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softlyspector · 2 years

Text

Then and Now

Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.5k

Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.

Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.

Now

Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day.

The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle.

The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.

Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy.

“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.

Benny, who you used to see daily.

But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.

Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked.

Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun.

Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.”

“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him.

Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days.

Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.”

You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.”

“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”

“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.”

Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be.

“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.”

“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?”

Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.”

“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.”

You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.”

He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you.

He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.”

Santi’s ring.

It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing.

I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers.

You never take it off.

You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”

He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time.

Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes.

“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.”

“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.”

“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.”

He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.”

“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?”

“Who says we need to go into that town at all?”

“Ah. So there is no plan.”

“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.”

Santi.

An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you.

“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”

You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.”

“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”

His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.”

Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”

“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.”

“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.”

And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”

And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life.

Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.

Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?”

“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother.

“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”

It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will.

Or Santi.

Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.

A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.

You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.

But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics.

“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”

You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta.

It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad.

You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else.

You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta.

And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him.

Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted.

Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto.

Santiago. God, Santiago.

You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world.

Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart.

Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted.

He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing.

You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it.

Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were.

You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone.

Santi was the same - and so you drifted together.

You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem.

There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors.

When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.

He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it.

“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen.

You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it.

You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you.

“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.

“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.”

You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke.

It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families.

And Santi…when you called, he came.

He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name.

You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from.

And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects.

You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that.

The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.

But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis.

Compartmentalizing became key.

But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind.

He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray.

He came and went, but he always came back to you.

When you called, he came.

He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood.

You were something close to a relationship, but not quite.

Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.

And when Santi was in town - even better.

You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.”

You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again.

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.”

You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.”

“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?”

“Pope won’t like it.”

“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”

You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.

Then

The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.

Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need.

The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move.

Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home.

The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town.

“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”

Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -

Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.”

Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you.

You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt.

“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.”

“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart.

His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe.

His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,”

Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber.

“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.”

You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.”

You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you.

One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours.

He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.

But you’ve never had better, will never have better again.

Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes.

He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you.

You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone.

The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck.

You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him.

Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat.

“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.”

He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.”

You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles.

Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you.

The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill.

The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending.

His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug.

You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours.

“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer.

“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.”

Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet.

He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in.

Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying.

The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you.

But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you.

And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.

You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.

He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like.

And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it.

The fucking is by far the best part.

You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk.

That’s when things feel normal again.

That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up.

But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit.

It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his.

The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.

He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs.

Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs.

But you can’t do it, at least not yet.

For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job.

Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter.

You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around.

Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside.

You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck.

Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you.

“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.”

It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him.

And that you’d probably never love anyone else.

Now

“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place.

“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill.

You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily.

Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.

“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you.

Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask.

It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you.

No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.

You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family.

Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling.

“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.”

“That’s great-,”

“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?”

“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.”

Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?”

“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.”

“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.”

Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table.

Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you.

Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them.

You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else.

“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom.

“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?”

You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.”

“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes.

Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time.

You glance away.

“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?”

Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.

You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.

Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member.

You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts.

“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask.

“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.”

“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”

You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you.

“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.”

“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.

“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.”

“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.”

Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.”

Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening.

You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.”

Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor.

It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke.

The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi.

He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will.

Anything to keep the siblings together.

He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.

But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful.

Age suited him well.

The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve.

Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill.

You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand.

Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill.

“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt.

“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest.

“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.”

Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.”

You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”

Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.”

And he leaves it at that.

Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell.

Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric.

“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?”

Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged.

“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch.

Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.”

“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.”

Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind.

You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.

But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something.

“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor.

“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over.

He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese.

“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough.

“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.”

He doesn’t move to pick up the map.

You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.”

“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”

Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.”

“I’ll be careful.”

You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.”

Since one of you died! You want to shout.

“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,”

And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag.

And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral.

And this time it could be Santi or Benny or -

You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control.

“Hey -,”

His voice is too soft, too close.

“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.”

Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza.

“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.”

“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.”

You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings.

“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?”

“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”

You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.

“Fine.”

Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed.

And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream.

Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help.

“We should talk about it,” he says.

You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck.

Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.”

“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing.

But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.

Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.”

“Fuck off, Pope.”

He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.”

You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”

Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.”

“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?”

“What?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.”

His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?”

Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.”

He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.”

“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?”

Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders.

“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.”

“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water.

Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything.

And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it.

Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

He didn’t know how to go back to you.

He didn’t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six.

“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down.

Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission.

All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you.

All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you.

Fuck.

No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said -

He can’t think about that right now.

You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while.

“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.”

Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms.

Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.

The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report.

Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”

“Roger. Sitting tight.”

Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice.

“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives.

“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?”

There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.”

“Injury report.”

“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.”

“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.”

Your line clicks out, the static retreating.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit.

He knows.

Fuck, he knows.

He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works.

You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away.

Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.

The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.”

You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck.

Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you.

It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow.

You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow.

Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again.

You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.”

Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen.

When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?”

He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back.

Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove.

A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.

“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you.

Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?”

“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.”

All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.”

Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it.

You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath.

Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother.

You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you.

He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission.

Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.”

He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat.

“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.”

“Only a little. No bullet in me.”

He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.”

“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands.

He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you.

Fuck were you pretty.

Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.

And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.

“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.”

“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?”

“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees.

“There ya go, Pope,” you say.

He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.”

“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.”

“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it.

“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?”

He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.”

The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat.

“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him.

When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”

“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.”

“Are you sure-,”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.”

So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go.

You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates.

Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.”

“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.”

You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked.

“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard.

You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view.

“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.”

You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?”

“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck.

Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear.

And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows.

“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.”

“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.”

“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says.

“Done already?”

“For tonight.”

When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around.

Many more than you expected.

“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”

The guys glance at each other. “C’mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?”

“You don’t want any?”

“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.”

They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.”

You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.”

Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit.

“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.”

You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.”

Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?”

You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,”

“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.”

You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes.

“Not everyone thinks that.”

“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.”

You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.”

“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.”

You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.”

“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.”

“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his.

He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.”

The night passes easily.

You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position.

Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago.

It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you.

Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.”

The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside.

You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you.

You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.

Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.

“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you.

“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”

“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms.

“What’s going on?” Will snarls back.

“Fuck just -,”

You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.

You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you.

It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny.

And while you hadn’t been here before, you know.

This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything.

Santiago doesn’t like to lose.

“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you.

They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”

You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall.

You can’t tell if they’re dead.

The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary.

“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!”

“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground.

You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.

“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you.

Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.

“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.

You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots.

“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise.

“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.”

You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago.

“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”

He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do.

Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened.

You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart

Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain.

Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you.

But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound.

Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.”

You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why.

Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home.

Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him.

Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him.

Will’s stoic silence, scares him.

But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse.

And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now.

He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of.

The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it.

Ruthless.

He’s always been ruthless.

And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed.

He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way.

“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit.

“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”

Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder.

He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder.

He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound.

Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself.

Then

“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe.

“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?”

Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you.

You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand.

Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep.

Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it.

“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove.

“Don’t you have your own house to go to?”

“My own house isn’t where you are.”

You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?”

“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.”

Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.”

“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?”

He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.”

You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.”

“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.”

You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.”

“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter.

You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?”

A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his.

It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta.

He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask.

“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.”

He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?”

Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before.

When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove.

He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?”

“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it.

“Fucking counter, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you.

You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.”

Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand.

Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.”

Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold.

Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?”

You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit.

He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours.

That you are his girl.

But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise.

“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.”

He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes.

“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings.

“It’s a pretty ring.”

Now

They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money.

Fifty million and it feels like nothing.

Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places.

You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves.

Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs.

“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”

Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”

He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world.

“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?”

You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.”

“And what if you fucking died, huh?”

“Guess I’d be dead then.”

He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him.

You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”

Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap.

Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you.

When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement.

You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.”

You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?”

Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you?

Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows?

He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him.

“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”

You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.”

You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book.

You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”

“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”

You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand.

“No, your shoulder-,”

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.”

Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too.

He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm.

And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.

“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries.

You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy.

Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?”

You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.”

He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.”

Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer.

Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true.

He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose.

Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair.

The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home.

You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand.

“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair.

You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely.

Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat.

You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply.

“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.”

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.”

You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out.

Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed.

When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.”

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment.

But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be.

“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.”

Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”

“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?”

“Means we belong to each other.”

You nod, “Move in when we get back.”

“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.”

You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears.

You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.”

“Anything. As long as you’re there.”

His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.”

Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

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shinjisdone · 1 year

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To Soften a Warrior's Heart (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn; Part 1)

Going insane over Vinland saga - and Thorfinn headcanons of him getting close/finding a friend (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻ (based on season 1, which I haven't even finished but its taking oVER MY BRAIN):

In which you have joined Askeladd's band...and grow closer to the Son of Thors. Though it is more difficult than anyone can could ever imagine...

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet and crawl your way into Thorfinn's heart (based on season 1; both platonic and romantic)]

Part 2 is here - meeting Thorfinn at 16/17 years old and growing closer to him, slightly following s1 events

Part 3 is here - Thorfinn slowly feeling comfortable with you and considering you a friend

Part 4 is here - Thorfinn unwittingly opening his heart as he realizes he does not want you to die

Part 5.1 is here - sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 5.2 is here - other sweet htings Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 6 is here - Becoming Canute's guard while Thorfinn accepts your relationship and bond

Part 7 is here - Canute grieving over Ragnar and Thorkell catching up; Thorfinn leaves you alone for revenge

Part 8 is here - Thorfinn wins against Thorkell; Questioning your bond with Thorfinn

Part 9 is here - Meeting Leif and Thorfinn dueling Askeladd; Losing while Askeladd told him the truth of his constant losses

Part 10 is here - Thorfinn and you bound by heart; Promises of Vinland broken and abandoned

okay, okay, just bear with me here;;;;

We all know that Thorfinn throughout these 11 years has been alone AND lonely (even though I think he wouldn't be aware of it nor admit to it) even though he has been around Askeladd's band for so long. He's cold and crude, rejecting all kinds of possible connections, which at the end of the day cannot even be real connections considering all men there are war-loving warriors who live for the thrill of battle - and the one who doesn't is Askeladd, his father's murderer who uses Thorfinn as a tool.

So just - i m a g i n e with me. Thorfinn...building connections. Having a bond...while still being the piece of sht like he always is (I know that happens in season 2 (I think) but...just, let him have someone :,) No matter if platonic/romantic :,) Just...let this kid be okay;;;;)

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, violence against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Only mentioned and used as examples. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

Harsh beginnings (14 years old)

So, obviously, you'd have to meet while Thorfinn is still in the band. Having two children ranging from the age of 6-13 be vikings and kill people is....unlikely????? At least in the plot.

So here comes my brainrot and stupid headcanons but:

Either you meet where he was about 14 or when he was about 16-17 years old.

I think the later you meet him in these 11 years, the harder it is to build a connection, let alone trust with him since these cruel years have hardened his heart. And as a 14 y/o (or at least around that age range) Thorfinn was seen to be more willing to help civilians who he saw as bystanders (the english woman and daughter). He is NOT innocent at that age in any regard but perhaps during that time he still hadn't shackled that hopeful child in his heart.

You become part of the band for whatever reason. Your home was raided, you escaped slave trade or you see yourself as a warrior. Askeladd saw something useful in you - no matter if that was strength, wit, knowledge of foreign languages or talent for any skill that there is. You can be a useful chess piece and a good replacement for the men he had lost throughout the years. If not, it certainly won't be a loss for him.

Your reasons and goal for joining would not matter. You are just another face being here. Either you'll be here for a long time or not. It doesn't matter. Everyone dies. As long as it is Askeladd dying by Thorfinn's hand, he won't care for you.

The only thing that would be peculiar and worthy of his attention (at least for a moment) would be that you and him are about the same age - in this example, 14 years old.

I believe either Thorfinn wouldn't care after that and ignore you - or he would raise a brow and pout as usual, asking you what a kid his age is doing here. Are you a warrior? One his father would describe? In his dreams?

You can give him your reason (it just can't be revenge, that's his thing). For survival, for power, you're searching for someone/something or for simply wanting to be a viking. Thorfinn would shrug at this, thinking the more emotional/rational reasons just show how you're probably not the only one with such an ambition. The world is cruel and it seems like you're the product of its actions. If your reason is a bit more simpleminded or even selfish, he'd scoff at you.

Nevertheless, he would never think of you as stronger than him.

Perhaps due to his young age he would act more childish and irrational. Every comment you give needs a comeback, no matter if it is ill-mannered or just talking for the sake of talking. He'd find himself accidentally replying to you or even seeking conversation because you are about the same age as him. Never would he see you as a friend though. Thorfinn in general, no matter how old, is too absorbed in his thirst for revenge that it is hard to find a place for any other thing in his heart, both positve and negative.

In the morning, he trains to be able to kill Askeladd (which at that age, I believe duels with him are seldom due to his height and age). At midday, he hunts for himself to survive. At night, he is plagued by his dreams of his father. There isn't much place for anything else.

The boy would be more open to kind people in general. It happens unwittingly. Thorfinn doesn't truly seek out company but humans are social creatures, no matter how strong or stoic or cruel he may become. He's still a child before any of that.

However, he would find you odd to be kind and to be part of a viking band. Part of him believes you don't belong here. Another part prefers you like this.

You'd have to initiate conversations most of the time but younger Thorfinn might do so too, at least compared to when he is older. It usually concerns problems regarding the situation or questions about Askeladd and his decisions. Thorfinn is reluctant to tell you about Askeladd and his father and prefers to bark out brief explanations ("He's a bastard."; "He isn't my leader and I am not listening to him. I'm here to kill him so don't get in my way!").

Very open to criticize you but mostly about fighting stances or decisions made during battle. He thinks he doesn't know enough of what the right decision is with and about people (again, the incident with the English woman) or what it means to be a true warrior yet - a definition he won't be certain about even in the future. Instead he keeps his mouth shut about your moral choices and prefers to watch. The most he would do is ask you why you did that/said that. At best he'd inquire more, at worst he'd only hum, ponder about it for a minute before tossing the thought aside until a similar situation arrives.

BUT if you were to point out his flaws, ooohh, you can expect a snappy and bratty 'shut up!' from him real quick. The boy is defensive, especially when it comes to being a 'true warrior' or when he loses to Askeladd time and time again. If you try to help him with criticism, he'll brush it off or physically shove you away. It doesn't matter if you mean it in a condescending or helpful way, he wouldn't listen.

Regarding the battlefield, it truly depends on your talent and skills whether or not you'll be paired up with Thorfinn.

