust.

“V-Virgil, would k-kick y’r ass.” It was raspy and broken, but so Virgil, Scott’s heart lurched. Damp eyelashes let out a glimpse of brown aimed directly at their eldest brother. The oxygen mask fogged as Virgil struggled to concentrate. “J-hn? Wh-t happened?”

“Hey, Virgil.” John answered when Scott’s voice stuck in his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” A slow blink, heavy with medication and sleep. “Wass wrong w- him? Whys he upset?”

“You were injured. Of course, Scott is upset. You know what he is like.”

“I-diot. N-t your fault, Stupid. K-ick y-r ass.”

Okay. So that was familiar, if less subtle than usual.

“Saved me. Always s-saves m-me.” Those eyelids drooped, but his brother was fighting the medication.

Scott realised he still had his brother’s hand in his and squeezed gently. “Rest, Virgil. You can kick my ass later.”

“Will ki- y-r ass. Stup-d. Al-ways blmes yurs-lf.” His words reduced to unintelligible syllables, Virgil’s eyes slipped closed and he drifted off again.

“I find it very interesting that the first thing Virgil thinks of upon regaining consciousness is all about kicking your ass.”

Scott didn’t pick up the jibe. He stared at his unconscious brother. His fingers traced gentle circles on his limp hand

If there was forgiveness, it would be in his brother’s eyes.

-o-o-o-

Time passed as it always does. Virgil grew stronger and was eventually moved out onto the ward. A private room was necessary for security and Kayo hovered like an eagle seeking prey. Virgil was better but still weak. His voice was little more than a rasp and there was pain and medication and the occasional loopy. Gordon held back his sense of humour, but there was some filming that he would no doubt be killed for later when Virgil discovered it.

Scott straightened his spine and focussed on his brother and the necessities of IR management. It worked as a distraction.

Until the day the police came to question Virgil on the incident.

Scott hauled in their lawyer from New Zealand, Jack Dunning. The short, balding, dumpy little man was a long term family attorney and had seen them through many an...incident.

They sent two police, a man and a woman. The woman was very professional. The man, however, appeared somewhat starstruck and Scott had the feeling he had jumped at the chance to meet either an IR operative or a Tracy brother, probably both.

“The victim has been identified as Mr Victor Gomez.” The woman waited for a reaction.

Virgil, sitting up in bed, oxygen cannula under his nose and bags under his eyes, frowned. “Gomez? Wasn’t he one of the thieves who stole FAB1 last year? I thought he was in jail.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “He was, but he had a good lawyer.”

“What?” Scott felt the heat rise to his face. “The man blew up a diamond exchange!”

“The justice system is far from perfect, Mr Tracy. A fact I am sure you are well aware of.” her expression was firm, but kindly and said far more than the words she spoke.

Scott’s lips thinned.

“Mr Virgil Tracy.” The male police officer definitely had stars in his eyes and definitely for Virgil. Scott took a step closer to the bed.

The officer blinked and took a step back.

Virgil whacked Scott on the leg and shot him a glare before turning his attention fully on the officer. “Yes, sir?”

Great, that boosted the guys confidence. Virgil was so damned polite all the time.

His leg was whacked again. “Scott, for goodness sake, sit down.”

It was Scott’s turn to glare at his brother, but he sat down slowly on the chair beside the bed.

“Mr Virgil Tracy, could you relay the events of the incident in question as clearly as you remember, starting from your arrival at the scene.”

Scott bit his lip as Virgil’s still raspy voice spoke of the rescue that led up to the shooting.

“I hauled the victim to the surface. Scott helped him out of the hole and I followed.” Virgil swallowed. “I was just pulling myself out of the mine when the man said something to Scott which I didn’t quite hear. He then turned with a gun in his hand and shot me.”

Scott’s fingernails bit into his palms.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember much after that. Just fragments. The man had some demands, money? I’m not sure of the specifics. Scott...” Virgil frowned and wet his lips. “Scott was there. I remember being afraid for him. I was terrified he would be hurt.” He let out a breath, blinking. Virgil straightened his shoulders as if to shake it off. “Breathing was a problem and I...faded a lot. I was pretty useless. Scott manhandled me onto Thunderbird Two and at some point, I faded out completely. Next I remember is waking up in intensive care.”

“So, you don’t remember the altercation between your brother and Mr Gomez?” The woman’s voice was clear and precise.

Jack shot to his feet as Scott sat up straighter in his seat. Virgil’s eyes widened and he paled. “What altercation? There was no altercation. Scott held onto me the entire time.”

“But you don’t remember, do you Mr Tracy.”

Virgil paled even further, his mouth dropping open. His eyes darted towards Scott, seeking his big brother. “I-“

“You do not need to answer that, Virgil.” Jack held out a hand. “No one has been accused here. A video of the events from Thunderbird Two’s cameras has been submitted, Mr Scott Tracy has submitted his version of events as has Mr John Tracy. Mr Virgil Tracy is injured and even I can see you’ve managed to stress the man already. What is your point?”

“What we have, Mr Dunning, is an incident solely reported by one family. A very powerful family at that, who, I am sure, are used to getting their own way on all fronts. I am here to represent the law and give the victim a voice. A voice that is not drowned out by all the technology and skill of International Rescue.” She spat the name, glaring at Scott the entire time.

“What the-?”

