#not the dead parent thing but the custody part

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Wait, wait, wait, hold up! You’re telling me that in this shit storm of a movie, after Derek dies, Eli goes to live with Scott? The guy who hasn’t seen him since he was 3 prior to the events of the movie? Not his family? Not his aunt Cora, who would be an awesome guardian like her brother was to her? Not Peter, who would be a questionable guardian but at least he’s not the same man he was in season 1? Not Malia, his dad’s cousin, who would actually be able to help him through shifts he struggles with because she’s been there? Not Sheriff Stilinski or Parrish who have been in his life for a while and would help keep him on the straight and narrow?

#ummm…. I’ll pass #canon? what canon? #teen wolf #teen wolf the movie #teen wolf movie #unless under extreme circumstances the kid always goes with biological family first #and before anyone comes for me this is the custody dispute I’m living when it comes to my brother and his step daughter #not the dead parent thing but the custody part #eli hale

[and-so-he-rambled]

Vlad becoming a Gotham rouge to protect the kids in his custody. Part One

Masterlist | Prequel | Part 2

Gotham was a great place to hide.

A city swathed in shadows and secrets, and drenched with the stench of death. He would blend right in.

Jazz was watching the city pass by through the windows of the bus, fingers clenched tight around a hidden weapon and blue eyes scanning for a threat. She hadn’t relaxed for a moment since they’d left amity, and likely not since her parents passing. She tried so hard to hide it, to be strong, but she looked so tired.

Danny was curled in his lap, grip tight on the lapels of his jacket as he huffed his way through a mild night terror. Vlad wanted to wake the boy, but he’d been sleeping so little since they fled, he needed the rest even if it was fitful.

He purred softly, a rumbling in his core that had once been something he deeply despised.

Danny, sweet innocent Danny, purred back. His baby core, still forming months after the accident that claimed his parents lives and changed him irreversibly, rumbled weakly back.

He hadn’t realized Danny was like him until he’d caught the ghost boy flying through the town, believing he was dreaming. The four year old excitedly told him he was like a superhero now, then collapsed in his arms to fall asleep. He’d recognized Vlad even with his blue skin and monstrous face, chest stuttering through a happy purr as he snuggled against him.

He’d had to talk to Jazz and Danny about how they were different, how he was different too, and that they had to hide. People had begun looking for their kind. Jazz wasn’t quite like them, she was death touched, but not half dead like them. She’d been in the same room during the accident, but her only change was the slight whitening of her hair.

He was doing his best keeping them all mostly alive in the castle, childproofing his precious Packers memorabilia and trying to learn the kids quirks. They didn’t trust food, not until he cut it up very small, and they were adept with guns and weaponry. He knew Jack and Maddie were passionate hunters, but he wondered just what they had taught their children.

It wasn’t helping matters that his obsession had broken during the death of their parents, both the love of his life and need for revenge gone. It left him lost and ill, but focusing on the kids was keeping him from fading away. Maybe they were becoming his new obsession, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

The castle was old and run down, secluded from the world the way he wanted it be be. He was starting to build a fortune through less than reputable means and they were okay. He’d give the last pieces of Maddie, and that idiot Jack, a good chance.

Then they were attacked.

It happened suddenly. They were in the middle of a family dinner when the door was kicked in and there was yelling. Jazz grabbed the ecto pistol she always had from under the table and began to fire, shielding her brother with her body. She was only six, but she moved like a trained fighter as she began throwing anything within reach at their attackers.

They were wearing white, people Vlad had seen skulking around since Jack and Maddie’s deaths. One of the blasts seared through Vlad’s shoulder, human flesh sizzling as he screamed and tried to shield the kids. They were closing in, he had to do something, he had to save the kids. Their kids. His kids.

Without thinking much beyond that he wrapped his arms around the two children and when intangible, flying them through the ceiling just in time before a green shield he’d once helped blueprint kicked to life and covered the castle.

That led them to now, riding on a bus to a city Vlad only heard bad things about, a city to get lost in.

They were surviving off of the cash Vlad had on him, all his cards dumped. He’d need to make new IDs for the kids as well as himself, and find a place to stay, but right now he just needed to keep going.

A stolen jacket was draped over his shoulders, hiding the hastily bandaged wound that wasn’t healing even days later. Jazz carried a bug out bag everywhere with her, and the few things she had were helping. They’d grabbed a backpack for Vlad with necessary supplies at a department store before hopping on the Bus, all procured by him illegally while Jazz watched Danny outside.

Danny had asked him, brows furrowed, why he was stealing. That the cops and superheroes would come and take him away. His eyes filled with tears, shining a brilliant green.

“I don’t want you to get taken away.” He took a shaky breath, grabbing Vlad’s hand. “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

He’d had to explain that sometimes people stole to survive, trying to explain the grays in the black and white view of good and evil. Vlad knew he wasn’t a good person, but he was doing what he had to and he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

The bus pulled into Gotham, brakes giving an ominous squeal that startled young Daniel awake. Vlad held him in one arm, the other hand winding with Jazz’s that was trying so hard not to shake, and they stepped off the bus.

#danny phantom #danny masters #danny fenton #jazz fenton #vlad masters redemption #Vlad Masters #vlad plasmius #dp x dc #dpxdc #Gotham rogue Vlad Masters #bruce wayne x vlad masters #dad vlad

[lucid-loves]

First Light ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 4

Pairing: bodyguard!Ghost x princess!reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 4.4k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, verbal abuse by parents, physical abuse by parents, psychological abuse by parents, opposites attract, forbidden love, slow burn, fluff, attraction and sexual tension, reader POV and ghost POV, minors DNI, smut, virgin reader, first kiss

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After receiving death threats from a mysterious terrorist organization, your royal parents make a decision to reach out to the United States for help. Specifically, they want the US to send a bodyguard to protect their precious princess. When the 141 is called upon to investigate, Ghost is the one assigned to protect you. With your lack of experiences outside of your royal life and his experience with nothing but deadly, worldly affairs, opposites attract.

Chapter Synopsis: It’s time to head to the safehouse that Ghost set up for the both of you. Before you leave though, Ghost introduces you to some new experiences in your own country. While he takes care of you, you find yourself falling for him even more to the point where you want to test curiosity of yours. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5

“Has the duke spilled his guts yet?” Ghost asked Soap, making the last minute arrangements for the safehouse as quick as he could. While he would’ve liked to have been the one to interrogate the bastard in his own special way, he didn’t want to leave you alone for too long. Luckily, Soap arrived quickly to take care of the interrogation for him. He was glad that his sergeant didn’t mind talking with his fists too. 

“Bits and pieces. Not much though. At least, nothing that will really bolster our investigation. He seems like he genuinely doesn’t know much about the organization he decided to trust. They just made him safety and financial promises which he took without question.” Soap revealed, wiping stray specks of blood on his arms with a warm, moist cloth provided by a maid.

Ghost hummed in annoyance. An idiot like the duke, who was so willing to sell out your life along with your country, wasn’t worth breathing the same air as you. He would kill him if he could. It would be doing the world a favor. “What about the servant?”

Soap shrugged and shook his head. “Still working on that one, Lt. He’s been asleep.”

“Asleep?” Ghost repeated, hardly believing what his sergeant just told him.

“According to the guards, when the man was taken in for custody, he just dropped dead asleep. Coma-level sleep. We can’t get him to wake up. I’ve contacted the team about it and Kate is going to send an expert to test for drugs. We think that he might’ve taken something before being taken into custody. Capsule in the teeth kind of shit.” Soap explained carefully, making sure he covered everything that he needed to cover.

“What about guest statements? Anything useful?” Ghost continues, his patience wearing thin. He needed a win. They all did. This was no longer just a concerned parental request. A whole country was truly at stake of being taken over by terrorists. 

Once again, Soap shook his head. “Sorry, Lt. Everything is on record so you’re free to read through everything just in case I missed something, but the only thing we can do is continue our investigation and wait for the servant to wake up.”

Little did they know that you were just outside the doors, listening to their whole conversation. You were finished packing what you thought you needed with the help from your maid staff. So, you ended up leaving the room in search of Ghost to let him know that you were ready to go. 

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You only meant to wait patiently for their conversation to wrap up. But you couldn’t unhear what was being discussed. It scared you that they haven’t been able to uncover much regarding these terrorists that were after your country and life. It was even scarier to know that there wasn’t much you could do except trust in Ghost and his team. 

Finally, you mustered up your courage and gave the door a light knock before coming in. “Pardon me. I’m all set to go to the safehouse.”

Soap’s expression lit up at the sight of you, his lighthearted, playful side coming through immediately. You were fascinated with how different he appeared compared to Ghost. A little shorter, stylish faux mohawk, and a smile that brought life to the prim and proper room. A part of you was expecting Ghost’s teammate to be more like him. Was the 141 actually quite diverse? What was the rest of his team like?

“Well hello, Princess Y/n! I’m Sergeant Mactavish, but people call me Soap. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you after all the things Ghost has said about you.” He greeted you warmly, holding out his hand for a casual handshake. Without thinking, you took it, your own eyes brightening up along with your cheeks.

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Sergeant Mactavish. Ghost talks about me?” You couldn’t help but clarify, your eyes meeting Ghost’s who just averted his gaze. God damn it, Soap!

“He-”

“That’s enough, Sergeant! Get back to work.” Ghost shut him down swiftly, the word of the lieutenant being final. It didn’t hurt Soap though. In fact, he was used to Ghost reacting this way which he thought was hilarious. 

With a chuckle, Soap took his leave out of the room. “Aw well, maybe next time! See you later, Princess.” 

As he walked out, you smiled, feeling uplifted by the interaction. Meeting Soap was like meeting an old friend. You hoped that you would be able to meet him again, especially to hear the kinds of things Ghost said about you. For now, you redirected your attention back to Ghost who looked more tired than usual.

“Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant Ghost? You look like you need some rest.” You gently pointed out, your brows furrowing in concern. Ghost’s soul warmed up like a fireplace being started at your consideration.

“I’ll be alright. No need to worry about me. You said that you were all ready to go?” He switched topics quickly, not wanting you to worry too much about him. He would catch up on rest later. The most important thing was getting you to a safer place. That would be his safe space to rest too.

You gave a sheepish smile as he redirected the attention onto you. “Indeed. I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later. I hope that me being ready does not rush you.”

He wanted to shower you with praise over you being such a good girl. Ghost was incredibly grateful that you weren’t fussy whatsoever. “No, that’s perfect. We should be getting out of here now.”

An armored car was waiting right outside the palace to take you to the safehouse, already loaded up with just a few suitcases. You weren’t sure how long you were going to be at the safehouse, but you only packed necessities. No formal wear, no jewelry. Nothing that would take up too much space. As you stood on the palace steps, you took a deep breath of fresh air. Birds were chirping excitedly, a slight breeze cut through the would-be heat. It was a perfect day to finally leave your marble prison. Not without protests from your parents, though.

“Are you absolutely sure that this is necessary? I mean, how else will we know that the princess is safe if she is so far away?” Your father nervously blurted, his eyes shifting from Ghost to you to the car in an anxious cycle. 

Your mother wasn’t too happy either, though for different reasons that almost had Ghost snap. “How will we know that she is keeping up with her studies?!”

Before Ghost could combat their nerves, you huffed and faced your parents for the first time in your life. This new courage was found in knowing that there was really nothing your parents could do to stop this from happening. “Mother, father, I will be perfectly safe. I will continue to study as usual. However, this will also be a great chance for me to learn what the world is really like outside of the palace. We won’t do anything unsafe, so please, just let me learn what I need to learn.”

For a moment, there was pure silence between everyone. No one was expecting you to stand up for yourself, even if it was about time that you did. Then, your father places his hands on your shoulders, his gaze softening. “Y/n, when did you become such a wonderful young woman? It was only yesterday that I was holding you in my arms for the first time.”

Your eyes widened for a second, not expecting your father to become so affectionate all of a sudden. He was certainly more affectionate than your mother, though, you couldn’t remember the last time your father told you that he loved you. You blinked back tears he pulled you in for a sweet hug as if you were leaving forever.

As Ghost watched, he felt his anger begin to melt. As much as he hated the decisions your parents made regarding your life, at least he knew that it came from a place of love. At least for the case of your father. Your mother, on the other hand, still had a sour look on her face. Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut in a tight line.

“Lieutenant, keep my daughter safe.” The king ordered to which Ghost gave a firm nod to. He would rather lose his life than have you in danger again. 

After you pulled away and said your final goodbyes, you got into the armored car. Ghost got into the driver’s seat and started it up, eager to help you see the world outside of the palace walls. As you looked out the window, seeing your parents get smaller and smaller with the distance, you felt a surge of excitement run through you. 

Ghost noticed how your demeanor changed. Now without the pressures of royal conformity, you were free to be yourself. More courageous. It seemed like you had some bark and bite in you as well after all. He wanted to know you even more. “You wanna choose the music for the ride?”

You perked up at his offer, eagerly nodding your head as he handed you his phone that was already connected to the car’s bluetooth system. After perusing some options, you settled on a playlist that surprised Ghost. Even under the mask, you could tell that he was questioning your choice. “I want to hear all kinds of music. I want to hear every single song that was banned for me.”

He gave a chuckle for the first time that you’ve been together. The sound had your heart skip a beat. You didn’t even know that he was capable of laughing with how serious he looked all the time. “Very well. I’ll make sure you get your chance to experience anything you want that you normally wouldn’t.”

You bit your lip, trying to contain the utter joy you felt, completely forgetting that your life was in danger just for the moment. 

~

It was a long drive to the safehouse in the deep countryside. Your eyes were trained on the views through the window like it was television. You never knew how pretty your country looked. The architecture was classic with plenty of brick buildings and natural curvatures. There were plenty of sidewalks to cater to pedestrian travel rather than cars. Ivy vines with flowers crawled on the side of buildings, the natural beauty of nature colliding with man-made structures. 

There were plenty of open-air markets as well. Produce stands, custom art pieces, coffee trucks. Everything was conveniently available, no matter if you were heading home from work or just taking a stroll. As you passed a farmer’s market, you noticed how busy it seemed with families. Kids running around, parents picking out ingredients, business owners offering samples to treat the good children. 

Ghost noticed how you looked out the window, longing to join the streets to really experience what life was like. He debated if it would be safe to allow a little time for you to explore. He wasn’t keen on the idea of so many people around you. However, if he stuck close to you, then it should be fine, right? Besides, how could he deny the pretty little look you gave as you yearned for a little adventure. 

Before you knew it, Ghost found somewhere to park and got out of the car. Then, he opened your door and held his hand out for you to take. “Just for a little while, okay? Stick close to me.”

The smile you gave was so big and bright that it almost hurt your cheeks. You couldn’t help it, though. Ghost was granting you one of your biggest wishes. You took his hand and stepped out of the car, taking in the sounds of the city. People conversing, bike bells ringing, dogs barking. It was unlike anything you have ever heard. 

Obeying his orders, you did stick close to Ghost, your arm naturally looping around his without much thought. This was the usual hold for an escort that you have performed many times. It was a natural instinct as Ghost led the way to the farmer’s market. That wasn’t to say that you didn’t notice how strong his muscles felt underneath his shirt. You definitely felt how hard your heart pounded as he held you just as securely to his side.

When he paused to swap out his balaclava for the skeleton face mask that he wore at the party, you nearly tripped over yourself. In the natural light of the sun, his blonde hair seemed brighter like sunshine itself. His eyes seemed more open as well. Warmer. You blushed and stared down at the sidewalk for a moment, trying to catch your breath that he ended up stealing from you.

“Everything alright? Having second thoughts?” He wondered, compassion present in his voice as you all of a sudden seemed shy. 

With a shake of your head and a smile, you reassured him. “I’m fine. Just eager is all.”

With that, he led you into the market that was flooding with people. Ghost kept a careful eye out on everyone that passed by. His arm also tightened just a little more firmly to ensure that you didn’t get separated from him. As you walked, your eyes scanned over all of the products up for sale. Baked goods, ripe fruit, crocheted clothes, beautiful art. Before you knew it, you were dragging Ghost from stall to stall to ensure that you could see everything that the market had to offer.

Ghost found it amusing. He noticed the way your eyes lit up when you tasted a free sample of fresh cheese or juicy apple slices. He noticed the way the corners of your mouth lifted into a grin as you admired the craftsmanship of art. He also noticed when your eyes lingered on a particular homemade hair claw clip that was decorated with pearls, thin gold chains, and delicate flowers. 

“You want it.” He pointed out as more of a statement rather than a question. Your cheeks flushed pink, feeling a little embarrassed by your obvious infatuation. The truth was that most of your clothes and jewelry were chosen for you. You were allowed to mix-and-match with what you were given, but you have never really chosen out anything yourself. 

“I’m just impressed with the details. It is quite a beautiful hair clip.” You danced around the topic, wanting to seem more humble. However, Ghost didn’t really buy it. With a swift motion, he fished out his wallet from his pocket and took out some bills. 

Your mouth opened in shock. “Lieutenant, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine. Consider it a souvenir for your first real outing.” Ghost dismissed you with ease, handing over the money to the seller. He picked up the hair clip and handed it to you to try on, happy to indulge in your wants.

For a moment, you separated your arm from Ghost to put your hair up, loose tendrils naturally falling to frame your face. You let them be as the rest of your hair was fashioned up with the clip. The seller handed you a small mirror to see your reflection. You almost cried when you saw yourself. You never imagined that your bodyguard would buy you such a wonderful gift. “Thank you, Lieutenant Ghost.”

Ghost found his heart skipping a beat as he took in your new appearance. The clip matched your princess personality perfectly. The delicate chains that dangled down pearl and flower beads guided his eyes to the smooth nape of your neck. 

The thought that he wanted to kiss that nape crossed his mind. 

Clearing his throat, he took your arm again. “It suits you. Wouldn’t look better on anybody else.”

It was hard not to fall even deeper for him when he complimented you like that. Your heart pounded as you walked beside him again, your steps feeling lighter than air. Nothing else at the market caught your eye as his compliment kept echoing in your head, turning your feelings into goo. 

As the market neared closing time, the amount of people began to dwindle down. Ghost felt his shoulders fall, feeling more at ease with less people around. Circling back around, he led you back to the produce stalls, wondering what ingredients he should pick up for the safehouse. 

The safehouse would be stocked with food, but not with a lot of fresh ingredients. He wanted to continue making this a good day for you with a homemade dinner rather than whatever TV dinners were waiting in the freezer. He wasn’t a chef by any means, having spent most of his life eating MREs and military canteen food. At the very least, he could make you something simple yet good. 

Remembering the cheese you seemed to enjoy as a sample and how it was tomato season, Ghost picked out all the necessary ingredients to make homemade tomato soup and grilled cheeses for tonight. You watched him curiously as he picked everything out before something in the distance caught your attention. 

“What kind of bread do you like?” He asked you, holding two different loaves of bread in his hands while he considered the options. When he looked to you for an answer though, he could tell that your gaze was trained far into the distance. He turned to look around, trying to find what you were staring at. 

In the distance was a person with a dark hoodie and a bandana covering their face. Bright paint brought color to their sleeves and jeans. The figure was walking away, but it was obvious what they were just up to with what was close to him. 

“Shit.” Ghost cursed as he pulled out his phone with Captain Price on speed dial. 

The other line was picked up quickly. “Lieutenant?”

“Tagger going east on Clover Street. Black hoodie, blue jeans, red bandana, covered in paint.” He informed, his voice low as he kept an eye on the distant figure. He observed how they walked down the street, waiting for them to change directions if they were planning on it.

“Getting a hold of local cameras now. You’re with the princess?” Captain Price inquired, his hands moving fast to find this figure through the city cameras. Finally, he found the person that Ghost described.

“Affirmative.” 

“Sending Gaz to pursue. I recommend that you two get to the safehouse pronto. I didn’t think they would be out in broad daylight.” Price advised, already contacting Gaz to give him his new assignment. Once Gaz accepted the orders, the captain hung up. Ghost knew that his captain needed to focus on this immediately, so he wasn’t offended by the sudden hang-up.

He bought the groceries, now in a bit more of a rush. Securing your arm around his once more, he began to lead you back to the car. “Let’s go, Princess. It’s not safe here anymore.”

Your face fell as the day seemed to be ruined by another case of danger. However, there was something that was bothering you. You noticed the paint on the person’s clothes and a strike of color against one of the brick walls he was near. Curiosity was getting the better of you. 

“Wait!” You paused, your stance suddenly strong and pulling back from Ghost. 

His bold brows rose as you defied him for the first time. Surely you had a good reason to. “What is it? Something wrong?”

You all of a sudden grew a little shy as his intense eyes bored into you, waiting for your explanation. Despite how bashful you grew, you persisted. “I want to see the graffiti they were making. Can we? Please?

“Oh, Princess, it wasn’t a piece of art they were making.” Ghost said knowingly, flashes of the pictures he’d seen crossing his mind. Tags of revolution. War. 

“I still want to see. Please, Lieutenant?” You pleaded, trying to follow your instincts as closely as you could. 

With the way you looked at him, it was hard to say no. He wasn’t sure if you knew that there were tags around the whole city calling for your head. Probably not since your parents didn’t tell you the truth about your life being in serious danger. But. . . he supposed that you deserved to see them just this one time. This was your country after all. “As long as we’re quick. You have to stay close to me too. Got it?”

You eagerly nodded and latched onto his arm, letting him swiftly guide you to the spots of paint on brick in the distance. As you got closer, you could make out specific shapes and color switches. Getting even closer proved Ghost wrong.

This was art.

You stared in awe at the giant mural before you. A crow with a golden crown in its ebony beak. Feathers wrapped in fire and barbed wire. The crow was about to drop the crown into a pit of hell below it, filled with skulls, demons, hellfire, and sharp blades. Ghost was surprised as well. The pictures he saw depicted small tags here and there of the crows. Here, this was a full blown work of art. 

Your free hand drifted up to touch the now colorful bricks. The paint was still a little tacky, but nothing that would stain you. As you looked up, drinking in every detail, Ghost watched you. He was nervous about what you were going to say. 

What you did say startled him. “Crows are a symbol of transformations, prophecies, and death.”

“Your mother said the opposite, save for death.”

“For her, death is an inescapable darkness. Evil. In reality, crows can bring fortune during bad times. Death is good fortune since it is a new beginning. This message isn’t a threat. It’s hope.” You concluded, tracing the swooping beak with your fingers. The shadows and highlights made the crow look almost three-dimensional.

Ghost wasn’t sure how to respond. He normally had an answer for any situation, yet what you said stumped him. How could he respond to something so poetically profound? 

You did give him something new to look into though. He would find the time to talk to his team about it later. For now, he had to finally take you to the safe house. “Come on, we gotta get moving.”

~

The drive through the countryside was long and soothing. Ghost took control of the music once you began to doze off. Something light at a low volume was played so you could continue sleeping peacefully. You had a long day out. You probably burned a lot more energy than what you were used to as well.

Once the car hit the dirt road, you stirred awake. The stars were beginning to come out, having driven for hours. You were surrounded by endless fields of local wildflowers with only the occasional tree. While you did love the looks of the city, there was something to love about the countryside too. The land that felt infinite made you feel like you could do anything. You were eager to see what the land looked like during a beautiful sunrise. 

Soon, the car pulled up at a rustic cottage with a large shed beside it. Ghost stepped out of the car for a second to open it up, turning it into a garage that would just barely fit the vehicle. Once the car was parked, you were led into the house.

A thin layer of dust hung in the air along with the fresh scent of nearby wildflowers. The cottage contained the essentials as far as you could tell. A living room, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms. Generically decorated, yet cozy compared to the sterile fanciness of the palace. 

Ghost brought the luggage in, setting yours in the bedroom of your choosing. He gave you some time to unpack and settle in while he got started on dinner. 

As you placed some of your clothes in one of the empty dressers, the fact that you would be living with your bodyguard for who knew how long began to hit you. Your heart picked up speed along with your breath. Not that you expected anything to happen or develop between the two of you, a part of you still had a sense of hope that your relationship would grow stronger at the very least. 

Before heading back out towards the kitchen, you caught your reflection in a bedroom mirror. The hair clip was still fastened to your hair, giving you butterflies. It was still hard to believe that he had bought you a gift so easily like it costed him nothing. You could’ve sworn that he seemed a little stunned when it was in your hair too. In a good way. 

Ghost was a gentleman. He was just being kind. He wouldn’t do anything that could be considered unprofessional or unfriendly. 

Bodyguard protecting a princess. That’s all your relationship will ever be. Right?

