#my first terror fic... hopefully more to come!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fuji-sen · 4 months ago

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the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 5: Burning Pinecones

[ part 4.5 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 6 ]

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

warnings: the usual violence/blood for sagau fics.

"Traveller, would you like to accept a personal quest from me?"

Aether stared dubiously at the man in front of him, which the Cavalry captain noticed "Come on, aren't we friends?" The blond and Paimon stared at him incredulously, then the two travelling partners stared at each other, engaging in a mental conversation.

'Do they not trust me that much?' Kaeya felt a bit hurt but brushed it off when the duo turned to him once more. "You're not going to ask us to hunt down this 'imposter' are you?"

It was the blue haired man's turn to stare at them flabbergasted "My, you think so little of me. Haven't you heard the saying Innocent until proven guilty?" "We know that!" Paimon huffed "it's just. . you're still in the knights of Favonius, We're surprised you haven't gone all. ."

"Murderous" Aether offered.

"Yeah! It's a surprised you aren't as murderous as Jean and Lisa were with this lookalike." Paimon pointed out. "That's fair, but I would prefer knowing all the details before acting."

Aether sighed, "all right, then I'm guessing you want us to track down the lookalike and gather information to help decide whether they are the imposter or not. . right?"

"Astute as ever dear Traveler" Kaeya clapped with a Cheshire like grin. "Why can't you do it though?" The traveler questioned "You're more familiar with the region as a resident of Mondstadt."

"Be that as it may, I am a member of the Knights. I expect Jean will be ordering all of us in a mandatory man-hunt for the 'Imposter.' You two on the other hand have a chance of not partaking in it in the guise of already being on a separate quest."

Aether and Paimon frowned, "are they really set on killing them?" He asked, he did not like this, he did not like how they were acting. Upon first meeting them, they seemed reliable and level-headed, now they seemed like. .

"Faith does a lot of things to a person traveler, Paimon. You will find that once word spreads across Teyvat that person will no know peace, even if they end up really being the Creator. So hopefully you find them first."

Golden eyes stared into periwinkle eyes. "Should I warn them about everything?"

Kaeya combed his locks "I'll leave that decision to your judgement in character. I should go now, I have a feeling that Jean will have someone call for me soon."

"Then me and Paimon will head out now, but. . have you any idea where they might be?"

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Thanks to the effort of the Samuchurl and the other hilichurls you had recovered quickly. All though the scars remained littering your body, still the pain that lingered was gone, you were no longer bothered by the lingering effects of electro from Lisa's attacks.

Your stomach was no longer empty and you were no longer in tattered clothes. The Pajamas although salvaged was now in a rucksack, you debated on whether throwing it away but seeing as it is your last memento of a life so far away from your grasps. . you decided to keep it in the end.

Now however, what draped your body was clothes that you could only describe as traditional or ethic, the type of clothes you'd see hilichurls wear. Luckily it fitted you and covered you properly considering hilichurl clothings usually cover the lower half of the body if you compared it to the in-game models. It reminded you of Claude's first attire in 'who made me a princess'*.

However the Hilichurls did not wear shoes so you had were still going to be walking barefoot. Dvalin or rather in the current timeline, Stormterror, had not returned to the area, you assumed he would be with the abyss mages or terrorizing mondstadt so you weren't scared for your safety (not like Dvalin would ever hurt you but you don't know that-) and you could stay with the hilichurls and your pyro buddy who were the best company right now!

Still. . you can't help but let your eyes linger away from the hilichurl camp. Despite the trauma that would no doubt haunt you for a long time, you still wanted to just. . explore Teyvat and everything it had to offer, well except for the people, you wanted to try the cuisine, wear there clothes and if it seemed like you'd be stuck here till you die. . maybe open up a shop or find a permanent home.

Inazuma would be nice as it would be based on Japan, but Liyue's culture also caught your eye. . but then Mondstadt's scenery, Fontaine's architecture and fashion. . .

"So while the hilichurls were busy you decided to take a walk, of course, some inkling inside you knew to avoid any humans and since your choices were either the brightcrown canyon teeming with enemy mobs or go south and find your way to dawn winery and then wolvendom. .

Brightcrown canyon was your choice of course.

"What-" you stare at the pyro slime that was angrily bouncing in front of you, as if stopping your escape. "I'm just going to take a walk."

It's stare was unnerving, clearly not wanting you to go anywhere else but the hilichurl camp. "I'm not going near any mondstadters if that helps my case!"

It stopped, blinking and then began happily prancing around you in circles.

You chuckled at the cute pyro slime as you scoped him in your hands, you didn't question how you weren't harmed by its flames, you were afraid to know what that means for you after all. Would that be considered proof of being an imposter?

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Okay so last that anybody has heard of this creator lookalike, is that they fell off the cliff behind the headquarters of the knights and landed in Cider Lake" Paimon repeated as she and Aether were just outside of the city, across the bridge and in front of a fork in the road.

The left road would lead back to the whispering woods then to the lake, then the beach where they came from when Aether first came to Mondstadt. The middle one would lead to Wind rise and farther off would be cape oath. Then the path that led to the right of them would lead to a small village named Springvale, then to dawn winery and Wolvendom and the farthest place there would be Stormterror's lair.

They stared at the map that Kaeya had kindly given them, marked with numerous locations that were well known in Mondstadt. "Okay then what happened after is that Stormterror came during the commotion which led to a chance for the person to escape. . then when they fell into the lake, followed by soldiers trying to catch them. . Stormterror took a sip or rather bite out of the lake and ate the people there?"

Aether continued with a distraught looking expression as he tried to imagine it, well he didn't have to imagine it for long because due to a commotion near the lakeside he turned, finding Amber and a few knights pulling a net which contained fish, clothes and . . dismembered limbs.

Paimon paled, floating behind him as she covered her eyes.

Despite the nauseating feeling he approached to inquire about the bodies, it would be bad if the creator lookalike had been eaten by Stormterror. "Oh Traveler come here!" Amber waved over as he gulped but nonetheless reluctantly got closer. The smell of iron filled their noses, nauseating them.

"A-are you finding the 'lookalike' I heard they fell into the lake?" Aether offered, trying to ignore the close up looks of the bodies in his peripheral vision. "Yes, we are looking for the 'imposter' we need to make sure they're dead." The outrider corrected, with a disturbing look the travelling duo could not quite place for a lack of better terms.

The blond haired boy scrutinized the outrider in front of him, sure they had a rough first meeting when Amber was very suspicious of him but he got past that because she was doing her job, this however. . hunting down a person just because of the face they were born with, was this her job as well as an outrider? as a knight of Favonius? This was not the person he respected, and that made it all the more disappointing.

This entire situation flabbergasted him, perhaps it was because he was not of this world but. . was it common sense to hunt someone down and kill them on sight for having the face of a God? would there be no trial? no interrogation or due process? He understood the appeal to devote ones self to the Creator, for he felt their lingering warmth and love even from an inanimate statue in their image.

He also understood that there was a prophecy of an imitator, a devil disguising themselves as the creator and being a sign of chaos, and sure Mondstadt was in a chaotic state but what if the prophecy wasn't real? prophecies weren't exactly reliable anyways and was it worth risking the chance of harming and offending their Creator if that person wasn't an imposter??

"What got you so quiet?" Amber noticed as the boy flinched, "nothing, it's just the smell is bothering me."

"Oh- that's fair, Sorry for making you come closer I should have approached you instead" she at least had the nerve to be sheepish about it "This is the first time Stormterror killed someone. Mostly they have been causing disturbances with the storms and some injuries here and there, but this would be the first recorded casualties."

"Does that mean, Stormterror's gotten ticked off by something?"

"Probably, it's probably because of the Imposter" the brown haired girl's lips had thinned considerably "I guess Stormterror has a bit more common sense to attack the Imposter as well. That's nice at least, if only he had finished the job."

Aether forced himself to laugh awkwardly, "well, I uh see. . anyways I need to go. I have a quest to fulfill."

Not really noticing his behavior, Amber offered something with a smile "Oh where are you headed? I'll be going on a search and exterminate party with a small group of knights maybe we could join together and help each other."

"Maybe some other time-" Paimon finally spoke, cutting Aether off "Sure! Where are you headed?" Amber who brushed off what Aether was originally going to say "We're going to comb the areas around the lake, if Stormterror didn't managed to kill the imposter then it's likely that they were able to swim to the shores."

"Wait-" Paimon quickly elbowed her friend before turning to Amber "then uhh, we'll pick the farthest one, it's more important that we find the Imposter after all, right Aether?"

"I- oh yeah, I guess." he quickly said after realizing why Paimon was agreeing to the suggestion.

Paimon's eyebrows had ticked in annoyance at the subpar acting Aether possessed. Honestly, could he not be so obviously weird about the imposter-lookalike situation!

Amber meanwhile smiled "That's great!" she was none the wiser "It's nice to see you prioritizing the more important things in life!"

She unrolled the map as she let them take their first pick, Paimon and Aether glanced at each other, wondering which place should they take.

Their outrider friend(?) was called away by a knight so they spoke in hush whispers. "where do you think they'd go. ." aether hummed as paimon whacked him in the head, "hey!" he hissed "what was that for!"

"For you terrible acting, could you be anymore obvious?? You know we have to find them first!" Paimon complained tugging at his ear, "right look sorry!" he swatter her much smaller hand away "but we have to choose now."

Paimon bit her lip "but what if we picked the wrong location and Amber and the others find her first. ." The traveler sighed "It's a risk we have to take, hopefully. . her luck doesn't run out."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"I need some herbs and spices, oh and some more sweet flowers and berries. . It'd be nice if I could catch some meat too." You absentmindedly said, as your pyro slime friend stared at you curiously, you love food after all so it's not entirely weird to be collecting ingredients.

The rucksack on your shoulder was already filled with mint, mushrooms, matsutakes, pinecones, sweet flowers and a few carrots. It was getting fairly heavy but still, you were excited to begin cooking with the ingredients and food that Teyvat had to offer. Would the mushrooms taste even slightly different from the ones in real life? is sweet flower sugar a better type of sugar than the one in real life as well? what about pinecones? how do they taste? she actually tried biting it but it wasn't any good, since the description of the item in-game was about having oil-rich seeds you assume it was either a substitute for cooking oil or the seeds are actually eaten or could add a taste to the few recipes that used them in the game like the hash browns.

"Want one?" you offered an apple to the pyro slime who shook in your hold, "so that's a no. Do you prefer sticks and coal? or what about pine cones?"

The pyro elemental being stared at the pinecone you handed him, and proceeded to eat it, simply by burning it inside of him. "Oh. ."

Luckily he seemed to like it enough when he jiggled like a happy jello. "We really need a name for you!**" you smile, petting him. There was a couple that went to your mind however before you could decide you stop by the coast or shores of the lake, you could see Mondstadt in the distance where the city was under dark gloomy skies.

'serves them right'

your eyes widened, surprised at your own bitter thoughts, one part of you loathed the city that traumatized you and rejected you but a part of you couldn't help but think of the poor people. .

"it's going to be okay, the traveler will save Dvalin and everything will be fine."

You basked in the sounds of the water and the chirping of the birds, as the smell of burning pine cones and freshwater filled your nostrils. You felt a sense of calm despite seeing the city under a blanket of darkness, from the looming dark clouds above it.

*snap!* body freezing up as you hear footsteps and the shaking of bushes. Your pyro slime friend jumped out of your hands, wiggling threateningly at the direction of the noise.

Turning slightly, you see two people getting out of the bushes. A boy with long blond hair, braided neatly and another, much smaller, floating near the other with silver hair.

Aether and Paimon. .

*this is claude, of course the clothes are not that open so your chest is covered (tho depending on you there may be a side-boob view (based on the shirt cut meme)) ** I will be posting a poll for the pyro slime's name, you are free to recommend names here, and if a name has been chosen, the person who gave the idea can request for a special chapter from this series (that can happen canonically, or not, or in a diff region.) however if a name I have suggested for has been chosen then I'll give a list of ideas for special chapters you can vote on that will be written.

ONE ACCOUNT IS ONLY ALLOWED TO SUGGEST AT MOST 2 NAMES (this applies to me)!

Current compiled suggestions: Fuji_Sen has suggested! Lava Cake or "Java" based on the food / coffee" Fuji_Sen has suggested! Monsieur Creme Brulee or "Creme" based on the food. @Fantasyhopperhea has suggested! Soleil or "Sol" @Cactus4226 has suggested! Ruru (Py-ro, ro -> ru -> ruru)

taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa

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lady-of-tearshed · 1 month ago

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Temporary

Pairing: Azris

Summary: Just a cozy morning between secretly mated Azris... they're adorable. This takes place before the IC boys annual snowball fight. 🥰

Word count: 1.4k words

Warnings: Mention of sex, mention of oral sex, brooding, slight/almost IC "hate" (Eris is a hater, apologies. Tho he does not 😚)

A/N: Aaaah Azris, my heart. This is my first time writing a homosexual pairing, so, yay? Yay! Anyways! Tell me your thoughts, I'm really excited about sharing this one with yall. 💕 ALSO! Let December, the merriest month of the year (in my modest opinion), BEGIN!

If you want to see what Eris... jumper looks like in the fic below, click here!

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears ❤️

The sound of crackling fire doesn’t send ripples of raw terror down Azriel’s spine anymore. His hands don't start shaking at the mere sight of a flame, and it doesn’t make him recall the way the fire had licked the skin off his hands as his brothers laughed devilishly.

No, not anymore. Now, Azriel has found a way, someone, who makes him see the flames as other than fear and danger. Now, he can enjoy the warmth it provides him. He can even just watch how the flame dances in the fireplace and just relax. Enjoy. Admire its beauty…

And the person who managed to accomplish this Gods damn miracle is currently curled around Azriel’s pillow, their and Azriel's scent filling the room. It's a perfect combination of warm cider and cinnamon, with a hint of cloves mixed with Azriel’s night-chilled mist and cedar unique scent. The smell clings to the bedsheets, much to Azriel’s delight. It probably will stay that way for a few more days, hopefully. This scent, his mate's scent, his lover’s scent, Eris scent.

Warmth flooded Azriel’s chest, and he stills. The feeling of the bond in his chest still makes him unsteady. Hasn't quite gotten used to the way Eris feels through the bond, nor had he mastered to control the massive waves of emotions he sometimes sends down his mate's side.

The Illyrian steps closer to the bed, keeping his footsteps light and discreet. He sits down beside Eris' sleeping form, his eyes roaming over his utterly naked skin. The light coming from the fire burning in front of Azriel's bed dances over Eris’ freckled back, casting the most enticing shadows on his skin. Azriel sucks in a breath, Eris looks like a God. The Mother herself must envy the male, honestly.

Azriel, unlike Eris, is dressed and almost ready to leave the house. Today, Azriel has planned to leave his secluded flat and fight the frigid weather of the largest peak of Velaris mountains. Today, like every year since centuries, he would not only have to fight the cold and the wind, but also his brothers’ ruthlessness.

Azriel is anticipating his 200th snowball fight victory this year, and hopes to get it over with soon, so he can just crawl back in bed with his favorite redhead to claim his prize.

Fuck the birchin, he would most likely get kicked out anyway. Thoughts of Eris haunt his days and nights now, and the heat of the birchin would just remind him of the heat emitting from his mate’s body when his mouth parts open and Azriel is buried deep in-

“Az, this is an ungodly hour to have these kinds of thoughts,” Eris grumbles, rolling over to face Azriel. His amber eyes meets Azriel’s. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Azriel responds, his voice barely above a whisper. His scarred hand reaches down, and cradles Eris' cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you up.” His thumb traces the freckles on his cheekbone, the softness of Eris’ face makes Azriel shiver. Eris' lips twitch with amusement, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. And Cauldron boil and fry him, Azriel has to fight every instinct in order to keep his clothes on and not claim Eris' pretty mouth with his cock right here and then.

If Rhysand isn’t already growing suspicious of his spymaster's behavior, he would definitely suspect something is going on if Azriel fails to attend their traditional snowball fight without warning them. He can't allow Rhysand to start questioning him, because Eris would kill Azriel for that. Not quite literally, at least. But he would be greatly displeased.

It’s not that Eris wants to keep it a secret forever. No. Eris is a jealous, and quite possessive male. He truly wants nothing more than to make the world know that Azriel is his. Problem is, with his new High Lord position and Autumn closed-minded population, announcing it publicly could create chaos. Eris cannot allow that to happen. His Court is still weak, courtiers are constantly on a rotation, people are tense… A bad reaction to this news could quickly degenerate. Eris still has to build some trust and respect amongst his court, and change a few things up before publicly announcing his mating bond with a male. A male and an Illyrian.

Azriel gets Eris' point of view, and he respects this. Eris considers himself the luckiest male in Prythian for that. Just comprehension and respect, no questions, no pushing.

Though sometimes when Eris is away, he looks at the stars and moon and wonders if this was the right decision. He also wonders how much longer? How much longer until he can truly be free, until he can stop hiding? On darkest days, like when he has to stay away from Azriel for over a week or so because of his High Lord responsabilities, he wonders if Azriel will get bored of hiding. Wonders if he'll get tired of waiting, and end this, the special thing that they have. Eris’ most prized treasure. He wonders what, and if, and why…

A pinch on Eris' cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. “You’re scowling.”

Eris' nose scrunches and frowns. He hates that Azriel can so easily read him. He also hates that he makes Azriel worry, he wants to make him happy when they're together, not stressed or worried about him because he can't stop brooding. “Yeah, because that’s my jumper you’re wearing.” He lies easily. Azriel doesn't notice.

“Jumper?” Azriel looks down, pulling at the navy and dark orange fabric. “You call that a jumper?”

“What do you call it?”

Azriel chuckles and just shrugs. “I don’t know. Like, a sweater? A pullover?”

“That sounds like a cheap piece of clothing. A jumper is fancy.” Eris protests, pulling the sheets further up his body and crossing his arms.

“Yes, yes. Very fancy, my heart.” Azriel leans in, and pampers Eris' scowling face with kisses. Eris looks like a ruffled angry bird, which makes Azriel laugh once more. Before Eris can snap at him for making fun of him, Azriel leans down and nips at the tip of his nose before pulling away. “I have to go now.”

“With my jumper on?”

Azriel halts. He feels the heat creeping up his cheeks. He rolls his neck, trying to ease the unease that settled in the muscles there. “Uh, yeah. Is that… okay?”

Eris props himself up on his elbows and stares. Azriel has to force his eyes to stay focused on Eris’ face, else they will venture down to stare at the sheet dropping dangerously low to his waist. Eris bites his lip, his eyes still assessing Azriel. Eris looks at him up, then down, without any ounce of shame. After what feels like an eternity, Eris just shrugs. “Yeah. Let the ba…”

Azriel's stare hardens, giving Eris a warning. So Eris thinks before continuing what he was about to say, wisely choosing his words. Not without rolling his eyes first, he tries again. “Let your… friends, I guess, know that a delicious smelling person shares your life now. I don’t mind. Just… don’t tell them everything, please. Not now.”

Azriel nods, and before Eris can start to justify himself, he shuts him up by placing his lips on his. He kisses him slowly, savoring the few minutes he has left before he really has to go. When they break apart, reluctantly, Eris' cheeks are tinted with the prettiest shade of pink. “Will you still be there when I come back?” Azriel asks.

Eris chews his lip and runs his hand through his messy auburn curls. “Maybe. I don’t know. I have… stuff waiting for me in Autumn. So… I don't think so. I'll see.”

Azriel nods, though he would have prefered a more certain answer. Because what else can he do about that?

This– the bond–is still new for both of them, but Azriel would be lying if he said he wouldn’t love to have his mate here, in his small apartment, in his bed every day of his immortal life. But he understands. Plus, this is all just a temporary situation. At the moment, Eris has responsibilities, more than ever since he became High Lord. He has a court to rebuild and… hounds waiting for him to get back to them, spoil them and care for them.

Does Azriel feel a bit jealous of the hounds? No. Maybe? Just a little bit. “Alright,” He hesitates, then asks Eris, “Will you come back?”

No matter how many times Eris makes his way back to Azriel, the fear of losing him forever always lingers in the shadowsinger's head. So Azriel always asked, just to be sure, and Eris never questioned. He simply smiles fondly at him and speaks the truth like he always does. “Always.”

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @paige0103

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liberifatalis · 1 year ago

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I don’t know how long this was in my inbox for, I’m assuming it’s been here for like 3 years so I’m SO sorry anon lol. I’ve been going through writers block for like years at this point and I still struggle with it.

BUT recently I’ve gotten back intowriting kinda, and since I’ve been writing a Sephiroth fic I thought I’d finally start writing headcanons again. The FF7 writing community outside of in-game ships is dry as fuck right now, especially the headcanon/reader-insert side of fandom, so hopefully you’ll enjoy this if you’re still out there anon! I apologise again TTTT

This is a mix of SFW and NSFW headcanons as it’s been a while since I’ve posted any headcanons, and my view on Sephiroth has sort of changed since the last time I posted headcanons for him, so it might be different to my previous interpretations. But I have included more spicy headcanons, so hopefully you'll enjoy!

I would like to add that while these are my own interpretations of Sephiroth, I have also been influenced by many other interpretations/headcanons of him as well! Most of these aren’t adding anything original at all, and I’d say a lot of blogs on here say about the same kind of thing in regards to him. So if anyone disagrees, that’s okay! This is all interpretation and I’m just mainly having fun.

SFW and non-SFW below All headcanons are of CrisisCore!Sephiroth

DISCLAIMER: long post below, lots of text.

SFW

I know he’s like…technically half alien, and that’s a big reason as to why he’s always felt and kind of behaved differently, but to me, he’s very very neurodivergent coded. I don’t want to use a specific label, but he’s absolutely neurodivergent to me. He’s always felt like an outcast, he stands out, he holds himself differently, he’s aloof, stoic, doesn’t really know how to say things without coming off as intense and kinda intimidating. He barely socialises with anyone other than his friends because he doesn’t really know how to. He never seeks out friendship with anyone, and he became friends with Genesis and Angeal originally because of proximity. I’m not saying the friendship wasn’t genuine, it was and he cared for them, but he’ll never be the first to initiate a friendship or anything like that – the fact that Genesis and Angeal were in SOLDIER, therefore in proximity to Sephiroth, is what sparked the friendship. He would have never been like “hey bro, let’s be buddies”. It was more like, he had to see these people regularly, so he had no choice but to socialise with them, and then he ended up finding out that they weren’t too bad and he enjoyed their company, and friendship and a deeper bond formed after that.

