#// wake up new disaster ship just dropped

[psycadenza]

hhhhhhhm

“ …. that’s more than I expected . “

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

A comprehensive list of my completed 9-1-1 fics

This thread was getting too long and confusing regarding the series, so here is a Google doc with all my fics, separated by vibe:

Pennsylvania Under Me (22,391 words)

Summary:

When unexpected circumstances require Buck to travel back to Hershey for the first time in over a decade, Eddie and Chris are right by his side.

a mouth full of teeth and nothing to sing (7,060 words)

Summary:

Post 07x03, Hen struggles to process the cruise ship rescue and drunk driver call in the midst of ongoing tension with her friends.

Loose Threads (3,745 words)

Summary:

New to dating and keeping it quiet, Buck and Eddie get a little carried away on a slower shift at the firehouse. But when the alarm eventually sounds, a spur of the moment mistake leaves them a little mixed up.

Precious and Fragile Things (46,918 words)

Summary:

Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped. AKA the Small Miracles by Olivia Atwater AU that you don’t need to have read Small Miracles to enjoy.

Spinning Out (2,326 words)

Summary:

The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. What goes up must always come down. And if Eddie Diaz is in a helicopter with his team, it must fall from the sky. AKA: Speculation into Eddie's reaction to flying on a chopper with his team into a storm, as per the trailer dropped on February 17th.

Winter Prayer (18,229 words)

Summary:

When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

still sitting in a corner i haunt (7,413 words)

Summary:

Unable to imagine a scenario where acting on his feelings for Buck doesn’t end up with everybody hurt, Eddie rejects Buck. Before he can finish the conversation, Eddie is ripped from his time and hurtled into several, seemingly random moments from the future that help clarify his decision.

Why Not Take All of Me? (13,235 words)

Summary:

When a small disaster strikes the morning of Maddie and Chimney's wedding, Buck, Hen, and Chim find themselves unwittingly caught up in an emergency across town, while Maddie and Eddie get stuck in an elevator.

Both Blade and Branch (62,835 words)

Summary:

The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

and here, too, am i (41,117 words)

Summary:

Six months into their marriage, Eddie is still struggling to decide whether or not he wants more kids, when he knows Buck does. The universe may not scream, but it certainly talks.

Got Weird (10,541 words)

Summary:

Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

Homefield Disadvantage (2,165 words)

Summary:

Buck is recovering from appendicitis. Christopher has an important school project. Eddie faces danger on the job. They are a family, your honor. That is all.

Don't They Know It's The End of the World? (32,439 words)

Summary:

After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back. OR: The Fallout 4 AU that you don't need to have played Fallout to enjoy!

Appetency (4,685 words)

Summary:

When Buck learns Eddie has suddenly developed a sweet tooth, he falls down a bit of a research spiral about the cause behind unusual sugar cravings, and tries to help Eddie with this perceived problem. Eddie’s ‘problem’ isn’t exactly what Buck has in mind.

Nothing Left But You (27,297 words)

Summary:

In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Four Can Keep a Secret (20,140 words)

Summary:

When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

Claim Your Ghost (32,824 words)

Summary:

After a near death experience on a call, Eddie starts having strange hallucinations of people who have died. There’s definitely no way he’s seeing ghosts, right? Because Eddie doesn’t believe in ghosts…

Me and Lazarus (17,041 words)

Summary:

As Buck lays comatose after being struck by lightning, Maddie reflects on the life of the first brother she lost, how that impacted her life, and the ways grief has shaped them both.

Muscle Memory (40,051 words)

Summary:

After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

endless numbered days (13,164 words)

Summary:

When a big event in the lives of the members of the 118 falls on the same weekend as Bobby's late son's birthday, Bobby finds himself reflecting on grief, fatherhood, and life after loss. OR Lots of Bobby angst and fluff and dad vibes.

Being Eddie (79,829)

Summary:

When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica

Batting a Buck & Change (15,557)

Summary:

Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip.

august (40,182 words)

Summary:

Buck and Natalia's new relationship has been built over a shared history with death, but is that foundation enough? Eddie and Marisol have a lot in common, including a fear of facing the truth about themselves. When Buck invites everyone to a vacation rental by the sea, secrets, feelings, and truths kept hidden are brought into the light. OR Buck, Eddie, Natalia, and Marisol go on a beach vacation in August of 2023. It gets angsty and gay.

Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness (57,965 words)

Summary:

After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime. Inspired by a mix of Marvel multiverses and The Midnight Library by Matt Haig.

Fuck Up the Friendship (1,573 words)

Summary:

Eddie and Buck respond to a call where one best friend confesses their love to another - leading to a pretty awkward argument between them, and maybe more?

[inawickedlittletown]

You Can Find Me Where the Skies are Blue (BuckTommy fic) - 2/4

Summary:

Soulmates are rare. So rare that it's actually incredible that Buck has two soulmate couples in his life. Statistics tell him it's very unlikely for him to meet his soulmate. Of course, then he meets Tommy. Too bad it happens at the worst possible moment.

Canon compliant soulmate AU where Buck is still a mess and Tommy is still very understanding.

Words: 3,932

Ao3

Part One

-

Part Two

Tommy didn’t reach out. Then again, neither did Buck. 

It was just that…well, Tommy was his soulmate. He was a guy and he was Buck’s soulmate. Confusion, shock, and so many other things were going through him. In the moment, he had been so surprised that none of it had really sunk in. It hadn’t been until he was walking into his apartment that it actually dawned on him. 

He, Evan Buckley, had a soulmate. 

Prompt, immediate freak out. Tommy was a guy…a very attractive guy, but a guy nonetheless. He was older — Buck really didn’t care about age. He was a pilot and confident and cool and Buck was…well, he was Buck. A hot mess, a bit of a disaster. Tommy was a guy. 

Buck had never entertained the idea of even dating a man and now…well, now there was one that was supposed to be perfect for him. Buck didn’t even know what that meant. He hardly knew Tommy except that he was willing to risk it all to help them rescue Bobby and Athena and he deserved all the praise for it. Not only had he gone against the chief, but he’d doubled down by not listening to orders. He’d flown into a hurricane and landed on a capsized ship and then spent hours working to help get everyone off it to safety. If ever anyone could be called a hero…well, that was Tommy. 

It made absolutely no sense that he could be Buck’s soulmate. 

Logically, Buck knew that things would be clearer once he spoke to Tommy himself, but he was too nervous to take the leap and call. So, when he got a text from Hen asking if it was alright if she passed on his number to Tommy, he answered in the affirmative and figured when Tommy called, he would answer and they would go from there. 

Except, Tommy didn’t reach out. 

Not that first night, and not even the next day, when Buck was far too attentive to his phone. Even the call to the Bachelor’s mansion hadn’t been enough to keep Buck from pulling his phone out to see if he had missed a text or call. Eddie had looked at him strangely when he made up an excuse to not give any of the contestants the idea that Buck was available even though he kinda was. 

By then Buck thought that maybe Tommy wasn’t actually interested, which he supposed he couldn’t blame him for. Maybe he’d gotten some more info about Buck and decided it wasn’t worth it, that Buck wasn’t worth it. The tightness in his chest didn’t seem to want to go away despite everything he tried.

That night, he tossed and turned all night, waking up far too early and completely unsure of what to do. He needed Maddie. 

He made a stop at his usual coffee place first and then drove to Maddie’s. 

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Maddie asked as soon as she’d opened the door and turned on her heel to head back in, grabbing things as she went and stuffing them in her bag. 

“I brought coffee,” Buck said.

“Which saves me a trip. But what’s going on? I know you have a shift. Chim just left to take Jee to daycare. I’m supposed to be heading out too.” 

He knew his sister would drop everything if Buck really did need her. He didn’t think this would require it, but he did need her input. She had a special kind of understanding about soulmates. 

Buck hadn’t known for a long time that when he introduced Chim to Maddie that he was introducing two soulmates. It happened the day Buck asked Chim and Eddie to help move Maddie into her new apartment and then the two of them had started to hang out without telling anyone. It took weeks for Maddie to finally tell him and then right after that Doug showed up to make everything even more complicated. But in the end it had all worked out. She and Chim were amazing together and they had Jee to show for it as well. They were even getting married soon. 

“Um…what if I told you I met someone,” Buck said. 

“If this is about changing your invitation to add a plus one that’s a conversation for you and Chim,” Maddie said. “I gave all control of the seating chart to him.” 

“Ah…no. Well, maybe it’s about that. No…it’s—”

“You met someone,” Maddie said. “You meet people all the time.”

“This is…this is different,” Buck said. 

Maddie stopped and looked directly at him. “This someone is special?” 

“Yeah,” Buck said. “That’s…that’s one way to describe it.”

Maddie said nothing, just lifted her eyebrow at him. Buck was glad he’d brought the coffee along. It gave him something to hold onto. It gave Maddie something of payment for having to deal with Buck. 

Buck took a breath. “Maddie, I…I met my soulmate.” 

As hard as it was, getting the words out freed him. Someone other than him and Tommy knew. Maddie was gapping at him and he could tell that he’d shocked her, which wasn’t exactly easy. When that shock was suddenly gone, and instead she was grinning at him. Her eyes looked so shiny that it was possible she was going to start crying too. 

“Buck, that’s incredible,” she said. “How did it happen? When do I get to meet her?” 

“The night we went to rescue Bobby and Athena,” Buck said. “I haven’t even gotten to properly meet them. Too much was happening and now it’s been two days and I just haven’t heard from them so maybe they’re not interested.” 

Maddie frowned at him and then reached over and gave his arm a slap. “Seriously, Evan. You’ve kept this poor girl waiting for you to call? She’s your soulmate. Call her. And stop being in your head about things. And I want to meet her. I don’t care what Chim says, you have a plus one.” 

Buck didn’t know why he didn’t correct Maddie about the gender of his soulmate. He just didn’t have it in him to explain that aspect, not when she had the exasperated look that only came out when she thought he was being ridiculous. Maybe Buck was being ridiculous. 

“Fine,” Buck said.

“Good. Go on.” 

“Well I can’t do it while you’re staring at me. And I don’t actually have their number.”

Maddie let out a long sigh. “Do you want me to use dispatch resources to get it for you?” 

Buck shook his head at once. He had no doubt that she would find Tommy’s number immediately if he asked. 

“No. No. I just gotta ask Hen.”  

Maddie shook her head, taking a breath. The next time she looked at him, it was gentler. “Evan, I get it. You know how it was for me and Howie, but the thing about soulmates is that there is a deeper understanding. Not a failsafe or something that will prevent you from hurting each other, but a connection that makes being together not effortless, but certainly easier. For the longest time, Howie and I were just friends because that just made more sense. I know you haven’t had the best of luck with dating, but this is different. I am so happy for you. Truly.”

Her words were exactly what he’d needed. When she hugged him, he leaned into it. Growing up, it was Maddie he’d always turned to. Despite losing that for several years, that did remain now that she was back. He wanted nothing but to tell her about Tommy, to explain it wasn’t a girl…that it was a guy and that Buck — well, Buck didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t though…that would be a conversation for another day. 

They both headed out and Maddie gave him a pointed look as she got in her car. 

Buck didn’t call Hen. He figured it’d be pointless if they were both going to be at work. He immediately found her once he got to work and pulled her aside.

“You okay, Buck?”

“You gave Tommy my number, right?” he asked. 

“Uh, should I not have? You said it was fine,” Hen said looking more than a bit bemused. 

Buck saw her pull out her phone, and then laughed. “Actually…I guess it never sent.”

Something like relief went through him. Hen had never given Tommy his number…Tommy hadn’t reached out because he didn’t have Buck’s number. 

“Hen, can I have his number, please?” 

She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s going on, Buck?” 

He knew that she would give him the number if he asked again, that she would respect it if he told her he didn’t want to talk about it. Buck also knew that talking to Hen would make him feel better. It was a bit like how talking to Maddie had made certain aspects of it better. But he hadn’t told Maddie about Tommy despite how much he wanted to. It was bothering him a little that he hadn’t and that instead he’d just let her believe he’d met some woman. It almost felt like lying and Buck hated lying to anyone he really cared about. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” Buck said to begin with. “Especially not Chimney. He’ll just tell Maddie and I want to tell her myself.”  

“That seems a bit extreme, but alright,” Hen said, her face growing more concerned. “Should I be worried?” 

“No. No. It’s — okay, so the night we went to rescue Bobby and Athena, it was the first time I met Tommy.”

“Yeah, I know that.” 

Buck took a breath. “What you don’t know is…well, that Tommy’s my soulmate.” 

Saying out loud like that, with Tommy’s name in the mix, it left him elated. Buck hadn’t known how freeing it would be to voice it outloud, to have someone else hear it. To have someone else know. He knew he was smiling and it wouldn’t be a smile easy to be rid of. Hen was staring at him and then the next thing Buck knew, her arms were around his shoulders and he lifted his to wrap around her too. 

“I’m so happy for you, Buck,” Hen whispered, giving him a squeeze before she let him go.

“Thanks. I…well, clearly I haven’t talked to him since,” Buck said, ducking his head. “I mean…with everything that happened that night, there wasn’t really any time. I didn’t even…Hen, I’ve always liked women. I’ve never even kissed a guy, not ever.”

Hen pursed her lips. “You do have quite the history,” she said. 

Buck snorted. That was putting it nicely. 

“Come to think of it, I don’t know where Tommy would stand on this. Sexuality is not black or white, alright. I guess it comes down to what the both of you are comfortable with and if this a romantic connection or something different. That’s for the two of you to decide.”

