#next level armament

[r33r35]

sig sauer mpx-k

9mm subsonic

3d-printed titanium modular suppressor

eotech holographic sight w/ 3x magnifier

surefire light

arisaka defense handstop

ilwt adjustable gas port

honed chamber

lots of fun to shoot

[attackcopterblog]

NEXT LEVEL ARMAMENT INTRODUCES THE 6ARC PHOENIX RIFLE

Next Level Armament has introduced their new 6ARC chambered Phoenix rifle. Next Level Armament states “Innovator in modern sporting rifles, Next Level Armament enters the premium 6ARC market with the Phoenix Rifle. This revolutionary platform combines cutting-edge technology, precision engineering, and premium materials to deliver unparalleled performance in the world of firearms. The Next…

[failbettergames]

You dream of rain. You dream that the ink that is your flesh is running off the page, smeared into dark rivulets on the vellum. When you wake, you can still feel a stiffness in your back; as if your spine is being held tautly by yarn.

In the dark of the cabin, your mind enumerates sensations as your eyes adjust: The sway of the gondola. The vibration from the engine in the starboard nacelle above you, rattling slightly – still no replacement for the broken fuel intake.

The noise of water rapping against a porthole window.

Hello, delicious friends. It appears that time, very disrespectfully, has chosen to march on until it is very nearly April. The time has come to talk about our major future plans for Fallen London.

A new major storyline

Firmament is Fallen London’s next major expansion, a main story arc that adds on to the game’s ongoing progression. Acquire an airship – permanently, this time. Fly to the Roof. Explore the stalactite fields ruled by the Starved Men, the carved paths of the Moon-MIsers, the inverted jungles of the Antipelago, and more.

This expansion focuses on the Roof. Just like the unterzee gets stranger and darker as you zail away from familiar shores, so do the upper airs of the Neath contain more than what you know about. As these castles on the ceiling open to you, you will learn more.

Firmament will launch over the course of April, with a prologue becoming available on April 11th, and the full first chapter on April 18th.

While Firmament is in some ways a follow-up to the Railway storyline, we are aware of how long it takes to get to the very end of the game’s (current) highest-level story. When Firmament launches, you will be able to start it as long as you have already begun the Railway storyline and reached Ealing. While you will need to advance your railway further to access the latter parts of Firmament, there should be ample time to catch up on the Railway in between Firmament chapters.

New mechanics

The Railway arc added new advanced skills. During the Zeefarer cycle we added revamped Zee travel and the new Boon/Burden mechanic. This set of updates comes with its own mechanical expansions to the game.

New item slots

Airships make their return as full-fledged items. Much like zeefaring ships, they serve you mostly in air travel – Aerial Prowess and Aerial Armament also make their return. But we’re also adding a few other item slots, while we’re at it.

Adornment includes all manner of jewellery and accessories – rings, necklaces, earrings, neckties, brooches, and more. Previously, items in this vein would appear in slots like Gloves or Clothing, leading to the somewhat odd mental image of wearing your Pendant of Helicon Amber and nothing else. With this update, these items gain their own space, enabling more player expression and empowering players to reach slightly higher stats.

Several existing items will be shifted to the Adornment slot, slightly buffing them by allowing them to stack with other existing items. Adornment is intended to be a part of the game from relatively early on – around the later parts of Making Your Name. A new Bazaar store, selling Adornments, will be added in a future update.

Crew is a complement to both ships and airships. We’ve long wanted to give ship crews (distinct from the vessels themselves) a bit more personality. Are they experienced or green? Are they Admiralty men through and through, or a band of privateers and villains? These kinds of concepts never really fit the Companion or Affiliation slots, so we are creating a purposeful slot for them.

Crews will be made available in a future update, initially accessible to players who have a ship.

Luggage may seem like a slightly odd addition, but so much of Fallen London, and Victorian fiction in general, is about travel and the mystique of travel. A battered steamer trunk that’s been everywhere. A briefcase full of secrets. Phileas Fogg’s carpetbag. Luggage is intended as a midgame slot. In a future update, you will be able to assemble some initial Luggage items in the Bazaar Side-Streets.

New Skills

We are conscious of not adding too much complexity to the game, especially not all at once. Firmament doesn’t add a full suite of new skills, like the Railway. It adds one new skill, and two new qualities of a somewhat skill-like nature.

Chthonosophy, the study of the root of things, has already been teased – but you’ve not really been able to obtain it, thus far. It is the major new skill for Firmament, playing a role similar to the role Zeefaring had in Evolution.

Inerrant and Insubstantial join Neathproofed as its two other counterparts. Like Neathproofed, these will appear more as additive benefits; they help your checks with other skills, more so than being checked in themselves. They exist to add a little extra, to help differentiate otherwise-similar items, and to act as an occasional bonus. As part of Firmament, we are pushing to make more use of Neathproofed, and carve out that space for its new counterparts, also.

Roof Travel

I won’t go into too many details about Roof travel, other than to set expectations. Yes, there is a new map. No, Roof travel is not quite a fully-fledged activity like zailing is.

We aimed it at a sort of middle ground between Railway travel (which is convenient and fairly predictable) and Zee travel (which is a whole venture unto itself.) Traveling from point to point on the Roof mostly takes one action; very occasionally, two. But it is drastically more variable than rail travel. There’s a broad variety of different things you can encounter in the upper airs of the Neath. And as you progress this storyline, you will encounter stranger things as you travel through the air.

And other delights…

Of course, we have other things planned for the rest of 2024. Our usual festivals will run as usual. A new Estival. Monthly Exceptional Stories. Various other surprises, including a series of more grounded new stories set in London. But we’ll talk about these things in detail sometime after Whitsun, which should take place, as usual, in May.

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Victor

(Chapter 5 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader, Smoker x Reader is in the past, Doflamingo x Tsuru (platonic)

Chapter Warnings: foreplay without payoff, references to more physical abuse to reader, alcohol abuse

Chapter Synopsis: After the confrontation over you between Doflamingo and Aokiji in Sabaody, both men are now left dealing with those resulting emotions in their own ways. And you still find yourself caught in the middle, the three of you all having to find the next way forward.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5, 6

————————————

———————————— 

This morning had been more than rough. You should have given into the nausea of last night and puked these toxins into the bushes. Instead of trying to be so tough to hold it in. Because what did dignity matter when you still felt this awful?

You’d been a little confused on your way to the gym too as you’d seen Kuzan walking the opposite way in the rain. Towards the harbor actually with an awfully serious look about him and his umbrella open above his head.

He hadn’t even seen you, you were sure. But you’d been in a crowd of other sailors. Vergo had volunteered you to give assistance in some basic haki training happening this morning.

And said class was thankfully being held inside the gym, in comparison to the poor luck of the muddy recruits now running past you all in the yard. You could hear Akainu’s whistle and yell towards them even now over the distant thunder.

“Too slow! Double time it you slugs!” He was screaming.

Oh, you did not miss that part of the rookie days.

The haki class itself had been pretty uneventful at first too. Not very many students, just those who had shown any aptitude at all and had been recommended to keep training by their commanding officers.

Of course Vice Admiral Vergo was well known for his advanced level of armament, so he’d been a guest teacher for today while still in Marineford. And for the entire morning you were only moving through the group as his assistant, giving pointers here or there where you could to the other marines to help improve their form.

If you hadn’t felt like such utter shit, you would have gladly asked Vergo to spar with you by the time lunch break came too. You knew he was above your level, but that was the only real way to learn and push past your own limits sometimes. You’d hoped you’d get another chance before he left to head back to G-5 base at least.

But you’d been sitting on the gym floor with your legs criss crossed, headache still going strong despite your best efforts to rehydrate as you ate the meager rations they’d brought in from the mess hall for lunch. It was too inefficient for the class to cross campus all the way there and come back. So the kitchen workers had just brought you all some sandwiches to get by on before training would start again.

And you were eating your sandwich and thinking about nothing at all. A rare privilege really, when suddenly you felt like you were being completely stared through.

Someone else’s haki had focused on you? You were still pretty bad at being able to know the difference. But your muscles did tense a little as you glanced up slightly.

And as your head turned, you realized Vergo had walked to the edge of the room and was now on the phone with someone. Holding a small receiver in his hand, so the voice on the other end could not be heard.

Vergo’s sunglasses always hid his eyes, much like someone else you knew. But you took another bite of your sandwich as you pretended to brush crumbs off your shirt instead of looking at him directly.

It was so stupid, but you were trying to seem completely unbothered as you could barely hear the Vice Admiral’s voice over the other chatting sailors. But this classroom was not that big. Just open floor with exercise mats and mirrors, nothing to really absorb sound well. And why did you even care?

“No. She’s been here with us all morning.” He said.

Okay, that was a bit more interesting as you tried to remember how many females there were in the room then. Maybe only another two or three? Yes, it was actually only two others. You saw them now, off in another corner together. Not at all where he was looking.

He was absolutely looking at you. 

And you were watching a seam on the side of your boot by then, wondering why your heart rate kept increasing. You really strained your ears to listen further.

——————————

Doflamingo’s grip on the other end of that phone was incredibly tight. Enough to push some of the blood from his knuckles. But he did not break the snail’s receiver the way he’d done to the pen earlier. His voice was still low through his gritted teeth as he continued, “That piece of shit had the gall to come after me in my own house, Vergo.”

It was inexcusable of course. And even now the mansion staff were still trying to shovel the chunks of ice away floors below him. Doflamingo had shredded that frozen wall in a hateful fit not long after Aokiji’s departure of course.

The warlord had then immediately stormed upstairs as well. His mind forgot nothing, and he’d still recalled your number perfectly from before as he’d dialed it again then.

And he’d been pacing in his office, one fist clenching and unclenching, blood vessels pulsing on his forehead as the snail had only rang and rang.

He didn’t know what you had done to rile the admiral so thoroughly. But he was certain that you’d had some culpability in it all. Because you were just that infuriating.

It was fine if you had shown Aokiji what couldn’t be had. Doflamingo had even encouraged this, just as he’d given you permission to go out with the other man at all last night.

It would have been no different than when he’d paraded your body in front of Disco at the auction house. Because the obvious focus still should have been on the “could not have” aspect of it. 

But the admiral that he’d nearly just traded what surely would have been debilitating blows with, had not arrived here on just the thought of you alone.

No, that was the resolve of a man fighting for you. You had done something to make Aokiji feel as if you were still his to be defended. Doflamingo could see this no other way.

And even as he’d finally hung up that unanswered call to you, to ring Vergo instead, the memories from yesterday had still been so vivid as well.

Because you’d told him that you wanted him then. You’d told him that it was him alone that you thought of when you opened your legs at night. And he had believed you.

All this frustration for one goddamned bitch.

But Vergo was loyal at least, fully dependable in contrast to you as the vice admiral had answered right away. Vergo’s own snail was encrypted of course, fully safe while Doflamingo still paced and vented freely as soon as the other man was there to listen. 

Yet Vergo assured him that you’d been in sight all morning. That you were there right now in fact at some asinine marine class. If you’d put Aokiji up to this today, that conversation had to have taken place elsewhere.

But still Doflamingo wanted more. His current feelings couldn’t be sated with words alone. He needed to know that some sort of punishment would be carried out. Retribution for this pain in his chest that he couldn’t expel.

He hated you for it. The same way that he’d hated you as his finger tips had smeared through your tears in Disco’s office. Your wounded silence taking away all his pleasure as you’d broken too easily before him then.

“So what did you say, haki class was it?” Doflamingo grumbled in renewed question, trying to shake that mental image of you and your tears again. His hand was now running back through his hair. 

Fuck you and this feeling. No one could be allowed to humiliate him this way. So you needed to feel it in exchange, but even harder of course.

“Yes, training in armament.” The vice admiral replied.

“Then put on a lesson for me, Vergo. A decisive one.” But even through his cruel sneer, the warlord still found himself placing extra rules that he normally wouldn’t have. It was maddening.

“But not too far…I just want her to feel this. Go for the sternum, the ribs maybe. At least once hard enough to bring her down to her knees. The rest you can leave to me for later. I’m not done with her yet.” 

“I understand.” Vergo simply agreed in his usual flat tone, no judgment at all towards those heightened emotions still radiating from his master. “I’m sorry you had to experience this. I’ll take care of it.” He did add dutifully as well.

“Thank you, Vergo.” Doflamingo answered with another exhale. Finally sitting back down then at his desk, though still feeling no better for it. 

Yes, he also knew that in a way, this was exactly what he’d asked for. He had wanted to know the extent to which Aokiji may be a future problem. But in his mind, it’d been more him trying to gauge your lingering feelings for the admiral. Not the other way around.

He had truly underestimated your own hold on that man. Doflamingo had underestimated you.

A mistake he would not make twice.

——————————— 

“She what?” The incredulous, yet fully serious voice came as the large transponder snail on Fleet Admiral Sengoku’s desk now glowered into the room.

“I told you to tell her at the end of the meeting, not the beginning, if you were going to tell her at all.” Vice Admiral Garp chuckled at the predictable response, his big fist full of another round of potato chips before he shoved them into his mouth from the bag.

Sengoku scowled at the loud crunching sounds that followed. Garp sitting across from him in the office and generating a mess of crumbs. It was only the two of them here, plus the now angry female on the phone as Tsuru continued over the snail’s speaker.

“And you were just going to let me find all this out myself weren’t you?”

“The reception in Lyra is terrible, Tsuru-chan.” Sengoku tried. She was still stationed abroad. And even the high powered snails here at HQ had trouble reaching those distant mountainous islands like the one she was now on. “There was no point in-“

“Who brought her to the infirmary?” She cut him off again.

“Kizaru.” Garp answered, just speaking as he still loudly chewed. “Just an excuse to get back out of the damned rain I’m sure. The man bitches about it every time.”

“He’s also a terrible gossip. So this will be everywhere already then.” Tsuru sighed, the irritation from her still palpable.

“I mean, it is pretty goddamned funny.” Garp responded, knowing when he was likely pushing her too far. But he didn’t exactly care either. He feared no one. “Akainu about blew a gasket. If he didn’t want to be puked on, probably should have moved a little faster!”

“It was just his boots.” Sengoku clarified before Tsuru could react further. The fleet admiral was regretting letting Garp in here at all by this point.

This had been a previously scheduled meeting for an update on the rebellion in Lyra that Tsuru was currently addressing. But with everything that had recently happened with her own subordinate, Sengoku knew that Tsuru would want to know.

Firstly, the whole mess in Sabaody yesterday that you had been involved in. Tsuru hadn’t liked that at all of course considering which warlord was present for it. And now, just today some training incident that had gone off the rails. It was still confusing as to why it had escalated that quickly. But Sengoku was leaving this solely to Tsuru if she felt there needed to be any followup on it.

All Sengoku knew at this point was that Vice Admiral Vergo, visiting from base G-5, had moved his haki class outside to the yard to have more room for sparring exercises.

But somehow you and Vergo had taken things above and beyond everyone else. Blame, fairly or not, was also being put more heavily on you for choosing not to tap out when faced with a higher level opponent.

And at some point you’d been hit hard enough to land where two of the admirals were still supervising rookie drills. And you’d thrown up on Akainu’s boots, forcing Kizaru to talk the literal hothead back down while whisking you off to the infirmary.

The only thing Sengoku had heard since then was that you likely had some cracked ribs and a possible concussion. Luckily only that, but the fact that for two days in a row now you’d become the center of some utter fiasco was still worrying.

At least worrying to himself and Tsuru anyway. Garp seemed to find it entirely entertaining.

“She’s just a kid.” The more amused Vice Admiral replied. “You know we did the same shit back in our day.”

“Speak for yourself.” Tsuru grumbled, her impatience with him evident as usual. But she had grown up through the ranks with these two men, and she could also speak freely with them as she worried aloud.

“It’s not either incident alone which is the worst of course.” Her tone was changing the more she thought too. She sounded more troubled now. “The day I left her in Mariejois, I had concerns. And after that day I could tell that something was wrong. I thought it was that stupid boy Smoker. If it was, then you’d be right for once, Garp. Just children figuring things out.”

She sighed again. “But then you tell me he is involved with the auction house now. And that the day after dealing with him alone there, she’s now acting out enough to pick fights with Vice Admirals?” 

“You think it’s related?” Sengoku asked her.

“If Doflamingo upset or humiliated her, then yes. Her risk management falters quickly in those circumstances. She’d fight to her last breath to regain some sense of control or power in times like that. It’s a stress response for her.”

“But by the reports we have, there was no physical altercation between Doflamingo and your captain in Sabaody.” Sengoku offered.

Tsuru made a doubtful sound on the other end of the line.

“I don’t know why you still let that pink shitbird get under your skin so much, Tsuru-chan.” Garp grunted at that.

“He’s not a rookie pirate anymore. And his influence is only growing now that he’s a warlord too. I’ve learned the hard way never to discount him.” Was Tsuru’s rather cold response. “I’ll deal with it though. But please keep an eye on her for me in the meantime. It may be time to ship her back my way. I didn’t expect to be away from HQ this long. Base life doesn’t suit her very well regardless. She needs to get back out in the field.”

“Setting sail and bashing some pirates’ heads together is always the best medicine for all ailments.” Garp could at least agree somewhat to that.

“We’ll look at who has ships heading towards you next and let you know.” Sengoku replied, though fully realizing this would likely not be the last time he’d be hearing your name in relation to all this now.

They were getting too old for these new generation dramas.

—————————— 

You were essentially trapped now. The nurse on duty had threatened you with strong sedatives if you refused to stay in this bed at least another hour.

Their excuse was the need to continue monitoring you for signs of head injury. But if it was a concussion, you’d had stronger ones. Vergo’s fist had left you briefly seeing stars for sure, yet you hadn’t fully blacked out.

It was only that strike just below your chest that had done you in. Partially off center, and into ribs that Doflamingo had already weakened with his tantrum of yesterday. 

Even with your own armament up at the time, it was like Vergo had pushed energy straight through that barrier. Stronger than a bullet as he’d knocked you from the sparring area to win with an immediate out of bounds call.

Anyone else in your shoes would have tapped out long before then of course. But you just couldn’t. The more he’d hit you, the stronger you’d hit back. The more pissed off you’d been.

But it was still too much. And certainly too much for today as you’d been on your knees in the mud before you’d really known what had happened. Finally losing your lunch right onto those boots then in front of you as Akainu didn’t back away quickly enough.

Of course it was not in that admiral’s nature to move for anyone though. So why would he have? But he didn’t expect that resulting vomit as you’d coughed and struggled to breathe after Vergo’s last incredible strike.

Akainu had never liked you at all either. And for a moment you had felt the mud heating up dangerously below you as his temper had flared. 

Kizaru had grabbed you by the back of your shirt to get you out of the way then. Like picking up a stunned kitten really. An embarrassment in its own way as he’d also then volunteered to drag you to the infirmary against your will. 

And now you both remained here. You laying in one of the infirmary beds, watching the timer the nurse had set, and Kizaru sitting languidly in the chair next to said bed. One of his long legs crossed over the other as he seemed he truly had nowhere better to be.

“You don’t have to stay.” You said for probably the third time now. 

Kizaru’s arms were crossed over his chest, just perfectly unbothered in that almost annoying way of his. “It’s still raining. I’m fine here.”

Why they only ever called Aokiji the lazy one, you weren’t fully sure.

Maybe if he’d stayed quiet it wouldn’t have been so bad. But Kizaru couldn’t do that either.

“So…” His voice started up yet again. “This is what, three for three now of Captain (Y/N) related incidents? And the last two nearly within twenty four hours. You’re starting to outdo yourself.”

You really couldn’t tell if he was making fun of you or just noting this as interesting enough to comment on. But either way you didn’t like it.

“Well, are you going to write me up for something?” You asked flatly, not knowing what he expected you to do about any of this now. You were well aware that people were still talking about your dust up with Smoker in Mariejois. And of course the auction house yesterday, and now it would be about you, Vergo, and Akainu’s vomit boots today.

Troublemaker was another moniker of yours you often heard in not so quiet whispers. 

But Kizaru’s demeanor never really changed at your attitude. He just answered you with a question of his own. “If Aokiji never reprimands you, then what right do I have to discipline you either?”

Your eyebrows raised a little as Kizaru turned his head to make eye contact with you through those transparent sunglasses before he kept on.

“I don’t know what Aokiji’s dragging his feet for though. You always get him flustered. It’d just be the sensible thing for him to go ahead and admit it right?”

How your body could still have had the energy for that flush of heat to go immediately to your face when you’d just been pounded into the mud not long ago was a feat in its own right. But you didn’t hesitate much.

“Aokiji and I are just friends.” You said with the plainness of someone repeating a legal statement.

“Uh huh,” Kizaru answered, tilting his head a little as if working out a stiffness in his neck brought on by the cheap infirmary chair. “And water isn’t wet.”

———————————

Hours later you’d finally been alone in your room again. The sun had long since set and you were hurting all over as the remnants of mud darkened your shower drain. 

When that was done, you refused to even look in the mirror as you dried off. Your body was a battlefield by this point. Even you weren’t sure which bruise was from who anymore. Unless they truly looked like Doflamingo’s bites or sucks, it was anyone’s guess.