He struggles to relate to people, but grows very attached to people he can relate to. Whether that’s being an orphan, being an outcast, shared hobbies, ANYTHING. If he can find anything to relate to someone, something you can share, it sparks his interest (platonically) and will make him feel slightlyyyy more at ease around you and want to get to know you more.

A lot of people headcanon him with anxiety or PTSD, and I completely agree. He’s very neurotic. But I think that’s quite obvious if you consider his past and how he was raised. No one could come out of that completely mentally healthy and sane. He’s prone to insomnia, night terrors, panic attacks, but it’s never shown to anyone but him. In canon, we can see that he’s almost always composed and professional, and he is constantly putting in effort to maintain that demeanor.

Has no identity outside of SOLDIER/Shinra. Him being neurodivergent also makes him struggle a lot more with this, so he’s kind of internalised being a SOLDIER and it completely defines him. Poor boy is lost.

He likes people (platonically and/or romantically) that can “keep up with him.” Zack, Genesis and Angeal were his only friends, and it makes sense. They can, at least somewhat, keep up with him. He likes a slight challenge (physically and mentally), someone that can keep his brain moving. I think he’d be amused by someone who was a bit hot-headed or blunt, as well.

Very dry sense of humour, as we see in canon. A lot of the time people can’t tell he’s joking unless they’re close with him.

Very very intelligent and academic. Loves to read. Lil nerd. Will read encyclopedias, dictionaries, thesauruses, history books, articles, textbooks, science books, anything non-fiction. Not only does it calm his brain and his neuroticism, but he is genuinely interested in anything where he can gain knowledge. Knowledge is power, and he needs to feel powerful. He is a fast reader too, able to finish an average 500 page book in under 6 hours.

Only listens to classical music. Literally does not understand anything else. There can’t be any vocals, just instruments.

Horrible at expressing himself honestly and genuinely, and spontaneously. Everything is carefully thought out and spoken bluntly, as if he’s reading from a textbook. He will literally stand there silently, eyes narrowed in deep thought, for a minute if he needs that time to think of a reply, because he’s not one to fumble over words. If he’s with someone (a friend or partner) who will give him the space and patience to speak openly and awkwardly, it will still take him time to be completely vulnerable. A partner who is open and vulnerable and doesn’t shy away from being a little awkward with their feelings will involuntarily demonstrate vulnerability for him, and give him an opportunity to try it for himself, and he’ll kind of learn from them.

^^^ Adding on to this point, there are so many scenes in my rough drafts of Flood & Flame where Sephiroth and reader are literally standing there staring at each other like this gif, and mulling over what they should say LMAO. A lot of these scenes made the cut, too. Just two neurodivergent folk falling in love, nothing else to see here!

Takes ages for him to get comfortable with someone and trust them. The process is easier if, as mentioned before, he can relate to you in any way, if you’re open with him first, or if you’re in proximity. Eg, if you work in Shinra or SOLDIER, you mention your mum died, you say you like swords, you mention you like combat, etc etc. It can be something so small, but because he’s neurodivergent and has felt alone his whole life, he’ll latch on to it and that will be the starting point of the friendship/relationship developing. He needs an opportunity to get closer to you, or else it will be difficult and near impossible.

He needs to feel in control or else he’ll spiral. I don’t mean in a toxic way, as in “you’re my friend/partner so you can never look at anyone and can’t have friends and blah blah blah”, I mean it as in he needs to constantly upkeep his professional demeanour and look like he has his shit together, even if he hasn’t slept for two days and has barely eaten and has been having panic attacks. He will slip, sometimes, maybe being a bit more snarky or moody than usual, or saying/revealing something he didn’t mean to, but ultimately he has control over every facet of his being. This makes him a very intentional person, too. He means everything he says, and sticks to his word.

He loves routine, it keeps him grounded. But this means that he dislikes change and has a hard time dealing with it. It can be as little as Shinra changing the ingredients to his shampoo and conditioner, or to what happened to Genesis and Angeal in Crisis Core – change on any scale is overwhelming to Sephiroth.

Definitely not a love at first sight kind of guy. Even if you’re like, strikingly beautiful, everyone just is when he first meets them. You’re just a person (and this isn’t in a condescending way lol) like everyone else. He could only develop romantic feelings and love for someone after getting to know them. Then he starts to see you as beautiful and so much more. It’s really sweet.

If he ever developed feelings for anyone, he wouldn’t even know he was developing feelings for a good chunk of it lol. He’d think he was just fascinated by them. Eventually he’d realise, oh shit, do I…love this person? He’d start catching on once he starts thinking of them more often and seeking out their company, and eventually when he had the impulsive urge to kiss them, he’d realise he was in too deep.

Touch starved and also kind of touch repulsed. He’s a contradiction sometimes, and it confuses him. He’s more touch starved than he is touch repulsed, but when you haven’t had ANY physical affection all your life, and all you know is war and death and being tested on, you of course are going to go into a bit of a shock if anyone touches you. He’s used to combat, to having his guard up and being skeptical. So if you happen to brush your shoulder accidentally against his, or your hand accidentally touches his, it sends a wave of electricity throughout his entire body, almost burning him on the inside. He wants to reach out, but he stops himself. Unsure why he wants to, why he likes it, and Sephiroth not knowing something means not having the upper hand and not having control, and that makes him disgusted and disappointed in himself.

Physical affection (platonic, romantic, sexual) will take time. He needs to let his guard down to accept it and embrace it. If he trusts you, it will be easier, but still tedious. Once he gets there, even just by a little bit, you’ll see him start to initiate affection, and then once he is fully comfortable being with you, he is obsessed with it. He is always wanting to be in your presence, just like a cat. Even if you’re not doing anything, just being able to see you and be near you is enough and what he needs; this is partly to do with wanting to know you’re safe and worrying that something is going to happen, that something is going to change and he’ll lose everything. Like I said, he needs to be in control, and if he’s around, he can stop something from going wrong.

He comes to love physical affection, it is so so calming to him and comforting. Loves to hold you and smother you. Loves to smell your hair or the soap you used in the shower, he just loves the presence and feeling of you. Eventually he is very clingy and touchy with physical affection, and it’s one way he shows his complete love and devotion. Is a big fan of cuddling (he never calls it that though) and holding your hands–kissing your knuckles and the back of your hand, lightly caressing and dragging his fingers over all the lines and landscape of your hands. Also really loves resting his forehead against yours.

Due to his upbringing and the way he is, love is all-consuming for him. He loves to the point of obsession and even possibly madness. It takes over him. He would happily let it consume him like a wildfire. He would kill for it. I don’t mean this is an inherently toxic way either, BUT this can become very destructive, and if he happens to be so very unlucky and ends up with a person who doesn’t have good intentions, then it could definitely be a bad thing and end up destructive. Now, in the fanfic/fiction side of things, this is obviously very compelling and fascinating to read, and a love like what I described is quite romantic if it’s in a genuine, passionate and non-toxic way. But I just wanted to add that disclaimer that it can become quite the opposite of romantic and be destructive if it’s not a relationship that is trying to be healthy and trying to grow. I don’t mean it in the way that Sephiroth will become abusive, I just mean that he is obsessive naturally, and that can turn out to be a positive or a negative, depending on the situation. He can be a flame that is burnt out, or a flame that burns others.

MORE SFW + non-SFW

He’s a virgin. I said this before and I stand by it. Has never kissed anyone, has never been touched–the man hasn’t even been hugged, damn it!

I do think, realistically, if I wanted to be 100000% accurate, I’d consider him asexual and aromantic, especially after Crisis Core timeline, and if you wanted to see him as some narcissistic, entitled, eldritch-horror sort of villain, which he very much is tbh. BUT he is half-human (to me), and I don’t think it’s far-fetched at all to believe he has urges like everyone else. So, for me, I see it the same way as I do with how he’d fall in love with someone. I don’t think he could ever be sexually/physically attracted to someone unless he was close with them and trusted them. Once he develops feelings for you, then he’d start to immediately be sexually attracted to you. Before all that, you were just another person, you just are–your body is a body, it is functioning, it just is. But then, when he has feelings for you (and as I mentioned before, he doesn’t even understand until much later that he has feelings for you), suddenly your body…it takes his breath away. Your shoulders. Your chest. Your everything; it paralyses him, almost. You are a walking goddess/god to him, so beautiful and bright he is transfixed and can’t look anywhere but at you. Your face looks like it was sculpted by an artist that was gifted with magic from the Cetra. A rare beauty, one that he cannot put into words as it is a beauty so special and intricate that no human words can do any justice. When you look up at him, smile at him, he loses sense of time and place, nothing else exists outside of the small moment you are sharing, and he only sees you. The man is a poet at heart.

Since he is a virgin, and is so damn enthralled by you, he doesn’t really know how to act lol. He looks confident and like he’s in control, but he’s not, especially the first time you do anything. The first time you kiss, you’ll have to lean in first, or give him a sign you’re wanting him to kiss you. Honestly, you’ll probably have to tell him it’s okay to kiss you. It’s just a soft, chaste kiss at first. He’s never done this, remember. But like everything, he’s highly skilled and intelligent, and kissing is natural, so once he’s confident again it doesn’t take him long to get the hang of things.

He has many kinds of kisses. Soft ones that last long without breaking away, reminders that he’s there and he isn’t going anywhere. Other kisses that are quick, multiple long pecks, that are to tell you you’re beautiful and he’s thinking of you and he’s grateful. Then there are the passionate ones, the ones where he throws in every desire and intense feeling he can’t ever comprehend or describe, where he’s losing himself in you��kissing you as if it’s all he knows, changing the rhythm and speed because he’s in the moment. It’s as if he can’t get any closer to you/can’t get enough. Sephiroth’s passionate kisses are exactly how he is–intense, skillful, intentional, and overwhelming. He kisses with the same skill and intent he uses to wield Masamune.

Sexually repressed boy. Sex is extremely vulnerable, and he doesn’t understand or know how to express his sexuality. At first he’s afraid he’s going to hurt you.

The first time he has sex, he is in awe and is so curious. He focuses more on you, ignoring himself, wanting to know every contour of your body. His hands are all over, eyes focused on you, trying to gauge every reaction so he can store it in his memory. He always cares more about your pleasure than his own, and he is genuinely turned on when you are. He is slow and gentle, taking his time, and he needs your instructions to figure out what to do.

Once he is familiar with your body, and his own, he’s literally insatiable. He needs you, every day. And since he’s SOLDIER and not completely human, the man has stamina. Jesus christ. He could go for multiple rounds and he’s good to go even after he came. He knows he’s built differently though, like a fucking tank, and unless you’re into overstimulation, he’s perfectly happy with whatever you want.

I think a relationship with Sephiroth, that eventually includes sex, will include a lot of exploration for you both. But especially with Sephiroth. He’s never been this vulnerable and open before, never really understood his sexuality and urges and was kind of disgusted in them. But I think he’d discover a lot about himself, and it surprises him just how much desire he really has.

Sex with Sephiroth is not just fucking. It can’t be. He couldn’t have sex with someone he didn’t trust and have strong feelings for. Sex is an act of love, an act of devotion and adoration, an opportunity to tell you without words just how much he’d do for you and how deeply he loves you. Just like when he kisses you, it’s like he can’t get close enough, and even though you’re pressed against each other he still needs to be closer.

He really loves the feeling of your bare chest against his. It almost makes him primal.

I think he’d be really into edging, and he’d have a praise kink. He’d want to be worshiped but would also be worshiping you. It would be two people literally feeding each other’s egos lmao. I also think, considering how much control and power he does truly have, he’d also be happy to relinquish it from time to time, and enjoy a partner who’s a bit domineering and bossy, and one that takes control. So if you want to push him down on the bed, ravish him and boss him around, and ride him till the sun sets, he’ll be more than delighted.

Loves giving head. Yes, everyone likes receiving it, but when he gives head, it’s like he’ll never be able to do it again. He goes down on you as if it’s his last day on the planet. Absolutely devours you like Shinra has ordered him to. His tongue and jaw never get tired, by the way.

Not very loud but he does get more vocal the more you have sex. Grunts a lot and has a very deep, guttural moan.

He’s very attuned to the senses. Sound, smell, and touch turn him on so much, and have a significant effect on him. The sound of your voice can send him into a frenzied state, and even if it’s the middle of the day and he happens to smell your perfume or scent on his sheets or his clothes, he starts to go crazy.

More often than not he has to tie up his hair every time you have sex or he goes down on you. It always gets in the way, and you do NOT want to find a long strand of his hair in between anywhere.

I can’t decide on whether he has super sperm due to Jenova’s genes or if he’s infertile. Like it’s either one or the other to me and I feel like both make sense, but still can’t quite decide on one. He’d either be the type to have sperm so strong that even birth control couldn’t stop them, or he’d be infertile and no scientific method whatsoever could help. Who knows honestly.

#asks #anonymous #sephiroth #headcanons #sephiroth x reader #ff7 #ffvii #mine

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mudisgranapat · 1 year ago

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I. Lights Out

Word Count: 2,7 k

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X F! Reader

Content: zombie apocalypse, mention of dead bodies, mention of death, children

Summary: A virus has taken over the world, turning people into zombies. Amidst the chaos, Simon has managed to stick together with the other operators of Task Force 141, his life barely any different than it was before. That is, until the day he crosses paths with a woman that keeps a well hidden secret and holds something he has long forgotten existed: a baby

Note: This is my first fic (and first tumblr post)! Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I already have the story planned out, and will be posting the next chapter soon if anyone cares about this. If not, I’ll pretend I never posted this lol

Sitting on the back of the Humvee, Simon could almost believe that things were normal. The constant hum of the engine numbed his mind, as he stared into the sewing of the padding covering the old seat. Soap was seated directly across from him, blabbing his mouth to Gaz, who acted like he could hear anything besides the huge vehicle's obscene noise. Behind the steering wheel was his Captain, Price. Although, that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Not ranks, not names. Nothing was normal, and the reality outside that Humvee was something Simon, not even in his worst days, ever believed could happen.

He had witnessed bleak images. Cruelty in abundance. But the world he saw now was unlike anything he had ever seen before - the dead, roaming among the living. Not that he hadn’t encountered his fair amount of corpses, after all, that came with his job. But this, seeing the bodies of civilians, once full of life, now life-less and decaying at an evolving speed, nonetheless persisting, chasing the taste of human meet… It was different.

When the early signs of the apocalypse started to show, most of the people downplayed it, him included. He had always been a skeptic, and it just didn’t seem viable that a virus could bring down humanity with such strength. Regardless, Simon hadn’t been too worried about the so-called “end of the world”; He thought that his military ties would be enough to keep him informed with privileged intel of the real situation.

He had been deployed with the 141, far from civilization, when shit really went down. For obvious reasons, they came out empty-handed from the recon mission. Turns out terrorism doesn’t come first in the list of the insurgent’s priorities when there is a deathly virus going around. It was only at his team's fruitless attempt to land back at base that he found out that his ranks and years of service didn’t matter when the world was collapsing. They had been out for long enough that, when they came back, there was no more government in place. No hierarchy to follow, and no rules to structure society. And no one cared about them enough to let them know beforehand.

Some people had stayed in their houses, probably clutching their kitchen knives close to their hearts while they heard their neighbor's inhuman noises. Others had divided themselves into smaller groups, in the hopes of giving humanity a fighting chance. The lucky ones had made it to what once were the quarantine zones, now just simply a bigger group of people that managed to stick together and with far better resources. From there, all the typical apocalyptic mayhem developed: gangs, revolutionary groups, miracle safe spaces, cults, and so on. The chaos you would expect to see in a movie. Apparently, they weren’t that far from reality.

Along with the 141, Simon fell into the “smaller group” category - not that the four men would give humanity a fighting chance, they just didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Being military men, their lives revolved around structure and order, so it was natural for them to stick together. Whatever ties to the old world they had before had long been severed, and quickly they realized that it was less painful to hope that anyone they cared about had had the privilege of dying a quick death.

Not that that mattered to Simon either. He didn’t have anyone. So sitting at the back of that Humvee they had stolen from an abandoned base, things didn’t feel that different from what they used to be.

Soon enough, the group expanded, thanks to Soap, who had managed to fix an old radio and get in touch with a few other military personnel who were scattered around the globe. That is how they found Laswell: she had managed to seclude a select group of people from the military in one of the bases that were abandoned in the turmoil. They didn’t mention that she never tried to contact them while they were away on that recon mission, and she didn’t bring it up either. Now, over two years had passed, and the topic was long forgotten.

They were a bunch of people tied together by the hope they could still save humanity: scientists, agents, medics… Everyone had their place in the small society Laswell had created. And Simon… Well, he was a soldier. And soldiers are always useful when in the right hands. That was why things hadn’t changed much for him, and for the first time in his life, the fact that he never had a home to come back to was a relief.

Price was currently driving towards an abandoned research post, that had once been filled with people working to find a cure for the virus that plagued the world. Now, it was just a pile of junk and hopelessness, where Laswell swore they could still find valuable intel - maybe someone had forgotten to scrub their hard drive, or left behind a notebook with notes. At this point, even a post-it with bullet points would be considered a success.

As they pulled up to the location, they decided to park a few meters away from the entrance and proceeded with the skillfulness of a well-oiled machine. Soap and Gaz cleaned the era, taking out the few zombies in the vicinity with their knives, as Price and Ghost scanned for any intelligent life form that could possibly cause trouble. Not that they were expecting to find anything, it was just a precaution, as anyone who once lived there had either fled the area or become another roaming corpse.

They were about to follow the small dirt path that led to the makeshift building when Gaz held up his hand, a signal to stay put, while he used the other to hold the thermal vision glasses to his eyes. “I’m reading two heat signatures - one small and the other even smaller. Looks like it could be a woman and a child. The woman seems to be armed.”

“Let me see this, Gaz.” Says Price as he analyzes the scene himself. “He is right. Two signatures, one is armed.” Gaz makes a look of mock surprise behind the Captain, as he hadn’t just said that. He had become a lot more sassy since he could not be demoted.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks. “It’s not like we can just shoot a kid.”

Price pretends not to hear the last sentence. “I will approach, unarmed. They are probably just scared and trying to find a safe place to live. I’ll tell them we can give them some of our food if they come out and let us take a look at the place.” Before anyone can suggest an alternative, the Captain is removing his guns from the holster, and making his way towards the old science lab.

He is only a few feet away when the sound of gunshots fills the air. The bullets, all aimed just inches away from the captain’s boots, trace a line as if saying “Do not come any closer”. Immediately, the rest of the 141 aim their guns at where the shots came from, taking cover behind the trees, waiting for permission to shoot from the Captain, one that never comes.

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” A woman’s voice rings in their ears. This confirms part of what they had seen in the thermal goggles: there was a woman inside and she was, indeed, armed.

“I just want to talk, kid.” Price states calmly, standing his ground. He doesn’t take a step forward, so the shooter doesn’t feel challenged, but doesn’t take a step back either. He is not a man that backs away from a fight. “Name’s John. No need to shoot”.

“You can tell that to your men.” The woman is positioned behind a window, the scope of her gun pointing fearlessly at the bearded man. Not expertly, Simon notes to himself, as he can see the slight tremble that reverberates through the metal parts. Although her voice screams confidence, he can tell the person behind it is not as courageous. But she would probably still shoot that gun - Simon has seen more people pulling triggers out of fear than bravery.

“Alright. Stand down, boys.” And they do. “We just want to take a look around, we don’t want trouble”

The woman laughs. “You say, as you carry automatic weapons and wear a bulletproof vest.”

“Just protecting myself from these troublesome fellas around. You know, the ones with their face falling off, trying to eat people.”

“We both know no one needs that much gear to fight some brain-dead walkers.” She doesn’t seem to want to match the light-hearted tone John is trying to bring to the conversation. “Now get out, or my men will shoot you.”

Now it’s Price’s turn to laugh. “Sweetheart, we both know there’s no one else there with you.” He puts both his hands on the shoulder straps of his vest. “That is, except for the child.”

John was just trying to assert his dominance by showing he had more information than he had let on. However, an angry string of bullets directed toward his feet, again, showed that the comment had struck a nerve. “Get out.” She said through gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear. “Or the next ones are going straight through that stupid fucking hat of yours.”

“Listen here, kid.” The Captain was angry now. He didn’t like when people commented on his hat. “I have three men ready to shoot your ass into oblivion if you don’t comply. If you can’t tell, they are military-trained, and they will have you down before you can aim at my stupid fucking hat. So quit being dumb and put that gun down.” It was surprising he had let her go as far as shooting at him twice, but he was done negotiating.

“Are you with the Resistance?” Simon almost wants to laugh at that name. The Resistance was a group that, surprise, surprise, wanted to resist the Government. People have too much faith in the Government, in his opinion, as it had crumbled before he came back from his mission. To be fair, it had been a long mission, so maybe he was being a little harsh. Now, the Resistance was a group of rebels that had nothing to rebel against, and who, ironically, had become the closest thing to a government you could have nowadays.

“No, we are not.” Simon could tell John’s patience was wearing thin. He isn’t a big fan of the Resistance either. “We are a group that’s still trying to fix things in this goddam world and that lab might have valuable information. Now let us through.”

At that, the woman puts the gun down and stands up. She probably didn’t know that, but by the tone of his Captaion’s voice, she had probably taken her last chance to avoid a conflict. “Name’s Y/N.” She says. Simon can see her face now - she looks like she is in her early twenties, with long hair tied in a tight ponytail. She disappears behind the window again, coming out the front door with a baby in her left arm and a pistol in her right hand. “I’m keeping the gun.”

“Suit yourself. Come on, boys.” With that, the three of them are taken out of their trance. He knows what they were thinking because he was thinking the same. Who in their right mind has a baby in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? Either this woman was crazy brave or crazy crazy. A baby was a rare sight, a healthy one even more so. But there she stood, baby in her arms and a furious gaze.

They walk past her and her gaze only intensifies. Clearly, the woman was hiding from something, or someone. But that was neither here nor there. They were on a mission, and they were going through with it regardless. Nothing had ever stood in 141’s way.

They don’t ask the baby’s name. Simon had a feeling she might point her gun to his head if he did. Not that he was curious, he could care less about the women or the child.

She doesn’t ask their names either. After all, there is no reason for formalities. If all goes well, they will be gone as suddenly as they appeared.