-

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[1427]

would you? (pt 1)

Negan x Reader

Summary: Your mom died when you were 15, your Aunt Lucille was given custody even though she was battling cancer. When the world gets upended and Lucille dies, Negan is all you have, but he isn’t cut out to be a parent. When he becomes the leader of the Saviors and takes residence in the Sanctuary he’s almost a stranger. No one wants anything to do with you because you’re Negan’s “daughter”. So when you confront Negan about needing company, he obliges. You don’t realize that the feelings you’re developing are inappropriate, but Negan does.

Setting: height of the Saviors-era Sanctuary. 

Warnings: step-dad!negan (kind of), still it’s all morally questionable (morally objectionable probably), Negan being manipulative and neglectful (listen it’s Negan at his most King Dick okay??? Just know what you signed up for if you’re going to read it), mentions of dead relatives, masturbation (m and f), sexual themes (obvi), virgin!reader

Word count: 4k

17+ mdni

// part 2 //

masterlist

You were off limits. It’s not as if they weren’t allowed to talk to you, but no one wanted to even find out where that line was. Being Negan’s “daughter” had more downsides than perks as far as you were concerned. A glorified prisoner that just happened to have all your needs met. Well, except one. Human connection, physical contact. 

You’re so sick of being in your room. The Sanctuary was suffocating enough, but one room? The only time you ever left was to go down to get food, and even then it’s not like anyone spoke to you. You just grabbed whatever you needed, from whatever table. From the Saviors down to the prisoners, everyone avoided even making eye contact. 

You didn’t live in the same area of the Sanctuary as Negan and his wives. You used to. You’re sure that one of his wives had probably taken up the space that you’d left, the room next to his. You’d left after he took his second wife. You’d been debating it since he’d taken the first one, the noises coming from his room alone were enough to send you packing. But isn’t that what adults do? So you’d tried to just ignore it. Like you imagined you’d have had to do if none of this happened and you were still with your mom. 

Two wives, though? You’d never felt close to Negan. Not like he was your father. But… shouldn’t he be? Shouldn’t he have acted like it? He’d protected you like you were his own when you were still out there - but once he founded “the Saviors” and became their oh-so-ruthless ‘leader’ he almost acted like you didn’t exist. Or worse, that you were some thing he had to look after. Some sniveling little child that he seemingly wanted nothing to do with. 

That was a few years ago. Now you’re 18, and totally fucking bored to death. Trapped in a Fuckin’ smelting facility like it’s a goddamn high tower, and you’re the lady of Shallot. Interacting with the world around you, but not really. Oh, and he has 5 wives now. Gross. 

You’ve finally fucking had it. Negan has a strict policy about you leaving the Sanctuary even to just go outside. He can come collect you himself if he really cares that much. Stupid fuckin’ rules. 

You bring one of your notebooks and a pen. With no plans of leaving, or doing something stupid, you just want some fresh air. You just want something different. And maybe, a little bit, you wanted to piss him off. 

You’re sitting on the ledge right outside the Sanctuary, legs dangling off the concrete. Your notebook at your lap and your pen in your hand, scribbling little doodles and shapes. Writing out small flashes of feelings as you feel them. Just wanting to document the outside as if you’d never see it again. 

You were in bliss a grand total of twenty minutes before you heard his tongue clicking behind you. Maybe you’d have been better off just running while you had the chance. “I know you know better than to be out here, kid.” 

You roll your eyes and look up from your notebook, taking in the scenery while you still could, “Eighteen. Not a kid.”

“Shit, 18 already?”

It hurts. That he doesn’t remember your birthday, or how old you are. That no one in the whole world cares that you spent three birthdays by yourself, with no one to even remember or know that they’d happened. You try to be grateful, you have really really tried. But everyone’s got a breaking point. “At least, I think so. If no one wishes you happy birthday, does it still count?” Okay, so you could have come at him a little harder, but he was still Negan and you were fairly sure that he didn’t feel any responsibility for you anymore. Especially if you’re an adult now. You try to gauge things on if this were the real world, if things were still how they used to be. And 18 meant Negan held no legal responsibility to be your guardian anymore. 

“Goddamn that is sad!” But he makes no attempt to comfort. Doesn’t even wish you a belated happy birthday. 

“Yup.” You don’t move from your seat even as you hear him suck on his teeth, clearly expecting you to get up and get back inside. 

“Alright, come on, kid. Can’t have you out here.” 

“Not a kid.” You bite back again. 

He stifles a laugh, “Yeah. Right.” He’s smiling that same shit eating smile that seems to be plastered permanently on his face nowadays. You can’t figure out what’s so fucking funny all the time. Especially now. 

You don’t know how to ask him, what words to say I need a friend. I need a boyfriend. No one talks to me because you’re terrifying. You think about it the whole walk back to your room while he shadows behind. You get to your door and as he starts to walk away you manage to stammer out, “I-I need a friend!” 

He turns around, a confused (but still amused) look on his face, “So get a friend?” 

“No, you don’t get it. No one will even look at me because you scare the shit out of everyone.” 

He looks at you like he’s trying to hold something back, rubbing a gloved hand over his clenched jaw, “Ever think maybe you’re just not very like-able?”

You look back and forth on the ground in front of you. Honestly? you’d never even wondered that, it takes you back that he’d even suggested it. Negan smiles, Gotcha. Obviously that wasn’t why, and obviously it was because of Negan and the way he’d decided to lead through fear. Fear was all he had. But you were 18, emotionally neglected, and desperate for approval. Your own self worth was paper-thin. He knew that. And instead of letting you, or himself, feed into the idea that he’d failed you, he’d put all the blame elsewhere. Like he always did. Like he was good at. 

“Tell ya what, kid. I’ll spend time with you.” Your hero. 

You could see through it, but what could you really do about it? You chew on your lip trying to figure out how to respond to such a ridiculous and ludicrous display of manipulation. “Fine.” After all, it was better than being stuck in your room. Maybe you’d meet someone, maybe one of the Saviors was cute. Maybe something could happen organically and Negan would lighten up on you a little bit, “Not a kid, though.”

Negan laughs, “Yeah, alright. Lunch tomorrow, come to the common room. You remember where that is, right?” It felt like a taunt. 

“Okay.” You nodded without looking up at him, and finally turned the knob you’d been holding behind you. Letting your body fall back into your room, and shutting the door behind you. 

This was a bad idea. You could feel it down to your bones. 

✨🦇

You’re silently grateful that he sent his wives away to do other things. And though he’d told you to meet in the common room, you were sat in his bedroom eating lunch. You’d never seen so much food put out for just two people, but you weren’t surprised. Any and every opportunity Negan had to show off, he did. 

You felt awkward, uncomfortable, and worse - afraid. Negan could tell, and while a part of him reveled in it, another part of him could tell that he was fucking you up. That he already had. No 18 year old girl should be this afraid of having lunch with the only family she knew. The only person she knew. Fuck yeah, he’d fucked you up. “So, kid - I mean, shit. Sorry, gonna have to get used to not calling you that.” 

“I think you’ll manage.” You grumble, pushing the food around on your plate. You should have just stayed in your room. One thing that you’d picked up over the year or so with Negan out there? His attitude. 

He laughs in response, “Yeah,” he nods, chewing his food with an open mouth, “Guess I’ll have to, you’re going to have lunch here from now on.” 

Your eyes shoot up from your plate to look at him, “Why?” 

“Because - you’re getting all fucked up and stupid.” 

That makes you snort a laugh in response. “Yeah.. wonder who’s fault that is,” you say sarcastically back at him, taking a bite of food. 

“Probably your dead as shit mom.” Negan knows he went too far as soon as he says it, but he doesn’t make any attempt to take it back, to apologize. Instead he just looks at you, a half smile cocked on his face, twirling his fork in a giant helping of spaghetti. Like he’s almost impressed with himself for taking it there. 

“Wow.” You mouth, completely taken aback. You’d cried over your mom so many times, and this? From Negan? You were too shocked to react emotionally. Not here, not now. Maybe he was right and you were more fucked up than you realized. 

“So, uh, what do you do all day?” Negan had been genuinely curious. Well, for the last day or so. He had more or less forgotten you even existed until then. 

You push food around on your plate again, “Write, sew, read, draw. Started painting a few months ago but I fucking suck at it.” You sigh, “anything to keep my hands busy.” 

Negan chokes on the water he’s drinking and you give him a look of mild disgust. “Not that.” His eyes twinkle a little in disbelief. Yeah right you didn’t do that. You were 18, of course you did. But without anything, or anyone, to think about it got boring quickly. Sometimes a good book came your way and you’d have some material, for a little while. A chapter, or a page, or more usually just a few paragraphs that would keep you somehow sated. Somewhat. 

Still, you weren’t about to have that conversation with him. And Negan was more than grateful, his mind reeling at the idea that no one had ever had ‘the talk’ with you. And now, in this end of times, you didn’t even have television to teach you. No, Negan could absolutely not discuss the birds and the bees with you. He was not built for that. 

The rest of lunch is uneventful. He talks, you listen. He feels better about himself, and you feel nothing.

✨🦇

Lunches with Negan get better. Less awkward, more like an actual friendship… or something. You find yourself laughing at his shitty jokes, at least they’re jokes. At least it’s something. You stop needing to convince yourself that you only enjoy it because it’s better than nothing, you actually seem to like his company. You look forward to lunch, getting out of your room, laughing with him. Negan enjoys it too, but it’s still off. You’re still.. how he would describe ‘fucked up’ or ‘not normal’. You flirt with him. Relentlessly. He tries to ignore it, tells himself that maybe it’s just your personality, but he knows. You don’t. You’re completely oblivious. After all, you really have nothing to go off of. Nothing to base anything around. 

He gets you romance novels, asks the Saviors to grab them when they’re out on runs. He thinks this is the closest you can get to having television, to having someone or something teach you about that kind of stuff. Maybe that they would teach you the difference between platonic and romantic feelings. 

Really, though, he’s just making you horny. Even more than you had been, and he’s still the only person you talk to. He figures he could and probably should use his position to get you some kind of boyfriend, but it feels all wrong. Like some sort of arranged marriage, and it disgusts him. 

You touch yourself more often than you ever have. The romance novels finally feed this need. You think about the characters in the books, the lewd imagery described. It’s all so new and exciting. You never think about Negan, or something gross like that. 

It’s been a few months since the last one he brought you, but today at lunch he pushes over a whole stack. You jump up from your seat, too excited to contain yourself, and you jump on him in a hug. Burying your face into the crook of his neck. You can feel your heartbeat all the way down to your fingers as you pull back and, with a blush, sit back down in your seat, “Thank you.” 

Negan’s body is stiff while you hug him, and while you sit back down, an uncomfortable smirk on his lips. “You are very welcome.” Even through his discomfort he can’t help the pride bubbling over within him. Every other aspect of himself is weak to his desire for worship. 

When you leave that day, with your stack of books, you hug him again and kiss his cheek before running off to your room. 

Shit, Negan thinks to himself. Shit fuck shit. You’re only getting worse, more obvious. Now you’re hugging him and kissing him on the cheek? Maybe you’re just grateful for the books. But he knows.. this is wrong. He’s making it worse, maybe you’re past the point of being able to fix. For now, he ignores it. Maybe… hopefully… it’s just the books. 

If he had asked you, you would have reassured him. Obviously it’s just the books. You don’t wonder if it’s weird that you touch yourself after lunch, before even opening one of the new books. You don’t think about Negan, just the feeling of stubbled skin under your lips. The warmth of a person in your arms, your chest pressed up against someone. It was the first human contact you’d had since you got to the Sanctuary, and it set you on fire. 

✨🦇

Negan knows he fucked up. You hug him now after every lunch. Only giving him a kiss on the cheek when he brings you a new book or some other small gift. He doesn’t acknowledge within himself that since you started doing that, he’s started getting you more gifts. 

Eventually, though, he can’t keep ignoring it. One particularly bad week, where it seems everyone hates him, none of his wives will have sex with him. Not even a fucking handjob. He’s forced into the degrading task of jerking himself off, something he hasn’t done in years. And, while the shame doesn’t come until after he’s finished, he thinks about you. 

You, with all your nervous glances of prying eyes. The way your developed chest feels against his when you hug him. He fantasizes your lips asking him questions like, “Is this what I’m supposed to do?” 

“Do boys really like that?” 

“You want me to use my mouth?” 

His forehead pressed firmly against the closed door of his bathroom, he opens his eyes to look down at himself. His swollen member in his hand, throbbing over the thought of you. 

“I don’t think that’s going to fit inside me.” He groans keeps going, imagining his cock is the first thing ever pushed inside your tight hole. 

Streaks of his cum paint the door, and he peels his forehead back before slamming it against the wood again. Fuck, this shit is not fucking okay. 

✨🦇

Negan doesn’t know that he absolutely would not be the first thing inside your precious virgin pussy. No, you’d started to get creative. Finding your fingers almost useless when it came to hitting that spot you’d discovered deep inside. They were never hard enough, fast enough, thick enough. The handle of your hairbrush was your favorite. It was the easiest to keep clean, the easiest to maneuver. But it still wasn’t exactly what you wanted. Nothing ever seemed to be quite enough. Every orgasm left you wanting. 

Wanting what? Because you never found yourself wanting a boyfriend anymore when it used to be all you thought about. You think of feeling Negan’s facial hair against your cheek, and your body is rocked by its second orgasm for the night. Tossing the hairbrush to the end of the bed, you roll over and fall asleep. 

✨🦇

You startle awake to the sound of a knock on your door. It’s loud, demanding, Negan. 

Getting off the bed you turn on the light with a sleepy grumble. You pull some pants on, and he knocks again. “I’m awake!” You yell, “hold on!” But this only spurs him to knock more aggressively. 

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on?” You mutter as you finally unlock and open the door. Obviously it was Negan, but what you weren’t expecting was how absolutely disheveled he looked. “Woah, what happened to you?” 

“Remind me to teach you manners.” He says as he pushes past you and into your room. 

“Come right in.” You say sarcastically, turning around and shutting the door behind you. He’s sat on your bed, looking around at all the things in your room, his eyes settling on your rows of romance novels. He gets up from the bed and walks over to the bookshelf, pressing a finger into one of the book spines before pulling it out and skimming through it. 

“Are you… drunk?” You ask him, the smell of alcohol emanating from him only becoming more obvious the longer he stands there, slightly swaying on his feet. 

“Why?” He asks defensively, his eyes not moving from the page of the book he’s trying to read. 

“Because you smell like booze?” 

He ignores your question and your reason for asking, slamming the book shut as he gets to a particularly dirty part and he can’t bear to read anymore. “We need to talk.” And he looks at you. 

You’re nervous, standing there anxiously you start to play with your hair and look away, “Oh, okay… wha- what about?” 

“This!” He exclaims with an extended arm, motioning at you, “You. What are you doing?”

You look at him confused, brow knit together trying to purse some sort of answer, “I’m not… I was sleeping.” You shake your head, not understanding at all what he was getting at. 

“You’re twirling your goddamn hair.” Oh. He was right, you had been. But what does that mean to him? You look at him even more confused. 

Closing your eyes, one hand comes up to massage the bridge of your nose, “Okay, I’ll never twirl my hair again?” You shrug your shoulders as if to ask him if that would be all. Too sleep-kissed to comprehend what the hell he was going on about. 

“No, Jesus-fucking-Christ, girl, the flirting. You gotta stop. I’ve let it go on too long, and it’s not.. shit, it’s not appropriate, all right?” 

You rub your eyes harder as you hear his words, what a fucking idiot, you think. You can’t help the smile that starts to form on your face as you answer him, “Negan, I’m not… I don’t….” You can’t even bring yourself to say it. 

He puts the book down and shakes his head, even now you were clearly into him. All nervous, smiling. Giddy. 

“You are. And you need to stop. I can’t… I can’t keep having meals with you if you’re going to be hugging me, kissing me on the cheek. It’s wrong.” 

You actually manage a laugh at his ridiculous behavior. Coming in like this, filled with liquor and angst and thinking he’s figured something out about you. “I’m not into you, Negan. Hugging and kisses on the cheek aren’t always romantic.” You say it like you’re letting him in on something he’d never considered. 

He nods, “Yeah, that’s true.” Negan turns to face the wall away from you, shaking his head as he looks up to the ceiling. “It’s not just that. It’s the way you look at me, the way you laugh. Shit, girl, it’s the way you’re lookin’ at me now.” 

“Don’t you think I’d know?” You cut in, without responding to his most recent accusation. 

“I don’t know, kid, would you? You probably have a bunch of hormones running wild in your body and you have no idea what to do with them. I’m not blaming you. I mean…” he stops himself before he starts talking about how attractive he is, and how no one could blame you for feeling this way. 

“I know what to do with my hormones, Negan.” You say blankly, is he really trying to have this conversation? You’re not. Jesus Christ, he can’t really think that you don’t know how to relieve that ‘tension’ on your own. What did he think you were doing with the romance novels? 

He smiles at your little admission, nodding and rubbing his jaw, “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Let me ask you something..” he takes a step toward you and you feel your heartbeat skyrocket. His eyes staring you down with such intensity you have to look away, “how do you feel, huh, when I get close to you?” He steps closer, now only a foot away. Your eyes cast down to the ground, a knot forming in your throat, “you can’t even look at me,” he whispers. 

As if to prove him wrong you look up at him. Your breath hitches and he can hear it. You can hear it. Your heart hammering against your ribcage, you swallow. Shit. 

Big doe eyes look up at him, and he feels all the blood rush between his legs. Hard as a rock for you in seconds, that deft innocence, those pretty lips moving without a sound. Trying to form some kind of response. You… looking up at him and having feelings you’ve never felt before. This is why it has to stop. Negan’s never been good at controlling these urges, and the more you look up at him like that the less he wants to. 

You try to speak, to tell him he’s wrong, but your voice quivers, “I… I don’t. I’m not…” Your smile that you can’t manage to stop only confuses you more. 

“You are.” He slams his fist on the wall next to you, causing you to jump a little. He looks back down at you, your eyes enveloped in fear and nervousness, cheeky smile gone. Negan takes two fingers and holds them to your throat, “Do you feel your heart beating out of your chest? I bet if I..” he takes your throat in his hand and you whimper out the slightest moan. 

His lips turn up in a smile as he brings his face even closer to yours. “See? I’ve barely got my hands on you and you’re already moaning.” 

It hits you fast, the shame and desire all at once. Mostly the desire, with his hand at your throat and his voice saying words you’ve only ever read. Shit. 

You don’t know how to respond, you can’t think straight. You just nod, he was right, it seems. Right? Because this certainly was having an affect on you. You wanted him to keep going, your body begged for it, but you couldn’t move. Too caught up in a fearful nervousness. This was wrong? It didn’t feel wrong. 

“Doesn’t feel wrong,” is all you manage to breathe out, unable to break your gaze from his lips. In response Negan leans back as his grip grows tighter at your neck, and you panic, bringing both of your hands up to his wrist to try and pull him away. He doesn’t let go but his grip loosens. 

Negan isn’t thinking clearly either, he hadn’t anticipated all of this. Having to convince you, prove to you, that you were having inappropriate feelings only made his own envelope him. And he was drunk. You, completely at his mercy and seemingly happy to be. Fuck shit fuck me. 

He finally lets go and pushes past you and out of your room. Leaving you completely blindsided. For once, though, you’re not confused. Not unsure. No, there was no question what you were going to do next. You were going to make it absolutely impossible for him to say no. 

Burning up your core and through your chest, into your brain. That spot, that insatiable feeling, that desperate heat that throbbed through you. Now you knew for sure, he could satiate it. 

pt 2

#Negan #negan request #negan x you #twd negan #negan smith #the walking dead negan #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #negan smut #jeffrey dean morgan #jdm #the walking dead

[five-rivers]

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 15

@greatbigolhampuckjustforme

.

“Only one left,” said Danny, uneasily.  Working by the process of elimination…  If any of the people on this list were his actual, biological parents, as Frostbite had feared, then it was these two.  

Jazz, obviously, wasn’t his mother.  He’d known that from basically the moment they’d met.  Vlad, Frostbite, and Pandora had confirmed that fact, and their stories had matched too well with each other for them to be lying.  Unless, of course, the whole trial was a lie and they were all working together, and Danny was hesitant to go down that path.  

The Observants, too, could be crossed off with ease.  The Observants were public and impersonal enough that Danny had remembered them despite his amnesia.  He’d never heard of them having children.  And their behavior during his trial… well.  Maybe they’d behave that way around their actual children, but Danny doubted it.  

Vlad hadn’t even claimed to be his father.  Of course, he’d also heavily implied that Danny’s biological parents were dead.  So there was that.  He was also a liar.  So there was that.  But, again, Danny didn’t think Vlad was his actual parent.  The Dairy King would have told him if he was.  

Frostbite and Pandora had also denied any blood relationship with him, although they still both wanted him to pick them.  Pandora did, at least.  Frostbite had seemed more lukewarm about it.  Maybe even cool, to use a pun.  Not that Frostbite disliked Danny.  He was participating in this to help Danny.  Just… Yeah.  

Then there was the trio, which, um.  Yeah.  Definitely not.  

So.  If his parents were actually involved, and not dead, then they had to be these two.  Unless Pandora or Frostbite or Vlad was lying about not being his parent, which he didn’t think any of them would do, because that would be counterproductive.  Wouldn’t it?

Double-think made his head hurt.  

“Yes,” said Clockwork.  “Only Jack and Maddie Fenton are left.  Then, when you have seen them, you must make your decision.”

“And I can choose anyone?”

“Yes.  You may choose anyone you wish to choose.”

“Hm,” said Danny.  He spread himself out over the couch and dropped the file folder on the coffee table.  “Anyone, anyone?”

“That is the policy, to ensure that children are placed appropriately.”

“So, like, if I decided I wanted to go with the Dairy King but not Vlad…?”

“That is a possibility,” said Clockwork.  “As in, you could choose for Dairy King alone to have custody of you, with the understanding that Vlad would likely still be a significant part of his social circle and afterlife.”

“Huh,” said Danny.  “What if I picked, like, Ember?”

“You could do that.”

“But you wouldn’t recommend it, huh?”

“My recommendation is immaterial,” said Clockwork.  “I am a neutral party.”

“Yeah, but I can still ask you questions.  What if I want your opinion?”

“I am not allowed to give it.”

“Right,” said Danny.  He looked over the file.  “You know, they have, like, the least stuff on their little cheat sheet out of anyone.  Except the Observants.  Theirs was really… lackluster.”

“Indeed?” said Clockwork, with just the faintest inflection at the end to turn it into a question instead of an agreement.

“Mhm.”  Jack and Maddie, no listed last name, didn’t have much written on their page of the file.  Apparently they liked making cookies, stargazing, needlepoint, sewing, and… that was it.  Nothing about jobs, titles, other interests, other things they enjoyed.  Nothing.

The stargazing was a good point, though.  Danny was pretty sure he liked stargazing.  If only he’d had a chance to do it…  Ugh.  Being stuck inside was getting more and more annoying.  

Distressing.  

Almost as distressing as Frostbite thinking that Danny’s biological parents were abusive.  

“You said before, everyone is, like, vetted?  So they won’t be… dangerous?”

“That is correct.”

“But the Observants still were allowed to do whatever it was they were trying to do.”

“Unfortunately, persons who possess authority will on occasion use that authority to put themselves in even more positions of authority.”

“Except you can’t tell me any of your opinions.”

“Correct,” said Clockwork.  

“You’re funny.”

“Not many would say that.”

“That’s because you’re really– really oblique about it.”

“Perhaps.”

Danny sighed.  “I should just go right away, shouldn’t I?  I should stop agonizing about this.”

“It is up to you, Daniel.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Danny made no move to get off the couch.  “What are you doing over there, anyway?”

Clockwork twisted his hands around to show Danny a net of white string.  “I’ve taken up lacemaking.”

“Ugh, see, I’ve been wasting so much of your time that you’ve picked up a new hobby.  That’s crazy.”

“I wouldn’t say that it’s new,” said Clockwork.  “Lace has been around for a long time.”

“New to you, then.  Like, your original hobby is making clocks, right?”

“I also enjoy candlemaking and gardening.  But this,” Clockwork held up the lace, “was always within my plans.”

“Uh huh,” said Danny.  

“It is almost time for lunch.  You could stay until then.”

“See?  I’ve wasted the whole morning.  I came back last night.  And that was a day trip.”  He sighed.  “What would lunch be?”

“I was planning on fried rice, using the remaining rice from last night.”

“I thought you’d made a lot of rice that time,” said Danny.  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

.

Jack and Maddie’s house was… Well, it looked like it had been a normal house.  The entryway was done up with plain tile, and opened up into a high-ceilinged living room.  Danny could see a set of stairs leading up one side of the living room to the second floor, where there were a number of doors.  On the ground floor, there was an open doorway leading into a kitchen.  

