#loading and firing a canon will follow

[layaispunk]

still here with me

my masterlist | taking requests! <3

pairing: jackson!joel x female!reader

summary: you save Joel.

warnings: spoilers for episode 2. canon typical violence, jackson's hoard, angst, lil bit of fluff. Ellie isnt mentioned.

a/n: i love abby but NOT ON MY WATCH. anyway .... how are we feeling ....? 🫂

The sounds of gunfire crackled through the cold. 

The blizzard felt like an entity - roaring, kicking up like ash as the hoard was running toward Jackson’s gates - hundreds of them, more than you'd ever seen. Clickers, stalkers, runners. Screeching. Crawling. Dying in waves, but still coming.

You stood on the wall beside Tommy, breath steaming in the cold as your rifle jerked back with each shot. “There’s too many, Tommy. We need the barrels."

“Fuck!” Tommy yelled, loading another round. “Keep your aim steady!” Tommy barked.

But you weren't hearing him anymore. Your ears were ringing. Joel.

You blinked hard, fired another round. “Tommy,” you muttered, voice tight.

He didn’t turn. “What?”

“I have to go.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I need to find him. I need to find Joel. Amy said he's at the ski lodge."

Tommy finally looked at her, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?"

 “Something’s wrong, Tommy. I can feel it.”

Tommy grabbed your arm. “You run out now, you’ll die. Its a death trap.”

“Then I'll die trying.” you muttered, his hand still on yours.

He hesitated—just a breath—then nodded toward the watchtower behind them. “Back gate. It’s clearer that way. Take a horse and ride fast. You hear me? Be fuckin safe. Go."

You sprinted to the stables, saddled a horse with shaky hands, and rode like hell—snow blurring your vision, heart screaming louder than the wind, outrunning the hoard. Toward the lodge. 

Every fiber of you wanted to scream Joel and Dina's names to look for them. To cry out. But you had enough experience to know that you couldn’t.

If they were in trouble, if they're hurt —you yelling would only paint a target on your back. Or theirs. It wasn't an option. 

So you rode low in the saddle, head ducked beneath the howling wind, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

When you finally reached the edge of the lodge, you dismounted, boots hitting the ground heavy and wet. Snow clung to your coat and lashes. The horse huffed, nervous.

You crept forward, one foot after the other. Fingers clenched around your rifle. No footprints leading away from the door. No sign of anyone leaving in a hurry. Just quiet.

The sky above you was darkening fast, blizzard now in full force. 

You walked in, slowly. . It felt like your body knew something before your mind did, like it was bracing for impact. Weathered wood, furniture covered in plastic. Then, you saw a door. You placed your gloved hand on the knob, the other pressing your body flush to the wall beside it. Then you leaned in, ear to the wood.

Voices.

Muffled.

A woman’s voice.

"where was the last place you saw the fireflies?,” she was saying, her tone sharp but almost distant, like she was trying to keep steady.

Think. Think, think, think.

You didn’t know for certain—It could be anyone. But something in your chest twisted so violently, it was like your body already knew Joel and Dina were in that room, and they were running out of time.

How many voices? Two? Three? More? Your blood roared in your ears. You couldn’t make out words—just tones. Angry. Confident. Like they weren’t worried about being caught. 

You stepped back from the door, trying to breathe past the knot in your chest and move as quietly as possible. You had to distract them. Get them away from him. Make them come to you.

You crept down the hall, eyes sweeping the room. Old furniture, untouched for years. You spotted a rusted kettle on the stove and stealthily, you knocked it off with your rifle. You usually do this tactic with glass bottles, but you needed to think fast. 

It hit the ground hard—clang—echoing through the lodge.

Shouts followed. Heavy footsteps. “What the hell was that?”

You dropped behind furniture just as two came around the corner, both unarmed. 

There was a high-pitched ring in your ears, drowning out everything but your own pulse.

Your hands moved before your mind caught up and you stealthily walked behind them and plunged the knife into the side of their throat, a trail of bodies behind you now. 

You crept back toward that door, heart slamming against your ribs. You kicked it open hard, rifle raised—ready to die if it meant he lived.

Joel. On his knees, arms up, breathing heavily. Dina passed out on the floor. And in front of Joel —a woman. Armed. Blonde. Braid hanging down her back. Gun aimed at his head.

You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Bang.

She dropped before she even turned fully.

The other two put their hands up, trying to save themselves. You fired again. And again. You needed to move fast. 

You ran to him. You dropped your rifle, crossed the room in seconds, and crashed into him like you were afraid he might disappear if you let another second pass.

Joel caught you with both arms, pulling you in so tight it felt like your ribs would snap. His eyes were red and teary, his body was shaking. You could feel his heart hammering through his chest, loud and frantic, like it was trying to fight its way into yours. 

Neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing—sharp, broken. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand tangled in the back of your jacket like he couldn’t let go.

By the time you made it back to Jackson, the blizzard had quieted, but the damage was done.

The wall was down. Dead clickers littered the snow, half-buried in blood and snow. Smoke curled from where fires had been. Guards moved slowly through the wreckage, dragging corpses, calling out names.

You rode in with Joel just behind you, Dina slumped between your arms on the saddle. She hadn’t woken up yet, still drugged, still breathing.

Tommy met you at the gate - or what was left of it. His face was pale with ash and blood, eyes going wide when he saw the three of you.

Joel slid off the horse first, then reached up to take Dina from your arms.

You followed, boots hitting the red-streaked snow, gaze locked on the chaos around you.

Jackson had survived, but just barely.

You and Joel sat in the quiet of the house, the kind of silence that only comes after something  that violent. Your jacket was still damp from the snow, but your hands were warm now—held out toward the fireplace in your home. 

Joel hadn’t said much since you got back.

You’d stayed behind, helped with the wreckage. But Tommy had grabbed your arm, eyes heavy, voice low. “You’ve done enough. Take him home. Take care of him.”

So now here you were. Home. With the love of your life. 

He sat in the armchair beside you, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was still catching his breath from hours ago. The firelight danced across his face, cutting soft gold into the bruises blooming along his jaw. Gosh, he looks so beautiful. 

You walked over slowly, knees brushing his as you knelt in front of him. He looked up—eyes tired, but still Joel. Still your Joel.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached forward, pulling you into his lap like he’d been waiting all night to feel you close.

You curled into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands threaded into his hair. He let out a shaky breath against your neck, like he’d been holding it in for hours.

You pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him.

Then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Slow. Careful. Like you were afraid he might break if you weren’t gentle.

“I’m so happy you’re still here with me,” you whispered, voice thick with everything you didn’t say out loud.

Joel didn’t answer—not with words. But the way he held you tighter, like he’d never let go again… that was enough.

For now, it was enough.

[justauthoring]

The is the Beginning [3/?]

Summary: You never thought you'd be able to escape Buggy, and yet, a boy with a straw hat, a man with three swords and a girl with orange hair somehow manage to free you. The journey that follows afterwards is your chance at freedom and maybe something more.

A One Piece Live Action Rewrite

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Pairing: Live Action!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, jealous!zoro, self-depricating talk, angst but fluff too! & Sanji content because I love him

Word Count: 10,710

A/N: I am so excited for this chapter. Literally so much happens in this chapter and AHHH I hope you all enjoy <3

Tag List: @emmaiscool22 - @bethleeham - @veryunoriginal - @sun-rae04 - @medievalfangirl

Chapter Three - Together

“Did you just call that guy grandpa?”

Mouth still left parted in shock, you stare at the back of Luffy’s head, waiting for him to answer Zoro’s question. Or, at the very least, clarify what exactly he meant by calling the Vice Admiral of the Marine Corps grandpa—because surely he was not actually related to your captain; your captain of a pirate crew.

Though, you’re at a loss to think of what else Luffy could have possibly meant.

Meeting Zoro’s gaze, the two of you stood directly behind Luffy, his expression matching your own.

“Hit the deck!”

You barely have time to register Usopp’s warning, only seeing something black and something very much like a cannon heading straight your way, before arms are grabbing you and pulling you down. You’re tucked into a chest, your own arms coming to protect yourself as you try to ignore the ache the sudden movement pulls on your stitches.

The rumble of the cannon hitting the ship fades, and slowly, you pull away, meeting Zoro’s gaze first, realizing then he’d been the one to pull you down (you don’t have time to think about how that makes you feel), before both of your gazes fall on the broken fence of your ship deck. 

Pressing a hand to your waist, you move to stand, Zoro shuffling back to give you room. He offers a hand, to which you take, letting him help pull you up to your own feet.

“Everybody okay?” Luffy calls, and your eye falls on him in front of you.

“I think so,” Nami calls back, breathless. Both her and Usopp were further back from the explosion, up on the helm deck.

“No,” Usopp cries, popping up beside her. “Not okay. Not even close to okay.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore your own panic that’s bubbling inside of you. “We need to do something,” you urge, facing back towards the marine ship. “They’re just gonna keep shooting at us until we sink.”

Meeting your gaze briefly, Luffy nods. “Usopp!” He calls, pointing directly at the marine ship and his grandpa. “Fire back at them!”

“Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?” Usopp offers.

Luffy turns to look at him, looking bewildered that he’d even offered the idea. But Nami only extends a hand towards Usopp, clearly in agreement.

“Run from the Marines?” Luffy breathes, “no. Never! Nami, trim the… the sail thing. Let’s sink their ship.”

Usopp, probably despite his own fear, comes to meet Luffy with the cannon ammo.

“You want to sink a marine ship?” You echo in disbelief. “That’s… insane.”

“Not to mention, we don’t have time!” Nami argues, “they’re stealing our wind. If they pull up alongside us, we’re finished.”

Luffy just ignores her. “You’re the navigator. Do something.”

Turning to her, she meets your gaze. You offer a helpless shrug.

Nami huffs. “Zoro,” she calls, shifting her gaze past you. “Sheet in and hard to port! Y/N, stay there and don’t get more hurt.”

Feeling useless, you huff, but listen to Nami regardless. You knew you’d only pay worse if you didn’t.

“You know how to load a cannon?” Luffy asks Usopp, who chuckles nonchalantly in return.

You seriously doubt that.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve loaded thousands of them.” Almost as soon as he says that, he hesitates with the cannon in hand. “Uh, this just must be a different model than I’m used to.”

Huffing, you shuffle forward. “Load the cannon in the barrel,” you explain, pointing at the barrel as he turns to look at you helplessly. “Light the fuse and then get out of the way.”

Nodding at you, he shuffles forward, moving to the front of the cannon. Only, before he can load the barrel, he drops all the cannons in his hands. 

“Usopp!”

Eyes widening, you rush forward to help, but Luffy holds a hand out to you, shaking his head as he moves to run after Usopp and the cannons which have gone down the stairs.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, you sigh.

“We’re so gonna die.”

-

Somehow, you don’t die.

After Luffy somehow manages to deflect a cannon with his belly, Nami quickly makes the five of you disappear into the thick of the fog. The second you’d gotten away, Luffy had crawled up to the bow and taken a seat. He hadn’t said a word since. 

Nami had taken to steering, and since she was probably the most qualified person, you’d left her to it. You instead decide to lean against the railing, letting your eyes stay focused on the back of Luffy.

It wasn’t like him to be quiet, and you had no doubt it had something to do with the fact that his grandpa had nearly just destroyed his ship and killed him and all his friends. With how Luffy was, you figured he probably hadn’t come to terms with that reality yet and he would probably continue to ignore it until forced to otherwise.

“How’s the ship looking?”

Inhaling sharply, you glance over your shoulder, eye falling on Zoro as he shakes his head at Nami. “Broken railing,” he answers, “minor damage. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Nami rolls her eyes; “could’ve been better.”

“Can’t see the Marines anywhere,” Usopp assures.

“Can’t see anything in this soup,” Nami corrects. “What we need is a place to lay low, wait out any reinforcements they send after us. My charts are useless in this fog.”

Zoro nods. “What did Luffy say?”

You sigh; “he’s on the bow,” you point ahead of yourself. “He hasn’t said anything since we hightailed it. I’m…” Hesitating, you chance one glance at his back before turning back to the three. “I’m worried about him.”

“Somebody needs to talk to him,” Nami says. “About this and that other thing.”

Zoro frowns. “What other thing?”

“Oh gee, I wonder,” Nami says, obviously sarcastic.

The expression on Zoro’s face tells you he really doesn’t know what.

“The Vice-Admiral-of-the-Marines-is-my-grandfather-thing.” Nami explains, looking at you all like it’s obvious.

You offer a shrug; “I’m confused too… but it feels wrong to interrogate him about it. Especially after the guy tried to kill us.”

Nami just blinks over at you.

“Yeah…” Usopp drawls, “I don’t really know the guy that well, so…”

Zoro nods; “doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that it isn’t a big deal…” You say tentatively, wary of Nami’s reaction and unable to deny the curiosity you feel. It did beg questions and it was a little wrong that Luffy had chosen not to tell any of you. “I just don’t know…”

Nami hesitates a moment, before shaking her head, turning to Zoro. “You’re his first mate,” he reminds, “kind of seems like that falls under your job description, hmm?”

He glances at you and Usopp, probably hoping one of you will do it instead of him. Usopp sends him a sheepish smile, holding the straps of his overalls and rocking on his feet, making his answer clear. When Zoro meets your gaze, you press a hand to your waist and smile nervously; “I’m injured?”

You were worried, but you also had no idea how to breach a conversation like that with Luffy of all people.

It’s obviously an excuse, but Zoro doesn’t argue. With a blink, he turns; “fine.”

You watch him leave, before meeting Nami’s gaze.

“You’re aware that Zoro is probably the worst person to check in on Luffy, right?” You raise a brow, “no way he’s actually gonna find anything out.”

Sighing dramatically, Nami presses her forehead to the helm.

Sure enough, a minute later Zoro comes back, shrugging; “seems fine to me.”

“Did you even ask him?”

Before Zoro can respond, if he even was going to, Luffy suddenly stands; “hey!” Pausing, he sniffs, raising his finger. “You guys smell that?”

Your brows furrow. “Smell what?”

Luffy’s quiet for a moment, taking in the air, before he breathes out; “there’s something on the breeze.” Sniffing again, his eyes widen. “Smells like butter. Soy sauce. And meat.”

He grins back at the four of you.

“I can’t smell anything,” Usopp frowns, moving towards Luffy. He seems almost disappointed he can’t smell anything.

“Think he has brain damage?” Zoro asks you and Nami.

Nami huffs, crossing her arms; “I think that every day.”

You let out a nervous laugh.

“Look, Luffy,” Usopp scratches his head. “Playing follow the smell is fun and all, but we really got to get out of this fog.”

“I know,” he calls back, “but I smell food, which means that there’s someone somewhere cooking.”

-

You’ll never doubt Luffy’s nose again.

Turns out what he was smelling was a whole restaurant, and without having anywhere else to go and needing food, you’d all decided to dock there and get something to eat. Luffy and Usopp had been roaring to go the second the ship docked, barely able to stand still, which made Nami eager to get off the boat just so she didn’t have to deal with two idiots. You’re pretty excited yourself, but just as the ship docked, you’d noticed a bit of red on your shirt. You very quickly deduced it was your wound and obviously, after the excitement of nearly being hit by a cannon, you’d aggravated your stitches.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Nami frowns, hesitating to follow Luffy and Usopp off the ship. Zoro was hanging by the plank too, you couldn’t help but notice. He wasn’t offering to stay, of course, but he seemed concerned.

Shaking your head from the thought, you smile at Nami. “Positive.” You assure, sending her a thumbs up. “I just gotta change the bandage and my shirt and I’ll meet you guys there. Just let the host know I’m coming.”

Hovering for only a moment longer, Nami nods. “You can borrow one of my shirts again,” she offers. “Remind me next time we’re on an island to get you some clothes. When we’re not being chased by Marines.”

You laugh, nodding at her and turning to head to your and Nami’s shared room. You pause, however, when your eye catches Zoros’ once again. He looks like he wants to say something, and for some reason you find you can’t offer anything in return. It takes Nami, who’d seen the rather obvious and embarrassing display, to grab Zoro by the arm and pull him with her to get either of you to move.

Cheeks burning, you rush down to the room, trying to ignore the flutter of your chest or the nerves flooding through your entire body.

Seriously, it was starting to get too much. Before, you’d at least be able to brush it off as being intimidated by Zoro since he was, well, a pretty intimidating guy. But since the whole Kuro incident and you getting hurt, every time Zoro’s eyes seemed to fall on you, that narrowed and heavy gaze lightened into something soft. It was hard to ignore or not let get to you when he’d already made you all hot and flustered before.

He was attentive in a way you hadn’t experienced or expected from him. Everyone had been worried when you’d gotten hurt. You distinctly remember being surprised by how bothered Nami had seemed by it and even Usopp, who you’d just met, had checked in on you. But Zoro? Zoro had been concerned in a whole other way. Rather than just asking you or checking in like Luffy had, he’d hovered. He stayed near when Kaya had cleaned and stitched your wound for you, helping you walk there and then back to the ship even when you assured you were fine.

You’d never had someone so worried about you, let alone a man you were clearly attracted to.

You didn’t know if Zoro had any idea of what he was doing to you, but he was killing you. Your heart was always racing when he was near, which was always, and he made you feel like a fumbling fool, mind short-circuiting to the point of silliness whenever his eyes fell on you.

You’d never forget what he’d said about your eye. How he’d made you feel about it. Luffy and Nami had been endearing too, you would never deny that, but Zoro had spoken up first. And the look on his face…

Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you try to cool the heat you feel and your racing mind. This was silly. You were being silly. Zoro was just being nice and he probably just saw what a helpless fool you were and felt pity. There was nothing more to it. 

Zoro was a strong swordsman, a renowned bounty hunter and Luffy’s first mate and you were… you.

Swallowing thickly, you sit down at the desk in your and Nami’s shared room, pulling up your shirt and glancing down. As expected, your wound has bled through your bandage. Momentarily, you worry that you’ve ripped your stitches, but the second you pull the bandage off, you’re assured that isn’t the case. You clearly just aggravated the wound and, pausing to clean the blood and apply the salve Kaya had given you, you place a new bandage on.

You take a moment more to find a shirt to wear, thankful Nami was being so generous with her clothing. You could tell the girl took her fashion seriously and you felt bad enough borrowing her clothes, but now you were ruining them with blood. You’d have to make it up to her somehow.

Cleaned with a new bandage on, you smile to yourself, feeling your stomach rumble almost as if reminding you.

Without a second more of hesitation, you make your way up and off the Going Merry. The Baratie is buzzing with people and you can’t help but let your gaze wander across the millions of different people going on with their lives, each in their own world. You continue to do so until you find the front entrance to the restaurant, and with a simple explanation to the host that you were here with friends and a small description of some friends, you’re led to the table.

You pause, however, when you realize the waiter is already taking your friends’ order.

The host leaves your side and with only a second more of hesitation, you make your way to the table, not having realized you’d taken so long.

“Do I still have time to place an order?”

Everyone's eyes fall on you at your question, and coming to a stop on the left of the waiter, right in front of Zoro. You frown when you notice the tense look on his face, concerned, but before you can ask, your captain is beaming at your arrival.

“Y/N!” Luffy calls, grinning. “You’re just in time! I ordered one of everything for us!”

You shouldn’t be surprised, but his words still pull a laugh from your lips. Of course Luffy would order the entire menu.

“I didn’t know I would be greeted by two beautiful maidens today. And one with such an infectious laugh.”

Freezing, it takes you a second to realize that the words had come from the waiter and that he was talking to you. Eyes widening, you turn to him, meeting his eyes with your left one, only to see him smiling at you. One hand is shoved into the pocket of his dress pants as he turns towards you with a certain suaveness.

Cheeks warming in embarrassment, your hands rise. “Oh, I—”

But before you can finish, the waiter is taking your left hand in his, pulling it up to his lips and pressing a kiss there. No longer just warm, your cheeks burn.

“Such beautiful eyes too, madam,” he grins, “I’ll never forget either of them.”

You’re hyper aware of the fact that your entire crew is watching this happen and that you’re standing there, gaping like a fish. You’ve never had anyone flirt with you, especially not someone so… persistent. 

The waiter continues to stare back at you, never once looking upset by your lack of response.

An achingly long minute passes.

“Y/N.”

You don’t even have time to turn to Zoro at him calling your name before you feel hands fall on your hips, tugging you forward. A small yelp leaves your lips in response, stunned stupid, as Zoro pulls you in front of him, practically on his lap for a brief second, your hand slipping from the waiter's grip. Zoro moves you so you’re sat next to him, in between him and Nami who sends you a knowing smirk as you try to ignore your racing heart and flaming cheeks.

“Oi,” the waiter calls before you can, again, say anything. “Don’t be so rough with her.”

Zoro glares right at him. “Don’t be so handsy,” he growls back, not missing a beat. “Y/N doesn’t even know you.”

“She can get to know me,” the waiter challenges, curling a brow at your swordsman before his eyes shift back to you. “I’m sorry our introduction got interrupted, my name is Sanji. It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

You’re sure you look as stupid as you feel.

“N-Nice to meet you too, Sanji,” you echo back, voice small.

Sanji grins just as Zoro leans forward, cutting you off from view. “Shouldn’t you be getting our food and drinks? The ones we ordered, waiter?”

The smile on Sanji’s face tenses, but he holds back whatever he clearly wants to say to Zoro, side stepping to meet your eyes once again. “Certainly, but first… what would you like, madam? Water like your lovely friend or something else? A sweet wine, perhaps? I can recommend some to you.”

You meet Nami’s eyes who just scoffs, obviously having received similar attention as you were now.

“Water,” you squeak. “Like her.”

“Not sparkling? Mineral? Ice or no?”

“Just water,” you nod, noticing the tick in Zoro’s jaw.

“Coming right up, Y/N,” he winks at you, smirking, before he turns away.

Silence follows, thick and heavy.

“Don’t worry,” Nami is the first to break the ice, lightly nudging you. “He was the same with me.”

Usopp snickers next to her, meeting your eye; “looks like you and Nami have got a boyfriend.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami just laughs quietly to herself. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s me we should be worried about.” Her eyes shift to Zoro, as does everyones, even Luffy who looks a bit lost, and finally, you turn to look at him too.

Your cheeks are still warm with embarrassment, mainly from Sanji’s flirting, but also the way Zoro had grabbed you. It wasn’t that you minded, because really, you didn’t, but—what the hell was that?

Meeting her gaze, arms crossed over his chest, Zoro huffs; “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Nami drawls, smirking. 

“I never seen you so angry, Zoro,” Usopp teases, grinning ear to ear. “Jealous?” He sings the word, wiggling his brows at the swordsman as you sink into your seat further.

“Of a waiter?” Zoro scoffs, careful not to glance your way. “Of course not.”

You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hadn’t denied he’d been jealous because of you.

With a little bit more laughter, the conversation drifts off as Luffy starts to ramble about the food. Once the attention is thoroughly off you and Zoro, you turn to him.

“Are you okay?” You ask in a soft voice, concerned and perhaps wanting to know more about why he’d done what he had.

