#Four bunk cell

[louis-sj]

INM2855 Photostream

Many more prison photos including Russia, El Salvador, Breda & Tongeren Belgium, Thailand, and the Netherlands. Probably more.

Three SUAPI pictures from INM2855's photostream

A four bunk call. No privacy. Ready for prisoners.

Handcuffed together.

Time for uniforms.

SUAPI: Subsecretaria de Administração Prisional [Office of the Undersecretary for Prison Administration]

Other prison uniforms had SUAPI and SEAP on them. Possible search terms.

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr. (roughly edited)

<- previous chapter

PART FOUR —

— LIKE MACHINES DO

the winter soldier was awake before the sun began to rise because he hadn’t slept.

he could not lay still. it was a bad habit of his that you learned to coexist with having to share a room with him. he would rattle the whole bunk tossing and turning as he tried his hardest to settle. his footsteps against the cold stone floor of your bedroom cell were an ambiance that you grew to find soothing.

in the hotel room now, it was no different.

as much as he wanted to lay beside you — cupping your waist in his hands, tangling his legs with yours, and keeping his face tucked down into the warmth of your cleavage — he couldn’t.

he tried.

he really did.

he focused on the way your heart sounded below his ear. a steady, even tempo. he was grateful to hear it. it meant you were here— that you were real.

most of the time, he didn’t know what was real.

he rose out of bed as quiet as a mouse. he pulled on his boxers and pushed his long hair out of his face. the room was dark and he intended on keeping it that way as to not disturb you.

he wouldn’t let anything ruin the time you had to rest.

so he watched you from where he sat by the window in complete and total silence.

when you finally stirred in the sheets, the sun was cresting on the horizon. when you rolled over onto your side and stretched out your limbs, you saw him. he was a shadow in the corner of the room dressed in his gear.

the leather was snug. the padding he wore accentuated the muscles in his arm— the curves of his waist. the straps of his harness hugged his figure and held every piece of weaponry that he would need out on the field. extra clips. extra magazines. bombs. too many knives to count. guns by his thighs. a gun behind the back of his neck. a gun on the back of his belt. his gleaming vibranium arm with the red star had never looked more intimidating.

and that mask.

all you could see of his face were his icy blue eyes and those dark, brooding eyebrows.

you had seen him in his gear too many times to count but it never seemed to lose its glamor.

he scared you down to the marrow of your bones and yet you wanted to tug him over by his belt and lay yourself bare for him despite it.

the tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen as you got out of bed. neither of you said a word. he didn’t bother looking away as you got dressed into your own gear. despite being assigned to the ground, you’d be suited up, too. it mattered little who saw you once you were there. the worst thing that could happen on a mission was that either of you died.

murder was never discreet.

it was always messy.

you wouldn’t be deployed on the street until after agent fury was already done enjoying his pizza, anyways. by the time he saw you on his walk back—he wouldn’t.

winter did not miss.

you slipped on your gloves and tightened them around your wrists. you smirked as you felt your guns click into their holsters. you looked up as he slid the last one into place behind your back.

he brushed the side of his face against yours and murmured, “remember what i told you.”

“it wont come to that.” you leaned back into him and kissed the mouth of his mask. “but i remember.”

you’d done this countless times.

this would be no different than the rest.

you’d be on a plane home before sunset.

and the two of you would be cold on ice before tomorrow ended.

— ☆ —

the ironwork offices consisted of an entire floor of cluttered, abandoned workrooms on the top level of a building soon to be torn down. the offices had been moved closer to the factory district where the company had their main warehouses located. the building was a street over from the cafe on the opposite side; but the top floors towered over the building in front of it and overlooked the cafe perfectly. it was a far enough distance to keep the high-rise team out of sight.

when you and the winter soldier arrived, the officers and the strike team were already there.

but there were more.

many, many more.

the room was full of hydra guards in bulletproof armor and masks that covered every inches of their faces. karov was handing all of them ear pieces and synching them onto the same channel.

you looked up at him. “always more…”

“always more,” he agreed.

the members of the strike team stood lining the back wall after they were given their ear pieces. the sunlight spilling in through the windows stopped right before the tips of their boots. nikta was hunched over a laptop in one of the cubicles, flipping through the real-time surveillance footage of the streets in the area.

his watched beeped.

“ten minutes.” nikta announced.

you placed down the duffle bag you carried around your shoulder and he kneeled beside you. unzipping the bag, winter pulled out his sniper. he handed it over to you. you popped in the magazine as he tossed it to you and switched the safety off. you planted your feet and raised the scope to your eye. you tweaked knobs to align the elevation.

you handed him the sniper and he took it as he stood. he raised it, looking through the scope.

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

you could feel his smile through his mask.

“soldier.”

he strapped the gun over his back and turned on queue towards karov. “ready to comply.”

“fangs,” nikta said.

your jaw tightened.

you didn’t like that nickname.

you never had.

but there were worse things to be called.

“officer,” you said as you approached.

“this is where we will be positioned.” nikta said, handing you the laptop. he pointed to the screen. the cafe had a line out the door. it must’ve been well known. that many people meant for more cover. “when nick passes the light post, the winter soldier will take his shot.”

you glanced at the officer as you handed him back his laptop.

“come get your ear piece, pet.” karov said, waving you over before nikta could say anything further.

you grimaced under your mask.

that was the worst name.

“go,” nikta said, turning back towards the desk.

you stood still as karov placed the metal piece into your ear. you asked softly, “why so many?”

karov knew what you were asking. “this is no stroll in the park, pet. hydra would never step against any shield agents without heads to replace the fallen in our ranks in the case of a misstep.”

“but the soldier won’t miss.” you said, looking down at the short, doggish officer.

he said nothing. he didn’t bother to meet your gaze. he tapped the metal in your ear twice and you heard soft static crackle. you clicked the button on the inside of your collar twice.

“soldier,” karov said with a nod his way.

winter raised his hand to his throat and pressed the button inside his collar. his voice buzzed in your ear, “test. test. test.”

“copy,” you said.

winter nodded to karov. your ear pieces were synched. you’d be able to hear each other within a range of ten miles. any more than that and you’d lose connection.

it was how he always know where to find you when you came to after one of your bloodlust spells.

nikita’s watch beeped.

“it’s time.”

— ☆ —

the streets were crowded with people moving in every direction. trying to track one person was like looking for a needle in a haystack to most.

nicholas fury could have been beacon of shining light to the two of you.

you stood by the corner window together and watched as he passed by the cafe. dressed in a navy suit with sunglasses on, he was keen on enjoying his lunch break at his favorite pizza place. most days he had the pizza. today was different. he planned to order one of their italian subs.

it was the last time he would visit russo’s pizza.

he would not make it passed the cafe once the clock struck 2:22pm.

“alright,” nikta said. “ground team, let’s move.”

you and winter met each others eyes and shared a fleeting look that gnawed at what lay cold and beating behind your ribs.

he pulled a knife from his baldric and twirled it between his fingers. he slid it into place into the strap across your chest. you grazed the handle with your fingers without looking away from his eyes.

“don’t miss,” you said. he could hear the smile in your voice. “you owe me a hundred bucks if you do.”

“i don’t have a hundred bucks.” he said with a smug roll of his shoulders, “and i won’t.”

you grabbed his arm before he could kneel at his perch and ready his gun. he dipped his head instinctively as you pulled him in.

“we are compromised.” you whispered into his ear. you spoke in romanian and you spoke fast. “i can’t tell you which of them is the rat but i know its one of them. thats why there are extra guards. one of them doesn’t trust the other.”

“shoot who needs to go down, winter, even if that person in your sights is not agent fury.”

his brows pinched together as he looked down at you. he tipped his head, eyes flicking passed you at the two officers before landing back on you.

you nodded once, searching for any hint that he understood.

he loaded his gun. “good luck, doll.”

you turned away without another word and slipped on the long, black trench coat that would hide your gear as karov held it for you.

your mask hid your smile.

you made sure your ear piece was on one last time before you followed officer nikta and the — now four instead of two — strike team soldiers out of the room.

“eyes up,” nikta said as you descended the steps behind the strike team. “and stay on guard.”

it was incredibly bright outside. with the sun just passed it highest point, the glare took your unaccustomed eyes time to adjust to. the six of you crossed the street at different times. nikta first. the strike guards in pairs after him. you last.

you could feel him watching you through the scope of his gun as you took your spot by the lightpost.

nikta was to your left, rummaging through the newspaper box. he opened it up and began to read. the strike team guards sat spread out at the outdoor tables lining the sidewalk.

the minutes ticked by.

“look alive, little monster.”

you lifted your gaze just enough to catch sight of the window he was perched in, but he was impossible to see. he was shrunken by distance and cloaked by shadow within the building.

“one hundred bucks if you blow it, winter.”

you heard him scoff out a laugh through comms and it made you grin under your mask. you glanced down at your wrist and pulled the edge of your glove down.

{ 2:20 }

“two minutes.”

“copy.”

you pulled your sleeve down and turned. you scanned face after face as they passed by. with each second that ticked by, you felt your heart start to race. your hands were sweaty in your gloves and you could feel your blood rushing through your veins.

you could feel his gaze shift from behind the scope.

“target sighted.”

your eyes jumped from face to face.

and then you saw him.

with a half-finished bottle of coca-cola in his hand and a toothpick in his mouth, he was entirely and completely unaware of the danger that he was ten steps away from.

as nicholas fury approached the point of no return, he reached up and pulled his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose.

ice shot through you as he looked into your eyes with his one good one— the other scarred and white.

time came to a crawl.

bang!

you flinched as the gun went off right by your head.

the smoke from the barrel wafted off the gun in nikta’s hand. you could taste it in your mask. it burned your eyes.

you turned, following the straight shot of his arm.

nikta aimed for the window.

pop! pop! pop! pop!

nick fury pulled his gun from the back of his belt and and shot the strike soldiers in the chaos unfolding on the street.

it all came rushing back to speed as nikta turned his gun towards you. you pulled the knife from the strap on your chest and threw it. he fell like a bag of sand as it struck him in the chest.

you reached back to unclasp your mask from your face, teeth bared for the kill as you turned towards the one-eyed agent who had you in his sights.

the clasp refused to come undone.

panic shot through you like a bullet.

nikta tampered with your gear.

“go, go, go!” shouted voices from above as shield agents descended from the rooftops.

a hale storm of bullets thundered with fury and whizzed through the air. screams of terror pierced your ears like knives as the shield agents on descending lines went limp. blood sprayed like rain across the street.

“hostile up top! twelve o’clock!” fury yelled, diving down out of sight.

you looked up.

and you saw him.

with two guns in his hands, the winter soldier was raining hell from the rooftop of the ironworks office with the guards of the strike team.

karov was nowhere to be seen.

“i told you to run.”

at the sound of his voice in your ear, your muscles sprang into action and you took off.

bullets shot passed your head as you ran straight into the street. cars honked and breaks screeched. in the chaos of the city under fire, you ran into the commotion of the traffic filled street interrupted by the running crowd.

“nikta! it was nikta!” you shouted over the noise. you pulled your guns from your thigh holsters and glanced behind you. “he screwed up my mask! i can’t get it off!”

“i know.”

“he shot at you!”

“he missed.”

you pulled the trigger and a bullet flew into the shoulder of one of the shield agents hot on your trail. he dropped to the ground but you didn’t see. you shoved passed people as you turned the corner.

round the street and get to him.

that’s all you had to do.

once you were with him, the rest would make sense.

tires screeched and you turned to see a massive armored truck block the end of the road. agents came spilling out of it like a broken damn.

there were too many agents on the ground and it was only you facing them head on.

but you had eyes above.

“left!”

you extended your left hand and pulled the trigger.

another agent down.

“two behind you!”

you spun around and popped two shots. they were dead before they hit the ground.

“get down now!”

you hit the deck and rolled underneath an abandoned car. you looked your your right and watched the shield truck blow. fire and rubbled shot out everywhere as it exploded.

you crawled out from underneath the car and you shot off into a sprint.

and so did the bullet from nick fury’s gun.

you stumbled into the street as the bullet struck you through the lower back.

you touched your stomach and felt the hot, wet mess begin to spread through your gear.

car breaks whined and hissed at you like a feral cat. the smell of burned rubber suffocated you in your mask. the car tapped your hips and you stared at the driver through your wet lashes. you slammed your bloody hand onto the car as your core weakened, grasping for any leverage you had to stay standing.

“i’m hit…” you whispered.

you grunted as you looked down again. blood was pouring out of you like a bubbling faucet. it ruined the front of this poor lady’s yellow punch buggy. you glanced around you as shield agents swarmed the street and circled you with their guns drawn.

“james,” you breathed his name. “i’m hit.”

“i know, baby. im coming.”

the explosions sent you toppling over and you hit the ground hard. one after the other they went off like crackling fireworks. agents and civilians alike were blown back— blown to pieces alongside cement and stone as he shot grenades into the crowds. the strike team above picked off agent after agent despite the bullets flying back at them.

the plan to kill nick fury had failed.

the mission now was to retrieve you and go.

it was like watching lucifer fall from heaven.

the winter soldier jumped off the rooftop and he landed atop one of the burning cars. he walked through the flames and off the windshield with his eyes set on nothing but you.

you reached for him as he kneeled down— but you saw the shadow behind him.

“watch out!” you screamed.

he whipped around and grabbed the nozzle of the gun with his metal hand. the shot fired— but the bullet flatted against his vibranium palm.

winter’s eye twitched and nick fury’s chest fell.

“well, shit…”

you pushed yourself away, clutching your wound as winter grabbed the shield agent by the collar of his shirt and rammed him down into the street. you lost sight of him behind the car. you could hear his feral, tight grunts and the whirr of his metal arm.

pop! pop! pop!

the windows shattered and you raised your arm to shield your face. the car rattled as one of them slammed into it.

you needed to move.

right now.

you cried out as you were pulled to your feet. panic shot through you and you reached for your knives, but the sight of his face drew your brows together in a hard line.

“hurry now, pet, now is not the time to freeze.” karov said as he slid your arm over his shoulder. he brought his hand to his throat and pressed the button on his collar. “weapon-v secure. evacuating to your position now. she’s hit. ready aide.”

you cried out as he pulled you along step after step. you tried to look up— look anywhere that wasn’t your feet — but the world was spinning. tears and sweat wet your face. with each step, you groaned.

“bucky…” you looked over your shoulder to try and see him.

blood splattered across the side of your face as a bullet struck karov through the throat.

you tried to catch him.

you tried to hold him upright.

you fell to the ground with him and landed on your back. you screamed in terror and he choked above you. he clawed at his throat, gasping and suffocating on blood. you titled your head back squeezed your eyes shut as blood sprayed across your face and burned your eyes.

“fuck!” you yelled, trying to shove him off you. “oh, fuck! fuck!”

you felt the weight of him get shoved away. your hands flew to your face— but you were grabbed by the arms. a guttural cry of anguish tore through your teeth as you were dragged blind through the street.

“target acquired!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

you blinked as hard as you could to clear your eyes. you struggled as hard as you could. you thrashed— but you only hurt yourself more. you forced your eyes open and all you saw was red.

and then nothing at all.

— ☆ —

death was a warm, welcoming hug.

but all you knew was the cold, cruel kiss of life.

white.

you could’ve been dead. all around you was white. white lights. white walls. white sheets. a white ceiling and a white floor. you cringed at all the light— at all the white. you squeezed your eyes closed.

a soft grunt escaped you as you breathed too deep. you could feel the tender, angry wound wrapped under layers and layers of bandages.

“winter,” you murmured through chapped lips and a dry mouth. you turned your head towards his rickety old chair. “winter, i’m thirsty…”

“i don’t speak russian, i’m afraid.”

your head snapped up and your eyes shot open. you bared your teeth at the agent who stood at the end of your bed.

“easy now,” said nicholas fury. he raised his hands and spared you a sympathetic smile. “you don’t want to tear a stitch.”

you grimaced at the reminder of the pain— at the way english sounded. it was a mess of words you had a hard time putting together. it was slow coming.

“you should learn.” you muttered as you glanced around the room. the scowl on your face must’ve amused him because he laughed. unless he found what you said funny.

the plain, empty room was as much as cell as any other. you were in handcuffs, your hands tied to the bed. you were prisoner. cared for, sure, but still a prisoner.

“where am i?” you asked softly.

“you know where you are.” nick said.

you grimaced. although you weren’t fond of his answer, he was right. it didn’t matter where you were exactly because you were in shield’s custody.

“do you remember what happened?” nick asked.

you nodded once but said nothing.

“your wound will heal if you let it.” he flicked his head towards your stomach. “i’m a good shot. i made sure not to paralyze you.”

“i won’t thank you.” you muttered.

“no, i figured you wouldn’t.” he chuckled.

you did not laugh. you did not bother to look at him.

only one thing mattered to you now.

“where…” you stopped yourself.

you had to maintain the secret.

“where is your friend?” nick asked for you. he walked over to the white metal chair beside your bed and turned it around, sitting backwards on it. “we don’t know where your friend with the metal arm is. he fled the scene.”

your brows pinched together and your chest caved.

relief or pain, you did not know.

“he…he’s not here?” you asked in a voice far too soft. you looked at the agent sitting beside you, searching for any hint of a lie.

“no,” nick said with a shake of his head. “sergeant james buchanan barnes is not here.”

your face paled. “how do you…” you almost didn’t have the words. your mind went numb you weren’t sure if you could’ve spoken russian if you tried. “that name…how…”

“shield knows more about you two than you could imagine, miss constantinescu, and we’ve been searching hard to find you both since we got wind of your…creation.” nick said lightly.

you squeezed your eyes shut. “don’t call me that.”

“that’s your name isn’t it?” nick asked.

“i don’t have a name.” you whispered through your teeth.

“now that just ain’t true.” nick sighed as he got up. he walked behind you somewhere and you tried to turn your head and see him. “you have many names.”

it was hard to focus your eyes as he held the folder in front of your face. the brown folder had your name across it in bold red letters.

ISLA E. CONSTANTINESCU

“THE VAMPIRE”

“WEAPON-V”

“shall i open it?” nick asked.

you said nothing.

you couldn’t find your voice.

you didn’t exist.

before hydra, you hadn’t existed. that woman did not exist. isla constantinescu was story. a dream. that person was not real.

you were real. a weapon. a machine. a monster. a pet.

that girl did not exist.

that girl was not you.

but if she had not been real then how was he holding a folder full of her?

a folder full of you.

nick placed the brown folder into your hands and stepped away. you looked over at him with tears brimming on your lashes. this was poison. it burned your hands to hold and yet you clutched it between your palms tighter and tighter.

“if i’m going to talk to you,” nick said with a small tip of his head, “then it looks like you are going to have to meet yourself, miss constantinescu.”

hope you enjoyed this installment of headlock. action scenes are always hard to write and i hope i did alright at keeping the intensity of the moment rampant. part five coming soon. as always, let me know if you want to join the taglist.

tags: @homiesexual-or-homosexual @carbonnite-copy @aegonshusband

next part ->

[a-killer-obsession]

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 9 - As It Was Written

The Straw Hats finally arrive at Sabaody. Will things go to plan? And how will Kid react?

WC: 6.1k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

It took four days for the Straw Hats to turn up, and in the meantime Kid had grown restless, and more than over all the waiting. He was starting to get dangerously close to calling bullshit on your story, and you'd spent the last two nights with Killer, Kid deciding if you were going to run, that Heat would be too soft and more likely let you go. Which was far from true - Heat had become exceptionally attached to you, if you tried to run he was more likely to chain you to his bed and keep you like a pet. Finally, not long before lunch on the fourth day since docking, the long awaited sound of Killer's transponder snail ringing was heard.

Immediately you were taken back to the ship and put back in the brig, your collar and cuffs still on but your leash removed for now. You had a decent idea of how long it would take for the events of the day to unfold, so you waited patiently on the bottom bunk bed, the mattresses still stacked from your original stay, though you were without the comfort of your blankets or pillow. Or your stuffed animal, which obviously lived with Heat. You should have asked for a book or something, it was boring as shit down in the brig, so you entertained yourself by trying to memorise the strings of symbols written in probably blood that lined the walls and floors of the cell. You still weren't sure what their purpose was, did someone on this crew take part in regular demon summoning? House, probably, if you had to guess.

You heard the sudden chaos above you on the main deck as the commanders returned, followed by the lurching of the ship as it quickly left the port just as you thought it would. The Victoria may not have been in immediate range of the marines, but they were still hot on their tail. It was maybe half an hour before things settled enough for Heat to come down to retrieve you, reattaching your leash for good measure. Kid figured if there was ever a time where you were going to attempt to run or attack, it would be when your story was disproven.

“Last chance, you're telling the truth right?” Heat asked nervously. He wasn't ready to give you up if Kid decided to get rid of you, and after the day they'd all had you might not even make it to the auction house if it came out that you'd been faking it. “I can't… I can't protect you if you're lying.”

“You won't have to, Heat,” you assured him, cupping his scarred face as best you could with your still cuffed hands. “You're all gonna see I was telling the truth. I promise. I wouldn't lie to you.”

“Okay,” he said softly, pushing his face into your shoulder and inhaling your sweet scent, before gathering himself with a sigh and bringing you above deck. It seemed like the entire crew was out on the weather deck as you were walked through to the navigation room, passing around the side of the forecastle to the inside of the giant dinosaur skull to enter the nav room from its front door. The other commanders sat inside at the round table, Kid tapping his fingers impatiently against the wooden table top, your sealed letter sitting in front of him, both the now past and your uncertain future held within.

You expected Kid to want you on his lap as usual, but instead Heat attached your leash to a bracket hidden under the table and sat you at the opposite end from Kid, taking his own place on the other end with the other commanders. It felt very much like you were on trial as you sat facing the four large, dangerous men. It was a stark reminder that these men were in fact notorious pirates and would kill you without a second thought. Killer still had a splash of marine blood on his mask, likely kept there to intimidate, but you had to admit it was kinda hot.

“Ready for your judgement, Mouse?” Kid rumbled, a smug smile on his face. He was ready to prove you wrong, greatly in need of an outlet to torture and kill after the day he had and keen to make you that outlet. The others weren't as prepared, they had all taken note of your accurate prediction of where the Straw Hats would dock, as well as the marine presence in the neighbouring dock, and for Killer and Heat especially it had given them hope that you'd be a permanent fixture on the ship. Heat still had a clutch of eggs prepared that he hoped you would accept, and Killer was more than excited at the potential to have someone on board who was happy to indulge his kinks. Kid had a secret hope to keep you here as well, it was nice having a human feeder on board, but he couldn't stand liars, not even your sweet blood would outweigh that. As soon as you were proven a liar he would torture you within an inch of your life, and then he'd drain you dry.

“Ready when you are,” you replied as confidently as you could, though you stirred nervously in your seat. You had an underlying paranoia that your presence alone in this world may have changed things, but given the rushed nature that the ship had left port, and the commanders’ clearly fresh from battle appearance, you held hope that your predictions would still hold true.

Kid grunted indignantly and handed the letter to Killer, who opened it and quickly gave it a skim, his brows raising under his mask, before beginning to read aloud for the others.

