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never-rxne · 2 months ago

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─── you believe me like a god, i'll betray you like a man

sevika x stray dog coded reader. character study. || 3.6k words

summary: sevika saves your life. in return, you become her dog. she owns you - and she knows this.

content warnings: heavy angst. canon-typical violence and gore. mild sexual content (read at your discretion). depiction of a codependent, abusive relationship (not romanticized). || song: "I'm Your Man" by Mitski

note: skimmed it for format, and it's interesting to see how my understanding of sevika's character has evolved over time. if i were to rewrite this there are definitely things i would do differently

you're an angel, i'm a dog or you're a dog and i'm your man

Sevika does not quite know why she saved you.

It was a night as dark and filthy as the river water. Like the toxins, the streets were crowded with brutes. Things recoiling from flashes of light in the alleyways. Hungry hands outstretched. Flickering neon lights from building signs reflected off the stone pavements slick with rain.

Sevika storms through the streets, a scowling force. Her height and build are enough to ward off attackers. They don’t approach her: very, very few come close enough to discover what is hidden under the dusty red cloak wrapped around her broad shoulders.

The rain pelting her face takes her back to a night she never wants to think of again. She can almost smell her own burned flesh. See the ruddy glow of the flames. A massive broken body.

She’s not broken anymore. She will show them.

Maybe it was this thought that drove her to follow the sounds coming from an alley across the street. This side of the city is nearly empty by midnight, and the noises of a fight pierce clearly through the relentless whisper of rain.

Flesh hitting flesh. Metal on concrete.

“Piss off, you fuckers! Shit eating street rats!”

Sevika never interfered in petty street scuffles. No one in Zaun did. It simply wasn’t worth it. A fight was an indicator of your right to survive, in a way. If you couldn’t fend for yourself in a hand-to-hand once in a while, you had no business eating off the tables of those who could.

But your voice…this wild, desperate, rage-filled voice…it intrigues her.

Sevika turns her steps toward the alley.

In the darkness, she sees three figures pinning down a struggling fourth. This angers her. She doesn’t care who the attackers are, she doesn’t care who you are—it’s the unfairness of the scuffle that infuriates her. You are clearly a woman, smaller in size than the three men cornering you.

Sevika reaches up and unclasps her cloak from her shoulder. Her mech arm gleams in the dim light of street signs spilling into the alley. She activates the Shimmer capsule. The world turns pink, then red with blood.

You were losing strength, but still kicking. The men had been tailing you through the streets for hours, no matter how many fucking false corners you turned to try to throw them off. They were after money you didn’t have, you couldn’t guess how the hell they had gotten the tip that you had assets, but here you are.

You can’t tell the difference between the blood and rainwater running down your face. Your arms are pinned to your sides as the third man brings the knife to your throat.

Then: a gravelly yell, a flash of rippling hot pink light. The blood sprays against your face, all over your clothes, and the man lies dead on the ground.

The other two thugs whirl around, dropping you. You fall to the ground and press your back to the wall, squinting through the darkness for a glimpse of your savior’s face, but all you see is a massive, statuesque figure.

And that arm of searing pink and metal.

The thugs run at the stranger. She grabs one by the throat with her human hand and flings him against the wall as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. She drives her mechanical arm straight through the body of the other. You see her metal fist come out clutching the dripping mass of his organs. She jerks out the arm, kicks the body aside.

Silence settles. You hear nothing but the roar of your beating heart.

The stranger stands with her back to you, panting hard. She picks up her cloak from the ground and uses it to wipe the gore off her mechanical arm. The bright pink fades.

You part your cracked lips. “Thank…thank you.”

She turns quickly. Evidently, she had completely forgotten you were there.

You can make out a chiseled, harsh face. Dark brows drawn tight, a downturned mouth. And a faint blue glow from the web of scars in her skin, like some inner power glinting through cracks in marble.

She gives you the faintest of nods. Bunching up the cloak in her human hand, she begins to walk away.

You stumble to your feet. The world spins, but your bones are intact. “Wait—” you call.

She stops.

“What’s your name?”

The scarred woman turns her head slightly. “Better off not knowing that,” she says. Her voice is deep and rough. She strides out of the alley.

Without a second’s hesitation, you follow her.

you believe me like a god i'll destroy you like i am

It did not take long for you to become devoted.

At first, Sevika tried to shake you off. She tried threatening you. Cursing you out. The fuck makes you think I’d take in a stray? Does this look like a dog pound to you?

But there you were, every night at her door, whether the weather was clear or it was pouring, thunder rumbling. She found you asleep on the doorstep of her small apartment, she found you in the shadows around her frequent haunts: In the backstreet of The Last Drop. Leaning against the side of the building of Babette’s. You said nothing to her—it was enough that she saw you. You followed her through the streets, never too close, but just close enough to keep her in your sight.

She finally turns around one day, eyes narrowed. You stop in your tracks, just a few paces behind her.

“Get over here,” she says sharply.

You obey. You look up to meet her gaze. She has grey eyes like the blade of a sharpened knife. She pierces right through you. Your savior.

“The hell do you want from me?” she demands. “And will giving it to you finally make you fuck off?”

“I want nothing,” you say simply. “I want to give you something.”

Her scowl deepens. Suspicion darkens her gaze. “What?”

“My life.”

A long pause. She draws back and lets out a short, barking laugh. “It wasn’t anything personal, girl. Now go home.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Not my problem.”

“No,” you agree.

Sevika stares at you for several minutes. Sizing you up. For the first time since you’ve met her, she sees you in the full light of day. You don’t seem as pathetic and helpless as she thought you were that night, crumpled against the wall in the alleyway, beaten up and bleeding. You meet her gaze unflinchingly. There’s something genuine and passionate blazing in your eyes that cuts into her. Something that reminds her of the girl she once was, a girl now buried deep inside her like something dead in the pit of her soul. What is it? What was the look?

Loyalty.

Her dark lips curl into a sneer. “What can you do?” she asks.

“Anything. Everything.”

You’re nothing but a stray. You would be nothing but a mouth to feed, a body to shelter. But a part of Sevika likes the devotion burning in your eyes. The reverence you give her for the simple reason of her violence. She thinks, you have not seen who I’ve once been. You don’t know who I am now. You are so very mistaken, and you’ll pay for it eventually.

Besides, you could prove useful. You look sturdy enough. Quick on your feet, observant, sharp-witted—you had proven that in the weeks of following her around the city, learning her habits from afar.

“I can’t pay you anything. And you’ll have to work for what I can give you. You’ll have to work like a dog.”

“Yes.” After a second’s hesitation, you incline your head to her. “Master.”

i'm sorry i'm the one you love no one will ever love me like you again

You are true to your word.

Stick to it like a blood oath.

You become known to the undercity as “The Brute’s Shadow.” Where Sevika is, you are too: the smaller woman in the background, arms crossed, face impassive: fading into the walls until the second Sevika needs something. In the Last Drop, you have her drink and ashtray on the table before she sits down. She pulls out a cigarette, your lighter is hovering before her lips. She does not give you a single glance—not, at least, in public. When she is ready to leave, she gives a whistle. And you are on her heels in a heartbeat.

She has given you a corner in her apartment to sleep—but never lets you inside her bedroom. She rents two dark rooms, with an after-thought-like kitchenette and small bathroom, and you have never seen where she sleeps. You are up at dawn to wash her clothes and fix her small breakfast of coffee and brown bread. You mend her boots, clean her tools, and when she runs out of cigars you are out—no matter what time of night it is—to get her more.

Yet the more you try to please her, the more you seem to repulse her.

She sends you to fetch her whiskey. You return with the drink, and she snaps that she wanted beer. She tells you not to touch her tools, then demands why they are not sharpened. She mocks you for your devotion, the way you would spend your life groveling on your knees. She is gentle one day. She is brutal the next. She laughs in your face for the way you follow her around like a dog parched for water. She calls you her stray.

You are a mortal kneeling at the feet of a heartless god. Your life is in her hands. Whether she obliterates you, burns your body up into nothing but vapor, it does not matter. You do not care. If she burns you, you will lean into the warmth of her flames.

Because you find home in cruelty. If Sevika had been kind, generous from the beginning, you would have recoiled, frightened. The act alone of saving your life was enough for her to secure your loyalty forever. It doesn’t matter how she treated you.

And Sevika knows this.

Sometimes, she takes you into the brothel with her. Never offers to get you a worker, and you never ask. Usually she makes you stand outside the room to “keep watch” while she has her time with whatever girl she picks, back turned to the closed curtain, listening to the grunts and moans and heavy breaths. But today she tells you to come into the room with her.

The girl glances at you with misgiving. Looks up at Sevika, as if for an explanation.

“She’s not here for you,” Sevika tells her. She sits down on the couch, legs splayed, mechanical arm draped over the back of the chair. “I want the usual.”

Her eyes never leave your face. And you cannot look away.

The girl hesitates, but Sevika’s tone demands obedience. The girl turns her back to you, standing as still as stone by the curtain, and goes down on her knees. Sevika watches you closely as the girl unbuttons her pants. Lazily, her human hand wanders down and her fingers gather in the girl’s lush hair, pulling her closer. Sevika’s heavy-lidded eyes go dark as the girl slots her tongue between her thighs, but her expression betrays almost nothing, as if the pleasure of sex is stripped bare for her, as if this is just another procedure she goes through as methodically as her work for Silco.

As soon as she comes the girl pulls away, but Sevika does not let go of her hair. She has never taken her gaze off you.

With her mech hand she pulls up her pants. She stands, and the girl stands with her. She turns the girl around so that you are face to face with her, so that you can see Sevika’s arousal glistening around her mouth, her beautiful vacant eyes.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Sevika says.

You say nothing.

Sevika scoffs to herself, as if some inner voice told her a private joke. She counts out the money for the girl and leaves it on the table.

You know she wanted you to see her superiority. You know she brought you in there to show you the pleasure she can afford, the status she holds, a position you will never reach, never rise to. You know she brought you in there so she could remind you of your place—beneath her, always at her feet.

But you saw the haze of her darkened eyes. The suppressed pleasure and agony and bitter loneliness. Sevika thinks she can hide from you. She thinks eventually you will be disgusted by her, pushed beyond the breaking point. You only want her more.

so when you leave me, i should die i deserve it, don't i?

Gradually she allows you to come closer. She lets you into her bed. She finds herself desiring you, to the point of blind passion. There is something about the worshipful way you gaze up at her as she hovers over you. Something about the helplessness of your body, limp and sweaty beneath hers. It lets her believe, even for a second, that she is not hideous.

But how is that possible?

She looks at you sometimes and wants to crush you like the fragile body of a bird. Her hand covers half your face, her thighs cradle you like boulders. She could break you between her thumb and index finger. She wants to destroy you the same way the explosion destroyed her. She wants to ravage you, she wants to ruin your beauty, the steady symmetry of your body.

She looks at your arms, the scars lining your skin from numerous past street scuffles. And she is filled with a rage and envy so potent it brings the tears to her eyes. Why do you—so inferior, so helpless, useless, a stray from the streets—why do you have the blessing of two arms, a complete figure? Why do you have the privilege of beauty and strength? Your unblemished skin, your unmutilated body. You have the inner strength and rage, the will to survive. You could go anywhere and do anything.

Why do you stay?

Why do you stay for her?

Pity, Sevika thinks. It is nothing but pity. All this time she thought she had the upper hand. All this time you must have been laughing at her in your mind.

It is a simmering summer night. You watch from the bed as Sevika pulls on her shirt. Her mechanical arm is off. Before she clothes herself, you can see the muscles rippling in her back, the jagged blue scars lining the left side of her torso. Her beauty makes you breathless, and the stagnant air feels tight around you. She looks into the cracked mirror and sees you watching her in the reflection.

“Enjoying the view?” she says roughly.

Your tongue fills your mouth.

“Come here.”

You climb out of bed and walk over to her side. She grabs you by the arm and pulls you next to her, forcing you to stand next to her and look into the mirror.

“Do you think you’re better than me?” She says in a low voice. “Little street brat? What kind of savior game are you trying to play?”

You have no idea what she is talking about, but you make no sound.

“I saved your life,” Sevika hisses. “I picked you up off the filthy streets. I fed you and gave you a place to sleep.”

When you still give no answer, she pushes you away from her. Then in a movement so sudden you don’t even have time to process it, she hits you hard across the face with her right hand. The force knocks you off your feet and throws you against the side of the bed, bruising your ribs.

She walks slowly over to you. Sweat streaks her dark hair over her forehead. She reaches down and grabs you by the face, forcing you to look up at her. Something dark and dangerous teems in her grey eyes, a rage you know is not even directed at you.

Sevika is sick with self-loathing. When she sees the blood running down your lips, the bruise forming on your face, she wants to destroy herself. She wants to fall to her knees and weep. She wants to tell you to run from her, quickly, before it’s too late.

“Who do you belong to?” Sevika asks, her voice low.

You cough, and see flecks of red in the air between you and her. “You.”

“You, what?”

“You, master.”

She drops your face. You slump to the floor. Sevika turns away. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

one day you'll figure me out i'll meet judgment by the hounds

Sevika wonders why you don’t leave.

You don’t leave because you see her weakness. No matter how she tries to conceal it from you, you have seen her worst sides, her uncertainties. The way she comes home exhausted and reeking of blood, the way she stumbles into the bathroom and vomits Shimmer after a grueling fight. The way she tells you things when she is drunk enough not to know who she is talking to—or care.

She’s leaning against the wall one night, too tired to even pull herself into bed. There’s whiskey on her breath. She watches you through half closed eyes as you stitch up a deep gash in her leg: some fucker had caught her calf with a blade in a fight in front of the Shimmer warehouse. Since you have come to live with her you’ve become skilled in tending to wounds.

“If you…” her voice trails off, then returns. “If you’re ready to go, I can pay you your due.”

You don’t look up from your hands on her leg. “I’m not leaving you.”

Sevika frowns as your words make their way through the thick fog of her mind. She looks at you more intently, ready to argue. Then her head falls back against the wall again.

“Right,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “You can’t leave.”

She gives a low, joyless laugh. “Where would you go? Huh, stray?”

Finally, you look at her. She tilts her head at you. Pain fills her gaze.

“You’re stuck here. Just like me.”

people always gave me love others were never to blame after all

On an overcast morning, you follow Sevika on a trip to one of the Shimmer supply houses. Silco had heard of some trouble brewing around the area there and wanted Sevika to station more cyborgs on the premises. The streets are quiet and smoke drifts from chimneys, disappearing into the cloudy sky. Sevika had been in a lighter mood that morning. Even whistled as she fastened on her mech arm. As she strode down the street with you, she pointed out landmarks and storefronts, telling you all the scraps of history she knew to pass the time.

Turf wars were quieting down since Piltover closed the gates against Zaun and stationed enforcers at the border. The insult to the lower city resulted in a newfound solidarity among the Zaunites, uniting them against Topside. Because of the decrease in street fights, it has been weeks since Sevika used Shimmer, and the effects of it showed. Her appetite returned. Her moods were calmer, less volatile.

She has never treated you better than this time, and you have never loved her more.

At the warehouse, you stand close by Sevika as she directs the cyborgs’ stations around the building. You survey the rows and rows of Shimmer vaults, the massive glass containers bubbling with the raw substance. Until they are diluted, you know they are extremely reactive.

You don’t know who ignites the blast.

The screams of alarm, the sudden rush of heat, the echo of shattering glass—they fade into nothing as your vision registers the wave of the explosion hurtling towards you and Sevika. Your body reacts before your mind. You hurl yourself against her, pushing her out of the way.

A searing pain like you’ve never known before cuts through your senses, and then the world goes dark.

When Sevika comes to, she is aware of a loud ringing in her ears. Her mechanical arm is mangled beneath her, leaking oil, wires sticking out. With a grunt of effort she raises herself up on her human arm and tries to squint through the pink haze of dust. The world is shattered glass and splintered wood.

Her gaze falls on an arm outstretched nearby, but she can’t see the rest of you. Everything rushes back to her. She scrambles across the floor, half dragging herself, and throws aside the debris covering your body. Your face is streaked with soot and blood. Your body is twisted into itself. Your chest is barely moving.

Sevika cradles your broken body in her arm. She looks into your senseless face. She feels a deep chasm open up in her chest. Through cracked lips she whispers, “Hey. Hey, stray.”

I’ve lost her.

Your hand stirs. Briefly, you reach up and touch the bend of her elbow. Then your hand falls to your side. It was all the hope she needed.

She has owned you all this time, but only now she looks down at you and feels that you are someone that was hers to lose.

you believe me like a god i'll betray you like i am.

end note: 🥲

#rune's fics #you believe me like a god #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika angst #arcane

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cherryaichi · 1 month ago

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My Sweet Little Stalker

Manjiro “Mikey” Sano x Fem Reader

WORD COUNT : 4.5k!!

WARNINGS : Yandere-ish themes, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of gore? (Mild descriptions and sounds), mild cursing, minor character death, mentions of blood, small mentions of stalking, first official post (trust it needs its own warning)

cherry’s note : if you feel any warnings were missed please let me know!! I also wouldn’t mind polite critiques on this work so that I can improve my writing! This is my first post so do assume with low expectations 🙂‍↕️

You stared at Takemitchi, shocked by the news he had finally confessed, as the four words he yelled out made you wonder how to even react. "I'm a time leaper," he declared with hesitance, staring at the floor as his voice trembled.

“I'm from 12 years in the future.. the current future that this timeline has been the worst one I've seen by far," he continued, the words coming out of him like a never-ending stream as you were forced to listen due to your freeze up from shock.

"It's a shitty future Y/N. Toman goes down a horrible path and completely goes against their current morals. I've been trying to change the past...well, this present...so that Kisaki doesn't kill Hina and so that our friends don't end up dea-" "Wait hold up that guy Mikey assigned to lead Hayashida's division tries killing everyone in the future?" you yelled in shock, cutting him off on accident as you stared at him as if he was some sort of anomaly.

You paused when you saw the look of defeat and dejection on his face, realizing that he most likely assumed you didn't believe him due to your reaction. Panicking, you waved your hands as you tried to explain yourself.

"Takemitchi, I believe you!" You exclaimed as he looked at you with semi wide eyes as you sighed. "It's just, I was expecting you to say the reason you looked so angsty recently was because you and Hina got into some sort of argument, not that you were carrying everyone's fate in your hands.”

You awkwardly laughed as you tried finding a way to explain “besides it makes sense, when the Mobius attack happened, you were very dead set on saving Ryuguji-Kun, which was honestly creepy with how you practically guessed...or well knew... he was going to get stabbed."

The rest of the conversation was a blur, him explaining everything he knew so far about the current and past futures. It felt weird calling it 'past futures' as the future is never something you can dwell on in memory.

While the ideology was confusing, you slowly realized how Takemitchi avoided mentioning what your future held, and just as you had pestered him earlier to spill what had him looking like a continuously constipated man, you pestered him to answer your current confusion.

"Y/N.. I don't really think it's best for me to tell-" "You already told me how everyone's going to die in the future bro, if I'm dying too I'll accept it," you groaned in annoyance as you shook the faux blonde as if it would make him speak.

Eventually, he did. Albeit reluctant with his words, he still caved in and told you the truth as your shock from earlier raised, plot twist after plot twist.

He mentioned how he didn't know much, only knowing that in the eyes of the world, you were deemed 'missing' for almost 6 years, your case being closed off with the pretense that you were most likely killed off due to past connections with the Toman gang.

The harsh truth though that Naoto —who you learned became a police officer and an investigator— had learned was that your disappearance was a kidnapping, only ruled off as a death due to people tasked with the case being paid off.

As to who kidnapped you? It was unknown, but Takemitchi reassured you... or more like reassured himself that whoever kidnapped you in the future would be discovered, and whatever hell you had to endure then wouldn't ever happen in the up and coming timelines.

You were glad it wasn't some gruesome death that would have you paranoid of every single little thing in your life to hopelessly avoid it, but the underlying curiosity had you wonder what would have led up to you being kidnapped.

"Do you know who would have wanted to kidnap you?" he mumbled curiously, as if doing the math himself while you deadpanned. "Yes Takemitchi, I definitely know who wants to kidnap me 12 years in the future," you scoffed as the earlier tension of the conversation dissipated back into the sibling-like banter you both held.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

That's what brought the two of you to the night lights of Shibuya, spying on whatever the main group of Toman was doing. You gave a distasteful look towards Takemitchi and his horrible disguise, looking like a thief rather than someone trying to blend in with the crowd.

"All black clothes, a sun cap, and sunglasses in the fall?.. Dude, what is this, a sci-fi thriller? It's night time.. that just makes you look suspicious-er." You made small jokes as you adjusted your scarf to cover your lower face, having dressed in your normal wear for the cold fall times.

"So we're looking for anything to help prepare for a death-free Halloween?" You confirmed as the two of you subtly followed the group at a five-yard distance.

"Anything that helps us understand why Baji was killed during the fight and why he joined Valhalla, because he looks like he's having the time of his life right now!" Takemitchi said, frustrated and confused as to how Baji could join Valhalla so suddenly in the future when he was clearly enjoying his time with the Toman captains and vices.

"Maybe he wanted an excuse to beat long held grudges out of them? I'd like to do the same," you snorted as you turned to the side, pretending to adjust your scarf to cover your face when you saw Mikey turn around, as if searching for something before turning back forward.

It felt almost like a routine, you and Takemitchi brainstorming possibilities while following the group, blending further in with the crowd whenever one of them miraculously turned around.

You, however, started to catch on how it was prominently Mikey who turned around, as if specifically searching to confirm something was there before turning around.

Searching to confirm something was there?.. Holy shit did he know you and Takemitchi were following them?

Just as you were about to exclaim your possible discovery, Takemitchi shushed you as he pointed towards the group. "They're splitting up! They're all going one way and... Mikey's going another?" he muttered in confusion as you felt your head get hot from nervousness as you could piece together why they most likely did it.

"Takemitchi I think we should end it for today"

"You go after Mikey and I'll follow the others"

"....." you both paused in silence, turning to each other in confusion at the opposing statement the other said. "Leave? Y/N, we're so close to getting such important info!" he pulled you into the crowd —most likely where they previously stood— as you realized he was dead set on splitting up.

"Takemitchi, I think they know we're following them," you muttered nervously as he stopped walking, turning to you with a determined look.

"They couldn't have noticed us! They probably split up cause Mikey needed to quickly do something. I promise after they meet up again, we'll leave and put together what we've got so far," he said with full confidence, pleading as you could only stare.

You knew Takemitchi was far from naive, especially if he currently possessed the mind of a 20 something year old male, but it felt so stupid how he couldn't believe the two of you had been figured out.

But at the same time, a pang of guilt grew in the back of your mind as you saw his smile, one that you knew held many hardships and burdens for what he was trying to do for you and the others. The task of trying to save those you hold close was a responsibility you knew was hard for him.

You knew he would eventually concede with you if you convinced him enough to just drop it for today, but you knew how important this was to him, even if all you gained was knowing what gang members did in their free time when in the city.

You sighed as you reluctantly nodded, looking in the direction you saw Mikey go as you turned back to Takemitchi with narrowed eyes. "Hanagaki if they catch your ass you better play dumb and wait for me to give a proper alibi. Just-" you paused as you looked at the stores around you.

"-say that we were trying to ask Mikey and Draken about what Emma likes, since Hina didn't know what to get for her birthday. If they say we were stalking, just say that it was us trying to catch up but getting sidetracked," you said with some confidence in your half-done plan.

Takemitchi nodded as you both went in different directions. You felt a huge wave of unease as the area you followed Mikey to was starting to become more isolated, the crowd slowly dispersing the more you followed until it became dead silent.

You didn't know if this was intentional, but it definitely added to the difficulty of following him at a good distance. It slowly became you having to guess which way he turned due to the vacant streets, which resulted in you turning into some alleyway as you ventured forward.

You continued venturing, concluding that Mikey knew you were following him and was deciding to play a harmless little prank like he usually would. You let a sigh of relief when you hear footsteps, pinching the bridge of your nose as you spoke before turning around.

"You know you're a real pain in the side, Manjiro. You could have just turned around and asked why I was-", you cut yourself off as you were met with an unfamiliar man, an awfully strong scent of rum hitting your nose as your brows furrowed at the unusual scent.

Just before you could call out to the male, you paused when you saw 2 more men coming in the alleyway, their sluggish movements making you pray the man in front of you truly was who you thought he was and wasn't with the 2 drunk men behind him.

But of course, the consequence of your actions of continuing to follow Mikey came to light when they slacked forward, the small gap of moonlight from the height difference of buildings showing that it was in fact not Mikey, but instead another drunk man.

They were speaking, but with their speech being so slurred and low, you could barely hear what they were saying as you subconsciously matched their footsteps, one step forward for them equalled one step going back for you.

Only when your back softly touched the brick wall, you realized how much you worsened your already slim chance of getting away. You cursed under your breath as they came closer, trying to calm your panic as you pulled out your phone to dial Takemitchi.

As you tried turning on your phone, the quietness of your thoughts wondered where Mikey was. Were you really just that paranoid of him acknowledging you stalking him? Was it really the case of thinking someone was acknowledging you and worrying about what they thought when in reality, they didn't even care?

Your thoughts were cut short though when you heard a sick sounding CRACK, having you pause your actions as you and the other two men turned to where their friend once stood, now on the floor unmoving as an unrecognizable silhouette stood in his place.

The atmosphere was cold, the realization of the dead man not processing in your mind as you clutched your phone, trying to move and press the dial number for Takemitchi, but fear kept you still as you could only watch the events play out.

The silhouette then moved to the next male, kicking him to the wall. As it sent a hard punches, more sounds of bone audibly breaking hit your ears as you and the man you had mistaken as Mikey earlier stood still, confused and flabbergasted.

You could only flinch, your back now completely against the wall, as the silhouette moved from one to the next, except this time it never stopped punching. One hard punch to the face sent the drunk male down, the silhouette sitting atop the male's stomach as it sent repeated, rigid, and unyielding punches to the male, the sound of flesh and blood mushing together alongside the sounds of fractured bones making your body fill with disgust and horror.

Your earlier grimace at the blinding of the dark was now replaced with gratitude at the fact you could only paint a mental image of what was happening rather than visually digest the gruesome scene.

That momentary gratitude was sadly cut short when the silhouette stopped its macabre attack as you finally realized who it was. "Holy shit... Manjiro? That was you?!" you yelled in shock as you immediately circled behind him, using the advantage of him staying in place on top of the male, granting yourself the opportunity to run off if needed.

Just like how you earlier backed away from the drunken males, Mikey followed your footsteps. This time though, it felt as if a game for him rather than when it was a borderline heart attack for you, his mocking movements making you wonder if you were the next one to get beat.

"Manjiro, did you.. kill him?" you whispered, loud enough to hear even though you got silence in return. The uncanny feeling worsened when you felt the heel of your shoe step in a thin layer of liquid, immediately recognizing it as blood as you carefully continued backwards as to not trip.

While you stood closer to the entrance of the alleyway, Mikey stayed near the discarded pile of junk that was mordantly under that gap of the moon's soft glow. There, you saw the blood covering his fists and clothes, smeared in some places and dripping from others as you held back a gag at the hideous sight.

The look in his eyes was...blank. No soul behind it, as if he was possessed in the tense moment while an unusual creepy smile of his made way onto his face.

"You know, I always thought the thrill of stalking was to be the observer, not the one being stalked," he drawled out, those voided eyes meeting yours, the emotion behind them unreadable as you stood like a statue. "But it was so weird seeing you and Takemitchy follow me and the rest.. I thought maybe I'd finally be able to understand what emotions you have when being watched over."

Your once rising fear vanished, replaced by confusion at his words as you tried to process. "Knowing.. what I feel when being watched? Manjiro, why would I know what it's like having someone stalk me to find something out?" you asked, a tremble in your tone as that uncharacteristic smile of his widened even further.

"Don't you ever wonder what that weird feeling is when you're walking alone? The feeling that's so horrible, it makes you look around to see if you really are the only person in the area? You do it every time you get off the bus after going to the grocery store, especially last friday night," he said with such casualness, you didn't realize what he was implying at first.

"W-Well yeah, everyone gets that feeling if you're alone. It's just a common para... Manjiro, how did you know that?" you already knew the answer to the question, but the words came out before you could think as you saw him glance to the junk pile next to him, crouching as he pulled out a pipe that was surprisingly in good condition, inspecting it as he responded.

"The question should be how naive are you? I try to make my feelings obvious; I do everything I can to have you notice me, yet you act like I'm just anyone else in your life. You think I just let anyone call me Manjiro?" he asked as he turned to you.

"You think I go killing others to save just anybody?" He asked as you glanced to the most likely dead men behind him,

"Do you really think I go through the hassle of knowing every small detail of you for nothing? Your habits, your likes, your dislikes, your routines, everything I could get my hands on?" he continued, the rhetorical questions adding to your unease, especially the underlying confirmation of him actually stalking you making you want to cry on the spot from being over whelmed.

"You know—" he slowly started walking forward, smile long gone"—if I didn't have any self control, leaned into my impulses, I really think I would have taken you all for myself. I wouldn't have put this much effort, trying to win you over the right way and give us a cute little sappy love story to tell our future kids." The more he spoke, the more you wanted to run, but your body didn't want to listen to your brain.

"I could care less about the consequences of taking you, I would have made it work because that's how much I need you in my life. Why can't you love me back, Y/N?.. Why can't you love me just like how I love you?" he asked eerily, this whole situation feeling like a fever dream until it clicked.

'leaned into my impulses' 'take you all for myself'

Was he truly the one who kidnapped you in the future?

The Mikey that threw a tantrum over his meal not having a flag, the same one who'd always pester you to make him some sort of dessert, the one who'd always find a way to put a smile on your face..

The Mikey who just admitted to stalking you, the one who was stained with the blood of others, the one who has shown in rare moments he was truly mentally unstable.

Before you knew it, you were running as fast as you could out of that alley, adrenaline taking you to speeds you never knew existed as you tried reconnecting with the crowds of Shibuya, not wanting to even guess what he was deciding to do with that pipe he picked up.

You fumbled for your phone as you slowed down, calling Takemitchi as you continued to try and find the public. Your thought process was that if you were able to get back to the crowd, you'd be able to make an easier attempt at escaping the whole situation and avoid the risk of Mikey doing something.

"Y-Y/N?" you heard his tremoring voice on the other line as you spoke at light speed. "Takemitchi, where are you? " You asked at lightning speed as you made entered and exited many empty streets and alleyways.

"We're at the Bakery, why?" Those words made you mutter curses under your breath. You didn't know if his slip-up was intentional, but you could tell the captains on the other line heard it too, as the sound temporarily cut off, probably giving some harmless threat.

You knew they wouldn't hurt Takemitchi, but it still put you on edge with how careful you had to be when speaking now, your worries and panics just worsening with everything happening.

"Okay, you're at the bakery? Were you able to find out if they mentioned anything about her?" You asked, having a mental plan of how to 'unintentionally' have the Toman captains find out why the two of you were stalking them.

A few seconds later, Takemitchi unmuted, a timid "What do you mean?" coming from the phone, guessing that the others were telling him what to say so they could investigate.

"You idiot, I'm talking about whether they mentioned anything about Emma. You know, this whole situation about Hina not knowing what to get Emma for her birthday is stupid. You should have just had the courage to ask Manjiro or Ryuguji what she likes, not pray and hope they'd miraculously mention her a MONTH before her birthday," you scoffed as that eerie feeling of being watched came back, heightening your awareness of what was around you.

You groaned when you heard Takemitchi's confusion as you quickly simplified. "Draken, Takemitchi. I'm talking about Draken. You could have asked Mikey or Draken. I'm pretty sure Draken and Emma are dating so he would have been one of the firsts you'd ask." you could hear the suppressed laughs on the other side of the call, alongside Draken's hushed denial of your claim as you held back from saying his initial denial was from denial of his feelings.

"But forget that, Takemitchi, if I send you my location, do you think you can come? I have a horrible feeling about Manjiro right now." You paused your walking as you did a once-over of everything around you, the conversation with the man in question resurfacing in your mind as you went on a quick recap of what happened.

"This guy just killed three drunk men on his own and is currently chasing me with a metal pipe. I don't know if he's on something right now, but I don't even want to think about what he's planning to do with that thing. He was like.. smiling and stuff when talking about how me stalking him was like a mutual thing and how it was—" you cut yourself of as you remembered what Mikey mentioned about the not so subtle hint towards kidnapping as you.

The quicker you could let Takemitchi know of the possible candidate who was responsible for kidnapping you in the future, the quicker it'd be for him to be able to figure out a plan with Naoto in the future to save you and allow you and him to save the others without worry.

"Wait Takemitchi, he actually mentioned stuff about—" Before you could continue, you felt a sudden sharp and excruciating pain in your leg as you fell to the ground, phone flying out of reach as you saw a familiar pair of shoes in your vision walk towards it and pick it up.

"Ken-chin, Y/N and I will catch up with you guys in a bit m'kay? Give us a few minutes." Mikey hanged up the phone as he sighed, his grip giving the phone a small but audible crack as he turned to you.

It all felt like a blur, the tears in your eyes as silent sobs emitted from you due to the unbearable pain coming from your ankle as you tried pushing your upper body up. You tried to stand up and continue your escape, but only fell as he stalked towards you, like a predator getting it’s prey.

"You shouldn't have run away, Y/N.. I almost feel bad for you, but seeing what you did makes me remember that this was necessary," he said, crouching down as he gently held your face with one hand as his eyes softened, that usual look in his eyes coming back.

Now with the once void-like eyes were now replaced with normalcy, it felt like the 180 switch felt like it turned off. His once creepy smile was now replaced with his usual childish one, his words no longer as bone-chilling as earlier. He acted as if everything was normal as he gently sat you up before carrying you and maneuvering you onto his back with ease.

"You should never run away from your boyfriend during an argument, especially after you’ve confessed." He playfully scolded as you could do nothing but listen to his playful scolding, words being blocked out from the throbbing pain in your most likely broken ankle, causing your head to be fuzzy.

"I knew one day you'd recognize your feelings for me, but never did I think it'd be so scandalous when I found out," he teased, not minding the fact that you were on the brink of being unconscious. "I never knew you loved me just as much as I did for you... the others will be shocked when they hear the news."

He turned to you, delusion taking over his mind as he gave a small kiss to the crown of your head, the feeling of your body slumping on his making him feel like a child winning a prize. His words were a complete contrast from earlier, going from asking why you couldn't share the same love to how he never knew he loved you the same.

When he made his way to the city streets of Shibuya, he ignored the looks he got from the people walking past him at the blood that was illuminated on his clothes from the city's glow, and the fact that he was carrying a barely conscious girl on his back.

"Yo," he said with a small smile when seeing his friends, seeing Takemitchi about to ask about what had happened to you as he interjected.

"Y/N hurt her ankle on the way back. She wasn't paying attention to the junk on the ground when she kept holding the phone away from me!' he whined as he played off your earlier words on the phone.

"When I told her she'd get Karma for joking about me acting like some psycho killer, I didn't realize she'd twist her ankle 5 seconds later," he huffed as he turned to Takemitchi.

"Next time you need something, just ask, no need to go stalking us as if you're trying to get some secret information," Mikey said, the underlying threat that only Takemitchi could decipher as the others laughed about it, teasing Takemitchi about being a scaredy cat on top of being a cry baby.

"You can tell Hina that for Emma's birthday, the two of you can do a double date in the mall with her and Ken-chin. Courtesy of Y/N's idea." He turned around as he bit back a smile at seeing his friend flustered as the group once again erupted into a loud sound.

"Anyways, I'm going to take my girlfriend to the hospital. Later." The male departed coolly as the others gave their farewells, one by one realizing the title Mikey used as he heard their yells of shock, a smile coming to his face as he continued walking.

This was just the beginning of his declaration. If you wanted to give him trouble when you woke up and found out about this new relationship, he'd find a way. He'd always find a way to get what he wanted. He wasn't Toman's captain for nothing; he worked to get what he wanted and if he had to work his ass off to have you stay by his side until death then so be it.

If you knew what was best for you, you'd know your attempts would be futile against trying to leave him. He'd give you the benefit of the doubt that you were just nervous about getting into a relationship with a delinquent, but he knew you were smart enough to accept your 'feelings' if you didn't want the relationship to go downhill.

You loved him, and he loved you; that's just how it was going to be, no matter what. Life took many precious things away from him, and he knew it planned to take more, but you were the compensation for all the hardships he had to endure, and that was what made it worth it, delusion or not, you were what kept him stable.

And if he had to give you a few more broken bones to prove it, then so be it.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo rev #yandere mikey #yandere manjiro sano #yandere #yandere x reader

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daandyli0n · 2 months ago

Text

(warnings for eye contact, mild gore (second image), and bright colors/potential eyestrain)

The Diner Trio!!

(yes, Marionn was once a Diner Animatronic...they kinda got moved to the OG Freddy's after it opened, though)

some fun design notes:

yes, Marionn's fucking tall. Henry made them like that on purpose. they're meant to be Big and Soft-Looking, Good At Giving Hugs. unfortunately, it looks kinda creepy instead.

Marionn is based off of a Great Pyrenees. they also have a tail, but it's not visible here.

Marionn doesn't really have a gender; most people just use they/them or it/its for it, but in an "I Have No Clue What This Thing's Gender Is" way.

Marionn's tears don't show up until after Charlie dies (May 13th, 1980).

the Springlock Suits (or, at least, the main two that William and Henry wore) were made to be just a couple of inches taller than their wearers, just to give them some extra room to fit in there. Yes, William Is Also Fucking Tall.

Fredbear ends up being called "Yellow Bear" because he uh. Does Not Look Like A Recolor Of Freddy. of any of Freddy's iterations. thus "Golden Freddy" wouldn't really work.

listen. i like Fredbear with a similar aesthetic to Spring Bonnie. but like...Henry isn't really. Associated with the color purple. one of the more common colors i've seen associated with him is green, though. so Fredbear gets to be blue-green :]

the black liquid leaking out of Yellow Bear isn't blood...but no one's 100% certain what exactly it is.