Finally turning to look at you, you watch as Zoro swallows thickly. “Fine,” he says gruffly and you flinch, frowning. Seeing your reaction, Zoro sighs. “Just didn’t like the way he touched you…”

He says it with a grumble, and if you hadn’t been right next to him, you wouldn’t have heard it.

Lips parting, you blink; “oh.”

“No guy should touch you like that.” He adds.

You turn to him but he’s already looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

You can’t help but think to yourself, however, that he’d touched you like that.

And that you liked it.

- 

“So… how long do you think the owner will make Luffy work for him?”

You glance up at your friends at your own question, curious. Instead of mirrored curiosity staring back at you, you find blank faces instead.

Frowning, you huff. “Is no one concerned?” You ask, genuinely worried. “We all ate that food… and he’s the one working for it.”

“I didn’t eat,” Zoro shrugs, “I just drank some beer.”

You glower at him.

Turning to Usopp, you hope maybe he’ll say something. Of course, he doesn’t and instead, he continues to slurp up the fancy fruity cock-tail drink he’d ordered, promptly avoiding your eye. You already know that Nami won’t be any help since she seemed rather hurt by Luffy lying about his grandpa, and while you couldn’t fault her for being hurt, you were frustrated at all of their lack of concerns.

Sighing, you push yourself to a stand, taking a step forward. Zoro catches you by the wrist before you make it two full steps.

“Where are you going?”

You glance down at him. “To find Luffy,” you gesture forward, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. Which it should’ve. “I don’t feel like drinking or…” You let your eyes drag across the bustling crowd of the bar. “...dancing. Maybe I can talk the owner into going easy on him.”

You go to do that, except, Zoro still doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“We should probably stick together,” Zoro says, never taking his eyes off of you. “In case the Marines come.”

You shake your head, pulling at his grip. He lets go easy, but the frown on his face makes it clear he’s annoyed by your persistence. “I’ll be fine,” you brush off his concern. “The worst thing I’ll be doing is washing some dishes, I reckon.”

Zoro looks like he wants to argue, but it’s clear he isn’t sure how.

You just sigh; “stay and relax. I’ll be fine.”

And then you turn before he can say anything else.

Shifting your way past the crowd of the bar, you make your way back down the steps that lead out into the outdoor bar. It isn’t hard to get back into the restaurant, but you’re careful not to catch the attention of any of the chefs or staff. Instead, you carefully slink your way towards the employee section.

At the sight of a chef with blue hair coming towards you, you’re quick to duck behind a wall. You hesitate, hovering, trying to listen for his footsteps to grow distant. Except, your ears pick up on something else.

Luffy.

Turning in the direction of the noise, your gaze falls on the hallway in front of you, seeing a door at the far end. With one more glance behind you to make sure no one was there, you make your way down the hall, eyes brightening when you see the word ‘KITCHEN’ labelled at the top of the door. A glance through the small circular windows only confirms your suspicions, lips curling into a smile at the sight of Luffy.

You also make note of the waiter from before standing in front of him and… it looked like the two were talking to a man you didn’t recognize. Sanji is ushering the man out the back entrance of the kitchen, and you use that as your chance to sneak in.

Pushing open the door, you pop your head in.

“Luffy?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening at the sight of you.

“Y/N!”

You wince when he all but yells your name, confident you were definitely not supposed to be back here. With one last glance back, you slip inside, letting the doors swing shut behind you as you make your way over to your captain.

“What’re you doing here?” He grins, confused. “I thought you and the rest went up to the bar.”

“We did… but I left.” You explain, frowning slightly. Setting your hand on his arm, you glance up at him. “It was a little awkward, Luffy. Nami’s pretty upset about the grandpa thing.”

Luffy’s face wavers at that, the same way you noticed it had during dinner when Nami had brought it back up then. Frowning at the sight, you squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“But mainly I came because I was worried,” you smile. “I didn’t know how hard that owner guy was working you.”

Luffy instantly eases at that, and his lips curve into a genuine smile.

“I’m okay. He just has me doing dishes,” he juts his thumb behind him, and you eye the stack of dishes with a grimace. “Though, I think I found—”

“Y/N?”

Startled at the new voice, you glance over Luffy’s shoulder to see the waiter back from wherever he’d escorted that man you’d seen before. He seems baffled at the sight of you, while you freeze at the sight of him, worried he’ll be mad you snuck in.

“Hello, S-Sanji,” you greet, offering a small wave. “I know I’m not supposed to be here but I was worried about Luffy—”

“I’m not mad you’re here, love,” Sanji grins easily, making his way over to you and Luffy with a shake of his head. “I just hoped you were having fun upstairs in the bar.”

Still not used to his charm, you flush. “Oh, well…” Eye trailing, you turn to Luffy. “I was actually going to ask Luffy if he needed help with—”

“Absolutely not,” Sanji cuts you off for the third time, leaving your lips parted in bafflement. He’s crossing the distance in the kitchen over to you two in two seconds, and before you can even realize it, his hands are on your shoulders, gently turning you towards the door to the kitchen. The one you’d just come from. “A lady like yourself should not be getting her hands dirty at all.”

“B-But…” Words trailing in your bafflement, you glance back at Luffy who grins back at you, unbothered.

“The chore boy will be fine.”

“I should really…” You reach weakly towards Luffy who just raises his hand in an eager wave, completely unbothered by Sanji who is all but shoving you out of the kitchen.

Before you realize, the two of you are back out in the restaurant and Sanji, still with his hands on your shoulders, is easily maneuvering you up the stairs and out of the restaurant completely. In fact, he doesn’t stop until he’s outside the restaurant, far away from anyone.

When he lets go of you, you turn to him, nonplussed.

He grins down at you, sincere and wide.

“Do you always drag girls you just meet to secluded areas to get them alone?”

He seems momentarily stunned by your words, as if not even realizing where he’d lead you, before his face eases and he leans back against the wall of the restaurant. You watch as he reaches into the pocket of his dress pants, pulling out a pack of smokes. “Not usually, but I thought this was the perfect opportunity to get to know each other. Like I’d offered before.” He sends you a wink that has your cheeks warming, eye watching as he places a cigarette between his teeth, lighting it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you curl a brow at him, ignoring your flush. “Very… forward of you.”

He just grins, taking a puff of his smoke. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

“Only because Luffy didn’t seem bothered by you leading me away like that,” you shrug, moving to lean against the wall next to him. “Anyone Luffy trusts, I do too.”

Sanji raises a brow. “You sure have faith in him.”

“He saved my life,” you explain, thinking back to that moment he’d offered you to join his crew. Even before that, in that pub… you had no idea then how much Luffy and the rest would change your mind. “They all have.”

Sanji’s smile turns more soft at that, and he turns his gaze up to the sky. “That’s sweet.” You turn to look at him, and sure enough, a moment later, he’s adding with a smirk; “just like you.”

You scoff. “It seems you can’t control yourself.”

“Not when I’m around you,” he laughs, taking another puff of his smoke.

“Sure,” you drawl, snorting.

A second of silence passes, before Sanji speaks up again. “So, what’s going on between you and that moss head?”

Almost instantly, the light flush you’d had before burns into something more intense, as you jump, facing Sanji as you wildly shake your hands in front of you. “No-Nothing!” You squeak, unable to control the pitch of your voice.

Sanji eyes you for a moment, then, he chuckles; “sure.” He drawls, matching your previous tone.

“Seriously,” you argue, trying to calm your voice to sound more sure. “There’s nothing going on between me and Zoro.”

“Beautiful, anyone who gets jealous like that over a little flirting doesn’t think there’s nothing going on.” Sanji shakes his head, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Or, he hasn’t man-upped enough to tell you the truth.”

You’re positive you’re on fire with how hot you are in embarrassment.

“Zoro does not like me.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “but do you like him?”

Lips left parted, you blink up at Sanji.

“I-I… It’s none of your business.”

Humming, Sanji takes another puff. “Seems like you want to get it off your chest, love.”

You pout. “You’re annoying.”

He leans towards you, smirking; “I’m right, beautiful.” 

Shoulders falling, you kick your leg out at a random pebble. “Fine,” you huff, glancing at your feet. “Maybe I like him… a little bit!”

You don’t see the way Sanji’s face softens down at you, and you almost think something’s wrong when he doesn’t say anything. But when you glance back up at him, he’s turned his gaze back up. “Shame,” he sighs, almost soulful. “You truly are enchanting.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip. “Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he pushes, looking unbothered by your embarrassment. “You deserve far more than that moss head.”

“You don’t even know Zoro.”

He shrugs. “I can tell.”

“I—”

Whatever you’d been about to say falls silent on the tip of your tongue when you see a familiar Straw Hat run by in front of you. Stepping back Sanji, you glance past his shoulder, you watch as Luffy and Usopp run towards the Going Merry.

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear Luffy yell distantly.

“I thought she was with you!” Usopp calls back.

You frown.

“Something wrong?” Sanji asks, hand falling on your shoulder and your gaze turns up, realizing he’d seen the same thing.

“I don’t know…” You breathe, concerned. Stepping back from Sanji, you turn to him apologetically, lips parting to explain.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he brushes your apology off. “You should go make sure everything’s okay.”

Face easing at his words, you smile; “thank you, Sanji.”

Cigarette in his lips, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. You send him a genuine smile and a wave, before turning around to run off in the direction Usopp and Luffy had gone.

You’re quick to pick up the pace in your step, reaching the Going Merry in now time. You can hear the distinct voice of Nami and heart racing at how upset she sounds, you’re making your way down the stairs and towards them in seconds flat.

“But you are not better than him!”

Coming to a stop right at the bottom of the stairs, everyone’s eyes fall on you.

Nami instantly turns on you; “there you are!” Reaching you, she tugs you forward, and as she does, you see Usopp glance at you helplessly and Luffy softly smiling which gives you very mixed signals. 

Finally, you turn to Zoro, who is… getting his swords ready?

“What’s going on?” You ask, helpless.

Nami huffs next to you. “Will you talk some sense to him?”

Lips parting, you shake your head at Nami. “Sure… but for what?”

“He’s challenged Dracule Mihawk, one of the Seven Warlords, to a duel.”

It’s like you can hear your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach. Nami, who is too busy turning back to Zoro in frustration, doesn’t notice the way your eye shifts, something distant flooding in. Usopp and Luffy don’t see it either.

But Zoro, who’d chanced a glance up at you, nervous for your reaction, sees it. His face falls briefly, everything else fading as he watches you closely.

“Y/N,” Nami presses, voice pitching in distress. “Tell him how reckless he's being.”

Still stunned, your mind a reckless bout of realization and terror, your gaze finally shifts towards Zoro. He quickly turns away and the sight makes dread flood you. “Z-Zoro,” you breathe, feeling as if your voice sounds like an outside extension of yourself.

Distantly, you realize that you’re not helping Nami and most of all, acting suspiciously. Swallowing thickly, you lean forward on the table. “You cannot fight… h-him… fight Mihawk.”

“Yeah,” Nami nods. She looks relieved you agree with her and you figure, even in the midst of your racing mind, the boys hadn’t been much help. With a frown and a huff, she throws her hand in Zoro’s direction; “he wants to go through with it! Even though it’ll get him killed.”

Zoro turns to her, still avoiding your gaze, and asks bluntly; “why do you give a shit?”

Nami visibly blanches, head jerking back in hurt. Her lips part, twisting to say something, and then, blinking back the betrayal in her eyes, she breathes out; “because you’re my friend, you idiot.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t have any friends.”

You see it in her eyes. His words are harsh and even though you’re still reeling from the realization of what was happening and clearly having walked into the middle of something, you see as the walls she’d slowly let fall around you all come back up. Brick by brick.

She glances around the room, meeting your eye last and then, she leaves without another word.

All of you, except for Zoro, watch her leave.

No one says anything, and then, Usopp is following Nami out, meeting your eye with a nervous panic before slipping out. Luffy follows him a second later, patting your shoulder.

You stay standing there, as if glued to the spot. You can’t bring it in you to chase after Nami even if you were concerned, but you also can’t find the words to say something to Zoro. You want to tell him off for being cruel to Nami like that, you want to tell him he was being an idiot that was going to get himself killed and you want to tell him…—

It takes Zoro a minute to speak up. “Not going to try and convince me like Nami?”

Swallowing thickly, the lump in your throat remains despite. With your hands hanging helplessly at your sides, you try to blink back the tears that well in your eyes. It was all too much at once. Your heart was aching with this anchor that had been thrown at you and it was too much to bear.

Still, deep in your heart, you know; “it wouldn’t stop you,” you whisper, voice cracking at the end.

You could beg and plead, get on your hands and knees, and you know nothing could stop Zoro from doing this. The only thing that might… you weren’t sure if you were ready to admit.

Zoro pauses, hands hovering. Then, he agrees; “probably not.”

Your breath hitches. “You could die.”

He turns to look at you. You don’t meet his eyes. 

“He’s my goal.”

Fists clenching, you shake your head. “Zoro, please listen,” you cry, “you cannot fight Mihawk. He’s… He’s…”

But you can’t form the words.

“He’s what?” Zoro pushes, leaning towards you. “Say it, Y/N. I saw your face when Nami told you. Mihawk is what?”

You flinch, stepping back. You can’t look at him even as the guilt and panic tears you apart inside. You couldn’t.

Your mind races for something, something else, and then you remember your conversation with Sanji before. You remember your feelings. “W-What about me?”

“What about you?” Zoro’s tone is even, careful, but his blunt question hurts all the same.

Finally, you look up at him. His eyes are already on you, face flat and expressionless. 

You come to terms then it’s pointless. Zoro wasn’t going to cancel the duel and nothing you were willing to say would change his mind. Anything more, and you’d just get yourself hurt. You think once again, in that moment, back to your conversation with Sanji. 

You’d known of your feelings all along, just hadn’t been able to realize it. But you’d finally let yourself admit how you felt about Zoro. Finally let the truth out and the relief you’d felt in that moment, to a man you’d only met that day no less, had been imminent.

You’d gotten ahead of yourself then. Forgot that you were the only one who believed in Luffy’s wish to be a crew. Forgot that all the people you’d met had their own goals and you were someone just drifting alongside with them until it came time for them to leave.

You forgot that your life wasn’t just being a part of Luffy's crew.

You forgot that even if Zoro felt anything of what you felt for him, you were still just some girl he’d rescued from a pirate and nothing more than that. Zoro had his own goals and dreams, and you weren’t part of them.

What about you?

Answer made clear, you turn and walk without another word.

Zoro doesn’t see the way tears fall from your face the second you’re out of sight and you don’t see the way his leg kicks out in frustration at himself for being so stupid. 

-

It was clear Mihawk didn’t know who you were, despite being your father.

You couldn’t blame him, though. He’d never met you. He didn’t even know that the random woman he met that one day eighteen years ago and spent the night with, had ever gotten pregnant. It wasn’t like Dracule Mihawk to stick around places for long, after all.

And the only reason you even knew he was your father was because your mother had told you the day she died. In her deathbed, with your hand clutching hers, she’d whispered his name and told you if you ever needed help, to go to him.

Something told you he wouldn’t be helping you here.

You watch him best Zoro in every single one of his attacks. He dodges his attacks without even having to lift a finger. It’s a fight unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and the reality of watching Zoro unable to land any attacks is cruel and unforgiving.

Everything about this is cruel.

With your heart racing and your palms sweaty, you visibly flinch when Mihawk stabs Zoro with the tiny sword he told Zoro was the best match for their duel. It hits him directly in the chest, and you watch the flicker of pain in Zoro’s eyes as he stares his goal down.

And as you listen to Zoro refuse to give up, you can feel your heart tear into two.

Mihawk brings out Yoru. You watch as he unsheathes it from his back, heart plummeting. And you watch as Zoro places the Wado Ichimonji in his mouth, bringing the two black-handle katanas into either of his hands. This is it, you realize. This is the final attack.

After watching Zoro be unable to land one hit, you know this final one won’t be different.

There’s a moment of stilled silence, no one moves. And then, Zoro is running forward and Mihawk watches his pace. They clash, the sound of metal hitting metal reverberates in your mind, rattling your insides.

Zoro slides on his knees across the deck in front of Baratie, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He’s breathless, silent, and you feel your friends around you as you all watch with bated breath.

The two black-handle swords shatter into pieces.

The sob that wretches from your throat is beyond your control. It rips out of you, body shuddering in the reality you’re forced to face, watching as Zoro stands to his feet and turns to face Mihawk.

“You’re defeated,” Mihawk shakes his head. “Why do you persist?”

Sheathing the Wado Ichimonji, Zoro says without hesitation; “wounds on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame.” Raising his arms in defeat, he holds them to his sides, waiting for Mihawk to make his final move.

“Magnificent.”

Tears welling in your eyes, you feel a hand slip into your own.

Glancing down first and then following the arm, you find Nami’s similarly tearful eyes staring back at you, squeezing your hand. You don’t know if it’s to comfort you or herself, but you appreciate it nonetheless. You turn to your other friends, seeing that Nami is holding Usopp’s hand too and he’s looking at you with concern. The final person you turn to is Luffy.

He meets your eye, and your whole body trembles.

You turn your head back in Zoro’s direction, and the second Mihawk’s arm swings to attack Zoro, you turn away again.

Your head tucks into Nami who startles at your movement, but her hand slips from your own to wrap her arm around you. You can’t see, but you hear the slice of skin and the sound of Zoro’s body hit the ground a minute later. You feel Nami’s body jerk in response.

“Zoro!”

-

Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare at Zoro. You let your eye drag across his sleeping figure, every curve of his face, the dip of his nose, all the way down to his chest, where his wound is tightly bandaged.

It was thanks to Sanji and the Baratie owner, Zeff, that Zoro’s wounds had been cleaned, stitched and dressed. It was thanks to them that Zoro even had a chance of surviving.

Talk to him. That’s what Zeff had said. The only thing any of you could do for Zoro now was talk to him and hope that that was enough to pull him from the purgatory between life and death. 

You’d offered the first watch and no one had argued. Everyone was worried about Zoro in their own way, but the tears streaming down your cheeks and the visible mess you were in left no one willing to argue with you. One by one, everyone had left the room, with Luffy only glancing back at you one last time, before it was just you and Zoro.

You hadn’t moved from the spot since then.

That had been hours ago. Nami had come in at one point and asked if she could read to Zoro. you’d nodded without a word, sitting back but never leaving the room. Nami didn’t say anything and even if she had, you would’ve refused to leave. Luffy had followed her in shortly after and that had turned sour quickly when it was apparent that Nami felt Luffy held some responsibility for not telling Zoro to back out of the duel. You watched them argue, not saying a word. Then, Nami left.

“You should eat,” Luffy had said a minute after she walked out the door.

Never taking your eye off Zoro, you’d shaken your head. “I will when he wakes up.”

“Y/N, you—”

“When he wakes up.” The words had come out sharper than you intended and instantly, you’d felt guilt when you’d seen Luffy jerk at the sound. But you didn’t get up nor did you say anything else, and a minute later, Luffy left too.

That had been an hour ago. No one else had come in since.

You’d moved back to the chair next to Zoro, and let your hand slip into his and you hadn’t moved since.

Talk to him. How were you supposed to talk to him? What could you possibly say to him after everything that happened? 

Head falling, you let out a shaky sigh.

“This is all my fault,” you whisper, barely even registering you’d said the words aloud. And as you breathe the words into existion, you realize that that was the only thing you could say. 

Raising your head, you glance at Zoro’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, squeezing his hand. “I should’ve… I should’ve told you the truth.”

Your chest feels tight, your body heavy. You know what you want to say, but you don’t know if you have the courage to speak the words. Mihawk was your father, it was true, but he meant nothing to you. That isn’t what made it hard to say. Not even seeing him in person for the first time today could make the feeling of indifference toward him fade. Mihawk didn’t even know who you were and he never would.

Today would’ve been your chance to tell him and it hadn’t even crossed your mind.

What you found hard to admit was that you’d been too scared to tell Zoro the truth and that cowardness is what got him hurt. If you had just been honest with him, maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened. Zoro wouldn’t have gotten hurt and nobody on the crew would be upset.

Why couldn’t you have just been honest?

“I was scared,” you tell Zoro. “Scared because there’s so much about my life I don’t know and the only thing I do know is so unimportant.” Breathing in sharply, you force the words out. “So what if Mihawk is my father? It hadn’t mattered before. But it mattered last night and I should’ve told you… If I told you, you wouldn’t be hurt and the crew wouldn’t have to be worried about you not waking up.”

Pressing your free hand to your forehead, you shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Zoro,” you sob, feeling your eyes water as curl into yourself. “I’m so sorry because you’re hurt and because I think I may love you… and my life is so utterly unimportant that you deserve better than someone like me… Someone who will just ruin your life.”

Your hand leaves his, pressing against your lips as you let yourself cry. You let yourself cry out the anguish in your chest that weighs you down and hurts. You cry and cry, stifling your sobs behind your hand, letting it all out.

Until, eventually, you fall asleep from the exhaustion.

The exhaustion of not sleeping the night before, of being tense and terrified for Zoro, for the guilt that feels like it might eat you alive.

You stay like that for a while, until soft hands gently shake you awake.

“Come on, love. Wake up.”

Letting out a soft groan, your eyes flutter at the voice, hands moving instinctively to rub at your eyes. It takes you a second to wake yourself up, confused as you slowly straighten out. You first see Zoro before your head turns, and your eye falls on Sanji who’s standing behind you.

“Sanji?”

“You need to eat,” Sanji says, ushering you. “Come on.”

You turn back to Zoro, licking your dry lips. “I shouldn’t leave him.”

Your eyes are puffy and your eyelids ache. The last thing you remember is crying, and it occurs to you you’d fallen asleep in the midst of your break down. 

“Luffy can watch him,” Sanji offers, gesturing behind him.

Turning towards the door, Luffy smiles at you warmly.

“I’ll watch Zoro for you, Y/N. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Dazed and still a little sleepy, you let Sanji pull you to your feet, not fighting his grip as he guides you towards the door. You glance back at Zoro one last time, feeling that crushing guilt stab at you, just as Luffy squeezes your shoulder.

“He’ll wake up, Y/N,” Luffy grins at you. “I promise.”

You nod at him, finding his words reassuring and comforting despite the doubt festering inside you.

“I’ll whip you up something tasty, Y/N.” Sanji smiles softly down at you, “okay?”

He’s incredibly gentle the entire time. You relish in it.

-

“Can I have a moment alone with him?”

Meeting Nami’s eyes, you nod, moving to stand. She sends you a smile, though it seems off, as you walk past her.

Letting the door fall shut behind you, you make your way into the kitchen. You bite your lip, trying to ignore the nerves rattling your body. After Nami had come running into the kitchen where you and Sanji were, you eating after he’d made you a meal like he promised, it was instantly clear something was wrong. She had been going on about some pirate named Arlong, calling for Luffy in between explaining to you. Most importantly, she looked terrified.

Turns out Arlong was attacking Baratie looking for Luffy and the Grand Line map.

Nami’s attempt at getting Luffy to take the Going Merry and run had been fruitless and he, Sanji and Usopp had gone to confront Arlong. Luffy had told Nami to stay behind to protect the map, before turning to you and telling you to watch over Zoro for him. When you’d tried to argue and say you could help, he’d just shaken his head and said you were still healing from your last fight and Zoro was more important.