It's known Askeladd uses him as bait or to do the dirty work of the job but if he sees you as useful, he might pair you up. Again, it depends on the skills and situation.

Nevertheless, Thorfinn wouldn't like it.

He's used to work alone, too used even. He doesn't want and need help, in fact he believes you'd be a liability, which can partially be true. However, if Askeladd suggested it, surely he must have a plan...that's what most of you think at least.

Thorfinn would just cuss at the man, claiming his choice is stupid and he doesn't need help. He can do it alone.

The often you have a job together, the less he'll complain. He won't look forward to it (having you along doesn't make killing any more enjoyable no offense) but he'll silently agree. (Heavens forbid you mess up though. If you mess up and somehow survive, you'll surely get an earful of Thorfinn of how weak and useless you are, no matter what Askeladd might say. Just...be careful).

Now, they could be certain reactions/actions that might be different if you are female.

Female vikings were indeed real but their victories and deeds were not as often written down, at least compared to male vikings. Nevertheless, having a female, much less such a young one, a child, be part of a viking band (especially Askeladd's!) did leave a lot of the members with uneasiness and hanging jaws.

Thorfinn would raise both brows at that. Whether or not you are recruited did not matter and there wouldn't be much of a difference on how he would think of you and treat you - its just the fact that you are a girl makes him wonder to be frank.

I like to believe Thorfinn is very much aware of things. Of what it means to be a viking and what that could mean for a girl...not only the viking life but also just the lifes of women who just exist in this world.

Yet at the same time...he is kind of blunt. Thorfinn doesn't mince his words so he will directly ask you what the hell you are doing here. Don't you know it's dangerous?

A part of him thinks you're dumb for joining but another knows you probably have a good reason to. Perhaps this is your only way of survival, or whatever your goal is...

Still, he does not treat you any differently and he doesn't see a reason on why he should. He is aware but won't make any attempt to act different.

Maybe his criticisms will be more frequent and harsher because you are female. Why are you fighting? You aren't as strong as him. You think yourself a warrior? Girls don't fight. (Sometimes it goes into the bully boy logic where it's like 'duh, you cannot do thaaat. You're a guuuuurl'. Yes, he can be dumb like that. It happens not so often though - perhaps it comes from the life he used to have when he was younger. Where everything was easier and he always knew his sister and mother to be safe at home with father...and not fighting.)

He will be more harsh when pointing out your flaws when it comes to the battlefield. In general he wouldn't see you as stronger than him and he definietly would not if you are female. Later in due time he realizes that fighting for you probably means winning yet another day to live. So he shuts up after a while.

Afterwards he will only tell you to watch out.

As another young member of the band, you can expect the others to interact with you and comment on you as well. Things will most likely be the same as it was for Thorfinn, the men either giving neutral to mean-sounding comments, taunting you, or even be impressed by you due to you still being a child. None of them will be nice, as you can imagine though.

Some might even comment how you and Thorfinn are 'such good buddies!' The blonde will deny it with barks and shouts before going back on cleaning his dagger. No, you aren't 'buddies', you aren't 'friends'. You are just...someone tolerable to talk to and be with.

For whatever reason the thought of you two being friends bothers Thorfinn. He cannot explain why, it is an slightly uneasy feeling growing in his chest. Perhaps a defense mechanism or believing he cannot be close to people anymore. Either for his lack of trust in people or because the death of his father, who he was so close to, made him believe bonds aren't possible anymore. How can it be when something as close as a bond between a father and son was severed by the cruelty of men so easily?

Willingly calling you a friend...that's something Thorfinn can't do. Not yet.

Though you can imagine it gets worse when the band hops from 'buddies' to 'crushes'. The chances of that happening is very, very, very, very low but some newby birdbrain might think of calling you two that. The others would laugh while Thorfinn would point his dagger at the fool. He wouldn't outright hurt them, but he is definetly more pissed off than being called your 'friend'.

Thorfinn is here to kill Askeladd. He doesn't have time to 'play around' and 'catch feelings' and certainly doesn't have the time to listen to an idiot's rambles. The boy feels free to cut off their tongue though if they prattle for too long.

Again, if you're female, there will definitely be more comments about you, you can count on that. More taunting, more men looking down at you, calling you names and yes, grown men talking to/about an 14 y/o in disgusting ways. Sorry, but this was 1012 a.d and they are vikings.

Thorfinn is, as mentioned, very aware for his age. And while he will not make any attempts to help or protect you (he will in future once you become important enough), this behaviour will actually make him despise the band even more than he already does. There has always been a feeling of indifference for them. He could not care any less if they died right then and there but hearing and seeing this makes his blood boil. Even moreso if Askeladd does nothing to stop it.

They are not acting like true warriors in his eyes.

In general a younger Thorfinn would act more childish but more tolerable around you. He's defensive and brash and is usually very grumpy when responding to any kind of negativity. He is unwittingly open to kind people but is drowning in his obession of revenge at such an young age already, that the mere thought of you and him being friends (which is usually normal and easy for preteens) does not ever cross his mind. He cannot get a grasp on that concept, that's how deep he is in his revenge. Even if you do get along well it just - does not work for him. Please, don't blame him. The boy can't help it.

[Part 1 of so much brainrot. Vinland saga is living rent-free in my head. Askeladd...Thorfinn...PRINCE CANUTE OMG BRO THE MEANING OF LOVE I CANNOT-

...I just...need to talk about it...pls...it has become like air to me, I nEED TO TALK ABOUT IT]

[Part 2 will cover a little bit of your relationship when you're older but met when Thorfinn was about 14 y/o...and afterwards the difference when you meet at 16/17 y/o.

And man, the parts afterwards or whatever I'm gonna write whenever is gonna be aaaaalll about Canute's and Askeladd's journey and them being involved in your relationship with Thorfinn...not to mention HOW YOURE GONNA CRAWL YOUR WAY INTO THORFINNS HEART NO MATTER IF HE LIKES IT OR NOT. HE IS GONNA HAVE A FRIEND IM TELLING YOU]

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olderthannetfic · 8 months

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I've just read an article (in Gazeta Wyborcza) about a very popular series of books among young teens in my country, Poland, called "Rodzina Monet" (Family Monet). The author gained popularity while publishing on Wattpad lol. The article basically said that it's problematic because these books are read by young girls, even 10 years old, and it glorifies violence. Plus it just isn't well written - there were some fragments in the article and yeah it's not well written lmao. A woman in the comments said that her daughter is reading this book and asked if she should forbid it. Since no one answered her, I replied that I don't think forbidding the book is a good solution and suggested talking to her daughter about it, showing her the article and asking what she thinks about it. But I don't know anything more about that situation, for example how old the daughter is. I don't think I'd worry if my child were to read this book, I read trashy stuff too. But I started wondering if maybe there should be some control in such a case? The thing with the books from what I gathered (I haven't read them) is that they are about a 14yo girl, who suddenly lost her mother and grandmother, is sent away to US from Britain where she starts living with her 28yo (handsome) stepbrother and his 3 (also handsome) brothers. She lives in a beautiful villa since the stepbrother is super rich. He's also cold and distant and doesn't understand that she has issues with food (she has some kind of eating disorder). Some of the things he and his 3 brothers do can be described as domestic violence but they apologize, buy her expensive stuff and are all adult handsome men. Yeah it's a young adult fiction. The thing is that it's just not well written so none of the bad behaviours is commented upon.

Sounds like typical godawful id trash that people eat up. Making a rule against it will just make it more tantalizing.

It would be far more valuable to kick any worthless partners out of one's life and demonstrate not putting up with shit to a tween girl than to ban her from reading trashy books.

One could always try buying her something better, but IME, people who try that always do it wrong: they buy books that are better written, yes, but the vocabulary and sentence structure are a thousand times harder, there's zero iddy wish fulfillment, and the plot is something fucking depressing and supposedly edifying.

Readers can smell a tryhard "your taste is bad" gift a mile away.

I think it's also important when trying to find replacement trash to understand what the kink actually is. Why is it age gap? Well, have you seen 14-year-olds? They're awkward and covered in zits. Of course the protagonist is young like the readers and the hotties are older.

More importantly, why is it abusive? Absolute idiots will be like "Because society taught girls wah wah wah wah wah", but the actual reason is obvious if you've read trash romance for adults:

It's so the love interest(s) can be in the wrong.

The self inserty protagonist of this type of story has very little power. Not only is she usually younger, but she's poorer, a fish out of water in a new situation, etc. The way she gets power is by the love interest doing something absolutely horrible, realizing they have erred, and then groveling forever. Their guilt is an effective way to manipulate them. And yes, retail therapy is usually the next step from this particular trash classic all the way back to The Flame and the Flower.

You can try giving a teen girl a book about a teen girl action hero who is awesome and whose love interest likes her because of that... But if the reader doesn't feel awesome, she's still going to prefer a book about a loser with a destined, fated love or a misunderstood woobie whom other characters have to grovel to after not initially realizing she was special.

You can't fix self esteem by handing someone a book they don't identify with and telling them their id is wrong. And if self esteem does improve, that doesn't mean the lizard brain is going to switch trash fiction tastes anyway.

One can try leaving other fun books around, but that's about the most that could be helpful.

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hellsfirekeepsyouwarm · 1 year

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All Hell Breaks Loose Pt. 4.

Hello there my loves, i brought to the next part of my angst series. :D Still no happiness, just excitement and all the feels in the world. So, it's not my first time to bring in some other love interest (i'm greedy af), i can't help it, i love it. Also i'm thinking about a sequel with Graves, let me know if ya'll interested in that. Happy reading!

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of torture, injuries, military men, canon typical violence, Graves is bad (but i kinda like it), as i see it now it's lighter than the previous chapters.

Summary: You need to remind Graves of your shared past, hoping for more and easier time with him while Ghost and the team puts together a plan to get you out of the shadows by becoming one.

You have his attention. His full and utter focus. Everything froze in place when the words left your mouth, and you could even hear a pin drop. You see memories flashing on his battle scarred face, and for a moment, a tiny little second you see Phil, your friend, your partner, your most trusted companion. Only for a moment really, while the pain lives so urgent in you, it's a weak split second, but you can't deny it. It leaves you as soon as the numbness take over in your mind, so you can block out the the physical body you are trapped in.

Graves stares at you. No visible emotion displayed on his features, he just stands there, arms crossed over his bulletproof vested chest. This is not the time to stop damnit.

"Because i remember. Fuck it was a good time to be a Shadow, wasn't it? Doing important and reckless shit while making a shit ton of money. "

His eyes widen, maybe not so recognizable for his men, but you know you stirred something up in him. What you don't know, if anything, a shallow wave of nostalgia that hits him, but it's perfectly enough for you. A small grip on him, but it's better than nothing.

"Leave." He states, eyes remaining on you. You hold his gaze, brave and stupid enough to do so, no fucking way he can have the gratification of seeing you tormented any longer.

Shadows leave without a word, but not without some suspicious looks towards you and Philip. It's quite quick, how they clear the room with ease, remembering they are not only mercenaries and criminals, but soldiers too.

You feel yourself let out a breath, left with the only person who can provide some familiarity, conflicting feelings clash in you as you realize you trying to find comfort in the person who's hurting you with no remorse. But for now, you'll let yourself to be more vulnerable if it means you can have a win in a long run. You sigh again, Simon's face flashing in front of before you speak again. You gather every moment that you can recollect about Philip Graves, involving all the cases where he was stuck between you thighs. You want to replace those memories with better and happier ones. But for now, you need to push Simon in the back of your mind in order to have a grip on reality.

"Who would have thought, that we will end up like this. On the opposite sides of the battlefield. Not me for sure, not when i was tangled in between the sheets with you. Damn, i thought i can fucking conquer this piece of shit planet with you by my fucking side." The images of him, a younger, cleaner, healthier him, with a shiteating grin, clutching an AR firmly, already turned on by just a look at you mirroring his smugness. The thoughts start to mix up with memories of the 141 seeping into your life. Your brain tries so hard to replace the naked and filthy recollections with Philip, it feels so surreal to think about purposely of him, while you yearn for Simon and only Simon.

He looks sheepish, hell almost sad if you are being honest. Maybe not every human part in him is lost. Not that it matters, it doesn't. He'll die at the end of this, either with you or by your hands.

"After that mission everything changed. The job, the team, you, us. Every fucking thing turned upside down because you was greedy. You had everything on this world, and you wanted more. More money, more to your name, more power, more more more." You rant, words spilling like they should have years ago. You need time, you have to gain time for the guys to get inside. That's what matters, not Graves and his feelings. Not your feelings.

"OH FUCK OFF! Like you didn't enjoyed it. You fucking loved every damn minute of my power. You fed off of it like a hungry leech, you were a lost puppy until you met me, always ridiculed by the others, always the outcast." He tries to get to you, get under your skin. Just by the look on his face you see that he counts on you getting defensive, clinging to your truths, to yell and ague. And you don't do it, he so mindful that he leaves you time to speak up, to regain some strength to go against his acclaims.

"You can say whatever you want, Philip. I know what i know, it's my memories too. And at that time, you looked pretty much like someone whos enjoying it. Everything of it. You can be fucking mad at me for leaving, admitting that you went to far with it, it won't fucking change a thing. You lost. You lost the day when you did that job for Sheperd. You aren't the one who came out on top, and i know you fucking despise the feeling. Oh i know. It's written all over your face, i have seen it a million times before, and those scars on your pretty face couldn't hide that from me." Shit you have to be careful what you say, you are aware of the things he is capable of. But the words just comes so effortlessly.

"Because you know me so well, huh? You think you have that against me? Darling this goes both ways. Does dear Simon knows what horrible things you have done to amaze me?" He smiles wickedly, just like so many times in your past. He's getting close to you, enjoying the bickering between you two, the back and forth, it's entertaining him. He waits for your response. "I bet he doesn't. You just smile sweetly, nod 'yes sir', riling him up on the field just to spread your legs later. Yes of course you do that."

"Don't tell me you are jealous now Phil." You smile up at him, the upward stance of your lips feeling out of the place considering your position, but it sets him off completely. "Yes you are. You just went through all the times in your head when you were lucky enough to experience me. All the secret glances, all the 'yes sir's you like so much, the sneaking around, fucking me into the wall as soon as we hit safety. Oh you do remember Istanbul just the way i do, don't deny it."

He smiles too, maybe too openly, too honestly for your liking. After all, he is still Philip Graves. He's not immune to you. You still have a firm hold on him, since the day you put down your Shadow patch. No, since way before that. Now you can taste freedom on your tongue.