Karma wasn’t something you really believed in. Because you’d seen too many good people suffer and too many bad people win. But if you had done something to truly merit this, you could still only wonder what that would have been. 

Especially when an abrupt knock came at your door.

What in the fuck now? Was your first tired thought as you dropped your towel to grab a robe instead. You did tighten it well and pull the collar high before you went to the door.

There were no peep holes in these doors. Something that wouldn’t normally matter as you cracked the door just slightly, expecting one of your female neighbors at most.

But your breath caught in your chest as you saw that familiar admiral coat at your eye level instead.

And Kuzan said nothing, just looking down at you as you opened the door wider in surprise.

Yet you could smell alcohol again as you heard girls laughing in the distance. They were just entering the barracks from the outside. They’d be coming around the corner into your corridor shortly. They’d see him at your door, and you only in your bathrobe.

So you grabbed that stupid man by his marine tie, jerking him towards you as he did not resist. The door slammed shut as he disappeared into your room. Those girls not even noticing the sound over their own voices before they entered the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing!?” You fussed up at him. You’d already had to argue with Kizaru of all people earlier, likely the biggest gossip on base about these very kinds of things.

And Kuzan was just going to show up unannounced to make this all even harder? 

But he was just staring at you for that moment. He actually looked sad, sincerely so. In a way that had your anger melting away as his dark eyes stayed focused on you.

“Kuzan?” You asked him, more concerned then.

“I’m sorry.” His words finally came. He looked distracted, bothered. It was different things all at once. 

He moved away from you too, going to sit on the edge of your bed as the closest thing to take his weight off of his feet.

“You’ve been drinking.” You stated the obvious. It was much worse than he’d been last night. But you’d seen this before. You knew what it meant.

“What happened?” You asked him carefully, fearing the worst.

He was still watching you. That heavy look, his legs were spread. “I just…I just want you.” But he was almost fighting himself. Changing the meaning with just a few additional words. “I…want you to be okay.”

“You’re drunk.” You tried again, still not understanding at all where this could be coming from. “You can sleep it off here if you need to.” You would still protect him of course.

It wasn’t just about you. You did care about Kuzan’s reputation as well. He’d had his struggles with alcohol as most knew, but normally only when really triggered. He’d be sober by morning and no one would be the wiser. You could sneak him back out of here. It would be fine.

“(Y/N).” He just sounded more insistent.

You watched him carefully. That chilled vapor was coming from his mouth then. He needed to control himself. Your anxiety did increase as the room’s temperature continued to drop.

“Kuzan, you need to rest. Lay down.” You tried to sound more forceful as the chill bumps started across your skin.

“I can’t…because I can’t help you if you keep lying to me.” His eyes were so sharp, even if his voice was not.

And at this you did feel that first real tinge of fear. 

He stood again not long after. And when he did, you saw those ice crystals sparkling across your bedsheets from where his hands had been.

But you stood your ground as his long legs crossed the distance between you so easily. 

This man would never hurt you. Not on purpose. You knew this even as your own breath started to turn to vapor as he came to stand in front of you once more.

And his arm moved around your waist then. The other onto your shoulder. He was steadying himself. But it was so cold. It was as if that touch went straight through the thin robe direct to your skin as he said these new words.

“Doflamingo…what is he to you?”

The world stopped.

Maybe your heartbeat with it. Your legs felt numb. His grip was on you harder. He was the one holding you up now instead.

But you couldn’t make a sound. There was ice on your lips. Even before his own soft mouth had covered yours.

You didn’t even know if you were letting him, or if you really couldn’t move any longer. The taste was so familiar, but masked with the alcohol. That intense cold like drinking him into yourself as you felt the pain beginning in your lungs.

Ice crystals were forming inside your airway as you finally raised your hand enough to grip the side of his face. You dug your fingernails in.

It wouldn’t hurt him, his cheek was more ice than skin now. But he did feel it. 

As soon as his lips parted from yours just that slightest bit, you forced that frigid air back out enough to speak.

“Let me breathe.” But even as you said so, you hadn’t moved away from him at all.

And he understood. Not apologizing yet, but you could feel the ice beginning to withdraw. He was reigning himself back in just enough even as his face remained pressed against yours.

He did let you breathe as requested then. Your body heat reclaiming your lungs bit by bit as you felt his hand wandering up from your waist. He rubbed your back to assist in the gentle thaw as his power continued to recede.

But you still had to answer him. Even as numb and fearful as you still were. Did Kuzan think you were a traitor? Would he hate you? You had no idea how he knew about Doflamingo yet, and maybe even more importantly what he knew.

“We’ve had interactions.” You tried to start. The cold still stung your throat. “But it’s all new...”

Kuzan made a sound. He had lifted his head enough to look down into your eyes again. “So it’s true?”

His voice was different then. And you didn’t like that harshness. You wanted the softer man back from out of all this ice. “My loyalty is to my friends, to my crew, Kuzan. That won’t change.” You promised, but it sounded more like begging. “I’m a marine.” You said, as much trying to comfort yourself as him in this moment. 

“He’s a devil…he really is.” He said. “Why…why would you let him…did you let him?” And it was clear that Kuzan was still so unsure of which answer would be worse.

To live with the knowledge that Doflamingo had taken you against your will, or the equal torture in the realization that you may have actually wanted the madman to do it.

Was this the debate that had plagued Kuzan today as he’d poisoned himself with drink until he could stagger to your door? But still, why? How did he find out?

“It’s a bit of both.” You finally answered, unable to lie any further when faced with this weakened king right before you. Because he was a king to you. Kuzan commanded more respect with his selflessness than the Heavenly Demon ever could through cruelty.

But that logic didn’t make you immune to Doflamingo’s flames and that growing desire for him either. Far from it. It was as if the two of them combined could have made the perfect man for you. Fire and ice.

And what a selfishly deranged thought to think though. Especially when faced with the true pain that your indecisiveness between them could cause.

You didn’t give Kuzan time to reply. You didn’t want him hurting any longer. You resolved yourself to relieve this as much you could for him in this moment. At the very least you could do that as some form of atonement for whatever he’d suffered through today.

You’d had no idea he was still holding onto these kinds of feelings. But maybe so were you. Because this vulnerability was still something that Doflamingo couldn’t fully give you.

If the warlord even had a side like this. If he really did, wouldn’t he have just cut it out as a weakness long ago?

Kuzan had not forsaken any such faults though. You knew he hadn’t in the way his knees weakened as soon as you’d started kissing him again.

He wouldn’t stop you either. He didn’t want to stop as the two of you moved together to fall back onto your bed.

It felt so old and so new all at the same time. You knew just how to undo his tie. Your fingers remembered every button in his vest and his shirt. All those prestigious layers of that marine uniform cast to the floor one after another.

He wasn’t sobering up by any means, but he was more focused then. Wanting something too and controlling the ice so much better now, letting your hands move freely across him as you finally reached bare skin.

His broad chest, breathing for you as you kissed across it. But that milder cold still remained, assisting you even as it now dulled all the aches and pains across your own body. Your bruises, your cracked ribs, all these things that were meaningless to you in this moment.

When your hands ran down his flat abdomen to his belt, you did glance briefly back up to him. You saw that briefest hesitation in his eyes, but then he nodded.

You had his permission to go further. And you didn’t waste it, unbuckling the belt to open it, along with the button and zipper of his white pants soon after.

When it was all loose, he raised his hips to help you in sliding them off. His shoes had already come off sometime at the beginning. Socks now joining them with his pants on your floor.

He was just in his boxer briefs then. Not the instant nudity of Doflamingo who seemed to like nothing between his cock and the open air but those ever tight capris pants.  

You couldn’t help but keep contrasting the two men even then as you gently started to massage Kuzan through his boxers. 

But were you taking advantage of the weakened admiral in the same way that Doflamingo would so gladly have done to you now? And how could his hold already be this strong for you to even be thinking these things? The warlord was still in your bed in your own mind even as another man now laid down into it.

“It’s been a while,” Kuzan breathed out as you felt him beginning to tighten beneath your touch.

And at first you thought he meant since the last time you and he had actually been together like this. Because yes, that’d be years ago now.

But something in the needful way he still looked at you made you second guess that. Did he mean the last time since he’d been intimate with anyone at all?

“How long, Kuzan?” You asked gently then, realizing he may have neglected himself entirely. Which was completely unnecessary. Kuzan could have about any woman on this base if he actually tried. And he could be a complete flirt when he wanted to be. 

“Almost five months.” He admitted honestly. “A girl at a bar. I didn’t know she was just trying to get back at her boyfriend though.”

“Ouch,” you said affectionately before admitting your own previous record. “Smoker made me wait three months then dumped me.” You half smiled. 

It was something how quickly you could both tell each other almost anything again. Just like it used to be as you fell back into those old rhythms. But there was still that massive shadow hanging over you both. And he hadn’t forgotten it either.

“Did you and Doflamingo…” Kuzan started, even as his abdomen tensed, he was hard beneath those boxers now.

And of course he had a right to know. You could imagine that getting seconds from a pirate was not on any admiral’s wishlist to be sure. Also with the extra baggage of it being unprotected sex as well unfortunately. 

You hadn’t been in the position to demand a condom in either instance of course. Just praying that the pirate was wealthy and intelligent enough to have the right medicines on hand to keep himself clear of STD’s. Your marine issued birth control pills were a necessity you’d always kept to the daily regimen of as well.

Why Doflamingo had insisted on going in raw and not pulling out either you weren’t sure about yet. Whether that was just his reckless nature, or something more specific to you was far too soon to tell.

“Me and him? Twice…” You answered quietly, not without guilt still in your tone. Even if Doflamingo hadn’t gotten to finish you that second time in Sabaody.

Kuzan groaned. You knew if he was sober the reactions would have been so much worse. So maybe the alcohol was still a blessing in its own way. As it was now he just looked somewhat miserable again even as ice crystals still sparkled across the mattress around you both. “I just…don’t understand.” He told you.

“I don’t really either,” you admitted too. “And I don’t even know if I can…well, take you right now because of that. I don’t have any condoms here anymore.” You and Smoker had been together long enough to trust that each other were clean. And you were just trying to be up front. Plus you were still torn anyway. You probably couldn’t have endured him without serious ice to numb you again anyway.

But your hands worked fine. Your mouth worked fine if he wanted that. All he had to do was show that it was still okay.

“You don’t have to do anything for me.” He breathed instead as he reached for you then. “That’s not why I’m here.”

And he was then kissing you again, disregarding his erection as you felt him loosening the belt of your bathrobe. His cold hands slipped beneath it as he so gently pulled that last barrier from your shoulders.

You saw him lean back enough to look at you as it fell away. A light frown downturned his lips as he looked across all the damage. 

Kuzan sighed, fingertips tracing some of it with the cold growing a little more around you again. “Of you and me, I was always supposed to be the more self destructive one…when did that change?” 

Probably around the time that he’d first left you you thought to yourself. It had been so hard then. You had to get even tougher to keep going. But when you didn’t answer him, he just shifted you both so that you were now on your back in the bed, him above you as he straddled you. 

And in some way, being under him made you feel so young again. Like true innocent affection despite still being nude in bed with him right now. How those two things could coexist made about as much sense as anything else right now as he started kissing your collarbones.

You knew he was being so careful with you too, even as his lips moved lower to suck one of your breasts gently. His chilled mouth teasing you unintentionally as your hand reached up to stroke through his hair and down the back of his neck.

Kuzan had always joked about really liking breasts whenever he flirted with girls. Doflamingo had focused on yours a bit too. But not in the same way that Kuzan made them a real priority as soon as they were available to him.

If you had to pick a part of your body that Doflamingo had seized on most, well it was just the main attraction at this point. He just wanted to fuck you and nothing else as far as you knew. Whether by cock, tongue, or fingers, that man wanted to be inside.

Kuzan had never been that way though. He wouldn’t say no to the privilege of course, but he’d never been in a hurry. He would get there when he got there. It wasn’t about any specific endgame. It was just about being together.

And yet…even now as Kuzan’s mouth worked your chest and his hand slid protectively over your hip, you didn’t feel like this reunion changed a thing between you.

It didn’t feel like tomorrow would be any different than yesterday or the day before that. Maybe he had missed you. Maybe this was his own form of penance if he thought in any way that his prior actions had put you on a road to falling into the grasp of a man like Doflamingo.

But somehow you still knew that when the sun came up this ice would be melted again and he would be gone. Back to only being your friend.

“Kuzan…” It may be your only chance to ask, the alcohol dropping enough walls for him to answer you once and for all. This question that had plagued you even on the nights that it was Smoker instead who would have been above you like this.

“Hmm?” The admiral turned his head, just resting it against your chest then to listen to you.

You knew he could hear your heartbeat too in that position now as you brought your fingers back into his hair.

“Why did you really leave me…why wasn’t I good enough for you then?”

And he made another sound and you realized he had closed his eyes. But his expression looked somewhat miserable again. He didn’t want to talk about this.

“Kuzan.” You raised your voice a little. 

His eyes opened slightly. He was using your chest as something to rest against all the same. “I’m sorry…I’m just an asshole.” He murmured. “I couldn’t stay. I can’t have a family. None of it. My path doesn’t allow that…it’d just end only one way. I’d lose them…lose you.”

“And nothing has changed now, has it?” You knew the answer already. But you both needed to say it.

“No. It hasn’t. I can’t…”

“You can’t love me.” You finished for him.

“No.” He breathed. “Not that way.”

“It’s okay…” You heard yourself saying. Even with the pain that went through your chest at the final confirmation. “Nobody can.”

He lifted his head, just enough to look at you again. His eyes looked so tired. “That isn’t true.”

You smiled just barely. “It doesn’t matter. Doflamingo isn’t capable of it either I’m sure.” And before he could interrupt you for saying that name that he still didn’t want to hear, you asked something else. 

“So are you going to out me about him? I am still a marine like I said. He put me in a bad spot, but I did what I had to so that I was the only one he hurt. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I’m not a traitor, Kuzan. And if it does go too far, I know you can stop me. Is that what you really came here to tell me?”

And for the first time Kuzan had a trace of fear in his own eyes. But he was also too tired to do much more than interlace his fingers in yours then, with his head still on your chest.

“Hina is the only other one that knows. That boy told her what he saw and she told me. She won’t out you.” He took another breath though. “But I went and saw Doflamingo in Sabaody this morning…”

And an additional streak of fear cut through you at those words. But the most terrible thing of all was that you actually felt a concern for the demon himself. You had almost asked if Kuzan had hurt Doflamingo, if he had frozen him before you bit your lip to stop such insane words from coming out of your mouth.

“We didn’t fight. It came close.” Kuzan said, though his expression didn’t say how much he may have noticed your near slip. “But I thought about it the rest of the day. All day at the bar until I finally realized…”

He’d closed his eyes again. There was a new defeat in the way he’d draped across your body now. “I still don’t understand why it has to be true…but I realized he’s just the kind of man you like to fight with. And you love to fight so much…you always have. So he didn’t just choose you. You’re choosing him. Aren’t you? You wouldn’t give that rush up even if I begged you to…”

You were speechless. 

Kuzan nuzzled further into your bare chest however. He somewhat clumsily reached out to pull the blankets around you both as well.

“I’ll leave in the morning. I trust you…whatever you do.” He murmured. “But I’ll kill him the moment he goes too far. Don’t let him hurt you again…if he does there’s nowhere that pirate could hide from the ice age I’d bring.”

————————————

Late into the night, the rains had finally moved on. But the stress in Doflamingo’s mind had not. He knew that Vergo had carried out his orders just as asked. They hadn’t gotten to talk about it any more as he’d had to go into phone meetings as Joker the rest of the day. But no news was good news. It meant that everything was completed as expected.

The warlord had decided to let the hours pass by even further after that too. Trying to think out his next plans before he’d make any other move.

He’d busied himself with readying to sail for Dressrosa in the darkness. The Sabaody house would be out of play for a while as he’d gathered the things from his office. 

Even this morning’s threats from Aokiji hadn’t been enough to fully deter him though. He was apparently willing to risk it all as the longer the day had gone on, the more he’d realized that he wanted…no, needed to see you again.

He would absolutely still be holding you to that agreement of staying with him a few nights in exchange for the release of those slaves as well. Just not at Sabaody as things needed a longer pause there now.

The warlord had other houses though. Plenty of them that he could choose farther from Marineford. Somewhere more difficult for unwanted company to interrupt everything he wanted to have all the time in the world to finally do to you. He was sure his opportunity would come.

He hadn’t been boarded on his ship long at all, navigators setting course for Dressrosa as he’d headed below deck and away from the now clear, starlit skies. He’d actually considered just getting a quick nap in as he entered his captain’s quarters to sit alone on his bed as well.

He was more than tired after such a long day. He had more work he could be doing instead of sleeping though. The door was already shut and locked as he removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. 

The right eye was dry, the left stung even more than usual.

He sat in silence, opening only his right eye after another moment. He rubbed at the left eye, then blinking it to see only shadows and haze through it as always before closing it again to lessen the stinging. 

Leaving his glasses on the nightstand, he laid back onto the bed regardless. He’d kicked off his shoes and put his arms behind his head, probably falling asleep within a half hour at most.

At least until one of the snails rang anyway. There were always several wherever he slept. Different snails for contacts all over the world. 

Doflamingo actually just rolled over for once though, burying his face in his overstuffed pillow. Maybe that nap needed to be a few hours after all. But the snail just kept ringing. 

And with that amount of persistence he finally had to lift his head up to look. His right eye trying to focus on which snail it was before that eye did widen in realization.

A specific marine snail that hadn’t rang in quite some time was now vibrating among its peers. Doflamingo’s hair was still messy from rolling around in the bed as his strings brought that receiver quickly to his hand. And the snail with it as he pulled it onto the mattress beside him. Hurrying to catch the caller before they might finally stop.

“Well,” He said, already feeling that bit of adrenaline starting to rile him back fully awake too. It really had been a while. “What am I in trouble for this time?” He asked, with his hand partially going over his eyes in habit, as if to hide them even over the phone as he lay on his back again.

“Doflamingo.” Tsuru’s voice carried over. Not angry, not pleased, just fully Tsuru as she answered him. “I had thought you’d outgrown this childish fixation. You’ve been bothering one of my crew again.”

“Do you mean short skirt?” He smiled at her usual bluntness, but it actually wasn’t a harsh expression on his face. There was a little nostalgia here. It’d been years since he’d said that older nickname in front of Tsuru.

“I told you not to call her that again.”

“Captain is a lot more boring of an honorific, Tsuru-san.”

Of course, he should have been far more upset at this surprise. Because the moment that Tsuru would become involved between the two of you was inevitable, but also an entire new difficulty level that he may not currently be prepared for.

And yet, it wasn’t at all like being confronted by Aokiji this morning. Doflamingo truly didn’t mind hearing her voice again. Regardless of the circumstances.

“So what accusations am I facing then?” He actually yawned as he stretched within his bed, even without removing his hand from his eyes. “Apologies if you’re going to have to be more specific.” 

He could hear Tsuru’s resulting frown even without looking back to the snail, himself always irking her whenever he insisted on being so purposefully informal in their interactions. It was such an old game he never tired of. 

“Firstly, did you misbehave in Mariejois?” Her tone was sharp.

His lips parted slightly. If she was asking, then she was already quite sure that he’d done something. And she was even a step ahead of what Aokiji had been then. But of course he’d expect nothing less from Tsuru.

“She sat with me at the meeting while she gave her little report on the war for you. So professional. I did try to trip her, but that didn’t even work.” He admitted with another rare, genuine smile.

“Brat.” Tsuru grumbled. “But that can’t be the whole of it.”

“You’re the one that had to dangle her in front of me. I don’t know what you expected.” He dared to taunt a little without actually admitting more.

“As I said, I thought you’d outgrown that stupid fixation. You’re too old for this nonsense. Keep to your harems in Dressrosa and leave my crew alone.”

He laughed abruptly. Tsuru actually still saw this as a boyhood crush that he refused to release? He had teased her before about you in the North Blue days, yes. So he knew where she was coming from with this. But it was still something else entirely to hear her say it.

“But my pool girls at the castle can’t fight like she can. They can’t send you or even admirals to gut me like she can. It’s a completely different game. You know how much I like a challenge.”

“You can feel challenged all the way to Impel Down, boy.”

“Feh,” He was still smiling. “You’d miss me and you know it. Besides, we’re on the same side now like you always wanted. Why can’t it just finally be water under the bridge?”

“You’re still a pirate. And you don’t take care of your toys, Doflamingo. You break them and then you discard them. That girl has been with me since she was a teen. And unfortunately, I know you’ve had your attention on her since then too. But it doesn’t give you any right to her. You think everything belongs to you. That’s not how this works.”

He did frown a little then. But he wasn’t afraid to dig deeper, maybe even complaining to her actually about the injustice he still thought he’d suffered this morning. “You know you aren’t even the first marine to give me this speech today. Though it sounds a lot less patronizing coming from you.”

And there was a pause there. Which actually delighted him a little, with him having even a rare sliver of information that she did not.

“It was your Admiral Aokiji. I guess that’s her new marine beau again already? He came to my house in Sabaody this morning to bitch at me about having that little skirmish with her at the auction house. I suppose I must have made him jealous. He really was an asshole about the whole thing.”

