#( its noted too that the gang used to give back to those that are struggling and I imagine Sean may have done something in regards to that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cophene · 3 months

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041 || ☆ ⁺ « NEVER REACH THE TRUTH.

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pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and pretty-faced crew notes : sci-fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.6k+

★˚⋆ ZERO HAD ALWAYS MAINTAINED HIS composure. To give in to one's emotion was obscene. One had to be stronger than their emotions and utterly in control of themselves. If one could not control oneself, who else could do it?

But at this moment, all Zero could do was rage.

The Stand Arrow slipped through Kiss in Blue Heaven's fingers like water. His movements grew more frantic, more desperate, but the Arrow refused to be lifted. Why was this happening? Now, when Zero was at the precipice of Requiem? What had Passione done? He would rip them all limb from limb before he allowed the Arrow to get away from him.

A blast of wind slammed into Zero, nearly pushing him onto his back. Wisps of white clawed at his face, obscuring his vision through the mask. With a snarl, Zero flung the mask aside, not caring who would see his face. What did it matter, once he obtained Requiem?

There was a whispery sigh, and Zero looked up, shocked to find translucent forms drifting through the corridor. From the pilot's body, a blue-white figure emerged, one that didn't bear any resemblance whatsoever to Narancia. It appeared to be unconscious, hovering in and out of Narancia's body.

Zero reared back. He looked over to Bruno and his heart shot into his throat. Someone who appeared to be the Captain slid out from Bruno's crumpled form. They fixed him with a cold, angry glare, eyes lighting in recognition.

This must have been some manifestation of the Captain's soul, pulled out by Chariot Requiem. Zero could only be dimly confused as to why it had escaped from Bruno and not the Captain's own body.

"So it's you," they said.

"What have you done to the Arrow?" he screamed at them. "It belongs to me, do you understand? I am the only one worthy enough to attain Requiem!" Blue Heaven lunged at the Captain's soul, ready to shred them into ribbons. The Captain did not react, and indeed, Blue Heaven passed right through them.

"You didn't account for Chariot Requiem," they said. "None of your sources ever told you about its ability to swap souls."

Zero's flint-grey eyes widened. "Souls? You mean to tell me—" He felt his soul flicker. He looked down to find a copy of his body superimposed over himself. His soul was coming loose, unmoored from his body.

"Chariot Requiem and the Arrow are linked. Any attempt on the Arrow will result in the Stand imparting harm. Prince Giorno had the right idea. Behind every person's head is something that casts a light, allowing Chariot Requiem to be seen. It's currently incapacitated, but what do you think will happen if I kill it outright?"

Zero struggled to keep a hold of himself. In its half-dead state, Chariot Requiem already had everyone's souls in a precarious position. Who was to say what would happen if it died when everyone's souls were untethered?

"You don't know what you're talking about," Zero spat. "You'll get us all killed."

"Maybe I think that's worth it, after everything you've done to me and my crew." Despite their position, Zero had never seen the Captain so calm. "You exploited the willpower of myself and my crew. You were willing to merrily lead all of us to your deaths so you could overtake the galaxy with Requiem. You have no desire to help anyone. The galaxy will crumble if you obtain Requiem."

"The galaxy will crumble anyway," Zero snarled. "If no one has the strength to take control, I will."

Zero lunged for the Captain. At the same instant, the Captain summoned their Stand, driving its fist into something behind their head.

A surge of blinding light flooded the ship. The remains of Chariot Requiem tore apart, spraying blood in all directions.

Zero felt a force slam into him, battering into his soul. He was thrown back, slamming into the wall. The translucent form of the Captain hurtled back, back into their proper body.

The ship was suffused in thick mist. Zero raised himself gingerly to his feet, blinking at the shredded remains of Chariot Requiem. So that was it then. He had lost the Arrow. All due to his own stupidity and inability to—

No. A manic smile overtook his face. Zero hadn't lost anything. A gold glint caught his eye from further down the corridor, the Stand Arrow still intact and simply laying on the floor. Zero barked a harried laugh and rushed forward. The Captain had done him a favour! They had removed the only obstacle standing in the way of Blue Heaven's Requiem!

Something caught the back of his head and Zero went down hard. A spike of pain went up his skull and Zero reached a hand back to find his fingers coated in blood.

Someone had thrown a diamond-studded cricket ball at the back of his head.

"The Arrow does not belong to you, Zero!" the Captain shouted. They were running towards him, alarmingly whole and filled with rage. "Your Requiem will destroy us!"

Zero tried to get up but the Captain knocked into him, sending him to the floor. His Stand was not fast enough to stop them before the Captain slid on their knees, their Stand scooping up the Arrow and stabbing it directly into its chest.

"NO!" Zero howled.

The Arrow did not pierce all the way through. It stuck in the chest of the Captain's Stand suddenly, as though meeting sudden resistance. Zero felt adrenaline building in his chest as the Captain stared at the Arrow, eyes wide.

The Arrow simply phased through the Stand's chest, clattering onto the floor.

"What happened?" the Captain whispered.

"You're not worthy, you fool!" Zero scrambled up to his knees. The laugh that tore out of his throat was edged with insanity. "The Arrow rejected your Stand! You are not worthy of Requiem!"

Terror flickered in the Captain's eyes. They turned to look at Zero and he reveled in the realization he saw there.

"Give me the Arrow," he said. He rose slowly to his feet. The reins of the situation were back in his grasp. He no longer had anything to fear. "Finish the job you were given, Captain. The Arrow belongs to me."

The Captain looked on the verge of tears. They seemed to settle something with themselves before picking up the fallen Arrow.

Zero raised his hand expectantly. The air vibrated with energy. The Captain raised the Arrow—

—and threw it.

Instinctively, Zero ducked out of the way. He realized his mistake too late, only just managing to turn and watch the trajectory of the Arrow.

It was a sloppy throw, but the person behind Zero had no trouble catching it. It took Zero a moment to make them out through the mist.

Narancia.

Zero furrowed his eyebrows. "If your Stand wasn't worthy of Requiem, Captain, in what universe would your pilot's be?"

"I would be offended, but that isn't my pilot," the Captain said coldly.

"Gold Experience!" Narancia called. Only that wasn't the name of his Stand, that was—

Prince Giorno's Stand emerged, grabbing the Arrow from Giorno. With only the barest moment of hesitation, it drove the Arrow into its chest.

Light glimmered, but not before the Arrow cracked off a part of its chest, blood spurting from the wound. The Arrow bounced to the ground and the Prince reeled back as though all of the air had been knocked from his lungs. He and his Stand staggered, Giorno just managing to catch his Stand before it fell to the floor.

Zero laughed. "Oh, you nearly had me there, Your Highness." He threw a grin like a dagger at the Captain before stalking forward, pacing around the Prince and his fallen Stand like a leopard.

"It would seem that even the golden prince of the galaxy isn't worthy of the Arrow. Does that not speak volumes? You dare underestimate me, but I alone am worthy. Do you understand that now?"

Zero summoned Blue Heaven.

"Run, Giorno!" the Captain cried, but it was too late. Blue Heaven pierced all of its fingers into the Prince's Stand, ripping it in half like poorly made fabric. The prince's eyes rolled back in his head. He coughed out a spurt of blood before he and his Stand fell back like ragdolls.

The Captain gasped.

Kiss in Blue Heaven went to catch the Arrow as it fell but it bounced off the ground, almost deliberately out of the Stand's reach.

Zero paused. He looked back at the prince's Stand, startling at what he saw there.

In the gash Blue Heaven had ripped from its chest, steam escaped, bits of light catching on the edges. Something else showed through, as though there was a second Stand beneath the first.

The Stand was seemingly magnetized to the prince's Stand. As though it had a mind of its own, it punctured a hole in the forearm of the prince's Stand, and then slowly moved through it, absorbing into the Stand. Zero took a step back, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He had ripped the Stand's chest open. It couldn't still be alive.

And yet.

Desperately, Blue Heaven clawed its fingers into the prince's Stand, fraying, ripping, shedding fibres of it apart. But what fell away was only a husk. A hollow space where the Stand should have been.

Zero looked up. An animal terror ripped through him. The prince and his Stand were levitating. Surrounded by a deadly silver-blue aura and bits of rubble. The prince's Stand had morphed into something monstrous, the Arrow fused to its forehead like a crown. The look on the prince's face was not anger. Only a calm, fierce resolve.

The prince's Stand lifted a finger. A bit of rubble suddenly blasted toward Zero with the force of a phaser blast, scorching a hole into the wall behind him. The bits of chrome that flew off morphed instantly into large black scorpions. Zero threw up his hands to protect his face as one leaped up, its tail like a whip. It tore an obscene piece of flesh from Zero's palm and he crushed the thing under his boot in rage.

Blood dripped down Zero's hand onto the floor. He glared balefully up at the prince, teeth bared in a snarl.

"Requiem will never be yours," the prince said. His eyes were hard. "I promised myself that I would protect the Stand Arrow. No matter what. You cannot be allowed to escape alive."

Zero would not accept this. He would not take the prince's stale, self-righteous brand of nonsense. He would pry the Arrow from within the prince's Stand's very being if he had to.

A Stand was only as good as its user.

Blue Heaven extended its fingers and time pulled slow as taffy. The prince and his Stand remained suspended, powerless even as Blue Heaven pulled out the glimmering strands of the prince's resolve. In another life, Zero might have admired the prince. His resolve was sure and true. No hint of regret or worry marring any of the threads. And yet for all of its beauty, it would still snap as easily as any other life.

Blue Heaven found the thread of the prince's life. Slipped its fingers beneath the thread and stretched it taut.

A scorpion floated past. It was enough to throw Zero off course.

He watched as it slipped behind him, and then as the remains of the ship wall repaired itself. The blood on the ground flew back into Zero's hand. Blue Heaven lost its hold on the prince's life thread as his resolve pulled back into his chest.

What was happening?

Blue Heaven thrust its fingers into the prince's chest, only to find a second set of fingers doing the same. Zero lurched back, looking behind him and gasping.

A line of his carbon copies stretched behind him. The one behind him turned and gasped, starting a domino chain of gasps.

"What?" Zero shouted, and his voice echoed a hundred-fold down the line.

It was an illusion. A hallucination. A dream. In the frozen space that Blue Heaven occupied as it manipulated resolve, nothing could move. What was Zero seeing? This line of domino copies mirroring his horror?

"This is Requiem," a voice intoned.

It was the prince's Stand. Speaking with the prince's voice though the prince remained shadowed and motionless.

"This is not an illusion," it said. "You are seeing yourself and your movements in this space. However, you will never reach the truth. So long as you stand before me, you will never leave this space, this moment." The Stand's eyes were flat and utterly inhuman. "That is Golden Experience Requiem. Even the one who maneuvers me, Giorno Giovanna, is unaware of this."

Zero could barely understand what he heard. As though through a hazy hologram, he saw the events leading up to this moment. His rage. Blue Heaven. The Captain. The Arrow. It passed by in fragmented flashes, and with a jolt, Zero realized he had never moved.

He had never opened the prince's chest. Never held the thread of his life. The wall was whole. The scorpions were gone. His hand was unharmed.

Nothing had happened.

Zero whipped around to face the prince and his Stand. He had to stop this. He couldn't let them advance any closer. All he had to do was snap the prince's thread of life and then—

"Useless!" the Stand cried. There was nothing Zero could do. He was paralyzed as the Stand released a barrage of punches inhumanly fast, so fast there was no pain and only the awareness of movement.

"Uselessuselessuselessuseless!"

Zero was a formless pulp. There was blood. Things breaking. But none of those things seemed wholly present.

"There is nowhere for you to go," Gold Experience Requiem said. "You will never reach reality."

With one last, herculean punch, the Stand launched Zero back with so much force that he slammed through several walls of the ship before coming to a rest.

Zero should have died. There was no way he or anyone else should have been able to take a beating like that. But Zero could still feel his extremities and his head intact. He could feel his chest rising and falling, and a dull roar in his ears.

He had to retreat. This was but a small loss in the grand scheme of war. It did not matter that Giorno had attained Requiem. Zero was still alive. He could still kill the prince and his Stand. There was no doubt the Arrow would seek out a new host then. It would have no choice but to seek him out.

It was torture, but Zero pulled himself from the crushed wall. Bit by agonizing bit, he dragged himself along the corridor, toward the elevator. He would take one of the escape pods. As long as he was away from here, he could recover.

Regain his composure.

He could not let himself think about what had happened. When he tried, it made no sense. The nature of Gold Experience Requiem's abilities felt far beyond comprehension. He was probably delirious with pain. He would be able to figure it out when he was away from here.

The elevators came within sight. A miracle. They opened, and a small cleaning bot puttered out, beeping at Zero. He tried to brush it out of his way, but the bot let out an angry noise. A stinging flash of pain made him shudder back.

The bot circled around him, its visor an ominous red. What sort of bot had such long, wicked blades like that? One of them was coated in red.

Zero touched his abdomen. Warm. Wet. He collapsed on the floor, coughing up blood. Impossible. Had the bot stabbed him? How? Why? He managed to escape from Gold Experience Requiem only for this?

The bot approached him candidly. Detached. Dutiful. "Get away from me," he garbled. "Get away!"

It was becoming hard to breathe. Zero convulsed on the ground, pain lancing through his body. The bot raised its blades over Zero's head, and with a quick, efficient stroke—

Zero opened his eyes. He was on a cold metal surface. A painfully bright light shone overhead, making the room he was in sterile and artificial. Zero moved his eyes. Took in the sink and counter on the left. The tiled wall on the right.

Where was he? Had he been asleep? Someone had probably rescued him from his ship before the bot could kill him. He'd never encountered a virus like that. He would have to be more careful.

There was the sound of a door opening. Quick footsteps.

"Today is the twenty-ninth, 1:38 in the afternoon. My name is Dr. Rena Delru and I am the acting medical examiner."

It was only then that Zero realized he was naked. The only thing covering him was an impersonal sheet.

"The subject is male, between thirty and forty years old. Currently unidentified. Judging from the condition of his skin, his death was forty-eight to fifty hours ago."

The woman tied a mask over her face. Her eyes were a piercing blue.

"I will now begin the autopsy to determine the cause of death."

"Release me," Zero said. "I don't know what this is supposed to be, but I am very much alive. I suggest you let me go before you face serious consequences."

The medical examiner continued to speak into her recorder, oblivious to Zero's voice. She set about preparing her instruments, laying the gleaming scalpels and scissors out beside Zero. He could have sworn he heard them hiss.

"Can you not hear me? I'm speaking to you! Release me at once! I command you!" Panic crept into Zero's voice. He tried to move, but his body did not obey. He was completely immobile.

The medical examiner picked up a scalpel. Zero screamed as she cut a smooth line down his chest, deftly lifting apart skin to reveal his ribcage and lungs. It was agony unlike anything he had ever known. He nearly deafened himself with the force of his own screaming but to the medical examiner, he was a corpse.

She picked up a handsaw. Placed it against his ribs—

Zero opened his eyes. Levi's were speeding by in front of him, blurs of cool blues and neon reds. Zero looked around him, taking in the towering skyscrapers and indistinct roar of the passersby behind him.

He gingerly touched his chest. Whole, but the memory of pain still sent spasms though his body. A dream then. A relief. He wouldn't have been able to withstand something like that for much longer.

Had it really been a dream? It had almost been too real. Pain so acute, so focused.

Zero got to his feet, trying to discern where he was. What time was it? How had he gotten here? Some kind of entertainment district. On Laius maybe? That would help; he had an extensive network of lackeys in the area.

His breathing was shallow and unsteady. He touched his face and became terrified to find it bare.

Where was his mask? Why was he walking around without his mask?

He had to find help. The building across the street looked like a hotel of some kind. If he could just call someone...

Zero saw an opening in the line of traffic. He darted forward, intent on being quick.

"Sir, wait!" someone called. "Sir!"

Zero looked behind him. It was a beat of time he couldn't afford because a Levi came speeding towards him just then, its headlights blinding him.

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. His back hit the pavement, hard. What had Gold Experience Requiem done to him? None of these events followed any sort of logic. How could any of them be happening to him? How?

The Levi barrelled towards him, its horn blaring. Zero felt its bumper smash through his forearm—

Zero opened his eyes. He was rocking gently and there was the sound of water all around. He lifted his head, taking in the small skiff. The ancient man casting a line into the water.

No. This couldn't be happening again. Zero knew what would happen now. How many times would he have to witness his own death? Feel pain overwhelm his body in ways he had never imagined before?

It had to end. It couldn't go on forever. Zero wouldn't be able to bear it. No one would. Dying once was agonizing. Twice, barely describable. To die three times, four, ten, how would that even be possible?

This couldn't be Gold Experience Requiem's ability. How many times would he have to die before it was enough?

"Are you alright, mister?"

"Get away from me!" Zero screamed. The skiff rocked precariously as he scrambled as far away from the man as he could. "Don't touch me!"

The man's eyes darkened. "Don't get the wrong idea here."

"Let me go! Now! Do you hear me?!"

"I don't appreciate that tone, mister."

The man let his fishing line drop in the ocean. He leaned towards Zero, a large, gleaming fish hook in his hand.