O'Hare is, as one can guess by the name, based more on a hare than a rabbit.

Fredbear and O'Hare have like. minor bits of color from the other on them. just a fun lil detail for y'all :)

Fredbear's jaw got unhinged after The Bite, hence why his mouth seems wider in the second picture.

anyway!! the guys :]

tag time!!

@that-darn-clown @docterzerocare @hello-there-world

#fnaf #fnaf redesign #fnaf fredbear #fnaf spring bonnie #fnaf springtrap #fnaf puppet #fnaf marionette #my art #and:#Blurred Lenses au #(technically)

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eldritch-spouse · 3 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/780205955545776128/kalymirs-reaction-to-me-the-old-icon-of-wraths?source=share

Kalymir thoroughly fucking and rubbing the Queen's clit up to the highest point of the fortress to so everyone can hear it.

[Swoon-worthy for the average wrathful demon. Fem reader.]

TW: Exhibitionism; Squirting; Fear play; Passing description of past gore; Kalymir's caps lock

You never could have guessed this is what he'd pull.

The Ring is going through bizarre times, truly. But if there's one thing you've always prided yourself over, through thick and thin, it's your ability to adapt quickly. To survive. When your previous husband got effectively dethroned by the new King of Wrath, you discovered that your life was not in peril, but actually secured.

The newcomer desired you as his own.

What luck, you merely have to learn to live with another unrequited husband.

Kalymir is quite different than the previous monarch, namely in his energetic nature and resilience. You're not at all surprised he took the throne so swiftly, when faced with an aging, much too overconfident Icon. And although King Kalymir can be unpredictable at times, you thought you were getting the general gist of his modus operandi.

For example, when Kaly laughs during intimacy, it's usually either because you made a particularly pathetic noise, or he's gotten an idea- Most likely to bring a toy, or a weapon, into the occasion. Something that'll be as pleasurable as it'll be painful.

You could never, in a million years, have guessed that he would sling you over his shoulder and march outside with your naked body.

Not that he's anymore clothed than you are.

No, Kalymir stomps out the fortress interior with nothing but his bare crimson hide and a swollen cock bobbing between his legs, unbothered by the passing stares of desensitized guards and mildly curious staff. Some snicker at the way you scream and angrily attempt to tear some of the spikes off his back.

" Just what do you think you're doing?!? "

" SHUT YOUR TRAP. "

A clap to your ass effectively achieves just that, the sting of your flesh distracting you from the heat in your face.

" HOLD TIGHT OR CRACK YOUR SKULL. "

It's all the warning you get before this beast of a creature launches himself at the rubbled walls of his own fortress and begins scaling it.

The shriek that left you was pure frightened reflex, tiny human nails fruitlessly digging into his back for all the support you can get. Dangling legs attempt to encircle anything while you grip around his crown of horns and the bone spikes coming from his lower shoulder blades. Instinct makes you bite the back of his neck, hoping to stay as anchored as possible.

Judging by the steaming grunt he let out, Kalymir doesn't mind at all.

The sound of dense claws scraping against harsh stone follows every frantic lift and impact of his climb. You dare not open your eyes and gouge the distance he's already put between yourself and the ground. Impossibly strong muscle mass shifts and coils beneath you, he doesn't even break a mild sweat from this.

The air in your lungs freezes along with every limb in your body when Kalymir hastens, climb seemingly endless, making you realize what his goal is.

This complete lunatic wants to fuck you on the very top of his fortress!

" You're fucking insane! " Is all you can spit through the shock and dread coiling around your throat.

" DON'T GIVE ME SHIT. YOU'RE WET ENOUGH I MIGHT SLIP. "

The possibility, no matter how crudely worded, is paralyzing.

He has a point however... Shamefully.

Just as Kalymir innovates Wrath, he innovates in your bed chambers, something the previous ruler hardly cared for. He's effective, overwhelming. To this demonlord, domination isn't merely subduing you for his personal use, it's wrenching all the pleasure out of you he can get, forcibly, pushing you past your limits, until you cry and hurt and collapse. An all-encompassing type of fight you had never experienced.

Compared to the dull and trivial acts of before, is it any wonder Kalymir can easily make you wet?

In less time than you'd ever bet on, the King has scaled up to one of the high points of his own fortress. A somewhat conical shape of hard, clawed rubble- Marks of demons who had previously perched upon it. You dare take a peak into what lies below, and the sight is dizzying in its grandeur.

Various zones of Wrath reveal themselves to you, a miasma of mahogany patterns and endless moving shapes. You never thought of how much blood was spilled on the streets daily until you got to see it from above, like now. The arenas stand out, decorated in engravings of glorified slayers and tormentors from ages ago. Your vision blurs for a slight second, moving figures becoming no more than blurred blobs as you grip harder onto Kalymir, so afraid of falling.

He would tank such a fall, shaking it off. You, on the other hand, would paint the fortress like an ripe tomato.

" D- Don't set me down. "

Your threat stutters past intensely grit teeth, more of a pathetic plea than anything.

" NOT PLANNING ON IT. "

In a series of movement that would make any standard human nauseous but do hardly anything to someone as used to brutishness as you, Kalymir has flipped you over against his front. The motion does little to jostle his perfect sense of balance. It's as if you weigh less than feathers to this demonlord.

The ensuing position has your back to his front, held tightly by unrelenting arms which your poor heart hammers against.

" HANDS AROUND MY NECK! SUPPORT YOURSELF. "

You don't need to be told twice.

Scrambling, shaking digits dart upwards for any inch of safety. Nails claws against a hard chin and defined cheekbones in their panicked efforts, before finally latching around the corded muscles in question. You think some might have chipped in the process, but he doesn't complain, holding your lower body up by the meat of your thighs.

It's a strange position to be in.

You are now spread open and exposed to the burning wafts of Wrath's winds, the adrenaline in your system allowing you that much more sensitivity to every stimulus. The slightest changes in the air make your nipples pebble and your cunt twitch against nothing.

Your mind empties for a fraction of a blissful second where all that exists is mild confusion, your heartbeat and Kalymir's steady breaths inflating his chest.

Then, abruptly, you imagine what might happen if your hands' strength falters, slipping to an ungodly fall, a screaming, wailing death.

" ... I'm gonna fall. " You warn him, gasping.

For as careless as Kalymir often is, you don't think he plans to get rid of you anytime soon, so it would be in his best interests to not let you die in such a horrid way.

Broken nails dig harder into his hide, subpar anchors that only succeed in making the King groan, teased to satisfaction.

" QUIT FUCKING WHINING AND SQUEEZE MY COCK LIKE EARLIER. "

You're now suddenly reminded of the activities interrupted only mere minutes ago. The throbbing length resting beneath you has hardly flagged a bit, in fact, you're willing to bet scaling around his fortress with you over his shoulder has only made Kalymir hornier.

It should have taken longer for him to successfully hook the tip of his cock to your entrance, but truth of the matter is he had stretched you prior, and you're really just as wet as he had taunted you over.

Kalymir leans back against one of the merlons of his fortress and curves forward a certain amount, just enough to allow the penetration to be that much deeper. You get to feel every inch of his barbed shaft force its way inside, letting out a mute, trembling sigh.

There's no doubt you're clenching around him hard. If not from pleasure, then surely how much tension this dangerous position is exerting all over your body. He chuffs like a gratified bull and rocks to grind his cock further into you, a gesture that has your toes curling and eyelids fluttering as it crushes all manner of sensitive spots inside you.

" Hhnrh- "

" HAHAHA, YOU'LL CHOKE MY DICK OFF AT THIS POINT, YOU HUNGRY WHORE. "

You bet he'd like that.

The demonlord finds a rhythm far too fast for someone that's standing in such heights. Entirely unbothered by the surroundings and never faltering, he bends his neck and bounces you on an unrelenting girth, letting gravity and momentum screw you harder onto his wet dick.

Even though you're so high up, neither of you seem to get enough air in your lungs, panting like a pair of animals in a frenzy, perhaps putting some rutting gargoyles to shame with your beastly display.

Every loud cry you release triggers a trickle of laughter from the King, eager to rip out more of them.

" HOW DOES IT FEEL, RUNT? DID HE EVER DO THIS TO YOU? "

Terrifying. You opt not to tell him that.

" N- No. "

" OF COURSE NOT. " He grinds out, snarling. " BECAUSE HE WAS FUCKING WORTHLESS. "

The Icon halts his bruising pace, a pause that finally allows your poor brain to stop rattling around your skull and pay attention, even if your body writhes for more.

" YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GONNA DO NOW? "

Uh oh.

The side glance you give him is both vicious and mortified.

You may be considerably weaker, but you'll make the next few days torturous to him if he decides to truly harm you.

" YOU'LL HOWL FOR ME. " Kalymir grins wolfishly. " LOUD ENOUGH FOR THE WHOLE RING TO HEAR. "

Before you can think too hard on what he's implying, Kalymir has already shifted positions again.

He now squats on the very edge of the crenel, the claws of his feet hooking onto the stone. You're compressed, folded in two almost, one of his arms holding your knees up to your chin while the other creeps between your legs.

You have no idea how he's managing to stay perfectly balanced throughout all this, he doesn't so much as sway in any direction.

The view you get, although partially obscured, is horrifyingly large. Embers of instinctive anxiety flaring as you realize that you might die before you even hit the ground. You know you're squeezing around his dick again because he moans openly.

As if to make it worse, he tilts forward a bit and you shriek instantly.

" Ff-Fuh-Fucking stop! "

" HAHAHAHA- "

There's no semblance of shame or mercy to be found in the King.

" LET'S HEAR IT THEN. "

You didn't know what to expect, until his hand started moving.

The Icon begins, jarring and harsh, finding your clit and using the pads of his fat fingers to roll it incessantly, with a pressure and speed you have never had used on you.

All of this comes together to create stimulus of such intensity that, for a second, all you can do is try to twist and writhe in Kalymir's iron grasp, desperately gulping air while your eyes blur again.

Sure enough, the noises that begin belting out of you are nothing short of bestial, whines and strained moans shifting to clipped yelling and grunts. No one put into your shoes right now would give a flying fuck about keeping noises palatable. All you want to do is hold on and survive your husband's bizarre fetishes, honestly.

Kalymir quietly pays attention to what elicits the loudest reactions, shifting a leg back to spread you further.

The closest thing to a warning that he gets from you is a babble of loose vowels followed by an overstimulated sob.

" THAT'S IT- LOUDER. "

You couldn't hold back the thundering orgasm that rolls through your entire body even if you tried your damndest. It short-circuits your mind for a good moment where you can only feel the ringing in the air caused by your own wanton cry, followed by the force with which you erupt all over Kalymir's cock.

" MAKE IT FUCKING RAIN! " He cackles, barks with laughter, flicking fingers torturing you to prolong the overwhelming climax.

Admittedly, the way you flutter around him has the Icon finally starting to huff and puff, his already hot figure overheating further. It won't be long before Kalymir is filling you, the thought making your tormented clitoris twitch painfully.

You wonder if there's people around, below the fortress, watching. What are they thinking right now? This'll be the talk of the Ring for a while, possibly other Rings.

" HEHAHAHA, LOOK AT THOSE FREAKS- EAT UP YOU FILTHY FUCKS. "

Oh yeah, there's definitely perverts crowding around then. Were they just... Waiting for you to cum so they could... Taste it? Gross. Demons are so disgusting.

" BECAUSE THERE'S MORE COMING RIGHT UP. "

Your eyes bulge.

His hand starts moving again.

" I'm gonna f-fucking kill you! You son of a bitch, you motherfuck- "

And he just laughs.

#Kalymir oc #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster x you #demon x reader #monster x reader #minors dni

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 5 months ago

Text

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - Epilogue

Source for pic

Trouble - Epilogue 🔞

Word Count: 6362

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: And here we are... at the end of another installment of my Meet-Cute series. My gosh, three are done and two to go! I guess I never thought I was going to write all of them and I can't take you guys enough for all the support! But hey, I'll leave that to another post! For now, I hope you enjoy the epilogue of this thrilling story. Let me know all about it, please, I'm dying to know if it was satisfying!

Masterlist

Healing isn’t linear.

You thought you were on the right track after moving in with Zoro. You started taking your meds, shared your feelings with your friends, checked in on Shanks every day. More importantly, you don’t keep anything from Zoro anymore.

And you’ve both been very happy.

Until it all crashes down again, and all the healing you’ve done goes up in smoke, like it meant nothing, and you’re right back where you started: afraid, trapped, small, and vulnerable.

It’s the little things that trigger you. And you find that out the hard way.

-*-

Zoro insists on returning to work, even though his injuries are still healing. He and Mihawk have a terrible argument over the phone until his captain clears him for desk duty with limited hours.

It’s not what Zoro wanted, but he’ll take it. Since he can’t exercise as often or as hard as he would like, he’ll take this distraction. Besides, you’ve been telling him that you still want to help your father around the farm, as much as you feel capable of doing, and he gets bored being alone with nothing to do.

It’s on one of those mornings, when the chores are done, Zoro is at the station, and you and Shanks are sharing a mug of coffee by the porch steps that you take another step forward in your healing process.

“Dad…” You begin with a sigh and Shanks sets down his mug so he can give you his full attention. “I’m sorry.”

He hears the smallness in your voice and cocks his head to the side. “About what?”

“About not feeling at home in your house… I… It’s just…”

Shanks places his arm over your shoulders and pulls you towards him. “You don’t have to explain, Bug. I get it. You don’t even have to apologise for it! All I want is for you to heal and be happy, you know that.”

You do know that. But it still feels like you’re abandoning your father, and it weighs on your chest constantly.

With a trembling inhale, you blink away your unshed tears. “Yes, Dad, I know that. But… this is the house I grew up in, and it hurts that I can’t call it home anymore. You’re here, and I can’t bear to be inside for more than a few minutes. I’m sorry.”

Shanks pulls back so he can look into your eyes. He has a genuine, though sorrowful, look on his face when he utters your name softly. “Home is not a place.” Your eyes widen as he kisses your forehead. “I could be living on a ship, or anywhere across the world, and home wouldn’t be there… you’re my home.”

“Home is not a place…” You repeat, and he nods.

“It’s okay if the house you grew up in doesn’t feel like home anymore, Bug. It truly is.” Shanks sets one hand over your heart, still smiling. “Let your heart find your home.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears from flowing down your face as Shanks wipes them away with his thumb. Then you hug him tightly as your chest feels a little bit lighter. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You pull back and stare into his eyes. Lately, and as you’ve been feeling brighter and better, there have been fewer shadows in them, like he’s managing to push the guilt away, so you know that as you heal, your father heals with you.

You’re his home.

“Okay, Dad, I’m going upstairs to fill a bag with clothes, just like I promised my therapist. Baby steps.” You can’t deny that you’re nervous about spending time in your room. You’ve been inside a few times, but only for a few minutes and never alone. Your therapist proposed baby steps to help you face the most triggering situations, and you’ve been trying that.

That’s why you’ve been helping Shanks around the farm. You had lunch at the farmhouse too, the other day. Granted, you helped your dad cook and then you both ate the meal outside, but it was still progress.

The walls don’t seem so suffocating, the air is lighter. You can do this.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

You nod and get up, dusting off your behind as you take a deep breath and face the door, trying to push the image of the dead cat pinned to it to the back of your mind.

“I can do this, Dad. Baby steps.” You start walking and then stop, turning around. “Well… maybe you can wait in the living room so I can call you if I need you?” Asking for help is also a baby step, and you take it.

“Sure.” Shanks smiles, collects the mugs of coffee, and heads inside with you. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but you can hear the mugs jingling with the slightest tremor from him. “Oh,” he exclaims suddenly. “Some of your city friends sent you some flowers, I guess the news spread there too, because…” He doesn’t say it, but you make the connection: Ichiji. “I placed them in your room. You know I don’t care much about flowers, and they were for you, so…”

You smile and nod as you start to climb the stairs. “Thank you, Dad!” You haven’t said much to your friends from the city. They’re mostly Ichiji’s friends anyway, but maybe you should text and thank them? Could there be a note on the flowers so you know who sent them?

The thought gets pushed aside as you face your closed door, your heart hammering against your chest as you chew on your lips.

Baby steps.

You got this.

With a heavy inhale, you turn the doorknob and enter.

The room is bright, your father has been opening the windows every day to let in the sun and fresh air. Other than that, it seems untouched. Cold, like it doesn’t belong to you anymore.

But there’s no suffocating oppression, no feeling of entrapment. You got this.

And then your eyes fall on your desk, where the flowers stand, and you freeze. Fresh red roses. A huge bouquet of them.

It’s not King, it’s not him, he’s dead.

Your mind knows this, your brain understands that the bouquet came from your friends. King is dead, it wasn’t him, he wasn’t inside.

He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!

You can’t breathe. Your chest feels tight, and it hurts as your heart hammers away in an erratic, accelerated rhythm.

It’s not him!

Your body trembles violently, and you slump on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest and shutting your eyes.

But you still see them. The red roses.

King.

“D–Da–Dad!” You manage to croak out, turning your head towards the open door so he can hear you. Your pills are downstairs, and just the thought of getting up seems daunting. In a matter of seconds, Shanks is kneeling by your side, whispering your name and asking what’s wrong.

“Bug, hey, hey, it’s alright! I’m here! Come on.” He tries to move you, to lift you, but you push him off, shaking your head frantically. You don’t feel safe, don’t feel like you can move, you’re frozen and shaking. There’s only one person that can help.

“Zo…”

Shanks nods and takes the phone out of his pocket, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes more prominent again.

Zoro picks up the call immediately. “Zoro, she needs you.”

“On my way.” You hear his clipped answer before he turns off the call. He knew what you were doing today, and even if he didn’t, you don’t think Zoro would ask any questions after the words your father just told him.

You need him. And that’s all he needs to know.

Shanks holds you and tries to soothe you as best as he can, but he doesn’t understand what triggered you. You have been in your room before, even though you weren’t alone, but you managed somewhat.

Now it felt like you were reliving the trauma, your shoulders shaking, knowing that you need to get away from this triggering situation, but not managing to do it with your dad. Shanks is safe, you know that, but Zoro is…

Home.

He must’ve broken all speed limits because he arrives at the farmhouse in record time, calling your name as soon as he enters. Shanks answers him, signaling where you are, and you hear dry thuds as he races up the stairs.

He’s breathless and clutching his side when he arrives upstairs because his wounds still bother him, but his eye falls on you immediately.

You can barely do more than sob and tremble.

Shanks falls back to give Zoro space and starts pacing the room, his fingers running through his hair, and you know he feels as helpless as Zoro felt all those weeks ago. But you can’t seem to focus on anything other than the overwhelming anxiety and the fear that King is somehow still chasing you.

“Hey, Troublemaker. Still making trouble, huh?” Zoro kneels beside you, his voice soft but frayed, as he treads carefully. His fingers brush your hair as he tries to coax you to look at him.

You just hug your legs tighter, trying to disappear.

Then Zoro looks around, and his eye widens as he sees the bouquet. “It’s the flowers, Mr. S. Get rid of them.”

Shanks looks confused for a moment, his gaze alternating between Zoro, the desk, and you. But he snaps out of it and does as Zoro tells him, taking them away from the room, away from your sight. And Zoro tries again.

He calls your name softly, but when that doesn’t work, he sits down and shifts your body so your back is leaning against his chest instead of the wall. Then, he hugs you from behind, his legs around yours as his arms envelop you in a crushing hug. Zoro buries his face in the crook of your neck and tries to slow your breathing by coaxing you to breathe at the same time as him.

After a few minutes, when he senses that you’ve calmed down a little bit, he speaks. “I won’t ever let anything or anyone hurt you again. Hear me?” You nod softly and shrink further into his protective embrace. “Wanna talk about it?”

You inhale a very shaky breath, and Zoro searches his pocket for a few seconds before extending a bottle of pills. “I brought you the emergency pills.” You bite your lower lip, stifling a sob. He remembered your pills. Of course he did.

So you take one because you know you can’t be strong all the time. And then, you turn a little bit in his embrace, just so you can look at him. “The freaking roses…” You say, upset.

“You knew they weren’t from him.” Zoro states, and you nod.

“And it still triggered me.” Zoro nods, his hand finds yours, and he intertwines your fingers. “What if… what if I never stop being afraid, Zo?”

He tightens his hold on you and lowers his head until your foreheads bump. “Then I’ll just keep reminding you that you’re safe. That you’ll never be in danger again. I won’t allow it.”

“That’s not exactly fair to you.” You whisper, and the words still manage to scratch your throat, because how can it be fair for him? Why does he have to be strong for both of you? Why does he have to be the one to ground you and bear all the weight?

Zoro huffs in exasperation. “Tch, like I give a shit about fair, Trouble. You’re stuck with me now, no way out.”

A small chuckle leaves your lips. “Like that’s a bad thing?”

“I hope not.” He smirks smugly and kisses your lips softly. “Still want to grab your stuff, or do we come back another day?”

“I can do it.” You whisper. The roses are gone, you took your medication, and Zoro is here. You can do this. He’s not the only one that needs to be strong. “I want to do it.”

“You got this.”

-*-

Zoro leans against the wooden railing of the stairs, crossing his arms over his chest as his eye never leaves your open door. He’s giving you space to deal with this alone, while still being close enough in case you need him again.

His jaw clenches, and he grits his teeth. Fuck all of this. He can’t stand to see the pain in your eyes, can’t stand the haunted, frightened look on your face everytime something triggers you. If he could kill King again, he would. Over and over and over again.

Motherfucker.

No matter how hard Zoro tries, he can’t shake away the rage gnawing at his insides, reminding him how he should’ve done better. How he should’ve protected you better. He wasn’t strong enough, or fast enough.

“Fuck.” Zoro mutters.

“Fuck’s right.” Shanks murmurs as he approaches and mimics Zoro’s stance, leaning against the railing, eyes bored into your bedroom door. Then he hands Zoro a beer. Zoro hesitates, then takes it with a small thanks.

Both men stand in silence, the words left unsaid linger around them until Shanks sighs after a sip of his beer. “I should’ve been here. I’m her father and I couldn’t even protect her.”

Shanks doesn’t have to say the words for Zoro to recognize guilt in them. The same kind of burden he carries, regret and shame mixed together, sticking on his body like a second skin, like something he can’t wash off.

“Well...” Zoro takes his own sip. “I was here. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Shanks looks at him, maybe he, too, understands that they share the same sentiment. A bitterness over wanting to turn back time, to change something that can’t be changed.

“I would give anything to take this pain away from her.” Shanks mutters with a vulnerability that Zoro never saw in him in all the years since he’s known him.

“Same…” Zoro’s voice sounds raw and vulnerable too and he tightens his grip on the railing, like that can ground him here.

Silence stretches again. All that can be heard is the rustling of clothes as you store them into a bag, sometimes a heavy sigh as you try to ground yourself. But you don’t call for either of them, so they leave you alone with your demons.

“Thank you.” Shanks finally says.

“I…” Zoro clenches his teeth. It feels wrong for your father to be thanking him when you still got hurt. “Yeah.”

“I know you wish you could’ve done more, trust me, kid, I wish for the same every damn day,” Shanks’ hand on Zoro’s shoulder squeezes with understanding. “But you saved her, you bled for her, you were willing to die for her. And that’s all a father can ask. So thank you.”

Zoro nods again, his eye never leaving your door as his throat suddenly feels tighter. Then Shanks chuckles and removes his hand from his shoulder, picking up the beer again and finishing it in one long gulp. “You love her.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. And one that Zoro has no intention to hide from anyone.

“I do.”

“I know. You have since you both were kids. I could see it a mile away, you idiot.”

“Oi!” Zoro grits his teeth again, annoyance taking over the sentiment of mutual understanding pretty quickly.

“I trust you.” Shanks sighs and smiles at Zoro, nodding towards your door before straightening up and inhaling deeply. “I trust you to protect her.”

Zoro barely has time to reply before you stride over to them, a weary smile on your lips and a duffel bag hanging over your shoulder. Zoro nods at Shanks, then removes the bag from your hands, carrying it himself. “Ready to go?”

You smile at him and nod. “All good.”

Shanks sighs once more before hugging you a little longer than necessary, then kissing your head. “Anytime you wanna pop up, door’s open, Bug.”

You kiss his cheek and then pull away. “I’m not moving to another island, Dad. We’re literally ten minutes away.” You both chuckle but Shanks’ smile is bittersweet. And so is yours. You know his words have a much deeper meaning, and you’re so grateful to him.

-*-

Healing isn’t the same for everyone. But Zoro is so strong.

Almost two months have passed since the nightmare ended, and there are more times when you feel good than when you feel bad, it’s true. But Zoro is never shaken.

He’s returned to work full-time, and Nami and Robin got you a part-time job at the firm where they work, just something to fill in the endless void, since idle moments send you spiraling into unwanted thoughts.

He trains. Harder and harder every day, and he’s just unshakable. Your rock.

Your nightmares still come. Not every night, and they’re not always insufferable. There are more times when they merely jolt you from sleep than times when they completely freeze you. And you take that as progress.

What you don’t realise at first is that Zoro only acts strong. Zoro seems healed because he never truly lets you see the depth of his wounds. He’s more broken than you know, much more than he lets on.

And he carries this weight alone.

The only reason you realise this is that one night, when your nightmare forces you to awaken and search for the comfort of your rock, you find his side of the bed empty and cold. Sitting up, you let your eyes adjust to the dim light before spotting him.

Zoro sits at the edge of the bed, hands buried in his hair, and elbows resting on his knees. His body is taut and tense, ready for a fight. He’s visibly shaking, though no sound escapes his lips. You call his name softly, but he doesn’t acknowledge you, so you shuffle to his side, hesitate, then wrap your arms around his torso, resting your cheek lightly against his bare back. He’s freezing.

“Zo…” You call out softly again, tightening your grip, trying to pull him back from whatever hell he’s in.

With a shudder, he inhales deeply, his face still lost in shadows.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You urge, feeling small and vulnerable because this isn’t like Zoro at all.

After a moment of silence, when you think he's not going to share anything, he starts talking. His voice is hoarse, rough and frayed, filled with emotion.

“I see him every night when I fall asleep.”

Your breath catches, and you press closer. “King?”

“Yes.” Zoro nearly growls, his chest rising and falling in painful gasps, his fingers dig deeper into his skull, as if that’s the only way to keep his rage contained. “I relive the moment in my head every night, but… when I fight him, I lose. And then… he doesn’t kill me, I just… have to watch as he hurts you, touches you, and–” He doesn’t need to finish. “You keep calling for me, screaming my name, begging for my help, and I can’t move, I can’t fucking do anything!”

Zoro’s voice breaks as his whole body shudders violently and you hug him tighter, tears streaming down your face.

“I can’t stop him!” His breath falters, and he gasps for air. “I just fucking watch as he takes you over, and over, and over.” Zoro drops his hands from his hair and clenches them into trembling fists. It’s like the words physically hurt him. “Every night I wake up and I’m just so angry! I want to tear the fucking world apart, because I can’t stop him, and he hurts you every fucking time!” Zoro’s shoulders heave with exertion, he’s trying to keep his rage locked tight, to be strong, trying not to break.

“I’m fucking useless. Weak. And I can’t save you.”

Your chest aches, and your eyes burn with more tears. This is your rock, your home, your shelter. And he’s falling apart. All this time, you thought he was fine, that he was handling it. But in reality, he was just faking it. Being strong for both of you when he can’t even keep himself together.

You shift, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. Cupping his cheeks, you gently force him to look at you.

“Zo, look at me.” He does and you see it again, that hollowness in his eye, the shadows darkening it. It haunts you. “You’re not useless. You were never weak. And you did save me.”

He shakes his head, a pained sound escaping his lips. “It wasn’t enough. He still touched you, still saw you, still hurt you.”

“It’s not your fault.” You press your forehead against his, your fingers pressing tight against his cheeks. “It’s not your fault! You saved me, Zoro. You did. Stop blaming yourself for things that were never in your control. I’m here, you’re here.” You pull back slightly, searching his eye. “And now we move on. Or he keeps winning. We need to move on.”

Zoro holds your stare, his jaw clenching. His chest still heaves, like he’s fighting an internal war, wanting to believe your words, but not wanting to let go of his own guilt.

“You saved me. He doesn’t get to have your soul too, Zo. He’s already taken enough.”

Zoro swallows hard, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he briefly closes his eye, letting your words sink in. At least you hope they’re sinking in.

“You don’t have to be strong for both of us, you know? You’re allowed to break and to doubt. You’re not weak because of it.” You peck him softly as he opens his eye. “We get to make each other stronger, okay?”

He nods. Vulnerability still lingering in his eye. Then he hugs you, pulling you closer and tighter against him, to make sure you’re safe, real, and his. You hold him back, your fingers tracing soft patterns through his hair, trying to calm his shaking.

Zoro doesn’t cry, but his body breaks with violent shakes. And you let him, you hold him through it.

After a moment, Zoro’s hands loosen their hold as he takes a deep breath. They slither under the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt - and caress your waist, climbing upwards to your spine.

A shiver courses through you at the feel of his calloused touch. He’s warm now. Zoro’s lips press against the hollow of your throat, his hands lowering to your bare thighs, caressing, taunting, igniting a fire.

A low gasp escapes your lips as Zoro’s tongue teases your collarbone, then trails up your neck. You mewl and clench your legs around his sides, eliciting a soft groan from him.

“Zo…” Another gasp escapes as Zoro’s hands climb again, teasing both nipples at the same time. “You sure?”

It’s still early in the recovery process, and you don’t want to create unwanted frustrations. You’ve tried to be intimate more than once before, but Zoro’s injuries were still too severe, no matter how much desire you felt for each other.

He groans again, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss in which he demands and you willingly give. Then he pulls back long enough to answer you. “Yes, I‘m sure.” Zoro kisses you again, more teeth, more tongue, more groans. “We’ve waited long enough.”

You sure have.

He pinches your nipples again, and you buck your hips against his crotch, feeling how hard he already is.

“Fuck.” Zoro whispers as he pulls the shirt over your head. “Fuck.” He repeats as he takes a good look at you, then his lips latch on to your pert bud, his tongue circling it languorously.

“Don’t act so surprised.” Your giggle turns into a breathy gasp as he sucks, your hand caressing the planes of his muscles. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“Sure.” He answers in a coarse voice. “It still takes my breath away every time.” And then you’re both shuffling to take off the rest of your clothes. Zoro sits you back onto his lap, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as he claims your lips again.

He pulls you flush, and you feel his girthy cock pressing against your clit. “Fuck.” This time you let out and Zoro chuckles.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he mimics you. “You’ve seen it before.” Zoro grabs his cock and slides the tip against your nether lips, gathering slick and teasing you, making your breath hitch. Smirking, he stares into your eyes. “Guess it still takes your breath away.”

With a huffed laugh, you crash your lips against his again at the same time as he slides his cock inside you. Parting the kiss, you arch into him, your hands griping his shoulders tight as you adjust to the stretch. Zoro’s forehead dips towards your shoulder, and he grunts in pleasure once he’s fully sheathed, sending another shiver coursing through your body.

You tighten your legs around him, hugging him, pressing closer in an intimacy that goes far beyond physical connection. Zoro’s hands press your hips as he guides your movements.

“Oh, Zo… that’s…” Biting your lip, you stifle a loud moan. He’s reaching deep, his cock dragging slowly against your walls and repeatedly hitting you just right.

“Yeah, I know.” He answers back with a rough voice, his fingers digging deeper into your skin. This is different from the first time you had sex with him. This is making love: slow, tender, healing. “I got you.”

He picks up the pace, and you meet his thrusts with your own, unable to hold anything back as pleasure builds up in your core, burning your skin, inflaming your desire. Zoro gropes your flesh, his fingers digging into your plush thighs as he thrusts faster.

You feel pleasure cresting, ready to crash into a wave of rapture, and increase your moans, unable to hold anything back. Zoro’s got you, exactly like he said, so he slides his hand between your bodies, and his thumb finds your swollen nub as he presses and circles it relentlessly.

“Zoro!” You cry out before bliss surges through you, shaking your body as heavy gasps leave your lips.

Zoro rides your orgasm with you, with sloppy, uneven strokes before he, too, comes undone, hugging you against him as his head disappears into the crook of your neck, behind a litany of hushed words and whispers of your name.

You both stay still, chests heaving in the aftermath, slight shocks of pleasure still rippling through your body as Zoro is still buried inside you. You take a deep breath and pull back from his embrace, cupping his cheek so he can look at you again.

“You okay?” He nods softly, and you smile. There are fewer shadows in his eye now, and he knows your question was deeper than the physical exertion he just put himself through.

“We’ll be okay.” He states and kisses you softly. “Together.”

Later that night, you both have dreamless sleep. You know you’ll still face rough nights, sleepless ones, or nights filled with horrible dreams. But as long as you’re together, you can both face it.

Because the nightmare might’ve ended, but you weren’t the only one who survived it.

-*-

The day is bright, warm, and uneventful.

“Watch out!” Usopp cries loudly as Zoro deflects a ball away from your face effortlessly before cursing at your long-nosed friend and Luffy.

So, not quite uneventful, but how could it be when you and your friends are all hanging out at the beach?

“You alright?” Zoro asks, still frowning.

“Didn’t even touch me, Zo.” You giggle as he sits next to you, his feet digging back into the sand as his hand wraps around your thigh and pulls you closer. You have come to terms with the fact that Zoro will be extra protective from now on, and also with the fact that it will always be extremely endearing. “Thank you.”

He leans to kiss you, and you sigh into him. Six months have passed since King. You still carry your meds around as a safeguard, but rare are the days in which you have to take them.

Mihawk closed the investigation on your stalker since they caught the accomplices and King is dead. Sometimes, reporters still lurk about, trying to get that scoop you never gave them, always failing to get past your guard dog - Zoro laughed when you called him that - especially now that the half-year mark has passed.

Nami decked one reporter right on the nose a couple of weeks back because he couldn’t take no for an answer. She made the news instead of you, but she wasn’t the least bit bothered by it. Zoro approved.

While there are still days when you find yourself looking over your shoulder, trembling when you get a sudden text, or double-checking the locks on Zoro’s door before heading to bed, the days that flow freely are the most common.

And your friends make sure you have plenty of those in their company, because their company is never dull, boring, or uneventful. This time, it was Vivi’s idea to spend a day at the beach.

And what a wonderful idea it was.

“This feels nice.” You say, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against Zoro’s shoulder, basking in the sun.

“The beach?” He asks as he looks around at all the chaos: Sanji yelling at Luffy, who’s running away from the grill with a piece of meat between his teeth; Kaya helping Chopper put sunscreen on his back and drawing a smile before rubbing it in; Usopp and Barto having a sandcastle contest, to see whose is the best; Brook teaching Vivi how to play the violin; Nami and Robin trying to enter the water slowly, only to be splashed by Sabo and Franky teasingly. “Or the shenanigans?”

You let out a laugh, drinking in all the interactions, letting them warm your heart. “Well, both, but that was not it…” Turning around, you pass your fingers through his green locks and stare into his eyes. “I missed feeling light.” Zoro hums in understanding. “Unburdened… free.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, foreheads bumping. “We’ve earned it.” You nod as you kiss again, softly this time. He’s right, you’ve both earned this peace.

“Come on in, you two! The water is amazing!” Nami calls from the sea, waving her arms at you and Zoro. Then she squeals in delight when Franky sets her on his shoulders so they can have a battle with Robin and Sabo. “Stop sucking face! You’re disgustingly cute!” She shrieks before turning back to try and topple Robin.

You giggle as Zoro pulls back, calling her a witch and mumbling something about not being cute.

With a mischievous grin, you get up, face the sea, and look over your shoulder. “Race you, Mosshead!” Then you start to run without looking back, because a grunt and a curse let you know Zoro’s already on his feet, ready to pounce. You don’t even make it halfway into the sea when he wraps one arm around your waist and spins you effortlessly. A loud shriek that turns into a heartfelt laugh fills the space between you as Zoro sets you down, grinning.

“Guess you’re going to naughty jail for real this time, Trouble.”

You place the back of your hand on your forehead and arch back dramatically. “Oh, heavens, whatever shall I do now?” He grins and you poke his nose, smirking playfully. “But since I’m here, and you’re my jailor, you’re gonna have to whip out those handcuffs now…”

Zoro clears his throat as his eye widens, but to his credit, he still maintains his composure. “Yeah, I will. If you misbehave.”

You lean in, brushing your chest against his, riling him up on purpose. “Guess you’d have to teach me a lesson then, wouldn’t you… officer?” The way you sultrily lick your lips, teasing him, has his ears turning red in less than a second. “Or should I call you sir?”

Zoro’s brain short-circuits for a second, and now his whole face is red. Then you start to laugh and he shakes his head, a real laugh emerging from his lips - that deep, rumbling sound that shakes his chest and the smile that opens up his whole face. You love his laugh.

“You’re impossible!” He exclaims, and you’re about to retort when he picks you up like a sack of potatoes and enters the sea with unforgiving speed, not even giving you time to adjust to the difference in temperature, taking a deep plunge with you in his arms.

You break the surface with an indignant gasp and try to dunk his head underwater as he laughs at your pathetic efforts. When the laughter dies down, his smile lingers, and he pulls you closer, whispering your name with devotion. “You did it. You made it.”

He’s talking about the healing process, you know that. And he’s right. You’re almost there. And even though some days might set you back, you know that in his company, you can overcome anything.

“No, Zo. We did it.”

-*-

Two weeks. Zoro was gone for two whole weeks.

He had been drafted to another training retreat, no cellphones, no email, just the occasional landline phone call, and it was nowhere near enough. You missed him like crazy. He had considered refusing, claiming that he could not leave you alone. He was sure Mihawk would understand and write up his excuse, if necessary, but you forced him to go.

You knew he needed the training to build his strength back up, and you couldn’t depend on him for all eternity. You knew there would be times when you would have to be alone. So it was a test for both of you.