But he couldn’t catch that woman off guard for long, as she absorbed this revelation easily. “Then I hope his ice gave you a wake up call. Just stay out of it. He’s not someone to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I,” The warlord’s pride did force him to remind her then, but he still wasn’t cold in tone. Not to her. “All I’m hearing though is that you all think I’m not good enough for her. It’s insulting. But let’s talk hypothetical since you took your precious time to make this call about her anyway. What happens if she falls for me instead? Do you excommunicate her from your little sailing brigade? Again, per the World Government, you and I are allies now. No matter how much you still call me a regular pirate. There’s nothing regular about me, Vice Admiral.”

It really had been some time since they’d conversed for this long. But Tsuru was always his match and more when it came to verbal debate as she responded without hesitation. “You’re fantasizing about things that can’t be. I have no doubt that you could hide behind your charms for even months or more if you chose to. But she’s not as ruthless as you’d require. And if it did become public, her rank would be frozen at best. She’d lose all credibility. And she’s worked far too hard to throw that away for a man who can’t even love her.”

Doflamingo felt his teeth grit. It was simultaneous to that slight twist in his chest again. Yet he didn’t lose his temper. “You’re so practical as always. But tell me the truth then. If I said I wanted to at least try, would you still do everything in your power to stop me? I don’t care what the world thinks of me. A kingdom of my own was my goal for so long. And now I have one thanks to Riku’s madness. So I’m chasing my next treasure. And I’m starting to think that it’s time for Dressrosa to have a queen. I could give her everything. You know that I could. Would it really be so terrible for her?” 

She finally sounded more irritated then, maybe even surprised for a single moment. This was of course the first he was confessing these new intentions to anyone. But it was only natural that she’d be the first to know as Tsuru answered him. “And the moment she does anything at all to challenge your ego, or your ideas of people only existing in tiers beneath you as your servants at best, would you kill her, boy? Because I don’t think you understand how to function any differently than that. A woman is not a toy, not a puppet, not a pet.” 

But she still took another breath, and here showcased the real reason why Doflamingo had tolerated this old marine mother for so many years. “I know you’re lonely. I know it hurts you. But forcing more people into your family against their will is only going to lead to another Minion Island. She’s a marine. She’ll always choose to save others even at the expense of herself in the end. Because that’s what we do. Even if you can only see that selflessness as betrayal to your own aspirations.”

His smile was fully gone as his hand slid away from his eyes then. If the snail copied the look in them now, it was what it was. Tsuru had seen these eyes before of course, and the pain that lived inside them.

“Rosinante never loved me, Tsuru-san. It’s not the same. And I know when things are worth risking and when they aren’t now. I’m smarter than I was then. She doesn’t have to be involved in anything unsavory.” And that was of course putting it lightly. “I don’t need another soldier. I already have plenty.”

“How long has this been going on then?” She asked, seeming to start to accept how very deep into this obsession he already was. How serious he really was.

“Since you recruited and flaunted her in front me years ago.” He responded, as if still blaming Tsuru for all of it too.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. I made sure she was oblivious to your leering and your dirty comments back then. Because she had a right to grow up without that burden on her self worth. She was still a child.”

“But you still let Aokiji have her.” He retorted, and it was more spiteful there.

Tsuru sighed. They had already been through this too. Years ago when it had first happened. “Don’t you dare lecture me on morality, boy. I’ve raised enough daughters. There does come an age where they’re going to go out and find a partner whether you approve of it or not. And if you don’t let them, the rebellion and self destruction they’ll choose instead would be even worse. I knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Just as much as I knew it wouldn’t last. And it never will now either as long as he’s still wishing to remain an admiral. That’s his own choice after what happened to Zephyr. Kuzan doesn’t want to be close to anyone.”

Doflamingo’s eyebrows lowered. This didn’t make sense to him. And Tsuru had never divulged that extra tidbit before. Aokiji was afraid? “He was ready to try and kill me this morning if I so much as sneezed. He wants her that bad and yet he still chooses to be without her?”

“He chooses distance because he does care about her. You wouldn’t understand. And the only reason I’m telling you this at all is so that you don’t resent her for someone she’s not even going to have. I know how that mind of yours works. You’re the most jealous thing that ever breathed.”

He sneered a little. “Sometimes I think you lie about which devil fruit you really have. You see through everyone don’t you?”

“Not everyone. I know you commit far more crimes than I can put evidence to at this point. But if the question is just how you’ll react to something? Please, you haven’t changed at all.”

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” He exhaled, even as that tension faded again. “What do I have to do to convince you? You talk about your daughters, but what about me? You keep telling me ‘no’ over and over, you know it only makes things worse on this side too. Let me pursue her, even if you think this will never work. Fine, I’ll walk away when I’m done. Just like Aokiji did. But if you keep blocking me, you know it just makes me want to tear right through those walls.”

“You still never answered me on how long this has been going on. You hadn’t asked me about her since you’ve been a king. Now all the sudden you’re fixated more than ever. Why?”

“It was Mariejois of course.” He confirmed. “The very moment you left her alone with me, Tsuru-san. Can’t you at least commend my patience? It only took that many years for you to think I’d forgotten about her.”

“And then Sabaody.” She said, taking her own deep breath, seeming to accept this as her mistake. Obviously she didn’t know the extent of what had happened in either instance. She only knew that his desire for you had been fully rekindled because of it.

“So, I answered you.” His voice was fully serious now. “You do the same. What do I have to do to prove to you that I can play house with her without any casualties? You never know, she might even like it enough that she decides being a queen is a better gig than being shot at by pirates all day long as a marine.”

Tsuru still scoffed. “I can’t hand her over to someone whose going to inevitably destroy her. I don’t know how more plainly I can say that. You’ll never have my blessing.”

And there was a deeper desperation that must truly be there for him to use this comparison now. “But I’ve never truly hurt you. We’ve argued, and we’ve pitted our soldiers against one another like pieces on a chessboard over and over. But I never have gone for your throat, have I? And I won’t. And you know why.”

The silence in that moment made him smile again. Aokiji had been such a prick to think he was truly lying about this this morning. “I didn’t force you into my family.” Doflamingo kept on. “All those years ago, when you took that wounded boy you so pitied into your heart willingly. So let me do the same for her. I have room for you both in what’s left of mine. Because a boy will always need his mother figure. But now this man wants his queen as well.”

“I don’t think there is a heart there anymore, Doflamingo. Even as remnants. But, I’m not going to waste more breath on what you clearly have already decided. So I’ll say this. I can’t stop her. But I will tell her the truth. Everything I know about you. And unfortunately, it doesn’t break any written protocol we have for a marine to fraternize with a warlord given your government immunity. So I can’t formally punish either of you. But as I said, it absolutely would be a social stigma that could ruin all she’s accomplished. And I’ll warn her of that too. In short, I’ll do all I can to show her the terrible choice you would really be.”

“I can accept that challenge.” Doflamingo did smile again then. This was the best it would possibly be then. He was realistic enough to know that. So honestly, it almost did feel like a victory. 

And Tsuru always had the perfect read on every situation as long as she had enough information to do so. The ‘Great Tactician’ they still called her.

So Doflamingo also believed her when she said that Aokiji would not take you back. Not fully or publicly anyway. And the warlord could live with this too. Because it meant that you’d never truly belong to Kuzan, even if he still wanted you. Because half measures weren’t enough for you. You were an all or nothing kind of woman.

And Doflamingo would now be the only one of the two of them willing to go all in.

His grin had stretched from ear to ear once more. 

He’d won.

“Well anything else to berate me with before I hang up? I think I’m actually going to sleep well for once tonight. So thank you. I do enjoy these late night chats. We should get them back on a regular schedule again shouldn’t we?”

“Mind yourself, boy. Nothing’s changed. Slip up and I’ll have some nice chains for you on your way to Impel Down.”

“Love you too, Tsuru-san.” Doflamingo laughed, that word of course sounding so unnatural just by the nature of the man it came from. But he still liked to say it to her for how much it pissed her off each and every time that he did.

And as she immediately hung up on him to prove her reaction indeed remained the same, he just smiled into his pillow as he buried his face again. There was a large weight off of him now. He’d be back to sleep very soon.

He’d actually let you sleep uninterrupted tonight as well, wherever you were. He could call you again tomorrow and start this chase all over again.

——————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

——————————

Thanks for reading!

[lostinwildflowers]

Trust Me

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: You and Six have a long history. When things go awry on an unusual mission, rooms are tight and tensions run high.

Word Count: 14K (I am so, so sorry.)

Warnings: very slight enemies to lovers(in the backstory), mentions of pain, injuries(including temporary hearing loss), blood, guns/weapons, mentions of panic/anxiety/insecurities, angst, swearing/kinda harsh language at times, but fluff, lots of pining, hurt/comfort if you will, one-bed trope, dum dum feelings, and my inability to skip a backstory, no beta we die like men

A/N: Hello my darlings! I am here with a fic I have been very nervous and excited to write and to post. This is my first time ever writing for The Gray Man/Sierra Six, but the Ryan Gosling brain rot was too much for me to handle. Please give me feedback on this!! - Birch <3

Important Info:

-Reference #1 - Inspiration for the Croatian house, not exact

-Reference #2 - Six's light blue suit

-Reference #3 - Sunset drive

-Reference #4 - Inspiration for the bed and breakfast

The weight of the gun in your hands was a steady constant as your feet tread noiselessly but confidently over the slate-tiled floor. The laces to your boots were tied down tightly, the pressure on your heels and ankles a comfort when you were at work.

You found solace in the rifle strapped to your back, and relief in the throwing blades tucked into your belt. Skill and years of training have made you adept at weaponry of all forms.

Capable of killing a man with a soup spoon and a shoestring, you were undoubtedly deadly. However, your choice of weaponry always landed on armaments with lethality at a distance.

Being one of the best shots in your division had your name floating around the CIA. Typically working with different groups of people as needed, you were never stuck to just one set of people.

When news started floating around that the Sierra Program was looking for partners for some of their agents, people started wondering as to who would be chosen. You didn't bother with the gossip, instead focusing on honing your craft and getting better.

Thus, when you were first sat down and interrogated about your knowledge of the Sierra program, you were surprised. You knew as much as the next person from the gossip in the office - agents who usually worked alone and got their hands dirty when no one else could.

The officers that questioned you were leaving bits and pieces out of the conversation. You could tell there were gaps in their questions and the answers that they were looking for from you.

Slowly, you were starting to piece it together.

You would be an ideal partner for the infamous Sierra Six. While the CIA recruit was skilled in all facets of, well, murder, it benefitted him to have someone who could watch his back from a distance.

Sierra Six was known to always be about the job. He focused on getting in and getting out. No injuries. No casualties. None of his blood spilled. Just eliminate the target and move on to the next one.

With Six being as skilled as he was, a man who almost always worked alone, you were nervous to accept being his partner. However, you knew this could be your chance to step up a level.

Apprehensively, you agree to a mission with the CIA operative. And frustratingly, the first time you met Sierra Six was in the field.

On your initial assignment with Six, you had asked Carmichael for a general description of the man so you knew who not to shoot at if things got dicey.

Tall. Muscular. Bit of facial hair. Super helpful, right?

You still remember the first words you said to his face. You had thought about getting reassigned.

---

"I'm in position and I've got eyes on the target, Six do you copy?" your voice came out as a quiet whisper. Laid out on your stomach in the dense woods of Croatia, you had sweat dripping down your forehead and chest.

Having your first mission be in the hot, dry summer of the Mediterranean country probably wouldn't have been your first choice with your new partner, but it could have been worse.

Focusing on the task at hand, you could see the target through the scope of your rifle, a wealthy "banker" who was selling drugs across borders in an attempt to disturb government agencies. You didn't really care too much about why you were there, just that you did your job and got home.

As Six's backup for this mission, you were camped out on the edge of a wooded area that had a view of the banker's private house. The target was hosting a large party that would act as a cover-up for business deals and shady operations.

The house was gorgeous, in your opinion. You had seen the open floor plan, the back porch that connected to a gazebo, and the huge deck. Then, it had a two-story pool and plenty of tables full of booze that seemed like a dream vacation for an average person.

And that is why you and Six were to strike at this party. It would be busy with people from all over the world to get in on the banker's dealings, allowing for you and Six to slip away from the property unnoticed.

With your spot in the trees, you had the natural cover of foliage. Six, on the other hand, had to attend the party as if he wanted to partake in business.

You didn't know what he would be dressed in or how you would be able to pick him out. All you knew was that you would have to rely on your instincts and the few words of description Carmichael gave you.

"Repeat, I've got eyes on the target. Six, do you copy?" There was more of a bite to your words this time, a little bit of your nerves peeking through your composure.

Despite having been a part of hundreds of missions, not knowing anything about the man you were supposed to trust to get you out of there was unnerving.

A few seconds go by before you hear his voice slide in through your earpiece. "I heard you the first time, sweetheart," it's deep and ever so slightly, rough. A wave of butterflies tickles your insides at the slight drawl to his voice, as well as the pet name, but you push them away as you try to regain your focus.

At the time, you didn't know he was actually talking to a woman at the party trying to get his attention. Six's response acted as a defense from the Italian woman trying to get him to sleep with her, and that he heard your voice over the coms.

But not realizing this, frustration was starting to well up in your throat, "Well if you heard me, answer. We only have 7 minutes to get out of here once you eliminate the target."

Again, it's quiet over the line until you hear the baritone voice again, "This isn't going to work unless you let me do my damn job."

This time, the anger started to surge red-hot. You knew he was good at his job, he had never failed a job in all of his years at the CIA, but this? He was already a pain in the ass.

You open your mouth to retaliate, but another voice cuts in, "Knock it off, you two. We put you two together because you are both the best at what you do. Play nice and you'll have your 7 minutes in heaven."

Carmichael, you think to yourself as you take a steadying deep breath. Neither you nor Six reply as the banker moves away from the house and out onto the open deck.

"The target is approaching a woman in a black dress," you inform as your eye narrows in through the scope of your gun, "There are only four people outside other than those two."

Six's voice comes quicker than you expected, "Copy that. I've made it to my position." His dialogue is short and overly direct, and you can't help but let your mind wander.

Is this how Six behaves normally? Is he always a man of such clipped words, or is it because I'm here? Does he not like the idea of having a partner?

A snap in the woods behind you makes you pull back from your scope, your eyes flitting from tree to tree, brush to brush. You don't see any large movement, no one trying to sneak up on you.

Instead, you are met with a small blue-rock thrush sitting above you, chittering its song out into the world. A deep sigh falls through your nose as you try to relax your tense muscles at the small animal.

The whole job had you on edge, but seeing the small blue-feathered bird flutter about its day was helping to ease your nerves when your partner seemed to be the one causing them.

Back at the house, Six was positioned in the gazebo, his gun tucked into the waistband of his light blue suit. The woman berating him had finally gone inside, leaving him alone.

Although you didn't have eyes on him, you knew where he was supposed to be. So you let your (colored) gaze return to your gun, a shaky breath escaping you as you aim the firearm back toward the house.

You could see the banker and the woman in the black dress moving closer to the top pool. The man leaned in close to the woman and whispered something into her ear. She turned away with a wide smile and rushed into the house.

"The woman in the black dress is headed back into the house, coast is clear once she passes you," you murmur into the com. A moment later, you see movement to the left of the banker. A man wearing a light blue suit appears from the gazebo, sunglasses covering his gaze.

The first thing you immediately notice is the dark goatee on the man's face. Another rush of nerves fills your stomach as you take in the angle of his jaw, and the curl of his dirty blonde hair on his forehead.

And the gun he was revealing in his hand.

Carmichael's voice cuts in, "Light it up Six, we need to get you out of there." Walking with an already brisk stride, the man in the light blue suit, evidently Six, masterfully gets behind the man, raises his arm with the gun, and lines up his shot.

At the same time, you train your rifle on the target's head, using your peripheral vision to keep an eye out for anyone who isn't supposed to be there.

You don't hear the shot ring out, and you have to assume Six is using a gun with a silencer. The banker didn't stand a chance against Six's deadly aim, slowly falling forward before crashing into the pool.

You see Six immediately take a step back into the gazebo while wiping his fingerprints from the gun, throwing the weapon into the pool after the target.

"Target eliminated," Six's voice comes out gravelly. Carmichael cuts in, "Your 7 minutes have started, get out of there, Six."

The Sierra agent doesn't reply to Carmichael, and you pull back from your gun with a huff leaving your lips. It's go time, you think to yourself as you efficiently collapse the gun stand your rifle was sat on, gloved fingers working with an ever-so-slight shake.

You glance down at your watch as you finalize your belongings, the 7-minute timer on your wrist now counting down. Your eyes widen as you watch the digits rapidly decline and you say, "Six, we're down to 5 and a half minutes. Are you out of the house yet?"

There is no reply.

You curse under your breath as you look back at the house, debating on what to do. You sling the firearm over your shoulder, making sure nothing is left behind from your cover.

You force yourself to take a deep breath as you start to pick your way toward the escape vehicle, aiming for the other side of the woods where you had stashed it. You try the com again, "Six, where are you?"

Again, silence. This time, your internal fears are rapidly echoed by Carmichael's voice, "Six, get out of there now. You only have 4 minutes left before your cover will be blown."

You make it to the black get-away car after another minute of hustling through the thick Croatian forest, ungracefully throwing your rifle into the back seat. You debate getting into the driver's seat and pulling up to the house, but you know that might only make things worse.

After another few seconds of nothing in your ear, you slam the rear driver's side door shut before a grunt crackles through the com. You hear a low moan of "shit" followed by a couple of deep pants.

"Six, we need to go, now!" you harshly whisper through the com, your head on a swivel to make sure no one from the road can see you. This time, you get an answer.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," Six hisses out. Another curse falls from your lips, and you rip open the door you had just shut, grabbing the rifle you threw down. Just as you start to make your way toward the house, you see a flash of light blue and white.

Six is running toward you, his light blue blazer and sunglasses seemingly missing. It's left him in a fitted white t-shirt, his matching light blue suit pants, brown Redwings, and a watch adorning his left wrist.

"What the hell happened?!" you rush out in anger as he approaches the car, chest heaving and sweat making his tanned skin shine. Six doesn't answer, moving toward the driver's side as he orders, "Get in, we gotta go."

You stare at him in disbelief as you repeat, "We gotta go? You are the one who took forever to get out of here. We might get caught because of you!"

Six stops at the driver's side door, throwing over his shoulder, "Yet you're the one standing outside of the car."

A groan of frustration rips its way out of your throat, and you open and close the rear door for a third time to slam the rifle down. You don't wait to hear if Six has a smart remark, instead, you clamber into the passenger seat and shut your door.

"Is that gun loaded?" Six asks you as he starts the car, not taking his eyes off of the dash as he takes the car out of park. You stare at him incredulously as you remark, "Yes, it is. I thought I was going to have to go in there and save your ass."

Six immediately hits the brakes on the car, causing you to lurch forward. You catch yourself with your hands at the last second, an angry gasp escaping you.

"What the hell, Six?!" you yell as you turn to face the agent for the first time. Now, you can get a good look at him.

His hair is a deep, sandy blonde. The strands seemed to have once been slicked back, but have fallen out of place from the... events of the job.

Next, you see the tan of his skin and the shine of sweat beading down his forehead from both exertion and the heat of the Mediterranean sun. You are instinctively drawn to the dark facial hair surrounding his mouth, and you can't help but think it makes him look tough.

His lips are parted to catch his breath and are a pleasant pink color. Only then do you realize his mouth is moving and is saying words to you. It draws your gaze up to meet his eyes.

Those eyes... such an intense, stormy blue. Sharp and deadly at first glance. Hypnotizing and mysterious the longer you maintain eye contact.

Damnit, he was attractive.

"What?" you state at him, trying to shake the haze from your first view of the Sierra agent from your mind. Six wipes at his face with his free hand, his left hand resting on the steering wheel.

"You don't throw a loaded gun, everyone knows that!" he hisses out as he turns to face the dash again. He is about to say something else, but Carmichael's voice cuts in.

"I said to play nice. Six, get the two of you out of there."

You clench your jaw down to avoid saying anything else, not wanting to get reprimanded for trying to do your job. Six must have thought something similar and moves to shift the car out of park again and begins driving the two of you away from the house.

It's tense in the car, and no one says anything. You have to build some courage up to sneak a glance at Six, who is staring straight ahead, eyes trained on the road in front of you.

This was going to be one hell of a partnership.

---

After the initial tension between you and Six, the two of you slowly developed a working relationship. You eventually realized that you could trust the Sierra agent, even if he was a smartass at times. He was the best, and despite being a man of few words, he was good at what he did.

For Six, his trust wasn't something you earned right away. You worked as his long-range attack partner for countless missions over the last three years, and you still didn't know if you fully had his trust.

You had to believe he had some solid belief in your ability as a marksman. On one mission about six months after your initial meeting, he watched three men stop and fall in their tracks before he had to intercept them, a bullet lodged in each of their chests. He had paused and tilted his head like it may have impressed him.

Now, three years into being partners, a new threat appeared that you and Six were assigned to. One that required you to be one step behind Six and fight hand-to-hand as needed.

It's not that you weren't capable of close-range attacks. You practiced all types of moves and attacks, but you were exceptional when slightly removed from the throes of action with a long-distance rifle.