“How dare you!” It burst from his brother, harsh and pain-filled. Virgil was shaking. “We save people. I saved him and he shot me. Scott...he wanted money. He could have shot Scott and I couldn’t...How dare you accuse my brother of harming that man. That is what you are saying, isn’t it?” Brown eyes shot daggers at the woman, their depths lit with outrage. “My brother...” A trembling finger shot in the direction of Scott. “My brother has saved so many people. So many, many people. We saved that man and he shot me, he threatened my brother and you think Scott would attack him?!” Virgil swelled in the bed. “Scott has been castigating himself because he was unable to save the guy. I’ve been lying here watching him beat himself up, and you have the nerve to accuse him of actually causing the man’s death. Do you have any id-ea who you are talking about? This is the c-commander of International Rescue. The man doesn’t have an immoral cell in his b-body.” A shaky breath. “G-get out!” That trembling hand waved at the police, shunting them towards the door. “Get-t out!” A cough and Virgil was hunching over in pain as his lungs attempted to turn themselves inside out.

“Shit, Virg!” Scott was reaching for his brother. Jack was yelling at the police woman. Nurses came running.

And there followed a tense few minutes where his brother tore himself apart attempting to breathe. His hand caught Scott’s and proceeded to crush every bone in it as he struggled to regain control. By the time medication relaxed him enough to calm him, he was almost transparent against the sheets.

Still he rasped out words. “Dare th-y. S-ve Scott, H-ve to save Sc-t.”

“Virgil. Virgil! It’s okay. I’m okay.” He gripped his brother’s hand in both of his own, but Virgil had fallen into a drugged haze and could no longer hear him.

“Virg, c’mon, rest.” He reached out and combed his fingers through his brother’s hair in a last-ditch effort to calm him.

Virgil sighed almost immediately. “Mom...” Scott continued the gentle administration and eventually the sick man fell into an exhausted doze.

God, Virg. Scott let out a breath and slowly dropped his forehead to the edge of the bed and closed his eyes.

Shit.

“Scott?” A blink. Please, just a moment, please. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Tracy.”

Jack.

He sighed and pushed himself up, glancing at his sleeping brother before ushering the lawyer out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Jack.” He rubbed his face.

“Understandable. I just wanted to let you know that they have nothing on you or Virgil. That woman...” He spat the word. “That woman was taking advantage of Virgil’s drugged state to see if she could get any information out of him that could implicate you. Why, I’m not sure, but I am advising you that my law firm will be pressing charges on your behalf. She will never be allowed in a position to do that to anyone else ever again.”

Scott blinked. Jack Dunning was one of the most level headed men he knew. It appeared that he might actually be angry.

“Jack-“

The lawyer raised a hand. “No, Scott. What she did to your brother was inexcusable. Virgil was right.” He reached out and gripped Scott’s arm. “You deserve so much better.” A gentle squeeze and the man let go.

Scott’s eyes were wide.

“Just do me a favour.”

“What?”

“Look after yourself.” And the man turned and left, leaving Scott standing bewildered in the corridor.

-o-o-o-

The next twelve hours were spent in the chair beside Virgil’s bed. About eighty percent of that was an uncomfortable doze that left him with aching muscles and a throbbing headache.

Gordon cornered him at one point and attempted to drag him back to the hotel, but Scott refused. he had to be here when Virgil woke up. They needed to talk.

Of course, Virgil woke while he was asleep. A touch to Scott’s hair and his head shot up to find a pair of brown eyes staring at him.

“Scott?” It was whispered.

“Virgil.” He sat up, ignoring the crick in his neck.

“What are you doing here?” Scott had to lean in to hear what his brother was saying.

A blink. “Where else would I be?”

“In a bed, asleep.” Virgil’s eyes closed slowly, but opened again, the man obviously determined to stay awake. “You look like shit.”

“Pot, kettle, Virg.”

That brown gaze narrowed, focussing. “You did the right thing.”

Scott rubbed his neck. “Oh, I don’t know, my neck may never forgive me.”

Those eyes closed and opened again. “No…leaving him behind. You did the right thing.”

A swallow. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.”

That prompted a snort. “Really? You’re going to try that while looking like that?”

Virgil almost rolled his eyes. Almost. Instead he turned his head looking around the room. “Where’s John?”

Scott glanced at his watch and frowned. “Probably in bed. Unless Gordon is giving him grief. Why?”

“I need someone to kick your ass.”

“Again? Really? Do I look that bad?”

A frown and it became very obvious that Virgil didn’t remember the last time he had threatened to kick his butt. “You look like shit.”

“This conversation is going in a circle.”

“Scott-“

“Virgil, you need rest-“

“I need you to understand!” His brother’s voice grated out of stressed lungs.

“Virg, for god’s sake, calm down.”

His brother grabbed his hand. “You did what you had to do. Stop beating yourself up for it. Dad would have done the same.” A cough. “I would have done the same!”

Scott stared at him. “The man died because I left him to die.”

“The man died because he was an a-asshole.” His brother swallowed and winced. “We can’t save everyone.” Virgil’s eyes squeezed shut and his hand tightened around Scott’s. The bruises on his hand from the last time his brother had grabbed him made themselves known and he flinched just a little.

Virgil’s eyes shot open and he frowned, staring down at his hand. He let go. “Did I do that?”

Scott grabbed his brother’s hand back. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.” He tried again to let his brother’s hand go, but Scott wouldn’t let him, wrapping both hands around his brother’s.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is you getting better so you can climb out of that bed and kick my ass yourself.”

