#bread is not a weapon kids

[villainessbian]

Made dumplings for the first time today! It was surprisingly easy! Except gauging the quantities and making the "tie-off" part on top not too big! I will be making more until I'm sick of them in maybe-autistic fashion as I do with all food! Aaaaa I love learning new ways to make food that are tasty and ridiculously easy!

[supercutszns]

Hi!! Just had to drop in and say I LOVED your Luke fic and I can’t wait for more. I would love protective Luke with hurt/comfort, if that sounds interesting at all. Thanks for sharing your writing!!! 🌸

fighting chance; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 4.2k, luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader

synopsis: when an enemy takes advantage of your kindness during capture the flag, luke intervenes with a sword in hand.

warnings: a creepy boy👎, threats/harm to reader, she’s going through it, blood/injuries (nothing major), angry ANGRY luke, violence, lots of fluff/reassurance at the end<3

notes: thank you SO much for your kind words & your request!! hurt/comfort is my bread and butter my favourite fic genre of all time i think. & protective luke is just a bonus bc he’s already crazy so it can go as far as i want🤭 i’m not exactly sure what this turned into but if i fix it any more i'm going to go insane so hope you like it!

You’re not much of a fighter.

That alone is a normal thing to admit—plenty of people don’t like violence, the frisson of a challenge, the bruises that come with them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Unless you’re a child of Ares.

People at camp often ridicule your gentle nature when they see you with your half-siblings. They’re all gritted teeth and sharp edges, born warriors that take up all the space they can get. You, on the other hand, are lousy with weapons and even lousier with your fists. You’re quiet, attentive. While your siblings charge into battle without second thought you stay back, flitting around to adjust armour, change out weapons, oversee the terrain. Planning isn’t Ares’ style so you’re pretty much useless but nobody wants to admit it. You’re usually mistaken as a child of Hephaestus or Athena.

Unfortunately, you are a child of Ares, through and through—just in none of the ways that matter.

There are rare times your father’s influence peeks through. Not with bursts of rage or fists flying, but with thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts turn into words. Well, not sometimes. One time. This one.

The evening before the camp’s Capture the Flag game, every cabin gathered around the bonfire past dinner. To burn offerings, to chat, or in Luke Castellan’s case, to admire.

He watches you laugh with Clarisse from a distance. The Ares cabin leader always had a certain fondness for you. When Luke first started dating you he had to ask Clarisse for her blessing beforehand just to be sure she wouldn’t kill him. He’d do it a million times over just for the moment you look back, your face warming when you catch his stare. He rolls his eyes at you to lessen his smile, but he’s not sure it works. You giggle and turn back to your friend.

He’s always loved your softness; your capacity to defend and not attack. Your body rejects any skill you could possibly develop for violence. Believe him, he’s tried to teach you sword fighting, but the last time he gave you a lesson you nearly impaled yourself thirty seconds in. He loves your wit and your tenderness, your proficiency at preventing conflict, your refusal to argue. But a selfish part of him loves the fact that he’s your protector even more.

The night wears on with the flickers of fire and friendly banter. One of the times Luke looks back at you, his brows wrinkle. There’s a guy talking to you. A group of them, actually, but there’s one clearly leading the pack. Some Aphrodite kid. Luke’s jaw twitches.

“Hey, princess,” the voice makes you pull away from your talk with Clarisse, but you’re confused. Luke is the only one that calls you that.

“Um, me?” You ask when you see the boy in front of you. He’s tall, chest puffed out. It’s not an endearing silhouette. “What’s up?”

“You wanna be on my team for Capture the Flag tomorrow?” He asks nonchalantly.

You laugh politely, “Sorry, but I don’t think we’re allied with Aphrodite tomorrow. That’s your cabin, isn’t it?” You feel bad that you can’t remember—his face is so … plain.

He chuckles back, but it’s a lot less nice. “No, doll, that’s not what I mean.” He steps a little too close, and even though you know Clarisse is behind you it feels like she’s a thousand miles away. “Well,” he drawls, a smirk drawn out, “you meet me in the forest after we start, and then we can … you know. Confer.”

“Confer?”

“Yeah. You get what I mean, pretty girl, don’t play dumb.”

A revulsion coats your gut. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” you say as firmly as you can.

“What, pretty or dumb? Why not both?”

It’s demeaning, the way he says it, and it stirs a temper in your stomach you know you inherited from your father. You’re not big on confrontation. Or embarrassment. But this weirdo is talking to you out in the open and people are starting to stare. He wouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it, right?