“Kid will get into a fight with Scratchmen Apoo in grove twenty-four, and Killer will get into a fight with The Mad Monk Urouge in grove twenty-one, which will be broken up by X Drake,” he exchanged a look with Kid. His face may have been masked but Kid had known him long enough to understand the look.

“So she got one part, big whoop, is that all she wrote?” Kid rolled his eyes.

“There's a lot more here,” Killer continued, a hopeful tint to his voice, “Commanders will head to the human auction house in grove one, where Trafalgar Law and some of the Straw Hat crew will be present. A pirate captain for sale named Lacuba will bite his own tongue off. A green haired mermaid will be presented for sale in a giant fishbowl. The Celestial Dragon, Saint Charlos, will bid five-hundred million berri for her.”

“He wanted to see how long she'd survive in a tank with his piranhas,” you tsk’d, “disgusting man.” The commanders made discontented frowns as they imagined the mermaid they'd seen being eaten alive, before Killer continued.

“Monkey D. Luffy will crash through the ceiling on a large flying fish and punch Saint Charlos,” Killer continued, “Silvers ‘Dark King’ Rayleigh will appear through the stage wall and use conqueror's haki to knock most of the guards out. He will apologise to Kid and Law for using haki on them. Marines will surround the auction house. Kid, Law and Luffy will fight together against them. Warlord Bartholomew Kuma will attack Kid. Marine Admiral Kizaru will also show up, and newspapers will advertise the execution of Portgas D. Ace in nine days at Marineford,” Killer paused, “that's everything she wrote.”

There was a pregnant silence as the commanders all absorbed that every item you'd listed had been an accurate prediction, even things as unbelievable as Luffy punching a Celestial Dragon. It was a heavy revelation for everyone to admit that you were from a whole other universe, and some unknown force had brought you here against your will. It opened up more questions than they were prepared to try to answer. “Well, shit,” Kid finally broke the silence.

“So, I can stay, right?” You asked nervously, everyone waiting anxiously for Kid's verdict.

You spooked as Kid suddenly stood, using his devil fruit to unhook and pull your leash behind him as he cut through the infirmary and dragged you out to the main deck. The rest of the crew was still crowded around, eagerly awaiting Kid's decision, quickly standing to attention as Kid appeared. You'd become quite the topic of curiosity and intrigue on the ship, everyone was invested in whether you would be kept around, and betting pools waited patiently for Kid's answer.

“Where's Dive?” Kid barked. The small green haired girl came skipping forward gleefully, excited to be summoned.

“Yes boss?” She smiled wide, showing off her sharp teeth.

“I've got an important job for you,” he leaned down a little to address her, “go to my workshop and clean it up for me. Work hard and don't come out till you're done, and as a reward I'll let you get anything you want at a candy store next time we make land.”

“Yay! Okay boss!” She squealed excitedly, quickly skipping off and running up the stairs to the stern castle. There was curious silence on the deck as Kid watched her go, waiting until the young girl had disappeared into the stern castle before speaking again.

“Everyone make a circle,” Kid barked, and his order was quickly followed. Kid pulled you by your leash into the centre of the circle, and you suddenly felt very small. You looked to the other commanders for support, but Heat seemed just as confused as you, while Wire wore a knowing grin that made you nervous.

“This here is the new ship whore,” Kid smirked, “she's usually off limits for you losers, but I'm feeling generous today.” Killer took that as his cue to step forward and cut your clothes from your body, running a punisher blade under the fabric and pulling away the ruined scraps, leaving you bare to the entire crew, minus the minor. Kid used his fruit to weld the end of your leash to the metal at the base of the mast, before standing behind you and holding you against him with a hand on your throat. He forced you to keep your eyes on the hungry wolves circling you, making your thighs unconsciously clamp together - whether for friction or self defence, you weren't sure. “Anyone who wants a turn, today is your lucky day. But wrap your cocks you gross fucks, I don't want to catch your fuckin’ warts when I fuck my whore next. Girls, be sure to take advantage of that pretty face.”

Kid let you go and stepped back, forcing his way through the crowd to head up to the forecastle deck where he'd get a nice view, followed by the other commanders, leaving you to the wolves. You stood awkwardly in front of them, their eyes all hungry, mouths practically salivating, as they all looked at your bare body, a few of the men already palming themselves through their clothes. House, who had no interest in any of this, momentarily disappeared into the infirmary, coming back out with several boxes of condoms which she shoved into the arms of the closest crewmate, before disappearing back into the infirmary to deal with some paperwork. The boxes were quickly torn open and distributed, as the first few crewmates came forward - Reck and Quincy.

The two of them circled you like predators, Quincy removing her large crown-like hat and handing it off to someone else. She had always seemed so sweet and aloof, so it surprised you when she was the first to grab you, pinching your face in her hand as she forced her tongue into your mouth, making you whimper and rub your thighs together. Reck grabbed you from behind, pressing his clothed erection against your ass. His hands groped at your soft tits, subtly supporting your stance as he kicked your legs open to give Quincy access. Quincy's hand was quick to find your cunt, running two fingers between your folds and holding them up so everyone could see how wet her fingers were as she rubbed your slick between her pointer finger and thumb. The crew closed in further as they saw how aroused you were, beginning to call out both praises and degradation, calling you a good girl, a pretty little slut, a greedy whore. It made you even wetter, and Quincy was surprisingly rough as she ran a hand through your hair and grasped it hard, pulling downwards and forcing you to your knees.

Heat was watching the whole thing with nervous anxiety. He barely handled letting the other commanders touch you, but watching the whole crew looking at you like a piece of meat, palming themselves through their clothes and whispering to each other all the things they were going to do to you, it made him possessive. He didn't like people touching his things, he didn't like people messing with things from his precious hoard. His hindbrain had registered you as part of his collection the moment you'd jumped on his bed, and he twitched nervously watching Quincy and Reck touch you. “Heat, easy,” Wire whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder to try and ground him. He could feel how tense Heat was, and knew well that he had the most trouble between the commanders when it came to reeling in his more monstrous instincts. Everyone on this crew was his friend, but you should never come between a dragon and his treasure, no matter the type of dragon.

When Quincy forced you to your knees, something cracked in Heat. The little whimper you made registered in his mind as pain, not the arousal that it was, and he was shifted to his wyrm form and flinging himself down to the weather deck before Wire could grab his tail. He coiled around you, pushing Quincy and Reck away, hissing at them and baring his sharp teeth at the crew. Everyone took a few steps back, understanding that Heat had lost control and was genuinely dangerous now. If they didn't think he had claimed you before, it was certain now what you meant to Heat. Quincy pouted and looked up at Kid, waiting for the captain to intervene so she could go back to playing with you.

“Heat, back off,” Kid growled.

“Mine!” Heat shouted back, coiling tighter, almost tight enough to squeeze the air out of you.

“Last warning Heat,” Kid said in a low voice, “you can back off, or you can be punished.”

Killer stood sternly at Kid's side, and Kid whispered something in his ear. The first mate quickly disappeared to the stern castle, while Kid used his devil fruit to summon a length of chain and Wire descended the stairs from the skull deck. He approached Heat as one might approach an angry alligator, arms out, ready to grab him. Heat hissed at his best friend, making it clear how out of control he was, and made no move to release you. Kid's eyes flicked behind you, to where Killer had returned, and gave him a nod.

Like lightning Killer and Wire were grappling at Heat, Killer slipping a muzzle over his face while Wire pulled on the sensitive end of his tail to force him to loosen his grip on you. As soon as he did, making a shocked whine as Wire took advantage of this weakness, Killer grabbed him under his arms and started dragging him backwards, while Wire grabbed you and pulled you away from Heat. As soon as your bodies were separated, Kid wrapped the chain around Heat, sending him backwards to crash against the mast with a loud thunk, chaining him to it, his long tail thrashing wildly until Wire and Killer secured it.

“You should have behaved,” Wire tutted, making sure the muzzle was secure. Heat spat at him through the gaps in the rounded metal cage, and Wire tsk’d as he wiped the spit from his face. That was all Wire needed to shift to the role he was familiar with as Heat's usual dom, and he knew every one of the wyrm's weaknesses. Heat made a stuttered gasp as Wire stuck his fingers in the slit where Heat's cocks were sheathed, toying with his cocks inside the wet folds and making Heat whine. “You're gonna be good now, do I make myself clear?” Wire growled, “you're gonna stay here and you're gonna watch the crew fuck your precious treasure, and you're going to learn how to share properly or I'll make sure you never have her again. Use your words, tell me you understand.”

“Y-yes master,” Heat whimpered as Wire removed his fingers and slapped Heat with the same hand, leaving a wet, red print on his face. “I'll- I'll be a good boy.”

“Good,” Wire hummed, looking back at Quincy and giving her a nod to continue. Wire and Killer returned to the skull deck to observe, as the crew began to close in on you again. Quincy pushed you back down to your knees, a soft folded towel placed under them this time for protection against the hard wooden deck.

You watched hungrily as she stood in front of you and stripped off her bloomers and frilly panties, along with her giant bow and beaded belt, then she hooked a leg over your shoulder, pressing her back to the mast for support, right next to Heat who squirmed and thrashed to try and get to you. You barely had time to register that the carpets did in fact match the drapes before she was pulling your hair hard again, forcing your face against her wet cunt. You immediately got to work eating her out, moaning against her pussy as Reck knelt behind you and spread your knees, reaching underneath you to slip two fingers inside your cunt and begin stretching you out. You were overly aware of the sloppy sounds your pussy was making and the rustling of fabric around you as the crew got into various states of undress and started masturbating as they watched Quincy use your face and Reck finger fuck your greedy hole. A few even began jerking each other off, Hop opting to grind her ass against Noe, while Hip started playing with Emma's pussy, knowing the pink haired girl would be too shy to do anything on her own.

Reck pulled you back a little and you whined as his cock rubbed between your folds and slipped inside you, taking no time before he started pounding hard into you, forcing your face harder against Quincy. She held your hair hard to stabilise you, rolling her hips to ride your tongue. Kid was right - she was loud, entirely unabashed as she moaned and used your mouth. Heat made soft needy whines as he watched, his cocks unsheathing on their own accord as he longed to be the one inside you. Hop took note, she and Hip exchanging mischievous looks before Hip left Emma in Noe's care.

“Two of them!” Hop purred, running her fingers along the underside of Heat's cocks, “aw, look how they twitch! So cute!” Heat hissed as Hip knelt and gave one cock a kitten lick, Hop following suit with the other, the two of them peppering kisses and featherlight licks and touches over his cocks and scales as he fought against the restraints.

“Don't let him cum,” Wire instructed them, “he doesn't deserve to cum.”

Heat made pained whines as the girls continued to tease him, the sounds making you moan against Quincy's cunt. With Reck's hard thrusts pushing you against her, it didn't take long for Quincy to finish, pulling your head back a little by your hair and furiously rubbing her clit in front of you until she screamed and squirted on your face. Her pleasure pulled you to your own peak, clamping around Reck's cock as a creamy ring formed around the base of his condom. Quincy bent down and gave you an affectionate kiss before leaving you, still dripping from her release.

“See Heat?” Wire called from the skull deck, “see how good our Mouse is? See how well behaved she is? Why can't you be like her. Look at your pathetic cocks leaking, you act like you don't wanna watch others fucking her, but you're just a pathetic little cuck aren't you?”

“Pathetic little cuck!” Hop parroted with a laugh, “aww his cocks are so red and needy, I bet if we leave him like this he'll cum anyway!”

“Go on then Heat,” Hip laughed, “prove to us you're not a cuck, I bet you cum without anyone touching you!” The two girls stopped touching him, but Hop continued to whisper nasty things in his ear, holding his horn so he couldn't turn away from her. Hip returned to Emma, who Noe had already made cum once, cooing to her what a good girl she was as Noe held her up on her shaky legs.

Reck flipped you around and pushed you on to your back, your chain rattling against the wooden deck, and he continued his rough treatment of your cunt. You felt suddenly very exposed now that you could see everyone watching and masturbating. Heat was right above you, looking down at you with a desperate and forlorn expression, his cocks bobbing untouched and needy. You watched Hip lead a very nervous Emma to you, encouraging her to take a seat on your face. “There you go, Em,” Hip cooed, as Emma squatted and sank down, nervous that she was going to suffocate you. You encouraged her by pulling her down as best you could with your bound wrists and eagerly reaching your tongue up to swipe through her folds. “Just like that, use the whore's face,” Hip encouraged as Emma finally began to relax, “that feels good, doesn't it?”

Emma made shy little whines above you, and Hip sat on your chest so Emma could use her shoulders for support, kissing Emma to distract her from all the watching eyes. You vaguely registered the grunt and splash of warm fluid against your tummy as Reck pulled off his condom and finished on you, quickly replaced by someone new, who you'd see later was Papas. He was a little smaller than Reck in the equipment department, who must have been a little above average, but he knew how to use it. Reck had got you most of the way to another orgasm, so you quickly unravelled and came on Papa's cock, moaning against Emma's pussy. Everyone cheered for you, the humiliation of cumming in front of the whole crew making you whine. Hip groped at your tits and abused your nipples with harsh pinches, making you buck and writhe under her. Emma's moans were quiet and reserved but slowly got a little louder as she got close, a near constant pleasured whimper from above you, paired with Heat's frustrated whines. Hip focused her attention on Emma, slipping her hands under her shirt to play with her tits gently instead of the mean treatment she'd been giving you, rolling her nipples to give her the last push of stimulation she needed to cum.

“Good girl, Em,” Hip cooed as Emma panted above you, having released a small gush on your tongue. You lapped at her carefully, knowing she would be sensitive but wanting to give her that last little bit of pleasure. “What a good girl, did the whore's face feel nice?” Emma gave a little sleepy nod and Quincy helped her up. You barely had time to catch your breath before Hip was taking her place, having quickly stood and stripped her leggings and shorts. She sat with her back to Papas, giving her a good position to grip your hair and use you roughly the way Quincy had. You could also see her face from this position, and she gave you a shit eating grin that reminded you a little of Wire. Her mouth was dangerously close to Heat's cocks, his hips rolling and chains making metallic strained noises as he tried to get a cock against her, even just to rub his tip against her lips, anything to get stimulation. She laughed meanly at him and blew air on his cocks, making precum bead and roll down the undersides as Heat growled.

Papa's finished with one last grunt, emptying into his condom and cursing that he'd wanted to finish on you like Reck had. Noe pulled him away by the hood of his sweater, eager to take his place, holding your thighs up against your stomach so you were practically folded in half, and spitting on your cunt more out of principle than need. You were nothing short of soaked right now, but being spat on made you shiver, feeling unbearably empty until his cock slid inside you. Noe was an average length but girthy, and you mewled at the new stretch. He was kind enough to give you a few moments to adjust before he started moving, his thick shaft pressing firmly against your g-spot and making your toes curl.

“Such a pretty little human,” Hip cooed down at you, “pretty little mouth, doing such a good job!”

“Pretty little pussy, too,” Noe added, “takes me well for a human, so fucking tight though. Fuck, I'm gonna cum quick after watching you girls ride her face.”

“Cover her in it,” Hip ordered, “I wanna see this pretty little whore get frosted, I'm gonna squirt on this cute little face.”

Hip squatted a little over you, giving you a perfect view of her cunt as she fingered herself, pumping her fingers fast in and out of her pussy and making obscene squelches until she moaned and threw back her head, giving Heat a cruel smile and cumming with a significant gush of fluid over your face. You weren't sure you'd ever seen such a grand amount of squirt, you were truly impressed. Hip gave your dripping face a playful, wet slap and stood, wiping her hand on Heat's face to clean the cum from them. Noe wasn't far behind her, adding to the milky splashes of cum on your stomach with a grunt.

Hop took over next, and you expected her to ride your face as well, but instead she took charge of the situation. She pulled you up by your hair until you were kneeling, and you were quickly surrounded by men and needy erections. Hop moved your head for you, forcing you to bob your mouth on each cock in turn - Bubblegum's, Moai's, Haikei's and UK's - making sure each man got plenty of turns, and that your mouth was going far enough to gag you each time. Heat's cocks were off course left neglected, but Hop made sure he had the best view in the house. The taste of the latex condoms wasn't pleasant but you had bigger fish to fry, every now and then looking up and catching Heat's sad brown eyes as he struggled to get to you. Your hands were utilised by those not currently being sucked off, and Bubblegum opted to push your tits together and thrust his now uncovered cock between them, the head of his cock occasionally bumping against your neck and smearing precum over your chest. Hop got off on others getting off, and cooed praises for how deep you took the men's cocks and how much you were drooling. The saliva ran down your chin and neck and added to Bubblegum's lubrication, smoothing his glide as he fucked your tits.

“Cum on her face!” Kid called from the forecastle deck where the commanders, sans Heat, were still all watching.

“On it, Captain!” UK replied, pulling off his rubber, gripping your hair and furiously fisting himself in front of you. You closed your eyes in anticipation, soon feeling the hot splashes of cum on your face as UK groaned. Kid cheered from the deck and UK forced your mouth open with his thumb, playing with your tongue before letting you return to Hop's control. Heat growled like a rabid animal, trying to bite UK as he moved to leave, making it clear why he'd been muzzled. He hated seeing someone else's mark on your face, smelling their scent coming off you, but at the same time his cocks twitched violently, his stomach pulled tight as he tried not to cum.

You continued alternating between Moai and Haikei with your mouth and hands, and soon Bubblegum was finishing on your chest, making eye contact with Heat with a crooked grin as he doused you with a violent spray of cum over your tits. He was replaced by Oscar, but as your mouth and hands worked the three men, you began to feel a familiar urge in your abdomen. You'd been leashed to the mast for a while now, and you were in great need of a toilet break. It wasn't helped by Hop, who was now kneeling beside you and playing with your pussy, her palm occasionally pressing against your mound, adding pressure to your very full bladder.

“Mm- Ne-nng,” you mumbled around Haikei's cock. He removed himself with a raised brow, careful to let you speak in case you needed to stop.

“What's wrong baby?” He cooed, running this thumb over your bottom lip.

“Need to pee,” you huffed, to which Hop pressed hard against your bladder on purpose, making you whine. “Hooooop”

“What? I'm just helping,” she teased, “go ahead and piss yourself, whore.”

“Noo!” You whined, “just… give me five minutes!”

“Come on now, Mouse,” Kid berated from his spot, “you're the one who wanted this, you said so before we docked at Sabaody! This is your initiation! You're not done till everyone that wants it gets a turn!”

“But-” you whined.

“No excuses, Mouse,” Kid growled, “prove you belong here. Either hold it in or let it go, there's no shame here, just fuckin’ piss.”

You did your best to hold it, managing another ten minutes of dick sucking and Hop pushing on your bladder before you couldn't do it any longer. You tried your best to squeeze your thighs together, but Hop wouldn't let you. She was purposefully doing everything she could to fuck with you, and you couldn't see her mouth behind her mask that covered the lower half of her face, but you could tell by the glint in her eye that she had a smug grin. Everyone waited eagerly for the flood gates to open, and when the first trickle of piss ran down your thighs everyone cheered. You whined and squirmed as the towel underneath you got damp with piss as the hot liquid ran down your legs, and Hop cooed praises in your ear, rubbing your clit until you came on her hand. It felt strange to cum while you were still peeing a little, it was different, but not bad. You made the mistake of looking up at Heat, whose eyes were wide, focused on the space between your legs at the trail of hot piss coming from your cunt. His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and with a stuttered groan and furrowed brows his cocks twitched and he came, cum dripping on the deck in front of you as he swore under his breath.

“Good little piss slut,” Hop cooed, rubbing your oversensitive clit and making you wriggle, the last of your stream going directly into her palm and flooding over, “look at you go, look at you pissing yourself like a good little whore. Not like this pig over here. Cumming like the disgusting cuck he is, tsk. Look at that, he almost got me with his gross cum.”

You were too fucked up to reply with more than a tired mumble, and it was clear to everyone that you were run through, leaning forward to rest your head against Heat's tail as his spent cocks withdrew back into his sheath. He whined, wishing he could give you comfort but unable to reach you with his bound arms. He looked up at Wire in a wordless plea, hoping he'd noticed your exhaustion. Wire of course did, giving Heat an understanding nod, and stepped forward to speak to Kid. “She's done,” he told the captain, “she needs to rest.”

Kid grumbled, not liking being ordered around, but Wire was the most experienced on the crew with things of a spicy nature, and everyone trusted his opinion when it came to sex and kink. If Wire said you were done, then you were done, there was no arguing with him on matters of safety and limits.

“Alright losers, I'm bored,” Kid barked his excuse to the crew. He didn't want them to think you were weak, when really you'd taken a great deal more than most could. “Finish up and give me my whore back.” Kid turned to Wire as he prepared to head off, “clean her up, you can use my tub. Make sure she's all good, she's one of us now. Leave Heat on the mast until nightfall, he still has a lesson to learn.”

Those who were left took their opportunity to finish on your face or tits, and you were left a cum and piss covered mess, only kept upright by Hop. It was strangely familiar after that, each crewmate taking their turn to welcome you to the crew and offer kind words, like you weren't dripping with semen and half asleep, kneeling on a towel soaked with your own urine. The commanders finally descended from the deck, and Wire helped you to your feet, using his cloak to wipe some of the more annoyingly placed cum from around your eyes, then he scooped you into his arms bridal style, far more gentle than he had been the other day.

He carried you up to Kid's floor, Killer running ahead and filling the large corner tub while Wire used a warm, wet cloth to wipe most of the gunk from you before lowering you into the water. Kid's bathroom was large and lavish, almost at large as Killer's bedroom, with a walk in waterfall shower that could probably fit all the commanders at once, and a black marble counter with two inlaid sinks, a mirror running it's length that reached the ceiling. The whole room was tiled with black marble and accented with gold metal embellishments, furnished with deep red towels and floor mats, and several expensive looking paintings of nude women hung on the walls. Killer and Wire both stripped off and sat with you in the water, touching you softly, almost lovingly, washing you with delicate motions and massaging your scalp as they washed your hair. You were barely conscious as the two of them cleaned you up, and the gentle way they held you was making it easy to doze off.

“Did I do good?” You mumbled.

“You did very good,” Wire praised, “just rest now, sweetheart.”

“Is Kid gonna let me stay?”

“He said you're one of us,” Killer answered, “Don't worry about anything for now, just rest. Being part of this crew means nobody here will ever hurt you, you're safe now.”

“Mmm,” you mumbled back, nuzzling into Wire's chest and holding Killer's warm hand.

The two of them finished bathing you as you slipped into unconsciousness, before carrying you back downstairs, carefully dressing you in an old, loose shirt of Heat's, and tucking you into his bed, even though it was only mid afternoon. It would be a small victory for Heat to find you there later, a kindness from Killer and Wire who could have just as easily left you in one of their own beds. You were so exhausted you slept right through dinner, not even waking when Heat finally climbed into bed and curled around you, though nobody was surprised.