Inside, the lab was what you would have expected, except for a few things that showed that someone had been living there. It wasn’t hard to find their way around the place, although incredibly annoying to do when there was a five-something-foot-tall woman following them around with a disapproving look. He understood - after all, they were in her house. However, that wasn’t even a house in the first place. Simon tried to mock an equally disapproving look while scavaging for something useful. As if reading his mind, Johnny asks “May I ask why you are living here, of all places? I mean, there are real houses across the street, lass.” Always a gentleman, he was. He could tell the scot had put real effort into that sentence not to sound judgmental.

The building wasn’t too messy, courtesy of the current tenant. It wasn’t too big either. It resembled a house from the outside, and had two stories: the bottom floor looked pretty much like a regular house. It had one room filled with a not-so-normal number of beds, a bathroom, a simple kitchen, and tables everywhere, where it looked like people used to do research and eat, probably simultaneously. The top floor, on the other hand, seemed like something from another world: Wires covered the walls, feeding energy to dozens of different lab-related equipment. Some were big, some were small, and Simon couldn’t name them if his life depended on it.

“The place runs on solar energy. So the showers and appliances installed still work. Except for the cameras, I shut them down a long time ago, along with all this science crap.” So Simon’s intuition was right, she was hiding from something, and knew too much about the place for her to just have stumbled upon it on pure luck. They had already looked at the cameras and made sure that they weren’t working. They were small, installed mostly where it looked like the scientific research went down and at the entrance. She must have been looking for them, as he was pretty sure a regular civilian wouldn’t have been able to spot all of the cameras. But she did, despite the fact that it looked like those were the parts of the house that she used the least. And although Simon's first reaction was to be suspicious, he couldn’t deny that part of him was impressed.

“Smart.” Gaz said, but his tone seemed to reflect some suspicion as well. He had been sitting down in front of a computer since they arrived, trying to recover any data, while the rest of them tossed things around. Unfortunately for them, the scientists who had previously worked there had remembered to scrub the place clean - no documents or information was left behind. “Price, I think I got something.”

Whatever Gaz had been doing in that giant computer, seemed to have worked, as it looked like files were being restored. But the victory was short-lived, and they hardly had time to gather around the machine before the energy shut down. “What happened?” Soap asked.

“I don’t know, it looked like it was working.” Gaz proceeded to furiously tap the keyboard, probably having no idea what he was doing.

“Well, get it to work again then.”

“It’s not that simple, Soap.” As fast as the power went out, it came back on, and the distinct beep of the weird machines splattered around the place could be heard again. “It seems like the whole place rebooted. It was probably easier for them to have all the controls gathered in one place. Simpler.”

But Simon wasn’t focused on Gaz’s explanation. He was focused on the cameras, that he had physically confirmed were shut down, now red light shining bright. Apparently, the machines weren’t the only thing that had turned back on. “Shit.” He heard the woman say behind him. Her face was pale, and she hugged the baby tightly, shielding the child’s face against her chest.

Whatever she was hiding, Simon was willing to bet all his money it had to do with that baby.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price

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gourmetjello · 10 months ago

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nikto x reader : intimidated

oh gosh loves it feels so good to be back after such a long break! i’m sorry i disappeared for over a month. sickness, late trainings, writer’s block, studying and barely hanging on by a thread took a toll on me but i’ll try to be back ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

i know it sounds unusual but i’ll try my best to write for other characters too. i know i’ve teased a little list before but now i’m starting to see a pattern form and these are the people i’m most likely going to write for : könig, krueger, ghost, ‘09 ghost, nikto, roach, soap, capt. soap, ‘09 makarov (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

hopefully you all are satisfied with the list! if you have any more suggestions just let me know somehow. now hope you enjoy the fic! ♡

tw ; alcohol, mention of drugs.

—

“drink up, drink up!”

a voice yelled from behind you and all you could hear was the sound of shot glasses being knocked against each other once again. the sound was so familiar by now that you even made a mental note on how glasses sound different when they’re filled and when they’re empty. actually, why was someone raising toasts with an empty glass?

“bottoms up, y’all, don’t be pussies-“

but you didn’t have a glass in your hand, not now. you just stared at the people that were having fun and you couldn’t help but think about how you even ended up here.

there was a friend that you shared with this one guy, that’s quite literally all you were one hundred percent sure about — basically nothing. you could be looking at them directly and you would have no idea who they are, thanks to the cliche ‘friend of a friend’ circle going around this whole party. nobody knew each other, but friends and relationships don’t exist when you’re just drinking, right?

so there was that guy. and when you finally saw his face for the first time, you got the chills down your spine. he immediately seemed like someone you shouldn’t really be messing with — like he was planning something evil? or maybe he already did something bad, it felt childish to think about things like these at your grown age and you couldn’t even put your finger on what your senses told you about this person. just leave him alone and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.

just as that thought crossed your mind, a yell broke through the happy little murmurs and drunken words.

“y’all, what the fuck! get outta’ here! right now! cops outside! holy fucking shit!”

cops outside? what the hell? why?

before the panic settled in, you blinked outside and you were amost immediately sure this wasn’t the fucking police. at least ten men dressed in black tactical outfits stood right next to the huge outdoors pool in the nicely maintained backyard. the well trimmed trees gave them an even scarier look too, painting shadows in the night all over their already dark forms.

you could even see from the corner of your eye that some were equipped with ballistic shields like it was some kind of movie. you have never seen one of those in real life before, and now it gave you a really bad feeling (pretty obviously). their faces were hidden and they were coming closer and closer to the main building all of you and your.. acquaintances were inside.

the guns hanging from their torsos.. wasn’t a nice sight, to be honest. you were convinced that these men were probably legally allowed to do anything as long as they got a bit closer to what they wanted to achieve. and for that, you weren’t exactly sure what it was. come on, shutting down a (not so) little house party with people who look like came straight out of a counter-terrorism organization? isn’t that a tiny exaggeration?

you could have sworn that you only looked away for a few seconds but the next moment you looked around the whole room was empty. fuck. well that’s a situation coming your way for sure, because one of those monsters was heading right towards your direction with a slightly wrinkled paper in his hands.

you wanted to yell and scream at him, to let him know that you absolutely had no clue what this whole thing was about and that you weren’t involved with whatever stupid drug smuggling anyone around you did — since you were sure that you weren’t the target, and they knew that too. but they had to listen to anyone they could catch.

“party’s over..” a deep voice mumbled with a heavy accent. you could recognize it anywhere. a russian accent, gosh.. you’re fucked.

and soon the paper was pressed right into your face. your nose was rubbed against the thin material, not even allowing you to see whatever was printed on it. but it was most likely a person, or at least that was what you could make out when he held it a little further away from you.

“missy, you know this fella?” the man asked.

you had no idea who was on the photo. it was a man with a beard and he seemed way too damn old to be right here, in a house party with some silly college students? he couldn’t be here, you’ve never even seen his face before.

you hesitated a little, not knowing which answer would get you out of here quicker.

“do not keep that mouth shut, come on. you’ll get outta’ here faster, come on.”

your brain immediately sobered up and a small whine left your mouth as you finally took the time to examine the terrifying person that was standing right in front of you. face mask made of kevlar, a gun hanging from his side and a pistol on his right thigh. bulletproof from head to toe. ballistic shield placed next to his other leg.

this guy was going to kill you. one hundred percent. or at least le looked like he would try to do that.

“come on, we don’t bite?”

he tried to speak normally but his statement sounded a lot more like a question, like he wasn’t sure about it either. it could have been the fact that it probably wasn’t usual for them to talk to people that look like they don’t even know where they are. and you were just like that right now. lost as fuck.

you stared up at the photo of the man once again. the black and white printing was so bad that you were barely able to make out the details on it.

“i- um.. no idea w-who’s on the photo.”

“do not lie, missy.”

“i really- i don’t know!”

“well, then let me tell you so you maybe remember, hm? this dude right here,” he gently knocked the face of the man on the paper, the material gently crumbling under his heavy, gloved finger “whose house you’re at right fucking now, has a fuck ton of cocaine under these,” now he kicked the flooring, “these little tiles.”

your eyes widened and to a person who had no clue that you were just as lost here as they are, it would probably come across as some realization. but no, it wasn’t any kind of realization — you really didn’t know about any of this! and it was hard to believe too. you didn’t even see a single line of coke on this party, it was too expensive to be wasted on little college student get-togethers?

“s-sir, i really don’t-“

“we know you know.”

“but i don’t!”

the man’s eyes widened as you started losing your shit. he probably heard the unsure shake in your voice as you slightly raised it — which was probably a stupid idea, but the situation was already bad enough when you’re locked into a burning hot little room that smelled like alcohol with someone who’s straight up dressed in carbon from head to toe? this was getting out of hand.

“missy, i’ve got the legal right to shock you, and if you refuse to give out any information then i’ll just have to do that..”

you were becoming annoyed. you were intimidated as hell and you knew that you couldn’t do anything in a situation like this, you were shaking scared. this man was making you feel so uneasy.

maybe he did it on purpose because as you stayed silent he just stared into your eyes, like a madman. he wasn’t even blinking behind that mask, the black face paint covering the area around his eyes making the color of his irises pop out from the black atmosphere around it. you just weren’t sure why he was doing this.

he placed a hand on his gun now, like he was about to slip out his pistol. but he didn’t have the right to kill or shoot you or anything like that, right? right? panic was filling your brain and goosebumps were running up and down your body as you had no idea about what these men could and could not do to an innocent civillian that actually had no clue about whatever was going on!

“we can play this game, missy. but you won’t like it.”

“i’ve said everything i know! nothing.”

“for fuck’s sake, just say something, anything.”

“but i don’t know! i accidentally ended up here, too.”

“whatever. fuck you, missy.” the man grunted as he finally let his pistol down, letting you back out from the corner he had held you in this whole time. it felt like you could finally breathe again and the cold sweat running down your temples felt like a normal reaction again.

“get the fuck outta’ here and if you know anything. keep your mouth fucking shut. am i understood?”

“y-yes sir.”

you were breathing heavy as you finally made it out of that room. it was a feeling you never wanted to experience ever again — you almost got yourself killed. and you were 99% sure that if you said the wrong stuff he wouldn’t have hesitated to use that pistol. what is wrong with humanity..

the man peeked above his shoulder to look at you walk away. he didn’t take his eyes off of you until you finally exited the whole damn house. you’re never ever coming back and that’s for sure. holy shit.

—

sorry about how bad and rushed this was! :(

#cod #call of duty #cod oneshot #cod nikto #nikto x reader #nikto #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #andre nikto #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x you

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kanerallels · 8 months ago

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My first fic for @spectre-week!! This one was born from my obsession with N.D. Wilson's 100 Cupboards series (go read it, y'all, it's amazing) and is hopefully vaguely comprehensible. Here it is on AO3!

The forests of Kaller are not particularly noteworthy to most of the galaxy. The snow lies heavy on the surrounding mountains, and the wind sings sharply through the branches of the conifers and the kallnut trees. It’s not a top tourist destination, despite the beauty.

The current residents are more focused on the war that is being fought over this planet and hundreds of others. The Clone War has ravaged the galaxy for close to three years now, and at times it seemed it would never end.

Until now.

But there’s something much darker going on in the forests now, as an army of clones hunt for a missing Jedi Padawan crouched in a tree.

The last thing Caleb Dume should have been focusing on was the trees around him. His master was dead, and the clones who had been his friends and allies mere moments ago were now hunting for him.

And yet. As he leapt from branch to branch, heart pounding with terror, he found himself noticing. Noticing the deep brown barked trees with three pronged leaves that were sprinkled in between the conifers here and there. Kallnut trees, he remembered his master calling them. As he crouched on one of the branches, his fingers wrapped around the grooved bark, and Caleb felt a tug in his heart.

This way, the trees seemed to whisper. This way.

But he didn’t have time to indulge in daydreams, so he kept running.

When the clones found him and he fell from one of the trees, it wasn’t a kallnut. He kept running, until he made it to a ravine. One of the clones tried to convince him to come back, but Caleb knew he couldn’t. There was no one he could trust anymore, no one who wouldn’t try to end him for the saber at his side and the holocron in his belt pouch.

When he leapt across the canyon, he heard it again. The whispers, leading him deeper into the forest.

This time, he had nothing to lose from following it. So he did, led by a trail of deep brown barked trees.

Miles away, he found it. The biggest kallnut tree he’d ever seen, looming above them all ominously. The wind rustled the light green leaves, and Caleb almost forgot about the clones chasing him, about what he’d seen mere minutes before.

The fear receding, he moved slowly closer. There was a strange energy to the air, a humming. The Force rippled strangely, in a way Caleb had never experienced before.

When his hand touched the tree, for a moment his fingers fit perfectly in the grooves of the bark.

And then there was something like a flash of lightning. A dagger of pain went through him, and he hit the ground, unmoving, while fire blazed through him.

When he woke, Caleb Dume was blind.

He was blind, in the middle of the woods, on an unknown planet with hunters out for his blood.

His hands were shaking as he pushed himself upright. All he remembered was touching the tree, and then… something strange. Something rushing through the Force like a wave of fire, crackling towards him and consuming him.

But he wasn’t dead. Just blind and achy, his stomach churning and his hand throbbing with pain. Instinctively, Caleb reached out for the Force— then recoiled.

It was like looking straight into the sun. Too bright, brighter than it ever had been before. The world around him was burning with life and green fire.

How could that be true when it also felt far too empty now, without Master Billaba?

Fear and grief swelled in his chest, but Caleb stubbornly pushed it back down. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his face, feeling a cold breeze chill his face.

There were no sounds that indicated he was still being hunted. But he couldn’t stay here. He’d freeze to death or be caught. The only way was forward, even if it was going to be slow.

Vaguely, Caleb remembered seeing a stray branch laying on the ground not far from the tree he’d approached. Staying on his hands and knees, he felt around in the grass crackling with frost. The snow hadn’t reached through the thick branches of the kallnuts here, but it was still cold enough that the ground was hard and the tips of Caleb’s fingers were stinging.

It was only a few minutes before his hand closed around the branch he’d spotted. Tentatively, he pushed himself to his feet, using the branch for help. It was a decent length for a walking stick, and it was solid. Sturdy.

He clutched it tightly as he cautiously started through the woods around him.

It took him a long time before he’d made it back to the nearby city. By the time he did, Caleb had sort of gotten the hang of navigating without eyesight. The walking stick helped, though he was still unsure. Still scared.

The city was worse than the woods. In the woods, he was alone and surrounded by trees. Safer than anywhere with people— and worse, clones.

But they would know to look for him in the woods. Here, he would blend in, and he was less likely to freeze or starve to death.

He came pretty close to it anyways, until Janus Kasmir found him.

The Kalleran took pity on him and fed him. And, when Caleb begged him, he let him come to his ship, giving him some place safe to sleep. Even if it was only for a little while.

He hadn’t really slept since losing his master almost a week earlier. Only fitful bursts here and there. Now, scrubbed clean and curled up on one of Kasmir’s bunks, he dreamt of blaster fire and screams, and kallnut trees growing high above everything else.

When Kasmir helped him the next morning, he commented, “I didn’t remember you being blind, kid.”

“It was… recent,” Caleb said quietly. He didn’t know how else to explain what had happened, the strange fire that had burned through him.

“Huh. Have something to do with that burn on your hand?”

The burn. Caleb hadn’t seen it, but he’d felt the pain, the throbbing agony. Without any better ideas, he’d torn a strip from his robe and wrapped it up. Until last night, when he’d been cleaning up. In the fresher, he’d… seen it. Not his hand, but the burn, more like a brand. A symbol, one that he’d never seen before, but knew the meaning of immediately, instinctively.

It was a kallnut tree. Vibrant and green and growing and solid. Unwavering. And it was part of him now, in a way that he couldn’t express in mere words. Caleb vaguely remembered reading about something like this in the Jedi Archives, but at the time he’d been too tired to even try and figure it out.

“Kind of,” he said, and Kasmir seemed content to leave it at that.

He’d thought that would be the end. Kasmir clearly didn’t intend for him to stay, blind or otherwise. He’d most likely just throw him out on the street, and the Kalleran had clearly planned on doing just that.

But then his emergency signal went off.

The Jedi, who he’d thought were dead, were calling him back to the Temple.

Relief flooded through him for one magnificent moment. He could go home. The masters, some part of the Council, surely would have made it. Someone would know what to do about his blindness, and he would have some small piece of his life back.

But he had no way of getting there. And Kasmir flatly refused to take him there when Caleb asked him— begged him to take him to Coruscant. The Kalleran refused, then stalked out of the ship, telling him to finish his meal then get out.

Frustration boiled in his chest, and he threw the bread Kasmir had given him across the ship. Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he bit back a scream of helpless frustration.

I have to do something, I have to be able to get to the Temple. But without a ship? Without the ability to see what he was doing?

As if on cue, a tiny crack of light blossomed around the corner of his palm.

Shocked, Caleb yanked his hand back. The light in the ship was dim, but to his eyes it was blisteringly bright. Blinking back tears of pain, he stared, unbelieving at the ship around him.

He could see again.

There was no real time to take in the shock and relief pounding through him. He was already charging into the cockpit, starting up the engine and taking off. The coordinates to Coruscant were easy to remember, and Caleb was working on autopilot. He was going home. He was going back to the Jedi Temple.

Only minutes away from exiting hyperspace, he received a new message.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for all remaining Jedi…”

Caleb listened to the words, numb with horror. The only thing that jolted him out of his panic was the ships surrounding him as he floated above the planet’s atmosphere. Coruscant wasn’t safe, just like Kasmir had said.

He barely made it out alive. And when he got back to Kaller, Kasmir was furious with him. The Kalleran barely seemed to notice he’d regained his vision, or care. He just tossed him off the ship and told him to never come back.

But Caleb truly didn’t know where else to go. So he stuck around, until one day, he saved Kasmir.

Sort of. Kasmir didn’t seem to think he’d really done him any favors. But it got him a job with the Kalleran, which went… interestingly. In the end, Caleb stuck with him. Despite the fact he insisted on calling Caleb “kid”, and had sold him out as part of a con, and was gruff and sarcastic.

He was familiar, and he wouldn’t betray him. At least, Caleb didn’t think he would. And he was only a little nosy.

“So, you didn’t stay blind long,” he remarked one day as they sat in the cockpit of the Kasmiri, watching hyperspace blur past them.

“Yeah,” Caleb said slowly. “It… I don’t know. I wasn’t lying.”

“Nah, I could tell that,” Kasmir said with a dismissive wave. “Ya know, I heard stories about that kinda thing, once. About people going temporarily blind, and when it stopped, they were… different. Kinda like the Jedi, but it was different. Green men, they were called, since they had this tie to some sort of plant.”

Caleb’s throat was dry, but he managed a nonchalant shrug. “Hmm. Sounds like an old story.”

He could feel Kasmir watching him with narrowed eyes, but then he shrugged. “Eh, just a legend. Could be a real one, or not. Doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Right,” Caleb said, the tightness in his chest easing a little.

Green men. He knew that legend, a little bit. Stories about the seventh son of specific families in parts of the Outer Rim. Their connection with different kinds of plants, the power it gave them. Caleb had never actually met someone with those abilities.

But now… he glanced down at his hand, covered in a glove. Beneath it glowed the kallnut tree— sturdy brown trunk, three-pronged leaves shimmering a light green. Strong and steady, humming with a power that he didn’t quite understand.

Part of him wanted to test it, to reach into that well within him. But he knew better. It wasn’t safe to be a Jedi, and the green men weren’t safe either.

So he kept it hidden. As the days slipped by and he kept working with Kasmir— until things went sideways, and he had to leave. To protect himself, but to protect Kasmir, too.

No one was safe around the Jedi any more. Caleb was better off on his own.

Actually, that wasn’t true. Caleb Dume was better off dead. Kanan Jarrus was better off traveling on his own, far away from anyone else who could die. Far away from the Force, too. And that was the way things stayed.