"Jealous? Why darling? I have you, am i not?"

And with that, a genuine smile on his lips, he leaves you bleeding onto the old wooden chair.

It's the most unnatural feeling. To wear a shadows gear. Ghost feels almost naked without his own shit, skull changed for a plain black mask, the M4 alien in his hands, with the wrong attachments, his senses altered by acting like a Shadow.

From the moment the light-bulb lit up in his head, he felt lighter, suddenly he had a clear view on the operation.

"We thought about it Lieutenant, we went through it, and it's not possible. " Price was right, they went over it. Multiple times, but they never talked about one.

"No, it's possible. We did a job, it was one of her first with us. She went undercover, completely alone, in the blind, with only a code phrase. 'The good ol' days' in a shite accent you 've just heard. We teased her about for weeks after that." Soap explained, his face displaying a fondness of the memory.

"She wants us to go in alone, separately?" Price is shocked, not understanding it yet.

"She wants one person in there. One person is enough. If he's inside, and we set out a number of distractions, Graves will be busy with that, thinking we are using brute force to get inside."

Price and Gaz both looked wary of the idea. Yeah it can work, but will it work?

"We choose one Shadow who patrols outside. Preferably alone for at least minutes, i grab his stuff, get in, follow orders until i exactly know where she is. When i find where she is held, i can give out a signal to you for decoy." Simon feels life blooming inside him, the first usable plan in days. The one he knows will work.

"Let's say you find her, how do you get her out? She will be heavily guarded, you are one hell of a soldier Simon, but you are only one man." In any other scenario, he would have agreed with John. Him alone isn't enough, but he's never been more sure of anything.

"She will be guarded, but he'll have to cut the numbers if we hit the decoy right. If he thinks we are coming onto him with an army, he'll focus his strength on that, not guarding a door. Yes, a number of Shadow's will be there, including me."

There is no space left for protest or doubts. While Simon couldn't assure Price fully, he still went with the idea. Honestly it was the best they've got.

That led Simon to a Shadow about his height, wandering outside far enough and long enough to put on his clothes. He won't need them no more. He's walking down a hallway, listening to directions and orders from the radio, occasionally Shadows passing by. Not one of them paid any attention to him, to his surprise.

Simon is okay. He's on the field, alone, right in the middle of the monsters belly, on the edge of danger and safety. He likes the rush of it, he thrives in this situations. This is the first time in days he felt in control, despite he's more like out of control. Completely. He needs to wait and see, gather the intel, orientate himself from the memory of the blueprint. He knows where he's going, but he doesn't.

"Soldier! Where are you going?" A stern voice behind him calls out, probably for the poor guy who should be in the suit. He acts on his sudden fright, plays into it like he's caught like a kid fumbling in the cookie jar. "Let me hear it."

Well shit.

"I had to take a piss." He mumbles out, feeling his cheeks burning under the mask. He hasn't done this in ages, honestly he forgot how irritating it was to be ordered around, and questioned all the damn time in his early days in the military.

"No shit boy, you took a while. Now get back to Jameson, he's been talking my ear off about how long you take all the fucking time."

Ghost stands there, completely baffled by the absurdness of being scold for taking a piss for too long. "Not just stand there moron, MOVE"

Okay fuckin 'ell. He turns right on the corridor, hoping praying that it's the old locker rooms what they use for keeping you. Rooms are small, reachable and easy to look out for. There is one way in, bet plenty of ways to get you out of there, just in case. If he would have a captive, that's the best place to held them.

The voice behind him doesn't follow, or speak up again, so they choose the right person. There was a heated debate at the table around the blueprint on who is the lucky bastard to die quick. Soap and Ghost was on the same page about their guy, and so far it's payed off great.

Simon can feel it in his chest that he' s close, gloved fingers tingling on the weapon. He tries not to grip on it too hard, ease his hold, not look so fucking tense, but how can he be not tense when you are somewhere behind a door. How can he not be on the fucking edge?

He slows his steps down as soon as he meets two other men mindlessly kicking the dust with their boots in their boredom. Just where he thought they would be, locker rooms, one or two door before maintenance rooms. Three people guarding you isn't that of a surprise when other Shadows walking by every goddamn minute. It's crowded, people come and go in the neighboring hallway, and by the look of them, Ghost is in the very place where he wants to be.

"Finally you sonovabitch, right about time dude, i thought i'm gonna shit myself soon." The shorter guy leaves with that. Ghost takes his place on the other side of the rusty metal door. The fucking door he dreamed about every minute of his restless sleep. And now he found it, but he can't just barge through. He can't do that. He can't.

Simon tries not to think about anything. Not the hostiles walking around unknowingly of his presence, not the burning in his veins, not the utter silence behind the door. That silence what makes him question everything. Are you even there? What if he's guarding the fucking weapon stash? Or supplies?

He knows you are close, but his mind can't stop doubting the instinct. He just knows. He always knows when you are close. When you sneak up on him at the mornings to wrap your hands around his torso, while he pours the steaming hot coffee for both of you, when you slide soundlessly under the sheets after your millionth of gaming youtube video that evening, seeking his warmth with tired eyes. He just knows, and he's never been wrong. Right?

His mind could eat him alive, but he chooses to press on the small device between his fingers and the M4, letting know the team it's time. Whatever happens after this, he'll get trough.

Exactly 180 seconds later, the alarms goes off after a small shake of the ground under him. He's ready to bring hell to this place.

Taglist: @cabreezer0117 @multitargaryen@embers-of-alluring @batmanunicorns523 @5seastar @sweetybuzz25 @levisbebe @galagcica @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @afro-hispwriter @v-v-x-x @levi-llama @katnee @kuwizo @thefairybird @haythemsychopathicgirlfriend @woodeelf @sinon36 @actuallyanita @khjssss @randomchick546 @sinon36 @elliestark13 @jillvalentinesworld @kaghost @lumpypoll @iwaizumicumslut

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#simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #all hell breaks loose #simon ghost riley #ghost

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000marie198 · 1 year

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Who is the nicest out of the Tails Squad?

Keep in mind that the members I haven't mentioned here are the ones I know nothing about (like STC Tails and Shogakukan's Tails) because I haven't consumed those iterations yet.

Now, let's see here;

AoSTH and SatAM are little guys but they are the squad's certified manipulators. They can be absolute menaces anytime they want. AoSTH will make so much fun of whichever villain makes the mistake of encountering him that the other would regret ever seeing this child

Classic is a sweetheart. He also killed an entire armada of birds by using bombs

Nine won't hesitate to shoot and kill and destroy if he finds an incentive. This child craves violence.

Depending on the matter and his mood, Boom Tails would either be a nice child or the 'gang up to bully this specific adult' child. He won't hesitate to whine and complain when annoyed.

X! Tails is a very nice and helpful fellow. He doesn't hold grudges and even ignores the hurt he feels at possibly being replaced (I swear, I love anime Sonic but he lost a lot of points for ignoring his lifelong best bud in favor of a selfish & over possessive rich boy who just wouldn't leave it). Anyways, that rant aside, he is one of the nicest fellows but he will go full kill mode if sleep deprived and you bother him & there's no Sonic present to reassure him. Also, he is a determined fighter and the captain of a space craft.

Mangey is feral. Unless he gets spooked enough to hide or you're a Sonic, he growls or pounces or scratches or bites

OVA Tails has a temper. Annoy him or upset him in any way and he'd scold back tenfold with a few curses mixed in.

Detective Tails means no harm but he will accidentally find out and reveal your most embarrassing secrets.

IDW Tails has several moods. He's a nice kid if you're a friend, he will gang up with his fellow counterparts to trick people, he will be ready to help you out even in the middle of the night, he has inescapable prisons ready and takes no nonsense when serious, he has camping equipment that's much more complex and dangerous than any regular camping supplies, he will crash a giant shuttle without a warning, he uses the elements of deception and surprise, he will also create blasters with nothing but rusted junk in the matter of barely minutes if given the incentive, is an expert hacker, inherited Sonic's sass and recklessness.

Prime Tails never gets upset unless it's something serious and forgives easily.

Modern is a genius. Gets quite angry and upset when annoyed and pretty much unstoppable when determined. He is a good boy but he banters with Sonic on the daily and has thousands of comebacks and sassy quips in his arsenal. He will tease and annoy someone on purpose if in the mood.

Archie Tails once nearly killed his lifelong best friend and brother because he felt deeply hurt and betrayed over losing his crush to the other (as if romantic crushes are so much greater than familial love 🙄). Also abandoned that person in an alternate future over something I am unable to recall. He is the exact opposite of nice when he gets upset. And it's not too difficult to get him upset.

Smithy is sweet, helpful, kind and skilled. He also has a good eye for all kinds of blades and creates the most expertly crafted weapons. He is probably the nicest person in Camelot.

Going by the stories, Ali has probably allowed 40 beings to be burnt alive with boiling oil. Do not try to attempt anything against him. He is patient and wise but he doesn't fear to inflict the most disturbing horrors on those who he feels deserve it. And people who... OH NO... I am so darn glad rn that Sonic's counterpart in Secret Rings is supposed to be Aladdin and not Qasim! (When I tell you that the Arabian Nights tales were horrific and not for kids, know that I am dead serious.) Just... Don't get on his bad side. If he is given a genuine reason to take someone down, he'd put even Nine to shame with how violent and painful his methods can get.

Sails is a swordsman and a pirate. He might not be the most genius but is definitely among the most skilled in combat. He also enjoys stabbing and slashing and electrocuting people and holds a thirst for thrill & adventure.

Tails Wachowski. Little guy, sweet child, carries highly advanced weapons in his backpack and stole two vehicles in the span of 24 hours. Also hit Knuckles with a car and later let the car fall down a cliff with the echidna still on it. Almost gave their dance fight competitor a heart attack by pulling out life like holograms. Has a cute little, deceptively childish looking laser gun and has a plasma ray blaster in his backpack. Uses the power of puppy eyes to get what he wants every time. 'The baby with a knife' so to speak.

.......

I believe that Prime, Smithy and X!Tails are the nicest ones.

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inlovewithfictionalmensblog · 7 months

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𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ; Anakin skywalker

The feeling of loving someone who doesn't feel the same.

Jedi partners, Y/n Jinn and Anakin skywalker, have always been inseparable , one could easily think that they were in love, but how wrong they would be , seeing as though anakin skywalker has always been in love with Padme and Y/n.. well y/n is another story.

Warnings : angst!!! Violence, sadness , tears , fluff , y/n is qui-gons Adoptive daughter. The other woman vibes.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・.✫・゜・。.

——𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 , and then years did. Y/n Jinn was only a four year old girl when qui gon found her and took her in with a lot of convincing in the council. He was allowed two padawans thanks to Windu and Yoda.

Y/n was a quiet, observant, and brave jedi, listening to what was said and seeing things others were too busy to notice. Y/n rarely trusted anyone. She was even skeptical of Obi-wan at times, but somehow, in a strange way, a young, talented boy by the name anakin skywalker managed to step in and earn her trust in only a matter of seconds.

'Are you a Goddess?' He had asked her. Staring at her down, he was a boy , none other than maybe three years younger than her. Dirty blond hair and bright ocean eyes , his face was musty and dusty, but to her, he was a little adorable boy, who was probably a slave. And when she had asked him, he got offended and corrected her. That was the day she decided that she could trust him.

There was something about him, and she couldn't quite figure it out, which was rare since she was always able to know everything and anything in just the look of their eyes.

Obi-wan had used it against her at times, claiming that she'd rather trust a boy she'd only met instead of the man who's always been like a brother to her. In which, he had a point. But y/n always dissed him and rolled her eyes.

Only days later , the worst had happened, and y/n was left devastated. She had been so angry and heartbroken, she'd wouldn't leave her bed for days. Only left it when windu came to her, giving her the news that she'd be assigned to a different jedi master. Which was himself, while Obi-wan officially became one himself and was to train anakin. Y/n felt it was unfair but she did not argue.

Four years had passed, and both Ani and y/n were assigned to a mission. It had been four years since they saw each other , but now Anakin was older and much taller. Not older than her, but unfortunately, taller. Y/n and Anakin had become best friends by the end of the mission, and to that day, they were still bestfriends. But unfortunately, as his best friend, y/n had to listen to him yap all about his crush onPadme Amidala.

Which never bothered her, no , of course it didn't. Why would it? He was her best friend and that was it. But soon, that changed. Y/n began to feel things she knew she shouldn't feel, and when they both returned to coruscant for a mission to protect padme, her feelings only grew.

Seeing anakin and padme together had destroyed her insides. When she saw padme comforting anakin after his mother's death, when she saw them playing in the field in naboo , saw them kiss under the deck by the lake. All those moments had hurt her, especially when he had confessed his undying love to padme.

Y/n didn't know what to do. Anakin noticed the change in y/n. Seeing how quiet she was, she barely spoke to him and looked at him in the eye , she barely even got close to him. He didn't know why, which was rare. Because he always knew why.

It was odd. The only time she spoke to him during the entire mission was when he lost his arm, she had fought count dooku with the help of obi-wan, she had fought so hard, Anakin didn't even know if it was her fighting. It was the last thing before he shut his eyes.

The last time was when he was scared to show her the new replacement for his hand.

"This doesn't change anything, ani." Her voice was soft, gentle. Anakin was so ashamed, he couldn't even look at her. "I wasn't too quick, y/n. If I was quick enough I would still have my hand."

Y/n shakes her hand and gently grabs his metal hand, closing it with hers, her gentle eyes meet his. "There wasn't anything you could've done. Count dooku was too strong, but that doesn't mean you were weak or slow." She takes a deep breath, contemplating things.

Anakin worries for a moment, seeing her distracted face. "What's wrong?" He questions. He's searching for her eyes. She shakes her head and lets go of his hand.

"Talk to me. I feel like you haven't talked to me through this entire mission." He pleads, the sun was setting, it was warm and they were still in naboo and standing exactly where he and padme kissed.

Y/n avoids his stare and sighs. She walks toward the rails and lays her arms on it while staring at the clear blue lake. "I'm leaving." She let's out, finally. Anakin is confused.

"Leaving back to coruscant? I understand master windu wants you back but surely you c—"

"No, ani." Y/n turns herself, her eyes burned from the tears that were already swimming up. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she takes a moment, "I'm going back to my planet. Y/p/n."

Anakin is quiet, silent. " For how long?" He asks.

"I don't know." Is all she can say. She's shrugging, sniffling. "I just need a break, I've already ta—"

"What about me?"