That was all fine.  However, the walls, ceiling, and floors all looked like they’d been torn apart and put together again.  Sometimes with proper tools like plaster and drywall, and sometimes with cardboard and duct tape.  There were dark squares and ovals where picture frames may have hung.  He could see an electrical outlet that had been pulled out of the wall and hastily put back in, without all the wires fitting.  Near his elbow were the remains of what looked like a doorbell.  Bits of insulation hung out of gaps between the original walls and the repairs.  

It wasn’t quite as strange or as messy overall as Ember, Skulker, and Technus’s place, but the contrast was… weird.  Everyone else was obviously trying to put their best foot forward and had cleaned up or acquired a whole new house.  This… this was not that.  

At least, he hoped it wasn’t.  Because if this was their best, then what was their usual?

He turned his attention to the two humans who had been waiting for him to arrive.  They were human.  The man was tall and broad, with dark hair.  He was wearing overalls over an orange button up.  His sleeves were rolled up, and he was scratching at a rash on his arm.  The woman was slim and much shorter, her auburn hair cut in a chin-length bob.  She had a pale blue blouse on, and dark jeans.  

He caught their eyes, one after another.  

“Hi,” said the woman, in a wavering voice.  “Welcome home, Danny.”

“Um,” said Danny, “hi.  Are you Maddie?  The file didn’t really say which one of you was which… or really anything about yourselves…?”

“Yes,” said Maddie, with a painful smile.  She looked like she was about to cry.  “I’m Maddie, this is Jack.  We’re so happy to have you here.  So happy.”  She took his hands in hers and squeezed them.  

“Okay?”  He looked around.  “So…  You’re remodeling?”

“Yes,” said Maddie.  “We’re sorry about that, but all of this came as such a surprise.”

“A big surprise, son,” said Jack.  His voice sounded rough, like he’d been crying.  “All of the important things are done, though!  Everything’s safe!  Just not very pretty, that’s all.  Just looks different.”

“Like you,” said Maddie, quickly.  “Not that that’s a bad thing, is it?  We’re very–  The ears and the tail– Those are new but not bad.  This is just like that.”

Danny nodded, hesitantly.  “Right.  That’s cool.  So, um.”  He looked around the entryway again.  “Show me around?”

“Right, right,” said Maddie.  “Of course.”

“Sorry about that!” said Jack.  “It’s just that you grew up here and all.  You don’t remember that, but it’s hard for us to remember it.  To remember that you, er, don’t remember.”  Jack patted Danny’s shoulder gingerly.

“Yes,” said Maddie.  “We’ll– We’ll do the main floor first, then the bedrooms upstairs.”

The tour of the ground floor went much as expected.  He saw the living room, a number of closets (which looked like they’d been ransacked), the garage (suspiciously empty), a bathroom (strangely untouched), a dining room (dusty), and the kitchen.  

His initial impression of the kitchen matched his impression of the house in general.  Normal, but hastily altered.  There was a long strip of torn-up wall near the refrigerator.  The microwave was brand new to the point that the box it came in was still sitting next to it.  There was a door-sized patch of new wall that matched up with scratches on the floor that strongly suggested the patch had been a door up until fairly recently.  

This… this was suspicious.  Should he ask about it?  Play dumb?

“Now, up to the rooms!” said Jack, sweeping Danny out of the kitchen.  

“Usually,” said Maddie, “your sister Jazz would be here, but right now she’s away, so it’s just the three of us.”

“Why?”

“Why what, Danno?” asked Jack.  

“Why is she away?”

“College,” said Maddie, quickly.  “She’s a couple years older than you are, so she’s away at college.  The two of you were very close, though.”

“Best friends!” shouted Jack from his position at the top of the stairs.

Well, there was that confirmation.  Jazz was definitely his sister.  

… Jazz actually looked a lot like Maddie, so that was also a point in favor of Maddie and Jack being his actual parents.  Which, uh.  Did being shady run in the family?  Did he come off like this to other people?  He hoped not.  

“Which one was her room?” asked Danny.  

“This one,” said Jack.  Then he pointed towards a room two doors down.  “And this is yours!  You two shared the bathroom, but she’s not here, so it’s all yours, too!”

“Cool,” said Danny.  He slipped past Jack to the door and opened it.  

The walls and ceiling of the room were a pale blue gray, glow in the dark stars just barely visible in contrast.  Posters for bands and spaceships were taped to the wall, some of them in better repair than others.  There was a dresser with a drawer sticking part way out, the sleeve of a shirt stopping it from fully closing.  Model rockets, most of them clumsily made, sat on shelves beside other knick-knacks.  A corkboard on the wall had schoolwork, ribbons, and a few crumpled tickets to movies and concerts pinned on it.  A scooter and telescope were propped up in one corner.  

“They had us take down your photographs,” said Maddie.  “But we left everything else the way it was.  Except for cleaning.”

“Something about being biased!  As if knowing things is going to make you biased!  Maybe if we’d known–”

“Jack, honey,” said Maddie.  “Not the time.”

“Oh, right, sorry, son.”

Danny nodded, then stepped in to walk a circuit of the room.  This room, more than any of the others he had stayed in, felt lived in.  Like it was a home.  

But he couldn’t forget Frostbite’s warning.  Or the chaos downstairs.  

“So, um,” said Danny, before he could wimp out.  He held the pocketwatch in one hand.  Just in case.  “In the kitchen, you have a door covered up.  What’s with that?”

“Uh, nothing,” said Jack.  

“Just an unfinished basement,” said Maddie, her smile going brittle and fake.  “That’s all.  It wasn’t– It wasn’t safe down there.  For children.  It wasn’t built right.  So we decided to just cover it up.  To show that we’re prepared to keep you safe.”

There was a mad science lab down there, wasn’t there?  

What if that was where he had died?

Danny swallowed and pasted on a smile.  “Cool.  So… what do we do together?”

They stared blankly at him.  

“You know, for fun?  Or hanging out?”

“We used to stargaze together a lot,” said Maddie.  

“And we’d go fishing!” boomed Jack.  

“Yeah, but we can’t really do either of those, right?  We’re stuck inside.”

“That’s true…  But we do have our movies, don’t we?  And some games.”

“Righto!” said Jack.  “I’ll go get the stuff!”

.

The movie they had finally settled on was a space documentary.  Watching it was nice, even if the popcorn was a little burnt.  

Watching Jack and Maddie try to cook dinner afterward, though…  They seemed to keep reaching for things that weren’t there, or bumping into each other, like they expected there to be more room, or, well.  The food looked presentable enough, but there was a mess.  A big one.  

Still, the macaroni and cheese looked and smelled fine.  

“One of your favorites!” said Jack, proudly.  “After this, we’ll have some fudge!”  He served Danny a scoop bigger than his head, then took a big ceramic mug from the cabinet and filled it with soda.

Danny mentally shrugged and picked up his fork.  If he couldn’t eat it, he couldn’t eat it.  

“So,” he said, after eating a few bites, “how did the whole ghost thing happen?”

“Pardon?” asked Maddie, looking a little pale.  

“Well, my situation is a bit weird, isn’t it?  I was just wondering if you knew how it happened.”

“No,” said Maddie.  “I’m afraid not.  It’s a mystery to us, too.  Like we said, we were surprised by all of… this.”

That was weird.  If Jazz knew, shouldn’t they know, too?

Or maybe they just didn’t want to tell him.  

He fiddled idly with the mug.  There were clumsy, childish stars and moons painted on its side.  

“Do you like it?” asked Maddie.  “You painted that.  We went to one of those pottery places for Jazz’s seventh birthday.  You were both so young back then…”

“I did?” asked Danny. 

“You did,” said Maddie.  “If you look at the bottom, you’ll see your initials.”

Danny held the cup up over his head and looked at the bottom.  The letters DJF were painted on the bottom.  

“What do the J and F stand for?”

“James Fenton,” said Maddie.  “James was Jack’s father’s name.”

“And Fenton?”

“Our name.  Our family name.”

“Huh,” said Danny.  He set the mug back down, but kept his fingers looped around the handle of the mug.  It was��� grounding, somehow, to touch something from his childhood, from his past.  “Do you know why this, um, trial was started?”  He took another bite of the macaroni and cheese so he had something to do with his other hand.  

“No,” said Maddie, quickly.  

“Maddie…”

“We don’t.”

Alright, then.

It was suddenly very hard to swallow.  

“We don’t know.  We don’t know why any of this happened.  But we’re so glad you’re with us again.  We’re so glad this is almost over.”

“I know!” shouted Jack, suddenly, making Danny, already tense, jerk sideways in alarm.  “When this is over, we can go back to that place and make another–”

Danny had still been holding the mug, and when he flinched, he took the mug with him.  He fumbled it briefly before it hit the ground, interrupting whatever Jack was saying and plashing soda everywhere.  

“Oops,” said Danny, stricken.  “Sorry.  I’m really sorry, um.”  He had telekinesis.  Why couldn’t he just–  

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” said Jack, kneeling and picking up the pieces.  

“I can do that,” said Danny.  “You don’t have to–”

“No, no, I’ve got it,” said Jack.  “We’ll just put it right back together!  A little superglue and it’ll be as right as rain.”

“I’ve got the mop.  You just stay there and eat, okay, Danny?”

That was, like, the exact opposite of what he wanted to do.  He wanted to do something to help, but something about the situation held him paralyzed.

“Yeah!” said Jack, rinsing the shards in the kitchen sink.  “We just need some glue, then we’ll put it right!”

“Make sure it dries first,” said Maddie, maneuvering a large mop.  

“Oh, right!”

He put the pieces on a dishtowel and began to pat them off.  Danny, slowly, reluctantly, began to eat again.  

“What were you saying before, Jack?”

“Oh, I was thinking that we could go back to that pottery place after all this.  Make a few new pieces.  It looks like we’ll need it, huh?  What do you think, Danny?”

“Um, it sound like it could be fun?”

“Then it’s a plan!  We’ll have to rope Jazz in, too, when she’s back in town!”

Speaking of Jazz…  Danny had to wonder why she was competing separately from these two.  She definitely wasn’t at college, after all.  Was it because of what Frostbite had said?  Or some other rule of the trial that Clockwork hadn’t mentioned?  Or just a strategy to give the family two chances?

He had no idea how to ask those questions.  

But then… maybe there was something in Jazz’s room?  Or even in his room.

“Want to help me put this back together?” asked Jack.  “I’ve got to go find my tools, so if you could just arrange them…”

“You both need to eat first,” said Maddie, “before our food gets cold.”

“Right you are, Maddie!”

Danny had, somehow, lost most of his appetite, but he ate anyway, knowing that if he didn’t he’d be hungry later.  When he estimated he’d eaten enough, he pushed aside his plate and went over to the shards of the mug.

It had broken unevenly, which meant that it would be easier to figure out what went where.  He started sorting the pieces, and as he did so, he felt himself start to calm down again.  

Jack ruffled his hair when he was about halfway through, making Danny freeze, his ears canting backwards.  

“I’ve got the super glue!” he said before sitting back down at the table.  

They worked together to put the mug back together after that, stars reemerging from scattered shards.  It was… peaceful.  Sort of like watching Clockwork work in his workroom.  Eventually, the mug was, more or less, together, although the cracks were still very visible.

“There we go!  Just like a puzzle, huh?  How’d you like working with your old man again?”

“It was good,” said Danny.  

“Yeah, it was good,” said Jack, beaming.  “Maybe I’ll show you how to h–  Ahem.  I’ll show you how to knit next!  I do love knitting.  And needlepoint.  Fiber art is great, Danny.  Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“That sounds nice,” said Danny, smiling.  Then he yawned.  

“Oh, wow, you’ve got some fangs in there!  That’s new.”  He cleared his throat.  “It’s getting pretty late, though, isn’t it?  You should get into bed.  You’ve had a long day!”

Danny wasn’t sure how long the day had been, but he was tired.  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“We have your toothbrush and everything up in your bathroom,” said Maddie.

“Thanks,” said Danny.  “I’ll go up, then?”

“Wait!” shouted Jack, making Danny jump again.  “The fudge!  Can’t go to bed without fudge!”

“I’m actually pretty full…”

“Nonsense!  There’s always room for fudge.”

So, they ate fudge, and then Danny went upstairs to the bathroom.  

As promised, there was a toothbrush, floss, and a hairbrush already set out.  There was a cabinet set into the mirror, and another under the sink.  

He hesitated for a moment before opening the one over the sink.  There was a bottle of aspirin and a few boxes of bandaids, but it was otherwise empty. Next, he looked under the sink.  Mostly, there were cleaning supplies.  But there was also a large first aid box.  It had a bright green stain on one corner.  

Danny sucked in his lips, then pulled it out and started to look through it as he sat on the closed lid of the toilet.  It looked like it had been used frequently.  Most of the refillables were mostly empty.  

What had happened that he’d used so much of this?  Because it had to be him.  No one else living here would have left an ectoplasm stain on the lid.  

Frostbite’s claim was looking more and more plausible the more he learned.  

He closed the lid and put the box away.  He was going to give the Fentons the benefit of the doubt until he got actual evidence one way or another.  Frostbite had said that he’d never actually met them.  So.  

Jazz’s room.  While he was still mostly awake.  It was getting late.  

He walked through the wall into the room next door.  Jazz’s room was… less empty than he would have expected, given that she had her own house.  But it looked like someone had moved out of the room in an awful hurry.  More of the drawers in the dresser were opened than closed, clothing was strewn over the bed, the chair had been knocked over, the desktop computer tower had been opened up and the hard drive removed.  

Danny searched the room, but didn’t find anything but a note in Jazz’s handwriting, something about reminding him of a school assignment.  Everything else was just… clothing, books, his sister’s knick-knacks.  Nothing important.  

Defeated, he went back to his room, curled up in his bed, and went to sleep under the fake stars.  

.

Danny was going to give the Fentons a week, just like he’d given everyone else, unless they did something really unbelievable or dangerous, like the Observants, or forgot to feed him or something.  He’d already decided that, and he’d stick to it, even if they were being sketchy.  

So, he stuck with Maddie’s frantic baking, and Jack interrupting himself whenever he, apparently accidentally, mentioned engineering or science.  He let it go when they dodged his questions about what they did for a living.  He knitted with Jack, and watched documentaries and movies, and helped Maddie make lunch and breakfast, and slowly started working through the comics he’d found in his room.  He listened to Jack as he monologued about this and that and letting the broken mug ‘set.’  He helped with the ‘remodel’ as much as he could, and looked for clues about what, exactly, Jack and Maddie had removed.  

He also searched his own room, but the Observants, or whoever had prepared the trial, had been very thorough when making sure there was no direct physical evidence of Danny having ever lived here.  Not only were there no pictures, the schoolwork on the walls was old enough that Danny couldn’t say if the handwriting really was his, and it wasn’t like he’d found a journal or anything anywhere.  There was just a feeling.  

What he didn’t do, though, was look through the walled-off door in the kitchen.  

If there was a mad science lab anywhere, it was there.  And if a mad science lab was here, it was probably where he had died.  He…  Didn’t really want to see that.  He wasn’t sure he could see that and stay… reasonable… with Jack and Maddie.  

But… he had to know.  

So, just the day before he’d ‘scheduled’ himself to leave, he stood in front of that patch of wall and stepped through.  

It was predictably dark.  But Danny had both good night vision and the ability to create balls of light, so he called one up.  

The basement wasn’t unfinished.  It was, in fact, a mad science lab.  

He hated being right.  

It wasn’t just a mad science lab, though.  It was a half destroyed mad science lab.  Shelves had been knocked over, machines had been partially disassembled.  One area in particular looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it and then dumped ectoplasm and something gross and brown on it.  He couldn’t even tell what some of that stuff was.

And then there was the inactive portal.  

Danny floated towards it, despite remembering Vlad’s warning about his portal.  It looked almost exactly the same.  Maybe a little less shiny, but still…

He yanked himself away from it, not liking how it seemed to grab his attention, and floated over to where filing cabinets had spilled over.  He grabbed a piece of paper at random and read it.  Then he read it again.  Finally, he dropped it back onto the pile.  

Jack and Maddie made their money inventing weapons.  Good to know.  

He floated over to the particularly wrecked area.  Was this the result of a weapons test?  That would make sense… sort of… so much of this was just meaningless without context, and he couldn’t get context.

There were papers here, too, in a binder half embedded in one wall.  Danny pulled it free easily and started to read it.  

When he realized what he was reading, he almost dropped the binder.  This was–  But it had to be for an animal, a dangerous animal they were hunting, or–  There were animal ghosts.  Frostbite even had the skins and furs of a few.  

Danny’s hands were shaking.  He wasn’t sweating.  Ghost form was good for more than his looks.  But he was shaking.  And his tail had fluffed out to its fullest extent.  

His eyes wandered down the pages, shying away from the worse things, until, finally, he reached a name.  

It was his.  

Phantom.  

He turned to the last page, skipping most of the binder, and read–

This time, he did drop the binder, and he gagged, too.  No.  No, that didn’t happen to him.  He flew backwards, over the bloody mess that had–  He ran into one of the walls, and an alarm started up, a broken thing, clearly not working quite right.  

Danny fled up the stairs, through the shut, metallic door, through the hasty drywall and into the kitchen.  The kitchen, where the alarm was also blaring, and Jack and Maddie were walking through the door in matching bathrobes.  

“Were– Were you in the lab?” asked Jack, uncertainly.  

“You,” said Danny, struggling to get the words out.  “You–”

“Are you hurt?” asked Maddie, reaching for him.  “Do you–”

“No!” shouted Danny.  “Don’t touch me!  Don’t come near me!”

She backed off, immediately, raising her hands so he could see them.  He hated that it did make him feel better.  

“Danny,” she said.  “Danny, I don’t know what you saw–”

“I saw what you did.  You hunted me down like– like an animal.  You tried to– to–” Danny sagged against the counter, one hand clutching the pocketwatch.  He should just hit the button.  He should hit the button now.  But part of him needed to know why.  

“It was a mistake,” said Jack.  

“A mistake?  You didn’t do that by mistake.  You can’t just trip and then do that.  There’s planning there, and preparation–”

“No, no,” said Maddie, “not–  We didn’t know it was you.  You didn’t look like yourself–”

“I don’t look like myself now, are you going to do it again?”

“No,” said both Jack and Maddie, vehemently.

“But you would’ve done it to someone else, is that it?”

“That’s,” said Jack.  “Not anymore.  Not anymore, son.  We’ve made mistakes.  We were wrong about so, so many things, but we’re trying.  We’re trying, and we never wanted to do anything that would hurt you.”

“We’re trying to make amends,” said Maddie.

“By hiding this?” demanded Danny.  “By pretending you didn’t do it?”

“Only because this is our only chance,” she said.  “It’s our only chance, and you didn’t even remember.  What good would apologizing have done?”

“More good than this.  Why did you even do it?”

“We’re scientists,” said Maddie.  

“We just wanted to know how ghosts work,” said Jack.  “But we’ve sworn all of it off, forever.  We even took out the anti-ghost security system!  We don’t want to have anything to do with something that hurt you.”

“You hurt me.”

“Please, Danny, you have every right to be angry with us,” said Maddie, “but give this family a chance.  We know it’s our fault that things turned out the way they did, but…  We’re sorry.  We’re sorry, and we love you, and we want to fix this, and doesn’t that count for something?”

“We want to be a family again,” said Jack, openly crying.  “We want to show you what that’s like.  What it would be like, now that we know.  You are our family, Danny.”

“Family,” repeated Danny, suddenly feeling cold, as if all the ice in his core had built to an unbearable level.  

He turned around, towards the counter, eyes flicking back and forth until he found what he was looking for.

Danny picked the repaired mug up off the kitchen counter.  “This cup,” he said.  “It’s like this cup.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jack.  

“Please,” said Maddie.  “We know that what we did was wrong, and we want to– We just wanted to move past it.  We want to be a family again, Danny.  We always just wanted you to be safe.”

Danny shook his head and turned the sink on.  He put the cup under it and filled it with water.  That done, he turned off the sink and he set the cup on the counter.  It leaked, horribly.  Some of the cracks leaked slowly, seeping water.  Some, near the bottom, spurted.  

“It’s still a cup,” said Danny.  “But you can’t really use it like one anymore, can you?  It’s not– It’s probably not even safe to use anymore, is it?  With the glue, and the cracks.”

“But it’s still something you made,” said Jack.  “It’s still something important, isn’t it?  It’s worth saving, for the memories.”

“Maybe,” said Danny.  “But you still can’t use it to drink.  You, um.  You have to get another cup.”  He wiped tears from his eyes.  “You can remember it, and it can be good to remember it, but it won’t work anymore.  It can’t be fixed.”

He turned back to them.  

“Please, Danny,” said Jack.  “Don’t go.  We love you.”

Danny gave them a tiny, pained smile, then said, “Goodbye.”

#danny phantom #phic #phic phight

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

The Hope in the Fault Lines, part 1

Summary: after your sister and her husband are tragically killed, you become the guardian of their daughter, your niece. As you try to pick up the pieces of your life, you become aware that you need help. Desperately. So you hire a nanny. Enter Mingyu, an ex-agent-turned-childcare-professional with a past of his own.

Genre: fluff, heavy themes, (light) smut in later parts (minors DNI)

Warnings: (applies to most of the parts) descriptions of grief, mental illness, disordered eating, instant parenthood, loss of sibling, vehicle-related death, police investigation, child custody court, parental abuse

Word count for pt 1: 4.3k

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Why aren’t I numb yet? you think to yourself.

Because really, you should be there by now. Hell, you’d even planned to be there by now so you could go back to work. But here you are — standing in your seven-month-old niece’s bedroom, crying along with her, the agony in your chest building like water that slowly heightens to a boil, its persistent, grief-tinged bubbles roiling in time with every pointless beat of your absolutely shattered heart.

You stroke the back of your niece Sara’s head and made soothing noises as well as you could around your own tears. Surely, at some point, she had to stop crying, right? Then maybe you could get back to sleep, which so far has been the only semi-consistent way to forget the grim truth of your reality.

Which was that your sister, Jeri — the proper mother for this fussing thing in your arms — and her husband, Jisung, were dead. That was why you were here, with a child who was missing the same person you were missing but had much less of a vocabulary to express it, so she just cried and cried and cried until you realized she was voicing your own internal monologue. Both of you were hoping that she’d walk in any minute and hold you and make the world stop its incessant spinning for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry you only have me. I’m sorry that’s the best I can give you.” You stifle a sob. “I’m sorry that she’s gone. I miss her too.”

Eventually, Sara’s wails quieted, and she slumped against your shoulder, exhausted. You collapsed into the chair in the nursery, exhausted enough to fall asleep immediately, holding Sara in your arms.

You were awakened by the sound of the door opening. Had you forgotten to lock it? You suddenly panic, gently placing Sara’s still-sleeping form into her crib before tiptoeing into the hallway, colliding with your best friend, Bora.

“Did I not lock the door?” you blurt in shock.

She looks you up and down. “No, you did,” she reassures, her worried look intensifying. “I’ve had a key for five years.”

You deflate in relief. “Right,” you say aimlessly, looking at her. “Okay. Um…coffee?”

“Girl, I should be making you coffee,” Bora said. She put a hand to your forehead. “You’re ill, sweetheart.”

You blink at her. “I am?”

“Undoubtedly,” she confirms, leading you back to your bedroom. “Don’t worry about Sara. I’ll be here all day, so you just rest, okay?” She nearly pushes you onto your bed, and pulls a blanket off the floor to tuck around you.

You take stock of yourself. Head aching -- that wasn’t new. Eyes dry and puffy -- same as always. No, the only difference you could tell from last night is a hollow, cavernous emptiness in your chest where the clawing agony used to sit. Right on cue, the numbness has begun to engulf you.

You pass the day in a haze, only briefly aware of the activities of Sara, who at seven months old is only fussy around strangers when it gets dark, and your friend. You simply lay there in bed, not sleeping despite your tiredness, not even able to muster up the energy to reach for the food Bora brings you at midday. In fact, the sun is setting before you’re able to become conscious, sitting up and rubbing at your stinging eyes as Bora comes in to check on you.

“What about Morrie and Cal?” you ask her, referencing Bora’s own daughter Morna and her husband Calvin. “Did you really leave them all day?”

Bora nodded. “Yeah, Cal’s got it. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.” She brushes your hair out of your face in a motherly way. “You need help here.”

“I’m not getting married anytime soon, Bo,” you say dryly.

“I’m not talking about marriage,” she says. “I’m talking about a nanny.”

You bite your lip. “Are you saying I’m bad at motherhood?” you ask, and if you could sound hurt through all the nothingness you feel, you’re sure you would.