At least, they stayed that way until he met Hera Syndulla.

~~~

Hera still wasn’t completely used to having a new crew member, even after a full month of it. Not in a bad way, by any means. While Kanan was a shameless flirt (though he’d toned that down a little, thank the Force) he was also a hard worker, quick to pick up on the plans she made and even quicker to come up with his own. He also made her laugh, although she’d often refuse to admit it.

But having a new person on the Ghost was, well, new. Hera was used to looking out for herself and Chopper, and Kanan threw a wrench into that dynamic. Most of them were easy to cope with— someone else using the refresher, his insistence that they didn’t subsist on only ration bars, which resulted in a lot more shopping, to name a few.

However, he also had a habit of disappearing whenever they landed in a remote area, especially when they were near a body of water or trees. Hera had asked him about it, and he’d just said he was meditating in the vaguest possible way. Considering he was a Jedi, that was most likely true.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a pain in the neck sometimes. Namely, when they needed to leave, and Hera couldn’t find him.

She’d accidentally left him behind once. While Hera had realized it before she’d even broken through the atmosphere, and had gone back immediately, Kanan had been VERY dramatic about it. So Hera had no intention of making the same mistake twice.

Which was why she was now taking a not so lovely stroll through a stand of trees on Tythlona, in search of her crew member.

“Kanan?” she called out warily, weaving between tangled brush and ancient trees. The forest here was old, but most of the trees were smaller, with twisted limbs and golden-green leaves. They all reached above Hera’s head, but not by much, and she could see the evidence of fallen fruit underfoot. “Kanan, can you hear me? It’s time to leave.”

There was no response, and Hera let out a sigh of annoyance. They were due to leave soon, and she hated to linger on a planet where she’d run a mission, even if it was just dropping off supplies. There was still a chance, however small, the Empire could track it back to them.

She opened her mouth to call for Kanan again, then stopped. There was a break in the trees ahead, and something was moving.

Instinctively, her hand twitched towards her blaster, but she didn’t draw it yet. Instead, she moved forwards through the woods, staying at the ready.

It wasn’t long before the trees fell away, and Hera was standing at the brink between the cool, shady woods, and a wide open plain of golden grain. A small expanse of grass split the ground before the grain sprang up, and it was there that Kanan was kneeling, his back to her.

Hera’s voice stopped in her throat at the sight before her. She’d never actually seen him meditate before— but she’d seen other Jedi do it, and it didn't seem like much. It certainly hadn’t looked like this.

All around Kanan, plants were springing up in a long half circle. Saplings, Hera realized as she slowly approached, staying as quiet as she could. The tallest barely brushed the top of his head, buds twisting to life on the spindly branches. As she watched, crumpled leaves smoothed open, their three tips stretching towards the sun. They were growing before her very eyes.

The saplings seemed to hum with life and a rich green energy, framing Kanan until he almost looked like he could be one of them. Hera stood, uncertainly watching him, until he finally moved.

Lifting his head, he turned and looked at her through the leaves. Surprise flashed across his face, and he got to his feet, moving carefully out of the ring of small trees. Their rate of growth had slowed a little, but the tallest of them already reached Kanan’s mid-chest.

“Hey,” he said, pausing in front of her. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Well, you were clearly distracted,” Hera said, her gaze flashing from him to the small ring of trees. When she looked back at him, his expression was… self conscious. Embarrassed, almost.

“Yeah. I, uh…” he paused, looking back at the trees for a moment, a half-smile crossing his face. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t a Jedi thing?”

Hera’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I suppose that explains why I’ve never heard about it before. Then… what is it? If you want to share,” she added immediately. “If it’s none of my business, then tell me that.”

Kanan shook his head, grinning a little. “Hey, it’s all your business at this point, Captain Hera.” He lifted his right hand, and Hera saw he wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves he always had on.

She quickly realized why. On his palm was etched a burn scar, deep and old. But it wasn’t just a scar. It was something more. Something that, as Hera watched, shimmered with a green light the same shade as the leaves on the tree.

“There’s an old legend,” Kanan said quietly. “About the seventh son in certain family lines— usually in Outer Rim planets, although I couldn’t tell you which. But those seventh sons have a connection to a plant, and that connection grants powers that I don’t really understand. All I know is that they’re strong. Strong enough that it’s a miracle I haven’t been spontaneously growing trees this whole time.”

“So… you’re one of those seventh sons?” Hera said slowly.

“I never knew my birth family, but… apparently, yes.” Rubbing at his palm, Kanan said, “I learned about this growing up– at least a little bit. But I never understood the scale of the power, of what all it would mean. I was only fourteen when I got it, but I’ve barely used it since then.”

“Fourteen?” Hera did some rapid math in her head. “So that would have been—”

“Right after the Purge. And I mean right after.” Kanan let out a wry laugh. “Not the best timing. I’ve… I’ve never actually told anyone about this.”

Hera knew what that meant, coming from him. Kanan wasn’t closed off, necessarily. He was open enough, and friendly— more than just friendly, with his flirting. But he kept his secrets close to the chest.

Or at least, he had. These days, he was starting to be more and more open with her. And that wasn’t something Hera was going to treat lightly.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she told him quietly, and he smiled.

“I know. You’re nice like that.”

Hiding a pleased smile, Hera commented, “You know, just when I think I have you figured out, you come up with something new. Any other mind-blowing secrets you have hidden?”

Rubbing at his beard, Kanan frowned in mock concentration. “Well, my killer good looks aren’t a secret to anyone, so… nope. Looks like you’re the mysterious one, now.”

Hera laughed. “I’m honored, dear. Are you ready to go?”

“One minute.” Kanan turned, bending to pick up his gloves from where he’d left them. For just a moment, he lingered by the trees, fingertips tracing over the tops of the dancing leaves. And then he was pulling on the gloves, turning to face her. “Let’s roll.”

As they headed back to the ship, Hera asked, “What kind of trees are they?”

“Kallnut trees,” Kanan said. “Apparently the nuts are pretty good, but I’ve never stuck around one of them long enough to find out.” He glanced at her. “Any more questions?”

It was a genuine question— Hera could tell. She took a minute to consider, then said, “What does it feel like?”

A thoughtful frown knitted Kanan’s brows as they came out of the trees. The Ghost was landed nearby, and Hera knew it was only a matter of time before Chopper came out to demand where they’d been. But Kanan stopped anyway, looking like he was turning the question over and over in his mind.

“It’s different from the Force— and the same,” he said. “The Force is just… there. Always. Like a river you’re walking next to, and can dip your feet in at any minute. It’s easy to reach, like breathing. This is… brighter. More persistent. They’re both easy, but if one’s more confusing, it’s the kallnut tree. But it’s strong. I— I don’t know how to explain it other than— can I?”

He slipped off a glove and held his scarred hand out to her. Hera’s breath caught, but she took his hand. His fingers were gentle and warm as he rested his palm against hers.

For a moment, there was nothing. And then, a flare of warmth from the knotted scar. Hera gasped as a humming brightness tangled around her hand. It was alive and strong and felt like roots deep in the earth, leaves reaching for the sky. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, and was somehow fully… Kanan, yet not Kanan.

It was gone a heartbeat later, and Hera was aware of Kanan watching her. “Make any more sense?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Hera said, forcing herself to breathe evenly. “And no.”

He nodded, still holding her hand. “Same here.”

And then Chopper’s loud, accusatory bwomping cut through the stillness surrounding them, and Hera forced herself to let go of Kanan’s hand. But her fingers still tingled from the contact as she headed back to the ship.

Of all the potential crew members she could have ended up with, Kanan was definitely on the stranger end. But she found she didn’t really mind that.

#star wars rebels #swr #kanan jarrus #caleb dume #janus kasmir #hera syndulla #kanera #kanan comics #the bad batch #tales of the spectres #spectre week #spectre week 2024 #writing stories is a kind of magic too #swr seventh son au

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skyward-floored · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 25: Storm, “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave”

The second prompt is more vibes then anything, there’s no dead guys here. Probably. Hopefully.

This is a continuation to day 22 :) It’s a lot of plot, but it’s plenty painful as well heh heh. There will be another part after this as well.

Day 22

Read on ao3

Warnings: much of the same as the first fic, more creepy vibes, blood, injury, some implied kidnapping, a liiiittle body horror, and an animal injury

————————————————————

A scream shatters Twilight’s peaceful sleep, and he jolts awake, sitting up and looking frantically around before realization hits him.

It’s Time. Woken by a nightmare yet again.

Twilight sighs, sad acceptance settling over himself as he calms down, and he looks over at the older hero. But the sight isn’t the usual one they’ve become accustomed to these past weeks, and Twilight immediately moves closer.

Time is gasping for breath, both eyes wide as they stare up at the sky, and Warriors is unsuccessfully trying to get him to look at him. He’s pale and shaking— which, unfortunately, has lately been the norm— but usually by now Time is sitting up and getting ahold of himself, and acting like he’s fine.

Instead he continues to lie there, gasping like a drowning man.

“Time,” Warriors repeats, Legend kneeling next to him with a pinched look on his face, “Link, can you hear me?”

Time’s breath rattles, but after a long moment, his eyes finally turn towards Warriors, blue and white both blown wide in terror.

“Did... what happened? He’s never done this before, was... was it the same nightmare?” Wind finally asks quietly, voicing what the rest of them are wondering.

“No,” Time gasps, face white, sweat pouring down his face. “No, it was— it was different.”

Twilight and Legend exchange looks, and Time chokes in another gasp, still trying to calm down.

“...I think you’d better tell everyone your dream, Time,” Warriors says in a grim voice. “And then you can explain to us what was different this time.”

Time gives him a look, but Warriors is firm.

“The time for secrets is over. If we’re going to figure this out, we need everyone’s help,” the captain finishes more softly, and Time closes his eyes, dragging in another ragged breath.

Twilight grabs his necklace and shifts into wolf form, moving to sit beside Time. His mentor reaches out a shaky hand, and Twilight allows him to run his palm over his head, running down to the thicker fur at his neck. Normally he balks at being petted like a common pooch, but under circumstances like these, he’s found it’s the best way to provide comfort.

And it helps. Time’s gasps slow, his breath evening out. His hands still shake, but he looks more settled, and begins to explain the nightmare he’s been having for nearly a month now.

Twilight already heard the explanation once, but it’s almost worse the second time with the others listening, knowing what’s coming. All of them are dead silent as he speaks, faces holding several differing emotions, but Legend’s face especially seems to crease more and more as he tells them of the violence and death he’s privy to every night.

“That... sounds like a legend in my time,” Legend murmurs as Time finishes the explanation. “Of the Hero before me. The Fallen Hero.”

“Who?” Wild asks in a whisper, and Legend’s throat bobs as he hesitates.

“Legend goes that the hero before me fought against Ganon, but... failed,” he explains, crossing his arms. “The princess of the time was forced to seal Ganon away without him, with the help of six other sages.”

Legend swallows.

“There’s a bit more to it, but... the legends say the hero died. Like... in Time’s dream.”

Time seems to have lost what color he’d regained, and his hand clenches slightly where it’s resting in Twilight’s fur.

“But you said it was different this time,” Warriors interjects, voice steadying. “How did it change?”

Time breathes out, and launches into a second explanation.

He tells them all how the beginning of the dream had been the same, but at the point where it usually ended, it had continued, into a confusing darkness and broken bodies, and images Time had trouble explaining, and couldn’t make sense of. Twilight wonders if he might leave a few details out based on how he hesitates at certain points, but he doesn’t call him out.

“And the end was clear,” Time finishes in a more serious voice. His fear seems to have hardened into anger, and Twilight eyes him worriedly. “The rest was confusing, but there’s no mistaking it. An enemy I thought long gone is back... Majora.”

Legend and Wild both look up, and the champion hesitantly reaches into his pouch, pulling out a mask in almost dizzying colors, with yellow eyes and small spikes at the edges.

“You’ve mentioned an enemy by that name before... when I showed you this,” he says cautiously, and Time nods.

“Yes. The mask that housed it was identical to this one,” he says as Wild hands it to him. “Though this one is empty, possibly a replica. Many years ago I destroyed the demon, but... it should not have been possible for it to return.”

They all chew on that for a moment, an owl hooting somewhere in the forest.

“...Unless it’s the Shadow’s doing,” Warriors finally says in a grave voice. “He’s brought back many an old foe. Who’s to say he can’t resurrect a demon?”

“That would take a lot of power,” Hyrule speaks up, his face shadowed with worry. “Even a dark being like the Shadow would need some kind of help, a conduit, or cursed object maybe—”

“It doesn’t matter how he’s back, we gotta stop him!” Wind interrupts, his face dismayed. “If Time’s dream was real, then there’s at least two people he was possessing and captured! They need our help!”

Twilight breathes out, and shifts back into a hylian, sitting down next to Time.

“You’re right sailor, but we don’t know where they or the demon are,” he says. “Time just said they were in a dark, stone room. That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

Somebody makes an odd noise, and Twilight looks over at Legend, raising a worried eyebrow at how pale he suddenly seems.

“...Veteran?” Sky asks, and Legend swallows.

“I have a mask like that as well,” he says in a low voice. The others turn to stare at him. “I could tell it had some dark magic in it when I found it, kept it for safekeeping. Maybe... maybe it’s like Hyrule said. Maybe all the Shadow needed to bring the demon back was the mask.”

A stunned silence falls over them, and Twilight looks at Time, his face still pale and grim.

He’s a bit less receptive of his ancestor’s mood now that he’s not a wolf, but there’s an equal mixture of anger and fear and worry on his face, along with the dark circles from so few nights of sleep. A change in the routine of torture he’s been submitted to seems to have woken him up a bit, and his face is more alive then it’s been in a while.

As horrible as the circumstances are, Twilight is a little glad.

“Where is it?” Time asks finally, and Legend pales again, as if he’s just realized something.

“It’s at my house.”

(...)

They break camp and leave immediately, knowing time is of the essence. It’s still dark out, but they’re close enough to Legend’s house that the veteran knows the way, leading them silently with a pinched look on his face.

Twilight can only imagine what’s going on in his head at the moment. Legend’s house is right by the castle, and not much further from Kakariko— if there’s a demon loose, it could have already wreaked all sorts of havoc.

Not to mention the fact that Legend’s house isn’t empty.

Twilight glances at Legend again, the veteran looking like he’s barely keeping himself from bolting off with his Pegasus boots.

Legend’s never explained exactly who Ravio is, but you’d have to be a fool not to notice how similar they look. Twilight is sure there’s a story there, but the point is, Ravio is important to Legend, despite what the veteran may show outwardly.

And he’s all but confirmed to be in the same location as a demon Time tells them once destroyed the world.

“...he means nearly destroyed, right?” Wind asks in a quiet voice as Time explains a little more about Majora to them, but Time doesn’t answer.

The information doesn’t make much sense, and neither does any of the situation, really. All they know for sure is that Time’s been plagued by nightmares for nearly a month, identical to each other except for tonight’s, in which two people had been alternatively possessed by a demon mask in a dark room somewhere.

They’re working solely off of assumptions and coincidences otherwise, and there’s a large part of Twilight that desperately hopes all of this truly was just a nightmare.

He knows better then that though. Nightmares like Time has been having aren’t normal.

They never are.

They reach Legend’s house at dawn, rays of sunlight barely peeking through the clouds that blanket the sky. Twilight feels a little hopeful at the lack of obvious destruction from the outside of the building, or the surrounding area.

The fact that the house is still standing must be good, right?

Legend doesn’t waste a moment in running up and shoving open the door, the others right behind him.

The veteran’s house is always a disaster, but as Twilight walks in, he sees it’s even worse then normal. Furniture has been knocked over, and books and maps and items are all over the place, mixing with glass from a broken window. Twilight sees clear signs of a struggle, things that look like they’ve been thrown, weapons fallen out of reach.

Any hope that it’s a coincidence goes out the window when he sees blood on the floor, and Legend quickly checks the rest of the house, shouting for Ravio.

But there’s no sign of the purple merchant, and Legend comes back into the main area with a grim look on his face.

“The mask is gone,” he reports in a biting voice, looking at a particular portion of the wall. “And so is Ravio.”

“There was dark magic used here, a lot of it,” Hyrule says quietly.

“That all but confirms it,” Warriors says as he closes his eyes, a grieved look on his face. “Majora is back.”

A quiet chirping noise punctuates the end of his sentence, and Twilight pricks his ears, turning his head towards where it had come from.

“Rancher?”

“Shh,” Twilight says in reply, and the others go quiet as he picks his way across the room.

He steps over a pile of what look like various magic rods, and over to a stack of maps, fallen all over the floor in a large pile. The chirp rings out again, and Twilight follows it to the corner, where the maps are piled particularly high.

Twilight lifts up several pieces of paper and parchment, and near the bottom, he startles at a little blue and white bird underneath.

Sheerow’s wing is crooked, blood in his feathers, and he fluffs up at the sight of Twilight, angrily clacking his beak.

“What is it?” Four calls, and Twilight crouches next to the bird, studying him.

“...It’s Ravio’s bird.”

“Sheerow?!” Legend asks, and the bird perks up a little, letting out a pained squawk as he shifts his wing.

“Easy, little guy,” Twilight soothes, and Sheerow glares at him a moment longer before slowly smoothing his feathers.

He blinks and tilts his head curiously as Twilight continues to make soothing noises, and Twilight scoops the little bird into his hands. Sheerow lets out a tired peep as Sky picks his way over and runs a finger over his head, and the bird looks relieved to have finally been found.

“Yep, this is Sheerow,” Sky confirms, having studied the bird a few times before.

“Ravio never goes anywhere without that stupid bird,” Legend mutters with a frantic undertone, starting to pace among all of his items thrown on the floor, “and I’ve never seen Sheerow get hurt, not even when he’s pulled weapons off me in stupid dangerous areas, or dragged me home even, how could he have—”

“Legend, calm down,” Warriors says, and Legend whirls on him.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he yells. “My house has been broken into, my roommate’s been kidnapped, it’s extremely likely a mask got stolen and a demon got resurrected using it, the whole kingdom is probably in danger, and not to mention all those stupid dreams Time keeps having that are telling the future or past or I don’t even know!”

Warriors goes silent, and Legend swipes an angry hand across his eyes.

Sheerow lets out a squeaking sound in Twilight’s hand then, and nibbles his finger, bobbing his head towards Legend.

“Whoa, okay, you want to see Legend?” Twilight asks softly, and Sheerow chirps in an insistent way. The rancher picks his way back across the room, Sky in tow, and holds out his hands to Legend, the veteran looking at him with emotion swirling in his gaze.

Sheerow squawks, and jumps out of Twilight’s hands onto Legend’s shoulder, pecking lightly at his ear.

“Ow, what is it you stupid bird?” Legend asks, all bark and no bite, and Sheerow lets out another urgent series of chirps.

“Wait... I think he’s trying to tell us something,” Wind says, eyes wide. “Is that it, Sheerow?”

The little bird chirps, bobbing his head, and the heroes exchange looks.

“Wait, do you know where Ravio went?” Twilight asks suddenly.

Sheerow chirrups louder then ever, and Legend scoops him off his shoulder and into a hand, rifling in his pouch with the other. He pulls out a potion, and pours some into his palm, offering it to Sheerow.

Somehow the little bird knows what he’s doing and eagerly sips it up, beak clacking. He stretches his bent wing a few moments later, no longer bent, and does a little loop in the air, a triumphant caw ringing through the house.

“Can you help us find Ravio?” Legend asks seriously, and Sheerow chirps in a determined way and flies right out the door.

Legend leaves his disastrous home without hesitation, and the rest of them follow, Twilight staying by Time’s side as they run. The older hero has been doing a little better since they’ve been given something to do, but he’s still running on barely any sleep, and Twilight admittedly isn’t sure he’ll keep up.

Sheerow guides them to the east, the land growing more hilly as they go. The clouds above them thicken as well, white turning to grey, and Twilight can smell rain in the distance, a mark of the coming storm.

Time drags the longer they go, but he stubbornly keeps at it as they follow Sheerow up crumbling stairs and across old bricks. It’s an hour or two after they leave Legend’s house before they reach the yawning maw of a large temple, and they pause, getting their breath back, looking to Legend for information.

“Eastern Palace,” Legend reports, Sheerow flittering nervously around his head. “Pretty easy dungeon on the scale of things, mostly low-level monsters. I had to do it twice actu— would you stop that?!” he snaps at Sheerow, and the little birds chirps in offense and goes to sit on Sky’s shoulder. “As I was saying—”

Twilight hears thunder off in the distance, and a light rain begins to fall on their heads, small noises of dismay coming from them all. They move to go inside the palace, but then Sheerow lets out a noise like a shriek, and Time stops dead in his tracks.

The rest of them stop as well, drawing their weapons seconds after Time does, and Twilight hears Time let out a sharp inhale as footsteps echo from the entrance to the palace.

Two yellow eyes appear, and then a figure steps out into the rain, bringing with it sharp inhales from them all.

The figure that’s stepped out is barely recognizable as Hylian, his tunic torn and covered in blood that the rain begins to wash onto the stones at his feet. Darkness is coalesced around where the blood is thickest, patches over his skin in several places, twined like vines across his arms and legs. It covers the injuries that must be there, but what’s most noticeable is the mask covering his face.

It’s identical to the one Wild possesses, but its eyes glow with an extra malice as it seems to look around at them, stopping when it’s gaze reaches Time.

“Well well. I was wondering when you all were going to show up,” the boy says in a voice that makes Twilight’s heart stop.

He sounds almost exactly like Time.

He spares a frantic look at his mentor, and sees that Time’s face has gone eerily blank, though the glint of horror in his eye is impossible to erase.

Who’s under that mask?

“Where’s Ravio?” Legend demands, his gaze like steel as he points his sword at the demon.

Majora ignores him.

“My, you’ve grown, Hero. I see you’ve had some fun with some masks yourself!” he titters, staring at the markings on Time’s face. “Power like that is enticing, isn’t it?”

Time doesn’t falter. “Fight us as yourself,” he demands, his voice more matching the thunder that’s growing closer. “A puppet is unbecoming.”

“On the contrary, I rather like him,” the mask giggles, tilting his head so a few blood-soaked strands of blond hair are visible. “I’ve waited for revenge at my only defeat for a long time, and this only sweetens it. No... I think I’ll be keeping him.”

He pauses, and a flash of lighting strikes nearby, sending him into sharp relief.

“Or should I say... you?”

Pure horror hits Twilight like an arrow, and Time moves at the same time as the boy, a horribly familiar laugh ringing over the sound of thunder.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #lu time #lu legend #lu chain #all the links #linked universe fanfic #whumptober 2023 #day 25 #fic #storm #writing from the floor #don’t tag as ravioli please #thank you #I love Sheerow he’s such a spunky lil guy #his cheeps are so cute too #the ending is a little weird but originally this part was supposed to have a lot more along with it #but I ran out of time lol

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prepare4trouble · 3 months ago

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So, after my post about finding old fic, I decided to make a post, of fanfics I’ve loved over the years. I thought maybe other people might enjoy them too.

It’s not a complete list, there are a lot of other fics that aren’t in the list, mainly because I have and have had favourites saved all over the place, and I’ve got still more that I probably haven’t remembered. I’ll add more later.

All of these are complete, I haven’t included WIPS as much as I have some I loved, I doubt they will ever be finished now. Maybe I’ll add them later too, with warnings of course.