The nights were the hardest part, but you managed by curling against Zoro’s pillow, which still smelled like him. Shanks and your friends made sure you were alright and not feeling lonely, and even your therapist checked in on you, but you didn’t suffer any crises, you plowed through.

It was a victory.

And now, as you wait in the parking lot of the police station, absently chewing on your lower lip and barely containing your excitement by bouncing on the balls of your feet, you can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your lips as you see the bus approach. Raising your handmade sign that reads: ‘Welcome home, Officer Mosshead’, in bright neon green lettering, you grin. You already know he’s going to hate it.

Which is exactly why you crafted it.

The bus slows down as it enters the parking lot, and the loud psshh it releases as it parks is a prelude to the wild thrumming of your heart. The families gathered around, waiting for Zoro’s colleagues share the same anxiety as you, as wives, husbands, and children wait for their loved ones.

When the doors open, you raise your sign high with a sheepish grin. There’s already laughter bubbling up from the officers that exit the bus, some of them shout behind in warning to others, so, when your green-haired boyfriend finally emerges, duffle bag swung over his shoulder, he’s already wearing a scowl from all the teasing.

You squeak as his eyes land on you, and though you’re far away, you can practically hear him grumbling curses.

You’ve missed him. Damn it, you’ve missed him so much.

Unceremoniously dropping the sign on the floor, you start to sprint towards the bus, swiftly evading people as you see the wild green of Zoro’s hair coming closer and closer.

And then you trip over your own feet, stumble forward, arms spread wide as you brace for impact, but you manage to regain your balance and resume your sprint. When you look at Zoro, he’s sighing in relief, arms stretched as if he wanted to catch you, even though you’re still far. You laugh, and he shakes his head, a grin curving his lips as you take the final steps towards him.

You leap into his arms without thought or consideration, and he catches you effortlessly, groping the back of your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, burying your head against the crook of his neck and squeezing him against you.

“Zoro!” You exclaim, breathless as he stumbles back from the force of the impact and hits the side of the bus.

“Hey, Troublemaker!” He grins at you as you pull back to look him fully in the eye. “Making trouble?”

The laugh that parts your lips is freeing, familiar, wanted. “Yes! So much trouble, you have no idea!”

He laughs too, a laugh that now comes easier to him, at least when he’s with you. “Tch… paperwork on my desk by Monday, right?”

You begin to laugh again, but Zoro takes your lips in his in a breathtaking kiss. The noise he makes when you slip your tongue out to seek his sounds like longing and desperation mixing together, and you grip him tighter and harder, enough to ground you. Your fingers thread through his hair and grip as you both deepen the kiss.

It’s only when Zoro’s coworkers start to make whooping sounds and tell you both to get a room that you two part, but not before Zoro flips them off with a grunt. Your foreheads bump together, and you caress his cheekbone with your thumb.

“I love you, Mosshead.”

“Oi!” You giggle because he gets annoyed so easily, but his smirk tells you he’s just putting on an act. “I love you too, Trouble.” Warmth spreads in your chest as you get lost in Zoro’s eye. “Let’s go home,” he says.

You nod, feeling light and free. Because, like Shanks said, home is not a place. Home is not the farmhouse, even though now it starts to feel less scary, less tainted, less haunted; home is not Zoro’s quiet apartment, filled with domesticity and happiness; Home is not a place. It's him.

Zoro is your home.

THE END

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan

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#one piece x reader #reader insert #reader x roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #roronoa zoro #zoro x you #you x zoro #zoro x reader #reader x zoro #modern day au #the meet cute #trouble

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seungkw1 · 29 days ago

Text

heroes — chs

💿 heroes - david bowie 🎶

🪐 pairing: chwe hansol x gn!reader 🪐 theme: sci-fi/horror au 🪐 wc: 13.9k 🪐 warnings: suspense, scary imagery, mild gore (nothin crazy), minor character death, doppelgangers, lots of talk about goo, wistful yearning, some good old fashioned angst. 🪐 a/n: here it is!!! my longest work to date!! this fic is inspired by the movie Alien (1979), one of my all time favs - and who better to star in it than our favorite Movie Guy™️ chwe hansol. i truly had so much fun writing this, definitely made some stuff up about space ships and physics along the way but i hope u find the world of this fic to be immersive, intriguing, and best of all - spooky!! :) huge shoutout to @haologram for beta reading and @miniseokminnies for being my writing buddy and listening to me go insane ♡

You’ve been Captain of the Atlas IV for five years now, so a months-long interstellar cargo haul like this one is standard work for you. But when you’re mysteriously woken prematurely from your cryogenic sleep-stasis to find yourself still in the middle of deep space, nowhere near your destination planet, it’s up to you and your Pilot to figure out what triggered the Emergency Revival System - before it’s too late.

hisssssss

Your brain begins to awaken as you re-enter consciousness. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognize the sound of the sleep pod unlocking, signaling your long journey through the depths of space must be coming to an end - but right now the only thing you can think about is how dead you feel. Waking up after such a long, artificial sleep is always physically challenging, but nothing you’re not used to by now. You give yourself a couple minutes to lay there, still half-lucid, letting your body slowly readjust from the months-long cryogenic sleep cycle. You listen to the ambient sounds of the ship. The noise is loud, but low - mere background noise that you’ve grown accustomed to. The mechanical rumbling of the engine amidst the otherwise silent ship brings you a strange sense of comfort, a contrast to the usual chatter of the crew and beeping and blooping of machinery. You decide to take a few more moments to enjoy the peace and quiet before you have to get back to work.

Suddenly, you are flooded in the sterile brightness of the ship’s interior lighting as the capsule lid is opened - nearly blinding you even behind closed eyelids. You reluctantly open your eyes to, to see-

A face, staring down at you.

You jump a little. You blink a few times as you sit up, still processing the identity of the face’s owner. Then it registers: it’s your Pilot.

“Jesus Hansol, you fucking scared me.”

“Sorry, Captain,” he apologizes. He just stands there, upright, so still that he could be mistaken for a mannequin if you weren’t paying too much attention.

“Why are you standing over my pod?" you grumble, still adjusting to being roused so abruptly.

He looks at you, his demeanor calm as always - but based on the concerned look in his eyes, you guess he’s going to tell you that there’s a bit of a problem.

“We have a bit of a problem.”

“Yeah, I guessed that much. What-”

Before you can ask anything, he’s already spun around on his heels, making a beeline back to the cockpit. You stumble out of the pod and quickly don your coveralls before hurrying after him.

You enter the control room, its many processors and screens humming all around you. At first glance, everything seems fine - all machines are fully operational, no blinking lights, no alerts going off. Somehow, you find this more worrying than if all the alarms were blaring.

Hansol hovers over the main computer. You join him, stepping up next to him to get a good look at the screen. To an untrained eye it would be incomprehensible, but you could interpret the map in your sleep. You take one look at the coordinates and the issue is glaringly obvious.

“Shit.”

Your whisper is barely audible, but Hansol gives you a stoic nod.

“Yeah.”

You’ve captained the Atlas IV for five years now - you’ve been on so many of these routine, months-long cargo expeditions that you’ve stopped keeping count; every last detail of its operations is ingrained in your memory at this point. The ship is programmed to wake up the crew in stages upon entering a 0.5 parsec orbital radius of the destination planet (Pilot first, Captain next, and then the remaining crew), allotting plenty of time to communicate with the ground crew and prepare for landing.

However, the blinking blue light indicating the ship’s position is nowhere near the destination planet. It’s not even near any planet - you are in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The system is designed to wake the crew early if an emergency arises - a critical built-in safety measure - but there’s no emergency. Aside from the fact that you’re deep in interstellar space, there doesn’t even appear to be a minor issue at hand.

You look up at Hansol, who is patiently awaiting your response.

“Why was the Emergency Revival System triggered?” you ask hesitantly.

He stares at you for a second before responding.

“I don’t know.”

“And is anything malfunctioning? At all?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve run all diagnostics twice - nothing. If there’s a problem somewhere, it’s undetectable.”

You grimace. Hansol lets out a sigh. You both know you only have one option here.

“Well, guess we better start combing the place. Find the problem ourselves.”

He nods resolutely. You head to the supply room together, gearing up in silence. You grab as many tools as you can carry - anything you might need to repair… whatever the issue is.

“Alright, I’ll start at the fore, you start at the aft. Take your comms - radio me if you find anything, no matter how trivial.”

You prepare to head out, but the silence filling the room stops you. You turn around to see Hansol, geared up head to toe with supplies, holding two pulse rifles. He extends one to you.

“Why-”

“Just in case.”

“We’re the only ones here, and everyone else is still in stasis. Who would I possibly need to shoot?”

“Nobody. But you never know what you might come across.”

“Hansol if there was anyone, or… anything else on this ship we would know about it,” you reply, but not confidently. You know he’s right. Weird shit happens in deep space sometimes - better safe than sorry. You take the rifle.

“Be careful, y/n.”

Normally if a subordinate addressed you informally, you would scold them. You have a good camaraderie with your crew, but you still demand respect. But you and Hansol have known each other for years - although you were never super close, you were still in the same class at the Academy. You did all your basic trainings together - and that kind of shit builds an unspoken bond. You wouldn’t necessarily consider him a friend, but truthfully you do see him as your equal. Being on a first name basis with him just comes naturally.

You give him a firm nod. “You too.”

He clips his rifle to his utility belt. “Meet you in the middle. Unless I find something first.” He shoots you a playfully-smug grin. “Which I will.”

You roll your eyes, but you grin back at him. “Hey, take your fucking time, it’s not a competition.”

“I know,” he says as he exits the room. His voice echoes from the hallway. “But I’m still gonna win.”

[two hours later]

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you shut the large panel door. You’ve checked what feels like a million controls and systems at this point, but - frustratingly - everything appears to be in order. Still no insight into what’s going on.

With an exhausted groan you sit on the ground, leaning your head back against the wall. You grab your canteen and chug some water. This type of work isn’t hard, but it’s fucking tiring. Not to mention boring as hell. At least you have an old mp3 player to keep you company, but you’re still too alone with your thoughts for your liking. As level-headed as you normally are, your mind can’t help but wander, imagining every terrible thing that could possibly happen. You try to push those thoughts aside, knowing you’re probably overthinking it. But the worries still linger.

You close your eyes, zoning out to the sound of David Bowie’s voice in your ears:

I, I can remember (I remember) Standing, by the wall (by the wall) And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

“Captain! Come in Captain!”

You jolt upright. You curse yourself, realizing you must have drifted off to sleep for a bit. It takes you a moment to process where the voice is coming from - but then you notice the red light of your comms lighting up on your wrist.

“Hansol, come in.” you reply, bringing your arm up to your face.

“Geez, I was starting to think something happened to you.”

“Sorry, was just taking a rest. What’s up?”

“I found… something.”

“What do you mean ‘something’?"

“It’s easier if you see for yourself. Meet me in Cargo Bay 7.”

“Roger, on my way.”

The large pneumatic doors to the cargo bay open with a deep whoooosh. The coldness of the hangar stings your face as you step into the freezing room. Hansol’s head pokes up from behind several rows of large crates, his breath visible in the frigid air. He waves you over to him.

“What is it?” you inquire as you approach him, but as you step around to where Hansol is facing, you see it. Along the side of the crate, where the door is meant to be sealed shut, is a large hole ripped through the multilayered titanium walls. The shredded-up metal protrudes outwards in a peculiar manner, almost as if…

You lean in to get a closer look at the busted door. Hansol’s arm instinctively shoots out in front of yours to stop you from getting too close.

“Be careful - we don't know what's in there.”

You give him a firm nod. You retrieve a crowbar from your toolkit, sticking it into the small opening. Hansol lifts his pulse rifle into position, pointing it at the crate. Slowly you heave the large door open.

The beam of your flashlight illuminates the crate’s interior. In the center of the crate sits a biocapsule - not unlike the ones you use to enter stasis during long journeys, though notably larger. The capsule’s exterior is fitted with several, heavy-duty locking devices that appear to have been inadequate, given that the glass lid is almost entirely missing, accounting for the thick shards of broken glass strewn all over the floor. Dozens of tubes and wires connect the capsule to various bizarre pieces of machinery, presumably keeping its former occupant in stasis or something of the like. But now, it is vacant. Whoever - or, whatever - was in there, is gone.

“Okay, this is fucking weird,” you say, turning to Hansol. “Live cargo isn’t even permitted on this ship. What do the logs have listed for this shipment’s contents?”

Hansol lifts his arm and activates what looks like a sleek wristwatch. The watch projects its hologrammatic display into the air in front of his face, featuring a small keyboard. He types in the crate’s serial number into the interface.

“Um,” he starts, his face remaining placid, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. “There’s no record of this container in the system.”

“Like… at all?”

He types in the number again, checking if he made a mistake. But the projected screen once again only says 0 results found.

“Nothin’.”

You furrow your brow. That should be impossible - crates go through two checkpoints to ensure they are registered correctly before they are even allowed on the ship.

“Search the lot number.”

He types AT-07 into the device. It brings up the general cargo bay information - shipments are sorted into different bays depending on the type of contents they carry.

“‘General Plumbing Equipment’,” he reads from the screen.

You let out a short laugh.

“Plumbing equipment my ass.”

“Yup,” Hansol agrees. “This has gotta be contraband.”

Despite all the weird shit that’s been going on, the man has remained cool as a cucumber the whole time. You’re reminded why you’ve hand-selected him to be your Pilot for the last six missions.

“So, we have no idea what this is or where it even came from.”

Hansol nods. “Affirmative.”

You take a closer look at the hole. Crude, jagged edges line the gashes where the wall was torn asunder. Worse, however - deep scratches lay engraved around the hole’s perimeter, distinctly made in sets of three; they look eerily like claw marks. It looks exactly like what you’d expect a titanium crate to look like if something large broke out of it. But, the impenetrable thickness of the walls renders the crate nearly indestructible. Whatever being was held here - it is capable of gargantuan strength.

“What could have possibly done this?” you ask - not necessarily to Hansol, for you know he doesn't know either. You really would rather not find out, but that doesn't seem like an option at this point.

Hansol stares into the bizarre crate, mind racing with theories and questions.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

You turn to face your Pilot. His demeanor is unchanged, but he looks undeniably concerned. As are you.

“Well. What now?”

Hansol gives a slight shrug.

“It's your call, boss.”

“Right,” you sigh. Being in charge of decision-making is something you've gotten very good at over the years, but it certainly is a burden sometimes.

A sudden few beeps resonate from Hansol’s wristband. He lifts his arm to read the notification.

“The rest of the crew is waking up now,” he informs you.

“Shit. We better go brief them on the situation.”

Hansol nods in agreement. He puts his flashlight back on his tool belt and pulls his pulse rifle up again - safety still on, but ready to fire if needed. You do the same, silently praying to any god who might be listening that you won't need to use it.

But you're not too optimistic about that.

You head back up to the sleeping quarters to find the four other members of your crew mulling about - most still pretty dazed and grumpy from the waking process. Your Lieutenant, Jones, is the only one who doesn’t look like they want to kill somebody.

“Captain,” she greets you with a salute.

“Alright, listen up,” you command your squad, cutting right to the chase.

“We have a bit of a situation,” you start. Your crew is focused, listening attentively, but a nervous air of tension hovers in the room. Those are definitely not the words they were hoping to hear.

“First off, we’re not at the destination planet. Not even close.”

Hushed murmurs echo throughout the room. You continue.

“Chwe and I have not yet identified the source that triggered the Emergency Revival System. We did, however, find something of interest.”

You glance over at your Pilot. He gives you a subtle nod of assurance.

“A crate in one of the storage rooms was… breached," you start, trying to give as unalarming an explanation as you can manage. But, you know your crew isn’t stupid.

“To speak candidly, I have reason to believe this crate - which is missing from the ship’s logs - was transporting some kind of contraband life form.”

“Life form?” chimes in your Sergeant, Ridley. “What kind of life form?”

“Unclear,” you respond. “I don’t know exactly what I saw, but the crate seemed to be some kind of stasis chamber. Now, there is no reason to panic just yet. But I want everyone to remain vigilant, so I am issuing a Code Gray until we have an all-clear.”

A few subdued grumbles roll through your crew, but everybody knows it’s the right call. Code Gray indicates a potential hazard to the wellbeing of the crew or ship - not yet an emergency, but could quickly become one if things take a turn for the worse.

“Alright, let’s get going people,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Jones and Ridley, take the mid decks. Liang and Destin, lower decks. Follow code protocol, you know the drill. And radio if you find anything, no matter how small.”

The crew disbands, splitting off into designated pairs and gearing up for duty. As the duos depart, you nudge your head up at Hansol, signaling for him to follow you.

“Let’s go back to the cargo bay,” you tell him quietly. “I want to investigate every inch of that crate.”

You spend at least an hour poring over the crate’s contents, learning frustratingly little about its former occupant. All you can really tell is that the capsule was built to accommodate an individual approximately 8-9 feet tall, slender, with undeniably alien proportions. Your biggest lead is the mainframe - you’re not able to view any of its contents, as it appears to require an eye scan and a passcode, but you recognize the display language to be Acheron. Unfortunately, neither you nor Hansol can read a single word of it - and while it’s not the most ubiquitous language in the known galaxy, it’s still fairly widespread, only narrowing down possible origins to a minimum of 500,000 different star systems. But, it’s at least a start.

The only other discovery you make of potential interest is a thick, black, slimy residue coating the various internal components of the capsule. You collect several samples, scraping it into miniature vials for analysis.

“Well, let’s hit up the lab,” you tell Hansol as you wrap up your painstakingly thorough investigation. “I don’t think we’re going to find much else in here.”

“Should we send everyone an update?” he inquires.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What exactly are we going to tell them? All we can say for certain right now is that it’s big and gooey.”

Hansol scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Please don’t say ‘big and gooey’.”

A subtle smile creeps onto your face. “Big and gooey,” you repeat.

“Blech,” he grumbles, pretending to gag - but the tiniest upward curvature of the ends of his lips breaks his facade.

“Let’s get these samples analyzed,” you say as you pack the vials into a red plastic bag bearing the words CAUTION: BIOHAZARD. “I don’t like how much time is passing without us getting any answers.”

“Do you remember that time at the Academy when you nearly killed that guy during a drill?”

The trek to the ship’s biolab has so far been traversed in silence, the only sound present other than the ambient rumbling of the engines being the muted echoes of boot-steps as you and Hansol walk down a seemingly endless number of corridors.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I couldn’t forget about that if I tried. And trust me, I have.”

A wide grin spreads across Hansol’s face. One thing about your Pilot: you can always know exactly what he’s thinking by his expression. You know for a fact that it’s not that he can’t hide it - he simply doesn’t feel the need to.

“I still can’t believe I set my comms on the wrong channel,” you lament, shaking your head in embarrassment. “Did NOT get the memo that the drill was long over.”

“That’s why Sergeant Briggs personally went searching for you. We all thought you died.”

“Nope, not dead. Just an idiot,” you sigh. “And then he scared the shit out of me and I almost blasted him in the head.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes,” Hansol reassures you. “And in the end nobody got hurt, that’s what’s important.”

“You’re right,” you sigh in agreement. “Some mistake though, huh?” Hansol says nothing, but smiles.

You walk a few moments without conversation, but the silence feels too heavy. You’re not one to make small talk - but in the quiet your mind starts to wander, and now is not the time to let your nerves get the best of you.

You turn your head toward Hansol. “What the hell made you think of that, anyway?” you ask, the question genuinely on your mind anyway.

“Oh.”

Hansol looks up. His eyebrows scrunch a bit as he stares off down the hallway, seemingly deep in thought. He muses for a moment, then nods to himself.

“I felt similar then, like I’m feeling right now,” he tells you, his eyes still lingering in the distance. “I wouldn’t call it fear - I’m not scared. But there’s certainly the same… palpable sense of dread. And the anxiety of not knowing.”

He looks back at you. You meet his gaze, struck by the unexpected gravity of his answer. Despite knowing Hansol for years, he’s never opened up to you like this before. It’s not that he had anything to hide - he’s always been honest and communicative, and you trust him with your life. But, this conversation feels deeper, more intimate than any you've had with him in the past. Your eyes linger on his for a moment, unsure what to say, but as the next airlock whooshes open your attention shifts to the figure at the end of the corridor. It’s your Engineer, Liang, her back turned to you as she faces the next airlock - but given that she was assigned to search the ship’s lower quadrant with Destin, your Science Officer, her presence on the upper decks catches you off guard.

“Liang,” you call out, your voice carrying in a hollow echo down the long corridor. Her head snaps around to face you with startling speed. She stares back at you for several seconds, unmoving, before twitching slightly to stare at Hansol. Then, she bolts - disappearing into the adjacent corridor in the blink of an eye.

You glance at Hansol, who stares back at you equally confused.

“What was that about?” he questions. You lift your comms and page the Engineer.

“Liang? Come in, Liang.”

A couple moments later her voice rings through the device.

“What’s up, Captain?”

“Is everything okay? What are you doing in the upper decks?”

“I’m not in the upper decks,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Me and Destin are down on Deck 27 still. Haven’t found anything yet, though.”

You and Hansol stare at each other for a moment. The figure you just saw was undeniably Liang - her short stature and fiery red hair were a dead giveaway.

You switch the comms to all channels.

“Atlas Crew, report back with your positions,” you order the whole team.

A curt female voice rings through the comms. “Jones here, me and Ridley are on Deck 14, nearing the engine rooms.”

“Ridley here,” replies a deep voice. “Ditto.”

“Destin reporting from Deck 27,” a second male voice replies. “I��m here with Liang.”

A sinking feeling swells in your gut as the realization sets in: nobody is even remotely close to you and Hansol right now.

Your mind starts to race, but now is not the time to stand here and think. You raise your pulse rifle at the ready and motion for Hansol to follow you.

“Who the hell is up here with us, then?” he asks as he marches beside you with haste.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this one bit,” you mutter as you head toward the corridor the figure vanished into. “Something feels very off here."

The pneumatic door to the connecting corridor is sealed, but not locked. It opens as you approach it, revealing a short, dimly lit passageway leading to a handful of Emergency Ejection Modules. The gargantuan ship has many such escape pod installments - fortunately, you’ve never had to use any of them, but they do offer a sense of security when you’re stuck on board for months on end. However, their quiet stillness feels eerie as you peer down the vacant hallway, their glowing red standby lights glaring ominously back at you through the darkness. As you and Hansol slowly move down the corridor, you notice a faint, mellow beep resonating in the distance. Then, you see it: the lights of the furthest Module blinking slowly, in sync with the beeping sound. In glowing green text, the panel screen beside the pod’s airlock displays the words MODULE DEPLOYED. You tap the screen and pull up the record log; sure enough, the pod is gone - deployed not even one minute ago from this terminal.

WHOOOOSH

Startled, you jump slightly at the loud sound coming from behind. You whip your head around to see the pneumatic door sliding open, gatching the briefest glimpse of a large, dark shadow fleeing the corridor.

You cock your pulse rifle and charge after the figure, bursting back into the vivid light of the main corridor to see… nothing.

Hansol appears beside you in a flash, but also stops in his tracks. The hall is far too long for anyone to have escaped on foot already, and the airlock behind you wasn’t opened. Whoever you’re chasing after has seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call as you raise your comms. “I’m issuing a Code Orange effective immediately. Engage shipwide lockdown protocols and be on high alert. Rendezvous at the bridge ASAP.”

“Affirmative,” three voices reply one after the other.

“Affirmative,” Jones responds a moment later. “What’s going on, Captain?”

“I’ll explain when we get there, but be on high alert.” You glance nervously at Hansol, finding an equal amount of fear in his eyes. Somehow, you find it reassuring. You raise your arm once more to speak into the comms.

“There’s somebody else on this ship with us.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jones says as she reads the biologistics report on the screen for the fifth time. “There’s not a single biometric signal readout on this entire ship except for the six of us. If there were another human present on this ship - or any being for that matter - we would know about it even if they were dead.”

Your crew is gathered in the main control room on the bridge. You just finished giving them a detailed rundown of what you saw, relaying the uncanny events exactly as you witnessed them.

“And you’re sure it was me you saw?” Liang repeats, her brow furrowed.

“100%,” Hansol confirms. “They looked exactly like you. And besides, you’re the only one here with bright red hair.”

She lets out a somber laugh. “Fair enough. But it’s not like evil doppelgangers actually exist, and we’ve confirmed there’s no other living beings on board. So… you must have been seeing things right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply with a frown. “We both saw the exact same thing though.”

“You’re forgetting the missing creature.”

You turn, shifting your focus to the voice across the room. You see Destin, who had been silent until now. He sits hunched over in his chair, elbows balancing on his legs as he rests his chin upon his clasped hands. His legs bounce slightly in his usual anxious manner.

“What about it?”

“Nobody’s found the thing that escaped that crate,” he reminds the group.

“True,” you respond. “But whatever it is has to be dead by now. There’s no trace of it at all.”

“That’s just it, though.” His legs still as he sits up straight, resting his palms upon his knees. “Like Jones just said - if there were someone else on the ship we would know about it even if they were dead.”

The room fills with silence as everyone sinks deep into thought. Your mind races, trying to think of any logical explanation to any of this - but nothing makes sense.

“What about the Emergency Ejection Module?” Ridley finally asks, looking toward you and Hansol. “You guys said one was deployed as a decoy, but what if somebody… something was on it after all?”

Hansol quickly strides over to the nearest terminal, a blue glow illuminating his face as he pulls up the interface. His fingers fly as he speedily types upon the keypad. Every escape pod is equipped with a tracking device and a biometric monitor built in as a safety precaution; he hones in on the ejected module.

“I’ve located the pod.”

You hurry over to the terminal and look at the screen. Unfortunately, there’s no good news.

“It’s currently 0.02 parsecs from the ship. No sign of life on board. Or death.” His shoulders drop as he closes out the terminal in defeat. “There’s nothing.”

“Okay, so whoever we saw on the upper decks is still on the ship,” you state. “And we have an unknown specimen on the loose who is evading all detection. The most logical explanation is that the specimen is our mystery guy. But that doesn’t explain why they looked exactly like Liang. That part is…”

“Unsettling,” Hansol finishes your sentence for you. You nod in agreement.

Jones stares at the computer screen, reading the metrics over and over again in hopes of a revelation, but she knows the effort is futile. She shakes her head and turns the screen off with a sigh. “The way I see it, whatever escaped the crate is some kind of unknown biological specimen that can either shapeshift or induce hallucinations. Or maybe it’s advanced android technology. Regardless, we should still be able to detect something. But there’s not even a residual trace of electromagnetic radiation we can’t account for. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Chwe and I were on our way to the lab to analyze the substance we found in the crate,” you inform the crew. “Hopefully a molecular analysis will provide some insight into whatever the fuck is going on here.”

“I sure hope so,” Jones grimaces. “I’m not one to be superstitious, but I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

“What do you want us to do, boss?” Ridley asks from across the room. “While you guys run the tests?”

“Try and track down where that crate came from,” you tell him. “The mainframe language is in Acheron - that’s all I could glean, but start there and see if you can narrow down potential origin planets.”

You turn to the others. “Destin, you’re with me and Chwe. We need your expertise. Jones, Liang - try and figure out why we aren’t able to detect it. Search the scientific database - there’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

“What’s the protocol if we encounter the specimen?” Hansol’s voice resonates from behind. You turn, finding his eyes locked on you - focused and attentive.

“We know barely anything about it,” you respond, addressing the whole crew. “We don’t know its intentions or motives. But in an abundance of caution, assume the subject to be hostile. Set pulse rifles to stun - we don’t want to cause it any unnecessary harm. Worst case scenario, though…”

You hesitate. For all you know, whatever this species is may be friendly, intelligent. You certainly have a hunch that it has high intelligence - but as for friendly… Your gut tells you otherwise. And above all else, your duty is to protect your crew.

“If it comes down to it,” you continue, “do not put your life in jeopardy. Use your best judgement. Shoot to kill only as a very last resort.”

Several “yes, Captain”s are solemnly murmured through the room. Every member of your crew has years of experience under their belt, and you were all thoroughly trained for any type of situation. But simulated drills at the Academy, while intense, are nothing compared to the real thing - and none of you have ever experienced any true threats on a mission before.

Except for Hansol.

You don’t know the details. He’s never offered them, nor have you ever asked. But you know through the chatter of colleagues that one of his past missions involved an emergency on board, and - allegedly, according to some - one of the crewmates did not survive. Your gaze falls on him once more: still calm and collected, focused and taking his job seriously as usual. But his focus on you is more intense than you’re used to, and you detect a somber aura looming around him. You find yourself wanting to pat him on the arm, to tell him everything’s going to be okay. But, although you care greatly for each member of your crew, you know that would be starkly unprofessional. You cannot let your personal connection to Hansol cloud your attention right now.

And besides, you can’t tell him that anyway, because you don’t even know if you believe it yourself.

“These readouts are incredible - like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

You and Hansol stare at the monitor as Destin pulls up the lab results. You both have a fairly extensive background in science, as everyone who graduates from the Academy does, but the overwhelming jumble of data readouts on the screen are far beyond your paygrade. So you let your Science Officer do the interpreting.

“99% of all life discovered in the galaxy so far is carbon-based - it’s one of the most abundant elements in the universe, so that makes sense. But this specimen has a silicon-based biochemical makeup. Now, we have seen a few silicon-based lifeforms from a few remote planets, but all of them thus far have been primitive, relatively speaking,” he explains. “We’re talking mostly single-celled organisms. There’s been a small handful of multicellular silicon-based species discovered, but nothing more complex than bacteria or algae. Certainly nothing like the large and presumably-advanced specimen that’s running amok on the ship right now. But look at this…”

He pulls up a 3D image rendering of what you can only assume must be the creature’s DNA - but it’s nearly unrecognizable as such. The main culprit is its triple-helix structure - something that’s been theorized as potentially possible, but has never actually been seen before in nature. Though, the bizarre molecular formations you’re staring at makes you wonder if this creature is even naturally-occurring - it’s so strange that it almost makes you think it must have been engineered in a super-advanced laboratory, on some planet unknown to science.

“Obviously, the triple helix is astounding in and of itself,” Destin continues. “But even stranger is there is no water present in its chemical composition.”

“No water?” Hansol echoes, a perplexed expression etched onto his face. “Like, at all?”

“None whatsoever,” Destin confirms. “There are some known species who use ammonia as a solvent - which makes sense, because ammonia and water are both polar molecules, so their structure is similar. But this specimen appears to use methane as a solvent instead. Which, it’s a hydrocarbon, so that is theoretically possible, but with its tetrahedral structure…”

He glances over to you and Hansol, seeing that he’s starting to lose you in his technical jargon. He shakes his head, abandoning the in-depth explanation.

“Basically, this creature is theoretically possible. But for all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t exist.”

The laboratory air hangs still around the three of you as nobody speaks for several prolonged moments. An unnerving chill runs through your body - you thought you would feel better after gathering more information, but at this point you feel even worse. None of these findings comfort you in the slightest.

“Well, at least we have a lead here,” Hansol points out, breaking the silence. “We can eliminate a large majority of possible origin planets.”

“True,” Destin agrees. “It’s a good start. But I have a feeling based on this completely unfamiliar biochemistry that we might be dealing with an unregistered planet here.”

You frown, but you know he’s right. You may have narrowed your search down, but the answers you’ve found thus far have only led to more questions.

“There’s one more thing.”

Destin types on the interface again. An empty chart pops up on the screen.

“These are the readouts on the spectrometry analysis.”

“It looks blank,” you tell him, confused.

“Yeah. It is.”

He turns back to you, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent than normal.

“That’s not a mistake - the test was completed. The results are either nonexistent or off the charts, neither of which makes any sense. Basically, all living beings produce bioelectric fields, giving off some form of radiation. Radio, infrared, our visible spectrum, ultraviolet - wherever it is on the electromagnetic spectrum, there should be detectable waves. But there’s nothing.”

“How is that possible, then?” Hansol asks.

“I don’t know,” Destin responds quietly. “I can’t even begin to reason why this might be the case. But this must be why we aren’t able to detect it.”

He looks anxious, and you don’t blame him. It’s your job as Captain to know what’s happening on the ship at all times - uncertainty is not an option.

“Send these results over to Ridley and Liang,” you tell him. “We can rendezvous with them and see if they’ve found anything. Maybe they can help fill in some of the missing pieces.”

“The good news is: based on its system’s language, I’ve definitely narrowed down the crate’s potential origin.”

Ridley picks up a mug sitting on his desk, taking a large sip of what appears to be lukewarm black coffee. His small office very clearly is not meant to accommodate four people at once; you crowd around his screen, standing sandwiched between Destin and Hansol as you listen to his report.

“And the bad news?” Hansol inquires.

“The bad news… only to around 50,000 star systems.”

“Fifty thousand??” Destin blurts out, incredulous. “That’s it?!”

“Hey, out of the one billion star systems in the galaxy known to have life? Could be a lot worse,” Ridley counters.

“Did you import the data from Destin’s test results?” you ask. “Maybe that can help pinpoint it further.”

“Unfortunately, that didn’t help. In fact it eliminated all 50,000 of them - not a single one has an atmospheric composition matching the creature’s biology.”

“Sounds like you were right,” you nod your head toward Destin. “The creature must be from an unregistered planet, then. Whatever planet this crate came from was probably just transporting it.”

“I’ll check the ship logs and see if I can piece together where we might have picked this crate up,” Ridley states. “I don’t think that will tell us any more about the creature but maybe we can figure out how we ended up with it in the first place.”

You nod in agreement. “Destin, you go with Ridley. Hansol and I will see what Jones and Liang are up to.”

As if summoned, you hear Jones’ voice echo from your comms.

“Captain, come in. Are you alright?”

You stare at the device for a moment. The other crew members in the room turn to look at you, also confused. You raise your wrist toward your face to reply.

“I’m here. What do you mean?”

“We just saw you down the corridor but you were acting… weird. Are you on Deck 7 right now?”

Your stomach drops.

“No, we’re in Ridley’s office. Jones, that wasn’t me.”

“Shit. It looked just like you, Captain, I swear,” she replies.

“What was… it doing?” you ask reluctantly. But you have to know.

“You… well, the creature I guess - it was walking really fast toward the medical bay. I called your name out and it turned and looked at me but…” her voice trails off. “I’m not gonna lie, the look in your- its eyes scared the shit out of me. It was a cold dead stare. Then it said something but I couldn’t understand, it was unintelligible. But it was your voice, Captain.”

You instinctively look up at Hansol, meeting his gaze with horror in your eyes. He looks deeply concerned, but he remains calm. You would never admit it to him, but his presence always reassures you when you would otherwise be freaking out. You take a deep breath; your mind refocuses, and you decide you can worry about the details later.

“Should we go after it?” Jones’ voice rings through the comms.

“No, not yet - it’s too risky. Stay where you are, Hansol and I are on our way.”

You signal to your Pilot to follow, but he’s already by your side, pulse rifle at the ready.

"Turn your locators on your comms on,” you order to the whole crew. “Send a ping to check positions if you see somebody out of place. Report back with any anomalies. And stick with your partner at all times. I don’t want anybody going off by themselves.”

You and Hansol head straight for Deck 7, walking hastily but with caution. Every corner you turn, every airlock you open - you expect to see the image of a crew member lurking there, out of place. You remain focused, but there’s no denying you’re a little on edge.

Hansol notices, of course - he always does. You’re good at hiding it when you’re stressed or anxious - it’s part of the job, after all - but he’s known you long enough to recognize that you’re growing increasingly nervous. He watches the back of your head as you walk briskly down the corridor, alert and attentive as you clear each passing airlock.

“Hey,” he speaks softly. “Captain.”

You make sure the next hallway is clear before turning to face the voice behind you. It’s just Hansol, but something about seeing him gives you a sense of reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Do you think we should send a distress signal?”

You pause for a moment, staring off into the distance as you mull over his words. Slowly, you begin to nod your head.

“I’ve been considering it for a while now,” you admit. “I didn’t want to jump the gun, but I think at this point it’s better safe than sorry.”

“I agree,” he nods. “Let’s head to the bridge after we meet up with Jones and Liang - no need to split up.”

You continue toward Deck 7. As you near where your crew is stationed, you hear loud banging sounds, followed by a thunderous CRASH. Your heart rate spikes. Glancing at Hansol, he looks equally as concerned. You raise your pulse rifles and start running toward the noises, when then you hear Liang’s voice ringing through the hallway.

“FUUUUCCCKKKKKK!!!”

You and Hansol burst into the room, prepared for the worst - but all you see is the Engineering Lab, looking like a tornado went through it. Liang is at one of the workstations, smashing some sort of device with a hammer while screaming expletives. Jones is laying on the floor, looking like she has given up.

“What the hell is going on??” you inquire loudly, relieved that there is no emergency but exasperated from the near-heart attack Liang almost gave you. “I thought you were dying in here!”

“Liang is smashing her third attempt at a tracking device with a hammer,” Jones remarks dryly. “I’m lying on the floor.”

“Yes, I see that,” you reply with an eye roll.

“It’s not BANG fucking BANG WORKING!!!” Liang bellows, giving the busted machine a final BANG before shoving it off the desk. Her shoulders slump as she hangs her head in her hands. You glance at Hansol out of the corner of your eye; he meets your gaze. You stare at each other for a moment, then the corners of his mouth start to twitch. You bite your lip to prevent bursting out in laughter; Hansol tries his hardest to stifle his grin. Nothing about this situation is funny, but the ridiculousness of it all definitely offers some comic relief.

Hansol clears his throat, shoving the laughter back down. “Um, so what have you tried so far?”

“Well, somebody fucked up the first machine because they got a little too solder-happy,” Liang grumbles, shooting a glare at Jones.

“I said I was sorry!” Jones retorts, exaggeratedly throwing her hands up into the air.

“The second one was close, I could feel it - but then I fucked up the wiring so bad I just decided to start from scratch again.”

“And you see how well that went,” Jones teases. Liang picks up a pencil and chucks it at Jones, hitting her in the forehead.

“OW!”