“No,” Bora says gently. “I’m saying you didn’t bargain for motherhood on top of dealing with your grief, and you still have a whole life ahead of you that needs your attention, outside of this apartment. You have a job you love that you really need to get back to -- for you, sweetheart, not for the company, because I know that the work you do makes you happy. You need more time like that, more time for you. I know there’s a big difference in the circumstances, but when I became a mother, having Cal as a partner made it really easy for me to do things outside of the house that gave me purpose. It really helped me get a handle on myself outside of motherhood so that I could maintain a healthy relationship with Morrie without resenting her or losing myself. And honestly, you need that. We all do. And since marriage isn’t the move right now, and you have the means, a nanny might be the best possible thing for you.”

You nod slowly. “So they’d just come watch Sara while I’m at work?”

She nods. “They can be here as much or as little as you want.”

“Okay. How do I make sure they’re not a child snatcher or a pervert?”

Bora snorts. “Well, I’d recommend interviewing them so that your spidey-senses can alert you to any potential creeps,” she advises.

“I’m tired just thinking about that,” you groan. The phone begins to ring, and you check the ID — it’s your head editor, Cory.

You answer. “Hey,” you say, trying not to sound as dead inside as you are. “What’s up?”

“How are you doing?” he asks, his tone hesitant. This was one of the worst parts of tragedy, you thought to yourself: the awkwardness. Suddenly there was no comfort anywhere. Nobody knew what to say to you, or how to address the event, so everyone skated around it and you in a cautious dance of embarrassment and pity. Part of you wishes someone would just acknowledge it -- “so, your sister is dead,” and then move on.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I should be back to work...soon. I just need to find a nanny for my niece.”

“Oh, that’s...that’s good,” Cory says, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t actually calling about that, I was actually just...worried about you.”

You sigh. “Everybody is, Cory. But I’ll pull through this. I always do.”

“I know,” he says, “and I trust that you will. I just...wanted you to know that we’re -- that I’m thinking of you.”

You try to feel curious about his choice of words, but can’t muster the energy to care that much. “Thanks, Cory,” you say. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Another lie, but the last one you feel compelled to tell him. “Bye.”

Bora is looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “He seems friendly,” she says, and through the haze that seems to coat your brain you know she’s making an implication.

This is yet another thing you don’t have the energy to address right now, so you don’t. “So, I need to interview nannies.”

“Well, you could also have your assistant do it,” Bora offers. “She’d lay on train tracks for you. I’m sure she’d do a good job.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you think of making Emily, your eager assistant, vet nannies for Sara. She was young and enthusiastic and proactive, and she’d do a great job. “I think that’s a good idea,” you say. “Thanks, Bora. I know I haven’t been -- well, I know you have better things to do than worry about me, and I’m s--”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought,” she says, holding her manicured hand up to silence you. “You have people around you who care about and love you. Me included. This is the time where you need to lean on those people. And we all want that.”

“Thank you,” you say again.

“Eat,” she says sternly. “I need to get home, but I refuse to leave Sara with you until you’ve got food in your body.”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea of putting something in your mouth and chewing, but you realize that Bora’s made you some kind of thick, creamy soup that requires nothing but small sips. It’s easy to eat, and before you know it, despite not really tasting it as it passed through your lips, you’ve finished the bowl. Bora nods approvingly, leaning in and kissing your forehead before standing up to leave. “I love you, sweetheart,” she says. “Call me in the morning, okay?”

And with that, she leaves.

***

Six days later, you’re somewhere that you never expected to be at this point -- at dinner with your friend Gwen and her husband, Chan. Bora had showed up, instructed you to get ready, and taken Sara home with her as the couple had showed up at your front door. “You need a night out,” she insisted as you halfheartedly protested.

You had taken her advice and asked Emily to start interviewing nannies, but so far, her search for someone who could be there during your required time period and had the right background checks and qualifications had come up with very few results. This was a bit disheartening, but you hadn’t really given up yet, hoping someone would pull through for you. If you believed in God at this point, you’d probably pray for it.

These are the thoughts that are consuming you at dinner with your friends, when you’re supposed to be listening to them talk. They, gratefully, are a comforting pair, who make a point not to look at you with the customary pity. Instead, they ask about work and Sara and even about your thoughts on how the funeral had gone, which is kind of a relief -- none of that timid skirting around the big, ugly elephant in the room. Maybe this openness they’ve pulled out of you is the reason you feel you can speak to them about your current issue. “Actually, I’m trying to get back to work,” you say. “Those bills aren’t going to pay themselves. The only issue is, I need to find a nanny for Sara, but my assistant has been having trouble finding someone who fits the bill,” you explain, picking at the food in front of you.

To your surprise, Chan’s eyes light up. “I might know a guy. He used to work with me, and he just moved back here after awhile.”

You stare at him. “Chan, aren’t you a federal officer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Why would a federal agent want to work as my nanny?” you ask him.

“Former federal agent,” he corrects you. “Turned nanny.”

“You know someone who quit being a secret agent to become a child-care worker?” you say in disbelief.

Gwen nods. “Actually, he’s really good. The family he was just with fell on some hard times, which is why he’s back now, but I think he might be looking for a new gig.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You got the contact information for this guy?” you ask Chan.

“Yeah. His name’s Mingyu. I’ll forward the info on to Emily.”

“Thanks,” you say. “Really, Chan.” You allow yourself to hope for a moment, which provides just the right amount of energy to finish dinner and make your way back home. Once you’re inside your wreck of an apartment, which hasn’t been really cleaned since the accident, you lean heavily against the door, releasing a big breath.

You head to Sara’s room before realizing she’s still at Bora’s house. You text her that you’re home, and before you know it, Bora is handing a sleeping Sara back into your arms.

“She was really good today,” Bora whispers. “How was dinner?”

“It was...okay,” you say, and for the first time, you’re honest. For some reason, you feel like this Mingyu person is the one who’s going to stick, and that leaves you with a modicum of relief. A change is coming, and this one feels like it’s bound to be better than whatever you’re trying to do now. Bora leaves, and you go to the nursery -- the one room that’s intact and clean -- and sink into the rocking chair with Sara.

“Sometime soon, we’re going to have someone to help us out, Sara,” you promise. “I know this isn’t the life your parents probably imagined for you, but I’m going to try and give you something close to what they wanted you to have. I mean that.”

Slowly, you pull her off your shoulder to look at her cherubic little face -- at the black curls that surround her face, her long eyelashes fluttering in sleep. She’s a darling baby, but what you notice is something that penetrates through the cloud of numbness: she’s smiling, her little dimples so reminiscent of --

“Jeri,” you breathe, and a rush of warmth hits you right in your chest for a moment before it’s once again extinguished by your grief, like a flaming arrow shot into a dark, black lake. You suppose, as you hold her close to you once again, that in a way, Sara has immortalized your sister.

You fall asleep holding Sara, who for the first time since she became yours sleeps through the night.

***

You’re standing in your sweatpants, braless, your hair thrown haphazardly on top of your head, feeding Sarah some baby food as she babbles happily in her high chair, when the doorbell rings. You check your watch in disbelief -- it’s seven in the morning, which is the time you had asked Mingyu to show up for his first day of work. You’d never met him in person, although you had talked to him on the phone, and you’d wanted to make a good first impression. But then Sara had had a blowout, and you’d had to change your own sheets because she’d slept in your bed with you, and then you’d had to bathe her (it was that bad), and you were finally getting to feed Sara. You hadn’t even eaten yet, and you’d planned to be fully ready and put together by the time he arrived.

But there was no postponing this -- you couldn’t just let him rot on your porch. So you head for the door, praying Sara won’t throw the spoon on the floor as she has been wont to do recently, and look through the peephole. When you see him, the only thing you can do is whisper “shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.”

Because how could Emily not have told you that the man was beautiful?

And he isn’t beautiful in like, your everyday way either. The man on your porch is tall, probably dwarfing you by both head and shoulders, with a broad chest that pulled at the simple black tee he wears and arms that the pre-accident you would have swooned over. His hair is cropped short like a fed, and he is dressed practically, and yet, he was a god. There was no other way around it. You look down at yourself -- stained t-shirt, sweats with holes in embarrassing places, hair in disarray -- and shrug. There’s nothing you can do but pull the door open. “Hi,” you say. “Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and he doesn’t seem to register your haggard appearance, just smiles. “I’m guessing you’re --”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Um, please come in.”

He does, carefully removing his tennis shoes and stepping into the entryway. “Sara’s in the kitchen. Probably throwing stuff.”

He chuckles. “She’s seven months?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“They do that,” he says conspiratorially.

It has taken you very little time to realize you might be in trouble. Mingyu’s smile is open and warm, his eyes full of life. He is nothing like the gruff, stern former agent that you were picturing in your head. You watch him crouch to greet Sara, whose face lights up at his friendly wave. “Hi, Sara,” he says, brushing a bit of blended squash off her nose. “You’re a cutie, that’s for sure.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess,” you can’t help but say. “It’s...it’s been insane.”

He looks up at you. “I get it. Your assistant kind of explained the situation. How are you holding up?” he asks.

You scratch the back of your head. “Well, Sara’s still alive, and that’s pretty much the extent of my current goals, so I guess we’re doing pretty well, all things considered.”

He nods sympathetically. “Honestly, great job. Becoming an instant parent can’t be easy.”

“I actually need to be at work at 8:30,” you suddenly realize. “Can I show you around? I’ll have to dash right afterward.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, following you down the hall.

“This is the guest room,” you say. “It hasn’t been touched for a minute, but this is where you’ll sleep if we ever need you to stay overnight. I occasionally have business trips.” You lead him further down the hall and up the short staircase, opening the door to the nursery. “Right there is the bathroom. This is Sara’s room, so when she goes down for naps, this is where you can put her.”

You look at him, and his face is thoughtful as you point down the hall. “Door at the end is my bedroom,” you say, remembering what an absolute disaster it is. A blush rises in your cheek. “And please,” you say, going back down the stairs. “You can make yourself at home. Feel free to use the TV while Sara’s napping, or eat what’s in the fridge or pantry if you’re hungry.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

You pull out your wallet and hand him a card. “This one is for you. If you ever feel like eating anything or going somewhere with Sara, you can use this. I opened it for you specifically -- I figured it’d be easier than reimbursing you.”

He pockets it. “Sounds good,” he says.

You stand there, feeling awkward. “Well, I think that was all.”

He nods. “Go get ready,” he says reassuringly. “If I need something or have any questions, I’ll shoot you a text. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” you say in relief. “Thanks.”

You nearly sprint upstairs and jump in the shower. It takes you two minutes to do everything you need to do -- you’ve been taking micro-showers since you took Sara in, terrified that something would happen to her in your absence. Watching the time, you blow your hair dry, apply simple makeup, and change into a comfortable pair of black slacks and a white button-up. You arrive downstairs to see Mingyu at the sink with Sara, having sat her in the crook of his arm so he can wash her sticky face.

The sight of them warms your heart. “Okay, I’ve gotta dash,” you say. “Please, reach out to me if you need anything.”

He smiles. “I will. Drive safe.”

“Okay,” you say, bounding out the door and into your car.

The office hushes a bit when you walk in. They knew you were coming back today, but it must be surreal after the three months you’ve been gone, especially when this is your magazine -- you’re the only person at the company who’s been there since the beginning, because you started it. Cory is quick to hop to your side. “Hi, boss,” he greets. The rest of the office goes back to their activities as you enter your large, glass-paneled office.

“Hi, Cory,” you say. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says, seemingly lost for any other words. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Thanks,” you say. “So, update me. Where are we at with the Serena Williams feature?”

“She was super understanding, and the publishers were too,” he says. “Ruby wrote a great piece, though, so as soon as we’ve got the green light we’ll start the launch. I’ve got Jojo on the social media build, and she’s got a two-on-one scheduled with us later to go over it.”

You nod in approval. “Okay, sounds good. I’m gonna contact Park Seojun’s agent today, so I’d like a list of writers you think could write that story well before our meeting with Jojo. I’m thinking we use someone in-house, but I’m open to contracting out if you’re worried people in the office already have too much to do.”

Cory gives you a thumbs up. “Got it,” he says, heading back to his desk.

You breathe in your office air, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders dissolve. You can’t say you’re happy, per se -- but you aren’t as empty as you have been. Bora had been right -- getting back to work is going to be good for you.

***

Toward the end of the day, though, you begin feeling a strange pull -- a pull toward home. You know Mingyu and Sara have been fine, because Mingyu has been texting you periodically throughout the day:

9:49

MG: hey, we’re out of wet wipes over here. do you have any extra boxes?

You: yeah they’re in your bathroom under the sink!

MG: okay I should’ve thought to check there, thanks! You saved my life haha

You: no worries! Is everything ok?

MG: yeah its good, no need to stress. Sara just needs a diaper change.

You: ok, sounds good! Thanks!

11:30

MG: sara reeeeeeeeeeeally likes pears

You: oh yeah they’re her favorite lol

He’d sent you a video of Sara screeching with joy as he put a spoonful of pear mush into her mouth.

MG: like i’ve never seen anyone so enthusiastic about pears

You: i love it when she screams at her food, that’s the best

MG: me too its so cute haha

1:43

MG: ok i forgot to ask

MG: how long are her naps supposed to be

You: tbh I usually let her sleep an hour or so...i should probably do research on what’s developmentally appropriate

MG: lmao nah i gotchu

Then a few minutes later:

1:52

MG: so apparently huckleberrycare.com suggests 2-3 hours of daytime sleep for kids sara’s age

You: damn, that’s a long time

You: well, i guess let her sleep? She might not stay down that long, but we can adjust her routine a bit to try and get her there

MG: sounds good. Is she a light sleeper? She’s on me rn and i don’t want to wake her up if i move her

You: oh no you can totally put her in her crib lol she won’t wake up

MG: ok thanks haha my arm was kind of going numb bc i was too scared to change positions lmao

You: hahaha yes you’re totally fine to put her in as soon as she goes to sleep usually

MG: great to know, thanks lol

And more throughout the day, littered with photos of Sara in varying states of ridiculousness. You found yourself actually smiling as each text rolled in, grateful for the updates, knowing you would’ve felt a lot more anxious if you hadn’t heard anything.

Still, you didn’t want to keep Mingyu waiting too long. He was supposed to get off at 6, and you wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like you were taking advantage of him. So you left work earlier than normal, beating the rush hour traffic and coming through the door to see Mingyu playing with your niece on the floor. He looks up at you as you come in and waves you over. “She rolled over just barely,” he whispers excitedly. “Watch!”

Sara struggles, whining a little bit, before rolling from her stomach to her back. You clap excitedly, lifting her from the floor into your arms and kissing her pudgy cheek. “Good job, Sara!” you coo, and she burbles happily, touching your face with a fat hand.

Suddenly, you notice something -- the house is clean.

“Mr. Kim,” you say slowly, “did you clean my house?”

He suddenly looks sheepish. “Uh, yeah, I did,” he says. “I’m sorry if that was...I don’t know, not my place.”

“Are you apologizing for cleaning?” you ask him, amused. “I feel bad you felt the need to do that! I shouldn’t have -- have let it get so bad.”

He gives you an extremely gentle look that you are sure he didn’t intend to make your knees go weak. “You’ve been through a lot recently,” he says. “I think you should be kinder to yourself. Also, there was a time when I was in college and living with roommates, and it was way worse cleaning up after some of them.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” you say, returning his smile with Sara propped on your hip.

You stare at him for a minute, and then shake yourself. “Well, I’m here now, so I guess you can...go?” You make a face at your phrasing. “I’m not trying to kick you out. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay past your hours.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. I get you. Have a good night.” He heads for the door, calling over his shoulder. “Actually, I made some fried rice this afternoon. The leftovers are in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait a minute, Mr. Kim,” you call after him, following him on his way out.

He turns around, smiling at your tone. “You can call me Mingyu,” he offers.

You nod. “Okay, Mingyu. You cooked, cleaned, and took care of Sara while I was at work?”

“Yeah,” he says, a laugh in his voice. “Is that so odd?”

“I never managed to do all three in one day,” you admit ashamedly.

“Well, I’m not mourning the loss of my sister,” he reminds you, and his voice is a bit stern. “That kind of thing takes a lot of energy.” He rests a big hand on your shoulder comfortingly before opening the door. “See you tomorrow.”

#whew #this is not the full fic #part two up in a week??? I hope??? #seventeen #svt #svt fluff #svt fic #mingyu #mingyu comfort #mingyu fluff #domestic mingyu #svt x reader #mingyu x reader

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 5,200 Warnings: Some male skeeviness lol.

Part 1: The Game Begins

Two months ago…

You and M.M. continued to pour over all the records that the CIA had been able to pull on Soldier Boy.

This had been your life for the past month: locked in one hotel room after the next, up to your eyeballs in research. Or pounding the pavement in the sweltering summer of Brazil, on any whisper of Soldier Boy.

Right now it was the former. You all were piled into M.M.’s room, as it was the only one with a kitchen.

You smiled at Frenchie and thanked him when he offered you a steaming mug. At least you would finally get to experience Brazilian coffee.

You hiked a foot on the table where you and M.M. were working and sipped carefully; the mug was filled to the brim. Your companion eyed your pajama-clad leg, which only encroached an inch or two into his space.

“Excuse the fuck outta me,” said M.M. “Can you not?”

You briefly looked up from the (completely fabricated) biopic you were reading on Soldier Boy. “Hmm?”

M.M. gestured to your bare foot on the table. “Hello? What, were you raised in a fucking barn?”

With an amused smile, you lowered your leg. “I’m cramping up. We’ve been at this for six hours.”

“And counting,” Hughie said with a tired sigh. He and Annie had just come from scoping the local tourist spots and dive bars in the city. It wasn’t for pleasure though. You all had arrived in Brazil last night on a rumor that Soldier Boy had been spotted at a club a couple of days ago. 

Annie heaved a sigh as she dropped into the seat next to you. She stole your paper fan on the table and tried to dry the sweat on her face and neck. You smiled and passed her your bottled water as well.

You and Annie had been “work friendly” at Supe Affairs. Now you felt like she had accepted you the most readily into the group. She seemed genuinely interested in who you were as a person as well.

Though you tried not to give too many personal details about your life, she had a way of disarming you, getting you to open up with her genuine willingness to listen. 

You were friendly enough with Hughie and Kimiko as well, and you could also admit, you liked M.M. He was a straightforward man (and fun to tease with his anal idiosyncrasies). You got the most done with M.M. by your side. And watching him with Frenchie was pure entertainment. 

Overall, you felt respected by them, even if you knew you weren’t as close as the rest of them seemed to be. You just hadn’t been on the team long enough. 

The only one who mostly ignored you was Billy Butcher.

Butcher didn’t want you on the team. He’d made that pretty clear from the beginning.

What had his words been? Oh, yeah.

She’s a fucking amateur. Won’t last thirty seconds if, heavens for-fuckin’-bid, she encounters an A-lister like Soldier Boy. 

You knew he considered you dead weight. But as Grace had told him, her track record speaks for itself. 

No, you weren’t former SAS, like Butcher. You weren’t CIA, or any other military alphabet soup. But if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was tracking people down.

You were currently flitting through Soldier Boy’s sham career: the shitty music videos, the starlets, the ticker tape parades, and what precious little there was about his beginnings: about “Ben.” 

You did find out that his family was from Hartford, Connecticut, and stupidly rich too. You found his parents’ names to go along with that. 

And then it was a hop, skip, and a jump to him being unveiled as Soldier Boy.  

“That is curious,” you murmured. 

“Curious about the world’s most infamous granny fucker?” Butcher remarked. You slid him a wry look. 

The fact that he tried to erase his past is interesting,” you said. “The details that aren’t here are just as important as the ones that are.”

Butcher hesitated a second, an ice-cold beer poised to his lips. He tipped it toward you in acknowledgement. “On that, we actually agree.”

“What do we know about his real life? Before he became Soldier Boy,” you asked.

Butcher sat down across from you and shaded in the details he knew, mostly about a disappointed father. 

“Didn’t get enough hugs as a lad,” he surmised. 

You suspected he was understating the truth. If there weren’t that many recorded accounts, pictures, or footage of Soldier Boy’s parents and home life, then he didn’t want people to know. 

Interesting, you thought. Eventually Butcher got up to run down another lead that came in via text from Grace. Frenchie came back from the kitchen and saw how intently you were staring at your computer screen, eyes rapidly scanning. 

“Ah,” Frenchie said, gesturing between you and the departed Butcher with a hand that held three alfajores cookies. “I see the same anal tenacity that fuels Monsieur Charcutier.”

You raised a brow. “My tenacity is for the case, not Soldier Boy.”

This wasn’t a vendetta for you. This was just business.

“For money,” M.M. correctly guessed, but his eyes held no judgment. “Been there.”

You sighed, smiling a little. Yes, you were doing this for money. They didn’t need to know anything more than that. 

You liked this team well enough, but this was a job. The way you protected your family, and yourself, was by not talking about them.

That night, Frenchie’s ordered “package” arrived, courtesy of Grace. It was a healthy dose of Novichok gas—perhaps one of the only substances on Earth that could put Soldier Boy into a peaceful sleep. 

Well, you didn’t know if it was peaceful, exactly. But he’d be asleep. That was all any of you cared about.

“At least it’s in proper containment this time,” M.M. said, examining the large cannister. Annie peered at it over his shoulder. 

“I don’t know. My shitty perfume case seemed to hold it just fine,” she quipped. 

You smiled from your usual seat at your computer. Annie came over with a sandwich for both of you. It was from the café down the street, and you’d been meaning to try it. Every time you stood out on your hotel room’s balcony, you could smell fresh bread and smoked meats coming from the café. 

“Oh, yeah. How’s your sister?” Annie asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “She’s in college now, right?”

She had a good memory. Annie had heard you on the phone with your sister before you all left last month. You’d said one last goodbye, knowing it wouldn’t be safe to talk once you were locked into this mission.

While you were reluctant to answer Annie’s question, the others seemed distracted in the kitchen, fighting over who ordered chorizo and who ordered steak on their sandwich. 

Still, you lowered your voice, even as a proud smile graced your lips. “She got into Julliard.”

Annie grinned and set her food down to give a little clap. 

“She starts in the fall, so a few months,” you added.

“Aww, you’re glowing with pride,” Annie teased. And you laughed, but it was true. You wouldn’t hide that you were very proud of your little sister’s accomplishments. 

“She’s worked hard, and she deserves it,” you said. Though your eyes dimmed. “I just wish I could help her celebrate…she’s on my case for taking this job.”       

Quite simply, she worried about you. You were good at your job, but you were still human. She’d seen you come home banged up and bruised more often than you cared to admit…

Annie gave you a knowing look. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to. I’m sure you can get other jobs—”

“Getting into school is just the beginning,” you said. “She’s got four years to go. Then her master’s. Hell, her doctorate if she wants.”

“There are scholarships…”

“It’s not enough,” you said with a sigh. It’s never enough.

“All right, lads,” Butcher said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin as he read off his phone. “The new Strongest Cunt in the World has been spotted. Suit up.” 

“Where’re we going?” you asked, closing up your laptop. 

Butcher shot you a wink. “Colombia.”

While on the private plane, you were the only one still awake as you continued to watch the archival footage with your Airpods in. Reel after motherfucking reel of Soldier Boy. 

You really were starting to get sick of his smug face. He was clearly a good actor, if nothing else. 

Then you came across the Russia files. 

Part of you didn’t want to watch. You knew exactly what they were, and you didn’t want to see anything that would make you sympathize with him in your mind…

And yet, your father’s training was ingrained in you—like fingerprints on your skin. Like a vice grip around your throat. 

Everything is relevant, always. Even if it isn’t.

…That, and maybe your own insatiable curiosity won out. 

So you steeled yourself with a breath, and you hit the play button. 

Gradually, your eyes widened. 

You had seen awful things—as a private investigator at your father’s firm, and at Vought. 

You had filled your quota of blood and death. And you had already seen the footage of Soldier Boy blasting a tower full of people in New York with the nuclear power now housed in his chest. 

You also knew what he did to M.M.’s family. But after watching several minutes of Soldier Boy's torture, hearing his struggle, his outbursts of rage, the ragged gasps for breath, the clawing, traumatized sounds...

It was like stereo between your ears, and it was...too familiar. Too much.

So you finally turned it off, closing your laptop with an unsettled breath of your own. 

And you were unable to sleep that night.

When you all finally arrived in Colombia, you and the team surveyed the wreckage in the casino.

It was a fucking blood bath.

As you stepped carefully through the wreckage of bodies and gambling chips, you looked for clues. Anything that might tell you about what Soldier Boy was doing here (though you could guess), and however unlikely, where he might go next. 