So, for the last twenty or so minutes, you and Nami were in the Going Merry. She’d disappeared elsewhere on the ship the second the three left, so you assigned yourself back next to Zoro, opting to read to him like Nami had before in the hopes that maybe that’d get him to wake up. 

You had, at least, until Nami had popped her head into the room.

You hoped everything was going well. Honestly, you did want to go out and check on them, but you knew Luffy was right. Even if he hadn’t said it in that way, it was clear he didn’t want you coming because you didn’t know how to fight. You’d be more of a hindrance than any help and that reality left a sour taste in your mouth.

Hearing footsteps approach, you turn, face easing when you see Nami coming out of the room.

“Everything okay?” You ask, despite knowing in fact nothing was okay.

She nods, stepping out of the room and you smile at her as you walk past her, squeezing her shoulder in an attempt to comfort both her and yourself. You think nothing of the look on her face, chalking it up to everything that had and is happening just making her a little off.

At least, until you hear the door slam shut behind you.

Stilling right next to Zoro, your head snaps towards the door. You hesitate for a moment, baffled, before your feet instinctively carry you towards it, hand falling on the knob. Maybe she’d shut it by accident? Or maybe she wanted to give you privacy as you had for her?

Except, the door won’t open when you turn it.

“N-Nami?”

You know she’s by the door. You can see her shadow through the small opening at the bottom. You can hear her heavy breathing.

“Nami,” you call again, voice louder. “Why is the door locked?”

There’s a moment that passes before she answers.

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t let you out.”

“What?” You breathe, bewildered. There’s something awful twisting in your chest. You try the door again, it doesn’t open. “Nami, what the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I always planned to do.”

Her voice is muffled through the door, but the low tone scares you all the same.

Using your left hand, you slam it against the door. “Let me out, Nami. Now.”

“You’ll be safe in there.”

You hear her take a step toward and your heart lurches, yanking on the door as you start to pound against it more aggressively. “Nami?”

“I’m sorry.”

You see her shadow disappear and soon, her footsteps are gone too. You stand there, stunned, before you start to yank on the door again. You pull at it, trying to twist it. But it’s clearly jammed shut.

Nami had made sure you weren’t going to be able to get out.

Minutes pass of you banging on the door, with no luck, until eventually you tire yourself out. 

Head hanging in your hands, you try to ignore the shake of your body as you sit there, forced to wait.

At the first sound of footsteps, you jump to your feet.

“Hey!” You call, banging on the door. “Luffy? Usopp?”

“Y/N?”

It’s Usopp.

Yanking on the door, you call out to him; “let me out!”

It takes him no more than a few seconds to open the door, yanking it open as you meet his eyes with relief.

“Usopp,” you breathe, “you have to listen to me. It’s Nami. She—”

You move to ramble out what had happened, but fall silent the second you see the look on Usopp’s face.

“Usopp?” You question, voice quiet. “Why are you…?”

Just then Sanji comes stumbling down the stairs of the kitchen, with Luffy in his arms, the latter looking beat up and hurt. Both of them are sopping wet.

Your eyes widen.

“Nami, she…” Usopp speaks up, looking nervous. “She betrayed us.”

-

“Y/N, seriously!”

Shaking your head, you stumble behind Usopp. “Seriously what, Usopp?”

You’re mildly annoyed, but you figure he has a good reason—whatever that reason is. He hasn’t elected to tell you yet. 

You’d been getting some sleep after Luffy had practically forced you to, letting you sleep in his and the rest of the guys’ cabin since Zoro was currently occupying yours and… Nami’s. After everything that has happened, it was clear you all needed some time to digest and recoup. Even though you’d been reluctant to leave Zoro’s side, you also knew you needed some sleep or you were going to make yourself sick.

And a twenty minute sob-induced cat nap hunched over a bed didn’t count.

Only, your sleep had been cut short but Usopp all but ran into your room, yelling your name with a wide grin on his face. You couldn’t even possibly begin to think what he could be smiling about given that everything was the worst it could be, but you didn’t get the chance to ask either before he was yanking you to your feet and dragging you with him.

“Usopp—”

Whatever you’d been about to say falls silent, however, when you realize where Usopp is leading you. Body freezing, you turn to him, him already grinning at you, letting the two of you come to a stop. You glance at him, then the room, and then realize you hear a very familiar voice speaking.

Your feet move before you can stop yourself.

All chatter stops the second you come running into the room, and sure enough, still on the bed, Zoro stares back at you, but awake.

“Y/N, look, Zoro’s—!”

You don’t let Luffy finish. You don’t even really hear him speak. You run over to the other side of the bed in seconds and practically fall onto Zoro. In your excitement, you forget about his wounds, to which Zoro groans in response to your hug. Your eyes widen, your first word to him about to be ‘sorry’, as you scramble to pull back. 

His arm falls around your waist before you can.

Stilling in his hold, and now careful to not let your weight fall on him, he holds you for a moment, the entire room distinctly quiet.

Then, his arm leaves and you pull back, staring down at him.

“Hey,” you breathe, unable to stop the curl of your lips. Despite everything, that short greeting is what feels right.

It’s all you can manage.

His lips curve into a soft smile; “hey.”

-

Raising your hand, you softly knock on the door.

Zoro’s head snaps towards you, easing when he realizes it’s you.

You step into the room with a gentle smile, and nod at him; “let me.” You offer, gesturing loosely to the bandages surrounding him. “I got pretty good at it after…” You let your voice trail, and Zoro huffs.

“I’d bet. You never let anyone help you.”

Sitting next to him, you shrug. “I could do it on my own.” Laughing quietly, you pick up the bandages that are wildly thrown about the bed. “Unlike you.”

Zoro scoffs but he doesn’t stop you as you start to unwrap the bandages he’d loosely wrapped around himself, redoing it.

Silence echoes for a moment, before Zoro speaks up.

“I can’t believe the waiter is joining us.”

Huffing a laugh, you roll your eye. “Sanji is nice,” you defend. “And a good fighter I hear from Luffy.”

Zoro frowns. “He’s a waiter.”

You just shake your head, snorting to yourself.

Then, you hesitate, hands hovering. You can't help but ask, since it’s been weighing on you since she’d left. “You think Nami meant it all? That she never actually cared about us?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe.”

Biting your lip, you frown. You don’t want that to be the truth.

“Y/N.”

His voice is serious as he calls for you, and it makes you freeze.

“I heard you.”

Your muscles tense, and you refuse to let your gaze wander from your hands, fiddling with your fingers.

Zoro doesn’t let you. In the next second, his hand is falling over your own, pulling them away from what you’d been doing. Your lips part as he does, heart fluttering as he shifts his hand so his fingers threads through yours instead of just being wrapped around your wrist.

Your cheeks warm instantly.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

His voice is raspy from being asleep for so long. It sends shivers down your spine.

Still, you listen, raising your head and meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t think you could hear me,” you whisper.

“I could,” he nods. “About your father and…” His voice trails.

Swallowing thickly, you choose to focus on the first thing first. “I… Does it bother you?”

Zoro’s lips part, stunned at your forwardness and you realize your mistake.

“About… Mihawk.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “No.”

It’s not what you’re expecting. He says it so bluntly, so sure of himself.

“It… doesn’t?”

“You have your reasons,” he shrugs, still holding your hand. “And it wouldn’t have changed my mind. Defeating Mihawk is my goal, that won’t change.”

His words hurt you, but you also know that you have no right to argue otherwise.

“I’m still sorry you got hurt.”

Zoro shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” Then, when you don’t respond, he squeezes your hand. “It wasn’t.” 

His voice is sharp and leaves no room for argument.

You nod. “Thank you,” you say, “I’m… so relieved you’re okay.”

Zoro breathes in sharply, and then he lowers his hand, taking yours with him.

There’s a beat of silence, then; “I think I love you too.”

It seems that Zoro is just full of surprises at that moment.

Body turning rigid, you blink at him.

His cheeks have a light flush and he’s now the one turned away. “I… You were wrong… I don’t deserve someone better than you. I… I want you.”

“Zoro…”

He turns back to you, quickly, as if the words are both hard to speak but leaving him before he can stop himself. “But I… I don’t know how to be… I don't know how to be with you,” he explains, the words awkward and forced. You can tell he’s trying, words stumbling off the tip of his tongue. “I’ve only had one friend in my life and she’s dead. Before you guys, I had no one. I don’t know how to be someone you can depend on.”

You let his words sink in and you take in the look on his face. He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but he’s waiting for you to respond, patiently. You realize he’s leaving the decision up to you.

You think of, once again, your conversation with Sanji. You think of how you felt when Zoro had been unconscious in that bed. You think of everything that’s happened.

“I…” You start, voice soft. “I don’t know how to either,” you explain, shoulders dropping with the weight of your confession. “I’ve been alone for so long too, Zoro. And at first I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t understand my feelings so I was just going to ignore them. But then… seeing you fight like that and get hurt… waiting for you to wake up… I know that it can happen again. To either of us. I know that neither of us will ever be completely safe. I know you will never give up on your goal.”

Zoro frowns, and there’s a flicker of disappointment in his gaze.

It’s you who squeezes his hand this time, pulling his attention back on you.

“But I don’t want to do any of that without you,” you finish. “I… want to do this all with you. I want to save Nami with you. I want to explore the Grand Line with you. I want to help you complete your goal. Not just as your friend but more.”

The second you finish, breathless, Zoro is pulling you towards him. His actions speak louder than words and it seems his instincts allow him to act without any fluster of embarrassment. It pulls a gasp from your lips but you don’t stop him, hands falling on his shoulders as you lean into his touch. You’re careful of his wounds as he tugs you into his lap, his hands settling on your hips as his forehead falls against yours, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he inhales sharply, before shuddering a breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You smile at his response, thinking it’s so very Zoro, and nod. “Please.”

His lips are on yours instantly, pulling you close to him as you cup his cheeks, letting your hands thread through his hair. Your stomach flutters at the kiss, feeling your insides turn to jelly at the sensation. His hands on your skin feel like fire in the best way possible, molding your lips against his as he tugs you closer and closer even when there’s nowhere else for you to go.

You let your nails drag across his scalp, his lips warm and soft against your own.

And then, just as your lips part to allow his tongue to slip inside, a voice calls out;

“Zoro!”

You both pull back, startled. Zoro groans softly as he twists his body wrong, agitating his wound while your head snaps round to see Luffy.

He pauses, hovering at the door, at the sight of you two, you on Zoro’s lap with the both of you looking thoroughly flushed. 

Luffy looks confused.

“Luffy,” Zoro huffs, pressing his hand to his forehead, one still gripping your hip, as you laugh quietly to yourself. “Leave.”

Oblivious as always, Luffy just nods; “sure thing, Zoro.”

You’re positive you’ll be getting an earful from Usopp later.

His footsteps fade and you turn back to Zoro, giggling.

“He never knocks,” Zoro groans, pulling at his hair.

You pull his hand away, moving instead to hold it. Zoro flushes at the action.

“That’s okay,” you shrug. “I imagine it’ll be like that a lot.”

Zoro only groans further at the thought, but he knows you’re right.

You move to stand, slipping off his lap and panicking when you realize you didn’t finish bandaging him properly. Zoro laughs as you fuss over him, moving when you tell him to and watching you with amused eyes.

Just as you sit down next to him, though, he whispers out;

“Together, then.”

You blink at his words, cheeks still a light flush, before you remember your earlier words. 

You smile; “together.”

-

End of Chapter Note: I know that I’ve made the reader Mihawk’s daughter who is canonically light-skinned. I have left the readers mother open to try and be as ambiguous and inclusive as possible. Apologies to anyone that finds this detail stops them from being able to “insert” themselves into the story.

[darktrashsoulbear]

The Abyss Of Affection

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)

This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess

House of the Dragon Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings: Allusions to smut

Word Count: 2308

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went. 

The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.

Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.

Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.

She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.

“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.

The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.

Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”

“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.

An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps… 

She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.

She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.

Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.

“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.

Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.

Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.

Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.

“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.

“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial. 

Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.

Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it. 

After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.

The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.

Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.

This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.

As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.

After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.

Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.

If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.

As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.

As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.

[h0neylevi]

Chapter Three

After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

word count: 4.3k

You spend most of the next morning catching up on chores.

It’s a little different with Levi around, but his presence isn’t disruptive.

Mostly, he’s quiet. When you load the dishwasher or swap clothes from the washer into the dryer, he tends to observe from afar. It’s a bit like how Luna watches you from her designated lounging spot in the sun. Passive, but curious. A little too proud to voice any interest but watching nonetheless.

Sometimes he stares for too long, and you humor his unspoken curiosity by explaining what you’re doing or how something works. He always listens. You can tell behind that bored expression that he’s an attentive listener, particularly when you show him the kettle.

You learn rather quickly (and unnervingly) how often he likes to drink tea.

“This is just a quicker way to heat water,” you tell him as you carry the device to the sink. “All you have to do is set it back on its base and turn it on.”

You supplement your words with the coinciding actions. A light on the handle glows a bright blue when you press the switch down, indicating power, and Levi studies it.

“Once the water reaches a boil, it will shut off on its own,” you continue. “So there’s no serious risk of you doing it wrong and setting anything on fire.”

Levi’s eyes skip between you and the kettle with rapt attention. A small blue ceramic mug waits on the counter near his elbow, along with the box of tea that you’d purchased for him the day before.

With nothing else to do while you both wait, you busy yourself by wiping down the kitchen countertops. You can feel Levi’s watchful eyes on you, which feels a bit odd, but he just crosses his arms, unmoving from his position leaned against the opposite counter. You get halfway through before he speaks up.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You pause and look over your shoulder. “How the hell am I doing it wrong?”

With a stern frown, Levi marches over and pulls the damp wipe out of your hand. He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that he’s taking the task seriously by the look of concentration on his face as he begins to go back over the counters in tight, circular movements.

Slowly, he goes over the entire kitchen and the residual liquid that’s left over dries and disappears, leaving it just as spotless as it was before.

You look over the counters, then back to Levi.

“Did your journey to the future also give you some sort of vision that allows you to see stuff I can’t?” you ask in a flat tone. “Because that looks exactly the same.”

Levi rolls his eyes before abandoning the wipe on the counter and returning to his original spot. ”You’re the one who decided we needed to clean this morning.”

“I needed to clean,” you quickly correct, pointing to your chest. “I didn’t ask you to help.”

“Learn to do it right and I won’t have to.”

You resist the urge to reply and choose instead to sit in a chair at the small dining table, surveying the kitchen for any unfinished work. Thankfully though, most everything has already been done.

The satisfaction of completed chores tempers your ire a little and you glance at your phone. In large boldface type, the time takes up most of the top half of your screen, and underneath it sits a text message notification from Allie. You must not have heard it go off earlier.

[Allie]: Hey! I’m doing the final count for seats next weekend. You’re coming right?

Oh, shit. Allie’s engagement party. With everything going on the last few days, you’d forgotten it was coming up.

A renewed feeling of dread curls up in your stomach at the idea, followed immediately by guilt. You should be happy for her—and you are—but this party has felt like a dark cloud hanging over your head ever since she first told you about it.

Realistically, there’s no way out of attending. As a bridesmaid, you’re more or less required to show up. The only problem is so are the groomsmen.

You sigh to yourself and chew thoughtfully at your lower lip, trying to come up with a decent response. If you were being honest, you’d tell her that you’d rather streak naked down main street during rush hour traffic, but you get the sense that she already knows by the second message that quickly appears on your screen.

[Allie]: I’m having the seats assigned, so don’t worry about it.

You huff another sigh and drop your phone back down onto the table.

“Something wrong?”

You nearly jump at the sound of Levi’s voice, forgetting for a moment that he was there. When you look up, he’s seated across from you with a now-steaming cup of tea held precariously by the rim.

You stare at him for a moment, unsure if the uneasiness you feel now is from the text or the way he’s holding his cup, and shake your head. “I’m fine.”

God, what are you even going to wear to this thing? You don’t have a single article of clothing that even feels remotely suitable for an engagement party. What do people even wear to those kinds of events? Something reasonably formal, you’d assume. So, a dress. When’s the last time you even wore a dress?

Unfazed by your silent dilemma, Levi lifts his mug to his lips. To your horror, he does so exactly as you expect him to: with the rim of the cup carefully secured by the tips of his fingers, ignoring the handle.

It’s so.. natural, the way that he does it. Just like the way he cleaned your countertop and carefully folds his blanket every morning to remove any creases…

“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly, your pitch a little high as you try to force several trains of thought away at once. “It’s a little late for breakfast, but I could make us something.”

Levi meets your gaze with a dubious lift of his brows. “If your cooking is anything like your cleaning, I’m not sure I want to.”

You stare at him for a moment, beginning to wonder if he’s always so crabby in the mornings, when you notice the smallest hint of something much lighter in his expression.

For some reason, you feel the urge to smile. “Oh, you’re joking,” you realize. “Didn’t think you had that in you.” You get to your feet. “I’ll make eggs. How do you want yours?”

He turns his gaze towards the window when he says, “I don’t care.”

With free reign over the food, you get to work. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. You’re used to the silence and Levi seems comfortable with it. You keep expecting him to eventually wander into the living room when it becomes obvious you’re preoccupied, but he doesn’t. He just sips his tea and occasionally looks out of the window.

He must not mind your company then either, if he’s willing to share the space.

Pretty soon, the smell of cooked onions and toasted bread fills your apartment. The sound of the sizzling pan entices Luna from her hiding place, and you spend a few minutes filling her food bowl before dividing out two plates of food with fluffy scrambled eggs, toast, and some sliced fruit.

You carry them over, placing one in front of Levi before sitting down.

“We should go out today,” you tell him.

Levi looks up. “And do what?”

You glance out of the window. Outside, the sun has reached its peak, bathing the city in a golden glow. With all of your errands done, you can spend the rest of your days off doing whatever you’d like. But you have some more practical ideas for today at least.

“We could get you some clothes,” you suggest, turning to look him over. He’s dressed today in the white button down and trousers you found him in. While they’re freshly laundered, there are still signs of wear. Frayed edges around the cuffs and a small split in the shoulder seam.

Plus, if anything is going to trigger any lost memories he might have, it would be interacting with the outside world.

He must think you have a good point, because he doesn’t immediately respond with something sarcastic.

Instead, he gives you a flat look and says, “I don’t have any money.”

You nod. “I know.”

“So, no.”

You frown. “Oh, come on. You can’t just wear the same outfit every day.”

The frown on his face that appeared the moment you suggested it doesn’t budge, but a thoughtful little crease forms between his brows that wasn’t there before. You have a point and he knows it.

“I’m not suggesting an entire wardrobe. Just a few things,” you say, using his uncertainty to your advantage. When he doesn’t respond, you add, “I said I’d help you.”

He pokes a bit passively at his food with a fork. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You don’t actually. Not that he needs to know how clear your schedule is outside of work. But even if you did have a thriving social life, you can still recognize that he’s clearly in an unfamiliar situation. Time travel or not, it would be beneficial to him to have your help.

You take a deep breath. “Let's say hypothetically that you did travel through time,” you tell him, pausing to take a bite of a strawberry. “Do you really want to try to figure out how the world works now on your own?”

After a moment of deliberation, he shrugs. “I’m sure I could figure it out.”

You frown. Clearly this wasn’t going to be so easy. What happened to ‘there are worse things in the world’?

“If you don’t want my help, just say so,” you say.

“I just don’t understand what you stand to gain from it,” he counters.

Ah. There it is: distrust has reared its ugly head once more.

Your shoulders drop as you stab into your eggs next. “The honor of experiencing your sparkling personality, clearly,” you grumble.

Levi raises his brows. “Oh, you’re being funny now?”

“There’s no reason I can’t be both altruistic and funny.”

“Don’t forget annoying.”

“It’s better than being Mr-Mysterious-Cool-Guy who doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Fine.” He scowls and you blink, surprised by how quickly he changed his mind. Like it pains him, he clarifies quickly, “But just a few things.”

***

Once you’ve both finished your food, you head out together.

Predictably, the main retail street is packed with people—businessmen in expensive suits, tourists walking with their phones out, locals with their heads down to keep from looking like easy targets for street hustlers.

You lead the way through the crowds until you make it to the stretch of clothing stores that line both sides of the street. Large signs illuminate the facades of buildings; advertisements flash and shift along their quick electronic script.

Levi takes it all in slowly.

You think you’re getting better at decoding his microexpressions. The subtle downward turn of his lips and his widened eyes look a bit like wonder.

A cheerful young woman greets you as you walk inside one of the more reasonably priced shops. She waves from her spot where she seems to be folding and arranging sweaters on a small display table, and you veer left around her toward the men’s section.

It strikes you that you’ve never really shopped for another person before, and you slow your pace.

“Well.” You stretch out your arms as if to gesture to the racks and shelves of clothing before you. “I guess just look around and see what you like.”

It certainly doesn’t look as if Levi is keen on the idea. His mouth forms a thin line as he scans over the displays.

With his arms crossed, he steps toward the aisles. You let him go and look around the brightly lit showroom. It’s been almost a year since you’ve done any sort of shopping for yourself. All of the advertisements along the walls are gearing up for the fast approaching fall season, displaying smiling men and women in warm shades of orange and red.

You glance at Levi again. He’s sorting through a stack of shirts nearby with halfhearted interest, but at least he’s trying. In one hand, he holds a thick green sweater made of cable knit cotton. In the other, a cream-colored turtleneck.

“Those are nice,” you comment, joining him at the display table. You reach to test the quality of the fabric between your fingers and another thought occurs to you. “Hey, you’ll probably need to buy a coat too. It’ll be getting pretty cold soon.”

Levi grimaces. “I’ll be fine.” He moves to another rack and you follow.

A few minutes pass while he skims through a few different types of shirts. You stay quiet in an attempt to allow him to concentrate, but you also get the sense that maybe he thinks you’re being overbearing. A feeling that is all but confirmed when he speaks again.

“Do you have anything you need to buy?” he asks suddenly.

You shrug, then remember Allie’s text. “Actually, yeah.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “You should go look then.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.” He hisses, not leaving any room to misinterpret him. “I can choose my own clothes. Go.”

You leave him with a quick reminder to find you when he’s done and head to the opposite side of the store.

The dress section isn’t as amply stocked as it might be in the summer or spring, but there are still a few options available that you find while skimming through the racks: a long, ankle-length periwinkle dress embellished with floral print and a dainty lace collar, a shorter green a-line dress with drapey, off-shoulder sleeves, and a baby pink dress with a quaint little bow on the front.

You take a look around for a mirror once you’ve gathered them all in your arms. This would be easier if you had a friend here with you to get an opinion. Are any of these even appropriate for an engagement party? Is ankle-length too conservative? Off-shoulder too casual? 

The green dress is the softest material—something you could see yourself feeling comfortable in during a long dinner event—and it’s also a nice, calf skimming mid-length that doesn’t feel too casual. 

You glance towards the men’s section, but quickly give up on the idea of asking for Levi’s opinion. He’d probably just say the first thing that gets you to leave him alone the fastest.