“It’s all about your ass.” His brother let out a sigh and his eyes closed again. This time he spoke without opening them, each word painfully enunciated. “If you had been shot, I would have done the same. I may have even done more. He wanted money and was willing to trade lives to get it.” His eyes opened and caught Scott’s. “I would have saved him if I could, but if it comes to a simple equation of my brother or the man who shot him...the answer will always be my brother.” A slow blink. “I can’t lose you, Scott. It will always be you.”

It took Scott a moment to remember his brother was still heavily medicated, still only half-awake. “Virgil-“

“Scott, stop beating yourself up. You did nothing wrong. Go to bed so I can get some sleep.” Another slow blink. “Y-you snore.”

It was the last two words that did it more than anything his brother had said before. Two simple words so his brother it hurt.

A gentle squeeze of his hand. “Okay, Virg. You get some sleep.”

“Planning on it.” His eyes closed, eyelashes brushing ever so pale cheeks. “Go to bed.”

He didn’t move immediately, content to watch his brother slip into slumber again. Virgil’s breathing evened out and his hand fell limp in Scott’s fingers.

God, it had been close.

His brother or the man who shot him.

A simple equation.

Scott bit his lip.

Virgil was right.

The answer would always be his brother.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #nuttys fandomversary

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vaderssidechick · 5 years

Text

FIC Snippet: Dark Angel: Dathomir, Chapter II (From the Chronicles of House Vader Series)

SUMMARY: Lylla and and the elite Imperial Stormtroopers of SCAR Squadron are on Dathomir to capture six Nightsisters for Lylla’s personal guard. Riding across the plains of Dathomir on her Rancor and their Dewbacks, Lylla and Sergeant Kreel have a conversation-- and come to an understanding.

Series can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/762363

“I read some things,” said Kreel, “about the Jedi, their view of the Force, both the Light and the Dark. ‘Defend all life, no matter what’. Even if that ‘life’ is murdering your family in front of you." Lylla noted how Kreel’s fist tightened around his reins. "Pretty words, and utter bantha shavit. That's not how the universe works.” He tapped that fist on his armored thigh with every word. “Order. Strength. And the will to do what needs to be done. That's what keeps the peace, that's what brings security. Lord Vader understands that. If he uses the Dark Side of the Force to make it happen for this shit galaxy, it doesn’t bother me one bit."

Lylla settled back in her saddle, eyeing him intently. "Tell me your opinion of Lord Vader, Sergeant.” She cracked a smile when Kreel peered at her through his lenses. “I assure you, this conversation is confidential. The tac-net is muted. You are safe."

He stared at her for a few more seconds, measuring her intent, before he conceded, "He is the greatest warrior I've ever known, Baroness. I don't just mean as Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces. I mean on the ground, in the mess, fighting beside us. Your platoon deploys with Lord Vader, you know you're coming home alive that day. He fights like an AT-AT and fears nothing.”

"How does he treat his men?” she asked, genuinely curious. “The troops I mean.”

Kreel hesitated for a moment before he huffed a chuckle. "He positively dotes on us, ma'am. I mean, in his own way.”

She chuckled back. "I understand. Perfectly."

“He’s got no respect for those family-connected Prefsbelt boys in the officers’ corps, who call a battle from cushioned seats and bellies full of real food. Well, Piett maybe, but he’s a Rimworlder who’s seen some action, like me.” He cocked his helmet toward her. “Like you.” Lylla smirked. Kreel continued. “Lord Vader is demanding, but he expects excellence and inspires us to achieve it." He blew a sigh. “When the Garscon system went public in their support for Lord Vader as the Emperor’s legal heir, he granted every troop in the 501st a reenlistment bonus of five years pay. Tax free, right into the every troops’ account. And doubled our pensions and death benefits to the families. That’s almost a million credits per troop.” He snorted. “Pissed the officers’ corps off to no end, which made it even sweeter. Hell, we had nothing to do with the Garsconi Allegiance, but he did it anyway.”

“Really?” Vader had taken the tithe she’d manipulated from the King and Queen of Garscon and awarded it to the 501st? She huffed an incredulous breath. “And he says he’s not a politician.”

“Ma’am?”

“I needn’t tell you that his actions weren’t out of benevolence, do I? He was ensuring the 501st’s loyalty.”

Kreel shrugged. “It worked. Every troop in Vader’s Fist signed back up. We make it out of the corps alive, we’re set for life. We don’t, families don’t sell their kids to feed their other kids. A good life for us, and a good death too. Not like the fucking Republic did to their clones.”

“Do you think he’ll make a good Emperor, Sergeant Kreel?” Kreel slowly turned to meet Lylla’s cold stare. “Be truthful. Do not tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“As far as I’m concerned, ma'am, he already is,” Kreel answered, lowly yet firmly. “Lord Vader isn’t just a man. He’s a symbol, the embodiment of the Empire itself. And...with a woman like you at his side, I have no doubt that he will raise the Empire to even greater glory and prosperity.” He held her cowl-shrouded white stare before he jerked his attention forward. “I just hope I’m around to see that day.”

But Lylla never broke hers on him. She allowed a few moments to pass before it was time to finally get this out in the open. “And what do you plan on doing with that bonus when you leave, Sergeant? Settle down? Make little Kreels?”

Kreel huffed. “Don’t plan on leaving the Forces on my feet, Baroness. No better death than dying in the name of the Empire. But by the Force-damned chance that I might…” He shook his head. “No. That ain’t me.”

“You sure about that? A powerful…” She took a long, deliberate breath, “virile man like you leading a life of celibacy? Sounds downright Jedi.” A beat. “What a waste.”