"You want to go?"

The hook found Zero's cheek. Punctured it and pulled until skin began to rip.

Zero screamed. The hook found the inside of his mouth, digging in, tearing his tongue, pulling until—

Zero opened his eyes.

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#kismetva #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #sci fi au

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pattysplaceofplaces · 2 years

Note

First Kiss on a Rooftop: Carmen x Reader?

Rooftop Sweethearts

(Authors Note: AHHHHHH MY FIRST REQUEST!! :D Anon I absolutely love you)

[Content warning: Carmen gets injured, blood mention, Tigress bullies the reader (nothing too serious) self doubt.]

Carmen Sandiego x Gender neutral reader

Dread. That was the best way to describe it. you, Zach, and Ivy all sat there in the car. Complete silence yet everyone had the same question brewing on all of your minds. Why was Carmen taking so long? She was supposed to make it to the rendezvous point fifteen minutes ago!

“That’s it,” You boldly claimed as you unbuckled your seatbelt. All of you knew of Carmen Sandiego’s capabilities, she was strong, yet you weren’t going to sit around and wait for her to get injured. Luckily, you wouldn’t be doing it alone. “Right behind ya.” Ivy’s voice was enough to settle those nerves.

You nodded and raced towards the building, climbing up the fire ladder to the rooftops while the twins took the low ground. Now that you were alone you could show the worry on your face. Adrenaline was enough to make your legs go faster than they have ever gone before, the stinging cold on your skin meant absolutely nothing. Rooftop to rooftop. You certainly weren’t as skilled in parkour like a certain someone was, but it didn’t matter; not when you would give everything to this certain someone.

Your heart stopped when a flash of red crashed right near your feet. “Carmen!” You gasped out of pure shock as you knelt down next to her. At first you couldn’t tell it was there, but blood is much darker than the red of her coat. “Oh my god…Carmen!” You quickly opened her coat, trembling hands moving the fabric out of the way to see the scratch marks on her abdomen.

Think quick Y/n, think quick! Her life depends on it!

You grabbed the decorated earpiece from the unconscious girl and put it to your own ear. “Player!” He said something at the silence breaking but that moment was a blur, you couldn’t hear anything other than your heartbeat. “Get ShadowSan, she’s hurt!” Getting an ambulance wasn’t the best idea, so you had to improvise.

You weren’t exactly the strongest but one of your arms wrapped around her waist, the others below her legs to hopefully pick her up. You almost did it until someone gracefully landed on you, keeping you pinned down with their weight on your back. “Looks like I’ve got another toy to sharpen my claws with.” The catty female quipped as you wriggled around helplessly. “You and her gang of misfits should really stay out of the big league.” You kept struggling and she laughed. “Seriously, what are you even doing?” Tigress poked your back with one of her sharp claws causing your back to arch downwards. You were getting real tired of that pretentious laugh of hers. “Is this your attempt at a fight, hm? Did you really think you could stand up against me? That someone like you could make difference?”

As much as you hated her, she was right. Ever since you were younger, you just stumbled through life. You were never special and didn’t have any talents that you could use to change the world. Why did Ivy go out of her way to make you laugh? Why did Zach want to marathon shows with you? Why did ShadowSan nod at you approvingly?

Why did Carmen give someone like you the time of day? Why did she pat you on the back and call you her teammate? You didn’t deserve any of that. You weren’t inventive, a good driver, a samurai, a thief that could change the world. You were just you.

“And that’s enough for me.” A claw that was supposed to forcefully come on you didn’t make it to its destination, stopped by a gloved hand that tightly held her wrist. Carmen’s vision was blurry, it was a challenge to even stand. But she wasn’t going to lose, she was going to fight and she’d have to be dead before anyone could stop her. “Bad kitty.” With one swift motion, a kick to the stomach sent Tigress off the rooftops and down to a body of water down below.

Carmen didn’t expect the wind to be knocked out of her when you dashed over and hugged her. “Carmen! I thought-“ You choked on the lump in your throat, eyes squeezing shut. “I thought I may have lost you…” A simple yet sweet confession that pulled on both of your heartstrings. Two fingers rested above your chin and guided your head up. Perhaps the blood loss was making her a lot more bold. She might be rushing this moment but she didn’t care. The woman in red held you closer, moving her head down so her lips met yours. Definitely a first for the both of you. Due to the inexperience it was over as quick as it had happened, her arms were still wrapped around your waist as you gave her a quick peck on the lips.

Unfortunately, that moment wasn’t meant to be dwelled on. Sure the rooftops was a romantic place but the infamous Carmen Sandiego did have a follower. “Carmen Sandie…” Chase looked at her hands on your and the red lipstick stain on your lips. “Should I go? I’m gonna go.”

It’s a shame the starry view couldn’t be enjoyed for any longer, but you and your girlfriend would have plenty of opportunities to kiss on rooftops again. Hopefully.

[Hope you liked it! I had a lot of fun!]

[P.S. El Topo and Le Chevre wholesomeness coming soon!]

#Carmen Sandiego #carmen sandeigo 2019 #carmen sandiego x reader #reader insert #x reader #where in the world is carmen sandiego #Request #reqs open #Anon request #thanks anon!

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thedeadhandofseldon · 3 years

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The Anti-Mercer Effect

On the Accessibility of D&D, Why Unprepared Casters is so Fun, and Why Haley Whipjack is possibly the greatest DM of our generation.

(Apologies to my mutuals who aren’t in this fandom for the length of this, but as you all know I have never in my life shut up about anything so… we’ll call it even for the number of posts about Destiel I see every day.

To fellow UC fans - I haven’t listened to arc 4 yet, I started drafting this in early August, and I promise I will write a nice post about how great Gus the Bard is once I get the chance to listen to more of his DMing).

Structure - Or, “This is not the finale, there will be more podding cast”

So, first of all, let’s just talk about how Unprepared Casters works. Because it’s kind of unusual! Most of the other big-name D&D podcasts favor this long, grand arcs; UC has about 10 hours of podcast per each arc. And that’s a major strength in a lot of ways: it makes it really accessible to new listeners, because you can just start with the current arc and understand what’s going on!

And by starting new arcs every six or seven episodes, they can explore lots of ways to play D&D! Classic dungeon delve arc! Heist arc! Epic heroes save the world arc! Sportsball arc! They can touch on all sorts of things!

And while I’m talking about that: Dragons in Dungeons, the first arc, makes it incredibly accessible as a show - because it lets the unfamiliar listener get a sense of what D&D actually is. (It’s about telling stories and making your friends feel heroic and laugh and cry, for the record). If I had to pick a way to introduce someone to the game without actually playing it with them, that arc would definitely be it.

And I’d be remise not to note one very important thing: Haley Whipjack and Gus the Bard are just very funny, very charismatic people. Look. Episode 0s tend to be about 50%(?) those two just talking to each other about their own podcast. It shouldn’t work. And yet it DOES, its one of my favorite parts, because Haley and Gus are just cool.

And a side note that doesn’t fit anywhere else: I throw my soul at him! I throw a scone at him - that’s it, that’s the vibe. The whole podcast alternates between laughing with your friends and brooding alone in a dark tavern corner - but the laughs never forced and the dark corner is never too dark for too long.

Whipjack the Great - Or, the DM is Also a Player!

I think Haley Whipjack is one of the greatest Dungeon Masters alive. The plots and characters! The mechanical shenanigans! The descriptions!

Actually, let’s start there: with the descriptions. (Both Haley and Gus do this really fucking well). As we know, Episode 0 of each arc sees the DM reading a description - of a small town, or the Up North, or the recent history of a great party. And Haley always strikes this tricky balance - one I think a lot of us who DM struggle with - between giving too much description and worldbuilding, and not telling us anything at all. She describes people and events in just enough detail to imagine them, but never so much they seem static and unreal - just clear enough to envision, but with enough vagueness left to let your imagination begin to run wild.

While I’m thinking about arc 3’s party, let’s talk about a really bold move she made in that arc: letting the players have ongoing control of their history. Loser Lars! She didn’t try to spell out every detail of this high-level party’s history, or restrict their past to only what she decided to allow - she gave them the broad outlines, and let them embellish it. And that made for a much more alive story than any attempt to create it by herself would have - but I think it takes a lot of courage to let your players have that agency. Most Dungeon Masters (myself included) tend to struggle with being control freaks.

And the plots! Yeah, arc one is built of classic tropes - but she actually uses them, she doesn’t get caught up in subverting everything or laughing at the cliches. And it’s fun! In arc 3, there really isn’t a straight line for the players to follow, either - which makes the game much more interesting and much trickier to run. And her NPCs are fantastic and I will talk about them in the next section.

Above all, though, I think what is really impressive is how Haley balances mechanics, and rules as written, with the narrative and rule of cool - and puts both rules and story in the service of playing a fun game. And the secret to that? She’s the DM, but the DM is a player, and the DM is clearly having fun. Hope Lovejoy mechanically shouldn’t get that spellslot back, but she does, and it’s fun. The changeling merchant in Thymore doesn’t really make some Grand Artistic Narrative better, but wow is it fun. And she never tries to force it one way or the other - the story might be more dramatic if Annie didn’t manage to banish the demon from the vault, but it’s a lot cooler and a lot more fun for the players if Annie gets to be a badass instead - and the rules and the dice say that Annie managed it.

Settings feel like places, NPCs feel like people, and the narrative plot feels like a real villainous plot.

Anyway. I could go on about the various ways in which Whipjack is awesome for quite a while - she’s right, first place in D&D is when your friends laugh and super first place is when they cry - but I’m going to stop here and just. Make another post about it some other time. For now, for the record I hold her opinions about the game in higher esteem than I do several official sourcebooks; that is all.

Characters - Or, Bombyx Mori Is Not an Asshole, And That Matters

Okay, I said I would talk about characters! And I will!

Just a general place to start: the party! All of the first three parties are interesting to me, because they all care about each other. Not even necessarily in a Found Family Trope sort of way, though often that too. But they generally aren’t assholes to each other. The players create characters that actually work together, that are interesting; even when there’s internal divisions like SK-73 v. Sir Mr. Person, they aren’t just unpleasant and antagonistic all the time. Listening to the podcast, we’re “with” these people for a couple hours - and it isn’t unpleasant. That matters a lot. (To take a counter-example: I love Critical Role, but the episode when Vox Machina pranked Scanlan after he died and was resurrected wasn’t fun to listen to, it was just uncomfortable and angering and vaguely cruel).

All of the PCs are amazing, and the players in each arc did a great job. If you disagree with me about that, well, you have the right to be incorrect and I am sorry for your loss. Annie Wintersummer, for one example: tragic and sad and I want to give her a hug, but also Fuck Yeah Wintersummer, and also her familiar Charles the Owl is the cutest and funniest and I love him. And we understand what’s going on with Annie, she isn’t some infinite pool of hidden depths because this arc is 7 episodes and we don’t have time for that, but she also has enough complexity to be interesting. Same with Fey Moss: yeah, a lot of her is a silly pun about fame that carries into how she behaves, but a lot of how she behaves is also down to some good classic half-elven angst about parenthood and wanting to be known and seen and important. (Side note: if your half-elf character doesn’t have angst, well, that’s impressive and also I don’t think I believe you).

There are multiple lesbian cat-people in a 4-person party and they both have requited romantic interests who aren’t each other. This is the future liberals want and I am glad for it.

Sir Mister Person, the human fighter! Thavius, the edge lord! Even when a character is “simple,” they’re interesting, because of how they’re played as people and not action-figures. And that matters a lot.

In the same way: the NPCs. There really aren’t a lot of them! And some of them come from Patreon submissions, so uh good work gang, you’re part of the awesomeness and I’m proud of you! The point being, the NPCs work because enough of them are interesting to matter. It’s not just a servant who opens Count Michael’s door, it’s a character with a name (Oleandra!) and a personality and history. They’re interesting. Penny Lovejoy didn’t need to be interesting, the merchant outside the Laughing Mausoleum didn’t need to be interesting, but they ARE! And Haley and Gus EXCEL at making the NPCs matter, not just to the story but to us as viewers. I agree with Sir Mister Person, actually, I would die for the princesses of the kingdom. I actually care about Gem Lovejoy of all people - that wouldn’t happen in an ordinary campaign! That’s the thing that makes Unprepared Casters spectacular - and, frankly, it’s especially impressive because D&D does not tend to be good at making a lot of interesting compared to a lot of other sorts of stories.

And, just as an exemplar of all this: Bombyx Mori. Immortal, reincarnating(?), and described as the incarnation of the player’s ADHD. I expected to hate Bombyx, because as the mom friend both in and out of my friend-group’s campaigns, the chaos-causer is always exhausting to me. And yeah, Bombyx causes problems on purpose! But! She is not an asshole.

And that’s important. Bombyx goes and sits with the queen and comforts her. Bombyx gives Annie emotional support. Bombyx isn’t just a vehicle to jerk around the DM and other players; Bombyx really is a character we can care about. To compare with another case - in the first couple episodes of The Adventure Zone, the PCs are just dicks. Funny, but dicks. Bombyx holds out an arm “covered in larva” to shake with a count, and robs him of magical items, but she also cares about her friends and other people! She uses a powerful magical gem to save her fertilizer guy from death! Yeah, Bombyx is ridiculous, but she’s not just an asshole the party has to keep around for plot reasons; you can see why her party would keep her around. And one layer of meta up, she’s the perfect example of how to make a chaotic character like that while still being fun for everyone you’re playing with, which is often not the case. And I love her.

The Anti-Mercer Effect - Or, “I think we proved it can be fun, you can have a good time with your friends. And it doesn’t have to be scary, you can just work with what you know”

The Mercer Effect basically constitutes this: Matthew Mercer, Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is incredible (as are all of his players). They’re all professional story-tellers in a way, remember, and so Critical Role treats D&D like a narrative art-form, and it’s inspiring. Seeing that on Critical Role sets impossible standards - and people go into their own home games imagining that their campaigns will be like Critical Role, and the burden of that expectation tends to fall disproportionately on the DM. And the end result, I think, of the Mercer Effect is that we get discouraged or intimidated, because our game isn’t “as good as” theirs. (And I should note - Matt certainly doesn’t want that to be our reaction).

So the Anti-Mercer Effect is two things: it’s D&D treated like a game, and it’s inspiring but not intimidating. And Unprepared Casters manages both of those really freaking well. Because they play it like a game! A UC arc looks just like a good campaign in anyone’s home game. They have the vibes of 20-somethings and college students playing D&D for fun because that’s who they are (as a 20-something college student who plays a lot of D&D, watching it felt like watching my friends play an especially good campaign). They’re trying to tell a good story, sure, and they always do. But first and foremost, they’re trying to have fun, and it shows, and I love the UC cast for it.

And that’s the other half of it: it’s inspiring! It’s approachable; you can see that Haley and Gus put plenty of work into preparing the game but it also doesn’t make you feel like you need hundreds of pages of worldbuilding to run a game. Sometimes a cleric makes Haley cry and she gives them back a spell-slot from their deity! That’s fantastic! It’s just inspiring - listening to this over the summer, when my last campaign had fallen apart under the strain of graduation, is why I decided to plan and run my new one!

That quote from Haley Whipjack that I used as the title for this section? That’s the whole core of this idea, and really, I think, the core of the podcast.

The Mercer Effect is when you go “that’s really cool, I could never do that.” But Unprepared Casters makes you look at D&D and go “wow, that looks really fun. I bet I can do that!” And I love the show for it.

And I bet a lot of you do too.

#unprepared casters #bombyx mori #haley whipjack #long post #this is really rough but I don't have time to keep working on it and it's already a month later than intended

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Take That!

Corpse Husband & Reader (Female) ft. Streamer Gang

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Suppressed Sadness, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What is a friend? Your smile through the tears. The umbrella over your head when it starts raining. The ointment to your wound. But if you wanna put it in a more literal manner, a friend is something that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It can be the person you sit next to in class or the person who’s hundreds of miles away from you and you’re connected to through a Discord call.

Requested by Anon. Hello dear! Thank you so much for your request, sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read if you happen to come across the fic. Love, Vy ❤

There are those days when I wake up excited for a new day. There are also those days when the thought of playing Among Us with my friends is all that gets me out of bed. And then there are those days when not even that can get me to budge. Today is one of those days.

I’d still be in bed right now had I not needed to use the bathroom. On my way back to hide under my covers, I heard my cat’s meow from the kitchen, reminding me she needed to be fed. After tending to that task I just sort of lost will to return to bed either. Speaking truthfully, today is a will-less day. The type of day where I have no idea what to do with myself because I feel so odd and uncomfortable: heavy and bustling head, motivation below zero no matter whether I have zero tasks to tend to or a mountain high pile of work. It’s a laying on the floor and letting my mind eat away at me type of day and I can’t say I appreciate it.

The only thing I have to look forward to is the game of Among Us Corpse invited me to yesterday. Had I known I’d wake up feeling like absolute shit, I wouldn’t have accepted. I just know I’ll be a downer the whole time because I suck at covering up how I feel - my smiling masks and faux happiness don’t cut it but staying quiet is even worse because I’m typically and energetic and bubbly person, always having something to say or a comment to add to the conversation. Always looking to make people laugh.