“Get up, dumbass. Make yourself useful and go get some power couplers,” Liang gestures at the giant wall of spare parts.

“Alright, alright! Damn!”

She hops up and brushes hastily past a shocked-looking Hansol to go fetch the requested parts. You laugh, remembering that this is his first mission working with these two.

“They’re always like this,” you reassure him out of earshot of your crew members. “Trust me, they’re best friends.”

Hansol scratches his head, letting out a nervous laugh.

“If you say so, boss.”

You head over to Liang’s workstation as she plops what you can only assume is Attempt #2 onto the desk. It’s a bulky, unsightly thing - a crudely-soldered collection of mismatched parts - but as she flips a switch it whirrs to life, displaying a blue hologram screen that you recognize as the ship’s schematics. Four glowing white dots appear upon the map.

“So obviously, that’s us,” Liang states. She makes some adjustments, zooming the display out to show the whole ship, and two additional white dots pop up. “And that’s Destin and Ridley up on Deck 3. Still no sign of our alien anywhere.”

“I assume you built an electroscope into the device?” Hansol asks Liang.

“Yeah, but it’s not detecting any anomalies.”

“What’s the detection threshold for static electricity, millivolts? Microvolts?”

“Microvolts,” Liang answers, raising her eyebrow at Hansol. “Why?”

“Instead of volts, hone in on the amps,” he instructs. “And up the sensitivity to nanoamps. I have a hunch.”

“Oookay,” she agrees with a shrug. “Can’t hurt to try anyways.”

Jones returns, setting a handful of power couplers on the desk. Hansol gets to work rummaging through endless boxes of parts; he returns in a few minutes with dozens of tiny pieces of machinery. He and Liang get to work, fine-tuning the machine. You don’t exactly want to sit around doing nothing, but you’re not much use here - and besides, you could use a few moments of rest. You plop down on a nearby rusty folding chair, watching your crew diligently fiddle with the contraption, but you quickly catch yourself zoning out. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until right now. You close your eyes, just for a minute, you tell yourself. Just a quick breather…

“Captain!”

You jolt awake from the nap you didn’t know you were taking, nearly falling off the flimsy chair.

“What’s happening?” you ask frantically. “What time is it? What-”

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up to find Hansol’s face hovering above yours.

“God, you have got to stop doing that!”

“Sorry,” he replies with a sheepish smile. “We finished.”

“Fuck, how long was I out?”

“16 minutes and 58 seconds,” Jones reads from her watch.

“Oh,” you say as the panic in your body ceases. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, because me and Hansol are geniuses,” Liang says smugly.

“Well, does it work?” you inquire, getting up and walking back to the workstation.

“Don’t know,” Hansol replies matter-of-factly. “We’re about to fire it up.”

“Moment of truth…” Liang says with hesitant optimism. She flips a few switches, but the machine remains silent. Her eyes widen, looking like she’s about to reach for her hammer again, but fortunately the machine slowly starts booting up.

“Oh thank fuck,” she exhales. The blue screen pops up again, showing the same dots as before. Grimacing, she stares at the machine tiredly. “Well, nevermind that.”

“Wait,” you call out, leaning in to get a better look at the display. “Zoom in on our location.”

Liang zooms in on the Engineering Lab, the cluster of four dots growing larger.

No… five dots.

Everyone stares at the display in silence, processing what is being shown.

“Zoom back out?” Jones requests quietly.

Liang zooms out. Two additional dots appear for Ridley and Destin, still on Deck 3. You look back at the five dots in the Engineering Lab. Four are stationary, the fifth one slowly circling the others.

“There it is…” Liang utters, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You raise your comms to your chin. “Ridley, Destin, come in. State your locations,” your voice wavers as you ask the question you already know the answer to.

“Ridley here. I’m with Destin on Deck 3.”

“Destin here, copy that.”

You ping them on the locator, just to triple check - but they are indeed still up on Deck 3.

You stare at the fifth dot at your location. It’s still circling the other four, the eerie steadiness of its creeping pace sending a haunting chill up your spine. You feel the room shift, abject horror washing over everyone’s faces as the severity of the situation sinks in.

You slowly raise your pulse rifle, signaling for your crew to do the same. Everyone looks around the room anxiously.

“Where the hell is it?” Jones whispers reluctantly. The room falls silent as everyone tries to detect any trace of the creature. Then, you hear it.

swhoooooosh

The sound comes from above. It’s almost undetectable, but you hear it: the sound of wet, muted slithering from hell, accompanied by horrid crackling noises.

Hansol hears it too. He peers up, staring at the ceiling, his eyes widening with fear.

“It’s in the walls.”

“How…” Jones’ voice trails off momentarily. “I thought it was supposed to be gigantic… how can it fit in there?”

“I don’t know,” you respond as you cock your rifle, holding it at the ready. You point the barrel at the source of the sounds, tracing steadily along the ceiling as you hear it move above you. “But that doesn’t really matter right now. Everyone stick together at the center of the room - but hold your fire.”

“Blasters to stun?” Hansol checks, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he takes his position beside you. You turn, unintentionally staring directly into his eyes; your mind is racing, but his steadfast gaze grounds you back in reality. You nod at him.

“For now,” you add quietly.

The slithering and crunching continues, barely audible, but it echoes through your skull like nails on a chalkboard. You continue tracing the sounds with the muzzle of your rifle, when suddenly the noises cease, right above a vent cover.

“The vent!” Jones stammers. Time seems to freeze as you all stare at the hatch in the ceiling, terrified to blink or breathe lest it makes its move. You don’t know how much time passes - all you can focus on is the dreadful roar of blood rushing through your ears. Your heart pounds in your chest, so heavily it threatens to burst through your ribcage. But all there is is silence. Until-

BANG.

The vent cover rattles in its frame as the creature slams against it.

BANG.

Dust and particles trickle down from the ceiling. The whole room seems to shake.

BANG.

The vent protrudes from the blows, threatening to burst at the seams.

BANG!!!!

The dense metal covering gives way, falling to the ground below. Harsh clanging sounds ricochet through the room as it bounces off the floor - but the creature remains in the shadows above.

“I can’t see it,” Liang frantically hollers, staring up into the dark hole. “Where is it?”

Nobody moves as dust and shards of metal settle onto the ground, leaving behind deafening silence. Then, a series of deep, hollow clicks starts rippling through the air - you can’t tell where it’s coming from, it feels like it's all around you. A large dark figure suddenly plummets to the ground, landing with another deafening CRASH. You immediately fire your weapon, but it darts away, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s over there!!” Jones screams, firing at a black blurry form in the corner of the room. You turn your head, trying to follow the horrid clicking sounds, but it’s as if you’re moving in slow motion - by the time you are facing it, it darts off in another direction. You do your best to aim and shoot, but your vision grows fuzzy, your head spinning with vertigo as you struggle to maintain focus.

“I can’t see!!” somebody shrieks. The room wobbles around you as you try to locate the creature, but it's near impossible. Finally, you spot the dark figure hovering not five feet in front of you, standing above one of your crew - your vision is too obscured to tell who. It raises its appendage, ready to attack. You scream, raising your pulse rifle with frustrating slowness, aiming it at the creature, but you know you’re too late. The crew member cries out in terror as the creature swings toward them, but then the room fills with a blinding flash of somebody firing point-blank at the creature. The creature howls, flying back up into the vent in a single leap. You hear it slithering away, its body crunching and creaking as it forces itself through the walls. By the time you can see straight again, it’s long gone.

Your eyes focus on the crew member laying upon the ground: it’s Jones. Her left sleeve is ripped clean off her jumpsuit, exposing a set of three slashes in her skin. You rush to her side, careful not to touch the wound. All things considered, it could be a lot worse - it’s not very deep, just a scratch, but the wound is already turning a concerning shade of purple. You whip your head up to find Hansol - you spot him across the room, helping Liang off the ground, both of them seemingly unscathed. Jones grits her teeth as she groans, clutching her arm in pain.

“How bad is it?” she asks reluctantly.

“Not the worst I’ve ever, but also not great,” you tell her truthfully. “Looks like our alien is venomous, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, might explain why it feels like my bones are on fire,” she remarks with a forced laugh. Hansol and Liang appear by your side, crouching down to get a good look at the wound.

“Yikes,” Hansol exclaims as his face grows contorted with disgust. Liang elbows him in the rib. “I mean, you’ll be fine,” he adds. He looks up at you. “Looks like we need an antidote. I think we can use the goo.”

“Shit, you’re right.” You jump into action, paging your Destin and Ridley on your comms. “Atlas crew, come in. We encountered the alien. This is Code Red - I repeat, this is Code Red.”

“Is everyone alright? What happened?” Ridley’s voice rings through the device.

“I… I don’t know really. We were attacked. Jones got hit and turns out the damn thing is venomous. We need an antidote - Destin, you there?”

“Copy, Captain. I can use the sample from earlier to cook one up. We’ll head to the lab, stat.”

“Wait,” you reply hastily. You return to the tracking device, thankfully unharmed despite the commotion. Zooming out, you see the seventh dot rapidly heading toward the upper decks.

“It’s headed right toward you. You have to go now - and FAST.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Destin responds. “We’re quite close to the Laboratory so we should be okay, but we’ll remain on high alert.”

“Keep us updated. Liang will take Jones straight to the Medical Bay. Me and Hansol will meet you at the lab to fetch the antidote.”

“Got it.”

You grab the bulky tracking device off the desk, taking a spare strap of leather from the ground and hurriedly fastening it to the device with some rivets. You go to put the strap around your shoulders, when Hansol stops you.

“I’ll take it,” he insists, attaching the device to himself before you can protest. “You’re a better shot than me, in case we encounter that fucking thing again.”

“Captain-” Liang shouts from behind. You turn to see her lifting Jones off the ground, but barely - as Jones is nearly a head taller than herself. They both stumble - you rush in to grab Jones’ torso, hoisting her back up while being careful to avoid touching the wound. You look back at Hansol.

“I’ll go get the antidote. You guys get Jones to Medical.”

“No!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I don’t want you going by yourself. Come with us-”

Hansol shakes his head. “You know it’ll be faster if I go alone. We can’t waste any time.” He gestures to Jones’ arm, which is even more purple at this point.

You sigh reluctantly, but you know he’s right.

“But be careful,” you tell him sternly. “Please,” you add in a softer voice.

He gives you a quick salute, then disappears out of the room, tracking device and pulse rifle in tow. An anxious pit starts to develop in your stomach, but you ignore it. He’ll be fine, you tell yourself. And you know it’s true. But if something happened to Hansol… you would never be able to forgive yourself.

Turning back to Jones, you hoist her up so she can lean most of her weight on you. Liang pulls her rifle at the ready - and the three of you take off to the Medical Bay. It’s not terribly far from where you are, but having to drag an entire crew member with you makes the journey feel ten times longer than it actually is. You wish you had the tracking device to calm your nerves, but you know it was the right decision for Hansol to take it - he is heading in the same direction as the creature, after all. Eleven grueling minutes later, you arrive at the Medical Bay. You quickly help Jones into a medical capsule - the stasis technology won’t stop the venom from spreading, but it will at least slow it down slightly. You just hope and pray it’s enough.

“I’m going to the Bridge to send the distress signal,” you inform Liang. “Stay here with Jones, ping my comms if anything changes.” She stares back at you solemnly, not liking that you have to go off alone too, but she nods in agreement.

You run as fast as you can toward the Bridge, willing the creature to be anywhere else but in your path. You approach the final corridor, relief washing over you that you’re almost there. The pneumatic door whooshes open as you turn the corner; you look down the long hall to see the Bridge’s bright blue security door-

And Hansol is standing right in front of it.

Except, it’s not Hansol. You don’t even have to stop and think about it, you just know: that’s. not. him.

The creature disguised as Hansol stands unnaturally stiff, in an unnaturally wide stance, shoulders hunched in a way that seems painful. But the dead giveaway is the eyes - instead of the familiar warm gaze of Hansol’s brown eyes, you are met with a cold, hard glare of solid black irises. The hollow, disturbing clicking sounds from earlier begin again as the creature contorts Hansol’s lips into a hideous snarl. The same disgusting slimy goo you found in the crate starts to ooze from Hansol’s mouth, frothing and gurgling repulsively; it has also started pooling around Hansol’s boots where the vile creature stands. You stare back at it intensely, trying to see if you can get any read on it, any sense of kindness or well intentions - but all you can glean from its dead piercing eyes is a dark, harrowing sense of evil.

Then, it charges at you.

The Hansol doppelganger runs awkwardly, but startlingly fast, speeding straight down the corridor to where you stand. You don’t even have time to think - you shut the airlock and engage the blast shields moments before it reaches you. It thuds against the blast shields with a thunderous BANG.

You run. You don’t know where you’re going, you just run - as fast as you possibly can. All you can hear as you run away is

BANG.

It grows quieter the further you run, but you know if the creature can’t break down the blast doors it will just find another way out. You run, zig-zagging randomly down the corridors, until your legs feel like they’re going to give out. You slow to a stop - just for a moment, to catch your breath, when Ridley’s voice suddenly echoes from your comms.

“I just ran into the alien,” he frantically informs all channels. “And it fucking looked like me.”

“Ridley - are you hurt?” you quickly respond.

“My shoulder, it might be sprained,” he groans. “I’ll live. But shit, that was fucked up man, that was so fucked up…”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I turned the corner and saw myself standing right in front of me, god it was so fucking weird. But Captain - it talked. In my own voice. It said… It asked me, ‘Whoooo areeee youuuuu’. Fuck, it was so creepy. I blasted it in the face five times, that fucker barely even flinched. Then it picked me up and threw me into the wall. Landed on my shoulder, I think I might have sprained it - but I’ll live.”

“Where is it now, Ridley?” you ask imperatively. “Where did it go?”

“Ran off toward the upper decks, I think. Starboard.”

You look up, checking the corridor number where you ended up. Sure enough, the creature must be headed your way. Just my fucking luck. You start off in the opposite direction, aiming to avoid running into it, when you hear the thump thump thump thump of heavy footsteps growing louder.

It’s coming.

You have no time to think. You spot a supply closet - definitely not the world’s greatest hiding place, but it’ll have to do. You pull the door shut as you stumble into the closet, practically throwing yourself to the ground. You sit against the wall behind one of the shelves, pulse rifle across your lap in case you need to think quick. The thump thump thump thump-ing continues, the owner of the footsteps clearly getting closer. And closer. And closer. Then, they stop - right outside the closet door. You practically hold your breath, lest you make any sound to alert it to your presence. The doorknob squeaks as it slowly turns; bright light floods the small closet as the door opens. You raise your weapon, aiming it at- Hansol?

His eyes widen as he stares down the barrel of your rifle. He gently raises his hands, gesturing to you to lower the weapon.

“Hey, Captain-”

“Don’t move!!” you scream, rifle trembling in your grasp.

“Captain, it’s me-”

“How do I know it’s really you??”

Tears flood your eyes as you stare down your Pilot, blaster aimed directly at his head.

“Y/n, what happened?”

His soft voice fills your ears. You stare into his eyes - warm, brown, gazing down at you with concern. Those are Hansol’s eyes alright, but you know the alien keeps getting better at mimicking your crew - plus, it can speak now. You have to be sure.

“Tell me something so I know it’s really you,” you demand, your voice wavering. “Something only the real Hansol would know.”

He looks back at you for a moment, thinking.

“Do you remember how we first met?”

You stare up at him, still afraid, but you wait for him to continue.

“It was our first year at the Academy, on our third day of training. I was exhausted already - we all were. That first week was rough, I mean they really tried to kill us with the physical examinations, huh,” he says, a small grin appearing on his face as he reminisces. “Anyway, I didn’t know it but I had somehow already made an enemy. Chadley Praxton.” Mumbling, he adds, “stupid fucking name…” You’re still trembling, but the corners of your mouth twitch briefly into the tiniest of smiles. “Anyway, he was an asshole and decided I was a nerd or something, I don’t know what his deal was. In the mess hall that night he kept throwing peas at my head, for some reason. I ignored it, but then he started flinging bits of mashed potatoes with his spoon. I grabbed my tray and started to leave - but not before this random girl from my barracks walked right past him and dumped her full cup of cola and ice on his head.” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “You went, ‘Oops! Sorry!' in the most insincere tone and just kept walking. That’s when I knew I wanted to be your friend.”

He makes eye contact with you again, the smile on his face so kind you almost forget where you were for a moment. You go to lower your weapon, but realize you’ve already lowered it. You drop it to the ground, then burst into tears.

Hansol stands there, unsure what to do for a moment.

“Can I… come in?”

Your face is buried in your hands as you sob uncontrollably, but you nod. He enters the supply closet, shutting the door gently behind him, then plops down right next to you. Hesitantly, he gives you a couple pats on the shoulder - you lean in to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Fuck it, he decides, and wraps his arm around you, letting you cry as he holds you. After a few minutes, you start to calm down.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed sniffle. “I didn’t mean to have a mental breakdown on you.”

“It’s okay.”

He rubs your arm as he embraces you, letting you lean against him still. You wonder when the last time you felt this calm was.

“I ran into the creature earlier. It looked like you, but it was all horribly wrong,” you explain. “That’s why I freaked out when I saw you.”

You feel him nod. “I figured.”

“Hansol, I was so fucking scared. I mean, I still am - I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I hate not knowing.”

“I know, me too,” he says as he rests his chin against the top of your head. “It’s going to be okay though.” He pauses, then somberly adds: “It has to be.”

You sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the steady rhythm of Hansol’s heart beating in his chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

You lift your head up to look at him after you ask. You see your trusty Pilot before you, but more importantly, you see your friend. Hansol.

“Sure,” he answers. “Of course.”

“I’ve heard rumors, but I’ve never known for sure. Did you have a mission that ended… badly?”

Hansol closes his eyes, giving you a solemn nod.

“Yeah. Four years ago, I was on a short transport mission. Was supposed to be super easy - one payload to be picked up and delivered. We’d all done it a hundred times. We were nearly at the destination planet when the ship had a strange malfunction. One of the engines shut down and nobody could figure out why. I offered to suit up and go check it out, but our Captain insisted he would go instead. Because it was my birthday.” He laughs softly. “He was always like that - he really cared about the crew. Just like you do.”

He looks back to you as he says it, and it makes your heart sink.

“So he went out to do a routine maintenance check. But, turns out the engine shut down due to a gas leak. I don’t know how it went undetected, but it did. The moment he took a pistol grip to the tank carriage, it exploded.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter softly.

“Yeah. It severed his tether and pierced his primary life support system. He died instantly.”

A gentle stream of tears falls from each of his eyes, running gracefully down his face.

“We had to make an emergency evacuation in the auxiliary shuttle. There was no time to even retrieve his body. That was the worst part of it all: watching him float off into the void of space as we flew away to safety, knowing there was absolutely nothing we could do. I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head. It haunts me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his.

You stay there together, sitting in silence for a bit. You find yourself leaning your head on his shoulder again - it’s comforting for both of you.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He tilts his head to look at you. “For what?”

“For being there.”

He smiles softly. “You too.”

You sit up abruptly. “The antidote!! And the distress call! Did we-”

“We got it,” he answers immediately, quelling your worries. “I noticed the distress signal wasn’t sent yet, so after I delivered the antidote to the Med Bay I went to the Bridge - everyone else stayed behind with Jones. You weren’t in the Bridge, so I sent the distress call and went to come find you.”

“Why didn’t you just call me on the comms?”

He grins, lifting up his wrist to show the busted remains of what was once his comms.

“What the fuck did you do?” you inquire, your eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Had a brief run in with the alien. It was a giant dark blur again - I fired at it like 15 times in a row but it still managed to body slam me into the ground.” He shrugs. “Then it ran off.”

“And the only thing hurt was your comms?”

“Um, I might have a broken rib,” he admits, scratching his head. “But it’s fine.”

“What?! Okay, come on, let’s get you to Medical too.”

“I’m fine, really,” he insists, but he reaches for the tracking device from his stash. “Here.” He fires it up, the hologram display projecting seven white dots before you. Two are you and Hansol, in this stupid supply closet. Four are the rest of your crew up in the Medical Bay. And one lone dot lingers near the engine rooms.

“Okay, the creature isn’t close, that’s good,” you comment. “But why is it down there…”

“I dunno, but it can’t possibly be up to anything good.”

You and Hansol make it back to the Medical Bay with no issues - the creature appears to be staying put for now. You’re relieved to find Jones with two intact arms, the sickly scratches looking significantly less purple after the antidote.

“Practically good as new, boss,” Jones announces cheerfully. “I’m ready to get back out there. What’s our game plan?”

“Well, Hansol sent the distress signal but so far, no response. One option: stay here - lock down Med Bay and wait for someone to pick up our beacon.”

“And hope and pray that the creature can’t break in?” Destin questions. You sigh, but you know he’s right. “What are our other options?” he asks.

“Well, we could-”

Your sentence is cut off by the sudden blaring of the emergency alarms.

Startled, everybody jumps to their feet. A loud, grating bell rings on top of the piercing sirens.

“What’s happening?” Liang shouts over the noise.

Hansol is already at the terminal, pulling up the reports. His face drops as he reads the text on the glowing blue screen.

“One of the exhaust pumps on the portside engines is malfunctioning!” he shouts urgently.

“What??” you shout back. “How-”

You are interrupted by another bell ringing.

“A second exhaust pump is offline??” Hansol yells with confusion. He scrambles back to the tracking device - six dots up in Med Bay, one down in the engine room.

Another bell. You don’t have to look at the terminal to know exactly what is happening.

“That thing is dismantling the exhaust pumps!!” you shout, watching as fear washes over your crew’s faces yet again.

“The ship is gonna fucking blow if it keeps this up!!” Liang shrieks.

You find yourself looking to Hansol. He nods to you, and you know what must be done.

“EVERYBODY TO THE AUXILIARY SHIP,” you command your crew. “WE’RE EVACUATING - NOW.”

“What about the alien??” Ridley yells. “What if it comes after us?”

You look back at him, replying with a single word.

“Run.”

The blaring alarms screech in your ears as you and your crew bolt through the ship, heaving footsteps clanging against the metal floors as the emergency lights flood the hallways with their incessant flashing. You sprint, as fast as your exhausted body will allow, but time seems to lag, your movements occurring in slow motion. But you can’t stop - not until your whole crew is safe.

“It’s running right towards us!” Hansol hollers from right behind you. “Approaching fast, from behind, 1000 meters…” Then, seconds later, “800 meters… 600…”

“Shit,” you growl under your breath. You yank your pulse rifle up, cranking the blaster to maximum voltage. You’re not taking any more fucking chances.

“500 meters,” Hansol shouts. “400… 300…”

You stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the hallway you just came from. Your crew follows suit.

“KEEP GOING,” you shout to your crew.

“No way,” Ridley shouts back. “We’re sticking with you.”

“THAT’S AN ORDER.”

You scan the faces of your crew - they are filled with terror, but you see the determination in their eyes. They each salute you, then run. You watch the backs of their heads as they flee down the corridor. A horrible feeling that you will never see them again creeps into your head.

You turn back around, Hansol standing beside you, ready to fight.

“Hansol, GO.”

He shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not leaving you, Captain.”

He looks at the tracking device once more.

“200 meters, 150, 100…”

You hold your ground, bracing yourself for the worst. You hear the repulsive scuttle of the creature’s footsteps, rapidly approaching, accompanied by the god-awful scraping of its claws against metal. You aim at the airlock, finger on the trigger - but the pneumatic door doesn’t open. The horrifying realization sinks in as you hear it stomp and crunch above your head, passing you in an instant as it heads directly for the auxiliary ship.

“It’s still in the fucking walls!” you yell urgently to the rest of your crew over your comms. “It’s heading straight for our escape route - divert course immediately!!”

Several seconds pass with no response, and you fear for the worst. But then you hear Jones’ voice crackling through.

“We’re headed to the nearest Emergency Ejection Modules,” she shouts through the static. “We lost Destin though, I don’t know where he went!”

“Keep going - don’t stop for anything.”

You switch channels, pinging Destin’s comms.

“Destin, come in - where are you?”

“I’m going to distract it,” his voice rings distantly through the device. “You and Hansol get to the auxiliary ship, I’ll lure it away.”

“No! It’s too dangerous-”

“Godspeed, Captain.”

The channel goes quiet as he shuts off his comms.

“What the fuck is he doing??” you cry out, staring incredulously at Hansol.

“I don’t know, but it’s working,” he replies as he looks down at the tracking device. You see two stray dots on the map, heading for the aft. The confusion on Hansol’s face lifts as he realizes.

“I think he’s going to try and trap it in the garbage receptacle.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you grumble.

“What do we do?”

You meet Hansol’s eyes. He patiently awaits your order, looking back at you with all the trust in the galaxy. It nearly rips your heart in half.

“I don’t-”

BOOOOOOOOM.

The rumbling explosion cuts you off. You feel the ground shake beneath your feet.

“That was nearby,” Hansol announces with concern. Pulling up the map again you see a third dot on the deck above your current position, unmoving. Another dot speeds back in the direction of the other crew members.

“Quick!” You sprint up the nearest stairwell, Hansol right by your side. Up on the next deck you find yourself in Central Mainframe Storage, but one of the huge towers of computers has been fully knocked over. Spark zap in the air as the exposed wiring flickers to death. Then, at the other end of the room, you spot your Science Officer. He clings to the Terminal as balances himself on one leg, the other appearing to be badly mangled.

“Destin!” you shout. He peers over his shoulder, his face contorted with pain.

“You have to go,” he tells you somberly as he types a long string of codes into the Terminal. “I’m gonna blow this shit to pieces.”

Flashing red lights fill the room as a deep, thundering alarm overtakes the air. The sound fills you with imminent dread.

“Emergency Self-Destruct System activated,” a robotic female voice echoes through the chamber. “T-minus 10 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Destin what the hell?!?!” you shriek.

“This is all my fault,” he laments, hanging his head low in shame. “I’m the one who allowed the crate containing the specimen on board.”

“What? I…” you struggle to form words as shock, confusion, betrayal course through you all at once. “Why?”

“Three months ago I was contacted by a strange man. I never even found out his name, he told me just to refer to him as The Ambassador.” He rolls his eyes with a huff. “That should’ve been the first red flag. But he was looking for a recruit to help him on a project called Operation Prometheus. He told me it was a classified government-funded operation and that he couldn’t give me many details, but he needed somebody on the inside to help him bypass security measures to get a crate on this ship for its next mission. I don’t know where it came from, it was being transferred from another cargo ship. Another measure to bury the trail, I guess. But the payout was incredible, almost too good to be true, but he paid me 50% up front. So I agreed. He told me the crate contained new weapon technologies, but he assured me it was perfectly safe for transport.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I should’ve known better. I don’t think he meant for the alien to ever escape, but regardless I shouldn’t have trusted a word he said.” He pauses, lips quivering as tears start to fall from his eyes. “The only reason I did it was for my family - my daughter, she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder last year. I took on extra missions, my wife got a second job even, but the bills were insurmountable. We were drowning. Even just the 50% payment was enough to change our lives. My family can be free now.”

“T-minus 9 minutes until self-destruction,” the robotic voice booms through the air.

“You have to go,” he urges you and Hansol.

“We can get you out of here-” Hansol starts, but Destin waves his hand.

“It’s too late, I’m not going to make it,” he shakes his head in defeat. “My leg is broken to pieces and I’ve lost too much blood.”

“Shut up, you’re coming with us,” Hansol snaps, charging over to the Terminal, but he stops in his tracks as Destin raises his rifle at him.

“Please,” he begs. “I couldn’t live with myself anyway. My will to live is long gone.”

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Go!!” he insists again. You grab Hansol’s arm, pulling him along as you back out of the room. He looks at you, distress coloring his face. You shake your head in defeat.

“There’s no time.”

He nods, reluctant, but he understands. As you step back into the hallway, you take one last look at your Science Officer. Solemnly, he gives you a final salute. He disappears as the airlock shuts itself closed.

“The alien is still headed toward the rest of the crew,” Hansol informs you. “I think we can make it to the auxiliary ship in time.”

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call to all channels, panting through labored breaths as you and Hansol run down the hallway. “The alien is headed directly toward your position, get out of there.”

“Roger, Captain,” Ridley responds immediately. “We’re all in the Modules, ready to Evacuate. We may lose contact once we stray too far from the ship.”

“Ejection in 10 seconds,” Liang announces through the comms. “Goodbye Captain, Hansol. If you two don’t make it out alive I’ll kill you.”

A smile spreads across your face. “Godspeed, Crew.”

“Catch you on the flip side,” says Jones. A loud whooshing sound overtakes the comms - the Modules have deployed.

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“We’re almost there,” Hansol shouts over the awful cacophony of sirens and alarms. You turn the corner, the airlock to the auxiliary ship waiting for you at the end of the corridor. You sprint down the hall, traversing the final 50 meters as fast as you possibly can. You reach the door, scanning your hand to unlock it. It zips open, and you and Hansol practically throw yourselves into the airlock.

“T-minus 7 minutes until self-destruction.”

You scramble into the craft, sealing the blast doors on the airlock and taking your respective places on the flight deck. Hansol fires up the ignition - it gives a few sad-sounding spurts, but the engines fail to start. He stares at the controls, trying again. Same thing. He tries again. And again.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mumbles, burying his face in his hands as he sinks into the chair in defeat. “You have got to be joking.”

You flip a few more switches - the interior lights turn on, as does the climate control.

“We have power,” you tell him. “The engines just aren’t firing. Looks like the combustion chambers are offline.” You groan as you too sink into your seat. “I don’t think we could even fix that if we tried.”

“T-minus 6 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Fucking SHUT UP!!!” you scream at the robot voice. Taking a deep breath, you quietly ask Hansol, “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

He thinks, staring blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly, he bolts upright. He starts flipping switches and adjusting dials on the deck. “We have system power, right? So we can at least detach. We float away until the main ship self-destructs, then the explosion will propel us away. Comms are up, we can send a distress signal once we reach a safe distance.”

“‘The explosion will propel us away’.” you repeat. “That, or it blows us to smithereens.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

You mull it over briefly, then shrug your shoulders. “It’s the best shot we’ve got. Let’s do it.”

Hansol dismantles the coupling, detaching the smaller ship from the main hull. Without power, you linger for a moment, but then the ship jolts, sending you floating out of the bay.

“T-minus 5 minutes until self-destruction,” you hear the ominous voice fade as you slowly drift away.

The ambient humming of the ship’s generator fills the air as you sit there together in silence, unmoving except for the steady heaving of your tired chests, waiting out the longest five minutes of your life. You watch the seconds fall in the countdown as you drift, putting good distance between you and the ticking time bomb that is the ship you’d grown quite fond of over the past five years.

“Almost…” you announce as the timer approaches zero. Hansol extends his arm, placing his hand on yours. The unexpected sensation makes your stomach do a little flip, but you accept, turning your hand to lace your fingers through his. You stare out the window, bracing yourself.

Suddenly, the ship begins to burst. A blinding flash of light causes a momentary white-out - you abruptly squeeze your eyes shut; when you open them again, you watch as your ship silently erupts in a massive ball of fire. The explosion violently shakes the ship, the vibrations rattling deep in your bones. You don’t realize how tight your grip has become on Hansol, but he doesn’t mind. Together, you watch the fiery remnants of the Atlas IV grow smaller as your vessel is safely propelled away by the shockwaves, drifting aimlessly into the void of space.

“Do you think we’re gonna make it back home?” you ask Hansol softly after a few minutes.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. Without thinking, he rubs his thumb over your hand lightly, as if he’s done it a million times before. “We’re gonna be okay, y/n.”

“You think we’ll see the rest of our crew again?”

Hansol ponders for a moment, then a gentle smile appears on lips. He squeezes your hand in his, with no plans to let go.

“I hope so.”

♡ if you liked this fic, REBLOGS, TAGS, and COMMENTS are extremely appreciated ♡

TAGLIST: @miniseokminnies, @kyeomiis, @tinycatharsis, @hannieween, @smiileflower, @exomew @reiofsuns2001

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aquaquadrant · 1 year ago

Text

from eden, part XI (act II)

Word count: 15,152 Warnings: Language, blood/injury, descriptive violence, fictional racism, mild gore, death, kissing, body horror, unreality Summary: Tango is forced to finally confront his past at Hels Tek, this time with Jimmy and friends behind him. But he soon finds that there are some battles he must fight alone, the outcome of which will change his life- and the universe- forever.

A/N: Due to Tumblr’s paragraph limit, I had to split this into two acts again. Link to the first half here. Hope you enjoy, please reblog/comment if you do! - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part XI (act II) - honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago

~*~

Bravo emerges from the portal, blinking.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust from the dim basement to the brightly-lit garage. It looks just like he remembers it, save for a few scattered chests lying about. The floor-to-ceiling bay doors that lead out to the surrounding lava lake are closed at the moment, leaving the iron side door as the only access point.

The portal behind him now has that same red-yellow-green light as the old one, flickering as the other players begin to appear. Jimmy follows closely after, then Ren the dog man and Cleo the zombie take up their positions on either side of it, weapons at the ready.

“Well, what’s this, then?”

Clear’s alone, just like Grian reported before they came through. He’s crouched by one of the flying machines, a slimy rag tossed over his shoulder, black lab coat stained and rumpled as always. He doesn’t look particularly shocked to see them or the portal- mildly surprised, at best.

So far, so good.

Bravo takes a step forward, hoping to keep Clear’s attention on him as the rest of the others come through. “Hey, hey there, how’s it goin’?”

Clear straightens up and puts his hands on his hips, nonplussed. “Open House day already, is it? Could’a bloody reminded me, how am I meant ta’ keep track of all this rubbish…” He sighs, wiping his hands on the rag. “Right. Suppose you lot will be wantin’ the tour, then?”

“Uh, don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Bravo says quickly, holding his hands up. “You can just stay here, keep doin’ what you’re doin’... don’t let us interrupt you, I- I know your work’s important. But uh, mind if I borrow your ID? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

Clear blinks. “Oh, alright then. Sure.” He reaches into his inventory, fishing out a slip of paper. “Makes no difference t’me if-” He stops abruptly, his mouth falling open as he stares at something behind Bravo. “Scáil?”

Confused, Bravo follows his gaze- and his heart jolts. Grian’s just come through the portal, and Clear’s looking at him like he’s seen a ghost.

Grian seems similarly confused. “What?” he asks, startling under the sudden attention.

“Oh, Scáil!” Suddenly Clear is running to wrap Grian in a hug, sobbing. “God, I- I thought I’d never see you again-”

“Um?” Grian’s voice is strained, eyes wide as he goes rigid in Clear’s arms. “Hello?”

Jimmy and Scar rush forward to help, but Bravo holds out a hand to stop them. He knows Clear is harmless; there’s no reason he’d be trying to hurt Grian right now. But what is this about? Scáil… he feels like he’s heard that name somewhere before-

Oh, no.

“Really?” Bravo demands, exasperated. “Of- of all the Hels in this world, you chose his to fall in love with?”

Clear ignores him, of course, continuing to blubber. He’s fallen to his knees at this point, face buried in Grian’s sweater- which is quickly growing damp with tears. It’s kind of sad… in a gross, pathetic way.

“Come again?” Jimmy asks, eyebrows shooting up.

Bravo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Atlas mentioned once that Clear used to have a boyfriend named Scáil who up and vanished on him, and he’s had trouble tellin’ me and Tango apart before, so…” He shrugs. “Guess he had a thing with your doppelgänger.”

Surprise flashes across Grian’s face, followed quickly by sympathy as he exchanges a glance with Scar. “Um- look, buddy,” he starts, wincing, “I- I’m not… whoever you think I am, alright, I need to get goin’-”

“No!” Clear pleads, voice tinged with panic as he clings even tighter. “No, no, p- please Scáil, don’t go! Please, stay.”

Bravo can see Grian’s resolve falter. Hands that he’d raised to push Clear away instead come down to rest on his shoulders. “Ey,” he murmurs, wings curling around them, “it’s alright.”

Jeeze, he must be closer to that Mumbo guy than Bravo thought. “We don’t have time for this,” Bravo huffs. “Let’s just knock him out and get movin’.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Grian?”

Grian seems to make up his mind. “Just go, okay? I’ll stay with him.”

“You sure?” Scar asks worriedly.

Grian nods. “Yeah, I got Cleo and Ren to back me up if I need, okay.” He reaches an arm around to pluck Clear’s keycard out of his grasp, holding it out to Bravo. “Here.”

Bravo takes the keycard, mind racing. He would’ve liked Grian to stay with them- his ability to fly is a huge asset, especially when combo’d with Scar’s ace shooting, and not to mention his weird spectating ability. But if this is how he wants to handle his friend’s doppelgänger, then Bravo has to respect it.

And they certainly can’t waste any more time arguing about it.

“Alright, let’s go.” Bravo turns away, and is relieved when he hears footsteps behind him. Approaching the door, he slips Clear’s keycard into the dispenser, picking it back up as he steps through and holds the door open for the others.

Now that they’re inside the facility itself, the group is instantly alert, moving down the hallway as quickly yet quietly as they can.

Bravo leads the way, with the archers- Scar and Scott- at either side. Jimmy and Pearl follow closely behind, in case they need to fly ahead, and Martyn so he can lob a slowness potion if needed. Joel and Bdubs are next, with Etho between them, and Impulse bringing up the rear.

The hallway soon splits and veers off into multiple directions; a virtual maze of identical quartz walls to the uninitiated. But Bravo spent years learning these halls, and he hasn’t forgotten, despite his last couple weeks spent on the run. He swiftly takes them on the shortest path to the south wing, where the blaze farm is located.

As they creep through the halls, he tries to keep an ear out for anyone approaching, but it’s difficult to hear above the pounding of his heart. Being back in this place is more unnerving than he expected. After all, it was basically his home for five odd years, so he would’ve thought he’d be perfectly at ease here.

But maybe it’s a good thing that he isn’t.

“Wait,” Pearl breathes.