Now here you were, just a few strides behind Six, the slate-tiled floor beneath you doing a good job of concealing your nervous footsteps.

The tall man in front of you could tell you were uneasy. He could feel a heavy tension lacing the air, more than he was used to. It took every minute of his training to keep his own thoughts at bay at focus on the mission.

The two of you were in the field for a stealth-type mission rather than just a hit-and-run. The plan was to stick to the shadows in tactical gear, rather than blend into the crowd with the sharp suits Six was accustomed to. It was one of the only parts of the mission that you felt fully at ease, donning your usual gear and weapons.

Six's broad figure pausing in front of you rips your attention back to the present. The hallway the two of you were sleuthing down had come to a T junction. You can see Six's head swivel left, then right.

You come to a pause just a pace behind him, and you adjust your grip on your rifle. He rotates his body quietly so his back is toward the wall and so that he can semi-face you.

"I'll go to the left to start toward the target. The right side has one door at the end of the hall, make sure there is no one in the stairwell waiting to ambush us," his voice comes as a low murmur. His gloved hands were loading his gun, his choice a Heckler & Koch USP pistol.

You give him a nod and whisper back, "On you." Six just gives you a silent glance that confirms your words. With his pistol drawn and loaded, Six moves.

You've always been in awe at how such a muscular man could move with such grace, but Six managed to pull it off with ease. As his figure disappears around the corner to the left, you drop in position to cover his back.

Your footsteps have grown more unnerved now that you are on your own. In the back of your mind, you know that Six is behind you, headed in the opposite direction. But now? You were making the calls for yourself.

You force yourself to take a deep breath through your nose, slowly exhaling through your mouth. You bring your pistol into a firing position, the 4th Gen Glock 17 pressed tightly into the palm of your right hand.

There are no doors on either wall in the right-wing you begin to traverse down. There is just a large, tan-colored door at the end of the hallway with a small pane of glass. Red letters spelling "Emergency Stairwell" are printed just below the small window.

As far as you can tell, there are no lights on in the stairwell. You force yourself to pick up your slightly sluggish pace to get this part of the mission over with. You stick to the right wall as you approach the door, your eyes trained on the glass in an attempt to spot any figures hiding on the shadowy stairs.

You don't spot anything as you peer through the glass, no movement, no people. Your gloved fingers try the door handle next, but it is locked. A sigh of defeat slides through your nose, and you pull your arms back to your chest, the pistol pointed toward the ceiling.

As you turn your head back to the direction you came, you are met with an empty hallway. No Six. You can see the endless array of doors, knowing that Six could have easily slipped through any of them as he chased down the target.

You don't hear anything from your com, and you quietly say, "Nothing at the door. Heading to you, Six." You begin to move away from the tan-colored door, footsteps gaining confidence as your mind finally clicks into work mode.

You only make it a few steps before you hear it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Then a beat of silence.

As you turn back to the door, a loud blast rings out. The door is blown off of its hinges and the explosion from the stairwell sends you flying.

The air is ripped from your lungs as you are thrown into the wall you were following before you land unceremoniously on your back. Your mouth falls open in shock as your nerve endings fire pain signals over and over again.

It starts with your chest aching at the way your lungs are fighting for air, the impact with the wall, and then the ground leaving you breathless. From the stress of it all, your heart is beating erratically, slamming against your ribcage uncomfortably.

Then, the pain travels upward to your throat, where it is burning from the lack of oxygen and the smoke now filling the hallway. A dull throb begins to radiate from the back of your head where you know it slammed into the ground.

You can barely make out the sting of a cut on your cheek, too concentrated on the way your hips and legs shake to add to the overwhelming sensation of pain.

In the midst of your agony, you slowly start to realize the world is too quiet. You can only hear blood roaring in your ears, but not the debris falling from the ceiling where it had been torn open. You can't hear footsteps you know are bound to be heading toward you.

You can't hear anything.

The weight of your realization terrifies you. The pressure in your chest from lack of air terrifies you. The whole mission terrified you.

You can feel panic start to set in as your lungs burn due to the lack of oxygen in your body. I can't breathe. I can't hear. I'm alone. I'm going to die here. Alarm bells are going off everywhere in your body and before you know it, your body forces a gasp out of your throat followed by a shuddery deep breath.

The sudden rush of oxygen makes your throat feel raw and sore, but this time it's more manageable. You blink wearily as dust and smoke start to curl around your body, the air is thick and you can't see much.

As you start to come to your senses, a coughing fit forces you onto your side, your body screaming at you not to move. The force of your coughs makes you dizzy, your head spinning and your vision blurry as you try to make out your position.

You can tell there is a gaping hole to your right where the door used to be, but you can't make out any figures or people moving toward you. Tears start to build up in the corner of your eyes, blurring your already worsening vision.

You swing your head to the left, a sharp pain stabbing at the back of your head from the sudden movement. "Shit!" you hiss out, your now empty right hand reaching behind your head to your hair, shaky gloved hands revealing a dark red liquid oozing onto the black material.

"That's not good," you slur out, your balance wobbling as you shift to get up. Your vision once again tries to focus on the left wing of the hallway, where through the smoke and dust, you start to see movement.

Despite being fairly disoriented, the movement causes your heart to skip a beat and your stomach to drop. You try to stop moving and remain as still as possible as the figure gets closer.

You still can't hear anything, so if the figure says something, you can't tell. Your heart's rhythm begins speeding up as the person continues to get closer, but eventually, you can start to pick out defining pieces of the person.

Tall. Muscular. Bit of facial hair.

"Six!" you try to cry out, your mind willing your voice to work even though you can't tell if sound is coming out. The cry catches and breaks in your throat, only managing to come out as a garbled whisper to the outside listener.

At the faint sound, the figure instantly stops moving. A second passes and you try to repeat, "Six, over here..." but your voice gives out and comes out as an indistinct whimper.

The figure, now identified as Six, catches sight of your limp body sprawled on the ground. "Oh, shit," he states, but you can only see his lips moving as he rapidly approaches you.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his blue gaze flickering over your dirty and bloodied body as he stops next to you. You just stare up at him, watching the dirty blonde through a glazed view as he takes note of your visible injuries.

There's a cut on your cheek, a deep gash on your arm, and some other small scrapes on your exposed skin. It makes his blood boil and he wants to kill whoever did this, but he knows he has to shift priorities.

"Y/n, are you alright?" he repeats, this time kneeling down to get closer to you, his eyes trained on your face. Again, you watch as his lips move soundlessly and the usually stoic look on his face shifts to concern.

You open your mouth to respond, one of Six's large palms coming up to grasp you on the shoulder, and you cry out at his touch. Pain shoots through your body and your eyes snap shut.

This time, the cry comes out more clearly, and you don't hear Six ask you where it hurts. Only when he gently lifts your jaw with one of his hands do you open your pained (colored) eyes.

"Where. Does. It. Hurt?" he asks slowly, each word coming out methodically and calmly to try to minimize your panic. You watch his lips move, and the tears that had gathered at the edge of your vision begin to slide down your cheek as you stutter, "I- I can't h-hear you."

The words are slightly off-tone and garbled as they reach Six's ears, and his eyes widen ever-so-slightly in realization. He gently releases your jaw and looks down for a second, his hand coming up to his ear as he says over the coms, "Aborting mission. L/n is out of commission and I can't get in there without her."

You then realize your com has been knocked out of your ear and is somewhere in the rubble surrounding you. Not that it would help you now. Six drops his hand from his head and regains eye contact with you, blue eyes stormy with an unreadable emotion.

He reaches down and grabs your empty hand before placing it on his chest. Six ensures you are looking at him as he mouths, "Trust me." You do your best to read his lips, and you feel a small flutter of relief as his words click in your head, and you give him a pained nod.

Six pulls your hand from his chest and wraps it around his neck and shoulders, and you do your best to help him situate you. The quick movement makes you dizzy and your vision gets black spots as Six adjusts you so he can haul you to your feet.

Your arm tightens around his neck and your other hand grabs onto a piece of his bulletproof vest in an attempt to steady yourself. Six murmurs in your ear, "I gotcha, I gotcha," but you are none the wiser.

Carefully and methodically, Six maneuvers you so that he can have his gun drawn in his right hand and his left hand wrapped around your waist. He holds you flush to his side as your right arm wraps around his torso as firmly as you can.

Without dawdling, Six begins to guide you down the hallway you initially came from, his whole body on edge as he tries to get the two of you out of the hellhole you found yourselves in. Thankfully, it seems as though the building has been vacated or never had many people inside to begin with.

He helps you down the few flights of stairs painstakingly slow before you reach ground level, your chest heaving and limbs trying to give out. The two of you approach an exit door that leads out of the building, and a little wave of relief washes over you at the thought of getting out.

As he starts to peer out the door in search of a get-away car, a quiet ringing sounds out in your ears. You try to focus, but the ringing sound grows louder and louder, worsening your pre-existing headache. You close your eyes in an attempt to will it away, but nothing happens.

Six's grip tightening on your waist grounds you, but does little to ebb the pain building in your skull. He tugs you to try to get you to move, but when you don't budge, he knows something is wrong.

He gently pushes a piece of hair out of your eyes, the touch making you shiver and loosen some of the tension building in your face. It makes your eyes flutter open and you see that stormy emotion in his eyes again as your gaze meets his.

"Jump," he mouths and points up, moving to stand in front of you, parting your legs with his boot. You balance yourself on his broad shoulder, your left arm throbbing where the blood is gathering down your arm.

You do your best to jump and wrap your legs around his waist, but Six's hands are right there to guide and shift you as he wraps his arm around your back. He once again draws his gun, and in a fluid movement, pushes through the door and takes off toward a car he spotted near the end of the building.

You know he's trying to be as careful as he can, but each time his feet hit the ground your body is wracked with pain. You can't stop the whimpers you know that fall from your lips, but you try your best to bury them in the junction of Six's neck and shoulder.

The Sierra agent hears every single one, and he internally curses at how poorly the mission has gone. He stumbles to a stop on the passenger side of the random car, placing his gun on the roof while he pries the door open and gently urges you inside.

Once he sees you're safely inside, he grabs the gun, shuts the door, and jogs around to the driver's side. He slides in, setting his gun in the center console, starting the car as he closes his door with a huff.

Through your pain and bleary vision, you can't see any injuries on Six, thankfully. If anything, you think he looks annoyed as he pulls the car away from the building and the failed mission.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to focus on stopping the pain from radiating all over your body. You know the adrenaline that had been coursing through your body is wearing off, making the pain much more real.

Beside you, Six's left hand is clamped down on the steering wheel, his fingers pale from the strength he was emitting from his grip. His right hand sat in his lap, balled into a fist that you interpreted as an anger response.

To Six, his hand twitched with the want to grab your thigh, cup your cheek, to ask if you were okay. He knew you weren't bleeding out, you wouldn't have made it this far if you were. But he could tell you weren't comfortable, and he didn't want to bother you until he came up with a game plan to get you somewhere safe.

Carmichael's voice in his earpiece was another annoyance he was done dealing with, so he pulled the small black com out and threw it out the window. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

---

Six was driving as far as he could get with the stolen vehicle. The sky was darkening, the heat of the day lowering to a twinkling, cooler sunset. Tones of orange and pink washed over the dash of the car, drawing his eyes to where you were fitfully resting.

You had fallen asleep about an hour into the drive, initially making Six concerned. But, the blonde-haired man could tell you were still alive by the shaky breaths every couple of seconds.

Despite being covered in dried blood and debris, the rays of the sun made you glow in a way he could have never imagined. Similar to how you had initially thought Six was attractive, he had similar opinions about you.

He could picture you yelling at him on that first mission in Croatia, furious he was late. At the time, he thought you were a pain in the ass, but somehow cute when you were mad. But now, with you toying with death in the glow of the dying sun, you had never been more beautiful.

Locks of (colored) hair were warmed by the orange hues refracted through the car's windshield. Pink tones crept along the edges of your features, softening the hardened and pained look on your resting face.

The car hit a small bump and you shifted, Six's attention snapping back to the road for a second to ensure he wasn't going to run off the side of the highway. Then, he peers over at you, gauging the look on your face. It had contorted in pain, and then your eyes fluttered open.

You had to blink against the harsh light of the sunset, and as you come to your senses, you realize that the ringing in your ears has faded into the rumbling of the car's engine.

Your head wobbly turns to look at Six, who has a pensive but blank expression on his face as he drives. His grip has relaxed on the steering wheel, and he again glances over at you as you start to sit up.

You wince at the tugging in your arm, a gasp falling from your lips. Your reaction is cut off when you hear Six's voice rumble lowly, "Easy there." You turn to look at him, surprise on your face as you ask, "W-what did you say?"

Six glances at you again, surprise also lacing his features as he regards you, "Easy there... you feeling better?" A smile tugs its way onto your lips as the sound of his baritone voice fills your ears. Your headache seems to have dulled with the nap too, and you reply stiffly, "Y-yeah, I think so."

The agent stays quiet for a few moments, his gaze focused on the road as it shifts from a highway to a thin road, a town coming into view. A small, family-styled store appears on the side of the road, and Six murmurs, "Hold on, I'm going to get some stuff."

He pulls the car into the parking lot with an easy, nonchalant look. The car rolls to a stop and the rumble of the engine cuts out as you manage to sit the whole way up. Six turns to face you, his eyes stormy looking again.

Without saying a word, he changes his focus to the center console and pops it open, digging for any loose money. He reaches down into a small cubby within the center console, his fingers fiddling around for a second before they reappear with a wad of cash.

Six nods toward the store as he unbuckles his bulletproof vest and removes his weapons, "I'll be right back." He quickly throws his gear into the back seat, and you give him a nod of confirmation you don't know if he sees. You choose to settle back down into your seat as you watch his figure disappear into the store.

Now that you are alone and awake, you finally can assess your injuries with decent enough judgment. You flick down the sun visor, finding the small mirror you prayed would be there.

You are taken aback by your appearance. There is a thin slice across your cheek, likely from a chunk of the door flying by your head. It has left a trail of dried blood on your cheek, as well as dirt and grime over your other features.

There are some other small scrapes on the edges of your face, but thankfully nothing major. Your gaze flicks down to your torso and arms next, glad to see that your bulletproof vest kept your vital organs safe. You also note that your chest and stomach have stopped hurting from the lack of air, which you are grateful for.

Must have just been because I got slammed against the wall and ground, you think to yourself. Your left arm is then brought to your attention as the dull throb comes back to life. You see the gash that led to blood pouring down your arm, and you grimace. While the gash hurt, the pain was dulled compared to when it first was injured.

No, there was something else that hurt on your left side.

Pulling back the part of your bulletproof vest that was closest to your shoulder, you felt a surge of pain. You could feel a rush of warmth from your shoulder seeping down your chest, and your mouth parts as a pained gasp erupts from you.

Your fingers instantly release your vest, the pressure from the vest helping to stop the bleeding. Shit. Shit. Shit. How do I tell Six? You flip the sun visor of the car back up, and as you pull your hand back to sit on your lap, fresh, bloody fingerprints smeared on the tan interior.

You don't get any time to think as you see Six returning with bags of supplies. He sets them in the rear seats alongside his gear and then joins you in the front of the car, starting the engine without a word.

You watch him carefully and silently, your heart skipping a beat as you watch him swallow thickly. His Adam's apple bobs before he coughs lightly to clear his throat, and he turns to look at you.

"There's a small bed and breakfast just down the road from here," he states blankly. You let out a shaky breath and reply simply, "Okay." Six turns back to the wheel, backing the car out slowly and guiding it onto the road.

It's silent in the car, this time uncomfortably so. There was a shift in the air from where he had seemed so concerned about you, to this reserved, business-type attitude.

It reminded you of when you were first partnered with him, and it made a lump well up at the back of your throat. He hates me now. I've finally failed him after all this time. He thinks I'm a terrible partner and that I've blown his reputation. Fuck!

You try to fight the tears burning at the corners of your vision, but you can't help the few that slide down your cheeks. You hastily go to wipe them away, momentarily forgetting about the cut on your cheek.

A hiss slides past your lips as you rub over the cut, your fingers now slick with tears and dried blood. Six instantly looks over at you, a flash of concern on his face before it returns to stoicism.

"We're almost there," is all he says. His words are enough for now, even though you know they aren't very comforting. Seconds feel like hours until you pull into the parking lot of the cabin-style bed and breakfast hotel Six had mentioned.

The building is old, you can tell. The wooden beams are huge and solid, a historic grace about the building. You can see the cute porch with rocking chairs to view the road, and hanging just above them is a small sign.

H&H's Bed and Breakfast Lodging.

Your (colored) eyes are locked onto the sign when Six once again brings the car to a stop before cutting the engine. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment before you both start speaking at the same time.

"We have to figure out how to get you in-" "I don't think I can take my vest-"

Six continues staring over the dash of the car, mulling over ideas and the words he heard you speak. To you, he looks mad. You had rarely seen Six angry, and it wasn't something you needed right now.

The blonde-haired man finally looks over at you, and he can tell you are scared. There you are, covered in your own blood and tears, running from what was probably the worst day of your life, putting all of your trust in him.

Trust me.

Those words ring loud in Six's head, and he takes a deep breath, sighing through his nose. He unclenches his jaw, relaxing his body to hopefully put you at a little more ease.

He watches your body unlock just a notch, and he knows he's made the right decision. He clears his throat before murmuring, "We need to get you inside. I got some stuff for us."

Six reaches into the back seat to grab the two bags of items he had gotten. He rummages around for a second before pulling out a large sweatshirt that looks like it was probably meant for him.

His azure gaze meets your own, and he offers it to you, "We'll get you cleaned up inside." The words come out a little harsher and more blunt than he intended, but you can see the meaning behind his eyes.

We need to get where no one can see us before we deal with this.

You give him a silent nod, taking the dark gray sweatshirt from his hands. You slide it on with great difficulty over your bulky gear, your arms aching and body sore, but the bagginess of the material hides your weaponry and wounds fairly well.

Six reaches over to you, slowly. His body cages yours momentarily, making your breath catch in your throat. You look up at him, (colored) eyes wide as he pushes that stubborn piece of hair out of your face.

Then, he tugs up the hood on the sweatshirt, situating it so the material covers the cut on your cheek. He leans away and nods toward the building, "Shall we?"

You feel like you can breathe again once he is out of your personal space, but you can't stop the butterflies that bloom in your belly at the gentleness of his touch. You don't bother giving him an answer, instead opting to turn toward your door and open it to cover the flush you sure was covering your face.

You have to bite your lip to keep any groans of pain from pushing through, and you look out across the parking lot to see the sun has sunk below the horizon. The sky is now painted in a blueish-purple, and the stars are peeking through.

You hear Six close the driver's side door, and you turn to face him. You see he has the bags he had gotten in his left hand, and he beckons you over to him with his right.

Clad in a tight black t-shirt and black tactical pants, your throat catches as you walk up to Six. His hair is messily covering his forehead, and you can see a tiredness on his features. Despite the massive failure of today, you can't help but think Six looks good.

You stop in front of him, and you see a small tug of a smile pull at the corner of his pretty mouth before he says, "Okay, I will get our room, you try not to look suspicious. Just follow my lead."

You let a small smile of your own slide onto your lips at seeing the Six you knew start to come back out. You mumble back, "Sounds good."

Before you can register it, Six has tucked you under his right arm, the hood of the sweatshirt falling down into your eyes. You can't really see where you are going, but the feeling of Six pressed up against you is reassuring.

Six guides you slowly through the front doors, passing the intricate wooden rocking chairs to the reception desk. An older lady is waiting and she gives the two of you a warm smile and asks, "What can I do for the two of you?"

Six gives the woman a polite, tight-lipped smile as he replies, "Just a room for the evening, please." The elderly woman gives him a knowing grin and gushes, "Looks like your wife has had a rough day. Let me see what I can get you two that's comfortable!"

Before Six can correct her, the woman has disappeared into the back, likely to get you a key. In her absence, you sneak a peak up at Six. His jaw is clenched down, and there is a slight pink tint running across his cheeks and down the curve of his throat.

You can sense Six shift uncomfortably, the locks of dirty blonde hair falling into his face, adding to his rugged look. You can't bring yourself to tear your eyes away, and he notices you looking up at him.

Six swears his heart jumps to his throat the way you are gazing at him. (Colored) eyes glossed over, lost in some world he can't imagine. There is an intensity there that ruffles him and makes him uneasy. You casually reach up to his face with your right arm, brushing some of the stray hairs off of his forehead with a gentle touch.

Six goes to say something as you pull your hand away, but the two of you are interrupted when the woman returns. The woman, Hilda, her name tag reads, hands Six a room key with a gentle smile.

You tuck your head into Six's right side, your right hand coming up to rest on his pec as you avoid the woman's gaze. You feel the agent tense underneath you before softening, his right hand holding the key coming up to wrap around your waist.

His grip is secure and very, very comforting. You let yourself get lost in the feeling for a second before you hear him murmur down to you, "Darling, could you hold the bags so I can pay?"

Your heart lurches at the pet name, another wave of butterflies swarming your stomach. You just give him a quick "mhm", your fingers sliding down his chest to grab the two bags from his left hand.