“I’ll pass on your offer. I have a boyfriend and I’m actually on his team tomorrow, so I’d rather confer with him, sorry.” Your hands wring together but you do your best to quell them, imagining it’s the string of Luke’s camp necklace, threaded between your fingers. You try to look for him out of the corner of your eye.

He snickers, even though it’s common knowledge you and Luke have been together for months now. “So you are dumb, huh?” He tries to smirk and you assume is supposed to be sexy, but it’s just gross. His hand tries to slide around your waist.

“Don’t touch me, please,” you hit his hand away. Your skin is crawling and the knot inside you tightens.“Just leave me alone. People are looking, you know.”

“We could go somewhere where nobody looks,” he sneers, and the grin on his face is so sleazy that you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pray to your father for strength. And to yourself for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, are you stupid or something? I told you, no.” You snap. “Maybe you’re the pretty dumb one, but for a child of Aphrodite it’s shocking how little the first one applies.”

His eyes are wide, and the posse he’d assembled behind him has attracted quite the view. You almost feel like crying, all these eyes on you, but you’re so sick of people thinking they can walk all over you just because you’re not like your siblings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice—” He grabs your wrist as you leave but you yank it hard.

“Don’t. Touch me.” People are staring at you now, but the only one you care about is Luke, who looks equally ticked and equally proud, and all you want to do is kiss him. “Hope the only time we confer tomorrow is if somebody’s sword is at your throat.”

It’s the last thing you say to him. He starts to go after you but Luke is already at your heels. “Back off, man.” You can spot how all his muscles are already rearing themselves for a fight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, and he meets your eyes. Not now.

The altercation is lost the second the two of you leave the bonfire. Nothing matters when Luke has you in his arms, kissing you outside of your cabin, telling you how damn beautiful you looked.

You’re fixing a new Ares boy’s armour when Luke finds you. “Hey, angel,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He relishes in the way your face heats up. “You ready for battle?”

You smile, “Always.” You pat the kid on the cheek and send him on his way. He gnashes his teeth and roars, joining his siblings at the front. Luke catches the longing in your expression.

“All good?” He asks gently.

It takes you a second for your eyes to meet his. “Mmhm,” you swallow. “Just hope his armour doesn’t fall off.”

Luke sighs for a moment, then wraps his arms around you. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Be safe, okay? Stay close.” He kisses your temple, rubbing circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes sir,” you reply against his chest. His insides flutter.

He pulls your face up to his and kisses you, tender and wanting. “Let’s show these hooligans who’s boss,” he quips.

“You’ll show them. I’ll hide in the woods until some idiot comes along and tries to ambush you.”

Your dulcet tone has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. “You’ve always got my back,” he croons, kissing your brow.

“And you’ve always got our flag.”

You kiss him again and he lets you slip out of his arms no matter how badly he wants to keep you there forever. He watches you vanish into the trees, and his heart goes with you.

He gears up with his team and the horn sounds. Game on.

There’s yelling, sweat, adrenaline, and Luke embraces it all like a man starved. This is his chance to be ruthless, to let all his untapped rage cycle through him. This is why he’s unstoppable. This is why he’s the best.

Clarisse is unusually cooperative today, but competent as always, and whenever someone’s weapon breaks or they lose their team she just barks at them to go find you. You, the smartest person in Ares, who can mend a weapon with nothing but blades of grass and determination. Luke is pretty sure your cabin would be lost without you. He wonders if you know.

The groove of the game has fully enthralled him. He’s alert, his wrist nimble, his sword a living, breathing part of him. There’s almost nothing that can take him out of his victory path until he hears one of the younger campers tell Clarisse he can’t find you anymore.

Whatever nincompoop he’s dealing with is left groaning on the floor. “What?” He barks, hand flexing around his sword. “Where is she?”

“Probably just moved,” Clarisse grunts as she kicks back an opposing camper. “She knows where everything is. Maybe she’s—oof—safer.”

“But how am I supposed to fix my spear?” The kid frowns.

Luke runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, dry and laden with salt. He told you to stay close. Where would you go? “I’ll find her,” he decides, already sheathing his sword to walk towards the trees.

“Luke—”

“I’ll find her!”

He barely pays attention to the calamity going on around him. With a flick of his wrist he knows he can take out any person he wants. The second he gets to the trees, where the air is cooler, it’s startling how much quieter it is. No wonder this is your preferred hiding spot.

He thanks the quiet a thousand times over because if it had been any louder he wouldn’t have heard you scream.

It’s so short it’s almost indiscernible, but he knows it’s you based on how his body movies before his brain does. It snaps something in him, the adrenaline transformed into something acerbic, determined.