You were disheartened to find the body of a young woman. Her big blue eyes were vacant, her blonde hair caked with blood from a head shot. On further inspection, you found a small room key in her hand. 

With a sigh and a gloved hand, you took the key. You also closed the girl’s eyes. 

You kept looking while the others had fanned out in the opposite direction. When you came across a small table that wasn’t turned over or splintered into fragments, you raised a brow. There was a napkin pinned to the top with a steak knife. 

You yanked it out and examined the flimsy napkin. Noticing that you’d found something, Butcher came over to your side. He was much taller than you, fairly looming over your shoulder. You angled the note toward him. 

Try harder.

S.B.

It was more than just a taunt. 

It was the beginning of a game. And it made you smile. 

“What the hell’re you smiling about?” Butcher asked. 

“I like it when they’re cocky,” you replied. Butcher shot you a sideways glance, one that said you were maybe more deranged than even him.

“All supes are cocky bastards.”

You eyed him with a teasing grin. “On that, we actually agree.”

True to Grace’s word, she provided you all with the full extent of the CIA’s resources. While Butcher tracked down the hotel of the room key you found, you and M.M. were able to tap into any and all local street cameras and map out the likely points Soldier Boy had hit in this city—and where he could be going next.  

According to the hotel manager, Soldier Boy had paid for a month’s stay, but hadn’t checked out after coming back for some of his belongings. The security cameras had caught him leaving his hotel room with a few men—armed ex-military types, and possibly his new entourage. 

But the trail ended there. 

Over the next two months, Soldier Boy continued to be one step ahead of you in the chase. 

Though his movements were calculated (disappearing like a coil of smoke whenever you caught his scent), he seemed to be taking an extended vacation surrounding strip clubs, casinos, and other likely destinations for sex, drugs, and money. 

And he’d evaded capture after hitting at least three banks on his way out of the U.S. alone.

At the current crap motel of the week, you shared the couch with Kimiko and Hughie while you surveyed traffic cameras.

“What’s the likelihood that he’s even still in Colombia? In South America, even?” Hughie asked. It was a good goddamn question.

“We have agents covering every major port and air hanger,” M.M. said. “If he wants to escape the continent, he’s gonna have to fight his way out, or rent a dingy and float his motherfuckin’ ass across the Atlantic.” 

“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” you remarked. “What connections does he have?”

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked that question, but it was the first time you got a straightforward answer. 

“Who knows,” said M.M. “He’s an ancient fuck.”

“Who killed all his old friends,” Hughie supplied.

“Well, his team, to be fair. I don’t think he ever had friends,” Annie said. “...Plus his old girlfriend.”

“What a spectacular bonfire that was,” Butcher dryly quipped. 

Nice, you thought, heavy on the sarcasm. 

You sighed. Clearly, you all would have to be prepared for anything.

When you weren’t pouring through surveillance, you took to the streets with Annie, playing the part of American tourists. 

“Soldier Boy don’t know who the fuck you are,” Butcher had reasoned. He’d then pointed at Annie.

“Her fame as Starlight can get you two into whatever bar, club, or fuckhole that might’ve let him in. She’ll park it at a table, attracting attention. Meanwhile, you’ll circle around and look for him.”

It was actually a sound plan, and you could be a decent actor yourself. This wasn’t the first time you’d adopted a role to find your target, and on this mission, it probably wouldn’t be the last.    

Well, a week later, the plan worked. You and Annie encountered a woman at a bar who waited tables at a nearby club, in Medellin. She’d served Soldier Boy just last night. 

Medellin was considered the party city of Colombia, and for good reason. 

Butcher had cleverly found your “disguise” for tonight, though you hadn’t liked the smirk on his bearded face when he gave you the shopping bag. 

It turned out to be a semi-legal black leather dress, along with thigh-high boots possessing a sharp heel. Annie’s dress was just as short, and gold. With her blonde hair and shimmering makeup contrasting your black dress and smokey makeup, the two of you looked like night and day. Light and dark. 

While Hughie manned surveillance in a rented van, parked outside the club, the rest of the team had found strategic points to cover in the club: M.M. was at the bar. Frenchie and Kimiko had found a table to watch the area in front of the stage, while Butcher was somewhere clinging to the shadows. 

You followed Annie into the club. Once they’d recognized her as Starlight, they’d let her right in, and you by association. You didn’t envy her fame, but you could admit, it had some perks.

Inside, the club was dark and loud, and packed with people and streams of colorful light bouncing off the walls. This isn’t going to be easy. 

Both of you scoped the area subtly before joining M.M. at the bar. 

Well, you two found your own opening further down. Sitting next to him would be too obvious.   

You subtly pressed a finger to the communicator in your ear while Annie ordered drinks. 

“It’s gonna be hard to find my own ass in here,” you said to the team. You scanned the place and noticed an entire second and third floor. “This place is huge.” 

“Then get crackin’, love,” Butcher’s voice reached you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but you did take the vodka martini Annie offered you. 

“Ah, you beat me to it,” a man said, his richly accented voice hovering near your ear. You turned your head and had to lean back a bit. You were met with blue eyes, tan skin, and an attractive smile. The man tipped an imaginary hat, letting his shoulder-length dark hair dip into his eyes. 

“Good evening, mi vida,” he said. “I was gonna buy you a drink, but I see you’ve got one. Mind if I finish my beer with you?”

Inwardly you wanted to sigh, but you gave a flirtatious smile to keep up appearances. “Sure.”

“Where are you from?” he asked, and with a more teasing smile. “I’m having a hard time placing your accent.” 

You affected a giggle. “Oh, really? You mean I don’t have a massive, neon sign over my head that says, ‘American Tourist?’”

“Well, maybe not neon,” he joked. “I’m Antonio.”

“I’m Jess,” you lied, shaking his hand. He turned it over and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. Annie raised a brow behind you, but she sipped her drink.

Antonio must’ve been a local. His dark blue buttoned-down shirt, jeans, and boots were more casual than the obvious tourists with their flashing finery. And by his accent, you could guess that he was at least Latino. Colombian, most likely.

You were able to subtly dodge the question of exactly where you were from. And the two of you flirted for a few minutes while you continued to survey the people passing by, scanning the gaps between bodies.

When Antonio finally asked you to dance, you agreed. It would get you further into the club with a better excuse than walking around aimlessly. You turned to Annie.

“Catch you later?” you asked. She tossed you a wink.

“Yeah, girl. Have fun!”

You smiled and let Antonio lead you to the dance floor. You discreetly used every movement to your advantage, looking beyond your dancing partner to continue your search. If Soldier Boy was here, you would find him.

“He’s not here,” said Antonio. It actually managed to jerk you out of your focus.

“Who?” you asked, feigning confusion.

“Whoever you’re looking for that isn’t me,” he said, injecting a fair bit of charm into his voice. 

You actually felt your face warming up at that. The way he was looking at you now, there was very little doubt as to what he wanted. His grip on your hips tightened. 

Part of you was getting impatient with this part of the game, but at the very least, he was a good dancer. He pulled you effortlessly through the cumbia, Colombian salsa dancing, even if he was starting to sweat on you. 

Now, you could almost swear someone was watching. Though it might’ve been the sweat dripping down your spine, you felt that strange prickle on the back of your neck.

Well, besides Annie. You knew she was keeping an eye on you from the bar, as were Frenchie and Kimiko as they joined a poker game in the far corner, away from the dance floor.

Your gaze continued to flit through every corner of the room between spins and the movements of your feet and your hips. 

When Antonio’s hands started get a bit too familiar with the curve of your ass, you took his hands and used them to spin yourself. He brought you back in tight. A bit too tight.

“Come on, baby…” he whispered in your ear.

And you felt his hand slide up the inside of your thigh. He even had the audacity to try and slip past the lacey front of your underwear.

That’s when your patience snapped. 

You grabbed his wrist and “accidentally” drove your heel into his foot. With precision you felt it land between two vertebrae. 

The girlish yelp he made brought a flicker of a smile to your lips, but you covered it with a doe-eyed look and many bumbling apologies. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He all but shoved you as he limped away, cursing you in Spanish. You’d taken four years of it in high school, and you still only caught half of it.  

Hiding your smile, you walked away and pressed a discreet finger to the comm in your ear. 

“The stage front is clear. Scoping the back.”

“Wait for me,” Annie said. She was still sitting at the bar. “I think you broke that guy’s foot.”

“He had tenacity,” Frenchie remarked.

“All balls and no brains, as usual,” you muttered. “Stay there and look shiny, Annie. He’s less likely to recognize me, but he might come out to play if he spots a familiar face at the bar.”

“She’s right,” Butcher said to Annie. “Stay where you are.”    

You made your way to the bathroom and scoped the hall. There in the privacy of the shadows, you adjusted the gun holster on your thigh. It was a miracle Antonio hadn’t felt it. 

Not that a gun would do much against Soldier Boy, but you didn’t feel right without it. 

Then you kept moving and dodged various couples making out (and more) on your way upstairs.

“Going up,” you informed the team quietly. The second floor was a series of rooms, none of which you wanted to pop in on without an invitation.

After you made it to the end of the hall, you turned a corner and noticed a door hung open a crack. Sliding it open, you found a wall of music there to greet you.

And that wasn’t all.

Inside was a room of people drinking and drugging and generally doing things to one another. You didn’t want to go in, but you wouldn’t put it past Soldier Boy to get caught up in a mass orgy. 

You walked through the room, only taking in what you needed to with your eyes. 

Focusing on the far wall, you saw a leather chair by the window, with a still smoking cigar laid to rest in an ash tray on a small table. Your head tilting with interest, you went over to the table and found another hand-written note. 

Once again, you sighed. “He’s not here, guys. He bounced.”

Once you all regrouped with Hughie outside the club, you handed the note to Butcher with a grimace.

“You have a love letter,” you said. And Hughie too.

With a wry brow raise, Butcher looked down at the scrap of paper.

Butcher, you’ll die first. Then the cum-guzzler. 

S.B.

That night at the hotel, after you'd showered and peeled off that ridiculous dress, you poured over the Soldier Boy files again.

You hadn’t touched the Russia ones since that first night, but you knew you were missing far too much. In order to anticipate his moves, you needed to understand how he thought.

You couldn’t do that if you didn’t even have the full picture of who he was. And the movies, the silly music videos, even the exploded skyscraper and Homelander’s death—none of it told the full story of Ben. 

It didn’t tell you what he wanted. What he cared about. Why he was playing cat and mouse instead of just taking his stand, like his soldier persona would’ve demanded of his pride.

Or maybe that pride's just like everything else: a well-crafted costume.

A knock at your door jolted you out of your thoughts. 

You got up to your feet, briefly looking down to make sure you were decently dressed (you supposed pajama shorts, a bra, and a tank top would suffice). You grabbed your gun and checked the peephole before you answered the door with a smile.

It was M.M. with a mug of tea for you. “I knew you’d still be up, killin’ those files. It’s almost morning, you know.”

You accepted the mug with a warmer smile.  

“Aw, you do care,” you quipped. He rolled his eyes. 

You laughed a little. “Seriously, thank you.”

He pointed at you.

“Go to sleep,” he said. You raised two fingers to your temple in salute. 

“Sir. Yes, sir!” you joked. Really, you appreciated his concern. After hearing many a story about his daughter Jennine, and seeing how the rest of the team respected him, you knew that he was a good man. 

And thanks to him and Annie, you were actually starting to feel like part of this team.

After you wished him goodnight (or good morning, at this rate), you closed the door to your hotel room, followed closely by your laptop. 

You took out your phone, silently contemplating what time it would be in New York right now.

Well, it would be very early in the morning. Still, you thought it was worth a try, since you had the time.

You dialed your sister, Luisa. While it rang, you remembered just how thin these hotel walls were. So you stepped out to the rickety balcony. Jeez, hope it holds my weight throughout this call.

When your sister eventually answered, she murmured your name sleepily in confusion.

“Hey, sorry for waking you up,” you said, feeling bad. 

“It’s okay.” She yawned. “I should be up soon anyway. Got 8 am classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“Ech. Screw that shit,” you teased. 

“You’re the one sweating balls in South America.”

“I’d rather be drowning in my own sweat than listening to some old bag drone on for eight hours,” you volleyed back, and leaned against the balcony’s railing, even as it creaked suspiciously with your weight. 

“You, my friend, are uninspired. You mean to tell me mosquitoes and drug cartels are better than Mozart?” your sister asked incredulously. Her sleepy voice was starting to lose some of its gravel as you two fell into familiar bickering. 

“Wow, way to type cast. Not all of South America is about drug-running,” you pointed out. 

“Aren’t there, like, entire shows about people shoving cocaine up their ass to get from Colombia to Miami?” Luisa asked. 

“…Yes, but that’s not the point,” you said with a giggle. “And good guess. I’m actually in Medellin right now.”

“Are you supposed to tell me that?”

“Not really, no, but I don’t think you’ll sell me out to the cartels,” you joked. Or to the Russians, your mind added. That thought made your lips twist sourly. 

“Anyway, are you okay? How’s school, really?”

“It’s good, sis. You know I’m good. I’m worried about you,” she countered, and you could hear the concern in her voice.

“You know me. I’m always good,” you replied with good humor. The silence on the other line told you that you hadn’t been quite convincing enough. 

“When do you think you’ll come home?” she asked.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night (or morning), you sighed. “That’s hard to say.”

The answering silence told you even more about your sister’s thoughts, and you felt guilty for it. 

“I’m happy just knowing you’re doing so well. With school, starting your adult life, doing your thing,” you added.  

“You need to start thinking about yourself,” she told you.

“What do you mean, Lou? I’m fine.”

It was Louisa’s turn to sigh.

“You know, I was so proud of you when you decided to leave Vought," she said. "When you finally got out from under Dad. When you started working at Supe Affairs…you seemed happy, like you were finally proud of yourself too.”

Emotion started to burn behind your eyes. Part of it was probably sleep deprivation, but you heard the sincerity in your sister’s voice.

She just knew you so well. And she wasn’t lying there—what she’d said was all true of you. However, after the joke that was Victoria Neuman running Supe Affairs, you didn’t know what you could trust anymore. 

Maybe not even your own judgment. 

“But I really wish that you’d consider more than just your work,” Luisa said. “Like a hobby. Take a painting class. Go to karaoke, like we used to do in grade school after Choir practice. You have such a beautiful voice! Like Grandma’s was.”

“I’ll leave the performing to you, Lou,” you said with a chuckle. She was serious, however.

“Work isn’t everything,” she reminded you. Now her voice was firm. “You should go out with your friends. Go out with Annie! Rub shoulders with her celebrity friends.”  

“Right.” You huffed a laugh. You’d been around plenty of famous supes while at Vought. You’d ran down the leads and tracked down the criminals, just for the supes to swoop in and “save the day.” You did the grunt work, and they claimed the credit. 

You’d had enough of “celebrities” to last you a lifetime. 

“Maybe then you’ll—and let me not shock you here—meet someone,” Louisa said. “And finally put an end to that goddamn dry spell. What's it been, like three years?” 

“All right, all right.” You held up a hand of surrender, even if she couldn’t see it. You were grateful she couldn’t catch you blushing. “That’s enough about my non-life, thanks.” 

You shook your head. Embarrassment actually clawed inside your belly. 

Yes, it had been a while since you’d actually been with anyone, relationship or otherwise. You just didn’t have time to have a life, you’d reasoned. Working at Vought had been grueling, and your hours at the S.A., while better, were still demanding.

…Still, you could appreciate that your work-life balance left much to be desired. And that was on you. 

Case in point, you were on this job.

You tipped your face heavenward, letting the sunrise spill some warmth on your face. 

“But…I hear you, okay?” you replied with your eyes closed. 

“You do?” she asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. When I get back, I…I’ll work on it, okay?” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. I should probably get going, but…please be safe.”

“Always,” you promised.

After you hung up, you finally opened your eyes. 

That prickly feeling was back, almost like you were being watched.

You scanned around, but your human eyes didn’t find anything out of the ordinary in the sunshine pouring in between the rows of buildings. 

In fact, you didn’t see a damn thing that wasn’t supposed to be there.

So you clutched your phone to your chest, letting out a deep breath. Then you headed back inside.

But mere feet above you, if you had only looked up to the roof, you would’ve seen a hunter lazily eyeing his prey.

AN: Ok! So a little bit slow in this chapter, but it’s all important setup.

In the next chapter, the reader meets Soldier Boy:

You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin. 

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

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[lunarw0rks]

Through The Ashes | Chapter Seven

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), PTSD themes, canon-typical violence, slight gore, mentions of trauma, references parental death, grief, hurt/comfort but also hurt/nocomfort

A/N: should I write an epilogue? (not proofread) | Word Count: 3.2k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

Loose Ends

You dig out the packet from your pocket and slide it across Price’s desk.

“It’s all in the form, Sir.”

He takes it and flips through the pages, skimming the highlighted parts. “Stress leave? You’re sure about this, Private?” He flicks his eyes back up to you and raises a brow.

“Just a few months, until I can figure out my options. And I don’t want anyone to know about it, I don’t want it causing a fuss.”

“I understand.” You nod, relieved for it to be approved. You head for the door and place your fingers around the handle. You’re stopped by him speaking once more.

“You’ve done good work around here. I’m sure you’ll make a good decision.” You flash a friendly smile at Price, and then exit his office.

You’re happy to be back at the Safehouse where your career in the 141 first started, even though it came with plenty of ups and downs. 

El Sin Nombre is in custody, Hassan is dead. For the first time in months, the roster is clear—a perfect time to slip away.

—

You’re sitting in your barrack, gazing out the window at the secluded country around you. You yearned for the blissful ignorance people carried every day. The horrible things you and your coworkers see and protect everyday citizens from—it does something to you; it makes you look at things differently, even the beautiful scenery around you.

As your eyes are glued to the sky, the enjoyment is null. Your ears fill with the screams of innocents you heard in Chicago over and over again. It’s been a persistence ever since you returned, during any moment of solitude.

You needed out—a few months, maybe a year, and you’d be back in duty. Or maybe, you fulfill your contract and retire early.

A rapid set of knocks stirs you out of your thoughts, making you look up at the culprit. It’s Soap, leaning on the doorframe with a look of unease written on his expression.

“Price wants you. Something about that bastard Graves.” Before you can question it, he zipped down the hall to the meeting room.

Graves? As in, Philip Graves? He was presumed K.I.A. It’s always one problem after another, never seeming to end.

You stand yourself up and quickly follow in Soap’s footsteps, taking your usual spot next to him. Price barely waits for you to be seated before he begins his speech. His brows are tightened, his face is carrying a tension worse than when El Sin Nombre went silent.

“Graves' whereabouts are somewhere stateside, and he’s working with the Russians running some sort of Task Force of mercenaries.” You nearly fall out of the seat with the force of the shock. Russians? How has he flown under the radar so long?

Ghost shifts in his seat a bit, and his eyes grow cold. “Soap killed the bastard himself, how is that possible?”

“He’s had a plan in the works for months.” Price adds. “We need to stop his convoy coming in, and evacuate the civilians nearby.”

Goddammit. The last thing your psyche needed was more casualties weighing on you, especially in the hands of a traitorous con artist like Graves.

“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Stay sharp out there.”

—

Ever since the meeting about Graves, you’ve felt half-in-half-out. He was supposed to be dead, dead and gone, but he’s not. And now he shows up and has some malicious plan to get back at your team.

You must not have noticed it until now, but you’re spacing out again for God knows how long. You snap out of it, and force your hands to continue stapling the papers in front of you. You look over, and Ghost stares briefly, before his gaze goes back to the straight ahead. If anybody knows how you feel right now, it’s probably him.

“Forgot these.” He places a stack of folders down in front of you. You can tell he’s trying not to mention the obvious, not that he would anyway.

There’s no turning back now—you’ll be gone in a few days anyway.

“Ghost.”

“Yeah?” He halts, turning to face you.

“How do you do it? That… way about you? You just… Shut everything off and keep working.”

He almost scoffs right through his mask, leaning a hand on your desk. “I don’t recommend it, Sergeant.”

“Then when does it stop? The things that keep replaying in your head?” Your question hangs in the air a few seconds, before you continue your ramble. “I can’t see past it—the lies and the violence, and the way we all just avoid it.”

He steps a little closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. He knows that feeling all too well, but he’s learned to mask it.

“If you keep thinking like that, it’ll swallow you up. You’re a good soldier, better than most of the muppets I’ve seen. You know that, right?”

You’re fiddling with the paper in your hands, trying to deflect some of the feelings you’re having right now. You press your lips into a line, and nod your head. His words meant more than most.

“You’re not planning on jumping off a cliff, are you?” He asks, letting out a dry chuckle. “Don’t tell me it’s something terminal, either.”

You can’t control the smile spreading on your face. It was not the line you were expecting to lighten the mood, but it worked nonetheless.

He reaches out a fist and gives your chest a few knocks right over your heart. “Feels pretty sturdy to me. You’ll be ‘right.”

Saying thank you would be pointless. He’s not a man of many words to begin with, especially not words of appreciation. You outstretched your arms and gave him a brief embrace, as if to let yourself say goodbye to him without the pressure of figuring out what to say. You debate on even telling him you’re going away.

It’s an unexpected move on both parts, but he doesn’t jerk away from you like he did last time. Instead of pulling away, he places his palm on the back of your head, giving it a gentle clasp.

You both pull away, and he looks as if he doesn’t know what to do with the affection. He loses his eye contact, and his inelegant demeanor returns.

“Felt more like a goodbye… We’ll need you out there when we hunt that bastard down.”

“I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” You reply, almost boastfully. After a seconds pause, you bite the bullet. “I put in for some leave, not sure how long, yet.”

He’s less shocked than you expected him to be, but given the way you vented maybe it isn’t.

“I’ll pick up the slack while you’re gone. But then I want you back bright and early, five-o-clock sharp.” His words lighten, having an edge of humor to them. Then again, he could be serious and you wouldn’t know.

You crinkle your nose to stifle a laugh, finishing sorting the papers that you have procrastinated on for months. You place the boxes under the desk, and then move onto the next batch. You’ve expected him to be gone by now, but he isn’t.

“Before you go—” Ghost speaks from the entrance of the room, as if he stopped in the middle of stride. His eyes look soft again, and they’re scanning you like they’ve done a hundred times.

“—we should have a round together.”

—

The tires screech to a stop on the pavement, jerking all of you around with force. Door opens, and you and the others pile out, guns drawn and ready.

“I want everyone to evacuate civilians first.” Price commands, standing in front of the group.

“Go in pairs and take one building each. Direct them to the triage center down the road. Graves’ll destroy anything to prove a point, so get the hell out of there.”

You follow Ghost, who’s the first person to your right. Your feet pound as you both bolt up the road. You claim the first building, which is some sort of an office, but the structure looks ancient. He smashes through the glass entrance and steps inside. The flashlight attached to his barrel is the only thing allowing you to see ahead of you.

You turn off and check the lower level, but it’s clear.

“Anyone upstairs?” You shout, since he’s sure to hear you through the thin walls.

“Clear.” His voice echoes down the stairwell.

You meet him outside, waiting to regroup before you move onto the next building. The next one is further up the road—a hotel closed for construction. This time, you take the lead, bursting through the door.

There’s a few employees that you usher out of there, directing them to the triage center. There’s no time to answer their frantic questions, anything could happen in a matter of minutes.

“Convoy is a few miles out. Make sure you’re out of there before then.” Price chirps through, only heightening your apprehension to get through this operation. You rush up the flights of stairs, sweeping each vacant room for anyone. “We’re heading down to the triage center. Both of you meet us there.”

After checking the rooms, you take the elevator back to the ground level, meeting up with Ghost once more. “Upper level is clear,” you say, in between catching your breath.

“Dining hall is the last area. Let’s sweep it before we’re sitting ducks.”

You reach the dining hall, which seems to be the area under remodel. Tarps are spread over the missing pieces of the roof, but you can still see the stars glimmer through the gaps. Pieces of drywall are peeled away, and there’s equipment still left laying askew.

You search through the entirety of it, but it’s as empty as the upper levels.

When you pass by the bar alongside Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the path in front of him.

As you’re both nodding to one another, signaling that it’s time to go, your radio chimes in. It gargles for a while, as if it’s struggling to receive the message at the right frequency. You furrow your brow and press the button, “Repeat that again, frequency is shot.”

Ghost stops in his tracks as he listens through his own, trying to pick out any words or phrases in case it’s an important callout. He shakes his head and pulls out his walkie-talkie, which is also emitting the same error.

He gives it a few smacks and curses when it doesn’t work. He keeps it in his grip just in case it works again, but motions his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s get out of here, I don’t like this.”