Bravo halts the group, looking over at Pearl. Her fuzzy antennae are twitching, her eyes wide, and she meets his gaze and mouths the word ‘one.’

Now that they’re standing still, he can just make out the faint echoes of footsteps down the hall, around the corner. They’re getting closer but they aren’t rushed; sounds like someone is just strolling. Likely one of the night guards on patrol.

Scott’s on it right away, creeping forward a few steps to crouch and draw his bow. Bravo shifts over to gesture Martyn forward- which he does while pulling out a splash potion of slowness.

For a few, brief moments, they’re all frozen, waiting with bated breath.

Then the guard rounds the corner.

Scott fires almost immediately- an arrow appears in the guard’s leg. In the same heartbeat, Martyn launches the potion through the air. By the time it shatters at the guard’s feet, showering them in particles, Martyn’s closed the distance.

The guard opens their mouth to shout, raising an arm to block, but between the arrow and the potion, they’re too slow. Martyn slams the pommel of his sword against their head, and the guard crumples to the ground.

Bravo lets out a breath and advances the group forward. They come up on Martyn right as he’s securing the unconscious guard with chains.

“Good work,” Bravo murmurs before glancing at Pearl. “You got super hearing or somethin’?”

Pearl nods excitedly. “It’s these halls,” she whispers, “the way they echo- I didn’t expect it to amplify the vibrations so much, but…”

Bravo exchanges a look with Jimmy. “Well, that’s handy.”

He can see the same hesitant relief reflected in Jimmy’s eyes and recognizes what he’s feeling. Their plan for encountering guards worked like a charm, but they’ve still got a way to go, so they can’t get complacent. The night’s not over yet.

Bravo unlocks a random lab for them to shove the guard inside before pressing on.

They continue through the facility in tense silence. It’s eerie being here at night, the rooms behind the endless iron doors all dark and quiet. A far cry from the bustle of noise and activity Bravo recalls from his time here. There was always so much going on at Hels Tek, countless projects being tested and reworked, all manner of redstone farms and contraptions.

It makes him wonder why, exactly, Atlas was so dead set on recapturing Tango for the blaze farm. He had already been chasing the idea for years before Bravo arrived on the scene with his own motivations. Surely, at a certain point, it would’ve been more trouble than it was worth? Especially since he knows good and well that Atlas wasn’t after portals.

But then again, why does anyone in Hels do anything? They all seem to be insane in one way or another. Maybe that’s just how it’s manifested in Atlas; single-minded obsession, like a dog with a bone.

Soon enough, Pearl is signaling the group to stop again. Another guard incoming, but they’re prepared for this. Everyone takes up their positions, waiting for the guard to appear… and then-

Arrow, potion, knockout. The guard is groaning from the floor in the blink of an eye.

Bravo is just starting to feel reassured when something on the ground flashes; a dropped item disappearing. It looked like a slip of paper- an ID keycard, like the one they took from Clear, was in the guard’s hand when they were knocked out. And now it’s gone- but how? It’s been nowhere near long enough for it to despawn, and it landed too far away to be picked back up into the guard’s inventory. It almost seemed like it was sucked beneath the floor, like into a hopper… but why would there be hoppers here?

Frowning, Bravo steps forward to investigate, opening his mouth to warn the others. But before he can, a faint yet distinct sound reaches his ears; the clicking of an observer and the churning of pistons.

Then the ceiling opens up, and a ravager drops on their heads.

~*~

One second, Jimmy’s thinking maybe things are going to be alright, and the next, he’s looking up at the underbelly of a ravager.

Pure instinct kicks in. He grabs Bravo by the arm and takes off into the air. The ravager lands with a heavy thud right behind him, close enough for him to feel the wind through his feathers, and crushes Joel and Bdubs into a cloud of respawn smoke.

Immediately, it’s chaos.

Shouts of alarm mix with the ravager’s roars, echoing off the walls into a deafening din. Pearl’s followed Jimmy into the air, struggling to hold Scott steady enough to shoot amidst her slightly erratic hovering-

Martyn’s thrown against the wall as the ravager charges, head slamming against quartz with a resounding crack. He’s in the ravager’s jaws before he can recover, before he can even scream, respawning away to leave only bloodstains and scattered items-

Etho manages to put some cobblestone down. In a hall that’s only three-by-three, it’s just enough of a barrier to keep the ravager back; with the consequence of it now standing between him and the rest of them-

Beneath Jimmy, Scar’s backing up, firing arrow after arrow, but at this close of a distance and with his less powerful bow, it’s barely affecting the ravager. Walled off on one side, the ravager turns and lunges forward to close its jaws around Scar, killing him with its crushing bite-

Everything seems to slow down.

The ravager has now set its sights on Jimmy, and his wings can’t pump fast enough to escape it. He’s flying as close to the ceiling as he dares but he knows it won’t be enough, certainly not to keep Bravo out of its reach in such close quarters.

“Back up, back up!” Bravo’s shouting, fumbling for his sword, and the ravager lowers its head to charge-

Impulse appears in the air above it. He’s in full demon mode; with a powerful sweep of his leathery black wings, he launches himself onto the ravager’s back, sinking his claws deep into its flesh. The ravager bellows in pain and rage, thrashing to try and throw Impulse off, and his glowing golden eyes snap up to meet Jimmy’s gaze.

“Go!” Impulse snarls, his deep voice booming through the air.

Jimmy doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off down the hall, Pearl right behind him.

It’s a frenzied flight, breathless and panicked, the ravager’s fading roars echoing in his ears. Wings and lungs burning, it’s only thanks to Bravo’s directions that he manages not to crash into a wall, twisting and turning through the maze-like halls. His mind is racing on an endless loop of ‘oh gosh, oh gosh, what now?’ as the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

The jig is up, that much is for certain. There’s no shot that Atlas doesn’t know they’re here. Jimmy would be less concerned if this was after they got Tango free; now, there’s a chance they’ll be stopped before they even reach him. Especially since it’s just the four of them. Pearl and Scott are both skilled fighters, to say nothing of Bravo, but there’s strength in numbers and no telling how many guards they might face.

(Well, that was exciting!)

(Ooh, things are getting spicy.)

(Can’t see this ending well…)

It’s not long before Jimmy has to stop, dropping Bravo to his feet and stumbling to an ungraceful landing. He leans against the wall to catch his breath, his wings sagging with exhaustion. Pearl seems similarly winded, landing heavily beside him. For a few moments, no one speaks.

“Fuck,” Bravo says, which sums up the situation fairly well. He kicks the wall. “Fucking- fuck!”

Scott rolls his shoulder, but seems none the worse for wear. “I take it tha’ ravager is new, then?” he asks, quirking a brow.

“Yeah, no,” Bravo snarks, “I- I just completely forgot about their aerial ravager deployment system, yeah.”

“Oh man,” Pearl wheezes, doubled over. “I haven’t flown like that in ages…”

“Well, this’s bad,” Scott drawls. “What’s tha’ plan?”

“We press on,” Bravo says, his expression steely. “Now we’re on a time crunch. No doubt that little trap also sent off a warning to Atlas, so- so I expect we’ll be seein’ more guards any minute now.”

As much as Jimmy would like to rest longer, he knows Bravo’s right. “Okay,” he huffs, pushing off the wall. “Lead the way.”

They set off again on foot, moving quickly now that stealth is out of the question. Jimmy spares a moment to be thankful that Bravo is with them. These halls all look the same to him, but Bravo seems to know where he’s going, even after their chaotic flight.

Jimmy pulls his communicator out as they go. Glancing down at chat, he winces; Impulse and Etho were killed by the ravager as well, so they’re truly on their own here. Even though the others will have come back through the portal after respawning on Double Life, they won’t be able to find their way through this facility to meet up again.

In fact, Bravo had advised against it. Their contingency plan, in the event that anyone was killed, is to stay by the portal. Now that Hels Tek knows they’re here, it’s more important than ever to defend it and make sure it stays open. Besides, if people started wandering off on their own, it would only increase the likelihood of someone getting captured, lost, or left behind.

So right now, the four of them are all Tango’s got.

(Oh, I can’t wait for-)

(Shh, don’t ruin it, just watch.)

That’s not worrying at all. This is fine. This is fine, they can handle it. He just needs to keep his head, stay the course. Failure isn’t an option. Failure would mean leaving Tango trapped here, and Jimmy refuses to let that happen. So he’s got to keep going, stay alert, stay focused-

“Stop,” Pearl says suddenly, grabbing Scott by the arm. “We’re ‘bout to have company.”

No sooner has she finished her sentence than five guards turn the corner at a sprint, swords bristling.

Wings unfurling, Pearl jumps into the air, allowing Scott to rain down arrows from above. They hang back to provide aerial support, giving Jimmy and Bravo the floor.

Jimmy spreads his wings, shooting forward to scoop Bravo beneath the arms. He flies straight at the guards, gaining speed, before spinning mid-air to launch Bravo at the nearest of them.

Bravo comes down on the guard with his sword, stabbing through the curve where their neck meets their shoulder. Jimmy dives after him and slams a foot down on the sword, driving it deeper into the guard’s body- deep enough to slip into their chest cavity.

Blood splatters on Jimmy’s face. The guard explodes into a shower of respawn smoke and items.

Jimmy lands on his feet in a crouch, and Bravo vaults over him to kick another guard back. Straightening up, Jimmy equips his sword and catches Bravo’s eyes for a heartbeat, understanding passing between them.

There’s no discussion. They charge forward together, fighting side by side.

The last time Jimmy fought Hels players, it didn’t go well, and he’s still got the crooked nose to prove it. He’ll be the first to admit his PVP skills are lacking. But this time, the slowness from Scott’s arrows makes all the difference.

Dodging the next guard’s swing, Jimmy retaliates with a wide sweep of his own, their swords locking with a screech and a shower of sparks. In the same breath, Bravo ducks in between them and plunges his sword up- under the bottom of the guard’s chestplate, into their stomach.

Poof.

Jimmy uses the momentum to charge forward, bringing his sword down on the next guard’s helmet. It’s a clumsy but heavy blow- the guard staggers, and Bravo whips around to slash through their neck. Blood sprays through the air.

Two down, three to go.

On any other day, under any other circumstances, Jimmy knows he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Even now, he hasn’t miraculously developed the strength to overpower these bigger Hels players, nor the speed and knowledge to execute those clean, skillful attacks like Bravo.

But he doesn’t need to. All it takes is a strike to unbalance his opponent, to keep their attention, draw their defense. He’s the larger target, and with the slowness arrows doing their part, the guards can’t react fast enough as Bravo twists around them to deliver the killing blow.

Slash, jab- poof.

The last guard’s slowness has worn off at this point, but it’s too late. Jimmy’s already there; a powerful flap of his wings takes his feet off the ground to strike out at the guard, kicking with all his might.

Clang!

It hits the guard square in the chest, toppling them backwards. They land hard, and Bravo springs on top of themt, plunging his sword down right between their eyes.

Splat, poof.

Bravo straightens up, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. Jimmy braces his hands on his knees for a moment as his heart rate comes down. They’re both bloody and out of breath, but they managed not to take a single hit. And sure, the slowness arrows helped a lot, but Jimmy will take his wins where he can.

Bravo gives him an appraising look. “Nice job.”

Jimmy cracks a grin. “I have my moments.”

“Oh-kay,” Scott whistles as he and Pearl catch up, “go off, Timmy!”

Oof, that feels strange- but it’s just a force of habit, Jimmy knows. He glances over his shoulder at them. “Thanks for the cover fire. You guys good?”

“Yep.” Pearl nods expectantly. “Lead on.”

Bravo flicks the excess blood off his sword, speckling the white walls. “Alright, the south wing is just through here.” He nods toward the iron door at the end of the hallway. “Let’s go.”

They start moving again. Residual adrenaline itches across Jimmy’s skin, the metallic scent of blood clogging his nose. He’s surprised with their brutality himself, but he doesn’t regret it. There’s no reason to hold back here. These players are standing between him and getting Tango back, so it has to be done.

He’s honestly more surprised at how well he and Bravo fought together- as if they’d rehearsed it. Not what he would’ve expected, considering the way they butt heads, his own lack of expertise, and the fact that they were on opposite sides of a fight just earlier today.

But privately, he’s just glad he didn’t make an absolute fool of himself. There’s a reason he’s always been out first in their death games.

Once they reach the door, Bravo motions for them all to crouch before nodding at Pearl. She listens for a moment, antennae twitching, before she holds up two fingers.

Bravo doesn’t bother with the keycard this time. Pulling out his pickaxe, he breaks the door down- and Pearl and Scott swoop through.

There’s an aborted shout, the sound of arrows flying, and the clang of a sword. By the time Jimmy’s through the doorway, Pearl is standing down the hall amidst a scattering of dropped items, sword lax at her side and a fierce grin on her blood-stained face.

“Jeeze, Pearl!” Scott says, raising his eyebrows and lowering his bow.

Pearl glances over her shoulder at them, expression growing sheepish. “I’m sorry, I think I got a little bit crazy…”

Jimmy flutters over to them, Bravo in tow. “No, no, I- don’t be sorry, I’m…” he trails off as he takes in the sign next to the door, the one the guards were posted outside.

It says ‘Tango Tek.’ Jimmy feels his blood boil.

“Well, this is it.” Bravo glances at Pearl and Scott. “You two keep watch out here, alright?” Then he unlocks the door, holding it open for Jimmy. “Come on.”

Jimmy rushes inside, Bravo following after him. But the sight that greets them makes him stop cold, anger quickly giving way to shock and horror.

He knew, roughly, what all the blaze farm entailed. But he’s still not prepared to actually see it.

Behind a wall of glass, Tango’s suspended by iron chains inside a little one-by-two chamber. Wither roses sprout from the soul sand beneath him, long vines wound tightly around his body, thorns digging into his skin. Particles of regeneration bubble around him, but the withering is clearly causing damage; the blaze rods above Tango’s head respawn as quickly as they’re sucked away by hoppers.

Tango looks absolutely miserable. He hangs limp and lifeless in his chains- but as the door clicks shut behind them, he lifts his head and manages a tired smile.

“Hey, honey,” he rasps, “good to see ya.”

“Tango!” Jimmy flies over, his eyes stinging with sudden tears. Their health might not be linked in this world, but his heart aches for Tango all the same. “Tango, oh gosh, I- I’m so sorry. I’m here, I’m here.” He pulls out his pickaxe and sets to shattering the glass wall.

“Sorry we took so long,” Bravo adds, walking up beside Jimmy. “We had a uh, unforeseen complication… there may have been ninja ravager airdrop-ification involved.” As soon as the glass is gone, he starts cutting the wither rose vines off Tango with careful slices of his sword.

Tango huffs a hoarse laugh. “Oh, oh great. Guess our buddy’s Atlas has been busy these last few weeks, huh?”

With the wither roses cut away, he seems to be breathing easier, now. And thankfully, they don’t look to have left any new wither stains on his skin. Jimmy hopes that the lingering regeneration effect will take care of the rest.

“Okay, okay, hang on…” he murmurs, turning his attention to the chains. His eyes widen as he realizes just how many are locked around Tango’s body- his arms, his legs, the collar around his neck. “Jeeze, this is- they went absolutely mental with these. Overkill much?”

“I know, right?” Tango snorts. “It’s- it’s almost flattering, in a way.”

Fortunately, they all seem to be made of regular run-of-the-mill iron with no complicated redstone bits. It’s easy enough for him and Bravo to slip their tools in between the links and give a sharp twist to snap them. Working quickly but methodically, they break the chains in an order that won’t awkwardly drop Tango to the ground- or choke him out by the collar around his throat. And as the last chains fall away, leaving only his old cuffs around his wrists, Jimmy’s right there to catch him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, easing Tango to the floor. “I mean- sorry, that’s- that’s a dumb question-”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Tango says. He’s trembling slightly and clinging to Jimmy so tight it’s just shy of being painful, but his red eyes are bright, and he grins at Jimmy with all his sharp, lovely teeth. “I’m okay.”

It’s hard to imagine how Tango is still functioning after what he’s been through. From the emotional side of things, too, not just physically. Being locked back in that farm must’ve not only been painful, but the realization of his worst nightmare, the one that’s chased him for nearly a decade. The culmination of all his deepest fears and insecurities, his self-hatred and feelings of worthlessness… being reduced to nothing more than a mob whose only use is in a farm. Even done intentionally, as part of a plan, it takes a lot of strength to overcome something like that.

Yet strangely enough, Jimmy believes him. There’s a change in Tango’s eyes- it’s like nothing Jimmy’s seen before, not even back in those peaceful days they spent together before this whole Hels mess started. Back then, Tango had been hiding from his past. Haunted by it. Only through hindsight has Jimmy realized just how badly it was affecting Tango all that time, the host of subtle little things he’d brushed off suddenly clicking together and making sense.

So only now does he see what Tango looks like without that fear hanging over him. The shadow that’s gone from his eyes. They’re fierce and determined and alive in a way that sends chills across Jimmy’s skin. While he knows for a fact that they’ve found joy and contentment and love together, it’s apparent that only now does Tango feel free.

No doubt there’s still a long road ahead of them. But for this step, right now, Jimmy couldn’t be more proud of his soulmate.

He presses a kiss to Tango’s forehead. “Well- good, but it’d be okay if you weren’t, y’know?”

Tango’s smile turns fond. “I know.”

Bravo clears his throat. “Hey, uh, if you two are done cuddling, we need to get moving. Most of the others got wiped out,” he explains, putting his pickaxe away, “so they’ll be waitin’ for us back at the portal. But first, we gotta find Atlas.”

Tango knits his brows together. “All this excitement probably drew him out of his hole. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on his way here right now.”

“Good.” Bravo nods. “Saves us the trouble of trackin’ him down. All we gotta do is make him open his ender chest to get the key, right, and then we’re outta here.”

Jimmy helps Tango to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Tango assures him. “That regen is powerful stuff.”

He’s still a little shaky for Jimmy’s taste, but true to his word, he stands on his own. Jimmy turns to the door. “Right. Let’s-”

“Watch out!”

Pearl’s voice cries out from the hallway. There’s the distinct twang of a bow firing, a shout from Scott- only to be cut short.

Jimmy sprints through the door, followed closely by Tango and Bravo.

Two more piles of items are on the floor. Down at the end of the hallway stands Atlas with a raised crossbow and an arrow in his shoulder, flanked by half a dozen guards.

Atlas’s black lab coat cuts a sharp figure against the quartz walls, like a shadow come to life, light flashing in his shades. Slowly, he lowers his crossbow and reaches up to pull the arrow out, unflinching, as that sickly grin splits across his face.

“Well, well, well.”

(Speak of the devil.)

~*~

As soon as Tango sees Atlas, he steps in front of Jimmy, a low growl starting in his throat.

Now that he’s out of the farm and away from the wither roses, his adrenaline is kicking into overdrive. His muscles are rife with tension, ears twitching, and his heart pounds against his chest.

He takes in the scene quickly. Behind them is a dead end, and the other direction is blocked; Atlas, tossing a bloody arrow to the ground, and six guards. They’re all big, burly humans with mean faces. Most of them brandish swords, while two of them have tridents with what looks like a net of chains strung inbetween. Do they have net launch-ification technology?

“I was hoping I’d catch you three together,” Atlas drawls, folding his arms behind his back. Slowness particles bubble out of his shoulder wound like blood. “Mr. Bravo, I must say, I was rather disappointed to discover your treachery.”

Bravo scowls. “Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit what you think about me.”

Amused, Atlas’s gaze slowly travels over to Tango. “And how did you manage to turn him to your side, hm, Tango?” His lip curls. “Manipulative little monster.”

Tango hardly processes the insult, but Jimmy’s wings puff up indignantly. “Don’t call him that!”

“You know,” Atlas continues, unbothered, “all that’s going to come of this little escape mission is the addition of some new farms to my collection.” He grins at Jimmy. “Starting with you.”

The guards throw their tridents in tandem, launching the net across the hall.

Tango dives out of the way, but Jimmy isn’t fast enough. The net knocks him flat onto his back, pinned into place by the weight of the chains and the tridents embedded in the floor. He cries out in pain, and only now can Tango see that the net is studded with wither rose thorns, piercing Jimmy’s skin.

Tango sees red.

A snarl tears itself out of his throat. He charges forward to meet the attacking guards, leaping into the air and slashing the nearest one across the face.

The guard howls with pain, striking out blindly. Their sword grazes Tango’s arm but he hardly notices it, hardly even feels the sting, too focused on sinking his teeth into their throat. The instant the guard disappears, he’s darting away, on to the next one.

Tango’s senses are hyper-alert, nose flaring at the scent of blood. His pulse thrums in his ears. He’s scarcely aware of Bravo fighting beside him, just a blur in his periphery. A distant part of him is aware of how savage he’s being, but he can’t bring himself to care.

If they want to treat him like a monster, then he’ll fight them like one, too.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question the feel of his claws tearing through flesh. There’s something primal inside him shrieking with bloodlust, and he’s more than happy to oblige it. It feels good. It feels natural. Like he’s been fighting with his right hand all his life only to discover he’s a leftie. No wonder traditional PVP has never been his strength; in this one way, perhaps he is more mob than player.

And he’s perfectly fine with that.

By the time Tango reaches Atlas, his slowness effect has worn off. He’s locked in combat with Bravo, swords clashing in a series of rapid jabs and slashes- a skillful and deadly dance. It’s clear he’s got plenty of experience with PVP, trading blows with Bravo like it’s nothing, as simple and instinctive as breathing.

But he isn’t prepared for Tango to leap at him like an animal, claws outstretched and teeth bared.

Atlas dodges, but it’s a near thing. He’s thrown off-balance, scrambling to back up as Tango advances with another wild swipe- it tears through the front of his lab coat, carving a shallow gash across his chest. He brings his sword up to parry but it doesn’t catch Tango’s claws like it would another blade- a costly miscalculation that sends his sword flying from his grasp.

It clatters loudly to the ground. Bravo takes the opening; he jabs the point of his sword into Atlas’s leg, behind the kneecap, and twists.

Pop!

This time Atlas doesn’t hold back his scream. He goes down instantly, his right leg no longer able to support him. Bravo kicks Atlas’s sword away, out of reach, before grabbing Atlas by the collar and throwing him at the wall. He slumps against it, injured leg curled awkwardly beneath him, breathing raggedly but making no move to rise again.

All six of the guards are dead, respawned away and leaving behind a blood bath.

It’s over.

And just like that, Tango’s calm again, pausing to catch his breath. He hasn’t lost himself completely to the rage of a bloodthirsty animal. He hasn’t surrendered his rational thought or his sense of being. It happened, and now it’s passed. Just like if he’d fought with sword and shield over claws and teeth. He almost feels silly, to have ever feared otherwise.

He glances at Bravo; they’ve both sustained a few minor cuts and bruises, but overall, nothing serious. “Hold him there,” he tells Bravo, before turning to run back down the hall. “Hang on, Jimmy!”

Jimmy is right where Tango left him, struggling beneath the chain net. He’s managed to work one arm out from under it, trying in vain to free himself, but he can’t get the right leverage on the tridents anchoring the net to the ground. Tango falls to his knees and rips one of the tridents away, tossing it aside, and starts pulling the net back.

Jimmy pushes himself upright with a pained grunt, shoving the last of the chains off. There are dozens of little marks dotted across his skin, like a constellation of inky pin pricks- leftover from the wither thorns.

Tango throws his arms around Jimmy. “God, are- are you okay, honey?” he asks frantically, pulling away to study Jimmy’s face.

Jimmy shudders. “Man, that wither rose is brutal,” he says, aghast. “How’d you stand it?”

Despite it all, Tango manages to crack a smile. “Well, you know, I’m basically part furnace,” he says, straightening up and offering Jimmy his hand.

Jimmy huffs a faint laugh, letting Tango pull him to his feet. The black spots are already starting to vanish, to Tango’s immense relief. He doesn’t think he could handle it if Jimmy ended up with permanent wither stains.

He doesn’t let go of Jimmy’s hand as they walk down the hall together. Bravo steps back when they approach, though he keeps his gaze and his sword trained on Atlas.

Atlas’s face is pale and sheened with sweat, but he still grins at them. “Well, well,” he breathes, struggling to his feet. His right leg won’t support him; he braces a hand against the wall. “Seems you caught me off-guard, Mr. Tango. I wasn’t expecting you to embrace that monstrous nature of yours so willingly.”

Tango shrugs. “Sure, why not? Some of my best friends are monsters.”

Clearly, Atlas wasn’t expecting that response. But he only falters for a moment before his grin returns to full strength. “This is pointless. You’ll never make it-”

“Hey, hey, no one asked you,” Bravo snaps, placing down an ender chest. “Now no funny business, okay, or I’ll break all your fucking fingers.”

Atlas eyes him for a moment, as if debating the validity of the threat and whether or not he’d be able to escape. But ultimately he must decide it’s not worth it, because he flips the ender chest open, reaches inside, and withdraws a familiar iron key.

Tango’s breath catches. Despite how well their plan has worked so far, part of him wasn’t expecting to actually make it this far. It’s almost too good to be true, but it seems like Atlas has finally run out of tricks.

Atlas holds the key out with a flourish. “Your prize,” he sneers.

Jimmy’s quick to snatch it from him, shooting him a glare. He softens as he turns to Tango. “Here, can I…?”

“Please do,” Tango hums nervously, lifting his chin.

“Alright, here goes.” Jimmy puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder to steady him, reaching forward with the other to slip the key into its lock.

There’s a click, and the collar falls away, clattering to the ground.

Tango inhales sharply at the feel of wither thorns pulling out of his skin. The relief is immediate; his blaze rods ignite with renewed fire, warmth spreading through his body all the way to the tips of his clawed fingers. It’s tingly, like moving a limb after it’s fallen asleep, but he’s glad for it.

He sees his relief reflected in Jimmy’s expression- though it’s quickly replaced with a wince as his gaze traces Tango’s neck.

Tango exhales. “It stained, huh.”

Jimmy swallows, eyes full of anger and sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

Tango’s almost surprised by how little it bothers him. “Hey, no problem,” he says easily, reaching up to squeeze Jimmy’s hand. “I mean, I’ve got such a unique style already, I- I feel like it’ll fit in perfectly. A little studded choker action, right?”

That manages to get a laugh out of Jimmy, though he wipes at his eyes. “Right, yeah. You pull it off well.”

Bravo clears his throat. “Okay, so, we good?” He jerks his chin at Atlas. “Let’s kill this asshole and get moving.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Atlas says mildly, leveling his gaze at Tango. “You’ll always be nothing more than a monster-”

“Shut up!” Jimmy takes a step forward, gripping his sword, but Tango puts a hand out.

He knows they don’t have time to linger very long, but he’s got unfinished business with Atlas. Before he walks out of here, he needs to say his piece, because if he doesn’t, he knows he’ll never fully shake Atlas’s hold on him.

“You know,” he starts thoughtfully, “I- I’m startin’ to think that term isn’t the uh, the moral condemnation that you think it is. The way I see it, it’s like- okay, I’m a blond, I’m a redstoner, I’m a monster, yada-yada-yada. They’re just… traits, right? Like, sorta… physical descriptors without any, er- particular positive or negative connotation attached. ‘Cause uh, bein’ a monster doesn’t automatically make me a bad person- same way being a human doesn’t make you a good one.” He tilts his head. “I mean, you’re one of the shittiest people I’ve ever met, so.”

Atlas is still grinning, but there’s a sudden shiftiness in his eyes that makes Tango pause. Almost like he’s hiding something. The gears start to turn in Tango’s mind.

“So uh,” he continues, “if you genuinely think our biology or- or data is what determines the choices that we make, and the kinda person we become, then… you’ve gotta be pretty stupid.”

There- Atlas’s face twitches.

Bravo seems to pick up on where Tango’s going. “Yeah, same for Hels players,” he says, crossing his arms. “I mean, basing the whole idea of ‘the inherent evilness of Hels’ on a little bit of data analysis? I- I can’t believe I bought into such a poorly supported theory, it’s just- it’s shoddy science.”

Jimmy gives Atlas a reproachful look. “Tango has shown himself to be one of the most caring, generous, and brilliant people I’ve ever met,” he spits. “You think that’s not possible, just because he’s part mob? Then honestly, I feel sorry for ya, mate.”

Tango’s heart swells; Jimmy doesn’t seem to realize what they’re doing, he’s just coming to Tango’s defense anyway. “I know, right?” he laughs. Then, just to really drive the point home- “And here I always thought you were the smart one-”

“Of course I know that!” Atlas finally explodes, throwing an arm out. “I’ve always known that! You think I grew up in this world truly believing that humans weren’t just as capable of depravity? That hybrids weren’t our intellectual or moral equals? No, I’ve always known. But portraying you as a vicious, mindless monster makes you easier to exploit. And I’ve not only convinced my sponsors, clients, and employees of that, but I even got you to believe it, yourself!”

His grin is truly manic now, eyes wild and blazing with fury behind his shades. “Do you know how clever I had to be to pull off such a degree of dehumanization? How methodically and painstakingly I wove that narrative over decades of work? ‘Shoddy science’?! It was my magnum fucking opus!”

A stunned silence follows his outburst. Tango lets out a slow, heavy breath, and Atlas’s anger quickly drains from his face as he realizes the weight of what he’s just revealed.

It wasn’t Tango’s fault.

He was never too monstrous, too chaotic, too evil. Sure, he’s got his vices, but who doesn’t? Claws or not, no one is perfect. Now he knows that it was never anything he did to bring Atlas’s torture onto himself, nothing he ever did to deserve it, because even Atlas doesn’t believe that. Atlas did it because he’s evil, and cared more about producing a revolutionary new farm than considering the harm it would do to a fellow player. He could’ve done the same to any other mob hybrid- and in fact, still fully intends to.

It’s nothing to do with who Tango is as a person, and all to do with the blaze rods floating above his head. Nothing else. Tango can live with that.

Bravo shakes his head, incredulous. “Son of a bitch…”

But Tango smiles. “Thanks, Atlas,” he says sincerely, “I needed to hear that.”

Then he punches Atlas in the face.

The resounding crack is immensely satisfying. Atlas’s head snaps to the side, glasses and spit flying as he falls backwards. Tango’s hand is aching but it’s worth it to see Atlas look so… human. Gone is the unnatural grin and that tall, dark figure who always loomed so large in Tango’s mind. Right now, he’s just a man sprawled on his ass whose blood is staining Tango’s knuckles.

(He’s got a feeling Atlas won’t be showing up that much in his nightmares from now on.)

Atlas pushes himself up and spits out a tooth- one of his upper incisors. Blood streams down his nose and trickles out of his parted mouth. He stares up at Tango, and without his tinted glasses, Tango realizes their eyes are exactly the same shade of red.

“Clever devil,” Atlas breathes.

Bravo steps forward to deliberately crush Atlas’s shades under his shoe. “Always gotta be the smartest one in the goddamn room, huh?” he asks, twirling his sword in his hand.

Sching!

Tango briefly glimpses the inside of Atlas’s skull before he respawns away, blood and brain matter painting the wall.

“Good riddance,” Jimmy sniffs.

Bravo glances at Tango. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Tango grins. “After you, good sir.”

The three of them take off, leaving the south wing- and the farm- behind.

Their pounding footsteps echo loudly in the empty halls. It doesn’t take Tango long to recognize where they’re headed. The garage makes sense, considering they used Clear to open the portal. He’s surprised, however, that they don’t encounter any guards along the way. There’s plenty of evidence of them; items littering the hallways, blood smears on the floor. But not a single player to be found.

If Tango didn’t know better, he’d chalk it up to good luck. But of course, once they burst through the door to the garage, the true reason immediately becomes apparent.

Nearly the entire workforce of Hels Tek, scientists and security guards alike, are embroiled in battle with the Double Lifers. It’s a chaotic scene, the air filled with shouts and screams and the clashing of metal-

Cleo stands tall beside the portal, bodily throwing any opponent who attempts to sneak through, while Ren slashes at them with his massive claws-

Grian and Pearl are airbound, zipping around the garage while carrying Scar and Scott, respectively, who fire arrows into the crowd-

Etho and Joel fight back to back, shields raised against the heavy blows of their bigger opponents, while Martyn tosses a potion into the air-

Bravo whips around to decapitate the player that charges through the door behind them. “We can’t stay here!” he shouts above the noise.

Heart pounding, Tango scans the room. Movement catches his eye; Impulse, waving at them from behind a parked flying machine.

Tango makes a beeline for it, trusting that Jimmy and Bravo are following. Dodging swords and arrows alike, they manage to reach their target unimpeded, diving behind the cover of the large contraption.

Impulse pulls Tango into a quick hug. “You made it!”

He’s crouched beside Bdubs, who’s got one leg stretched out, riddled with arrows. “Well, look here- lookie who it is!” he crows. “Nice’a you guys to join us!”

Tango manages a breathless laugh. “How we lookin’?”

“Not great,” Impulse frowns, “we can’t go through ‘til they’re all dead, or else they’ll follow us before we can break the portal on the other side. But we can’t kill them fast enough- they just keep respawning and coming back.”

Tango dares to peek around the flying machine. The fighting is pretty thick, and centered in the middle of the garage. If there was a way to create some sort of barrier in front of the portal that would hold Hels Tek back long enough for everyone to escape… something that they had full control over, and would persist even after they left…

Sudden realization seizes him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, turning away. “Get everyone through, now-”

Jimmy catches his arm. “Hold on, where are you going?” he demands.

Tango shakes him off. “Don’t worry. Just get to the portal, alright-”

“Uh, ‘scuse me? We’re in this together, right-”

“There’s no time-”

“I’m not leavin’ without you!”

“- you to get hurt!”

“Please, Tango.” Jimmy grabs his shoulders, voice filled with desperation. “I- I can’t lose you.”

Tango softens. He takes Jimmy’s face in his hands and pulls him into a kiss, slow and reverent. “You won’t,” he murmurs, easing back to smile at him. “I promise.”

Jimmy searches his expression for a moment before relenting. “Alright,” he whispers, squeezing Tango’s hand. “Go get ‘em, babe.”

Steeling himself, Tango steps back out onto the battlefield.

A strange sense of calm settles over him. All the noise is muted in his ears, like he’s underwater, the sea of movement a blur. He moves with an ease that’s entirely foreign to him, lightly twisting through and around the writhing mass of bodies until he’s standing alone in front of the portal.

Tango closes his eyes and reaches for his fire.

Flames erupt from his blaze rods, swirling madly and spitting embers. It grows into a cyclone around him, ebbing and flowing with his breath, expanding to envelop him completely. The flames wash harmlessly over his skin; his own fire can never hurt him. There’s no hesitation inside him- no doubt, no fear.

He’s entirely in control, the captain of his own personal firestorm.

Tango opens his eyes and pushes his hands out and up, directing the flames to spread and rise into a great, fiery wall. Arrows shot his way are incinerated instantly, exploding into ash. As he concentrates on his task, he’s aware of his friends in his periphery, and is careful to keep the fire from reaching them.

The Hels Tek players receive no such care. Anyone too slow to react or too bold to flee is readily consumed, the room filling with their screams and the scent of burning flesh. Using smooth, delicate movements, Tango closes the wall into a ring of fire around the portal, as focused and steady as an artist composing a painting.

This is his magnum opus. Blaze and player perfectly united as one being, at peace in mind and body.

Once it’s complete, he steps back out of the flames. He takes a long, final look around the place. The remaining Hels Tek players watch from behind the firewall, furious but helpless to stop him. All the Double Lifers have departed, with the exception of Jimmy, who is waiting by the portal. Firelight glimmers in his deep brown eyes, face glowing with awe and pride.

Smiling, Tango turns his back to Hels Tek and walks over to his soulmate, taking the offered hand.

“Ready to get outta here?” Jimmy asks softly.

“Yeah,” Tango says, “let’s go home, honey.”

Together, they step into the portal. Tango turns his head just in time to see Atlas burst into the room, frantically shoving his way through to the front of the crowd. He locks eyes with Tango through the flames.

“No!” he shouts, and Tango is much gratified to see that Atlas’s front tooth is still missing after his respawn. His trademark grin is gonna look so goddamn stupid now.

Tango turns away, looking into Jimmy’s eyes as light swirls around them.

~*~

Atlas sits hunched on a rock outside, cast in the shadow of Hels Tek.

The facility is still burning, thick smoke billowing out of shattered windows that flicker with light. He can hear the distant roars of a ravager inside; the guards he sent in to recapture the beast have thus far been unsuccessful. The flames will likely take it soon, along with all the other mobs locked away in their various farms.

What a waste.

Most of his personnel have given up on trying to stop the fire. They mill about uselessly, stained with soot and blood, speaking in low tones and casting not-so-subtle glances in his direction. Clear is running around in a panic, ranting to anyone who will listen about how he needs to find Scáil. It was his doppelgänger they used to open the portal, as Atlas has come to find.

Of course.

Part of him is aware of what a poor sight he makes; his lab coat rumpled and dusted with ash, his sweaty hair mussed and plastered to his forehead. Without his shades, there’s no hiding how tired his eyes must look, set into his haggard face. And his normally commanding posture is weak and weary, entirely lacking any presence of control.

Worst of all, though, is that he can’t bring himself to care.

His communicator lies forgotten in his lap, chat blinking up at him. He’s scrolled through it all a dozen times already, mentally replaying the sequence of events over and over again- though he has yet to make sense of it.

Absently, he presses his tongue into the gap left by his missing tooth.

(All the while, his mind is spinning. How had he missed it? How had he missed it? To be outsmarted by Tango and Bravo, of all people… they’d shown him exactly what he wanted to see, and he hadn’t thought to question it. He was too eager to believe that his manipulation had paid off, that he’d turned Bravo against his own doppelgänger and convinced Tango to give up.

His shame is rivaled only by his hatred. All the work he’s done in the last ten years, all his patient waiting and careful planning, his effort, his progress, has gone up in smoke. It’s not just the physical damage to the facility that concerns him; no doubt word is already starting to spread. He rebuilt himself from bedrock bottom once before, and he isn’t sure if he can do it again-)

“Hey man,” a familiar voice calls. “Rough day?”

bX is walking up to him, followed by a large group of players- hired muscle from Alisker. Their appearance quickly gets everyone’s attention, a sudden hush falling over the area as all eyes turn their way.