She's staring at him now. He's sad, confused, hurt. He doesn't want her to go. "What about me?" He repeats . He steps closer, and she takes a step back. He pauses. Raising a brow, he senses there's more to it.

"Y/n what aren't you telling me?"

Y/n looks away, "Look at me." He tells her she does. Her eyes are glossy she can barely see him clearly. "What aren't you telling me?" He says. Softly, gently. But he's eager to know.

"Nothing. There's nothing more to say." She's quick and blunt with her response, but he's not having it. He shakes his head, not believing it. He walks closer to her, almost to intimidatingly. "Tell me."

Y/n shakes her head, "I can't." She breaks down, tears falling down uncontrollably. Anakin rushes to her, grabbing her and pushing her into his arms. He doesn't know why she's hurting so much, but he wants to know. He's eager to know what's hurting her so much.

She's sobbing, clutching onto his robes. She inhales his strong scent like it's the last thing ever. After minutes of silence , she speaks, "I can't love you anymore." She whispers. She instantly feels anakin freeze underneath her. Her cheek is still pressed against his chest. He's stiff.

"I can't do it." She says again and done again. There's only silence. Anakin didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that. He'd always loved y/n, but it was never like that. "I've loved you while you've loved her.." her voice breaks, Her arms tighten around anakin.

Anakin blinks.

"Talk to me." She says, but she doesn't pull away. "You haven't talked to me." She whispers, quieter. Anakin is shocked, to say the least—speechless.

"Y/n—" he's shaking his head now, a sad expression painted all over his face. His metal hand is cold on her skin, yet she can feel every inch of his rejection from just it. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."

Y/n feels it. Feels her heart bleed from all the cracks. She nods. "It's padme, isn't it?"

"It's not just padme." Anakin is quick to say. He shakes his head, thinking hard. "I've just never seen you in that way. You've always been my best friend.."

Y/n pulls away in silence. "Y/n." His tone is soft. Y/n ignores him. She understands. She nods and smiles softly. She tries to smile genuinely. Anakin stands in front of her. He's just as hurt now. "I hope you get everything you want, Ani. Everything and more." Her tone is genuine. It's shaky and woggly.

"Y/n.."

There's many things she wants to say to him, but she'll just keep quiet. It's better that way, she's said enough. 'I love you, ani.' Is what she wants to say, 'choose me.' Is what she wants to say. But instead, she says the only thing she can.

"I love you more than a friend. I know I shouldn't, and I know it's wrong. But it's true." She says, sighing. "I can't be 'just friends' with you. I can't be just your friend, not when I'm thinking like this and it's not fair to you... these feelings.. this infatuation. But I can't do it anymore—I can't keep pretending to not love you anymore. Because even when I try not to... I end up loving you more. More than a friend should. I still want you more... more than you ever would me.." y/n doesn't look at him as she finishes. She avoids staring at him.

Y/n looks up to see him staring at her, but still, he doesn't say anything. "I love you, anakin. And it's because I love you, that i can't be near you anymore. "

She leaves him once again. He's standing straight. Staring into the lake, staring at the spot where y/n stood, confessing her love for him. All he did was stand pathetically. He doesn't chase after her, he doesn't scream for her. Because why would he?

He didn't feel anything for y/n, he loved padme. Padme was always his first choice, y/n was just his best friend . That's all she was, and all she'd ever be.

She was just 'the friend.'

In other words, she was the other woman. The woman he'd never choose, the one he'd never love.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・✫・゜・。.

#the other woman #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #billy russo angst #padme amidala #star wars

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echoedcrosshairs · 9 months

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Dark Redemption: Kamino Lost - Part I

Summary: After Crosshair joined the empire you went looking for him and eventually found him but he wasn’t the man you remember, temporarily free from the empire Crosshair has to figure out whether he’s staying to make amends or rejoin the empire 🖤Smut with an Angsty Plot🖤

Warning: Cannon typical violence, Order 66, Pinning, former established relationship, emotional turmoil, eventually smut

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist ~ part I ~ part II

Shots wrung out in the distance and you felt the platform shake. Staring out the window of the Havoc Marauder dark black plumes cascaded into the air ushering the beginning of an era without clone troopers, the beloved home of hundreds of thousands now a watery tomb in the depths of Kamino. Taking your feet off the dash you went to the ramp door, your legs threatened to buckle when you reached the platform looking out for any sign of your squad. Seeing the green streaks in the distance continuing to fire you knew there couldn't have been a chance and you probably the only person left alive. Your hand went to your mouth covering to try to contain the sobs trying to rip out of your chest. Please let me they got out. Minutes felt like hours ever slicer of hope fading but they finally arrived all of them safe.

Your eyes found the familiar stranger, gone were the colors of his upbringing replaced with the mourning color of the reaper. Every connection to his prior life erased hollowed to the creature of death the empire had created to take his place. Once bright eyes matching the pigment of his daily coffee now flat and lifeless. Crosshair, the name associated with one man who pick off enemies from ten klicks or better now stood as a weapon of the Empire.

Desperately you want to hold onto your animosity towards him for what he's done, part you of clung to the hope that it had been the chip. You saw the moon cratered scar the side of his head and the empty expressions on his brothers faces, you knew he was gone. Your stomach twisted, electing to sit on the ramp as they all turned their backs to you staring at the ruins of their long ago home.

"We should leave before the Empire's scouts show up," Tech said looking out and up towards the skyline.

"You comin' with us" Wrecker asked optimistically turning to Crosshair.

"None of this changes anything," Crosshair said looking at his former brothers as he coaxed calm into his features burying his rage and betrayal for pointing their weapons at him for saving who they cared about more than him.

"You offered us a chance, Crosshair, this is yours," Hunter offered hoping he would change his mind or at least appear to consider it for a moment but he had always been the most bullheaded and unrelenting person.

"I made my decision," Crosshair's rough voice cut you from your thoughts forcing you to stare at him.

"We want different things, Crosshair. It doesn't mean we have to be enemies," Hunter said trying to give him an understanding look before the four of them headed towards the ship finding your broken expression, guilt riddling their features.

Echo grabbed your shoulder jerking his chin towards the ship, "I'm sorry," he said letting go following his squad up the ramp.

You stayed their watching Omega still standing behind him, silently observing him without a fear in the old about what he was capable off.

"What?" Crosshairs lip twitched turning around to look down at her.

"Thank you for saving AZ," Omega said standing alone staring at him.

"Consider us even," Crosshair said looking up at Hunter knowing he meant between them before his eyes found yours. His stare lasted for a split second before he couldn't bare to see the pain in them, it destroyed him that you didn't understand and that you saw things just like them.

"You're still their brother, Crosshair, your my brother too," Omega said gloomily turning around joining you on the ramp, "She loves you," she added quietly.

Tech called your name, "I can not shut the ramp until you are inside."

You stared at his back, he wouldn't even look at you. You marched off the ship putting your hands on your hips glaring at him. "What," he said still staring out at the smoke, a piece of him crashing down into the ocean to be forgotten forever.

"Get your farking ass on that ship or I am staying here until we either die or the empire picks us up. I don't care if you stay with them afterwards or not."

"Why do you care?" he said flatly.

"I don't know who you are, but Crosshair and I use to mean the stars to each other," the tears tried to choke you as you pointed at the no longer standing city, "Crosshair died on Kaller but now I'll never get the answers to what they did to him afterwards. I can at least honor his memory by making sure whatever they did with his corpse breaths another day," the tears staring following by the only thing in your voice was pain and rage, "Get on the ship." He didn't look at you but he spun around and marched on board. You whipped your face on your sleeves as you straighten your back and followed after them. The pained expression on Hunter's face told you he heard every word and personally felt every cut of the words. You saw the darkly armored figure sitting in your usual seat. Fingers ghostly over the seat remembering when you first met him and how it felt like life time ago. Tech called your name again a few times before you blinked and looked up at him, "Corellia," you responded to his question of now what.

"What's on Corellia?" Omega asked once you finally sat.

"CT-9904 can safely make it back to the Empire if he chooses, it wouldn't be hard to falsify that pirates came looking for salvage, picked him up and dropped him off looking for a reward. There's plenty of them and bounty hunters there. It's logical," you responded letting your hands continue to skim across the seat remembering the banter and snide remarks before looking at Omega's seat where you use to sit in because it was a perfect line for both of you to flick toothpicks at each other. A smile trembled on your face before noticing the shadow in the corner studying all of you, your face flat lined over his scrutiny.

"Why didn't you say his name?" Omega inquired curiously.

"She is referencing that our or specifically her Crosshair is not the Crosshair sitting with us therefore making a distinction between the two, at least that is what I am assuming," Tech offered.

Hunter nudged you to follow him, you stood up following the sergeant out of the cockpit, "Are you sure about this? What if he turns you in to the Empire?"

"I've already been captured by the Empire and didn't break, but this time don't come for me."

"Oh?" you heard Crosshair voice ask.

"I went looking for trouble and found it," you swallowed before heading into the bunk room.

"She went looking for you, she found the regs instead," Hunter stated once he heard you climb into your bunk, "You may think we abandoned you but she never did. Not for a moment, Crosshair."

Hunter sighed and headed back to the cockpit leaving him to stand there. He heard Crosshair walk into the bunk room, pulling out his vibro blade playing with it eavesdropping.

Crosshair found you tucked into his bunk holding onto one of his old shirts staring at the wall that was now littered with photos of the squad especially ones of the both of you, various missions to when he was giving you shooting lessons. His eyes narrowed at the semi intimate one of the both of you kissing in 79's on a date, he'd never seen the photo and saw how it pulled out suggesting it was usually tucked behind the photo in-front of it wondering who took it.

"I know your there," you breathed taking your eyes off the memories to look back confirming his presence lingering against the wall, tucking the last photo of both of you together on shore leave right before order 66. You climbed out of the bunk pulling the privacy curtain shut feeling to emotionally exposed while folding your arms over your chest, "Something you need?"

"You looked for me," it wasn't a question but a statement, he put a tooth pick between his teeth, "Didn't like what you found," another toneless statement, "Why not let me go?"

You slumped against the wall of the bunk shaking your head, "Tech said you let them live on Ryloth faking trying to shoot them down, I wanted to know if there was anything left of him in there."

"And?" he hand went to his hip waiting watching as you went toe to toe with him staring into his eyes.

"You have his mannerisms," your hand fluttered to his hip, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth next to his tooth pick then up to his eyes, "but I don't recognize the person in your eyes anymore," your hand flopped to your side, swallowing fighting the urge to touch him any further or try to recognize him in this creature, "I don't know what hurts worse wondering how much of it was you or the chip making you or remembering how long I have left until I hopefully get to see him again," you turned crawling back into the bunk, the tears no longer able to be held back, "Hunter.. can you grab me a water?" you whispered knowing it was going to be a bit before the tears were going to stop.

Hunter grabbed one of the canteens from storage slipping pass Crosshair has was just standing against the wall of the bunk room. He pulled back the curtain putting his body between you and Cross's eyes handing you the water and a package of tissues, "We're a couple hours away from Corellia depending on the Empire's movements through the sector, do you really want to go through with this?"

"I have too."

Hunter nodded, smiling when Omega wormed her way between him and climbed into the bunk yanking the curtain closed. She looked at all of the photos, "You know he's out there right?" she whispered.

"Someone is," you whispered back pulling one of the photos so both of you could look at it closer, "Did you meet him before the chip?"

"As a baby, I was in the lab where they were enhanced."

"So your older then them?"

"Yeah. What was he like?"

"Snarky, humorous, witty, banter at every turn. A little short tempered."

"He seems the same to me."

"He's not," the smile on your face died as you put the put the photo back, "I barely recognize him."

"He barely recognizes us too."

You looked at her, for being so young she was always so insightful, "Go hang out with your brothers," you nudged.

You followed her out of the bunk staring at him sitting on the floor with his head down gnawing on his tooth pick. You sat a few paces away on the floor in front of him, "CT-9904," he looked up squinting before relaxing, "Yes?"

"Who are you?"

"CT-9904," he squinted not understanding the meaning as you told him, "Crosshair."

You sighed frustratedly before tapping the side of his side with the scar and asked again. "Crosshair." You nodded and got up, "That's what I needed to know." Walking into the cockpit it fell silent as you took his seat as he silently shadowed you placing himself in your chair. Your fingers tapped on the chair's arm rest, "What happened on Kamino?"

"Well Crosshair lured us into a trap in the training room, killed his squad to what I assume was to approve the point of his sincerity then asked us to join the empire and then the empire opened fire on us and with Omega's insight we navigated our way out as the building started flooding," Tech summed up.

"You forgot almost drowning," Wrecker asked.

"Ah, yes and then running into the aquatic life while running through a lift tube. Now I believe that is everything."

You eyed him, "Imp killed imps to try to make more imps, interesting backward strategy," you mumbled.

"I was showing loyalty," he snarked back.

"Not to the squad you had," you countered.

Omega watched as it slowly turned into a shouting match, "Is it always like this?" she whispered to Hunter who was also watching intently, "unfortunately." Hunter took out the ear plugs from his bag and handed them to here, "put them in," he waited until she put them up before getting up, "Go fight in the bunk room, Omega is a child."

Both of you argued all the way to the room about loyalty, "Loyalty? Where was your loyalty to me!" You shouted, "Not once did you ever look for me, ask for me. Where was your loyalty to me, Crosshair!" You shouted. Your throat fell raw, rawer then you realized you said his name. Your jaw clamped shut and you couldn't look at him, "Where was your loyalty to me CT-9904," you correctly, "Your loyalty was ever only to your brothers, I always knew that deep down. It was always them," you sat on the lip of your bunk looking at the pictures, "Crosshair died on Kaller," you whispered hoping one day that if you repeated it enough you would finally believe it, "I'll get you home and then we're even." One by one you plucked the photos off the bunk wall in the heavy silence. You grabbed the small photo box with so many more memories and placed them inside. You packed all of your belongings in your weapon kit leaving the tiny box of pictures on the bunk and put it back against the wall, his weapon kit that you shared. You returned to your bunk looking at the forlorn expression on his face. I wish your decision would have been me. He was bred for war, sculpted out of ice for combat and the fires of bell for survival... this is who he is. I don't think I was ever truly an option after seeing him now but after this I don't think I can stay here, to many memories in these walls whisper their secrets in the dead of night reminding me of what I lost. After this maybe I'll join Rex's group, it'll put my skills to use and maybe I can help some other poor soul going through what I am. The thought started the tears, but this time no sound escaped besides the barely audible thunk of them landing on the durasteel floor.