Most of these are pretty long. They are all ones I’ve gone back and read over and over, some though, I haven’t read in years, so maybe they’re not as good as I remember. Hopefully they are though.

This list is mainly for my own benefit, but I hope someone else gets some enjoyment out of these too, and please feel free to reblog and add your own faves.

So, in no particular order:

Cruel Necessity by Epona Harper - Real Ghostbusters fanfic. 79k words.

Summary: An attack on Peter has far-reaching repercussions.

No Little Charity by Perspi - House MD fanfic. 37351 words.

Summary: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this. (You need to be logged in to view this one)

Tarred and Feathered by Crydamoure - Good Omens fanfic. 75735 words.

Summary: It was the most obvious punishment. The Archangel created to carry Her voice suddenly rendered mute.

(Gabriel falls, personally inconveniencing Beelzebub)

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan - Good Omens fanfic. 10452 words.

Summary: "All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?"

Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.

"The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."

AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it

Eclipse by AconitumNapellus - Star Trek TOS fanfic. 82773 words.

Summary: Spock is blinded in an explosion on the Enterprise and relocates to Earth for his rehabilitation. While he grows used to his new world and finally returns to the Enterprise, he and the crew must find out if the explosion was an accident, or terrorism.

(This one is part of a series, but you can get to the others from this one)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm. Good Omens fanfic. 99423 words.

Summary: As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

The Manipulation of Julian Bashir By The Tystie. Star Trek DS9 fanfic. 218000 words

SUMMARY: When you have lived a lie for over half your life, how do you cope when the truth comes out? A story about Julian Bashir, set in season 5.

#fanfic #fic recs #good omens #house md #star trek #star trek ds9 #real ghostbusters

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joels-darlin · 1 year ago

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Monday Morning - The Aftermath

Chapter 3

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ only. kidnapping/hostage situation, violence, angst, hurt, allusions to rape, mentions of weapons, restraints/being tied up, mentions of injuries, panic attacks, mental health, anxiety, night terrors, lots of fluff though. (I think that's all sorry if I missed any)

Summary: The aftermath of recovering from your traumatic kidnapping comes with some surprising consequences.

Word count: 2736

Author Note: It’s here, the final chapter. I’m not going to lie this was a struggle and writers blocks have been kicking my ass for weeks, apologies to those who have been waiting but hopefully it is worth it! I’ve enjoyed writing my first multi-chapter fic and have learnt a lot during the process, hopefully here’s to many more. Enjoy this cos it’s just pure fluff and lots of soft!Javi (sucker for him). Any feedback is appreciated, thanks all ♥️

This wouldn't be happening without the help of my dearest friend @ladybess-a03 ♥️ Just thankyou, I am forever grateful for all your help, support and encouragement. You made this ending so much better than I had planned and will forever be in your debt!

AO3 Link

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The recovery process would undoubtedly take months, both mentally and physically. But, as promised, Javi was by your side every step of the way. He could tell the physical injuries didn’t bother you anymore, but the mental scars were the ones that hit the hardest.

As expected the first week was difficult. Even though your DEA issued apartments were adjacent to each other, Javi had basically moved in, albeit not straightaway. On one of those nights where he was unable to switch off, drifting in and out from slumber every hour or so, he was woken by the blood curdling screams and hysterical sobbing from the other side of the wall. Knowing it was you straightaway he had bolted from the bed and through the door of the apartment, forgoing the fact that he was only wearing a pair of shorts.

The minute he stepped foot in the room his heart broke, red puffy eyes and tear tracks marring your cheeks - pain and horror evident on your usually happy features. He had noticed since the incident you had become a shell of your former self. A once happy and carefree persona now replaced with sadness and constant fear. Eyes losing their sparkle, replaced with dullness and emptiness accompanied by the dark circles on your pale skin - although to him you still looked beautiful.

That was the first night you had let him hold your trembling frame, staying intertwined until the sun started to peek through the yellowing blinds of the bedroom. It was a new experience for him, the only time in weeks since the heavy ache in his chest had subsided whilst embracing you. From that moment forward he made a vow to never leave you alone in these four walls again. He only left your side for a few minutes the next morning to pack some of his belongings into a hold-all bag, finding them a home in your apartment. ────────

Everything changed after that night, and although you were still in a constant cycle of anxiety and panic attacks, they were not as frequent. Javi had thrown everything into the role of caretaker, working tirelessly to establish a routine aiming to bring some normality back into your life. It was only after some further coaxing that he finally succeeded in getting you to leave the confines of the apartment on a random Sunday, accompanied by him of course.

It was a specific place he had chosen and quite often frequented. Somewhere not far, a small café just down the road, planning ahead in case you changed your mind and wanted out fast. Javi couldn’t help the grin that spread across his cheeks. Admiring as you sat across from him on the rickety, old table, a breath-taking but shy smile adorned your features as you sipped away on a coffee. In that moment his heart stopped.

Javi wasn’t one for long-term relationships and couldn’t remember the last time he was in one, often just paying a visit to one of his many informants for a moment of stress relief. But here you sat in front of him, fingers softly grazing his knuckles across the table, looking happy for the first time in weeks and he was close to crumbling into pieces. Wanting nothing more than to call you his. But he had to wait; you were still too vulnerable.

────────

It was easy to see that you had both slipped into something that could be considered more than friends, even without there being any words yet to be spoken on the matter. The comforting touches between one another increased and evenings were spent curled up on the couch barely paying attention to the TV, not forgetting sleeping in the same bed completely wrapped around one another. Which seemed to keep your nightmares at bay…sometimes.

What you were both unprepared for was the brown Embassy issued envelope that dropped through the letterbox a couple of weeks after the coffee shop. You had come on in leaps and bounds since then, the coffee ‘dates’ slowly becoming something that happened multiple times a week. You’d even managed to go as far as going back to the market where you had first been taken from, albeit for a brief visit, but in Javi’s mind that was steady progress.

All Javi could do was watch as you opened it with shaking hands, spotting the tears starting collecting at your lash line. Taking every ounce of strength in his body to resist pulling you into an embrace, giving you a moment to take in the words on the page.

“They-they- want me back in,” you said. He had waited patiently for you to speak but the words barely came out as a whisper.

“Cariño…” he whispered softly, “If you aren’t ready you don’t have to do anything, I can pull a few strings get you a little longer,” he said, reaching his hands out tentatively and resting them at your waist, calloused thumbs grazing softly at the small amount of exposed skin.

He was furious. Seeing how much progress you had been making and now this, not failing to spot you retreating back into your shell from the moment you had opened the letter. The room was virtually silent, the only sound being the faint banging of footsteps from the apartment above. It was only a few minutes that passed, but they felt like hours, Javi just watching intently as you took a deep breath in before exhaling loudly, sensing that the cogs were turning in your head.

“I-I-think it might be good for me to go…back” you said, and his eyes widened at your response.

“No, sweetheart, don’t rush on their account. It’s barely been two months, fuck them all!” he said, his anger evident from his tone.

“Javi…I can’t stay here locked up in the apartment forever. I’m going to have to get back to real life soon enough,” you said. You were right, as always, eliciting a sigh from him. Moving his arms from your waist he reached out grabbing your hands, linking your fingers with yours.

“Honey, look at me…” he watched as you raised your head, locking eyes with him “…are you sure this is what you want?…You don’t have to make the decision now”.

“No Javi, I do. I want to get my life back on track… I can’t live scared forever,” you said, and he nodded, accepting your reasons.

“I’m with you every step of the way, you got that? Just say the words and we are out of there,” he said, and you couldn’t help but smile at Javi. He’d gone above and beyond for you these last few weeks, and you truly didn’t know where you’d be without his support.

“Thank you, Javi” you said.

He said no more to you on the matter; truthfully, he didn’t need to. You’d made up your mind and he’d never stand in the way of your decision. There was nothing else to say now, but he chose to use his actions instead to convey just how serious he was about supporting you; how serious he was about you. Closing the space between your bodies, he pulled you into an embrace, laying a soft kiss on your hair. For the first time in a long while, Javi was becoming less frightened to show you just how he felt about you. ────────

You going back to work came around faster than expected. Today was the day you were going back to the office and Javi had been dreading it since the letter dropped through the door. As he stood in the bathroom, eyes locked on his pale and clammy figure staring back in the mirror, hands gripping the contours of the ceramic sink, his knuckles practically white and ready to burst out of the skin. He felt it all, the anxiety and nerves coming and going in waves across his chest. All he wanted was to protect and keep you safe from any harm, and today, for the first time since you were rescued, he wouldn’t be able to do that.

You had been quiet all morning, as expected. He didn’t make any extra fuss, giving you the space and time needed to slow pad around the apartment doing your morning routine. He could only observe from the couch, munching on a slice of now cold toast which was threatening to make a re-appearance at any given moment. He didn’t want you back today, it was too soon. But this was your decision, and he had to respect that.

The drive to the office was quiet. Javi tried to distract himself by tapping his fingers on the leather of the steering wheel. Whilst stuck at a red light he took a moment to glance over to your figure in the passenger seat. The dark circles under your eyes caught his attention, knowing full well that you hadn’t slept at all last night, the constant tossing and turning in bed being the obvious sign. He’d done his best to still you, letting you snuggle into him more than most nights. But it seemed like nothing was working, and as such neither of you had a good night’s sleep.

Javi pulled up into his designated parking spot and turned off the engine. You didn’t move to undo the seatbelt, instead sitting rooted to the spot. Javi turned to you, smiling solemnly, and reached one hand out to hold yours.

“Hey…are you alright?” he asked, knowing full well that the answer was a resounding ‘no’, but you’d probably never admit that. Sure enough, he was right, and as you turned to look at him you put on your best fake smile and nodded your head.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Just nervous,” you said, squeezing Javi’s hand in yours.

“I can drive you home? Tell our boss you ain’t up to it yet?” he offered, his deep brown eyes staring at you almost pleading, begging for you to grant him permission to do so. But you were nothing if not stubborn, and shook your head.

“Thank you, Javi. But no, I…I need to do this. If not now, when? I don’t want to get into my own head about this too long, or else it’ll just make my inevitable return so much more difficult. I’m still just on desk duty for a while at least, so that’s something,” you said, not realising that the only reason you were being kept at the station was because Javi had basically demanded that be the case. The day after you’d received your letter he’d gone straight into your boss’ office, thrusting the letter on their desk, requesting that you not be put on any missions for the foreseeable future.

“It’s enough that you want her back so fucking soon, the least you can do is keep her out of harm’s way,” he’d said, not even waiting to hear a response before storming out of the office and back to his desk. He’d learn by the end of the day that they had agreed, and you’d be psychologically monitored before being allowed out from behind your desk. He’d breathed a sigh of relief that night, and packed up his things almost immediately to go back home and tell you the news.

“Okay sweetheart, but if you need anything-,” he began before you cut him off.

“I know, Javi. I know. I’ll come and find you,” you said, smiling.

“You better,” he chuckled.

“I always will, Javi. And, listen…thank you. For everything. I know you still don’t think I should go back to work today, but please don’t forget that if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be considering this. I owe you everything,” you said, one or two tears spilling down your cheeks. Javi smiled faintly, undoing his seatbelt so he could lean over to you more and brush away the tear tracks.

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t cry. What you went through was horrible, and I’m constantly blown away with how strong you’ve been,” he said. You smiled at him, staring into his deep brown eyes. Eyes that only seemed to soften for you, you’d noticed.

“Will…will you be moving out now?” you asked, biting your lip a little, your voice barely above a whisper. Javi chuckled, getting a little closer so your foreheads could rest together.

“Only if you don’t want me there, hermosa,” he whispered, your lips so close to touching, Javi’s hand still cradling your head.

You pulled back ever so slightly to look at him in the eyes, and Javi thought his heart might burst. He’d completely fallen head over heels for you, but it was only after having spent so much time with you these last few weeks that he’d come to realise this. He wondered how long he’d been harbouring this feeling towards you, but that was in the past now. He just hoped that, going forward, it would be something he could one day express.

Smiling sweetly, your breath slightly shaky, you leant back in towards him. Your lips pressed against Javi’s and you kissed him softly. His eyes widened a little at the contact, not quite expecting this from you, and his heart sped up. Once his brain had caught up with what was going on, he kissed you back, the hand cradling your cheek landing in your hair to keep you close. You smiled against his lips when he kissed you, glad that Javi returned the affection you too had been nursing for the last couple of months, the feelings making themselves known ever since he came to look after you.

He didn’t want to overstep with you, never having expected something like this to even happen in the first place. He pulled back slowly, but kept himself close to you. You smiled, a flush on your cheeks and for the first time in weeks you felt alive. It would undoubtedly take a long time before your desire to be intimate with anyone to come back, but for now gentle kisses could be how you showed Javi how you felt.

“I…I don’t want you to move out, Javi. In fact, I wondered if you’d like to move in more permanently?” you asked, trying your best to hold back a cheeky grin. Javi chuckled, elated that you still wanted him around, but also delighted to see you smiling and laughing again. Slowly but surely you were coming back to him, and he was willing to be patient and stick by you for as long as that took.

“If you’ll have me, sweetheart, then I’ll start packing tonight,” he promised, pressing one final soft kiss to your lips. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, now feeling much less anxious about today.

He pulled back and hopped out of the car, then came around to your side to let you out. Locking the vehicle, Javi thrust the keys in his pocket before leaning down to grab your hand. You interlocked your fingers, and he gave you a small squeeze before heading off.

The two of you walked through the front doors of the DEA’s office, hand in hand still. You smiled at Javi, the first genuine smile you’d done this morning. You were still sleep deprived, yes, but he’d lifted your spirits immeasurably, and for the first time since the kidnapping you were starting to believe that you could do this. Your strength in yourself might still not be back to where it was, but today was the first day where you could see yourself slowly getting back there.

For as long as you had Javi by your side, you’d be okay. It might take a few more weeks, or even months; but he was going nowhere, he never wanted to let you go again now. Together you’d be able to overcome what you’d been through, and that was a future you were excited about experiencing.

#pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fics #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javi pena #pedro pascal characters #javi p #narcos #javier pena #javier pena x you

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cecilysass · 2 years ago

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Pause (3/11)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 3: Partner

At the sound of the key, Scully’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, ramrod straight, her heart racing.

She doesn’t want to startle Mulder, and sitting on the couch seems the least threatening posture she can take, so she stays where she is. As the door begins to push open with its characteristic little crunch, she wrings her hands, unbearably nervous.

It’s Mulder, she reminds herself. No matter how long you may have been gone, or what has happened in your absence, you know what to expect from Mulder.

At last he shuffles through the door, and it’s him, definitely him: head bent, looking weary and wilted. He turns to lock the door again, evidently not paying very much attention to his surroundings.

Her heart constricts. “Mulder,” she voices softly.

She can see his whole body go still from behind, but he doesn’t look right away. His back remains to her.

“Mulder?” she repeats.

Very slowly he turns, allowing her to see his face for the first time.

His expression is flat, without affect. He blinks.

“Hi,” she tries again. She scrambles to stand up. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just me. I’m…I’m having a rough time. I don’t have any idea what’s going on. I don’t remember what’s happened.”

He takes a step towards her, and she sees how terrible he looks. He needs a haircut and a shave. There are deep purple smudges lining the bottom of his eyes.

His eyes dart over the scene in front of him: her clothes, her hair, the half-eaten lasagna on the plate in front of her, the coffee table with no dirty dishes.

Something like fear flickers across his face.

In a sudden movement, he reaches into his waistband and produces his Sig from his holster, holding it on her.

“What do you want?” he demands in a rasp.

“Mulder,” she gasps. “It’s me.”

“Stop that,” he hisses. “Stop.”

“Stop… what? I don’t understand.”

Keeping her in his sight, he walks to the table by his front door, opens a drawer, and produces a stiletto. “I keep one of these around exactly for guests like you.”

She understands his thought process now. “I’m not him.” She tries to keep a steady tone. “It’s me, it’s actually Scully.”

His face turns darker. “No,” he says again, his voice dangerous.

“Let’s just calm down, talk about it rationally for a second, Mulder—”

He lunges towards her, the stiletto in one hand and the Sig in the other, and she knows with despairing certainty that he is about to hurt her.

In terror she cringes back against his desk, covering her face in her hands, no will to try to defend herself against her partner.

A single thought runs through her mind. He will hate himself when he realizes. She lets out an involuntary sob, a choked sound.

But whatever blow, whatever sharp pain she expects, doesn’t come.

She looks up to see him standing above her, his face conflicted, his eyes tortured.

“Please stop,” he whispers to her, his voice just a dry husk. “Don’t look like that.”

“Mulder…”

“Just kill me.” He reaches behind her and sets the gun and the stiletto down on the desk. “You don’t need to look like that any more. I’m begging you not to. I won’t try to stop you. Just kill me.”

“Mulder,” she tries again, her voice shaky. “It’s me, it actually is, it’s really me. I’ve lost time, and I’m confused, but it’s me.”

He looks down at her blankly, as if trying to comprehend words in an unfamiliar language.

“I came here for your help,” she says.

She places a hand tentatively on his arm, and he jumps back like it burns him.

Scully licks her lips, her mind racing. “What can I say to convince you?” she asks. “That only you would know? After Van Blundht, we said we’d come up with questions, but we never did. But we could think of them right now?”

He doesn’t answer. He only stares.

“I’ll ask you my question first, Mulder,” she says, watching him hopefully. “What character from a book did I compare you to when we were sitting on a rock in Heuvelmans Lake?”

He says nothing for a moment. “Ahab,” he says in the same toneless voice.

She nods vigorously. “Right. See? Why don’t you ask me yours?” she says.

But he doesn’t. He turns and moves unsteadily to the couch, collapsing in the very spot Scully had been napping. He puts his head in his hands, and then looks up at her again.

“It’s not possible,” he says.

“What‘s not possible?”

“You… being here, wearing those clothes,” he says. “You having that memory.”

Scully swallows uncomfortably. “I gather I haven’t been around.”

He looks at her sharply. “Not been around… that’s putting it mildly. Dead is not being around.”

“Oh.” Scully feels like she has been socked in the stomach. “Dead… like abducted and presumed dead?”

“Dead like dead,” Mulder says flatly. “A car accident.”

“A car accident.” Scully feels the room undulating now, rippling around her. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, I—”

Her knees give out, and she takes an unsteady stumble to the side to brace herself.

Mulder frowns, standing up. “Are you… okay?”

She steps to the side again, and he catches her by her shoulders this time, steering her to the couch. “I was assuming I had most likely been abducted again,” she whispers. “How could I be—? Where did I—?”

He sits next to her on the couch, just watching her, his whole body taut.

She feels tears falling down her cheeks, and she begins wiping them away quickly with her knuckles, uncomfortable with crying in front of this guarded, unfriendly version of Mulder.

“I don’t remember much of anything,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “I can’t possibly tell you what happened.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she can’t stop the tears. “I can’t prove this to you.”

Gradually his expression has grown softer. “All right. Hey,” he says cautiously. “What exactly do you remember?”

“I woke up this evening in a rental car in Georgetown,” she whispers. “I was only a few blocks away from my apartment, but… my apartment wasn’t my apartment anymore.”

“No,” he says. “It hasn’t been for a while. Maggie and I had to clean it out after the funeral.”

She places her hand over her mouth, trying to control herself, tears still escaping and rolling down her cheeks.

He makes no effort to comfort her. But she also sees that he’s biting his lip so hard he could draw blood.

“Maybe it’s time for my question,” he says, his voice very tense.

“Okay,” Scully says, sniffing, feeling hope rush in again.

Mulder pauses. “Where did we go after the premiere of The Lazarus Bowl? And what did you say to me there?”

Scully stares at him open-mouthed. She doesn’t say anything for a long minute.

“Is this… is this a trick, Mulder?”

“No,” he says, a crease appearing between his eyes.

“That’s not a real question,” she says in a low voice, her frustration mounting. “You’re trying to trick me. To ask me about something that didn’t happen.”

“No, it’s a real question.”

“It isn’t,” she says. She is beginning to fill with a surge of anger. Of all the times for Mulder to refuse to believe, why now, when she needs him? “A real question would be, what gift did you bring me in the hospital after Duane Barry? What is your favorite late-night Chinese order? What did you say to me after I called you and told you about Emily?”

Mulder looks dazed, shakes his head slowly. “The Lazarus Bowl … you don’t know what that is?”

“No.” Scully’s voice is rising in volume. “What are you trying to prove, exactly?” Her voice cracks. “How can I get you to believe this? What do I have to do?”

He stares at her a beat longer and then he stands up, abruptly, beginning to pace back and forth. The apartment floorboards creak under his weight.

“Ask me more questions,” she demands. “Ask me real things.”

He spins back towards her again.

“What did I bring you in the hospital after Duane Barry?

“Superstars of the Superbowl.”

He nods, but his face is perturbed. “When we pulled off the highway to try to eat that one time in Florida, what food did we end up getting that we promised we would never talk about again?”

“Frog legs. You’ve now broken that promise.”

“What happened to Samantha?”

She stares at him. “I don’t understand why you would ask that. You know there’s not an answer to that.”

He chews on his lip again, regarding her. “What’s… the last thing you remember before you remember being in the rental car? The last clear memory before today?”

She hesitates. “Coming to your apartment to tell you about my transfer to Salt Lake.”

“Transfer to Salt Lake…?” he repeats, his face freezing.

“Yes. I tried to leave, you argued and followed me into the hall. I was stung by something. A bee, most likely, from when we were in Texas. That’s the last I remember.”

If the memory of their interrupted hallway encounter embarrasses him, he shows no sign of it. Instead, his expression is one of shock and overwhelm, as though he were grappling with a large amount of new information at once. He takes a step backwards.

Scully suddenly has a feeling of dread.

“I know time has passed since then,” she prompts, watching him. “I don’t know how much.”

He runs his fingers through his overlong hair. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Is the bee sting what you thought killed me, Mulder?”

He looks at her in disbelief. “No. I told you, car accident.”

“How much time since then?” she whispers. “A year?”

His eyes fix on her. “You’ve been dead a year,” he says. “But since the hallway and the bee? Longer.”

“How much longer?” she says fearfully.