[Next Chapter]

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[sweetbillwriting]

Only The Road Ahead

Chapter 10

Character: AU Eddie Barrish, played by Bill Skarsgård in the movie Locked (2025). His daughter, Sarah, also has a part in the story.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

The steel tray looked unwashed; even under the unidentified brown stew, Eddie could see that. It had specks of red, like tomato sauce on the edges, and something almost black and dry just next to the stew. He wouldn't eat; he wasn't a picky eater, but eating dried-up leftovers that could be anything was just too low. He had lost 20 pounds the last time he was in jail; when he got out, his friends joked that he looked like a hanger with a cock. A blue one on top of that. He had that sort of face that annoyed other prisoners, he had learned, especially his eyes. So his green eyes had often been decorated with a blue frame. He had been cocky the first month, been in fights, and given people nicknames only he thought were funny. But after having woken up with his roommate's big hands around his throat, taking more and more of the air in his lungs, he had stopped. He could see the face of five-year-old Sarah when his oxygen ran out, and after that he kept his eyes down to the ground. 

He had his eyes low now too, down in the tray, but had succeeded in getting a broken lip anyway. Why did he have such big eyes? They always succeeded in making some paranoid fucker nervous. 

“Barrish!” A lanky middle-aged guard shouted at him by the entrance to the canteen. Other prisoners looked up and turned their eyes towards Eddie. He had gotten a few weird looks because two guards laughed behind his back. He suspected it was because they knew what he worked with, but he didn't know, and neither did the other prisoners. 

“You can make your phone call now.”

With a low head and his hands clasped in front of him, he walked towards the guard, but his eyes never left the floor; even in front of the guard, something could happen. Some didn't care at all. The guard led him to the phone room, just a small room without windows where four phones sat up on the walls. The door to the room was made out of Plexiglas so the guards could see them. Three of the phones were occupied, but the one in the right corner was waiting on him. The guard made a gesture so Eddie would go in and lift the phone. 

Damien had put money on his books so he could call out, but during his three days, only four of the five people he had called answered. Damien, Amy, Jonah, and the lawyer Jonah had connected him to. The fifth person hadn't answered, and maybe he wouldn't either if he got a phone call from jail and he didn't know who was calling. He could understand why Luna didn't answer. But even if she didn't, he called her again that day. If it wasn't Sarah he had thought about during the long hours in his cell's bunk, it was Luna. If he came out alive from this, he would do everything in his power to become a family with them. Move to a house outside of town and get two or even three dogs. Some cats too. Maybe Luna would want to have kids one day. A soft baby that smelled sweet, unlike anything else. He still remembered how Sarah had smelled as a baby. Such a warm, wonderful scent he wished to smell again. He wished Luna wanted many babies. Three? 

“Luna's phone, it's River?” 

Eddie was dumbfounded. He couldn’t even believe Luna would answer, really, but now a man with a deep voice talked straight into his ear from Luna's phone. 

“Ehh, hey. Ehh… Is Luna there?” He asked, confused while playing with the knot in his washed-out sweatpants. 

“Who's asking?” Said the man harshly. Eddie didn't really know how to answer. Who was he to Luna? He had destroyed every little bond between them when he shouted at her, so once again he needed to lie, even if he wished he could be honest. 

“Just a friend.”

“But what's your name? And why the fuck are you calling from jail?” 

“My, my name is Eddie. Or my name is Edward. Eddie is just a nickname, everyone says. Ehh, Luna, Luna calls me that too.” Eddie could feel his nerves going up and his tongue swelling in his mouth. Something about the guy made him feel small and silly. “I, I just… It's a bullshit thing I'm here for, um… But, but, can I talk to Luna? I just want to hear her voice.” 

“A bullshit thing?” The guy groaned loudly. “You really think I would let some criminal call my sister just to ‘hear her voice’?” You pathetic piece of fuck. Never call her again. If you do, I will fucking kill you, okay? I hope you get raped in there, you fucking perve.” The guy hung up in his ear, and maybe that was the best because Eddie couldn't find any words anyway. His body felt heavy, and his tongue still felt dry and swollen. It was her older brother, or one of them. He obviously thought Eddie was just some pervy guy stalking his sister. Someone who was jerking off over her and now couldn't let her go, so he was even calling her desperately from prison… Eddie hung up the phone when he realized he actually was that guy. When he thought about such guys, he always saw them as misogynistic, ugly losers, but clearly they could also be someone like himself. He was pathetic. He leaned his forehead against the wall next to the phone and got the attention of the guy on the phone next to him when he made a loud sound of regret and shame.

“Barrish!” Shouted the guard, who had opened the door and looked at him strictly. Eddie stood up again and looked at the guard. “Do you want to use the 15 minutes you have left?” 

He had only used five minutes to talk to Luna's brother; it had felt so much longer. 

“Yeah… Ehm, call Jonah…” 

Eddie took a deep breath and picked up the phone. He hoped Jonah would answer even if they hadn't said anything about him calling this time. They talked the day before, and Eddie felt at once it was easier talking to him than to his lawyer, so now that he had questions that arose from worry, it was easier calling him. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he answered with a friendly tone. Eddie breathed out in relief. Maybe it was because Amy had chosen Jonah and Eddie knew he could trust her that he felt so calm with Jonah. He just felt like a good guy, for real.

“Hey… Eh, I dunno why I'm calling, really I just… When will I get out of here?” Eddie could hear his own voice crack because of something pushing behind his eyes. Jonah was quiet on the phone, and Eddie knew it was hard for him to answer that. Even if he knew, he couldn't tell him because of his job. 

“The only thing I can say, Eddie, is that they’re still investigating it.” 

“But, but what do they have on me? And shouldn't they talk to me? Shouldn't I get to say something?” 

“Of course, they will talk to you. I guess they just want some answers first so they can ask you the right questions too.” 

“But when is that? I've been here for three days now. A guy pissed at me this morning!” 

“He pissed on you?” Jonah said, audibly grossed out. It was obvious he came from a more posh background, so getting pissed on wasn’t something that had happened to him. It had happened to Eddie before, though. 

“It's because of my cock, but enough about that.”

“Okay?” 

“But… Do you think they can get me for this? Like I promise, I promise, fuck, I have nothing to do with it!” 

“I know, Eddie. You don't need to defend yourself to me. I know you haven't done anything.” 

Eddie wasn't aware that he had held his breath while Jonah spoke until he breathed out in a loud exhalation. 

When he had 2 minutes left of his phone time, he hung up and looked towards the plexiglass door. It was time for him to go back to his cell again; the hard bunk and the smell of urine from the older man he shared the cell with. Could this be his life for years and years? Sleep in the same room as the toilet and prepare for either paranoid comments about his eyes or about how pretty he was. He could never tell if they were making fun of him or if they made a pass at him; either way, it made him uncomfortable. It wasn't the place for him to be cocky or teasingly ironic. It was the place for him to shut up and think about all the mistakes he had made. 

××× 

River hung up with some struggle because of his heated emotions, then he threw it lazily onto the counter between him and his sister, who was four-years-younger. He had the same bright blue eyes as her that were now full of rage. 

“Now do you see the fucking shit you've put yourself in? Huh? What the fuck, Luna! There are criminals calling you so they can jerk off!” 

Luna was wrapping glasses in sheets of newspaper and put them down in a box in front of her. Her eyes were focused on the task instead of looking at her brother. She had no idea it was Eddie who was calling. She just knew it was the third call she had gotten from the jail and that River chose to accept the call this time. She suspected it might be a “fan” and now had River confirm her beliefs, even if it wasn't true. 

“I’ve deleted everything now, I promise…” she said with a low voice, ashamed because of her older brother’s tone. She threw her long dark hair over her shoulder, one more attribute she and River shared, but his hair was pulled up in a low bun at his neck.

“I hope I can trust you this time. I can see that you've earned money on this shit,” he waved his arms around at her big house and modern interior, “but it isn't worth it. There are too many bad men out there!” 

Luna nodded but didn't look up. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. She wanted to leave everything to do with porn, OnlyFans, and fuckboys behind. It had been fun, even empowering, when she started, but after the threats, hate, abuse, and now also heartbreak, there wasn't anything good left in it. Hopefully the prisoner would also stop calling now that River had answered. He sounded threatening, and he was in real life too, 6'2" tall and athletically built. Even if the prisoner would go further, River was formidable in presence too. 

Luna packed the last glass and closed the box before taking another box that she put mugs and bowls in. She could feel how River wanted to continue to lecture her, but she didn't give him anything as bait, so he just stood there wrapping a rubber band around her cutlery tighter and tighter. It was a relief when they heard Forrest, their oldest brother, and his wife, Mina, come down from the top floor carrying a nightstand each. Forrest didn't know how Luna had been able to afford her lifestyle; he just thought it was through TikTok and didn't think much more about it. That's why they knew they would change the subject, because neither one of them wanted to know how Forrest would react. Mina giggled over something and then came into the kitchen with her husband. Both of them smiled a little teasingly and then put down her stack of post-its on the counter. 

“Who is ‘E’?” 

Luna looked down at the orange post-it. ‘E heart L’ was written three times, along with a phone number and also a little alien-looking thing. She looked at it without a word, before taking it away from the rest of the post-it stack. Folding it two times and throwing it in the garbage bag that hung on a cabinet handle. It was quiet in the kitchen from Luna's reaction, and Mina looked at her husband, ashamed. 

It wasn't Luna who had written the post-it. She didn't know what the number was written for but she knew who had doodled the rest. Eddie. He had doodled things like that on other papers too. Hearts, her name, his own name, and that little alien. She had saved a post-it with the time for their STD tests just because he had doodled his little alien in the corner, giving it heart eyes and screaming her name. She had looked at that little drawing several times a day after he had left, and she had seen it as a sign he had real feelings for her too. She didn't know then he would scream in her face that he wasn't her boyfriend the next time they saw each other. She thought about that note, which was lying in an inside pocket of her handbag. She needed to toss that one too. She didn't want anything left from any man. She wanted a clean start, and without knowing it, she had just thrown away a post-it that was connected to two men who had hurt her: Eddie, but also Raphael, whose number was written on it. Eddie had broken her heart, but Raphael had broken her as a woman so many times she couldn't even count them. 

“Are you okay?” Asked Forrest, laying a thick arm around her shoulders. Luna smiled tiredly. 

“Yeah, I'm just tired. And I'm homesick; it will be nice to move home again.” 

Forrest nodded with a fatherly smile and dragged a finger over her nose.

“We're so happy you will be home again. TikTok and shit… It's just so vain.” 

Luna nodded with a lazy smile, thinking back to her much more humble lifestyle in her hometown. 

“And there are better guys there too. You know, Zander is single now,” said Mina, trying to cheer her up, and Luna smiled a bit strained. Men were the last thing she wanted to think about. 

“How nice for him… But I think I want to be alone for a while. For many years, maybe.” 

“That sounds good,” River quickly said, which made Forrest look at him with furrowed brows. River just gave Luna a look, and she knew he was thinking about the phone call. Of course, he felt like that when he knew how many men had been looking at her naked body and what kind of men had been close to her. 

They packed the rest of her house in a couple of days, and in those days Luna cut ties with everyone who had connections to OnlyFans. 

Lydia understood it would be their last phone call when Luna called to tell her she was moving and felt she needed to tell her everything she knew now, but she also really wanted to hear Luna's reaction to the gossip. 

“I know everything about Eddie makes you angry—”

“Fuck, please, must we start this again? It was him who didn't want me, not the other way around.” 

“I know, I know.” 

Several of Luna's OnlyFans friends had told her to just accept that he wanted to do something different and that they could make it work anyway, making it seem like she was the problem, but it wasn't. He was the problem because he didn't want her. 

“But… Raphael is arrested—” 

“Eddie still doesn't want me. It's not about Raphael.” 

“Can you just listen??” She said, irritated, and it made Luna shut up from embarrassment. 

“They have arrested Eddie too.” 

Luna, who lay on the bed in her old room at her parents' house, sat up in horror. 

“What?!” 

“Yeah, they say he's a part of it?” 

“Oh my god?! What? No! Eddie would never!” Luna felt her heart beat in stress. Even if Eddie had lied, screamed at her, and broken her heart, she knew he would never be involved in such a thing. Wherever he was, she could imagine the anxiety he had. Eddie was a good guy who had been an amazing friend the three months they worked together. They had fun when they hung out and he was really caring in all the phone calls they have had. He was a fucked-up fuckboy, but he had really good values and views on women. Her Eddie-Bear was arrested for something he hadn't done, a horrible crime. She wondered if he would even survive if he got convicted for it. 

“I know! Everyone kinda knows that!”

“What do they even have on him? He met Raphael just months ago!” 

“Witnesses… Like, it's been spread around who the first witness was, and, like, people think Raphael's people might have formed the other witnesses after that one.” 

Luna felt her own anxiety go up while she talked with Lydia. Raphael was her own perpetrator. She wasn't surprised he had been implicated with worse crimes than the ones he had put her through. But to talk about him and also the man she loved was a lot for her. Her heart was still broken because of Eddie, but it also had a glow from the memories with him. That funny, annoying man. That lovable, stupid, intelligent boy. He still owned every piece of her heart.

“But who's the first witness?” 

Lydia laughed but swallowed it when she realized how serious it was for Luna. She didn't know about Raphael and Luna's real history, but she had seen Luna with Eddie at the OnlyFans party a few months ago. It was obvious she adored the man. 

“Well, that's the most fucked-up thing… The first witness is his daughter’s teacher.” 

××× 

Eddie was that kind of guy you felt strong feelings for at once. You might hate him for his lazy ways, the feeling of him not caring at all but also his strong charisma. Eddie took over every room he went into and then used the attention to either joke around or try to persuade you to share his opinions. He was most often the tallest person in his surroundings and had a face both the little devils and angels would love. He demanded attention. 

Hani hadn't been able to stop herself from looking at Eddie the first time she saw him. He looked like the guy her fourteen year old self would have dreamed about, the sweet bad boy that she would never get but there he suddenly was, looking at her flirtatiously. The school was a middle class school; his daughter was probably enrolled there because of where her mom lived, because Eddie looked far from middle class. His daughter told her about his job as a mechanic, a humble profession, and his build also told her he worked with his body and maybe worked out a bit too. He was fine; every mom could see it, even if they also laughed a bit behind his back because of his nonchalant behavior and disheveled looks. But he had flirted with her. She really needed to try it out, being with a man totally different from her exes. A man who attracted her more with his looks than intellect. She thought she would sleep with him once and then move on, but instead Eddie was both intelligent and sweet, with more to him than bleached hair and abs. Respectfully, he hadn't tried to seduce her but instead focused on getting to know her. It all felt so good, so real until the bomb:

“I'm in love with someone else.” 

Everything she had thought was a sign that he was a good guy was wrong. Every sweet gesture was a dismissal, not an action from a gentleman. He was just a boy, in love with someone else. A boy wanting a female friend to get female advice from. He had fooled her. She had left all her usual demands for a man behind; she had started to believe a guy like him could be a good, trustworthy man. She had been wrong. Why had she opened up for something more than just sex, like the plan had been? He was probably not even in love with the other girl. It had just been an excuse. Hani had looked at the girls' pictures over and over on Instagram. The pictures with Eddie were gone, but her videos with her pretty face and revealing clothes were still there, many, many of them. She and her were so different from each other, and maybe Eddie's type was more like that girl. An OnlyFans girl with pulled up thongs and big boobs. Hani could see that the girl was super pretty, but she was surprised a man wanted to have a girl like that as a girlfriend. She had talked with guys and read online about what kind of girl a guy wanted as a girlfriend, and Luna was the typical sexy girl every man wanted to fuck but not have as a girlfriend. Even if Eddie was an OnlyFans model himself, Hani couldn't believe he really was in love with that girl. It was just an excuse. 

Hani could feel the irritation over it growing over the recent weeks. She felt used but also started to feel grossed out. She had almost slept with a porn actor. Maybe he was riddled with diseases. She had almost fallen for a liar, a fuckboy, and a sex worker. Who knows who he actually was? Or what he did when they weren't together.

Blowfish production. Brother Fuck. It was the company he would work for. 

Raphael Rodolfo… Blowfish production… Brother Fuck… Adult movies… Girls between fifteen and twenty-one… Eastern Europe… Trafficking…

It wasn't just one article, but several about the man Eddie had told her he worked with. What kind of person was Eddie? He worked for traffickers? Was she surprised? Hani didn't know but thought about his job, the girl he wanted but mostly his jail time. He hadn't really answered why he was in jail. 

Hani's heart beat hard in her chest. Had she almost slept with a pimp? In reality, Hani knew the answer to that, but a few days later she still called the police and told her version of Eddie's involvement with Raphael. She didn't really think they would listen that much to her, maybe just scare him a bit, but instead he got locked behind bars. 

××× 

Eddie had been in jail for five days. He had eaten minimally, slept just a couple of hours each night, and puked instead of releasing the normal way. The last time he was in jail, it took approximately two weeks for him to accept and begin to get used to his destiny, but then he had known his life there would end after six months—now he didn't know a thing. He had asked Jonah how long of a sentence he could get if they decided he was guilty, and he answered probably around 20 years. He would be more than fifty in 20 years. It would probably be his best years they would take away. 

He cried in the bathroom sometimes, even if it was the most unhygienic place he had been to. The few times he had done it in his bunk, his roommate had become angry and called him a faggot. It wasn't really the best place to be alone but the toilet was the best option, even if it stank of piss, shit, and sweat. That day he sat in the bathroom looking up at the ceiling even if someone pounded on the door. He tried to understand who had done this to him. It couldn't just have been Raphael because he was arrested, and they would take everything he said with a grain of salt knowing he just wanted out. He thought through who knew about his affairs with Raphael and which ones could have a reason to want to destroy him. The only people who could win by destroying things for him and also knew about Raphael were Damien and Luna. 

Damien and Luna. 

Luna.

Eddie sighed loudly and shut his eyes. Luna. Fuck, it was her. She wanted revenge for the awful ending of their relationship. Eddie felt mostly disappointment and sadness at first, but when someone started to scream that he would kill him if he didn't come out from the bathroom, it turned to anger. He hit his fist on the hard concrete wall and felt his knuckles start to burn. He had scratched them up completely, but he didn't care. He needed to run and go out and scream; otherwise, he would get into a fight with someone just to get his emotions out. Luna. His Luna tried to ruin his life. His future wife.

××× 

Luna's legs bounced while she sat in the police station. She was back again. She had left her hometown to go back to the much bigger town and the police station to see if she could help Eddie in some way. He may have been an asshole, but he wasn't worth that. He had been the most respectful lover she had had, the best filming partner, always so attentive. Someone wanted him to take the blame. She wondered if he had read his contract thoroughly. Raphael had put in paragraphs hard to interpret on her own when they had filmed together. Her body had become his, and now she wondered if he had made Eddie's name free for him to use. 

A female police officer with her long blonde hair in a ponytail smiled at her from behind the counter, and with shaky legs and a dry mouth, Luna went up to her. 

“Hey… Ehm…” She looked around nervously and leaned closer to the officer, who did the same when she did it. “I think I have some information about the case against Blowfish Production…”

The officer couldn't hide her reaction, and her eyes got big. Luna could feel how she looked at her up and down. Even if she had dressed much more modestly in a black t-shirt and baggy black cargo pants, the woman probably guessed correctly what she was. Even if her chest were real, even if her nails and eyelashes were free from extensions. The police saw her looks obviously fitting the male gaze and her filled lips and small tattoos scattered over sun-kissed skin. Luna knew how people looked at her, judging her, and she knew they judged Eddie in a similar way. Angry, cocky, but emotional Eddie with bad tattoos, bleached hair, and a laid-back style. It probably hadn't been easy for him to get the police on his side. 

The policewoman led her to a small room; it didn't look like an interrogation room because it had armchairs and a coffee machine. She walked around a bit awkwardly in the room, swinging her handbag in her hand. 

“You can sit down; my colleague will be here soon.” 

Luna nodded but was too nervous to actually sit down and continued to walk around until the policeman joined her in the little room. He was between 45 and 50 and wearing a dress shirt and jeans. He wasn't as proper as she had suspected, and unfortunately, he got wet in his eyes when he saw her. She had been through the same thing since she was thirteen, when her chest suddenly became more interesting than her face for men. 

“Luna, was it?” 

The female police officer had asked her for ID and must have told her colleague. 

“Yeah,” she said shortly and smiled a little, knowing it was what was expected of her. Otherwise, they wouldn't listen to her. The cop gave his hand to her, and she shook it weakly. 

“Detective Linus Peck.” 

He tried to hide how his eyes drifted down to her chest but unconsciously licked his lips. Luna sat down when he told her but felt awkward. She was used to men's reactions, but this was a cop. He should know better. Maybe he watched her videos? She looked down at her hands uncomfortably. Maybe you’d think, “It's her own fault. She didn't need to make a career of showing her naked body.” Luna herself felt she held the power of her body. She chose to show it; she got something back from it. Her teenage self had been exposed and used by men without her getting something back. Men much older than her had contacted her during all her teenage years. The boys her own age had spread pictures and lies. OnlyFans was her zone. She would never be able to flee from men's eyes, but there her body was hers, and she got serious money from it. But wet eyes from a cop weren't good. He would never take her seriously. 

“Luna… What do you want to take off your chest?” The cop smirked into his hand but pretended to scratch the stubble under his mouth. Luna gave him an unamused look but let it be. 

“Eddie Barrish… I know that he's innocent.” 

The detective looked at her tiredly, then sighed.

“Are you a girlfriend?” 

He said “a” like Eddie had several, but she understood he just tried to provoke her, the silly girlfriend, but she wasn't a girlfriend. Not even an ex. 

“We've worked together.” 

The detective smirked again and looked away so he wouldn't, again, look at her chest.

“Really?” He faked being surprised and made Luna roll her eyes. She crossed her arms but realized what she always realized: she couldn't cover them. 

“What's your nickname on OnlyFans?” 

When Luna took her handbag, ready to stand up, he must have realized he actually had real questions to ask her. 

“How do you know he's innocent?” 

Luna sat down again but kept her handbag over her shoulder, ready to go again. 

“Eddie isn't the type. He cares about people, believing we should help the weak in society and treat women well…” The last thing she said pointedly to the policeman, but he didn't even react. 

“We can't release someone because his girlfriend says he's a good boy.” 

“I'm not his girlfriend. And he's not even a good boy. He's just too good to have done this. That teacher… Who is she?”

Now the policeman's face changed. He didn't know the information about their first witness was out and swallowed dryly. 

“Guys like Raphael and his friends always know too much. I thought the cops knew that?” 

He looked away, stressed, and wiped the corners of his mouth. 

“Tell me who she is.” 

“Of course I can't tell you that!” 

Luna looked at him sharply. She knew he, in theory, was right, but it was just as hard to take a no anyway.

“Then I fucking want you to think about if she can have any ulterior motives and if maybe your other victims say it's Eddie, because they've heard about your first victim. Don't be more fucking stupid than an OnlyFans girl with big boobs!” 