They aren't too heavy, but just enough to make your injuries ache. You bite down on your tongue to keep a strangled sound from escaping your mouth, and Six quickly fishes out the remaining chunk of cash to hand to the woman.

She quietly takes the payment and chirps, "There is free hot chocolate in the kitchen. Your room is on the second floor and there is an elevator outside the drink area. Enjoy your stay!"

Six thanks the woman and tugs on your waist with a sweet, "C'mon honey." He effortlessly takes the bags back from you, allowing you to use him as a walking stick to get to the elevator. Your knees were weak from the sudden onset of pet names, but you would blame it on the exhaustion of the day.

Six was warm against you, something that you were unconsciously drawn to. As he pressed the button for the elevator, you leaned into him. If Six cared, he didn't show it. Knowing that Hilda was still watching, Six leaned down and murmured to you, "I'm gonna kiss you on the head. She's watching."

You tense up against him, butterflies jumping from low in your belly to welling up in your throat. Six almost doesn't follow through at the way your body runs rigid, but then you shift against him and position the top of your head toward him.

A smile breaks across Six's face, a genuine one at how much you trust him. A moment later, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, which was still covered by the hood of the sweatshirt Six had gotten.

The feeling of his lips furthered the dizziness in your head, but the elevator doors opened and you had no choice but to stumble in. Six was right there to steady you, his hand tightening on your waist as he pushed the button to the second floor once situated in the elevator.

As the door to the elevator began to close, he could see Hilda watching them, a look of nostalgia on her face. She gives him a quick wink, and then the door slides shut.

You expect Six to release you now that you are protected from view within the elevator, but his grip remains the exact same. You open your mouth to let him know it's okay to let you go, but you remember how you stumbled and think better of it.

A few seconds later the elevator lurches to a stop, and Six glances down at you and motions with his head toward the hallway. He helps you walk, sort of, as you make your way to the designated room.

You're still unsteady, but better than before, so as you get to your room, you very slowly slip out of Six's grasp. You don't see the flash of emotion that resembles hurt on his face, but he instead fiddles with the key, sliding it into the lock and opening the door.

"Ladies first", he motions, pocketing the key and adjusting his grip on the bags. You grip the wall to help you in, and Six is close behind, silently ushering you forward so he can get the door closed and locked.

As you stumble through the small hallway, your eyes are drawn to the middle of the room.

Oh, shit. The thought comes. You can't even bring the words to form in your mouth and then Six appears behind you, curious as to why you stopped moving.

"Oh, shit," he voices. Six is standing behind you, but towering over the top of your head, it's plain as day.

There's only one bed.

Six sighs and mumbles something under his breath, and you shuffle to face him, embarrassment evident on your face. You motion toward the corner of the room where an uncomfortable-looking chair sits and stammer, "I- uhm, I can, I'll sleep in the chair."

The agent's gaze flits between you, the chair, and the bed before returning back to you. He says nothing but raises an eyebrow.

Six slips around you and heads straight for the bed with the bags. A pang runs through you at the thought that Six doesn't try to fight for you to take the bed, but then you watch as he dumps the contents of the bags onto the quilt overlay, and your eyes drink in the stuff that he bought. You can catch sight of more clothes, some medical supplies, and... snacks?

While he starts to organize the supplies, you start to pull on the sleeves of the sweatshirt you had put on in the car. You struggle to get your left arm out without screaming in pain, biting your lip to the point you can almost taste blood.

Your right arm was much easier, and then all you had to do was pull it up over your head. Your right arm bent easily to start pulling the fabric over your head, but the angle of your left arm made you yelp as you felt a rush of warmth and pain in your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the hoodie was pulled over your head, leaving you sightless, stuck, and in pain. Six turns around at the sound and has to stifle a laugh at how ridiculous you look, but then he remembers the little noise you let out in discomfort.

"Y/n," he mumbles with a small smirk that you can't see, "How did you get this stuck?" He watches your body slump with defeat and then your strained voice, "Can you please just help me get out?"

Six bites his tongue and replies smugly, "Yes ma'am," his digits easing the material over your head, leaving your hair disheveled and the rest of you generally unkempt. A deep groan falls from your lips as your tactical vest shifts over your hidden wound and Six pauses, his brows narrowing at your evident discomfort.

He had noted the cut on your left arm that had been leaking blood before, that was one he knew he needed to stitch up. But that injury wasn't the cause of that groan.

Then, his eyes spot the dark, wet material just a few inches above the cut. Fresh blood. His gaze widens as he looks back to the pained expression on your face.

Six throws the hoodie onto the bed before stalking over to you and growling out, "What the hell is that?" With his words, he points to the edge of your vest where the fresh blood is appearing.

You pant as you look up at him, eyes half-lidded as you snarl through gritted teeth, "It's nothing." Six looks at you in disbelief before responding, "It's obviously not nothing, you're starting to bleed out."

Six doesn't give you time to respond, one arm scooping under your legs and the other resting under your back as he picks you up bridal style. You hiss in pain at his movement, but he maneuvers quickly as he carries you into the bathroom.

It's a rather spacious bathroom for such an old building, and Six sets you on the counter so your feet are dangling and you can lean against the wall for support.

Six pauses as he flicks on the light, his blue gaze adjusting to the brightness after a second. He immediately clocks that your wound is leaking fresh blood and that it needs to be closed now.

He leaves you for a second, going back to the bed to grab the medical supplies he had bought before returning to you. Six sets the supplies down on the opposite side of the sink and returns his stormy eyes back to your slumped figure.

"May I touch you? You need patched up," Six asks lowly, his hands hovering on the outside of your legs. You give him a nod, but that's not enough for Six.

"I gotta hear you say it. Once I start, you're gonna wanna hate me," he urges. You try to focus your eyes on him, and you can see the restraint Six is using to hold himself back. He so desperately wants to help you, to fix your torn skin. But he is waiting for your confirmation.

You nodded your head again and whimpered, "Please help me, Six..." At your words, Six's hands gently part your legs at the knee so he can stand between them. His proximity makes your heart race for the umpteenth time today, your breath catching in your throat.

His large hands start to reach for the buckles on your vest, but your fingers reach out and grab his wrist to stop them. Six halts at your movement, his eyes slowly traveling to meet your own.

The agent again sees that look on your face. The fear etched into your features. It cracks at his heart again, and he simply murmurs, "Trust me."

You let go of his wrist and close your eyes in anticipation. Six's digits work efficiently as they unclasp the buckles of your tactical vest, pulling it off and throwing it in the corner of the bathroom.

The black t-shirt you are wearing doesn't help hide the wet patch of blood oozing from your shoulder, and the cause of the wound.

A piece of metal debris an inch or two long is lodged in the meat of your shoulder. Another whimper rips out of your throat as Six finally gets his eyes on what has been causing you so much pain.

He swallows thickly as he turns to his supplies, grabbing a pair of forceps and gauze. Six prompts you, "Hold tight, this is going to hurt." At the end of his words, he grabs the shrapnel with the forceps and pulls it out at what seems to be an agonizing pace.

Your body writhes in pain as he clamps gauze over the wound, fresh blood staining the white material a deep red. Tears well in your eyes and begin streaming down your face, your hands reaching to clutch onto anything to stabilize you.

Your left hand weakly grips the edge of the counter, but your right one finds its place on Six's bicep. Your fingers dig into the large muscle there, holding on for dear life as you go through waves of pain.

"S-Sorry," you sob out as Six holds pressure on your shoulder. He smiles lightly at your sweet apology and he replies easily, "Don't worry about it, darling." His words distract you just enough to form a thought that's not focused on your pain.

I'm not sure if he meant to let the pet name slip out... We aren't in front of Hilda anymore.

Six uses your distracted look as a chance to cut through the material of your shirt with a pair of medical scissors. He only cuts through the left sleeve and a little further past where the wound is to give him access to it.

Once your shirt is out of his way, he readies the needle and suture thread before ripping open a packet of alcohol wipes. The blonde-haired man continues to hold pressure on your shoulder and lets the other hand rub on your thigh just above your knee.

"This is going to sting like a bitch," he reminds as he holds up the alcohol wipe. You nod and preemptively grab a hold of his bicep again, bracing yourself for the biting pain.

Nothing could have prepared you for the utter burn the alcohol wipe sends through your body. It takes everything in you to not scream at the top of your lungs, and your fingers dig so far into Six's arm that you're sure you are ripping his flesh.

Six holds steady, though, and continues to clean your wound as you wriggle and writhe under his touch. He feels terrible inflicting pain on you, but he knows you need these wounds cleaned and closed.

"You're doing great, honey," he vocalizes as he leans over to grab the suture. When he looks up to your face, he's almost taken aback at the intensity there.

Your face is grimy, bloody, and wet. There are tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing and pooling with the dried blood, dripping down your chin. But your eyes? They seem to stare right at the core of him. They see right through his tough exterior, right through all of his training.

They are seeing the gentle touches, the firm embraces. They are seeing the protector he so desperately wants to be. You are seeing Sierra Six as a man, and not just a weapon.

Six's breath catches in his throat at the thought and has to look away from the heat of your gaze. He turns his attention back to your wound and mumbles, "Time to sow this up."

You sit still at his words, waiting for the tug of a needle through your skin. A split second later, you feel the first bite. You clench your jaw down tight, a moan grumbling up from deep in your chest.

Six does his best to work quickly as he pulls the needle and suture through your skin, row after row after row. Eventually, you feel him tie the knot off as exhaustion starts to creep over the edges of your body.

Your body is starting to slump against the wall rather than brace away from it, and your eyes are beginning to burn from crying and from the debris from the carnage. You know you will pass out the second your head lays to rest.

"Stay with me," Six murmurs lowly, "We got a lot more to fix up." Six moves to work on the cut on your arm next, going through the same methodic steps as he did for your shoulder. It still hurts like a bitch, but the exhaustion helps dull it.

Six finishes tying off that suture and then pauses, setting the medical supplies back on the counter. He makes eye contact with you, his gaze softer than expected as he rests his hands on his hips.

"Let me see the back of your head, then you can get a shower and we'll finish packing these wounds, hm?" he poses it as a question, but you know it's a low-threat order.

You take a shaky deep breath and huff out, "Yes sir," jokingly before slowly pushing your way to the edge of the counter. You push off the edge and your feet land on the ground firmly, but your knees wobble and start to buckle.

Six is right there, catching you around your waist with ease. His large hands stabilize you, and are pleasantly warm, as he unknowingly pulls you closer to him.

"Easy there," the words sound out for the second time that day. You are a little dizzy from the sudden movement, and your head falls forward to brush your forehead against his chest.

You feel a wave of embarrassment at how weak you are from being knocked flat on your ass. Since Six turned left down that hallway, you have needed him every second.

"Sorry, I just felt a little lightheaded," you whisper, your voice hoarse from muffling groans. Six rubs one of his hands on your waist reassuringly, "Like I said, don't worry about it. I've been banged up worse than you before, it's not easy."

A comfortable moment passes but then Six pulls back, one hand releasing your waist to brush that stubborn piece of hair out of your eyes. He still has that soft expression on his face when he tells you, "I'm going to look at your head, alright?"

You give him a tight-lipped smile and shuffle 180 degrees so he can look at the back of your head. It's the first time you've seen what you've looked like since being in the car.

You're an absolute mess. Self-depreciating thoughts try to flood your mind, and you will them away with Six standing behind you. He's gently running his fingers along your scalp, looking for the source of the dried blood.

He finds it a second later, and upon closer inspection, he coughs out, "It's just a small nick. Go 'head and get cleaned up and I'll take a look again after. I'll grab you some clothes."

Six takes a slow step back, releasing his hold on you, the touch of his fingers lingering in your mind. He's only gone for a minute, returning with the clean clothes he bought at the small store in town.

You quietly thank him and hastily chuckle, "This is kind of like that time in Dubai." Six's hand comes to land on the door handle, and he pauses for a moment as the memory washes over him. A smile tugs on his lips and he replies lightly, "I gotta say this is probably worse than Dubai."

A moment of silence passes and he throws his head toward the main bedroom area and tuts, "I'll be out here. Take your time, and uh, just let me know if you need any help or anything." At that, Six clicks the door shut, the pink flush returning to his cheeks.

You watch the door close and you pause for a moment, letting the silence swarm over you. It takes a second, but you turn to face the mirror, letting the emotional weight of the day lay on your shoulders.

I should have been better today. I could have been so much better. Because of my inabilities, I almost got killed. I made Six abort a mission for the first time - ever. I am ruining the infamous Sierra Six.

You don't realize silent sobs are wracking your body until you go to pinch your brow and run your hand down your face.

You are such a failure.

The words had crept into your mind before you could stop them, and you push off the counter to try to stop the spiraling train of thought. It lingers in the back of your head, but you try to focus on turning the water to a comfortable temperature.

You unlace your boots, setting them off to the side by your bloodied tactical vest. You manage to strip out of your pants and underwear with minimal difficulty before starting on your shirt.

It's easier to shimmy out of because Six took care of the sleeve you had struggled with before. However, you were trying to not bust the stitches he had worked so diligently on. After a minute or two of shuffling and trying to not hurt yourself, you were finally bare.

Stepping into the shower, you took a deep breath as the water began to rain down on you. You could see the grime and blood start running toward the drain, the water turning a murky greyish-pink color as you started to clean your skin.

Your wounds were sore as they were touched by the water, so you did your best to clean the surrounding blood off with a gentle washcloth. Then, you let yourself stand under the water for a moment. You let the warmth soak into your muscles, into your bones.

You needed that moment. You needed the water to remind you that were human. You needed those wounds to remind you that you were alive.

But you must have been in the bathroom longer than you realized because there are a few knocks on the door and then you hear Six's voice.

"Y/n? You alright in there?" you can hear worry in his voice, and it makes you smile. You realize he can't see you, so you turn off the water and call back, "Yeah, I just need to get dressed."

You don't get a response back, so you assume he heard you and was leaving you to your privacy. You grab one of the towels hanging outside of the shower and dry yourself off carefully, taking care to pat your wounds dry.

Exhaustion is still crawling at the back of your mind, but the shower seemed to rejuvenate some part of you. You make your way over to the clothes Six picked out for you, and you can't help but let a dopey grin onto your lips.

He left you a pair of black sweatpants, in your size, by the way, a clean pair of women's underwear, and then a choice between a light blue women's long sleeve that resembles a crewneck or a men's sized black t-shirt.

You want to put the women's crewneck on. It's one of your favorite colors and the piece looks devastatingly comfortable. But you know you aren't going to be able to get in it yourself and Six won't be able to finish patching you up.

You slide into the large black t-shirt easily, the article definitely chosen with Six's size in mind. You slowly open the door from the bathroom into the bedroom, peering around the room curiously.

Six is nowhere to be seen, and you feel a rush of panic. He's not on the bed. He's not in the chair you said you would take. He's not on the balcony overviewing the street. He's gone.

You start to pace the room, looking for any sign of where he could have gone when you hear the door jingle. A second later, he reappears with two cups in his hands.

You dart at him, wrapping your arms around his torso before you can stop yourself. Six is taken aback by the sudden display of affection, holding both cups away from your body so that neither of you is burned by the seemingly hot liquid.

"I thought you left," you croaked out, your hands fisting at the dirty black t-shirt he was wearing. Six leans back to get a look at your face and his heart further splinters at the look he sees there.

"I was just getting some hot chocolate. You looked like you might need it," he says slowly, setting one of the cups down on a side table and offering one to you, "I'm right here."

You nod shakily as you internally scream at yourself to get it together. You take the warm cup from his hand, your fingers brushing for a moment. You force yourself to move to sit on the end of the bed, mumbling, "I- I'm sorry."

Six frowns at you, tired of hearing those words from your mouth. He takes a couple of steps closer to you as he delicately retaliates, "Look, I already told you, don't worry ab-" "I'm sorry about everything!" you yell out.

The Sierra agent is alarmed by your change in tone, and he remains quiet as you start to talk.

"I'm sorry about rushing you at the door because I thought you were leaving. I'm sorry I have to wear this shirt that's so obviously yours because I can't get in the other one you got me. I'm sorry I was so out of sorts while you were patching me up. I'm sorry I blew the mission today and ruined your reputation," you gush out, fresh tears lining your eyes as the words tumble out.

A whimper falls from your lips as the words blurt from your mouth, "I'm sorry for being such a terrible partner," your free hand coming up to cover your face as you start to cry. Your hand holding the hot chocolate wobbles and you can't keep it together anymore.

Tears of anguish race down your cheeks, your body heaving as your world comes crashing down on you. Six had moved closer to you as you spoke, and now gently pries the drink out of your hands as you weep.

He sets it on the table next to his before kneeling down in front of you on the bed. His lengthy fingers delicately wrap around your wrists, slowly pulling them away from your tear-stained face.

You initially resist him, sputtering out, "D-don't look at me while I'm like this, I look-" "Beautiful," he voices profoundly.

You stop crying for a second to look at him as you repeat, "Beautiful?" Six looks up at you apprehensively, a look of nervousness passing over his angled features. He slowly pulls your wrists down, and this time you let him.

Six shuffles closer to you, now parting your thighs to get closer to you. His right hand comes up to cup your left cheek where the small cut is. He swipes away the tears there, his blue gaze stormy and complex.

His gaze trails over your face, openly and unashamedly looking at you. When he finally makes eye contact with you, he reaffirms with a slight nod, "You look beautiful."

He smiles at you tenderly as he starts, "Seeing you run toward me at the door is something I've dreamed of countless nights." You blink in surprise at the confession, but you don't interrupt him.

"For the record, I think that shirt looks great on you. If you feel more comfortable in the other one, I'll help you get into it," he whispers. You can feel the intensity of his words, and you feel heat creeping toward your face.

"I never, ever, wanted to have to patch you up again after Dubai, because I think a part of me dies seeing you in these volumes of pain. But today, seeing you lying there in the debris, calling for me?" Six takes a deep breath and looks away before muttering, "That is my worst nightmare."

He pauses for a second, letting his words sink in. The blonde-haired man shrugs his shoulders once and continues, "And yeah, you did kind of ruin the mission," and your gaze falters at that, shame covering your features.

But Six is one step ahead of you, tilting your chin back up to meet his blue gaze. "You could have checked that door differently, looked for some other indicator," he states matter-of-factly.

"It was just a door," you mumble, tears threatening to spill again. Six holds you delicately as he says, "It was just a door. It was a door that you never should have been next to. You never should have been a part of that mission in the way that you were."

Hurt flashes rampantly across your face, but before you can reply, Six cuts you off, "You should have been where you work best," and he gives you a smile, "Watching my back and blasting goons from hundreds of yards away."

That comment makes you smile, and Six sighs as he murmurs, "There she is." That comment makes you blush, and you go to wipe at your cheeks before wincing as you agitate the cut there.

Six notices right away and pushes away from you, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. He returns with the medical supplies and a damp washcloth.

He offers you the washcloth, letting you wipe your face to remove both your wet and dry tears. Six turns to face you with that tender look in his eyes again and he murmurs, "Let's finish getting you patched up."

You nod and heat runs up your body as you ask shyly, "Will you help me get into the other sweatshirt afterward?" Six smirks as he replies with a quip of, "Only if you'll sleep on the bed and not on that god-awful chair."

You let out a playful groan, "Fineee, I guess we have a deal." Six lets the smirk fade into a kind smile at the corner of his mouth, getting to work on putting patches over your shoulder wound and the slice on your arm.

His gentle fingers help place a bandaid on your cheek, leaving him lingering in close proximity. Six can't help the way his eyes flit down to your lips before returning to your (colored) gaze. You were simply intoxicating to him.

He forces himself to pull away with half-lidded eyes and instead says, "Let's get you into that other sweatshirt." You could have whined at the loss of contact with the tall blonde-haired man, but you do as he says, heading to the bathroom where the other shirt lay.

You grab it and walk back out to the bedroom saying, "So if I turn around and pull this shirt off, can you just help guide my arms and head through this one?"

Six just nods like the gentleman he is, turning his back to you as you take off the large and very oversized black shirt meant for him. You feel a wave of self-consciousness as you call over your shoulder, "O-okay. I have my arms through the holes, I just need help lifting it over my head."

Six slowly turns around, letting you know his intentions with every obvious movement he makes. Keeping his eyes fixed on the light blue material, he makes every effort to ignore the curve of your body so close to his as he reaches over your shoulder, pulling the hole in the material toward your head.

He hears you hiss in pain at one particularly awkward angle, but you mumble, "I'm good." Six finishes pulling the shirt down to sit around your waist, delicately pulling your hair trapped on the inside of the shirt out to lay against your neck.

You turn around to face him and offer him the black t-shirt with a shy smile, "I only wore it for those few minutes if you still want it."

Six just huffs at your shyness and he smoothly tugs it out of your hands before throwing it over his shoulder. He motions over to your hot chocolate, "Better drink that before it gets too cold. I'm hopping in the shower."

At the end of his words, he ducks around you, grabbing the remaining clothes off of the bed and slipping into the bathroom. You don't know that he leans against the bathroom door, cursing himself for not being able to just lean in that extra inch...

But it doesn't matter. He needs to get a shower and you need to get rest.