“Good to see you boys again.” The glitched voice emitting through your wire stops you dead in your tracks. You place a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, yanking him into a stop so you can hear it further.

When he does, he sprints to the other side of the large room, checking the entrance and windows for any sign of hostiles.

You look at him wide-eyed, as the line goes dead again. Graves had patched into your frequency and clogged it so you couldn’t reach your team. Whatever he was planning before, it’s here now and there’s no time to stop.

Your earpiece unexpectedly picks up the frequency again when you reach the middle of the dining hall. It gargles out a few words that you can’t understand, and then it emits a high-pitched shriek so boosted it makes you keel over and rip it out.

Ghost moves quicker than before, as your hurried steps try to catch up with him, your boots echoing with each careful stride—as if to not get your foot caught in any of the uneven patches of flooring.

The glass on the chandeliers began to rattle, as did the glassware packed away in boxes. You felt the floor vibrate, and the tarps over the exposed drywall began to whoosh. The electricity flickered as a loud whoosh of a jet passed overhead. The lights exploded into sparks, making you cover your ears for cover.

You had no time to get any closer to the door before the force of a nearby explosion knocked you to the hard ground. The world around feels like it’s been tilted on its axis, and your vision is doubled. You see Ghost already scrambled to his feet, and he’s outstretching his hand to help you up.

You reach for it and just barely brush against his fingertips. When you’re too sluggish, he clasps your upper arm and jerks you toward him, just barely getting you upright.

Another jet passes overhead, the sound of the engine fills your ears once more. When another bomb drops, it’s closer than the last. You knock into one of the pillars, losing your balance again. A clamorous groan of the building causes him to lose his grip on you, and you’re knocked down again, fading in and out of consciousness.

Ghost ripped himself away just as the already fragile structure began to crumble. He covered his head as the blast proceeded, gathering himself when the destruction came to a stop. Ghost coughed away the dust and stumbled through the dimness of the large space.

“Where are you?” He rasped as he felt around, gripping onto one of the pillars still standing.

He climbed through a gap in the boards, looping through one of the neighboring rooms to locate you. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you—draped across the floor with rubble surrounding you—illuminated only by the night sky, its radiance shining through the faulted roof.

Your foot was pinned by a piece of cement, rendering it unusable.

He throws his radio onto the ground and is by your side in a second, knelt beside you. When you finally come to, you try to move, but your foot is pinned completely.

“Don’t move your feet.” He spouts in a low tone, looking around the room for anything he can use to jack it up, but everything nearby is smashed to pieces.

Your eyes dart around the room to assess the damage, but you can’t crane your neck enough to see it all.

Finally, he finds a board to shove some of it away enough. He grabs your calf and pulls your foot out from under, but it’s completely limp. You can’t feel any of this, as if you’re under anesthesia, which is both a blessing and a curse.

You swallow, giving some saturation to your dry throat. “How bad’s the leg?” You murmur, unable to see what kind of deformity he’s tending to.

“You’ll be alright, need to find a way out.” He crawls back to your side, looking every which way as if an exit door was going to appear out of thin air.

He intertwines your hand, attempting to hoist you up. “Lean on me,” he says unsteadily. You can’t use your weight at all, or move for that matter—almost immediately dropping back to the ground.

A sharp, shooting pain runs up your backbone, making you wail in agony. His hands hasten around to find the source of it. Your excruciation is like someone running a knife along his skin. He knows that sound all too well.

He turns your torso, revealing the source of it—shards of metal plates embedded deep within your spine, and it’s been bleeding this whole time. He masks his panic as best as he can, but his silence is every answer you need.

“I can’t feel it anymore…” You whisper, now unable to move anything in your lower half.

The marble floor you’re limp upon is slowly becoming covered with your blood, seeping into the grout and cracks of it. You’re losing too much, too fast—and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

You feel each breath turn into an irregular wheeze with an increasing amount of seconds between each of them.

Ghost shifted the position you were in so your head was hiked onto his thigh, having no choice but to look up at him. You rest your palm on the ground beside you, using the last of your remaining energy to trace the pattern of the marble.

He stops your hand and clenches it, halting your twitching. He moves his other hand to your hair and holds onto the side of your head, not breaking eye contact with you for a second.

“We should get that drink, Sergeant.” He speaks softly, his eyes wrinkling over the weight of his own words.

You titter at his words, allowing them to distract you from the despondency of the situation you’re in. There’s nothing you can say to him that won’t fissile into the air—the silence is loud enough to fill those gaps in.

Ghost is mirroring what he did when his mother passed, cradling her as if he could nurse the wounds away. He recalls the same way her eyes were washed over with emptiness, no longer hosting any soul in them.

The way your chest rattles, the crimson seeping through the cracks of your skin and leaking onto his clothes—it’s a familiar sorrow.

He leans down and presses his lips to yours after the labored breaths stopped—something he didn’t have the courage to do when you were right in front of him nearly everyday. It was not the lustful, craving kisses you two shared, it was a kiss expelling the torment causing his heart to flutter.

“Ghost? How copy?” His walkie that he tossed chimed, finally coming through clearly. They were minutes late—minutes that they could’ve helped you.

“Ghost, what’s your status?”

He didn’t dare take his eyes off your lifeless body, only wanting to savor the last bits of warmth your skin still had. His lips left yours, quivering in a way that hadn’t since he was a tormented child—something he’d never openly express to anyone.

He removed your head from his thigh, then placed your hand down gently, rising to his unsteady feet.

He looked down at the blood coating his hands and the fabric of his trousers, the way it ran down his fingers and onto his sleeve—it made his skin crawl.

“Ghost, do you copy?”

His head pivots to the radio on the ground. His lip tightens in frustration when he hears the callout. The emotions he’s having all stewing inside him all at once—it’s too much.

He picks up the radio and projects it onto the ground, hearing each piece of it shatter at his feet.

His fists clench at his sides as he looks at you one more time, with you remaining in the same limp position he left you in. The sounds of your agony echoed within him, the feeling of your skin turning cold when he sat there long enough, the fabric of his balaclava now saturated with his own tears.

“I’m sorry.” His words felt void against the emptiness of the degradation surrounding him.

It was a phrase he uttered to you multiple times before,

a phrase he’d never be able to tell you enough,

a phrase you’d never be able to pardon him for again.

[Alternate Ending]

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck @brokenghostgirl1 @a-jupiter-n-mars-blog @liliumbosniacum (IT WONT LET ME TAG SOME OF U GUYS SORRY)

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 x reader #call of duty

[fanficimagery]

La Loba

When Tara up and left Charming all those years ago- the town, Jax and the club weren't the only things left behind. She left you, her baby sister.

Words: 5.2K Author's Note: Sons of Anarchy AU. Crossover with Mayans. Trigger Warning for brief mentions of sexual assault.

When Tara left Charming all those years ago, you had only been fifteen. She left you with your drunk of a father, but Jax Teller and his mother Gemma quickly stepped in to look after you. However, when your uncle checked in one day, he didn't like what you had to say about your living situation. So as quick as he could, he managed to get custody of you and whisked you away to Texas.

For years you longed to be back in Charming, calling Jax every weekend you could to hear about what was going on there because, though he and your sister were broken up, you still looked up to him as your big brother. But until you graduated, as you were continuously reminded by your uncle and Jax, there was nothing you could do. So, until you walked the stage and had your high school diploma in hand, you let yourself make some friends and have some fun while you were still young.

Jax, Opie and Gemma made the drive down to Texas to see you walk the stage, and then Gemma told you she already had living arrangements situated for you should you want to return to Charming. You did and you were immediately set up with a job at Teller-Morrow Automotive.

For the following couple of years, you worked your butt off keeping the garage running smoothly while Gemma made herself busy elsewhere. You became close to those within the Sons of Anarchy, keeping their secrets and helping out when asked as if you were a part of the club yourself. And if you asked any of the men, they'd say you were.

But then your sister came back to Charming, ruffling feathers within the club, and making you doubt your place with the Sons.

For as long as you can remember, Clay and Gemma were the parents you wished had been yours. But then they started to make questionable calls and you realized you had to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. It also didn't help that you had Tara whispering nothing but terrible things in your ear, but you did your best to not let her opinion cloud your judgment.

And just when you were coming to terms with everything again, AJ Weston happened.

Fortunately, you weren't sexually assaulted, but you were forced to watch them assault Gemma over and over before taking a beating that left you in the hospital for nearly a week. And through it all, your sister still tried to get you to cut ties with the club. Instead of listening, however, you pulled back into yourself and sought out Happy to teach you how to properly fight.

For a couple of years, you hardened yourself to become numb to anything and everything the club did, doing odd jobs here and there when they needed a face to blend in that wasn't male. You became the club's ace up their sleeve, much to your sister's displeasure, and did your best to stay afloat while Clay and Gemma spiraled out of control.

Life within the club became a clusterfuck- betrayal after betrayal and lie after lie piling up faster than anyone could keep up with. And in the end, several people paid the price. Piney, Bobby, Clay, Juice, Tara and Gemma. All dead.

Then when Jax took up the gavel, he thought for sure you wouldn't want anything to do with the club anymore. But the club had been a part of your life for the longest time and so long as he didn't follow in Clay's or his mother's footsteps, you were more than happy to continue being there for anything the Sons needed.

With Jax as President and Opie as Vice President, things within the charters along the West Coast were shaken up. No one wanted war or petty fights for past grievances, so many bridges were mended. One, most importantly, being that of the bridge between the Sons and the Mayans.

Jax, Opie, and Chibs are hosting a few Mayans when you walk in behind Happy, more than ready to shower and get to work behind the bar. But first, you needed to check in with Jax and with the others, letting them know how the night went. Happy takes a seat, smirking as all eyes fall on you. You figure you must look a sight- hair wavy from the two braids you had it in all day, a Reaper hoodie that's a size too big, ripped jeans and Doc Martens. Your hands grip tight to the straps of the backpack you're wearing, and you offer Jax a nod.

"Hey, sis." Jax slowly smirks. "You good?" You give him another nod. "You win?"

Happy scoffs as if he really needed to ask that, after all he trained you, and all eyes turn towards him. "They tapped her for two matches."

Jax's amusement suddenly clears, worry in his eyes. "Two?" He glances between you and Happy, the rest of the onlookers curious as to what's going on. "Why the fuck did they tap you for two?"

You roll your eyes and slip the straps of the backpack off your shoulders. Holding the bag with one hand, you unzip the bag with the other and pull out a ziplock bag of cash. Abel and Thomas' name is written on it in black sharpie, as well as the very obvious 5K. You toss the money into Jax's lap.

"Holy shit," Opie utters. "What the hell happened?"

You grin and glance at Happy so he can tell the story. "Her first opponent had a glass jaw. One hit and she was out. The crowd wasn't too happy, so the coordinator asked if she'd fight again. Her second opponent was a dude and a little harder to take down, but our girl had a lot of rage tonight. Brought home 15K."

One of the Mayans lowly whistles. "Damn, mami. There an underground fight club we don't know about?"

The Sons all seem to hold their breath as you glance at the Mayan in question, expression going lax as you take him in. He's handsome, really handsome, what with his groomed beard and all. His hair is shaved close to the sides while the top has some length to it. And slowly, but surely, you grin and shrug at him.

"Hey guys, this is my sister-in-law YN," Jax says, introducing you. "YN, this is Bishop, Angel (the one who had spoken to you) and EZ. Creeper's at the bar with Tig." You glance at each men, nodding and grinning in greeting as they give their hellos. "You should clean up before you get behind the bar," Jax then says, easily dismissing you.

"Ribs need to be checked out. Probably wrapped," Happy mentions.

"And that's my cue," Chibs says as he stands, finishing off the last of his beer. "Come on, lass, let's go get ye naked."

You roll your eyes as Happy and Opie laugh, Jax kicking out in hopes of landing a kick to his Scottish brother.

Everyone watches as Chibs leads YN down the hallway towards the dorms and then Jax is grabbing the money to tuck inside his kutte. "Excuse YN," he says. "She doesn't talk."

"Ever?" Angel asks. Bishop and EZ are quick to slap their brother, causing him to flinch and glare at each of them.

The Sons all chuckle.

"She used to be a chatterbox," Jax says, smiling. Slowly the expression melts away. "She got kidnapped alongside Gemma by Zobelle's crew."

"Shit," Bishop swears. "We heard about that."

"Was she.. you know," EZ asks, uncomfortable. Everyone knew what had happened to the ex-president's old lady and the rage that possessed him and her son when they found out. "That why she don't talk?"

"Nah." Opie shakes his head. "They made her watch as they assaulted Gemma though, and then beat her black and blue. Stopped talking after that. She will talk sometimes, but only to those she feels at ease around."

"The physical assault was just the beginning of it all; started closing herself off. But then when Gemma killed Tara.."

"Fuck, bro," Angel exhales in realization. "Your mother killed her sister?"

"Yeah." Jax takes a long pull of his beer. "YN felt deeply betrayed, looked up to my ma like she was her own. When we found out who killed Tara, YN begged me to let her deal with it. I almost didn't, but Unser stuck his nose in my business and put a tail on me. We came up with an alibi for YN and let her deal with Gemma as she saw fit."

"And did she?" Bishop wonders, stroking his salt-n-pepper beard.

Happy smirks. "She did. Took Gemma out the way Gemma took her sister out."

"Which was how?"

Jax gulps, but pushes through the conversation. "By stabbing Gemma repeatedly in the back of the head with a barbecue fork."

"And no one suspected it was her?" Angel asks, awed.

"Nah. She's our fly on the wall. Everyone thinks she's damaged goods and we don't correct them. No one suspects the mute girl to be gathering intel."

Bishop chuckles. "That's actually kind of genius."

The men all get back to drinking, listening to Happy describe YN's fight and the fact that she's not scheduled for another for another three months. She eventually comes back out, a tight long sleeve plaid shirt taking the place of the hoodie she first wore. Tig grabs her attention, introducing her to Creeper who she grins and nods at before serving up a few shots and taking one with the two men.

The following morning, you task the prospects and the lingering croweaters to clean up the clubhouse and have everything set up for a family breakfast before you get back with the food. And since you are the President's sister who has no urge to crawl into the lap of any Son, the croweaters readily get to work without any huffing and puffing.

Nearly half an hour later, you return to the clubhouse with bags of food. The normal round tables have been pushed aside and long rectangular tables have been brought out. Three pots of steaming coffee are sitting atop the bar, stacks of styrofoam cups, milk, creamer, and sugar placed next to them. You set the bags of food on the table, pulling out containers of barbacoa meat, beef and bean tamales that had been wrapped up in foil, a few containers of green hot sauce, a bag of cut up lemons, and a stack of still hot tortillas.

You send the prospects to start knocking on doors and waking the sleeping men before you head towards the refrigerator and pull yourself out two cans of Big Red soda. Then making your way back out to the tables in the middle of the clubhouse, you grab yourself a paper plate and start to serve yourself before the men make it nearly impossible to.

Surprisingly, most of the men are already awake and settle down around the table as you're assembling your tacos. You spread some barbacoa on a tortilla, squeeze a bit of lemon juice on the meat, then open up a bean tamale to lay atop the meat. Then you sprinkle some salt before spooning some greet hot sauce onto it all, bringing two sides of the tortilla together and taking a bite. You hum in appreciation and then crack open a can of soda before taking a sip of it.

As you glance around the table, you see the Mayans all staring at you, amusement clear in their expression.

"Damn, guera, you can throw down, huh?" Creeper muses.

You grin at him, heat flooding your cheeks before you avert your eyes back to your food. Slowly but surely, everyone starts to fill their plates. And when you fill your second taco, adding even more hot sauce than the first time, you happily eat the spicy goodness.

"I have a question," Angel says in between bites of his food. "How does a white girl throw down with barbacoa and hot sauce? None of these white boys will even look at the hot sauce."

Jax laughs. "When YN was fifteen and Tara left for college, their uncle swooped in and took YN to Texas. The uncle's wife is Hispanic and apparently breakfast tacos and Big Red was a staple there. Had it every Sunday morning and now we have it once a week here too."

"Well, if it's a staple down in Texas, now we gotta try it too," Angel says. He glances at you, winking. "Got any more of those sodas, princesa?"

You roll your eyes at the nickname, nodding. Quickly wiping your fingers off on a napkin, you stand up to go grab four more of your sodas for the men to try. And when you make it back to the table, you hand each Mayan a soda since the Sons were all coffee drinkers in the morning.

EZ and Angel like the soda drink, Creeper takes a few sips before deciding he likes it, and Bishop hands his can off to Angel after the first sip. It seems he preferred his coffee as well.

Once breakfast is over and Jax sends Chibs, Tig and Happy to work in the garage, you drag your feet over to the couch where Opie is sitting. There's plenty of space on the couch next to him, but you want a cuddle after stuffing yourself full of food. So as the men are talking, you crawl into his lap without a word, curling up there and hiding your face in the side of his neck. He merely lifts his arm to position it behind your back, used to this behavior by now.

"She good?" You hear someone ask.

You grin against Opie's neck and raise a hand, giving the room a thumb's up. He chuckles as he rubs your back. "She's fine. She likes to curl up on any available lap after eating so much."

"My lap was empty too, cariña. You could have-"

The sound of a slap resonates around the room which sends the men into a round of laughter, and when you pick your head up enough to see what's going on, Bishop is shaking his head at Angel who's rubbing the back of his head with a very disgruntled expression. You huff a laugh and go back to dozing on Opie.

The men continue to talk shop as Opie lulls you back to sleep, but then the shouting of a prospect makes you jerk back into consciousness. "Ope! Old Lady incoming."

The Mayans all fidget in their seats as a petite blonde marches into the clubhouse, heading straight towards your small group.

"Uhh.. should the girl be-"

Bishop's words trail off as Lyla comes up to Opie's side, leaning over you to press a kiss to her husband's mouth. You squirm in his lap, turning your head just enough to pucker your lips at Lyla. She laughs. "One of these days I'm actually going to kiss you and then what?" You shrug and wiggle your eyebrows. "I'll get you to finally take up our offer on that threesome sooner or later."

Your nose wrinkles and you immediately climb out of Opie's lap, scowling at her as you curl up on the opposite side of the couch. Lyla laughs and claims her husband's lap for herself as he says, "Come on, Ly. We all know white boys don't do it for SAMCRO's princess."

You narrow your eyes as Opie and Jax chuckle, chuckles turning into full blown laughter as Angel asks, "Yeah? That mean I'm still in the running then?"

"Jesus Christ," EZ mumbles, rubbing the space between his brows.

As you glance at Angel, you can't help the heating of your cheeks as he slowly smirks at you.

Lyla giggles as you blush under the stare of the Mayan and she reaches over to wrap her hand around your ankle. "I'm in a shopping mood. What do you say you go shower and we'll get out of the club's hair for a bit?"

You smile at her, grateful for the escape. But before you can get up, Jax says, "You'll need an escort. We're in good standing with everyone, but it'll give me some peace of mind."

"Don't send Tig. Or Happy," Lyla says.

"You can take EZ," Bishop speaks up, gesturing to the man in question. EZ looks so startled at being volunteered for protection detail that Creeper and Angel burst into laughter.

Glancing at EZ, you gauge his reaction to make sure he's okay with going. And when he catches you trying to size him up, he relaxes and nods. "I, uh, it's fine. Just as long as I don't have to hold anyone's purse."

His brothers continue to snicker as you flash him a grin, shaking your head in amusement. As you pass him, you squeeze his shoulder in thanks and then disappear down the hallway that leads to your dorm.

It takes you just about twenty minutes to shower and change into something suitable for the public, and then you're tossing your wallet, phone, and ID into a mini backpack that you readily strap to your back. You put on some sunglasses to shield your eyes from the intense brightness you know that awaits you outside the building, and then walk back out to the front. Clapping your hands, you grab Lyla and EZ's attention.

Jax, Bishop and Angel call out for the three of you to be careful, and then Lyla is telling EZ that you'll be driving over to Lodi since that was the only place close enough to do some decent shopping. He follows behind you and Lyla on his bike, and thankfully the drive is very short.

EZ eyes the boutique Lyla parks in front of with a critical eye and you grin at him. You were pretty sure he was expecting a mall with several stops at various clothing stores, but you and Lyla had a specific place where you did all your shopping. The owner was kind and courteous, and even pulled aside items she thought you and Lyla would like to try on, on days like today.

Walking into the spacious back room, you slip off your backpack and let it fall onto the couch that's there. EZ hesitantly takes a seat, and you smile at him, nodding that it's okay. The owner reappears within a couple of minutes, dragging two racks of clothing along with her. She tells you that she's got some shoes and accessories in as well, and Lyla tells her to bring anything and everything that she thinks they'll like. And when the owner warily glances at EZ, Lyla waves off her concern and tells her that Jax is just being a little protective this morning. She laughs and then leaves to bring back even more items.

As you go through one rack, you hear Lyla explaining to EZ that this is the only place you'll be shopping and that you'll grab lunch afterwards. And once you have a few items you want to try on in hand, you walk over to a smaller room and pull the curtain behind you so you can change in private. You and Lyla usually changed out in the open, but with EZ there you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

The first outfit you try on are black faux leather pants that cling like a second skin, a white crop top that has two thin straps crisscrossing over your abdomen, and a cropped leather jacket. You walk out from behind the curtain and head straight for the small dais in front of a mirror, turning this way and that way to see whether or not you like it.

Lyla steps out from behind her curtain in her own outfit- a dress that leaves little to the imagination- and immediately, she says, "Yes! You're getting that outfit." You chuckle at her and then wiggle your foot for her to realize you need shoes. Her lips purse as she looks at the rack of shoes and then practically lunges for a pair of peep toe stilettos.

Shaking your head in amusement, you sit down to slip the shoes on the walk back to the dais.

"How do you girls even walk in shoes like that?" EZ asks. "I'd probably break a bone. Or three."

You meet his gaze in the mirror, smirking.

"Lots and lots of practice," Lyla answers for the both of you.

For the next hour, EZ endures outfit change after outfit change. He can't seem to comprehend how many items of clothing you and Lyla have tossed into your buy pile, but he doesn't utter a peep.

The last outfit in your pile is a pair of dark washed jean shorts, a black distressed tank top with the phases of the moon on the front of it, and a thin cream-colored cardigan whose hem falls just past your butt. When you walk out, you immediately head for a pair of dark gray suede ankle booties and zip them on before showing Lyla the final product.

"Yes."

When you glance at EZ, you catch him staring at your thigh. More specifically, the tattoo that nearly takes up your entire thigh of a howling wolf head and the full moon right behind it. "That's some detailed ink you got there."

You glance at Lyla and she smirks at you, nodding- encouraging you to finally speak. When Jax told the Mayans you were mute, he wasn't lying. He just failed to mention that it is selective mutism and you could speak when you were comfortable enough. And after spending these last couple of hours with EZ and Lyla, you've become comfortable. "La loba."

EZ's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, meeting your gaze as you offer him a small smile. "She-wolf?" He asks.

You subtly gulp. "It's what they.. call me in the ring."

"She's a vicious little thing when fighting," Lyla says. "It's brutal and fucking fantastic."

"Yeah?" The surprise slowly vacates his expression, and then he grins. "I'm gonna have to see you in action one of these days."

"My next match is still a few months away, but I'll let you know when and where it takes place."

"I'd like that."

You and Lyla end up with more bags than the two of you can carry, and EZ laughs as he helps the two of you load up your purchases. You treat the two of them to lunch, choosing a Mexican place since you were craving a quesadilla with some chips and salsa. You and Lyla each had a margarita, and EZ made the two of you wear sombreros so he could snap a picture of it. You asked him to send you the picture, and that was the beginning of yours and EZ's very platonic texting relationship since he was already in a relationship himself.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Angel Reyes is sitting outside the clubhouse, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he waits for his baby brother to get his ass outside and tell him what it is they're doing for the day. The day was still young and hot, and he'd rather be anywhere than sitting still under the blistering sun rays.

Finally, EZ walks out of the clubhouse just as the sound of a motorcycle comes up from behind him. Angel turns around after seeing his brother smirk and he's surprised to see the Tacoma Killer rolling into their lot. But not only that, he apparently has SAMCRO's princess perched on the seat behind him, looking completely at ease on the bike.

Angel stands as EZ comes up behind him, whistling lowly as he pushes his sunglasses up to rest atop his head. "You knew she was coming?"

"Yeah. She's got a match tonight in the next town over. I think Bishop's thinking about putting some cash down on her."

. .

. .

The clubhouse doors bang open just as you and Happy climb off the bike, and Bishop walks down the steps. ¡Chiquitita!" You smile at him as he heads straight for you. "Are you feeling good about the fight tonight?"

You nod and readily hug the man as his arms spread wide. Glancing over his shoulder, you can't help but huff a laugh at EZ and Angel's surprised expressions.