It looked like Linus Peck dropped his chin in a surprised but offended grimace. Luna didn't care; she just stood up and fixed her big, silver hoop earrings and her hair. She even pulled up the rhinestone band of her thong up to her hip bones. She didn't win on trying to be more proper than she was, so who cared? She loved her rhinestone thongs. 

“Bye,” she said and walked with determined steps to the door. 

“Ehm, ehm,” he finally got out, and she looked back at him with a raised brow. 

“Let us know if you know something.” 

“Of course. Not even I am as stupid as an OnlyFans girl.” 

××× 

“Eddie Barrish!” The guard shouted much louder than he needed to because Eddie was right next to him out in the yard. He had succeeded in buying some cigarettes, and was glad for the nicotine but also for something that would kill his hunger. Damien was slow with putting money on his account because he didn't have any of his own, and he couldn't get access to Eddie's. He could have asked someone else, but he was too proud to ask Amy or Jonah. 

“Yeah?” He said and turned to the guard. He stood alongside a man in his fifties he had learned was okay. He was a mechanic too, and they could talk about other things than just about how much jail sucked. He didn't seem to have any enemies either. Eddie had a few younger guys looking strangely at him and once had thrown a tray of mold-smelling chili on him. He didn't have energy for it and just gave them a tired look and walked to the bathroom. 

“You have a visitor. A hot girl, apparently.” 

“Lucky bastard,” said the mechanic guy next to him. Eddie gave him a fast look; he hadn't even had time to think about who it was, and to be honest, he had too many options. With his pinky he scratched his brow, confused, but followed the guard when he saw his face change to an irritated one. He decided that it must be Amy; it was probably the only woman who would want to speak with him, but even if it would be a bit disappointing, he was happy for the visit. And maybe—maybe she had good news both about Sarah but also for his case. 

Eddie and the guard met another guard by the door to the visiting room. The new guard looked at him up and down like he was something the jail's own little cat had dragged in. Eddie had no idea how he looked; he could just feel how his mustache had become thicker and how a beard had started to grow out on his jaw and neck. He could imagine he looked quite ragged. 

“Are you sure this is the guy?” Joked the new guard with the other, like Eddie couldn't understand them. He knew they checked his picture every time they needed to talk to him, so the question was just a joke, but he couldn't really understand it. 

“Why?” Said the guests he had come with, and Eddie looked between them like a kid trying to understand an adult conversation. 

“I expected someone better looking for the girl out there. This one looks like his uncle is his dad.” 

“Hey! What the fuck, man?!” Eddie couldn't stop himself, but the guard at once made a move towards his pepper spray and the other towards his handcuffs. 

“Sorry…” he said lowly and turned down his gaze back to the floor. The guards looked at him up and down but then hit him in the back hard and opened the door. 

“The second one from the left. 20 minutes. And no funny business.” 

He pushed his back again, so he took some fast steps into the visiting room. They hadn't needed to say where he would sit because he saw her at once, with her long dark hair gathered in two braids, dressed in a white embroidered dress. She had big golden hoops in her ears and raspberry-red lips. She was the most beautiful creature ever. He had thought that about others but never like that. He swallowed over and over until the guard pushed him forward again. Luna looked at him with sapphire eyes, and he felt his emotions go wild. 

Fuck, he couldn't cry in front of all the people in the visiting room. The prisoners, visitors, and the guards. But still it was what he did. 

×

@Kikibit @Malenoradgn @a-differentbrandof-beans @forrealandjustsaying @useyourwandbro @turbotasticoo @keysandthesea-blog @muchwita @hanamirandak @hamburger-sprite @forrealandjustsaying

[out-there-tmblr]

Wip: Zaundads2EB (10)

***

Vander,

(That's how Silco's letter starts. Not with any fond endearment, no. Just Vander's name. Like he's woken up in the middle of the night and started complaining about Vander stealing the blanket.)

I've traded rations for paper and pencils. I don't yet know how I'll get this message to you, but writing this gives me the illusion of being able to do something, so I'll work that out later.

I'm in Stillwater for minor theft, apparently. No one can tell me how long I'll be here or if there's any way to dispute my sentence, so it's not greatly different from working in the mine. Do as you're told and be thankful for something to eat and somewhere to sleep.

There seems to be only two divisions of prisoners here: those who haven't attacked guards and those who have. The latter are kept in the lower floors, in solitary stone cells until the guards decide they've learned their lesson. The rest of us sleep four to a cell, in metal bunks that feel very familiar.

There is a small yard with high stone walls and smooth walking path worn into the bedrock. In fair weather and foul, we're left out there for two hours a day with nothing to do but walk in a circle, or stand against a wall and marvel at the colour of the sky. This island must be as elevated as Piltover. On a sunny day, the sky is the brightest blue imaginable. In bad weather, the clouds are so dark it feels like home, but when the rain falls, it's clean enough to drink.

(There's a line on the page, maybe two words long. Then the letter starts again as if Silco came back to it hours or days later.)

You might be amused to hear there's no washroom here. When I asked about it, my cellmates laughed. That does explain the smell of the other prisoners and the state of their clothing. We are fed once a day, stuck in cells that leave the four of us absolutely no privacy, with no better entertainment than to watch a square of sunlight pass across the floor, but I could accept all of that if we were simply given the opportunity to bathe. I have started hoping for rain.

(Vander has to stop reading. He can hear Silco's voice in the words. He knows the sour glare Silco would aim at the page as he wrote. There are still more pages to go, but Vander takes a moment to let the tightness in his chest pass, the ache of missing Silco sharp and brittle. He wanders over to the doorway, peers around to check that Felicia's handling everything, and then leans against the wall and keeps reading.)

I hope you found my notes and followed them. I would remind you that the Tensheer (Damacian wine) and Dauntless (sugar, flour, salt) are arriving next week, but I doubt this letter will get to you before they do. You will either manage without me or you won't, and there is nothing I can do from this cell to influence that.

I have started rationing how often I write to you. A paragraph a day seems miserly but it gives me something to think about as I wait for time to pass. Hour after hour, and there is nothing to be done. If I did not share this cell I would pace back and forth like a caged animal – but surviving such close quarters is only possible when we all avoid annoying each other.

I hope Connol has managed to divert the water to the Lanes by now. I hope he managed to finish the boiler design. By all accounts it should be fairly simple to run pipes to each house once there's water flowing to the Lanes. My dearest wish is that by the time I return, there will be the possibility of washing with warm water in our own home.

I do think of that bar as home. As ours. It's not the first place we built together and it's still not finished, but I find myself thinking of it. Thinking of our bed. Thinking of you. Of us still there, years from now. With power and water. Perhaps with big glass windows and daylight. It sounds foolish – and I have no idea how we'd ever manage it – but I have nothing else to do here but daydream.

I suppose it's too much to hope that you've finally put the sign up for the bar. It needs a name, Vander. Just because everyone thinks of it as 'the bar' doesn't mean it should be left half-finished and unnamed.

Success! It rained today! So I am now wet and cold and half-dressed, but I was able to rinse my clothes out and wash the dirt off my face. I have hooked my clothes from my bunk and am waiting for them to dry, wrapped in a sheet like it's the highest of topsider fashions.

I've worked out how I'll get this message to you. All I need is someone about to be released who will go close enough to riverside or the mine to take this to you. The difficulty with that is that most of the miners and fishermen in here are like me: arrested with no set sentence and no way to know when we'll be released. The topsiders know their dates but the chances that any of them would go to the Lanes for a few bronze… Still, now that I know how to do it, I simply need to wait for the right opportunity.

I find myself wishing that there was hard labour to be done here. At least the hours would pass faster. Even in the foundling home, we had chores and study to complete. I have grown to hate sitting on my bunk and staring at the slats above my head. I feel that Benzo and Felicia would laugh at me, at the poetic justice of being forced to do nothing when they both claim I do nothing but work. If I ever get this letter to you, you should tell them. Let them laugh at my expense.

I dream of you. More often than my pride wants to admit. I miss you. I miss you snoring beside me. I miss your hands on my skin. I miss how you always pour me a glass of the best whiskey we have, even though it should be kept for paying customers. I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you curse when you burn your finger and the tunes you hum when you're cleaning up the bar and the ridiculous faces you pull at Violet to make her giggle. I miss you like I lost a leg or a hand, survivable but a constant loss I can't ignore.

I miss you and the worst part of it is that I'm sure you miss me too. There was a time, when we first shared a bed, when I was sure this would end in heartbreak, that you would lose interest and find someone easier to be with. Someone new and fun, less angry at everything. But I know that won't happen now. You don't want someone simple and light-hearted. You're as angry as I am, as dedicated and willing to work for what we deserve. You're mine as much as I'm yours, and being apart doesn't change that. I'm sorry, Vander. I'm sure it would be easier for you if it did.

There's a sailor getting out of here next week, traveling back to Bilgewater. With a little luck this letter will be in your hands by the end of the month.

No one from the undercity receives visitors but occasionally care packages get through. Talk to Babette, ask one of her customers to send it from Piltover. The package will be checked by the guards and anything valuable will be taken before it gets to me, so don't send currency or alcohol. The food here is passable but jerky and ship's biscuits might be good to trade. Matches and candles. Dice. Cards.

Any messages are bound to be intercepted so don't bother writing a reply.

Silco

***

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Hunger

Summary: During his time aboard the ship, rations slowly dwindle, and Ettore begins to feel that familiar call of violence | Word Count: 3k~ | Warnings: blood, gore, cannibalism(?), severe biting, murder, delusions, dubcon

A/N: Happy Halloween, here's my absolutely disgraceful offering for you 😂 I wanted to write something icky so bon appetite ig

Hunger makes a beast out of a man.

He knew the feeling well. The deep, primal surge of hunger in his gut. Had known it first, when he had been born, screaming and covered in blood and mucus. Had felt it every fucking day since he was old enough to reach the cupboards above the counter, rummaging through half-empty shelves and devouring a can of canned peaches that were four years out of date.

He can still taste them.

Even when he stabs his fork into his bowl, pulling out a glob of the tasteless mush. Dr Dibs lovingly branded them ‘nutrition packs’. It was food, yes, in the same way breathing recycled air was living. He swallowed it quickly, as if to bypass the taste entirely, but the acidity lingered on his tongue, and no matter how much he ate, he never felt full.

The dining area was silent but tense, as always. A few crew members sat scattered around the small room, picking at their own portions in dim, flickering light. No one spoke, barely even looked up. After months, years? Of the same routines, these were not people, just background noise.

He scraped the spoon across the bottom of the pack, pulling up the last bits, swallowing every fragment, his throat working hard to force it down. And still, nothing. No satisfaction, not even the illusion of it.

Across from him, a small man with wide eyes and a face pale as milk, was scraping his bowl slowly, methodically, taking tiny spoonfuls. Ettore’s gaze fell to the man’s bowl, then down to the faint smear of mush left in his own pack.

You’re starving, his mind whispered. Look at the others. They’re hoarding. Taking more than their share.

He closed his eyes, shaking off the thought, but the dull ache in his stomach throbbed and burned, relentless and needy.

The body adjusts. It always adjusts. Dibs had said once.

Something raw and restless tapped inside his mind. Relentless.

Perhaps it was the same hunger he had felt before. A dark urge to take, to control. Something weaker would do. The rules were written but not enforced, and it certainly wouldn’t take Dibs’ word to stop him from fucking who he wanted. He’d done it before. And he’d do it again a thousand times over.

Her cell was just a few doors down, set apart from the others. She was one of the few who didn’t recoil from him, who met his gaze without that wary flicker of fear in her eyes. She understood him, or perhaps she just didn’t care. Either way, she’d let him in before, and she would again.

“What do you want, Ettore?” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but there was no resistance in it. She glanced over her shoulder before stepping aside, letting him in. “You know we’re not supposed to.”

And yet she lets me in, he smirks.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her in the low light, the way she folded her arms over herself, wary but willing. Her eyes traced his face, maybe sensing something different in him tonight. He didn’t care. And she, as always, gave in to the pressure of his presence, letting him guide her back toward her bunk with quiet, easy compliance.

He let himself sink into it, feeling the softness of her skin, hoping that maybe this would fill the restless hollow clawing at his insides. He needed this, or at least he wanted to think he did. She breathed his name softly as he pressed his mouth to her shoulder, dragging his lips along the curve of her neck, his fingers digging into her hips with bruising intensity.

Perhaps the sight of her naked body under the blue light would be the balm to his tortured thoughts. He watched as her skin rippled and moulded under his palm, her breasts laid plump in his grip, her bare stomach, leading to that place between her thighs that he used to feel powerful.

She was always ready for him, even when he barged in like this. Fucking slut, he thought. She choked out a low moan, breathy and quiet when he slid into her, so easily it was like she yielded around him. Her insides were silky smooth, moulding to him like she was fucking made for him. But he never took his time to savour it. Ever. His hips slammed against hers, as if he wanted to come as soon as possible to not explore the possibility that he might actually like this. Like her.

But he didn’t want to come too soon. This hunger. It must be sated.

He kissed her neck, harder this time, his teeth grazing her skin, feeling the thin membrane give way under the pressure. She shifted under him, her fingers digging into his back, but she didn’t pull away. It only pushed him further, the taste of her skin. Salty, warm. Alive.

Without thinking, he bit down harder, pressing his teeth into her flesh, deeper until he felt her tense in pain and clench around his cock. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop him. The sensation of her skin breaking under his teeth sent a thrill through him, a dark satisfaction that made the hunger swell, feral and desperate, impossible to resist.

She shuddered, her breath ragged, and he could feel the way her pulse beat, quick and erratic, against his lips. He bit down again, harder this time, his teeth sinking in until he felt the soft give of muscle under her skin. She whimpered, her hands tensing against his shoulders, but she stayed still, letting him take what he wanted, even as his grip grew rougher. Surely this was no different to how they usually fucked. Right?

The hunger roared to life inside him, dark and consuming, urging him to go further, to take more. Each bite, each taste, only fed the fire burning in his core, and for the first time, he felt the hunger truly subside, consuming her in this brutal, primitive way. Her skin broke easily under his teeth, and he felt the rush of warmth on his tongue, a taste so sharp and vivid it made him shudder.

“Ettore,” she gasped, a tremor in her voice as she pushed weakly at his shoulders. “Stop.”

Her protests were soft, half-swallowed, and even as her hands pushed against him, it only fuelled the fierce, primal satisfaction that surged through him.

“Ettore, enough—” Her voice broke, louder this time, her body twisting beneath him, her hands pushing harder as fear crept into her gaze. “Stop. Please.”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Her resistance was intoxicating.

Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her fingers slipping as she tried to push him off. He felt his balls tighten, his cock throb, and the blood pooling on his tongue.

“Ettore—stop!” Her voice broke, louder now, urgent. She braced her hands against him with all her strength and shoved, finally managing to wrench herself free, breaking his hold. The sudden force jolted him back, snapping him out of the consuming haze of hunger as she scrambled back on the bunk, her breathing fast and uneven.

They stared at each other in the dim light, her eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief. She reached up to touch the marks, her fingers coming away red, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his chest still heaving, the taste of her still lingering on his lips. He could feel the lingering pulse of his hunger, ebbing but not gone, and he realised with a sick, hollow certainty that he wouldn’t have stopped, couldn’t have stopped, if she hadn’t pushed him off.

“Get out.”

He wiped his mouth with his hand, pulling his sweats over his erection, still half-hard, denied his release. Lips pressed tightly together, he rose to the door, muttering under his breath.

“Bitch.”

As he stepped out into the dim corridor, the events of the night replayed in his mind. The hunger had eased, churned less in his stomach. From the fleeting intimacy, or from his morbid desire to feel her warm life essence on his tongue, coating his throat? He couldn’t be sure.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the doubt that clung to him. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It was just a moment. Just a fleeting thrill.

But as he made his way to the common area the next morning, the atmosphere felt off. Tension crackled in the air like static electricity, palpable and unsettling. The rations were running low, and everyone was on edge, glancing at the dwindling supply with growing apprehension. They all knew it, the gnawing anxiety that settled in their stomachs like a stone.

Ettore sat alone at a table, pushing his cold, meagre breakfast around on his plate, his appetite evaporated.

And then it happened. A sharp scream echoed through the metal halls, cutting through the morning haze. Ettore’s heart raced as crew members sprang to their feet, faces paling. He felt a chill run down his spine, dread pooling in his stomach as he followed the crowd toward the source of the commotion.

Her body was sprawled across the metal floor. Lifeless and still. Not at all as he had known her the night before. Her neck was ripped open, fat and flesh splayed out for all to see, crimson pooling around her head, stark against the dull grey of the ship.

Ettore stepped closer, a part of him refusing to believe what he was seeing. The crowd around him whispered in hushed tones, but their words were drowned out by the roaring in his ears. No…

He could see the marks he had left on her neck, a stark contrast to the gaping wound that now marred her skin. The blood, so much blood, spilled out like a dark flower blooming across the metal floor. He felt sick, the world tilting on its axis. And yet a morbid curiosity prompted his eyes to linger.

The memory of their night together came flooding back, and he fought to recall the details. Did she really push me off?

Had it really been just a night of passion, or had he crossed a line he couldn’t remember? 

Her body was swept away quickly. Dibs wanted to keep her death as quiet as possible. And yet whispers echoed in the halls. Driven perhaps by a desire to keep their minds off their rumbling stomach, growling with need. 

As he lay awake that night, the darkness pressing down on him like a weight, he wondered if this was what madness felt like, a hunger he couldn’t satisfy, a shadowy doubt he couldn’t shake. And, somewhere in the void of his thoughts, an insidious question echoed, gnawing at him as hungrily as the emptiness in his stomach.

What if the hunger demanded more than food?

It was only one day, when rations were not served for breakfast. That people began to truly panic. People hoarded what they had. People stole others’ food. Fought for it.

But Ettore’s hunger had become a beast of its own. He tried to ignore it, tried to sleep it off, even rationed what little food he had left, but nothing seemed to touch the empty pit in his stomach.

He hated that his last resort for advice was Dibs. She was a doctor, yes, but at the same time she was an evil bitch, he thought. Not only had she once subjected the women to fertility experiments, until too many of them died, he suspected she was performing on others without telling them.

Could she have been slipping something into the water supply? Sedating them? It was possible.

He sighed, annoyed, as Dibs tightened the blood pressure monitor around his arm. "Something in particular bothering you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Dunno. Just feel out of it."

The machine growled to life, tightening around his arm. His eyes wandered over the many glass bottles of medicine that adorned her desk, documents alike. Morphine. Ketamine. Cortisol.

"Blood pressure is fine," she says dismissively, tugging the band off him, before turning back to her desk to pull some clear liquid into a syringe.

"I'll give you some sedative. Help you sleep."

He barely had time to protest before the needle was in his arm. The liquid cold as it entered his body. He hated that feeling. Right next to the feeling of powerlessness, feeling much like a doll Dibs was simply poking.

Days bled into each other, reality blurring at the edges as he drifted through the sterile corridors, his movements automatic, mechanical. The hunger grew sharper, more insistent, and with it, his thoughts began to fracture. It was as if his mind was breaking into pieces, each one lost in the vast, consuming darkness that filled his chest.

He’d catch flashes of things, brief, violent images that made his skin crawl, moments where he felt like a stranger in his own skin, his own mind a cage he couldn’t escape. Even sleep was no escape.

What had Dibs done to him.

He woke to find blood smeared across his hands, dried in crimson streaks along his forearms, staining the edges of his clothes. A sharp, metallic scent filled his nose, triggering a wave of nausea that clawed its way up his throat. Panic gripped him as he stumbled to his feet, breathing fast, frantically trying to wipe the blood away, as if erasing the evidence would erase whatever he’d done.

But it was no use. The blood was everywhere, staining his skin, his shirt, pooling in the creases of his hands like an accusation. His mind raced, trying to claw through the fragments of memory, but all he found were empty gaps, blank spaces where images should have been.

He’d killed them. Most of them, anyway.

Some, he remembered, had been quick, too quick, barely a struggle before he felt their pulse weaken beneath his grip. Others, he’d toyed with, feeling the thrill as they’d tried to escape, the flash of terror in their eyes when they realised what he was capable of. And with some, he’d torn into their flesh simply to feel the give, the soft, yielding texture between his teeth. He could almost taste them now, the salt of their blood, the way it seemed to dull the hunger… for a moment, at least.

The ship felt emptier, darker. And yet, in the silence, he could feel it, a faint rhythm, pulsing through the walls, in the floor, echoing in his ears like a heartbeat. 

They’re still here, he thought, his senses sharpened, attuned to every slight vibration, every distant shuffle. 

There were still some left, hiding somewhere in the ship, cowering in the corners he’d yet to search. He could almost smell their fear, a scent that made his stomach twist in anticipation, igniting the primal urge inside him.

He stepped out into the corridor, his fingers trailing along the walls, leaving smudges of blood streaked across the metal. The silence was thick, punctuated by the occasional flicker of a dying light overhead. Blood smeared at various points throughout the ship, evidence of his rampage, a streak on the wall here, a handprint there, a dark, sticky pool marking where one of them had tried to crawl away.

Then he turned a corner and stopped short, his gaze landing on a figure ahead. Dibs, standing there, her lab coat rumpled, smeared with her own traces of blood. She looked wild, frantic, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation as she took in the sight of him. 

“You,” he rasped, the hunger in his voice a guttural thing, raw and insatiable.

Dibs swallowed, and he could see her pulse racing beneath her skin. She raised her chin, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “I… I can undo it, Ettore,” she said, her voice tight, wavering. “I can fix what’s been done to you.”

He stared at her half-lidded, the words barely registering, his vision tunnelling in on the way her pulse beat, fast and frantic, against the hollow of her throat. “Undo it?” he murmured, a twisted smile curling at his lips. The thought was laughable, absurd. Undo it? When he’d never felt more alive?

“The…the hunger. I heightened it. Amplified your instincts, your…your drive to survive. It was a mistake, I can still stop it, Ettore.” Her voice wavered, the words rushed as if she could force him to understand. 

“I don’t want you to stop it.”

“Ettore, listen to me. This isn’t who you are,” she insisted, her tone strained, searching for a sliver of the man she thought she’d created. “You’re under a chemical influence, altered, manipulated to feel this way. You’re not in control–”

In a sudden, fluid motion, he surged forward, his hand closing around her throat, cutting her voice off mid-sentence. Her eyes widened, a flash of terror sparking in them, and for a moment, he watched the shock ripple over her face, the dawning horror of what was happening. Her fingers clawed at his hand, her grip weak, faltering as he tightened his hold.

Her body jerked in his grip, her breaths coming in desperate, shallow gasps as she tried to pull away, but he held her firm, feeling her pulse beat faster, thundering against his fingers. 

“Control?” he murmured, a dark, mocking smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve never felt more in control.”

With a final, merciless twist of his hand, he silenced her, the life fading from her eyes as the last of her breaths slipped away, the crackle of her voice ringing low and primal. Her neck was snapped most unnaturally, blood gushing forth from the wound that cracked open like a peach, overripe.

The silence returned, cold and complete, settling over the corridor like a shroud. He released her, her body slumping lifelessly to the floor. The hunger, raw and consuming, coiled in his chest, easing but never fully sated.