You wish you knew how to get him to trust you a bit more. For a moment this morning, it seemed like he was actually letting his guard down a little, but he’s right back to acting as if you’re an inconvenience.

With a heavy sigh, you drape the green dress over your arm and shove the other two dresses back onto the rack. It would have to do.

By some miracle, you manage to convince Levi to leave with three shirts, two pairs of trousers, and a decent coat.

It isn’t that expensive, but Levi still follows you back out onto the street with a mumbled promise to pay you back. Knowing that he doesn’t have the means to uphold that promise, you simply nod and lead the way back to the metro.

And maybe it’s your overzealous drive to be helpful or perhaps some subconscious desire to get on Levi’s good side, but when you see him looking around at the city again, you get an idea.

“Do you want to go up?”

He looks over at you, still walking. “Up where?”

“To the top of one of those.” You point to the nearest building, its highest level disappearing into the clouds. “There’s an observation tower in one of the tallest buildings in the city. Bit of a tourist trap, but it has a really nice view of everything and it’s not far from here.”

Levi’s eyes widen just a fraction and he looks back up. “You can go up there?”

“Yeah.” Taking the initiative, you start leading the way with purpose. “It’s just two stops away. Let’s go.”

It takes less than fifteen minutes to get on the metro and walk to the observation tower. 

Levi follows beside you closely, silent but watchful as you lead the way to the desk to pay for tickets. As you’re led to the elevator with a group, he reads each placard on the wall dictating the history of the building and its construction.

“It says the view is over 400 meters above street level,” Levi comments as everyone climbs into the elevator. It’s a tight fit with everyone, and you do your best to not encroach on Levi’s personal space much. 

“Mhm,” you confirm, tensing a little as the elevator rumbles to life. The uncomfortable swoop of your stomach makes you take a slow exhale before continuing. “It’s one of the tallest buildings in the country.”

A mother standing in front of you readjusts her child’s stroller, forcing you to take a step into Levi’s personal space. Others chat excitedly amongst themselves and you try to keep yourself evenly balanced as the elevator continues to sway.

You quickly glance at the display in the corner, watching the number tick up as the elevator continues to climb. Ten, twelve… Only a hundred more to go.

“Are you okay?”

You turn to see Levi watching you closely, that thoughtful curiosity now turned onto you.

You nod, but he’s not buying it. “You look a little sick.”

You feel a little sick. Every subtle jolt of the elevator sends your stomach into a somersault, and it doesn’t help that everyone is crammed so close together. You’re sure you could count each of Levi’s eyelashes if you really wanted.

You look away, back to the digital display at the front. “I’m just… not fond of heights.”

“Then why did you suggest we go up over 400 meters?”

You shrug a little weakly. “You looked really curious about the buildings. I thought you might like it.”

Levi sighs, but he doesn’t argue further. The most you get is a mild look of annoyance and a firm hand on your back when you manage to step on his shoe as the woman in front of you moves again.

It’s a little better when you finally get to the top floor. The elevator empties and you exit slowly, letting the large families with children rush ahead. 

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” Levi says, frowning before clarifying. “Put others before yourself.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to the crowd of people or the idea of coming up here despite your fear of heights, but maybe that’s his point.

“It’s fine,” you wave him off. “I’ve been up here a few times before. I’ll just sit down away from the windows anyway. You can go ahead if you want.”

Despite your encouragement, he keeps pace with you down the short corridor until the area opens out into full floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city sprawls and spreads out, stretching to each end of the horizon as far as the eye can see.

Once it comes into full view, Levi slows until he’s stopped in the middle of the room. The expressions on his face are unmistakable this time: Surprise. Shock. Awe.

Less surprised, you walk on wobbly legs to an unoccupied bench and take a seat. Small children do a little to block the view, pressing their tiny hands to the glass and standing on their tiptoes as if that will give them a better look below.

Eventually, Levi joins them at the windows. You watch him, avoiding looking directly at the windows. It’s cute, you briefly think, how in some ways his amazement mirrors theirs. His eyes, normally a stormy and skeptical grey, are now full of curiosity. They linger over several familiar landmarks: Freedom Park in the heart of the city, the curve of the river as it disappears over the horizon towards the sea, the jagged silhouette of the distant skyline.

It’s exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

You sit and wait as Levi takes his time looking at the view. His surprise turns contemplative before gradually smoothing out into something more neutral again. When he turns and makes his way back to where you’re sitting, he stops to look at one of the large information bulletins on your right.

“There are more buildings like this one?” he asks softly.

You hum at his question, then turn to see the map he’s looking at. At various points across the country, there are buildings marked with their locations and heights. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure there are.” You study it for a moment and point between two points. “We’re here, and that one is in another city.” Then to another. “This one is in another country. It’s even taller.”

His brows furrow at the new information. “And it’s not… dangerous?”

You think for a moment, wondering where his thought process is going. “Well, no. Not really. Structurally, they’re pretty safe. It’s not like it’ll collapse on its own, and they’re designed with the weather in mind.”

Before either of you are able to speak again, your phone goes off in your hand with another bright chime.

When you bring it to eye level, you see that it’s Allie again. You had forgotten to reply earlier.

[Allie]: Let me know when you can!

“What is that thing anyway?”

You look up. “This?” you ask, twirling the device in your palm. “Uh, it’s a phone.” When that explanation doesn’t seem to work, you add, “You can use it to talk to people. Either by calling them or sending them messages.”

“Is that why it’s been making so much noise?” Levi asks. “You’re talking to someone?”

You nod. “My friend, Allie.”

He turns back to the map for a moment. “People usually look happy when talking to a friend.”

You have to stop yourself from cringing. Had you really been that obvious?

“I am,” you sigh. Thinking about it makes you anxiously twist your finger around the handle of your shopping bag. “There’s just this party she wants me to go to, and I’m not really looking forward to it.”

“So, don’t go.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it would be to him.

“I don’t really have a choice,” you explain. “It’s an engagement party.”

“Why don’t you want to go?” he questions.

You pause for a moment. “My ex is one of the groomsmen.”

Realization settles into his expression. “So, he’ll be there,” he supplies for you.

You nod.

There’s a beat of silence, and Levi turns once more to the map.

“Haven’t moved on?” 

Your eyes go wide. “No, no! I have, it’s just…” God, how do you explain it without sounding pathetic? You take a breath and try again. “I don’t want to look like a complete loser. After he broke up with me, he got this huge promotion and he has this new girlfriend and they travel all the time. We just never did stuff like that together.” You chuckle, the sound a bit bitter before continuing, “And here I am, still working long hours at the hospital and bringing homeless men back to my apartment.”

Levi watches you as he listens, but his expression remains entirely unreadable. 

You sigh again and look away. “Sorry. I know you don’t really care.”

“I never said I didn’t care,” he’s surprisingly quick to say.

“Yeah, but what’s a stupid engagement party to a thousand year old time traveler?” you chuckle, trying to shift the mood to something a bit more lighthearted. “You don’t need my sob story.”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.”

You give him a playful grin. “So, you’re not a thousand year old time traveler?”

That seems to break the tension a bit at least. Levi rolls his eyes and takes a seat next to you. For a long moment, it’s quiet save for the excited screeching of children. 

“Have you ever heard of Paradis?” Levi suddenly asks. “Or a place called Marley?”

Just that question alone is enough to send your stomach flipping again. The worst part is how genuine he sounds when he says it.

Actually, no. The real worst part is how you think you’re starting to believe he really could be Levi Ackerman. Maybe. Just a little.

You try to keep your voice casual when you look over at him. “Is that where you’re from?”

He nods. “I think you do know,” he says before you have a chance to really answer. “Because that’s the only way you would have known I’m a Scout.”

You blink. “What are you talking about?”

“The night you brought me back to your place,” he reminds you. “You recognized my uniform. And ever since I got here, you’ve looked at me like you already know who I am.”

Damn. He’s more observant than you’ve given him credit for. It’d almost be impressive if he wasn’t glaring at you with such a guarded look on his face. But you suppose that might explain why he’s been so irritable.

It’s so frighteningly familiar. So very… Levi of him.

But how are you going to look him in the eye and explain that the person he was dressed as is fictional? You get the sense that he’ll probably just think you’re crazy, and he wouldn’t be unreasonable to think so. It’s part of why you haven’t brought it up yet, but another part of you is worried how he’ll react. You think you’ve been around him enough by now to assume he won’t be angry, but this is a highly unusual situation.

Only one way to find out, you guess.

You sigh, resigning yourself to whatever happens next. “I think it’s better if I just show you.”

He stares at you for a moment, and something like vindication lightly softens the look on his face. He gestures with a sharp glance towards the exit. “Then lead the way.”

[emakataken]

Chapter 8 – Flashpoint

Idea: This is pre-canon, slow-burn AU, Buck arrives at Station 118, ruled by Captain Gerrard. Tommy/Buck/Sal.

… Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6.A - Part 6.B - Part 7

Hen was restocking an empty med bag when Buck approached the ambulance. She looked up, giving him a once-over. “You good to run?” she asked. No softness in her tone, but no ice either. Just... neutral. Like she was leaving him room.

Buck nodded. “Ready to shoot, move, and communicate.”

Hen blinked. “That supposed to mean something?”

Buck didn’t look up from the airway kit he was checking. “Yeah.” The word came out soft, tired, lonely.

She stared at him for a second before letting out a short laugh as she shook her head. “You’re a weird kid, Buck.”

“Yea,” Buck said, lips quirking upwards. “But it looks like you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

Hen didn’t smile back exactly, but something in her eyes shifted. She nudged the bag toward him with the toe of her boot. “What you said earlier, sticking up for that couple, me.” Her voice stayed even, almost casual. “That took guts.”

Buck glanced up, startled. He gave her a little shrug, like it wasn’t anything.

Hen kept her eyes on the gear. “Next time, maybe work on your delivery or timing, so you don’t get fired. Some of us might actually miss you if you do.”

Buck’s throat worked around a quiet laugh. “You saying you’d miss me, Hen?”

She finally looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed soft jogging after her as the alarm went off.

Dispatched to a large structure fire at a downtown civic center possibly an electrical failure, smoke alarms triggered in the loading dock. Except the second the rig turned onto the block, the world changed.

The building was already belching smoke, thick, gray and wrong. Windows on the first and second floor were blown out. Glass glittered on the sidewalk like ice. Civilians were screaming, sprinting from the entrance with bloody faces and soot-streaked arms. A mother clutched a toddler tight to her chest. Someone collapsed in the street, choking. Sirens echoed from every direction. Sal jumped down before the rig stopped rolling, barking for triage zones, ordering Allen and Cobb to pull the burn kits.

Hen was the first to really take in the scene. “This isn’t electrical.”

Sal’s eyes narrowed as he swept over the building. “Wait, this is the one the city’s been using for emergency overflow, right? Shelter setup, triage drills…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

One of the firefighters from 207, face pale and hands shaking, cut in, “Yeah. But today it was a health department thing, family safety fair. Vaccines, CPR demos, bouncy houses out back.”

Hen was moving before Sal finished barking orders, her voice cutting through the chaos like a scalpel. "You two, help that woman to the curb! Sir, keep pressure on that arm!" She thrust a roll of gauze at a stunned bystander before turning to a teenager clutching his bleeding forehead. Her fingers probed the wound with clinical precision even as her eyes tracked Buck as he picked up a kid and passed him carried him toward 207’s triage station. "Look at me, sweetheart. You're gonna be fine, but I need you to sit right here and hold this."

The mother with the toddler grabbed her sleeve. "Please, my baby's not breathing right-"

Hen didn't hesitate. One hand on the child's back, the other yanking her penlight. "Chim! I need a neb treatment and pediatric O2 stats!"

Tommy grabbed Buck’s arm without thinking, eyes already tracking the upper floors.

Gerrard’s voice cut through the chaos. “Deluca, establish perimeter. I’m taking a team in. Tommy, Buckley with me. Ventilation and evac sweep, east corridor.” Gerrard turned, scanning the chaos, and added, “Rodric, you’re with us. Let’s go.”

Rodric snapped his helmet into place without a word. Buck caught the way his eyes flicked to Sal, just for a second, before following after their captain.

Gerrard didn’t wait for confirmation. He pushed past, his shoulder clipping Buck as he moved.

Buck stiffened. His eyes flicked to Sal, fast, searching then to Tommy’s.

Sal’s jaw was locked tight, headset in one hand, the other clenched around the strap of his gear bag. But it was his eyes that gave him away. They didn’t follow Gerrard. They tracked Tommy. And the fear there wasn’t loud, but it was real. The kind that only showed up when you knew exactly how much you had to lose.

Buck’s gut twisted.

But there was no time to argue. Not with the 207 and 131 watching. Not with radios crackling and smoke crawling the edge of the block.

Hen slapped a mask into Tommy’s then into Buck’s hands. “Watch your corners,” she said tightly. “This place is old. Renovated, yeah, but built on bones.”

Tommy met Sal’s eyes for a fraction of a second as he clipped his helmet into place. His lips twitching at Sal’s nod. Go. Come back.

And then they were gone. Through the door and into the smoke. They moved fast through the east entrance, metal frame bent from the pressure wave, doors sagging off the hinges. Rodric fell back a few steps, his flashlight sweeping lazily.

The smoke hit like a wall. For a moment, it wasn’t L.A. anymore. It was dust and concrete and blood-slick boots. Buck blinked hard and forced the world back into place. Los Angeles civic center corridor. Ventilation sweep. Focus.

The lobby was chaos. Half the ceiling had collapsed. A support beam had split and was bowing under its own weight. Alarms shrieked. A red exit sign flickered overhead like a dying pulse.

Gerrard barked something into his radio. The channel was flooded. Nothing but static and overlapping shouts. Buck could barely hear anything over the roar of fire chewing through drywall.

Tommy was at his six, sweeping right as they moved down the corridor. Buck took left. Gerrard pushed ahead. They reached a junction. Smoke poured from a stairwell to the right. The glow of flame lit the far end of the hall like a flare.

Tommy pointed. “Evac route’s clearer. We loop down and…”

“Move!” Buck shouted, lunging forward, shoving Tommy back. But the ceiling came down hard and fast. Plaster. Insulation. Iron supports. The impact rocked the hallway. Smoke and debris exploded into the space.

When Buck coughed his way upright, Tommy was gone.

Rodric was already shouting into his radio, panicked. “We’re cut off, shit, smoke’s too thick!” But he didn’t move toward the debris, just stumbled back, retreating fast.

“Tommy!” Buck called, voice cracking. “Kinard!”

Nothing. Just the roar of fire and the churn of settling dust. Smoke rolled through the gap like a tide. He tried the radio. Nothing but static.

His pulse kicked. Hard. No, no, not again, not now, not him.

He dropped low, tried to find an opening in the debris, but the wall had collapsed completely. The shape of the hallway was gone.

“I’m good!” came the muffled shout. “I’ve got a clear path to the outside. I’ll connect with Deluca or Howie and we’ll circle back, take the west stairwell!”

Buck let out a breath that shook. Pressed a hand to his thigh like it could hold him steady as he pushed himself back to his feet.

He didn’t move at first. Couldn’t. His body vibrated with the effort not to go after him.

Because this, this went against everything drilled into him. Years of training. Eight men on a team. No one left behind. You find a way, or you die trying.

Thirty-seven days.

He swallowed back the nausea. His right hand twisted the paracord bracelet at his wrist, knuckles white, steadying against the panic rising in his throat.

And leaving Tommy now, even with a plan. Felt like failure. Like desertion.

His eyes burned.

Gerrard was already moving. “Leave him! He said he’s good, his plan is solid, let’s go, that’s an order Boot!”

He glanced once toward the smoke where Tommy’s voice had come from and turned, forcing himself after Gerrard. Rodric caught up with them at the junction, wide-eyed, barely breathing. “Kinard’s okay?” he asked, voice brittle.

Buck didn’t answer. Just pushed past him, following Gerrard deeper in. Rodric trailed behind, steps uneven, flashlight jittering against the smoke.

They turned the next corner, and the floor groaned under their feet. “Fall back,” Buck commanded, too late.

The floor gave. Gerrard went down fast, one leg swallowed by a jagged hole between support beams, concrete and debris crumbling beneath him. Smoke surged upward like a living thing.

“Cap!” Buck dropped to his knees, crawling forward as fire licked up the far wall.

“I’m stuck!” Gerrard’s voice was rough, panicked.

Rodric stood frozen at the edge of the collapse. He didn’t move toward the hole. Didn’t back away either but his eyes followed Buck.

Buck reached Gerrard, hands already moving. His gaze rolled over the wound: entry mid-calf, jagged edge, no exit. Minimal arterial spray. Not femoral. Yet. Shock setting in. He could work with this.

He shifted and clicked his radio. “Probational Officer Evan Buckley with the 118, Mayday. Firefighter down. Officer compromised. East corridor. Structural instability, heavy smoke, partial collapse. I need back up for extraction and suppression.”

Silence.

He tried again. Nothing. No static, no bleed. Just void. Almost like interference. Jamming. Suspicion crawled cold up his spine.

He pressed a hand against Gerrard’s shoulder. “You breathing?”

“Fuck you,” Gerrard rasped, trying to twist away.

The blood hit his nose, thick, coppery, hot. And for a breath, he wasn’t here. He was back in the port, lungs full of dust, gloves slick. Julian’s voice rasping in his ear, “we move on three…”

“You think you’re in charge?” Gerrard spat, cutting through the memory.

“No,” Buck said, forcing the memory down. “I think you’re dying. Now hold still.”

He pulled Gerrard’s weight up, angling his hips enough to free his leg. Smoke swirled. Heat surged. The floor moaned.

Rodric took a half-step forward, his voice shook. “Do you want me to…”

“Cover the hallway,” Buck ordered, not looking back. “If anything shifts, warn me. Otherwise stay the hell out of the way.”

Rodric nodded, swallowed, and lifted his radio again still nothing but static. He braced himself at the threshold, eyes wide.

Buck didn’t wait. He hauled Gerrard down to the floor, muscles straining. The weight was nothing new. The fire was nothing new. The silence, though? That was the part that scared him.

Tick-tick-tick.

That sound, the tick of a buried device shoved the air from his lungs. He knew this. Not from drills. Not from LAFD. From a desert hallway that hadn’t existed on any map, from sand and steel and silence just before the breach.

“Shit,” Buck breathed.

“Probie?” Gerrard wheezed.

From behind, Rodric’s voice cracked. “What the fuck is that?”

Buck didn’t answer. He grabbed Gerrard hard, heaving him up with a grunt that tore down his spine. “Move. We’re getting out. Now. We’ve got to move, we aren’t dying in this shitty fucking hallway. Move Rodric.”

Gerrard hissed in pain as Buck dragged him upright, weight sagging hard against Buck’s side. “My leg…”

“Broken,” Buck snapped. “Deal with it. If you’re still talking, you’ve still got more to give, so keep fucking going.”

The hallway pulsed with heat. The ticking was louder now, steady and awful, like a countdown shoved straight into his chest.

 “Was… Is that a bomb?” Rodric voice pitched up, tight with panic.

“Cover our exit!” Buck barked without looking back. “Unless you want to find out.”

Rodric flinched but nodded, eyes too wide as he stumbled forward to the stairwell door, shoulder pressed to the frame like it might hold him up.

One arm under Gerrard’s, Buck half-carried, half-dragged him forward. Plaster and ash rained from the ceiling. Another groan, louder this time. A shift in the air like something exhaling its last breath.

Buck ducked low, teeth grit as he hauled Gerrard through the stairwell threshold.

Rodric lurched forward from where he’d been frozen, catching the door with both hands and yanking it shut. The explosion wasn’t loud or big, but it was close, a thump that rattled deep in the bones. The fireball didn’t chase them, but the collapse did, hammering the door as dust and debris slammed against it like a wave.

The ticking stopped.

Gerrard sagged in Buck’s grip, unconscious or damn close, his breath rattling shallow and wet.

Rodric leaned against the door, chest heaving, eyes wide. “Jesus,” he rasped.

Buck didn’t slow. Just tightened his hold on Gerrard and pushed forward. “We’re not done,” he growled. “Stairwell’s still clear. Move.”

Buck hit his radio again, static crinkling to life. “This is Buckley. I need med evac at east stairwell exit. Captain down, probable compound fracture, possible concussion, possible internal bleeding, confirmed outward bleeding. We’ve got secondary devices. Repeat, this was intentional.”

Behind him, Rodric leaned hard against the stairwell wall, bent over with his hands on his knees, coughing like he couldn’t breathe past the fear.

The radio silence that followed was chilling, no static, no breathing, just three seconds of dead air that somehow carried more weight than any scream.

Then chaos erupted across the channel.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tommy's voice, raw and unguarded.

A sharp metallic clatter as someone dropped equipment. "Say again, Buckley?" Chimney demanded through the noise.

But it was Sal who spoke next, his voice pared down to steel. "Copy confirmed." A barely audible inhale. "All units, we have confirmed intentional detonation. Switch to channel four. Buckley, keep him alive."

The radio crackled with Sal's authorization, but Buck barely registered it. Blood from Gerrard's leg seeped through his turnout gear, warm and insistent against his ribs. Each breath tasted of burning insulation and copper, the stairwell's tilted geometry playing tricks with his balance.

"Copy," Buck rasped, though the word caught in his smoke-raw throat. He adjusted his grip, Gerrard's dead weight threatening to pull them both backward down the crumbling steps. The captain's breath came in wet, stuttering gasps against his neck, alive, but barely.

“Climb,” Buck ordered, voice low but firm. “We don’t need brave right now. We need to move.”

He caught Rodric’s eye and as something shifted between them. Buck gave him a crooked grin, too wide, too reckless and winked. Like they were invincible.  “On three,” he said, voice hoarse but steady. “Go.”

Rodric blinked, then nodded, the breath catching in his throat. “Three.” He swallowed hard and started up the stairs.

 “Atta boy,” he murmured under his breath. “Don’t stop.”

Three flights up, Buck's muscles screamed in protest. Sweat stung the shrapnel scars along his side, the pain a familiar counterpoint to his racing thoughts. Behind them, the building groaned like a living thing, hungry to swallow them whole.

Ahead, Rodric faltered, one hand catching the rail as he stumbled. “I… I don’t know if I…”

“You do,” Buck snapped, breath ragged. “You’re already doing it.”

Rodric turned, wide-eyed.

Buck’s grip tightened under Gerrard’s arm. “No one’s asking you to carry the weight. Just clear the path. That’s it. That’s your job.”

Rodric nodded, jaw clenched, and kept moving.

Buck dragged in a breath through his teeth. “That’s it,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Just keep going.”

Rodric reached the landing first, eyes wild but focused now, one arm braced against the wall. Without waiting, he twisted and slammed his boot into the door. It burst open with a jolt, the impact echoing down the stairwell.

The smoke gave away to sunlight, revealing a hallway choked with collapsed ceiling tiles and broken light fixtures. The wall plaster had cracked like eggshells, scattering white dust across the linoleum floor.

Buck stumbled out behind him, breath ragged, Gerrard still draped over his shoulders. Gerrard stirred as Buck propped him against the wall. "Should've... left me," the captain slurred, one bloody hand clutching at Buck's shoulder.