Well, it’s hard to make people laugh when you feel like a deflated balloon.

I can’t describe the feeling any better than that - I feel empty, maybe a little sad somewhere in the mix, unmotivated. I keep these feelings to myself cause whenever I bring them up people just blow me off, saying I’m describing laziness but more dramatically. Either that or burnout which is sometimes the case, but I’m more than sure that it’s not the culprit for today. You can only blame burnout so many times.

Anyway, I make a mental note, promising myself I’m not gonna bail on my friends regardless of whether my mood gets better or worse. Who knows, maybe a gaming session with them is exactly what I need.

* * *

Not much has changed with my emotional state - I’ve spent a good chunk of the day surfing through TV channels and my socials with nothing else to occupy my mind but the overwhelming knowledge that I’m not feeling ok and that hyperawareness of a void that I feel but cannot describe. At one point, Corpse sent me a text to confirm I’d be participating in the gaming session and I was this close to saying no. This close to coming up with some bullshit excuse and bailing but I didn’t, thankfully.

Here’s the thing about this drop in mood of mine - I know it’s gonna be gone by morning. It bullies me, beats and batters me for only twenty four hours - never more, never less. Like clockwork and as precise as a Swiss watch. And so fucking annoying. No matter what I do, I can’t end it prematurely and I can never wake up feeling down and unmotivated the next morning - there’s always a surge of motivation coursing through me and it drives me to be super productive as if making up for what I didn’t do the previous day when I was in the dumps.

It’s a twisted way of it showing me I’m powerless and at the mercy of a force that, despite being mine and existing within me, I’m completely unfamiliar with. It’s so fucking unfair, it’s disheartening.

“Hi everyone! Sorry I’m late.“ I greet the five people who have already gathered in the Discord call and the Among Us lobby.

Yeah, sorry I’m late, I was contemplating not showing up at all last minute

“Don’t worry about it, many people are running late as you can see.“ Rae replies reassuringly, “How’s your day? Anything spectacular happen?“

I can’t help but scoff, “Yeah sure, a TON of spectacularism in my life on the daily. From the large stack of papers I couldn’t bring myself to touch, to the dusty surfaces all over my apartment I didn’t convince myself to clean - it’s all fabulous over here.”

Fuck, that was too real

“Whoa, where’d all this sarcasm come from?“ Rae asks, sounding genuinely baffled rather than teasing, “It’s never been your strong suit.“

“Neither has unproductivity.“ Corpse, my best friend, chimes in, “Everything ok?“

Well, I admit, I should’ve known better than to have an outburst like that in front of people who have known me for a while now and can probably gauge my emotions even without me admitting to them. I truly don’t know where it came from. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming.

“Nah, it’s ok. I’m just being lazy, I guess.” I’m quick to withdraw and brush off any suspicion. The last thing I want is to worry my friends or, even worse, receive the same response from them: that I’m being dramatic, that I’m attention-seeking, that I’m just lazy and unmotivated as are most people of my generation.

“You know, what people often self-diagnose as ‘laziness’ often turns out to be something more serious. I don’t mean to scare you, but it could be depression.“ Corpse says after a brief moment of silence in the call, his voice soft and cautious as if explaining a complex problem to a kid who’s bound to be hurt by what it’s told.

I can’t help but chuckle. He has no idea how much he’s relieved me by saying that. I always ‘don’t want to talk about it’ and ‘want to change the subject’ while what I truly need happens to be the complete opposite. I need someone to hear me out, I need someone who will not brush me and my concerns off like we don’t matter. I need someone who’ll understand. And if these people who have openly struggled with anxiety or depression don’t get me, who will?

“Yeah, I genuinely thought I thought of myself as a lowlife while I was in college cause I started losing motivation for everything and started fearing what was to come. I began avoiding going out and talking to people cause I felt like I was the sore thumb in the friend group I had - the only one without any specific goal or a dream.“ Leslie says out of the blue, “Turns out I suffered through a burnout so bad it turned into an anxiety/depression combo that I just blamed on being a lazy college student.“

“Same here!“ Toast pipes in, “I was bedridden for a while during the first days of my streaming career, for a very ridiculous reason - I believed I didn’t deserve the attention I was getting and I wasn’t doing as well as people gave me credit for. So that had me crippled with self-doubt for a long while.“

“I still don’t believe I’m doing as well as I get credit for, but oh well.“ Leslie laughs, “I already told you all about my dumpster-fire of a brain, so I’m instead gonna say: what you need is an appointment with a therapist. Also - you need to stop underestimating your struggles. Invalidating yourself and what you’re going through is gonna make things only worse for you. You need to love yourself.“

“And you need us!“ Rae exclaims, “You need the best support you can get and, lucky for you, we’re the best in the business. Count on us always being there for you, Y/N. Cause we always will be.“

“You’re never alone. We’re all just a call or a text away. Especially me.“ Corpse adds, “I’m basically at your service 24/7, just like you’ve always been for me. What are best friends for if not sharing mental struggles and lifting each other up afterwards?“

I don’t know when this smile made its home on my face but it seems to be rather happy with where it is and wants to stay. Something tells me that thanks to these guys, it will indeed stay there for quite some time. And every time it tries to slip away, they’ll be there to bring it back.

“Then let’s lift each other up, shall we? I mean, what better way to do it other than killing each other and getting away with it?“ I attempt a giggle, hiding my emotions behind it like my life depends on it. Chances are they heard all I’m feeling in my voice, but I can only hope they’re not gonna mention it.

“Y/N, hun, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but....you never get away with it.“ Corpse wheezes, causing me to narrow my eyes and frown.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it now!“ I exclaim, cracking my knuckles before getting my hands on my keyboard, “Start the game! I have a point to prove!“

And just like that, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the clouds have shuffled aside to make path for the sunshine to grace my brain with positivity I was not expecting to feel until tomorrow morning. I can’t give myself the credit for that though - it all goes to these amazing people I have the honor of calling friends.

I may have no power over it on my own, but with the gang’s help, I can take full control of it. And as a middle finger to the melancholy, I’ll do it all with a bright smile on my face.

Take that, brain!

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coldmorte · 3 years

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bro i'm a sucker for soft Vandermorgan....dutch reading while arthur sketches.....leaning on eachother.....dutch reaching over to rub arthur's back every few pages........running his hand through arthur's hair...soft k*sses and giggling...

Howdy, anon! 💜

My apologies that it took me a week to get back to this one. I gave time to consider it, and I hope the fic I wrote in response makes up for that!! It’s a very cute ask, and I love tenderness between them, too. But despite my affection for lighthearted stuff, I usually struggle with writing it (I’m a very dark and morbid person - oops 😅). Anyway, I’ve been getting quite a few soft VDM asks lately, so I figured I would accept another challenge!

I was hesitant about actually posting this, but I figured, what is there to lose? It does have some angst sprinkled in (I couldn’t help myself), but I hope I did your idea justice!!!

Oh, and to anybody else who sent VDM asks recently, I am still giving them some thought! So, stay tuned 😉

In the meantime, please enjoy…❤️🖤

“Why are you avoiding me, Arthur?”

Hand freezing and pencil ceasing its scratching within the journal on his lap, Arthur furrowed his brow as he peaked over the fire at Dutch. Yet, his eyes remained wide and questioning as he pushed back, “I’m not avoiding you. I just didn’t think you wanted to be bothered while you read.”

“Oh, come on. You know I never minded it in the past, especially not on a cold night like this. We could use all the heat we can spare between us,” Dutch flipped his book shut, patting the ground beside him.

Likewise, Arthur slid the bookmark of his journal in place as he closed it. “Well, I guess… it’s just…”

Dutch chuckled as he noticed Arthur bite his lip to suppress a timid smile. He gestured to Arthur, beckoning him over once again. “I know it’s been a long time since it’s been just the two of us, but you don’t have to be shy.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed as he pushed himself to his feet, journal still clutched in one hand. He walked over and knelt next to Dutch, but before he could properly get seated, Dutch reached forward and grasped him by his shirt collars. Pressing Arthur’s back to his bedroll, Dutch pinned him there as he straddled his hips.

The journal got cast aside as Arthur grabbed at Dutch’s back. Their lips met, hungrily and impassioned. Dutch pressed his chest firmer against Arthur’s and moaned at the warmth that radiated between them. He pulled back and grinned down at Arthur through heavily-lidded eyes, “See, isn’t it better on this side?”

“I was afraid this might happen,” Arthur laughed as he reached a hand forward and brushed some loose curls away from Dutch’s face.

Emitting a soft hum, Dutch felt himself glow with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Leaning in close once more, he whispered, “And are you complaining?”

“Never.” Arthur pulled Dutch in for another kiss, before Dutch backed away and sat up.

“I didn’t think so.” Dutch smirked as he reached for his wool blanket and unfolded it. Motioning for Arthur to sit up as well, he handed him a corner. They each wrapped part of it around themselves as they huddled close to the fire.

Arthur scooped his journal up and leaned against Dutch, his back pressed into the older man’s arm and shoulder for support. He reopened the journal on his lap, but his position hid his face and the journal’s contents from Dutch as he returned to sketching.

Attempting to peer over Arthur’s shoulder to no avail, Dutch asked, “What are you working on?”

“What are you reading?” Arthur shot back.

Dutch felt his heart briefly flutter. He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he responded, “Since when do you care about what I read?”

When Arthur gave no response, Dutch slipped one hand around Arthur’s chest, hugging him and pulling him tighter. Gradually, he let his hand glide lower, until it reached the top of Arthur’s pants. Tugging at the shirt tucked in there, Dutch moved it out of the way and slipped his cold fingers inside. Arthur jumped at the sudden intrusion and gave a shriek, “AHH! Dutch! Your hand is freezing!”

Nuzzling his nose against the back of Arthur’s neck, Dutch pressed a soft kiss there. His lips grazed the sensitive flesh as he muttered, “Why are you being so difficult tonight, my boy?”

“Too bad you just ruined any chance of seeing my sketch.” Arthur’s voice had a teasing edge, but it was lighthearted. “Read to me, first. I always liked listening to your voice.”

At that statement, Dutch pulled his hand away from Arthur’s warm skin but still kept it wrapped around him as he moved his head back in surprise. His mouth hung slightly agape at the boldness in Arthur’s tone, though he felt the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “So, that’s how you want to play this game… fine.”

Picking his book up in his free hand, Dutch opened it in his lap and scanned the pages. Arthur continued to sketch as Dutch’s other hand rubbed small circles over his chest.

Landing on a passage that caught his eye, Dutch began to read, “‘But whether the resistance against tyrants is non-violent or physically violent, the overarching efforts to overthrow oppression justifies the means.’ What do you think of that, Arthur?”

“It’s very nice, Dutch.”

“‘Nice?’ That’s the word you’d use to describe it?” Dutch protested, though he affectionately wrapped his arm tighter around Arthur as he did so. He flipped through the pages for a few more moments of silence before his eyes landed on another. “Well, how about this one? ‘The whole point of America is freedom. Freedom of thought, freedom of deed, freedom of action.’”

Letting out a sigh, Arthur tilted his head back so he could look at Dutch. Their faces were close - mere inches apart - as Arthur spoke, just barely above a whisper, “Does it always have to be about politics, Dutch? Some greater good? I thought we came out here to escape all that.”

Dutch wanted to argue and explain how important Evelyn Miller’s writings were to their mission as a gang and their survival. But he knew Arthur was right. This was their moment to share, and it wasn’t any use wasting it on philosophical debates. Those could wait.

Tipping his head forward, Dutch pressed a chaste kiss to Arthur’s lips and nodded as he pulled away. “Okay.”

Arthur smiled at him as he turned his head back towards his journal and continued to work. Looking back at his book, Dutch searched for a different passage to read. Though most of the ones he noted were about ideological teachings, he did finally settle on one that made his eyes narrow and lips tighten in consideration.

Taking a breath, Dutch traced the words with his finger as he read aloud, “‘Say what you have to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe.’”

Arthur did not say anything in response, though Dutch felt his hand stop drawing, as if Arthur was thinking about it. Dutch could feel the steady beat of Arthur’s heart as he gently massaged his chest.

Eventually, Dutch buried his face in Arthur’s blond hair as he asked, “Hmm, was that better?”

Arthur flipped his journal shut in his lap and rocked lightly into Dutch as he muttered, “You know I was never much good with words.”

“Oh, son… and you know that I wish you wouldn’t downplay yourself like this.” Dutch squeezed Arthur’s breast as he cradled him closer. “You speak from the heart, that’s what matters most... same goes for when you draw in that journal of yours.”

At that, Arthur bent his head down towards the journal in his lap. He tied the leather flap and slid the pencil in place underneath it. Lifting the journal, he set it in front of where the two of them were seated and pushed it forward. It was like a silent invitation, placed just out of reach.

Adjusting his position, Arthur turned around so he could lean his chest against Dutch as he wound both of his arms around the older man’s waist. He buried his head in the crook of Dutch’s neck, and Dutch couldn’t suppress a shiver as Arthur’s warm breath vibrated across the bare flesh at his collar when he spoke, “Thank you for reading to me. ‘M getting tired…”

“Rest up, it’s been a long day.” Dutch set his own book aside so he could readjust himself and wrap his arms around Arthur’s back. He rubbed soothing circles as he rested his chin atop Arthur’s head and watched the flickering glow of the fire.

This was real.

This wasn’t make-believe, or some long-lost memory. Arthur’s steady breathing and the warmth of his flesh confirmed that fact. Dutch let his eyes flicker shut in thought as he was once again reminded of how right Arthur was.

At the end of the day, all those fancy words in his books and his own philosophizing would be meaningless without Arthur by his side.

Dutch furrowed his brow as he blinked his eyes open. Biting his lip, he took a sharp breath and paused. He hesitated to say the words on the tip of his tongue, but he released a long exhale as he tightened his grip on his boy.

He felt safe here.

“You know, Arthur… you’re right. This life of crime, even I sometimes wonder where it all ends, or if it even ends at all. I try to do what’s best, I really do. I know I talk a lot about loyalty and how important it is to keep faith, but these moments when I’m alone with you….” Dutch let his voice trail off. Even amidst his own speaking, he couldn’t fail to notice the light snore coming from Arthur’s lips.

But rather than feeling anger or frustration, Dutch merely smiled. In a way, it was a relief. Arthur couldn’t hear him, and if he could, he would never remember Dutch’s words come morning. Somehow, it was easier this way. Whatever he said aloud, he knew he wouldn’t have to prove or justify it to anybody. He could speak from the heart.

The truth.

“I don’t know how I could ever go on without you. Please, don’t ever let go…”

At that, Dutch squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He focused on the way Arthur maintained a tight grip around his waist, despite his steady snores. The words weren’t meant to be literal, but for the moment, Dutch could allow himself to believe it was possible both physically and figuratively.

Dutch blinked the dampness away from his eyelashes as he looked back towards the fire. The journal was still sitting there, illuminated by the orange glow. Shifting on the ground, Dutch lifted his head away from Arthur and peered down at him. He seemed unbothered by the movements, so Dutch decided to push it further. Unwrapping one arm from around Arthur’s back, Dutch leaned slowly forward, until his fingertips were just able to land on the journal’s leather cover.

Pulling the book towards him, Dutch was able to pick it up in one hand and place it in his lap. He briefly feared the action disturbed Arthur, for he whined and pressed his face harder against Dutch’s shoulder. However, his heavy breathing continued, and Dutch proceeded to slide the journal’s strap out of its place. Holding the pencil in his hand, Dutch turned to the bookmark at the back.

There, he found a sketch of two animals - a buck and a wolf. Despite serving contrasting roles in the wild, they looked perfectly at ease within the sketch. They curled around each other as they laid down to rest, their noses nearly touching. The way they huddled together made it seem believable that they really could find harmony, regardless of their true natures.

On the opposite page, a message was written, “‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’”

Dutch chuckled, Was he really that predictable?

Using the pencil, he scrawled his own note underneath, “‘It’s no use trying to fight who we really are.’”

Taking one last look at the sketch, Dutch ran a finger over it. Just as he could speak in metaphorical language, Arthur could draw in it. But the meanings underneath it all remained the same.

Just because it wasn’t literal, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.

Closing the journal and placing it back where he found it, Dutch kept a firm hold on Arthur as he pulled the both of them down to lay on his bedroll. Adjusting the blanket, Dutch made sure it was draped snugly over them as Arthur soundlessly snuggled his face against Dutch’s chest and hugged him tighter. Once Dutch was comfortable, he likewise wrapped his arms around Arthur, one holding him by the small of his back and the other rumpling his hair.

Feeling tired as well, Dutch shut his eyes. With his final words for the night, Dutch thought of what he just wrote in the journal as they held each other close. Continuing along the same line of thought, he whispered, “We just gotta embrace it.”

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

Favourite Worst Nightmare

Secco x Reader and that gross green guy i guess >:(

Warnings: sfw. Mentions of violence and injury but nothing too graphic. A little suggestive towards the end. Gn!Reader

Notes: ehhh idk what this is but I feel like i should apologize for it. Reader ends up running a job for Cioccolata and Secco and survives the encounter

Part Two

There were very few things you hated more than running packages for Unita Speciale.