“Right,” Buck said, nodding along. “I mean…I’ve always been an ally. And there are men I’ve thought…that I’ve looked at, checked out. That’s normal though, right? People are attractive and I notice things like that.”  

Hen’s mouth fell open, but then she chuckled. “Buck, I can’t tell you where you land on the Kinsey scale. I can tell you that I have never found men attractive past thinking someone is aesthetically pleasing. Wherever you land on that, I’m on your side. One step at a time, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

With that, she sent Buck Tommy’s number. Buck stared at the numbers on his screen. 

“The first step is calling him. Do it now. I feel bad enough your number didn’t go through to him when he asked for it days ago. He’s a good guy, Buck, just know that.” 

“Yeah,” Buck said. “Maybe I should get changed first just in case there’s a call or—”

“Stop stalling, Buckley,” Hen said, staring him down. “It’s just a phone call.” 

“Right. Yeah…I can — I should—” 

He walked out to his car for privacy, and took several deep breaths before he finally made the call. It rang a few times before it was picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Buck said. “It’s Evan. Evan Buckley.”

“Evan,” Tommy said, and there was something amazing about how he said his name that for the first time ever, his instinct wasn’t to correct and ask to be called Buck. 

“Hi,” he repeated. 

—

Tommy had known it was Evan when he saw it wasn’t a saved number because he recognized the number that Chimney had finally sent him way too early that morning. As tempted as he’d been to just call Evan immediately, he’d made the decision to wait for a more normal time so he wasn’t responsible for waking him. 

“I’m so glad you called,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah, me too,” Evan said and after a small pause. “Sorry it took so long.” 

“Don’t be,” Tommy said. “How, um, how are you?” 

“Good. I’m good. You?” 

“Tired,” Tommy said honestly. 

“Well, I won’t keep you long,” Evan said. 

“No…no, that’s not—” 

“I’m actually sitting outside the firehouse because I have a shift in five minutes, but I didn’t want to wait on calling you.” 

“Oh,” Tommy said. 

He heard Evan shifting. “I’d…I’d like to see you.” 

“I’d like that too,” Tommy said. “Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Evan breathed out. 

Tommy did have to fly out to Vegas with Eddie, and he had to finish out yet another overnight shift before that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some time to spare for Evan.  

“Meet at Harbor? I can give you a tour and we can talk. Get to know each other.”

Neither of them used the word. Soulmates. Tommy didn’t mind, he thought that Evan was cute in the way that he was nervous and unsure even over the phone. It was downright adorable. 

“That’s…yeah, that works. I’ll, uh, see you then.” 

“Come around three?”

“Sure. Sure thing.” 

Then, Evan was gone. Tommy set his phone down and then his head fell to his hands. It still didn’t feel real when he had the time to think about it. Soulmates. It was wild to think about the rarity of them and how somehow three members of the 118 and one former member had found and met their soulmates. 

Tommy remembered how shocked he’d been when he’d heard about Hen. Years later it was Chim. Now it was Evan. It was him and Evan. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of conversation it would spark. 

Tommy hadn’t talked to anyone about it, but he was kind of a private guy. It was a habit from when he wasn’t out, when he tried to talk up how nice it was to be single and if pressed about the women that his job as a firefighter impressed. Back then, the only time he was being true to himself was when he hooked up with a guy picked up at a bar whose name he barely caught and who he never gave a real name to and who he had no plans to ever see again. 

Things had changed since then. While he didn’t hide that he was gay anymore, Tommy also just didn’t talk about it or his personal life. His last few relationships hadn’t been kept secret from his coworkers, but Tommy had never gone out of his way to talk about Harry or Matt before him. 

Since breaking up with Harry almost a year earlier, Tommy had gone on a few dates, nothing serious. Nothing that had reason to go further. That just had always seemed his fate. He was never lucky in love, more like prone to being disappointed and hurt because he cared too quickly or got attached before he should have. He was glad for it now, to find himself without any attachment that might complicate everything even more. He had a soulmate. 

Soulmates were something everyone knew about, but it was a thing with no guarantee. A dream. His grandparents on his father’s side were soulmates, and when he was a child he had just assumed that everyone’s grandparents were soulmates even if their parents weren’t just like his. Over time, it had become more and more clear how rare soulmates actually were and more than that, it had cemented that Tommy shouldn’t expect to meet his soulmate. 

He’d never even met Hen’s soulmate, Karen, but he’d heard about her from Chim because Chim claimed responsibility for them meeting in the first place and Tommy remembered a rare phone call because Chim wanted to brag about it. He remembered being thrilled for Hen, knowing that she was absolutely deserving especially after whatever it was that had gone on with the girlfriend she’d had when she first joined the 118. Tommy hadn’t expected it when he heard about Chim finding his soulmate. He would have preferred a phone call from Hen or Chim to inform him, instead of the way that he really found out by walking into the break-room at Harbor and seeing a picture of Chim on the news all because her abusive ex-husband had nearly killed Chim in an effort to get at her. 

As happy as he was for Hen and Chim, he’d never once expected that he would find himself in the situation of knowing his own soulmate. 

For the longest time, he had been sure that he didn’t have one. It was one of the things his mother had said the last time Tommy saw her, when she was yelling other homophobic crap at him. Because despite evidence to the contrary, some people really did still think soulmates were only possible between straight couples. Nevermind that because of the dwindling of soulmate couples it was clear to see that something close to half of the reported soulmate meetings of the last thirty to forty years were queer. 

Somehow, it changed nothing among the bigots who cited their religious beliefs as more important than being a kind and good person, that they were more important than the reality that same sex soulmates existed. It certainly changed nothing when it came to Tommy’s parents. 

He was past it. Hadn’t talked to them in years. Not since he realized that he was internalizing everything they’d said and that it was making him not only an asshole, but absolutely miserable. Cutting them off was probably one of the best things Tommy could have done for himself and the biggest step towards accepting himself. 

Tommy didn’t hear from Evan again, but that didn’t matter considering Evan was on shift. What mattered was that he would be seeing him the next day. Naturally time seemed to slow to crawl, even his overnight shift was slow with very few calls. Tommy spent a big part of it doing some maintenance on the choppers with some of the mechanics. It wasn’t a part of his job, but he loved it. 

He did go out on a med-evac call in between naps. His sleep was uninterrupted after getting back, until morning when something tickled his nose until he awoke. He found Lucy twirling a feather between her fingers with a smirk playing on her lips. 

“Morning, Kinard,” she said. “What’s this I hear about you flying into a hurricane?” 

“That’s why you woke me?” he asked. 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What, no hello? No, how are you Lucy?” 

“I was sleeping.” 

“I was bored,” Lucy said. “What happened with the hurricane?” 

“Well, you were on leave, someone had to do the reckless thing.”

Lucy smiled easily. “I also heard it was with the 118. Fun bunch, aren’t they?”

“This is the real reason didn’t let me sleep?” Tommy asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, I like those guys. I also brought you coffee and pastries, didn’t want them to get cold.” 

When Lucy transferred to Harbor, Tommy had been sure he wasn’t going to like her. He’d been proven wrong within her first week. Yes, she was a bit impulsive and more than a little reckless, she also knew what she was doing and Tommy couldn’t help but be impressed. 

He’d been less impressed when she hit on him on a night when they had all gone out after a particularly long and harrowing day. That had changed immediately when she took his refusal in stride and then tried to set him up with a male firefighter friend of hers without him ever explaining that he was actually gay. Tommy never did find out if someone else had told her, but he did love how easily she just accepted it and accepted him. Tommy never took her up on the offer to be set up, but he did become her friend. 

“I suppose the coffee will help,” Tommy said. 

“What happened?” 

“Cruise ship lost contact after being boarded by pirates. Hurricane capsized it. Captain Nash and his wife were on it and Hen had a hunch something had gone wrong. When no one listened, she made up paperwork to get a helicopter out there.” 

“Wow,” Lucy said. “Surely it wasn’t that easy?” 

“I don’t think it would have worked if Chim didn’t call me before she got here so I could cover and make it happen,” Tommy admitted. 

“So you flew them out there and then found the ship and became a hero,” Lucy said. “I’m impressed, Kinard. Aside from the whole hurricane thing, anything else happen while I was gone?” 

When he didn’t say anything, her eyebrow shot up. “Something did happen?” 

If there was anyone that Tommy would have wanted to tell, it was Lucy. In some ways, she was his closest friend. Thinking about her that way did a couple of things and one of them was depress him because it was true that he really didn’t have any close friends. Suddenly, the time he’d spent with Eddie and how well they got on, maybe that wasn’t a bad idea. 

“What is it? What happened?” Lucy asked. 

“I met my soulmate,” Tommy said after a sigh. 

Lucy gasped audibly right before she let out a loud squeal. “Holy shit! Kinard! Tell me everything. Who is he? Where did you meet? Have you kissed him yet? This is so exciting.” 

“Nope,” Tommy said. “I told you enough.” 

“I want to meet him. I’m your friend…you introduce your friends to your soulmate.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve barely gotten to talk to him. I’m not letting you at him.” 

Lucy gaped at him. “How are you so calm about this?” 

Internally he wasn’t calm. Internally, he was willing time to go faster so that his shift could officially be over and so that Tommy could finally see Evan again. 

Lucy laughed suddenly, finger poking at his chest. “You’re not calm. You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” 

“It’s a good thing, though, isn’t it? I mean…meeting your soulmate—” She trailed off wistfully. “Oh, I know, you should call Hen. Or Chim. They probably know exactly what you’re going through.” 

Tommy shook his head. “Not really an option, I think.”

“Did something else happen on that cruise rescue that you’re not telling me about? Those two owe you one for not only putting your job on the line but your life too. The least they could do is give you advice.” 

“You’ll meet him eventually, okay. Just…leave it alone for now.” 

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m holding you to meeting him when the time is right.” 

Tommy nodded and hoped she wouldn’t be too mad when she found out that she actually already knew him.

-

Next Part

[the-bar-sinister]

Crimson Sunset, Azure Dawn (6259 words) by thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/? Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: shuggy, mishanks, cross guild polycule

Additional Tags: Polyamory, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers, The Cross Guild (One Piece), Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Getting Together, Drama, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, why is shanks like that, Background Relationships, Rating May Change, POV Third Person Limited, POV Alternating Summary: Red Haired Shanks had wrapped himself in mystery and glory and vanished from the lives of everyone who cared about him, leaving a trail of old flames lost and confused in his wake. Years later, Mihawk would have been content to finally give the duel long owed him. Buggy swore he simply wanted to give him a piece of his mind. Crocodile just wanted the pair to have some measure of closure, difficult as it might be.

No one expected the rising star of the scarlet emperor to crash so suddenly and violently to earth. No one expected to fish a lost and broken Shanks out of the wreckage of his ship.

But maybe it takes disaster for old flames to flicker back to life, and for Cross Guild to bring in its most surprising member.

-

Prologue & Chapter 1

Note: the prologue of this fic and one scene from the first chapter originally appeared in Deicide: Onigashima Afterparty and can be skipped if you have already read that.

-

Prologue

The Cross Guild ship sat anchored a few miles off the coast of Wano with the former marine vessel locked in tow for when they departed. It had been a hell of a few days.Crocodile and Mihawk had practically gang pressed him— and the crew— into what he had called a 'recruitment mission', chasing Smoker and his marine boys to the closed island after getting intel that they were there.

It was a crazy move. And crazier still, it had worked. Cross Guild now had a couple of famous marines (and an undercover marine pirate!) and their crew on the roster, a fact which seemed to please Crocodile to no end, and admittedly, probably would further demoralize the navy.

But that wasn't what was on Buggy's mind.

Buggy had gotten a few drinks into himself by the time he’d worked up the nerve to confront Crocodile. He and Drake had celebrated his switching sides the best way they could— by getting drunk and flirting back and forth for a few hours— before Buggy had finally had to excuse himself.

He rolled up his baggy sleeves and took a deep breath before he slammed open the door to the little lounge he knew Croc was skulking around in with as imperious a face as the new Emperor could muster. “Crocodile! I gotta talk to you!” 

Crocodile, of course, didn't even lower his cigar. He didn't even answer. He just waved him over. He was sitting in his tall armchair, feet on the table, with a bottle of rye and the morning's newspaper.

Buggy sauntered over with his hands floating off his wrists (and rested against his hips) and a big frown on his face. 

“I gotta talk to you, I said!” He leaned in. “About my crew!” 

Now Crocodile took the cigar out of his mouth, and breathed smoke in his face. "Alright, clown. I'm listening. What about your crew?"

Buggy breathed it in with a little shiver, before he huffed. 

“...you gotta treat my men with a little more respect. Cabaji’s tellin’ me that you’re going around barking orders at him and the rest of my guys.” 

Crocodile stared at him for a long moment, and then he patted his lap. "Sit down, Buggy."

Buggy huffed, flushing brightly as he stomped over and dropped neatly into his lap. “I mean it, Croc. They’re my men…they respect me. You can’t just push ‘em around like they were yours.” 

Croc's arm slithered around him and his hook dropped across his legs. "Buggy. Sweetheart. I bark orders at everybody. You know this."

Buggy pursed his lips in a frown, looking him in the eyes as he looped an arm around his shoulders. “...I mean, yeah. It’s onna the charming things about you, Croccy. But Cabaji’s gettin’ annoyed.” 