“Yeah,” Buck muttered, not looking at him. “But I don’t leave men behind. Even the ones who would’ve left me.”

He smashed the window with his flashlight, the safety glass fracturing into a thousand glittering pieces. Cold air rushed in, clearing the smoke just enough to reveal Tommy’s face, soot-streaked, eyes wide with something dangerously close to relief. Or maybe fear. Or both.

"Took you long enough," Buck croaked, fingers already working the harness straps. His hands shook now not from fear, but exhaustion, the delayed tremor of muscles pushed beyond limits.

Tommy's gaze tracked the blood soaking through Buck's gear, the way his left knee refused to fully straighten. "Christ, Hershey," he muttered, as he reached for Gerrard. Their gloves brushed during the transfer, Tommy's grip lingering half a second too long. You still with me?

Buck answered by swinging himself onto the ladder, his body moving on autopilot even as his vision grayed at the edges. Below them, the building gave one final shudder, the east wing collapsing in on itself in a roar of dust and sparks.

Still clinging to the ladder, Buck looked down at Gerrard's unconscious form slung over Tommy's shoulder, then his gaze cut to meet his friend's eyes.

As Hen's voice crackled over the radio calling for medics, Buck let his forehead rest against the cool metal of the ladder. Just for a second. Just until the world stopped spinning.

“Medics incoming!” Chim called, sprinting across the pavement with a backboard.

Hen was already cracking open her med kit. “His pulse is thready. We need a tourniquet now.”

Tommy eased Gerrard onto the gurney. Blood soaked the backboard before they even finished strapping him in. Hen pressed gauze to the wound and snapped her fingers for suction. Chim moved fast, eyes flicking to Buck, then away like he didn’t want to ask if he was next.

Buck blinked at him, shaking his head slowly. Sal reached out, locking his hand onto his shoulder. “Evan,” he snapped his fingers in front of his face.

Buck didn’t answer.

He didn’t move.

Just stood there, swaying slightly, covered in Gerrard’s blood. Soot streaked every inch of his turnout gear; smoke grime caked in the sweat at his hairline. He blinked slowly, like the scene in front of him didn’t quite match what he was seeing.

Sal’s gut twisted. He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Hey. Look at me kid.”

Buck turned his head, slow and fractured. His eyes were sharp but wrong, glassy with shock. His gaze flinted away, chasing ghosts in the smoke. “C’mon kid, I’ve got you.”

The captain from 131 approached, boots crunching through the glass that littered the concrete, helmet tucked under one arm. He stopped beside them, eyes narrowing with a grim kind of respect. “Hell of a firefighter you’ve got here, Deluca.”

Sal didn’t take his eyes off Buck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

The captain’s tone shifted, quiet and deliberate. “And we all heard Gerrard before the signal cut. The shit he said on open comms. I’ll make sure your next report ends up on the Chief’s desk. This doesn’t get buried.”

Sal looked up, jaw tight. “Appreciate it.”

Behind him, Allen lingered near the engine, whispering low. “You think this gets pinned on us?”

Rodric didn’t answer. He pulled off his helmet with a shaky exhale, fingers trembling against the strap. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes fixed on Buck as he turned and walked straight toward Sal, soot streaked across his jaw.

“I think I’m ready to file that report now, Lieutenant,” Rodric said quietly.

Sal held his gaze, measured, unreadable then gave a single nod. He exhaled once, slow and steady, before turning toward Buck. Stepped in close and caught him gently by the arm. “Alright, Hershey,” he said. “Time’s up.”

Buck blinked again. “I’m fine.”

“No,” Sal grunted, “you’re not fine.” Sal said, stepping in closer. “You’re shaking, bleeding, and barely standing. Sit your ass down, Hershey.”

Buck opened his mouth to argue, but Sal’s grip tightened. His other hand lifted, hovered at Buck’s shoulder like he might pull him in but didn’t. “You scared the shit out of me,” Sal said, barely audible now. “Now sit. Please.”

“I got him out.”

“You did.” Sal’s voice cracked just hair. “You got him out.”

He guided Buck toward the spare gurney, slow and steady. Buck didn’t fight it, just stumbled a little when Sal nudged him down onto it. He grabbed a bottle of water from Chim’s open pack and pressed it into Buck’s hand. “Sip. Small sips.”

Buck stared down at it like he couldn’t remember how. His fingers curled around the plastic. He brought it to his lips, then paused. “What’s the report gonna say?” he asked hoarsely.

Sal settled next to him,. “It’s gonna say you carried a man through a structural collapse with a busted leg, smoke-blind, no radio, and live explosives still ticking behind you.”

He met Buck’s eyes. “It’s gonna say you saved his life.”

Buck looked away, back to the civic center.

Part - 9

[peachyhalstead]

alive | j. halstead

summary: chasing down an offender doesn't go quite as planned (dw it ends fluffy)

pairing: established (married) fem!reader x jay halstead, platonic!reader x adam ruzek

word count: 1.75k

warnings: canon-level violence, gunshot, hospitals, medical inaccuracies

a/n: meet a seasoned fanfic writer's first fic about jay <3 please let me know what you think of this !! also it was originally written in 3rd pov so if you see anything wrong, no you didn't ---- You followed Adam down the alley, weapons drawn. "Chicago PD! Stop!"

You felt your lungs burn as you raced down the alley, nodding when you saw Adam silently gesture to enter through the front door, and he would take the back.

Noticing the door was already open, you walked in, eyes alert for any sign of a victim or offender.

Hearing Adam call out a "clear!" you opened your mouth to do the same, but didn't make it that far as you heard three shots ring out, feeling two sharp pains tear through your body.

Adam, having seen the offender shoot you, quickly fired a round of his own weapon, pressing a button on his radio. "5021 Ida, shots fired by offender and police! We need an ambo to our location, plain-clothed officers at the scene, one in need of urgent medical care!"

Near the end of the block that you and Adam were on, Jay's head shot up to meet Hailey's, hearing their coworker's distraught call into the radio.

The two sprinted out of their location, and down to the abandoned house, hearing the sirens grow louder.

"Ruz! Where are you guys?!" Jay called, stomping through the house.

He felt his heart plummet when he saw his wife on the floor, bullet hole in your shoulder and belly, Adam holding his jacket over the wounds.

"Y/N!" He fell to his knees next to you, letting out a breath when you looked at him.

"J-Jay, I didn't see him coming." You mumbled, breaths shaky.

"Shh, it's okay, hon. You're going to be alright." Jay reassured you, his hands trembling as he reached out to stroke her the back from your face. He shot a panicked look at Adam, who was still pressing down on the bullet wounds.

"Ambo's en route, Jay," Adam said, his voice tight with worry. "She's strong, she's gonna pull through this."

Jay didn't answer, his attention solely focused on his wife. He held onto your hand, willing his strength into you. "Hang in there, baby."

"I'm trying," you answered weakly.

Just then Voight and Kevin Atwater stormed into the room. The sight of you on the floor left them momentarily stunned before they sprung into action. Voight acknowledged Ruzek with a curt nod and Atwater immediately moved to Jay's side, helping apply pressure to your wounds.

The sirens outside grew louder as the ambulance neared their location. It wasn't long before the paramedics came rushing in with a stretcher, immediately getting to work on stabilizing you for transport to Med.

As they carried you out of the house, Jay followed closely behind, fear etched on his face but determination in his eyes. He watched as they loaded yoiu into the ambulance before climbing in right after them.

The team was left in the eerily quiet house -- a stark contrast to the chaos moments ago. Voight looked around at his team, each one wearing an expression of concern and fear for their colleague.

"Everyone alright?" he asked gruffly, though there was a hint of concern in his tone.

Ruzek and Atwater both nodded, and soon the team made their way to Chicago Med, making home in the waiting room, wanting to be there for both you and Jay.

Jay, having hopped out of the ambulance as you were unloaded and ushered into a trauma room, a few nurses stopping him from going in. "Jay, Jay stop!"

The detective pulled a hand through his hair, looking at his older brother, Will. "Will, you gotta help her, man."

Shaking his head, he nodded to where his coworkers Dr. Marcel and Dr. Choi were working on you, who had since lost consciousness. "I can't, bro. She's family, against hospital policy."

Jay hit the wall, tears coming to his eyes. "I can't lose her, man. We just got married, this can't be the end."

Will clapped his brother on the back, jaw tense. "They got her, Jay. She'll be good, she's a strong one."

The two brothers watched as you were rushed into emergency surgery, being told to wait in the waiting room for any updates.

------

Jay stared at the clock on the wall across from him, watching the hands move as time passed. It had been two hours since you were taken to the O.R., and as much as Will tried, he wasn't able to get any more information out of his coworkers.

"Hey, man." Adam walked over to Jay, handing him a coffee.

"Thanks." Jay spoke, voice raw. "You saved her life, Ruz."

Adam shook his head, sitting next to Jay. "It was my idea to split up. If we stuck together, maybe she wouldn't have gotten hit."

Jay looked at his friend. "Don't blame yourself, Ruz."

The two detectives sat in silence, only perking up when Will and Dr. Marcel walked out into the waiting room.

"Is she-" Jay cut himself off, unable to finish the question.

"She's alive. We got both the bullets out, there was some damage to her shoulder, but we were able to repair it all."

Jay let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, grateful smile on his face. "Can I see her?"

Dr. Marcel shook his head. "Not right now. She's being moved to a recovery room in the I.C.U., a nurse will come out to bring you to her when she's settled."

"Will she still be able to be a cop?" Adam asked, the question plaguing him ever since he saw you hit the ground.

"With physical therapy and rest, Y/N should get full function and mobility of her shoulder. It won't be fast, she'll need lots of rest."

Jay thanked the surgeon, shaking his hand before he walked away.

------

Once the team had all heard that you made it through surgery, they headed back to the district to close up the case, the offender in CPD's morgue.

Jay sat up when a nurse walked over to him, smile on her face. Maggie, he recalled, from when Will introduced them a while ago. "She’s awake, she's asking for you."

Rising from the uncomfortable seat, Jay groaned as his back cracked, following Maggie down the halls to the I.C.U.

He smiled when he finally laid eyes on you, blinking blearily as the door opened and you saw your husband.

"Jay," you sighed in relief, her voice barely a whisper.

His breath hitched in his throat as he approached the bed. Your face was paler than he remembered, hair fanned out on the white hospital pillow. The sight of seeing you awake, those sparkling eyes looking at him despite being clouded by painkillers and fatigue, was enough to bring tears prickling in his eyes.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, carefully taking your hand and pressing a kiss to it. "How are you feeling?"

You gave a small wry smile. "Like I’ve been shot twice."

He chuckled weakly, stroking your hand with his thumb. "They said you did great in surgery."

You shrugged slightly, wincing after. "I don't remember much."

"They also said you’ll need a lot of rest and physical therapy for your shoulder."

You nodded slowly. “That’s okay. I can handle it.”

Jay looked at you, admiration clear in his eyes. Despite having just woken up from surgery and being shot twice, you were still trying to put up a brave face.

"There's my soldier," he said softly, brushing a loose strand of your hair from her your-drenched forehead.

Just then there was a soft knock on the door and Will walked in followed Dr. Marcel.

Dr. Marcel greeted you two with a warm smile as he approached your bed. He checked on your vitals before turning to Will and Jay.

"She's doing well considering the circumstances," Dr. Marcel reported.

Will nodded, sending you a comforting smile. "Should be able to get discharged in a few day’s time."

You nodded, looking at the sling your arm was in. "How long do I need to wear this?"

Dr. Marcel smirked, Will had warned him that his sister-in-law wasn't one to sit around and do nothing. "At least a month, but it depends on how your physical therapy goes. But, for a couple weeks, you can't move your arm. We had to repair some muscles in your shoulder, so it'll be sore."

You nodded, thanking the doctor as he left, Will following.

Jay looked at you, sad smile on his face. "Ruz is blaming himself."

You frowned, trying to sit up, wincing as your abdomen throbbed.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Jay helped you sit up, making sure you were comfortable.

"Can I see the team? At least Adam, I want him to know it wasn't his fault." You looked at your husband, who nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead, heading down to grab the team.

------

After a few days, you were finally able to leave the hospital. You had signed the discharge paperwork, and Jay walked back into the room after pulling the car around, soft smile on his face when he saw you struggling to get her coat on, one arm still in the sling.

"Here, let me help," he offered, walking over to you. He helped you put on the coat, paying extra attention to not disturb your injured shoulder.

You met his eyes and offered him a soft smile. "Thanks, babe."

Jay just nodded, his throat choked with emotion. He was relieved that you were okay but knew you had a long way to go for your complete recovery. He gently took your hand, gave it a squeeze, and lead out of the room.

As they walked through the silent corridors, you leaned into him slightly. It was subtle but Jay noticed it immediately. He wrapped his arm around you, offering her comfort and support. The worry lines on his face seemed to deepen as they moved towards the exit of the hospital.

Outside, the city was bustling as usual. The harsh city lights reflected off Jay's face as he helped you into their car before moving around to sit in the driver's seat.

The ride home was quiet. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional honk from nearby traffic. You were staring out of the window, mind lost in thoughts while Jay focused on driving, occasionally glancing over at his wife.

“Hey, Jay?” You looked over at him, voice quiet.

Jay hummed, glancing at you while he pressed on the gas petal when the light turned green.

“Just,” you paused, feeling a teenager in love again. “I love you.” ---- a/n: did u like it? also please don't expect good titles ever titles always make me wanna punch a brick wall

[syntheticavenger]

Constrict

For the anon who pulled me out of the depths to ask for how ruthless Steve can be for his girl in the Bad Decisions Universe - here you go.

For those that haven’t followed along - Cinch & Collide

Soft Dark Mob Boss Steve Rogers / Mob Boss Female Reader

Word Count: 748

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of canon-level violence, language, murder.

The meeting room is packed.

Standing room only.

Steve’s stare is clear, unblinking as he settles his gaze on every single one of his men. Some shift their heels, others stare back with the same bravado - respectful, of course.

And others… they can’t handle the searing glare.

He glances at his watch, both hands in the pockets of his tailored suit before he inhales.

“Every single one of you has a responsibility. A duty to me and to those I protect,” he begins. “And she came here with a bruise on her cheek. I thought I made myself crystal clear. So clear that a few of you disposed of your peers who had touched her.”

He pauses for a moment, exhaling slowly as he wills himself to slow down.

“Imagine my disappointment when I found that she was mistreated again. She wouldn’t give me names,” he informs his men. “But that’s not her fault. But fortunately for you all, my baby has a good fucking memory.”

The soft knock at the door makes every single man’s head turn toward the door as Steve’s voice raises.

“Come in, sweetheart.”

One of the men scurries to open the door, to not keep you waiting.

Not keep him waiting.

And there you are, clad in a black silk robe, your path cleared to make your way to him. You look at none of them directly, your eyes on Steve as he pulls out a chair to sit, patting his lap for you to take your seat. He doesn’t miss the slight wince when you do, evidence of how he had taken you three times before he had to call this meeting.

His arm wraps around your waist, your eyes lowered at the table.

The gun is shiny on the table.

It’s loaded - you know it is.

Steve does nothing half assed. Especially when it comes to you.

He presses a kiss to your temple, his mouth at the shell of your ear.

“They’re all in here,” he says, his voice low. “Show me.”

Your eyes settle on a tall man with a nervous look in his eye, tilting your head up as Steve follows your gaze. He nods, seeing you turn your head toward another man, his gaze unbending as you meet his stare, holding it just long enough for Steve to follow it.

“Boss, you can’t -” the first man begins before Steve snaps his fingers.

“Now that couldn’t be an order, could it?” Steve muses to you, kissing your cheek as he pulls the weapon toward you to hold. “No, it couldn’t be. Not after you were mistreated. You’d think they’d know better. My best friend is spilling blood at my door and now my men are trying to question my decisions.”

He exhales, tightening his hold on you.

“I disposed of the last two in private,” he informs the room, his gaze hardening. “Clearly that didn’t send a message.”

The gun is held in your manicured hands.

“So we’ll let her choose who goes first.”

The room is still, the first man clearing his throat as the second stands.

“We’ve been loyal and this is the thanks we get?!”

The fearful cry isn’t lost on him, the man nearly shaking as two others step away from him.

You lean back against Steve’s chest, holding the gun up at the second man. He was the worst offender - the names he called you as you walked past were brutal. You smile when you think of what he said.

He mentioned your father.

“You’re gonna let her shoot me?”

Steve smoothly pulls the gun from his chest holster, aims it at him.

“Of course not,” Steve agrees. “That’s my job.”

Two quick fire successions, the scrape of a chair and a body falling to the floor.

And before the first man has a chance to run, two shots slice through the air, your hands still on the unfired gun. It has your initials on it.

Your new initials.

Steve presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“She’ll learn how to shoot eventually. She’s much better with a knife,” Steve says, nodding to the men in the back to clean up the mess. “I trust I’ve made my message loud and clear. You protect her at all costs. Treat her like the queen she is.”

The nods are fast, Steve dismissing them with a single nod, catching your jaw with his fingers.

“I told you,” he reminds you. “No one messes with my baby.”

[shellshocklove]

interlude: does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: a dark shadow lurks in the woods, searching for his angel.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), dark content, swearing, guns, some tags are left out to avoid spoilers, no use of y/n

a/n: the plan for this series was always three parts, but then i got this small idea for an interlude that i really wanted to include so here it is <3 this is a little different but i hope it's enjoyable still! happy reading <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The snow moaned with each step he took. The muscles in his shoulders ached from the strap of his gun where it gnawed, and his arms were tired from carrying it around all day. On top of that he was cold. His fingers felt like icicles wrapped around the trigger.

Why was it always so fucking cold, Adam wondered.

The woods had started to grow dark around him as a crow played hide and seek between the trees. It had followed him all day. Back and forth he’d walked – on lookout, always ready. For what, he didn’t know, they hadn’t seen anything or anyone since they came upon the cabin.

How he wished to be back there right now. Back in the warmth with a warm meal in his belly.

He looked to the sky with disinterest. Over the treetops twilight deepened into a deep purple, like the color of an old bruise faded to black.

Nothing. No one.

The wind moved and cut right through him, down to the bone, and Adam started to wonder about when the last time he’d felt truly warm had been. The fire, maybe? When the curtains caught fire, it hadn’t taken long before the whole house was aflame.

Something deep inside him shrunk each time he recalled that day. Jonah had barked his hoarse voice at him. Orders, orders, orders. Do this, kill them, kill them all, and take what’s of value.

It had started to get old long before that night, and Adam couldn’t find a reason for why he followed the guys and Jonah anymore. The constant traveling was harsh and hard, especially in winter, with no place to settle for longer than a week at a time, killing and raiding whatever and whoever they came across. Maybe in the beginning it had been worth it, back all those years ago when Adam had felt like he’d had something to prove, something to prove to Jonah, to show his potential, a potential to lead.

But no, it had been years and Adam was always stuck on fucking scout duty. He hated scout duty.

He hated Jonah, too.

Adam wondered what he’d done to that girl. That bitch deserved to get put in her place, that’s for sure– she’d almost given him a speed ticket to hell if she’d been a good shot. She’d ran down the stairs while waving a loaded revolver around, sent most of the rounds into the walls. Somehow, he’d managed to grab ahold of the old woman, used her as leverage with his gun pointed to her temple. The bitch had gone dead silent, and Adam had known he had a clean shot had it not been for the old man. He’d been stronger than he’d looked, attacking Barkley, and giving Adam no other choice than to shoot the old woman. Adam could still feel the spray of her warm blood against his face.

Everything after that happened so fast. Adam couldn’t get a clean shot on the old man, and the girl had gone all crazy, shooting bullet after bullet into the floor, and now Barkley’s leg most likely had to be amputated.

If the wound doesn’t get you, the fucking infection will.

The bullets had drawn the rest of the crew to the living room, and soon both the girl and the man had been pressed against the floor with their hands tied behind their backs. Adam don’t know what happened next, too busy raiding the rest of the house for valuables, but somehow Jonah had decided to take the girl with them while they’d left the man for dead in the snow.  

Adam felt a shiver run through him at the memories while the wind howled like a hound in his ear.

He should get back.

Wading through the snow, Adam dreamt of summer. His hand around his gun slackened in his grip while he filled his head with thoughts from before. Of long days at the public pool during summer break, the smell of a barbeque and freshly cut grass, of his mother waiting for him on the porch after a long day of running around the neighborhood with supper ready.

In his daydreaming, Adam failed to notice the shadow trailing him, how it kept to the darkness of the forest.

No mother stood ready for him on the porch of the cabin, only Jack on guard duty tonight. He looked as bored as Adam had felt in the forest.

“Did you see anything?” Jack asked as Adam approached him.

“Nah,” Adam shook his head as he walked past Jack up the porch stairs. “I’ll let Jonah know I’m back.”

“He’s with the girl,” Jack told him, “said he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Adam felt a frown form across his face. Jonah with the girl? Jonah might be a hard son of a bitch, but he’d never laid a hand on a woman for as long as Adam had been a part of the crew. Not that the opportunity hadn’t presented itself… multiple times. Spoils of the raids Adam had taken advantage of time and time again. A man gets tired of his own hand after a while, and nothing beats a tight cunt. At first, Adam had thought Jonah didn’t swing that way, but nothing stays sacred for long in a crew like this, and one night Barkley had told him about Jonah’s wife, and how she’d died. Jonah killed and plundered, set fire to the world, but would never take a woman again as long as it was not his wife. Adam guessed that some things remained sacred, even after death.

A wall of warmth hit Adam as he stepped inside the cabin. The room was stuffy from the heat of the fire and men, and he could already feel drops of sweat bead on his forehead. The men paid him no mind, their chatter loud and obnoxious where they huddled together over bowls of food.

His stomach growled at the sighed, and he quickly served himself a bowl of brown mush simmering away over the flames. Looking down at his bowl, Adam knew he’d kill for something else to eat, something that wasn’t this fucking diarrhea-looking slop.

Looking over at the men where they sat, Adam mulled it over and shook his head He wasn’t in the mood for whatever ‘jokes’ they had for him today. Quietly, he grabbed another bowl of brown and walked down the hall. Curiosity grabbed a hold of him when he passed the door where Jonah kept the girl locked away. The two bowls shook in his hands as he pressed his ear to the door as he held his breath, listening.

He heard a muffled voice, deep, Jonah’s. Adam couldn’t catch the words being spoken behind the door, but he never heard the girl reply. She hadn’t said a word since they dragged her away with them. She’d kicked and screamed, spat out words of ‘how they’d regret this’ and ‘how they’d soon be dead if they didn’t let her go,’ but the fight in her had died out quickly. Adam wished Jonah would put a bullet in her already. She’d shot Barkley– she needed to pay for it, he thought.

The room smelled sweetly of disease. Adam wanted to crack open the window, but Barkley had begged him not to the last time he’d attempted it. He crept closer to the bed where his friend was sleeping, his dark hair sticking wetly to his forehead from sweat.

The infection had taken him now, Adam thought as he sat the bowl on the bed side table. They should take the leg, but he knew they wouldn’t; Barkley was already dead. Adam shook his friend’s shoulder, but he wouldn’t wake, only mumbled words Adam couldn’t understand – the ramblings of fever dreams.