As a courier, you were one of the more replaceable- albeit necessary- parts of the gangs; the gears that kept the machine of Passione running. To put it lightly, this was never a life you wanted. When you came to Italy you never planned on spending the rest of your days as a half-rate mobster.

Technically, you worked independently. You didn't fall under the jurisdiction of any specific group. It was a fancy way of saying you were on your own. God help you if you accidentally pissed someone off because no one was coming to your rescue. Considering you could be targeted by warring gangs for running packages, you hoped the pay would be decent.

It wasn't.

Italy's underground wasn't how you expected it to be. It was harsh- you knew it'd be like that- but nothing like the mafia movies you watched as a kid. As cheesy as it sounds, they were still people, each with their own stories to tell. Being in your position, you listened. It was safer to play along and make friends than become the enemy of your worst nightmare. Jobs for smaller groups were typically safer but didn't pay enough to survive. Those with more reach- specifically ones closer to the boss- paid better.

From the outside, the building was unassuming. It was once an apartment complex- still is, technically- but only two people live there. Long ago it was designated as a hideout.

You've never spent much time at the place. You weren't often desperate enough to take their jobs. People talked. It's reputation was not unknown to you. You were well aware of the doctor and his... whatever the hell the other guy was. Assistant doesn't feel like the right word, and pet- however fitting- seems a bit dehumanizing. Though maybe it should. You've been warned these two were dangerous.

The sooner you get this over with the better.

You knock in the pattern Passione uses to identify other members. Two-three-two.

A set of unblinking purple eyes stares at you from the crack in the door. Part of you is glad its him who answered the door and not the other one. Your meetings with them have been few, and only in passing. These are not people you want to give the benefit of the doubt. Physically, Secco isn't very imposing. But beneath Oasis is lithe muscle that could drop you in an instant.

You pull the package from you bag, offering it to him.

"What is it?" He asks.

"A parcel." You say.

You know better than to open it, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't tempted to. It's likely money. Which you could use, though they'd notice it missing before you could even leave the city. Someone seemed to want it- evident by the man who attacked you. Clearly you won, but you didn't come out unscathed.

"Let them in." Someone says from the other room. It's faint, but clear.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand.

The room is sparsely furnished, with a single leather couch and coffee table, and blank walls. If you hadn't been told someone lived here, you would think the place was empty. It's sterile, white, and clinical in every sense of the word. At least get some decorations or something. You may be a mafioso, but you at least make your apartment look lived in. They don't seem to take interest in creature comforts the way you do.

The door seems to echo in the room as its shut. You take a few stiff steps forward, stopping just a few feet from the entrance. Its then the other man appears- covered up to his elbows in blood. He has the gall to look rather annoyed.

"You brought a gun," Cioccolata circles you, "cute."

"It's nothing personal, Signore." You say. "I need to defend myself."

"Are you not a stand user?" He asks.

"No."

It feels safer to lie. Maybe he'll go easier on you. Having gained one rather recently- and then never using it- meant you didn't have the best grasp on your abilities.

"Sit," he switches out his gloves for a new pair, "I'll stitch up that wound."

"That's not necessary."

"Consider it payment," he passes the package off to Secco.

Despite everything within you telling you to run, you sit. It's only a stab wound, though you should get it checked out. God forbid it gets infected. Someone like him doesn't do good deeds, but nothing about this strikes you as dubious. Often times people offered you smokes or drinks in return, this isn't too different.

He doesn't numb the wound before stitching it up. It hurts, but not bad enough to say something. Part of you is alright with that- he didn't drug you. That thought is comforting.

Those unblinking eyes stare up at you from your lap. Secco's hand not-so subtly reaches into your bag, pulling out a stash of chocolate you meant to save for later. The two of you lock eyes.

"That's a weird looking dog." You don't really mean to say it out loud.

He sits by your feet, gnawing on the sweets, rubbing up against your leg like a cat. As uneasy as it makes you, you fear his reaction if you ask him to stop. It wouldn't kill you to suffer through a few minutes of this. Pissing him off might.

"Secco seems to like you." Cioccolata mentions.

You're not sure how you feel about that. It doesn't seem quite so innocent.

"Those sutures can come out in a week." He says. "I'm sure you know the drill; don't get them wet, keep them clean, don't tear the wound back open."

You gather your things and leave.

Maybe that job lured you into a false sense of security.

If they wanted you dead, you would be. The reasoning seems sound enough in your head.

You'd go on to run more packages for them.

The pay was decent enough. Nobody else tried to mug you. People in general gave you a wide berth. For the most part, you were left alone. Whether they had something to do with it- or if it was just rumors- you'd never know. You didn't question it. To be the one who looked the mad doctor in the eyes and live was reason enough. Your situation was far from good, but you were a long stretch from being at rock bottom.

It became a routine for you. Your run wasn't long, and it wasn't in a shady part of town either. Get to a pickup point, deliver the package, try not to die. You got comfortable.

Secco opens the door before you can even knock. He seems to have a sixth sense for whenever you're around. He does his usual act of raiding your bag for sweets- of which you make sure to keep a small stash of. It keeps him occupied, and usually far away from you.

You sit while Cioccolata finishes up whatever he's doing in the basement. Don't question it. Those definitely weren't screams. You should know better than to go poking around where you don't belong. Despite growing used to the sterile nature of their apartment, the basement brought up a visceral fear in you.

Secco practically climbs into your lap. Despite not being too imposing physically, he's heavy. You absentmindedly scratch his head while you wait.

"Stay with us," Secco runs his icy hands up your sides, squeezing the fleshy parts of your hips. His grip is strong, and only tightens when you try to squirm away. He grows tired of you struggling, and pulls you up into his arms, heading towards the basement.

#jjba #jjba x reader #jojo part 5 #vento aureo #secco #cioccolata #secco x reader #cioccolata x reader #unita speciale #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure

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todoscript · 4 years

Text

Syndicate — [ 3 ]

parts: one | two | three

SUMMARY: The four of you arrive at Hatsume’s workshop, hoping to find some leads about the mysterious bullet you discovered in the aftermath of the scuffle against the Shie Hassaikai yakuza group.

genre: mafia au. pairing(s): mafiabosses!todobakudeku x fem!reader word count: 2.1k+ warnings: mature themes. mafia talk. crude language/cursing. future adult and violent scenes. polyamorous relationship. characters are aged-up. taglist: in reblogs. please ask if you would like to be included in the taglist for updates on future parts.

author’s note: oh my god, i am so sorry for the very long wait everyone! trying to crank this part out was a bit of a struggle with everything going on, but i’m glad it’s finally done! i initially planned to make this chapter a bit longer and continue on with some of the next section, but it made more sense to end it off here so the next part could be flushed out more on its own

Nothing but the grating sound of machinery sparking against each other fills the room the moment you walk into Hatsume’s workshop, located in the more uneventful parts of Tokyo, and away from the seeing eyes of the public. Your ears recoil at the noise; however, it is a cacophony of sounds you are used to, considering this is far from your first time here. Thus, it’s not so much a surprise, being greeted this way, though still jarring nonetheless.

Mei Hatsume is a woman who usually busies herself with work. Whenever she wasn’t occupied filling out a client’s order, such as creating the gadgets they requested necessary for certain heists, she was always active in coming up with new inventions—other gizmos to win people over. In turn, she managed to catch the three pairs of eyes that are responsible for overseeing the infamous Yuuei mafia. Before long, the syndicate had become one of her most frequent and loyal clients due to her high-quality skills and work ethic.

Your three men are in tow behind you when you enter, following in not only your steps but your strained expression over the racket.

“Hatsume!” you shout out to try and capture the girl’s attention, being that her eyes are covered in her dense, protective goggles to even see the four of you coming.

Far too engrossed in her work, her nonchalant hums in between her buzzing equipment indicate that she isn’t going to notice you anytime soon. Knowing this, Bakugou grits his teeth out of annoyance and marches past you.

“Hey Goggle-Head!!”

Unsurprisingly, his yell is garishly loud and is enough to cut through the jarring grinding of the machines and reach Hatsume’s ear. Bakugou does prefer to take a strident approach to things after all. And today especially, he isn’t in the mood to wait around.

“Bakugou. That was unnecessary,” Todoroki says, side-eyeing his partner for his boisterous attitude.

“It was totally necessary, Icy-Hot,” the blonde retorts.

Hatsume soon stops what she’s doing and finally brings the noise to a halt. Lifting her bulky steampunk goggles from her eyes, she properly greets her guests.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite clients!” Her tone is welcoming and chipper, despite the somewhat rude awakening courtesy of the blonde. “What can I help the four of you with today? Perhaps in need of some more firepower for your men? Hmm?” Hatsume wiggles her brows—a crafty gesture she usually gives to entice her customers while flaunting some incredibly elaborate contraption of hers in her arms. Midoriya declines with a shake of his head, waving a hand out.

“No, we’re fine with all the equipment you’ve provided our group with so far, Hatsume. They’ve been working wonders for us,” he says kindly.

“Especially that earring from the other night.” You join in the praises, and Hatsume readily eats them up as her yellow eyes begin to sparkle.

“Ah, the teardrop earring, I presume? As expected, I knew that particular item would perform excellently, what with its compact size and design to elude suspicion, along with its vast set of features—”

“Come on, quit yapping already! We’re here for business, not to give our fucking reviews,” Bakugou dispels the girl’s incessant ramblings with his ill-tempered tone.

Todoroki steps forward, following in the blonde’s approach. “He’s right. Excuse us, Hatsume, but we wanted to ask you about something we encountered last night,” he explains, hand digging into his coat pocket to procure the ziploc bag containing their item of inquiry—the bullet.

Your hands glow magenta; your quirk lifts the bullet from the plastic and into the air to prevent Hatsume from needing to touch it directly for examination. As it hovers in front of her, Hatsume’s eyes start to gleam a brighter amber yellow inactivation of her quirk, allowing her to scrupulously inspect every detail down to even smidgen of a scratch.

A few hums leave her lips the more she tilts her head at the object, index finger steady beneath her chin.

“Well?” you ask, a tad impatient for answers as are the other three. Hatsume gives the bullet one last look before turning to you, a somewhat uncertain look on her face.

“Just who did you retrieve this bullet from?”

“A henchman from the Shie Hassaikai yakuza fired this at us last night while we were in a scuffle with them,” Todoroki answers with Midoriya continuing.

“We managed to avoid getting hit by it thanks to a comrade of ours.”

“Hah, as if those jokers could pose even a threat to us with flimsy weapons like these.” Bakugou punctuates with his arrogant poise, and you playfully roll your eyes at his comment before returning to the situation at hand.

“Still, for us to not recognize something as ordinary as a bullet like this is concerning, adding onto the fact they were willing to use this instead of facing them head-on with their quirks,” you add. There’s a silence lingering in the air at your words, but it eventually isn’t long until Hatsume says her piece.

“Well, after seeing this, I suppose the talk going around the crime groups is true after all.”

The four of you exchange peculiar looks, inquisitive at the mention of such “talks”.

“What ‘talk’?” Midoriya asks, voice dipping low for his standards.

Taking a seat at her workbench while facing her four guests, Hatsume’s expression grows unusually serious.

“Some of my clients have spoken about some shady business going on in the underground recently.”

“Shady business?” Bakugou repeats vehemently, eyebrow quirked.

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Todoroki comments, growing wary at the shift in the situation.

“We practically have total control of the black market on the east side of Japan. What shit could be going on under our fucking radar?” The blonde’s eyes flare a menacing red over the news.

“To begin,” Hatsume continues, “my clients have spoken about a new weapon being spread around amongst many criminal gangs. It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of it actually. The ones producing them have made sure to evade the gaze of your mafia group by offering them to those in the west, and have only recently moved to the east.”

“They didn’t want us to intervene and mess with their steady business on the black market, I’m assuming,” you add, and Hatsume nods at your conjecture.

“Likely. Anyways, this weapon didn’t seem like a big deal at first. Just some talk about a bullet similar to the one here.” Hatsume gestures to the transparent bag. “But a bit of prodding later, I learned that the contents inside the bullet actually contain a drug created by a scientist, which was forcibly taken by the Shie Hassaikai yakuza.”

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki are immediately attentive at the name, their expressions soon altering into revulsion as if a vile stench had suddenly wafted into the air, turning the atmosphere sour.

“So the yakuza made out with some stolen research and are mass producing these bullets onto the black market behind our backs, correct?” Todoroki relays the info with malice prevalent in his timbre.

“Those fuckers. Thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want, huh?” Bakugou’s teeth grit at every word uttered under his breath, fists clenching together. “They’re asking for it now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll make sure each and every one of them is delivered the punishment they deserve.” Midoriya joins his fellow mafia bosses in the menacing pressure exuding from them. His smile is far from genuine—two-faced with intense animosity emanating from just a simple glance.

Having been by their side through situations similar to this level of tension, you’re very much used to witnessing these expressions painted on each of their faces—such as a time when their shipment of goods came far delayed due to a few lackeys’ miscalculations. In turn, Yuuei had lost a bit of time in their well thought out schedule, which was something Deku, Ground Zero, and Mercury were not at all happy about as they thrived on pure efficiency. To make the story short, those henchmen had received a rather brutal ending for their errors when the three were done with them.

Since then, the trio have let it become a lesson learned not to rely on a bunch of simpletons to carry out such important tasks. As a result, the mafia group had become more efficient from then on out, now centering around your smaller group of elites in the aftermath of the events.

You have to admit, seeing the three so riled up is quite attractive in your eyes. They were already charismatic on their own—being in their presence gave you a very tasteful glance of their domineering aura. But in action, that charisma somehow manifested many times stronger, and when in pursuit with such determination in hand, it felt like they could do just about anything they set their minds to.

However, there are times when you knew you needed to step forward and become their sense of reasoning, lest they walk through fog with no sense of direction. Now is one of those times.

“Well, to start, we need some leads.” You join in, and the three turn to you, ready for what their right-hand woman has to say. “Hatsume, do you know what the drug does?”

The girl shakes her head, much to your dismay, but offers a hunch. “I can only assume it must disrupt the body in some way on contact.”

“It’s a good thing Kacchan didn’t get hit by it then,” Midoriya comments.

“Shut up, Deku.” Bakugou harshly jabs his elbow into the young man’s sides, annoyed.

“Now’s not the fucking time.”

“Right, right… My apologies…” Midoriya replies, holding no ill will at his partner, despite his rough demeanor. The trivial exchange between the two quickly ceases. You decide to resume your questions directed at the craftswoman.

“Alright then… How about the scientist that created the drug? Do you have any info on them?”

Musing in thought, Hatsume’s eyes draw to the ceiling as she rummages through her head to recollect her memories.

“Hmm… What I have heard is that the yakuza had infiltrated a place located in the corner of Kamino Ward in Yokohama to obtain the drug.”

“So that must be where this scientist’s laboratory or base of operations must be then. Kamino Ward.” Todoroki guesses and the girl gives him a brief nod.

“Then that’s where we’re going next. We’re gonna find this scientist and get the info we need, even if we need to beat it out of them!” Bakugou exclaims, voice thundering throughout the workshop as his palm emits a small, concentrated burst of fire while coming in contact with his fist. “Not a single one of those half-rate yakuza asswipes are getting away, pulling this shit on us.”

“Though I have to warn you,” Hatsume interrupts forebodingly as a shadow casts over her features, “there have been rumors of people disappearing around those parts.”

You lift a brow, suspicious at the meaning behind those claims.

“Disappearing?”

“That’s right. Anyone that so much as approaches that area ends up poofing out of existence.” She emphasizes this notion by springing her arms outward.

“Oh? Sounds a bit… far-fetched.” you reason, adamant on the idea that no such thing could happen without natural causes. After all, quirks are biological phenomena. Nothing as supernatural as disappearing from existence should be occurring, right?

“No, Angel Face, it sounds more than just far-fetched. It’s more like a load of bullshit to me,” Bakugou chimes in, bolstering your doubt against it.

“Probably something stirred up to keep people off this scientist’s back,” Midoriya speculates. “He’s already had his research stolen from him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”

As he appears behind you, Todoroki lays a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. “Even if something like that is true, I doubt it could truly pose a threat against us, considering who we are.” His hand dips down to find yours before lifting it above your shoulder to lay a quick kiss on your fingertips. You smile at both his words and his touching gestures.

Ignoring the affectionate display, the girl only shrugs. “That’s what I’ve been hearing is all, but I suppose you could take it with a grain of salt.”

Despite the ominous admonition, Midoriya gives Hatsume a grin before reaching into the pocket of his coat. “Thank you for the warning, Hatsume,” he sets a wad of cash down on the workbench in front of her, “along with the valuable set of information. We’ll be sure to put everything you told us to good use.”

She returns the smile, fingers curling around the stack furtively. “Well, a pleasure doing business with you, Yuuei. And remember, my services will always be available to you when you need it.”

“Dutifully noted.”

#bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #midoriya x reader #mha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #todoroki imagine #midoriya imagine #bakugo x reader #shouto x reader #izuku x reader

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klbwriting · 3 years

Text

Walls - Chapter 4

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Summary: Kaz finds out about something Rollins is planning and tries to stop it

Taglist: @itsemy01 @sagewrites111 @aysegust @moondustmarauder @marinettepotterandplagg @bi-disaster101 @thedelusionreaderbitch @maybe-potato @malfoy-wife15 @fornarniaandforthefandom @rika90 @spawn0fsatan @aelnpruz @carlalyz @a-disappointing-teen-author

Being 12 in the Dregs was the perfect time to learn. Kaz was young enough that Per Haskell and the older members thought he was still green, too young to really know how to listen and learn, so they let him sit in on meetings, let him carry messages around town, and let him organize and clean offices alone. He used all of this time to absorb all the information he could about everyone. Who was paying who and how much, who wasn’t sleeping with their wife that night, or who had just bought a boy from a slaver, everything he could learn to use at a later time. So when Haskell sent him to the Emerald Palace was a note for Pekka Rollins Kaz took it gladly, desperately wanting to learn some secrets. However, when he read the message, his heart jumped to his throat.

I’ll have some Dregs waiting for Mellar and that girl by the Crow Club after 10 bells, they’ll rough her up good, give her a lesson for you. Make sure Mellar knows and stays by the backdoor so she can’t get into the club. You owe me. – Haskell

He knew that the ‘her’ being referred to had to be Y/N. She was the only person that Mellar was in charge of overseeing. He wasn’t sure what lesson Rollins wanted to teach her this time or why but he knew he had to stop it. He delivered the message as promised but instead of returning to the Slat he looked around, figuring the way that Mellar would probably take her to get to the club. He waited on a street that wasn’t normally crowded, bordering the back of some taverns and the canal. He stood, biding his time, his knife already in his hand.

It was dark and the street in front of the Emerald Palace was filling up just as Mellar walked out, Y/N following behind him. He glanced around, not a care in the world, he was Pekka Rollins’s enforcer, no one would touch him. Y/N was the daughter of the most powerful slum lord in the Barrel, she was safe outside of her home. At least, that’s what Mellar thought as he started down the side street near the canal, wanting to get this business over and done with. Y/N had been lippy with him all day and he couldn’t wait to see her get what was coming to her, harden her up some. He past in front of Kaz without noticing. Y/N stopped. She would find Kaz no matter where he was, she looked at him and he sent her a smirk before he jumped out of the shadows and onto Mellar’s back. He put his arm around to the man’s front and started stabbing, not caring where he hit or if he got cut in the process. Mellar let out a cry and fell to the ground, struggling to get away.

“They heard him…one of the barkers is coming, give me the knife,” she said, snatching it away from him. Kaz looked at her as she started stabbing herself. “Hide!” Kaz dove into an alcove between the taverns, holding his breath as a barker ran past him and to Y/N.

“Just wait until your father…” he started. She growled and held up the knife.

“What in the hell are you doing stupid girl?” came Rollins’s voice. Kaz could see him walking up to her. He looked between Mellar’s dead body and her, shaking his head. “Well, guess there’s a little bit of fight in you isn’t there?” He reached out, grabbing her by the hair to drag her back to his club, but she slashed the knife out, cutting his arm pretty bad. He growled and she instantly cowered back, knife falling to the cobbles. He had her hair still, so he bent down and picked up the knife. Kaz almost revealed himself then, wanting to save her, but he knew he couldn’t. They were outnumbered by 3 fully grown men, the odds were against them and he wasn’t foolish enough to try to play hero.

“Maybe you should get a taste of what Mellar felt,” Rollins said, stabbing the knife into her shoulder, pushing it in up to the hilt before pulling it out again. Y/N was panicking, her breath coming in short pants. “Here, a night in the canal should do you good.” He pushed her back and Kaz watched with horror as she fell back into the water, starting to sink. Rollins told the others to clean up Mellar’s mess before heading back. While they were distracted Kaz slid out and dove into the water. It took him a few seconds to find her floating just under the surface. He didn’t want to do this, it was too much like Jordie, but he couldn’t let her die in there. With all the will he could muster he slid one arm under her arms and swam towards the nearest set of stairs. He pulled her up, taking his shirt off and tearing off his sleeve. He wrapped it around her wound, tying it as tight as he could hoping that would be enough until he could get her somewhere a little safer.

Once the barkers had finished with Mellar’s body Kaz picked Y/N up, trying to be gentle while also ignoring the bile in his throat. He swallowed down the sick and climbed the stairs, keeping to alleys and side streets that were less crowded until he found the old burned out pleasure house near the Slat. There was a door that only swung open enough for a child or maybe small adult could fit through. Kaz set Y/N’s unconscious body against the wall and slid inside before pulling her in after him. He carried her to an old bed on the wall and laid her down. She was still breathing so he left to find something to use as a better bandage. He found an old cotton dress, something worn by one of the girls probably, and tore off a piece. He set about dressing her wound properly and once that was done and he knew he wouldn’t need to touch her again he vomited in a corner, his body shaking as he came to terms with what had happened. He had been able to keep the images and feelings at bay while he helped her, his need to save her had overridden his sickness. That was something to keep in mind for later, this could be overcome, but only when a stronger feeling came around.

“Kaz?” he heard her whisper. He moved over to the bed and sat down on it. She was awake, face still lacking color due to blood loss.

“You’re alive, we’re in that Dove’s Nest pleasure house that burnt down,” he said. She nodded slowly, eyes starting to focus.

“He stabbed me, threw me in the canal,” she said.

“And yet somehow you don’t have gangrene,” Kaz said, trying to take her mind off of the betrayal she had suffered. She laughed a little, but he knew his ploy hadn’t worked. Her life was a betrayal, from her father’s abuse, to those around her laughing at his actions, to the saints and gods that did nothing to save her. Kaz was the only person who hadn’t betrayed her, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he did. He would have to if he wanted to destroy Rollins’s life, he just hoped she would understand. “Where is your mother? Why isn’t she helping you?”

“My mother died having me,” she said. “I think that’s when my father decided I was a demon incarnate, come to bring him shame and suffering.” She tried to move her arm but just whimpered. Kaz tried to help her sit up but she waved him away. “Don’t force yourself, I don’t want to make you feel more uncomfortable than you already do.” Was he that transparent to her?

“Is that why he does this to you?” he asked, motioning to her shoulder. She nodded.

“He thinks it will harden me, make me more like him if I suffer enough I will want to make others suffer. It just does the opposite, I never want anyone to feel like I do ever again,” she said. So noble, Kaz wished he could be more like that sometimes. Imagine being able to take all the bad around you and try to make it good. She was trying to rise out of the swamp she was born while Kaz was nesting deep in it, building a nice summer home for him to spend his days.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, wanting this conversation to be over. This was too draining for him. She didn’t fight him, just laid her head down and closed her eyes. He could hear her breathing even out so he snuck out, finding food and water for when she woke up. He set himself up next to the bed and leaned his head back on the drooping mattress, watching her sleep. His eyes closed and he dreamed about killing Mellar again, only this time he finished the job, and in the dream she kissed him and he didn’t feel sick, he felt like flying.

In the morning she woke up after him, seeing just a note left nearby telling her to eat and drink and then get home. She smiled softly and ate the crackers he had left. She looked around the room and smiled a little. This could be a nice place to stay. As she walked back to the Emerald Palace she started planning how she could make that old brothel a little home for her. However, that dream ended the moment Rollins told her to come to his office.

“Its time you start taking responsibility around here, I’ve coddled you too long,” he said. “Seeing that killer instinct last night made me realize, you’re almost grown now, time for you to be a lieutenant in my gang, time for your first real job.”

“And what job is that?” she asked. He smiled.

“You are going to rob the Black Tips safe house past West Stave, take your new guard with you, gather some lions and get it done by tomorrow night,” Rollins said, motioning for a young man a of couple years older than her to follow. She glanced at him and he smiled at her, it was kind and she almost fell for it. Her father knew she was starting to get feelings for someone, she was at that age that things like that happened, so he was pushing someone from his crew for her to fall for. And since Kaz was unreachable, someone she couldn’t ever actually be with, maybe she would let it happen. She would keep Kaz in her heart, locked away in that place only soulmates get to stay. Maybe someday she could take him out and let those feelings really grow, but not now, not until the Dime Lions were dead and Kaz was sitting on their ashes.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz #walls series

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cophene · 4 months

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037 || ☆ ⁺ « NO BEARING ON THE GALAXY.

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★˚⋆ BACK IN THE GALLEY, YOU FELT Narancia’s absence keenly. You tried not to let your apprehension show on your face. You didn’t blame your pilot for his freakout, but you still wished he hadn’t done it. Prince Giorno was nothing short of calm and collected all of the time. Donatello might pass this off as hysteria, but there had to be a part of him that was suspicious. You had hoped that there might be a chance Chariot Requiem’s ability would wear off with Narancia being so far away, but so far, Giorno hadn’t magically switched back to his body.

Bruno, Fugo, and Abbacchio had disappeared into the engine room to bang out a game plan. Technically, you should have been there too, but you were too pent up to do much thinking. You were still trying to get yourself under control. Still trying to pretend to be Bruno and figure out what the murderous pulsing in your chest was that demanded to get the Stand Arrow before anything else.

Chariot Requiem was lumbering around the barracks now, as unconcerned as ever.

“Narancia will be okay, right?” Trish asked. She looked pensively at Giorno. “Nothing will happen to him?”

“As I said before, it’s unlikely Donatello will do anything to him now that word is beginning to travel. It will all be a matter of how he conducts himself.” Giorno had one hand clamped over Narancia’s bandaged eye. A faint glow emitted from where his Stand’s hand superimposed itself and Giorno winced slightly as it did its work.

“Can you really heal his eye?” Mista asked.

Giorno removed his hand and carefully unwrapped the bandage. “It’s only temporary. Healing injuries is one thing, but diseases can’t be healed by just replacing the body part. In Narancia’s case, much of the surrounding area and his blood have been diseased. I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about it.” He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.

You still weren’t used to this blunt, straightforward prince. Hell, you weren’t used to thinking of him as Prince Giorno at all.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss Coco Jumbo,” Mista said. “I mean, it could probably spit out a hundred different plans to get us out of this mess, right?”

Trish directed her question at Polnareff, who was sitting on the table beside a few sticks of carrot. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was feeling, stuck in the body of a turtle. “Is there nothing else you can tell us about Chariot Requiem?”

“You know as much as I do,” Polnareff answered. “Its abilities seem to be centred around the Arrow. It can redirect Stand attacks and even partially control one’s Stand. It does not react to outside stimuli unless it makes an effort to go after the Arrow.”

“So it’s basically unbeatable,” Mista said, falling back in his seat.

“Everything has a weakness,” Prince Giorno said. “We just need to find it.” He glanced at Polnareff, and then did a double take.

“Dr. Polnareff, are you alright?”

You turned to look, then bit back a gasp. Something was growing from Polnareff’s neck. A shrivelled, disfigured second turtle head with dead eyes and pus leaking from its mouth. Bile rose in your throat and you struggled to keep calm.

“What is that?” Mista said. “What’s going on with him?”

“It looks like some sort of mutation,” Giorno said, extending his fingers to prod at it. You grimaced.

Trish’s eyes widened. “Mutation? From what?”

Polnareff didn’t look alarmed. Likely he had been aware of the second head for a while and just hadn’t said anything. “I think it might be an extension of Chariot Requiem’s abilities. Not only does it switch souls, it mutates the vessel the soul is in.”

“We’re all going to start mutating?” Trish breathed, staring at her hands. “How long do we have?”

“What’s this about mutation?”

You all turned to watch Bruno, Fugo and Abbacchio enter the galley.

“We discovered another facet of Chariot Requiem’s ability,” Giorno said, nodding at Polnareff. “It causes the body to mutate. How quickly and to what degree, we’re not sure.”

“So that’s what this is,” Abbacchio said, drawing up the sleeve of his shirt. A patch of his skin had torn away, revealing something wiry and dark beneath.

“Oh stars.” Mista gagged.

“We’re running out of time,” you said, trying not to react to Abbacchio’s arm or your own fear about what might happen to you. “We need to get that Arrow to Zero. If you have a plan, let’s hear it.”

“I think we’ve established by now that Sheila is one of Zero’s most trusted subordinates,” Fugo said, coming to sit beside you. “From there, the simplest answer seemed like the best one.

“We’ll have both Zero and Sheila come onto the ship. They’ll try to grab the Arrow, probably get hurt in the process, and then Chariot Requiem will switch their souls. Abbacchio will arrest Zero in Sheila’s body, and we’ll incapacitate Zero. Once we figure out how to switch everyone’s souls back, we’ll go to rescue Narancia and let Giorno take his rightful place. He’ll deal with Zero from there.”

“But we’re assuming Chariot Requiem will only switch Sheila and Zero’s souls and not anyone else’s,” Giorno pointed out.

“If it comes down to it, it won’t matter who Zero switches souls with so long as someone else ends up in Zero’s body,” Abbacchio replied. “The entire point here is that we want Zero out of his body so that he’ll be easier to ‘arrest’.”

“What if—what if—” Trish screwed up her face, seeming to have trouble saying whatever it was she wanted to say.

“You don’t think this plan is a little harsh?” Mista said. “I mean, Zero isn’t that bad of a guy, is he?”

Fugo met your gaze with a meaningful head tilt. See? This is what I was talking about. The influence of Zero’s Stand. Twisting everyone into something different.

It was a harsh plan. You didn’t like it. You wanted to tell Zero. Better yet, you wanted to make sure he would never fall into this trap to begin with.

You clenched your hands under the table. It didn’t matter what the crew ultimately decided because you would make sure the Arrow went to Zero. It had to. There was nothing else you could live with.

Maybe I don’t care what the crew thinks so long as Zero is happy with me.

Retrieve the Arrow and deliver it to Zero.

Nothing else matters.

You were annoyed your crew was still talking about this. Why did they think they could possibly outwit Zero? How could they? Didn’t they know how badly things would end for them?

Someone’s holopad went off. Fugo reached into his pocket with a frown. What he saw there made his spine straighten.

“What’s wrong?” Trish asked.

“There’s a disturbance by the maintenance gate,” Fugo said. “The ship’s systems are telling me to have a look.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mista said. “Probably just some space dust clogging up the sensors.”

“It doesn’t look like space dust,” Fugo said, getting to his feet. “I can’t tell what it is.”

“Better deal with it, then.”

Mista and Fugo left the galley. Silence descended upon everyone else.

“There’s nothing to do but wait for Zero to hail us,” Bruno said. “Abbacchio, I want you and Trish to take Polnareff and keep an eye on Chariot Requiem. Study it and see if there’s any possible weakness we can exploit.” Abbacchio and Trish nodded solemnly, Trish picking up Polnareff and leaving with Abbacchio to find Chariot Requiem.

“If I may, I’m going back to the barracks,” Giorno said, rising. “Narancia has been pinging me. I think he’s starting to be questioned by the Imperial staff.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could guide him the best you could, Your Highness,” Bruno said.

Giorno rubbed an eye over Narancia’s injured eye, wincing from a spike of pain. “I’ll do my best. Call me right away if Zero hails us.”

Nervous energy coiled in your stomach. You hated the waiting. You just wanted Zero to be here already. You had to warn him. You couldn’t allow Chariot Requiem to hurt him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bruno said, and the intensity in his voice made you jolt.

“Nothing is wrong.”

“You’ve always been easy to read, but your emotions on my face might as well be written there. Why do you have that look on your face? Like you’re trying to hold something back? You’ve been quiet the entire time we made plans. You’re never like that.”

You looked around to make sure no one was there, then said, “You’ve been gone a long time, Bruno. Don’t assume you still know me.”

“Are you still angry about that? I thought I explained myself.”

Were you still angry at that? The irrational irritation you felt at Bruno’s questions said you were but you didn’t know why.

“I’ve suspected this for a long time, but I need to know for sure. Are you under Zero’s influence right now?”

“He would never use his Stand on me,” you growled. “I don’t know why you and Fugo insist on treating him like a monster. He’s done nothing but respect us. He doesn’t deserve to be put away like some criminal.”

“But he is—”

“No, he isn’t. You don’t know him at all. We’re not handing over the Arrow to the GA’s, or Giorno, or anyone. Zero is getting it. That’s what we promised. That’s the only thing I’ll stand for. I kept quiet because you would never say a thing like that but this whole thing is stupid.”

There was a flash of horror in Bruno’s eyes.

“Captain…”

The irritation you’d been trying to keep back broke like a dam all at once. You felt it explode in your chest. You fisted your hands into Bruno’s shirt and yanked him towards you, your faces barely an inch apart.

“If you get in my way, Bruno, I will kill you. If any of the crew get in my way, I will kill them. Zero will get the Stand Arrow. He has to, do you understand me?”

“Listen to yourself. Is this really what you want?” Bruno said hoarsely.

“Of course it is. I’ve wanted this from the beginning.”

You stared at Bruno a beat longer. Then a jolt of electricity went down your spine. You rose from your seat, letting go of Bruno abruptly.

“He’s here,” you said, and you couldn’t explain how you knew. “Zero is here.”