"I did ask," is all he said. Your eyes shot over to him, he was back against the wall using it to support himself, "I assumed you died defending the Jedi, you always had a soft spot,"

"My only soft spot was for Crosshair, you kriffing Hutt spawn."

"Stop talking about me as if that isn't my name," he snarled, "I didn't die on Kaller either, I am right here."

"You did too me," you snapped back breathing trying to collect your thoughts, "You didn't even try to come back after having your chip removed, you started following orders, you became everything you hate. A reg. When have we ever followed orders especially so blindly without thought like the unthinking droids we fought against?"

"I am superior then a reg, I'm not going to waste my life running from my purpose-"

"Your purpose? Killing whatever innocent you get pointed too like a droid? You were a soldier of the Republic! Fighting for freedom and democracy not fear and tranny! If your purpose is being a monster you already accomplished it."

"This is who I am."

You stared at the box with half the mind to blast it to bury the past once and for all, "is it or is it who you got told to be?" The calculating on his face not changing nor words sprung from his mouth in answer, "I could have spent Crosshair's whole life pretending he loved back but.. I don't know about the husk of him before me."

In a few swift footsteps Crosshair bridged the gap between both of you grabbing your hands holding them in your lap as he knelt, the gesture wasn't aggressive but he saw Hunter out of the corner of eye his hand resting on his holster trying to stay out of sight purposefully failing. Crosshair's lip twisted upward before returning his attention back to you, letting himself stare at you further then he previously allowed letting himself to relax even if it was a temporary moment. He saw everything in your eyes the pain, the loneliness, the honesty, the sincerity of your words but also the fear of him. He dropped your hands, "His brothers had his loyalty but only you ever had his heart," he whispered, standing up forcing the softness to fade back into the collected demeanor of the ruthless soldier of the Empire, "Stop saying I'm dead." He walked back into the cockpit shoving Hunter into the frame making sure you heard that he was there. Crosshairs mind was swimming with questions and rage as he felt the prickling eyes of brothers as he tried to figure out what he wanted and what he needed. I was created for a purpose to bring peace to the galaxy once and for all, the clone war is over but the war for peace is not. After a while of debating his purpose and what he's been order to do his mind drifted to you. The words may have cut him down piece by piece, it was the tears that had effected him the most. He summoned the photo that tried to hide in his mind the memory of his old life fuzzy, you had just finished teasing him about his choice in scarfs on cold days when he was in his basic and he wanted to silence you the sensation of you ghosted his lips and hands. He made a small strained growl before putting a fresh toothpick in his mouth ignoring the stares or that Tech had even swiveled in his chair to look at him. "Stop gawking," Crosshair snipped turning his attention to the door away from them.

"You're angry," Omega appearing at his side forcing him to remember what happened when his chip activated before they had experimented on him.

"How perceptive," he said not looking at her, "go away."

"You only got on this ship because of her, show her that," Omega said before taking her place leaning against Gonky playing on Tech's datapad.

Crosshair took off his glove to stare down at war callous blood tainted hand, his eyes trailed the familiarity of his hand the scars his thin fingers remembering battles but how gently they love in moments of privacy. He slipped the gloves back on, the weakness made him feel sick; a sickness his training yelled at him to eliminate. I’m not ‘Crosshair’ anymore just CT-9904, the thought made his hands clench, She is right, where was my loyalty. He found Hunter leaning against the outdoor wall of the bunks waiting to see what he would do.

"We'll be reaching Corellia shortly."

I guess it will have to wait, Crosshair sighed thinking to himself.

~ Before Kamino Lost ~

Hope had a way of twisting the reality of a situation. Your leg drummed against the durasteel floor processing what Tech had told you about their most recent encounter with the formally known brother named Crosshair. You've broken bones before but that was nothing compared to breaking in your chest. You stared at the squads partially shaved heads, your eyes lingered on Wrecker as you fully understood the dangers of the chips.

"I'm going after him," you announced, it's not Crosshair it's the chip, you told yourself, Wrecker the big excitable softie wouldn't dare hurt his brothers or Omega, that's how much of an effect the chips had. It had to be the same with Cross.

"Crosshair-."

"He's expecting the rest of you," you said your eyebrows knitting together, "to him it's like I no longer exist maybe it'll shock him enough to give me an in."

Hunter and Tech exchanged glances knowing damn well you were going to do this with or without their permission, "What are you suggesting?" Tech asked breaking the silent conversation about whether they should aid or not.

"Drop me at a base, I'll cause enough chaos to get their attention and hopefully their dumb enough to bring him to me."

"That is a ridiculously stupid plan," Echo scowled, "Even Wrecker makes better ones."

"Stupid enough it might just work," Tech replied, "However you are aware we may not be able to get you out and there is a possibility of being killed in action before you even get to see him?"

You laughed awkwardly, "I know, I accept those risk for him."

"Why didn't you join him and the empire?" Omega asked.

"Crosshair would never have joined the Empire unless he was forced too, for that I am sure."

"Would you have?" Tech considered, "If he had of his own free will?"

"I don't know," it was the honest answer but it was one all of them seemed to accept, besides Tech knew you were the closest to the aloof sniper and had the sneaking suspicion you would have to keep Crosshair safe. Even being partners he didn't often publicly treat you any different besides the latest hours of the night and morning when everyone was supposed to be asleep or microscopic shore leaves. Echo hadn't been fond of the plan but was the first one to hug you as you landed in the Imp hot zone and Omega being the last.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Hunter said putting his hands on your shoulders, you patted his hands with a grim smile, "I'm absolutely sure, Hunter," his grip released on you as you walked down the ramp quickly hearing it close behind you.

You didn't even bother with a weapon just a small explosive, you primed it as you got closer to the gate. Heart was speeding as fast as pod racers trying to survive the death course, possibly even putting light speed to shame. Tossing it after your shoulder, you saw the approaching Regs letting them get up close and personal, "You're going to take me to CT-9904 or else," the shock of the explosive set you all flying and that is the last thing you remembered before waking up in a ceil with a brown haired man replying your capture on a holo.

"Ah you're awake, welcome back to the land of the living," the man said looking at the half conscious person in the cell across from you, "More or less, I'm Admiral Rampart."

That's when the truth finally started setting in. The gruesome truth about what had happened to Crosshair, who he had become and what he was capable of. It was sick but Admiral Rampart enjoyed watching you break down as he showed you holo after holo of Crosshairs missions from the probe droids watching him. Day or night it no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things, it was almost round the clock torture. Admiral Rampart came back for his usual update videos of Crosshair trying to get you to divulge where Clone Force 99 was, except this time he was silent as both of you watched the familiar tall and lean form walk pass, glistening from a fresh shower paying neither of you attention.

"See he walks by without even realizing you are here or cares," Rampart laughed cruelly playing a holo of another one of Crosshairs missions and the carnage at his feet, "Tell me where Clone Force 99 is and I'll order him to talk to you, your eyes say so much more then your mouth," he added gripping your jaw, "especially when you look at him."

You stared at him in silent defiance, he sigh tossed your face away and your body followed it crashing into the wall next to the toilet, "At this rate you'll die long before him," you heard Rampart say excusing himself from the cell, "Maybe I should order him to execute you himself." Your stomach mangled itself over the poor excuse for a refresher, whether it was because the drugs, the lack of food or seeing the horrendous things he did you couldn't tell, maybe knowing that who he had become would, could kill you. Crosshair could never... but this isn't Crosshair this is CT-9904, whatever horrible things they did him after the chip activated. Spite kept you alive. After surviving longer then they anticipated they made the mistake of letting you catch a glimpse of him in his full black entire, helmet on, fire puncher slung across the back then they made the mistake of transporting you to a different facility. You knew the true meaning of love but the Empire had shown you what hate truly was and that was going to be there last mistake.

"Thought you could use a hand, not that I have a free one to spare anymore," Echo chuckled but his face remained solemn as he took in your beaten shape.

"We have to go," you heard the familiar smooth candace of Tech's voice around the corner, "I assume you didn't learn anything valuable but I did after we encountered him on Ryloth."

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jinmukangwrites · 22 days

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Mystery Upstairs - Chapter 7

Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU), Marvel, Daredevil

Rating: G

Warnings: mentions of panic attacks, mild cop violence, canon typical violence, Matt taking the Lord's name in vain, the author not knowing if taking the Lord's name in vain is something Catholics worry about, the author not knowing every detail on how the legal system works and will tell you to blame Foggy on getting anything wrong and not the author themself.

Ao3

Summary: Peter needed a place to stay after the universe forgot about him. Luckily, there's a complex in Hell's Kitchen that won't ask questions. It's only chance that Peter recognizes the face of the Lawyer upstairs.

Meanwhile, Matt cannot help himself from checking in on his new, young neighbor who couldn't be old enough to be out of highschool

----

"I think I don't know is becoming one of my least favorite things to hear, ever," Foggy said after a full 15 seconds of silence. Funnily enough, Foggy wasn't lying.

Matt had just finished explaining the basics of the whole Peter situation, telling most of the information that he knew—leaving out specifically that Peter had somehow reacted to May Parker's name, that wasn't something he couldn't give anything more than speculation on... speculation that also had a lot of I don't know's that would just make Foggy more angry with Matt.

Foggy, previously happy to see the conversation had switched to something he potentially had more opportunity to involve himself in—legal involvement was his favorite kind of involvement—had unfortunately started asking questions that mattered.

Where did Peter come from? Who were his parents? Why was he on his own? How old was he? Matt please tell me you at least know his last name. Ok, does anyone else find it weird his last name is Parker? That's a little weird right? Yes I know May Parker didn't have any living relatives but come on it's a little weird right? Matt you have that look on your face that you agree it's a little weird. What do you mean drop it?!

Matt sighed, and Foggy dropped it, though Karen's tense posture certainly suggested she hadn't, which was in character. He'd let her do her thing, her job was to snoop, he needed Foggy to focus on the legal things.

"Listen," Foggy continued, "people lose legal documents all the time. House fires, robbery, carelessness, runaways. Everything can be replaced with fee's and various proof of other kinds of identification — but what I'm hearing is that this kid has nothing and that's infinitely more difficult. The Blip made getting identification without proof of citizenship easier, yeah, but it's still difficult. How does he even have a place to stay?"

"He's paying in cash," Matt replied, thoughtfully. "Enough cash that any greedy landlord would happily brush some rules under the rug for."

"Drop the greedy adjective," Foggy waved his hand, "that's all landlords."

"Point stands."

"How'd he even get that cash?" Karen asked, intrigue lacing her breath. "If he doesn't have a job, let alone a way to legally be hired for a job..."

"Probably stole it from his parents," Foggy suggested. "Or robbed a bank. Or he had a job, lost it, got everything liquidized before booking it here to his current situation."

"That's a lot of allegations," Matt sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest—eyebrows lowered so they brushed against his glasses. "There has to be a way to help him out. People show up out of nowhere all the time."

"We've helped people get their lives back before, the Blip gave us plenty of work," Karen said.

Foggy reminded her before Matt could, rubbing his chin and pacing slightly. "So many people needed their identities back that it was easy to help them. All you had to do really was say you're a lawyer and your client needs a social security card pretty please and the government would give you it just so they could get to the millions of other requests."

Foggy knew more about this line of legal work than Matt did. Foggy liked to help everyone, while Matt usually buried his head into the ones deemed unhelpable.

"The processes for the Blip still exist, I thought?" Matt didn't mean to make it sound like a question. Or well, it sounded like a question to himself, the rise of his voice was just barely caught, for his ears alone. "It hasn't been that long."

"Yes, but long enough they're getting strict again with the process. Plenty of people have jumped onto the opportunity to get documents that they legally shouldn't have. Power to them, really, but it's made it so they'll need more proof — testaments of friends and family, good lawyers, dental records, anything they can get their hands on to prove that you one: was a legal citizen pre-Blip, and two: proof that you blipped at all. Did he Blip?"

"I don't know." Foggy rolled his eyes. "I'm sure the process could be easier with the right lawyers, regardless," Matt suggested.

Foggy sighed, catching the hint. The sigh alone answered the unasked question on whether or not Foggy would help Matt with this. "Just tell me why you want to help so bad, and then I'll get on more research."

Matt smiled. "He's... interesting. Everything about him is a question. Besides, he's a good kid. I'd hate to sit back and watch him fall into homelessness just because of a few missing IDs."

That, and the fact that there were irresistible puzzles to the kid that he didn't mention because of the aforementioned speculation. What did Peter go out and do at night? Why had he reacted so strongly to Matt's phone call with Karen?

"Alright," Foggy said, resigned. "I'll get on it. Just promise me this isn't going to lead us down a huge rabbit hole of the kind of shit you deal with."

Karen scoffed. "Don't make him promise anything he can't keep."

The mood lightened with the semblance of a plan. The three of them settled in to discuss the next steps. Karen would continue to dig into May Parker, Foggy would look into getting IDs for a kid that didn't governmentally exist, and Matt would return home to a fixed embosser and win the looming lawsuit.

-o0o-

Peter blinked as the scream of sirens outside pulled him out from his deep concentration.

Ambulance sirens, two cops, a firetruck...

He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. The time on the oven read nearly midnight and the embosser on his table was just a few screws left of being repaired.

Or, temporarily repaired. Repaired enough to print Mr Murdock's notes and give Peter time to scramble for something to replace the bit's that'll inevitably break again the next time Mr Murdock needed things printed.

The sirens traveled away from him, angry and wailing. They were traveling deeper into Hell's Kitchen, and he desperately scolded himself before his curiosity could even bubble up and wonder where they were going.

Unfortunately, pushing down that curiosity just made him remember the sounds of the sirens that followed May's death...

Maybe he should take a break. Get out of Hell's Kitchen and punch some bad guys. He could tell Mr Murdock he stopped working on the embosser to sleep, so he didn't need to worry about getting paid more than what he could stomach.

The decision was easily made. He noted the time, determined to not get paid for this hour, then scrambled for the suit that he'd stuffed inside his bag.

-o0o-

The fact that it felt good to deck someone across the face probably should have worried Peter, but he felt too good to think about it.

This was doing something. Peter Parker found himself inexplicably erased, trapped in an ocean of isolation, drowning in lies that he couldn't even begin to tell the truth about. But Spider-Man? That guy didn't have to worry about that. That guy could make a difference—a memorable difference—every night. Every victim he helped.