Crocodile puffed on his cigar, for a moment, and then pressed it into Buggy's mouth, still damp with his saliva. "That's your swordsman, right? Long dark hair? Bunch of knives?"

Buggy took a puff off it, hanging around his shoulders as he relished the taste. “Yeah, that’s the one. My number one acrobat. A real standout guy. He thinks you’re disrespecting us.” 

"Does he now?" Croc snorted, and stroked the curve of his hook over Buggy's thigh. "Alright, Bug. There are two solutions to this. Either one– you stick to me like glue so I can tell you the orders and you bark 'em…"

He left the suggestion hanging for a moment.

Buggy’s leg rubbed against his hook as his torso disconnected to lean into his body. He blushed, huffing softly. “You ain’t the worst company. But go on.” 

"Funny you should mention that," Croc chuckled. "Option two is you bring your 'number one acrobat' to bed with us and we sort out questions of respect that way."

WIth that, Buggy went bright red, and his head popped off to turn around and look at Croc with wide and flustered eyes.

Cabaji would be into it, of course.

It’d probably sort it out, one way or another, if he was invited there. It wasn’t as if they weren’t already intimate.

“I’ll think about it,” he said stiffly. “...on that note! I got something I gotta bring up about him.” 

Crocodile cackled, and grabbed Buggy's floating head by the pigtail. "Don't fly away on me, clown. What about him? Planning a spring wedding?"

Buggy yelped, and his head fell down against his shoulder again. 

“N-no!” he huffed sharply. “I wanna get him a devil fruit! He’s worrying about keeping up with all the freaks in the New World.” 

Crocodile twirled his fingers through Buggy's hair for a moment. "Huh, smart man. He doesn't already have one, then? Is he a haki guy, or what?"

“He’s an acrobat. And a damn good one too.” Buggy poked his chest with his floating hand, though…he did nuzzle Crocodile’s hand. “And he’s not a haki master like Mihawk or nothin’.” 

Crocodile stared at him, even as he stroked his thumb over Buggy's jaw. "So what, he's just a guy? And he hasn't fucking died yet?"

Everybody from Crocodile's 'crew'-- Baroque Works, what was left of them– had a Devil Fruit. Everybody he associated with had some trick up their sleeve.

Buggy brushed the scruff of his jawline against his fingers with a nod. Cabaji was amazing for having come this far with him— even against all the shit they faced, he was still alive and kickin’.

That had to count for something.

“He’s just that good, Croc. But he wants to be better.” 

"You know what? It sounds like he's fucking earned it," Crocodile grumbled. He patted Buggy's face not unfondly, and grinned. "I'll put in a request with Doffy and get him a fruit lined up. And I'm thinking you should bring him to bed whatever else we figure."

Buggy grinned widely at him, his body floating in pieces against the other man. 

“Damn right he has! I’ll let him know, Croccy!” He winked. “...about the invitation, too.” 

"Good man," Crocodile leered. "I–"

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, at which Crocodile barked, "enter!"

Buggy’s head jerked up, and his body parts rapidly snapped back together as he wriggled on Crocodile’s lap with a grumpy murmur of ‘my respect as a co-leader!’

Crocodile didn't let Buggy up, his hook still firmly over his lap– but it didn't end up mattering anyway, it was just Galdino.

"Sir. Buggy."

"Mr. 3," Crocodile drawled out with the air of an almost affectionate nickname. "What's with the knock?"

"Some uh, interesting news, actually." He glanced back and forth between Buggy and Crocodile in a rather nervous way– despite that, Buggy thought whatever the glance was about, it didn't have anything to do with the compromising position.

“Hey Galdy.” Buggy murmured as he fell back against Crocodile with a sigh. “What’s up?”

"Well…"

"Out with it," Crocodile barked. He grinned wickedly. "Promise I won't shoot the messenger this time."

Galdino gave them a look somewhere between sour and wry. Crocodile's attempt at murder had become a joke somewhere along the way between them.

"It's Red Haired Shanks," Galdino said. "Doflamingo's faction reported in by transponder snail that his ship's been sighted around the other side of Wano."

Buggy’s face blanched underneath his makeup, and his eyes went wide over his smile as his lips closed. 

“.....” He gripped Crocodile tighter. “.......Shanks… is in Wano…as we speak???” 

Crocodile grimaced and raised his hook. "Is every damned Emperor on the sea in the same hundred mile radius?"

Galdino held his hands up. "Don't ask me, I just took the message. But… it sounds like it's close, anyway. Even with the recent shake up."

"Wonderful." Crocodile grumbled. He squeezed Buggy's arm. "Alright, Galdino. Thank you for the information. Were there any other details?"

"They said it seemed like he was making ready to leave."

Buggy grabbed Crocodile by the lapels, looking at him with wild eyes. “We should intercept him, before the bastard slips away again!”

He knew, distantly, he was being irrational. Something about Shanks always set it off in him. The entire reason he’d gone off at Luffy to begin with was because of that damned straw hat of Shanks’. 

Crocodile's hook pierced through Buggy's leg, as his grip tightened on his shoulder. "Are you crazy, clown?"

"I'll just… leave you to it then," Galdino murmured, slipping out the door.

Buggy leaned his face nose to nose with Crocodile.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to give that red haired bastard a piece of my mind? He…he…” his hands shook, “he broke my heart, Croccy!” 

Crocodile stared at him with incredulous annoyance that slowly melted away into exhaustion, and maybe a trace of sympathy. He let go of Buggy's shoulder and grabbed the bottle of rye from beside his chair, taking a long pull before putting it to Buggy's lips.

"Yeah. You've mentioned," he grumbled. ".... we're gonna have to go find Mihawk."

Buggy grabbed the bottle, and tilted it back in several long swigs. 

“Yeahhh….oh he’s not gonna be happy either, is he?” 

"Yeah, he sure fucking ain't." Croc shook his head. "How the hell did I end up with both of Shank's fucking exes?"

Buggy took another long swig of rye before he leaned in to kiss Crocodile’s lips. “I think that says a LOT about you and your taste in men, Croccy.” 

Crocodile kissed him back, before grumbling. "Well, I fucking hate that. Alright, let's go find Hawkie and give him the bad news."

Buggy laughed, leaning back enough to look him in the eyes. Despite the big smile on his face, he was reeling.

Shanks. Fucking Shanks. Red Haired Shanks the Emperor…the dopey cabin boy from when he was a wide-eyed idealistic brat himself. A boyfriend, a confidant…at least before he changed.

His fingers tightened on the bottle. He was going to need a lot more to drink if he was going to deal with him today.

-

On the Rocks

With the aid of his spyglass combined with his observation haki he could keep watch on someone from quite a distance away. Could watch them far before they knew he was there.

Red Haired Shanks stood perched on the rail of his ship, glass in hand, watching the crew of the Thousand Sunny make ready to depart Wano.

Now was the time. After what he'd seen the kid do in the fight against Kaidou— the white haired deity that had flickered to life from his devil fruit's power— now was the time to tell him the truth about the fruit. About his destiny. About what Roger had said.

Now was the time to challenge him, and see what he could really do.

Shanks tried to smile, but something gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

He should be happy.

Everything had been leading to this moment. Everything since those whispered words from his captain long ago. Ever since seven years ago when Luffy had claimed what should have been—

Since Luffy had claimed his destiny.

Shanks should be happy.

Shanks shouted the order to make ready to sail. They'd follow the Sunny at a distance until they were a day out from Wano and then make themselves known.

It was good enough that Luffy would be happy. That so many other people would be happy. He was sure that Roger was smiling somewhere, still.

He had to be sure of it.

-

Mihawk sat on the deck of the ship, carefully cleaning Yoru with a reverent and practiced hand. Under the broad parasol he’d insisted they install, he watched the sea beyond them as his fingers and his cloth trailed over Yoru’s shining black blade.

“Daz. Do you think the tea is steeped?”

The blood of the marines who hadn’t yielded was still fresh in his mind, the thrill of the short but interesting battle and its resolution of a whole cadre of new crew and executives for their little organization still buzzing distantly behind his sharp and canny eyes.

Cross Guild had devoured two of the Navy’s finest. Welcomed them, and their powerful underlings, into the fold. It was a victory; and now they moved on to the next step in their plan to whittle the Marine’s strength to nothing.

"Should be," Daz nodded as he eyeballed the teacup steeping on the tray.

“Thank you,” he glanced back at him with a subtle smile as he held his blade up to the light. Bergamot tea, steeped strong— he trusted Daz to make it correctly. “What do you think of our new friends, the former Marines.” 

Daz was the man that Crocodile had brought from his adventures in Alabasta. Mihawk's own man, Wallace, was with Perona, currently.

"As long as they don't stick a knife in our backs, I think they'll be great." Daz handed him the cup of tea. From the smell of it, he'd gotten it just right.

MIhawk took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance before taking a long sip. Yes, it was perfect. “They seem to have impressed Crocodile…and he is not a man who trusts easy.” 

"Sure isn't," Daz agreed. Mihawk knew that he was well aware. Apparently, Daz had been working officially for Sir Crocodile and Rain Dinners for quite some time, while working unofficially for "Mr. Zero" and Baroque Works without knowing that the two were one and the same. And yet, he'd followed him even afterward. Through the depths even of Impel Down.

“He seems to have put quite a bit into that crew— I’m not a trusting man, myself… but if he trusts them I will endeavor to do the same.” 

Daz nodded. "Spent some time with a couple of 'em last night. They seem alright. I hope it won't kick the captain in the teeth."

Mihawk looked up at him with a thin smile. “If it does, I’ll simply have to hang their heads from the prow. But let us hope it’s as good as it seems.

He liked Daz. It was a comfort and a relief to know that Crocodile had had someone looking out for him in the years when they couldn’t meet under the watchful eye of the World Government.

Once, and once again in a way, he had been Crocodile’s right hand. His first mate and swordsman. He and Daz were still settling out exactly what that meant for the two of them– Daz having occupied the spot that he had vacated for so long– but it didn't seem to be a real problem.

"If you need a hand with that, let me know."

MIhawk chuckled as he sipped his tea again. “I might need a hand with it, should push come to shove. I–” 

"Hawkie!" Crocodile snapped sharply as he stomped up from below deck. He was dragging Buggy with him, a bottle of alcohol in the clown's hands. Mihawk could already tell something was up. He leaned over the back of his chair, teacup by his side and Yoru over his lap. His keen eyes scanned the bottle of alcohol as his lips drew into a tense frown.

“Crocodile. Bad news? Have the marine recruits betrayed us?” 

"Nothing as simple as that," Crocodile growled around his cigar. "Got a report, didn't we, Bug?"

Daz shot an apprehensive glance toward Mihawk, clearly picking up on the same 'bad news' feeling that he was.

Buggy slid over grinning a smile that wasn’t at all reassuring as he wiggled the booze bottle his way. 

“How about we have a drink, huh? The boys said they saw uh… they saw a ship off the coast of Wano.”

Mihawk raised his eyebrow at him with a low hum. “And…?”

Crocodile put his arm around Mihawk's shoulders. "And it's Shank's ship, Hawkie."

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Red Haired Shanks. The two of them had a long and storied history. Meeting during a grand adventure, becoming rivals— the clash of wills and sword that reverberated around the world— and Shank’s injury bringing with it distance and the World Government’s interference as Mihawk became a proper Warlord of the Sea.

“What brings him to Wano, I wonder.” He stood smoothly up from under Crocodile's arm, and lifted Yoru to place upon his shoulder, glowering at the island in the distance. “...bring us around to him. I’d like a duel.” 

"You're kidding me," Crocodile growled. "Now you wanna duel him? Hawk, I brought Buggy over for you to talk some fucking sense into. We can't roll up to Shanks with one god damn ship and a handful of hungover marines!"

“You think he’ll simply kill us then?” Mihawk glanced over his shoulder at Crocodile as Buggy laughed nervously and popped open the bottle to take a long sip. 

"Hell if I know! Man was always a wildcard, and look what he did to the two of you! All I hear about is him decimating crews all over the grand line; do you two think he wants to have a fucking nice little duel and a chat?"

Daz quietly walked over and put a hand on Croc's shoulder. "Easy there, captain."

“What if he wants to say he’s sorry to me?” Buggy asked with a sniff as he hugged the bottle to his chest. “He’s got a lot to make up for, that bastard!”

Mihawk huffed sharply, his arms crossed over his chest. “His legend has been growing, but it isn’t as if I have stopped my rise either. If you don’t want to face him, Crocodile…I can go on one of the lifeboats.” 

"Like hell you will!" Crocodile barked. "Like hell I'm letting you go off alone."

Daz raised his hand. "If I may?"

Buggy flopped against Crocodile again, his hand detaching and bringing the bottle to Mihawk.

He took it with a nod and had a long swig. “...I’m listening.” 

"Why don't we send a messenger and see if he wants to talk and or duel," Daz offered, scratching the back of his head. "It's not like that would be hard to do."

Crocodile grudgingly slipped his arm around Buggy, and did the same once more to Mihawk. He gave each of them a speculative look. "Well? Daz has a point."

Mihawk leaned against him with an affection most never picked up on, huffing a long sigh. “...it’s a good point, Daz. I suppose it would come across as less of an act of war that way.”

Buggy poked his fingers together. “...can I write the letter?” 

"Not without a second pair of eyes on it, Bug," Crocodile grumbled. "But with approval– yes."

Buggy looped an arm around him with a wide grin. “I promise Croccy. You’re not gonna regret this!”