He hesitates, eyeing her.

“How much longer, Mulder?”

“About three years,” he answers in a low voice. “Including the year of being dead.”

She feels the room rolling again like a ship at sea.

“Three … years,” she repeats.

“Yeah.”

She’s having trouble catching her breath, and she leans over, bending at the waist to put her head between her knees, trying to make things stabilize.

Three years’ worth of missing time. Only a few months of missing time had been almost insurmountable, something she expected to be recovering from for the rest of her life. This is unimaginably greater in scope.

Still bent over, she rocks in place to relax. How can she make things feel normal again, how can she ever get her bearings—

She’s suddenly aware of the weight of a hand upon her back.

Scully wants to cry, feeling it there. Please, Mulder. Don’t regret touching me.

The hand starts to move, gently patting. Each touch, however light, leaves a wake of warmth that reverberates through her muscles and sinew. With every touch, her lungs slowly refill, her equilibrium settles.

As she feels calmer, she slowly sits up and turns to face him. His hand drops quickly off her back, almost as if he is ashamed.

She studies his face. A muscle on the side of his jaw is twitching. There is something painful and veiled in his eyes, and a deep furrow in his brow. But she also sees conflict there, too, something buried underneath.

And she thinks she understands. He wants, very badly, to be kind to her. It’s his instinct. He wants it so much, but something she doesn’t entirely understand is preventing him.

Impulsively she wraps her arms around him, pressing her head against his chest. He sucks in a sharp, shocked breath. The map of muscles under his shirt seize up like a net tightening.

Oh, she realizes. He’s so scared. He’s as terrified as she has ever seen him.

Please don’t let me be wrong about this, she thinks.

Then his long arms tentatively reach around her, grip her, pull her in more tightly. A large hand lands on top of her head. Lightly he rocks her back and forth on the couch, and she cries into his chest.

This, she thinks with relief, is the partner she knows. This is what she remembers from hospital hallways, from the aftermath of ugly cases, from times of emotional turmoil. He is warm and steady: her best friend, her rock.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says in a low, tight voice. “I don’t understand it. But…we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. You were right to come here.”

Her heart sinks. It’s still not right, the way he sounds. There’s something sickeningly off here. It’s not her partner after all. “You still don’t believe it’s me,” she murmurs into his chest.

He says nothing, still cupping her head.

“I don’t know,” he answers after a beat. “I’m not sure. But whatever’s going on, I don’t think you’re trying to fool me on purpose.”

“It’s so ironic,” she says bitterly, “that I can’t get you to believe.”

“It’s just…it’s possible they’ve intentionally made you believe something that isn’t true.”

She begins to cry again, and she realizes: he has yet to call her Scully. He hasn’t called her by any name at all.

“Don’t cry,” he says, and his voice sounds pained. “We’ll figure it out.”

She leans away from him, wiping her eyes.

“We should sleep tonight,” he says, after a while. “In the morning, I’d like to…”

“Run DNA,” she finishes dully. “I assume. It’s what I would do if I were … doubtful about my story.”

His reaction is some unholy mixture of wonder and anguish, an expression she finds she can’t bear to observe on his face.

“In the morning, I also want to call my mom,” she says.

There is a pause.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Of course you do.”

“You should call the Gunmen tonight, too,” she says. “They left you a message, checking in. They sounded worried.”

He looks absently away. “Sure. I will.” He looks down. “I’ll put some new sheets on the bed for you. The ones on there now aren’t that clean.”

“You have a bed,” she comments. “A bedroom. That’s new.”

He looks back at her, seemingly startled. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s not new, but—” He stops himself. “Yeah. But it’s no trouble for me to take the couch tonight.”

#the x files #xfiles fanfic #x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #x files #my fic #pause

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christinescupofcoffee · 3 months ago

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Quarter After Twelve

An original story, and my return to original fiction after more than 5 years no less! Big multi-chaptered saga going right for the jugular. Fair warning: this fic goes into very heavy, disturbing, and potentially upsetting themes. Tread carefully if you wish to continue.

ao3 link

A boy on the run from a terror group while looking for his mother and grandparents. A group of kids find themselves with a dead man. A girl being a comfort to her best friend who just underwent surgery. A man staring down the shadow of death turning away from his relationship to live his life. A couple meeting a woman who is just a little “too nice.” And the world is brought to a standstill following a massive solar storm. All of this happened at a quarter after twelve.

Chapter One: Fool’s Gold

I swore that the flashes in the sky would be the thing to protect me from their watching eyes. The aurora blanketed the sky in a veil of orange and pink which made me think of rainbow sherbet, but I had never been in much of a mood to eat at all since the attacks happened. Granted, I had to stop to eat every now and again, and the light show proved to me such was the case.

I had one goal on my mind: find my mother and make the return trip to New York. There was the opportunity to return to Israel where she and my dad hailed from, but I had been born in New York, I only had about ten dollars and fifteen cents in my pocket, and I knew nowhere else to go in such a time.

You would see the tall wiry boy down on the corner with the brim of his hat tipped down low and so you hopefully better not view him as suspicious at all. He stayed posted up by the corner shop with his hands tucked into his pockets and the sides of his arms to protect the delicate flesh of his slightly rounded childhood tummy; the longest black curls in all the land, like streams of ink against cold water, save for a tiny plume of filmy gray hair at the crown as if it acted as his crown jewel. The boy was stranded down in Miami, and yet he dressed himself as if he had wound up in the Great Lakes instead.

That boy was me. Andrew Nathaniel Jacob Goldstein. Andy Goldstein from Brooklyn, New York. The only thing I missed was my yarmulke.

Those guerrilla fighters had found their way over to the mainland and gave quite the invasion. We all saw it coming, but who gives a shit. My father was deathly ill with blood clots down in Miami, so I had to make my way down there from New York anyway. But the last thing my mother told me was I had to be there at his side should he go during the next few days.

I landed in Miami with plenty of time to spare, but once I stepped off the plane, I could tell that they had come for America’s erection first. I recognized the black masks completely over their faces, which in turn spared the sight of their eyes.

The eyes of natural born killers.

The fear in the airport pervaded throughout, and that was before I saw the hostages bound and gagged dead center in the middle of the floor.

I made a run for it, but it was difficult to do so with an overnight bag and an acoustic guitar case over my shoulder. So many of them came after me, armed to the teeth and I had no idea what they had planned to do with me.

I skidded around the corner, and I ran into a pretty blonde stewardess who clutched at me in utter fear. I showed her my guitar case. If nothing else, I wanted that to survive me and to survive them.

“Take care of her,” I told her in a hushed voice. “Her name is Amber.”

The stewardess nodded at me, and she ducked into the alleyway. From what my memory stood, she had disappeared into one of those strip bakeries in the airport.

Also from what my memory stood, they never saw her. At least my guitar was in good hands, and I knew where to find her.

I kept running through the airport, but they caught up with me.

I begged them to spare me. To spare my lips and my tongue. But to them, I was a dirty Jew. A dirty boy who needed to be punished all because his parents hailed from Israel and his relatives all carried the Torah on their backs. They pushed me to the ground and pointed their razor-sharp machetes at me.

They threatened to rob me of my hair as well as my right hand if I didn’t comply.

I also worried about other things, like my hair and my hand could be the least of my problems if I refused.

I lifted myself from the ground. I opened my mouth and I could feel my eyes burning with tears. No amount of lush red wine or alcohol could rid of that horrid taste.

They called me a pig. A fat girly little pig and they told me to stay there on the floor as they took turns shoving their disgusting fat cocks down my throat until one of them came all over my face.

They told me my tongue was worthless all because it traced of Hebrew.

One of them tugged my pants down and shoved something up my ass. Something hard and hot. For all I knew, it was a poker straight from a fireplace.

But then something happened.

Something pulled them away from me and they aborted the plan. It wasn’t the cops, but something lured them away from me. I wound up laying there with that awful taste in my mouth, my body violated, and my heart mortally wounded.

But then I remembered my father.

I picked myself up, and I found my way to the door out to the street. I spat around the ground the whole five block run. Had I not known how to run like hell, run like the wind even with my travel bag slung over my shoulder, I would not have made it in time to visit him in his final moments.

The last thing I told my father was that I would always love him: he needn’t go onto his grave knowing that his youngest son had suffered an assault at the hand of people who hated us for who we are. He needn’t know why I was so disheveled and such a complete and total mess.

He told me to take the framed picture of him with my mother there on the nightstand. Take it with me and always have it on hand when the mood was rough.

It was a quarter after twelve when he took his last breath. The time in which I had to go forth and look for my mother and my grandparents. If it meant I was going to have go back to Tel Aviv to find them, then I had to find out a way to get there. I only had ten dollars on me. Ten dollars but we all had to start somewhere.

My face was still sore from where the big one hit me. But at least I had found my way out of there, and now I was stranded in some neighborhood in Miami with very little money on my person. I had run blindly away from the airport, some few miles from there with my bag over my back, and I found myself in what looked to be the rich people’s neighborhood. There was a small space between mansions, one lined with low little palm trees. I could pitch a camp of sorts and spend the night there: the windows of the houses on either side of me were as dark as night.

I needed to be alone with the aurora as my canopy, anyway. I still couldn’t hardly shake the awful taste from my mouth. I still couldn’t hardly believe that that had happened to me. I put my sleeping bag up off the ground with the fading sunlight as my torch. When the night fell all around me, I would stay there in my sleeping bag suspended up against the trunks of the cluster of palm trees so the gators wouldn’t come for me. Fall had swept over southern Florida, and I knew that a hurricane could come while I was there.

But the aurora, much to my surprise, would then become my nightlight. My nightlight when my mind wandered out to the Atlantic Ocean and the waves that could come upon me when I least expected it. A gentle breeze washed over me, one where I could feel the rain within if I held still long enough.

Come the morning, I knew I needed to head on back to the airport to fetch Amber from that stewardess. That is if she was still there.

The lights washed over me. My own personal rain shower. Though I lay on my side, I could feel something rubbing up against my thigh. I didn’t want to feel anything rubbing against my thigh at all at the moment. But then I remembered the framed photograph of my parents. I had tucked it in there on the inside of my jacket. It stayed in place even as I ran from the hospital.

I ran from the airport. I ran from the hospital. I ran and I ran. I was looking for that veil of color once again. The veil of color to help me dance once again.

I rolled over onto my back: difficult to do in a makeshift hammock, but I managed to keep myself on my back so I could keep my gaze locked on the trees overhead as well as the veil of colors over me.

I ran from the airport, past the beach and the incoming waves. Not a cloud in the sky but I knew the hurricane would come about because it was late September in Miami. Through the brightly colored slums and the black and bright blue Cadillacs posted up all along the sides of the street. I could still feel their hands on me. My tongue on his skin when I never asked for that. They took my iron from me. The iron of being me.

I stopped for a moment, and I looked on at myself in the reflection of a car window parked at the corner. My eyes were gigantic. My heart thundered in my ears. I had been spared of having been cut or slashed on the face, and not a single hair on my head had been pushed out of place, but the wounds were festering on the inside. I had no way of stopping the bleeding and mending, either.

It took me a moment that that particular Cadillac on the corner was a hearse. I closed my eyes and then I kept on running, because I knew it was coming for me next. It was coming for me next, and I had no way of stopping it. It was coming for me next, the way those men in black came after me next.

I ran past a graveyard. The tombstones crawled about the earth, about the swampy landscape around me. There was a cemetery up on Long Island where all my own ancestors were buried, and my only wish was that my own stone would survive the next sweeps of spray paint and keffiyehs under the veil of a sun gone mad.

I ran until I found my place in the trees for the night.

I lay there, and I kept on watching the colors over me. To dance again. To feel again. To have some kind of good feeling about my body again.

I rested my hands upon my stomach, which stayed soft even after all of that. I was still soft.

It was as if my body told them to spare me, even after I was forced to put my lips on them and even then I still had something shoved up my ass. My body told them to spare me.

Spare me.

I closed my eyes again, and that time I thought about my mother. She never told me where she was, and all I knew was I had to find her again. To find my mother and my grandparents. To dance again. To thumb my way back home.

I opened my eyes again, that time for a look at the sky: the lights still shone about in those thick lovely ribbons, those colorful diamonds in the sky. They would put me to sleep if my own tortured mind would refuse it.

Spare me. I’m just a boy. A boy who needed his mother.

A boy who needed to be healed.

I ran. I was still running away.

#novel writing #scifi #science fiction #jewish characters #original fiction #original character #original story #original series #chapter 1 #jumblr #jewblr #my writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #text #quarter after twelve

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n3on-graveston3s-calling · 1 year ago

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The Fall of the House of C: A History of Sir Crocodile

Part I: Death of a Child

Rating: M

Word Count: 11,842

Warnings: Destruction of a kingdom, Murder, If you think that the World Government wouldn't do that…yes they would, pre-transition Crocodile, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence

Characters: Sir Crocodile, Donquioxte Doflamingo, Donquioxte Homing's Wife, Monkey D. Dragon, OCs

Author's Notes: Hello hello! If you're reading this, welcome! This is a very big, very loved project in which I decide to take on the task of creating my version of Crocodile's history, since Oda still hasn't revealed it. This is a monster of a fic; the first chapter is 11k words, the second chapter will be just as long- if not longer. This will be a two-parter, I'll finish the second half up when I'm able to (hopefully within the next week or so).

Now, the details you need to know before going into this story:

-Jun'Ichi is an OC of mine; he works as Crocodile's essential Guard Dog, has been loyal to him for twelve long years and will continue to be loyal to him.

-Milorad is an OC that has intimate connections with Crocodile, as well as a few other characters. They run a Brothel and own an entire island of which is only for… Pleasure.

-Every character you meet in Crocodile's history is an OC, but they all play vital roles.

This is purely work of my own creation; I think Crocodile is an interesting character and the concept of Kingdoms existing in each region of Blue is something that just scratches my little brain so well. ( history nerd ).

Without further ado, please do enjoy the first part of The Fall of the House of C. [ You can also read it on ao3, here. ]

The room was quiet, unlike the cacophony of sounds coming from downstairs in the parlor. Slow footsteps drew across the floor of the lavish rooms, drawing the attention of the man sitting by the window, though he didn’t look up. His gaze was trained on the crowd below, searching for any sight of white and blue uniforms. “They will not find you here, Crocodile.” They murmured, hand coming to rest upon his shoulder gently. Their nails pressed into the fabric of the coat gently as they squeezed. He glanced over, studying their hand for a long moment. Nails- fake, no doubt acrylic with how they were filed into sharp points- painted a vibrant shade of red that would catch the eye regardless of how they held their hand. Said hand was attached to an arm, intricately tattooed with blue linework that should have been at home on an expensive tea set and yet instead had been placed upon a body.

“You sound certain.” Crocodile murmured, gaze lifting to study Milorad’s face curiously. They hadn’t aged in the years he’d known them; hair such a stark silver it almost appeared white, falling in silk layers to their hips. They had offered him a place to lay low after the Impel Down escape- and the subsequent war that occurred afterwards.

They sighed, shifting away, the lavish gown they wore dusting against the floor. A silk the color of emerald with black feathers along the hemlines and cuffs with a plunging neckline, showing the flat chest and even more intricate tattoo work. Milorad had once been a pirate that sailed with the infamous Fujihara Pirates, a group that had once been a terror on the Grand Line- until they met their unfortunate end at the hand of their own children. Before that, he wasn’t sure what Milorad had done; they never did give solid answers. This and that, that and this- and now they own the island that had been dubbed Pirate’s Paradise. Brothels run in a manner of which Crocodile wished all were run, with respect to the workers and strict rules that must be followed, unless you wanted to end up with a bullet between your eyes.

The bathroom door opened, spilling out steam and the scent of whiskey and vanilla musk. Jun’Ichi stepped out, towel around his shoulders, dressed aside from a shirt. His long, black hair was still wet, dripping until he brought the towel around the ends, squeezing gently. “Thank you for allowing us to use your room,” Jun’Ichi spoke, lips curving into a small, if not crooked, smile- due to the scar that trailed up from one corner of his lips. A partial Dahlia. He’d had it when he appeared in Alabasta twelve years ago, begging for a job.

He was still here.

“Of course, darling,” Milorad purred, crossing over to take over, drying Jun’s hair for him with gentle caresses. “Any member of Crocodile’s crew is always welcome upon my Island. Did you enjoy your shower?”

“I wish we had something like that on the ship!” He joked lightly, though his gaze was wary, watching Crocodile watch him.

A knock sounded on the door, drawing all attention over as Daz opened it, poking his head in. “Coast’s all clear.”

“Good. Go grab some supplies.” Crocodile sighed, dragging a hand through his still slightly damp hair.

Milorad’s hand reached out, fingers curving around the edge of the door. “I need to make my rounds. Do be sure to grab something to eat, it will be on the house, Elio.” With that, they slipped out, the scent of their rose parfum escaping with them. Jun’Ichi plopped down onto the bed, his gaze still lingering on the door.

“Milorad is to you as a mongoose is to a cobra. They will eat you alive and keep your corpse around for fun.” Crocodile warned as he opened the case on the small table, pulling free a cigar.

Jun’Ichi hummed as he looked away. That wasn’t why he had been staring. Sure, Milorad was a stunning individual with a voice that sent chills across his skin, but the name… Elio. Did it mean something in their mother tongue?

“Gods, I can hear the gears turning in your head from here.” Crocodile muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes as smoke spilled from his lips. His fingers idly tapped the cigar against the ashtray. “Ask.”

“What does Elio mean?”

“Not what, who.”

“Pardon?”

“Jun’Ichi, are you stupid? Were you dropped on your head as a child, perhaps?” He taunted as the cigar returned to his lips, his gaze sliding slowly over to Jun’Ichi as the scent of cloves began to linger in the air.

He bristled, jaw clenching. That was bait. “No- then who does it refer to?”

An exhale; a cloud of smoke billowing into the air. “Myself.”

“Elio is your true… Surname?”

“Given name. Conti is the surname.”

“Elio Conti.” The pause that settles in the air grows pregnant. “From… From the House of Conti?”

“The one and only.”

“Is that why you don’t talk about your past?”

“One of the reasons.”

“Is that the secret that Ivankov has?”

“No.” He watched in amusement as Jun’Ichi’s features twisted themselves into a confused mess. Nose scrunched up, brows furrowing in. Even after twelve years, the man knew so very little. And truthfully, Crocodile preferred to keep it that way- but it didn’t seem as if it would be staying as such. Kicking his feet up on the arm of the chair across from him, he settled in, eyes closing. “It’s a long story. I suppose you deserve to know at least some of it, yes?” He had been loyal for over a decade, had stood by his side even when Nico Robin had abandoned him for her lies, for her own agenda.

“It all began on an island in the South Blue…” ───

Forty-five Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

“How is she?” Gian Carlo Conti, Lord of the House of Conti, asks the doctor as he steps out, wiping his hands clean of blood. “My wife, how is she?”

“She is well. Congratulations, my lord- you have a daughter.” The Doctor, a peculiar man with the most intense blue eyes Gian Carlo had ever seen, smiles at him. “You can go in and see them both.”

Pushing past the doctor, he throws the doors open, lips curling into a bright smile at the sight of his wife and newborn daughter. “Oh, amore mio!” He cried, rushing to her side to wrap an arm around Francesca, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Look at you! Look at her!” Cooing as he drew back, studying his daughter. He reached up, brushing a finger against her rosy cheek. “She looks like you.”

“Good, she should, after what she just put me through,” Francesca groaned as she settled back against the pillows, her brows furrowing in discomfort. “She is a big baby, she takes after your side for that.” Teasing gently, she gazed up at her husband, lavender meeting emerald. “We have a daughter.”

“I am so happy,” he whispered, tears welling up in his gaze. “I did not think we would ever see this day! A daughter…”

“... I had hoped for a son,” Francesca admitted softly, shaking her head as she gazed down at the girl. “But I will love her regardless, for she is ours, and she is our future.”

“The future of the House of Conti.”

“Welcome to the world, Eli.”

Little Eli cooed, not yet aware of the dangers that lay ahead for her. No, all she was aware of was how warm the blanket that she was wrapped up in was, the faint hunger she felt in her little tummy, and the soft voices that spoke overhead. She couldn’t see, not yet; couldn’t understand them, either, but she felt warm, and safe, and happy.

Lady Eli Conti, the only child born to Gian Carlo and Francesca Conti, was born on the fifth of September in the early morning hours. The first and only child born to the Lord and Lady of the House of Conti, and who would grow to be the only remaining child of the House of Conti. The House itself would be left to ruin, the family no longer living. But how does this happen? How does a family that had once considered itself to be one of the largest royalties in the South Blue simply fall to ruin over the span of a decade?

Well, darling, isn’t that the question.

It all begins with a man- as most tales do, unfortunately. ───

“Wait, hold on.” Jun’Ichi interrupted, waving his hand in the air.

Crocodile sighed, head lolling to the side to stare at his underling. “What?” He snapped, annoyed at having been stopped from his story.

“Did you have a sister? Like, an older sister?”

“... No.”

“Then who the fuck is Eli?”

A slow smile spread across his lips as he laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Ne, call down to the kitchen and have them send us up something. Daz is taking too long.”

“Probably got distracted by that pretty waiter he couldn’t stop staring at earlier,” Jun muttered as he leaned over, taking hold of the Denden. ───

40 Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

“Elia Luna Conti, get back here!” Came the voice of the mean tutor. Eli didn’t listen, running as fast as her two legs could carry her through the grand halls of the manor. Step after step, she ran, turning this way then that.

‘He doesn’t know these halls like I do,’ she thought as she ran, breaths puffing out of her. She turned the next corner and came skidding to a halt, very nearly toppling into the back of the legs of a very tall man. He turned, staring down at her with obvious amusement. His beard was long, as was his mustache- and the hair on his head. Why did he have so much hair?

“Eli!” Momma hissed, and Eli turned, eyes widening further at the sight of her mother dressed all formal. She was wearing the pink gown, the one with the white lace that felt scratchy against her hands and arms when Momma held her. “I’m so sorry, you must forgive my daughter-”

“Such is the delights of children.” The funny looking one with the hair spoke, and when he spoke, his long mustache bobbed with the movement.

Momma came to her, sweeping her up in her arms to hold her close. “Eli, why aren’t you in your lessons?” Her voice was soft, but not sweet. Why was she not being sweet with her? She didn’t understand why she was being scolded. She was tired of her lessons, she’d been in there for what felt like ages. “Momma and Poppa are in a very important meeting-”

“She may remain.” The one without hair spoke, his face stern and mean and it reminded her of her tutor. “We are almost finished here.”

“Of course.” Poppa nodded. Momma settled her on her lap, even as the lace scratched against her arms. She didn’t wiggle free, though, not now. This was a serious thing, even though the words didn’t make much sense.