It was a run-of-the-mill theft. Some old man had decided nighttime was the perfect time for a stroll, and some younger spry had thought it was the perfect opportunity to get himself a few extra dollars. The thief had been aggressive, not gun aggressive, knife aggressive, and Spider-Man couldn't have that.

"Woah, dude, watch where you're stabbing that thing, could take an eye out!"

A duck-and-weave around the swinging knife was all it took for Peter to close in. The tense of his arm was familiar, and the impact of his fist was true. He wasn't the best trained at knife-to-hand combat, but most of his problems could just be solved by being really hard to hit combined with the fact he had a bit more strength to use than everyone else.

The thief cried out, crashing back onto his backside and unwittingly throwing his knife to the side in favor of grabbing his smarting jaw.

Something, somewhere deep down, was disappointed that the fight wouldn't last more than a single duck-weave-punch, though the majority of Peter felt pleased with himself. He webbed up the jerk, grabbed the snatched wallet, then returned it to the grateful old man with a smile that creased the eye lenses of his mask.

"Thank you so much," the old man said, shaking Peter's hand. "You're that spider kid, aren't you?"

"Spider-Man," Peter corrected—that something somewhere wincing a bit.

Peter was erased. Spider-Man wasn't. Not all the way. People still knew Spider-Man. J. Jonah Jameson still ranted about him on the news. People recognized the colors he wore, and people tended to thank him by his superhero name.

The only thing about Spider-Man that got torn up by the fabric of the universe was Peter. Anyone who had known him as both identities no longer did, every interaction with Peter being replaced by unnameable recognition or a complete lack of memory in the first place. To what extent? Peter had no idea. He hadn't tried to seek anyone out who had known him as both, well, besides Mr Murdock, but that wasn't exactly on purpose. He also didn't count visiting MJ’s workplace that one time.

Besides, if Mr Murdock was anything to go by, anyone who worked with Spider-Man mask-off didn't remember a single conversation; wrapped up in a mystery of how they knew May Parker that they'll never get the answers to.

He wasn't going to try and see if MJ or Ned or Happy or Doctor Strange were any different.

Besides, he had no idea what would happen if he did regain a relationship with these people. Would the fabric of reality tear itself apart again? He'd love nothing more than to see Peter 2 and 3 again, but he couldn't risk their villains following them through again. What if they came for Peter 1 again? What if they went after his home, blew up the complex, and killed Mr Murdock in the process? What if they went after MJ? Ned? What if Doctor Strange couldn't fix it next time?

He squished that something somewhere further down, refusing to follow those thoughts deeper while he was literally shaking the hand of someone he'd just saved.

Feeling forcefully light and happy, Spider-Man swung through familiar neighborhoods, wishing just a little that he could take off the mask and feel the wind go through his hair. When he passed the busy streets, people pointed up and called out in excitement; when he passed over shady alleyways, shady people quickly split off. Sometimes, his presence was the only thing needed to discourage crime. It made him feel great, like Batman or something. Batman if he was cool and had a great sense of humor.

The night passed on, and almost nothing went wrong. No pooches were screwed. It was nearing sunrise and the semblance of rush hour had begun with the first few cars. He mentally planned the path back to his apartment. He almost got on that, until something shouted at him to stop.

He had already been stopped, mind you, standing awkwardly in a quiet alleyway looking at the street names because none of the buildings nearby were big enough to get a great enough view of the city. But his senses still went off, and someone authoritative commanded him to stop, and something clicked that sounded suspiciously like the safety on a pistol.

He swiveled his body around, frowning at the sight of the cop that stood at the other end of the alleyway, knees shaking and face twisted in confliction.

Uh. Okay? Peter wasn't exactly new to cops showing aggression to him. He had plenty pull their weapons on him at the beginning of his superhero career, and plenty more after Mysterio outed him and accused him of his murder.

But when he had joined the Avengers and fought Thanos... cops didn't do that. He was above their pay-grade, the FBI tended to want to deal with Spider-Man instead, but couldn't because of the mountains of paperwork they'd have to go through. The mountains of paperwork Mr Stark had made himself to make sure no national or international forces could get to him unless he committed an actual crime. Sure, yeah, the Mysterio stuff was an actual crime in their eyes and got Peter in alotta trouble, but after erasing his identity, everyone had gone back to not bothering him.

"Uh, you okay, officer?" He asked.

"Spider-Man," the cop said, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and Peter frowned deeper as the cop didn't even really talk to him there. He had one hand on the pointed gun, the other at the walk-y at his jugular. "It's Spider-Man."

Peter took a step forward and the cop freaked. "Hands up! Get down on your knees! Y-You're under arrest."

The cop really didn't sound like he wanted to be saying those words.

"I'm sorry? What did I do?" Peter slowly got down on his knees, not quite willing to freak out the cop more yet but confident he could swing away if anything escalated as they often did with freaked out cops.

"We have a warrant for your arrest," the officer said, not approaching, he was afraid to. Peter stayed silent and still, the information hitting him in the gut.

But... but the police couldn't arrest him? They didn't have a reason to?

The cop returned to his walk-y, asking for backup, telling his location.

"What are the accusations?" Peter asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I'm protected, you have to have a reason."

"Orders from above," the cop said, "I don't know any more... I'm sorry. All the stations across the city have been ordered to take you in."

Well, at least the cop genuinely sounded sorry.

"Orders from who?"

"Some DODC agent," the cop said, his fingers trembling.

Alright.

He heard sirens in the distance and Peter made the quick decision that he should probably scatter; he really didn't fancy getting arrested to sate his curiosity.

He whipped his arm out, shooting with superhuman accuracy to knock the cop's gun out of his hand and stick it to a nearby wall. The man started shouting, hassling to pull out some other weapon, but Peter was already swinging away, his heart to his throat.

-o0o-

Peter's leg bounced as he sat at his kitchen table, staring at the TV as JJJ happily announced that Spider-Man had refused a warrant for his arrest just hours before, which was obvious proof of his criminal and dangerous behavior.

He was going on and on, clearly very happy with the development, and Peter would love nothing more than to turn off the TV and have a very big panic attack, but before JJJ started talking, they had announced that some agent was going to guest on the broadcast and explain more of the situation.

It took fifteen minutes for JJJ to invite the agent on, and when he did, Peter's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

P. Cleary.

"Fu-"

-o0o-

"I can say for everybody that it's about damn time the DODC is taking actions against that masked menace."

"Spider-Man has been going under the radar for too long," the agent replied. Cleary. Jameson had introduced the agent a few minutes before. Matt wished he had some sort of visual description of the guy, he sounded like an asshole and he was willing to bet his nicest cane that he looked like one too. "While the Sokovia Accords have been repealed, order is still required when dealing with enhanced individuals. Spider-Man has been protected under the good will of Tony Stark, which at the time, was all the we needed to allow Spider-Man the freedom to remain anonymous in his work even after Stark's death. However, in light of recent incidents at the London Bridge as well as the Statue of Liberty, that protection has been called into question. After an investigation, we've found that the protection documents from Tony Stark granting Spider-man's right to be a vigilante as well as work with the Avengers have been... corrupted.

"Until we can meet with Spider-Man or a credible source that can vouch for him to redraft his order of protection, we regret to announce to the public that Spider-Man is to be considered dangerous, and should be avoided. His recent interaction with a local officer—attacking the officer and resisting arrest—proves that what we're doing is for the safety of the people."

"And why would you announce this great news on the Daily Fix?"

Cleary shifted. Forgive him Lord, but Christ on a cross this guy radiated smugness even through the television waves. It's a good thing Matt hadn't caught the attention of the DODC, people tended to look at louder vigilante's before they set their sights on Hell's Kitchen.

"To send Spider-Man a message before things get more messy for him. Spider-Man, turn yourself in, make this easy for everyone. We just want to get to the bottom of things, and the more you resist, the messier things will get—"

A voice message from Peter vibrated his phone, pulling his attention from his morning routine. Sure, listening to the news while drinking caffeine wasn't exactly the best routine for his anxiety, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do to keep sane. He navigated his phone to click play on the message, a frown working its way onto his lips.

"Hey Matt, it's Peter, uh, Parker, you gave me your number earlier? I'm just letting you know I finished your embosser and I can give it back whenever. Just so you know I only worked on it for, like, five hours—hah—but you really don't have to pay me or anything. It's okay, like seriously. Anyways just let me know when you're free, or pop by whenever, or, uhm, whatever. Thanks, kay, bye. Yeah."

Well that would have lifted his spirits if Peter didn't sound like he was trying not to cry that entire message. Faintly, he could hear the very same Daily Fix broadcast in the background of the message as he replayed it and listened just a little harder.

Concern filtered into Matt's brain, creasing his eyebrows and the smell of his coffee no longer soothed his wretched soul. He broadened his senses, finding Peter in his studio, heart racing, more than normal, and breath barely under control.

"Stupid," he was whispering to himself, "what if he actually comes down?! Stupid-"

Matt sighed, standing up and abandoning his coffee before turning off the TV. The guest agent had left already. He wanted to hear more about Spider-Man, the name struck familiarity to him in a way he couldn't put his finger on, but the kid downstairs demanded his attention a little more.

He definitely sounded like he needed a friend.

He grabbed his glasses, cane, jacket, enough cash for seven hours of pay, and sent Peter a message announcing that he'll be down soon. Peter received it, took a deep breath, turned off the TV, and wiped—by the sound of it combined with a salty smell—tears from his eyes and cheeks.

Lord, give Matt strength.

#Peter Parker #Spider-Man #marvel #MCU #daredevil #Matthew Murdock #fanfiction #jin writes #AO3

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pl9090 · 6 months

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Impurities and Mutations

Constructive feedback and criticism is welscome as always. (I'm not happy with this draft but I've spent too much time on this post already at the expense of others).

The idea of a, (for lack of a better term) biological connection between The Other and both renagade Timelords, (eg: The, "Affected Generation" and the Deca) and the subsequent newblood generations. But is there any clues in the expanded lore as to how and why?

Basic looms summary

Looms work by combining, "weaving" together biodata material from both the House's own stock from past Cousins, (80%-90%) and the wider distribution system, (10%-20%) to form either a fully ground adult or a baby. (The percentages are a guess based on the idea that the distributor biodata exchange is intended as a degredation prevention measure as each House was essentially endlessly recycling the same biodata for millions of years which along with Rassilon's later intelligence reduction modification resulted in the: stagant, unvaried, and elderly civil servant mentality civilisation seen in, "The Deadly Assassin"). Just before the start of the Second War in Heaven the new stasis tube like looms were introduced and used to mass produce Timelord soldiers aswell as Timelord citizenry. The Other's Plan

In Lungbarrow chapter 30 The Other threw himself into the loom network's prime distributor, the open progenitive cascades unravelling his biodata. His plan is generally considered to be rebirth millions of years later via a random loom, (the term "huanting the network" has been used) because he was overcome with a deep self loathing depression over: the way Gallifreyian society had changed to become stagant, Rassilon's increasing despotism, and his self perceived partial blame for both.

However this interpretation doesn't make sense for the following two reasons:

The first is that as the co creator of the loom technology with Rassilon, The Other would know that as opposed to loom jumping this would not result in ressurection regardless of how long he, "waited" as his unravelled biodata would be irrevocably lost by being dispersed throughout the entire loom network mutating when it combines with those in each individual House's store which is shared resulting in each generation accumulating more of it. This is backed up by: a.Both the appearance and increased impurities, (ie: Biodata, "errors" and thus personality eccentricities) starting out very minor with barely any effect on the status quo about 1,000,000.B.T.W. to the more widepsread renegade upheaving the status quo, "Affected Generation" about 700,000.B.T.W.. b.The term reconstitution is specifically used instead of ressurection and has a defintion of, "the act of changing something so that it has a different form". In this case his self sacrifice so his biodata could change future loomborn's biodata makeup so that they are more wombborn like, (eg: Varied individualistic personalities) and thus more open to change. c.The fact that as one of the four main mutations of the, "Affected Generation", (replacing Avus/Grandfather Paradox as a Lungbarrow Cousin when he retired himself from history) holds and can access only some of the Other's memories while not knowing who most of the people in them were despite the .V.N.A. guidelines clearly stating he isn't the Other.

(It is interesting to note that both Avus/Grandfather Paradox and The Doctor share key apects of The Other's known personality, (cultural beliefs and a sort of restlessness/bohemianism) specifically public questioning of the protocols/implying that change was the most important tool of any culture. Maybe the Lungbarrow loom has a higher concentration of Other tainted biodata?) .

"'Millennia later, Cavis mused that travel, extreme violence, and "Murder, sex and adventure in exotic frocks' were the zenith of what the Other had envisioned", The Shadows of Avalon.

The second is that The Other's dialogue with himself and others, (see the quotes below) this was not a spur of the moment ressurection plan but a pre thoughout last resort suicidal contingency plan to maybe ensure that future generations of loomborn would eventually have the varied individualistic personalities as the wombborn had as explained above. Did he know it would work? Maybe but it's clear that he was so depressed that he probably didn't care. While his order that Susan leave Gallifrey was to save her from Rassilon's wombborn ethnic clenasing it could also been an attempt to preserve a fully wombborn Gallifreyan for later study and for her to become an inspiration example for the surviving Interventionalists.

"I warned him. I warned Rassilon that if force was used against the dissenters, if their sanctuary in the Pythia's temple was violated, then I would leave his accursed planet to its own devices!".

"But if I go, there will be no way back. Rassilon will be left with absolute control. No checks, no balances. Gods, how I long to be free. Free of schemes, ambitions, and free of my dark, brooding self".

"But there will be much to prepare for my departure and one impossible farewell to make".

Whether or not Rassilon knew what The Other planned to do is ambiquous though his relevant dialogue, (ie: Asking him not to leave) and actions, (ie: Activiating a forcefield and ordering the guards to prevent his departure) suggests he thought The Other was simply going to physically leave Gallifrey never to return which makes sense given he founded the Interventionist movement, (the Azazel/Eblis mini diasporia could have been one of his schemes).

Texts Used

.8.D.A. Lungbarrow.

.8.D.A. Shadows of Avalon.

Gallifrey, Notes on the Planet's Background.

.F.P. The Book of the War.

#faction paradox #book of the war #doctor who #great houses #timelords #whoniverse #bbc doctor who #lungbarrow #shadows of avalon #Gallifrey #looms #The Other

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kyogre-blue · 7 months

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Remire month! Uuuuurgh, this is dragging. I just do not care about the Eagles enough to feel motivated here.

There's a few points worth noting though.