Mihawk wasn’t so sure, but as he stared out at Wano with narrowing eyes he knew something for certain.

He rested his shoulder against Crocodile’s, jaw set as he reckoned it.

It was long past due to face the ghosts of the past. 

-

Buggy’s feet were pacing the floor. Back and forth and back and forth as the rest of his body hovered around the cabin while chewing on the ends of his gloves.

They’d done it. The heavily edited letter had been sent to Shanks’ ship— the deed was done and the offer to meet was sent. 

He was terrified. He hadn’t spoken to Shanks in years and years; he’d only seen him rarely too, like the time he’d spotted him in Marineford during that massive war.

But Shanks— like he’d always been ever since he left— was far too important to notice Buggy back. 

Buggy's brooding thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Captain?"

The voice, and mode of address were immediately familiar.

“Gah!!” Buggy whipped around with a big grin. “Cabaji! My main man! Come in, come in!” 

When Cabaji slipped into the room, shutting the door quickly behind him, Buggy could already tell he knew something was up. There would certainly be rumors around the ship already about Shanks being sighted, and Cabaji was one of the few people who'd know that that held a significance for Buggy— even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

Cabaji nodded to him. "I heard a little rumor going around."

“Is it about fucking Red Haired Shanks?” Buggy’s lips twitched. “...because we just sent a letter to him. Mihawk wants to challenge him to a duel, I guess.” 

He whistled, giving Buggy a dubious look. "Mihawk's going to duel him? What about you?"

Buggy grimaced. “...I’m gonna give him a damn piece of my mind. Probably from the ship, and through an amplification snail.” 

"That's it?" Cabaji looked confused. Maybe it was because of the way Buggy had always talked about Shanks— when he talked about him at all, when he was drunk— like Buggy had been dead set on murdering him to death. "You're sure you don't want to get to him before Mihawk does?"

Buggy grit his teeth, one of his feet kicking a ball off to the side where it ricocheted off the wall.

"It's complicated, Cabaji! I REALLY wanna get down there and show him just how much I’ve grown. I wanna show him the FULL power of Buggy the Clown! But Mihawk’s got his mind set.”

Cabaji put his hands on his hips. "So Hawk and Croc are running roughshod over you again, Captain? What makes Mihawk's grievance more important than yours? Anyway, if Shanks is such a bigshot— shouldn't the two of you put him down together?"

He was losing Cabaji’s faith, he knew it. He half dropped into the sofa of his cabin as his feet ran to catch up, his brow knit.

How the hell was he supposed to explain the complicated bullshit that seemed to inundate his relationship with Shanks? Mihawk was pissed off at Shanks for, admittedly similar reasons, it seemed. 

Heartbreak. Heartbreak when someone they were close to started drifting away because of some grand responsibility or power trip. The worst part was Buggy didn’t even know WHAT bug Shanks had gotten up his ass. One day, one conversation with Roger and he was suddenly not the man he’d grown up with.

“It’s not ...they ain’t running roughshod on me, Cabaji! They’re…it’s complicated, dammit! I don’t wanna kill the guy YET. I wanna talk to him first. He’s got some things to answer for and he ain’t answering from the bottom of a grave!”

That seemed to cut through Cabaji's dubious look-– but it was replaced by another, even more conflicted expression. The acrobat leaned in closer to him, until they were shoulder to shoulder. He put his hand on his back. Usually; not always, but usually, Cabaji waited for Buggy to touch him first, like he was waiting for permission.

"Captain, can I— can I ask you a personal question? I've kinda wondered for a long time now…"

Buggy sighed low, under his breath, and looped his arm around Cabaji with a shake of his head. “I think I know what’s comin’...I’m listening.” 

Cabaji rubbed his jaw, leaning heavily on his captain. After a moment of silence he finally asked. "Were you and Shanks like… together? Is he an ex?"

“Ghhhhhhhhh.” Buggy’s shoulders sagged under his arms. “Yeah, he’s an ex. He and I …we were real close on Roger’s ship. For a long fuckin’ time too.” 

Cabaji wrapped his arm more tightly around him and pulled him closer. "Well shit. No wonder its so fucking complicated. Okay that's… I can see why you maybe wouldn't jump right to killing him. Is Mihawk going to kill him? Do we need to rein that in?"

Buggy groaned. “I’m pretty sure they’re exes too… I think he just wants to beat him to prove he’s stronger or some shit. You know Mihawk…a hell of a guy, but he tends to conflate mortal peril and romance.” 

"That… tracks. I mean, he's not wrong about that, " Cabaji murmured. Then he got indignant on Buggy's behalf again. "But hey! Hey, my question stands! Why does he get the first crack at him if he's an ex, too?"

“I mean, probably because he’s got a big fuckoff sword and jumps to use it at a moment's notice!” Buggy threw his hands up. “But you know what? You’re right! I’m gonna take the first crack. Damn the consequences!” 

"Hell yes, captain!" Cabaji grinned widely. "You know I'll back you up no matter what."

It was a big offer, when you thought about it. There were worlds of power level between Cabaji and Shanks or Mihawk. But he was still ready to jump into the frey.

“Cabaji…” Buggy grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a half hug. “Dunno what I did to get a guy half as loyal as you. I’m gettin’ you that devil fruit…gonna have Doflamingo hunt for it right away…you really are my best man. ...when we face down Shanks…I know you’re gonna have my back.”

Cabaji squeezed him back, the conflicted and dubious look that had plagued his features since he'd entered gone completely now. "Damn right, Captain. You'll always have me."

Buggy was damn lucky. Damn lucky that the crazy fucking acrobat from the East Blue had followed him all the way into hell.

He wouldn’t have it any other way

-

It had been almost a full day since their messenger had gone to Shanks, and had yet to return. Mihawk had been practicing with Yoru. His blade sang with each swing, decapitating dummies with ease as he danced around the ship’s deck with his intense and glowering stare.

If Shanks answered— if Shanks wanted that duel he’d long denied the man— then Mihawk was going to ensure he walked away victorious. He almost didn’t notice as Crocodile came out from below deck, his eyes narrowed in on a dummy in a hat. 

Crocodile stood and watched for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "We got an answer, Hawk."

Yoru stabbed through the heart of the dummy as Mihawk turned his gaze to Crocodile with a sharp grin across his face. "Has he accepted?" 

"You're gonna want to see for yourself." Crocodile smiled back at him, but it was a more careful smile than Mihawk usually saw written on him, as if he was still judging the situation. He held a folded scrap of paper out to him.

Mihawk reached out and grabbed the paper with a thankful nod, before looking it over with his mouth set in a frown.

It’d been so long. The world government and Shanks’ own piratical rise had caused the rift between them— the strange shift in his personality after the loss of his arm had sealed it. He’d forsaken the man as his rival during his spiral into depression and isolation. Part of him hadn't expected anything back at all. 

But there was the message, plain as day. 

Shanks had accepted the duel.

With a caveat.

"See what I mean?" Crocodile said, puffing on his cigar.

According to Shanks' note he was in the middle of some kind of 'important engagement' and would meet for the duel at Queen Ellery Island after that business was concluded.

"Queen Ellery Island…" Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. "...I know that island. So he wants to duel there in three days, does he? Where might he be heading now?" 

Queen Ellery was an autumn isle— like his own home for so long— in the nearby cluster. A dark little metropolis constantly covered in twilit clouds. A haven for crime and vice.

"Good question," Crocodile grumbled. He blew out a long puff of smoke and offered his cigar to Mihawk. "According to our intel, it looks like he might be toward Ellery already. Off in that direction, at least."

MIhawk took his cigar, and took a long intake of smoke to calm himself. Despite the placid expression, some well of emotion was bubbling inside him. Tension…desire…excitement, even distress over the wasted time.

"He used to be my rival." 

Crocodile closed the distance between them, looping his good arm around his shoulders, and squeezing him. 

"Wasn't even all that long ago, all things considered. I remember you two used to duke it out every time we crossed paths."

Mihawk nodded. "I used to think his blade would remain ever sharp, keen enough to help my rise to even greater heights." He leaned against Crocodile with a frown. "...and then he started to change. I changed too."

Crocodile leaned his cheek on the top of Mihawk's hat. "We all changed, Hawk. Time does that. The shit we all went through does that."

Crocodile had been cut down, his dreams dashed to pieces on the floor against Whitebeard… Mihawk had reeled from the splash damage, his own faith in everything so shaken that he began to turn in on himself.

The World Government had erected walls with their offer of ‘Warlord’--- lines of invisible transgression that pushed him from even his former captain.

It was no surprise those walls drove Shanks further away.

"Life changed, that much is true." 

"Derailed all our lives for a long time," Crocodile murmured. "But, me and you, we're getting back at it, right? Maybe the ol' ginger's rethinking things, too."

Mihawk tilted his head. "Do you think so?" 

Shanks… Mihawk had seen the road he was headed down ever since their last parting. Ever more the Emperor, ever more closed into himself and his crew as they worked on who knew what strange purpose.

Ever further from them, on some quest only the scion to the Pirate King could understand. 

"Who knows?" Crocodile shook his head, and ran his thumb over the edge of Mihawk's jaw. "Maybe we'll find out when you duel him, eh? Get the two of you drunk after, and figure out just what the hell has been going on."

Mihawk nuzzled his hand with a flush. "I’ve been wondering… I’ve been wanting to learn just what mission’s seized him so strongly to the exclusion of all else. It all happened when he returned without his arm."

"I've been wondering that too," Crocodile grumbled. He tugged Mihawk over to the bench in the corner of the room-– away from the destroyed dummies-– and sat them down. "He was always distant, and weird. But kinda fun, yeah? After that he seemed to lose his sense of fun."

MIhawk slid over with him with a low sigh, nodding his head before he sat against Crocodile with a nod.

"Yes. After that, he’d lost his sense of fun, and it seemed….something inside him. His freedom perhaps? His drive?" 

"Can't say I'm any better," Crocodile grumbled. "Wonder what it was that finally threw Shanks over the edge though. You ever find out how he lost the arm?"

Mihawk shook his head. "Only that he went back to some island he’d been spending time around, and came back a different man." 

"Must be a hell of a story." He shook his head. "I assume you want me to lay a course for Ellery? Or have you decided you'd rather blow him off."

Mihawk smiled grimly. "....Turnabout may be fair play, but I won’t forgive myself for letting this chance slip by. Set the course, darling. He has much to answer for." 

-

"Hey, Bug, guess what?" Crocodile asked, putting his arm around Buggy's shoulders as he snuck up on him from behind. How the hell did a man that big walk so silently?

Buggy jolted, falling against him as his skin prickled in surprise. "Maybe wear a bell, Croccy! You’re gonna give me a heart attack!"

He spun around to look at him. He’d been busy. Very busy. 

Very busy pacing around the ship like he was trying to set it on fire with the friction of his feet.

Just like normal. He was fine.

Super fine. 

Of course Crocodile just laughed at him, as usual.

"We're meeting Shanks on Queen Ellery. Should be about five days from now."

Buggy’s eyes bugged from his head. "He’s goin’ to Queen Ellery? We’re really gonna go see him??" 

"Yep." Crocodile nodded, thumping his hook against the back of Buggy's shoulder. "He agreed to duel Hawk."

Buggy vibrated against him, his eyes going wide. He’d agreed to duel Mihawk…Shanks. Mr. ‘I can’t even bother to notice my ex-boyfriends at Marineford, I’m too big and important and better than you’ Shanks…

Was going to duel Mihawk. In five days. On fucking Queen Ellery.

"Did he say anythin’ about me…?" he asked in a quieter voice than he intended. 

"He said he's 'looking forward to a chat', yeah," Crocodile nodded.

"Wait…he really said he was lookin’ forward to it?" Buggy grabbed his shoulders with a wide grin, even as his main body half turned under Crocodile’s arms. "HAH…figured that after years and years of being Buggy-less he’d..he’d miss me!"

Sure. Buggy had been the one who left. He’d been the one who never reached out…

But Shanks had changed. 

There was something about him that had shifted after that conversation with Roger. Like all the plans they’d made as kids didn’t matter anymore, and all the dreams they’d bonded over were nothing but something to grow up from. 

"You need a drink about it?" Crocodile asked, staring him down as Buggy gripped his shoulders..

"Yeah… I kinda hate how fired and …" (desperate) "--worked up I get about this. You’d think I’d…I dunno…forget. After a while." 

"But it still feels like a fresh wound, eh?" Crocodile shook his head. "C'mon, Bug. Let's head back to quarters, I'll get you good and wasted and you can tell me for the 10th time how he broke your heart."

Buggy huffed as he looped his arm around Crocodile. 

"sounds like a date, Croccy…" He paused for a moment before he whispered. "You think he’s gonna be happy to see me?" 

"Bug, if he makes you and Hawky any more miserable, I'm gonna fucking end him myself," Crocodile growled boldly. "Emperor or fucking not."

Buggy felt himself flush hotly, before he clambered onto Crocodile, arms looped around his shoulders and his body pressed against his back. 

"Awww, Croccy you’re too good to us!" He kissed the top of his head. "You’re the best warlord a guy can ask for." 

-

Three days from the message. Three days of increasing restlessness as they ticked down the moments towards their meeting with Red Haired Shanks on Queen Ellery Island. Buggy was practically chewing through his gloves as he watched the distant horizon where the sun was slowly vanishing. 