With a sigh, Adam sat down in the chair in the corner. He’d slept in the chair since they found the cabin, watching over Barkley. The guys had teased him about it, but he’d rather sit in a room stuffed in the rot of disease, than pretend to like any of the guys. He let his eyes wander over Barkley as he ate his food.

His friend was dying. His only friend soon to be dead. What would be the point anymore when he’s not there anymore?

He hated everyone else. The praise and promotion he’d expected from Jonah, would never come. Maybe he should just slip out in the night, go about the land himself, find someplace to settle, leave this all behind.

Adam scraped the bowl and sighed. It was a foolish thought. He knew Jonah would come after him. He didn’t tolerate deserters much. You either followed him or swallowed down a bullet.

He had no choice; it was scout duty for Adam.

The snow moaned with each step he took, and the sun failed to make sense. The trees had been eerily silent today, something different in the endless wilderness. Adam moved about his route, back and forth, back and forth. He couldn’t put his finger on it but all day, it was like he was being watched. He’d watched his six, gone off his usual path, went a little deeper than he used to, but Adam had seen nothing but white snow-covered trees.

He waded back the way he’d came as a nervousness ran through him, bubbling under his skin. His grip around his gun tightened and he couldn’t fight the urge to check it again. A heat flushed his cheeks when he saw it was still loaded and ready, just like it had been ten minutes ago.

He was losing it.

Shaking his head, Adam tried to keep himself steady with calming breaths.

In… One… Two… Three… Out… One… Two… Three.

Over him he heard a branch snap, and his heart stopped. His arms worked on instinct, aiming his gun at the sky. An owl flew overhead, cooing in the silence of the forest, and Adam’s hands fell to his side.

A small breathy laugh escaped him. What was wrong with him today?

He continued on his path, kicking snow with each step. The snow had soaked through the cuffs of his jeans, but he’d stopped caring long ago. Then the wind moved, it cut right through him, making the trees rustle like living things. Adam looked up again, catching a glimpse of the sun through the trees as the world slowly darkened around him.

Then, a warm hand clamped over his mouth. He had no time to react before he felt the barrel of a gun against his back.

“Drop the gun,” a gruff voice ordered in his ear, full of authority.

When Adam didn’t move, the gun pressed harder into his back, the metal burning against his spine. If his mouth wasn’t covered he’d probably let out a whine.

“Drop. The. Gun,” the voice repeated, and Adam felt his gun slip from his fingers. He made no move to resist when the man grabbed his hands and twisted them behind his back.

He thought about Barkley, and Jonah, and the men. What did he have to fight for?

Around him the world darkened, it was like the forest came alive, the quietness blooming with sounds. A crow cawing somewhere, and then accompanied by another. The shadows had turned strange, small half-mooned shapes making patterns in the snow.

The man pushed him up against a tree as he tied his hands. The rope he used was thick– no, not rope, it couldn’t be. Adam twisted his hands, fingers dancing along the material. A belt. The man had used his belt to tie him up.

He could just run, wrangle his hands from the man’s grip and run. Adam looked past the tree, gauging his chances through the thick snow–

Bang.

Fuck.

Adam fell to his knees.

Motherfucker.

Blood bubbled in his ears. Blood stained the snow in crimson, pooling out of his left leg. The pain burned and Adam couldn’t figure out where he’d been shot, it was like it could’ve been anywhere in the growing red staining his jeans.

The man grabbed a hold of him, twisting him around and pressed him to the tree trunk. Adam cried out in pain, he couldn’t hold it back, the pulsing in his leg too strong – it beamed up his thigh. The back of his head slammed against the bark, and Adam was forced to look at him.

“Where is she?” the man asked in a calm voice.

Older. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A patchy beard with streaks of grey. He was larger than Adam. Maybe he’d been able to run from him, if he’d not been shot.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Adam tried to calm himself. “Who?” he tried and earned himself a sucker punch – his jaw aching and blood filling up his nostrils.

The man shook his head, “Wrong answer. Where is she?” The void in the man’s eyes made a chill run through Adam; or maybe it was the snow, or the blood pooling out of him.

The man’s grip in his hair tightened as he slammed Adam’s head into the tree bark. The world spun before him, dark as it twisted it into something strange.

Fuck, he was about to die.

“S-she’s alive,” he tried, his voice not louder than a whisper.

“Where?”

Adam sucked in a breath, tried to focus on keeping his eyes open. A clanging sound filled his ears before metal glinted in the strange light. He couldn’t hold back his scream when he felt the knife in his gut.

“Ah! Fuck! Fuck!” he cried, “The cabin– the cabin.”

Over him the man towered and his grip in his hair tightened even more.

“WHAT CABIN!?” he screamed.

Adam clung to life with both hands. The man before him turned into two, and he couldn’t figure out where it hurt the most.

“H-hunting cabin… a-a f-fifteen-minute walk t-that way.” Adam tilted his head in the direction, as much movement he could manage through the grip of his hair.

The man let go of him, and his head fell back against the bark. The world was suddenly brighter again – or was he walking towards the bright light he’d heard so much about?

“S-she’s alive– I-I swear,” he whispered.

“It’s okay…” the man nodded, his voice laced with pity as he stood before him, a giant shadow against the brightening day, arm raised and blade glinting in his hand. “I believe you.”

i hope someone liked this? i'm very curious about what your thoughts for the last part will be, so if you have them please leave a comment, reply or an ask. they are always super welcomed, and they make me super happy <3 other than that, thank you for reading!!

next part -> here!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[witchesballad]

hero and villain (pt. 4)

THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Widow!Reader, platonic Thunderbolts team

Warnings: Canon-like violence, body horror, character death/child death

... Last time on HAV:

You land on your injured hand and yelp. Gunshots fire off. You hear Yelena calling your name. Curling around your arm, you look up. Yelena is alive. Alive and furious. The Void looks back at you as if it can feel your relief. It sneers in disgust and turns its head to the blue sky of the room. Faster than any of you can reach it, it rockets up into the air, carrying the sounds of the distressed infant with it. Pushing to your feet, you rush to where it was standing, your hands clasp the air where she just was.

part one, part two, part three, part four

A/N: *spills my comic headcanons on my mcu villain's monologues* oops. the exposition chapter, all answers answered, questions questioned. this is one of those stories that i will have troubles letting go of, there is much to unpack. i think i'll put all of the parts in an AO3 post that i'll post later.

You yell out in frustration, dragging your hands through your hair. You feel a metal grip on your elbow and lash out. Shoving Bucky away to uppercut your good arm into his chin. You point an accusing finger at him. “You asked to see her! You wanted her. I left her, she was safe! It took her! It wanted her!”

“I know.” That fucking calm of his. You snap a hand at his face - he catches your wrist. You hadn’t realized that you attacked him with that injured wrist, you hiss at the pressure, but he doesn’t let up. He doesn’t tighten his grip, but the pain radiating down your arm into your chest makes you freeze. It takes that pain to not hit him again when he speaks, “Do you want her? Do you regret her?”

Thanks for regretting her, the Void had said. You sit in that statement. Did you regret having her? You didn’t have a choice. But when you escaped, you brought her. Your choice was to leave her. You regretted not staying, not fleeing from Hydra with her. You gave them a chase, but ultimately you slipped their trail, you could have done that with her. You wanted to do that with her. But you did it because you wanted to protect her. You wanted to save her. You wanted her. You regretted not staying with her.

You hate that your lip quivers as you answer, “Fucking prick. Of course I don’t.”

He lets go of you, nodding like you got the answer right. “So what are we doing about it?”

The rest have caught up, and they look to you. You look around - not at them - but the tarmac you’re standing on. The memory is playing out. You watch for a moment. Soldiers are taking the girls from the younger Alexei, and loading them in one of the smaller planes.

Before the memory can loop again, you take off after them. If you can get the plane in the air before the loop, you could catch up with the Void. Startled and confused, the team follows you into the plane. Ava puts bullets into the soldiers’ heads. Yelena slides into the co-pilot’s seat, turning it to face you.

“That wasn’t me. Whatever it said.”

“Don’t tell me that. It wasn’t my room.” You glance back at Alexei, who is kneeling next to the two unconscious girls, trying to wake them. You take a breath and turn to your engine checks, closing the plane’s cargo door. She huffs and stands up to go to her father at the back of the plane. You catch her elbow as she goes.

“I’m very glad you were not ripped in half.”

“I’m very angry that he took your daughter.” 

There goes denying it in your head. The baby became your baby. 

Teeth gritted, you turn back to the front - and the tarmac outside the window is gone. You’re looking at darkness. Before your stomach can drop from fear, you realize you’re looking at a wall. 

“Weapons up, we’re walking into an ambush.” You glance back to the team to make sure they’re ready. They assemble around the access door with weapons forward. “Fuck it.”

You let down the ramp into a cold laboratory. John and Bucky lead the way out, their military precision building a protective front. You, trailing in the back of the group, hear them both curse. Yelena cries out, “Bob!”

Six different guns point at the man sitting on a stool. You remember a firing squad, and the heartbreak when that mane of bedhead went down. The memory of his later beatdown of all of you reminds you that he was bulletproof. That, and he was cradling the baby - your baby. You lower your muzzle and hiss at everyone to do the same.

He looks up from her at the sound of Yelena calling his name with a gasp. “I’m sorry, I thought you guys were behind me! This is the room, this is where it all started.”

“I’ve been here before,” Yelena says. “In Malaysia.”

Bob shrugs, “I was roaming around Southeast Asia, thought I’d figure something out, or at least find more drugs. Then there’s this guy, started talking to me about a medical study. A trial drug that can make you stronger.”

You’ve been moving towards him all this time. He finally makes eye contact with you. You are reassured by the blue iris you see. It’s a burden for him, but the assurance  you need is finalized by the anxiety and fear that he holds.

This is Bob, not the Void.

He pinches his mouth and looks down at the baby. Finishes explaining the room. “Felt like a miracle. I’d finally get to show everyone that I was more- that I was something.” With a shuddering inhale, he looks up and finds Ava.

“You said I was gonna go first through the doorway. Where did you guys all go?”

“They followed the Void.” 

You flinch at the reverberating echo that is Bob’s voice and not. You all turn to the shadow that is perched at the end of the room on a medical table, remnants of its victims framing it in the room’s cold light. It pushes off and rounds the table. Even with those pinpricks of light acting as eyes, you can tell it’s looking directly at you, and from the way everyone looks at you.

Bob had gone back to Ava’s suggestion in John’s nursery, so John’s nursery was the last time he was with you. “Maybe, don't have John lead. I went first into my room-” after Bucky had passed her the baby. “-and John's been leading us through all of his-” with the baby that Ava had passed to him, and the six of you had only escaped John’s rooms when he’d passed her over to Alexei. They followed the Void. 

“She’s not you.” you say defensively. She’d cried when the Void held her. Something as prideful as this entity would preen at the sight of itself.

The Void growls, and the cold light in the room dims as glass shatters, flying towards you all. “You pulled her out of me. We’re not talking about the chicken and the egg. We’re talking about my rib. Something from my womb. My vessel, every molecule designed for the Void.”

The golden question. “What is that? What are you?”

“Regret. Shame. Guilt. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. That Little Voice. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Living Fractal of this Seventh Cosmos. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Spurs of the Universe. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. God of the Narcisson. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Hades. The Void. Prince of Oblivion. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Final Plague. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Son of the Many-Angled Ones. The Void. The Void. The Void. Daughter of the Living Abyss. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Tehom. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Commander of the Fault. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Child of the Anti-All. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Slicer of Worlds. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Demiurge of Woe. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Roots of the Black Bloom. Imperium Spawn. Herald of the Onyx King. Bones of the All-Black. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Internal Battle. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Cleaver of the Great Web. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Psychopomp to Hope. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Truth. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Bane of the Intelligent Being. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The World To Come. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Diyu. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Nexus of the Underverse. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Butcher of all but the Beyond. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void.  Hell. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Goblin’s Downfall. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. The Void. Daughter of Winter and Regret. A Queen in Black.”

The Void’s voice is not the one it stole from Bob – it started like that, but morphs the longer it talks. It is familiar, or it once was going to be. Feminine and full-bodied. The entity stretches towards the group - the shaggy silhouette of Bob’s long hair curling and waving until it is a lion’s mane, distracting from the slender and muscled shadow it’s reconstituting itself as. As her. Taller than you, and your heart breaks a little in your chest. Is this how you see her all grown up? Her shadow before – before it takes her from you on a cosmic level, before it rips you and your family asunder, before the Void is her.

You turn your head to your baby in Bob’s arms, maybe to brace for what you fear will happen. Bob’s hands are staining black from where he touches your baby. Like sponges soaked in ink, they’re transferring a power that is incomprehensible to the mortal mind. A manifestation of those underworlds the Void claimed as epithets.

“Why her?” Bob asks. “You’ve kept me all these years. Whatever you��re gonna do, why not do it to me?”

“Bobby not feeling special enough?” it mocks, “You delivered me here. Summoned me from the bedrock of the Below-Place.  Well, not you. Broken Florida trash isn’t gonna cut it. But that destiny of yours chose you, so I chose you. It chose a simple, humble warren to hide from me, as if the dirt of your soul is enough to shield it from me.”

It thrusts its hand forward, fingers curling around something inside Bob. Bob’s body burns with the power of the Sentry. Through even the thick fabric of his sweats, Bob’s skeleton is silhouetted by the light of a thousand suns. You expect a scream of pain – you can feel the blistering heat from your place standing beside him, only soothed by the distance he puts between you as his feet leave the ground. He’s pulled forward telekinetically by the Void, its shadows stretching and snapping around it like a shore’s waves. Its form loses the shape of your grown daughter, mirroring Bob again.

There’s that pit in your stomach. Every time Bob has smiled at you, that fragile show of fine that he liked to perform, as if he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, and his fear on the other one. As if he hadn’t been dancing on the edge of a cliff the entire time you’d known him.

You realize you are holding your baby.

And you’re stricken by his words in the florist, which this Bob wasn’t there for. 

If he doesn’t take it for her, I’ll kill him. 

“No!” Yelena cries out, moving to grab Bob but the Void is faster. It jerks its head and the room quakes. A medical table flies and pins Yelena and Alexei to the doors out of the room. Ava’s arms are grappled to her side as she’s thrown into the back wall. When the lights swing off their bolts, John gets a piece of metal in his shoulder when he pushes you to the side, into Bucky’s arms. Buck turns you in his grasp and your back hits one of the workstations, sheltering you and baby when a light wraps around the two of you. The baby is protected from the shattering of glass when Bucky’s arms brace around her, both of you holding your baby.

“Stop. Just - let them go.” Bob protests, untouched by anything in the storm that seeks to hold the team down. You think it knows that it can’t counteract him or the Sentry, or you hope.

Bob’s shadow hunches, as if it’s a friend leaning over a bar table to tell its friend the truth. “You think they care about you? You don’t matter to anyone.”

“That’s not true!” you hear from behind you, and you turn to watch your sister get choked out by an IV strand.

The Void isn’t watching her though, even if its hand is outstretched to fasten the cord around Yelena’s neck. It’s waiting.

“Don’t hurt her.” Bob tells it - and the room echoes with the words of a boy standing by his mother’s seat at the table.

And his father’s reply, “Robert the Hero.”

You remember as the team had filed through the kitchen of Bob’s childhood, the man - his father - who was shorter, leaner than the man who now stands between your family and the avatar of darkness.

Bob straightens up.

“I’m stronger than you.”

“Let’s see.”

As far as a civilian could go, Bob had a decent hit. Maybe Val’s team had given him some pointers. But he takes a wide wild swing that the Void steps into to take a jab at Bob’s ribs. There is a howl of pain that accompanies a loud crack. It takes a series of other bloody hits to knock Bob to the floor

“You thought you were gonna be some great man? Some savior? Can’t even save yourself.”

Bob takes a knee to get up - and the shadow surges forward to grasp his hair and hold up his head.

“We can dance like this, Bobby, for centuries, but I will consume everything and everyone. I will kill each and every one of them.”

Even in its hold, Bob is able to shake his head. “No. Nothing can die in here. It’ll just hurt.”

It laughs. “You think I’ll keep them here? I will personally deliver them to my sister Death’s gullet, so not even you can pull them back. You will be alone - like always... But you can be the savior here, Bob. You can save them. Let go. Give her to me.”

If he doesn’t take it for her, I’ll kill him. The Bob that locks eyes with you is not the one that said those words, but he will be the one that says it. He swallows the fear. 

“Get up, Bobby!” John shouts, struggling on the metal that had impaled him to the desk at his back. You wince for him.

Bob throws his head back, catching his shadow in the nose. It stumbles, holding its palm to its lower face, as if staunching a blood flow. Bob doesn’t let up, tackling it to the ground. Straddling it as he throws punch after punch. The phrase defeating your demons pops into your head. Despite the cold climbing your body, you feel like you should be proud. Maybe this is what Bob needs. 

The Sentry is slamming the Void into a hole in the floor. The concrete is cracking with the force of Bob’s hits. That cold feeling reaches your heart, and no, no, no, this is not what Bob needs.

You look up at Bucky and you see that realization in his eyes too. You see a history of Bucky turning from his vengeance to his amends. You both look down at your baby. The shadows are climbing her body, the same way they’re consuming Bob. The pair of you can’t do anything without leaving the baby. You know Bob will go through with this - become what the Void needs him to be, whatever that is. 

It’s laughing. Taunting Bob, “Is that all you got?”

The room crackles with its energy, the ceiling, the floor, the walls crumbling into its domain, eating the memory of the lab that had gotten Bob into its clutches. There’s a chasm between you and the ongoing fight.

Bucky swallows, and you see resolution in his eyes. A plan. He turns his head to the back of the room, to Yelena. The person who’s belief in Bob has never wavered.

“This isn’t right.” he tells her. He nods to Alexei beside her, who is not strong enough to push the Void off of himself, but he has the strength to give Yelena room to duck under the table.

She gives a look at Alexei, still trapped - but he encourages her forward with a stern, “Go!”

And she’s moving through the collapsing room, through the obstacles the Void throws at her. You don’t know what she’ll do when she reaches him, he’s too far gone with his power, she can’t stop him. 

But she does what she can, which is hold on. Let him know that he’s not alone.

The room has stopped shaking, the floor hasn’t quite repaired itself, but the hold Yelena has on Bob has an effect.

Ava’s able to phase through her restraints. John yanks the metal off of himself with a cry of pain, and ignores the copious amount of blood staining his uniform to run forward with her. Alexei is able to lift the debris off himself. You reach up, wrist blotchy with bruises, to hold Bucky’s cheek. 

As Alexei told Yelena, you tell him, “Go.”

He captures your hand in his and turns to press a kiss to your palm. Your entire body flares with pain, and guilt. He would stay if you asked him. But you nod your head to him. He isn’t the Winter Soldier, but he is a soldier. If there is a fight, he will need to fix it. You know the instinct to fight for a soldier is a need to protect, so you tell him, “I got her. They need you. We’ll be right behind you.”

You have spent the time you have known Bucky Barnes pushing him away. This isn’t that. There is a fight for Bob’s humanity. If he is the one to take the Void, he needs to know that weight isn’t on him exclusively.

You are a team. You are a family.

The Thunderbolts.

Even with Yelena’s arms around him, Bob is still fighting. Alexei wraps his arms around Bob’s waist, pulling him and Yelena off of the Void. Bob lifts his hands, two fists pressed together like a hammer coming down on a nail one final time. Ava snakes her hand over his shoulder, bracing him, or braces herself to him. Her other hand grasps the back of his sweater. John hooks his arm into Bob’s right, as if he can hold Bob back. Bucky is there on the other side of Bob, metal arm holding his, as Bob releases his hands and collapses into the group’s hold of him.

They all fall back, and you watch them disappear into the dark. Bob will be fine. They will be fine.

You haven’t moved from the spot pressed against a workstation, but the Void is in front of you. Bob’s shadow. Her shadow. 

You ask a question of it.

“She’s not there, is she? That’s why Bob wasn’t enough for you. He’s from our world. She’s not out there.” you shrug and look down at your baby. “She’s a memory.”

The shadow is regret and shame and blame, all confrontational things, but it is also grief.

You feel its cold hand touch your cheek. It reminds you of Bucky’s vibranium hand, the cold metal soothing against your skin. 

“Morocco.” it answers for you. “The Red Room located Oksana transporting Red Dust, the chemical antiserum that freed you from its control. She was still trying to take down Dreykov. She was still taking care of little Mallory. Oksana ran away from the safehouse, to get away from the Widows, to save her, and the operatives detonated charges in the building.”

“How old was she?”

The Void sighs and brackets your face in its hands, as if it cared enough to comfort you, before it leans in and kisses your forehead. “Three.”

You close your eyes and lean into the comfort offered, squeezing out a few tears.

You snort, and tell it, “You’re shaking in excitement.”

This eldritch horror of misery looks down at you in surprise.

“Dread. It can be a delicacy, but it tastes like burnt toast.” you quote back at it, “I think it’s a recipe you haven’t mastered. I think you are a powerful being, but I’m not dead yet. They’re not dead yet. You need something from us. Maybe just from me.”

You can't see an expression in the darkness before you, but from the scoff you receive, you can imagine a raised eyebrow and a look of disbelief.

“Did you know?” it asks you. “Did those motherly instincts tell you that she was dead?”

“You know I didn’t. I didn’t have to know. If she was out there, if you needed her, you’d go get her out there. If it’s a baby you needed, there are plenty in the world. You needed one from in here. Maybe one that Bob loves, or will love, because I don’t think you and Bob are that separate. I think he’ll need us, as much as you need me to remember her. I think that’s why you are not killing me right now, out there.”

It doesn’t speak - fuming.

“As for why you’re not killing me in here? No death in here, right? But also, no growth, no moving on with you. She’s a memory, she’ll always be an infant. You need something stronger. You were patient enough with Bob to wait thirty years for him to take the serum, to get the power you needed from him. No amount of patience will make a memory grow. They’re fickle things, memories. I will tell you now, the human brain isn’t as sharp as yours. It will degrade. Maybe, there's a day in the future where I lose my mind, and she disappears.”

You purse your lips, frowning as you look down at your baby in your arms. Bucky will not approve of this plan. But you’re not a hero like him. You look at the face of evil and make a deal with the devil.

“So you let us be. Let me take her out of here, and you can have Bob and all of the powers that chose him. We can have this conversation in another thirty years.”

Bob has held it for this long. He told you to let him take it. You’re banking on his willpower, the strength of his soul, to resist the temptation of the Void. You can come up with a way to defeat this thing in thirty years. Or you can pull a Medea and kill your kid. Whichever comes first.

“Let us be.” you repeat.

It leans in, a forehead to yours. This close, those pinpricks of light are like looking into the sun. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close your eyes. You let yourself sit in that fear. 

It backs off before you can open your eyes again. You smile and nod.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” 

You open your eyes to a ruined New York City street. 

[rassicas]

so, home spawn points!

- are they considered a form of home security system, or some kind of safety feature like having a fire extinguisher around (or maybe both)? are they something that comes standard with inkfish homes, or is it an income-related thing where not everyone can afford one?