In the bedroom, you find yourself sipping on the hot chocolate you know Hilda must have made. You throw the extra medical supplies back into one of the empty bags and dig through the snacks that Six had gotten.

You find a pack of Skittles and snicker, knowing that the man just on the other side of the door has the biggest sweet tooth, other than you. You rip the packet open and toss a couple in your mouth, thankful for the candy as you place your empty cup of hot chocolate in the trash.

The comfort of the crewneck and sweatpants starts tearing at your exhaustion again, and you find yourself crawling toward the headboard to slide under the covers.

A moment later, Six appears fresh out of the shower. He dons the black T-shirt you gave him back, as well as a pair of loose-fitting grey sweatpants. You swallow thickly as he makes his way over to the uncomfortable-looking chair.

"W-wait," you call out, causing Six to pause and look at you. His blonde locks are dark with water from the shower, and your mind short-circuits for a second with the way he is looking at you. You astutely point to the bed, "We can share," you blurt out.

You curse yourself internally for being so clumsy about the situation. Especially when you see Six frown and start to shake his head, "I don't want to bother y-" "Six, please," you practically beg.

This makes him pause his movements at the desperation in your voice. He looks over at you, waiting in bed for him, and then back to the brown rickety chair.

He sighs in defeat and runs a hand through his damp hair, moving to sit on the edge of the bed near your feet. Six takes a moment to look at you. You're sat up in the middle of the small bed, your back leaning on the pillows as you watch him back. Suddenly, he wonders what position will be the most comfortable for you.

Would it be best if you each took one side and laid on your backs? Do you typically sleep on your side? Would you be weirded out if he accidentally touched you unknowingly while you slept?

You could see Six's mind running a mile a minute, and you grab his hand as you throw his words back in his face, "Trust me."

Six cracks a smile at your words and shuffles to face you. You can't help but fight off a wave of heat that crosses your face as you take a good look at him.

He's basically unscathed, clad in that black t-shirt that clings to every contour of his body. His well-trimmed goatee frames his pretty mouth and those eyes. Those stormy, stormy eyes.

They are staring at you with that undetectable emotion. Six shifts again, moving closer to the headboard and toward you, the air in the room crackling with tension. He stretches his body out over the top of the covers as he positions his body in line with yours.

Propping himself up on his right elbow, he leans over you, cupping your uninjured cheek in his left hand. Slowly but with confidence, he brings your face up to his. Your foreheads touch, and a shiver runs through you at his warmth.

You want to lean forward, to capture his lips for yourself, but you wait. Six is taking the moment in fully. He will only get to experience this once, and he wants it to be engraved in his mind forever.

His stormy gaze pins that undetectable emotion on you with such ferocity that you want to look away, but you don't. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and then he whispers, "May I kiss you?"

You nod and murmur back, "I want nothing more." At your confirmation, Six slowly leans in, still giving you plenty of time to back out.

Instead, you lean forward to meet him, his mouth crashing on yours in a dizzyingly slow and languid kiss. A groan of satisfaction crawls up the back of Six's throat, and his hand moves from cupping your face to sliding into your damp (colored) locks.

Every movement is slow and thought out as his lips dance across your own. Your nose brushes against his in a comforting way, and the tickle of his goatee is surprisingly pleasant.

You could live in this moment forever. Six was pouring every ounce of himself before you, you would gladly drink every last drop of his affection up.

Six slowly pulls away, nuzzling his nose against yours before letting his eyes flutter open. You're not in much better shape than he is, and when you meet his gaze, the two of you know everything has changed.

Six tightens his grip on your hair ever-so-slightly before murmuring with conviction, "I love you, Y/n." A watery smile begins to tug at your lips as you reply, "I love you too, Six."

He gives you that tender smile and leans in one final time, leaving a chaste but sweet kiss on your waiting mouth.

You whine when he pulls away, making the Sierra agent chuckle as he mumbles, "Don't worry, there can be more where that came from later. You need to get some rest, you Skittles stealer."

Your ears burn in slight embarrassment that you were caught, but not for long when Six shuffles to turn the lights off and slide under the covers with you. The large man shuffles onto his right side, gently pushing and pulling your body until he is spooning you.

With his heavy arm locked around your waist, you finally feel comfortable enough to give in to your exhaustion. Before you know it, the two of you are out cold. Maybe a little beaten up, maybe a little lovesick, but definitely content.

Tagging: @proper-goodnight (@bluebellhairpin @xxpadfootxx @anlian-aishang just b/c y'all sat through this brain rot both knowingly and unknowingly)

[cozage]

The Moss that Grew in Gloom

Chapter 7: Day One

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Word Count: 3.5k Characters: female reader x Zoro --

When you awoke, Zoro was on the mat in the corner, his back leaned against the wall. He was snoring softly, and you found yourself smiling at him and his disposition. He seemed so comfortable in his own skin; you had to admire that about him. 

You shook the thoughts from your head and walked into your bathroom to prepare for the day. You weren’t supposed to be praising him. Cold as ice, just like your father. It was only three days. Once your father was back, Roronoa would fall back into line. It was better to call him Roronoa. It was less personal; it didn’t allow for any doors to be opened. It was better. 

After having a few moments in the bathroom to center yourself, you felt prepared to take on the day. 

That feeling immediately vanished when you opened the door and found Zoro beginning to wake from his sleep. You considered trying to silently dart out the door, but his eyes squinted open and those stormy eyes found yours instantly. 

Cold as ice, just as your father. What would he say in this situation? 

You stood a little taller and cleared your throat. “I suppose you didn’t even bother to try and return to your bedroom last night?”

Your words didn’t affect him at all. He simply let out a half smile. “I wanted to be here when you woke up so I could tell you.” His hand turned a dark metallic color. “Almost a full hour last night. I didn’t want to wake you. Figured you could use the rest.”

You bit back a smile. You were proud of him and his progress. But your father rarely let his emotions show, and you would only survive these next two days if you kept the distance he did. 

You gave a sharp nod. “Very well. We can continue with the next steps after breakfast.”

The surprise in his face made your chest ache. But he quickly recovered, and so did you. You walked out of the room to head down to the dining room, not looking back to see if Zoro was following you. 

As you got closer to the main level, the smell of bread, eggs, and bacon floated up the stairwell, making your stomach rumble. 

“Can’t believe you’re hungry after last night,” Zoro joked as he quickly caught up to you. “I’m still stuffed.”

“I recommend you try to eat something,” you said cooly. “We will be out for a while today.”

“So you’re going to help me push haki into blades?”

You scowled, mimicking your father when you had asked him that same question years ago. “Not quite.”

You could feel Zoro’s irritation rise behind you. “I thought you said-”

“You will be practicing, but not with something so dangerous or precious as blades.”

You could feel his glare on you, but you didn’t look at him. You let the smell of food be your only guide. 

The dining table was set lavishly, but only for three. Your father must’ve told Perona of his departure before he had left. 

“Perona!” you gasped. “This is exquisite!”

She beamed at your words. “I figured we might as well go all out since that old meanie isn’t here right now!”

“You’ve certainly outdone yourself,” you complimented. “Did you pick those flowers from the gardens?”

“Sure did!” 

There was a stark contrast between the pink flowers she had gathered and the black flowers, but you didn’t comment on it. 

The food was well prepared, too. If you hadn’t known better, you would have assumed your father had made it. 

“Mihawk has been teaching me how to cook,” Perona noted as you all continued to eat. “I never liked being in the kitchen, but Mihawk said-”

“If you can’t cook, you can’t live,” you finished with her, smiling to yourself. 

Perona wasn’t so bad in small increments. She was kind and she cared about those around her, even if she didn’t always have the best way of showing it. 

“It’s a good skill to have,” Zoro agreed. You could tell he was trying to find some way to be included in the conversation. 

“One you should learn,” you retorted. “You can use your armament haki while doing the dishes as training. Perona, feel free to make the water as hot as you need to. I’m releasing Roronoa to your care for the morning.” You shot him a quick look, trying to look as disapproving as your father. “I expect an edible meal for lunch.”

Zoro’s eye twitched. “You said you would-”

“This is part of your training,” you said, cutting him off. “Do it, or you will get no further help from me.”

You left the dining table then, walking briskly and confidently up the stairwell. You needed some time away from him, time to clear your head. It was the only way you’d make it through these next few days. 

You settled in your all-too-familiar chair and picked up a book. A sense of normality would help make you feel more like yourself and be able to guard against the whims of Roronoa Zoro. 

It was almost lunchtime before a knock came at your door. You started for a moment, thinking your father may have come home early, but that wasn’t the secret knock he had created. Your eyes flicked back down to your book, trying your best to ignore it. 

The person knocked again. 

“Come in,” you said, letting out a loud sigh. 

Zoro opened the door, his eyes instantly finding yours. It was so easy to melt under his gaze, but you stiffened instead. 

You raised an eyebrow in question, as if you were being inconvenienced. 

“I’m done helping Perona,” he said. “Little witch had the water temperature at scalding levels, by the way. Thanks for that.”

Your eyes returned to the book. They had to, or else they would linger on him for too long. “Did you use haki to shield yourself like I asked you to?”

He nodded, trying to hide a scowl. “And helped Perona to prepare lunch. It’s ready now.”

“I’ll be down in a moment.” Your eyes stayed on the page, but you could see him lingering in the doorway. “Go without me.”

He hesitated as though he was going to say something, but then decided against it and shut the door without another word.

You descended the stairs a few minutes later after finishing the chapter of your book to find Perona sitting alone at the table. 

“Finally! I’ve been waiting here forever! What took you all so long? I sent Zoro up like ten minutes ago!”

Your brow furrowed as you looked around the room, finding it empty. “I sent Zoro back down here ten minutes ago.” Roronoa, you corrected yourself silently. You were supposed to refer to him at Roronoa. 

Perona huffed in frustration. “He’s always getting himself lost in this castle. Why can’t he ever find his way!”

You shrugged. “He’ll join us when he figures it out.”

You had to be cold. It was necessary for survival. But still, a part of you softened in realizing that he had found his way to your room with ease, if Perona’s timeline was correct. Perhaps that is why he was so hesitant to leave. 

He had known how to get to you. Your heart involuntarily skipped a beat. Perhaps you should go looking for him and help him find his way back to lunch. But that’s not what your father would do, so you remained at your seat and began to eat lunch. 

“How was his help this morning?” You asked Perona, trying to remain indifferent. 

“He was more hurt than help in the kitchen!” She groaned, covering her face with her hands at the memory. “I started making more dirty dishes than I needed to just to keep him away from the food.”

You smiled at that. Zoro didn’t seem like the kind who would be any help with cooking. Perhaps you could assign him kitchen duty again, this time focusing on cutting vegetables uniformly. That would certainly keep both of them out of your hair and at each other’s throats for the rest of the day. 

As if your thoughts summoned him, Zoro raced down the stairs, huffing and out of breath. 

He gave you a glare. “How big is this damn castle?!”

You shrugged, suppressing a smile. “Big enough for you to get lost in. Though I believe that could be done with a two-bedroom cottage.”

Zoro’s eye twitched, but Perona let out a howl of laughter, and that made the cheap shot worth it. 

“Eat.” You motioned to his seat. “We have work to do after lunch.”

“Don’t want to put me on kitchen duty again?” He grumbled, but he did as he was told. 

“Would you like to be put on kitchen duty, Roronoa?”

He looked over at you, shocked with the formality you had given him, and studied your face for a long time. You almost looked away, but you kept your gaze fixed on him, waiting for a response. 

“Please no!’ Perona cried. “I swear it’s more of a punishment for me than it is for him!”

You ignored her, watching Zoro intensely, waiting for a response. 

“Whatever training you want me to do, I’ll do it,” he finally said, breaking eye contact and digging into his lunch. 

“Then we will train in the courtyard after lunch to give Perona some reprieve.” You gave the bubble-gum haired girl a wink, and she let out a huge sigh of relief. 

Zoro shot you a look of confusion, pausing mid bite. “I thought we would train at-”

“The courtyard.” You finished for him, adding a sense of finality that you knew he would not challenge. You couldn’t leave the grounds anyway. It wasn’t safe with your father gone.

After a rather quiet lunch, you sent Zoro to the courtyard to start warming up while you retreated to the training room. You picked up a few stuffed animals and retreated out of the room. He was never going to do this. You could see him starting a fight the moment you walked out the door. He didn’t understand that there was a process. But you would stand your ground, just as your father had with you. 

You took a deep breath and walked into the courtyard. Zoro had already managed to work up a sweat and lose his shirt. He didn’t bother to stop what he was doing, but his eyes glanced over to you. 

And then down to the teddy bears you were holding. 

“Are you planning on making those things into scary monsters that I have to fight?”

You resisted the urge to banter back. “They are for training.”

“Scary.” He finished up his final set or workouts and sheathed his swords. “Can I only cut them if I have haki infused into my blades?”

You set the bears down on the cobblestone patio. “I want you to infuse them with haki.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

You flexed your jaw, trying to swallow back any emotion. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

His eyes flashed with hurt, but just for a moment. “Why do I have to do this?”

You stared at him for a moment, as if the answer were obvious. Your father did that to people a lot, and it seemed to be effective in making them second guess themselves. “Blades are easily breakable. Bears are not. If you infuse too much or too little, the bear will not break into a million pieces. But by all means, Roronoa, if you think you can go straight to swords, I will not stop you.”

You turned and began to walk away. He reached for you, and you quickly dodged away from him, turning back with fire in your eyes. 

But he had fire in his eyes as well. “It’s Zoro. I told you to call me Zoro.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You are my pupil, and you will be addressed as such. Blurred lines don’t help anyone.”

He scoffed. “You can’t be serious. What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me,” you hissed back. “You came here to train. So train.”

“You said you would help!”

“I am.” You turned away. “You won’t leave this island with broken blades now. You’re welcome.”

You walked back into the castle without another word. You had hoped that maybe he would have stopped you, but he stood there stunned into silence. 

You retreated into your room and sat back down in your chair. Distractions. You needed distractions. You pulled out your book, trying to ignore the fact that you had a clear line of sight to Zoro’s training, should you choose to look out your window. You were curious if he had taken the teddy bear advice, or if he had thrown your directive completely out and was trying his own method. You were too scared to look down and see. 

You tried to read your book for an hour before you gave up. The words were swimming across the pages, your mind easily wandering out the door and down the hall to the courtyard. You should go check on him, see if there was any progress. 

You probably had been too cruel to him. And while you had good reason, he had no idea why you were responding so coldly to him. Zoro hadn’t learned much at all when your father had given him instructions and left him alone. No, he flourished under your steady guidance and ability to recognize small victories. There were ways to be a good teacher and still keep yourself emotionally distant…wasn’t there?

You put your book down and walked down the stairs, glancing out the door to the courtyard before you took a step out. 

It wasn’t pretty. One of the bears had been torn apart. You weren’t sure if his haki had done that, or his frustration. Stuffing laid strewn about the area as if you had gotten an early snow. 

But Zoro was still there, trying his best to infuse the stuffed animal. He was failing miserably. But he was trying. 

You silently opened the door and stepped outside. “Would you like some pointers now?”

“Depends.” He didn’t seem shocked to hear you. It was as if he knew you were coming. “Are you going to be an asshole about it?”

“Are you going to accept my help?” You shock back, instantly irritated. 

One eye cracked open. You could tell he was fighting between an appropriate response and what he wanted to say. 

“I will,” he said through gritted teeth. Appropriate response it was. 

You sat down across from him. “Show me what you’ve been doing. And we’ll go from there.”

He bit back a response and closed his eyes, trying to focus. He was able to instantly shroud his hand in armament haki, but he gritted his teeth as he tried to force his haki into the bear. He was acting as if it were something to be conquered, rather than an extension of himself. 

You supposed it would be hard to have him act that a teddy bear was an extension of himself without knowing that beforehand. 

“I see,” you whispered. “You can stop now.”

He opened his eyes, looking at you with caution. You couldn’t blame him for being wary. 

“Did the stuffing massacre happen from an attempt at haki or were you just frustrated?”

His lips quirked up at your joke. You started to grin back, but stopped yourself. This had to be professional. 

“The haki tore his head off,” he said. “I did the rest. It was the closest I got to a success.”

It wasn’t very close at all, but you didn’t comment on that. 

He looked at you skeptically. “Can this actually be done, or did I do something to piss you off?”

You took the bear from his hands and pushed haki into it. The brown fur instantly became metallic black, and you looked at him expectantly. 

“Got it,” he grumbled. “What am I doing wrong?”

“We’ll do that tomorrow.” You knew what you had to do to help him, and you weren’t prepared for that yet. 

“You said-”

“I need time,” you admitted, showing a shred of vulnerability. “I don’t have the reserves to help you today. Let me build it up and we can work tomorrow. Together.”

His hard face softened at your words, as if he could sense a small piece of your wall being peeled away. “How should we train now?”

“Relax,” you said. “Prepare mentally and build your reserves. With any luck, we’ll last until lunch time.”

His brow furrowed. “What exactly are you planning?”

You gave him a small smile. “A training exercise on the act of extending your haki. That’s all.”

“You say it so devilish, I’m almost nervous.”

You let out a laugh. “You should be.” 

“Is that a challenge?”

Your face was neutral, but you knew he could see the mischief dancing in your eyes.  “Only if you want it to be, Roronoa.” 

It was too easy to fall into this with him. The easy jokes and quick banter was practically second nature with him, even though you had only known each other a few weeks. But the spark went out of his eyes at your last word. His name. 

“Call me Zoro.”

“It’s easier if I don’t.” Ice flooded through your veins. You had gotten too casual again. 

“Everyone calls me Zoro,” he argued. 

You picked up the stuffed toys that were still intact instead of responding. “Tell Perona I’ll take dinner in my room tonight.”

“What? We eat together.” You could hear the frustration in his voice. 

“I need to concentrate tonight. Unless you want one of us to end up like your stuffed friend over there.” It was partially the truth. You did need to concentrate and build up resistance to the possibility of an influx of haki. But you could do that anywhere. It was an excuse to be alone. 

“Fine.” He let you walk away again, but this time you were relieved. 

As you hid in your room, you could hear Zoro and Perona fighting downstairs, but you refused to go investigate. It wasn’t until hours later that there came a knock on your door. Zoro. 

“Dinner.” He opened the door and brought in a tray of food. 

“Leave it on the table.” You kept your eyes closed, still focusing on building up energy. 

“Figured we could eat together,” Zoro said. 

Your eyes snapped open and you glared at him, irritated that he broke your concentration. “I need to be alone.”

“No you don’t.” He had that smug look on his face, as if he was capable of seeing right through you. “You can eat with me for twenty minutes.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and resettling. “Go away, Roronoa.”

“You watched me struggle,” he mused. You could hear the creak of your bed, and you bristled at the thought of him being near your things. “I feel like I should get the option to sit and watch you.”

“Get out,” you growled. “You’re distracting me.”

He let out a chuckle. “Now you know what it’s like.”

“Roronoa-”

“Come eat with me, then I’ll leave.”

You didn’t move. 

Neither did he. 

You tried to focus; tried to build your energy. But it was distracting having him in here. You could feel his presence, normally so serious and stoic, almost amused now as he watched you. 

“Do you mind?” You snapped, finally opening an eye. 

“I think what’s distracting you is hunger, actually. Let’s eat.” 

“Please, Roronoa,” you whispered. “Please leave.” 

You locked eyes with him. A battle of the wills. But you were begging, not challenging. If you had dinner with him alone again…who knew where that would end up. You could see from the corner of your eye he had brought wine too. You definitely couldn’t sit with him and have dinner and wine in your room. 

“You really want me to go?” His voice was soft, and you felt a pull in your core. 

You nodded, knowing your voice would betray you. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him. Which is exactly why you had to stay far away. 

He could see the pleading in your eyes, and he relented. He got up from your bed with a sigh and grabbed one of the trays-his tray. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Early.” 

You nodded, though you knew he didn’t see you respond. He was already closing the door. You grabbed the food and nibbled at it, not having an appetite. He had left the wine, but you resisted opening it. You needed a clear head. 

Only when you crawled into bed did you notice it. A red rose, lying on your nightstand. Perona only picked flowers of the pink and black variety. Zoro must have set it down before he left. 

Surely all pupils brought flowers to their teachers, didn’t they?

--

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[wordy-little-witch]

Buggy's Haki is weird, I bet.

I'm definitely in the "Buggy's Observation Haki is NEXT LEVEL" band camp, but like. I also really love the idea of his Haki being oversensetive, and nobody quite REALIZED. Roger may have had suspicions, but his grounding techniques were rather limited because his Haki awakened a little later in life and so he never had a need to completely shut it down. He does his best, but it's not enough.

Buggy learns relatively early on that his Devil Fruit requires a strict level of spatial awareness. A lot of it is instinctive, knowledge essentially deposited into his brain once the fruit hit his stomach, once otherworldly energy unfurled and braided into his body, mind and soul. He is the only person on the crew with a Devil Fruit, and so he learns a lot of his methods by trial and error (and the occasional meet up with Whitebeard's crew).

Buggy winds up trying to use his Haki with his Fruit. He thinks of it as a liquid, blue and bubbly and alive, poured into a Buggy shaped mold. It covers his skin, his ears and eyes. It fills his mouth, and he breathes it in with every gasp or calming inhale. It sinks into his cells and stains his blood and muscles with blueblueblue. It's easier to keep track of his pieces this way, with his own energy so densely imbued in his form.