He’d distracted himself. He’d worked out some last minute shit with the boys, worked on routines, calls, everything he had to do for Cross Guild with the fervor of a man trying not to think about something fast approaching. 

There was very little to distract him right at the moment. Alone with the sea, the warm ruby glow of the sunset, and his thoughts.

He brushed his long blue hair over his ear with a quiet sigh and an attempt at a smile. He’d lay into him. He’d really tell him how he felt the last handful of years. And then maybe things would work out.

Maybe he’d even say sorry for whatever the hell had changed between them. 

He was contemplating all the possibilities when something started to nag at him. The clear water reflecting the ruby sky suddenly wasn't clear, but littered with large chunks of debris.

"Uhhhh…" He half leaned over the bannister of the ship, staring down at the water with a frown. "Guys!? Croc? Mihawk? Cabaji? Anyone?? Looks…looks like there’s some trouble around here. Shanks mighta gone to town on someone." 

"Huh? What's up, ca–" Cabaji came running over from across the deck, looking over to see the wreckage too. He whistled. "Damn, that's definitely a whole ship."

As Buggy followed his gaze westward toward the sun on the horizon, he saw the trail of debris become thicker, and a dark plume of smoke cloud the sky. A particularly large piece of hull nagged at the back of his mind.

Did he recognize that ship?

It took a longer moment of squinting at it to realize exactly how he did recognize it

"You’re kiddin’ me…there’s no fuckin’ way." He was breathless. "...that’s Red Haired Shanks’ ship. That bow, that flag…" 

"What?" Cabaji sounded completely incredulous. "No way, you're kidding?"

That was when Buggy spotted it.

Some poor soul collapsed crossways over a piece of flotsam hull barely the size of a door.

Buggy hissed through his teeth 

"Cabaji! Get the boys who don’t got devil fruits and fish that poor bastard outta the drink!" He leapt up on the bannister, grabbing some rigging to peer down at him. "It might be onna Shanks’ boys. We can hear about what the hell went down from him!"

Cabaji had already started moving before Buggy had finished, grabbing rigging from the deck, and holding onto it as he hurled himself straight into the water, and headed for the unlucky man who'd wound up in the drink.

As his gaze followed the acrobat the man on the wreckage drifted in the tide, bringing him around to a better angle for Buggy to see his bright, red hair.

It was Shanks.

Buggy hissed through his teeth, his eyes wide and panicked as he could only wait for Cabaji to arrive back on deck. He was no use in the sea.

"Shanks…what the hell happened to ya…what did you even need to DO?" 

[f1-birb]

I ship you and f1 disaster bi

@f1-disaster-bi wake up new BroTP just dropped:

Bemmy ✨

[cherrywoodmaeg]

Shortcut Pt. 13

Tired. Exam in two days. Procrastination. Enjoy!

A conversation, Part 2

Niphka was surprised how good the hours of sleep felt. Upon waking up, her mind was less clouded by doubt and irritation. She felt calmer, more patient, and prepared to deal with whatever the day had in store for her.

Before long, the two were on their way again. As always, she held him high so that they could easily talk while she carefully stepped over the uneven ground.

Whenever she saw signs of settlement, Niphka adjusted her path. She could still sense the pull of the earth, telling her where exactly she was, and was very aware of the delay their detours caused. On the other hand, it gave her more time to figure things out.

“What do think we should do when we reach our destination?”

He perked up at her question.

“I haven’t really thought that far, to be honest. I’ve been so focused on getting there – but we have to tell someone. Someone with power, influence, like a politician.”

Niphka clicked her tongue.

“Then we can only hope they react swiftly.” And she added, “If they really want to prevent the disaster, that is. Who knows how high up this conspiracy goes.”

She could feel Jon squeezing her thumb tighter.

“Don’t worry,” she quickly said, “I’m sure we will find a way to save the town.”

He nodded, and she gently pressed his forearm between two fingers.

“And what are you going to do after?” she changed the subject.

“Maybe I can work as a carpenter again. Seems like a sailor’s life just wasn’t meant for me.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Look, Jon, I’ve met a few people, and none of them was born ready for the challenges of life. But they grew into themselves. If you really want to be a sailor, or anything, really, you can’t give up at the first sign of trouble.”

He sighed.

“You could be right. Even if I’m not cut out to live a life on a ship, I can still be near the sea, right?”

“I that’s where you want to be, then why not?”

She absentmindedly brushed his back.

“I think I will return to the ocean. I could search for my sisters. Just this last adventure, and then I’m ready to leave.”

Jon put his left hand to the finger that hat stroked him, now resting gently on his shoulder. He held it in place, his touch soft enough as to be barely noticeable.

“Or, you could stay for a bit. I could rent a fisher boat and come visit you from time to time. Make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

Niphka laughed. The lump in her throat didn’t feel bad, instead, a sense of warmth built up in her chest and radiated through her body.

“That sounds like a fun idea. You would also get to have your personal, on-call lifeguard. How does that sound?”

He returned her grin.

“From all my experience in the sailing world, I’m afraid I might rely on that.”

Niphka made through another set of hills. Behind them, an orchard of neatly planted trees stretched as far as her eye could see.

Jon was equally intrigued and leaned forward. She instinctively curled her free hand around him in a loose grip.

“Do you want to steer away again or are you up for lunch?”

That was a proposal Jon couldn’t say no to. It wasn’t quite the right season yet for the apples to be harvested, but even in their green colour, nothing on this planet seemed more inviting to him. He eagerly waited for Niphka to reach the edge of the field. But instead of lowering him to the ground, she dropped him onto the branch of a particularly strong apple tree. At first, Jon struggled to keep himself safe on his new look-out spot, but Niphka didn’t retreat her hand before he had steadied himself.

He wasn’t exactly happy about this new position. However, the branches around him carried more fruit than he could count, and even if they still tasted quite sour, he grabbed one after another. Niphka watched him, laughing.

“Careful, or you’ll choke!”

“Easy for you to say,” he replied between chews, “I’m starving!”

She furrowed her brows.

“When is the last time you have eaten?”

“Ida gave me some bread. She had my coat, and her carriage was broken. I helped her with the repairs.”

She sat on the ground with her legs crossed. She was still above Jon’s eye level, but within comfortable range.

“I’m sorry, I had forgotten to make breaks for that.”

Jon swallowed his last bite. “That’s okay, I could have told you.”

Niphka looked at her hands resting in her lap.

“I need you to tell me these things,” she said, more quiet than before. Before Jon could find an adequate response – telling her that she needn’t worry, that her help was already more than enough –, she looked back at him.

“Let’s not dwell on that. You said Ida had your coat?”

If she wanted to change the subject, Jon would let her.

“Yeah, I think I lost it at some point. Someone must have found it I guess. She told me that she’d been pushed off the road. Whoever that was, they had it before her.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Yah, it is.” He fell silent for a moment.

Ask. Now or never.

“I wanted to ask- Can you tell me what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that I got lost. I don’t… I don’t really remember that.” Without wanting to, he held his breath for her response. He was scared that his question would upset her, that she’d be angry.

Her shoulders visibly slumped.

“I wasn’t your fault. You had a nightmare, and when you woke up, you didn’t recognize me. I couldn’t keep you from running off.”

While her account of the night made sense to him, something in him refused to accept it. How had he been able to run away, with his legs much shorter than hers and above that, injured?

While he searched for the right words, Niphka continued.

“You were so scared. It was worse than when we met. I think you needed space. But that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worried for you.”

“So you waited.”

“I waited,” she confirmed. Then, her head bolted up and she stared him straight in the eyes.

“Please, I know you didn’t leave on purpose. But when the time comes that you want to, please, please just tell me. I would never try to keep you with me against your will, do you understand?”

Jon’s heart skipped a beat as he processed what she said. He felt lightheaded and suddenly struggled to keep his balance on the tree branch.

“I-,” he began, “I… I need to get out of – please, get me off here.”

Before he knew it, he found himself gently plucked out of the apple tree and sat down by its roots. Jon took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I just need to know that- ”

“No!” he interrupted, his voice louder than he had intended. “Why do you think I’d want to leave?”

His tone grew desperate as he staggeringly got on his two feet again, not minding any of the pain.

“You think I’m nothing like the men you used to know. Yes, I can’t do much, neither for myself nor for anyone else!” He took a deep breath.

“But still – Niphka, you’ve saved my life! You’re here with me, far away from your home, just to help me save mine! I don’t want to leave! You’re… you’re my hero!”

She shook her head.

“You wouldn’t say that if you remembered. I saw the panic in your eyes. You were scared for your life.”

“Well, I’m not scared now!” he shot back.

Within milliseconds, Niphka’s hand shot at him and pinned both of his arms to the ground, leaving him trapped on the ground.

“How about now, then? Jon Williams, listen to me when I tell you you should be!”

“I don’t care!” he cried hoarsely. “I don’t care! Do what you want, but I just don’t believe that you want to hurt me! I know you!”

He paid no mind to the tears that formed in the corners of his eyes. Okay, so Niphka could crush him in an instant if she wanted. But nothing she had done so far had given him any cause to see her as anything but – …

“You’re my friend!” he pleaded.

Bit by bit, as if time itself had slowed down, he felt Niphka’s grip loosen. When her fingers stopped pressing him down, he held onto them, not wanting to let her go. She pulled away regardless and his grip lost hers.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay! I promise, it’s okay.”

Niphka buried her face in her hands. Despite her size, she looked small, defeated. Jon wished that he could somehow console her, embrace her and convince her that his nightmare hadn’t meant anything.

“I need you to trust me,” he said, softly. “Just like I trust you.”

Please.

Her breath was shaky.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she finally said, rubbing her eyes. “I have never felt like this. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but everything is completely different. Everything is upside-down.”

“Imagine how I felt when a giant fairytale mermaid pulled me out of the water!” Jon urged, insistent on lightening the load both of them were carrying. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t thank the Gods every day since!”

He wanted to move over to her, but he wasn’t sure if his legs would carry him all the way.

“Niphka,” he said, and immediately had her full attention. “Please let me prove it.”

Extending one arm to her, Jon signalled that he wanted her to pick him up. She reluctantly complied.

Carefully, he directed her to hold him closer. When she did, he threw himself into her chest, determined to leave as much of an impact as possible. The height didn’t bother him anymore; all he cared about was making her feel better. Jon held himself as close as he could, tightly clinging to the fabric of her clothes.

Hesitantly at first, then with more heart, Niphka returned the hug. Jon became aware that she could do so with only two or three fingers, but instead of pulling away, he leaned into it.

She was everywhere. He could feel the warmth of her gentle touch, keeping him safe. He noticed her faint smell of earth and a hint of salt. The beat of her heart resonated through his entire body.

He knew that this was just as big a step for her as it was for him. Still, it felt right. For the first time in a while, Jon believed that everything would be fine.

Part 12 < Part 13 > Part 14

[rotworld]

10: Nothing and No One

a horrific disaster in deep space leaves you (almost) all alone.

->contains gore, body horror, graphic descriptions of corpses, mentions of breeding.

.

.

.

Morning is simulated with warm color light, increasing from a soft glow to standard, sterile white over three minutes. You wake in a bed cobbled together from whatever soft material you could salvage. The ship’s sickbay is the last holdout, the only place where you can still see the naked steel of the walls and ceilings. Breakfast is salty nutrient sludge eaten in the unnerving, empty silence of the sickbay cafeteria, surrounded by empty tables. After that, you spend some time in the viewing bay. The dark of deep space and the glitter of distant stars is a strange sort of soothing. 

Your datapad lets out a chime, the screen lighting up. New message from Shelby down in the industry wing. “Hey, just checking in. How are things in medical? Dee’s coming down with something. I don’t think it’s serious, but we could use some antibiotics just in case. Could we trade you for some? I can meet you on the bridge. Just let me know. Please.” You ignore it. 

The flightpath hasn’t changed since yesterday, according to the logs. You’re still in a meandering orbit around a gas giant on the edge of known space, and the ship is still sending out a distress signal. The pulverized fragments of the last vessel that came to help drift by now and then, scraps of hull and bits of engine floating soundlessly by the windows. It’s suspicious, but you worry that it’s not enough to deter another kind stranger or curious traveler. A cityship stranded in a debris field looks like an accident, not sabotage.

You get another message, this time from Troy in hydroponics. “I don’t know how it looks in medical, but if it’s as drab as the rest of this place, I finally got some hybrid roses to bloom. Do you want one? They’re a little finicky to take care of but they look great. Just swing by hydroponics to pick one up, or I can drop one off. Please.” You ignore it. 

You go back to the cafeteria for lunch. Through the window, a binary star system twinkles in the distance. Your heart sinks when the serving machine lets out a shrill series of beeps and nothing comes out. It’s out of nutrient solution. Your datapad warns of your elevated heart rate as you consider your options. Can’t put it off. You’re easy prey if you let yourself get weak and woozy by skipping meals. The central cafeteria is too far, the route too unprotected. The closest food cache is in the leisure ward, but you’ll have to go through the labs to get there. You stop yourself from pacing and sit down, conserving your energy, with the terrifying realization weighing down on you—you’re going to have to leave the sickbay.

Another message. This time it’s the co-navigator, Apollo. “Hey there. I think it’s about time we break orbit and keep moving. I’m going to send a message for supplies one last time, but then we’ve got to take our chances. Is there anything you really want or need? I understand this is a stressful situation, but you will be taken care of. This will be the last time we get supplies for a while, so get back to me soon. Please.” You inhale shakily and take a minute to compose yourself. You ignore it. 