She’d done something with her voice, woven it into a silken purr that seeped into his ear and curled around his neck like a loth kitt. Kreel slowly turned her way, right into the trap of her white eyes. Even under the shadow of her cowl, he saw her pupils blown wide under her black lashes, and the subtlest curve in her moist lips caused his breath to hitch. He couldn’t count how many nubile pleasure-slave bodies he had seen in his lifetime, all of which would cause any groin to twitch. But they paled in comparison to the sultry look this creature was giving him now.

Lylla tilted her head. “May I ask you a question, Sergeant?”

“Of course, Baroness,” he said through a throat that had gone suddenly dry.

“Why don’t you ever take your helmet off?” She gave a lilting shrug. “I’ve seen all of SCAR’s faces, but never yours. Why is that?”

“I take it off to eat and sleep. And then only sometimes,” he answered quickly.

“I didn’t ask when you take it off. I asked why you don’t.”

That sniper-scope glare of hers told him she wasn’t about to let up. Kreel sighed. “Very well, Baroness. You know I’m from Chagar IX.”

“Of course.”

“You know Chagar IX was a Republic penal colony for the Zapaach Sector before the Empire came?”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I do.”

“Then you know that prisoners interbred. A hundred different species for a hundred generations.” He straightened in his saddle. “I’m not entirely human, ma’am.”

Lylla arched a brow. “I see. You don’t want to call attention.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. My helmet is my face, my armor is my skin. I’m an Imperial stormtrooper, that’s it. Don’t need to be anyone or anything else.” He blew a breath. “Haven’t seen my own face in years.”

“Not even to shave?”

“I don’t grow hair, so don’t need to.”

Kreel turned at her coquettish laugh to see her hand slide under her cowl, fetching a lock of her scarlet hair. When she pulled it out, it went past her shoulder. “Consider yourself lucky, Sergeant.” She laughed again, a giggle and a growl all rolled into one.

A bead of sweat dripped under his helmet. He knew flirting when he saw it, and this woman was a master. She’s testing you, idiot, he growled in his head. Don’t kriff this up.

She pinched a tiny frown as she examined the lock. “Hmm. Doesn’t usually grow this fast.”

“Must be this planet,” he grunted, shifting again in his saddle, looking off at the rusted cliffs to his right. “Like you said, it’s affecting us.” He paused, and cracked his neck with a jerk. “It’s affecting me.”.

"You are referring to your sexual desire for me, which has only intensified since we landed," Lylla stated bluntly. Kreel snapped his head back to her and went completely stiff. Her smirk widened into a grin. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, Sergeant.”

Kreel felt like a Gundark just kicked him in the chest. “Baroness...” A rush of breath came from his vocoder as he looked away. His heart pounded in his ears.

But then, Lylla chuckled. “It’s the planet, like you said. I’m not offended.” She tossed a wave. “Besides, I know I’ve intrigued you these last weeks.” She locked eyes with him again. “I was a pleasure slave, Sergeant. I can read men like a star chart. I’m fully aware of how beautiful I am. You think I don’t still use it?” But the grin faded as her eyes grew dark. “It’s what kept me alive for so long.”

“Saw a lot of pleasure slaves, both on Chagar IX and Nar Shaddaa,” Kreel blurted quietly. “They were beautiful too. Never met one who made it past the age of twenty-five.” Lylla slit her eyes into an icy glare. He shook his head. “What I mean is… You’re different. They weren’t smart like you. They never learned how to play the game to survive. They never got good at what they were. That’s how you come out alive. That’s why you survived the skin trade, and I survived the fighting pits.”

Lylla defrosted her glare on the Sergeant. “We have much in common, don’t we? We both got good. For you it was killing, for me it was kriffing.”

“We were both child soldiers, Baroness. Just in different kriffed-up divisions.”

She stared at him for a moment. “I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.”

Silence hung between them before Kreel stiffened to attention in his saddle and looked forward. “I beg your forgiveness for… these urges.” He took a deep breath. “When you inform Lord Vader, I will gladly accept my punishment.” But when he looked her way, the Baroness wore an expression of amused chagrin.

“I told you Sergeant,” she said, “this conversation is completely confidential. I won’t tell Lord Vader a thing.” Her voice darkened after a pause. “Unless, of course, you give me reason to.”

She needn’t say more. The scowl that seethed from under her cowl told him everything. He’d seen that look before, in the eyes of the slave-warriors he’d been forced to fight in the pits.

Touch me, and I will utterly destroy you.

Drawing his huge shoulders back, Kreel reached into his pouch. “Baroness, you are my commander and, in time, my Empress. I will never betray you nor Lord Vader in that way or any other. I swear this to you.” He pulled out his lightsaber, turned the grip around and held it out to her. “If I even look at you wrong from here on out,” he said, his voice low and severe, “You can run this through my chest.”

Lylla drew back in her saddle, mouth dropped open. A truth effervesced in her mind, one that until this moment was still just a plan in motion, a reality that hadn’t fully manifested yet. But here it was, now and very real, astride a beast and offering her his life.

A warrior swearing fealty to his queen.

Lylla found her breath again and collected some composure. Now it was her avoiding Kreel’s gaze. “Well then, I’m glad we have an understanding.” She cleared her throat, irritated at its abrupt dehydration. She grasped her canteen once again and brought it to her lips. “You may put that away now. I don’t even know how to turn it on.” And took several long, tight swigs.