A sharp, electric thrill buzzed through him, potent and addictive, his blood pounding hot and fierce beneath his skin. He savoured it, letting it pulse through him, letting himself feel it fully.

The hunger clawed at him still, restless and eager, and he felt a strange sense of clarity settle over him, sharper than anything he'd felt in weeks. It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t even about survival anymore.

It was about sport.

The hunger thrilled at the violence, at the way his pulse quickened with each ragged breath the victims fought for. This wasn’t just about survival. It was the power, the brutal thrill of watching them crumble under his hands. 

He wanted to see the light fade from their eyes. The muscles relax into submission. As she had done.

There were still others hiding, he could feel it, like faint beacons, waiting to be found. Waiting to be hunted. He grinned, his mind sharp, focused. The hunger roared in approval, urging him forward, whispering that the game had only just begun. There was nowhere for them to go after all.

Hunger makes a beast out of a man.

...

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[mus1g4]

Have you ever had all four bunks of the same cell occupied. If so, how does it feel like?

Absolutely!! Four fucking convicts crammed into one cage! Brilliant!

Best one is during chain gang! No uniform swaps. No baths or showers. No deodorant. Three days of pure man funk! All four inmates in cell#2!!!

How does it feel. Like prison sucks!!!!!

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 9

Sgt Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Someone break out the confetti and the party poppers cause IT'S FINALE DAY BABYYYYY 🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊🎊🥳🥳🥳

(if you need to catch up, the masterlist with all the previous parts is here)

We got typical 40kness and some real nsfw-ness under the cut, as well as inevitable spelling and grammar mistakes, which I apologise for.

I got a longer A/N at the very end, so for now, thank you for reading, and if you'd like, please consider liking, reblogging or commenting :)

Enjoy!

Despite Titus’ offers, Gadriel does not stay in the lieutenant’s quarters nor return to his own. Instead, he heads straight for the training hall. He needs to exorcise this anxiety. Flush it out with sweat and rage. It’s the only thing he can think of that might help. 

It doesn’t.

He lifts weights, punches bags and swings training blades. But no matter how much he exerts himself, his mind will not rest. Soon, his still-healing wounds start to twinge. But Gadriel welcomes it; pursues it, even. Pushes his body to the point of pain in the hope that it might smother his thoughts and distract him from his feelings. 

But that doesn't work either. Even when it pushes him to tears. Even when he's forced to take a knee and lean on his training blade because it feels like his stomach might just tear open. The fear won't fade. The frustration won't fade. The guilt, the worry, the helplessness… 

Gadriel drops his chin to his chest. He's breathing hard. Sweat pours down his bare chest and runs down his face. Soon, though, it is joined by tears. And his breathing becomes interrupted by choking sobs.

I can't lose her. Like some sort of twisted carousel, those same four words spin around and around in his head. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her. 

With a grunt, Gadriel forces himself to his feet. He returns his blade to its rack before collecting his shirt and stalking out of the training hall. He’s bound for his quarters, but it isn’t to rest or cool off. He needs his undersuit, his armour. He’s not going to let her spend one more minute locked in another cell, waiting for death. Damn what Titus had told him. Damn what the Codex or his duty demands of him. Those things had taken her from him; wiped her from his mind, made him break his promise without him even realising it. But no longer. Never again.

Because I can’t lose her. Not again. I can’t. 

He reaches his quarters in no time. Once again, his serfs have left the door unlocked and Gadriel curses them for it under his breath. Usually, he would only reserve a modicum of irritation for such a thing, but with how dark his mood is at present, it feels like a personal slight. 

The door slides open as he approaches. Eyes low, Gadriel thunders inside like a storm. 

“Not a bad place you’ve got here.”

Gadriel staggers to a halt. Both of his hearts stop dead in his chest. 

“Smaller than what I expected,” Ellie says thoughtfully. “What with how big you are and how much space you take up. But still, it’s nice. Almost… quaint.”

She’s perched on his bunk, one leg drawn up towards her chest, the other hanging off the bed’s edge. Her tattered tunic and leggings have been replaced by a grey jumpsuit that Gadriel recognises as a repurposed engineering uniform. Still short of a prosthetic arm, Ellie has tied the sleeve on its left side into a knot at the shoulder. And that’s not the only modification she’s made. She has cinched the suit’s waist with a leather belt so as to show off her figure and left the front unzipped to reveal the low v-neck of the tank top she’s wearing underneath. She grins as Gadriel takes in the sight of her; the fact that she’s here, right now. Alive and free and smiling. 

Ellie opens her mouth to say something, probably some other quip or humorous remark. But before she can, Gadriel has her in his arms. Dropping to his knees in front of where she sits, dragging her into his body, holding her as if she might turn to ash in his grip at any moment. 

Tears well within his eyes. He buries his face into Ellie’s neck before letting them fall.

Despite how tightly he’s holding her, Ellie manages to free her arm and wrap it around his neck. Gadriel feels her cheek press against his, hears her chuckling softly. 

“It’s good to see you, too,” she says. 

“What are you doing here?” Gadriel asks. His voice is muffled by her hair and the crook of her neck. “How are you here? Did you escape?”

“Escape? No! No, nothing like that.” Gently, Ellie starts to draw away, presumably to meet his eye. Gadriel, however, refuses to let her go.

“Gadriel,” she says softly. She brings her hand to the back of his head, runs her fingers up and down his scalp soothingly. “It’s alright. I’m okay. I’m not in any danger, I promise.” 

Gadriel waits one cycle of deep, ragged breath before finally relaxing his grip. His arms, however, remain firmly wrapped around her. Ellie pulls away, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze up to meet her own. 

“What’s going on?” he asks. 

“Sit down. This is… this might take a bit to explain.” 

Gadriel does as she says, getting to his feet before joining her on the bunk. He sits on her right side, taking her hand in both of his enormous ones. Ellie smiles lightly, but she must see the worry still lingering in Gadriel’s face, because immediately after, her expression turns reassuring.

“Titus and I have worked something out,” she says. “A way for me to stay here with you without putting either of us at risk.”

“How?” Gadriel’s tone is sharper than he’d intended. Already, he’s wary of this “way”. As much as he trusts Titus, any compromise made with the laws of the Imperium is a dangerous thing. Dangerous, and rarely without sacrifice. 

Ellie continues. “Did Titus tell you that he had Magos Galeo examine my cybernetics?”

“Yes. He said the results were dire.”

“That’s… certainly a word for it,” Ellie says ruefully. “But it wasn’t the one the Magos used. See, he called it “extraordinary.””

Gadriel narrows his eyes. Without thinking, his grip around Ellie’s hand tightens. Ellie picks up on it right away. “I know what you’re thinking, and at first, I was thinking it, too. But Galeo doesn’t wanna dissect me- he wants to recruit me. As a sort of… unofficial apprentice-slash-assistant.”

“And you agreed to this?” 

“I mean… yeah,” Ellie says. “It was either that or I try to become a chapter serf. But that never would’ve worked; not when I’m eighty-percent alien metal. If my life was placed under the jurisdiction of the Ultramarines, I’d have been executed on the spot.”

“I would also never ask you to indent yourself to anyone,” Gadriel adds. “Not even to me.”

That makes Ellie smile. “Oh, you sweetheart you.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Leaning into him, she rests her head on his shoulder. “And I’d have never put you in that position.” 

“So… a Magos’ assistant, huh?” 

“Far as ad-mech go, Galeo seems pretty chilled-out. He wants to still study me, of course- that’s really the only reason he wants to keep me close. But his rank will mean I’m well-protected, and my status as an unofficial member of The Machine Cult will keep pretty much everyone else off my back, for the most part.” He feels her shrug. “It’s the best I can hope for. Titus thinks so too. Besides, could be fun. As creepy as the ad-mech can be, they’re fascinating in their own way.” 

Gadriel is quiet for a moment. He looks down at his lap, where he’s holding Ellie’s hand. It’s entirely dwarfed by his own, enormous ones, as if she were a porcelain doll. 

“Gadriel? Are you okay?”

Unable to look at her, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry you have to do this,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry you can’t just… stay.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ellie replies. 

“I know, but… it feels like it is.”

“Why’s that?”

Gadriel sighs. In the pit of his stomach, something hot and heavy is pulling at him. The same thing that’d driven him to his knees back at the training hall. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I… I just wish there was something I could do. But the only thing I can think of is leaving the Ultramarines, and I can’t even do that.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m useless to you, Ellie,” he murmurs. “I can’t protect you. I’ve never been able to protect you. Not from the Underhive. Not from Severus. Not even now.” 

Ellie sits up, leaving his skin cold as she lifts her head from his shoulder. She withdraws her hand as well, and in his state of emotion, Gadriel fears she is about to leave. But instead, she brings her hand to his face. There’s pain in her eyes, but it isn’t hers. It’s his. 

“Gadriel, listen to me,” she says. “This arrangement with the Magos… it’s not your fault. It’s my choice. If I wanted, I could have chosen exile. I could’ve fled to some backwater sector, put down a few roots and live the rest of my life in relative peace. But I don’t want that, Gadriel. Not as much as I want to be with you.” 

Gadriel goes to shake his head, but Ellie stops him by tightening her grasp. Gently, she caresses his cheek with her thumb.

“And everything else that has happened to me,” she continues. “It isn’t your fault, either. You didn’t abandon me; you were taken away. And when they had you, you had as much of a choice in what you did as I did when Severus took me. I understand that now. I didn’t at first, and I’m so sorry for the things I said to you then. But now I do. And I don’t blame you for any of it.”

The affection in her gaze is almost too much for Gadriel to withstand. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? With so much love; not for his service or his position or his duty, but simple, genuine love for him? 

Of course… It had been her.

“And, you know,” Ellie continues. “Now that I think about it, in the end, you didn’t even break your promise, either. You did come back. It may have been by coincidence, and it may have been fifty years late, but you did it. You came back to me. Just like you-”

Gadriel leans across and kisses her hard on the lips, smothering her last words. Cradling her cheeks with hands too gentle for their size and design. If the kiss takes Ellie by surprise, she doesn't show it at all. Sliding her hand up the back of his head, she tangles her fingers in his hair; her favourite thing to do when they kiss, ever since they were teenagers. With that thought, a surge of memories overcomes him; the first time she'd kissed him, during one of the many night they'd spend gazing up at the stars from the roof of his mother's slum; all the kisses of good luck, goodnight and goodbye that had followed; the kiss that had led to their first night shared together. Like a river finally freed from a concrete dam, all these memories come flooding back to him. With every one that returns, his love for her swells more and more. 

Ellie is sitting in his lap now. Knees either side of his waist, her breath growing short as she works her mouth against his. Gadriel can feel her breasts pressing against his chest, the squeeze of her thighs as she straddles him, his hips almost too broad for her legs. Tension coils in his belly. A wave of heat flushes his entire body before pooling between his legs. He lets himself fall backward, pulling Ellie with him so she's flush against his front. The bunk creaks with the impact. The weight of her body on top of his floods Gadriel's nerves with a concoction of comfort and pleasure so potent it almost makes him gasp. It also twinges the wounds in his right side, and the gasp that pulls from him, Gadriel can't manage to stifle. 

Ellie breaks the kiss, pulling away and looking at him in concern. “What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Sheepishly, Gadriel shakes his head. “I'm fine. It's only my side.”

“Oh, Throne!” Despite her dark complexion, Gadriel sees Ellie's cheeks suddenly redden. “I completely forgot, I'm sorry!”

Gadriel laughs. “You're fine. Don't worry.”

She runs her hand through his hair. The sensation sends goosebumps prickling across his skin. “If you say so,” she whispers. “Though, maybe it'd be better if you were on top; less chance of me accidently bumping you, then.”

For a handful of moments, Gadriel doesn't understand her full meaning. When he finally does, his eyes blow wide. “Do…Do  you mean-”

“Throne, Gadriel, you're giving me deja vu here.” Ellie grins from ear to ear. “Yes. That's exactly what I mean.”

The coil in Gadriel’s stomach tightens. It's joined, however, but a pang of anxiety. “Are you certain?” he asks. 

“Darling, what did I just say about deja vu-”

“No, no. It isn't like that. It's…”

Her expression turns serious again. “What?”

“Well… It’s…” Gadriel pauses to take a breath. Gather his words. “I'm not… the same as I was before.”

As sharp as always, Ellie understands his meaning right away. “Oh Gadriel…”

“I don't want to hurt you,” he whispers. “I don't want to– to frighten you.”

“You could never do either of those things,” Ellie says. She emphasises the point with a kiss. “Besides, you're not the only one,” she adds. “Eighty percent necron, remember? I'd say that makes us about even, don't you think?”

The quip makes him smile, but his anxiety is not so easily dissipated. “Ellie-”

He's cut off by warm skin touching his bare chest. Lifting up his shirt, Ellie slides her hand up and over his right pec. Her fingers trace his scars; both those sustained in battle and those left by the surgeries that'd turned him into what he is now. When she reaches the top of the muscle, she finds its neural port; one of dozens of black cybernetic nodes riveted into Gadriel’s body. Her thumb brushes over its surface. It sends stimulated shivers running through his entire being. “You could never hurt or frighten me, Gadriel,” Ellie says again. “Never.”

Then, ducking her head, she presses her lips to the same neural port from before. A soft, involuntary moan tumbles from Gadriel. He claws his fingers into the linen sheets beneath him. 

“Now,” Ellie whispers into his chest. “Flip me over. Take me. I'm yours, Gadriel. I've always been yours, and I always will be.” She kisses the port again. Again, shivers grip his entire body. “So, take me.”

That is all Gadriel needs to hear. 

*********************************************

Clasping his hands around her waist, Gadriel reverses their positions. Throwing Ellicent onto his bunk, he looms above her, framing her head with his enormous, thickly-built arms. A giggle escapes her lips. Throne, he’s enormous now. And strong. She can see it in his bulging forearms, the vice-like grip he has on the sheets beside her head. The strength to crush a skull in his fist, to turn bones to dust with a single punch. She’d always known that, of course; but it was one thing to see a space marine’s size and strength and another entirely to be pinned underneath it. But Ellicent isn’t afraid; she’s enthralled. And she knows underneath all of those scars, enhanced muscles and reinforced bone is her Gadriel. And as she had promised just moments before, he could never frighten her. He could never hurt her. 

Ellicent grabs a handful of his shirt, starts dragging it towards his head. Gadriel rears up to pull it off the rest of the way, then tosses it to the floor. Even years ago, when they’d been underhive street-rats, his body had always been impressive. But now, it’s like a work of sculpture; his chest and shoulders almost burst with the size of their muscles, and his abdomen is a terrain of shapely rises and valleys. Neural ports and surgery scars form symmetrical patterns all the way down his front, while battle scars- gashes, stab wounds and energy burns- are slashed more haphazardly. The pair of wounds from the Drukhari impaler have also scarred over, but instead of the dull pink or white of his other scars, these are still a bright, tender red.

Carefully, Ellicent runs her hand across his torso, then his chest, before finally cupping his cheek in her palm. Gadriel leans into her touch. Closing his eyes, covering her hand with his own. But it is only for a moment. Just like her, desire is tugging at him. And when he reopens his eyes, it burns as a hunger that’s almost animalistic. He grabs the shoulders of her jumpsuit, working her arm free from its sleeve before sliding it underneath her hips. Ellicent kicks it the rest of the way off, leaving her in just her panties and a thin white tank top. The latter, Gadriel practically tears off her. But when his eyes land on her naked torso, he pauses. Ellicent knows why. She’d been anticipating this moment. Dreading it. 

Carved into her skin, zig-zagging over her right hip, spilling across her breast and reaching up towards her shoulder, are lines of metal. Necronian metal. Pitch black and glowing green. They’re artifacts from her augmentations; each one marking a spot where the alien technology had been imperfectly woven into her flesh and grafted to her bones. Ellicent watches Gadriel’s expression anxiously. In her heart, she knows he won’t judge her. But even so, her fear remains. Finally tearing his eyes away from her shame, Gadriel meets her gaze. She smiles weakly. “I know. Horrifying, right?” 

Gadriel’s face softens. He touches her face, his hand so gentle despite its size. She waits for him to say something, but he does not. Instead, he lowers his head, cups her mutilated right breast and takes its nipple in his mouth. 

Ellicent lets out a gasp. Goosebumps ripple across her skin and her fingers claw into Gadriels’ scalp. Arousal throbs between her legs, made so much sweeter by the unspoken things he's telling her with his actions. That he doesn’t care what’s happened to her. He doesn’t care what she’s become. He loves her all the same. The same way he did when they were young. 

“Gadriel…” his name falls from her lips as a whimper. Her voice is weak with need. “Gadriel…”

With a final kiss, Gadriel releases her breast. His hands find the hem of her panties. He only manages to get them halfway down her thighs before his own desire overwhelms him and he buries his head between her legs. 

Ellicent’s whimpers turn to cries. Her hand forms a fist in his hair, dragging him closer, pressing him harder. Throne, how she has dreamed of this. How she has prayed to have him back, to have him take her like this all over again. In the decades since their separation, Ellicent had shared her bed with other men; but it was only to turn out the lights, close her eyes and pretend it was Gadriel. But now, she never has to pretend again. Because he’s here. He’s right here. And Emperor knows she is never letting him go again. 

She can feel her sex growing slick. Like a fire on the horizon, she can see orgasm approaching fast. But Ellicent doesn’t want it. Not yet. Not until he’s there with her. 

“Gadriel,” she says, sharper this time, so he knows it is not merely a whimper. 

“My love,” he murmurs into the skin of her left inner thigh. The feel of his breath makes her body shiver. 

“I’m- I’m ready for you.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Ellicent breathes.

Gadriel looks uncertain, but he obliges. Rearing up once more, he unties his breeches, pulling them down to the knees. His cock springs free. Purple, aching and larger than even she had been anticipating. He sees the surprise on her face, and his already flushed cheeks turn a shade redder. “Ellie, I’m-”

Ellicent sits up, silencing him with a kiss. “Not a word,” she says through a smile. “It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment. “If I’m hurting you,” he eventually says. “You’re to tell me, alright?"

Ellicent strokes his cheek. “I promise.”

That seems to be enough to set him at ease. Laying her back down, he adjusts himself so his hips are aligned with hers. Then, sliding an arm under her waist to support her, he enters her as slow and gentle as he can. 

Sounds of stimulation tumble from both of them; Gadriel’s low rumbling moans, Ellicent’s sharp, high-pitched gasps. Ellicent grips the massive muscles of his shoulder blades, as her body stretches and throbs around his enormous length. She can feel his back moving with his breath, which is quickly growing shallow and rapid. But he doesn’t move. Not yet. 

“Are you okay?” he rasps into her ear. 

Ellicent gives herself a moment to catch her breath. “Oh, Throne,” she whispers. “This feels like my first time again.”

“Is… is that a good thing?”

Ellicent gazes up at him through half-lidded eyes. Her lips part in a gentle smile. “What do you think?” 

Gadriel returns her smile. Still holding her around the small of her back, his other arm cradles the back of her head. Then, finally, he begins to move. 

Immediately, stars burst in Ellicent’s vision. Her hips buck against his, grinding against his pelvis. Gadriel grunts with every long, deep thrust, the sound loud, primal and utterly lusting. Ellicent throws her head back. Her exhales devolve into breathy, whimpering pants. The tension in her belly winds tighter, tighter. Kicking her panties all the way off, she locks her legs around Gadriel’s waist. Pulling him closer. Thrusting him deeper. Winding the coil tighter, tighter. 

“Ellie…” he moans into her ear. “Ellie, I-”

“I know, darling,” Ellicent gasps. Throne, she can barely even form words. 

“I… I-”

A tremendous growl cuts him off. He buries his face into the crook of her neck and his thrusts suddenly double in pace. Ellicent cries out in ecstasy. Her legs fall from his waist as they tremble uncontrollably. The tension between her legs finally snaps and orgasm seizes her every nerve. Gadriel isn’t far behind. As her body squeezes him, his growl becomes a roar, and with one final, penetrating thrust he spills his seed within her. Ellicent breathes hard through her mouth. Slickness, both Gadriel’s and her own, trickles down the inside of her thigh. Her fingers find Gadriel’s hair. Gadriel lifts his head before pressing his forehead to hers. His eyes slip closed, followed by Ellicent’s. For several moments, they remain like this. Bodies interlaced, hearts pounding in a shared, slowing rhythm. Coming back to one another from their shared high. Ellicent is the first to break the silence. “What were you about to say just now?” she whispers. “Before… you know…”

Gadriel’s voice is low and gravelly from his laboured breath. “I was about to say I love you.”

Ellicent opens her eyes. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she kisses him fiercely on the lips. “I love you too,” she murmurs. “More than anything in the world.” 

Eventually, Gadriel rolls onto his side, taking her with him. Ellicent curls up against his body, resting her cheek against his chest. She can hear his heart beat; slower and louder than the last time she’d listened to it like this, but no less familiar. She smiles lightly to herself. 

“I had something else I wanted to ask you." 

“Anything,” Gadriel replies. 

“All the humans aboard this ship- from serfs to the mechanicus staff- they all call you “My Lord.”"

“That’s right. What of it?”

“Well,” Ellicent says. “If I’m going to be the assistant to the Magos-”

“Oh, Throne-dammit,” Gadriel mutters. 

“Does that mean I have to call you that, too?” 

Gadriel scowls. “I swear on the life of the Primarch-”

“What’s the matter, my lord? Is thy Lord Astartes ailed by something?”

“Keep that up,” Gadriel grumbles. “And so help me, I will hand you over to the Inquisition right now.”

Ellicent laughs. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He pretends to think about it for a moment. Then, draping his arm around her shoulders, he plants a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re right,” he says finally. “I wouldn’t. Not even with a bolter to my head.” 

Ellicent waits for the punchline, but it never comes. Instead, he says it with complete earnestness. It makes her smile. “You’re the absolute sweetest thing, you know that?”

Gadriel kisses her crown again. “Just to you,” he whispers. 

Ellicent’s smile broadens. Soon, it is joined by the sweet sting of joyful tears. It's really him, she thinks; things she already knows, but still finds so unbelievable. He never abandoned me. And after all this time after being taken away, he found his way back to me. 

**********************************************

We did it! Hooray! We made it to the end- and it was a happy ending!!!

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has read, liked, commented on and/or reblogged any part of this fic series. It took a long of time and energy to make, so seeing all your feedback and responses just motivated and inspired me to no end.

This isn't the last of Ellie and Gadriel, either. I plan to do some more, cool things with their characters and their stories, so stay tuned for that!

Thank you again, I hope you enjoyed, and stay safe out there xoxo

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @passionofthesith @finchly-tintinnabulation @justfreakynothingelse

[topazy]

Tomorrow's promise

Paring: Daryl Dixon x reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warning: Swearing

Chapter: 3.02

Hearing a racket coming from somewhere in the prison, you lift your gun and aim it towards the doors leading to your cell block. When the noise gets closer, you look at Beth and say, “Take Jace and Carl with you into one of the cells, and don’t come out unless you know it’s safe.”