This becomes a habit of his. Not only does the Haki help him with control of his Fruit but it also helps dull the sensory input of his Observation. The world isn't quite so sharp and loud with his energy coiled so tightly. He can still check the surroundings and react properly, thinking of some of his energy as the strings of a puppeteer or tentacles of energy. It works for him.

It is not, actually, a common thing to be done.

Mihawk, for one, is absolutely stunned when he realizes what Buggy does, is furious when he learns why. The suppressing method he came up with is actually both nigh impossible and also quite dangerous. Were it not for his Devil Fruit, it's highly likely that the oversaturation of Haki in his body would have caused it to deteriorate, especially given how potent Buggy's energy really is.

Crocodile, while rarely using Haki, is also a little blindsided by the truth of the matter.

Buggy's use of Haki is both highly advanced and unrefined. It's a unique variant that shouldn't be feasible in the least, and yet he's mastered such a dangerous and improbable method.

Because of his energy being coiled so tightly, his Armament both suffers and leaps up by numerous levels. His control is so finely tuned that it can spread not over skin but over his very cells, thus minimizing the color change and enhancing the underlying strength of his body.

Buggy is running on fumes, has been for years, if not decades, because of his control there. He's essentially burning the candle from both ends and chop-chopping new wax chunks in the middle. He oscillates for overstimulated (Haki released) and understimulated (Haki contained).

Mihawk refuses to let such a thing slide.

Buggy may not be the strongest Emperor crowned, may not even be the strongest pirate on the seas, but he has some things others can not fathom - brain cells, a working survival instinct, and creativity.

Winners right history, and Buggy is holding the quill.

[fictionfixations]

secret yanqing avatar

okay so this is for the people who didnt know (i just found out) that you can unlock a yanqing pic by dueling his boss fight and having specific characters do the last hit (from this post)

below is the chat he has with you after you do everything to unlock it (scrolling down will show what you need to do to unlock it)

Yanqing: Trailblazer, do you have time to chat? Trailblazer: I'm quite free right now. Chat away Yanqing: [pleased yanqing emote] Great! Thanks I don't know if it's because of the pressure of the Wardance ceremony or something else I keep dreaming about dueling different opponents ...I don't remember much about the dreams, but... I think I lost so many times Yanqing: Trailblazer, do you have time to chat? Trailblazer: I'm quite free right now. Chat away Yanqing: [pleased yanqing emote] Great! Thanks I don't know if it's because of the pressure of the Wardance ceremony or something else I keep dreaming about dueling different opponents ...I don't remember much about the dreams, but... I think I lost so many times Trailblazer: This is a manifestation of being overwhelmed by stress Yanqing: I see Even though I was dreaming, the opponents each time were different I remember there was a spear trial, an épée trial, a greatsword trial, a glaive trial... I even fought myself once But no matter which trial it was, I keep feeling it had the vaguest of connections with you, Trailblazer It's like you brought these opponents to face me... Trailblazer: I admit, I sent all the opponents you faced while dreaming Yanqing: Trailblazer, you're such a joker It was just some hazy dreams that I had "That which one thinks about during the day is what one dream about at night" These dreams must be a projection of my desire to spar with you, Trailblazer So, I'm thinking... Can you... Trailblazer: I completely understand now. You want me to come and give you some guidance Yanqing: Exactly If you have the time, please enlighten me It feels so much better to say what's on my mind. Thank you. I shall bother you another day Trailblazer: Sure. Talk next time

LOOK AT HIM HES SO CUTE

he is precious bby

so anyway its (idk if you can use 5 star dan heng, i used 4 star him because i didnt feel like doing it twice if 5 star didnt work)

Wardance...? Use ally Yanqing to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

Wardance: Soulsteel Trial Use ally Jingliu to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

Wardance: Greatsword Trial Use Sushang to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

Wardance: Épée Trial Use Luocha to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

Wardance: Spear Trial Use ally Dan Heng to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

Wardance: Glaive Trial Use Jing Yuan to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

Wardance: Armament Trial Use ally character Feixiao to deal the final blow in a victory against Yanqing.

i dont think it counts if you fight like a low level yanqing cause i tried like against lvl 50 i think for sushang cause i didnt have her built but the achievement didnt appear so i had to pray she didnt die (i tried using aven but he kept killing yanqing before sushang could cause of his follow up so i used double harmony for more dmg and prayed that sushang wouldnt die and it WORKED 😭)

..apparently it can count on lower level? i dont know. in any case i didnt face any trouble after switching to a higher difficulty instead so 🤷 idk i guess. uh. if you do decide to do a lower level be cautious? you might need to do it multiple times for it to register that u did it and give the achievement??

[illuminatedquill]

The Measure

A Sabine Wren Analysis

Natasha Liu Bordizzo, the actress for Sabine Wren, recently gave an interview discussing Sabine’s narrative arc towards becoming a Jedi (snippets of which can be found here).

I’m not going to discuss the argument whether Sabine should or shouldn’t be a Jedi although, speaking for myself, I’m absolutely for it even though, yes, I’m frustrated as to not knowing the reason why she wants to be one. What I am discussing in this post is the interesting commentary that Natasha provides on Sabine’s battle with the bandits she encounters while on Peridea:

"During the interview, Bordizzo also said the fight with the bandits was a key moment because Sabine started out trying to fight like she always did, and she almost lost. It wasn't until after she drew her lightsaber and had to try to focus on the person she wanted to become that she was able to make a connection. This is not only a great metaphor for life, but it is also true to Sabine's character and honors her history. After all, learning to use the Force through battle is such a Mandalorian way to grow in the Force."

This is a level of nuance that I hadn't noticed before in the fight scenes with Sabine so, naturally, I had to go back and re-watch all of them to see if the narrative arc rings true.

And it does. There's a deeper context to those scenes now that I'd like to analyze and what that means for Sabine's ongoing narrative arc for her character, not only in this season but, potentially, in the next one. For Sabine, it isn't so much the ongoing struggle with touching the Force that is driving her inner conflict - it's the reconciliation between the two natures within her: the inherent Mandalorian nature she was raised on and the newly emerging Jedi nature that Ahsoka is trying to instill.

Let's go to the first one in Ahsoka 1x01, where Sabine duels against Shin.

Sabine's first big fight in the Ahsoka series sees her do something strange: she doesn't pick up her Mandalorian armor or blasters. It's a far cry from the Sabine we know in Rebels who wouldn't be caught dead without her usual armament, especially since it would be specifically useful in a duel like this against a lightsaber wielder.

Sabine grabs her lightsaber first. This is important to note. She effectively eschews her Mandalorian upbringing in favor of the Jedi training, believing it to be the best choice in this situation.

It's a definite sign that things are different for her this time around; Sabine is trying something new. The recent visit from Ahsoka and the promise of finally being able to find her old friend, Ezra Bridger, has reignited a desire within her - to be something else.

To be something more. The classic call to adventure that every hero feels before going on their journey.

But, as we all know now, this battle doesn't end well for Sabine. Shin is well-trained and stronger in her capabilities than she is. Sabine is left on the cusp of death, saved only by the intervention of her master, Ahsoka Tano. It puts quite the dent in Sabine's confidence and she struggles to make up for it in the battles to follow. Matters aren't helped by Ahsoka, either, who continues to show a reticence in furthering her training.

It's Huyang who breaks through Sabine's excuses for why she continues to fail with this simple line:

Huyang: The only time you are wasting is your own.

With Ezra's life on the line, Sabine has to decide, once and for all, who she wants to be. There's no more time to waste, no more excuses to be had. She accepts the lightsaber back, but her confidence is still shaken from her duel with Shin.

So, she falls back on old ways. She finds her Mandalorian armor and equipment and wears it once again.

Her reunion with Ahsoka later on is the first time we see the former Jedi Knight express something else other than disappointment with her former Padawan. Which connects to how Ahsoka sees Sabine and her issues, as revealed later on in Ahsoka 1x06 during a conversation with Huyang:

Ahsoka: I don't need Sabine to be a Jedi. I need her to be herself.

Sabine has always been an interesting character because she is simultaneously focused and driven, yet fractured, unsure of herself and her innermost feelings. It's an aspect of her character that was shown during Rebels - especially in the standout Trials of the Darksaber episode - but in Ahsoka we really see her issues stand out in stark relief. Struggling with her training as a Jedi, Sabine's flaws become detrimental to any further progress. This wasn't an issue during her time with the Ghost crew since they operated as a team, with each member covering for the other's weaknesses. But now she only has herself and Ahsoka to rely on, with the latter still not finding it easy to trust her.

Ahsoka hones in on Sabine's true problem: she feels as though Sabine is trying to be something she's not. Not in the sense that Ahsoka doesn't believe that Sabine shouldn't be a Jedi - rather that Sabine is trying to follow in what she perceives to be how a Jedi should fight and act (presumably based upon her experiences fighting alongside Kanan and Ezra), which clashes against her Mandalorian nature.

To be a Jedi is to be in tune with your feelings and yourself. It's not necessarily following some Code but in understanding your place in the wider universe and how you can best contribute to it. And that is something Sabine seems to be searching for during this post-war period: her sense of purpose, her sense of self that goes beyond what she knows. It heavily implies to me that Sabine is dissatisfied with how she currently is and seeks to attain the best possible version of herself.

The problem, as pointed out succinctly by Ahsoka, is Sabine's trying to do that in the wrong way. She's cherry picking parts of herself and the Jedi path, trying to see what works and what doesn't. What Sabine needs to do is embrace all of herself, even the parts she doesn't particularly like.

She needs to be herself. All of herself.

Even with reaffirming her Mandalorian identity and answering the call to adventure, Sabine continues to grapple with balancing her Mandalorian side with the Jedi side. As we reach the climatic events of Ahsoka 1x04, we see that struggle continue with her second duel with Shin - only this time, it's better balanced. Her Mandalorian armor and weapons make up for the gap in skills between the two combatants and Sabine fights the mercenary to a draw this time.

This is pure speculation on my part but it's not a stretch that Ahsoka had always been aware of Sabine's deep feelings towards Ezra (regardless of whether or not you think they're romantic, what Sabine feels towards him is still substantial considering what she did to find him). She approaches Sabine the wrong way in trying to get across how dire the situation is, suggesting that if the outcome is fixed then the best they can do is destroy the map, thus stranding Thrawn - and Ezra - in another galaxy, permanently.

Even though Ahsoka understands Sabine's issues and how she's struggling to find herself in the midst of this new path, the former Jedi Knight doesn't see how this approach is wrong. In not counseling and guiding Sabine through setting aside her personal feelings for Ezra, it made her vulnerable to them. It's a mistake long in the making since she found out Vader's true identity; the Jedi do not forbid emotions or feelings for others - they only forbid the attachments that come with them. Sabine's feelings towards Ezra should have been viewed as a strength, not a weakness.

It's an integral part of being herself, just like Ahsoka needs her to be. But she didn't figure that out until it was too late. Sabine handed over the map to Baylon, and the galaxy's future spun onto darker paths. She's arguably at her lowest point, not only within the series narrative but also her life. And Sabine knows it.

So, what changes for Sabine? How does she come to reconcile the two conflicting natures within her and become fully open to the Force by the series end?

She reunites with Ezra.

I've written before how finding Ezra changes many things for Sabine; how it restores her in so many ways that are hugely beneficial to herself and the path she now walks. He's a part of her that was missing for so long and having him back, alive and well, brings her not only back to her old self but also gives her the confidence and determination to truly step forward in her Jedi training.

There's a lot of expectations that have always been heaped upon Sabine; whether through her family, Clan Wren, or via Ahsoka, her Jedi Master. All of them had a specific version of her that they wanted to see realized. But only one person has ever seen and accepted Sabine for who she truly is, with no expectations placed upon her in return.

Ezra Bridger.

Rewind to the Battle of Lothal's conclusion; Ezra and Thrawn disappearing into a galaxy far, far away. Sabine and Hera watching his final farewell message to him, listening to what he's asking but not really understanding until later. And then Sabine, with Ezra's private message to her and her alone, realizing what he is truly asking: to find and bring him home.

Reuniting with Ezra in the present, I suspect, helped Sabine remember who she is and allows her to finally embrace the final missing part of herself, literally. Because Ezra Bridger did not ask Sabine Wren the Jedi to come find him. He had no way of knowing the path she would undertake in his absence.

No, Ezra Bridger trusted above all else, Sabine Wren - his closest friend and partner. He asked her to do the impossible, just as she was. He wouldn't have asked her to become a Jedi on his behalf to find him. He didn't need her to have Force powers or know how to properly wield a lightsaber.

He just needed Sabine to be herself and nothing else. That's who he trusted.

And that's who came to find him. Sabine Wren, his friend and partner - as herself.

When Shin and her bandits come to strike at the reunited pair, this growth in Sabine is immediately evident; she's much more confident in this fight, not struggling with the bandits at all in contrast to her first encounter with them. She smoothly switches from her blasters to the lightsaber when the situation demands it.

And then there's this fun scene:

Now that's a Mandalorian Jedi, if I've ever seen one.

The combination of Ezra's Force pull along with Sabine's use of the flamethrower to fend off Shin fully shows how she's combining both the Jedi and Mandalorian natures within her. They're no longer clashing - they're working in tandem to give her an edge in the fight. And she doesn't even have the Force yet.

The past and the future come to a head when Ahsoka arrives, at last. With her renewed faith in herself and in her Padawan, Sabine is finally given the final boost she needs to achieve what was previously thought impossible:

Ezra Bridger and Ahsoka Tano are, arguably, the two most important people in her life at this moment, much like how Kanan and Sabine were to Ezra during Rebels. Both represent different sides of her identity: Ezra, knowing her as the Mandalorian, and Ahsoka, knowing her as the Jedi padawan. When they're brought together and reaffirm their faith in her - Ezra's never wavering during his exile and Ahsoka renewing hers - Sabine can genuinely be herself. And that is what she needed the most to continue with her journey.

Sabine doesn't need to focus on being a successful Jedi or a Mandalorian. That's not the point of her journey. It never was.

She just needs to succeed at being herself. And with Ezra and Ahsoka having faith in her (you know Ezra would be understanding of what she did), then Sabine is more than ready to face the trials ahead and become the best possible version of herself; not strictly Mandalorian or Jedi.

Just as Sabine Wren, whoever she decides that is.

"Everyone fails at who they're supposed to be. A measure of a person, of a hero, is how well they succeed at being who they are." - Frigga, Avengers: Endgame

[palestinegenocide]

Biden ‘quietly’ gives massive bombs to Israel — even as establishment voices say, Stop the genocide

The devastating news from Washington this week was that in spite of lip service against Israel’s war on the people of Gaza, the Biden administration “quietly” approved the transfer of more massive bombs to Israel.

Biden is sending along more than 2000 one-ton bombs and 500-pound bombs, the Washington Post reported (per Common Dreams).

“This is cowardly,” Yousef Munayyer wrote. “If you are going to be full backers of genocide, own it. We see you and history sees you as well.”

“This is obscene,” Bernie Sanders wrote. “We must end our complicity: No more bombs to Israel. The U.S. cannot beg Netanyahu to stop bombing civilians one day and the next send him thousands more 2,000 lb. bombs that can level entire city blocks.”

We can only imagine how horrifying such armaments are here in the West. Gazans don’t have to imagine. These instruments of annihilation have generated a neverending nightmare. Even the Washington Post says these bombs “are almost never used any more by Western militaries in densely populated locations due to the risk of civilian casualties.” But Israel has used them extensively.

Which is why more than 31,000 Palestinians have been killed, the vast majority women and children. Israel justifies the slaughter of civilians by arguing that a majority of Palestinians approve of Hamas’s attack of last October. So, collective punishment is policy.

At least Biden’s hypocrisy is being reported in the Washington Post. And we are seeing a broad movement in progressive circles to end Israel’s immunity to international law.

Harvard Law School’s student government voted for the university to divest from Israel. The global activist network Avaaz has got half a million signatures calling for a cutoff of U.S. aid to Israel.

America is Israel’s biggest arms dealer. You are giving American weapons to a government that is blocking life-saving aid and violating international law. This will only stop when you demand it stops.“

Public opinion is also horrified. A Gallup poll finds that 55 percent of Americans oppose Israel’s months-long military campaign (while 36 percent approve). “A mere 18% of Democratic voters approve of Israel’s effort.” And 75 percent disapprove.

Gallup poll published March 27 shows that American Democrats’ support for Israeli actions is plummeting over three months.

Biden is not only defying his base. The liberal political establishment has now turned against Israel’s war. The head of the Democratic party think tank, the Center for American Progress, called for a cutoff of aid.

The United States, by its own imposed standards, cannot heedlessly deliver offensive weapons as the Israeli government continues to bombard and starve innocents on a mass scale. These actions have nothing to do with self defense; they are clearly intended as collective punishment and are resulting in the complete devastation of Palestinians as a people.

The former top State Department human rights officer told NPR that it is time to apply the same rules to Israel as other countries. Charles Blaha:

[T]he State Department has said publicly that the same policy applies to Israel as apply to every other country. In practice, Israel gets special treatment…. You may recall the Biden administration suspended items that could be used in offensive air-to-ground operations for Saudi Arabia because they were causing civilian casualties. Those civilian casualties are nowhere near the civilian casualties that Israeli air-to-ground operations have caused so far. Yet unconditional transfers of air-to-ground munitions continue.

Joe Rogan called it “genocide” and a “holocaust” this week. German Chancellor Olaf Scholz said Israel was going too far. Atlantic Editor Jeffrey Goldberg, trying to run from his own past, ran a piece saying, “U.S. Support for Israel’s War Has Become Indefensible.”

And at the Stimson Center this week, when Barbara Slavin said it’s not genocide because it’s not equivalent to the Hutus and the Tutsis in Rwanda or the Nazis killing 6 million Jews, Lara Friedman of the Foundation for Middle East Peace shot down that defense.

The definition of genocide under international law does not require it to meet that bar… It does not have to rise to, Trying to kill every member of a race in the world [to be a genocide. The idea that] ‘it can’t be genocide if it doesn’t kill everybody.’ That isn’t what it means under international law.

So the genocide is having consequences, even in the cowardly seat of empire.

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Thunderbolt

The Thunderbolt started production in 2491 as a planetary-assault 'Mech, and in fact was one of the heaviest 'Mechs that could be produced at that time. Since then the 'Mech, known affectionately as the "T-Bolt" or sometimes as the "Thud", has had its classification changed as larger 'Mechs were built. Thanks to periodic updates, it is still feared and respected by many. With its varied arsenal, the Thunderbolt remains one of the best-armed 'Mechs, making it capable of serving in many roles. It is also an incredibly well-armored 'Mech, rivaling or exceeding the amount of armor carried by some assault 'Mechs. One downside to the Thunderbolt armament is poor heat management. The Thunderbolt is also noted for featuring an exceptionally roomy cockpit, even when compared to that of the Atlas or BattleMaster.

Because of its eclectic weapons mix, the Thunderbolt does not have just one primary weapon. Its longest-range weapon is a Delta Dart LRM-15 missile launcher mounted in the right torso fed by a two-ton reload bin in the center torso. Next in its long range arsenal is a Sunglow Type 2 Large Laser mounted in the right arm (or ExoStar Large Laser), which provides the Thunderbolt with respectable medium to long-range firepower. As ranges close, the Thunderbolt is able to bring its three Diverse Optics Type 18 medium lasers and a Bical SRM-2 missile launcher (or Harvester SRM-2) into play. All three medium lasers are mounted in the left torso while the SRM launcher and one ton of reloads are mounted in the right. Finally for anti-infantry work the Thunderbolt has two Voelkers 200 Machine Guns (or SperryBrowning Machine Guns) with one ton of ammo in the left arm.

While an impressive arsenal, the Achilles' heel of the Thunderbolt is its miserly fifteen heat sinks which cannot cope with firing so many heat-intensive weapons. Thunderbolt pilots must take extra care to manage their heat levels lest they shut down or cause their ammo to cook off, and many will prefer to fight within bodies of water to better cool off their 'Mechs. Indeed most commanders will order their Thunderbolts into a waterhole at the outset of a battle so that they may fire their weapons more rapidly than normal.

The thirteen tons of armor protecting the Thunderbolt, although no longer the most carried on a 'Mech, is still impressive given the fact many current assault models sport less protection than this ancient design. The thirteen and a half ton fusion engine powering the Thunderbolt gives it a maximum speed of 64.8 km/h.

The original TDR-1C Thunderbolt was the first BattleMech of Earthwerks Limited, as produced from their new plant on Tikonov. Despite the Confederation's relative inexperience with BattleMech technology, Earthwerks' Thunderbolt was impressive. The "T-bolt" set records in time between prototype and production, despite starting from scratch. The Thunderbolt's formidable performance caught the attention of the Confederation's neighbors and made Earthwerks a tremendous success.