Kreel drew his lightsaber back, puzzled by the Baroness’s sudden fluster. “As you wish, ma’am.”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fan fic #lylla #vader #scar squadron #dark angel scarlet dragon #vadylla #sergeant kreel #Marvel Comics

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phroyd · 5 years

Link

There are still a few things in public life that you cannot fake. You can fake photographs and you can fake news. You can fake conviction and you can fake emotions. You can fake a Twitter-petition and you can fake Facebook outrage. But you cannot fake an almighty crowd.

The numbers attending Saturday’s march for a second “people’s vote” on Brexit will no doubt be contested. The organisers claimed more than a million people were out; detractors inevitably argued a few thousand fewer. But make no mistake, for anyone who travelled to it, and shuffled along among it and who tried to find their way home after it, the Put it to the People march represented a formidable sea of humanity, and a powerful strength of feeling.

And let no one tell you that this was just a London crowd. By 10.30 at Speaker’s Corner there were people arriving for the high noon rendezvous from all corners of the country and beyond. Groups draped in the saltires of Scotland and the dragons of Wales. Anna Soubry MP was among the earliest arrivals, walking cheerfully down Park Lane through the gathering crowds with her daughter (“my security for the day”) having been forced to stay away from her home last night after death threats.

Meanwhile phones were alive with feeds and photos of people making their way from Newport and Newcastle, Carlisle and Canterbury. An entire train had been booked from Bristol, rattling along Brunel’s Great Western Railway into Paddington. There were overnight coaches from Inverness, dawn starts from Cornwall.

Some had gone more than the extra mile. Ed Sides, 63, had walked here from his home in Swansea over the past couple of weeks. I’d spoken to him on the penultimate leg of his journey, along the Grand Union Canal. “If I didn’t do something I felt I would regret it for the rest of my life,” he said, voicing the sentiment of many. Sides had tried to make the theme of his quest “walking and talking”: “When you talk to ardent Leavers and you meet them on the street, or by a riverbank where they are fishing or whatever, you find you can have a proper conversation,” he said. “And that’s something we all need to do in the coming days.”

Like many of the marchers, he felt that if nothing else walking had been a good way of avoiding the stress and frustrations of watching the news. “I thought, if I am sitting at home on Twitter for the next three weeks I am going to go insane.”

That feeling was shared by those expats who had flown in from the continent who, having been denied a vote in the first referendum, were now facing the climax of three years of painful uncertainty. Rebecca MacKian, 52, who has lived in Turin for the past 15 years, joined up with 20 others from the “British in Italy” group to be here.

“If no-deal happens then the next morning we will become what the Italian government now calls an ‘illegal resident’,” she said, a status that will affect everything about her life from driving a car to continuing to run her training business. “We have literally been working every day – 1,000 days – with each other to try to get some clarity on all of it. I never thought I would become addicted to Parliament TV, but I have.”

Jason Harris, 47, had got up at 2am to be here with his 14-year-old son Oran. They lived on the frontline of backstop territory in South Armagh, Northern Ireland, three miles from the border. Harris, a landscape designer who works on both sides of the border every week, also felt he had to be here rather than shouting at the television. “It is clear that either no deal or her deal will leave things in Northern Ireland up in the air for years,” he said. “I fear we will spend the next decades just trying to get back the freedoms we have given away.”

Like many on the march his priority had changed in the past week or so, with the options narrowing and the cliff-edge looming, and the online petition torevoke article 50 climbing towards 5 million signatures. “Revoke would now be number one, number two people’s vote,” he said. That idea had travelled in this crowd. Variations of the three Rs populated signs and banners: revoke, remain and reform.

There have been many attempts to divide the respective Leave and Remain tribes since the referendum – into somewheres and nowheres, populists and globalists, gammons and snowflakes.

One of the simplest distinctions, however, has always seemed to come down to that division between those who relish the idea of being cheek-by-jowl with people unlike themselves, and those who feel threatened by that idea. As the tide of protesters inched its way along Piccadilly toward Trafalgar Square it looked like an above-ground exhibition of what most Londoners experience below ground every day: the tolerant sharing of space with others. The people who had come to demonstrate voiced, above all, a conviction, to borrow that telling phrase from Jo Cox, “that we have more in common than that which divides us”. (Cox, it goes without saying, would have loved this event. Her killer would have loathed it.)

There had been suggestions that the march would be met by counter-demonstrations, but there were none in evidence. As the crowd first massed, with its blue and gold EU flags, I heard one or two shouts of “traitors” from those driving by. These “patriots” would have done well to talk to Brigadier Stephen Goodall, who led the “Veterans For EU” group.

Goodall will be 97 in June. He had travelled up from his home in Devon with four generations of his family including his great-granddaughter. During the war he helped to pull survivors out of the rubble of the Coventry bombing. He served in India and Burma and was awarded the Military Cross in 1945 for bravery behind enemy lines.

I had spoken to the brigadier the day before the march about his reasons for coming. “It was an easy decision,” he said. “There is not much time left for me to do anything and I just feel if we can even at this late stage get people thinking sensibly, then it will be worthwhile.” His great anxiety, as a former controller of the Slimbridge Wildlife Trust, was that our fractured politics would deflect us from the co-operative spirit required to combat climate change. “One thing that I always bear in mind from when we were in Malaya in the 1950s,” he said, “was this imperative that governance was first about reaching hearts and minds. We need politicians who think first of people,” he said, “not about their investments in the City of London.”