“How do you know—”

You rushed to the bridge without waiting for Bruno. The you’d felt toward him was replaced by glee. Zero was finally here. You would finally be able to do what you’d promised him.

The moment you arrived at the bridge, the comms console went off. You accepted the ping immediately.

Zero's mask was in place as always, his figure clad in dark, loose-fitting clothing. His mouth tightened when he saw you, and you realized belatedly it wasn’t your face he was seeing.

“Bruno Bucciarati,” Zero said before you could. “So you’ve returned to Passione. Unusual, considering the face that you have a history of terminating employment.”

Get yourself together. You’re supposed to be Bruno.

“I hope you’re not fostering any hopes of my return,” you said smoothly, stifling your excitement. It was a nearly painful feeling to speak to Zero this way. “Joining with you” —your chest twinged— “was a mistake.”

“Was it?” Zero tilted his head. “You were happy enough when you were with me.”

You were saved from replying by footsteps coming up behind you. “Zero,” Bruno said, and even he couldn’t hide the tension in his voice. “You’re here for the Stand Arrow?”

Zero barked a laugh. “As though you need to ask, Captain. You’ve been through quite a lot, and I was convinced that stint at the Black Zone would be the end of everything. In fact, I was under the assumption you had perished. But you managed to pull through. I’m sure you’re just as eager as I am to get this over with.”

You would have crowed your agreement. Instead, Bruno remained silent, scrutinizing Zero through the display.

“You placed a great amount of trust in us,” he said. “There were many times when we could have died, could have lost the Arrow. What made you so sure we would succeed?”

“I wasn’t sure. But I was willing to take a chance on your Stand abilities. Luckily for me, it paid off. Where is Polnareff? I would like to speak to him.”

“There’s no need,” you said quickly. “He’s already agreed to relinquish ownership of the Arrow.”

“Is that so? How convenient.”

“Prince Donatello paid us a visit earlier,” Bruno said. You frowned, wondering why he was bringing it up. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Captain, you insult me by suggesting I have any associations with that man. I can assure you I had nothing to do with that. Why did he want to visit you?”

Bruno didn’t mention Giorno, which you were grateful for. “He said he has a score to settle with us.”

Zero smiled. “Prince Donatello has a score to settle with many people.”

“Do I get your word that you’ll protect us from any unseen consequences or implications we might face from carrying out this job for you?” Bruno asked. You wanted to punch him. Why was he making things difficult?

Zero’s gaze slid off to the side of the screen. All of a sudden, you felt a flare of pain in your chest and had to grip the console to keep from crying out. You closed your eyes, willing for it to pass.

Eventually, Zero said, “It’s a bit late in the deal to be negotiating, Captain. We have settled our terms. It wouldn’t be fair to ask for anything else.”

Bruno was looking at you, his eyebrows drawn together. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t be.”

“In that case, there’s no reason to wait. Allow me permission, and I will board your ship.” You thought there might have been the slightest hitch of anticipation in Zero’s voice.

“Zero, I just wanted to let you know—” you said, but you didn’t get the chance to finish.

You knew the cold press of an elector muzzle when you felt it.

“—That the Arrow is currently being guarded by an extremely dangerous Stand with no user and no discernable weaknesses? Was that what you were going to tell him?”

Her voice was smooth acid. You felt stupid that you couldn’t immediately recognize it.

“Sheila,” Bruno said, his voice thick with shock.

“Oh, so you remember me,” Sheila said. “That’s an honour, Captain.”

Over the call, Zero’s mouth was tilted at an angle. “You’re late, Sheila.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” she said. To you and Bruno, she said, “On your knees. Now.”

You felt your pocket and your stomach dropped. In all the commotion, you had broken one of your cardinal rules. Always have an elector on you. Bruno must have forgotten, because he hadn’t gotten one all this time he’d been on the ship.

Neither had you. You were both unarmed.

You and Bruno kneeled. “How did you get on the ship?” Bruno asked, his hands interlocked behind his head.

“Disturbance by the maintenance gate,” Sheila sneered. “You’d think that after those two mechanics and Prince Giorno stowed away in your cargo, you’d be more careful about guarding your ship. Trish and Abbacchio are bound and gagged in the engine room. Mista and Fugo are unconscious and the Prince is locked in his room. In case you were curious.”

You stiffened, then supposed things would be easier with everyone out of the way. But how did she know? About Sale and Zucchero, but also about Giorno?

“How do you know about Prince Giorno? We only just discovered that ourselves,” you said.

“Slow on the uptake, aren’t you?” Sheila said, nudging you with the elector. You clenched your teeth.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for sending a scout after you,” Zero said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “But this was an important job, and I wanted to make sure you stayed on course.”

“A spy,” Bruno said flatly. “You spent a spy after us.”

“Sheila was only ever there for your benefit,” Zero said. “It saved you the hassle of checking in with me constantly, and allowed me to keep abreast of your developments. It wasn’t as though I could leave you unattended for a month.”

Yes. Of course, that was true. It was entirely reasonable and you admired Zero’s foresight.

“You haven’t quite finished your job yet, Passione,” Zero said. “You said you would deliver the Stand Arrow to me. That Arrow is currently under guard by a Stand. What do you plan on doing about that?”

“The Stand is of no consequence,” Bruno lied. “You can still board to receive the Arrow as planned.”

“Bullshit,” Sheila snapped. “None of you are anywhere near the Stand. If it was safe, you would have gotten the Arrow yourself.”

“As you can see, none of us have been attacked by the Stand,” Bruno said. “I would not lie to you.”

You twitched. The nerve of Bruno to outright lie to Zero’s face! And in your body, no less!

“Bruno, do you have something to say?” Zero said.

“No,” Bruno said tightly. “He doesn’t.”

You glowered at him. You were caught at an impasse: the desire to tell Zero the truth, but also the fact that you couldn’t reveal you and Bruno had switched souls.

“Escort the Captain outside,” Zero said, reading your silence. “I would like to speak to Bruno alone.”

“Whatever he has to say, I should hear it too,” Bruno said, struggling against Sheila as she hauled him to his feet.

“I won’t hurt him,” Zero said mockingly. “He’ll be just fine, Captain.”

Bruno continued to struggle as Sheila frogmarched him out of the bridge. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to feel bad.

“Speak,” Zero commanded you. “There’s no reason to hide it now.”

“Chariot Requiem is extremely dangerous,” you said immediately. “You can’t make contact with it directly and we don’t know the full extent of its abilities. Sheila is taking a huge risk by being here. We don’t know how to liberate the Stand Arrow as of right now.”

Zero did not seem surprised by this information. “I see,” he said. “And what do you suggest we do, Bruno?”

You heard the slight emphasis on the word. For a second, you paused, wondering if it was possible that Zero knew.

“Bruno.”

“Yes, sir?”

Zero’s mouth twisted. “You received military training, did you not?”

No, Bruno hadn’t. But you had, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie. Not now, when Zerowas as good as right in front of you.

Unconsciously, you rose to your feet and folded your hands behind you. “Yes, sir.”

“If I told you how to bring the Arrow to me, would you do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Zero nodded to himself. “How did this ‘Chariot Requiem’ come about?”

“Polnareff’s Stand was pierced by the Stand Arrow, sir. Its abilities are extremely volatile. It is able to redirect a Stand’s attack and partially control that Stand to deal damage.” Although you wanted to, there was still some part of you that wouldn’t let you say Chariot Requiem’s abilities outright. You still wanted to hide it, at least for now.

“The Stand was pierced?” Zero said. “Is there any way we could direct the Stand to my ship?”

“If the docking bridge was open, it would likely make its way there on its own, sir. However, there cannot be more than two people aboard the ship when it does. That would be … dangerous.”

“I don’t have time to wait for it. Is there no faster way?”

You barely hesitated. “I could grab the Arrow and run into the ship, sir. The nature of my Stand would not deal too much damage. At any rate, it would already be aboard your ship at that point.”

“You would do that willingly?”

“Yes, sir.”

You had the strangest sensation of being pulled from your body and leaving it behind. Well, Bruno’s body. All at once, you were looking at yourself from a corner of the room, no longer in control. The only thing that connected you to Bruno’s body was a shimmering thread unspooling from your chest.

No, you thought. What’s happening?

Zero said something else. You didn’t hear it, but to your horror, Bruno’s voice replied. Without your will. Without your intent. For a second, you thought that Chariot Requiem had unleashed another attack and someone else had switched into Bruno’s body.

But then you understood, and the knowledge was like slowly burning alive.

You could only see it now, separated from your body. Pericolo had seen it, and so had Fugo. You didn’t seem like yourself because you weren’t.

Since the beginning, Zero had used his Stand on you. Snaked his way inside and plucked out something intrinsic. He had changed something in your soul. Made it so that his own objectives were more desirable. Made it so that you ignored what you believed in and followed him instead.

You couldn’t control your body anymore because it would not listen to you. In the face of conflicting will powers, it had pushed you out and chosen Zero instead. Somehow, perhaps unconsciously, it was Zero who was controlling you.

Zero’s resolve. Your soul. Bruno’s body.

This can’t be happening.

You tried to speak. Try to crawl back into Bruno’s body. Tried to do something. But you were untethered, inconsequential. You no longer had bearing on the galaxy.

Horror, fear, anguish like you had never known crashed over you. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. It couldn’t. It—

“Here is my plan,” Zero said. “Please listen carefully.”

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#kismetva #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #sci fi au

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.

But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 11/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Сhapter 7

Сhapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

With every word from Levi's mouth, Erwin's face grew darker and darker.

"Fuck." He declared, as soon as Levi had finished. "Fuck," he repeated, rubbing his temples. He took a deep, heavy sigh, and when he blinked, the tense expression was miraculously gone, the usual look, full of determination and conviction, taking its place.

"So no sign of forced entry?” he asked, calm and collected and completely devoid of the previous frustration. “No sign of struggle? And no sign of Petra?"

"Yes, sir." Oluo confirmed with a frantic nod, which reminded Levi of a stupid toy dog Hange once put in his car.

Had the matter at hand been at least a little less grave, perhaps, he’d even crake a smile at the comparison. Hange definitely would have. Alas…

“And do we know who’s behind it?”

“No,” Levi replied. “Hange suspects one of Zeke’s man, but she also thinks some third party is involved.”

Erwin accepted his answer, slowly scratching his chin. “And where is Hange herself?"

“She went to talk to Zeke to ask if he knows something, and…" Levi faltered, not sure if he should share this information with Erwin. Hange was sure that Zeke was innocent, and Levi never doubted her, but…

"And?" Erwin prompted.

Fuck it, Levi decided. Perhaps, Erwin’s unbiased opinion was exactly what they needed.

"Oluo found Zeke's cigarette pack inside the apartment," he said, throwing it on Erwin's desk.

"It's not his," there wasn’t even a hint of doubt in his voice. Erwin didn’t even glance twice at the evidence presented to him. "Zeke would never be so careless. Someone's trying to sabotage him, and they are not very good at it."

“So you think it’s someone else?”

“Naturally.”

Erwin’s confidence eased a portion of his worries. If he and Hange were of the same mind, then it must be the truth. At least, he didn’t let Hange meet up with a potential culprit all by herself. Not that it gradually quelled his concern, but it was something…

“Zeke Yeager…” Oluo mumbled, biting his thumb. “Yeager, Yeager… I heard this name somewhere…”

“Huh?” Levi raised an eyebrow, looking quizzically at him.

“Yeager!” he exclaimed, his eyes lightening up. “Of course! Yes, now it came back to me!”

“What came back?” Levi demanded, glaring at Oluo in annoyance. God, how he hated being kept in the dark…

Oluo didn’t respond, irritating Levi even more. Instead he reached Erwin’s desk in two short strides, pushing him aside. “May I, sir?”

“Be my guest,” Erwin made a welcoming gesture, pulling his chair back. “If you know something, then…”

“Could be just a coincidence,”Oluo muttered, as he opened the database on Erwin’s computer. “But…”

For a long moment nothing happened. The office was silent, except for the sounds of typing on a keyboard, and Oluo’s quiet murmurs.

Levi shared a look with Erwin. He shrugged helplessly, seeming just as bewildered by Oluo’s actions, as Levi himself felt.

“Aha!” he beamed, finally showing Erwin what he found. “Like I said, could be just a coincidence, but I came across name Yeager before. Here.”

“A family murdered in their own house,” Erwin began reading, his eyes quickly scanning the page. “Wife and husband found dead in their own bedroom by their fourteen year old son, who came back from a sleepover. The identity of a murderer remains unknown.”

“It was the first case I took as I started working,” Oluo confessed, scratching his neck. “That’s why it stuck with me. Don’t know if it has any connections to your Zeke…”

“The father of the family, Grisha Yeager,” Levi read the name from behind Erwin’s shoulder. “Zeke is his son. From the first marriage, but still… Maybe, he was murdered, because someone wanted to get back at Zeke.”

“And now that same someone wants to finish the job,” Erwin agreed. “The culprit was never found after all. It’s a solid theory.”

“Or as solid as we can get for now,” Levi nodded.

"It's different from other cases, though,” Erwin contemplated thoughtfully, his gaze turning distant, as he taped his finger against the desk.

"Other cases?" Oluo shuddered. "Are you talking about recent... Murder cases?" he paled, his lower lip trembled, and Levi started to regret bringing him here. They needed to keep their heads clear. Petra needed them to keep their heads clear. There was no time for worrying and panicking right now.

In Levi’s experience, that attitude could only lead to more tragedy.

"It's obviously different with Petra," Erwin said, his voice going an octave softer. Levi stared at him, almost gawking. Erwin wasn't the man to give empty promises. Either he was that optimistic about this whole ordeal, or... Levi preferred not to think about the other possibility.

"Levi?" Erwin turned to him. "What do you think?"

"I think Oluo is right, Petra was taken by someone close to Zeke. But either it was the same perpetrator from before or someone else, it remains to be unknown," he replied. "And I think we don't have any time to waste."

"Agreed," Erwin clenched his jaw, his brows furrowed. "I'll talk with Pixis and Nile, ask if they know anything or if they have any people they can spare... We need to start the search..."

"Sannes!" Oluo suddenly exclaimed, startling Erwin and Levi. "Sannes, we should check him first! We’ve planted a bug on him just yesterday!"

"Fuck," Levi groaned in frustration, feeling like the biggest and the most useless idiot in the world. He had completely forgotten about it.

"I didn't see him at work today," Erwin noted. "Perhaps, it's worth checking it out. Take care of it, Levi."

"Will do," he nodded. "Permission to go?"

"Report to me once you find anything," Erwin stood up. "I'll go to Pixis and Nile."

Levi nodded again, and left the office, his steps swift and heavy.

***

"Could it be our lead?" Oluo asked.

They've listened through every conversation that Sannes had that day and the day before. And only one of them, the one where he had agreed to a meeting with an unknown man, had raised Levi's suspicion.

"Not sure if we can call it a lead," he mumbled, biting his lip. There was no word about Petra and no mention of the actual location, but it was something they could work with. It was a starting point, at the very least. Much better than nothing. "But it's definitely a clue. Come on, we need to continue our investigation."

"Meaning..."

"Meaning we're going to break into Sannes' office and see if we can find something inside. Don't worry," he clasped Oluo's shoulder with just a little too much force. Oluo coughed, almost doubling over under Levi’s hard hand. "Nothing you hadn't done before."

***

“Zeke is a fool,” the man sneered, his voice full of disgust. “He’s not the man he was before. Ever since he took in that Zoe, he made mistake after mistake. It’s time to put an end to this. It’s time for someone else to take over his legacy. Our gang needs a new leader. Someone, who has as much potential as Zeke, but who doesn’t yet possess any of his flaws. Someone, who is cunning and ruthless. There is only one man who can do this," he finished, and even from afar Petra could see a shine of adoration in his eyes.

Sannes scoffed, rolling his eyes, not moved by the passionate speech at all. "And who is that?"

"No one can achieve the greatness Zeke once possessed. Except," the man smiled, and the sight of it made shivers run down Petra's spine.

"His own brother."

"You've gone mad," Sannes rolled his eyes, still unconvinced. "You've lost it completely, and now you want to drag me down with you. I refuse. Good luck getting arrested, but I’m out of here.”

“You’ll regret this, Sannes,” the man promised, his eyes flashing. “You’ll come begging for us to take you back in no time.”

“I really doubt that, boy,” Sannes sneered, his face showing nothing but disgust. “And if you’re going to actually proceed with your plan, then be ready to meet Ackerman. Believe me, it won’t be a pleasing experience. See you in prison,” he finished, and left, throwing the door shut.

As soon as Sannes had stormed out, the man with an eerie smile turned around to face her.

Instantly, Petra closed her eyes and lowered her head, but the man simply laughed.

"There is no need to pretend," he spoke, shortening the distance between them. "I know you've been awake for quite some time, detective Ral."

She looked up then, saying nothing and glaring at him beneath her bangs. Just the sight of that man left her breathless, her heart beating so loudly she could hear it in her ears, but she wouldn’t show him her fear. She was better than this. He may have had an ultimate upper hand over her, but she would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her tremble.

"I think we've started off on a wrong foot," the man smiled, the shadow of a lightbulb above him making him look even creepier. "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Floch, nice to meet you!"