“You understand why we must be made clear of the nature of this… Issue, yes?” Baldy asked Poppa, who nodded. The curls he had bobbed with the movement. She wondered if her hair would ever curl like his. She had Momma’s hair, straight and thick, but it wasn’t blonde like hers. “If this proceeds, and you continue to bleed into the red, we will be forced to intervene.” She had Poppa’s color, down to how her skin tanned in the sun during the warm months. “I understand that those who target you are skilled, but you have an army at your disposal.”

“We have no Navy,” Poppa’s voice was tense. Was he angry? He looked more scared than angry. Why was he scared? Why were Momma’s hands shaking? She didn’t understand.

“You have canons. You have ground artillery. You have the means to protect yourself.”

“Not if the World Government pulls away from our shores!”

“That is simply not up to you to decide.” Mister Mustache sighed, shaking his head. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair. It looked soft. Did he brush it one hundred times, like Momma did with her hair every night? “There have been other issues popping up in the East Blue. You’ve heard of them, no?”

“The Dark King and Roger, no?”

“And Whitebeard.”

“Whitebeard is in the North Blue?” Momma asked, her head tilting. It made her earrings jingle; she reached up to play with them, though Momma moved her hands away. She pouted. “Or has he moved out?”

“He’s made his move to the Grand Line.”

“But that is not our topic of discussion. You know your time limit. You know what must be done. If you do not succeed-”

“Will you send Cipher Pol to our doorstep, then?” Poppa asked, rising to his feet. The other men rose quickly. Was Poppa going to fight? She hoped he would. The last time he fought, he won, and then they celebrated! But that was on the back of one of their horses, and he was wearing a suit of armor. This didn’t look like that kind of fight. What was Cipher Pol? That was a funny name. Were they entertainers? She looked up to Momma, watching the way her eyes flickered between the three men.

“We will do what we must.”

“As will we.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a promise.”

Eli stopped paying attention, then. She was focused on Momma’s necklace; enlaid with so many diamonds, she couldn’t even begin to try to count them. Diamonds and emeralds, those were her jewels, Momma said. The same way that gold and emerald were Eli’s. The men were leaving, Eli noticed, watching as they walked out. The one with the beard gave her a little wave, and she waved back. Momma was talking quietly to Poppa, whispering.

“Eli…” Poppa sighed as she turned to face him, reaching over for him to take her. “Eli, you need to go back to your studies, okay? Just for a little bit.”

“I do not want to.” Eli huffed, flopping forward against her father, who made a funny little ‘oof’ sound. “He smells of fish and talks weird.”

“Well, he is part fishman.” Momma sighed, reaching over to brush her fingers through her hair. “... Perhaps we can take a break today, no? I believe we could use some time in the gardens.”

“Yes!” Eli cheered, sitting back up. Poppa smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were sad. She reached up, patting at his cheeks. “Do not be sad! Happy. Happy Poppa!”

“I am happy, mio angelo.”

She didn’t believe him, but the gardens were calling for her. “Garden! Can we have a picnic?”

“Well,” Momma glanced at the big granddaddy clock, studying the time. “I don’t see why not? A picnic lunch in the garden would be wonderful. Come, Gianny.”

“You have to use the nickname,” Poppa leaned over, giving Momma a kiss to her cheek that had Eli giggling, “Call for the kitchen to prepare us something light. I do not wish to spoil dinner.”

“Ovviamente.” Momma left, her skirts swirling about her legs.

Poppa carried her out of the house. As they passed the room her tutor was in, she stuck her tongue out at him. He did not laugh. He adjusted his funny little glasses and gathered up his boring schoolbooks. Good, Eli thought. He could leave and never come back! She didn’t need him. She could learn from Poppa and Momma.

He set her down, watching as she bolted down the marble steps and into the rose garden, giggling up a storm. “What are we going to do?” Gian murmured as Frencesca settled in at his side, her arm curling around his own.

She didn’t answer him at first, her lips pursed into a small frown. ‘She’s going to get her dress dirtied again.’ She thought, before considering her husband’s question. “... Perhaps we should contact a shipbuilder? We could have at least one ship fit for fighting off those damned pirates.”

“I’m worried, ‘Cesa.”

“I know, Gianny. I know. But… Let’s worry another day, yes? Not now. Look at our daughter! Look at how she’s having fun. I think…” She reached down, tugging off the heels that had been hurting her feet all morning. “I’m going to join her!” With that, Francesca gathered her skirts and ran down the stairs, listening to the way Gian laughed behind her. Eli squealed as she scooped her up, spinning her around and around.

Elia Luna Conti is five years old. She is happy. She is loved. She is safe. ───

Thirty Nine Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

“I don’t WANNA!” Eli yelled, struggling to sit still in the chair. “Why do I have to keep my hair long?”

“Because it’s proper for a young lady,” Miss Katherine sighed as she brushed out Eli’s mane that she called hair. First, it was the struggle with the bath. Then, the struggle to wear a dress rather than trousers. Now, a struggle with the hair. “Sit still.”

“I’ll cut it all off!”

“If you do, your mother will weep.”

“It’s not her hair!”

“Why do you have such a problem with having your hair long?”

Eli went quiet. She didn’t like the way she looked with such long hair. It was too thick, for one, and for two, she didn’t like how hot it made her. Or the silly hairstyles Miss Katherine would do. Or the way her mother’s nails would snag in her hair on a tangle. She didn’t like wearing the dresses either. They felt weird on her body, like they were made for someone else, not for her.

… They made climbing trees difficult, too. And running. Kicking balls.

“Dunno,” she answered after a while. Miss Katherine sighed and settled simply on braiding her hair. “Sometimes, I wish I was born a boy, so I wouldn’t have to sit here and do all this junk.”

“Don’t we all, Miss Conti, don’t we all.”

No, Eli thought. No, we don’t all think that. She stared at herself in the mirror with a frown. She wondered if she could convince her mother to let her wear the trousers and blouse today, instead of the stuffy green dress with scratchy lace. It wasn’t even one of her favorite dresses; the green was too light, the lace wasn’t detailed! “Why is this dinner so important?” She asked, kicking her feet in the chair as Miss Katherine stepped around to the front of her. Her eyes were blue, and her hair was gray, and she had wrinkles. A lot of them, Elio noticed. Elio. That’s what she had started referring to herself as. It sounded better than Eli, which grated on her ears, or Elia, which didn’t even sound like her name. No, she much preferred Elio. Elio Luna Conti; that was a strong sounding name for a strong… Girl.

“It simply is.” Miss Katherine hummed as she fixed the small hairs around her forehead. “... Do you really wish to not wear this dress?”

“No. I feel like a fat frog in it.”

Miss Katherine sighed; she had lost this battle, it seemed. “Very well. Go change into your trousers and pick out a shirt.”

Elio beamed as she shuffled out of the chair before bolting to her bedroom. Her heart raced in her chest as she approached her closet, throwing open the doors to stare at the many dresses that hung. Shoving them aside, she grabbed for the deep green blouse that made her think of pirates, with its poofy sleeves and ruffled collar. They wanted her to wear green, so she would wear green. But not that ugly dress with the cheap, scratchy lace. No. This was better. More comfortable than that stupid old dress. Where had it even come from? She wasn’t sure, really. Certainly not from their tailor, not something that her mother would have had made. Perhaps it was a gift? That's more likely, she decided as she tugged the shirt over her head. Better.

Much better.

The next task at hand was to find a pair of trousers that would match what she wore. Would brown be a good idea? Or perhaps black, considering how rich the green of the fabric was. Certainly not something light colored, especially for dinner. That was asking for a mistake, for her to drop some sort of sauce on her trousers. No, she would need to find something dark.

“Perhaps a skirt?” Miss Katherine asked as she entered the bedroom, closing the door behind herself. She paused, looking at the girl- at the way she had somehow managed to mess up all her hard work with her hair. They were simply out of time for her to try and fix it, now. Grumbling under her breath, she shuffled over to the closer and began rummaging around. “But you would prefer to wear trousers, wouldn’t you?”

“Trousers, please!” Elio agreed, clambering atop her bed with a grin. She faced the mirror beside her bed, reaching up to undo the annoying little pins that Miss Katherine had placed in her hair, tugging them out. “Can you just… tie my hair back low? Like Poppa’s?”

“Yes, I suppose I can.”

And that was how Lady Elio Conti made her way down to dinner, dressed in a richly green silk shirt, dark brown trousers, a pair of heeled boots that Katherine was almost certain were her riding boots, and her hair tied back- just like her Poppa’s. Momma sighed when she saw her, shaking her head in amused frustration. Of course Elio wouldn’t wear a dress; she detested those things, now.

“There she is!” Francesca cooed, leaning down to scoop up her daughter into her arms. The dress she wore was complimentary; a rich emerald dinner gown that had black velvet embroidery work sewn into the fabric along the body of the dress. “There’s someone for you to meet, Elio!”

“Who?” It was rare for other children to visit the House of Conti. She leaned around her mother’s shoulder, catching sight of an odd looking woman who wore the strangest clothes- and a bundle of fabric that wriggled in her arms. A fat little arm struck out, reaching up to the woman’s face. She had light blonde hair, lighter than Momma’s own. “What’s that?”

“That,” Francesca whispered as she stepped closer, “Is a baby.”

“It looks funny.”

“Well, yes, so did you as a baby!”

“What’s it’s name?” Elio asked the woman, watching the way she looked up. She looked tired, she noted; the same way Momma does after a long day. Maybe they had to travel a long way to get here? That would make sense; they don’t live on this island.

“His name is Doflamingo.”

“Like the bird?”

“Yes,” the woman laughed at that, nodding her head. “Just like the bird.” ───

“Wait, so you met Doflamingo when he was a baby?” Jun’Ichi asked as Crocodile stretched; the sun having set over the horizon. The sounds of muffled pleasure drifted through the crack under the door. The brothel was certainly in full swing tonight, it seemed.

Crocodile’s gaze swept across the room, studying the little trinkets that Milorad kept. “Yes. Of course, I wouldn't put two and two together until much later in life, after he’d made a name for himself.”

“Does he know?”

“Doubtful. That was the one and only time that the Donquioxte family visited, as far as I know.”

“Huh…” Jun shifted, rolling over in the bed to stretch out his limbs. “You’re six years old, at a formal dinner.”

“The dinner isn’t important. What happens after is what’s important.” ───

Thirty Nine Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

The voices were hushed in the hallway. Elio paused as she cracked her door open; she needed to potty, but something told her to wait. To stand here and listen. What that was, she isn’t quite sure; perhaps a sixth sense, perhaps a ghost of family members long since passed. Either way, she pressed her little body against the wall beside her door, leaned her head as close as she could to the crack, and strained to listen.

“She’s just a child, Gian!” Momma hissed; she sounded angry, angry enough that it made Elio wonder if something had happened. “You can’t seriously be considering this!”

“I don’t think we have much a choice!” Poppa replied, sighing heavily. “I know the Marine; he’s a good man. And he has a son a few years older than her. If we are able to enter into a talk of some sort, we could promise her to him, and then we would be fine. Safe. She would have a place to go!”

“But marriage?”

Marriage? For who? Elio frowned at that. One of the serving girls? But why would they be talking of marrying a serving girl off? That made no sense. They couldn’t be talking of her, could they? She was only six! She didn’t even know how to play the viola yet! ( Her lessons were going good, though; she was a natural, according to her tutor. Almost as good as she was at playing the piano, but she liked the viola more. It was prettier, easier for her fingers to reach, even if it made her arms sore after playing for longer than ten minutes. )

“Monkey D. Garp is legendary and has climbed the ranks of the Marines quickly,” Gian Carlo explained, gaze trained on the fire that crackled low, slowly dying in the late night. Francesca huffed, pacing across the rug in front of the window that offered a lovely view of the lower garden, where they grew their produce. “And his son is showing promise.”

“You mean Monkey D. Dragon?”

“Yes.”

“You want to marry our daughter to someone who has the Will of D?”

Elio fell still; it felt as if someone had doused her in ice water. Marry her? But she was just a kid! She couldn’t get married! She leaned closer, straining to hear her parents.

“I want to arrange a marriage of politics to ensure that we will not be slaughtered like cattle in four years, Francesca!” Gian’s voice rose sharply, echoing against the walls in the reading room. He turned to face his spouse, his chest rising and falling quickly. His gaze was wide, frantic; fearful. “After what we have learned tonight-”

“We haven’t had anything confirmed. You know how the Donquioxte family is; they’ve always been filled with paranoia and power.” Francesca countered, attempting to ease her own anxiety. “Remember what they used to say when we were young? Every time a Donquixote is born, the Gods hold their breath and flip a coin!”

“Have you forgotten the threat that we already received?” Gian’s voice had a nearly hysterical tone to it now, pitched upwards in a way that made Elio’s skin crawl, had her arms wrapping around herself. “I will NOT sit here and watch the minutes tick by as we do nothing!”

“Do NOT raise your voice at your wife!”

“I WILL DO AS I PLEASE!”

The next sound was one Elio hadn’t heard before. It was sharp, sudden; echoing across the halls, bouncing round the corners. It felt as if the house itself had stopped in that moment, ceasing all activity. Mice had gone still, the clocks ceased to tick. “Do not. Ever. Speak to me in such a manner again, Gian Carlo Conti, or I will be the reason you fear the night. Do you understand me?” Francesca spoke in a clear, even tone, her chin raised high, lavender gaze sparkling with anger no longer subdued. “Go to one of the guest rooms. We will not be sharing our bed until you have the balls you claim to possess to apologize to me.”

Poppa didn’t respond, even as Momma walked away. Elio shrunk back from the door, hands damp and cold and shaking, pressing to her cheeks as she tried to quiet her breathing. She made her way back to her bed, climbing back up and under the blankets. Her parents had been fighting- over her. Over marrying her. She didn’t want to be married. She was only a kid, she didn’t want some icky husband, especially one with the name like Monkey D. Dragon. Who names their child after two animals?

… She didn’t want to marry. She didn’t want to wear a white dress. She didn’t want to be a wife.

Elio curled over on her side, pulled her blankets up higher, and fell back to sleep with newfound worries plaguing her young mind. ───

Thirty Eight Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

Breathe in, breathe out. Chin level, gaze settled on the target in front of her. She drew the bowstring back, taught in her hand, leveled the arrow, and released it with her breath. The arrow loosed from the notch, screaming softly through the air with a sound akin to a bird’s cry, and struck home in the center of the target’s big, red bull’s eye. Behind her, her father applauded her. “Well done, mio caro!”

“Do you think we could move it farther back next time?” Elio asked, glancing up towards her archery instructor, who nodded.

Penelope was a strong woman; a short giantess of nearly four hundred and twenty six centimeters in height. Her hair was stark white, cut short around her chin. Poppa had hired her after the fight last year to train her in different forms of combat. She was excelling in archery; proficient in hand to hand combat ( for a seven year old ). She would be trained in sword fighting next. “We could, yes. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

“I am.” Elio nodded, turning away to hand off her bow to the waiting serving girl. “Poppa, I’m hungry!” Her stomach growled as if to solidify her sentiments. A glance towards the top of the hill confirmed her assumptions: Momma was nowhere to be seen. Her lips twitched in mild irritation as she climbed up the grassy knoll, listening the birds sing their cheery little songs overhead. “Can we eat now?” Mumbled into the wind, she reached out to take Poppa’s hand, giving it a squeeze as they walked along the path towards the house.

The house wasn’t the castle. The castle was back towards the coast, in town. This was a house, something small that they came to when it came time to practice this. Three rooms, a kitchen, and a sitting parlor. “Is Momma alright?” She asked curiously as Penelope stepped up behind them. Penelope leaned down to scoop her up, carrying her upon her shoulders, much to her delight. Elio squealed, holding onto Penelope’s head- careful not to pull her hair, that would hurt, and she doesn’t want to hurt Penelope.

“Momma needed to go lay down. She was feeling faint again.” Poppa answered with a shake of his head. Momma had gotten sick four months ago, and it refused to let go of her. Her lungs wheezed with breaths at times; others, she could barely leave the bed. “But she’ll be joining us for lunch.”

“Good!” Slumping forward, Elio rested her chin upon Penelope’s head, watching as the house came into view. Yet, something had caught her attention: a twig snapping to their left. She sat up slowly, head swiveling to the left to study the woods.

The birds had stopped singing.

“Poppa?” She whispered, drawing her father’s attention. He, along with the two guards that followed his every step ( Viper and Scorpion, who had been by his side for well over two decades. They were uncles to her; brothers to him not in blood, but in spirit. ), stilled. “Someone’s there.”

“Penelope-” Poppa didn’t get to finish his sentence as an arrow flew out; wide, a shitty shot. Penelope leaned down in one fell swoop, dropping her down into Gian’s awaiting arms, who then passed her over to Scorpion. “Run! Quickly, now!”

“Yes, sir!” Scorpion took off in a sprint; Elio clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs around his ways. They had practiced this since she had been old enough to talk. He kept one arm wrapped around her middle, holding her close as the sounds of fighting ensued behind them. “What do you see, little Croc?” Croc- Crocodile, her favorite reptile- that was his nickname for her. What they all called her when they needed to use code names. She was Crocodile, Momma was Swan, and Poppa was King Snake.

“Men!” Elio gasped out, breath getting jostled out of her with each hard footfall from Scorpion. He was a big man- tall and broad and fast. “I think four? Penelope is grabbing Poppa and pushing him back!”

“What do the men look like?” Scorpion urged as he neared the house, gaze raking over the door. It hadn’t been busted down, hadn't been opened. The house was calm. Quiet.

“I think they’re pirates!”

“Pirates?” Scorpion set Elio down, blocking her view with his body as he turned to watch.

Penelope grabbed one of the men- certainly a pirate, given their mangy appearance and cutlasses and barbaric yells- and slammed him over her knee He could hear the way his spine broke from here, could hear the strangled, gurgle of a scream that bubbled free from his lips as she tossed him aside.

An arrow shot free from the trees. Another? Their archer! The arrow flew strong and true, sinking into the tender flesh of Penelope’s thigh. She screamed as she reached down, grabbing it. Viper covered her, striking down another man as Gian Carlo continued to hold off two on his own.

“Inside, quickly now!” Scorpion reached over, grabbing hold of the handle of the door, pushing it open to shove her inside. “Go to you mother!”

“Save Poppa!” Elio cried as Scorpion closed the door on her. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he retreated, leaving her in the quiet. She turned away from the door, looking around before spotting the cracked open door of her mother’s room. “Momma! Momma!” She yelled, running in, the door swinging wide to clang against the wall.

“What on Earth are you doing?!” Momma gasped, reaching out to grab hold of her child. “What is wrong?!”

“Pirates, Momma!”

“Pirates?” Francesca looked up, gaze locked on the door. “Where’s your father?”

“With Viper and Scorpion and Penelope! They’re fighting them!”

“Quickly, come with me!” Francesca pulled Elio close, her arms winding around her child. “We need to hide!” With a flurry of movement, skirts swirling in the afternoon light, she pulled open the wardrobe, parting the clothing, fingers brushing against the back. Oh, where was it?

Elio watched as Francesca reached inside. What was she doing? They didn’t need clothes! She was about to protest before she watched as the back swung open, revealing a hidden room. “Come, inside!” Francesca climbed in first, dragging Elio in behind her. She pushed Elio into the secret room as she closed the wardrobe behind her. Elio stumbled in the dark, falling to her hands and knees with a muffled hiss of pain as her skin scrapes against the rough concrete. She turns, watching as the last sliver of light is shut out as Francesca closes the door, trapping them in this odd, hidden room. Sh can hear her mother more than see her as she moves through the darkness, before the distinct sound of a match striking fills the silence.

Oil lamp.

“What is this place?” Elio asks in childish bewilderment, her gaze drifting across the room. It’s bigger than she thought; was this what was behind the hallway? She looked down; the floor dipped into a gradual slope. A secret tunnel?! “Momma?”

“This is a tunnel that my father built when I was just a girl.” Momma explained as she hung the lamp for a moment. She took the ribbon from her hair and reached down, gathering her skirts up in a manner Elio had never seen before. “He built this tunnel in case something ever happened and we needed to escape.” She pulled them between her legs, creating makeshift trousers, to which she then tied the excess fabric together at her side. Reaching over, she took hold of the lamp once more and reached a hand out, grasping Elio’s much smaller- and now slightly bloodied- hand. “We must hurry, now.”

“But what about Poppa?” Her mind flashed to the fight, to the sound of swords clashing, of muffled yells.

Francesca shook her head. “He knows where we’ll be.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, bambina.” She tugged. And Elio had no choice but to follow.

They walked for what felt like hours, but really couldn’t have been longer than perhaps one hour, given how the sun hadn’t moved much in the sky. The floor had dipped low before rising back up into an incline as they breached the surface. It took all of Francesca’s strength to push the hidden cellar door open, and when she did, she waited a moment, listening intently before climbing out. “Gian?”

“Cesca?” Came Gian Carlo’s voice through the woods. Francesca ran to her husband, throwing her arms around his shoulders as a sob escaped her.

Hands reached down, picking Elio up out of the dark tunnel and into the light once more. Penelope, with a weary, tired smile and dirt smeared across her face. Viper and Scorpion stood off to the side, just as weary from their fight- and then the walk to find this. “There we are, poppet,” Penelope murmured, brushing Elio’s hair back from her face. “I bet you’re tired.”

“Very. Can we go home?” Elio asked as she leaned her head forward, resting it against Penelope’s shoulder. “I wanna go home.”

“Yes, mio angelo, we’re going home.” Poppa sighed as he walked over, reaching up to brush his fingers against her leg. He had blood smeared across his face, Elio noticed. Blood on his hands, too.

It would not be the first time she would see blood on her father’s face. ───

The door opened as Daz slipped in, arms laden down with bags of supplies.

“Good,” Crocodile sighed as he rose from his chair. “Milorad is having dinner sent up here for us.”

“How are you feeling?” Jun’Ich asked Daz, watching the way the man grimaced. “You should rest, now.”

“I will, soon.”

Crocodile idly looked through the bags, studying the medical supplies. Good; they’d certainly needed those. “Any questions before I continue?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at Jun’Ichi. He’d begun brushing out his hair, which had finally dried. Crocodile’s fingers twitched; the memory of silken strands wrapped around his fist rushing to the surface briefly.

“You were going to be pledged to Monkey D. Dragon?”

Daz snorted, shaking his head as he moved towards the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower. You’re telling him the story?”

“He deserves to know. Milorad can’t keep their mouth shut.” Turning, he faced one of the most loyal members of his crew. “You have known me for over a decade, now. I fear this truth would have gotten out regardless.”

Jun shifted to sit back against the headboard, his arms looping behind his head. “Okay. Go on.”

“Is that an order?” Sir Crocodile mused, head tilting, a dangerous glint within his gaze that had Jun’Ichi snorting.

“No, sir.”

“Very well.” ───

Thirty Six Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

She shifted, turning this way then that, admiring her reflection. The waistcoat fit better than her dresses did; with the archery, the sword training, the lessons with her viola, her shoulders were growing broader. She didn’t fit into most of her gowns from her youth due to this growth spurt, something Elio was secretly happy with. Dresses felt strange on her form. Uncomfortable. As if they were meant for someone else, not for her.

No, suits were better.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” Mother asked, her head tilting as she watched Elio model the newly tailored suit. The waistcoat was modeled after the ones she wore when riding her horse; the trousers were modified mens’ trousers, and the blouse was one she already had in her closet.

“I have to attend my afternoon lessons,” Elio answered, turning away from her reflection to study her mother. Francesca had grown pale over the past two years; still struggling with her health in the aftermath of the mysterious sickness that had struck her. She was starting to go prematurely grey at her temples, as well, though in Elio’s opinion, it made her look more dignified.

“Which lessons?” Francesca pressed, her gaze drifting down to the journal she had balanced in her lap. She was writing something down; what it was, Elio wasn’t sure. “Lets see, today is Wednesday, so that means-”