Goodall was pushed in his wheelchair near the head of the march, along with a brass band. It was impossible watching that sight not to make some comparisons with those few stubborn souls on the ill-fated “March to Leave”, moved to trudge along lonely hard-shoulders by Nigel Farage, only to find that he had turned up for the photo opportunity and left them to fend for themselves. Farage, alive to BBC requirements for “balance”, had returned to preach on Saturday to his handful of leaderless foot soldiers at a pub car park in Linby, Nottinghamshire: “You are the 17.4 million,” he told a crowd of 150.

As the thousands upon thousands flowed down towards Parliament Square there was, contrarily, a spirit that the Brexiters have failed over the past three years ever to begin to convey: that of creative optimism. You saw it in the 100 and more tango dancers led by Matthew Cooper, who had met in growing numbers on each of the past three protest marches, aged between 20 and 80. And in the improvised speeches on freedom given by an Emmeline Pankhurst lookalike under the statue of the suffragette. And even in the bloke flogging Donald Trump toilet rolls from a shopping trolley to stockpile should the rationing begin.

There was a very droll Britishness in the spirit that tempered any edges of anger from the many younger voices on the march. There were lots more students’ union buses than on previous marches, and among them plenty who had lost their faith in the Labour leadership to solve the crisis and deliver on its conference commitment to campaign for a second referendum.

Power wants your body softening in your chair and your emotions dissipating on a screen. Get outside.

That brief marchers’ favourite “Oooh Jeremy Corbyn” had been replaced for several sections of this crowd by a more plaintive “Where’s Jeremy Corbyn?” The answer, perversely, was that the Labour leader was canvassing in Morecambe Bay – about as far from this event as it was symbolically possible to go.

Only one of Labour’s frontbench felt able to lend his voice to this event. Tom Watson, breaking ranks, was given something of a hero’s welcome on the speakers’ stage alongside some of those others who have emerged from the sorry parliamentary process with heads held high: Soubry, Jess Phillips, Dominic Grieve, David Lammy, Caroline Lucas; and some of those from beyond the Commons who have best articulated the cause of returning to the people to find a way through the current impasse: Michael Heseltine and Nicola Sturgeon.

Their collective message served as a reminder that when the prime minister stands up again this week and claims to speak for “the people” with her unloved deal and her fingernails-down-the-blackboard phrases about delivering Brexit, she will not speak for the million individuals who filled the wide streets and squares of the capital yesterday, or for the millions more across the country who were with them in spirit.

Watching the crowd I was reminded of a book I reviewed for this paper not long after those electoral convulsions of 2016 here and across the Atlantic. The book, On Tyranny, by the Yale historian Timothy Snyder, was a little survival guide against the digital forces of populism and the brutalist politics they promoted. Snyder called above all for a “corporeal politics” in response, for voting with paper ballots that can be counted and recounted; for face-to-face conversation, and for marching rather than online petitioning: “Power wants your body softening in your chair and your emotions dissipating on a screen. Get outside. Put your body in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people.”

Those who did this on Saturday will no doubt be told in the coming days, as Britain determines the kind of country it will become, that they were wasting their time and effort. But this march mattered in the simple and fundamental way that mass marches always matter: as a reminder to those who make decisions in their name that democracy is not a settled state, but a shifting expression of collective will. As one little girl’s sign had it: “The people are STILL speaking”.

Phroyd

#brexit #london #protest #uk news #article 50

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powerstrangerdacre · 5 years

Text

Blame

Part 1 - you, me, us

Part 2 - “his&hers” chains

Part 3 - NORMAL

Summary: She realized, she ahd rid herself of the chains her parents had put her in, only to be tied by even stronger ones.

“What do you need me for?” she asked.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: Cursing? (Maybe?)

Wordcount: 2700+

AN: ‘Ello! Well... I finally got around to posting the second part to this! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long. Tell me what you think and thanks for reading! (Part 1 in my masterlist)

Huge thanks to @theoneanna and to @mercuryriver for proofreading. You guys are the best. ^^

When she finally got home, her parents were waiting at the dinner table. She could already tell this was nothing good from the way her mother smiled at her when she entered. Her smile didn’t drop as Y/N went and kissed her cheek and she noticed the tear-tracks down her daughters face. “We’ve got great news,” her mother simply stated.

“What about, mama?” Y/N asked, taking her place at the dining table.

“About the Stark boy.” Her father turned and grabbed her mother’s hand, as if to reinforce whatever she was going to say. “We’ve heard about the death of his parents and we taught that this would be a great time to… introduce him into our family.”

Y/N shivered, her eyes moving from her father to her mother. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well… we thought he would be a great addition. Stark Industries is his now and that’s a lot of… responsibility for a boy his age. We thought your father could help him run it. That it would take that load off his mind.”

Y/N choked on air, finally understanding where her parents were coming from. “You want me to marry Tony? So papa can take over his business?”

“Well… not exactly… But yes. I guess that’s the gist of it.”

Y/N thought of her life under her parent’s supervision. How they had micro-managed every little thing that she ever did. How they turned her into some… some mindless puppet with strings instead of a conscience. She could never allow that to happen to Tony, no matter what happened to her. She couldn’t allow that to happen when he was the only one who ever made her feel like an actual person rather than a pawn. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Her mother asked.

“Because he broke up with me.” Y/N’s lips pulled into a smirk. What seemed to be hell just an hour prior, was a blessing right now. At least she had a reason why she couldn’t do her mother’s bidding.