"Did some research into her opponent," Happy says as you step back to stand by his side. "She has a decent record, but YN's is better. And she's in a good mood today so Jax is putting money down on her."

"Good, good." Bishop turns around, taking in the Reyes brothers. "I'm giving you five thousand. Bet it all on YN."

. .

. .

Angel and EZ are anxiously waiting in the front row, taking in the cage in front of them. It looks almost professional, but the sketchy individuals all around them say otherwise. Happy had directed them where to place their bets and then settled them down in a specific spot. It was going to be a bit longer before YN fought.

When the matches get underway, EZ and Angel get to witness two men's matches and one female, letting the atmosphere get the best of them and carry them away. They're shouting and cheering and enjoying every bit of violence.

"I can't believe we never knew about this, 'mano," Angel says, taking a sip of his beer. "We could have been making bank."

EZ snorts. "I don't know about that. It's too risky. Bishop is only putting down money because of a Son's word. You think he's gonna be happy if YN loses tonight?"

Angel opens his mouth to retort, but the ring announcer steps into the cage once more. He introduces one female- a blonde with her hair done up in a french braid that hangs down her back. She's around 5'8, slightly ripped, and expression lax as she hops from foot to foot in her corner of the cage as the crowd cheers for her.

As the ring announcer introduces La loba, he's surprised at the crowd's instantaneous reaction. Even more so when EZ stands and bangs his hand on the cage. The woman that steps into the cage is wearing a small silk robe with a hood covering her head, but it's open in the front so he can see the sports bra, black spandex shorts, and the tattoo of a howling wolf on her thigh. La loba. She wolf.

As she pushes the hood off and stares at her opponent, Angel swears as he sees YN. "Fuck. You knew?" He then asks his brother, seeing how excited he is.

When EZ settles down, he nods. "Yeah. Apparently, she's a vicious little thing in the ring. Lyla said it's a sight to behold."

When the fight starts, Angel seems to hold his breath as YN and her opponent bump their taped fists together. Then like a switch was flipped, both women go on the attack. Fists fly out- aimed at the head, ribs and abdomen. Forearms deflect the hits, but some are not quick enough. YN clips her opponent on the chin, briefly dazing her, and that's all the opening she needs. YN goes on the attack immediately, fists throwing punches in a flurry before she grasps onto the girl's neck. As she pulls her down until she's hunched, YN quickly drives her knee into her opponent's abdomen and chest over and over.

A bell dings and a ref throws himself between the two women before sending them to opposite corners. The crowd and EZ go wild, and Happy smugly saunters into the ring to give YN some water and to wipe her down.

"Holy shit."

"I know," EZ agrees. "That was just one round. Can you imagine the next?"

The second round is just as vicious as the first, but YN gets severely pissed off when she drops her guard and takes a hit to the face right before the bell rings. The Reyes brothers sharply suck in some air at the look YN gives her opponent, thanking their lucky stars that they're not the one in the ring with her. Again, Happy cleans up YN, taking care to clean up the small cut at YN's eyebrow and telling her something while she glares across the ring.

Then in the third round, YN lets her opponent tire herself out before delivering an uppercut to the underside of the woman's chin. It's lights out for her.

The crowd goes absolutely wild as Happy rushes into the cage, lifting YN so she's settled on one of his shoulders in victory.

The ring announcer goes through the motions of announcing the victor before reminding everyone where to collect their winnings, and then the Reyes brothers are pushing through the crowd to get to Happy and YN.

When the Reyes brothers are led to a small room, they walk in to find Happy tending to YN's cut. Her eyes meet theirs and she flashes them a smile, beckoning them further in.

"Damn, querida," Angel muses. "That was one hell of a fight. Who knew you could throw down like that."

You smirk at him. "The she-wolf title should have tipped you off, guapo."

Angel's jaw drops open, and Happy and EZ snort. "You- you talk?"

"Selective mutism, 'mano." EZ nudges his brother's shoulder. "She can talk when she feels comfortable."

"Which is mostly when there's not a lot of people around and she knows you," Happy says. "Social anxiety sucks."

You roll your eyes as Happy puts a butterfly bandage over your cut and then you turn around to get dressed. You pull on a pair of jeans and a tank top that EZ remembers you buying from that shopping trip months ago, and then slip your feet into a pair of boots. Happy hands you a leather jacket before dropping the strap of your duffel bag over your head.

"So, who's gonna let me ride with them back to the clubhouse? Bishop's throwing a party and I need a drink or three before we roll out back to Charming tomorrow afternoon."

"You can ride me- I mean with me, querida." Angel smirks.

You snort as Happy and EZ roll their eyes, knowing full well Angel messed up that line on purpose. You glance at Happy, questioning whether or not he's okay with that, and he shrugs. "You're a grown woman, hermanita. You can ride whoever you want."

This time it's your turn to roll your eyes as the Reyes brothers laugh. Then throwing caution to the wind, you grab Angel's wrist and drag him out of the room.

"Should I be worried about that?" EZ asks, chuckling.

"For your brother? Maybe." Happy shrugs. "YN is a whole lot of woman and I'm not sure Angel's prepared for that. You saw how shocked he was when she spoke to him for the first time."

"True."

"Though she won't speak when there's a large crowd around, she will drink so long as she's surrounded by someone she trusts. She's got me, you, and now your brother. He's about to realize what he's just signed up for the moment she downs a fifth shot."

EZ laughs. "Then let's get out of here. I wanna see Angel panic over a girl for once."

guera - white girl princesa - princess cariña - darling guapo - handsome

#soa gen fic x reader #mayans gen fic x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #mayans imagine #mayans mc imagine #sons of anarchy #soa #mayans #mayans mc #jax teller #opie winston #lyla wintson #happy lowman #angel reyes #ez reyes #bishop losa #sons of anarchy fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans fanfiction

[buckttommy]

Honestly, Eddie's "storyline" in Buck's coma dream was the least surprising thing to me. The minute I heard Chim call him "the angry guy" I knew that particular comment was going to make waves, but I didn't see it as anything malicious.

Eddie would have been angry; this entire dream carries the implication that Shannon is already gone, most likely already dead since her death was when Eddie was the angriest.

Bobby handpicked Eddie for Buck as we learn in Season 5 when he is referred to as the "matchmaker" for the team. Without Buck, there is no reason for Eddie to join the 118.

Eddie doesn't join the 118. Without the 118 he has no camaraderie, no family, no one pushing him to get better, to do better for more than just his son but for himself, therefore his relationship with himself suffers and he never mends the bridge with his parents.

Eddie tries his best for Chris, but this is not sustainable (it never is and this is also clear in canon; a big part of Season 5 was that Eddie's normal coping mechanisms simply weren't working anymore and Frank said in Season 5 one day he was going to explode and take people he loved with him. NOT saying he exploded on Chris, but there was no stable presence in his life to keep that from happening, or to stymie the blow either)

Because Eddie never mended the bridge with his parents, his parents continued to believe that they are the best fit for Christopher.

Eddie and his parents engage in a custody battle (which goes back to 4x14, in which Eddie says his parents would probably definitely fight for rights to Christopher).

Custody battles are notoriously messy and brutal, especially when between two people who fundamentally do not like or communicate well with each other. Eddie and Ramon never talk and clear the air, therefore both continue to think the other is unfit and harmful for Christopher ("don't drag him down with you," spoken by Eddie's mother in Season 3)

Eddie loses the custody battle, loses Christopher, and continues to spiral.

I know this is a bleak reality and probably (definitely) not what a lot of people wanted to see or hear. I get it!!! But everything that happened to Eddie in the coma dream was picked strictly from canon. This isn't an instance of a white man being propped up to save the brown man (and thus, the brown man failing when the white man isn't around) or anything like that. It's literally just another way to connect the dots in the absence of a major character. Also, this is Buck's subconscious and he is a key tether in how everything comes together. He's the joints of the body. So. I made a mental note to bring this up when I was watching the episode and then forgot about it but now I remember and I just wanted to say this.

#jack.txt #tv: 911 #911: 06 x 11 #911 spoilers

[ilovewriting06]

Mischief and Angel- Part 9

"So, how do we break it to our parents that they're grandparents now?"

I throw my head back against the couch before shrugging, "I don't know, but can we actually keep custody of her? What happens when her pack moves? There's no way the court will give us custody of her right now, you just turned 18 and I still have a couple months before I hit 18."

Stiles rubs his thumb across my knuckles before frowning, "I don't know, Angel. I think we should talk to Amelia, I feel like she knows more than she's saying and she more than likely has more information on what the hell we're supposed to do now."

I nod as I lace our fingers together and looking at Stiles, "Mischief, did you...have you noticed how similar to us she is?"

He shrugs a shoulder and squeezes my hand, "I mean, her eyes look similar to mine, so I guess."

"No, Stiles, her eyes aren't 'similar' to yours, they're exactly the same! And the whole werefox thing! I'm a werewolf and you were possessed by an evil fox spirit, put the two together and tada you have a werefox!"

"Yeah, it is weird but Angel, she's not ours. We didn't make her, we found her."

I take a deep breath and shake my head, "No, she found us but something isn't right about it Stiles. There are so many similarities, she has your eyes, your hair, your lips, my nose and ears. She looks like us."

"I know, but how would she be ours? You were only pregnant once and..."

His sentence fades out and I nod before shifting to fully face him and squeeze his hand, "Stiles, I'm a werewolf, you're like a wizard or some shit. Do you honestly believe there's no way, that maybe, just maybe I didn't lose that baby? Maybe somehow it transferred to someone else or something!"

Stiles frowns before he turns to face me and cups my face, "Y/n, baby, look at me." I look into his eyes and see the sorrow in them as he continues, "We lost that baby, and there's nothing anyone could have done to stop it and this baby, Lola, she isn't that baby, but she is ours."

I turn away and blink back tears before slowly nodding, "Yeah, you're right."

He sighs and I can feel his pain and sorrow as he kneels on the floor in front of me and turns my face to look at him, "Angel, maybe she isn't our biological child but I believe that somehow, I don't know how, but somehow that little girl was made for us. I think there's a reason she was left with Amelia, I think there's a reason her birthday is somewhere in the first week of February, I think there's a reason she has my eyes and your nose, but most importantly...Angel there's a reason she claimed us. I don't know why or how but I'm so glad she did."

I smile and look up before my smile drops and my eyes widen, "Stiles."

"Angel, I know it hurts but..."

"Stiles."

"We can always have an-,"

"STILES!"

He finally stops and looks at me and quickly notices that I'm not looking at him, but over his shoulder and out the window. He furrows his eyebrows and follows my gaze and I can feel him tense the minute he sees what I see.

I take in a sharp breath as I look at the cheshire smiles I thought I would never see again as Stiles whispers, "Oh God no."

Like a flash of lightening Stiles is up and standing and I'm quick to follow. We watch in horror as the smiles get bigger and they give a small, tantalizing, wave. I choke in a breath as they turn around and walk down the stairs of the porch and joining the five other people in the driveway.

As soon as they disappear I spin to look at Stiles with wide, frantic eyes, "I thought...I thought they were dead."

He nods, "I thought they were too."

I jerk back and fumble to grab my phone and call Scott. I look at Stiles as the call collects, "Hey Y/n/n! What's up?"

I take a shaky breath before letting out one sentence and then hanging up, "Get the pack and get to the house!"

I throw my phone down on the coffee table before spinning around and heading for the basement door. I fling the door open before descending the stairs with Stiles close behind, "Amelia!"

When I reach the bottom of the stairs I look at Amelia and flicker between all the other faces, lingering slightly on Lola who is sleeping on one of the air mattresses. The fear that had been flowing through my veins suddenly turns to rage at the thought of Lola being hurt and I can feel Stiles' protectiveness and love flood my system.

I shake it off and turn back to Amelia, "I need you, Leah, and Jeremiah upstairs."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

When we get upstairs I pace the floor until Scott and the pack arrive. As soon as everyone is in the living room, including Mom, Noah would be here but he's working on a robbery case today, I slink back into Stiles' protective hold as Scott raises a worried eyebrow, "Is everyone okay? What's wrong?"

Stiles take a deep breath before looking at Scott, "We know who the hunters are and I have a feeling they knew where Amelia and her pack would run. Scott I think they targeted us."

Scott starts to look worried as he asks, "Who? Who is it?"

I give him a sad and scared look before whispering, "They're supposed to be dead."

Scott looks like he's on the verge of losing his mind as he heaves, "Who. Is. It?"

I turn further into Stiles as he swallows and answers the question, "Scott, it's Gerard and Kate."

I hear a few whines from various different 'wolves as Scott sits down on a chair in disbelief, "But they're dead! We killed them, I saw them die, how are they alive?"

I lick my lips and speak as Stiles rubs my back, "I don't know, but Peter's come back from the dead at least twice."

At this Amelia looks between us confused and says, "I have so many questions, but first, who is this Gerard and Kate?"

I run a hand down my face and motion to everyone in the room, "They started this whole fucking mess, that's who they are. Long story short, they're hunters with no moral compass and were the ones that started the infamous Hale fire and killed multiple innocent people. They're the reason Scott was bitten and they're the reason I had to be bitten."

Amelia looks more confused and I sigh before gesturing to the couch, "You might want to sit, this is a long story."

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I explain the history of the Argents, how they burned people alive for no reason other than that they were werewolves, how they managed to ruin so many lives in such a short time and how it affected every single person in this room.

Amelia and Leah gasp at multiple different parts before Leah asks, "You said they're the reason you had to be bitten, did they force you to take the bite?"

I snort and look at Scott before looking back at her, "No, they shot me and stabbed me because I was protecting the werewolves. It was a toss up of who they would get first, me or Stiles, and it just so happened that they got an opening to snatch me before they did Stiles. Once they got me they tortured me to try and get information I wouldn't give and when that wasn't enough they started stabbing."

I frown as I trace where there would be a scar on my abdomen, "They finally got tired of it and shot my in the chest. I guess they thought it would kill me but the pack found us before it was too late and Scott gave me the bite. Gerard and Kate escaped that night and months went by until they resurfaced, and when they did we eliminated the threat"

There's a brief pause before I sigh, "So we though anyways."

By this point Amelia and Leah are ghostly pale and Jerimiah looks pissed. Amelia looks down at the floor before shaking her head, "The children, how are we going to protect them."

I growl, "If they so much as touch my daughter I'm going to rip their hearts out."

Everyone looks at me with wide eyed surprise before flicking their eyes down to my stomach, that is everyone except Amelia, who has a happy smile, "I'm glad you guys figured that out before all this started, she'll not only give you more to fight for but she'll give you more strength."

I look up as Mom screeches, "Your what?!"

I look at Stiles and force out a chuckle, "Ah, heh, well, Mom, there's a conversation we should probably have."

She raises an eyebrow and I grin, "Stiles and I formed a parental bond with a one year old girl named Lola. Congratulations your a grandma!"

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

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A/N- And so the angst begins! We all knew it was coming but be prepared because there is more to come. Let me know what you think!

Tag List: @ah-blossom @gabby988 @zanypaintermoon

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #dylan o’brien #scott mccall #stiles stilinksi x reader #dylan o’brien x reader #allison argent #stiles x reader #isaac lahey #lydia martin #kira yukimura #erica reyes #mischief and angel

[buddierecs]

aly's favourite fic's

this is just a list of my all time favourites. it will be a mixture of ratings. let's hear it for the boy by hattalove (anything by this author is incredible!!!!) "in which eddie attends a self-empowerment group for gbtq men to supplement his therapy, and is empowered to: forgive himself, say "i'm gay" to his own reflection in the mirror, accidentally adopt an adult, make fried rice, and tell his straight best friend that he's in love with him. not necessarily in that order." word count: 56k rating: teen and up audiences important tags: self-discovery, coming out, friends to lovers, pining, gay disaster!eddie diaz.

leave the light on (i'll be coming home) - highly highly recommend this!!!!! by: HMSLusitania "an accident on a call leaves buck with custody of chris after eddie is... missing presumed. while they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite eddie's parents' best efforts -- a john doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home." word count: 44k rating: mature important tags: presumed dead, grief, mourning, angst, amnesia, getting together a leaf falls on loneliness by: iimpossible_things "buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “i’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. really, he doesn’t. the 118 has too many good, kind people for that. but every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to eddie or bobby or hen or chim, he hears eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.” —you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting— so each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence." word count: 11k rating: not rated important tags: angst, fluff, happy ending, orginal male character and i'm not good at winning fights anymore by: spaceprincessem "five times buck needs to feel eddie's heartbeat and the one time eddie needs to feel his" word count: 24k rating: teen and up audience important tags: 5+1 things, whump, protective!eddie diaz, getting together, soft boys in love, ptsd i know you're hurting (but so am i) by: justhockey "eddie understands better than maybe anyone else ever could, how it feels to have everything unravel in the palm of your hands. he knows frustration - he knows fury. he’s painfully familiar with that burning rage that crackles in the tips of your fingers, that makes your skin hot and chest tight, and makes you want to punch anyone that dares to even look at you. but that doesn’t give chim the right to lay a damn hand on buck" word count: 3.7k rating: not rated important tags: ptsd, feelings realisation, protective!eddie diaz, communication, 5x04 coda good pretender by: likeshipsonthesea "an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need" word count: 85k rating: explicit important tags: friends with benefits (buckandravi), casual sex, childhood tramua, healing, feelings realisation, jealous!eddie diaz, ptsd, love confessions, anal sex

the best life is the truth (my best mask is my face) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels the buckleys are celebrating their 50th anniversary, and maddie and buck are both expected to come. to take the heat off maddie, buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. obviously, there's only one solution: bring eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. no problem, except for the, uh. "pretend" part." word count: 43k rating: explicit important tags: fake dating, idiots to lovers, there was only one bed, eventual smut

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forver) by: withmeornotatall "eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia" word count: 43k rating: mature important tags: time loop, minor buck/natalia, heavy angst, eventual happy ending, weddings, love confessions

#911 fandom #911 show #911 abc #buck x eddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #alyfavouritefics #hurt/comfort fics #hurt/comfort #eddie diaz centric fic #ao3 #ao3 link #ao3feed #evan buck buckley

[zahri-melitor]

Thinking again about the whole "Dick told Damian he would have adopted him" scenario and remembering how ridiculous this is:-

Firstly, Bruce would have had to be dead. Since Bruce became aware of Damian, Bruce has always been a fit parent in the eyes of the law; there's no evidence of any situations that would lead to Damian being removed from Bruce's custody, and in terms of what a social worker would care about, the worst that's going on is...Damian runs away on occasion, plus your standard set of vigilante bruises.

For Bruce not to have at least partial parental responsibility for Damian, some of the following elements would need to be in place: Damian has a birth certificate without Bruce's name on it; nobody has provided a DNA test showing that Bruce is Damian's father; someone has legal paperwork stating that Damian has two different, legal parents; Bruce has permanently relinquished custody of Damian; a parenting order has been made that says Bruce doesn't get custody or parental responsibility (whether by agreement or by court order). Aside from the fact we don't know what's on Damian's birth certificate, none of this is the case.

Damian is clearly in Bruce's custody, legally, from about Battle for the Cowl onwards, and has had visits to the household prior. This is because, as far as the public and the legal system is concerned, Tommy Elliot is currently 'Bruce Wayne' for any public appearances. Now you could have a (fun!) scenario where Damian needs a DNA test to prove his identity and since Tommy obviously would not match, the courts find Damian is not Bruce's biological child...but given Dick is literally also building his own forensic testing lab as part of Wayne Enterprises at that time, they'd obviously do it in house and use a sample Bruce had on file.

Bruce provides care, support, housing, paid supervision (Alfred), and so on for Damian whenever Damian is in his custody or in a Wayne household.

Damian also specifically chooses during B&R09 that he wants to be in Wayne custody not in Talia's (after his back surgery) and everyone involved actually works to make that happen, including Talia (and preference of the child is something that's taken into account in terms of parenting orders).

And in any circumstance where Bruce is not considered to be a fit parent for Damian (due to, for instance, being dead), then Talia is still Damian's biological mother and the person who had parental responsibility and custody of Damian up until the age of 10. You'd need to prove that Damian should not be in Talia's custody and that the circumstances were such that she couldn't even have, say, supervised visits. Now whatever the DCU position on international assassins having custody of their children is, Talia, unlike Jade Nguyen, has never been charged or convicted of killing people, to my knowledge. She doesn't have a known criminal record.

To show Talia to be someone whose rights as a parent have been removed, you'd need something of the following: Talia would need to agree to give up all parental responsibility (which she has never done, see how often Talia drops in to 'sort things out' for Damian); Talia would need to be found by a court not to be a suitable parent for her child; Talia gets imprisoned for killing people and thus couldn't have custody of her kid; Damian has paperwork that says Talia isn't her mother/we have DNA evidence showing she isn't his mother.

For Dick to have any chance of adopting Damian, they would have needed for both Bruce and Talia to be legally dead, have had their parental rights removed, or have voluntarily relinquished their parental responsibility, to permit the adoption to occur.

This isn't a small thing. Bruce might have been 'dead' during that period but he was also legally alive in the eyes of the law. Talia has a legal existence in the US under her identity as Talia Head. For Damian to get adopted, he'd need both of them to sign that Dick could adopt him, or be in the custody of the State and have the State agree for Dick to adopt him.

There are scenarios where you could get to that point, particularly if Bruce had remained dead. But in the stories we have? As much as Dick thinks it might have been a nice thing to do, he absolutely could not have done it without a protracted legal fight (or agreement of both Bruce and Talia) and he'd probably lose that fight.

#adoption isn't magical people #it legally replaces the parents of a person with other individuals #Dick could not have just...asked to adopt Damian #Damian had two legal biological and living parents!

[justrandomfanfictionskh]

DPxDC one shot

(Jazz has run away with Danny to Gotham, where she meats a kindred spirit. Inspired by the fact that Dick Greyson and Jazz are in very similar situations!!) ao3

Jazz took a deep breath as she stared blankly at the mess of papers in front of her. Who knew kidnapping, her brother would require this much paper work? Usually she'd be able to knock out things like this in thirty minutes or less. Bureaucratic paper work was almost a game for her in that way. But that was before she had to lie. The fact was that even if their parents even noticed they were gone, and wanted Danny back, Jazz didn't want them anywhere near her or her brother. In fact the only people she was comfortable with letting anywhere near them were Tucker and Sam. That was it. Everyone else needed to stay at least a hundred miles away, or else she was going to whack them with the creep stick. But just because they weren't wanted in Amity by more than two people, didn't mean that people wouldn't start looking for them. Vlad and the GIW were only a few names that came to mind. So if she was going to keep Danny safe, then they needed to disappear. 

Hence why Jazmine Williams was fighting a migraine at a dingy folding card table, while Daniel Williams was sleeping in a sleeping bag on a sagging outdated couch. She had saved up roughly $10,000 from tutoring, baby sitting, and part time jobs. It was now all in a roll of cash she had hidden in her sleeping bag. It would last them a year if she budgeted, but she needed a job if she was going to send Danny to school. She needed legal custody of Danny, if she was going to send him to school. She was 19, she was allowed to adopt her brother. But she needed a lot of fake documents to even prove that they even existed, much less that she was a proper guardian. Fake documents, that would cost money.

She sighed and leaned back as Danny mumbled in his sleep. Part of her wondered if all of that would even matter. After all, this was Gotham, and Danny was 16, and he was brilliant. He could get his GED, easily. His grades might have been slipping from the pressures of being a super hero ghost, but that only proved that with the proper time and support he would be a genius! They were a family of geniuses, and Danny was no exception. "Bastard geniuses," she muttered, scowling at the thought of their "parents." She pushed the thought, of Danny graduating early out of her mind. She would not pressure him the way their parents had. Besides, Danny needed a strong, supporting social life. He needed friends that were not over a thousand miles away. He needed a community that would not spurn him because of his psychological disposition, and persecute him for his physical condition.

"Well," she thought lazily as she attempted to organize the papers for the fifth time that night, "It's summer, so I won't have to worry about that for a while. What I need to focus on now is getting a job, and where I can find some forged adoption papers. Perhaps--"

Danny's scream ripped through the apartment. The papers flew into the air as Jazz rushed to side. Danny was flickering between intangibility and solidity, as he thrashed and screamed for it to stop. She didn't know what he wanted to stop, but it wouldn't. Jazz screamed his name, grabbing his shoulders when he was tangible. She felt hot tears falling down her face, as she begged for him to wake up. At last, after what seemed to be forever, Danny's eyes flew open. The glowed a toxic green, as he took deep breaths. Jazz took him through the now all too familiar process forcing air into her half-dead brother's lungs, as he slowly returned to the present. Did he know that the exercise was as much for her as it was for him? That she needed to remember to breath, just as much as he did? Did he know the surge of panic and pain that filled her every time his night terrors revealed some new horror he had experience? 