You suit up for the journey in a full exosuit, secure your helmet, and turn on the oxygen supply. It still takes you a while to get everything on and fitted properly. You were never a ship tech, staying firmly on the inside of the airlock. Everyone got a crash course at some point just in case, and you wish you’d paid more attention at the time. The sickbay doors open. The exosuit sensors note a rise in temperature and humidity. All you see is red. 

Beyond the sterile walls of your makeshift home lies a hellish, pulsating fleshscape. Your boots squelch and sink into the soft slurry lining the halls, a reddish, bloody pus substance oozing in the footprints you leave behind. It’s hard to believe this is still the same ship. There’s so much organic matter caking every surface, molded around equipment and furniture, that you rarely glimpse metal. Veiny, pinkish-gray membranes stretch across the windows and portholes, vibrating as you walk past. Bulbous growths, fungal and polyp-shaped, shoot puffs of black spores into the air. Everything shudders and heaves like the inside of a creature, and things slither across the walls and ceiling.

Sometimes, you see what used to be people. Unincorporated bone fragments jut out of the mass, yellowed and spongy where corrective enzymes have set to work. You’ll find a spine now and then, a gaping skull with an open-mouthed scream dangling from wall threads. Drooping flaps of skin seal off newborn chambers, hot, musty rooms where flesh gains new purpose. Crew cabins and office space, places that were densely populated, are the worst. Human figures are frozen in time, still hunched over desks or laying in cots. There are no bodies inside those flesh cocoons, no recognizable people. Just sacs of fluid and jumbles of repurposed tissue, pulsating in time with the ship’s heartbeat.

You pass hydroponics. Glass greenhouse walls are foggy with condensation, obscuring whatever’s growing inside now. You see churning movement, hear the rattling breath of something enormous. A terminal screen flashes as you walk by, expecting input. It’s been used recently, a bloody handprint smeared across the screen. Troy is still logged in. His recent searches include: earth plants; popular earth plants; flowers; best flowers; romantic flowers. A thorny bush grows in a large pot beside the terminal. The flower buds are small, pale yellowish-red, and pulsing softly. The soil they grow in is Martian red and slick-looking.

An incoming message displays in the lower corner of your helmet’s internal screen. “EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY. FIND YOUR DESIGNATED CRYOCHAMBER AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. PLEASE.” You dismiss the alert.

You hesitate when you get to the lab. The door struggles to open, caked in clinging, fleshy tendrils. Inside, it’s as dark as a tomb. That same organic substance has grown so thick it chokes the light. The corridors are claustrophobic and breathing. Abandoned research stations hum quietly under a blanket of shifting tissue, control knobs and keyboards manipulated with sluggish dexterity. Simulations are run. Harvested tissue is studied at every stage of assimilation. Whatever it couldn’t learn from the people it consumed, it teaches itself. 

There’s an open doorway on your left. A computer terminal lights a conference room, a sea of quivering flesh in the shape of a table and chairs. A tall shape stands in front of the screen, its silhouette familiar but uncanny. The proportions are off, the limbs too long and too numerous. It wears “clothing” made of the same thing as its skin, all color and slickness that shouldn’t exist outside a human body. You see spinal protrusions where they shouldn’t be. 

You hold your breath and move slowly, carefully, mindful of where you step. You walk only with each shuddering exhale of the ship, heaving murmurs that disguise the squish of your footsteps. You inch through the dark and feel like a worm through soil, a struggling, burrowing thing. There’s a strange, unsettling sound that echoes throughout the ship, vibrating through every soft, red surface, low and droning like whalesong. 

Another message. The sender is Quinn, from the lab. “Hi. Are you doing okay? No one has seen you in a while, and we’re all getting worried. If you’re worried about coming out of the sickbay, don’t be. Everything is fine! It’s been a long time since you’ve come out, so you wouldn’t know, but we got rid of all the problems. We’re going to have a party in the lab, and you should come. I hope to see you soon. Please.” 

Things are better on the other side, not as gross and pulpy. You can see some of the leisure ward’s painted walls, gummy, blood saturated posters peeking through ropy lengths of flesh. The cafeteria is small but well-supplied. You don’t like the idea of making more trips through the lab, but it’s good to know there’s a decent stockpile here. You take as much as you can carry in a supply box and strap it to your back. It’s a tight squeeze back through the lab with the extra weight and bulk, but you don’t rush. That same open doorway, now on your right, is still illuminated by the terminal screen, but there’s no silhouette in the way this time. That makes you nervous. It must be on the move. Is it still in the lab, or did it leave? 

You get your answer. The ship jolts like it hit something, a sudden, violent tremor making you stumble, knees sinking into the bloody muck. You’re still struggling to your feet when another message comes through, flashing, marked urgent.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE PLEASE.”

Your blood runs cold. It knows you left the sickbay. You rip yourself out of the slurry and push yourself to move faster, but you’re slow and clumsy in the exosuit, and the whole ship is working against you. Sticky membranes unpeel from the walls and try to ensnare you, clinging like flypaper to anything they touch. Tendrils coil around your ankles and fight to drag you into gaps and alcoves within itself, space in the mass opening in your shape and size to welcome you inside. You fight with everything you have. You rip the stringy appendages apart with your gloved hands, spurting red fluid across your helmet, hacking your way to freedom with the exosuit’s utility knife. 

It’s not enough to make distance. You hear a metallic rattling as something big comes sprinting down the ship’s halls, shaking the floor with every pounding step. You’re out in the open, exposed, completely at the mercy of whatever happens upon you, and running out of time. With seconds to act, you make a desperate move. 

You’ve never been inside a newborn chamber. You’ve read the reports you can access, seen pictures. The real thing is so much worse. It’s a mercy you can see so little, but even through the suit, you feel everything. Constant motion. Wriggling and churning, little suckling growths mouthing at your limbs. You close the door behind you and override the lock with a medical emergency code, sealing yourself inside. The thing comes thundering into the lab and you see just the shape of it in darkness through the foggy glass of the door. The round bulb of a humanoid head with a strange, fluttering membrane like dangling, hooded cloak. The pitted, hole-filled chest, dips and grooves of empty space. Four long fingers slamming on the door, over and over, until the glass starts to crack.

You fumble through your exosuit’s tools for the lighter. A small, blue flame flickers to life at the end. The thing goes completely still. You stare at each other through the glass, neither daring to move. The wall behind it shivers. Then, another message. It’s using the system alerts again, every word in dire capital letters.

“OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE.”

You take a second to breathe, the suit’s heart rate monitor still beeping frantically. You’ve bought yourself a few more seconds, at least. “I want to go back to the sickbay,” you tell it. You raise your voice to make sure it can hear you through the locked door and the awful, churning sounds of the newborn chamber. “I want you to let me go.” 

It doesn’t answer for such a long time that you start to think you’ve lost the upper hand. It doesn’t leave. It just stands there, peering through the door. You’re grateful for the darkness of the lab once again. You don’t ever want to see its face. Its spindly hands slides across the cracked glass slowly. Does it regret what it did? It’ll probably have to mend that later. 

You hold up the lighter, making sure it can see the threat. You wonder briefly if you’ve just made it even more aggressive by threatening its young, but it doesn’t visibly react. It watches silently. It seems calm.

Finally, the standoff seems to end. It steps back from the door. The groaning of the ship stops. “What are you going to do to me?” you ask. “Are you going to let me go, or are you going to hurt me, or kill me, or do whatever you did to everyone else?” You don’t know why you’re even asking. It’s going to do whatever it wants. The newborn chamber squirms all around you. Something pops and hisses in the dark, dark droplets collecting on the outside of your helmet. Your pulse picks up again. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t be in here. 

The thing takes another step back. You can barely see it in the shadows of the corridor, but you know it’s there. There’s no way it left. “Please,” you say. “Just let me go. You got everyone else. You’ll get me, too, it’s just a matter of time. I know that. Just let me have today.” 

It does nothing. It says nothing. No more messages come. The darkness shifts, a stray shadow breaking away. It leaves. You hear its footsteps fade. You think about leaving but you wouldn’t get. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can’t reach to wipe them away. The organic mass of the newborn chamber rocks gently against your legs, as though trying to soothe you. 

It doesn’t take long for the thing to come back. It’s holding something. You watch as it sets the pot of hybrid roses in the middle of the hall, right in front of the door. It’s so absurd that it makes you laugh. What is that? A bribe? A pity gift? The thing waits and the minutes tick by. You’re going to run out of oxygen eventually. 

“I’ll burn them,” you tell it, desperate and cornered. “I’ll burn all of them. All your young, gone, just like that.” 

Silence. The thing steps closer, out of the shadows. “NO YOU WILL NOT.”

“I’m not bluffing!”

“YOU WILL NOT. THERE ARE NO YOUNG YET.” 

That surprises you. You look around yourself and it’s hard to make out anything. You’re careful with the lighter, not wanting to lose your leverage. Dim blue light shows you deflated spherical shapes like pods and buboes, but nothing inside. Flesh winds and coils tight to form alien wombs, but the thing is right. It doesn’t have any young—

You glance out the glass, a new fear taking root in your chest. “What do you mean ‘yet?’” you ask. 

The thing stares back at you. It presses its face against the glass. Harsh, labored breaths fog up the surface, droplets of condensation sliding slowly down the door. Its hand touches the glass again, caressing. You feel yourself trembling.

“OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE.”

[vagevurig]

//fills out this questionnaire for @sonic-oc-showdown

featuring Lily being a GREMLIN

Name: Lilium "Lily" Gale (born as Lilium Ludmore Tenebris) Species: Wolf (Albino) Type: I usually assign her Flight. Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (on a good day) Home: Some midwestern corn town that likely has an eldritch entity hiding in the corn. You know the sort.

rest under the cut

✨ How did you come up with the OC's name?

I originally named her "Moonlight" (bcs she was very moonthemed), and eventually gave her the nickname "Lilly". During a multitude of character revisions (all within like 2 years of making her), I dropped her original full name, as well as one the L's. Her current full name, "Lilium", comes from the Elfen Lied OP |D

🌼 How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

She's 20/21 ish~ Her birthday is on June 29th, but I keep her age pretty static rn.

🌺 Do they have any love interest(s)?

SHE IS HARCORE SHIPPED WITH @darthsammi's NICKI CASSIDY! THEY ARE DISASTER LESBIANS WHO FUCK SHIT UP TOGETHER AND I LOVE THEM!!

(art by @xmooncanary)

🍕 What is their favorite food?

Hot Dogs! Which is actually based on me lmao,

💼 What do they do for a living?

She doesn't currently have a job, but she aspires to be a published author!

🎹 Do they have any hobbies?

Beyond writing, she's also just a general consumer of pop culture (books, movies/shows, games), researches ancient forbidden texts, and is super into freestyle parkour~ She also collects bugs, and octopus/squid/jellyfish plushies

🎯 What do they do best?

BEING AN IDIOT (She's also very intelligent and analytical, but her absolute idiocy often outshines it)

🥊 What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

I feel like i described her loves two questions ago, though she does really like vibin w/ Nicki. drabbling down some story ideas while Nicki plays some chords on her guitar. She quite dislikes having to do anything with her biological family though. Not for any reason to do with them, she just doesnt know them?? And she's annoyed by suddenly having to reconnect with them. It's to figure out why she suddenly has Shadow Powers:tm:

❤️ What is one of your OC's best memories?

Once when she was twelve, a friend mentioned that she taught there was a monster in the corn fields. Lily, 0 fear and Super Interested in monsters, went in to look for it. And she found it! And though she doesnt remember much of it afterwards, she holds it as her bestest memory.

✂️ What is one of your OC's worst memories?

She has 0 control over her Shadow Powers and during a particularly dark night (new moon), she got stuck in an intangible shadow person form. Unable to be heard or seen by anyone else, it was the most isolated she had ever felt in her life. It is probably the one and only time she had a panic attack.

🧊 Is their current design the first one?

HAHAHAHAHAH n o. I change Lily's design like a girl changes clothes. I barely ever drew her the same to begin with, and overal she's gone through a few major redesigns, and plenty of smaller ones.

Little timeline! not every stage is represented, but it the major redesigns at least!

🍀 What originally inspired the OC?

Believe it or not; a dream. It was a weird ass dream not at all related to Sonic but it featured a sort of moon spirit and my brain was just "I like her" and tried bringing her to the waking world with limited success.

🌂 What genre do they belong in?

Adventure crossed with cosmic and gothic horror? I dont limit myself |D

💚 What is your OC's gender identity and sexuality?

Demigirl, Bisexual

🙌 How many siblings does your OC have?

She has one older foster sister (Swinde) she absolutely loves with her whole heart, as well as 3 biological siblings (1 older; Jillian, and 2 younger; Hilja & Eiju) who she barely knows.

🍎 What is the OC's relationship w/ their parents like?

She has an absolutely Wonderful relationship with her foster mom Lauren, but is more estranged to her biological father, which doesnt become much better :)

🧠 What do you like most about the OC?

everything. She's one of my oldest characters and is one of a few who comforts me when i feel down so. comfort character.

✏️ How often do you draw/write about the OC?

I do NOT draw her enough, and i really aught to change that, but I talk alot about her with aforementioned Darth Sammi!! I hope that counts |D?

💎 Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

I can kill her off I have killed her off before and I will kill her off again in the future :)

💀 Does your OC have any phobias?

Phobias require someone to feel fear at all~ //SLAPPED (She deeply fears fading from existence)

🍩 Who is your OC's arch-nemesis/rival?