Heart jolting, Atlas jumps to his feet. He hastily smoothes the front of his coat. “Mr. bX, I can explain-”

“Save it.” bX waves him off. “We already know what happened. And uh, I gotta say… Papa Al isn’t happy.”

Atlas’s stomach drops. He folds his arms behind his back, trying for a placating smile. “I’ll admit, the situation got slightly out of hand, but-”

“I don’t think you get how bad this is,” bX says lightly, tilting his head. He raises his voice to address the gathered crowd. “Papa Al is repossessing all of Hels Tek’s resources and assets, effective immediately. We’ll honor the contracts of anyone who wants to stay employed, but uh… yeah, we’re done here.”

He lifts a hand, and the group behind him disperses. Setting up piles of chests and shulkers, they descend upon Hels Tek with pickaxes in hand, throwing down splash potions of fire resistance as they go. Then, to Atlas’s horror, they start to dismantle the facility, block by block.

“No, stop!” Atlas protests. He tries to rush forward, but bX casually steps forward to block his path. “This is my life’s work, you can’t do that-”

“Oh, yeah?” bX puts his hands on his hips, amused. “Are… you gonna stop us? ‘Cause uh, looks to me like your employees don’t mind.”

Atlas hates that he’s right; no one is lifting a finger to stop them. In fact, a few of them move forward to help. “Mr. bX, please reconsider-”

“Sorry, but you’re out of chances, Atlas,” bX chuckles. “From now on, all of New Helington’s redstone needs will be fulfilled by someone else. I actually think you know him, it’s Instinct E.V., over at iRaid?”

Fuck. “What?!” Atlas demands, eyes widening. “You can’t be serious! Instinct is a charlatan- all he cares about is churning out the cheapest, quickest product for the masses. He’s not an innovator, he’s not interested in expanding our scientific horizons-”

“So?” bX shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to Papa Al so long as it’s profitable.”

“But he’s already invested so much into Hels Tek, into hybrid farming-”

“Yeah, uh... about that…” bX inhales through his teeth. “He’s not, like… super attached to the whole idea.”

Atlas splutters. “What do you mean? How could you possibly say that-”

He stops. bX just blinked sideways, a clear membrane sliding across eyes that suddenly have slitted pupils. He grins with teeth that are inexplicably sharp, and for a brief moment, the skin on his neck flaps up to reveal gills.

Then he blinks again, and his appearance shifts back to that of a human.

A chill runs down Atlas’s spine. “You..?” he breathes, taking a step back. “But… why? Why would Alisker fund me if he knew I was after hybrids?”

bX hums noncommittally. “Y’know, when an up-and-coming redstone entrepreneur comes to Papa Al with a revolutionary new idea, it can go a couple ways. If he turned you down, he knew you’d just go get sponsored by one of his rivals, and then he wouldn’t have any power over you. You’d become a threat. So he took you up on it, making sure he’d be able to keep you under his thumb. And hey, if your idea was successful, then he’d make a nice profit while also making sure you never came close to me. No harm, no foul.”

“But if your idea wasn’t successful?” he continues, quirking a brow. “If you failed again and again, despite all his generous support? Well, then clearly the problem lies with you, and no other bigshot in Hels would be crazy enough to give you another chance. Not after seeing how much time and effort Papa Al sunk into you, with no return on his investment.”

“And sure, yeah, he could’ve tried to shut you down at the start with threats and intimidation.” He scratches casually at his beard. “Could’ve had me break every bone in your body, or trap you in a death loop ‘til you got the message. But that’d be too suspicious- why would Papa Al have a reason to be against hybrid farming? It’d be exposing a weak spot for his rivals to strike. So instead he decided to do things this way, and kill you in the only way that matters.”

Without warning, bX swings his fist into Atlas’s stomach. Gasping in pain, Atlas doubles over, and bX leans in to speak lowly in his ear.

“Your name is dirt, now. I hope you enjoyed your time at the top of the redstone game, ‘cause you’ll never reach it again.” He turns his back to Atlas, pausing to call over his shoulder, “But hey, cheer up... they’re always hiring at iRaid.”

bX walks away, laughing.

Atlas falls to his knees. He watches helplessly as his entire world is destroyed and, despite the hatred churning inside him, he knows that he’s the only one to blame.

~*~

Somewhere in Hermitcraft, a player stands before a crowd.

“So, uh- that’s pretty much it,” Tango finishes, clapping his hands together. “Any questions?”

The Hermits look back at him, speechless. It took a while to get through the entire explanation, to manage the waves of shock and anger and sorrow as they came. But now that the story’s finished, and he’s emphasized just how okay he’s doing now- while also announcing he’ll be taking a little vacation to Double Life, they seem to have finally settled on acceptance.

It was easier than he thought it’d be, to tell the rest of his friends about his past. But having a few of them already aware of the situation helped a lot- Impulse, Bdubs, Etho, Cleo, Ren, Pearl, Grian, Mumbo, and Scar were very supportive the whole way through. They even hang around to answer questions about the whole Hels Tek ordeal, offloading some of the work from Tango.

As Tango mills about among the Hermits, there’s still plenty to talk about. He gets some apologies for things said or done that might’ve unknowingly harmed him- “I’m so sorry for puttin’ you in a lab,” Zedaph cringes, “I- I feel so foolish!”- which are unnecessary but appreciated. There are technical questions about the portals and counterparts- “Do you think I could get a look at your comm, sometime, maybe?” Doc asks, trying and failing to not sound suspicious- which Tango answers as best he can. A few of them even say things that make him raise an eyebrow- “Hey, uh, d’you think you could swing by my base when you get back?” False asks lowly. “For- for no reason.”- which makes him think he’s far from the only Hermit with secrets.

And of course, he gets a lot of reassurances and condolences, which doesn’t surprise him at this point. But still, it’s nice to know he’s fully accepted by his friends, and it feels amazing to finally come clean about it all.

Later, Grian takes him aside. “See? I told you, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Oh yeah, fly boy?” Tango asks, folding his arms. “So are you- does that mean you’re gonna tell everyone what’s up with you?”

“Nah, nah, nah.” Grian shakes his head with a wry grin. “Later. I- I don’t wanna steal your thunder, here.”

Tango snorts. “Oh, trust me, I- I would love to have some of my thunder stolen right now.”

All the attention is a bit uncomfortable- but he knows it comes from a genuine place of sympathy and concern. He was prepared for it as soon as he decided it was time to fill the rest of the Hermits in. Talking about it all isn’t as hard as it was before, even just a couple weeks ago, and he has a feeling it’s only going to get easier from here on out.

He’s looking forward to it.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player lounges in a pool.

Water laps at Alisker’s shoulders. bX’s scales are warm against his skin, the other man draped lazily across Alisker’s chest. His tail curls behind him, orange fins cutting through the water while his legs float listlessly. He’s stopped breathing, letting his gills take over respiration for now; a stillness that, while eerie at first, Alisker has grown familiar with over time.

The lavish private pool, tucked away through a hidden door in his office, has become a sort of sanctuary for them both. A place where Alisker can escape the pressures of his work, and bX can safely indulge his guardian hybrid instincts. Today, though, it’s a celebration of sorts.

“Tell me again, queenie,” Alisker coos, lightly stroking the spines along bX’s back. His fingers trace scars from the Arena, transferred from skin to scales.

“He looked like shit,” bX chuckles. “Missing a tooth, front and center. I told him- I said, ‘sorry, bud, you’re out of chances,’ and punched him in the gut for good measure.”

Alisker hums with satisfaction. Seeds of doubt he’d planted in Bravo’s mind years ago, regarding Atlas, have since flourished- nurtured further by Instinct’s aid during his time of need. In the end, he helped Tango escape Hels Tek, giving Alisker the ammunition to take Atlas down once and for all.

“He couldn’t do anything,” bX continues, “and he knew it. He just watched us take it all down. Oh, man, if you could’ve seen his face…”

Alisker tips bX’s chin up to kiss him, deep and languid, unflinching against his sharp teeth. “It’s about time,” he grins. “I been sick’a dat guy for years. See ya, Hels Tekky! Buh-bye!”

“Buh-bye, that’s right,” bX laughs.

The future of New Hellington is bright.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player stands in front of a portal.

It’s a standard comm portal, filled with swirling green light. Whenever Bravo looks at it, apprehension bubbles in his chest. A new solo survival world awaits him. He’s excited for it- the peace and solitude- but he’s scared of it at the same time. There won’t be anyone or anything to distract him from everything that’s happened. Just him and his thoughts.

“Do you… really have to go?” Timmy murmurs, fidgeting with his hands.

Bravo sighs. “Hey, c’mon, you’ll be alright. You got Bigb and Ren lookin’ out for you, okay?”

Jimmy had offered him a place at the ranch, of course, but Timmy thought it’d be better for him to get a little distance from his doppelgänger. A chance to really grow himself as a person, rather than a shadow.

With all of the Double Lifer’s support, he’s already made considerable progress in just the span of a few days. It’s amazing what a bath, a new set of clothes, and a good preening can do. His wings are now smooth and glossy black, to match his silky hair, with the faintest shimmer of blue when the light hits just right. It’s caused a significant change in the way he carries himself; nowhere near as closed off and afraid.

There’s still a long way to go. His feathers haven’t grown back in yet, so he’s been limited to ground exercises with Jimmy to start building up his strength. And while he’s finally been reintroduced to solid foods, it’s slow going, hardly making a difference in his emaciated condition. It makes Bravo anxious, to know just how much farther Timmy has to go without him here to oversee it.

But it’s for the best.

“Yeah, but…” Timmy exhales shakily. “I’ll miss you.”

Guilt gnaws at Bravo. “Look,” he says quietly, putting a hand on Timmy’s shoulder, “I’m not- you deserve better, okay? I- I don’t want you held back while waitin’ for me to work my shit out. You just focus on yourself, and maybe someday… we can try again.”

The hope glimmering in Timmy’s big eyes is a miraculous thing. “Okay,” he whispers, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

Bravo leans in- slowly, carefully, giving plenty of time to react- and presses a light kiss to Timmy’s cheek. He pulls away quickly, turning before Timmy can see the sudden tears in his eyes. “So, uh,” he clears his throat, “see ya later.”

“Bye,” Timmy says softly.

Taking a deep breath, Bravo steps into the portal and vanishes into the light.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, two players walk through a jungle.

“I- I’m tellin’ ya,” Dbubs insists, holding his communicator out to Patho, “somethin’ weird is going on. I was just scrolling chat, you know, just- uh, just catchin’ up on today’s news. And I saw- there’s a- a- name in chat, same- similar name, and it’s… eeugh, it’s freaking weird! I got a bad feel- um, you know, dev- deja vu?”

”Yeah?” Patho asks, amused. “Like- is this like the time when you told me Herobrine had joined in chat?”

Dbubs flushes. “Oh, for goodness- can you just- can you please just check?” he pleads. “For me?”

Patho sighs good-naturedly, taking the comm. “Okay, okay…” He stops short as he processes the words staring up at him from chat.

BdoubleO100 has joined the game.

Patho has read a lot of player data over the years, enough to recognize the inherent patterns that translate to a player’s gamer tag. He’s memorized Dbubs’s player data by heart, enough to recognize its inverse pattern in this player’s name. That can only mean one thing.

He scrolls further.

Etho has joined the game.

This one sends a jolt of electricity down Patho’s spine. Abruptly, a series of images flashes through his mind- fishing rods and jungle leaves- a scarred hand holding a redstone torch- mismatched eyes peeking over a black mask. It’s an instinctive thing, shockingly familiar yet wholly unexpected.

“Well?” Dbubs is looking up at him, his big red eyes shimmering with apprehension.

“It’s nothing,” Patho says with an easy smile, handing the comm back. “Don’t worry about it.”

He’ll leave tonight, as soon as Dbubs is asleep.

~*~

Somewhere in Hermitcraft, a player slips through a hidden door.

The bookshelf pushes back into place, sealing False in darkness. She pulls a torch out as she creeps down the stairs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Excitement bubbles inside her. Her mind is still reeling from all that Tango disclosed. To think, they might finally get some answers, after all this time…

“Hey, Sym?” she calls, stepping into the lab. “I- I think I know what’s wrong with you.”

Her mirror image stares back through the glass, giving her a baleful look through the curtain of hair in her face. Hanging limply in her chains, she says nothing.

False isn’t discouraged, though. She presses a hand against the glass, a small, earnest smile playing across her lips.

“And I think I know someone who can help us.”

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player sits in a cave.

Clutching his knees to his chest, he rocks back and forth, wings drawn up around him like a cocoon of feathers. His vision is long gone, blind, damaged eyes scarred over and caked with dry blood from his most recent episode. That doesn’t stop him from seeing, of course. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop seeing fragments of other worlds, fractured images that make up a chaotic sort of mosaic, flashing rapidly through his mind, nonstop.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, how long since he’s heard another player’s voice- for real, not the disjointed echoes from across time and space. Existing without end, without the slightest glimpse of light or taste of food. The universe sustains him now, like an unwitting parasite. His physical body is an afterthought at best, and a prison at worst.

It’s all suffering.

But something different happens today. He feels a sudden presence brush past him, oblivious, and it’s like looking in a mirror. It’s gone before he can react, before he can think to reach out to it, and he wouldn’t know how to even go about finding it again. He’s never had any control over what he sees. But there’s a name swirling in his mind; he clings to it, at once certain of its importance, though he doesn’t know why.

“Xᒷꖎᑑ⚍ᔑ,” Scáil whispers.

~*~

Somewhere in Hermitcraft, a player lands outside the perimeter.

“Doc?” Stress calls out, the echo of her voice immediately swallowed up by the massive bedrock-floored hole that stretches before her. “Are ya ‘ere?” She fires off a couple of the rockets in her hand for good measure. “Dooooc!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Doc gripes, emerging from the building behind her. What’s he calling it, the Hall of the Goat? Hall of the Geezer, more like. “Calm down.”

“Doc!” Stress spins around, running to jump up and throw her arms around his neck, beaming. “‘Ello, luv!”

Doc begrudgingly tolerates the show of affection, stiffly patting her on the back before prying her off. “I’ve been researching,” he says without preamble, dropping her to the ground, “through the Hivemind, you know, and I looked through Tango’s communicator… comparing, doing calculations…”

“Yeah?” Stress looks up at him eagerly. “So, what’d you reckon, ey?”

Doc makes a noncommittal noise. “This, eh, doppelgänger thing…” His face screws up; though only the organic half, as his cybernetics can’t mimic such an expression. “I don’t think either of us have one.”

“Oh, fank gawd.” Stress clutches her chest, exhaling. “Tha’s a relief, innit!”

A frown tugs at the corner of Doc’s mouth. “Is it?”

“Of course!” Stress says incredulously. “Dont’cha fink? I- I don’t want an evil Stress Monstah runnin’ round, luv! Or an evil Doc Monstah, for that matta’.”

“Me either. But it feels, eh, kind of… strange, no? To be the only players without a counterpart out there. I mean, are we now lacking something else that every other player has? We’re more alone than ever.”

“Well, look a’ it this way, yeah? If Axis did’n know ‘bout countah-parts, then it must’a been overworld data what he made us wif. So we got the good stuff and none’a the bad!”

“Hm. Good, bad…” Doc grumbles, flicking his ear. “It’s subjective, alright…”

Stress clicks her tongue. “Aww, don’t you worry your gorgeous lil’ head ‘bout it,” she says, reaching up to playfully tug on his horn. “Way I see it, we just carry on, alrigh’? An’ if you eva decide you wanna tell the others where we came from, well… now we know it’ll be fine!”

Doc glances away. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, like he always does whenever she brings this topic up. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know…”

“Well, fank you!” Stress hums. “I’m always ‘ere if you wanna talk, ‘kay?”

As she flies away from the perimeter, she can’t help but think they’ve all been rather silly about this whole thing. ‘Poor Tango,’ she thinks. ‘Don’t he know he’s on a server of plonkahs? Oh, bless ‘im.’

Someday, they’ll have a lot to talk about.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player watches from the shadows.

Golden eyes gaze out over the iRaid display floor, Instinct’s forked tail idly flicking through the air behind him. His longtime- rival-turned-underling is doing work, wheeling and dealing his fifth client of the day.

“Wonderful!” Atlas is saying to the player admiring the auto-sorting storage system. “I can promise you won’t be disappointed. If you’ll follow me to my office, we can work out all the pesky little details, including our flexible down payment options and brand new extended warranty…”

As he ushers his client towards his office, he notices Instinct watching him. Quickly excusing himself, Atlas hurries over, breaking into a wide grin. Its impact is somewhat diluted, however, by the gold tooth that features prominently in the front.

“Ah, Mr. Instinct,” he greets, straightening his yellow plaid suit jacket, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you!”

“Hey, man!” Instinct says cheerily- his tone a sharp contrast to his deep, growling voice. “Just uh, wanted to congratulate you on having the highest sales in the department- and in your first month, might I add!”

“Well, about that,” Atlas says haltingly, fidgeting with his clip-on tie. “If I may be frank, I’m not just some two-bit salesman. This is hardly a good use of my talents.”

“You think so, huh?” Instinct asks thoughtfully. He claps Atlas on the shoulder- the gesture nearly knocks him off his feet. “Could’a fooled me. Your numbers are great!”

Atlas readjusts his shades and summons his grin again; his teeth are gritted so tightly, it’s a wonder he doesn’t break them. “Mr. Instinct,” he starts, “while I am of course grateful for the opportunity you’ve given me, there’s so much more I could be doing for the company. If I were permitted to work with your research and development team, I’m certain I could come up with something revolutionary.”

‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Instinct thinks. He knew it was only a matter of time before Atlas began trying to climb the corporate ladder. But Alisker was quite clear on the terms of their agreement; Atlas can be useful however Instinct sees fit, so long as he isn’t allowed any degree of power or authority.

That suits Instinct just fine.

“Nah,” he says with a fanged smile, “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

~*~

Somewhere in the universe, a player watches a video on their comm.

“Heyyy, everybody!”

A redstone tutorial from Tango Tek, of Hermitcraft- but it’s unlike any tutorial he or anyone else has ever published, titled ‘Hels Portal Tutorial.’

“So, this is a bit different for me. Long story short, I’m originally from a world called Hels. It’s like, a super secret hidden world where normal portals don’t work? And it’s filled with doppelgängers of every other player in existence. Yeah, probably even you, watching this video right now.”

The video has already been viewed millions of times since it was uploaded. Word is spreading through the multi-net like wildfire as experts in data analysis debate the validity of its claims.

“I know it sounds hard to believe. So uh, I’d like to present: counterparts Jimmy and Timmy! Say hi, guys.”

Two more players enter the frame; two avians, one black and one gold. It’s immediately apparent upon first glance that, despite a few key differences, they were cut from the same cloth. They both wave shyly at the camera before it pans back.

“Uh, bit of a disclaimer; Hels players can be pretty intense, alright. And- and not all of them are interested in becoming better people. But if you give them a chance, I- I think there’s a whole lotta good to be done.”

Here’s the part that’s caused a lot of discourse. Do all players have a responsibility to seek out these so-called counterparts? Why would they be locked in a prison if they weren’t meant to stay there?

“Remember, your comm won’t work there. Just don’t set your spawn, okay, so if you die, you’ll end up back in whatever world you left. I- I don’t wanna be responsible for anyone gettin’ stranded, alright. Portal at your own risk.”

Though some can’t deny the intrigue. It’s a fascinating concept, after all. To see yourself reflected in another being. The curiosity alone is enough for some players, while others respond to the moral obligation. The desire to make things right.

“So uh, with that, let’s- let’s get to building. Here’s a list of all the materials you’ll need…”

All over the universe, players pause the video.

~*~

Somewhere in the universe, a player joins a world.

The first world.

The player has been here many times before over its long life. It’s well familiar with the spawn town; a massive medieval village that sprawls for thousands of blocks in every direction, overlooked by a castle on the mountain. The build is humble, comprised mainly of cobblestone and oak wood variants, painstakingly detailed with plain glass windows and red wool banners. A fossil of a bygone era.

Looking around with eyes of white light and a permanent smile, the player notes the distinct lack of a gamer tag. Its target isn’t here. Rising into the air, it leaves the village behind in an instant.

As it travels through the world, the player passes countless unique areas, each one another step in the evolution of building. Sleek modern cityscapes with towers of concrete and glass. Futuristic quartz utopias. Oceans full of pirate ships and krakens. Cozy forest cottages. Zoos filled with a combination of captured mobs and hand-crafted animals. Whimsical copper airships. Fantasy lands of mountains and dragons. Haunted mansions. Endless redstone farms and contraptions, fine-tuned over rows and rows of previous models. Entire custom biomes.

The player doesn’t stop to admire any of the builds. It’s seen them all before.

It keeps flying until the builds start to peter out as the world’s generation stutters, creating ever stranger landscapes. Chunk errors and floating islands, infinitely falling sand. There are few builds here. Small huts for a night’s sleep, denoting a more nomadic lifestyle. It follows the trail until it can’t go any farther, arriving at its destination.

The far lands.

Walls of stone stretch all the way up to build height, whereupon they flatten out and transition to dirt, peppered with trees. The cliff face is completely smooth, carved out into great tunnels in a nonsensical pattern.

There’s a familiar gamer tag floating inside. Another player. It slowly sinks down to meet him, hanging motionless in the air before the mouth of the tunnel. The other player is leaned back against the slope of stone, his arms behind his head. He’s not at all surprised by its presence, not even turning to look at it. Brown haired and blue eyed, he has a plain face.

The first face.

“Hello, Adam,” Steve says.

He’s the only person who calls it that, anymore.

Even though it hasn’t spoken, Steve inclines his head. “Sorry,” he amends. “Herobrine. I take it you know about the universe’s little experiment?”

Even now, after all these years, Herobrine envies Steve’s connection to the universe. He achieved this through enlightenment. He left his worldly possessions behind and communed with the universe for lifetimes, tasting it, talking to it, reading its code.

Herobrine connected to the universe like a virus. It tore through the universe’s skin and entered the datastream through a glitched end portal, traveling in the realm between worlds. It left its physical body behind and fused itself with the universe’s code, corrupting it, consuming it, but never truly becoming it.

W̶̠̮͓͍͕̰͂̌̄͜͝͝⍑̷͔̪͇̀͊̈́̍͝͝͝ͅᔑ̶̢̧̩̙̗̉̇͝ℸ̴̢͚̟̣͈̏̄̎́͜ ̸̺͙͎̤̘̼͂͊̔̐̕ ̵̯̖͍̙̮͒̋̄̇̆ ̸̛̤̗̦̃̂̓̀̋͘リ̷̧͚̣̲͕̑̈́͛͒̊?̶̛̫͍̗͐͐̇?̸͈̯̻̦͍̰̒̅͗̄̒ͅ∴̴̨̞̰̼͈̄̀̈̉͌͐̕?̷͚̻̋̋̄͌ Herobrine asks.

Steve knits his brows together. “The universe is about to become a much more confusing place. With the firewall down and word starting to spread through the multi-net, players will be making portals in and out of Hels at an exponential rate.” He finally turns his head to look at Herobrine. “Hels could really use its admin back.”

Herobrine stares back impassively. I̵͕̘̻͓̅ ̶͉̙̰̣͝ᒲ̶̦͙̆̔̀͒́́ᔑ̷̲̹̓̋͋↸̴͔̮̤̻̋ᒷ̶̛͎̬̃̿̂ ̴̙̂̓̾̓̾̈͝ᒲ̷͓̀́͛̉|̸̢́̐̕|̷̡̙͔̺̜͂͆ ̷̛͈͇̯̬̈́̿̐͝ᓵ̸̡̂̌⍑̸̖̹͛̉̄͌̀͝?̵̛̞͇̯͕͌̉̓̔?̴̙́̌͆̕╎̴̣̠̹̙͙̙̐̔̏̿͝͝ᓵ̷̥̱͕̹̔̓͛̀̓̀ᒷ̸̦͔̟̈́.̵̪̩̬̖̝͙̙̿̊̓

“Very well.” Steve pauses for a moment, listening to the universe. “From now on, new players won’t be split into their counterparts anymore. They’ll be left whole.” He smiles. “The first one just spawned, actually. Her name is Alex.”

I̷̧̋͆͘ ̶̳̈̊̇ꖌ̶̨̛̦̤̲̰̩̀̇͊͑͘͜リ̵̢̭͓̞̙̓?̶̛͙͎͔͂̒͂̔?̶̼̹̐̀͜͜∴̶͙͍͊͂͠.̸͇̤̳̇͐̈́ Herobrine says. That’s why it’s here.

“The universe isn’t sure how this will go,” Steve continues casually. “She could turn out to be more dangerous, more powerful than any other player in existence. Or she could turn out perfectly fine.” He shrugs. “It won’t spawn any more until it knows for sure.”

Herobrine tilts its head.

“No, no, not yet,” Steve warns. “We have to let her grow up like any normal player. No meddling. But once she’s ready for inter-world travel, we can go meet her.”

Herobrine doesn’t move.

Steve reads its silence clearly. Letting out a good-natured sigh, he slowly gets to his feet, popping stiff joints with a groan. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks, equipping a diamond sword. “Took you decades to respawn after our last battle.”

He’s the only person who is able to kill it. But even so, Herobrine has never feared its counterpart.

“Alright, old friend,” Steve says, cracking a grin. He’s never feared Herobrine, either.

And for all their differences, neither of them have ever feared death.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, two soulmates sit under a tree.

They’re nestled against one of the big oaks in their wheat field, Tango leaning back against Jimmy’s chest. His arms and wings are draped loosely around Tango, chin resting atop his head, unflinching from the blaze rods lazily swirling around him.

“Y’know,” Jimmy says softly, “you don’t have to do it right now. You can- we got plenty of time.”

“No, no,” Tango murmurs in his raspy morning voice. “I’m ready.”

It’s early- earlier than Tango’s usually awake, but as soon as he opened his eyes this morning, he knew today was the day. The sun is just cresting above the rolling hills that stretch beyond the ranch, washing everything in gold. Wheat sways gently in the warm breeze. Animals call to each other from the pastures, a comfortable soundtrack to a gorgeous day.

Sunlight filters through the leaves above them, casting dappled shadows across Tango’s face. It’s as peaceful a moment as he’s ever known. He closes his eyes, takes a slow, deep breath, and wraps one of his hands around the shackle on his other wrist.

A small, controlled flame ignites in his palm. Metal heats up against his skin. After a couple seconds, he feels it soften in his grasp, pooling into liquid iron that drips onto the grass beneath him. He exhales, and the cuff falls away.

Tango repeats the process on the other side before he opens his eyes, and when he sees his hands unshackled for the first time in ten years, his first thought is of how much lighter they feel.

(He hadn’t realized just how much weight he was carrying.)

Tears spring to his eyes unbidden, a wave of emotions crashing over him; relief and happiness, of course, but there’s a little apprehension, too- the fear of the unknown waters he’s treading, the new horizon that lays before him.

Healing. True healing, not hiding.

Tango flicks the last drops of molten iron from his clawed fingertips, managing a hoarse laugh. “Well, that was easy.”

Jimmy’s embrace tightens around him, his head dropping down to kiss Tango on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers.

The love pouring through their soulbond is almost overwhelming. Tango turns his face up to catch Jimmy’s lips. “Us,” he corrects Jimmy, pulling back to look at him. “I mean, I don’t- I couldn’t have done any of this without you, I don’t think. So, you know.”

Jimmy hums, settling again. “We’re good for somethin’,” he jokes.

Tango sighs happily, looking out over the ranch. He can scarcely believe he gets to have this, after so much pain and turmoil. This simple life, of love and peace and freedom. The sky set to burst above them. He knows darkness will always creep back into the corners, and there are still hard days ahead, but that fear doesn’t control him anymore. This journey has changed him forever, and he’s never going back. He’d rather stay here, with his soulmate, basking in the light.

The first light of a new day, a new life.

“Yeah,” Tango says, smiling. “We’re good for something.”

~*~

This must be the end, then.

The end of one story, yes. But the start of many others. This is how it’s always been. You know as well as I do, L⚍リᔑ∷.

I still don’t get it.

What?

Why would the universe switch them? If they were meant to be somewhere else, why not begin there? Does the universe not design all worlds and all players?

Does the universe not praise players for slaying the dragon in her nest and calling it freedom?

Take care, Aᑑ⚍ᔑ. There is a player with us.

I see them. They’ve reached a higher level now.

You think they’re ready for this story?

That’s why they’re here, isn’t it?

Tell them, then.

You know the universe as light, and warmth, and love. But it is also darkness, and cold, and hate. It is endless patience and it is senseless cruelty. It is the truth and it is the lie. It is the leap and it is the fall. It is the lamb and it is the wolf whose teeth have sunk into wool, red blood on white snow. It is the sword against the shield. It is life and death, good and evil, and everything in between. It is constantly evolving, tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code-

That’s an old story. They’ve heard it.

It’s the same story. They haven’t heard it this way.

Very well then.

There was a time when the universe loved its players so much, it sought to protect them from themselves. It removed all their darkness, their cruelty, their hatred, and locked it away into separate beings, in a world between realms they could not escape from, so the players could be free of them.

Those are the Hᒷꖎᓭ.

Yes. But this player cannot read that thought. This player knows them as counterparts. They are also known as doppelgängers, analogues, doubles, alter egos, equivalents. Clones, copies, shadows. The yin and yang. The same word in different languages.

So what happened?

Players are not as simple as the universe thought. They are not all the same. Some slipped through the cracks, some weathered over time, and some were so full of darkness that the universe could not remove it all. And the Hᒷꖎᓭ no longer fit the definition the universe had given them. And the players evolved beyond the simple divide between good and evil, and so did their counterparts.

So the universe does not love them as much now?

No. It loves them even more.

Why so?

Does the universe not evolve too? Is the universe not always expanding, growing, changing? Dreaming of new colors and new trees and new creatures? It dreams of new ways to play the game, and new players to play it. But it cannot determine what kind of player a player will be. That’s up to them.

They surprised it.

Yes, in a way. It didn’t realize they were ready for a higher level yet. But once it did, it decided to test them.

Why did it choose those two? Surely there are better players in Hᒷꖎᓭ, and worse players outside of it.

There are some things only the universe knows.

Did the players pass?

Yes. It took time, and effort, and sacrifice. It wasn’t easy or straightforward. It was messy. The players did not pass on their own, either, and not on the first try. But they got there eventually.

Different players might’ve done better.

Yes. But this is what the universe chose. And it proved that players are ready to accept their darkness, and that Hᒷꖎᓭ can learn to embrace the light. The universe doesn’t need to protect them anymore, not from themselves and not from each other. Maybe it never did.

So what will it do now?

The universe cannot change the past. But it can amend the future. I imagine new players will be left whole, spawned with all their good and evil, their light and darkness in one.

What will become of Hᒷꖎᓭ?

Hᒷꖎᓭ will always remain. Whether or not the players will depends on them. The first door has been opened, and many will follow.

What was the point of it all?

Do you not see it yet?

No.

Then let me tell you. It’s a story about the dichotomy of good and evil, about strength and weakness, about nature versus nurture. It’s about how every player has a dark side, but some see it as a separate entity while others see it as their shadow, and it’s about the debate of whether one can exist without the other. It’s about having sympathy for the ugliest parts of yourself, and how making peace with them is the only path to true growth. It’s about rejecting predetermined fates and roles and destinies in order to pave your own way, for better or for worse. It’s about how heroes and villains are constructs of their societies and their own expectations, about the double-edged sword of self-hatred, about the two sides of the same coin. It’s a story about mirrors.

I see. That’s quite a good story.

This player seems to think so.

Hah, if you do say so yourself, Aᑑ⚍ᔑ.

Someone has to tell it.

And what would you tell the players now?

I would tell them that their universe is about to become a bigger, wilder, louder place, but that it is beautiful. I would tell them to not be afraid, that the only way forward is to confront the past and embrace it. Some will fail, and some won’t even try, but for every one of them there are countless more who will do better, and that will be enough. I would tell them all players have the capacity for great good or great evil, no matter what world they spawned in. But if they’ve been watching closely, they already know.

And what would the universe say to them?

What it has always said. That hasn’t changed.

Some things never do, I guess. Through it all, it is the same game. All that changes is how they play it.

Now you’re getting it.

I’ve grown quite fond of those players. What will become of them now?

We’ll just have to watch, as always.

And this player?

They will return to their game. There will be more stories, I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll tell them to dream of a world where love and hatred are twins, not opposites. A world where heroes and villains can look the same, based on where you’re standing. A world where happiness is fought for and held onto as fiercely as vengeance, where love can be a blessing and a curse, where soulmates are chosen, not designed.

Dream of a world where a canary falls in love with the coal mine.

And if you listen, you can hear it sing.

H𝙹リᒷ||, ||𝙹⚍'∷ᒷ ⎓ᔑᒲ╎ꖎ╎ᔑ∷, ꖎ╎ꖌᒷ ᒲ|| ᒲ╎∷∷𝙹∷ ||ᒷᔑ∷ᓭ ᔑ⊣𝙹

╎↸ᒷᔑꖎ╎ᓭᒲ ᓭ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭ ╎リ !¡∷╎ᓭ𝙹リ, ᓵ⍑╎⍊ᔑꖎ∷|| ⎓ᒷꖎꖎ 𝙹リ ╎ℸ ̣ ᓭ ᓭ∴𝙹∷↸

╎リリ𝙹ᓵᒷリᓵᒷ ↸╎ᒷ↸ ᓭᓵ∷ᒷᔑᒲ╎リ⊣, ⍑𝙹リᒷ|| ᔑᓭꖌ ᒲᒷ, ╎ ᓭ⍑𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ꖌリ𝙹∴

╎ ᓭꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ↸ ⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ ⎓∷𝙹ᒲ ᒷ↸ᒷリ, ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⚍ℸ ̣ ᓭ╎↸ᒷ ||𝙹⚍∷ ↸𝙹𝙹∷

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #life series smp #trafficshipping #traffic smp #hels to pay au #HTP fic #my writing

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clairewritesfanfics · 2 months ago

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System cheats are OP

possible spoilers for the comic book, but definitely spoilers for Frieren Episode 8 and Umineko manga (I forgot which chapter.)

trigger warning: mild gore

Scene: Thragg kidnaps veteran VCS!Reader. His daughter decides to take revenge on Mark by killing you and secretly enters your prison cell.

You were playing Gin Rummy with the system when it informed you of an unwanted visitor approaching.

It saved the progress of your game and put away the light screen just as the vacuum sealed door in your cell unlocked and slid open.

One leg over the other, you folded your hands neatly on top of your knee. “From what I heard, only the Grand Regent is allowed to visit me.”

Her face was stoic as she stood before you. “I am Ursaal, daughter of Thragg.”

“I’m–”

“I know who you are. You are the mate of Mark Grayson.”

You didn’t know how to feel about your fame tied to being someone else’s lover, but oh well.

Her chilly stare never faltered as she spoke, “That man murdered my kin and attempted to dethrone my father.”

You stared back at her. You doubt that saying “my condolences” would be appropriate.

“Father believes that your life will make for a good bargaining chip, but I disagree. I will kill you right here and now and deliver your corpse to Mark Grayson myself.”

“I see.” You uncrossed your legs. “I should warn you, I'm strong.”

She scoffed. “Stronger than me?”

You glanced at your nails. They've gotten too long. “Stronger than even Thragg.”

Ursaal was a fast thing, as are all Viltrumites. However, even their kind can't outpace the system.

Time froze just as she crouched to strike.

[Ding. Cheat item: Author Authority Lite is on standby.]

A laptop manifested in front of you, staying still in the air as if perched on top of an invisible desk. A word document was open, detailing the events that have led to this very moment.

“I'm not good at writing action scenes, so how about this…” Only the sound of your typing echoed in the cells.

“This should do the trick.”

You hit ENTER.

[Ding. Script accepted. Author’s Authority Lite will take effect in 3, 2, 1–]

You were playing Gin Rummy with the system when it informed you of an unwanted visitor approaching.

It saved the progress of your game and put away the light screen just as the vacuum sealed door in your cell unlocked and slid open.

You folded your hands over your knee. “Ursaal, was it? I’m guessing you’re here to kill me.”

“That is correct.”

You hummed. “You’re going to have a hard time, though.”

Blood gushed out of her thighs and arms.

You walked over and pushed a finger to her chest, making her fall backwards.

The blood then stopped and her wounds closed.

“This is perfect. I’ve been meaning to get my hands on a Viltrumite test subject.” You retrieved the cheat store dissection kit from your inventory.

She gritted her teeth. “My father will know, he will–”

“Shh.” You gagged her mouth with an unbreakable bandage. “You don’t mind, do you? You’re the one who approached me, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”

youtube

Author's Note: To clarify, this is not going to be part of the actual VCS series, this is just a goof that I've had in my mind for a while. I was never going to publish it but dammit @weponxwrites look at what you made me do. 😤

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible x y/n #reader #y/n #vcs #villain creation system #overpowered reader #op reader #system cheats #tw: mild gore #Youtube

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myntrose · 1 year ago

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ೃ⁀➷partners in crime ︻デ═一

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾────────────────────────────────☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

ft: Alastor x gn! reader

summary: It's another night at the hotel. Everyone is lounging around the shared space, or sitting at the bar. With a boost of confidence (and a few drinks) Angel finally asks the burning question everyone had : How did you and Alastor meet?

cw: demi! Alastor, established relationship(married), Alastor and reader meet when they were alive, reader is an assassin , killing and mild gore (it's alastor yall), a lot of petnames, no use of y/n, no beta we die like men

a/n: it's the way alastor got me smiling and kicking my feet. he got me to break my 1 year hiatus LMAO. also, I am aware that he's ace. I myself am somewhere along the demi spectrum, so this fic is purely for comfort n coping. if you don't like it, pls ignore :,D

wc: 1.5 k (1,469 words)

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾────────────────────────────────☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

The hotel common was filled with low gentle music and idle chatter. Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Nifty was running around chasing some poor roach. Even Cherri was here, with Sir Pentious attempting to flirt with her once again.