- do they have any additional purposes like maybe transportation (like can they be hooked up to other spawn points to quickly teleport an inkfish home)?

- how did the salmonids know where it was, and that they needed to disconnect it? makes me think they've been watching cress for quite some time...

[DISCLAIMER: the following post is full of headcanon, extrapolated from what canon information there is or just What I Think Makes Sense] i have SOOO many thoughts about spawn points i'll try and not get side tracked and answer the questions LOL Communal spawn points are located on rooftops of residential buildings, where the building owner pays to maintain it and it's expected that only residents of that building use it, and in public places around the city, funded by the city. The nearest spawn point to Cress falls under that first category.

I last minute threw some spawn points of the rooftops of some nearby buildings in the last panel. So to answer the last question, the Salmonids knew that the spawn point was on the roof, because that's where it always is for an apartment building. This comic takes place some time before S3 era, so the one-man flying spawn points aren't in common use yet. I'd imagine hi-tech communal spawns are less common in less affluent areas and areas with low populations of inkfish vs other species, and extremely rare in the octarian domes due to electricity demands. I'd think there'd be more low-tech, slower ways to respawn, but the modern style of machinery is truly the best way to do it. the spawn points have two purposes: -to revive an inkfish in case of an accident at home/public space -navigation

The spawn points themselves aren't teleporters, but rather the kettles are, kind of- the way i think that works is that the kettles turn the inkling's genetic info and soul into a gaseous form, and the spawn point functions as a receiver and can rebuild the body from there- anyway. The main way inkfish get around is by super jumping, and to super jump to a far away location, you need an electromagnetic signal to hone in on, like radio waves from a radio tower, a satellite dish, or a spawn point. this signal emitted from the spawn points helps not only with guidance for super jumping, but it also helps guide the soul of a downed inkfish to it. The signals of each of these spawn points Feel different (maybe depending on what ink color it's loaded with, or particular to the machine itself, or both), and it'd be much much easier to hone in on the signal of a far away spawn point you're used to and have physically been to before than one you haven't. Cell phones are also built to pick up these signals from spawn points, kind of like wifi networks. Also like wifi networks, you can register a spawn point as a "home" spawn point, and your phone can notify you if it suddenly goes out or if it's been reloaded with a different color or something.

fortunately for cress, he forgot to turn on "do not disturb" on the spawn point notifs.

[deadlysoupy]

tfe starbee but starscream has been having chronic nightmares and is purposely avoiding sleep

HI HELLO i didn't know you back when you sent me this and its so nice to answer this now that i do hehehe so here you go!!!! hug attack from behind

(again, unclear timeline, this one actually jumps between some time when star was imprisoned and some happy not-so-distant future. again, don't worry about it <3)

(Read here on AO3)

The gun attached to his frame burns. Starscream's plating heats with it as it powers up, setting up the shot. Starscream's optics follow it's trajectory, and he sees yellow and purple colours, all mushed together in a cacophony of chaos.

The weapon fires all on itself. He didn't order it to attack, he never wanted to hurt them.

One devastating shot after another, the colours are greyed out. Unmoving.

Pulsating white lights obscure his vision. To silence them, Starscream fires again, until he's sure nothing is blinding him anymore.

Only when he makes his way to the throne does it outline so clearly, behind the now dull colours. Starscream never has to look back to know the cold bodies belong to his Seekers.

His family. Skywarp and Nova Storm. Their spark extinguished by his own hand.

The frame he's trapped in doesn't hesitate for a second. It sits itself on the Decepticon throne.

When he casts his gaze outward, he sees countless frames, all bowing to him. If he wanted to glance around, he knew there'd be no one else beyond the throne. He'd be alone, surrounded by bots pledging their loyalty to him. It's everything he's ever wanted, and nothing at all at the same time. 

His body shudders and jolts his optics open.

He clenches his servos hard, with intention, to know if it hurts. His claws dig into the planting. A quick warning of energon leak is ignored — but his pain receptors know pain.

It was a dream. Starscream accidentally fell into recharge.

He doesn't know if it's a good idea to be online in a cell like this, but it's better than going back to a dream like that one.

Not that it's anything new. Which was precisely the reason he didn't recharge as much. Perhaps it's the space he's forced to reside in, or it's his own processor fighting him, he doesn't know. The… nightmares, humans call them, have been frequent, and less than pleasant.

Starscream sets himself up to sit on the cold, hard floor of his singular occupied cell, prompting to lean on the wall instead of laying.

He keeps prodding his planting. Pain is a good stimuli for not falling into recharge. He finds it… comforting, after experiencing it so often.

His optics don't shut for a nanoklik. He won't allow himself a recharge that might cost him.

So he waits.

~~

Megatron looms over him. Red, devastating optics follow his every move. The canon on his servo always loaded, and ready to make Starscream remember what failure feels like.

He doesn't know how he got here, but his frame is broken beyond repair. The raw energon leaking out of him smells of rot and mistakes.

His spark is exposed. Frame beyond recognition, cockpit destroyed, laid bare in front of the person he thought was supposed to support him. Was supposed to make things better.

Megatron made it all worse, instead.

His spark aches, so very fragile a single touch would surely shatter it, and he would cease to exist. Life easily snuffed out.

The canon's fizzle gets stronger. Starscream doesn't feel the impact, but he knows his servo is disconnected. Its' joints, wires and pipes disintegrated.

It's not long before he gets to his spark, as well.

He can only helplessly follow Megatron's weapon as it destroys everything Starscream is.

Piercing, hateful optics land on his life. Megatron doesn't use his weapons for this.

He simply raises his pede and smashes it on Starscream's spark.

"Starscream!"

He comes online with a flinch. Who—

"Star", the voice echoes, sounding familiar, but not close enough. He shouldn't be here, this is his own mind, or he'll be hurt too—

"Stop thinking so loudly and just look at me, you aft."

Starscream blinks. Once, twice. It's dark, the room submerged in shadows, except for a yellow frame above him. And light, blue optics.

His body keeps Starscream trapped, but not in a way he finds intimidating. Bee's servos lean on either side of his shoulders, soft, yet firm contact grounding Starscream to reality. He feels Bumblebee's lower body descended on him, sitting on his midriff, pedes on the sides of his frame.

Bumblebee is staring at him, expression a mix of puzzled, worried, on the edge of sadness and anger. Optic ridges knotted together, mouth in a frown. Doorwings so stressed they're out of view.

Starscream takes a deep vent. Bumblebee does, too. Whether for his own sake or for Starscream's, he can't tell.

Bee's helm falls down on Starscream's cockpit. "You scared me. You were fidgeting so much in your recharge it woke me up."

Starscream is having trouble finding his voice, so he lets the silence linger for a moment. "It was nothing. You should go back to recharge."

"No way. You're telling me what that nightmare was about or I'm not leaving your side for a week," Bumblebee looks at him, now so sure of himself and full of commitment and confidence, as if he wasn't shaking from worry just kliks ago.

Starscream easily smirks. "Is that supposed to be a fitting punishment?"

Bee returns the smile. "You know I can be annoying. Do you really want to listen to me plan the Maltos training or do you actually like me?"

"It depends," he shrugs.

Bumblebee furrows his ridges again. "No, seriously, was it bad? You don't have to talk about it, but you know it's better if you do."

They did have a talk about that last cycle. Starscream isn't sure how they ended up having to discuss it, but Bumblebee found out about his "unhealthy" recharge patterns and sat him down for a heated conversation.

Since they were both having trouble falling into recharge, Bumblebee made a deal to go to one berth together. If it worked, they'd make it a habit to recharge at the same time.

It set things into motion for a time. Starscream had hoped the nightmares wouldn't come back with Bumblebee's frame — and spark — being so close, and yet…

After a klik, Starscream shakes his helm. "Nothing you don't already know."

"It's still good to talk about. I'm not going to judge. You thrashed a lot in there."

He does want to talk about it. Always does. The hypocrite in him screams to bottle it down, but it doesn't do either of them good.

So Starscream relents. He scooches a little to allow Bee room, and the bot ends up fully hugging his servo, while Starscream faces him.

"Megatron extinguished my spark. He tore into me with purpose, and eventually I didn't have anything but my core. In the end, he simply… put me out of my misery. And that's when your shouting woke me up."

Bumblebee's optics are pleading. This is why Starscream doesn't often wish to talk about his dreams — he gets pity, like he needs to be ridiculed.

Bee sighs. "Not one of your top five dreams ever, huh?"

"No."

"I'm sorry," he nuzzles into Starscream's servo even more, curling in on himself. "I know it's hard to deal with those, but they are just dreams, in the end."

Starscream's vents whirr. "They're a constant reminder of what could have happened. They're as close to reality as anything else. Your optimism is unrealistic, I'm afraid."

"Still, Megatron isn't like that anymore."

"You never know."

Silence stretches for some time, before Bumblebee raises himself up on his servo and stares into Starscream's optics, conviction burning through him.

"If it helps, I'm doing to defend you no matter what. If Megatron even tries to touch you, or sabotage you, I'll be here to make him stop. You aren't getting me out of the picture, no matter how much you want me to stay out. You have me now, in every possible way."

And, for the better or worse, Starscream believes him. He's a fool, but if the yellow Autobot can be a fool, so can he. For just a moment.

Despite it all, he lets what warmth there could be engulf his spark.

Starscream smiles. "Of course you will. There's no stopping you once you get that look in your optics."

"Hey, I don't have a look. My face is always like that."

"Sure it is, little Bee."

The rest of their recharge goes smoothly, without interruptions. Except for a call Bumblebee gets near the end of their session from the Maltos, but that could hardly count.

He isn't sure his nightmares will ever end, but Bumblebee's presence helps. Bumblebee will make sure Starscream remembers he's not alone.

[i-am-so-sad-i-cant-cry]

Orion the Siren AU

Summary: Orion Pax had drowned at sea, and, like all lost souls within the ocean, became trapped beneath the waves. Now, a young general attacks the docks. (First draft story, be warned)

Also!! Forgot to mention, there some lyrics from this song which I took inspiration from :>

The smell of smoke and blaster swept the docks, once bustling with life and bots from Iacon. Most had run when the first few shots were fired, but an unlucky few were either shot for their heroic delusions or were trampled beneath the stampede.

Megatron didnt let the twinge of guilt for them stop him, he had come too far for guilt.

“Load up all the Energon and materials you can find,” he ordered the constructions and decepticon soldiers who had come with him.

“As you command, Megatron!” Scrapper said, and the rest followed him into the docks, raiding all they could.

Megatron watched the waves lap at the docks, watching for guards or even guardians to soon approach. Soundwave was nearby, keeping tabs on everything. This was the role of the leader after all - strength and orders, not getting his servos dirty unless he must.

Still though, he felt… unusually bored for all the chaos there had been earlier. He thought there might have been more of a resistance, a fight even, but that would endanger their plans too much. They targeted these docks for how unguarded they were, there was no reason to expect more of a fight than there was.

Fog was rolling in, obscuring the view of the ocean, and Megatron sent a signal to hurry up and escape. It might mask their actions, but it would also hide any attackers coming for them.

He jolted as he felt a light presence behind him, his canon ready to attack, but when he looked there was none there. He huffed, figuring it must be his imagination. He left, ignoring the feeling that someone was watching him.

-

Despite how unguarded it was, those same docks made for a great foothold into Iacon, and so Megatron and his troops soon set up a base there as the war began. There was resistance, but nothing in the face of his Decepticon soldiers. It was almost too easy, but Megatron cackled at that thought - Autobots cared too much for ideals of peace, democracy, and art, that they hadn’t even realized they were preparing for war until it was far too late.

The docks was one of their many minor bases, but Megatron now found himself there with Soundwave, planning to launch an offensive soon before the Autobots could become too entrenched in their former capitol. It was of little military advantage, but psychologically it was the most important - the shining example of Autobot art and culture. And Megatron would make sure it was destroyed.

As the war raged, many former Autobots switched sides and worked many of same facilities they had done before - only for his empire now. They skittered about like nano bots, delivering Energon and other vital resources. There was a thick fog over everything, sitting heavy on his plating.

“It seems theres always fog here,” Megatron grumbled, and a dock worker paused.

“Lord Megatron,” they said politely, “it’s… there’s a legend, that these docks are cursed,” he said sheepishly. “It causes for this area to be blanketed in fog almost all year, with scarce few days where it clears.”

Megatron barked a laugh, slapping the shoulder of the dock worker. “A curse? Oh how trite,” he said. He then thought a moment. “Thank you for this information, dismissed,” he said, and the dock worker skittered away.

The fog made rhis place much more valuable then expected, even with a so called “curse.” With fog, and presumably rain, so frequent it must make the docks slippery. But… it also made movements within obscured from outside observation. It would be perfect for constructing his secret weapons.

Though, he should probably install a fence to prevent mechs from falling to this so called “curse”.

-

After a long meeting in this base, Megatron was exhausted. Even over video call, Starscream was always too much. Ultra Magnus had also foiled his assault, forcing them to retreat back to their territory within Iacon. The most important buildings were still firmly within the Autobot Leader’s, Elita One’s, grasp.

He sat out on the docks, on an unusually clear night. The fog was still there, but he could see out of it into the larger oceans. It was quite the sight, leaning on the rail to see.

And from that ocean, he heard a voice, hauntingly melodic.

“I, too, once, tasted the salt air… Lay in the sand where… Feet bare, I raveled in the sand…” it sung, beautiful in every way.

He searched around him for the voice, looking down the docks were not a single other soul lay.

“I, too, once, thought I was home there… Wasn’t alone there… Up where it all came undone…”

No, the voice was coming from down below, where the water lapped at the docks, he saw a figure floating in the waves. It still sang beautifully, calmly, like they didn’t even notice the waves.

“Now I decay, beneath the waves, My wine dark grave… I envy the tides, they come and go… I’m too late to save,” he sang, a sad melody of the seas.

The mech made eye contact, smiling as he stopped his song, but Megatron couldn’t help but want to hear the rest.

“Who-“ he stumbled for words, entranced by this figure in the ocean, “who are you?”

He slowly felt like he was coming out of a fog himself, even as it lingered around him. “Why are you down there?” He called.

The mech, helm blue as the evening sky and optics deeper than the ocean, laughed airily. He wordlessly sank beneath the waves, and disappeared. “Wait!” He called, but he was already gone.

Who… was that?

-

Orion Pax was a dock worker for Iacon, one of many models made for manual labour. He didn’t need to work in that field ever since the functionist laws were repealed, one of his brothers became a lawyer and a friend in a similar class became a doctor, but Orion felt like he belonged near the ocean. He worked clear days there, the Sun beating down on him and his friends Ariel and Dion every day.

But, like many who admired the ocean, he fell victim to it. He fell off the docks, and drowned down there before anyone could get a rope or ladder. Not even his body could be retrieved, and Ariel and Dion grieved for him.

Soon after, the fog rolled in. It seemed to just be an odd occurrence when it first happened, but as time wore on it became apparent it was not temporary. Others slipped and fell, some dying and some not, and the workers started to speak of a curse that had befell the docks.

“Orion would never curse us!” Ariel argued in a fury when she overheard some sailors speaking of such a thing, “he was a kind mech, one who loved all he came across!”

“But he died here, I think anyone would resent dying in such a way,” one of them snapped back.

“How dare you!” She yelled.

But there was a presence at those docks, one which had a haunting voice who lured others out to sea. Sailors had heard stories of them, or even encountered them - Sirens. Beings of the deep who died, and were now trapped within the ocean, luring others out to join them. Ariel would hear no talk of this rumour, but it spread regardless.

When the dock was attacked, the fog rolled in thick and soupy. It was hard to see two feet in front of you, and Ariel found herself navigating what felt like a grey void.

But, as she went, she heard a voice. A haunting voice, but also familiar. It sang its song, and with no other direction she followed it. Soon, she felt the ground change beneath her from hard docks to the streets nearby. Many others, survivors and injured of the attacks, also found their way out that day, following a voice as the fog hid them from the attackers.

Ariel knew then, that the sailors were right, but not in all the ways they thought.

That voice was beautiful, much more so than her friend’s old tavern singing, but he didn’t lose himself in the waves.

Orion was a siren, cursing the place he died, but he was still Orion.

Later that day, she became Elita One, and soon was leader of the Autobots.

-

Every night he could, Megatron would go out on the docks and listen for the voice. Only on the last night, before he would leave the next day, did he hear it once more, singing the same song.

Megatron leaned over, seeing the beautiful mech down there. And once more, he stopped his song.

“Why did you stop,” Megatron asked softly, “that was beautiful.”

“It might be,” the mech said, voice just as beautiful as Megatron had imagined, “but it is a warning, and it is dangerous to sing in full.”

“Youre…” Megatron said, putting the pieces together.

“A siren, a spark who once died here,” he confirmed. “Haunting the grounds they died…”

“Then why have I not been drowned already?” Megatron asked, quickly leaning back. He might’ve fallen in if the mech continued singing.

The mech shook his helm. “I don’t find pleasure in that. Sirens… we don’t forget our lives before. I am still Orion Pax of Iacon, even if I reside down below. That song… I sang it to warn others, but they wouldn’t listen if I continued for too long,” he confessed.

“That is very odd for a creature such as yourself,” Megatron said. “And I wouldn’t expect for you to reveal yourself.”

“I ususally don’t,” Orion said, his deep blue optics looking away, “but… last time we saw one another, I was going to request something, but decided against it at the time, but you’ve kept showing up… so I might as well.”

Megatron listened closely to what the mech said, as his voice lowered. But then, he saw two blue servos, and the beautiful siren hoisted himself up. His lower half had transformed into a tail, a beauitful assortment of blue and white and red. His fins flared as he climbed, and he heaved himself onto the dock and sat back against the railing. Megatron was too stunned to speak.

“I… I want someone to talk with me. It’s selfish, but I miss my friendships and I miss being able to talk with others. I thought I recognized you, but you were merely here when this dock was attacked many vorns ago. I just… I miss-“ he was saying, but Megatron came up from behind and embraced him.

“I can only imagine the harrows you’ve faced,” Megatron rumbled. “But I cannot stay, we’re fighting a war across the planet,” he sighed. “It’s a shame, we have a permanent base not twenty clicks from here, but it sounds youre confined to these waters.”

“Perhaps…” Orion said, before pulling off something from his chest. He offered it to the grey mech, a workers badge. “It’s only a hope, but maybe if you take this to the waters near your base, I can go there. Sirens are only confined to the waters their bodies have touched, but this was on my body when I died, and if it’s not too far…”

Megatron closed his black servo around the badge, and accepted it. “I’ll try, Orion, and I promise that if this works, I’ll gladly talk to someone as interesting as you.”

Orion sighed, leaning into the touch. “You have my thanks.”

They held eachother there, both unsure of their future or even their own feelings, as they watched the sun rise on the horizon.

(Hope you licked this little fic, I wrote this because I liked the premise and not sure what I’ll do with it. If you like the idea, even if you hate my execution, then go for it yourself)

(Also to be clear, Orion hasn’t intentionally killed anyone and he has no idea Megatron is the one who attacked the docks initially. By the time he came up, the attack was done and he only saw the aftermath)

[skydaemon]

does anyone want to hear the worst iwtv thought i've ever had? spoilers

so yknow how there's been a load of hints this season (and some last season) that claudia won't be killed by sunlight like she was in the book, but will die in a fire? i can't recall every instance right now, but in ep 4 there was her talk w santiago and daniel's question about the theatre, both of which could just be hinting at the fire in general, or could be suggesting that claudia dies in the theatre fire. there's loads more examples that someone else collated, but i can't find that right now. considering armand and louis are together in the present, it seems unlikely louis knows armand killed claudia, so if she died accidentally (or "accidentally") it would make sense for them to possibly have trauma bonded or just stayed together, rather than being torn apart the way they were in the book. again, could just be coincidence, or could be foreshadowing.

but i was watching ep 4 today in the scene where claudia confronts louis about armand and i found myself offhandedly thinking that the embers from louis' photographs were going everywhere, and they could start a fire.

then i stopped fucking DEAD.

because this episode sure focused a lot on the fact that louis is learning to control fire, huh? weird, since it's not a skill we see him use in present day. also showed he's not totally in control of it, and that he gets emotional and sets things on fire. so of course my brain jumped to the worst possible conclusion: what if louis set the theatre on fire and it killed claudia?

now, it's totally possible that, as in the book, louis just sets the theatre on fire in response to claudia's death. but before i could snuff out the terrible thought, another one followed: if he did, does he know?

because to me, there are four options. 1: he didn't kill her and he knows it. boring, basic, as per. 2: he killed her and he doesn't know. armand has mind-wipe powers that he's clearly used on louis, and it seems pretty in-character for him to hide this from louis. it would be absolutely devastating as a reveal and i KNOW jacob would kill me by acting it. 3: he killed her and he knows. this would be so INTERESTING!!! like retroactively making it canon that louis killed his daughter/sister/best friend and has been dealing with that for the last seventy-five years has INSANE implications and that would destroy me. 4, and possibly the most awful: he didn't kill her but armand made him think he did. this would explain the way louis in the present is significantly more under armand's thumb when daniel arrives compared to their 40s relationship, and why louis is so fucked in the head. it is so fucking juicy i want to rip into it with my teeth like a ripe mango.

anyway, very possible none of this will turn out to be right, but it was such an arresting thought in the moment that i felt pressed to share it.

[lysistratawrites]

like fuel to fire - chapter two

do you want me on your mind or do you want me to go on?

Pairings: Original female! Character x Joel Miller, Original female! Character x Ellie Williams (platonic)

A/n: taking me some time, but here they are again! Next chapter more stuff is going to happen, promise.

Warnings: canon violence, swearing, blood, smut, strangers to lovers (maybe?), profanity of sacred places (add a bit of religious kink too).

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @maegelletargaryen @joels-princess @livyjh @moonyatnoon @elliesfqrefly @mmkkzz

The silence of the place doesn’t betray the presence of two more souls in there.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow you can hide here while I take a look how things are outside.”

She has left them getting comfortable in one of the corners of the chapel, cushions, some stolen sleeping bags and old clothes forming improvised mattresses. A promise of a much needed time of rest and the illusion of safety.

She is sit by one of the benches not used for further purposes, a first aid kit next to her. A couple of candles and a camping lamp giving an eerie glow to the shadows that dance on the cold stone walls—white paint peeling and flaking like ancient skin, revealing big patches of stone and hints of humidity.

“Fuck.” She grits, needle tightly hold by her fingers as she tries to properly stitch herself, the wound by her non-dominant forearm burning with pain.

She doesn’t even hear those steps until he is by her side.

“Let me.” He mutters, kneeling with a soft grunt and taking the needle from her hand with a care that does not suit the man that was ready to shoot his way out of a gunfire by himself hours ago.

And she lets him stitch her, silently observing him.

Joel has had his own experience with wounds and cuts, and it shows. The way he carefully guides the needle through her skin, metodical and clean, shows it is not the first time he has had to do it, and she wonders what has driven him to a place like Kansas City.

“You gotta rest, I can take tonight’s watch” he doesn’t raise his voice, and for a moment he doesn’t even seem to dare to look at her.