“What?!” The table shook with the power of her mother’s anger. The glasses clinking together and the dishes jumping. “What the hell did you do?! He was entranced with you just days ago!” she yelled.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mother. He was never ‘entranced’ with me, as you so nicely put it. I was just a toy…” She sighed, even though it was a blessing, it didn’t mean it didn’t sting. “Much like what I am to you… correct?”

And that’s when all hell broke loose. Her parents started screaming at her to go and get him back. To do whatever she needed to get him to agree to marry her. And that’s when she snapped.

“I am not some pawn you can play with or some chip meant for bargaining! I won’t put him through what you did to me! I won’t! And you can’t force me to!” She slammed her hands on the table, standing up. She was finally ready to walk away from this life and make one for herself.

That’s when her parents knew it had been a mistake to let her play with that kid. To let him “spoil” her. And that’s when they decided that they weren’t going to make the same mistake again.

Life went on for Tony. He turned over a new leaf and in the end started working on his father’s company as soon as he was out of college. He designed weapons until he finally realized that maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t so good for his health. Then came the Avenger initiative and he was recruited for what he thought were obvious reasons and in the end he became a superhero with a bit of PTSD.

And still, he always felt like something was missing. He had Pepper, but soon even that became too much of a chore for him to handle. She noticed and broke up with him, telling him that “It’s better if you find someone who’s better qualified. Like a psychiatrist or a magician.”.

He knew that he had a lot of baggage that came with him. He knew that there was no person in the world that could take all that he was and be even remotely okay with having a relationship with an alcoholic that had sleeping problems and PTSD. Still, he hoped he at least had some good karma with the fact that he had saved the earth a few times.

Until it all came crashing down.

Y/N’s steps are careful and well-calculated. She knows what is about to happen. She knows this will inevitably end in more death than the earth had ever seen before. She knows it’s ludicrous, and yet she can’t stop the smile that spreads across her lips or the quickening of her steps as she enters the council meeting.

“Miss Y/L/N, how great to see you again!” one of the members say, offering a handshake.

Y/N hisses internally. She might’ve changed her name, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel like a Persico. Like a liar and a killer. Like part of the bloodline that killed so many, without even blinking an eye. And still, she guesses she’d made that bloodline proud up until now. “It’s great to see you too, Mrs Pierce.” Y/N shakes the woman’s hand, her eyes narrowing at the feeling of it. She sees Pierce’s eyes widen, making a smirk appear on her lips.

She lets go of the woman’s hand, picking up a glass of champagne with a flourish. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the birth of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s newest division.” Laughter fills the room. “Without further ado, I present to you: Project Insight.” Her eyes shift to the windows, where the helicarriers are slowly ascending to the surface. The room seems to be in shock, which was exactly the type of reaction she had expected.

“What the hell are those things?”

Y/N’s eyes zeroed in on the owner of the shaky voice, focusing on none other than Congressman Johnson. “They’re helicarriers, congressman. I thought someone as versed in the means of war as you would at least know that,” Y/N said, taking a sip of her champagne.

“I know what helicarriers are, Miss Y/L/N. The thing I’m concerned about is the fact that this is supposed to be a meeting about the security of our people, not decimation,” he hissed, now turning to face the younger girl. Seeing the grin spread on her lips, he started to worry about the poor choice they’d made when they named her the head of S.H.I.E.L.D..

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Johnson.” She took a few steps in his direction, a second flute of champagne in her hands. “What if… let’s say, and this is only a imaginary situation… Let’s say Pakistan decided to march into Mumbai tomorrow, and you could stop it with a simple flip of a switch.” She offered him the flute of champagne with a smile. “Wouldn’t you flip it?”, her head cocked to the side, watching his reaction with a smile.

Now he knew she was delusional. Not only would this mean fear inflicted on every citizen of the world, but it also meant huge losses for the weapon industry and the entire army. He eyed the flute of champagne warily. Hell, with how crazy she seemed to be, even that could be poisoned. “Not if it’s your switch,” he said, throwing the glass to the floor, the clang of it as it sprang to pieces startling everyone in the room.

Y/N seemed calm. Collected. Inside, she was raging with a fire she couldn’t stop or control. “Is that so, congressman?” She turned away with a smile. This would most definitely be fun if nothing else. She grabbed the pistol from one of the guards in front of her, turning to the congressman but eyeing a very calm misses Pierce. She wouldn’t pull the trigger. She wouldn’t kill anyone. She didn’t need that blood on her hands. After all, she had gone so long as a HYDRA agent without actually having to kill anyone.

Just like she had expected, “Mrs. Pierce” jumped into action, pushing the congressman aside and grabbing Y/N’s hand. In less than a few seconds, she had all the guards inside the room incapacitated, but Y/N had escaped her grasp.

Natasha could hear the slow clapping coming from behind her. And oh, she knew that what was to come would not be fun if Fury didn’t hurry and make it to the council room.

“Well done, Agent Romanoff. I see your skills haven’t gotten any rustier since our last meeting.” Y/N laughed. “But I think the years haven’t been very nice to you, huh?”

The red-head eyed the girl with a frown. How the hell hadn’t she seen this coming? How had she never noticed the HYDRA agent in their midst? She ripped the mask off her face and the wig off her head, now coming face-to-face with Y/N. Natasha let the hand holding a gun fall to her side, a smirk pulling at her lips.

“I do have to say, your tech is magnificent,” Y/N said.