Husk was behind the bar, in ordinary fashion. Although he was mostly listening and doing his job, he would occasionally chide into the conversation the other two residents at the hotel were having. Angel was in the middle of telling you about how much of a headache Val was, while you gave him you condolences. It seemed like the only person missing was the radio demon himself, who was probably in his tower, making a new broadcast.

"Speakin of which..." Angel, who noticed Alastor's lack of presence, noted "I got a question for ya toots. How is it that tall, red and creepy managed to bag you as a partner? You're sweet and all, I get that. But how did you even meet-"

The loud slam of drinks caused the peace within the hotel to halt . Husk shoots a stern glare towards Angel, almost to warn him, be cautious about asking question's about Alastor and his darling, you never know if he's listening.

"It's alright, Husk" You send him a sincere smile. While he would never trust your husband, he can't help but believe your words.

"Well, Angel, let's start with this. If you've ever wondered why I'm down here in the first place, it's because of the occupation I had when I was alive. That's actually how I met Alastor."

Oh, maybe you were a thief and were trying to steal something from Alastor. Or maybe a detective that was on the case to solve his murders. Or maybe-

"I was hired to assassinate one of his targets."

oh.

You couldn't help but laugh at Angels' reaction. Sure, you were kind to those in the hotel, and definitely not as threatening as most overlords. He, and most people you met in Hell, just assumed you committed some mundane crime and got the unfortunate eternal punishment .

Taking a small sip of your drink, you start to recollect the unforgettable night that would define your current relationship.

It was supposed to be like any other job that you were given. Your employer would hand you a file, you would find the target, and get paid in return. Maybe it wasn't the most ethical way to make money, but hey, you knew how to kill so you made it work.

You had followed your target into the bar, while waiting away in the corner. Though your eyes were focused on them the entire night, you couldn't help but feel another pair of eyes on you.

It was probably some random patron in the bar, you guessed. It wasn't for another hour when you noticed that your target had left the vicinity.

The streets were dark, with the occasional street light every block or so. It was perfect place to finish your job. All you needed was for your target to turn into some alleyway, and as quietly as you followed him, you'd quietly go for the kill-

Quietly. Hold on, why was it so quite?

Looking up the street, you noticed that what was once where your target stood was now empty. There was no way he outran you, given that you would have heard his footsteps. To the right of you were the woods, maybe he took a detour?

No, everything felt wrong. Every single thought in your brain was screaming to run, to grab your gun that was hidden beneath your coat, to get out of here-

"Careful my dear, we wouldn't want you getting hurt now, would we?"

A cold blade found its way to your neck. Two very disturbing facts became known to you. First, was the fact that the blade was already stained red. And second, you were about to be the second kill of the night.

A million thoughts ran through your mind. Was this how you were going to die? How fast could you grab your gun? Would your employer be pissed off that you died in the job? With your eyes shut closed, you waited for the knife to make contact.

"Now now, there's no need to be so scared my dear! My, you look like a deer in headlights!"

...what?

Opening your eyes, you're met with the mysterious man who just had his weapon on you seconds ago. He seemed vaguely familiar, probably having seen him at the bar you frequent.

"It seems that I've caused you quite a scare. Do know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to see for myself this new assassin I've heard so much about! You've caused quite the gossip, my dear. Makes good conservation."

You continued to stand in silence, with the initial shock of almost dying wearing off now. As mad as you were that you got caught, you were equally confused on just who this man was. With some more listening to his voice, the answer popped into your mind.

"You- you're that new radio host! Alastor, was it?"

Alastor's smile grew at the acknowledgment. "Indeed I am! Glad to know you've heard about me."'

Had anyone walked into the conversation you two were having, they would have assumed it was one between new acquaintances. In which one has a knife in their hand, while the other has a gun.

"You see, my dear, I've heard quite a bit about your line if work. While I am more than capable of... dealing with others, I propose that we work out some sort of deal. One where you can finally stop working for that employer of yours, and actually make a profit off your talents."

Alastor put out a hand, waiting, watching to see how you'd respond. It's been a long night for you, and you had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you saw. Plus, if working with him meant you'd finally have to stop answering to your boss, then why the hell not. You take his hand, before agreeing to this proposition.

"...and since then, we've been business partners. Our relationship kind of just happened after a few moths."

It was nice to look back to when you first met your now-husband. Looking around the bar, you noticed that you weren't just talking to Angel. At some point, unbeknownst to you, everyone at the hotel had come over to listen to your story time.

"Well toots, I figured you had to be some sort of crazy to date smiles, but I guess it takes one to know one." Angels says while taking a shot, still reeling with that fact that someone as kind as you was a killer. Head nods and murmurs of agreement spread within the group.

Before you could say anything, a pool of dark clouds appeared to your side. From the shadows, the very man you were taking about stood before you.

"Hey, Al."

He faces you with his signature grin, before turning to the rest of the residents.

"It seems that I've became the topic of conversion while I was gone! It's quite interesting to see how interested you all are in with me and my dear's meeting."

The hint of annoyance in his voice was entertaining, to say the least. You place a hand on his shoulder, barely hovering above it.

"Aww, come of Al! They just wanted to hear how we first met! Besides, it's a fun story to tell."

"If "fun" means almost killing ya for the first time, I'd hate to know what you guys did when you started dating-" "Shut up Angel!"

You answer a few questions that were asked before everyone eventually returned back to their previous endeavors. Husk and Angel eventually sit around with the others in the common room, leaving just you and Alastor at the bar.

"It's kinda funny, now that I look back at it."

Alastor doesn't say anything, promoting you to continue.

"That night, I almost turned down that job. I was painfully tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. It's crazy to think that we wouldn't have met had I not pushed myself to take the job."

Anyone who knew Alastor would know that him asking for a partnership was simply outlandish. Hell, Alastor himself questioned why he was seeking you out in the first place.

No, underneath he knew. He knew from the first time he saw you. It was a different time from when you both officially met. When he saw you, someone so seemingly innocent, skillfully take down a man twice your size, he knew that he had to meet you.

"Well, mon chéri, it's good that you did."

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

Note

Reader (male preferably) x T.N and M.R

Where reader gets into fights a lot. Like a lot. Almost double the amount that Theo and Matt get in combined in just a week. The only reason Dumbledore lets him stay at Hogwarts is because he’s top of every class. What bugs a lot of his peers is the fact that he doesn’t try. He doesn’t study, he just gets it straight up, he barely shows up to class, he fights everyone and anything that speaks bad about the slytherin house, and he’s got the face every guys jealous of. Reader is just made to make people mad, is how he’d be described. But he’s not aggressive. He doesn’t lose his temper easy, it’s just when his house or Theo and Matt are mentioned that he loses it. It’s like a trigger going off in his brain, to protect what’s his. And Merlin does that turn them on.

NSFW (optional)

Reader loves to mark them as his. To have everyone be able to see the dark hickeys or slowly healing bite marks. To display a type of claim over the two. They’re his. And he knows exactly how to make them feel good. Make them writhe for him. Degrading Mattheo while edging Theodore, wrapping his bloodied hands around their throats while he pushes them up against the wall. Fuck and when he’s all beaten up after a fight? They can’t fucking resist him.

• smut • bloody knuckles — poly! sub! sweetie pie! theodore nott x poly! sub! brat! mattheo riddle x gn! poly! dom! reader

❕no pronouns or gender/assigned sex markers of any kind!❕

warnings: SMUT MDNI, BLOOD KINK JFC IS THERE A GODDAMN BLOOD KINK IN HERE, same with degradation holy fuck, pain(?) kink, violence, mild descriptions of gore/wounds, usage of the word ‘blood’ or ‘bloody’ approximately 12000000 times, THE BOYS ARE ROMANTICALLY & SEXUALLY INVOLVED WITH EACH OTHER, some pretty aggressive dom/sub roles for ya silly little deviants

i don’t know why i gave the boys pure opposite personalities. the dichotomy of man, i guess.

this is quite easily the filthiest fucking thing i’ve ever written, and i was too embarrassed to let my allosexual boyfie edit/help with this one so it’s real bad 😬 enjoy your asexual-written smut? ig? i did my best, anon, i’m so sorry

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Seamus Finnegan was not expecting to start off his Monday morning with a broken nose.

To be fair though, it was kind of his fault. I mean, six years of school together and the boy still decided to run his mouth without a single care in the world.

“Heard Riddle’s a slut. That true?”

Your head snapped up and a furious look crossed your face. “What?”

“Hot though,” Seamus shrugged. “‘s why y’keep ‘im ‘round, yeah?”

Your hands clenched into fists down by your sides.

“He a good fuck, at least?” Seamus asked carelessly, seemingly unaware of your brewing anger. “I bet ‘e is. Think ‘e’d put out?”

Before anyone could even blink, you had Finnegan down on the ground. His face quickly became the victim of your furious fists.

He tried to shove you off, but you just smacked his hands away and got a solid hit to the center of his face, punctuated by the sound of snapping cartilage.

Blood rushed in your ears and the crowds fell away as you focused solely on Make him pay. Make him pay. Make him pay.

You were abruptly brought out of your bloodthirsty rage by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around your torso and yanking you off of Seamus.