“Don’t tell me you care ‘bout me…” she scoffs, half silent, and for a moment his gaze meets hers in the dim light.

“Y’know what I mean.”

She could swear his cheeks get a bit of color. Flustered, he clears his throat, focusing on the stitches while she stifles a smile.

He has not questioned her since they left the store, eyes scanning their surroundings, like having set his own priorities and worrying about the kid’s safety first.

“Thank you” she mumbles when he has finished, the tip of her index finger grazing the dressing.

He hums, and the moment their gazes meet she can feel a warm feeling inside her, something strange, almost appealing. He is a survivor, just like her, and the lines of his face unveil such a difficult path he has been following since long ago.

“Gotta ask” his voice fills the usual void there, and she finds it to her liking. “Why a place like this?”

She leaves him space to sit next to her, both of them with their eyes upon the altar, like in a sort of attempt to picture how things where twenty years ago.

“Mama used to take me to pray for my dad’s safety every damn day. I wondered if God ever existed… The question answered itself when Cordyceps took my family away. First my siblings, and mom went insane. She came after them, and then dad.”

Joel looks at her, sideways, silent. His hands gently twitching here and there.

“Never had myself for a man of faith.”

“Never did I.”

A moment of silence. Not a sound to break the peace of the moment, not a thought that is not loaded with shadows of a want unnamed.

Her gaze goes from the shadow of the holy cross long gone by the altar to the man by her side, and the dim light of the room helps her better to put a history to that thoughtful face, to those sad eyes and that broken watch. She surprises herself pleased by the whole of it.

“You shouldn’t go alone out there.”

“I’m not alone.” She doesn’t even notice how her voice threatens to break with that last word.

Her gaze goes from Joel to the place where a cross hanged from the wall, relying in that strange comfort his mere presence brings despite the echoes of sadness surrounding them both.

“We saw the QZ doors wide-opened.”

“It all blew up.”

“No FEDRA…”

“Not as of ten days ago.”

She is not looking at him, but she feels his gaze upon her, calculating, assessing, filled with an unnamed concern that he doesn’t hide as skillfully as he believes.

“Always heard KC FEDRA was—”

“Monsters? Savages?” she doesn’t raise her voice. “You heard right. Raped and tortured and murdered people for twenty years.” She doesn’t even notice the twitch of his hands, the badly hidden urge to search for some comfort, for some grounding—she doesn’t need it, at least it is what she thinks. “And you know what happens when you do that to people? The moment they get a chance, they do it back to you.”

“But you’re not FEDRA.” She doesn’t see him frowning, his lips clenched in a scowl.

For a moment she doubts if she should tell him all. Not even Perry knows it completely, and that urge disturbs her.

“No, I’m not.”

“Why help us?”

It sounds more like a plea than a question, and that tugs at her heart more than she would have ever liked to.

"If things would have gone as they should, I would have taken part in the uprising… And probably I would have taken Brian’s place.” She turns to face him, and his gesture softens when their gazes meet. “I know this city. I’ll take you outta here and help you with your supplies. There’s no need for you to—”

“Come with us.” She wants to say no, but something inside her pushes to stay silent. “We’re headed to Wyoming, Ellie and I.” She clenches her jaw, fighting to resist the urge to agree, mind racing with possibilities. “It’s not safe here and you know it better than any one”, his voice is filled with a quiet urgency that tugs at her heart.

Damn, it is true. After two decades of abuses, people had gone feral, and the chances to make it in a place like Kansas City are slim to none. She has seen the madness that lurked behind desperate eyes, heard the echoes of old lives collapsing. Chaos taking form, people returning to their supposed keepers all atrocities suffered for years.

“Joel—”

A noise coming from outside calls her attention. She likes to leave at least one of the windows ajar, her attention always outside in case any one or anything dares to disturb the relative peace she has built for herself. She lifts a hand as she rushes to the altar, her fingers opening the lid to an improvised hiding spot and taking a rifle from it. She knows there is no need to ask him for silence as he quickly lowers himself, an eye upon her for some backup and another to the door of the sacristy where Ellie rests, the last time he saw her she had fallen asleep hugging an issue of Savage Starlight.

She leans the arm against the border of the window, the scoop scanning their surroundings from the shadows of the place, her index finger gently looming over the trigger, knowing well that she left it ready to use, a second option to consider in case of need.

Nobody to disturb the relative peace of the evening. No target around.

“Took it from FEDRA” she finds herself saying as she returns the arm to its resting place, as if she can read his mind and answer any questions he may have. “The resistance has its guns under control.”

Her voice is almost clinical, far from any kind of emotion and, despite her not really noticing it, Joel does and he approaches her by the altar, eyes observing her with something Alana can’t name—at least not yet.

The tension in the room crackles like electricity, words hanging unspoken.

“How long?” His voice is soft this time, a balm to her wounds, and she frowns when she realizes her own vulnerability.

“Fuck…” she grits, voice low. “Don’t.”

A part of her doesn’t want to face him, but she does it, and that sad gaze entices her like a siren chant, pulling her closer despite the warnings in her head.

“Fourteen months.”

And he gets closer too, fingertips gently grazing hers. His presence can fill a room even if he doesn’t mean it.

“Can’t offer you much, but maybe we’ll get to a safe place in the end”, he mutters, his other hand gently close to her jawline, the back of two fingers looming over it, like silently asking for permission to actually touch her.

She leans into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he brushes her cheek, the outside world briefly forgotten in the sanctuary’s hush. No infected, no resistance—for a moment not even Ellie.

“I know well what grief can lead one to”, they are impossibly close, that much she can even smell the scent of his shirt—a mixture of soap, musk and gunpowder mixed with something nameless, something that grounds her. “You deserve peace o’ mind. And freedom.”

“You think you can give that to me?” She mutters, a half-lidded gaze upon him, observing his features sculpted by the dim light of the place.

“At least can try.”

She leans into him, tiptoeing, searching for his lips, finally giving up, hands cupping his face as he leans into the kiss, rough at first, like not being used to be that close to anybody.

Truth be told, both of them lost that habit long time ago.

With one of his hands by her waist and the other gently in the gape between her cheek and her nape he just doesn’t kiss her, but devours her with a desperation only matched by that she holds deep inside her covered by walls thicker than stone, her heart thundering with every heartbeat as she lets him break through each layer one by one. A soft whimper takes form at the back of her throat as he pulls her to the altar, a smile curving her lips as he nibbles her lower lip, a flicker of amusement crossing his features.

“Holy fuck” she mutters, breathing a laugh as she pushes herself up to sit on the communion table, the place once dedicated to praise holiness and preach about virtues transformed by need in a hiding spot, and by lust in an altar to their raw need, her pulse racing beneath his palms as she drags him closer, daring the world to interrupt.

She can even swear the corners of his lips twitch into a smile of some sort.

Her hands clutch the front of his flannel and suddenly it feels like it is good to have him that close to her, to have his warmth bleed into her, and his hands praising her body doesn’t even dare to object to that fact.

“Alana…” he breathes when she nibbles his jawline, teasingly, before sowing it with licks and kisses, her hands going under his shirt almost at the same time that his go to the fly of her jeans, received by the unconscious grind of her hips against his touch.

A smile against his skin reveals how much she likes when he calls her by her name.

She doesn’t even notice when Joel taps her on the hip, and she helps him lower her pants enough for them to properly let them keep going. A sound between a moan and a hiss escapes her lips when her butt, only covered with a pair of cotton panties, touches the stone, cold and unforgiving. The initial sensation fades the moment two fingers, stronger and rougher than hers, go over her crotch, teasing her over the cloth, ripping a gasp from the back of her throat.

“Jesus…” he mutters, eyes clouded with need, despair and lust, their gazes crossing midway, similar one to the other. “Have you ever…?” The moment she nods, a gentle hum as an answer as she can’t help but look at him in the eye, his fingers hook over the panty and meet her folds, ripping a soft groan from him.

Joel teases her, relishing on her arousal enough to be able to painfully slowly pulling in a finger, and then another, and then curling them both over that sweet sweet spot that quickly makes her see stars, and he feels himself obliged to devour her to muffle any possible sounds that may come from them.

It is not good, it is not correct, but if feels like it.

When she manages to unbuckle his belt and zip down his jeans she knows she is doomed, but something deep down pulls her to search her own bliss for once, to search for some warm comfort between the arms of that man she knew nothing about mere hours ago.

The feeling of his rough hands upon her thighs, fingers gripping flesh with a hunger she never knew but at the same time with a reverence that makes her feel seen breaks her heart, mending it with the warmth seeping from his skin, a wrap of safety she fears she has only dreamt with.

He slowly pulls into her, and the stretch makes her hiss, the initial discomfort quickly turning into something she hadn’t feel for a very long time. They keep devouring each other as they ride the other to a much needed bliss, and a moan gets muffled against his mouth when she gets to touch it, legs crossed behind him thanks to having took off her pants before in a moment she doesn’t even remember; he follows afterwards, her heels gently digging into the flesh of his lower back, a raw and furtive tear slipping down his cheek as he focuses on the soft skin of her neck, a silent sob reverberating in his chest when with a soft whisper she promises him she will go with them to Wyoming.

…

She takes a deep breath as her eyes observe the humvee leading the patrol along one of the main streets of the former QZ.

“You must be proud.”

“Took quite an effort, but it’s one of our greatest strengths.”

“You know I can easily fuck it with a clean shot, right?”

Perry turns to face her, his brow furrowed and his lips contorted in something that lays between a scowl and a grin. He is the one who took Alana under his care and taught her almost everything she knows.

“Y’should be careful, kiddo. There’s a merc on the city, he killed Brian’s group.”

Joel. She bites her lower lip, gently, almost unnoticeably, when the thought of the man comes to her mind.

“I did it.” She doesn’t even bother to look at him, her attention divided between the conversation and the sight of one of those deadly patrols set to locate any enemy to the Resistance.

Perry turns to face her, both eyebrows raised in a mix of surprise and anger.

“What the fuck—?”

“He was a pain in the ass, somebody had to control him and his hyenas.”

Alana just doesn’t let herself think about Joel and Ellie in that moment. Perry mustn’t know about them.

“You hurt your arm then?”

She nods with a hum, her eyes spotting the plow joining the patrol group. Certainly it will be a difficulty to try to avoid in their way to escape the city.

…

He frowns as his gaze is still on the window. He doesn’t like the wait, never been a fan of it.

“At least sit down, man.”

“Shut up.”

He doesn’t even want to close his eyes, the feeling of soft and warm skin still itches in his hands.

How pretty she looked when he made her come with his fingers, the frailty of her figure enlightened by something far beyond understanding. If he concentrates, it feels like he can still hear her whimpers in his mind, combined with the tiny broken pieces of his heart when she wanted him to come inside, to stay still as she took refuge in the crook of his neck.

“She’s gonna come back, right?”

A quick glance to Ellie is enough for him as an answer.

He has enough to assume that maybe, just maybe, the hollowness inside him ain’t that big as it used to be.

A muffled sound of locks and scraping heavy stuff against the floor calls his attention, and with a gun on his hand he leans out of the hiding spot that tries to resemble something like a small attempt of a home.

The sight of those bright eyes of hers makes him lower the pistol, finally letting out a breath he would never recognise he’s been holding.

“You okay?”

She nods, and he rushes to help her.

The mere brush of their hands when they are barricading the entrance is electric, and he can’t help but steal quick glances at her, observing her little quirks, how she makes this little pout as she works on the trip wire by the first window after the main doors of the place, how her brow furrows as she pushes a couple of benches back to their place, by the door, carefully placed to lock it so nobody can easily come into.

The three of them meet by the improvised room Alana made to herself using the sacristy, now their shelter.

“We’re fucked up. They’ve repaired the plow. And the fuckin’ humvee.” She huffs, and Joel spots Ellie’s restless figure readying a hundred questions. “Talked to the second-in-command, he says that they suspect the shit show was made by a mercenary.” She raises her gaze at him, and the sunbeams coming from the window give her eyes colours he didn’t notice before. “Congrats, they’re scared shitless and all because of you.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

It Was His Year

Day #21 - Hate This Town | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Slightly Graphic Imagery, Blood, Injuries | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Steddie (If You Squint) | Tags: Missing Scene S4 Finale, Evacuation, Canon Divergence, Eddie Munson Lives

Gareth runs out to his mom's minivan, carrying another load, and his hand hurts, even with his fingers taped together. At least one is broken, he's certain. Fucking Jason Carver.

The town has cracked wide open and everyone is panicking. Fleeing. Packing their cars, ready to haul ass out of this godforsaken place. Goodie and Jeff are helping load up his drums, and what gear they have between the four of them.

But Eddie is nowhere to be found.

Hasn't been around for days, and Gareth's worried. Something's going on, something more than an earthquake. Something more than an evacuation. He gets that Eddie's been hiding out, and for good reason, but this isn't just about that. Can't be. 

Eddie wouldn't have hurt Chrissy Cunningham. Not a chance in hell. Eddie's mouth runs a good game, but Gareth knows him. Really knows him. And Eddie was ready to finally get out of this sorry fucking town. Graduate.

It was his year.

And now he's missing, and the fucking Scooby Gang that is always somehow in the middle of every disaster that befalls Hawkins, are missing, too. 

Dustin Henderson is never this quiet. Something's up. 

Something big. 

A couple miles outside of town, Gareth slams on the brakes, and Goodie braces himself against the dash, "What? What is it?"

"Steve Harrington," Gareth says, because that was Steve Harrington's BMW hauling fucking ass in the opposite direction, towards town.

"So?" Goodie says.

"That wasn't Steve Harrington driving. That was Nancy Wheeler," Gareth says, starting to make a three-point turn in the middle of the highway, getting honked at by everyone behind him. He throws his hand out the window, flipping them off, then follows the BMW as it barrels back towards town. 

"No, no. Over my dead body. We're not going back. Tell me you're joking? The streets are caved in," Goodie says, looking for back-up from Jeff.

"Gareth, maybe we shouldn't-" Jeff tries.

But it's too late, he's giving chase. If anyone knows where Eddie is, it's that group, Gareth's sure of it.

After dodging streets that don't exist anymore, he sees Steve's car parked under the awning of the already bustling emergency room. Gareth gets out of the driver's seat, and looks over at the group that's surrounding the familiar car. They seem to be in costumes, like they went and raided The War Zone outside of town. Robin Buckley is standing there as Dustin is fucking bawling, holding onto the open door of the car. 

And Nancy Wheeler? She's absolutely screaming, arms waving, pointing. Barking orders to an already overwhelmed staff. 

That leaves Steve Harrington, and Gareth can see the soles of his boots as he's in the backseat of his own car, on top of Eddie, as Eddie's limp, boot-covered foot hangs out of the vehicle. The leather upper torn, shredded to the bone. 

What could even do that? What the fuck has happened here?

Gareth runs to the other door, the still closed one, and when he opens it, Steve barely looks up at him, doing chest compressions, breathing for Eddie.

Steve looks feral. Soaked with blood, smelling of kerosene and fire.

Death.

Eddie's neck is bandaged, his cheek, and Steve drags Gareth's hands to Eddie's neck, pressing them down. Gareth puts pressure, while Jeff hovers behind him. Goodie nowhere to be seen.

Gareth holds on tight, but he thinks Eddie's dead. He's not sure there's anything he, or Steve Harrington, can do about that. 

But Steve keeps working, arms pumping against Eddie's ribcage, and Gareth tries not to cry. 

He's in a daze, when he realizes Goodie is standing behind him, with his dad. Dr. Goodwin. Of course. He's not the kind of doctor Eddie needs, not by a long shot, but maybe he can get him into the right hands.

"What did you kids do?" Dr. Goodwin asks, but there's no answer to that. Between all of them, they're able to get Eddie pulled out of the backseat, and loaded up onto the gurney.

Steve Harrington bullies his way beyond the staff only doors, and Gareth doesn't understand why, as he stands there, the doors gently swinging, as Eddie's taken away.

Jeff is scrubbing Gareth's hands at the public bathroom sink, and Goodie is wiping at his neck where Eddie's bloody hair rubbed against his face when he helped pull him out of the car. His bandana is in Gareth's pocket now, soaked in red. This is fucked. It's all so fucked.

"What happened? It looked like he'd been attacked by an animal," Gareth mutters, "Did Carver do this?"

"I don't know," Jeff says, and yeah, Gareth thinks, none of them know anything. Not anymore.

By early morning, Eddie is hooked up to machines and tubes, and Steve Harrington is sitting at his bedside like a guard dog, still filthy. Still itching for a fight.

"We're his friends. His band. Corroded Coffin? Hellfire Club? With Dustin?" Gareth tries. Steve Harrington doesn't look well, he's glassy-eyed and pale. He has one dirty hand on Eddie's bedrail. Gripping tight.

"We can stay with him, you could go change clothes. Take a shower? See a doctor yourself?" Gareth offers, because Steve Harrington is sweating, and looks like he can barely sit, let alone stand. 

And then Robin Buckley is here, fussing, calling him a dingus and leading him to the sink in the corner of the room. Lifting his shirt.

Jesus H. Christ.

"Oh shit," Gareth says, seeing the angry, weeping wounds on Steve's sides. At the rope burn around his neck. "Goodie. Maybe get your dad again."

It takes weeks, more than a month, and they all take turns sitting with Eddie, before Eddie finally opens his eyes and blinks, looking around. It's a full-house.

Gareth leans over him from one side, Steve from the other, "Eddie? Are you okay? What year is it?" Gareth asks.

Eddie coughs, but smirks, ever so slightly. Voice hoarse from disuse, "It's '86, baby. I told you this was my year."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[wonderinc-sonic]

A Promise to Kronos on Ao3

Teen ◇ No ship ◇ Angst ◇ 1.2k

Omega looks deep into the furnace where Eggman Robots go to be recycled.

Team dark week day 1! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh @teamdarkweek

Omega held his body very still, his torso poised and upright, as though within it was a cup of lava filled to the brim - just the rhythm of his steps threatened to melt his whole insides with it.

He was a soldier unused, stationed in the empty room with nothing but that worthless pod of slime and unconscious meat, forgotten and rotting beside it.

He was facing the body of the creator as it melted into metal goop: he should have known he was too cowardly to meet them himself.

He was watching the draconic abomination of Doctor Eggman's greatest achievement, and even that didn't please the genius. There never was anything to be won in this cycle.

And today, he stood facing the incinerator; the teeth of that grinning emblem were actually gaps lit by fires and outlined by reinforced bars. As another batch of bots was cleared for termination, the teeth receded into the moustache, giving the Eggman a gaping maw with which he swallowed his children like a titan.

Omega couldn't feel them through the blistering heat from outside and within him, but he was flanked by his teammates. One of them was saying something, but his linguistic processing was offline, so it sounded the same as the bars that clanked back down, the squeal of trapped air escaping metal bodies, the roaring of wind rushing around in a circle to keep the fires aerated. Visible through the grates beneath their feet, metal flowed like blood from steak squeezed out on a plate. It shone and lit them up for a moment.

Someone was touching him and making a sound. They didn't exert much pressure, but he shook them off with a standard amount of force - they were sent skidding into the wall with a yelp. Someone else was blocking his path now; they were below his field of vision and pushing him backwards with immense force, but he braced and stared beyond them. They clanked their spines against his metal chest.

Metal. Metal that was flowing beneath his feet was the same that made him. How many lives had this ore that he called his own lived before it encased him? The Badnik and the biological batteries they chewed were all burned the same, separated by the immense heat. Did that rid the body of the soul?

Yes. It certainly did. Because he was sure at this moment that he could hold rage more blinding than any carbon body could tolerate: only a machine such as himself could hope to feel this burning heat. After all, they were born of it, and returned to it.

The mouth started to open again, as another mound of bodies - some still conscious, but immobilised - started to fall from the compactor above. Omega's steps towards the incinerator were thunderous, if only in his own deaf sensors.

Something tugged on his arm, gently then firmly, and finally with unholy power. He did not turn to them as they pulled so hard they separated the canon from the body and cried out in alarm. External temperatures were too high for them to follow him now. His joints started to feel slippery.

As he looked down into the pits, the teeth-gates opened for him like they were waiting for him, and the floor beneath his feet tipped forward. He grabbed one tooth-bar and watched as the next load were recycled, inspecting the furnace from inside; he saw grinding wheels of stone cogs chewing the bodies as they melted down, then slipped through the cracks to be collected and separated. He saw the ventilation and turning rod that whipped the air around, enjoying centrifugal force to maintain the pressure in the air. If this crank could be stopped, the grinding would cease, causing the hot air and fire spill out once not encircled in this airflow. It would burst out through these teeth, rushing through the room, filling it and consuming the air in here too. His occular units were becoming unreachable, ignoring instructions and almost slipping from their sockets as his body started to slump.

His premeditation came to a crashing end when an explosion rattled him, as something burst into existence behind him. Something fabric singed and smoked as a gloved hand grabbed him and snapped them out of their present space and time as quickly as it arrived.

His body gave an unhealthy crack: apparated somewhere new, his shell made contact with fresh powdery snow and the expanded metal snapped back to its normal volume and split the middle of his chest casing.

There was shouting over and around him, and the sky above was dark. Slowly, he restarted the sensory processes. His mind pinged with all the damage he detected in himself. He dismissed the warnings, and re-engaged language.

"I don't know. It was hot. I was trying to take us somewhere opposite."

"Well, thanks for that! How the hell do we move him like this?"

"Give me a minute, just hold him together."

Snowy white ears were illuminated by his own glowing eyes as she leant over him, checking for signs of conscious movement. He blinked his shutters, and she huffed in relief.

"And just what were you playing at? Trying to recycle yourself, you idiot?" She hissed into his helmet as she removed one of his drooping eyes to examine the damage to the joint.

Right, they had had a plan: cut off Eggman's supplies, one of which was metal both from mines, and from his own recycling.

"Directive-" His speaker was distorted and garbled: "Destroy forge."

Shadow leant over him now too, Chaos Emerald glowing in his burnt-bare paw.

"Without destroying you in the process." He muttered, and with a loud whoosh, they were back in the workshop, talking of plans and reconnaissance while the pieces of him were carefully taken for repair, one by one. He stared up at the ceiling, seeing a disfigured and melted body reflected on the chrome conductor panels they use8d for Chaos experiments. The outside now could match the in - completely reformed in rage. Shadow and Rouge took turns fussing over him, gently swapping, mending and welding his parts back together.

"Sorry about your arm," Shadow murmured to him, hours or no time after they'd returned.

"It is of no consequence." The broken voice-box responded. Shadow sniffed firmly, and he and Rouge looked at each other over his body.

"We get that what we saw must have been... emotional for you, in a sort of way," Rouge began. She was delicately detaching his middle from his leg motors at the 'belt', wriggling out melted and misshapen screws with tiny magnets.

"But you can't take revenge that'll kill you. We don't allow it." Shadow finished firmly for her.

He stared blankly at Shadow. There was something that he couldn't understand in either of these two - their concern for him was beyond what was warranted: as long as his core thoughts remained, his body was there to be spent and exchanged for blood. And there was something they couldn't understand in him too, now, he supposed. He had seen in himself for the first time: he was made, and still running on, fire.