Within fifteen years, Earthwerks expanded anti-spinward into the Free Worlds League, choosing Keystone as the location to produce their upgraded TDR-5S. Olivetti Weaponry on Sudeten also picked up the design following their formation. During the Succession Wars this made House Steiner and House Marik the largest users of Thunderbolts, although they were eager to sell the design to the other Successor States. Thus Thunderbolts remained a traditionally Capellan 'Mech too, at least until the Fourth Succession War and Andurien Wars. The Taurian Concordat was one of the largest users of the Thunderbolt in the Periphery thanks to both Vandenberg Mechanized Industries and Taurus Territorial Industries acquiring and producing the 'Mech from their factories on Pinard and Taurus respectively, with many being sold to mercenary bands.

Both Earthwerks and Olivetti introduced new Thunderbolt variants utilizing lostech just before the Clan Invasion, while the Taurian factories continued to churn out older models. When Sudeten was conquered by Clan Jade Falcon, the Olivetti factory was lost to the Inner Sphere, and, though using outdated technology by Clan standards, it was still producing Thunderbolts into 3054. Several years later, Earthwerks created an update to the aging Thunderbolt in the TDR-9M variant but ran into trouble with Irian BattleMechs Unlimited. Irian had just recently introduced the Tempest as their replacement for the ancient 'Mech and lobbied the League Central Coordination and Command to put a stop to any new Thunderbolts. A legal fight was brewing up when the Word of Blake stepped in and negotiated a compromise: the two designs would fight each other in a combat trial, with the winning design used to supply the Blakist military. The TDR-9M won and starting in April 3067 the Word of Blake began receiving their shipments of new Thunderbolts, followed shortly thereafter by the Free Worlds League Military.

[nerdknowledgepool]

I feel like Kubo is really fond of Byakuya, considering his Zanpakuto goes harder than nearly every other Zanpakuto in the series.

Senbonzakura

Melee Weapon, Katana, Artifact

(Requires Attunement)

Sealed State: While not readied or when you fall unconscious, this weapon takes the form of a mundane dull katana. In this form it has only the Finesse and Versatile properties, and deals 1d4 (1d6) Slashing Damage on hit.

Shikai State: When you ready this weapon, you speak the command word “scatter”. When you do, the blade of the katana bursts into a whirlwind of flower petal-like blades which swirl around you. While in this form, your melee weapon attacks using Senbonzakura have a range of 20 feet. Creatures you choose within 20 feet, at the start of their turn, must succeed a DC 16 Dexterity Saving Throw or take 1d8 Slashing Damage. Creatures with a lower Spiritual Pressure score than you have disadvantage on the save. Creatures without the Spiritual Presence feat have a Spiritual Pressure score of 0. While in this form, the sword’s stats are as follows:

Damage: 1d8

Damage Type: Slashing

Modifiers: Attacks +2, Damage +2

Properties: Finesse

Bankai State: To use this ability, your Proficiency Bonus must be at least 5. As a bonus action, you may speak this weapon’s name, and drop the blade into the ground. When you do, the sword enters its Bankai state for the next minute, then reverts to its Shikai state. When the sword reverts to its Shikai form, you incur 1 level of exhaustion. In this form Senbonzakura retains all abilities from its Shikai state, however, the range of its effects is increased to 60 feet, and it deals 2d8 Slashing Damage. You must complete a long rest before you can use this ability again. While in the Bankai state, the sword’s stats are as follows:

Damage: 2d8

Damage Type: Slashing

Modifiers: Attacks +3, Damage +3

Properties: Finesse

Shinigami Armament: While attuned to this weapon, if you have the Spiritual Presence feat [Posted 11/17] you gain +2 to your Spiritual Pressure score.

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 53 - The Strings of Fate

Chapter Summary: After the harrowing past few days, the Last Light Inn takes a rare opportunity to celebrate their little victories.

Featuring @the-cutest-deviant's wonderful drow paladin, Evael! ^_^

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 278K+ words; Chapters 53/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

By the time Church has returned to the square’s bonfire, it seems that the Harpers have reined in the carousing for the evening. It even looks like some are passing around restoration tinctures to those no doubt taking over for the night’s watch. 

Church watches this all with mild interest as he trudges back down to their riverside camp, his mind preoccupied by Isobel’s revelation as well as Art’s foreboding message.

“Had a nice night?” a voice drawls from ahead of him.

“Astarion,” Church smiles before he even finds the rogue, leaning against a shadowed wall. “Exactly who I wanted to see.”

“Am I, now?” the elf replies airily, examining his nails. “I’m surprised. I thought you might be seeking out a certain little drow tonight.”

The inflection in his voice grabs the tiefling’s full, surprised attention.

“Hang on,” Church laughs uneasily. “Astarion, it was just a dance, I…”

He feels cold guilt and regret weigh in his gut. Gods, he missed another chance to dance with Astarion. He didn’t even think about it…

“Oh I completely understand!” Astarion says unconvincingly. “With those long, fluttering lashes, eyes of baby blue, and that little laugh,” he scoffs. “How could you resist?”

“Gods above,” Church groans, stepping closer and grasping both of his hands. “Astarion. Please look at me?”

The sulking elf rolls his eyes but levels them at the tiefling with some difficulty.

“He was a sweet man,” Church admits. “And you’re right, I can’t resist an invitation to dance these days.” He squeezes his hands earnestly. “But there’s only one person who has my heart — and it’s you, in case you had any doubts.”

Church smiles ruefully at the rogue, swaying the both of them in place. “I wish I had invited you to dance. I wish I had all the time in the world to make it up to you.”

At Astarion’s silence, he squeezes his hands again and imploringly catches his eyes, feeling his stomach twist in his desperation. 

“Love, please,” he chuckles anxiously. “Do you want me to beg? Because I will beg.”

Astarion scoffs, but even he can’t disguise his pleased smirk.

“As much as I’d enjoy the sight of that, I will spare you the indignity of performing such a thing in front of our allies,” he says loftily. He tilts his head back in the direction of camp. “It’s getting late. And cold. Let’s away to your tent, and then I will know for certain who has your gaze tonight.”

Church huffs a laugh, but his words do give him an idea…

“I’m going to make this up to you,” he says decisively. “It’s something I should have done long ago.”

Astarion raises a bemused brow as the tiefling takes him by the hand, leading the elf back to their sanctum.

—  

“I… can we try something?” Church asks tentatively once they have settled in for the night. Their armaments sit inside the entrance of Church’s tent, ready for the next day’s endeavors. 

Astarion raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Oh? And what would that be, sweet thing?”

But through their parasites, Church can feel the trepidation in the elf’s mind and heart as he considers the possibilities. 

“It’s nothing sexual,” Church clarifies hurriedly, and the elf visibly relaxes as his mouth perks up in a rueful smile. “But I… think you’ll enjoy it?”

He sighs at the elf’s bewildered expression. “You once told me that you wanted to know what the world sees when they look at you,” he says softly. “What I see.

“Look… my drawings… I’m glad you enjoy them, but they’re far from perfect,” Church continues. “They won’t show you in motion, in color, and with all the details that I’m privy to.

“But I want to show you what you look like,” he says. “Through my eyes — literally.”

Astarion’s mouth forms a small, “Oh.”

Church smiles at him, tapping the side of his head. “We’ve already done something similar with our memories. Now that my tadpole is three times stronger, I’ve been wanting to try projecting what I see in the present directly into your mind. Painlessly, if possible.”

“Oh,” Astarion gawks at him. “Oh, well…” he grumbles to himself. “...why didn’t… I think of that…?”

Church shrugs guiltily. “To be honest it occurred to me a while back, but I wanted your permission. Our minds belong to us, and I didn’t want to intrude or presume.”

“Gods, if there was one thing you could presume… do it now,” Astarion blurts eagerly, before backpedaling with a nervous titter. “I mean… yes. Please, love.”

At that last, ardent plea, Church nods, tentatively reaching out to brush back a lock of Astarion’s silver hair. They kneel facing each other, and the tiefling takes the elf’s hands loosely in his as he concentrates on his tadpole — and Astarion’s. 

—

For a moment that now familiar, iridescent aura blurs all of Astarion’s vision. And then —

— he opens his eyes. 

It’s surreal to be staring back into that strange face — far more lined and textured than Church’s drawings, but recognizable as…

…his. It’s his. It’s still him, despite everything. 

And, thank the gods… he still looks exquisite.

“Oh,” Astarion murmurs in shock, and it’s bizarre to see the face’s lips move as he speaks. “Hello, again.” 

He tries in vain to swallow the ache behind his palate, blinking away the unwelcome moisture building in his eyes.

“Gods,” he breathes. “I missed you.” 

He marvels at how his face and throat move along with his voice. He admires even how a traitorous tear overflows his eye, crawling down his cheek.

“Oh, yes,” Astarion says airily, clearing his throat past the ache building within it. “I can see what all the fuss is about.”

His vision jitters slightly as he hears Church chuckle in front of him. 

The tiefling says nothing else, but his warm thumbs continue to press and stroke the back of Astarion’s trembling hands. 

“After all these years…” the vampire spawn murmurs, voice choked. “How did I go two hundred years without seeing this face?”

And still the tiefling remains silent, but from the shakiness and blurring of the image Astarion can tell that he’s trying to blink as little as possible. 

…or maybe he’s fighting back tears.

“Relax, darling,” the elf whispers, watching as that pale elf’s alien lips form those words.

“Sorry,” Church apologizes sheepishly. “Anything you wanted to—?”

He trails off as Astarion leans closer, baring his teeth and examining his fangs critically. 

“They don’t look too terrible, don’t they?” the vampire spawn remarks. 

Church laughs. “You wear them well — along with everything else.”

Astarion’s hand twitches in an aborted attempt to reach out and touch that face. He quickly redirects his hand in the right direction as he pokes at his own cheek, but he hums in dissatisfaction.

“Touch me,” the elf beseeches the tiefling. “I want to know what you see when you touch me.”

Church hesitates as he carefully reaches his hand up to rest against Astarion’s cheek, his thumb stroking lightly upon it. The elf sighs and leans into the hand, and it's bizarre to know and see that his eyes have fallen shut but still see himself through Church’s eyes. 

“If only you thought of this before,” the elf muses. “It certainly would have made for an intriguing situation in bed, knowing what it looked like…”

“…to go fuck yourself?” Church huffs an incredulous laugh. “I’m sure you’d make yourself blush. Personally-speaking, I’d hate to see what sort of faces I pulled when you were doing things to me…”

“They weren’t so bad,” Astarion hums, still reveling in the tiefling’s warm, soothing touch. “I found them quite satisfying. You’re expressive. Helped me know when I found the right spots and…”

He sees himself smirk at Church’s embarrassed blush. 

“…you’re beautiful to look at,” Astarion finishes. 

His words hang in the air as the tiefling savors them.

“So are you,” Church’s smile shines in his voice. “But I’m sure you can see that plainly now.”

“Nothing plain about it,” Astarion hums thoughtfully. “You never even stood a chance, did you?”

“Absolutely not,” Church chuckles ruefully. 

Slowly, the two of them sink down to recline upon their sides, still facing each other as they share Church’s vision. They continue to lie there in silence for a while longer, the tiefling contentedly tracing the elf’s features with his fingers as he has likely done numerous times before with his graphite.

“What are your favorite parts?” Astarion asks softly, before adding in a leer. “Besides the obvious ones…”

“Your eyes,” Church says automatically, and his thumb brushes against the elf’s cheekbone as long eyelashes blink slowly back at him over red irises. “They’re arresting, yes, but they tell me so much beyond what you say aloud.”

He chuckles. “You didn’t like when I said it before, but your lines…” he traces one as Astarion rolls his eyes with a grimace. “They’re so beautiful,” Church whispers. “My drawings of you were never complete without them.

“Your little freckle… here,” Church brushes his thumb upon it. “I love how it moves with the subtlest of your expressions.

“And your lips,” Church says softly. “Even when you don’t say a thing, they speak stories.

“And your jawline, your ears…”

“You’re just naming every part of me now!” Astarion scoffs. 

“I can’t help it!” Church laughs. “I love every part of you. I…”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, and Astarion surfaces from the shared vision just enough to see the tiefling blush and frown as he glances away. 

“Can I try to do it back?” Astarion asks him curiously. Church looks surprised. 

“Well, you can give it a try,” he says carefully. “But without the extra tadpole power it may take a little more effort from you. Just don’t strain yourself.”

“Gale mentioned some nonsense about constellations,” Astarion sniffs. “Can you show me what the hells he means?”

“‘Constellations’ was my word,” Church informs him good-naturedly. “But yes.”

He nestles closer to Astarion and begins to murmur his instruction. Eventually his spoken words turn into communication solely through their tadpoles.

Astarion supposes the strange magic he sees in the air looks sort of like constellations. In his opinion it’s more of a complex, undulating spiderweb, with the glowing bugs crawling around inside and spinning more threads as they go. 

“This here is my vision connection, essentially,” Church explains, plucking at a shimmering strand. “I’m going to form the link again, and then hypothetically you can just reverse the flow…”

Astarion sees his own face again, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration. By the flicking of Church’s gaze, he knows that the tiefling is stealing a moment to admire him. (Because of course he is…) 

“Do you feel the connection, love?” Church asks him gently. 

Astarion does. It’s like a beam of light pulsing steadily from Church’s brain into his own from their two matching spiders. He follows their threads to his own, and imagines empowering those too. 

“And do I just will it to…?” 

But even before Astarion finishes asking, he winces past a pressure in his brain. There’s a sucking sensation as he opens his eyes, vision swimming as he focuses upon Church’s concerned face —

— and then the tiefling gasps. 

“Oh,” Church says aloud. “H-hello.” He laughs delightedly. “You did it!”

His bright gaze flickers as he studies himself with a fading smile. 

“Gods, it’s not quite like looking in the mirror,” he observes. “It’s bizarre…”

“I also quite like your eyes,” Astarion cuts in conversationally. 

Church blinks. “What?”

“I always think to myself they’re like twin suns,” Astarion muses. “Sometimes they just stare too powerfully into me. It scared me, but now it warms me. 

“And those freckles,” he purrs, and he leans forward to brush his lips against the tiefling’s cheek — not quite realizing how bizarre that sight must have been from his end. “I want to eat them up. They shift just like your constellations when you make any face.

“Your nose,” Astarion flicks it and Church grumbles with a grin. “Sometimes I want to bite it, it’s a lovely thing. 

“And oh, your lips…”

Church blushes furiously as Astarion kisses them so sweetly. 

“Oh… wow,” the tiefling laughs. “I’ll be honest, this is a very new experience…” he murmurs sheepishly. “Do I really make that face? Gods…”

He hums into another kiss, and another. 

“Mmh… Astarion…” Church sighs, his eyes so, so soft as he gazes at him, lips parted in breathless awe. 

“Gods… do you see how you look at me?” Astarion whispers fervently to him. “How am I supposed to do a damn thing when you look at me like that?”

Eventually their heads begin to ache and they break the connection between their tadpoles. 

That night, Astarion meditates upon what he just saw of his face — committing every detail he can to memory. 

And then, when that’s all done, he thinks of Church’s smile… 

…and does the same. 

Start from the beginning!

[luckycheesefoodie321]

They’re really opening the doors for even higher levels of Luffy’s power (from a Whole Cake perspective)

Like we know that there’s a whole other awakening or whatever they call it to devil fruit, and Luffy’s is particularly evolved given his is Nika.

But the way Oda gradually opens the door for that possibility.

Obviously you enter the New World knowing the fights are gonna be harder but Luffy (putting aside the other circumstances that affected his performance) defeated Hody quite easily. Caesar was also a relatively quick defeat.

Then you get to Dressrosa and he activated Gear 4 for the first time and you’re like ok, new level. This is gonna be the New Thing Luffy uses to defeat opponents for the next little while (which is what Gear 2 and 3 were like from Enies Lobby until timeskip) with maybe a little customisation here’s and there.

But it’ll usually only be restricted to the final boss or the second to last boss and then the final boss might get a little customisation via a new move.

But then here comes Cracker with his more powerful Armament Haki (??) where Haki has been established to have different levels, and Luffy has to whip out Gear 4 when you’re only a quarter of the way through the arc. He hasn’t even MET Big Mom yet. He doesn’t even know there’s a bigger boss on the horizon.

This is different stakes. Different metrics to judge the fights by.

Even tho we pretty much JUST left Dressrosa (where Luffy barely even used Gear 2 in Zou), Luffy needs another level up bc that’s just how much more difficult his opponents are. I know he has 2 other versions of Gear 4 in the Whole Cake arc, showing the need for him to adapt. BUT ALSO the fact he ends up having to use Gear 4 so often shows how tough he has it.

And given that rate of acceleration in his power ups, and knowing how much Kaido had been hyped up by this point, you have to wonder how much MORE he needs to power up in order to tackle that beast.

So the door is slipping open bit by bit until you are forced to face the fact that if Luffy doesn’t have another level up past this, then he will absolutely lose (I say this as someone who absolutely watched the Gear 5 awakening despite only being up to Fishman at the time XD)

[we-are-warshaper]

I want a Mech game for Shapeshifters

Let me explain. Most mech games have a bit of customization to their armament, if not the mech itself. Preferably in games where you build the mech out of components and then decide on it's weapons to take into the level/mission. I want that for shapeshifters. Assume a human base form or the like, and let me shift different parts of it. Maybe in the vein where the transformations aren't permanent, but they last long enough that you have to prep them ahead of time. So one mission you start with horse legs, a wolf maw for a hand, and A big burly thagomizer for an arm. Next mission you want to be more mobile so you swap both arms for wings, but need to lose the horse legs as well for weight concerns. Leg weapons are limited by your maneuverability cause while you're gaining this great bursts of speed and aerial ability, you no longer can support such robust weaponry. Have each transformation have a cost on say your total magic reserve, add weight or the like, and even have their defensive properties determine health and speed. So yeah, I want a game for Shapeshifters where you build them like a mech. Let me just mash Prototype and Armored Core together.

[asktheritobowyer]

Hi Mr Harth!! Do you have any funny stories about you and Teba's escapades you can share?

Well now, that's quite bold question to ask me. Looking to get an embarrassing story or two out of me? Well I don't mind, we could all use a bit of laugher in our lives to brighten our days.

So let's see now, this was from our younger years. It all started, as most bad ideas do, someone biting of more than they can chew. Teba, never one to back down from a challenge, was confident about how he was going to be the best archer Rito Village had ever seen in his generation, better than his father, and aiming to be better than the reputation of Revali. Then you have me, who even as a fledgling had a more level head, but could still ended up getting dragged into one's mess.

Now, the Great Eagle Bow was a sacred weapon for the Rito people, usually displayed high above the village in the Kaneli's roost, far out of reach of any curious fledgling. It was a symbol of Rito valour, the pinnacle of achievement, and of course, strictly off-limits. But to the ears of a young, impulsive Rito like Teba, "off-limits" might as well have meant "irresistible." He wanted sneak of with it, so he could practice with it. A bow that not even fully grown adults to use.

Now despite my initial scepticism, I was now reluctantly intrigued. I had always possessed a certain admiration for Teba's reckless abandon, even if I knew it usually led to trouble.

The next thing we knew, we were enacting our plan. Teba, with his slightly larger wingspan, managed to scramble up some precarious ledges while I acted as a lookout, nervously chirping warnings. We snuck into the elder's roost, past a snoring guard bird, who seriously really needed a better nap schedule, and there, gleaming under a single sunbeam, was the Great Eagle Bow. It was much larger than either of us had imagined, almost comical in its size compared to our fledgling frames.

Teba brimming with pride, lunged for it. He grabbed the bow by the middle, intending to hoist it. Predictably instead the immense weight of the bow, which was designed for a fully grown Rito warrior, him tumbling backward, flailing with the bow clutched tightly in his grasp. I guess he realized them, the bow was a lot heavier than it looked. Yet despite knowing this, somehow I still tried to help him in his antics.

We both struggled to lift the unwieldy bow, finally managing to get it balanced somewhat precariously on Teba's back. He waddled like a tipsy Cucco towards the edge of the sanctuary...and promptly lost his balance again. This time, I fell, the bow tumbling end over end and smacking me square in the face.

I guess in that moment the winds decided we needed to be taught a lesson, because the lose of gravity caused the both us to bash into a nearby table, sending a cascade of armaments and arrows onto on the floor, which to no one's surprised resulted in a lot noise, leaving us with a thin layer of mortification, as we now saw the prized weapon of the Rito, cleanly snapped in two in front of us, each of holding piece.

It was then the elder awakened by the commotion walked in. I can distinctly remember his face being a perfect picture of bewildered amusement, his feathers ruffled in a way that suggested he’d just been woken from a very good nap.

He looked at the us, two dust covered fledglings, a bunch of armaments and arrow spread out all across the ground, and the colossal bow snapped cleaning in two, by us the culprits.

I'll admit I was prepared to fly aware and leave Teba to his fate, by the Elder simply just sighed, shaking his head. He didn't even bother scolding us,he probably already knw a lecture would just go in one ear and out the other. Especially in Teba's case.

The punishment? Let's just I had to learn how to fix a the Great Eagle Bow a lot earlier than what my father had intended, and was also grounded from doing anything, until I had fixed it to perfection.

As for Teba? Well...he wanted to be the best archer in Rito Village...and the Elder made sure he fully understood what that meant. I've seen Rito's be exhausted from training, but seeing Teba after that was something else. Sigh Good times.