“A History of the World Government, Mathematics, and the Sciences of the New World.” Elio answered, hopping down from the platform to wander over to her mother, flopping against the armchair she reclined in. “I heard something earlier from one of the servants.”

Francesca hummed curiously, a fine, thin eyebrow raising to show her curiosity.

“That there’s a new group of pirates terrorizing the Seas. They’re calling themselves the Roger Pirates, after their Captain.” Elio sighed in an almost dream-like fashion. Ever since having the run in with the rogue pirates two years prior, her head had been filled with fantasies of adventuring across the seas, of finding treasure, of becoming a captain of a fierce crew.

“The Roger Pirates have been around for a few years, now.” Francesca closed her journal, her brows furrowing inward, creasing in the middle in a new wrinkle she hadn’t had the year prior. “They’re led by a man named Gol D. Roger and the Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh.”

“You’ve heard of them?” Elio gasped, eyes widening in surprise as she turned, nearly falling over herself in her haste. “Mother, tell me more!”

“Ask your tutor, he’ll know more than I.” Francesca tutted softly, rising with a swirl of her skirts. “I have to attend tea with some of the ladies of the minor nobility.”

“Gross. All you do is sit and sip tea and gossip,” Elio stuck her tongue out as Francesca smoothed a hand over her head. She was growing taller; she’d be taking after her father’s height.

Francesca laughed softly, shaking her head as her daughter walked ahead of her, arms swinging at her sides. She truly was her father’s daughter, she thought to herself. Bold, brave, levelheaded. She would make a wonderful Lady one day. As they walked through the halls, Francesca’s mind wandered. They had less than a year before the World Government would be at their door, but no more word had been sent, had been heard since that day upon the arrival of those men. Teeth worried the inside of her cheek, biting upon the flesh tenderly. They had threatened then and there to procure a Buster Call, to wipe any and all trace of them, of the island, of their bloodline- all because of a money discrepancy. It wasn’t as if they were going to bleed their citizens dry! That was simply preposterous, though she knew better. That wasn’t the real reason.

No. She herself was the reason. Daughter of a Celestial Dragon, whose bloodline goes back as far as the beginning of the Void Century, and her refusal to admit that she knew where the plans were for that weapon. Fingers clutched the journal tight enough that the leather creaked.

“Have fun at your gossipy tea drinking time!” Elio teased as she flounced into the library, leaving Francesca standing in the hall to watch. It would all be fine. Nothing would happen.

She would make sure of it. Even if it cost her everything.

“I have a question!” Elio exclaimed in lieu of a greeting.

Her tutor- an older gentleman with white hair and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes- looked up from his lesson plan. A smile curved his lips as he watched her approach with all the confidence of a grown adult. “What would your question be?” Caleb questioned, closing his lesson plan for the moment.

“What do you know of Whitebeard? And the Roger Pirates?” She questioned, settling down in a chair at the table.

Caleb paused, appearing almost flabbergasted at the question before sighing. “Well… I really only know some of the basic information.”

“Well, tell me what you know.”

“Why the interest in those two?”

“Its an interest in pirates in general.”

“Planning on running off to be a pirate?” He teased, watching the way her cheeks heated up. She shrugged, and he decided in that moment that his lesson plans could wait for another day. “Very well. Tell you what- how about we take a field trip?”

“You mean it?” She perked up, already rising to her feet. “Please?”

“Come along. Sometimes, it’s easier to explain with something other than books and maps.” Walking to the large doors that lead out to the garden, Caleb waved down one of the serving boys. “Tell His Majesty that I am taking Her Royal Highness to the beach for a lesson on history and science.”

“I- yes, sir.”

“Wonderful.” He opened the door, ushering her outside into the warm spring air. Caleb offered her his arm, to which she took in order to keep up with him better. He was much taller and had weirdly long legs, in her opinion. “So, our lesson today will be on pirates.”

“How do you become a pirate?” Elio asked, her head tilting, causing her braid to sway with the movement. “I know you aren’t born into piracy like you’re born into royalty, right?”

“Yes- and no. Pirates have children who take up piracy the same way that royals have children who become royals themselves. Or others opt not to, like how your uncle chose to become a Marine rather than pursue the crown.”

Her lips pursed as she thought that over. How strange it must be to be born into piracy. “So, how do you become a pirate?” She pressed once more as the paved walkway turned to cobblestone beneath their feet.

“You choose.”

“You choose?”

“Yes. Most pirates do not simply start up on their own and suddenly decide that they’ll have a crew and a ship. Piracy is as much a business as opting to become a merchant or a Marine.” Caleb gestured towards the town to their left, then the port in front of them. “There is business in piracy. You must decide if you wish to start off on your own- and if you do that, you must purchase a boat. If you don’t know how to navigate, then you’ll need to find a Navigator, at the very least.”

“Like, someone who reads a map?”

“Or someone who can track your course by the stars.”

Her eyes widened as she stopped, staring up at Caleb in obvious surprise. “You can do that?!” She whispered, fingers clutching to his coat. “Caleb, can you teach me how to do that?!”

“I- Miss Conti, I’m no Navigator-”

“But you taught me the constellations! And you know how to read maps! You were once a merchant, you must know some things, no?”

Caleb’s gut twisted; he was certainly a merchant, once. Even though his roots were far deeper than mere mercantilism. “I… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to teach you that, as well.” She would need to know, one day. Even if what the rumors whispered proved to be false, it would never hurt for her to know. “Now, pirates. You wished to know of Roger and Whitebeard, yes?”

Her head bobbed as they continued their walk, cobblestone slowly giving way to sand. “Gol D. Roger has been around for quite some years, now; he isn’t a young upstart, but he is impressive from what I have learned.” And so began the story of Gol D. Roger, the Dark King Rayleigh Silvers, and how the two joined forces to create the slowly growing to be infamous Roger Pirates.

Elio drank in all of the information, her mind running a mile a minute. Such magnificent stories of heroism, of fighting the World Government, of exploration. It sparked a fire that would never go out, not after this. Once they returned from their beach visit, she pulled out maps of the South Blue and begged Caleb to teach her how to read it.

And he did. Where the island she resided on was, how the currents directed the flow of merchant ships from island to island, how in turn she would need to go if she wanted to visit another portion of the South Blue.

Little did Caleb know that this information would save her life within the following year.

Over the course of six months, Elio was taught how to navigate by the position of the stars, how to read and create her own maps, how to read a compass, and what a log pose is. By the time late summer rolled around, Caleb was taking Elio out on the lake with the Conti family’s small ship. It was fit for two people; one to steer, and one to man the masts. Elio had found a new love for the water, one that thrilled Gian Carlo and worried Francesca.

Often, Penelope would sit on the shore and keep watch, for in the shadows, movement was stirring.

“I don’t understand,” Francesca sighed as she powdered her face, preparing for an evening out. “What is this fascination with the water?”

“It’s freeing!” Elio spoke around a mouthful of pins, having taken to doing her own hair. “I’m able to steer the ship where I wish for it to go, and it will go! It’s like a horse, but even more powerful and open. I want to go out to the ports one day, when I’m older, and take a ship out onto the ocean.”

“Why on earth would you want that?” Francesca whined; where had the daughter who loved to paint her nails and have tea parties gone?

Gian chuckled as he entered the powder room, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his wife’s head. “I think it’s a wonderful thing that you’ve taken an interest in. It can never hurt to know how to sail in this day and age.”

“See?” Elio stuck her tongue out before bursting into a fit of laughter as Gian copied her in the mirror.

Shaking her head, Francesca set down her powder puff and reached for her lipstick. “I think it’s a rather dangerous sport, is all.” She sniffed before opening her mouth, carefully gliding the red across her lips.

The shade reminded Elio of blood; bright and bold and eye-catching. She turned around and hopped down from the stool she stood on, hearing her mother gasp in a moment of fear. Her lips curved into a grin as she spun, her dress fanning around around her legs. She’d agreed to wear a dress tonight due to the event: the Opera. A traveling group of entertainers had come to their island, and the royal family of Conti had been invited as guests of honor to witness their performance.

“Is Caleb coming?” Elio questioned as she stepped one foot in front of the other, counting how many steps it would take to get from the door to the window on the other side of the room. Seven, eight, nine…

“Yes, he is, as is Penelope, and Scorpion, and Viper.” Poppa answered as he tied his tie, a fancy black silk with golden thread woven through it, catching the light like the scales of a dark reptile.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty paces! “I’ve never been to an Opera before.”

“It will be long, and you must remain quiet.” Francesca rose to her feet, brushing her hand over her dressing gown. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.” Elio rolled her eyes as she walked out of the powder room and into her parents bedroom. It was twice as big as her own, meaning it was quite massive. She could run from one end to the other and be out of breath! “Are you wearing the red gown tonight?”

“I am!”

“Is that why I’m wearing the gold?”

“Exactly, piccolo gnocco!” Mother walked to the closet, disappearing inside. “Go downstairs! We’ll be there shortly!”

“I’m gonna find a peach to eat!” Elio called back as she escaped, running through the hall towards the stairs. A grin curled her lips as she raced down two at a time, feeling as if she Cinderella running from the Prince. Except in her story, the Prince would never find her, and she would escape her evil step mother and evil step sisters to become a pirate and sail the oceans!

Penelope was in the kitchen when she came skidding in, very nearly running into the wall. “Careful!” Penelope chided, shaking her head. “Are you here to snack?”

“Do we have any peaches?”

“You’re in luck, I just finished peeling one.” Penelope grinned as she offered the bowl of peeled peach for Elio, who accepted with a squeal of delight. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Than’ oo.” Elio replied around a mouthful of peaches. She took a moment to swallow before continuing. “You aren’t wearing a dress?”

“Easier to hide my blades on me like this.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s smart!” She hadn’t considered that. Penelope wore a full suit, and even with the suit, she couldn’t see where she would have hidden any of her blades. “You’re so smart, Penny.”

“I’m aware.”

“There we are!” Gian Carlo smiled as he walked in, Francesca following behind. Both were fully dressed, Elio noted. They looked good; father in a suit of black and gold, mother in a gown of red with a necklace of gold and ruby, and herself in her golden dress with gold sparkles in her hair. She was their gold, their treasure, and she certainly looked the part. “Shall we?”

“To the Opera!” ───

“It was the first time I had been in a theater,” Crocodile murmured, watching as Jun’Ichi cut a peach carefully. It was well ripened, the juices spilling over his fingers.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked as he cut a piece, holding it out for his boss.

Lips curved into a smile as he reached over, taking hold of the slice before bringing it to his mouth. “I did. The theater house was the pride of the city. It was three stories high, built of marble and gold, intricate details of filigree everywhere you looked. We had world class acts come to perform yearly. This Opera would be the final one to grace the theater house, however.”

“Oh,” Jun frowned at that, gaze lowering to the peach, cutting a piece for Daz, who had stretched out across the large bed. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Quite.”

“Do you recall what the opera was?” Daz asked, taking the piece of peach.

He had to think for a moment, mind reaching back, back, back into the recesses of his memory. “I can’t recall the name, but it was a tragedy from the North Blue. I remember my mother crying over it; a tale of two lovers torn apart by a warring family.”

“How tragic.”

“It was.” A yawn pulled free from him; he was tired, but still far too awake to even consider sleeping, just yet. The first night away from that living hell known as Impel Down. His fingers drummed on the arm of the chair he’d sunken into as memories of lavish gowns and sparkling champagne danced within his memory. “That’s the final good memory I have of that island.”

“Well, it has been nearly thirty five years since then.”

“It certainly has.” ───

Thirty Five Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

Snow had blanketed the island; winter had come, and with a vengeance rarely seen. The castle was cold, even with the fires roaring within. Elio, age ten, curled up into a ball in a large arm chair, a book balanced upon their lap. At their feet, their cousin Olivia lay, asleep. She was their uncle’s daughter, a child of a Marine. She was four years older than them, but somehow shorter, with round cheeks and big green eyes. She took after her mother, not her father.

The Yule feast had ended an hour ago, but no one had gone to their rooms yet. The longest night of the year was meant to be spent together with the ones you loved, celebrating and chasing the shadows away. The people within the city had built bonfires to celebrate; normally, they would all be down there celebrating with them, but it was simply too cold this year. Ice had formed a layer over the snow that had fallen, making leaving dangerous.

The book had been a gift from Caleb; a book of maps. Maps of the South and West Blues, with detailed ley lines and island postings, as well as which direction the log pose would rest should you come to one. It was everything that they could have ever wanted. Father had gifted them new boots, leather and insulated. Good for riding horseback. Mother had gifted them a new quiver for their arrows, as well as a new pair of golden earrings.

Olivia stirred, sitting up and blinking in the light of the fire. “Ell,” she murmured, brows furrowing. “What time is it?”

“Just past nine, You’ve only been asleep for thirty minutes.” They answered, not looking up from their book. “Everyone else is still in the formal dining room.”

“Oh.” She shifted, tugging the fur blanket closer to herself as she rose to her feet. She walked to the window, staring out at the dark night. “It’s a new moon tonight. Look, you can’t even see the stars.”

“You can see the stars; we can’t see them from here because of the city’s lights.”

“Oh.” A pause as she worried her cheek. “I’m gonna go get some food. I’m hungry, still. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.” El shook their head, glancing up from the book at long last to watch as Olivia slipped out of the library and into the hall. The sound of laughter echoed distantly, the adults still awake and joking. They huffed softly and readjusted, gaze returning to the book of maps, trying to memorize as much as they could. Caleb would quiz them on this, no doubt. No rest for the weary- whatever that meant. They’d heard their mother say it more than once.

It felt applicable.

The fire crackled in the fireplace; the warmth was comforting, lulling. Their eyes felt heavy. Perhaps a small nap would be nice? Their head bobbed once, twice, three times before sleep pulled them under. It wasn’t the first time they had fallen asleep here, nor would it be the last, they reasoned. After all, it was warm, it was quiet, and their tummy was full of meat and bread. All was good, all was quiet.

They aren’t sure what woke them.

The fire had nearly burnt itself out, embers glowing dimly in the dark of the library. They shifted, their book nearly slipping off their lap before they caught it. No sound of laughter could be heard from the kitchen. How late was it? A glance towards the grandfather clock at the far end revealed it was well past midnight, nearly one in the morning. Quietly, they rose to their feet, shuffling forward while rubbing at their eyes. Had mother and father already retired for the evening? Where was everyone? Why did no one wake them?

The sound of snow crunching outside had their steps pausing. They aren’t sure why, not really, but for some reason, their hair stood on end. Something whispered for them to step back into the shadows, out of the light, and they do, quickly and quietly hiding in the corner of the room, out of sight of the large windows.

Men. Men in black suits. Were they more visitors? It was late, certainly they weren’t here on business! They went to step forward before something caught their attention-

Blood.

Blood on the white undershirts they wore. Blood? Oh, Gods, had something happened? They watched the men walk across the back porch, their footsteps crunching in the ice covered snow. Only when they were out of sight did they move, breath coming in soft, short pants, feet nearly silent upon the floor as they slipped out of the library and into the hall.

The power was out. It was cold. It was silent. It was dark, so very dark. They pressed their back to the wall as they slid forward slowly, quietly, a hand over their mouth and nose to muffle the sound of their breath. Something was wrong, something was terribly, horribly wrong. They reached the end of the hall where the large mahogany doors that led to the dining hall stood partially open. They slowly scooted forward, careful not to touch the doors for they would creak if any pressure was placed upon them. It was hard to see with the lack of light; they went to step forward, only for their toes to touch something… Wet.

Wet. And red.

Wine? Had wine been spilled? They followed the barely visible puddle forward. A hand.

Blood.

Blood was on the floor. They had stepped in blood. A soft gasp escaped, and they jerked back, nearly falling in their haste as they spun around. Someone was hurt, someone had been hurt! Where was mother? Father? Where were they? They ran through the halls, bare feet slapping against the floor, the sound ricocheting off the walls as they turned, only to run face first into the chest of-

Scorpion. Scorpion, who grabbed them tight and pulled them close and placed a hand over their mouth to muffle their scream. Scorpion, who pushed them into his own room and quietly closed the door. “Elio,” he breathed, kneeling down in front of them. He reached up, cupping their cheek, brushing their hair back from their face. “Elio, listen to me. Do you remember that hidden passage in the kitchen?”

“Yes, but- what’s going on? Someone’s hurt in the dining-”

“Your parents have been killed.”

“What?” Tears pricked at their eyes as they shook their head once, twice. “No- no, you’re lying, and this is an awful joke to play on Yule!”

He hissed, his hand coming back over their mouth. “Keep your voice down!” He glances towards the window, watches as shadows lurk past. “Listen to me, Elio. Viper is waiting in the stable. You need to run. We were looking for you, they are looking for you, do you understand?”

“No!” El whispers back, tears rolling over their cheeks. “No, I don’t!”

Scorpion sighs as he pulls them into a tight embrace, hand smoothing over their back. “Someday, you will. Someday, you will understand the World Government is never to be trusted. There is a bag that Viper has packed. It is in the kitchen, by the potatoes. Grab it. And take that hidden passage out to the stable. I need you to do that, okay?”

“But-”

“I will follow. There’s- there’s no one left. Everyone who was here has- they… They aren’t here anymore, El.”

Their mind raced as they scrabbled to understand what was happening. The World Government came and killed their parents? Why? What had they done? They were good people, they were kind and loving and good! “I don’t understand!” They whimpered, bottom lip trembling as they tried to hold back their tears.

“You will, one day. But I need you to go. I’ll distract them, but you need to go, now. Here, put on your boots,” he took hold of the leather booths he’d grabbed for them, having carried them with him for when he found them. Once on, he reached up to cup their cheeks, wiping away their tears. “You need to run now.”

“Okay.”

“On three. One…” He opened the door, ushered them into the hall. “Two,” he gave them one last hug, one last kiss on the head, “do not look at the bodies. Just run.” They nodded and began backing away before turning and sprinting. “Three!” He whispered, turning to run the other direction, making as much noise as possible to draw attention to himself.

His lips pressed tightly together as he ran. Survive, little crocodile. Survive for me. For your parents. For this entire island. Survive for your people, for we will not survive this night. This is the culling, our final rights have been read, and we will no longer live to see the light of day.

And run, they did. Throwing open the mahogany doors, nearly slipping in the pool of blood that came from a body that was missing a head. As they looked down at the ground rather than at the table, where the bodies of their uncle, their aunt, Penelope all sat, lifeless and bludgeoned. They pushed into the kitchen, the door swinging behind them. Potatoes, potatoes… Potatoes! Grabbing hold of the sack beside it, they turned, shimmying between the freezer and the wall, a space just big enough for a small man to get through but perfect for a child. The old servant’s passage that led from the stables to the kitchen below the ground.

Their steps echoed as they ran, breath puffing out in harsh pants. Everyone was dead. The World Government had killed them. They didn’t know why, but the World Government was now the enemy. They burst out of the hidden passage and nearly fell over Viper, who let out a surprised yell. “Viper!”

“There we are!” Viper pulled them in close, smoothing hands over their hair. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but-”

“I know. I know, we need to go. I need to get you to the coast.”

“Why? Am I leaving?”

“Yes, you are. There’s a ship waiting for you.” Viper picked them up and placed them on the back of their horse- no, not their horse, their father’s stallion. A big, black stallion whose name was Hades, after the God of the Underworld. “You’re going to go, and you’re going to board, and you are going to never come back.”

“Never come back?!”

“Listen to me, Elio. You’re a smart kid. You’ll do fine out there. You’ll survive. But you can never return here. They’ve called a Buster Call on this island, and it won’t exist by the time the sun rises.”

A Buster Call?! Caleb had just taught them about that last week! “But- but what about you? And Scorpion? And all of the citizens- we have to warn them!”

“There’s no time!” Viper yelled, smacking the back of Hades’ rump, spurring him into a gallop. “Live! Live for all of us! Survive, Elio!” Viper cried out as Hades escaped the coral by leaping over the fence. Tears spilled over Viper’s cheeks as he watched them disappear into the forest. His ribs ached from where he’d been stabbed; his leg was on fire from the gunshot. He coughed once, twice, as blood filled his mouth.

It has been an honor serving the Great House of Conti. May its future flourish with you, Elio. May you survive and do great things. It’s what your father would have wanted.

“Slow down!” El yelled at Hades, who did not listen. The horse plowed through the woods until they came onto the trail that led to the public docs, not the private ones. He whinnied, tossing his head as he ran. “You stupid horse, we need to go back!” They cried, tears spilling over their cheeks. But the horse never stopped, not until they were trotting down the wooden docks, as if it knew.

And Elio believes that he did know. He knew where to take them, for there was a small vessel waiting. “There you are,” an old woman sighed as she stepped onto the deck, arms crossed over her chest. “Yer father’s told me everything. Let’s go, before it’s too late.”

“Who are you?”

“My name doesn’t matter. Come on, your highness.” She took their bag as they clambered down from Hades, who snorted and butted his head against their cheek.

“I love you.” El whispered through their tears, reaching up to cup his snout, brushing their fingers against his soft coat. “I love you all. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I have to leave you. I’m so sorry.”

“Highness,” the woman urged softly; her own heart ached for this child, for this island. “We have to leave.”

“I know.” They pressed a kiss to Hades’ nose before pulling back. “You were a good horse.” With that, they turned and stepped down into the boat. It wasn’t anything impressive, not by a long shot. Their chest heaved with sobs as they collapsed onto the deck, as the boat began to leave port quietly. As the old woman draped a blanket over their shoulders.

As the first sounds of canonfire began, echoing through the night, through the snowfall. The woman sat with them, cradling them gently in her arms as the screams of fear, of desperation, began to join the chorus of a slaughter that would never be known to the history books. ───

Tears spilled over scarred cheeks as silence settled over the room. Jun’Ichi sat across from him, eyes wide, a hand over his mouth as realization settled in. “Everything in the history books about the Isole del Carrozze is a lie,” Crocodile sighed, reaching up to wipe idly at his damp cheeks. “There was no civil war. There was no pirate attack. There was no slaughter of Marines. They killed my parents, they killed the servants, they killed the civilians. I don’t know if anyone had been able to escape; I’ve never met anyone from there in the years since.”

“I’m… So sorry,” Jun’Ichi whispered, looking over as Daz held out tissues for both men. “I had no idea.”

“Not many do know.”

“Who was the woman?”

“An old crone whose name I never learned. She was old, she was kind, and she got me to another island, where I would spend the next six years working. I worked in a shop as an accountant; I was good with math, I was literate, and I had a good memory. I saved over five thousand berries by the time I left there.” His lips twitched into a humorless smile. “That’s when Dragon found me.”

“Dragon?! Garp’s son, Monkey D. Dragon?”

“The one and only.”

#one piece #sir crocodile #daz bones #sir crocodile fanfiction #trans crocodile #the fall of the house of c #oc tag: fujihara jun'ichi #this is my pride & joy currently im ngl #im so proud of this piece #please read it oh my god

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