She doesnt really have a set one!

🎓 How long have you had the OC?

I made her in February of 2012, when I was 11, so that's 11 years and a few months now. oh man, Lily is almost older now than I was when i made her wack...

[jessy-the-martian-girl]

I love my brain so much 🤭

Yes, actual self-shipping idea this time.

I do remember that I have already tried to run such idea - twice! - with Sirius Black and the Turtles)) (With Sirius it was via his fall through the veil in the Death Chamber, and I don't really remember how it was with the Turtles - probably it had something to do with the Technodrome and dimensional travels).

Anyway, both times things just didn't go beyond the moment of an actual meeting (and a couple of late-night conversations in the kitchen with a cup of hot cocoa). But now... It feels like an actual outline for the long story. Looks like Luis has rooted into my heart and soul for good. And I don't mind the slightest bit.

In general, I have the same thought, only with Luis: one day I'll wake up in the middle of the night from the sound of something falling in the next room; still half asleep, I'll go out to check what else my Kosh has dropped - and I fall (in shock) myself when I see a body in a stunningly familiar jacket on the floor. I don't have the slightest idea of how that transfer will happen, but I'm adamant that it should happen before Luis pulled his last strength together and went to rescue Leon (sorry, Leon, but you'll have to take care of your Major yourself, and I know that you're capable enough to manage on your own - as Luis comes first and he definitely needs more time to be saved).

First aid (have I Googled all that medical stuff for nothing?!), calling an ambulance (with a hastily concocted and semi-fantastic story that I was so tired and probably forgot to lock the door to the apartment, and then "this guy" came in, woke me up, asked for help and passed out on my carpet). A quick ride to the hospital, much needed treatment for his wounds (and he doesn't have any documents with him, of course), my thoughts on how to legalize him and not fall under suspicion that it was me who stabbed him or even organized him some amnesia "via the sharp application of a heavy object to the occipital part of the skull"...

Then he wakes up and we have a chance to get to know each other normally. At first Luis is puzzled and tries to carefully play with compliments, saying something like "how do you know me if we haven't met, but I would definitely remember such a beautiful señorita". I am pleased to hear that, of course, but ask him not to flatter me - in a pretty straightforward way. Then I tell him that I don't understand how this is possible, but I know him as the hero of a cool computer game (we check some facts that I know about him via game, and Luis is shocked as everything turns out to be correct).

And we were communicating in English all that time, yeah)) Surprisingly, I don't even forget or confuse words and I don't struggle with choosing words at all. Surreal.

Further there will be some research on the legal matters, if I ever get to write the actual story. But in the rough outline of the story Luis gets new documents, agrees to my offer to stay with me for now (rent-free) - at least some stability in this new wild world, while he gets back to full health and the documents are being prepared. He learns the local language, looks for new job and learns new places for himself.

I admire him "in real life" even more than his screen image, but I do not thrust myself on him (not considering myself as someone worthy of such a partner in life) - and he does not harass me, but is pretty intrigued and shows careful signs of affection.

If I ever get to write this, it will be some domestic fanfic, no saving world, no mass disasters or epidemics, just some ordinary everyday life, some slowburn relationship that will result in marriage and a few kids (or in another order - kids first, then marriage).

[wumblr]

babe wake up a new disaster in applied libertarianism just dropped

[cosmicbrowniefan]

IM BACK FOR MORE i have an order for some domestic byler headcanons with FLUFF and a side of their daily routines 🧐

yep yep yep i got you!! so for this headcanon set i'm putting mike and will as fresh out of college and living in their first apartment together. they both have jobs at the same high school, mike as an english teacher and will as an art teacher.

just gonna walk you through a day in the life here

so neither of them are morning people

but especially not will

he is surprisingly harder to wake than mike

(well, that's not entirely true. mike is hard as shit to wake when he's on his own, but when he's waking up next to will and is responsible for both of them getting to work on time, he's better at getting up)

so mike gets up first and he always gives will a forehead kiss every morning :')

then he goes and gets a shower, and once he gets out he gently wakes will up and tells him it's time to get ready

to which will whines a bit but does get up

while will's showering, mike makes them both coffee and packs their lunches for the day

then will gets out of the shower and takes his coffee from mike and gives him a kiss on the cheek and makes them breakfast

and they sit down and eat and wake up a bit and chat about their plans for the day

then will helps mike tie his tie :( because even though he doesn't have to be formal every day mike likes wearing ties to work :(( but he doesn't know how to tie them and every time he's tried to learn it ends in disaster so will does it for him :(((((((((((

after they're done getting ready will checks to make sure they both have everything they need while mike warms up the car

then they go and drive to school together

(mike drives to school, will drives home)

and they give each other a little kiss before heading in and going to their respective classrooms

will almost always has a fresh bouquet of flowers on his desk from mike

mike is constantly replenishing them, even though will reminds him that they're broke bc they're fresh out of college and they're living on teacher's salaries and they're paying rent, but mike tells him that he can put no price on the smile will gets when he sees new flowers on his desk

will doesn't have much room to speak, though, because he's constantly restocking mike's mini-fridge with his favorite foods and drinks

they have lunch together :') and catch each other up on how their days have been going :')

after school, mike meets will in his classroom and they head out together

when they get back to their apartment, mike lays down on the couch while will makes dinner

after dinner they typically lounge around for a bit, then sometimes they'll go to a store or watch a movie or go on a drive or do something else spontaneous and random (because they're still fresh out of college and wanna have fun, ya know?)

they get in bed together at night and put on some random tv show and talk while grading mike's papers together (almost all of will's assignments are graded in school, since most of them are projects)

will has a book of stickers that he uses to grade mike's papers with and yells at mike whenever he forgets to give someone a sticker

after they're done, they turn the lights off and lay down and spoon/cuddle until they fall asleep

and then they do it all again the next day :)

bonus: their students ship them, but have NO IDEA that they're already together. some of them have caught the two driving to/from school together, but mike and will pass it off by saying they're neighbors. until. one day will comes in wearing a ring

(i could make a fic of that and honestly, i'm considering it)

i am so sorry if i took this in a different direction than you wanted but i hope you enjoy regardless!! if anyone has any more headcanon requests pls feel free to drop them in my ask box :)

[river-bottom-nightmare]

dinah lance headcanons? roy harper headcanons? tim drake headcanons? roytim headcanons? metahuman tim drake headcanons?

(if u want, obvs) ily <3

hello hello hello babe. you want headcanons galore, i see. gotta say, roytim isn't a ship i've ever seen before, and i'm not entirely sure i'm feeling it? i'll do one of each of the others, tho!

bring dinah just past the edge of relaxed, and she starts thinking laughter is quite possibly the most seraphic sound to ever exist. she hums and tucks her head under ollie's neck, engulfing herself with his arms, just to feel his chest rumble. she drapes herself over the back of barbara's wheelchair, blowing raspberries onto the other woman's neck to hear her giggle, batting the air half-heartedly, because barbara's giggles are like tangerine zest and scrapes of brie. she'll blow musical notes over the rim of her glass, lips screwed up tremendously, to hear sin collapse into rare laughter, stomachache laughter, the kind that leads to dinah gathering her up in a hug.

no one can wear things out the way roy can. he scrapes and tumbles around in the same pair of jeans until the holes stretch wider and wider, until there's barely a thread keeping the fabric below the knee from falling apart. he scribbles in notebooks, then scribbles in them all over again, filling up the margins and writing right over his old notes, ink on the covers and sticky notes taped in. he plays records over and over until the music threads itself through his hair and paints itself across his fingernails and fills him up like a kiss, until the needle scrapes over the surface, never catching a single groove. he uses everything he owns to death, he uses it like he loves it all to hell and back, like he'll wring every possible drop of life from it like he can't fathom ridding himself of it, like he's going to make the smallest of objects feel felt. roy's good at it too: making things feel real.

every so often, tim will flop himself on cass' bed and complain that he's bored. he's bored, he's bored, he's sofuckingbored, he's sinking into a tar pit, he's strangling on threads of wax, he's woven himself into a dreamcatcher and can't seem to unwind it. you know what i mean cass? like there is nothing in the world that can keep my attention longer than a millisecond. cass usually doesn't, able to turn the tiniest woodchip and most miniscule of insects into a grand old adventure, but she'll nod along, then drag him to the tallest spire on top of the gotham railway station. they'll share some gummy bears before train-surfing, landing lighter than a wish on the unforgiving metal, and they'll leave room for nothing but the sweet high of adrenaline.

it's never really important, what tim predicts, offhandedly mentioning a few tips over breakfast. he'll say, wear your running shoes today, bruce, not your dress ones, unless you want to trip in front of the paps. he'll say you wanna be the guinea pig for the new drug-detecting nail polish wayne enterprises came out with, steph? he'll say, i dunno, kon, it's too hot in cali today, you should come to gotham instead. but the paparazzo pen bruce would have tripped over was a bomb in disguise, and some asshole too used to getting what he wants will tip some ghb into steph's drink, and tim's grapple line will jam that night in kon's line of sight, with plenty of time for him to catch tim from a deadly fall. a little bit later, a little bit rattled, they come up to tim in the batcave and say thanks. tim nods and offers a small smile, a tinge too relaxed in the wake of near-disaster, almost like he knew what was going to happen, almost like he's cassandra, almost like he's the delphic oracle, which means the oracle apparently wears patterned socks and cuffed jeans and any t-shirt that doesn't belong to him.

[stetervault]

Hiii! Been delving into Steter now, in the year of our lord 2021, even though I never really did when I was active in the fandom years ago and I was wondering if you'd have some longfic recs for the ship? Like, fics that are Classics(TM)? But happy endings! And I'm not super into those in which Stiles is still underage 😬 do u have any recs? Thanks!

Welcome to the Steter fandom! I definitely have some long fics to rec, some of them are super old lol, and I'll stick to ones around 20k or over, and most of them are finished. And hmm, considering the ship, and a lot of fics like to start off in season 1 where Stiles is still technically a teenager, I'll try to limit these to ones with Stiles being at least 16/17 before anything starts happening, and only 18+ if there's explicit content. I hope that's okay.

drowning in the sea of you by Corpium

Beacon Hills was perfect for Stiles growing up, but now, with werewolves, hunters, and an anxious best friend running around, it's turning into a place too chaotic for an empath like Stiles to handle alone. And pain killers can only go so far.

Wake Me Up by ToAStranger

Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

Tremors by Corpium

(Stiles has a taste for him now. All Peter needs to do is wait.)

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Bite Down by EclipseWing

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter's heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels... sharply curious.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

Stiles Stilinski, Disaster Chef by Guede

The zombie apocalypse forces Stiles to learn how to cook.

The Will by Guede

We are gathered here today for the reading of Gerard Argent’s will.

On the Importance of Lunar Influences in Gardening by Guede

“Oh, it’s you again,” Stiles sighs. He puts down his basket and drops the bunch of onions into it, and then dusts off his hands. “Can’t you get your own strawberries? I mean, I have it on good authority that wild strawberries? They’re a thing. They exist. They’re out there.”

“But Stiles,” says the werewolf dangling by one foot from the tree, sticky red smears around his mouth and all over his fingers. “Your berries are so juicy, so ripe. Those ones in the woods are mere passing indulgences compared to the royal feast you have in your garden.”

Genii loci Stiles and his father run a community garden, and it’s all good, except for the werewolf who keeps sneaking over the fence to raid Stiles’ strawberry patch (and the hunter who’s constantly hanging around his father).

Runes and all kinds of things by FeelingsDusk (WIP)

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.

OR

The things in the Argent's basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can't seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn't mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn't mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride's uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn't like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter's just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia.

"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you."

Bone Deep by ShippersList

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Soothing the Burn by Therapeutic_Steter (WIP)

Peter is burnt out and breaking down. Stiles notices and offers him solace, along with the one thing he wants most: Pack.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks. “Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is. “He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her. The camps……aren’t camps. Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven't spoken to in over five years.)

Uncle Peter Doesn't Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (WIP)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16. “Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,” ‘Bambi’. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous. Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

-

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn't been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski...her uncle's boyfriend.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he's captured. Stiles's first thought is, "I won't die here."

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire (WIP)

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

A Curious Magic by Triangulum

Overall, Stiles is very well-known in the supernatural community. It’d be hard not to be, not with how his reputation has grown like wildfire. He knows and is on good terms with nearly all the fae that reside in the preserve, the asrai that live deep in the lake, the Ito pack, the vampire couple that lives over in Beacon Valley (they buy an ethically-sourced food supply from Stiles), as well as almost every other supernatural entity in the area. But Talia Hale doesn’t like him, and a werewolf pack tends to do what their alpha tells them to.

So it’s a definite surprise when the wards at the edge of his property trip, the tingling down his spine telling him it’s a werewolf, the lack of burning sensation letting him know there’s no hostile intent. Stiles, in his office in the second floor turret, sets down the amulet he’s packing up for Marin and moves to the large window overlooking the front of his property. He’s expecting to see an Ito packmember, even though they nearly always call in advance, and is surprised to see a man that he recognizes as Talia’s brother, Peter.

Light in the Dark by cywscross

It still surprises Stiles sometimes, how easily he’s adapted. Seven months in a world filled with train tracks and soul-sucking fae, and it feels like he’s never known anything else.

~~

Or, the one where diverting the Ghost Riders from Beacon Hills to prey on a different town only succeeded in setting them free.