First, regarding Solon. He came to the monastery posing as Tomas only a year prior, explicitly to target Flayn. From this, the implication seems to be that Flayn has only been at the monastery 1-2 years. Questions that remains:

Why was she targeted but not Seteth? Could be that she's an easier target because she can't fight, or it could be because headcanon: she's half human. Or could be a secret third thing.

What was her blood used for, specifically? During the Sothis paralogue, Hubert and Edelgard discuss how the demonic beast is a "wild" one, which is a distinction that makes sense only if they already know about creating artificial ones, so based on that and the overall timeline, I don't think Flayn's blood is tied to turning people into Demonic Beasts. And there isn't really a lot else the Agarthans do in the present day. Unless they used her blood to make Nemesis and his fake Sword of the Creator...?

Second, regarding monsters:

During the Sothis paralogue, Edelgard makes a clear distinction between "wolves" and "hawkes" that are beasts, and a Demonic Beast. Hubbie makes a clear distinction that this is a "wild" Demonic Beast, a stray. They totally know about making people into Demonic Beasts.

Poking at the descriptions of the enemy units, the animals are "Giant Beasts" which have ingested "Dark Stones" and grown to incredible size due to the magic they absorbed (presumably from the dark stones they ate). The Wild Demonic Beast on the other hand has a "Cracked Crest Stone" and is described as having lost all sense of reason.

Notably, Maurice could talk despite having been a demonic beast for nearly a thousand years. He was often overcome by his bloodlust, but he retained a degree of reason above that of this wild demonic beast and also Miklan. Extrapolating from that, it might be possible for other demonic beasts to also speak or retain an even greater level of control over themselves.

Since demonic beasts can occur "in the wild," this seems to mean that a human being could encounter a crest stone "in the wild" and get turned into one. It's really unclear how many children of the goddess there actually were or whether crest stones are a 1 dragon = 1 stone deal. Can Nabateans create additional crest stones aside from the one they presumably keep inside themselves? Or did some crest stones end up being passed around after the Red Canyon?

Third, regarding Hubert and Edelgard, the backstory they give about their relationship is kind of puzzling. Hubert was made Edelgard's retainer at a very young age and is insanely loyal to her from the get-go. Was Edelgard always the heir due to having a crest, and that's why Hubert, the heir to the house that specifically become the Emperor's retainers, got assigned to her?

But that aside, why is Hubert SO loyal? And why does he make it sound like that loyalty was instilled by his father, when his father betrayed the Emperor later? Did they fall out, or did Hubert's dad also get replaced lol

Additionally, the entire way their history is presented... Edelgard claims to remember meeting him when she was 4, and Hubert praises her good memory? Edelgard, who specifically has holes in her memories? Hubert basically says he's hiding things from her and also says he doesn't remember this meeting, so like... are some of Edelgard's memories outright fake? What are we even supposed to make of this?

Anyway, liveblogging notes:

Remire village has a variety of symptoms reported: restless movements, fits of violence, becoming bedridden or even impossible to wake.

It's interesting that the Church is looking into this. Remire is in Imperial territory. Technically, it's not the church's problem, since there's not really any Church-related involved.

Manuela guesses it's either a combination of poisons or else dark magic.

Hubert and Edelgard point out that the same people (Death Knight and unknown mages) were involved with both the Western Church and Flayn's kidnapping. However, they also state that this doesn't mean these incidents and Remire are part of the same plot. Rather, it may be "different motives overlapping." Presumably, because Edelgard wants to let Byleth in on her goals being separate from the Agarthans' goals.

Tales of the Red Canyon is available this month but not the prior ones. It doesn't seem to stem from doing the Eagle Lion Battle, so is it related to Byleth's mystery illness? One of the explore NPCs says that monsters are more active during Red Wolf Moon, so is it just that?

Petra mentions that Brigit is a small island caught between the much larger nations of Dagda and the Empire.

Hubert and Edelgard B: Edelgard says they met when she was 4 years old. Hubert praises her perfect memory, which in this context makes me wonder if she's misremembering something about how they met. Hubert says he was six and does not remember it.

He remembers instead when she was injured. Her father scolded him and told him to protect Eddie with his life. Which is interesting given that iirc Hubbie's father betrayed the emperor.

They were together a lot until Arundel took Edelgard to the Kingdom. Hubbie went nuts, tried to run after her and fought with soldiers sent to bring him back for three days before being dragged back. (lmao?? he was ten? Then Eddie was eight?)

Hubbie all but confirms that he's keeping things from Edelgard.

This whole support is.... hm. It sure portrays Edelgard in an interesting light. A vulnerable light lol

Bernie and Petra B... Bernie can't handle the thought of killing vegetables or plants, but we're supposed to believe she shoots people on the battlefield.

Speaking of Sothis's mystery illness, I wonder if it's supposed to be caused by the Remire experiments? She mentions that she feels sleepy and that this feeling is familiar to her.

Caspar mentions that his father came by during the Eagle Lion Battle and talked to Edelgard, even though the two of them previously did not get along. Probably planning the attack on Garreg Mach?

Catherine has been at the monastery for four years, Shamir for five.

Ferdinand explore mentions that yes, Remire is the village where the game starts, and also wonders if one of the house leaders knew there were mercenaries there when they sought shelter there during Kostas's attack. Can't be Dimitri and... seems to not be Edelgard? So are we supposed to suspect Claude for some reason? Could just be throwaway dialogue for some reason.

Sylvain brings up the plague in Faerghus, which was almost 20 years ago and killed the queen-consort (Dimitri's mom). It was dealt with by Cornelia. This is just making me more suspicious that the Faerghus plague was caused by the Agarthans too lol

Two-toned whetstone trading chain: books of crestology to Hanneman > book of saints to Manuela > Fire Amulet to Cyril > Glowing Stone to Mercedes > "The Path of Dawn" to Marianne > Medicinal Eyedrops to Linhardt > two-toned whetstone

Hubert B: He explains how he's been sizing you up for assassination, but you're a tough nut. He also explains how, when Arundel returned to the Empire with Edelgard, he worked with PM Aegir and Hubbie's dad to render the Emperor "politically impotent."

He says he can "almost see" a second self lurking beneath the surface of Byleth... just like Arundel! Who is an evil shapeshifter pretending to be Arundel, which Hubbie knows.

Alois and Shamir paralogue: Derdiu in Riegan territory... Gamer lean forward.

The Merchants' Association sent a request for protection via the Eastern Church. What exactly is House Riegan doing that the merchants are asking the church instead lol?

The Eastern Church doesn't have a standing army. They want to contribute to make their presence known in the Alliance. But the Central Church has too much on its plate, so they're sending one super badass mercenary and some noble kids instead.

GW doesn't have a Derdiu map, so it's cute to see it. It's got little umbrellas along the area we can't go to.

The pirates pretend to be Almyran navy. So like... people know this navy exists (because it has attacked before?) or are the pirates jus making shit up?

We deploy to Remire because the situation escalates suddenly. Villagers start killing each other and houses go up in flames. ...I already forgot what we were expecting to do there at the start of the month, when the situation wasn't as drastic.

Nothing terribly interesting at Remire. Oh, I forgot to check the enemy X info... I thiiink some of them were listed as being with the Flame Emperor? Man, the actual characters have only seen the Flame Emperor once before this, right? Uuuuugh when was it? At the Holy Mausoleum (the fake one)? Or during Flayn's kidnapping?

Solon does explicitly confirm he posed as Tomas and came to the monastery to get Flayn's blood. He also conducted the experiments at Remire specifically in regard to Flayn's blood. I do think, though, that they already had a way of making Demonic Beasts, since Hubert and Edelgard emphasize that the one in the Sothis paralogue was "wild" (as opposed to artificially created). Not sure what they really wanted from Flayn's blood. Given how bad this game is about loose ends, probably nothing specific.

Anyway, the timeline is that real Tomas joined the monastery 40 years ago, then 8 years ago went back to Ordelia, where he presumably was killed and replaced in time to return to the monastery last year. This implies Flayn has been at the monastery for maybe 1-2 years. It also lines up with Monica's disappearance, for what that's worth.

Flame Emperor shows up after the battle to tell us that "he" is working with Solon, yes, but they do not have the same goals, and if "he" had known about what Solon was planning, he totally would have stopped him. But like I said, Edelgard and Hubert discuss the wild Demonic Beast in the Sothis paralogue in a tone like creating artificial beasts is a thing that they know about, so I don't think Edelgard is unaware that the Agarthans are constantly doing human experimentation even in the present day.

Seemingly, the Flame Emperor shows up here just to test the waters about Byleth joining "him."

Funny how Hubert runs up "have you seen Lady Edelgard??"

Sothis says she does not recall a previous time that you were at the monastery (when Jeralt mentions both of you leaving there), but like... she ALSO specifically discusses how she wasn't awake before the game started. So did she flip through Byleth's memories, ooooor....?

Tomas was from the Alliance, Jeritza was from the Empire, and though they do not connect it, these mysterious foes (the Agarthans) messed around with the Western Church in the Kingdom. So the mystery is set up that this foe has infiltrated multiple nations and has great reach. But lmao this isn't going to get addressed in two of four routes....?

#playing fire emblem

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dearlawdimasimp · 2 years

Text

Mission Failed: Successfully

Prologue || Aimed to Kill - Ep 1 Re-write

Pairings: (eventually)Marc Spector x Filo!Reader; (eventually)Steven Grant x Filo!Reader; (eventually)Khonshu x Filo!reader

Word count: 4.2k+ words ik im shocked too😨

Summary: Moon Knight Episode One, In the Alps, but with Ynaguinid's Python, You.

Warnings: grammar, lots of swearing, violence, blood mentioned many times, lots of swearing, no use of y/n, lengthy fic, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR MOON KNIGHT EP 1 and NOT BETA READ (if i missed any, kindly tell me in the comments ^-^)

Gif not mine!!

PISTE GIATAY YAWA-

You cursed under your breath as your air got knocked out of your lungs, groaning from the transferred impact of your kalasag to your arm as you had used it to guard yours and Marc's body, as you two jumped from the window of the second floor which housed the scarab.

"You okay?" Your question is muffled by your makeshift mask using your blue scarf, as you look down at the man you just held on to like there was no tomorrow as you two had thrown yourselves off the building. "Do you have it?"

You would've expected Marc to nod, ask you the question too and separate himself from you then run to escape.

Instead, he looked at you with a confused stare and answered with a reluctant, "I-I am alright.. I'm sorry, do I have what? Where am- Where are we??"

Why is he speaking in a British accent? Did he hit his head?- oh gods did you let his head get hit on the ground?!?

"I-I'm sorry but- who-who are.. you?"

"Who am- Marc..what?"

Your brows furrow deeper as your eyes search his face for any signs that he was tricking you- but found none. The sharp, hard glare you were accustomed to is replaced by soft and dazed ones, an expression you wouldn't have expected to see on Marc's face and damn did it suit him- NOT THE TIME.

His brows scrunches in the middle of his forehead as you mentioned his name, looking lost and stares at you in bewilderment.

"My name's Steven..Steven Grant, actually- why-" He looks down at you two's position-

You two have yet to stand and remove yourselves from each other after huddling close to make sure you both would be protected by the shield, you noticed this and immediately let your iron grip on his jacket go. He also seemed to just notice that his arms are around your waist, upon seeing this he was quick to mutter apologies with wide embarrassed eyes and pulled his limbs to his chest, sitting up before quickly holding your arm to help you up.

"I'm really, really sorry-" Marc? mumbles more apologies, "I'm a little lost, I was just in my flat awhile ago and I-I don't know what is happening-"

You let your shield disappear as you pull yourself up with his help, who's currently a babbling mess, apparently doesn't know you and now speaks british.

Hopefully Khonshu will not kill you for accidentally giving his avatar amnesia.

He seemed impressed by the use of magic, before he can ask about it though you firmly hold his his wrist to get his attention, stopping him from questioning everything around you, which he should have an idea about because one, he's leading this mission in the first place, and two you have been working for months now!

You opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, what's going on, but the yells from the window that you had just leaped off cut you off.

You both look up just in time to see a man ready to rain fire at your position. Reacting fast you summon your kalasag once more and pull Marc back to you. The man yelps at the force and panics at the sound of guns firing.

Okay- Something's not right. What is happening?!

'Wala natay panahon ana lang!! Piste- Dagan na!!' 'We don't have time for that dear!! Fucking- Run, now!!' You hear Ynaguinid yell angrily in your head and you could only nod in reply as you sprint away from the house with Marc in tow.

"Y'know- using your throwing moons now would be good for both of us!!-" You commented as you grip Marc's arm and run down the hills while making sure no bullets will hit any of you.

"I'm pretty sure I cannot throw moons!!!" Oh this motherfucker-

"Just- oh fuck-" You mumble more curses as you slide down the small slope, giving you a bigger shield and a small time to buy-

"Why are they firing at u-"

You stop his question with tuts and a hand in front of his face, "OKAY okay- We'll talk later, alright?! I'll answer everything, Steven, but we won't be able to do that if we're dead now, would we? Meet me at the village! And keep that scarab safe!" You yell in the midst of the gunfire, working on a compromise since it seems that Steven is not going to fight back anytime soon. He looked like he wanted to say something but the bullets once again refrains him from saying something.

"GO!" You ordered the man before running back up, summoning your kampilan and slamming the front of your rectangular shield to the goon nearest you, pushing that man down off his balance, giving you time to hide yourself from the other goon's firing. You advanced to the firing goon and smacked his gun off his hand with your shield and plunged your sword into his stomach.

"What about you?!"

Ay pagka-gago- 'oh this stupid-' Although you're touched by his concern, the scarab is what's important at this moment. That was what you came for in the first place. The scarab. Your life be damned as long as this stupid person who's had that trinket won't unleash a genocidal asshole.

"I can handle myself Marc!" You mindlessly replied as you hid behind your kalasag, the man you knocked down earlier had stood back up and is now firing at you. You glance back at Marc- Steven- WHOEVER THE FUCK HE THINK HE IS- who's still hiding behind the slope and gave him your most burning raged glare. He seemed to finally understand that you need no help and can handle yourself before running down to the village, he kept looking back at you as he did but eventually ran straight ahead.

You hear more incoming- and the asshole who's firing at your reload, which you didn't waste time to use the opportunity to get back at him with a heavy kick to the chest and slash his throat- you whine to yourself as you watched three, maybe more, people approach you with loaded guns. Your adrenaline is spiking to its highest at the sight of them surrounding you, just like back in the Philippines huh, you thought to yourself knowing Ynaguinid could hear you, as you grip your sword tightly.