With the same crazy smile on his lips, he reached out and patted her shoulder. Petra winced, unable to move away from the undesired touch.

"What do you want from me?" she hissed, trying to hide the shaking in her voice. As discreetly as possible, she tried to loosen her restraints. In movies she watched with Erd, Gunter and Oluo, heroes always freed themselves so easily, the ropes being nothing more than a nuisance. But in reality, they didn't bulge an inch. Petra searched through her mind, trying to remember what characters from those movies did. Wiggle out of the restrains? Broke their wrists? Or was it applicable only for the handcuffs? Shit. She should have watched more movies like this, instead of melodramas and rom-coms. Shifting her attention back to the present, she stared up at her captor, still glaring at him defiantly.

"What do I want from you? The same thing I wanted from the others."

The same thing he wanted from the others? But the others were... dead. Petra suppressed a shiver.

"It's nothing personal, really,” he continued in the same careless manner. “All I need from you is to motivate your partner."

"Levi?" Petra gasped. "What it has to do with him?"

To her surprise, the man shrugged. "Nothing, really. In a way," he swept his hand across the room. "He's just a victim of circumstances. He's one of the best detectives in this city and he has a personal connection with Zeke. It'd be a shame not to use him."

"But why do you need him?" she pulled on the ropes, leaning closer towards the man and looking deep inside his eyes, trying to see right through him, trying to understand him. "Why can't you just kill Zeke and be done with it?"

The man tutted, shaking his head. "That's not what I—" there it was, that same pleased, creepy smile. "What we want to do. Taking Zeke's life would be too easy. We want to destroy it. But unfortunately," he continued in a voice of badly feigned sympathy. "You're not the main event here."

"Not the main event?" Petra echoed, confused. If it wasn't her, then....

"Not sure if you've met...” his eyes lightened up with something dark and dangerous. The smile on his face grew wider, more sinister. “But surely you've heard of one Hange Zoe?"

"Hah," a short chuckle escaped her lips. Very soon it turned into a full blown laughter. Petra would have clenched her sides if she wasn't tied up, she would have doubled over, hands on her knees and chest heaving, overcome with a sudden feat of giggles.

"What are you laughing at?" Floch inquired, the smile disappearing under a frown.

"You, of course," Petra answered, still breathless. "You're a bigger fool than I thought. To think that you can take on Hange Zoe..." of course, he had already gotten her, but Floch had taken her by surprise and she wasn't nearly as experienced and skilled as Hange. And even if they do somehow catch Hange... "Levi would never let you even get close to her. More than that," Petra raised her chin, a confident smirk pulling on her lips. "I'm sure he'll show up here so very soon. He'll save me and ruin your stupid plan. Then you'll be rotting in jail alongside your Zeke."

"We'll see about that," Floch promised through gritted teeth. "Wait a couple of hours, detective, and we'll see if your optimism would remain just as strong."

He gave her a furious look and then did a sharp turn, heading to the door.

“Enjoy your last hours. I’ll come to check up on you later.”

With that he had left, and Petra finally managed to breathe normally.

*** "Weren't you supposed to be good at this?" Levi dryly inquired. With a bored expression on his face, he was leaning against the wall, watching Oluo fiddle with a lock on the door to Sannes' office.

"I never said I was," Oluo grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. His head darted from one side to other, checking if the hallway remained empty. "It's my first time breaking into someone's office, you know."

"Eh?" Levi frowned, confused. "Then how did you and Petra get in the other day?"

"I stole a key," Oluo huffed.

Levi rolled his eyes, pushing Oluo aside. "Let me handle it then. You go and stand on a lookout."

Oluo didn't need to be asked twice. He got his fair share of bullying from Levi today. With an annoyed but very quiet - he wasn’t so thrilled about receiving even more insults - sigh, he rose to his feet, going to do what Levi had requested of him. He didn’t even reach the end of a hallway, and Levi was calling out to him.

"Already?" his eyebrows went up. "You broke the lock so quickly? How?"

"Well," Levi shrugged and pushed the door open, sporting an almost smug expression. "Let's just say I wasn't always a law-abiding policeman."

"So cool..." Oluo whispered in reverence, as he followed Levi inside the office.

In Oluo's humble opinion and in comparison to a small cubicle he shared with Erd, Sannes' office was huge. A large desk, a wide bookshelf that took up most of the wall, a leather couch and a mini-fridge with a coffee machine and a microwave oven? If affiliating yourself with criminals meant you can have a workplace like this... Oluo wasn't that opposed to the idea anymore.

But they took Petra, he reminded himself. They were the bad guys, even if they were much richer and more successful than he could ever be. They certainly didn’t deserve any of it. And his job was to catch them.

"So what should be our starting point?" he asked Levi.

"You could start with telling me what the fuck you are doing inside my damn office."

With heart in his throat, Oluo whirled around. As his eyes met Sannes' dark and furious ones, Oluo gulped, slowly taking a step back.

He chanced a glance at Levi and was surprised to see that he didn't look as scared and panicked as Oluo himself felt.

Quite the contrary.

"Sannes." he snarled.

With wide eyes and mouth open in shock, Oluo watched how Levi manhandled Sannes, a man, who was almost twice his size. He pushed him to the wall, fisting hands into his shirt.

"Where is Petra, you scumbag?" he hissed into his face. "Where are you holding her?"

“Let go of me, you freak!” Sannes shouted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, but you do,” Levi’s voice dropped even lower, almost resembling a growl. “You know about everything – Zeke’s dealings, Petra’s kidnapping, Hange’s survival,” he pulled Sannes even closer. “So I repeat my question – where are you holding her?”

"I don't know!" Sannes wheezed out, already out of breath.

"Bullshit," Levi answered, his voice so dark and dangerous it made shivers run down Oluo's back. And he wasn’t the one Levi was talking to. He really didn’t envy Sannes right now. "You know it, and if you're not a complete idiot, you're going to tell me everything right fucking now."

Sannes looked down at him, his gaze calculating. "If I tell you, do you promise not to reveal my connection with Zeke?"

"No,” Levi answered coolly, shaking Sannes once more. “But you're going to tell me anyway."

Sannes closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. "Fine,” he said. “I'll tell you everything. Just let me go."

"Smart choice," Levi murmured and instantly took a step back.

Sannes sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. "He's keeping her at the docks,” he mumbled, his face aimed at the ground. “I'll send you the exact location."

"Good," Levi nodded, much calmer now. "And after you do that, go straight to Erwin. If I were you, I wouldn't make him wait. Perhaps, he'd be more merciful then. Although,” he added, sending Sannes one last glare. “I doubt he actually would."

Levi turned on his heels then, walking out of the office. Oluo stayed behind for a second longer, a pressing need to ask Sannes a question arising in him.

"Petra?" his voice broke on her name, but Oluo willed himself to stand strong, looking up at Sannes without an ounce of fear. "Is she alright?"

"Dragged and unconscious," Sannes replied, rubbing the spot where Levi had grabbed him. "But she's unharmed. For now."

For now. Those two words made his knees buckle. They needed to hurry. Petra's life was on the line.

***

With sweat dripping down her face and completely out of breath, Hange finally reached Zeke's hideout.

Panting like a chain-smoker and with her leg muscles burning, she climbed all four sets of stairs, cursing Zeke all the while. Why couldn't he put his office on the first floor? Or next to a police precinct? Would have made her life so much easier.

As expected, Zeke was inside his meeting room, smoking. The fat rings of smoke were flowing around the room, flying just below the ceiling before dissipating into nothingness. Hange narrowed her eyes, squinting at the cigarette in his fingers. Could the cigarette from Petra’s apartment really belong to him? Perhaps, they should have run some tests on it… No, Hange shook her head. Zeke was innocent - at least, in that regard.

She looked around the room, nodding at Pieck and Porco, who, as usual, were sitting next to their boss.

"Ah, my dear Hange!" sweeping the ash from his cigarette, Zeke raised his hands, opening them in a welcoming gesture. "What brings you here? Already missed us?" he winked and Hange scoffed.

"Missed your ugly face?” she rolled her eyes. “Not in a million years."

Zeke shook his head, his gaze filling with disappointment. "Detective Ackerman has a terrible influence on your sense of humor," he complained, his expression turning sourer.

"Whatever," Hange fell down on a chair next to him. "I came to ask you for help. Petra is missing."

"Petra?" Zeke frowned, looking genuinely confused. The lost look inside his eyes cemented Hange's conclusion that he wasn't the one involved in her kidnapping. Zeke was sleazy and unreliable, but he was also a very bad liar. Well, that meant they managed to rule out one possible suspect…

"Yes, Petra. Levi's partner."

"Ah, he found a new one already?" Zeke spread his lips into a wide, self-contained smirk. "Not very loyal, is he?"

More loyal than you will ever be, Hange wanted to say, but stopped herself. Now was not the time to start a pointless squabble.

"Do you know something or not?" she demanded from him.

"I don't," Zeke answered, putting a cigarette to his lips and exhaling the smoke right in Hange's face. He knew how much she hated it, asshole. She waved the smoke away, scowling fiercely. "But I do know one thing," he turned to Porco. "The time has come, start packing."

Without asking for clarification, Porco nodded, thrusted hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and hurriedly left.

Hange watched him go, stunned. Was Zeke planning something? What could it be? Why didn’t she know about it?

There was only one way to find out. She surveyed Zeke’s face carefully, trying to see his motives reflected there.

"Packing? To where? What the hell are you talking about, Zeke?"

"Don't worry about our destination," he patted her hand, looking so condensing Hange had to clench her fists to stop herself from punching the bastard. "You're going with us after all."

"Like hell I will!" Hange threw his hands off, glaring at Zeke. "And you can’t seriously expect me to follow you. What does all of it mean?"

Zeke shrugged, lightening up another cigarette and taking a long drag. "It's the grand finale, Zoe. The dramatic climax, the thrilling last act. And I was never the one for theatrics. So I'll leave the stage and go on my way."

"You promised to help," Hange grunted. She couldn't believe it, she actually trusted the bastard, and now he tries to escape? She wouldn't let him. "Or did you lie to us?"

"I wasn't lying," Zeke scoffed. "Like I said, I don't enjoy the drama. I simply changed my mind."

"So you won't honor your promise?"

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Zoe, please. I'm a criminal. The word honor was never in my vocabulary."

"Fine," Hange huffed, blowing hair out of her face. The attempt to awaken his consciousness failed. Maybe, she could appeal to his ego instead… "But someone is targeting you. Don't you want to know who it is?"

"Not particularly,” Zeke shook his head. “Since they went through all that trouble just to get me, I'd rather we never meet. Lord knows what they're going to do then, and, unlike you, detective, I know what self-preservation means."

"So that's it? You're just going to leave?"

Hange couldn’t believe it. She knew Zeke was a scumbag, but goddamn it. She didn’t expect him to be that untrustworthy.

"Of course, I’m not going to just leave," Zeke smiled. "I'll take you with me. To make sure that no one is going to follow us."

Hange snorted. "You're that delusional? I told you already, I'd rather die than go anywhere with you."

"Be it as you wish," he said. "Pieck," he lazily outstretched his hand to her. "Make our dear detective cooperate. Do with her what you want, but make sure she won’t get in our way."

Hange turned to Pieck, her heart skipping a beat. She held her breath and tensed her muscles, anticipating her first move. She could take Pieck in a fight, in theory. But in reality, she came unarmed, and Pieck always carried a gun. And a couple of knifes.

And Hange wasn't sure that her wits were much sharper.

There was a bit, the air in the room growing stiff. Hange swallowed, her one eye narrowed, as she watched Pieck. Maybe, if she makes the first move—

"No." Pieck said suddenly.

For a moment, there was silence. Hange sat there, dumbfounded, staring at Pieck and feeling utterly lost. She didn’t mishear? Did Pieck really—

Next to her, Zeke seemed to have the exact same trouble. He blinked a few times and then his expression changed, turning into a look of betrayal and fury.

"What did you just say?" he snarled, baring teeth at her.

"No," Pieck repeated, staring straight at him, not swayed by his outburst. "I won't touch Hange, and you, Zeke, will go with her and surrender to the police."

"What do you think—"

"Stop it, Zeke," Pieck sighed tiredly. "Own up to your shit and stop running away. Do you really not get it? If you do this right now, whether you'll kill Hange or take her with you, this—" she gestured around, her gaze on Zeke hard and disappointed. "This running and hiding will never end. If you touch a hair on her head, detective Ackerman will get you even from underneath the Earth. Accept it, Zeke," she stood up and squeezed his shoulder. "You've lost that battle the moment you started it. You simply picked up the wrong opponents."

With slow, elegant steps Pieck approached Hange and bent down to leave a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Goodbye, Hange," she murmured, tucking a hair behind her ear. "It's been fun."

In spite of herself, Hange smiled. Sarcastic, adorable Pieck always had such an effect on her. "Are you leaving already?" she asked, touching a place where Pieck's lips met her skin.

"Well," Pieck grinned. "Pock had started packing, right?"

"And where are you going?" Zeke wondered, his lips pressed in a line and hands crossed at his chest. He stubbornly refused to even glance at Pieck.

"A secret," she chirped, smiling cheerfully. "But I'll make sure to send a postcard. Hange, I'll send yours to detective Ackerman's address?” she winked, chuckling at the sight of red color on Hange’s cheek. “And, Zeke? You'll be staying at the state prison, right?"

"Oh fuck off, Pieck," he groaned. "Go away already."

Their eyes met for a second, and Zeke's gaze softened ever so slightly. "Try not to get caught, will you?"

"Roger that, chief!" Pieck saluted, kissed Zeke too and then headed to the entrance, gliding on the floor and humming under her breath.

"You two should talk," she advised Hange and Zeke, and then quietly closed the door.

As soon as Pieck was gone, Zeke dropped his head on his hands, sighing in frustration.

"How the fuck do you do it, Zoe?" he sent her a side-glance. "How the fuck do you manage to inspire that kind of loyalty in people?"

Hange shrugged, sitting back in a chair, and curled her lips in a crooked grin. "Try not being a complete jerk, perhaps?"

"Fuck off," he retorted, hiding his face again. "You'll send me to jail, right?"

"R-right," Hange sang. "And before that, you'll help us looking for Petra."

"And if I refuse?"

"Initially, I planned to be the one organizing your arrest. But I can give that honor to Levi..."

Zeke visibly shuddered.

"Fine," he looked up, fixing the glasses on his face and brushing the hair back from his forehead. "I'll help you. Now get the hell out of here."

Hange arched an eyebrow. "You're coming with me, you know that?"

"I'll come," he huffed. "I promise. For real this time," he added, when Hange just kept giving him an unimpressed look. "Just give me half an hour to get all of my possessions in order, would you? I don't know if I'll be coming back after all."

"Half an hour." Hange nodded, looking at him strictly. "If you don't show up in half an hour, I'm sending Levi to get you."

She would have stayed behind and monitored him, but time was of the essence. She promised Levi she'd back in two hours. And the watch was telling her it was almost an hour past that. She needed to get back, and quickly. Hurrying out of the building, Hange rushed to the precinct.

But in her haste to get back to Levi, she didn't see a swift shadow that followed right after her.

***

One way, then the other, back and forth, left and right, Levi paced around the room.

Seven. That was the amount of steps needed to get from one end of Erwin's office to the other.

Levi glanced out of the window, and then turned around, starting anew. He clenched and unclenched his fists, thinking if he should look at his phone again. Maybe, he missed a message? Didn't hear its ringing? Maybe, she had already replied to a dozen of his texts and calls?

"Levi," a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him stop in his tracks. "Levi, we can't wait any longer," again, Erwin's voice was so much gentler than usual, and that alone should have been enough for him to realize that he was being irrational. That, the eyes of a dozen other policemen, gathered in Erwin’s office, who looked at him with a mix of worry and sympathy.

"We have the location," Erwin reminded, bringing him back to present.

"I know."

"We have the team."

"I know."

"We have a plan."

"I know," Levi gritted through teeth. "But we do not have Hange!"

Frustrated, he turned away from Erwin. He took out his phone, holding it tightly.

Why didn't she call? Why didn't pick up the phone and answer his texts? Where the fuck was she? She promised to be back in two hours. Almost three passed and no sign of that messy, four-eyed brilliant weirdo. The knot in his stomach grew tighter with each passing second.

Logically, he knew Hange could be simply running late. She could be stuck in traffic or she could be busy trying to get some kind of useful information out of Zeke. But while Hange was never the one to care about such trite matters as punctuality and she could easily get absentminded and usually appeared to be scatterbrained and frivolous, she was so very different during the times like this. Times, when lives were on the line. Hange never let herself be so unfocused, that’s why Levi was so worried now. He was anxious, and he knew that feeling won't go away until he sets his eyes on Hange, alive, breathing and well. He just got her back, the thought of losing her… Levi cursed, checking the phone again.

"Levi..." Erwin sighed, patting his shoulder. "You know, we can't waste our time."

He knew that. Petra needed their help, needed him. He couldn't let her down, but still...

Hange, oh god, Hange. He couldn’t lose her. Not again.