Vengeance Looks Good On You, Sweetheart by cywscross

Just because Scott refuses to see the Argents for what they truly are - prejudiced serial killers sitting proudly on a mountain of innocent corpses - doesn't mean Stiles will. It's about time someone did something about the Argent Empire anyway, and what a coincidence - summer vacation is just around the corner.

--

Or, the one where Gerard Argent kidnapped the wrong fucking person to torture. Stiles has never subscribed to the policy of forgiving and forgetting anyway, not when razing the problem to the ground and salting the earth for good measure has always been a far better solution in the long run.

He doesn't expect to have company.

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

[mayatawi]

(whoops this got loooong I have OPINIONS. If you wanna skip the leadup, my main point is in the paragraph after the tiny text.)

So I honestly thought the biggest make-or-break issue for whether or not I’d watch rnm s3 would be whether Michael and Alex get together or at least seem to be working toward that, and also the character dynamics in general. I am a character-focused consumer of media. Plot is generally secondary for me; mostly I care about the people.

But as it turns out, the plotting and overall narrative structure of s3 are offending me on, like, a deep spiritual level.

Other people have done a better job than I could pointing out the pacing issues, but in general it comes off like someone writing a WIP without any kind of plan and getting brand new plot ideas every chapter and running with them without bothering to revise anything that came before. I don’t know enough BTS stuff to say whether that’s likely due to time pressures or to Hollier being new to show running (has he done it before?) or to something else entirely, but SO MUCH about this season makes NO SENSE.

What the hell was the sequence of events during Kyle’s kidnapping, and why do none of the accounts given line up? Was anything actually changing in the vision? Was it even about Kyle, and if so, was that the case all along? Why is the audience just left to wonder whether that’s been resolved, or even whether the characters think it’s been resolved?

How the fuck did Liz drive from California to Roswell and then back and then back again in what, three days? And still have time to do literally anything else?

And on a thematic level! Why set up a “Kyle is underappreciated” thread at the beginning and then show nobody worrying about him being missing? What was even the point of the Wyatt storyline, and is that just done now, or is it coming back at some point in the 4 episodes remaining? Why bother bringing Greg back if they were going to retcon his previous characterization and only let him talk to Alex once so far? Why set up a throughline of “characters being called out for their flaws/mistakes” and then exclude Maria from that while inexplicably centering her in the whole season so far?

(And side note, speaking of Maria and flaws, I was trying to think last night—does she even have flaws that the show is willing to acknowledge? Like Liz has her science ethics issues, Max can be heavy-handed and self-righteous, Isobel has her alpha bitch tendencies, Michael is an emotional fucking disaster, Alex is closed off and controlling, Rosa has her addiction issues (and, you know, that whole impulsive teenager thing), Kyle… is a goddamn delight but i think still struggles with his high school self, and also is too easily led by Liz at times. What’s Maria’s flaw? The closest I can think of is being too singleminded about the vision thing early in the season, to the point of risking her own health and Max’s life, but was she ever even shown to be wrong about that? I can’t tell how the show expects us to feel about it! And then that was dropped along with the rest of that storyline, and now she’s the one telling Isobel that she’s too singleminded, which could have been some nice character development if that particular flaw of hers was addressed instead of just completely ignored. Like, I am checking myself, I don’t particularly like her character and I am examining whether it’s a race thing or a “but muh ship!” thing or what, and the thing I keep coming back to is that she is never allowed to be wrong according to the narrative, even when her actions as shown might raise some eyebrows. And flawless characters are boring, but flawed characters who are uncritically presented as flawless are infuriating. And making such a character so prominent in the season’s overall storyline is… A Choice. (Am I forgetting something? Can someone tell me what her narratively acknowledged flaw is supposed to be? And I mean an actual flaw, not a job interview “cares too much”/“works too hard” kind of flaw.))

And that’s not even my main point, just a tangent. My biggest issue with s3 is a corollary to the “characters are written characters, not real people” post I’ve seen going around—the narrative is a written narrative, not real events that happen and a camera just happens to be around to capture some of them. But they’re doing this thing where important events and character moments keep happening offscreen and the audience is just supposed to assume they happened. Why wasn’t Kyle or Max waking up shown onscreen? Why didn’t Rosa even mention her brother when he was missing? Why haven’t Michael and Alex even mentioned Forrest, if only to clear up that Alex isn’t still dating him? What did Michael even do between finding the Deep Sky building at the end of 3x06 and whatever he did the next episode? Did Alex ever tell the others where Kyle was, and that’s why nobody seemed worried? And I’m sure there are other things I’m not thinking of because, again, I’m not actually watching s3, just spoiling the shit out of myself. But from everything I’ve read, this season just has zero sense of narrative and thematic structure. Even malex FINALLY getting together falls somewhat flat in the overall context of the season, because it just… happens. I mean I’m glad it happens, and maybe it’s realistic for these two characters to just say “fuck it, we’ve wasted too much time, let’s do it,” but then we’re back with the issue that these aren’t real people or real events, they’re written characters in a written narrative. And from a storytelling perspective, you don’t spend two and a half seasons setting up an emotional arc just to resolve it with “fuck it.”

And… okay, let’s be real, all of the above is probably still not going to keep me from watching (though I will wait for the season finale at least). But it offends me. They have this amazingly diverse and (mostly) well-developed cast of characters, they have a surprisingly compelling overall storyline, they do such a good job establishing a distinct sense of place, but the one thread that’s supposed to tie everything together—the narrative structure—is a goddamn mess.

I love this crack show. But it could be SO MUCH BETTER.

(edit: in retrospect the tiny text should probably be its own post [hence the tiny text] but fuck it, I’m running with it. Not entirely unlike the s3 writers hey-o!)

[crystalline1206]

The Rifle

Chapter 1 “Kal'Tava”

Title: The Rifle Pairings: Mandalorian x F!Reader Rating: E (for language, sexual situations, No YOUNGLINGS lurking where they shouldn’t) Setting: Before Season 1 (briefly), before Season 2, leading into Season 2 eventually, slower burn. Summary: You always believed that trouble had a knack for finding you… You just never realized what trouble really meant until you met him. — “Why did you help me?” “…You looked like you needed your rifle,” Warnings: Age gap (LATER) Older man/younger woman, explicit sexual scenes and sexual situations leading up to it after chapter 8 Word Count: 1446 A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first story I actually have a plan for! I fell down a deep dark Mandalorian hole and I plan on making a living here. So sit back, relax, and enjoy! If you have any pointers or tips feel free to send them my way, but please, be kind! Banner inspired by @valkblue​

This story takes place 10 years before Mando and Baby Yoda leave Nevarro as a clan of 2. I did some quick math and estimated that Din was born around 3251 LY / 26BBY which is a few years before the clone wars and therefore he is around 35 years old when The Child is found in 3286 / 9ABY. All that said, Mando is in his mid 20’s to your teens and any and all romance will be much much later. P.S. Yena is a play on y/n, thought it’d be a clever way to handle that!​

Chapter Summary: You never get a second chance to make a first impression

“Did you see the Mandalorian in town?”

Your father couldn’t help but notice you perking up after overhearing your sister’s conversation. He swung around to your work station and gave you a nudge to get you back to work, which you returned in kind at being caught. Sure, Odell and Ravi could stand around and talk while putting merchandise away, but as soon as you so much as tilt your head, you get stuck with the reprimand. You did allow yourself a small bit of pride at being the best out of your siblings with fixing blasters and the occasional landspeeder, but at the cost of being able to walk into the market and gossip with friends, it didn’t seem like all that great of an accomplishment at the moment.

“A Mandalorian? Those are the bounty hunters right? With all the weapons and armor?” You piped up from your little corner as you fiddled with the blaster in your hands, only to have it yanked from your hands as your father towered over you.

“No no no, I know you. You keep your head down and stay out of trouble, Yena. I mean it,” Your eyes crossed as he waved a meaty finger in your face.

“But I—“ Your voice pitched in defense.

”Calm down, Cadri. It’s hard not being curious about new people here, she doesn’t mean anything by it,” Your mother, ever the voice of reason, seemed to understand you teenage curiosity more than the rest of your family.

Your father, however, was strict man, quiet, and kept to himself; all qualities that he “claimed” helped him live through some of the galaxy’s more tumultuous years… Honestly, you thought it had more to do with the fact that you all lived in the shadiest part of the outer rim. Nonetheless, your father strove to instill these qualities into his many children, mostly through manual labor and a lack of free time. Hard to get into trouble when you hardly left the weapons mechanic shop, but you always swore that you never went looking for trouble. Truly, it just always seemed to find you. You always thought it had more to do with being one of the younglings and getting left behind to fend for yourself out of your three sisters and two brothers.

“Oh come on, Baba. I don’t get into trouble!” You exclaimed heatedly.

“Ha! If you lied half as well as you fixed blasters then maybe that would have been more believable,” You heard your sister’s snarky comment from the corner of the store.

“Nobody asked for your opinion, Odell—“ You snapped.

“It’s not an opinion it’s a fact,”

“I’ll show you a fact, when I come over there and kick your a—!” You had already started to get up to lunge towards her when your father tried to intervene.

“Girls! Enough—“

“… Do you carry ammo for Amban rifles?”

Five pairs of eyes turned towards the lone figure that had just stepped through the doorway. Your eyes immediately focused on the T-shaped visor set in smooth silver beskar. Even out here, you and your siblings were all trained to know quality steel when you saw it, what with your family being in weapon and ship repairs. This was your first time seeing real Mandalorian beskar in person though, much less on a real Mandalorian. You knew there had been a Mandalorian in town a few years back but you’d never actually seen him since he worked for gangsters. Your family must have though if the wide eyed looks of your family members were anything to go by, he definitely did cut an intimidating figure.

“… Yes. We don’t have much in stock but we do carry the rounds,” Your father finally broke the tense silence, startling your sister and mother into action as they shuffled over to the stock room.

“I’ll take what you have. How much?” The Mandalorian swung his rifle around to place in front of your father, but something in the movement caught your eye.

“15 wupiupi—“

“Your rifle… it has a short in the barrel,” You vaguely heard your father’s harsh whisper of your name as you tentatively reached for the rifle, “The trigger is loose, and butt of the rifle is worn down as well… probably from the recoil when you fire,”

You looked up and met the empty glare of the T-visor, your breath caught as you realized that you had essentially taken his gun out of his hands and given him unsolicited criticism on the maintenance of said gun to his face— or rather helmet. You knew you were right in your assessment, you’d been working on guns your entire life, but being met with silence made your stomach drop. You resisted the urge to blurt out that you didn’t really know anything, that you were just a stupid 17 year old trying to impress a bounty hunter, when he finally spared you from the embarrassment. After what felt like ages, but was surely only seconds, the Mandalorian inclined his head mildly in your father’s direction.

“How much for the repairs?” If anyone saw your knees buckle, you were glad that they hadn’t mentioned it.

“The repairs and the ammo for 60 wupiupi, no less,”

“Fine. How long for the repairs to be done” At this the Mandalorian turned your way and you nearly choked, was he expecting you to do it?

“Uh-hrm… a-a couple of hours? 3 tops—“

“You’ve got one and a half. I’ll pay half now and half when it’s finished,” he neatly dropped a pouch into your father’s unexpecting hands and walked out. The silence left in his wake was deafening, until…

“ Yena , what have you gotten yourself into? You foolish girl!”

Kriff.

To say that your parents were mortified, terrified, and petrified by the spectacular heights of your audacity and stupidity would have been an understatement. Your father cursed every piece of faulty machinery in the shop as he helped you strip the rifle, and despite your mother’s many exclamations of being at a loss for words, she still proceeded to nearly shriek at you for the next 20 minutes as you scrambled to get your workstation together. All in all, you were nearly to the point of tears and you only had an hour left to fix the damned thing.

“I take back every time I said I didn’t get myself into trouble, you were right, you were all right,” Your mother’s hysterics must have rubbed off on you because you were nearly inconsolable as you tore your station apart for a driver small enough to tighten the trigger to the firing mechanism.

In a moment of clarity, your father finally kicked your mother and sisters out so you could focus, not that it helped much at this point as you glanced at the clock every 5 minutes. After the 5th time you burned yourself with your welder you finally stopped watching the clock and finished up. The short itself was an exposed wire that was messing with the transfer of the Tibanna gas and creating more force than necessary during firing, which resulted in the excessive recoil and a loose trigger. Your father’s store didn’t carry the type of gunstock necessary to replace the worn butt of the Mandalorian’s rifle, so all you could do was clean, reassemble, and call it done. You wiped your brow and looked up at the clock and realized you had actually made it with 3 minutes to spare, sobs of relief nearly melting you out of your chair as you held the rifle reverently to your chest.

“Get down!” You felt the shock of the explosion before you saw the smoke and ran out into the street with the rifle still pressed to your chest.

“What’s going on?!” You managed your pull one of your neighbors towards you from the people running away from the blast.

“That Mandalorian, the-the crew he was with turned on him! It’s a disaster, he’s holed up in a house, they have him pinned cuz he got hurt saving Ravi!” You felt your blood run cold.

The Mandalorian had saved your sister…

The Mandalorian had saved your sister and he had gotten hurt doing it, and now he was trapped in a house getting shot at by his own crewmates.

Your feet began to move before you had even finished thinking of a plan, rushing into the store and grabbing a box of the ammo the Mandalorian had requested. You strapped the gun to your back and rushed out the back door. It was starting to look like trouble was going to be a friend of yours now.