“Open the door! It’s Hershel!”

Hearing Rick’s voice, you immediately open the gate. Glenn, Maggie, and Stick Wheel Hershel, who’s lying on his back, passed out on a metal table. It’s not until you hear Beth screaming for her daddy that you realize Hershel’s leg is gone.

You and Carol help transfer him onto one of the beds. “What happened?”

“He was bit.”

“Carl, go get the towels from the back, right next to my bed,” Lori says, before turning to Beth, who is still holding your son. “Beth, sweetheart, go wait with Jace in the next cell.”

With everyone crowded around the bed, it was tight and chaotic. You look outside the cell and notice Daryl standing outside the cell block and reloading his crossbow. You take the keys from the gate and throw them onto the floor behind you, so only your people can reach them, and you shut the gate so you’re on the outside with Daryl.

Without saying a word, you stand beside him and point your gun in the same direction.

Out of the darkness of the hallway, five men dressed in prison jumpsuits walk in. The one at the front had a particular devilish look about him; he reminds you of what serial killers looked like on crime shows you used to watch.

Daryl aims his weapon at the man’s head, saying, “That’s far enough.”

“Cell block C,” the man says. “Cell four—that's mine, Gringo. Let me in.”

“Today’s your lucky day, fellas. You’ve been pardoned by the State of Georgia. You’re free to go.”

Three out of the five men look afraid as the tension rises. Hopefully, other survivors living in the prison meant there was food and water. Background voices become more obvious as you hear Carol instruct the others on how best to care for Hershel.

“What have you got going on in there?”

“It ain’t none of your concern,” Daryl says.

“Don’t be telling me what’s my concern.” When Jace starts to cry, the man takes a step forward. “You got a baby back there?”

You click the safety off your gun and say, “Take one more step, and I’ll blow your head off.”

He holds up his hands and whistles, “And you must be the baby mama.”

Daryl takes a step closer to him and says, “Back the fuck off now.”

“And who are you? The baby's father?” The man pushes loose strands of his greasy dark hair back and grins at you. “She doesn’t need defending; you see that crazed look in her eyes?”

You make a tsk sound with your tongue. Stupid man. You keep your aim firmly on the man and say, “I think it’s time you leave.”

“Hey, we ain’t leaving.”

T-dog appears beside you, his gun aimed at the same man, who appeared to be the leader of the small group of survivors. “You ain’t coming in either.”

“Hey, this is my house; these are my rules. I'll go where I damn well please.”

Hearing Jace’s cries become louder, you start to feel distressed, but under no circumstances are you going to lower your gun. Daryl senses your unease, and with one hand firmly on his weapon, he uses the knuckles on his free hand to knock on one of the tables. Alerting Rick and the others that something was wrong.

Rick comes running around the corner, his jaw clenching as he takes in the scene. He leans into your ear and says, “I need you back on the other side in case Hershel doesn’t make it.”

“Got it.”

You keep your gun up as you slowly walk backwards until you reach the gate, and Carl opens it. You step inside, your eyes falling on Jace, who is wailing in Glenn’s arms. You take your baby from your friend's arms and gently grab Carl’s arm. “Stay away from the gate; I don’t care what you hear, but you’d open it, okay?”

He looks up at you, confused. “What’s going on?”

You usher him into the bunk you’re sleeping in. You were afraid gunshots would go off at any moment, and you wanted the children out of the way of any stray bullets.

—

“How’s he holding up?"

Hershel’s breath was wheezy, and the sheets below him were soaked with blood. Carol looks up at you and says, “We managed to stop the bleeding, and he has no fever.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“But his pulse is way down, and his breathing is labored.” With blood-covered hands, Lori wipes her nose with her arm. “Where’s Carl?”

“In my cell with Jace, I thought it was best they stayed in there for now until we know the other survivors aren’t coming back.”

She nods and says, “Thank you.”

Hearing footsteps, you step back outside the bunk and see T-dog and Rick carrying boxes. Glenn opens the gate and lets them in. “What’s in the boxes?”

“Canned beef, canned corn, canned cans. There’s a lot more where this came from,” T-dog says.

“Where’s Daryl?”

“Keeping an eye on our new housemates,” Rick says before having a private conversation with Lori.

You feel sick with fear knowing that Daryl is outnumbered. He was good at self-defense, but enough to take on five men? You silently prayed that he didn’t need to find out.

You walk back up to your bunk and watch as Jace sleeps peacefully, his chubby cheeks pressed against Carl's arm. In a short space of time, Jace looks more like Shane; he has his father's dark brown eyes and thick dark brown hair. You lean your head against the bars and keep watch as he sleeps.

—

“Hey, munchkin,” you wave Carl over to you. It was your turn to keep watch over Hershel, who was now handcuffed to the bed as a precaution.

He pouts, “You going to yell at me too?”

During the madness of everything going on, Carl managed to slip in and out of the cell and into the infirmary without anybody noticing. He brought all the medical equipment he could find back with him, but when Lori told him off for going alone, he stormed off. You felt bad for your nephew; he was just a confused boy who didn’t understand why he was still being treated like a kid but was expected to act like an adult.

“No,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. “But please don’t do that again; I need you here.”

“Yeah, right,” he sulks.

“I need you to help me keep Jace safe… Oh shit!” Panic starts to take over when Hershel stops breathing. “Lori! Maggie!”

You struggle to remember any CPR training as your mind scrambles. Glenn and Carol had gone outside for some unknown reason, leaving you at a disadvantage.

“Do something!” Beth yells from the doorway. “Do something, please!”

You take a deep breath, pinch his nose, and breathe into his mouth. Lori rushes into the bunk and says, “Carl, go wait with your cousin.”

Lori begins compressions on his chest. You continue doing this until Hershel suddenly lunges forward, and Lori pulls you back. It’s not until he lets out a snoring sound that you know he’s alive.

—

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to sigh in frustration. Overall, it had been a good day; Hershel was still alive, there was enough food to last for a couple of months, and your group was unharmed by the inmates in the prison, but yet your mood has dropped significantly due to your tiredness. Every time you dozed off, Jace would wake up, or you’d see Shane in your dreams. You groan, feeling wetness seeping through your top and onto your skin. You only had a few tops, and all of them smelled horrendously with months worth of blood, sweat, and spit up covering them. Frustrated, you pull your top off, pour water from your water bottle onto it, and start scrubbing at it with a cloth, trying your best to be quiet since everyone else was sleeping.

Sighing, you watch Jace roll onto his stomach and crawl towards you. With a smile, you stroke his cheek and say, “you’re such a smart boy.”

You freeze when you hear a creak of a footstep behind you. Turning to look towards the doorway, your eyes lock on Daryl, who was standing there watching you, clutching something black in his hand.

When you twist your body further around, he looks at the ground, and you suddenly remember that it’s just your bra covering your top half. When heat flushes your face, you quickly grab a pillow and use it to cover your breasts. In a hushed tone, you ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I wake you?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I came down earlier and saw the little man throwing up on you, so I thought you might need this.”

He hands you one of his tops. “Are you sure? It will probably smell extremely gross without the hour.”

He smiles and says, “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Thanks.”

You face the wall again and put the top on. On closer inspection, you realize you’d seen Daryl wear this before; it was a dark navy blue button-up top with long sleeves. It was oversized on you but comfortable, and it was far cleaner than anything in your bag.

Daryl leans against the doorframe. “Mind if I hang a little bit?”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

[whatwasimadefor13]

Prison

A/n: there are like no fan fics for natasha lyonne, so i decided to write some, cause why not? :)

Nicky Nichols x Fem!Reader

Warnings: prison, reader's pet peeve is people cursing, sex contest hints of a bad life outside of prison, car theft mentioned, nicky is called a junkie, lorna is hinted at being crazy but that's normal

A/n: also this is a mix of the first episode and the sex contest between boo and nicky in like season two. i saw someone do something with that before and wanted to do my own take on it.

Imprisoned for grand theft auto, your first day of a five-year sentence had arrived. You knew how you looked; you were considerably different from most other inmates, having a normal aura around you. You realized your freedom disappeared the second the bus let you off. The guards directed the other transfers to line up at the side of the bus. You followed as the other inmates lined up.

You were observing your surroundings, and you took note of how serious the other inmates seemed. The way they carried themselves made you shiver. You noticed another girl who looked very out of place, even more than you, but you tried not to associate yourself with her, as you knew she would probably be the first one to be picked on. You had been described the prison dynamic by your fellow car thieves as they had been in a couple of times, but it felt so different from how they described it.

Following the guards’ intake and processing of the inmates; You were given an orange uniform and sent, along with a group, to a ‘residential’ inmate who was in a tan uniform. You noticed that everyone else was wearing the tan uniform, but before you can ask, the lady introduces herself in a Boston, mixed with Brooklyn accent, “Hello there. My name is Lorna, but if you want, you can call me Morello, cause that’s my last name.” You take notice of her enthusiastic rambling, as your sister would do the same thing.

Lorna was quite gorgeous, you thought to yourself, she had beautiful curled hair with a bold red lipstick, kinda had this crazy look in her eye, but you liked it, it added character. She gave a brief tour of the place, and you felt some eyes staring at the back of your head. You turned around to see two inmates, one was a blonde woman with unkempt curly hair and big brown eyes, the other was a butch-looking woman with short black hair and what looked like green eyes but you couldn’t tell from so far away. But you noticed they both had lots of tattoos, and they seemed to be chatting to each other about something while looking back and forth at each other and me. You just ignored it and continued listening to Lorna. After she brought you to your four-bedroom cell, you kinda chatted to her by yourself as the others settled in.

“Sorry for being a bother, but what is this orange and tan uniform deal? Do you have to pay more for the tan ones, or did they run out and give us extra?” Lorna had a small chuckle before stating, “The new inmates have orange uniforms for a while before they give you the tan ones. They are understaffed and under-funded, so it takes a while to process stuff around here.” Lorna smiles. She saw you taking a small glance at the two still talking and watching you. She then stared at the other two with an irritable glare.

The curly-haired one seemed to groan as she turned to the other one and gestured to leave, and both started to walk away. Lorna turned back to you and picked herself up with a smile, “Sorry about those two, they have no manners.” You were still curious, so you asked, “Who are they?”. Lorna kept her smile, “The curly hair one is Nicky, and the other is Boo. Be careful, they might be my friends, but that does not mean you should be friendly with them,” Lorna said, confusing you. You just nodded and headed to your top bunk. Your bunkmate gave you a stare as you headed for the bottom bunk, so you decided to go for the top one.

You lay there until you noticed people headed to dinner, so you followed some other inmates. As you got in line, you noticed the curly-haired lady, whom you thought was Nicky, got in line behind you. She was staring at you for a while before she spoke up. “Hey there, sweet cheeks,” she said with this raspy voice that kinda sounded like a smoker.

“Nicky, right?” You replied, just trying to make this line go by faster. “Yep, but the guards call me Nichols cause they are special or some shit”. Your eyes raised at the curse. Nichols noticed, “Don’t like me cussing?” You bit your lip, trying to make the subject pass and not comment on it. Nicky squinted her eyes, “Are you gonna answer, hon?” You roll your eyes, “Sorry, just a pet peeve of mine.” Nicky’s eyes widened as she laughed, causing the people in front of us to look at her weirdly. You mumbled something that got Nicky’s attention. “What did you say, love?” You rolled your eyes again. “None of your business.” You quickly fixed your eyes in front of you again, tapping your foot, waiting for the line to hurry up.

“Come on, you don’t find me entertaining,” the inmate whined. “I don’t know if you haven’t given me anything to work with.” Nicky gave a small nod. “I guess I haven’t, I can change that. What are you in for, anyway?” Nicky asked curiously. You turned back to Nicky, debating telling her you decided what’s the harm, “grand theft auto”. Nicky snorted her nose. “You don’t look like the stealing cars type,” she says while looking at you again. “Is that supposed to be an insult?” You asked, annoyed at Nicky’s bluntness. “Nah, don’t worry, hun you look good.” Nicky smiled with her flirtatious grin. You felt a brief flutter in your stomach, but you ignored it. “Mhm, I know,” you said, trying to seem confident.

As you got to the front of the line, you began getting your food. It might not have been the best, but it was better than not having the money to eat. Like you did outside. As you got to the end of the line, you realized you would have to find a table to sit at. They all looked aggressive. Approaching them would likely start a fight. Nicky noticed and smiled, “Why don’t you sit with me, sweetheart? You can be with the ‘popular’ table like I’m sure you sat with in highschool.” You debated it and sighed in defeat, “Fine.” Nicky smiled wide at your submission and led you to a table which you noticed had another new inmate wearing orange. Nicky lowered herself onto the table, making her presence known, and you did the same right next to her.

”Piper, you can’t be taking advice from a nun and a hippie”. You sat down next to her as the older lady that was very skinny and built at the same time retorted, “By all means, seek out the supreme wisdom of the junkie philosopher”. You take note of the use of the word junkie, noticing that Nicky fit that description very well. “I pray for you, Nicky,” the lady with short red hair who had slightly grown out said. Nicky responded with “Aww, I pray for you too, sister…I lust after you, Yoga Jones, those sinewy arms.” Nicky joked and laughed, “You have got to love a yoga body.”

As they were talking, you were taking note of what they were saying. Jasper felt her self lose focus for a second before Nicky interrupted her thoughts, “You like pussy, love?” Your cheeks flush up. “If you’re asking if I’m a lesbian, then yes,” you respond after pulling yourself together. Nicky smiled and turned to Piper, “What about you, Piper? You like pussy? Or do you prefer pipe like your name suggests? I’m getting sapphic vibes from you.” Piper didn’t respond and the nun lady told Nicky to stop. Nicky came back with a quick comeback. While they were chatting, you noticed a darker, short-haired redhead coming over to the table. She had impeccable eyeliner, and you kinda wanted some tips, as you can only do your waterline. She passed over a yogurt, from what you could assume, to Nicky. She replied with, “Thank you, mommy,” but it didn’t seem to be sexually. She then passed one to the nun and yoga lady, and they both said their thanks.

I saw Piper leaning over and asking Nicky, “She’s your mom?” You looked at Nicky with an expression saying you wanted to know, too. “Ah, Maternal figurehead. My actual mother lives in Brazil with her boyfriend, Paulo, who destroys rainforests and collects photorealistic art. She is a cunt. I am an embarrassment.” She said before turning to you and muttering an apology for the curse. You roll your eyes as the other girl with Nicky from before comes over to the eyeliner redhead.

“Red, can I get one of those?” She was talking about the yogurt Nicky got. Red replied, “You got what I asked you for?” Boo responded, saying something about she’s working on it. Red rolled her eyes and even you felt her displeasure, “So am I, Treat comes when I sleep better” Boo looked to Nicky and Nicky looked away. Boo got up in defeat and almost left, but had to wink at you before leaving. You flared your nose in disgust, not liking the wink. Red talked about how hard it is for her to get what she asked for before asking, “Who are they?” talking about me and Piper. Nicky responded “Chapman, some self-surrender, thinks she fancy. And that is y/n hottest car thrive I’ve met to date.” You roll your eyes again, but a little more playfully, beginning to enjoy Nicky’s presence. Red gets up and gives both of you yogurt cups. You smile politely and thank her, while Chapman asks, “What do I have to do for it?”

“You both are new, you’re one of us, consider it a gift,” Red responded. You thanked her again and began to eat it even though you don’t like yogurt. Chapman also says thank you before saying, “The food here is disgusting.” You gave her a weird look as everyone else looked down. “What?” she said. Nicky bit her cheek before responding, “Did I mention Red runs the kitchen?” Piper muttered a “shit…I’m sorry” as you shuttered at your pet peeve. Nicky looked at you with a worried expression on her face for Chapman. Red got up and said something to Piper, but all you were paying attention to was how Nicky’s hand was slightly touching your side, rubbing circles. It was a nice gesture, but you still gave her the side eye. She didn’t stop, and to be honest, it was comfortable.

You focused back on the situation when Nicky stated, “Holy shit. That was an epic fuck-up” You looked at her weird again and she mumbled an apology. You then noticed Lorna headed over to the table, she sat down next to you, “Ello there again, L/n.” You smiled at her, “Hey Lorna”. Lorna peeks at Chapman, who is just staring at the yogurt, “You gonna eat that, Chapman, because I’ll gladly take it.” Nicky clicks her tongue, signaling to not talk to her. Lorna rolls her eyes and continues talking to you about a Christopher. You nod your head as she talks and smile.

Nicky interrupts at some point, “We should head out soon, it seems people are leaving bout now.” You nod and say your goodbyes the group and head back to your bunk. As you approach your room, you hear Nicky from behind, “Dang, you’re a fast walker,” she announces, changing her normal swear. You nod as you climb onto your bed. She follows you into your room and watches as you get on your bed. She moves to the head of your bed and rests her head on the railing, smiling at you. You saw her standing figure and raised your eyebrow, “What do you want?” Nicky grins, her brown eyes meeting yours, “Come on, I can’t just hang out with you?” You gave her a side eye as you look up at the ceiling, “What were you and boo, I think that’s her name, talking about anyway?”

Nicky looked down for a second before looking back up at you and responding, “Just something stupid, you don’t need to worry about it.” You did not feel reassured at all. “I don’t like liars.” Your eyes squint, seeing Nicky’s unease. “Fine, me and boo have a… hookup contest… inmates are ranked on a scale from 1 to 10 and whoever gets the most points wins.” You were confused how that had to deal with what you were asking but you let her continues. “Guards are an automatic 10 but I haven’t got any of them,” You nod to her words, “So who is winning?” Nicky then let out a smile, “me obviously but Boo is very close, she is only a point behind and I think she’s close to getting a 4. But the reason we were talking before is that we were gonna make you a 8 on the scale.”

You thought about it for a second and smiled, ”Well, thanks Nick, I appreciate it, but you won’t be getting those 8 points.” Nicky smirked, “We will see about that, sweetie. I’ll leave you alone for now. Don’t go cheating on me with Boo.” You stared at Nicky as she left, watching her confident presence leave the room.

A/n: I def want to make another part idk when, but I'll try.

[voltaspistol]

Here's 24-year-old Frengel Reyes Mota, a Venezuelan immigrant with no criminal record in the States or in Venezuela.

He's not part of a gang.

He's not said anything about Gaza or Israel.

He's just a house painter who left his home country due to the unrest and difficulties there, and came to the US legally seeking asylum.

He didn't show up for his asylum hearing this week, though, because when he showed up for his regular ICE check-in -- which he should as a legal immigrant in the US -- ICE arrested him and soon deported him to the largest prison in Latin America, the notorious Terrorism Confinement Center in El Salvador.

If you haven't heard of this prison, it's a 57 acre facility where prisoners are held in cells of about 150 prisoners. There are racks of bunks four-high, two toilets and two Bibles per cell. Prisoners are only let outside of their cell for 30 minutes a day for exercise or Bible study. No recreation, visitation, or phone calls are allowed. The lights are kept on in the cells 24/7. There are a number of controversies and allegations of human rights violations in this prison.

What did Reyes Mota do so that ICE took him into custody without charges and illegally removed him from the court system before transferring him to an extra-national prison for terrorists?

Nothing.

In fact, when ICE showed up at his asylum hearing this week and revealed the arrest paperwork it HAD THE WRONG NAME IN IT SIX TIMES. And not a misspelled name, it was talking about someone named Carlos Ortiz-Morales. Other sections referred to Reyes Mota as "she" and "her" and at least once a different person's immigration number was listed in the description. It was arrest by Chatgpt hallucination or gross human incompetence or both.

And when this was pointed out in court at Reyes Mota's asylum hearing by his lawyer this week, when the judge asked ICE if they made a mistake, the ICE lawyers said they'd "look into it."

As more of these cases are coming out, I keep hearing well-meaning people say "There's more to the story."

I get it. It's disorienting to think that a country that says things like "innocent until proven guilty" or "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" would also arrest an innocent man and fly him off to a gigantic horror show of a prison. So there MUST be "more to the story" even though Reyes Mota has no criminal record, isn't part of a gang, doesn't have a gang tattoo or even have a tattoo at all.

"There's more to the story."

THEN PROVE IT IN COURT.

If there's more to the story the US government should have just rolled into the asylum hearing this week and proved it. But they didn't because their paperwork DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE RIGHT NAME ON IT throughout the document. And they couldn't prove it anyway, because there's nothing to prove.

PLUS: to remove an asylum applicant without a court order is ILLEGAL. This is a very clear case where -- unlike Reyes Mota --ICE broke the law.

So, here's your "more to the story":

Reyes Mota is married. He married a woman who already had a son, so he's the father to a 9 year old boy. He's got a dog that he loves named Sacha. The family doesn't have tons of money, so Reyes Mota carefully plans the budget so he can occasionally buy his dog treats. Reyes Mota is a hard worker, a legal immigrant, a good husband and father, a financially responsible tax-paying part of the US community.

Or he was.

This week the judge in Reyes Mota's asylum case "froze" the case. Meaning that if Reyes Mota returns to the country he can pick up where he left off. Assuming he can be released. Assuming he's brought back to the US.

While he was still in detention, before he was flown out of the country, Reyes Mota was able to talk to his family. He asked if his dog was eating okay. He wanted to know how his son was doing in school.

Of course he's not allowed to make any phone calls now so his family has no idea if he's okay, how he's doing, what's happening.

ICE is "looking into it."

[velvuette]

guilty pleasure

featuring. daryl dixon x afab gender neutral reader

era. season four, pre-governor arc two

wc. 412

synopsis. you called him a pretty boy and that's simply too much for his heart, and body, to handle.

cw. mdni, +18, nsfw, male moaning, solo masturbation, edging, god he's so desperate for you, submissive daryl, p-in-v, riding, cum mentions

author's note. i'm reposting my old works after editing and revising them so i hope this is better :)

daryl tightened his grip on his cock at the thought of you, little whines threatening to escape his trembling lips. he had been going at this for nearly a half hour, cruelly edging himself on the lower bunk of your shared prison cell. he couldn’t help himself. not when you teasingly flirted with him so frequently. at this point, he wasn’t even sure you were aware of it. perhaps you were just friendly and flirtatious with everybody. but whenever you complimented the way his hair framed his worn face or whenever you looked at him with such soft eyes, he often found his pants tightening.

it happened again today. you called him a pretty boy, unknowingly stirring these fervid feelings again. It was torture for him, having always to sneak away to touch himself in ways he could only dream you would. he’d softly rub at his throbbing tip, teasing himself beyond a torturous ache. and then, only when his tip drooled with precum, would he finally give in and pump his cock the way his body begged him to.

he imagined your warm breasts bouncing as he made sickeningly sweet love to you. he dribbled more precum onto his happy trail as he thought about your wet juices coating his cock. he instinctively bucked his hips up into his calloused fist, imagining getting to watch as your tight walls swallowed and clenched around him. he melted at the imagined whimpers you would make from him circling your clit in tight circles. he imagined the soft, breathy warning of your approaching orgasm. one more throb as he imagined the way you would throw your head back in pleasure, riding out your orgasm, uncontrollably clenching around him.

that.

that threw him over the edge, clouding his vision in a thick haze. his whole body convulsed as thick white ropes jumped from his twitching girth. desperate dirty nails clawed at thin, cotton bedsheets, searching for anything to brace himself with. shallow breaths came left his dry, cracked lips erratically, calming the euphoria. a warmer flood of blood rushed to his cheeks. and now came the embarrassment.

he knew he couldn’t have you, yet he still imagined you in all of the lewd, perverted ways he had. and if you ever knew, you wouldn’t speak to him again. throwing an exhausted and sore arm over his head, he tried to ignore the rising guilt that would scold him for the rest of the humid night.