"Perhaps, detective Zoe isn't going to come back," came a quiet murmur from the corner of the room.

Levi’s head whirled in that direction, and, in a flash, he was beside him. "What did you just say?" he demanded from Oluo, barely stopping himself from grabbing him just as forcefully as he had done with Sannes.

Oluo swallowed, a trail of sweat rolling down his face, but he stared back at Levi, raising his chin.

"She was working with an enemy for more than two years. Maybe, she was the one who kidnapped Petra."

Levi closed his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He was not going to lose it right now. He was not. Not when Erwin - and a dozen other of his colleagues - were looking at him.

"Bozado," he began as calmly as he was able in that moment. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course, sir!" he answered without a moment of hesitation.

"Good," Levi nodded. "You trust me. And I trust Hange. With my life. And if you are at least half as smart as you're trying to appear, you'll trust her too. If you're not ready to,” his gaze grew harder, enabling Oluo from turning away. “Then get the fuck out of my team. If you doubt Hange, you doubt me, and I can’t work like that, I have to trust my people. So what do you say – are you leaving or staying?"

"I'm... I'm staying with you, sir."

"Alright," Levi watched Oluo’s face for another second, his eyes narrowed. Would he follow his orders without question? It seemed like he would. He hoped so, at least. With a low, thoughtful hum, Levi turned to Erwin. "We can start the operation. Bozado will lead my team."

He pointedly ignored the shocked gasp from Oluo. The boy wasn’t nearly as experienced, wasn’t even a detective, but their mission was to get back Petra. And Levi believed Oluo wouldn’t let himself fuck it all up.

It's obvious he has feelings for her, Hange once told him. She was right that time, but then again – when she wasn’t?

"And you, Levi?" Erwin asked.

"Half an hour," he promised. "Half an hour, and I'll be at the location."

Hange swore to come back to him. This time, Levi won't let her broke that promise.

Closing the door behind himself, he hurried to Zeke. He prayed that Hange was alright. Zeke wouldn’t get out of this alive, if she weren’t.

***

The silence pressed onto her. The silence, the waiting for god knows what - it was all making Petra go slowly insane. She wanted to hear something, any sound would do at this point.

Or so she thought.

But then Floch came back, sauntering inside and still sporting the same deranged grin, and Petra realized that she preferred silence so much more than the low, out of tune humming mixed with the sound of him polishing the various knifes taken from a long table in front of him.

She squirmed, the ropes digging into her skin even more. It would leave bruises, she thought absentmindedly.

Bruises? She chided herself almost immediately. Who would care about bruises if they find her dead? She suppressed another shiver.

They won't find her dead, Petra tried to persuade herself. They won't, because so very soon Levi would be here, and he'll save her. Perhaps, detective Hange would be with him, maybe, Oluo too...

She had friends who cared about her. They won't let her be murdered. She just had to keep believing in them.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked Floch, trying to distract herself from the thousand of horrible what ifs.

Why haven’t you— no, she wouldn’t ask him that. She would remain optimistic.

“You’ll see very soon,” he told her enigmatically. “My friend is almost here.”

His friend? Did he mean Zeke’s brother? The one, who had planned it all? And what would happen, when he comes? Would he—

No, she stopped herself once again. She needed to hold onto that hope. She needed to stay strong.

The sound of footsteps somewhere above her startled Petra. Hearing them too, Floch started chuckling. He turned to Petra, pressing a finger to his lips.

“That’s my friend,” he whispered quietly, as though it was the biggest secret in the world. “And he brought someone with him.”

The next second, the door opened and a man – so young, probably in his early twenties – stumbled in. He was hobbling slightly, his hand pressed to a place just below his hairline. His face was a mess – split lip, bruised eye that already started to turn deep purple, bloodied nose and forehead.

“You didn’t tell me she was a fucking psycho,” he grumbled, glaring daggers at Floch. “I wouldn’t have a chance, if I wasn’t armed.”

“But?” Floch passed him a white cloth to wipe off the blood. “You’ve caught her, right?” his voice was full of hope, and his fingers were trembling in anticipation.

“She’s in my car, dragged out of her mind. Help me get her here.”

“With pleasure,” Floch turned to Petra, winking. “You’ll have company so very soon, detective. I hope you’re excited! I am!”

He didn’t stop to hear her response, following after his friend and leaving her alone once again.

It was possibly her last chance, she realized. Petra desperately pulled on the ropes, trying to get away, but to no avail. She couldn’t move an inch, and it seemed like the more she struggled, the tighter her bindings became.

Not enough time passed, before Floch had returned, dragging a body inside. His friend put the chair, right next to Petra, and Floch dropped the body there.

No, not just some body, Petra realized. Fear crippled inside her, seizing her heart in its merciless hold.

Not just some body, Hange Zoe’s body.

Her head was bowed, but even from where she was sitting, in a poorly lit room, Petra could see blood dripping down her cheek and neck.

So much blood, she thought. She was breathing, albeit faintly. But she wasn’t waking up.

Her heart stopped, as Petra realized another thing – if Hange was there, no one was looking for her. And if no one was looking… then Hange and she… they would most probably… not be found.

At least, not alive, or so it seemed.

Petra tried to hold onto that sliver of hope, but with Hange Zoe’s bloodied face in her line of sight, it was getting increasingly harder and harder to.

#/gasps/ update?? to that fic????#levihan #also yeah pieck and porco had simply turned into bonnie and clyde they're legends like that

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happyandticklish · 3 years

Text

Behave

Notes: For the anon request. The request was slightly vague, so I tried to improvise a little. I hope you like the result! ^^

Summary: Shizuo has a habit of picking Izaya up whenever he tries to stir up trouble, to mischievous results.

Causing general mayhem and disaster was one of Izaya’s favorite activities, and Ikebukuro was one of his favorite cities to do so in. The chance of bumping into some kind of natural disaster was almost inevitable, and on the rare occasion of peace among the streets, Izaya was always willing to stir something up himself. Sometimes this something could be the beginnings of a gang war. And sometimes it was merely messing with small children.

Life was full of surprises that way.

“And just what do we have here?” Izaya inquired, folding his hands in front of himself as he stopped before a group of children gathered on the park asphalt. There were three of them, a young girl with a box of chalk clutched protectively to her chest, and two boys, who had previously been drawing out an outline for hop-scotch, who both looked to be about a year or so older than her.

The first boy glanced up at his comment, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Playing a game,” he answered stiffly, clearly waiting for the man to say anything in the negative about it.

“So I can see,” Izaya agreed, surveying the scene before them. “Hop-scotch… I remember playing that game as a kid. How do the rules work again?”

“Well—” the girl started hesitantly, but before she could say anything more, Izaya had begun hopping from one foot to the next over the squares provided. He wobbled a bit as he went, all with an assured smile. For his finale, he jumped forward with both feet, landing on the discarded pieces of chalk and cracking two of them easily.

“Hey!” the girl cried, eyes widening. “I just got those!”

“Oh!” Izaya clucked his tongue, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Well that will never do. I guess we’ll just have to break the other ones to match. Would you terribly mind handing over that box?”

The girl hid the box quickly behind her back, which wasn’t the smartest of defensive moves but it was all she had. The second boy appeared to be taking in the scene cautiously, clearly not wanting to get himself involved. The first one however, took an angry step forward, glaring up at him.

“Leave her alone!” he protested, portraying a level of bravado he didn’t feel. “Or I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll… what?” Izaya inquired, leaning down to face him with a devastating smirk. “No, continue, I’m truly curious—what exactly could you do?”

The boy stammered over his words, trying to think of any kind of witty reply but coming up blank.

“Leave the kid alone.”

Izaya sprang up, whirling around at the sound of the telltale voice. “Shizu-chan~! So nice of you to drop by. Decided to enjoy the spring day as well?”

One hand shoved carelessly in his pocket, Shizuo Heiwajima stood bathed in the gentle lamplight of the sun, surveying the scene casually. In place of his usual angry scowl, however, there was a bored, almost dismissive look on his face, as though dealing with Izaya’s shit simply wasn’t worth his time. Instead of answering, he stalked over to the other with quick, forceful steps, until they were inches away.

Izaya staggered back a little, taken by surprise by the direct approach. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Shizuo had leaned down, grabbing Izaya around the waist, and hauled him over his shoulder. Izaya squawked in an undignified manner, gripping onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt for support.

Shizuo kicked the broken pieces of chalk back over to the children with a grunted, “here”, before turning around and heading off in the opposite direction, Izaya in tow.

By this point a burning crimson had begun to overtake Izaya’s features, and he could see the faces of the children from his vantage point, all of whom seemed delighted to see him in the embarrassing position. “You know, you can’t simply pick me up whenever you feel like it,” he huffed, reaching back in an attempt to swat at the back of the other’s head.

“Oh?” Shizuo easily avoided him as Izaya struggled to maneuver his arm in the right position. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asked, parroting Izaya’s earlier words.

Izaya narrowed his eyes. He kicked one of his legs out, aiming to get a direct hit at his stomach. Unfortunately, legs do not generally go in that direction and he primarily ending up flailing around a lot and sometimes hitting the other’s arm in the process. This was not troublesome all on its own (Shizuo had definitely endured far worse from the flea), but it did prompt an idea. The next time one of Izaya’s legs came too near his face, he grabbed it with his other hand, gripping his fingers into the denim protecting the backs of his thighs.

Izaya let out a strangled noise, managing to somehow disguise it as a cough at the last moment. Shizuo’s hand remained on his thigh, his fingers gently tapping where they curled around his leg. Izaya’s breath caught in his throat as he realized suddenly how very, very fucked he was.

“S-Shizuo,” he said, trying as desperately as he could to keep his growing panic out of his voice. “I really think you should let me down now.”

“What’s wrong?” Shizuo asked calmly, his fingers tapping out a rhythm of doom against his jeans, each and every one causing Izaya to twitch against his will. “You sound suddenly concerned. Is something bothering you?”

“Shizuo, not again,” Izaya gritted out. Memories were flooding back to him of a week ago, causing butterflies to excite uninvited in his stomach. “If you think you can simply pick me up like a common stray and t—” he broke off, pressing his lips together into a firm, irritated line.

“And what?” Shizuo questioned, tossing a teasing glance back at him. Amusement danced in his eyes, and never had Izaya wished to punch him more than in that moment. “What exactly is it that I can’t do?”

“I believe you know perfectly well what I mean,” Izaya replied with a sickeningly pleasant smile. “After all, seeing as it has for some reason become one of your favorite activities to do to me, I dearly hope you know what it is.”

“And I would hope you know what it is, considering you appear to love it so much,” Shizuo shot back, pinching the back of his thigh suddenly.

“I w—shit!” Izaya lurched forward, his body’s instinctual response to save himself from the sensation. His arms flailed wildly, searching for a handhold, and eventually clinging onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt. Shizuo stiffened, trying to ignore the strangely pleasant shudder that ran down his spine as Izaya’s fingers brushed his back. He shook it off, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Shizuo outlined a path of small pinches down the back of Izaya’s thigh, making the man jerk and squirm with each one, though he managed to stifle any noises this time. Once he had gotten Izaya properly ramped up, he removed his hand entirely, giving the other a momentary reprieve.

Izaya exhaled slowly, glad for the break. After a moment of nothing happening however, he threw a confused glance back at the other. “Are you done t—ahAHAHAHA, ohohoho shIHIHIHIHihihit!”

Izaya burst into wild, uncontrolled laughter as Shizuo suddenly dug his fingers into his thigh, pressing into just the right pressure points to make the other go positively mad. His hand came back instinctively to try to rip Shizuo’s hand away from the spot, but his current position prevented him from doing so. The sudden, intensive tickling caused a hysteria that weakened Izaya instantly, his eyes crinkling up into a series of wild giggles and shrieks, a euphoria he didn’t often allow himself to feel lighting up in his chest. His legs kicked out with reckless abandon, but nothing he attempted saved himself from the relentless attack.

Just as suddenly as he had initiated it, Shizuo stopped, allowing his hand to merely rest on the other’s leg. Izaya wheezed helplessly, burying his face in the back of the other’s shirt. His skin tingled with phantoms of the earlier attack.

“I’m sorry, you were going to say something?” Shizuo asked innocently.

Izaya weakly lifted his head, shooting back a venomous glare. “You utter ahahAHAHASSHOLE, nohohoho, nOHOHOT AHAHAhagain!”

Izaya fell back into hysterics as Shizuo once again started up with his thighs. It was a testament to Shizuo’s skill that he was able to keep a firm hold on Izaya whilst torturing him, all the while continuing to stroll through the streets as though nothing was happening. By this point, people had started to stare, dumbfounded by the sight of a grown man thrashing and howling with laughter, hoisted like a misbehaving child over another man’s shoulder.

“S-Shihihihizuo!” Izaya squawked, pounding his fist against the other’s back. “StahAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!”

“Sure,” Shizuo agreed, smirking as his fingers found a particularly unfortunate spot that had Izaya screeching. “Just say, ‘Shizuo is superior to me in every way’. You can do that, can’t you?”

“F-FuhuhUHUHUCK YOHOhohou!”

Shizuo clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I’m afraid that’s not it. Want to try again?”

Izaya tried. He really did. He used every ounce of self-control he had to try to either bear the sensations wracking his body or to somehow escape from Shizuo’s hold. But the embarrassing position combined with the results of a death spot being targeted in such an effective manner eventually did him in and he cracked.

“OhOHOHOKAY! OHOHohohohokay!” Izaya cried, frantic giggles interspersing his words. “S-Shihihizuo ihihis—ahAHAHAha, nohohoho wahahait—Shihihizuo—gahAHAHA! Gihihive mehehehe ahahahaha seHEHEHEHehecond!”

Shizuo reluctantly complied, momentarily stilling his hand. Izaya panted heavily, attempting to get any amount of air back. Once he’d finally regained enough breath to speak any semblance of coherent words, he raised his head and grinned back at the other. “Shizuo is… a fool for thinking I’d ever say anything inherently false as that. Sorry, try again next time.”

Shizuo’s confident smirk quickly transformed into an irritated scowl. “You little—” Instantly there were hands at his thighs again, only this time he attacked the other one which had thus far received no attention from their little game. Izaya let out an honest-to-god squeak, unprepared for the switch. He pulled at Shizuo’s shirt, needing a handhold as he faced the unbearable sensations. As he did so, however, he noticed the way his tugging had ridden Shizuo’s shirt up slightly, revealing the bare skin of his lower back and hips.

Izaya was struck with a sudden idea.

Shizuo flinched as he felt two hands grab onto his hips, fingers curling into the skin in a manner that was unmistakably ticklish. His hand faltered on Izaya’s thigh as his lips tugged into a reluctant grin, a couple growled giggles escaping him.

“I-Izaya,” he threatened, still holding onto Izaya but doing little else besides that. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“Why?” Izaya teased, scratching his hips once more and feeling the man shudder beneath him. “Feeling a bit nervous now that the situations have reversed?”

“I’ll drop you,” Shizuo threatened.

“I’m not worried,” Izaya dismissed, clearly having fun with the sudden power dynamic. “Haven’t you heard? Cats always land on their feet.”

“Mind if I test that theory?”

“Now, now, no need to be grumpy.” Izaya squeezed his hips again and Shizuo choked on a stifled giggle. “I get it. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. It’s fine, really. I’ll just be using it to my advantage now, is all.”

“L-Like hell you are!” Shizuo stammered, attempting to pull Izaya off his shoulders. Izaya yelped, grabbing onto Shizuo’s hips for support, causing the man to stumble forwards, releasing him in one go. With a startled cry, Izaya tumbled off his shoulders, and Shizuo jerked around, just managing to catch him by the arm as he hit the ground. It wasn’t a complete save (and Izaya would be complaining about being sore for days after), but it did prevent him from slamming into the concrete.

Izaya stared up at Shizuo, panting a little, his gaze focused on the place where Shizuo still gripped his arm. With a cough, Shizuo quickly released him, straightening up. “Are you…” he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. “Okay?”

Izaya blinked, at a momentary loss for what to say, before his usual smirk returned to him. “Of course I’m okay, dear Shizu-chan. More than okay, at that.” He clambered to his feet, dusting off his jeans and trying not to focus on how his tailbone ached from slamming into the ground. “Because now I know your weakness, locked away in my brain for all eternity. But don’t worry—I’ll only use it against you as often as you’ve used mine against me. Now if you don’t mind, I really have some important business to be attending to, and must take my leave. Farewell, my dear brute.”

He saluted the other mockingly, whirling on his heel and quickly walking away. Shizuo’s frown of confusion as he watched him go quickly transformed into one of irritation. “You bastard, get back here!” he exclaimed, taking chase after him. “Who said you get to have the last word, huh?”

Izaya laughed merrily as he sprinted ahead, the two quickly disappearing into the chaos of the city. No matter what happened, nothing ever really changed between the two. One info broker, one bodyguard, locked together in continuous battle.

And as Izaya rounded the next corner sharply, his smirk turning into something almost giddy from the chase, he found he didn’t really mind if it meant he could hold the beast’s attention for even a moment longer.

#tickle fic #fic request #shizaya #durarara #durarara!!#shizuo heiwajima #izaya orihara #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #requests

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