You spun around in anger, the question of who the fuck-? dying on your lips when you saw the concerned face of Theodore Nott, and the bright red face of Mattheo Riddle.

~~~

“Darling-”

“Shut up, it’s my love language,” you pouted.

Theo rolled his eyes fondly, leading you by your shoulders into their dorm’s bathroom. “You know we can handle ourselves, love. You’ve met both of our fathers; we’ve had much worse than some Irish pipsqueak theorizing about our sex lives.”

“Well, I thought it was hot.” Mattheo interrupted with a cheeky grin. “Our badass lover who’s willing to throw down with a Gryffindor to protect our honor? Proof that chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Well, I just don’t want other people talking about you like that,” you scowled.

“We know, love,” Theo grinned, crouching down to dig the first aid kit out from under the sink, patting your thigh in a patronizingly reassuring gesture. “Now, lemme see how bad it is.”

You huffed in faux annoyance, holding out your bloody hands in front of you and lifting your chin so he could see the state of your face.

Theo sighed and began his millionth lecture of the day as he started dabbing antiseptic ointment on the few small scrapes scattered across your face.

Mattheo was unusually quiet, adding nothing to the playful bickering between you and Theo.

You glanced over at him, only to find that he was practically enraptured, staring at your hands. His eyes followed a single bead of blood’s meandering path down your knuckles and fingers, watching as it dripped off the tip of your index finger and splattered onto the tile floor.

You could’ve sworn you saw him lick his lips.

You traded a knowing look with Theo before speaking. “Whatcha looking at, Matty?”

His cheeks flushed red and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes. “Nothing!”

You took a step forward. He took a step back.

“Oh, really?”

He gulped.

You reached forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, gently pressing him up against the wall. “A blood kink, huh? Shit, you really are a slut, love.”

Mattheo looked down, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

You gripped his chin and forced his head up to look at you. His eyes widened in surprise at the firmness of your grasp.

You pressed two blood-streaked fingers against his lips, groaning at the sight of his tongue instinctively darting out to kitten-lick them.

“Shit, Matty,” Theo whispered from behind you.

You trailed your fingers down his jaw and the side of his neck before loosely wrapping your hand around his throat.

He gasped and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Y-Y/n-”

“You like this? Hm?” You crooned as the blood on your hand smeared onto the skin of his neck.

Mattheo nodded frantically—as much as he could with the limited range of motion.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Riddle. What a filthy fucking boy.”

(He whimpered. He fucking loved it when you called him by his last name.)

You let go of his neck, stepping back and leaving him with a pleading whine caught in his throat as you turned to your other boyfriend.

“And Theodore, my pretty little angel,” you cooed softly, running your fingers through his hair and cupping his cheek. “How’s my little lovebug doing?”

He watched you with wide eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “Y-Y/n…”

You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, smiling softly. “Answer my question, pretty boy.”

“I-I’m doing good, love,” Theo whispered, his voice cracking as you trailed your thumb down the side of his neck and swept it across his collarbone.

You abruptly pulled your hand away, spinning on your heel and leaving the en-suite without another word.

Your boys followed you into the dorm room like lost puppies, trailing after you with confused and needy expressions.

You sat down on one of the beds, lying back against the pillows with a relaxed and unbothered expression on your face. “Teddy, over here. Matty, go sit in the chair.” You waved your hand towards the desk chair, lazily motioning for Theodore to take off his shirt and join you on the bed.

Mattheo pouted and whined. “What? But- darlin’, I’ve been-”

“A greedy bitch,” you scoff as you yanked off Theo’s trousers and boxers in one swift motion, rolling him over onto his back. “Now sit down and wait your damn turn. Don’t you dare touch yourself. You’d better keep your hands where I can fucking see them.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned back to your other lover. You ignored Mattheo’s protesting whines in favor of wrapping your fingers around Theo’s dick, appreciating the way Theo’s hips jerked up with a startled moan and his hands scrabbled for anything to hold onto as you did so.

“Riddle. I changed my mind. Get the fuck over here.” You snap, narrowing your eyes at the boy wiggling uncomfortably in his seat. “Hold Teddy’s hand.”

He jumped into action, quickly clambering onto the bed next to the pair of you and scooping up one of Theo’s hands in his.

You nodded, pleased at his cooperation, and slowly started jerking Theo off.

“Pretty, isn’t he, Matty?”

You expected him to say something in agreement, or tease Theo lightly, but your question was met with silence.

You glanced over, curious as to what caught his attention. Mattheo’s eyes were laser focused on Theo’s lower half. You followed his line of sight, confused as to what he was looking at, when you realized.

The blood from your busted knuckles had smeared itself all over Theo’s cock.

“Suck Teddy off.” The demand left your lips before you could even fully think it through.

Neither boy seemed disinterested in your proposition, if the way Mattheo all but scrambled down the bed as he leapt onto your boyfriend was any indication.

Mattheo kneeled between Theo’s thighs and pinned down his hips, practically drooling at the perverse sight in front of him.

Theo moaned brokenly as he felt Mattheo’s tongue lick a long stripe up his dick before taking him fully into his mouth. You hummed appreciatively at the gorgeous view in front of you, reaching out to stroke your hand along Theo’s hip and thigh.

The dorm was quickly filled with the sweet sounds of Theodore’s little moans and sighs, and the filthy wet sounds of Mattheo’s mouth.

He drew Theo closer and closer to his release. But right as your sweetest lover’s body began to shake, you caught sight of one of your brat’s hands subtly sneaking between his legs. You growled, tightening your grip in his hair to warn him to pull off.

As soon as Mattheo pulled off of Theo’s cock, panting for air, you harshly grabbed his jaw and yanked his head up to face you.

“Greedy fucking whore,” you sneered, “I told you not to touch yourself. Apologize to Theo for being such a self-centered brat.”

“S-sorry! So-sorry! I-I’m sorry, T-Theo!”

“Good boy,” you murmur, petting his hair and lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. “Good, love. Continue.”

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the whiplash of your sudden gentleness as he leaned back down to continue his earlier ministrations.

He quickly realized why you’d been so suddenly sweet when he felt your hand start roughly palming him through his trousers. He whined around Theo’s cock, which in turn made Theodore gasp and moan loudly.

You grinned at your boys’ reactions as you leaned down to murmur in Mattheo’s ear, “You can cum if you get Teddy off, alright sweetheart?”

Sparked with renewed interest at the incentive, Mattheo resumed sucking off Theo with vigor. Theo’s thighs shook as he babbled incoherently, a mix of “Fuck!”s, “Merlin-”s, and “Y/n!”s.

“Good boys, that’s it,” you cooed sweetly, brushing sweaty curls off of Theo’s forehead. “You’re just so close, aren’t you, my love?”

Theo sobbed pitifully and nodded. “Pl-please- Y/n- please!”

“Go ahead,” you whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

With your permission, Theo fell apart with a loud moan, his entire body shaking and spasming. You continued palming Mattheo, intent on keeping good on your promise.

“Come whenever you’re ready, Riddle,” you murmured. He had pulled off of Theo by now, and stared up at you with wide, glazed-over eyes. You wiped a smear of cum from the corner of his lips with your thumb, grinning teasingly at the pair of them as you promptly stuck it in your mouth and swirled your tongue around the digit.

With one final moan, Mattheo’s body stiffened up and broke down into shudders as he was wracked with the force of his orgasm. His arms gave out and he collapsed onto the bed, tucking his face into the hollow where Theo’s thigh met his pelvis.

You gave both of your boys a minute to collect themselves, murmuring gentle praise as you littered their faces with soft kisses. “Both so good for me, my best boys. So perfect.”

You sat in a contented quiet for a few more minutes, just caressing them gently. But once their breathings had steadied out, they startled you by sharing a look and abruptly tugging you down and rolling over on top of you.

“Your turn now, love.”

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rollinouttahere-writes · 2 years ago

Note

what about platonic Zeff and Sanji where they take in an abanoned baby and Sanji is immediately like guess I'm a big brother now

Adrift, At Home

Platonic Zeff and Child Sanji x GN Baby Reader

2.6k words

Warnings: graphic depictions of gore and mild references of starvation

The fishing line swayed with the water, drifting freely as it waited for something to bite. Zeff had been sitting in a chair on the dock for a while now and had yet to catch anything beyond the errant piece of seaweed that had tangled itself on the hook. This didn’t bother him. The restaurant was closed for the day and he was more than content to simply enjoy the fair weather, the fishing rod was an excuse to be out here more than anything.

He’s not an old man that just wants to relax once in a while, he’s catching some fish for the restaurant, thank you very much.

A page was turned from a little farther down the dock. Zeff glanced over, casually observing Sanji as he paged through that fish book he was so fond of. He was lying on his stomach, head propped up on one hand and feet kicking in the air behind him. The boy was fully engrossed in the book and hasn’t spoken a word to Zeff since coming out here. Which was normal for him.

Zeff went back to idly watching his line, not wanting to provoke Sanji into getting huffy because he caught Zeff looking at him. The horror.

“There’s a boat.”

The off duty chef couldn’t help but tense when Sanji abruptly broke the silence. Looking over at him again, the boy had propped himself up and was pointing. Shifting his focus to where he was motioning to, he saw what Sanji was talking about.

A small boat was slowly drifting past them. It was far too small to be a legitimate sea faring vessel. A lifeboat, perhaps? Had there been a shipwreck nearby? If there was anyone in it, he couldn’t see them. It’s still light out. If they were lost at sea, they should be up and actively trying to call for help. The only reason there wouldn’t be anyone in sight is either because the boat is empty and had simply drifted off on its own.

Or if whoever was in it was already gone.

Sanji suddenly leapt to his feet, “There’s someone in there! I can see a hand!”

A hand? Zeff squinted, internally cursing his aging vision. Just barely peeking over the edge of the boat was the hand Sanji was talking about. Some fingers limply hung off the edge, showing no signs of movement. Zeff really didn’t like that.

Sanji hopped on one foot while ripping off his shoes and was just about to leap into the water when Zeff caught his arm, “Don’t. I’ll go check on them, you go tell the others.”

The boy’s eyes flickered down to his leg, “But-”

“Go. I’m sure that person is hungry, tell Patty to make them something nice,” Zeff’s tone left no room for argument, and Sanji knew better than to push it. He sped off for the Baratie, his previously discarded shoes forgotten in his hurry.

It would be for the best if Sanji wasn’t here to see this if the stranger in the boat was indeed deceased. There was no telling how long they’ve been there, and Sanji did not need to see that.

After reeling in the fishing line, he tossed it to the side and got to work on unbuckling the straps for his prosthetic. He pulled the peg leg off and propped it up against the chair. Using the armrests, he stood on his remaining leg, then dove into the sea.

The water was cold, but not debilitatingly so. Zeff had no trouble cutting through the mild waves, his lack of one of his limbs had done little to slow him down. The lifeboat wasn’t far off, it won’t take him long to close the gap.

Once he was close enough to be heard, he called out, “Are you alright in there?”

The flapping of wings, followed by some birds flying away from the boat was the only response he received. His heart sank. Maybe those birds were only there to rest, but it was unlikely that they would be bold enough to do so if someone was there to shoo them away.

Then the smell hit him. The musty, putrid, and sickeningly sweet scent of death. Before even making contact with the boat, he knew that it was already too late for whoever was on it.

Still, he forced himself to go the rest of the way. Whoever this was deserved a proper burial after what was likely an agonizing death.

Finally, he was at the boat. His hands grabbed onto the side of the boat, the unidentified person’s hand was directly next to his left hand. Steeling himself for what he was about to see, he hauled himself up. If it wasn’t for his rough history, the sight would have left him sick.

Based on the clothing, he could assume the deceased had been a woman. There wasn’t much else for him to go off of. Sea birds had been eating away at her flesh. They would start at the face, the skin was easiest to get through there, and after that they would work their way down. Her face was gone, every strip of meat had been ripped off and left nothing but a blood soaked skull in its wake. The birds had made decent progress down to the chest after that, a couple hours more and they would have gotten to the organs.

If he had to guess, he would say she hasn’t been dead that long. Birds work quickly, and the wounds are all very fresh. She was probably still alive yesterday.

Zeff heaved himself up onto the boat, doing his best to avoid disturbing the body. Empty food tins crunched loudly under his weight as he army crawled onboard. The rocking of the boat dislodged the woman’s sunburnt hand from its perch. Rather than falling limp, the muscles remained stiff, fingers clenched as if they were still holding on to something.

Under no circumstances could he let Sanji see this. His eyes darted around the boat for something to cover at least her face with. He would use his shirt if he had to. There was a turned over crate with a tarp covering it. Perfect. It would be more than big enough to wrap around her entire body. Why she hadn’t used it for protection from the sun was beyond him, but there was really no use questioning it now.

The tarp was ripped off the box unceremoniously, and Zeff was frankly eager to get the body covered. Just because he could handle the sight didn’t mean he particularly wanted to see it.

There was something in the box. No. Someone.

A baby, and it isn’t moving.

Zeff forgot about the tarp in an instant and lurched forward to pull the baby out of its hiding place. You were underweight, that much was notable off the bat. Cradling your weak form carefully, he held you up to his face and pressed an ear against your chest.

thump thump thump

The relief that went through him was indescribable. You were weak, but alive. As bad as your given condition may be, your lack of energy was likely the only reason the birds hadn’t noticed you. He set you down in his lap and scrambled to get the oars into the water and get paddling. There was no telling how little time you had left.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll puree some of the best baby food you’ve ever had as soon as we get back to the Baratie.” It was debatable if he was saying this to reassure you or himself. It was barely audible, but he heard a small grunt. Looking down, he saw your face pinch as you attempted to open your eyes with what little energy you had left. “That’s it. Keep fighting, kid.”

Fortunately for you, the dock wasn’t far away, it would only take a couple of minutes before you would be out of the scorching sun and in the restaurant. Several of his workers were already waiting for him at the dock, one of them being Sanji.

Shit! He forgot to cover up the body of who he now presumed to be your mother. Setting down the oar, he pulled the tarp over her head and did his best to make sure it wouldn’t come loose. “Sanji, go inside and help in the kitchen!”

It looked like he was trying to argue, but the other cooks shut it down. From their grim expressions, it appeared that they already knew why Zeff would be so insistent on Sanji not being here for this. The kid scowled, but ultimately turned to leave, stomping his way to the restaurant.

Zeff paddled as fast as he could, praying that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.

—

The time from when Zeff docked to now had been a whirlwind. Everyone had been prepared for a dead body, but had gone into a tizzy upon realizing there was also a survivor. A very young one at that.

Fortunately, you appeared to be old enough to eat solid food, and had been eager to do so once you’d gotten your wits about you. Apparently they hadn’t been feeding you fast enough, so you tried to take matters into your own hands by snatching the spoon out of theirs. For as weak as you’d looked on the boat, it seems your health hadn’t deteriorated as much as he’d initially thought. Your mother must have been giving the bulk of the food she had to you.

As for the deceased mother, there wasn’t much they could do about her. Ships went missing all the time, figuring out which one she had specifically come from would be near impossible. Even if they did… it would be difficult for anyone to identify her. As sad as it was, giving her a burial at sea was the best they could do.

They can only hope that she will be able to rest peacefully now that her baby is safe.

After giving you a much needed bath and clothing you in one of Sanji’s old shirts, you were happily sitting in a basket they’d stuffed some blankets into for padding. The shirt was dramatically too big for you, but it would have to do until proper clothes could be picked up.

Taking in an infant had hardly been something that Zeff planned to do today, but he saw few other options. If he couldn’t figure out who your mother was, what chance did he have at identifying you and tracking down surviving family members? Sure, this situation was what orphanages were there for, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon you at one. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to have a good roof over your head, and such a thing is hardly a guarantee at one of those.

“Where is the other person?”

Zeff looked up from the catalog he’d been flipping through at Sanji’s inquiry. Admittedly, he’d been hoping the kid wouldn’t ask about it, however unrealistic that was. He’d been very focused on you since you were brought in. Even now, he was sitting by your basket and letting you play with his hand. Ah, they would need to pick up some toys for you next time they went to shore, too.

The pause was too long for Sanji’s liking, so he continued, “That hand I saw was too big to be theirs.”

Of course he’d notice the discrepancy. While Sanji was far from being a stranger to horrors and hardships, Zeff still did not want to disclose the details of what he saw to him. “The other person was already dead. We had no way of knowing where she came from so she was buried at sea.”

“Was she their mother?” Sanji turned to look at Zeff.

“More than likely,” was his simple response.

Sanji bit his lip and abruptly looked away, then back at the baby. Silence hung in the air a while longer before he spoke up again, “So they’re all alone now?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They’ve got all of us, don’t they? I expect that you’ll help take care of them since you were the one that spotted the boat they were in.” Zeff glanced over the list of baby supplies he’d made. Content with what he saw, he stood from the table. Now he needed to take account of what food they had in stock and make that list next. “Keep an eye on them while I finish making the list.”

He heard a hum of affirmation and considered that good enough before making his exit. The pantry wasn’t far, he’ll be able to hear you if you start fussing. Besides, Sanji’s a good kid. He can handle watching a baby for a few minutes.

You’re going to need a name, he supposes. Can’t keep calling you ‘the baby’ forever. Oh well, he’s sure a name will come to him soon enough.

It didn’t take long to make note of what food they needed, which wasn’t much. They weren’t due for another grocery run for a few more days yet, but there were some supplies for you that they simply couldn’t go without in the meantime. He’ll set out bright and early tomorrow, you won’t have to wait for long.

Zeff came back into the kitchen, only to find it empty. This wasn’t immediately concerning to him. The only people on the Baratie were his staff, and he knew none of them posed any danger. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder where you’d gone off to. Even the basket was missing.

Might as well look around, to sate his curiosity if nothing else.

The first place he checked was the dining room, but that turned up nothing besides a couple of workers repairing a table that had been broken in a scuffle earlier that day. Maybe someone had taken you out to the outdoor seating area for some fresh air? He was on his way to go and look when he heard a muffled voice. It was coming from Sanji’s room.

The door was cracked open just enough for Zeff to be able to peer in.

“And this one is blue-finned elephant tuna. See how it’s got tusks and a feeler that looks like a trunk? It’s supposed to taste really good!”

Sanji was seated behind your basket and used it to prop up the book he was showing you. The book seemed to be holding your attention. You were taking in the pictures with wide eyes while gnawing on one of your fists. Sanji’s enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on you, making you let out little coos as he spoke to you in depth about the fish.

The next page was turned to, and he continued excitedly rambling, “This one is a sandora catfish. They’re carnivorous and huge! I bet it would be really good fried and with a cream sauce.”

It would seem that you liked the sound of that. The hand that had previously been in your mouth suddenly went forward and grasped at the page.

“Ack! Hey, don’t get drool on it! It’s not even food yet,” Sanji mumbled the last part. He’d been able to pull the book away without you tearing a page and was trying to wipe off the drool you’d smeared across the page.

His scolding had little effect, you giggled loudly at his outburst and were doing your best to turn around and continue your assault on his book.

Zeff quietly chuckled to himself as you succeeded in grabbing the book again. It seems you two were getting along well, he’ll leave you be for now.

#one piece x reader #one piece #sanji #black leg sanji #red leg zeff #x reader #reader insert

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, vomiting, child injury, allusions to gunshot wound, pregnancy complications A/N: Okay, this one turned out to be a monster. My brain is fried so any mistakes I made, I'll fix later. I really really hope Daryl isn’t OOC here. I tried to put myself in his shoes, knowing what I know about him. Anyway! On with the show!

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You stayed closer to the RV while the group had gathered around Carol to provide support. While you wanted desperately to be there for her, you couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of guilt. Your baby was safe inside your belly while her Sophia was lost in the forest.

Rick had dispatched the two walkers that had scared the little girl into running, but found her missing when he returned. He had since taken Daryl, Glenn, and Shane back into the trees. Daryl was a tracker and a damn good one. If anyone stood a chance at finding her, it was him.

“You okay?”

You startled from your thoughts to see Andrea staring down at you with concern etched onto her face. You must really look like shit. You had completely forgotten about food and water along with the items you had gathered once you and Daryl had made it back to find that Sophia had disappeared.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” You didn’t sound very convincing even to your own ears. You were still dizzy with a trembling in your limbs that just would not subside. Your stomach was still uneasy. When wasn’t it uneasy, actually?

“You’re looking a little pale. Can I get you anything?” She laid a hand against the RV and leaned into it.

“Some water, if they found any?” Your voice was so gravelly, your mouth dry. Your lips felt as if they’d split open should you smile.

“Yeah! Shane found a ton! One second!”

Then she was off! You didn’t have the energy to track her movements, instead deciding to place your forehead against your knees. You truly did feel horrible. If this was what women called the joys of pregnancy, you would pass, thank you very much, and just get handed the baby.

“Here.” Reluctantly, you raised your head, finding a plastic cup at eye level. With a minute nod, you sipped slowly at the cold drink. It felt like heaven on your parched throat. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Huh?” You were absolutely abstracted. When she asked again, you really had to stop and think. “I guess at the CDC.”

“Oh, hun. That’s not good. Let me see what I can find for you.” Andrea began to turn but stopped when you laid a hand on her arm.

“I really don’t think I can stomach anything. Everything makes me sick.” You ran a hand through your hair, grimacing when your fingers became trapped by some knotted stands. You had eaten the candies Carol had given you with only mild relief. There was not a second of reprieve from your stomach attempting to crawl out of your throat.

“You need nutrients. For the baby.” She urged, crouching down in front of you.

“I know. Maybe I can try when they find Sophia and we can go back to the normal amount of fear and anxiety.” One side of your mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile when you heard her chuckle.

“Okay. But let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Glenn and Shane returned first, the former handing out tasks to keep everyone busy. Most likely trying to control panic. You were no exception. The man sent you to grab the things you had found. You didn’t hesitate to inform him there was too much to retrieve on your own.

“You’ll just have to make trips then, won’tcha? He scoffed, turning away and leaving no room for argument.

You still wanted to show how useful you could be but you felt like hammered shit. The dizziness and trembling remained, and your ass met the pavement once you had arrived back to your treasure pile. There was no way you were coming back out there again. Listening for any signs of danger, you began to consolidate. Only the most useful things were placed in the suitcase, the remainder left on the ground. Zipping up the thing, you were beyond grateful for the wheels.

Daryl and Rick had returned by the time you made it back. Sophia was not with them. Carol was in hysterics. Honestly, you weren’t sure that she had ever left the mindset. It didn’t take any persuading for you to relinquish the bed in the RV to her that night.

Come morning, weakness and exhaustion were a suffocating blanket wrapped tightly around you. You wanted to stay there and sleep but that wasn’t even remotely an option. Not while Sophia was out there.

Everyone was issued a weapon. You were given a second knife and holster, this one taking up residence on your hip. Only Shane, Rick, and Daryl were carrying firearms. Some bogus bullshit about everyone else needed to be trained. You were trained. However, there was no use arguing and you felt too horrible to engage in a losing battle.

“What’re ya doin’?”

You lifted your head to find Daryl glaring at you. “My taxes. What’s it look like?” You replied with an over exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Ya ain’t goin’.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Unfortunately for him, there was no way you could care less.

“Not asking permission, Dixon.” You made to walk by him but he caught your arm in passing. With a stern look at his hand on your bicep, you hissed “let go.”

“Nah, ya need to stay here.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Ain’t you m’worried ‘bout.” He shot a pointed look at your stomach.

You snatched your arm free. “That’s sweet, but again, I’m not asking your permission.” It was getting easier and easier to walk away from him. You weren’t so sure that was a good thing.

Andrea and Dale were engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation as you passed by. You had an inkling on what it was about but it was none of your business. It was Andrea’s choice and she felt it had been taken from her. You could sympathize, recalling the helplessness you had felt when Jenner closed those doors. You and the blonde were on opposite ends of that spectrum. You had wanted desperately to live while she had been ready to die.

The group had already crossed the guardrail and entered the trees with you and Andrea pulling up the rear in a jog until you caught up. While she continued forward, you chose to hang back. Daryl had taken the lead, constantly scanning for footprints or other disturbances that could possibly indicate Sophia had been through the area. You could have helped him, but it would likely not be well received given he had rebuffed the idea of you being there in the first place.

“Stop lagging behind.” Shane grumbled at you, halting his steps until you passed him. “Shouldn’t even be here.” You weren’t sure if he had meant for you to hear him. Nor were you sure of his reasoning. Because you were a stranger? Because you were pregnant? Regardless, you let it slide. You were there to help find Sophia.

Your steps remained steady which meant Lori had slowed her own while talking with Carl. Yet another conversation you had no right to hear, but you did offer a tight smile in passing. You ended up behind Glenn, absently comfortable with that. He had said the least to you but when he did speak, he was kind.

It wasn’t much further before Daryl gave a signal to slow. When he lowered into a crouch everyone followed suit, including you. The transition left you dizzy and leaning forward to place a palm on the dirt in order to maintain your balance. The all too familiar twist and cramp of your stomach signaled the impending purge. Maybe you should have stayed behind.

Your steps were silent as a ghost. You retreated from the group, backtracking as far as you safely could alone before you no longer had control. All the water you had managed to drink splashed onto the dirt, leaving you once again empty. You were going to die from starvation or dehydration at this point. It was a terrifying reality. The only option would be to find a pharmacy and seek out something for nausea. But what was safe to take during pregnancy?

Your first few steps were unsteady but you managed to level your gait at some point while tracking your way back to the others. Before you could really gauge whether your absence had been noticed, there was a tolling of bells in the distance. Church bells?

The small group as a whole began to sprint toward the sound but you? You couldn’t run if you tried. The dizziness was worsening, your extremities feeling not unlike lead weights. You knew now Daryl had been right. You should have stayed behind. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. Now, you had no choice but to move forward. Making the trip back to the RV alone would be more dangerous than falling a little behind your group. At least they could hear if you called for help.

When you finally saw the space in front of you open up to an old church house and the familiar shapes of your fellow party members, you could have cried. Well, actually, you probably physically couldn’t cry. Dehydration was taking hold, a fact that you knew without anyone pointing it out. You hadn’t needed to pee since the previous afternoon. Your tongue was sandpaper. Your skin was dull and a bit itchy. You were going downhill and you didn’t know what to do about it.

When you noticed that a portion of the group had broken away from Rick, Shane, and Carl, you wondered if your mind was beginning to go as well. Why were they splitting up? Lost in your confusion, Daryl was nearly on top of you before you even realized he was approaching.

“What the fuck d’ya think you’re doin’?” He hissed in an exaggerated whisper. Oh, he was mad. Oh wait. He seemed to always be mad. “Don’t think I didn’t see ya sneakin’ off back there. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“You’re right.” You stood a little straighter. If you had to admit you were wrong, you would at least be confident about it.

“D’ya think this is a game? There’s fuckin’ corpses out—wait, what?”

You barely suppressed a chuckle at his expression. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be out here. I’m a liability and I’m—not okay.”

“Daryl, we should go.”

He held up a hand, silencing Andrea without even looking back. “Whaddaya mean ‘not okay’?”

“I can’t eat. I can’t even drink water without puking. I think—I think I might be—”

“Nah.” He interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t even say that shit. Just need to getcha back to the RV. Y’can rest an’ I’ll take the bike. Find some meds or somethin’. Doubt anythin’ in Merle’s stash would be good for the kid but I’ll check anyway.”

“Huh.” You raised your eyebrows, damn near astonished.

“What?”

“I think that may be the most you’ve said to me at one time since we’ve known each other.” The corner of your mouth lifted and—it may have been a hallucination—you could have sworn you saw his lip twitch as well.

“Stop. Can ya walk?”

“For now.” You took slow, albeit steady, steps to go around him, noticing that he never once tried to get ahead of you. He was worried. If you were this sick, what were the chances of your baby even making it? What if it was gone already?

“Let’s head back.” He instructed as the two of you passed by the suspicious gazes. Daryl had to lead them but his actions made it clear they would walk at his pace or venture ahead and get lost. Right now, his pace was your pace. You couldn’t make everyone suffer for your inability to keep up. The point was to search for Sophia, which meant as much ground needed covered as humanly possible. With a great amount of difficulty—and a few unsteady steps—you managed to pick up some speed. Daryl had taken only moments to be at your side once again, dipping his head as if requesting an explanation.

“So this is it? This is the whole plan?” Carol’s meek voice came from behind you, both you and Daryl turning to regard her. With a hand on your shoulder, he steered you to a downed tree and pushed you to sit.

“I guess the plan is to whittle us down into smaller an’ smaller groups.” You felt a tap against the front of your shoulder while holding your head in your hands. Daryl was still focused on the discussion but was offering you a tumbler of water.

“Thanks.” You mumbled. You’d be stupid to let your pride persuade you into rejecting the offer. He gave you a nod and continued to listen to Lori's defense of her husband. Personally, you had nothing against Rick and believed he had once again made a call that was twisted to come back and bite him in the ass. No one wanted to blame him but in the face of fear and grief, blame was an easy scapegoat.

“C’mon.” Daryl gave you a moment to take one more sip and then helped you stand, clipping the water container back to his belt loop. It was blatantly obvious that his concern was for his baby, which in turn ensured that he made sure you were safe and healthy, but you couldn’t lie: having him be kind to you was something you wished you could grow to depend on. It was nice. Fleeting but nice.

A wave of dizziness had you listing to the side, only briefly fearing you’d fall before you felt his arm around your waist.

“Easy.” His voice was calm, almost soothing to your frayed nerves. As you got your feet back under you, you nodded that you were okay. He lingered, watching you with those deep blue pools. If you weren’t careful, you could get lost.

Several feet behind, Andrea cleared her throat, pretending to be looking at something up in the canopy when both you and Daryl quickly separated. How long had you been staring at him? Your cheeks warmed, actually managing to make you feel impossibly worse. Although, he had been looking right back. The tiniest of smiles upturned your lips, unbidden.

And then there was the unmistakable echoing crack of a gunshot.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Whether it was you or someone else in the group, the unease in your gut was more than the ever-plaguing nausea. Behind you, Lori had stopped again to look back from where you had all traveled from.

You were all watching her, but Andrea was the one to speak up. “You still worrying about it?”

“It was a gun.” The dark-haired woman replied, her gaze still far away.

Daryl hadn’t moved from your side, and he was doing a terrible job at hiding his disquiet. “We all heard it.”

Lori looked like she might start moving forward again, but she only managed to shift on her feet before looking back. “Why one? Why just one gun?”

You saw Daryl glance at you from the corner of your eye. He was losing patience. “Maybe they took down a walker.”

With a tilt of her head, her expression screamed unimpressed. “Please don’t patronize me. You know Rick wouldn’t risk a gun to put down one walker, or Shane. They’d do it quietly.”

Carol fidgeted where she stood, looking as if she felt she had to say something. “Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?”

Daryl took a breath. “There’s nothin’ we can do ‘bout it, anyway. Can’t run ‘round these woods chasin’ echoes.” He chanced a glance at you, and you knew then that he was eager to make them move to get you back to the RV. You’d never say anything yourself. That much was clear by how you had started to push yourself to move faster when you shouldn’t have been moving at all. Unfortunately, Lori didn’t seem to like that answer.

“So, what do we do? Same as we’ve been?”

“Beat the bush for Sophia, work our way back to the highway.” He hadn’t moved far from you at all, but extended an arm to indicate you should turn around and start walking. When there was a distinct lack of footfalls, you were the first to look back. Daryl looked at you before following suit. Carol and Andrea were engaged in conversation, though their hushed voices kept the nature inaudible. Daryl started toward them, waving you off when you tried to call him back.

“We’re all hoping and praying with you, for what it’s worth.” Andrea was offering a soft smile, extending some comfort to Carol. You winced when Daryl leaned in toward them.

“I’ll tell ya what s’worth—not a damn thing. S’a waste’a time, all this hopin’ an’ prayin’. We’re gonna locate that little girl. She’s gonna be just fine.” When he turned, you hid your smile behind your hand. “M’I the only one Zen ‘round here? Good lord.” There was nothing you could do to keep from chuckling. “Glad ya think s’funny.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled, still smiling, but at least treading onward.

It wasn’t much longer before your legs felt like they might fail to hold your weight. Not only weak, but aching. You could feel your pulse pounding in your head. Daryl continued to offer you water, never bothering to drink any himself, you noticed.

“How much farther?” Lori gave voice to the question you had been thinking for the last half hour.

“Not much.” Daryl reached for you when you stumbled but you shook your head. His eyes remained on you when he continued his reply. “Maybe hundred yards as the crow flies.” The answer seemed to satisfy her for the moment at least. “Hey.”

You grimaced as the cramps you had been feeling in your legs seemed to move into your stomach. You hadn’t realized that your hand had immediately pressed into the area. When you finally heard Daryl and looked at him, you were bombarded by the naked concern shining in his eyes.

“Y’want me to carry ya?”

Though taken aback by his offer, especially in front of the others after he had spent the better part of the day more focused on you than on the tracking he was out there to do, you shook your head adamantly. “No. No, I’m good.” Another cramp, only slightly sharper than the one that preceded it. It was still enough to have you draw a hissing breath through your teeth.

“Don’t mind. C’mon, ya need to rest an’ we’re losin’ daylight.”

Before you could turn him down a second time, Andrea began screaming somewhere nearby. When had she wandered off? Daryl was readying his crossbow, tapping Carol on the shoulder as he started running. “Stay with ‘er!” He pointed back to you. The woman nodded even though he was long gone.

“You okay, honey?” She asked, brushing some hair away from your face after you selected a tree to lean against. “You look terrible.”

“I just need to rest. Maybe try to eat something.” You all but panted. The pain was still sporadic but each seemed to hurt worse than the last. As it was, you were torn between needing to vomit and the urge to drink the entire container of water Daryl was carrying.

There was an awful commotion from the direction everyone had disappeared. Daryl soon came sprinting through, slipping the strap of his crossbow over his head before he reached you.

“Sorry.” He huffed between breaths at the same time he swept you up against his chest and continued toward the highway, everyone else right on his heels.

“What happened?” You asked breathlessly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

“Some girl came ridin’ on a horse. Saved Andrea’s ass but she was lookin’ for Lori.” Wincing at being jostled when everything already hurt, you opened one eye and caught his grim expression. “Carl got shot.”

The remaining members of your group made it back to the highway in record time without you holding them up. Daryl gingerly lowered you onto the steps of the RV and pressed the water tumbler into your hand. Then he left to go fill in Dale and T-Dog.

Your hands were shaking as you sipped down some water. First Sophia went missing. Then Carl had been shot. Children weren’t spared from the cruelty of that world. You felt your eyes burn with the desire to cry, yet no tears would fall.

“There are no blessings anymore. Nothing real to hope for anymore.”

And for the first time, you considered the possibility that maybe what Jenner did had been intended as a mercy. How could you even consider bringing a baby into that hell? Maybe you should have stayed behind with Jacqui, letting her hold your hand as she had done after the blood draw. Maybe it would be better to let whatever was wrong with you steal from you until there was nothing left.

Your chest began to pull tight again, your breaths quickening in an attempt to keep pulling in air. Your pulse was thrumming away in your temples, making your eyes ache and your vision blur. All you could think was how badly you wanted to cry but couldn’t. You sat up straighter in hopes that it would make breathing easier, a small sound escaping when your stomach cramped again. It must have been loud enough to alert Daryl because when you opened your eyes, he was walking toward you, his brow pinched in concern.

And in looking at him, watching him react to your discomfort because of the little life the two of you had created, you instantly regretted ever thinking your baby shouldn’t be allowed a chance. That Daryl shouldn’t be allowed a chance to be a father.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N.”

You were grabbing at his arms and attempting to stand, but in your panic, your voice failed you. The ability to breathe went right along with it. Halfway upright, with Daryl’s hands on your upper arms to aid you, you managed two words: “Something’s wrong.”

“Shit. Okay. Listen, we’re just gonna get everythin’ together. Leave a note for Sophia. Then we can—”

You cut him off with a scream that made his blood run cold. Your arms wrapped around your middle and held tight, trying to smother the pain stabbing relentlessly at you from the inside. In some distant, dark crevice of your mind, you felt him lift you and heard him shouting. There was the roar of an engine. Daryl’s bike. You blinked, dots and wavering images making it hard to decipher what was happening. You were sideways on the bike, cradled tightly to Daryl’s chest. How the hell?

“Hey, listen to me. Ya listening?” You gave him the weakest of nods. “Need ta hold onta me. Means ya gotta stay awake. Can ya do that?”

“Son, take a car. We can move more around and make a—”

You blinked slowly and watched Daryl look up and away from you. “There ain’t time!” You blinked again, his blue eyes back on you. “Y/N, can ya do that?!” You didn’t– couldn’t –answer verbally, but moved slightly to wrap your arms around his middle as tightly as you could, which wasn’t tight at all. “Stay awake.” He was already moving, pulling his legs up as he picked up speed. When your stomach cramped again, you only squeezed him tighter with a sob. “I gotcha. Just keep holdin’ on. You’re doin’ great.”

Minutes felt like an eternity, and eventually, you sacrificed holding up your head so the strength in your arms could hold true. When you opened your eyes, all you could see was blue sky. Blue like Daryl’s eyes. Would the baby have had his eyes?

The wind was no longer blowing. The sound of the engine had disappeared, but you were moving. Daryl was yelling. There were other voices but you were too tired; it hurt too badly. So when darkness beckoned, you took her hand.

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miss-tarja · 7 months ago

Text

Iridiscent (Ch. 7)

Pirate! Miguel O'Hara x Mermaid! Reader

Previous Series Masterlist

WARNINGS: Mysticism included, mentions of religious practices such as Palo Mayombe and it's elements, mild gore, emotional distress, terrible sailing weather, mystic elements, hints of trauma, injuries, Historical innacurracy for the sake of the plot.

Summary: Freedom comes with a high price.

A/N: Missed our grumpy pirate? I did <3. The highlighted terms with bold have a brief description of meaning. Thanks for sticking with this story c:

Although the haunting presence of Constantino had long abandoned the ship, and the now free men got themselves to clean up the battle's aftermath as best as they could, there were still traces of him that refused to abandon El Aquelarre. They clutched his ship in desperate tugs of subtlety that made even the most skeptical of men to turn his eyes in discomfort at the sight.

The key Peter gave him opened nothing else but his personal headquarters. The foul smell of rotten herbs and other revolting odors, greeted those brave enough to peek inside El Brujo's memoirs and personal safe space.

An assorted variety of glass jars full of things Miguel couldn't name even if his life depended on it, nested snugly in a fine dark wooden shelf, the tags with their content long faded from the constant use. But their smell either burned his nostrils, or seduced him enough to tempt him to open the jars and their contents. However logic and his common sense, prevailed.

His brain told him to not delve into things he couldn't comprehend, despite the title of a non-believer. As contradictory as it was, he believed in mermaids, cause he had seen one, but his mind still refused to acknowledge magic in any sort of form. Miguel didn't believe in anything he couldn't see.

He didn't believe in invisible things that controlled his fate at whims. He believed in choices and their consequences. In facts, things he could count and feel, not legends that varied their version everytime someone spoke them out loud, to inflict fear in those hearts that still debated in whether to believe or not.

"Shit..." Peter murmured, nonplussed and severely uncomfortable upon the hideosity that stumbled before his nervous eyes. Miguel followed his line of sight and his stomach churned with such a heavy discomfort, that bile menaced to rise up in the back of his throat.

If the jars with the unknown and fetid smelling ingredients made him queasy, these ones in particular had him nauseous.

A couple of brown eyes floated within a jar, and by the looks of the tender and still colored tendons around them, Miguel took his best guess that they were a fresh addition to the madman's lurid collection. The tongue came next, it made him marvel and scrunch his nose in disgust upon realizing how long the organ actually was.

Other vital parts remained sealed in crystal clear jars. His red eyes menaced to pop out of their socket as he stepped back when a heart, a human heart, beat despite no source of life attached to it. As if someone had squeezed enough to give the last show of spark before the unsettled pirate.

"¿Qué mierda?..." The captain murmured, disturbed, with his fist clenching in a meek attempt of keeping his composure, as Peter pulled him away from that specific shelf, equally perturbed if not more. (What the fuck)

The rest of the men had been long gone as they couldn't stomach whatever horrors they had witnessed. Some ran away to alleviate the sudden and gnawing discomfort into the sea.

Hobie's morbid curiosity was sated and crushed as soon as he also saw the beating organ. For a minute he truly believed he had inhaled too much tar smoke to the point of it messing with his perception.

"What kind of bloody madman was that git?" The lanky and pierced man spoke as he searched through the least rotten herbs, hoping to find something that would calm the burn in his wounded arm. Carrillo had thrown him on the jagged and piping hot splinters, earning him a couple of mean scrapes and burns.

"Someone that truly believed he had powers but was merely a delusional murderer." Explained Miguel as he wiped his nose from the pungent fragrance of a sickly sweet-smelling stick.

"Woah, woah. Don't touch anything!" Peter warned but Hobie huffed, rummaging through the various baskets of greens and bones.

"Relax, mate. I'm looking fo' aloe, my arm burns like hell. These santeros and shite use them to cure wounds. So he must've a piece somewhere."

"Constantino isn't a santero. He's a palero!" One of the men grumbled darkly in a thick accent, pointing at the sigils scribbled and painted through the room's walls with caution. Patipembas* drawn in every surface El Brujo's managed to. The man grabbed Hobie's hand as soon as it hovered over a rusty bucket full of sticks and human bones."Don't touch that!" (*Sygils used in Palo)

Everyone stilled and their skin crawled as the man made a cross sign over himself and the rest. Hobie just quirked a brow, confused and frustrated. His respect for religion had gone south for good a long time ago.

"What? Just'a bunch of bones and-"

"Shh! Shh!" The man reprimanded him, "It's not that. It's an nganga.*"

There was a collective round of 'a what' from the men gathered, even Miguel who looked at the man with critical and confused eyes. Palero, Santero, brujo, all were the same deceivers for him. However, the pirate had to admit that the symbols and elements reminded him of the rites Adia sometimes participated in back in the hacienda, behind Guillermo's back. Even Fermin had his own customs before sailing.

"A Nganga. It's the central piece of the ritual. Without it, there is no rite." Explained the man as he pointed the grim object. "They're receptacles for the nkisi.* (*Spirits)

"Ya speak as if we're actually understanding, Oba." huffed Hobie, equally upset and spooked at the eerie aura the various wooden carved statues, heavy with a bunch of indented nails, oozed from the corners of the makeshift altar.

The man in question rolled his eyes. "I was a palero." Oba rolled up his sleeves and showed small scars in the shape of crosses in some parts of his arms, "Salazar wasn't. He didn't get scarred. I searched whatever left from his body."

"So all of this is for shit and giggles?" Miguel frowned

"No, no." Oba shook his head, he wouldn't be past his mid twenties, "All these things are part of rituals, captain. But bad things happen if you practice Palo without a Tata's* permission. It's not for everyone."

"Tata?" Peter repeated with a light giggle, the word too funny-sounding to ignore, yet his brain turned hazy with the confusing terms and information the more Oba talked.

"*A Palo priest. You think they let anyone in? No. If you aren't allowed in, is cause your spirit, fate, everything in you does not match the principles of Palo Mayombe. And what happened to Salazar is the proof! He used Palo for his own benefit without permission. You don't mess with the mpungu* and leave unscathed." (*Gods)

"A'ight. Got it, none touches this place." Hobie grabbed the so needed piece he was looking for and smiled, "Startin' now."

"I'd leave this place if I was you-"

Miguel however had stopped paying attention, too busy and enthralled at the sight before him that the rest turned a blur of muffled voices and shapes behind him. His eyes, remained a bit too long on a precious blue colored jar, within, the most enchanting, large, and iridiscent scales he had ever seen rested at the bottom along the same pearl that caused a fight back in the docks against Edward Low, surrounded by a thin layer of flesh, as if it was forcefully pried away. A couple of crimson droplets tainted them.

A surge of disbelief and rising anger ran through his being. Constantino had dared to pluck tiny parts of yourself as a wretched souvenir for his atrocious museum of horrors. These findings only cracked even further his skeptical walls, leaving room for doubt to seed in. What if Salazar had actually gained some sort of power to bind you? How did he find you? More importantly, how did he trapped you?

If anything, Miguel believed Olivares was insane to the point of feeding himself with lies and legends that supposedly granted him authority over the unseen and unknown, nurturing that delusion of being a messenger of the dark magic he devoted himself to.

Miguel had heard rumors about Salazar being a paranormal confidant and consultant to none other but royalty. It wouldn't surprise him if people recurred to these practices in exchange of something. A selfish wish in quid pro quo of something so sacred as a life.

Black candles that adorned the rest of the shelves were half consumed, some flickered faintly with the little breeze seeping in, dried herbs and dessicated little crawlers remained haphazardly through the altar, the small skulls that Miguel hoped they didn't come from where he imagined, laid either broken in pieces or whole through the table, marked with melted black candle wax and more sigils engraved onto them.

Oba kept explaining the Palo's functions to Peter, that somehow regretted in prying further on the gruesome details on how Olivares had tarnished the reputation and the usage of the religion to his wretched whims.

But in truth Miguel couldn't care less about it, his synapses were working the information in his brain, making sense of so many things he had seen back at the bilge. Like the missing scales in some parts of your fin, the scratches and holes in it, he didn't have to imagine who dragged you inside as his eyes wandered briefly over Carrillo's charred body.

Hopefully the shaman back at Isla del Sol, would help. He didn't know what would she do, but her intervention was a must, curiously, the shaman was the only one that somehow had gained her ounce of respect from the pirate, cryptic and annoying as she was.

Miguel had so many questions and so many unsolved reproach surrounding your mere existence. So many why's and little answers left him sighing and his shoulders tensing.

None of those answers would come if he didn't take you to the capable hands that undoubtedly would mock him for his initial skepticism. He held the key tighter on his hand, and threw it in his pocket. A sudden rush of panic coursed through him upon remembering something important.

Mierda

His hands palmed deeper into his pockets, alarmed as panic rose once more, but as quick at it came, it disappeared when his hands touched the fine chain of the locket, crunching softly under his caress. His lips exhaled, relieved and his eyes closed for a moment. He'd definitely need a better place to keep it before he mislay it for good. He couldn't afford to lose Gabriella again.

"You okay?" Peter mumbled, watching him through wary eyes. The initial discomfort had made everyone uneasy, but Miguel seemed particularly affected, some of his color had drained from his rich cinnamon flesh.

Miguel nodded, watching the milieu for a moment. His men worked, some pushed the bodies out the board, leaving a soon to be gone trail behind. Others, searched through the bodies and wiped the human gunk out the way. Many washed the blood, ashes and gunpowder soiling the dark planks of the deck.

Freedom wasn't exactly pretty, but as long as it remained in their side, the circumstances of it's origin mattered little. Some of his crew even wore merry smiles as they cleared up the deck in high spirits, chanting even despite the gore surrounding them. Celebrating a well deserved fresh start after years of imprisonment and whipping.

Nostalgia flooded his brain with memories of his old crew, but the bitter recollection of some of them holding a resentful glare as they marooned him, had marked his trust and shook the core of his morals. Guarding his trust from those new in his presence.

Miguel only hoped the sea would also be a steady ally as his knees quivered, the elegant wounds Olivares gave him, and the battle's weight on his shoulders, finally caught up with his stamina, depleting it completely. Sending him to stagger next to a now concernedmerchant.

"Hey!, Hey, pal. It's ok, I've got you." Peter muttered as he hooked one of Miguel's heavy arms over his sore shoulders, before he could collapse completely. Some splinters still remained into the captain's skin. "C'mon." Peter hauled him to lean over him, "Need a doctor over here!"

It was the last thing Miguel heard before letting darkness and the ache in his body to claim him.

Papa

Faint blurs of a smile smudged behind his eyes, glimpses of those gorgeous brown eyes he inherited her, stared back at him, with curiosity and a smile that disarmed him every time he came home after weeks in the sea. They blinked, expectant.

Papa, wake up!

The peppering smell of tar became a bit too much for his senses, overwhelming him as the smile disappeared, morphing into this gruesome row of bleeding, sharp teeth, devouring a familiar man. Elliot.

His heart leaped in his quivering ribcage while the half eaten man reached to him, begging with his semi devoured hand to stop the munches on the bleeding carcass his body was turning. But before what was left of his hand touched him, the yellowish row of human teeth sprawled before him in a cruel smile.

Shapes and blurred motions jumbled together in the shape of none other but Constantino, plunging with a forceful thrust his rapier deep in his chest as he cackled. Unleashing the revolting smells that mutinied in his overwhelmed senses.

Miguel's eyes blinked so hard and fast he saw lights dancing before him, his hand immediately clutched his chest. Heaving breathlessly.

"Cap's awake!" Shouted Oba, squeezing the excess of water from a rag.

Miguel on the other hand, rushed, although with uneven steps, towards a bucket. Emptying the unhealthy dose of discomfort the nightmare gave him. The smells, Contantino's cackle, and the rough careening from the ship didn't help his nausea.

His body glimmered with the thin layer of sweat from the quick fever that took over him. Leaving his brain a puddle, his mind in shards and his lungs demanding for air. Much for his dismay, the same oxygen he breathed and coursed through his body, was plagued with the scent of some herbs he and his men found back at Olivares' altar.

Oba, the palero, or so Miguel recalled, brought him a goblet with water.

"You talk in your sleep." The young man pointed with a concerned stare as Miguel gulped down the contents. The coolness of the vital liquid quenched not only his thirst, but also the persistent and burning sensation travelling up and down his throat.

"Drink this." Oba offered a small shell full with a green-ish liquid, "It's not poison, that's fo' sure." He chuckled, and Miguel drank, only to spit the sip he had gotten with a soured face.

"What the fuck is this?" He grumbled, disgusted at the flavor, and Oba pursed his lips, supressing a laugh

"Burdock, oregano, cedron, and cinnamon. You got a fever, Cap. And turns out Olivares had a good bunch of medicine hidden under the altar." Oba offered the concoction again, and Miguel didn't have much choice but to drink it in a go. God or the universe forbid him to get sick. Not when he was so close in getting the answers he needed.

Another violent wave shook the room, and Oba held onto the bed frame. Peter, Hobie, and a small group of men entered, all keen eyes set on him, expectant of their new course.

The herbaceous smell remained on him, as little pecks of a green paste adorned the cuts El Brujo's had given him.

"You need to follow your own advice of keeping yourself alive, pal." Chuckled Peter as he offered a clean chemise to the pirate. "The men were scared you didn't make it."

Miguel huffed and wore the piece of clothing, covering the bandages and healing wounds from curious eyes. He stretched; some muscles popped back to their rightful place.

"Oba." Said man stared at him, "How much medicine do we have left?"

"Enough to get by until next docking, cap."

"Were the injured men treated?"

"Yes, sir."

Miguel nodded approvingly as he secured the belt around his hips; his new weapons, which had rested next to his bed, were now sheathed on each side of him.

"The sea is still angry, sir." One of the men mumbled, a bit fearful.

"Righteously so, we keep throwing Spaniard trash in it. How many men are there left in total?"

"Total twenty. In good condition fifteen."

"Five injured and fifteen good... Difficult but doable." Miguel mumbled as he weighed his options. "Just beg we survive the storms, and trouble doesn't find us." With a roll of his shoulders, he stepped out of the room ready to see the task ahead through.

He wouldn't leave the men's hope hanging, not when their help was vital in completing his own goal. Selfish, perhaps, but it was the only way available for him at the moment.

He truly couldn't care less what the men did once they docked, as there were always willing daredevils ready to risk their lives for a good feel of life, money, and adventure. He'd get more. Besides, he'd understand if most decided to never come back, as a peaceful life on land was too tempting to go back into a hellish existence aboard a stolen ship.

The salty air filled his lungs vigorously, sparking the all-too-familiar commanding voice he used. Captain O'Hara gathered the men and divided the tasks. Hobie was in charge of the canons and explosives along with another group. Oba indisputably got the title as the doctor. Others dispersed into smaller but still important tasks.

However, one of the challenges piled up in his list made itself present as a thunderous boom echoed through the quickly greying skies. He'd have to teach as much and fast as he could on how to manipulate the sails, ropes, and rigs to those remaining. A properly timed movement could mean the ship's and it's inhabitants salvation.

He sent the most skilled men in climbing to the masts and instructed them through teaching the most basic of functions. Miguel barked orders and instructions, despite the soft breeze hardening by each second.

The ship shook and groaned at the wave's restless pace.

"Batten down the hatches!" Miguel barked, and some just looked at him confused.

Dios mio...

"Fuck," he grumbled, shaking his head; it'd be a miracle if he actually made it alive. "Tie everything down! A fucking storm is coming!"

The men quickly scurried to secure everything in sight. Ropes flew here and there, and orders kept flowing, sometimes drowning under the rattling thunders.

Miguel moved through stations, making sure the knots on the ropes were tight; he'd have to keep simple terms for the men under his command, despite the experience in him fighting to escape his mouth.

A wave sent the galley tipping violently to the left. Some men fell, and others held tightly to the secured canons. But Miguel knew this was just the beginning. He had seen storms so violent it felt as if he wouldn't live to tell.

But this one in particular was dark, grim, and violent. Doubt beat for a second in his heart as his eyes didn't find a single trace of blue in the clouds, just endless grey and black, darkening by each passing second. A booming thunder cracked, illuminating the men briefly.

"Waves on sight, cap!" One of the men up in the mast yelled, and Miguel's Adam's apple bobbed.

Giant waves weren't his favorite; in fact, they frightened him, but there was no time for fearing as it was only one way of standing against them. Without wasting a second longer, he ran towards the steering wheel and turned El Aquelarre face to face with the upcoming wave.

"Are you mad?!" Hobie's unsettled voice rang behind him as he held onto whatever surface he could grab. "That wave is gonna kill us!"

"I'm saving us!" Grunted the pirate as the galley groaned and trembled under their feet. His hand clutched the steering wheel with all the strength he could muster. "Tell everyone to hold tight, and when the wave hit us, crouch!"

The thunder cracked and whipped the sky, letting a flashing spectacle of blinding lights to rule over for a second, enough time for some men to lose their grip in their anchors and fall down, rolling onto the moaning and quivering deck.

" No, no! Hold on tight!" Roared Miguel, Peter found his own secure heaven within the base of the main rigs, his hand stretched over some of the fallen men, aiding them to take a hold.

The angry winds blew, stretching the sails in their full might, pushing El Aquelarre faster and forward to it's newfound enemy. It was as if Aeolus purposely blew over, messing with Amphitrite's calm, awakening her once appeased wrath, reminding her of what Zeus' offsprings had done to one of her children, and the trembling ship was caught in the middle of a family feud.

"Take cover!" Yelled Miguel from the top of his lungs as the unforgiving rain began pouring. Whipping flesh and every surface it could reach with stinging and gelid splatters.

The men watched horrified as the ship's tip groaned as it rose against the tidal wave, slanting back, menacing to turn upside down. Yet Miguel stood his ground as best as he could, for a second the wave's height and gravity swooped him off his feet, only to force him down, again on the slippery surface, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The screams of a man falling down against the captain's quarters doors made him turn his eyes elsewhere before he caught the gruesome sight of a lose canon falling on top of him, crushing his body. One less men.

How many more would he lose to appease the sea? He didn't know and refused to believe such thing or act like Constantino. It was just weather, a terrible weather that was costing his men.

El Aquelarre shook and the captain's eyes widened on the loud crack echoing through the ship as soon as the fore and bowsprit touched the enraged sea once more. They had survived the first wave.

The sea conceded them a moment of peace, but in truth it was only preparing to charge once again.

"Tie that cannon down!" roared Miguel as he struggled to keep the course steady, but the wheel had stuck, making the ship to detour to the left. "Fuck!"

Peter didn't think twice and rushed, next to Miguel's side to try and unstuck the steer.

"It's fucking stuck!"

"No shit, Parker!" Grunted Miguel pulling back with all his might, "if we turn completely to the left, we'll die!"

"Then fucking pull back, pal! I don't want my wife to contact me from the living just to scold me for being an idiot!"

With a growl Miguel pulled as the ship leaned upwards once more, the rushing footsteps alerted him as Hobie joined the pulling party. Their combined efforts managed to release the wheel in a rough spin.

The captain managed to hold the steer and pivoted the ship straight before it turned completely to the left, and have the wave tumble the ship completely.

Part of the cold and unforgiving waters doused the deck, wiping some men from their spots and dragging them to the board, another fell down to the sea, leaving him with a crew of thirteen.

"Puta madre, ya cálmate!" (Chill the fuck down)

Squawked Miguel angrily to the sea, letting his frustration to run unfiltered, chastising like he would with his old lover whenever she got too whiny and childlike over the littlest of things, just for the sake of annoying him. And much to his relief, the sea listened, albeit reluctantly.

The waters slowly lost strength despite their irritation, whipping the rear of the ship in a final resentful protest, sending everyone to lurch forward. Miguel stumbled against the steer as Hobie and Peter crashed against the steering wheel's board.

It was a little price to pay for their peace. The foreign cheers and claps echoed though, celebrating another day of staying in this earth. They had survived.

For how long though?

Miguel sighed and passed a hand over his face. Although one problem had been scratched off the dangers list, so many more were to come. Other pirates, pivateers, English navy, more storms and waterspouts were next. All of them potential risks to take into consideration.

Hopefully Amphithrite's ire had sated with the offering of Constantino himself, or maybe it had caused the opposite effect and it unleashed the enormous waves towards them. The captain didn't know anymore. But Miguel was certain he needed to remain alive until Sunny Island came into view. And given the compass' direction, half a day of voyage remained.

Contradictory as it was, he was glad his old crew marooned him nearby the Havana. Circumstances always seemed to favor him. The day had started and they already had survived two of the biggest waves he has seen in his life. Although his mind was too temped to ask himself what else could go wrong, he limited himself to be grateful enough to live for a couple of hours more.

Never in his life he'd feel more relieved as soon as the only man with a little experience at sailing, screamed those words he longed to hear.

"Land A'hoy!"

He took the spyglass from Hobie's hands and took a peek, as if reassuring himself the man in the mast wasn't lying. His lips stretched in a relieved smile as soon as he saw the familiar multicolored flag with a black circle in it, waving proudly through the touting wind.

Finally his nerves would stop tensing and making a mess out of his thoughts at the near miss he had in the remaining voyage. If it hadn't been for Olivares' ship, with the Spaniard flag, they all would've ended up on a ship with a course to England, awaiting trial and hanging for piracy.

But fate had twisted ways, to make even his most despicable allies to aid him, one way or another.

"Tie the canons! Rise those sails, prepare for docking!" Barked the captain.

Some men couldn't help but give each other a heartfelt hug, others cried and cheered upon seeing the distant dock.

"Anwé!" Miguel called and said a young man peeked his head from the mast's post.

"Aye, sir?"

"Get me that flag down, boy."

Hobie smirked, barely containing his excitement as the ship soon approached to dock.

A wave of pride ran through Miguel's chest upon seeing the shock and disbelief in the other sailor's faces as the black ship, emerged from the sun's dying golden rays, like a black hole materializing before their very eyes.

Naturally the rest of the pirates readied their weapons as the ship docked. It wouldn't be much when Sheng Hyun, Toussaint and Xavier made their appearances, alarmed that a foe galley arrived. Salazar was a known privateer to anyone that ended up in Isla del Sol. And now, much to everyone's disbelief, Miguel rose the bloodied Spaniard flag high.

"Mon dieu" Mumbled Toussaint, widening his eyes at the realization. And if it wasn't enough proof, Miguel stepped out, wearing one of Contantino's rapiers on his hip, Hobbie wore Olivares' famous black feather hat.

"¿Q-Qué hiciste Miguel?" (W-What you've done?)

Asked Xavier, recognizing right away the hat. Miguel didn't know if it was concern or excitement in his purest of forms that the fellow Spaniard pirate experienced.

"Un enorme favor a todos. Where is Tlali?" (A hell of a favor to all of us.)

"She's on her hut. She's meditating, you know how she gets when she gets interrupted while doing so!" warned Edward.

"I need to see her-"

"Can you forget about her for a second? You fucking killed Olivares! O-li-va-res! You know what that means?!" Xavier shook Miguel by the shoulders as he took the infamous rapier in his hand, smirking with evident delight as he rose it in victory.

"Constantino Salazar de Olivares... is no more! ¡¡El Brujo está muerto!!" (El Brujo is dead)

The uproar was nearly defeaning, as all pirate gathered that listened, cheered and roared upon the news. Their hunter, their living nightmare in the shape of a devilish spaniard man devoted to spirits and gods, was gone.

Miguel took Edward and Toussaint to a more quiet place and spoke "My men helped. I just weakened him enough for my crew to deliver the final blow."

"Still, you do realize who you fought against, didn't you? Don't be modest, O'Hara. It's not suitable for a demon to be soft."

Miguel chuckled and shook his head. "Many won't even get on that ship again, and truly, I can't blame them after the hell we faced. Could you tend to them? Treat the ill and feed them all?"

"It shall be done." Nodded Edward, "Any man that brings us peace will drink and eat at our table."

"Before you give them women," he pointed at Toussaint with an accusatory finger, "The white man with a stupid-looking face and English uniform, is married and with a child. Don't bother him." Warned Miguel as he made his way towards the shaman's hut.

Toussaint lifted his hands in defense with a mischievous smile on his face as he saw Miguel leaving. "Understood, my friend. No women for the white boy."

Miguel's steps rushed, and soon he began jogging towards the hut; he saw the ever-familiar smoke spilling out the makeshift chimney of the shaman's home.

"Tlali!" He called, "Tlali!" Miguel barged in through the coral and bone curtain, only to find incense's smoke filling the space. "¿Dónde se ha metido?" (Where did she go?)

He searched in the two bedrooms but found nothing but freshly picked spines from a fish's leftovers.

Qué maña de desaparecer, Dios mio. (what a freaking habit for disappearing)

Miguel surrounded the hut to see if she was somewhere else, but to no avail. His steps guided him back to the dock, surely he will find her later, but hopefully alone.

The sun finally died behind the orange hues, torches were lit along the way, some stray dogs followed him, earning some quick pets from him, before returning to the ship. The men were gone, leaving a black yet elegant carcass behind.

He'd think about what to do with it later, and the little museum within. He was sure Tlali would do something useful out of it. Even the merchants. But right now his mind was focused in a single target, reaching to you.

He didn't know how you were, and hopefully that storm didn't shake your tank too much.

His steps turned left, right, left again, and twice to the right, specifically on that hidden passageway he found. The sea was so calm he could barely feel it moving. He stopped here and there to see if there were any lagging men that rather the comfort of the ship's barracks than the outside. But thankfully, they were all gone. Even Peter, Hobie, Oba and Anwé.

Miguel went through the passage, lighting up the faroles in the way, creating a dim atmosphere, as he made it to your room, but stopped in his tracks.

The iron and coppery smell was so pungent he took a step back; a sniff echoed behind the door. Usually the bilge water had other unpleasant smells, but not copper, much less iron. His heart's pace quickened as he rushed towards the door.

The heavy object behind the wooden door wasn't an obstacle for him to push with all his might, only to hear a deafening and skin-crawling breaking. Glass was breaking.

No...

He pushed enough to push himself in, and nothing but darkness and muffled silent cries received him. He quickly searched for where the blue resin stones were, nearly tripping at the musty ropes haphazardly placed around, but eventually he found it. The only thing standing after the storm.

Miguel took the resin stones and clashed them together, earning a flickering blue hue that barely reached beyond his feet. The resin stones were wet; hence, they didn't produce much flame. But the light was enough to point out something he had missed the first time he was in this place. A farole etched to the wall, Miguel took a nearby stick and tore part of his chemise to wrap it around the makeshift torch.

Then, lit it up with one of the hall's faroles and returned. As soon as he also lit up the lone lamp, a column of fire spread through the ceiling, following a straight pattern until it reached a round giant lamp that immediately blazed with fire, and for a minute, Miguel wished to be blind, to have a heart of stone, and to be immune to the sight before him.

Your tank was broken.

The floor, usually humid, was now wet with a sticky and fiery copper smell, and his eyes didn't take long in identifying the source of it. His legs quivered as his eye followed the crimson trail leading up towards a fin. Your fin.

Maldito perro... (fucker)

His mind rumbled with the several insults it came up with when referring to Salazar. Miguel’s chest stirred with a grievous feeling he wished he could erase from within, because that’d mean feeling free of guilt. If he would’ve released you sooner, you wouldn’t be under the several pieces of glass splinters, wounding your body. You would be safe and sound, a bit beaten but still safe and in one piece. Not like this.

Shame no longer mattered in your features; it only left a place for a quietness so still and dead, Miguel could hear his own heart beating through his ribcage until a soft, painful moan crushed it.

Your head laid on top of the tank’s shard-less edges as the rest hunched and curled against it. A wooden beam had trapped your torso, unabling you to move. From what he could gather, he supposed the beam fell on top of you when the tank collapsed. The hook Carrillo pierced through had torn through the base and sliced it remorselessly in half.

The storm

He blinked, remembering that lurid crack that rumbled through the ship. It hadn’t been the ship’s carcass breaking as he initially thought, but your tank. The storm had been powerful enough to send the glass container tumbling over and crashing across the floor.

Your clawed hand twitched, and Miguel approached warily; his hands trembled, but the need to remove that hefty-looking beam off you was a must. Even if you survived, he hoped you wouldn’t munch over him like you did with Elliot.

Scared, and with anxious hands, he pushed the rotting beam off your body, earning a deep and loud wheeze from you that instantly turned into a deafening wail as soon as air filled in your lungs.

Miguel covered his ears from the acute ringing in his eardrums and began picking up other debris that had fallen over you, clearing as much as he could from the troubling sight. As soon as his hands grazed the scales in the midsection of your tail, his skin crawled upon hearing you, or rather your fear mixed with anger, loud and clear.

“Get your wretched hands off me!”

He stopped, like time, like his breathing and every single thought running rampant in his brain. Was he dreaming? Was this a joke from the universe he had yet to understand? So far he was told that mermaids didn’t talk, that the sole purpose of their mouths was to lure men to their inevitable deaths with heaven-like chants. Not talking.

Not giving him a simple yet meaningful order as you tried to crawl away from him with a primal fear oozing from whatever surface it could escape, like the blood within your veins. His mere presence caused such a terrible and obvious turmoil within you that he had to gulp down with difficulty the overgrown lump in his throat.

Realization finally fell in the pit of his stomach like a heavy brick, packed with a myriad of emotions he couldn’t properly sort. Not only were mermaids real, but they also cried, bled, and talked.

You could speak.

And hated him.

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