Natasha’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She had expected a fight. She had expected the girl to try everything to get out. But she wasn’t. She only grabbed yet another flute of champagne, taking light sips from it. It was as if she wanted to be caught, only biding her time until someone got there to take her to prison.

“Your tech is quite nice as well. HYDRA hook you up with a nice plastic surgeon?” Natasha asked, noticing how Y/N hadn’t aged a single day since the last time she had seen her.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not exactly.”

Natasha suddenly felt bad for the girl. She knew it wasn’t her choice to be here, to do this. She could see the remorse and pain hidden in her eyes, deep under tens of layers of madness and wrath. “What happened to you, Y/N?” she asked

“Oh, you know… Just the usual HYDRA cocktail,” she shrugged. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it now? Your friends will be here soon and I’ll be locked up in some high-security prison, away from the eyes of the onlookers and away from where I can cause the world any more harm.” Y/N drowned the rest of the champagne with a tip of the head, humming in delight at the taste of the exquisite alcohol. ‘Just a bit longer,’ she thought.

Just as Natasha had deciphered the meaning behind her words, Fury and none other than Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit made their way into the room.

“There you are!” Y/N exclaimed, “I was starting to think you actually died!” Laughter ripped from her throat. “Phew, right?! That’s one life off my account, right?!”

Fury shook his head at the girl. Goddamn the people that had managed to mess her up so badly that she couldn’t even see straight anymore.

“Tony, get her out of here.”

As Tony’s eyes landed on the girl who was supposed to be their enemy, his heart stopped. Not because he was surprised of where she had landed, but because she just wasn’t that girl that he used to know anymore. Her eyes were wild and her smirk was crooked. The smile he had once fallen in love with nowhere to be seen.

His Iron Man mask retracted, and he expected her to start yelling. He expected her to start screaming at him for being the reason why she had ended where she did. But he almost thought it to be worse, when she didn’t. There wasn’t a fraction of recognition on her face. None whatsoever. Only a smile as he stepped closer to her and tied her arms behind her back. Nothing had ever felt so wrong to him. And he finally understood how Steve felt when he first saw the Winter Soldier.

He walked her out of the Triskelion, almost expecting her to be pretending. Almost hoping she would say something to him as soon as they were out of ear-shot. He wanted her to explain herself. He wanted her to say something, anything. But she didn’t say anything as they walked out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. She didn’t utter a word as he loaded her into the truck that was to take her to the prison. He watched as she kept her head down, almost like she was pleased with the outcome. Almost like she had wanted all of it to end. She just kept her head down, silently sitting between the government agents that had come to take her.

He knew she wouldn’t speak, so he decided he should. “Honey, I…” He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say.

Y/N’s eyes shot up at the mention of the loving nickname. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the man before her. “Don’t call me that.”

And with that, the agents closed the doors on her, the car speeding off towards their destination. Tony was left behind. Left to wonder what the hell had happened while he wasn’t around. Left to wonder where the sweet girl he knew had gone. Left to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she was what his life was missing.

Y/N sat in the seat, her wrists stinging from the tightness of the cuffs. Her ears started ringing the moment the car set into motion. Her gut wrenching and twisting from the way her head was pounding. She didn’t yell. She didn’t scream. She didn’t fight it. She couldn’t fight it anymore, but she knew what was coming. She still hoped they’d make it to the prison before it all came down. She hoped she would be locked away before they got to her completely.

The moment the car pulled to a stop, her eyes shot open. No, this was too soon. They hadn’t reached the destination yet. No.

The door opened, and she saw him. She shuddered in fear. They had sent their best asset for her, they must’ve been really pissed. She watched as he pulled the agents out of the car one by one, throwing them on the asphalt. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and then, gunshots. Five gunshots. Probably one more, reserved especially for her, since she had messed up big time. She hugged her knees to her chest, preparing for the noise. Preparing for the pain.

Only, there was no sixth gunshot. The pain never came. Her ears never rung. She only felt a hand on her arm, and then she was being pulled out of the car. Her feet touched the ground and she looked up at him. “How you doin’ soldier?” she asked. It was obvious he wasn’t going to respond, he wasn’t the most talkative of HYDRA’s agents. They started walking down to where he had left his bike. “Not going to tell me what happened to you?” she asked, again not expecting an answer. “Had a run-in with your good ol’ pal, the Captain?”

Suddenly, she was being grabbed by both arms and he was staring at her with something that looked like worry in his eyes. “Bucky?” Her voice trembled, her hands shook.

“Who’s Bucky?” he asked, his face becoming stoic once more.

Of course not, she thought. There’s no way he would ever be able to snap out of it. There was no way he would ever be like her. There was no way he would ever feel something like worry or regret. He could just kill her right there and then and not bat an eye. Just like he had done to the Starks. Just like he had done to any other one of his victims. He would never remember who he was.

And she envied him for it. She envied him for not having to live with the guilt and the sorrow of what he had lost, because he would never know. But she did. She had to live with everything. She had to live with the thought of how many lives had been taken because of her orders. She had to live with the thought of her parents. She had to live with the knowledge that she had lost herself. Because she had. Even if she could remember who she had been, they had changed her. They had made her into what they needed: a person with power. A person with power who was under their control.

And she realized, she had rid herself of the chains her parents had put her in, only to be tied by even stronger ones.

“What do you need me for, soldier?” she asked.

Taglist: @artisticlales @theoneanna @imnotusedtobeingloved @lilulo-12 @encounterthepast @thequeenofgood @tone-stark @thedelicatechippedcup

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fanfic #tony stark fic #tony stark imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

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