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[dreamweave01]

What do the boys' general living quarters look like in the experiement au? Do they share a room? A bed? Do they even get beds? How much time do they spend there vs in experiemnt rooms vs rec rooms? Do they get rec rooms? Do they get any kind of enrichment or is it just pure drudgery for them?

When they were first brought in, the four shared a bedroom, growing so emotionally attached to each other that when the Golden Order tried separating them it did more harm than good. Hence why they still share a sleeping quarters.

Their "room" more closely resembles a jail cell to be completely honest. Stone walls, Cement floor, two sets of bunk beds mounted to the wall, and no windows. The only way to enter and exit the room is using a calibrated key pad, to which the four definitely do not have clearance for.

The bunkbeds aren't much different than the floor when it comes to comfort, and the four prefer sleeping together anyways, so they're usually one big tangled heap of blankets on the floor.

Their time outside of their sleeping quarters is in some ways similar to that of a normal school day. Get up, go to school, (or in their case get freakin tortured,) come home. Easy peasy, not so breezy.

No rec rooms. It's basically just pure drudgery. If they want to play games, they have to get creative. (One time they tore open one of the pillows and had a contest to see who could build the tallest tower out of the stuffing. Z2 won :P)

On very very special occasions (as in those in charge of them are too tired to/don't have time to deal with them at the moment,) they may get some simple fidget toys like a rubix cube or a fidget spinner, or maybe some paper and crayons. Again, this is on very RARE instances, and don't last that long before the items are eventually taken away.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

A Cluster of Burning Stars - Chapter Twenty-Four

in which Knuckles and Rouge play catch

{ao3} {tumblr}

The second Sonic had disappeared of her sight, Amy had tensed up. Her limbs straight and eyes directed ahead, she spoke curtly with a quick “Let’s roll,” as they darted down a bend. Knuckles decided to fall into silence as well, just letting her lead him through the winding pathways. The first time they spoke, a few minutes in, they’d begun to pass a window, and he looked out with wonder. “Are those walkways outside?” 

Amy huffed as she stopped. “They’re generated in emergencies and only for personnel access. Can we keep going? We need to find Cream.”

Thankfully, he did shut it and keep trailing behind her, up until they finally made their way to the dorms. Amy waited outside each door, listening for movement, before pushing it open and calling for the rabbit. This happened repeatedly, with her cries becoming more and more desperate, until they had reached the last room. With no response, Amy groaned, kicking the doorframe. 

“Do you have, like, a prison or holding cell?” 

“No! We were a research station, we didn’t have a prison.” 

“Just time-out cages.” 

She chose to ignore him. “He might’ve put her in our room. It’s not too far, follow me.” 

She directed him down several bends, tensing even more the closer they got. Her eyes darted around, searching for any attackers. Robotnik should send more of those badniks after them, right? Maybe they were ahead of them. So long as she didn’t have to fight the human himself. She didn’t want to attack any living people up here. 

When she finally reached their door, everything hit her at once, and she froze, her hand just by the access handle. She stared, then, ahead at the white metal, the kind she’d seen for most of her life, the kind that meant she was going home. She was going somewhere safe, and she was going to be able to relax. She wouldn’t have to fight for a while. She could be with her family. Now, her family was shattered, and she was never going to be safe again. But maybe, just maybe, if she opened that door now, Maria would be there to make things better.

Stop being stupid.

She let it open, crossing her arms as she strode inside, already holding back tears the second she saw their bunk bed. Her bunk, high above her on the top, was still impeccably made, as was Shadow’s. Sonic’s, on the bottom, a complete mess that had remained crumpled for the last fifty years. She wondered if their blankets still retained their scent, or if that had dissipated in all this time. Slowly, she turned her face to the ground, where she saw a scattering of crayons, paper, and origami. 

Knuckles came up behind her, and she carefully said, “Cream was definitely here. That’s what her drawings look like.” she swallowed, trying to avoid her voice shaking. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice. “It looks like she left only recently. So she can’t be far.”

“This was your room?” 

She shot him a glare, just for a flash, before turning back to the little girl’s sketches. “What? Gonna say it’s a prison or something?”

A beat of silence. Then, he just said, “No. I was going to say it looks nice.” 

“Whatever.” she squeezed her arms tighter. “Um, uh… next door is Maria’s room. He wouldn’t put her in there. So we’re going to have to move out a bit farther.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She was absolutely sure. But at the same time, she knew if she didn’t check, she’d be worrying about it for the rest of the day. She swallowed again, and almost asked him to look for her. He probably would’ve. But she didn’t show weakness, that wasn’t what she was made for. So she spun on her heel, fled from the room, and raced to the next door. 

She had it open before she could think about what she was doing. Then she was staring into Maria’s room. It was untouched, and she knew immediately that Cream hadn’t been there. But her eyes fell on the messy blankets, the scattered toys and unorganized piles of books on the floor, the family photo set upright on her nightstand, unfinished homework on her desk, and nightgown folded atop her dresser in preparation for the night. And then she was stumbling backwards, nearly ramming directly into the wall, throwing a hand over her mouth as a sudden pounding filled her chest. She tried to keep her breaths steady, but the tears that immediately began to fall were making that difficult. 

Knuckles glanced into the room, then shut the door and ran to her, hands on her shoulders. “Hey, hey! It’s okay, it’s–”

“I know, I know.” she forced out, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s stupid, I need to calm down. I know, I just… I don’t…” 

The echidna turned his head, looking carefully down each end of the hall, before saying, “It’s okay. Take a minute.” 

“I don’t need a minute, I…” she shut her mouth, focusing on keeping her breathing steady. One, two, three four. In. One, two, three, four. Out. She eventually reached up, gripping onto Knuckles’s arms as he held hers, trying to weigh herself down with something real. His quills felt similar to hers, maybe a bit smoother? He was standing strong, just like she should be, she should be better than this… 

Slowly, she put herself back together, but still didn’t look him in the eye. “Okay. We need to find Cream.” 

“You’re no good to her if you’re a mess. Wait a–”

“I’m not a mess.” she let go of him and shrugged his hands off of her. “I’ve got it handled.” 

“Look, me and Tails deal with trauma a lot. If you need a–”

“I don’t have ‘trauma,’ I’m just…” Shell-shocked? Getting used to death? “Look. What’s important is we find the little girl who’s still here. I can handle all this. She can’t. Let’s get her to safety and get the fuck out.” 

“Okay.” Knuckles crossed his arms, giving her a glare. “I get it. You don’t like me.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You did say you wanted to be ‘friends,’ but you–” 

“I… look, I just…” she struggled to find the words, to find some kind of explanation for why she was feeling so sick. “I… don’t like being away from Sonic.” That had to be it. That he wasn’t in her sightline. That he couldn’t keep her sane. “Especially after–”

“The ride over?” 

Her heartbeat sped up again, and she clenched her fists, trying to force that beat back down. “Whatever.” 

“I get it; it was something you guys were sensitive over.”

“Sensitive over.” Amy scoffed. 

“We thought it was going to be something relevant to the mission–”

“Okay, and what if it was?” Amy snapped, stepping a little farther down the hall, putting a decent distance between them. “What if you guys found out Sonic was into Shadow and decided that meant you didn’t want anything to do with him?”

“That wouldn’t have happened.” 

“And I was, what? Supposed to just know that?” she hissed. “I don’t know you at all. I trust you because Sonic trusts you, and when Sonic told me to zip it, I zipped it. I don’t get why you couldn’t just leave it alone.” 

“Because we thought it was going to be important. We had no idea it wasn’t!” 

“It was! And you pretty much forced him to tell you when he didn’t have any way out!” she threw up her hands. “Fuck, what if you’d just decided to toss him out the airlock?” 

Knuckles flinched back. “What? Why the hell would we do that?” his voice got harder. “Did they try to do that to him?” 

“No! Of course not! But you could’ve! Do you know how fucking scared he must’ve been?” 

“We didn’t know!” 

“Well you should’ve just trusted him, then!” Amy shouted. “This isn’t the first time he’s had all his insecurities thrown in front of everyone he knows. I didn’t defend him then, so to hell if I don’t protect him now!” 

“You don’t have to protect him from us!” 

“I didn’t know that!” 

“Well, you do now!” 

Amy stepped back again, and took some more breaths in-and-out, in-and-out. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. She didn’t look at Maria’s door, didn’t think about how she’d learned that technique in that room. Instead, she kept clenching her fists until they hurt, using the sting to force her into one place. 

Slowly, she turned her head to the spot where the wall met the ground, locking her eyes on the metallic bend. 

“Have you ever killed a person?” 

He didn’t respond. She figured that if she looked at him, she’d have her answer, but she didn’t want to move at the moment. 

“It’s different from robots. They can’t be rebuilt. You’d think that’d be obvious, that everyone would just know that. But you still think, well, maybe it’s okay if they did something bad. If they’re attacking you, or someone you care about. Maybe some people can’t be changed, and it’s better to take them out before they hurt anyone else. And then you… you actually break someone’s head in. And the sound, it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. And everything just… stops. The world’s over for them and somehow it’s over for you, too. It just hits you, all at once, that they’re never going to get up again. You wonder who cared about them, who hated them, who they’ve affected at all in life, who’s not going to get to see them again, and what they’re never going to get to see again. It all happens in a second, and then someone else is coming for your family, and for you, and you don’t have a choice. It’s them or you.” 

It was barely a few days ago for her. Now the bodies were gone, the blood cleaned up, and the incident wiped from memory. It was as if it never happened. As if everything that weighed on her was a bad dream. One that just wouldn’t leave. 

“And then you open a door or hear the wrong creak against the floor, and it’s all happening again. And the worst part is it didn’t even work. You still lost everything. You lost your family, and you lost your purpose. Everything you thought you were.”

He moved a bit closer to her. She didn’t back away, but she didn’t look up, either. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to get at, but she pushed that all aside when she caught a faint green glow spread across the ground. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him open the bag at his side, showing the top of the Master Emerald. He was staring down at it with a deep affection behind his eyes, which turned to seriousness when he looked back up at Amy. 

“I never had anyone else. As long as I can remember, it was me and the Master Emerald. You saw me when Tails even suggested we put my island and my Emerald in danger. I don’t have a family, I don’t have a people, or a history, outside of this. This is it for me. So… I guess you could say I get where you’re coming from.” then, he took a long sigh, and said, “I’d like to think I have Tails now, though. And the whole team. I hate assuming things and I hate talking about feelings even more so, be lucky you got this conversation.” 

Amy smiled a little, thinking back to Shadow’s grumpy huff whenever she suggested they use their words. “I have that effect on people.”

“When Tails first took me off the island, I didn’t think I’d be able to like anything. Or anyone. Tails isn’t part of my island. He fucks it up, honestly. Nobody else I know has ever been there. Most of them didn’t know it existed. But for some reason, I still like them. And they like me fine.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like–”

Knuckles held up a hand to stop her, letting the bag’s lid fall back over the shining gem. “And I trust that Bunnie’s got my back in a fight. And that Porker can work the computers to keep Angel Island hidden when Tails is busy. And that Mighty can keep his own island under lockdown. But it took a long, long time to build up to that point. And a lot of stuff we had to live through. So if you wanna keep a list of ways you can kill me at the front of your head for a while, I’m not gonna hold it against you. Just let me know if you need me to take over for a moment. I want to save the world as much as you do.” 

She opened her mouth to say she didn’t need a list, she already knew all the best ways to kill someone, but she thought better of it and laughed a bit. “You got ideas on how to kill all your friends?” 

“Still working on you three, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Oh, I’m far from worried.” 

“Then I assume you’re ready to go get that kid back?” 

Amy let out a long breath, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get her out of here.” 

“Alright. Where else do you think she might be?” 

Amy averted her eyes from Maria’s door, looking back towards her own. “Okay. Okay, so she was definitely here. Shadow probably assumed this was too obvious a spot to hide her. I’m trying to think of the safest places here– definitely on this floor, most of the experiments are either down below or in the far wings.” 

“You think they’re all still alive?” 

“‘Alive’ isn’t really the right word.” Amy said hesitantly. “Most of them were AI, rather than biological like us. Except… but, no, uh, we wouldn’t have to worry about anything like that.” Knuckles opened his mouth, and she quickly said, “Nothing relevant, promise.” he nodded, leaning back slightly. “So… we should look at Grandfather’s room or offices.” As soon as she said it, it felt right. “If he’s putting her in our room, clearly he hasn’t got any hangups about stuffing her in personal places. Er, the Professor’s room is nearby, in case he ever needed to get to Maria. But the offices and labs would be farther down.” 

“Then let’s get started.” he tilted his head, listening down the hall. “And maybe keep the hammer out in case anything comes running. Badniks are surprisingly fast.” 

“I’ve been trying to keep up with Sonic for years.” she flicked out her hand, letting the hammer spin into her grip. “I’m faster.” 

“Then lead the way.” 

She nodded, turned herself as far away from the sight of Maria’s door as she could, and gestured for Knuckles to follow as she forced her feet forwards. 

She gripped tighter onto the hammer as she heard the echidna begin to follow her. Repeating in her mind the phrase he’s not a threat, he’s not a threat, she focused the rest of her senses on the rest of the ARK around her. On the thudding of their footsteps, on the glint of the shining walls beneath the fluorescent lights, of the swing of perspective and spin of her head when she turned round a corner. On keeping the directions in her mind.

When they reached the Professor’s room, Amy hesitated at the door, and Knuckles gently said, “I’ll go in, if you want.” This time, she let him, and Knuckles came out after only a minute, shaking his head. So she nodded, and started directing them towards the offices. But just a few bends down, Knuckles reached out, brushing her shoulder to get her to slow to a stop. She glanced back at him inquisitively, and he raised a gloved hand to his mouth, which she assumed meant he wanted her to keep quiet. 

After a second, she heard it, too: a strange sort of whooshing through the air in front of them. She was extremely confused, at first, as to what it might be, but Knuckles seemed to realize first, as he pushed her down and threw up his hands. Amy heard an extremely loud thud as he collided with something that had rushed directly over her head. She tried to jump up, hoping to headbutt whatever had been thrown at them, but she barely missed, and instead just stood up and watched as a strange mobian bat swung a kick at Knuckles’s head. 

“Oh, who the hell–” she muttered to herself, raising her hammer high and swinging for the blur of white. 

She once again missed, but the bat, flying close to the ceiling, stopped for a second and stared down at her. “Is that a fucking piko-piko hammer?” Amy didn’t know what the addendum meant, so she just started swinging again. When the bat kept to the ceiling, Amy clicked her shoes’ heels and jumped onto the wall, starting to run up. “Shit,” the bat hissed, before doing another dive-bomb for Knuckles. 

The echidna leapt out of her reach, but made the mistake of throwing one hand over the fluttering knapsack. The attacker clearly saw a weakness, and on her next dive, she aimed for that side of him, pushing hard on his shoulder and throwing them both backwards. Amy’s hammer crashed beside them, barely missing the bat’s legs as she returned to her original gravity, just as the bag flew open and the Master Emerald slid a few inches across the metal floor. 

The bat’s eyes widened, and she immediately reached for it. Knuckles yanked the gem back, clutching it to his chest, as Amy tried again to hit the intruder. Instead, the bat slid under her, flew into the air, and grabbed the hammer as it swung through the air. Amy, undeterred, released the handle, jumped aside, and summoned a second hammer from thin air. 

“Oh, Chaos,” the bat groaned, before letting the first hammer go, soaring away from the continuing attacks. 

Knuckles almost joined the fight again, but suddenly flinched and threw a hand to his ear, while the other still tightly clutched the shining gem. He paused, shouting, “Tails, we’re kinda in the middle of something!” 

In a flash, the bat had knocked him to the ground, grasped tight to the Emerald, and barrelled down the hall. 

“Oh, son of a–” Knuckles hissed. He turned to Amy, stopping her from chasing after the bat. “I’ll get my Emerald, you go after the kid!” 

Not giving her time to argue, he took off at a run after the bat. Amy hesitated, but the phrase go after the kid brought to the forefront of her mind the smiling, peaceful face of Cream, and she found herself racing in the opposite direction before she could even think about what she was doing. 

--

Knuckles managed to catch up to the bat, grabbing the Emerald from below and pulling hard. Rouge groaned in frustration, trying to kick at his head. “Oh, would you fuck off already?” 

“Give me back,” Knuckles hissed, wildly ducking his head to avoid her kicks, “My Emerald.” 

“No chance, Red. I’ve got a job to do.” 

She suddenly dove into a somersault. Knuckles found himself flung into the air, but he kept his grip on the Master Emerald. Disgruntled, she decided to flip over again. Consistently being tossed upside-down wasn’t a good way to think up escape strategy, so Knuckles figured that he was going to have to act fast. When she made a third spin, he let go just as he was pointed at the wall. Swiveling around so he landed feet-first, he launched himself off the second he made contact and managed to knock both bat and emerald out of the air. 

They crashed right beside a large, sealed door, beside which Knuckles could see a large metal panel– later, he’d get a closer look and realize it was a keycard-slot that had been ripped open and the wires messed with, but right now, he was a bit more focused on Rouge racing to the door, pushing it open, and shouting, “Alright! Let’s take this outside.” 

The door flew open, and Knuckles immediately felt the grab of the cold, dark vacuum of space. Mobians, unlike humans, had biological systems that helped them survive a limited amount of time in certain airless environments– but the sudden hole in the wall that slowly began to suction anything nearby outside was something that would affect him for a hot minute. He only flew out for a moment, but as soon as he hit the walkways, he slammed his hand into a grate, using his knuckle spikes to get himself decently upright while he readjusted. 

Unfortunately, Rouge took that time to grab the Emerald and fly off. 

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he shouted. He glanced around, seeing her fly over a massive structure of pillars and walkways. Questioning what the fuck that was even for, Knuckles immediately ran, jumped, and started pounding his way up the nearest stack of metal. He caught a glimpse of a nearby floating platform, and leapt onto it at the sight of a bright red bouncepad, which he used to get higher up and closer to his escaping opponent. 

He slid onto a large platform, turned, and spotted some kind of watery creature with a metallic mask. “What the fuck, man?” he muttered, before punching it in the head and taking off at a run before he could see it dissolve. 

It took a bit of strategy, figuring out which slabs he could jump from to send himself higher and higher, and he could see the bat glaring down at him on occasion, probably upset he hadn’t lost his footing and fallen directly at the fiery atmosphere. He finally saw her halt herself in the center of four large pillars, so he scampered up a pole and threw himself over the half-wall. 

“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?” the bat hissed, as she dropped the Emerald to the ground, standing in front of it. 

“And you’re nothing but a common thief.” 

“You insult me.” she dramatically placed a hand to her heart. “I’m a world-renowned treasure-hunter!” 

“Don’t give a shit. That Emerald’s not yours for the taking.” 

“Lemme guess. Master Emerald? I thought it’d be bigger but, well, makes it easier to carry, doesn’t it?” 

“Give it back.” 

She moved to the center of the area, flapping her wings threateningly. “Very well. If that’s how you want to play.” 

--

Amy was about halfway to the offices when she skid to a stop, an idea coming to her. She glanced down a fork in the pathway, before switching left, and almost running straight into a flying robot. She reacted on instinct, and soon the machine was shattered beneath her hammer’s face. She tossed her weapon over her shoulder, then, as she knelt down to inspect the rubble. It definitely wasn’t one of the training droids, but it had enough similarities that she could reasonably assume it was either a badnik or some kind of security she’d never seen the ARK actually whip out. 

It can’t be security. They would’ve come out to protect us. We were the security.

Right. So either the bot were coming from that direction, and she would be heading right towards Robotnik and his artificial army, or they were protecting something in that area. Either way, she was definitely heading down there. Which was good, because her mind had suddenly brought her to the realization that Shadow’s original room was in this direction. 

She hadn’t been in that place very often. Sonic’s room had been converted to a study and her room had been used to store and study more Artificial Chaos, but Shadow’s remained a basic lab. She’d followed him there once when she had nothing better to do, when he had blood testing and brain scans. Usually her and Sonic had theirs in the hospital wing, but he told her that he was more relaxed in the place he’d been created, and that made reading the tests easier. Amy wondered if she could try that, but whenever she’d gone back to her original room, she hadn’t felt anything. Not safer, or more scared; it was just a room to her. But Shadow was sentimental, even if he refused to acknowledge such a thing. And if he wanted Cream to be in a safe place… well, Grandfather’s offices always made them nervous that they’d somehow accidentally set important papers on fire, so his room was a far better bet. 

As she settled her thoughts, another swarm of flying robots swung around the corner. Took them long enough to find me, she thought to herself, before leaping into the air for a spin attack. Spiraling through the air with her hammer extended, she managed to knock two down, smashing the third against a wall. 

Occasionally, as she made her way down to the upper level labs, she would run into some again, but they weren’t even able to fire a blast in her direction before she had them splintered into pieces. She distantly remembered the Professor telling her not to let robots out of the training rooms. To prevent messes in the hall. 

Tell that to your grandson. This one’s not on me.

At least it would leave a trail for Knuckles to find her. Though… it could also lead enemies to find her. She better hurry it up. 

Her boots squeaked against the cold floor as she finally reached the correct wing. Just a few more turns, a few more smashed badniks, and she was in front of… well, okay, one of the doors. 

Seriously, she’d only been here a few times, sue her for not remembering if it was on the left or the right. 

Amy took a few deep breaths. She tried the closest door– locked. Okay, that could be it… but she moved to the next one, tried it, and, yep, also locked. Right, so this entire area was on lockdown. Did she want to waste time breaking every lock, scouring through every room? 

What other choice did she have? 

She shut her eyes, thinking hard. It… it might have been the center door on the left, but it could’ve been right. Why did her mind have to fail her now? She remembered where everything else on this stupid ship was. Why’d Shadow have to store her in the one place she barely went? And what if he hadn’t? What if he’d put her in an office, or the greenhouse, or even just had her beside him as he stood in some random hallway? What if she couldn’t find him or Cream? What if…

She hated being alone. She hated it, she hated it, she hated it… 

An image flashed before her eyes. Her door falling open, a tiny, blue bundle of energy breaking through, eyes excited, hand outstretched. In the spur of the moment, she threw her hands out against the door before her, pounding once, twice, three times. 

Silence. So she moved to the next one. One, two, three. One, two, three. Breathe in, breathe out, and pound again. One, two… 

“Come in!” 

Her heart soared, and she pressed her ear against the door. Yes! That was the girl’s voice, and, extremely muffled, the fluttering of chao wings. 