'Just like back in the Philippines, my child..' The deity repeats, you humorlessly chuckle and twirl the blood stained sword.

"Let's fucking dance then."

That man did not just kill that old woman.

Steven looks at the poor old lady who's lifeless body is being carried away from the plaza, saddened by her death. He gulps as his eyes catch on to the men that wore similar clothing to the people that were shooting at him and, you, the resolute person back at the hills who he just witnessed make weapons and shields appear out of thin air.

He still hasn't found you, which made him worry a bit. Though you looked like you can handle yourself, he still cannot stop from being concerned for your well-being. You just saved him, you held on to him, surely he meant something to you and you to him yet, he doesn't know you. He's never seen you in his entire life yet you spoke to him like you two had been seeing for months, and you called him Marc-

His thoughts halts when all of the people crowding the place suddenly kneels, startled he looks around and follows, "Oh bollocks.." perhaps a little too late-

"You."

He looks up at the man in maroon, looking around him to see if he was actually talking to him.

"Who-who, me?"

"Mercenary."

Panting heavily, you ran and made a sharp turn to an alley to your left, bumping the wall and used it to push yourself and gain more momentum, just in time before Harrow's goon could corner you.

Your scarf concealing your identity had been pulled down from your face to make it much easier to breathe. Discarding any regards to your enemy recognizing you if ever they come across you on a normal day because fuck that! You need to breathe!

You just hope Ma-Steven is okay and the scarab is safe. Rounding left, you see a man block your path at the end of the small alley, your groan internally in annoyance and search for any exits, you didn't slow down though, you ran faster instead and since you found no exit other than sliding under the goon's legs, you opted for that and successfully bypassed his stupid blockage. Sometimes being short has its perks.

Scrambling back up to your feet, you continue to run at the street, trying to find Steven Grant in this village and avoiding bumping into as many people as you could.

"Here, little warrior." Khonshu's deep voice echoes in your ears, you nearly lose your balance as you skid to a stop to turn where you heard the god's voice. Turning right and running down the road, finally seeing the avatar. You thanked the Egyptian deity.

Steven -or Marc- was scrambling away from the village people, who are no doubt Harrow's followers. Your arrival did not go unnoticed by the man with a power-laced cane, seeing your bloodied clothes one wouldn't doubt to assume you and the man trying to escape are working together.

And also because of the fact that there are also people running behind you shouting to stop you.

Your running did not stop. Your lack of oxygen is now making your lungs burn and making it difficult to breathe, but you have to keep running. This time, you do not care who you are going to run over as you catch up to Steven, seeing as he had gotten into a fucking cupcake van. Hey, it's better than nothing!

Grunting, you push a man out of the way to reach the door handle of the back of the van but someone got a hold of your jacket and pulled you away.

"Puta!-" You yelp in annoyance as your body gets yanked back, stumbling back and away from the van at the force.

The moment you slipped on your feet, the people started to crowd you and hold you down, you struggled against their hold and got a glimpse of the leaving pink vehicle before a lady flung herself on top of you, blocking your line of vision and knocking the wind off of you. You feel yourself paling at the thought of getting left behind.

Is Marc and Khonshu really going to abandon you here in the alps? Leaving you helpless against Harrow's force and getting locked up while he runs scott free?

'Kabalo kang dili jud ko na itugot na mahitabo na, 'nak!!' 'You know that I wouldn't allow that to happen, child!!'

Just as long as they have the scarab, that is okay with you, you convince yourself as Ynaguinid screams reassurance in your head.

But, even then, that doesn't mean you won't put up a fight against these sons of bitches-

A pained whine emits from your throat as you thrash to free just one hand as they begin to trample over you like how quarterbacks would, crushing you with their weights against the brick road and disabling you from breathing properly, your vision doubling from the lack of air.

'Barog, akong sundalo! Ipakita sa ilaha ang kusog sa usa ka sundaw ug ang kakuyaw sa lason sa bitin!!' 'Stand, my warrior! Show them the strength of a warrior and how lethal a snake's poison is!!' You hear Ynaguinid's stern command amidst the ruckus, her tone laced with worry.

A surge of power then washes over you, a scream tears from your throat as you feel Ynaguinid channel all of her abilities through your flesh. You feel the weight above lessen as the people scramble away from you as well as the feeling of being engulfed by familiar fabrics. Wailing surrounds you, you glance to Harrow's followers. They were scratching their bodies as if they were bitten by ants as your body had released a toxin, courtesy by your deity no doubt. Your throat squeezes as you regain your breathing as well as your ability to move your limbs and with all your might, you knock the remaining people on top of you off.

You gasp and gulp back air to your system as you stumble up to your feet, your kampilan appearing on your hand, ready to strike whoever is going to attack you. But seeing none, you push your wobbly legs and run towards where you had seen the van drive off to, ignoring the ringing in your ears as well as the muffled screaming behind you.

If it wasn't for Ynaguinid's steadfast determination flowing through your veins, you would have passed out. You thanked your deity in your head, panting through your mouth as your body craves more air while running, again.

You see a glimpse of the cupcake van just up ahead, looking like it was slowing down. You exert more force on your legs, more force than you had exerted before to reach the vehicle.

As the vehicle is in arms reach, you didnt hesitate to jump and throw yourself in, breaking the door and startling the driver as you land harshly on the steel floor of the van.

"GO! NOW!" Ordered the god of the moon, you assume it was his avatar he was ordering but you couldn't care less about that. Your utmost priority at the moment was to breathe and not die in exhaustion in the back of the van.

You swallow, needing to lubricate your dry throat and roll to your front, your vision blurred which made you confused, gods are you seriously going to pass out right now?!

But then you feel something wet trail down your cheek, you touch it and see clear water on your fingertips. You were crying. Part of you know the reason but the other is denying that.

"You alright there?" You heard Steven ask from the driver seat, the ringing a while ago has subsided allowing you to hear him clearly and the song from the radio.

Wake me up! Before you go-go!

"I'm fine-" Your reply came out weak, and hoarse. You slam your fist on the metal floor as your thoughts wander to the fact that he left without you.

"Are y-" "Did you plan on leaving me to die, back there Marc?- or Steven?! Gods I-" Your lips tremble, after weeks of working with this asshole and the pigeon, all of those nights just fade to nothing when it comes to mission priorities?!?

"No-no!! I would never leave you!! It's just that-"

Guns once again stops his sentence.

"Oh bugger-"

"Piste yawa giatay bulshet PISTE!!" You yell your heart out in anger and frustration as you punch the boxes of cupcakes, not caring of the icing staining your costume.

Steven grips the steering wheel, he hadn't meant to leave you behind! He actually waited a bit even as the villagers started to climb on the van. He had looked at the mirror to see you being piled up with people trying to restrain you. And he saw it. Like a hint of green smoke emitting from the human pile, before the people scrambled to get away from you. He saw you fling the remaining men who's still yet to get off you. He saw you being clothed with some sort of magic and your eyes glowing an angry green under the shadow that formed on your face.

He thought he had gone mad. That all of this was just some mad dream he is going to wake up from. But the people, the pain, felt all too real, yet what is happening feels all too possible!! This has to be a dream!

The moment he saw you throw those people off was when he started to drive, swerving the van left to right to get the attackers off the van, apologizing to every single one of them as he did. He doesn't mean harm but he has to protect himself, and the scarab, apparently!

"Don't you dare leave them behind!!!" Screamed the voice in his head,

"I won't!! I won't!!" He had thought that voice could've been his conscience or something.

He tunes himself back to present, maneuvering in the highway as cars follow and trail after you and him with guns trained. He doesn't even have his licence with him! And yet here he is driving full speed with a person on the carriage of the cupcake van!!!

"This has to be a dream!" He repeated out loud as he made a turn, "We're going to be killed!"

"We're not going to be killed!!" He sees you stand up with a little bit of swaying from the rear view mirror, the icings on your costume along with the blood on your hands and glowing eyes made it look like you were some godly cupcake murderer.

"Just keep on driving, and try not to kill us both while you're at it. I'll handle them!" He sees you pick up the sword you had dropped and braced yourself in a stance as you face the oncoming cars.

He only nods frantically with a gulp. Okay- as long as he won't crash this van, you two are going to be-

Bang!

A car had hit the side of the van, he looked to his right with a scream, the men had their guns aimed at him. He ducks as much as he could to avoid being shot while still making sure he can see the road.

He hears commotion behind him and glances back, a man just got stabbed by your sword and kicked in the chest by you, letting the corpse roll on the highway and get crushed by the cars tailing them.

He grimaced at the image- all of this is stressing him out- he just wants to go back to his flat, safe and sound. Away from death-

He feels himself roll his eyes back-

You whipped your head to the sound of gunshots from the front- Steven!-

You grip the gun you stole from the asshole number something, wobbling from the swerving of the van as you quickly made your way to the front not caring to crush the boxes under your feet and pushed yourself between the seats, aiming at the multiple assholes by the driver seat and pulling the trigger. Hitting mostly their arms but one bullet was able to hit the driver's head-

"Thanks-" The familiar american accent and timbre mumbles from your driver and snatches your gun, and continues to shoot the other goons on the other side who had caught up on you two.

Not missing the change of demeanour, you hit his bicep after he shot his shots.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS HA-"

"NOT RIGHT NOW OKAY-"

The van swerved again to a sharp turn, throwing you to the front seat, hitting your side in the process and putting you in an awkward position that is DEFINITELY far from sitting.

"Fuckin- awhile ago you just started screaming your head off like a headless chicken-"

"Not right now," he growls your name in warning but you continue-

"- not knowing how to- atay yawa-" You grunt as you push yourself up and sit properly on the seat- "how to fucking summon your throwing moons, speaking like some kind of posh asshole saying your name is Steven fucking Grant-"

"Kung mo-sulti gali na siya ug 'not right now' balik, tuk-on jud ko ni siya ba!" 'If he says 'not right now' again, I am going to strangle him!' Says Ynaguinid somewhere behind the carriage but you ignore her-

"I said NOT RIGHT NOW!!"

"RAGHHH TUK-A RA GUD NING GIATAYA NI!!" 'CHOKE THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE RIGHT NOW!!'

"-and now you're shooting like you know what is actually happening!!!"

You hear him shoot more goons behind you and groan, you glance at him ready to flip him off but his eyes rolling to the back of his head makes you soften your gaze just a bit in worry as you look back and forth between him and the road.

"Ste- Marc- Ay ambot oy!- Are you-" 'Oh I don't know!-' You reached out but his yelp made you retract, as if the gun he's holding burnt his hand and hastily dropped it.

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT IS HAPPENING!!"

You look at him confusedly and look back to the road as you heard something-

"Truck-" You grab and shake his forearm and pointed at the truck about to collide to your van-

"What?!-"

"TRUCK TRUCK-"

You and the tanned fella on the driver seat shrieked your heads off as the van barely misses the oncoming truck AND the edge of the cliff.

Mamatay man kaha jud ko ani dire kay tungod aning boang! 'I think I'm gonna die here because of this fucker!' You cuss inwardly and vocally as you swore you felt your soul left your body-

Two cars are still on your tail even after the truck you just avoided flipped to its side.

MAMATAY JUD KO DIRE YAWA- 'I'M REALLY GOING TO DIE HERE SHIT-'

They sandwich your pink van and draw their guns, aimed to kill you both and you can hear Steven -you guessed by the accent- repeating frantic no's as he ducks out of the guns line of fire.

You took out your kalasag and shielded yourself and summoned your kris dagger on the other and leaned towards him -

"KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN OR I SWEAR TO THE GODS I AM NOT GOING TO REGRET ACCIDENTALLY KILLING YOU!" Was your only warning to the avatar before throwing your dagger to the driver on the other car by the driver seat.

You hit your target right on the eye just as your fucking partner took the gun he dropped awhile ago, leaned his hand on the side of your sheild and shot the passenger on the car driving by your side, blindly yet luckily hitting the guy.

His lack of attention to the wheel made the van skid, the force making you lose balance, once again, yelping as. you are tossed to the driver's side.

Although he was quick to turn the wheel back, you are now driving backwards.

You cuss more and more in fear, annoyance and fear- it's all just blending at the moment- but seeing the other car drive off the cliff, you cussed in victory.

"HAHAH! FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!"

"I'M DRIVING BACKWARDS!!" The high pitched, british accent squealed beside you and that's when you knew Steven is back again- you may not understand what in the actual fuck is happening but the pattern is not hard to miss-

"Ah yes, welcome back, honey bunch sugar pop-"

The vehicle shakes as the car bumps the front of your van. Steven yelps, both at the shaking and the gun on his hand and-

"PISTE NA- GILABAY JUD NIYA ANG PUSIL?!?!"'OH FUCKING COME ON- DID HE REALLY JUST THREW THE GUN?!?!' Ynaguinid is back and is obviously pissed at the move- while you just stared at the front where the gun had been thrown to.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!!" Squealed the man on the driver seat.

The car hits the front of the van once more, swerving the vehicle back to where its front should be. You grip to the handle by the broken windshield as Steven turns the wheel several times to control the van. It halts to a stop just as the car that just bumped you overtakes and blocks the road. Its passengers unloading one by one-

You look back and forth to the oncoming enemies and the struggling Steven as he tries to start the van. You tightly gripped your shield with heavy breaths, summoning your kampilan with the other, ready to fight again but the rumbling from the cliff above you stopped your plan- Tree trunks hitting the person, you look up just in time before a trunk hits your van and scrambled onto his lap, engulfing his head with your arms as you use your kalasag to shield your bodies from the heavy cylindrical boulders rolling from the cliff above you.

You curse loudly and groan at the transferred impact from the trunks to the magical shield, swaying along the van as it gets hit.

Then silence.

Heavy panting are the only things heard in the van as the rumbling stopped.

You swallow and look down at the man below you, the sharp and harsh gaze you've grown accustomed to looks back at you, and dare you say in worry.

Your position and proximity is not in your mind as you two share the air you're breathing in as you calm down. Because if it was, you would've been a blushing mess on top of the man. Your flushed state could be of fatigue or by the situation but fuck that-

"You better give a damn good explanation, Spector, before I leave you choking on your own saliva."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you guys enjoyed the reader insert re-write!!👀 This is not a direct sequel to Chap 1 tho(now named 'the sun meets the moon').

Anyways, feel free to leave constructive criticism in the comments bellow and hope you guys have a good day/night!!💞💞

Taglist: @m4nd0l0r @jasmines-greentea

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