If he knew he didn't say anything as he simply followed, Jaz's instructions. She rubbed his arms in time with their breaths. She needed to remember he was there, that he was solid, and present. She needed to remember that even though he had died, he was still alive right in front of her. "It's ok," she whispered. "It's ok Danny. I'm here. You're safe now. It's all going to be ok."

Danny nodded numbly as his eyes bled back to blue. "I know," he muttered, "I know." He looked her in the face, and reached up his hand tentatively. She sat confused for a moment, until he wiped tears from her cheeks. When had she started crying? She took in her own shuddering breath as Danny stared at the tears in confusion, as if he couldn't comprehend anyone crying for him. She pulled him into a bear hug, as tight as she could manage. He needed to feel how much she cared. He needed to know how much she loved him. 

She waited until he was hugging her back. She said nothing. He said nothing. Neither of them moved, until Danny started shaking. "I died Jazz. I...I am dead...I'm a walking corpse." She said nothing as she felt the hot tears fall down his face. What could she say to that? None of her psychology books had prepared her for this! So she sat, and she listened, not daring to say a word as he muttered his dream into her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. He had just relived his death...in his dream. He had fallen asleep thinking of his ghost dog, and suddenly, he was back there, in the lad, dying and living at the same time, as ectoplasm seeped into his blood, and electricity had ruptured every nerve in his body.  Jazz didn't think she could hold her brother any tighter, but she did. And she let her own silent tears fall as she wept for her brother. He had lived. But he had died. 

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Dick Greyson groaned in confusion and panic as he stared at the wall of books in front of him. "How many parenting books are there?" he muttered as he began perusing, more than a little overwhelmed. There were at least a thousand books dedicated just to infants. There were even more dedicated to toddlers. He scoffed at a book labeled, "Do it like Batman: How to ensure your child survives the streets of Gotham" He took a picture of it, so that he, Jason, and Tim could laugh about it later. Bruce hadn't been the worst parent. He was kind, supportive, and genuinely seemed to care about all of them. But Dick was certain that the Dark Night had never set foot in this section of the book store. And now...he was missing, and Dick was filling the role he never wanted to fill, and stepping into a position he never expected to be in. He was Batman. And to top it all off, he was Damian's legal guardian.

Dick shook his head as he finally found the parenting teenagers section. It was significantly smaller than all of the other sections, and at first dick thought that might be helpful...It wasn't. He wondered if this was how Bruce felt, when he had taken him in. Did he feel this underprepared? This out of his depth? This overwhelmed with the responsibility of the mental, emotional, and physical well being of an angry, traumatized, and potentially deadly teenager? God! he really wish Bruce had any parenting books in the manner. Still, he had turned out ok right? Right? 

He groaned as he began reading the titles of the books in front of him. What even was Gotham? So your teen idolizes a Rouge: On a scale from Catwoman to Joker how worried should you be about your teenager's rebellion? Right beside, So your teen idolizes Batman: Should you be worried about them becoming the next Robin? And of course there was, Gangs and Teens: How to keep your rebellious teen out of a gang. Also right beside, Teens and Gangs: How to direct your rebellious teen to right kind of gang. "Ok, but what about when your traumatized, emotionally stunted little brother swings a sword at everything that moves?" Dick muttered.

A soft chuckle drew his attention to the person standing next to him. She was tall, with long vibrant red hair that could rival Barbra's. The young woman seemed to be around his age and had a soft smile as she glanced at him with pale blue eyes. But there was a sadness in those eyes, and an exhaustion in that smile that Dick was only far to familiar with. The exhaustion of being to little prepared for a responsibility that you were just to young for. The young woman seemed to share his sense of familiarity, because her smile brightened a touch when she said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to eaves drop."

"No, it's alright," Dick said cheerfully. "I have a feeling you get it."

"Brother, check," the young said, "Traumatized, check. Emotionally stunted, probably, but he's getting better. Sword, no. But expressing his rage through wanton violence, check!"

Dick laughed, "Maybe we should start a club. A...'We only have our brothers but their little shits who can't stay out of danger club?'"

The young woman laughed so brightly, it made Dick's growing smile feel just a touch more genuine. "That's my Danny! I'm Jazz by the way."

"Dick, and yes I know, it's a childhood nickname."

"Short for Richard," Jazz nodded her understanding, "Well try having the nickname 'Jazz!'"

Dick thought about it and unbidden a thousand corny jokes popped into his mind. "Oh yeah, I can see where that could get annoying. Would you prefer me to call you..."

"Jasmine, and no. I only go by Jasmine in professional settings."

"Fair enough," Dick said turning back to the bookshelf, "So, any idea which of these we should get."

"Hm," Jazz hummed, as she selected one with a raised eyebrow. "I doubt, Your Rebellious Teen: What to do when your teen goes to Crime Alley for "Supplies" applies to either of us."

Dick laughed, "I think the only reason, Damian would go to Crime Alley is to kill some one...you know maybe I should take that one."

"I wouldn't," Jazz said reading the back, completely unfazed by his brother potentially killing someone, "It looks like this book uses outdated stereotypes to categorize healthy teenage angst into wanton criminal behavior, and suggests strenuous disciplinary action that would only reinforce our brothers' negative behavior and exacerbate their psychological trauma, rather than laying out strategies that will promote healthy living, and an emotionally safe environment in which they can express themselves in a healthy, stable, and safe manner until they come to terms with the true emotional source of their destructive behaviors." She looked up, and saw Dick blink at her, opened mouth in awe. "What?" 

"Are you sure you shouldn't be writing these books instead of reading them?"

Jazz laughed and blushed, "I've always had a fascination with psychology. Mainly because my parents are certifiably insane, but it's always good to get an experts opinion, no matter how much you've studied. Besides my studies in psychology have always been focused on the development of the brain, and mental illnesses, not trauma." Here she sighed and stared at the wall of books wistfully, "If only I knew."

"Yeah," Dick said taking in the overwhelming selection declaring everything that could he could do wrong with dubious advice. "Me too."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jazz said softly. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Dick felt her study him. She was demure, and unobtrusive, but sincere with a tough core.  

He grinned at her brightly, "You are going to make a great therapist. No, don't deny it. I can already tell. And yes I would love to talk about it. I love talking about my brother, all of them. But not here...uh...coffee?"

Jazz smiled brightly again and his heart skipped a little. "Coffee sounds great! Let me get you my number." 

"Right," said Dick pulling out his phone, "And uh, if you want to talk about it..."

He let the question go unasked, as she froze. And Dick understood. She was like Alfred. Always kind, always willing to help. Always ready to listen and support, but never allowing others to help and support her. He briefly wondered if this was the first time anyone had asked her if she needed to talk things through. After all, if her brother was traumatized, chances were, so was she. In the end, Dick was glad he had asked, because she looked up at him with the brightest smile, and said, "Yeah, that would be nice! Thank you, Dick!"

They exchanged numbers, and continued to talk about nothing and everything. And when Dick finally said good-bye with three books that Jazz deemed worthy of their attention, he felt a lot lighter than he had in a long while. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Damian stood scowling beside Greyson as they looked over the city. He refused to call Greyson Batman in his head, because he was just so bad at it. Yes, his brother was an acceptable warrior, leader, and he had Damian's utmost respect for a great many things. But he smiled. Batman does not smile. And he joked, and ruffled his hair. Batman was a terror to the hearts of the guilty! He did not joke! Still, there was no one else, mainly because everyone else refused. Damian didn't know if they just refused to work with him, or if they just didn't want the moniker. Whatever their qualms, Greyson didn't have them. So Damian was forced to put up with a smiling, joking, affectionate Batman, when he needed to be cold, serious, and intimidating. At least until he was older. Then he could claim the moniker and Greyson could go back to...whatever it was that Greyson did. 

Damian huffed, and Greyson took that as a request to speak, "You alright kiddo?"

"I am fine," Damian scowled trying not to reach up and scratch his mask. 

"Well, it seems to be a quiet night. We can always, head in early and watch a movie..."

"Tt, crime never sleeps, Batman, and is rarely distracted by such frivolity. One would think that after all this time, you would have learned at least that much."

He watched Greyson stiffen, sigh, and then relax. He smiled at the younger boy gently and said, "You're right Robin, we have a responsibility to uphold. And I apologize if my suggestion was crossing a personal boundary. In the future, I will suggest a more appropriate time in advance, so that neither of us are uncomfortable or unprepared." 

Robin narrowed his eyes suspiciously before saying, "Have you been reading those useless parenting books again?"

"What? No!" 

"You have haven't you?"

"I just want to do this right."

"You're not my father!"

"No, I am not, but I am your guardian. Which means it is my responsibility to take care of you."

"I don't need you to take care of me! I do fine on my own!" 

"I'm not denying that Robin. You are the most capable young man I know. And your ablitites are impressive, but I still have a duty of care, not only as your guardian, but as your brother--"

"And you're still talking to that useless psychologist."

"She's not useless, and she's a friend."

"She's a meddling---" CRUNCH.

Batman and Robin spun to see a teenaged boy, in what appeared to be a formfitting black and white hazmat suite with a flaming D imprinted on the chest, floating in midair. But he wasn't just floating, he was lounging as if he was on a couch, and...he was eating popcorn? He stared at them with unblinking, glowing toxic green eyes under shaggy white hair with no expression. Slowly, deliberately and without making a sound, the boy reached down and took a handful of popcorn and crunched it in the most obnoxious way imaginable. The two vigilantes stared at the boy in stunned shock, until the boy cleared his throat and said, "Oh, don't mind me. You can keep talking. This is very interesting!"

"Who are you?" Greyson demanded, and Damian had to admit, when he actually tried, his brother made a pretty convincing Batman. Unfortunately the strange floating boy had just seen him out of character and was therefore not intimidated in the slightest. A fact that was increasingly evident when he straightened and said, 

"Oh, I'm just your average superhero ghost kid! Nothing to worry about, please go back to your conversation, it sounded really important, please don't let me interrupt." He then twisted, so that it seemed like he was laying on his stomach, feet in the air. He then gave them both a Cheshire grin, as he took another mouthful of popcorn.

Damian felt his face flush with anger as he marched up to the boy gripping his sword. "We are not your entertainment vermin! Now be gone!"

"Are you sure?" the boy said smirking, "Cause you sure are entertaining! Short stack." 

Damian growled, but stopped as Greyson lay a hand on his shoulder. "Robin, stand down. And you, who are you and what do you want?"

The boy cleared his throat and twisted so that he was standing. "We'll get to who I am in a minute. But I just wanted to come and introduce myself. You see, I'm just a simple ghost boy trying to make my way in the world..."

"Ghost?" Batman asked concerned, but the glowing teen ignored him. 

"And I floated into Gotham and thought, you know this would be a great place to haunt. The aesthetic is perfect, and the amount of ecto-energy you got here is incredible. The walls between the realms must be pretty thin, huh!"

Batman and Robin exchanged confused looks, but neither dropped their guard. "Are you saying you're dead?" Batman said, sightly horrified. 

"Yep!" the Ghost Boy said casually, "And I'm going to be sticking around for awhile, so you guys better get used to me. And maybe a few of my ghost friends who like to spar from time to time."

Damian scowled. He didn't understand half of the words this "Ghost" was saying, but everything about him had his muscles tensed, and his hairs standing on end. He didn't look dead, or translucent, like Boston, but there was something very clearly other worldly about him. He glowed the same toxic green as his eyes. His features were just a little too angular, even his ears. His teeth were just a little too jagged. And his hair...it was pure snowy with that shone and floated around him in him as if her were under water. It was as if gravity didn't apply to him...as if this world didn't apply to him. Damian's hand gripped his sword ready to fight this creature when he growled, "What's your name?"

The Ghost smiled, but before he could say anything, someone yelled "DANNY!"

"Uh oh," the ghost said in terror and flew to hide behind Batman. Suddenly a tall young woman marched onto the roof. Damian recognized her immediately as Greyson's "friend" who he had coffee with once a week. Except in all of the security videos he had watched, she appeared calm, kind, and harmless. Now she was raging with a furry that made even Damian step back as she stalked up them. 

"Danny!" she barked, "Stop hiding behind Batman, now! You are in so much trouble young man!"

The Ghost Boy, Danny, came out sheepishly rubbing his neck and he said, "Uh, hey Jazz." 

"Don't 'hey Jazz' me, you are in so much trouble! How many times have I told you not to go out at night?! Huh! What if the GIW learns where you are? Or Vlad? Or worse, our parents?! And what did I say about bothering the Bats?!"

"Don't bother the Bats," Danny said glumly.

"Don't bother the Bats!" Jazz exclaimed. "Yet here you are!"

"But Jazz--" Danny whined. "I'm so board! I still haven't mastered portals yet, so I can't go to the Ghost Zone without Clock Work, but all he wants to do is have me study! And I can't fly around during the day, and you won't let me fly at night, and I like flying! And I just want to have some fun!"

Jazz sighed, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Danny," she said, "I love you, and I know it's hard. This whole thing is," she waved her hand in the air to express just how crazy, whatever this "thing" was. She was holding what appeared to be a high tech boomerang, that had Damian squinting, before she continued, "But Danny, we have to be carful! And there is a better way to introduce yourself to the vigilantes than...I'm sorry how did he introduce himself?"

Greyson opened his mouth, but it was Damian who said, "He was spying on our private conversation while ingesting popcorn."

"Snitch!" Danny yelled, and the same time Jazz exclaimed with a gasp,

"Danny! You know better! I am so sorry Batman, my brother is...well I love him, but he tends to get carried away sometimes. I'm sure you understand."

"I do actually," Greyson said, and Damian scowled. He had dropped the Batman persona in the presence of his "friend," the careless idiot. "But I have some questions. Danny here said he is a ghost doesn't that mean...?"

Jazz sighed as pained exhaustion crossed over her face, "It's rather complicated, but in essence, yes, my brother is dead. And he enjoys using his ghost powers to drive me insane when he should be in the Ghost Zone with Clock Work, and/or Frost Bite."

"But Jazz!"

"You have a responsibility Danny! And Clock Work has been more than patient. Now apologize to Batman and Robin for spying and get your ass to the Ghost Zone, unless you want to help me do taxes then..."

"Fine," Danny groaned, "I apologize for spying and bothering you...And also for my pain in the ass sister who can't take a joke! Bye!"

And with that, Danny vanished, prompting an angry shriek from the redhead. She then began fiddling with her boomerang muttering things Damian wasn't sure he wanted to hear. Finally Greyson cleared his throat and said, "Um excuse me Miss. but I have a great many questions about...this and---"

"Hm," Jazz said looking up at him. "Yes of course, here's my card. I know the old Batman had a no-metas policy, but I'm hoping you and I can come to an arangment."

"What makes you think there's an old Batman?'

Damian scoffed, and Jazz shot him an amused look. "You're body language, and physicality are both very different. But setting that aside, that I really hope we can come to an understanding. We don't have many places to go, and my brother needs friends who are like him...or at least friends who can grasp his situation...I can explain better later, for now I have to track him down and make sure, he's not causing too much trouble. It was nice to meet both of you!"

And with that she disappeared down the fire escape, leaving the two vigilantes in confused and stunned silence as they attempted to process what had just happened. Finally Damian spoke, "I am not befriending that hooligan."

"Yes, you are."

"Just because you are sexually attracted to his sister---"

"Excuse me?"

 "Does not mean that I will in any way get along with that ruffian."

"Just introduce him to the others, I'm sure Bart will like him."

Damian's eye's widened in horror, "I am not introducing him to Allen!"

"We'll see," Dick grinned, as he grappled over to the next building. 

Three weeks later, in Teen Titan's Tower, Danny Phantom, Impulse, Cyborg, Beast Boy, Super Boy, and Robin could be seen cleaning up copious amounts of glitter and ectoplasm, as Starfire banned all prank wars for all of eternity. Robin didn't know how he got roped in to being involved in the nonsense, but he was sure that it was Danny's fault. He was also sure that their team had thoroughly defeated Allen's team, and since prank wars were now banned, their victory would be eternal.  

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #jazzxdick #dick and damian #jazz and danny #oneshot #fanfic

[blade-that-was-broken]

Intro, Stories, and Commissions!

Heya! This is my anonymous little blog for my current fixations and interests!

Name: Luthien or Blade

Age/Gender: adult woman

Level: family friendly with some violence.

Current Fixation: Dreamworks Trolls

Notes About My Work

Focus on familial and platonic bonds

Any romantic notions are never the focus

Minimal swearing on my part

Family friendly art and writing with some violence

No nudity, serious gore or smut

Feel free to ask any questions about anything - I absolutely love answering comments and questions in the asks.

Right now, my current fixation is TROLLS! With my favorites being John Dory and Branch. I do have an appreciation for both friendship PoppyxBranch as well as romantic.

Listed below not only my current series but also some other writings that I have finished! Feel free to check them out! I'd love to know what you think! Also listed are other fandoms that I am interested in and feel free to ask me about any of them! Enjoy!

My Current Series!

Here is a Link to my AO3

I’m Still Here

An AU where John Dory comes back to the Tree a bit earlier to raise Branch only for sixteen years later of traveling on the road with his little brother to give his life for him. Branch finds Pop Village at 16 and goes through the events of the canonical movies with the background of being a wandering traveler with his brother.

Status: Ongoing

Type: Multiple Books

Question to the World - prequel mini series - ✔️

Head Above Water - movie one - ✔️

World to Change - movie two - ✔️

Moment to Be Real - movie 3 - ✔️

Holiday Special - unnamed - not written

Words and Whispers - Collection of Snippets WIP

For This You Were Born

In an AU where Brozone doesn’t exist and trolls can trade their lives for the safety of their families, a mother tricks her eldest son only for him and her youngest to end up in a fight for their lives against a Bergen.

Status: Ongoing

Type: Multi Chapter Short Series

For This You Were Born - finished ✔️

Silence the Doubt - finished ✔️

By Design a Victor - currently ongoing

Half Life

In a human AU, John Dory has been working for years to get custody of his four brothers from his parents. When he finally gets it, he finds he had to fix what he inadvertently broke. As he tries to juggle a new life and protect his brothers, he does his best to repair his relationship with them.

Status - Ongoing

Type - Single Multichapter, Extra shots

Breathe Again - multi chapter - Ongoing

Unnamed - multi chapter single shots - unwritten

One Shots/Other

Trolls

Something to Believe In - An amnesiac John Dory arrives at Pop Village and ends up raising his youngest six-year old brother. (Ongoing, non-sequential shorts)

Things We Lost - Clay is snatched one day, only to be saved by his amnesiac older brother, who has no idea who he is and believes his brothers to be dead. (one shot, finished)

Divided Frame of Mind - Branch, Bruce, Clay and Floyd search for John Dory, only for Holly Darlin' (Trollstopia) to tell them he's staying in Lonesome Flatts. However, when they get there, they are not greeted how they expect. (one shot, finished)

Smoke and Starlight - a continuation beyond TBT, helped Poppy with an annual world meeting and learns about his parents and his brothers as he helps set up. (multi chapter, wip, Branch, JD and Floyd centric)

Keep Me Breathing - Upon being rescued and traveling back to Pop Village, Floyd makes some observations about his older brother and gives him a hug - which, turns out he really needed (one shot, finished)

The More I Learn, the Less I Bleed - an argument erupts in the bunker one night where the brother learns a horrifying truth - their oldest has been living his life in time loops; one of which including the last performance they did as a band. (one shot, finished)

Soldier On AU - human au, concept - John Dory hasn’t seen his brothers since their parents divorced when he was fifteen. Twenty years later, he is discharged from the military after an explosion and is slowly reunited with his brothers. (concept, snippets only)

Batman/Nightwing

Halfway Gone - Damian comes to Stephanie about Dick Grayson's apparent death with a theory. She believes him. After all, he is their Batman. (one shot, finished)

I'd Give You My Lungs - Jason had never heard the wail of a father losing his son tragically too young before. But when Damian dies, he does. (oneshot, finished)

I've Got You, Brother - Jason is glad he's the one who finds it. Jason hates that he is the one who finds it. But his brother is alive. And he needs to find out what happened. (one shot, finished)

AUs of my AUs

Feel I Belong (I’m Still Here au au) WIP

Stay the Same (I’m Still Here au au) WIP

Other Interests Include (Not Limited To)

Star Wars (Jedi specifically), Lord of the Rings (my username lol), Tangled (New Dream), The Mummy 1999, Psych, TMNT (2012 mostly), Transformers Prime, ATLA, Bones, Leverage, Nightwing, Smallville (Clois), GotG, Treasure Planet, HtTyD, Elementary, Chuck, Stargate (Mostly Atlantis lol), X-Men, GL:A, VM (Logan Echolls deserved better), and Narnia.

I have a few pop funkos, love getting involved in zines, and collect art and pins (collections being mostly AragornxArwen and New Dream but small collection of Nightwing, Star Wars, the Mummy 1999 etc).

This Post will be subjected to editing and reclogging with continued works, interests, changes and fandoms.

#intro post #my writing #i feel like I'm forgetting something #probably am #will probably update later

[niko-jpeg]

NIKO!!! HAI!!!!

Got any fun facts about Camp Green Hill (or any other AU's you might have) you'd like to share with the class?

Also stay safe! It's getting hot!! Drink water and wear sunscreen!

HI SCRAP!!! I do. I always do. I'll run through a bunch of misc Camp Green Hill stuff <3

Blaze has a family! She's the eldest daughter and in line to inherit the throne when her parents step down, and has a pair of twins for siblings, who are a few years younger than her. Silver is quite well liked among her family (and in the Sol dimension, lol), and they have a little nickname for him: Slipper! Both in regards to how clumsy he was growing up, and also just because its really cute. This is based on the intentional incorrect spelling of his name when referring to him affectionately in the fandom. It tickles my brain, lol. Not only is he practically a member of the royal family, but one time, one of the twins asked who would get the throne if Blaze were to not be able to. Without missing a beat, their mother informed them that it would be Silver, actually.

...He doesn't realize they're dead serious, by the way. If things really were to go wrong, they want Silver to take over until the twins are old enough to take care of the empire. lol. Also, Marine! She comes way late, but she does eventually show up!

Shadow is not only a trained agent, but also a trained therapy hedgehog! I'm serious. He was taught how to manage other people's emotions and act as temporary therapist. He's also warm, fluffy, and okay with being cried on, so he's perfect for the job.

Omega is in the au! He shows up later down the line, and after the events of the au, goes to live with Rouge and Shadow in the city working for GUN too.

Sonic has a horrible history with water activities and accidentally getting stuck in the mangroves and brambles lining the shore. Its really funny how horrible his luck is.

Shadow was based loosely on a hedgehog to appeal to Maria, since he was planned to be part time therapy-hog from the start. Mephiles was loosely based on Shadow. This makes Mephiles EXTREMELY far removed from a real hedgie to some degree. Its kind of hilarious.

Amy has a never ending stash of jelly bracelets, Shadow has a never ending stash of coffee beans, and Tails never seems to be in short supply of goggles. Where does he get them?

Tails and Sonic have their own rooms on the camp, but stay in the dorms with the rest of the campers during the summer!

Tikal is a really sweet ghost who haunts the ruins nearby. She's plot relevant, trust me ;)

The Storybook games are planned to be fever dreams from our dear Sonic while fending off a cold. But they could have a little more validity behind them than it may appear...

Rouge plays saxophone! In fact, there are several musically talented members of the camp, both campers and staff!

Uncle Chuck eventually gives up on paperwork and makes his campers swear that whatever happens in camp stays in camp. He decides this after the SA2 plot equivelent. Especially now with 2 whole government agents there, one working as a counselor and the other a camper.

The Chaotix are a fun bunch! Vector works whatever misc job he can get around the camp so Charmy and Espio can go for free. They're an inner city family, and don't have much money. He also has a crush on the camps' nurse, Vanilla. Espio wants to be a detective, and has a special interest in detective work. Charmy came into the equation more recently, as Vector took custody of the kid after a family friend begged him to.

I've always got more, if anyone would like to ask about a specific character, game, plot point, or ask about details on the camp! Asks for the characters will open very soon too, and you can send them in if you'd like. Thanks for asking <3

#Camp Green Hill #Sonic the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #Sonic Rush #Silver the Hedgehog #Sonic 06 #Sonic the Hedgehog 2006 #Shadow the Hedgehog #E123 Omega #Rouge the Bat #Amy Rose #Miles Tails Prower #Tikal the Echidna #The Chaotix #Vector the Crocodile #Charmy Bee #Espio the Chameleon #Uncle Chuck