“Cream!” she called, breaking into a wide smile.

“Oh! Ms Amy!” the voice got closer, and then there was a soft sound behind the door. “Hmm. The door won’t open.” 

“Yeah, it’s locked. Cream, get Cheese and stand in the corner. I’m breaking it down.”

“That’s okay, Ms Amy, I’m sure Mr Shadow will–” 

“Cream!” she forced her tone to get more stern, like Grandfather when they were messing up the dining hall. “Get in the corner.” 

There was a soft pitter-patter moving backward, so Amy glanced to the side at the keyslot, smiled, and slammed into it with her hammer. The crash of metal and sparks of energy only served to excite her more, as did the sight of the dented, broken machinery. She tossed her hammer into nothing once more, and then stepped back, cracking her knuckles, before taking a running start, curling into a ball, and dashing directly into the door.

The satisfying crunch beneath her, the freeing rush of moving past the barrier between her and her friend, the air around her and then above her as she rolled against the ground, unfurling herself before hitting the wall and leaping to her feet in victory– it was downright euphoric. Better than beating a simulation without getting a single hit, better than when she’d been chosen as the showcase, better than anything she could remember feeling. And then Cream had jumped onto her, hugging her tight and cheering, and she somehow felt ten times more amazing. 

She hugged the rabbit back, as well as the cheering chao beside her. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you two!” 

Cream giggled, pulling away slightly to look up at her with starry eyes. “It’s okay, Ms Amy. Mr Shadow was really nice! Is it time to go home now?” 

“Yes, absolutely.” Amy stepped back, grabbing tight to her hand. “I’m gonna get you to our ship, you’re gonna wait there for a little while, and then we’re all going home, okay?” 

“Ok-ee. I left some drawings in your room, can we go get those?” 

“I’ll pick them up for you, promise, but let’s get you somewhere safe first.” 

“Can I say goodbye to Mr Shadow and Ms Rouge?” 

Amy hesitated. “They’ll come with us if all goes well. But we gotta get you home to your mother.” 

The little rabbit nodded excitedly, before running to grab a book she’d apparently been reading through. Cheese hovered around Amy’s head, hugging against her quills, but her eyes drifted from the little bunny to the tube in the center of the room. 

It had been smashed, probably during the attack, with its glass shards swept up into a corner. But the destruction wasn’t what had caught her attention. It was Cream standing under it as she struggled to lift the old fairytale collection, eventually sliding it under her arm. She looked so small in comparison. There was no way she’d been that small when she was in her own room, right? That Shadow had ever been that small? That they’d ever been that size and surrounded by fluids in a tube, locked out of the world outside? 

No, that couldn’t be right at all.

She finally took Cream’s hand, letting Cheese continue clinging onto her head as she started their escape. She kept one arm tensed and ready, in case she needed her hammer, but all she had to do was follow the path of already-destroyed badniks and hope none of them came up from behind. The bunny thankfully seemed to understand enough to not ask about the shattered remains they edged over, instead just singing lightly to herself as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The tight way she clutched onto the older hedgehog let her know that wasn’t the case.

They were very close to the docking bay when Cheese tugged on Amy’s ear, mumbling something. The hedgehog slowed, as Cream squeaked out, “What’s wrong, Cheese?” Amy sensed the slight change in the air next, and only had a half-second to act. She was already pushing Cream behind her when she heard the soft blip, and barely managed to swing around, hands out, to push back against Shadow as he aimed for a kick to her head.

--

{ao3} {tumblr}

[rodibee]

MegaRod Week 2023 Day 7: Free Day / { AU : Pacific Rim }

<- Previous

“This is your last chance Megatron. We have a Jaeger for you, but if you can't find someone you're drift compatible with in this next batch of pilots, you'll be dropped from the program and sent back to prison.”

Starscream's words continued to echo through Megatron's head even hours later as she laid supine on her too-small bunk and stared at the bare concrete ceiling above her. When Megatron had first been offered the deal by Optimus to work off her life debt to society at large by fighting back against an enemy that mattered, she'd leapt at the chance. The thought of spending her remaining days rotting away in a cell block before eventually being executed was bad enough before, but after the rift had begun spitting out kaiju at a rate that was no longer feasible to counteract? The idea was intolerable. That left her with only one feasible path before her: finding a new co-Pilot.

-

Starscream sighed and dropped into her chair with enough drama (and momentum) for it the wheel around into Bumblebee's desk. Bee didn't look up from the paperwork it was staring at (and actually pointedly swiped to another page, the nerve) which prompted her to sigh again, louder this time. When that still didn't evoke the proper reaction Starscream desired, she decided to rectify things by lashing out with a stiletto and kicking Bumblebee's cane from where it was hanging off the edge of its desk to send it skidding across the floor.

“Look at me.”

Bumblebee instead put its face in its hands for a long moment before tiredly lifting its head to glare at the lawyer that it swore was responsible for half of the issues that took place on this base. “Yes?? What is it, what could possibly be more important than—”

“I have a solution for the two thorns in our sides.”

...That was absolutely important enough. Bee's mouth shut with a click at the speed it was silenced, but it tried for Starscream's ego's sake not to look too pleased or relieved. Keen-eyed as she was, the attempt meant nothing to her, and Starscream's smug aura instantly multiplied by four. Bee tried to salvage the situation by squinting at her dubiously.

“...Both of them? You don't mean—”

“—I certainly do.”

Bee narrowed its eyes at her more seriously this time. “The last time Megatron piloted alongside an Autobot—”

“—They had exemplary teamwork that benefitted all of humanity in the fight against the kaiju right up until Optimus' noble sacrifice-- may she rest in peace— which frankly put, had nothing to do with Megatron.”

Bumblebee's expression crystallized into something icy, as it always did when someone brought up the previous head of the Jaeger Program that Bee now headed itself or the circumstances around her death.

-

So that's how Megatron found herself standing off to the side in partial shadows, watching as what could possibly be the last group of rangers in the world filed into the room, all desperately looking to be chosen for one of the few Jaegers that remained.

A sea of faces that seemed infinitely younger than Megatron's own swam before her; introductions and reunions between strangers and old friends alike all taking place at the same time as everyone waited for Colonel Bumblebee to arrive and begin the trials. The Autobot rangers had always been a colorful cast of characters, which ironically led to none of them standing out at a glance when they all grouped together, and it was only the gravity of Megatron's position and the choice she would have to make here that kept her eyes from glazing over. Unfortunately even that couldn't entirely stop her thoughts from wandering.

Their governments had never once suffered from a lack of firepower in the war against kaiju— no, the problem had always been a shortage of capable rangers who were both capable of fighting as well as drift compatible, and while there may have been plenty of the former, the latter was a harder trait to find by miles. It was no easy task to step one foot into someone's mind even as they took a step into yours. Megatron, in all her years of (exceptionally) piloting jaegars, had successfully initiated and maintained a drift with half a dozen of co-pilots. That was more than every other ranger in the Jaeger programs— both sanctioned and unsanctioned— except for Optimus Prime.

Optimus had been the one to first lay the foundations for the program that had eventually lead to multiple imprisoned Decepticon paramilitary forces working off their life sentences alongside the government-sanctioned Autobot program in the war against the unknown, and had done so with Megatron has her co-pilot— two old enemies now fighting together, side-by-side, leading the way by example.

While Megatron's days of using the chaos of a new and unknown enemy to steal Jaegers and raze capitals to the ground in the name of establishing a new world order were behind her (and something she now regarded with no small amount of shame), she did not relish in the governmental leash she found wound around her neck, and struggled constantly against the urge to tear and break until she was free.

Drifting with Optimus Prime changed everything. For the both of them— and for the better, she liked to believe. It was something she would begrudgingly admit about herself, but in regards to Optimus, she couldn't say for certain. She had never asked, and the other had never offered. There had been a lot of things between the two of them that went left unsaid— they'd never felt the need to, and she'd thought that that had been proof of the strength of their bond. The drift had revealed all.

Maybe that's why Megatron had been blindsided by the cancer diagnosis, and everything that followed.

Optimus hadn't been the first person that Megatron had drifted with, but there was no denying their compatibility had been the best. For Optimus to have hid it for so long, for Megatron to only find out when—

Clack-clack.

Silence fell across the crowd like a shroud and Megatron's eyes focused on as Bumblebee as it entered the room, Starscream a smug parody of a shadow that stood only just far back enough not to be immediately labelled as insubordinate, but close enough to its side to spark ire in some of the more loyal Autobots present. Starscream made sure to go out of her way and seek out Megatron's gaze just to lock eyes with her and shoot her a scornful glance, as if she were some disobedient child that needed minding. She couldn't help but suck her teeth, but any other uncharitable thoughts directed towards her wiley and traitorous ex-second-in-command-turned-federal-lawyer were dashed across the rocks before they could fully form as a third figure, somehow previously hidden behind them chose that moment to break away from them and attempt to dissolve into the crowd, shooting a nasty look at the two makeshift leaders of their apocalypse-stopping cause as she went; a difficult mission to accomplish when one looked like a living flame, crowned with bright vermillion hair that was shorn close on both sides and styled into a gravity-defying mohawk that stood out even amongst the rest of the Autobot eyesores.

Something about the ranger's appearance tickled at old and secondhand memories, but Megatron could only wonder at how the ranger expected to maintain such a hairstyle underneath a helmet without having to consistently and immediately style it upon suit removal, which seemed to Megatron to be an almost a ridiculous waste of the luxury of time in their current situation.

As if she could somehow sense the weight of judgement upon her, the potential pilot found her eyes from across the room and levelled her with a look so unexpectedly hostile that it made her pause emotionally even as she made her way from the wall towards the training mats where their gambit of tests would take place. Megatron was used to the typical distant, impersonal anger she received from the rank and file Autobot forces, and this was not that. This pilot knew her, or someone she had killed, and was now taking part in the same selection that would make or break the rest of Megatron's life-- or what little she had left of one. Somehow, from the embittered look in that flaming stranger's eyes, she knew the other was aware of the same.

-

“The last time that Rodimus piloted a jaeger—”

Starscream loudly stomped her heel against the bare concrete floor and then promptly crossed her legs once more, as if she were simply repositioning herself and didn't just do something as petty and childish as stomping to interrupt someone. Bee could hardly believe at times that this was how it was spending the height of its military career.

“...We lost Deadlock,” Starscream conceded, and she did actually manage to sound contrite about that particular loss, even as Bumblebee rolled its eyes and corrected her, “Deadlock, Drift, whatever she called herself— the point is that she was an incredible asset to the program and her loss was massive blow to the cause. Add in the fact that their jaeger was turned into scrap, and the fact that Rodimus managed to somehow finish the fight on her own and pilot the damned thing back to shore herself is the only that kept her from being booted entirely— well, that and the fact that Optimus named her as her successor. In everything but name, of course— she only left her with the jaeger she piloted, while you got the kingdom stretching as far as the eye can see. Not that there's much to see, nowadays, but still a much better deal, in my opinion. Not that you seem to agree.”

Bumblebee didn't flinch, but it was a damn near thing, which it knew Starscream was looking for. Bumblebee tried to take a calming breath and internally begged for its voice not to crack as it often did when it was stressed. “...Optimus saw that Rodimus was better suited for fieldwork than a leading position, and I'm honored to have been chosen by her to—”

Starscream made a mean little humming noise in her throat and interjected once more.

“See you say that, but I don't really get the feeling that you are honored, though, is the thing—”

—which is as much as she managed to voice before Bumblebee finally snapped and picked up its cane and began shaking it at her. “We don't even know if they're drift compatible!”

Starscream danced out of the way of its swings on too-light feet for someone who was wearing six inch heels and cackled in the face of Bee's outburst. “Do you hear yourself? This is Megatron we're talking about. With Optimus and 'Drift' gone, she's the best in the business. Megatron does not ride the drift, she steers it with an iron fist. If there's anyone left on this planet that can put up with your red-headed problem pilot, it's Megatron. Honestly, I can't believe you hadn't thought of this already.”

With that, Starscream reached out and caught the end of Bee's cane on the next swing, and despite the air of levity she steadfastly mantained towards their situation, the white-knuckled grip she held on its cane belied her seriousness on the topic. Not that Bumblebee ever doubted her for a moment— if there was one thing Bee could always rely on, it was Starscream's unthwartable, unshakable desire to not just survive, but to live.

The two of them held eye contact for a long moment before Bee finally sighed the kind of sigh that left one half-curled in on one's self from the weight of the responsibilities bearing down on one's shoulders. Its cane was released and Star closed the distance between them, tracing the round curve of Bee's cheek with a carefully manicured hand before resting it under its chin, tilting its head up with her fingertips to resume eye contact between the two once more.

...It was a good plan, even if Bumblebee desperately wished it wasn't.

“...Fine, put Rodimus on the roster with the other candidates— but don't mention it to either of them. The last thing we need is for them to make things more difficult for us on purpose now.”

Starscream's featherlight contact shifted to a firmer grip as she patted Bee on the cheek in some mockery of pride and approval. “Already done. I had Rodimus added to the list before our meeting; I knew we'd see eye-to-eye on this—”

—Which is perhaps also why Starscream didn't see the cane coming that time until she was already yelping as it made contact with her shins.

-

Fighter after fighter fell before Megatron.

It was a strangely familiar sight after so long. She hadn't gone through this process when she'd first joined up with the Autobots— her co-Pilot had never been up for debate at the time— but it was one she had experience prior, when her Decepticons first formed. Here and now, however, with winded Autobots at her feet instead of once-loyal followers, the scene was perhaps more reminiscent of the jaeger-on-jaeger violence once wrought between their factions instead of a friendly spar meant to determine drift compatibility.

Either way they fell to her staff, one after another; their prides wounded, but otherwise unharmed.

Not to say they were unskilled— in fact, the exact opposite was true. Every single candidate she fought was capable in their own right. Only the best of the best had the pleasure of being chosen to even have a chance at becoming a ranger for the Jaeger program, and they all showed it with every move they made when they clashed with her, but the fact of the matter was that Megatron was better. Better, and burdened by the fact that she had yet to feel that special spark of potential compatibility with any of them. Oh sure, there was a handful of them that she might be able to forge a connection with strong enough to drift, but what she and the rest of the world needed more than a 'might'.

The moment the bouts had begun, Megatron had focused all of her attention on the match at hand, but she could swear that she could feel a mounting tension that caused the ambient temperature in the room to rise. One by one, bodies continued to hit the floor, and with each one, Megatron felt her temper began to waver and fray at the edges. The agitation she projecred only seemed to be amplified and reflected back at her by the remaining potential rangers still waiting for their turn, energy roiling like a volcano preparing to erupt.

“Rodimus, you're up next.”

It wasn't until after the flame-red candidate from before stalked out onto the mat that Megatron realized she had been holding her breath. She could not tell from where the abstract anticipation filling her sprang, only that it was there and intense enough to set her teeth on edge. Rodimus greeted her with an expression that was closer to a snarl than a smile, but Megatron cared not— especially not when the sound of this opponent's name clicked into place in her mind like the missing piece of a puzzle she never knew was there, unleashing a veritable flood of fragmented memories that did not belong to her.

The ghostly imprint of the shape of Optimus' mind inside her own was inescapable; thoughts and sensations once spread across two-become-one now echoed strangely through her hollow body and left her with a strange, lingering taste behind her teeth and an aching hole inside of her grey matter shaped like her that could never be filled. There wasn't a day that went by where Megatron did not miss Optimus, did not miss the brilliance of her conviction, the strength of her will, of her optimistic faith in humanity to not only turn the tides of the war, but to maintain the peaceful unity humanity had found in the face of it, even after the war was won. Because winning was never a question with Optimus, it was something she believed was possible to her very core. She was perhaps the only person in the world who'd had the room in her heart to genuinely call Megatron her friend despite all that Megatron had done to both to her, personally, and the world at large. Optimus was the best thing to ever happen to Megatron, and Megatron was the reason she was dead.

Somehow, the look in Rodimus' eyes said as much the same.

Megatron would later try to claim that unexpected memory cascade was the reason that Rodimus scored the first point against her.

Whether or not that was true didn't matter, because eight hours later found them both getting strapped into a newly rebuilt jaeger made from the wreckage of both Rodimus and Megatron's prior mechs named the Lost Light, where Megatron discovered just how exactly Rodimus went about fitting her hair into a ranger helmet. Sure, the two of them may have snarled and sniped at each other the entire time, but never once did they fall out of sync. Ghosts lingered in the drift between them, but maybe, this time, they wouldn't remain unaddressed. Only time would tell, and time was hard to come by at the end of the world.

“—Time, and maybe a little bit of elbow grease, sure, I'm no easy lay— Well? Actually— Nevermind— anyway, sorry for the interrupt, but you're thinking maudlin thoughts way too loudly and it's completely harshing my vibe. I'm going to be real honest: I'm in a frankly terrible mood and I am absolutely not interested in going rabbit hunting today, thanks.”

Megatron cut a frigid glance towards her new co-pilot, who was still wiggling her helmet around on her head and making a ridiculous show of it. “Apologies only work if your intended recipient knows you mean it. I since I can tell that you don't, you can save that for someone who gives a damn.”

Rodimus snorted something that could have almost been a laugh before grinning joylessly at Megatron.

“Too bad, so sad, you're getting one anyway because I am a paragon of humility and leadership and my jaeger means my rules— and the rules in here are that everyone gets an apology, even if you really really don't want to give one, or even if you really really don't want to receive one. It's about thr principle of the matter, and principles... matter. So! Sit back, relax, and get ready enjoy your trip on the Lost Light because— and I'm going to need you to listen real carefully now— ladies and gentlemechs, this is your Captain speaking, our flight tonight should be around an hour and a half with a tailwind, but we are expecting some turbulence this evening—”

It was of course at that moment that all of the sirens in the Shatterdome began to wail their warning that a new kaiju had crawled its way through the breach and was now making its way to shore.

“—Ah, fuck.”

Megatron just sighed, bemoaning her own inability to even pinch the bridge of her nose thanks to her own helmet being in the way. Rodimus just let out an awkward little laugh and then cleared her throat in a bid to regain any ounce of seriousness she may or may not have held before that moment. It did not work.

“Yeah, me too Megs—”

“Do not call me th—”

“Aaht! Not now, yell at me later. Right now we have a planet to save, people to rescue, and monsters to rip limb from limb— so let's get this show on the road!”

Megatron might have been wrong; maybe prison was the better option.

[cloudshuffle]

a bubble of memory. yan!childe

index / prev / next

That night, you stand on the deck of one of the Fatui’s many ships. It has a name, one that you’d forgotten as soon as the captain had ceased his boasting and left you alone.

You shake yourself. It’s just your nerves talking. The salty sea air might have been fire water to these Fatui sailors, invigorating and life-giving, but it feels more like poison to your lungs, infecting you and spreading like a disease.

The deck swarms with activity, bodies perspiring from the hard work despite the chill. So you don’t notice Nadia, sneaking up behind you like a cheeky little cat to give you a little surprise.

“Boo!” she exclaims. You jump slightly, but return her friendly embrace.

“I could see you from the dock. I thought you were an alabaster statue at first, so moody and mysterious staring out like that,” she teases. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

You turn back landward, towards the glimmering lights. You’d already said goodbye to your parents, who hugged you deeply and wished you safe travels. Why did the lanterns mimic the glittering moon on the ocean so closely? You stare, waiting patiently for a stirring in your heart that never comes.

“Oh, everything.” You wave a hand to encompass ‘everything’. “Liyue, a new branch for the bank, a new people and their culture. There’s a lot on the horizon for us.”

“I know!” she squeals, and grips your arm tightly. “So, listen. Just now Vlad dropped his hat, and I helped him pick it up, and he said ‘thank you, Nadia’!”

“That’s great. At least he knows who you are.” You give her a smile.

Nadia opens her mouth to speak, but a shout interrupts her.

“Form up!”

The activity had gradually ceased while the two of you were talking, and now Ajax… Tartaglia, pardon, was coming on board to carry out final inspections.

The two of you take your places in two lines, standing face to face. You stand opposite one of your colleagues, a young man slightly more senior than yourself whose name you’d never learnt. You saw each other often, but never exchanged words any further than cordial greetings. You doubted he knew your name either.

A shifting ripples down the line. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Tartaglia stride up the gangplank onto the deck. His expression is set and cold, vastly different from the curious, piercing look he’d had during your earlier encounter. You can feel each of his footsteps resonate through the wood, into your own heart.

He takes his time, prowling past with the laziness of a predatory cat. Each soldier tenses under his gaze, and you can feel each of their prayers to Tsaritsa evaporate into the cold air as he passes them by.

Tartaglia pauses by you. You can feel him radiating heat like a small star, carrying a curious sweetness with him on the air.

You can almost feel each cell in your body alight where his gaze passes over you. It lingers on the hollow of your neck, where your necklace rests, and you return his appraisal, holding his gaze steadfastly.

He moves on. The whole interaction had taken but a brief heartbeat.

“Move out!” he commands, the cry coming from the unfamiliar part of him that had been moulded into a harbinger. You obey on instinct, filing into the cabins and out of the way as the sailors scatter to prepare for your trip.

This is the part of the journey you most hate - the waiting, the stillness, the uselessness. You duck into a cabin, lined by bunk beds that you share with Nadia and two other women. It’s just small enough to be stifling, with all four of you awake and active.

You haul yourself up to one of the top bunks, earning a dirty look cast by one of the women whose names you don’t know. You turn your back on her, curling up on top of the blankets.

Above you, the clomping of boots reverberates through the wooden deck, the shouts of men crying into the clear night, the unfurling and whipping of great fabric sails. Archons. What you would give to be up there breathing the open air, rather than trapped down here in a small cabin with people who may or may not be enjoying your company.

There’s a small circular window set into the wall, but looking through it would mean turning over to face the others, and you don’t quite feel like it yet. Instead, you slot a finger underneath your mask, prying it off and laying it next to your pillow.

It’s a simple affair, a piece of cool metal accented by a red stripe over the left eye. It’s been on for long that you run a hand down your own face, having to remind yourself of what you truly look like underneath it.

Running your thumb along the blunt edge of the mask, enjoying the serene rocking of the ship, you close your eyes.

────────────

The sunlight flickers, dim and wet, high above you. You can feel yourself sinking, feel the darkness reaching out with welcoming tendrils, shielding you from the cold.

A few bubbles escape your lips, but you can feel nothing but a calm acceptance. This is the end. I never knew the end could be so peaceful.

By the fire, your babushka liked to tell you tales of the old heroes. Battling ancient giants of lore, facing down hordes of barbarians, wrestling with the sun itself to make it stay in the sky longer and fend off the darkness. In your dreams, you were standing right by those heroes, slaying foes.

No more stories. No more fires. I hope I go to heaven. I shouldn’t have stolen the last herring from Papa.

Something thuds against the ice. You shudder in the otherwise still water.

Another thud, and the light splinters into a million crystal shards. You can feel a pounding at your chest. It’s the darkness, already inside you.

A small shape plunges into the water, trailing bubbles behind their little feet. You close your eyes.

— word count: 1026. thank you for reading!