“Don’t fucking scream again.” A cluster of boys are stationed around you. You’re leaning back in the dirt. You barely feel the earth sticking to your skin. Just your heart jostling madly, your fingertips shaking in the ground beside you. “Okay, I won’t, just put the sword down—”

The snarling Aphrodite boy from last night takes a swing at you, and you scramble back just enough to avoid it. “No can do, doll.” His face is twisted with rage. The lackeys he had when you told him off are there too, cornering you against a cluster of trees like you’re some caged animal. There’s a dagger clenched in one of your dirt-ridden fists but you know it won’t do you any good. You can’t fight; you don’t have it in you. But these boys do. And they’re angry.

“Tell me where the flag is,” he orders. The tip of his blade comes under your chin, fogging up with the labours of your breath, your head pressed against the trunk of a tree.

You stutter, “You’re not—You’re not supposed to threaten like this—”

“You embarrassed me in front of all those people yesterday,” he cuts you off. “Thinking you’re so fucking smart. I didn’t even say anything that big a deal but you run your mouth to the entire camp and make me look like the idiot. I thought you were nice.”

The words are laced with poison. You know from the wild look in his eyes that this isn’t about the flag at all.

Tears sting your eyes and the sword grazes your throat. Of course this is happening to you. The one time you feel your father’s rage, when you exemplify the thing you’re told to be, you are punished.

You are never going to be the right kind of daughter.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you try to say it evenly, but your breath is so ragged it’s barely audible. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.” You mean it, but they won’t care.

The boy’s face looks pleased at your tears. It makes you inexorably ashamed. “Some fucking Ares kid,” he snorts. “Can’t even fight, can you? Can’t even pretend to.” His sword leaves your throat and travels up to your quivering jaw. You’re wordless, white-knuckling the dagger at your side, praying that Luke is somewhere nearby.

“No wonder they stash you back here. You’re useless.” His eyes scan every part of you, and the idea of him knowing what you look like forever is so revolting it makes you want to vanish. “Too bad you’re alone, though. Nobody’s gonna know I was here because nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Your eyes get wide, and something in your mind rumbles through you like an engine. An urge buried in your blood.

Your dagger tears into his leg just as his sword dashes your arm. The pain is sharp, stinging, but the boy winces and you know you hurt him too. It gives you just enough time to roll out of the way as he lurches forward. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He swears.

Blood drips onto your shorts, splotched with tears. You know you can’t go anywhere because his friends are here and you’re almost certain you’ll be maimed, but you tried. At least you tried.

The Aphrodite boy picks his sword back up, stalks towards you, and then freezes.

Because Luke has just spotted you. And he’s spotted the boy that has you on the ground.

And he’s the best fucking swordsman Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years.

“If you don’t get away from her right now I’m putting this through your skull.” He emerges from the foliage, his sword raised, sweat dripping down his face. You have never seen anyone look angrier. He has never felt angrier.

The boy blanches, and Luke sees how easily his lapdog friends shrink in his presence. Good.

“Woah, easy,” the boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and tries to flash a smile but it’s just fucking pathetic. His arms are shaking and his throat bobs about a million times. “We’re just playing the game.”

“Like hell you are,” Luke spits. “You gang up on my girlfriend and you expect me to believe this is fair play? Want me to tie you all together and push one of you off a cliff to keep the spirit going?”

“Didn’t know she was yours,” the boy tries to shrug but again, it’s a miserable attempt that only makes Luke feel stronger.

“Not that it matters but yes, you do,” Luke chuckles thickly. “I beat your ass in sword training last week. You know exactly who I am. And I’m sure you know who you are, so it’s obvious you’re playing out of your league here.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still cowering, blood dribbling down your arm. He wants to tear the world apart. “Apologize and maybe I don’t send you to the infirmary.”

“We just want the flag, man,” the boy swallows.

“And I want your head on a stick. Want to see who gets what first?”

It’s too provocative an insult for a moron like this to ignore, so soon Luke has the pleasure of disarming five bitter boys that have clearly never been good at a single thing in their life. He tears through them like sheets of paper, knocking them to the dirt, ripping their clothes. He thinks of you, just you, your honest heart and patient hands, and it’s enough to fuel him for a millennia.

The last boy, the leader, is at Luke’s mercy, and he has none to give. The flat of Luke’s blade is pressed horizontally against the boy’s neck, an angering similarity to the position he had you in earlier. “If you ever do this again, I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re—fucking—crazy—” The boy wheezes, the length of the blade squeezing his throat against a tree trunk. “I’ll—I‘ll tell Chiron.”

Luke has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from doing something he regrets. “Oh yeah? You want me to tell Chiron how you harassed and terrorised a girl in the middle of the forest all in the name of play? Want me to tell him what you said to her last night at the campfire? Because I’m sure it won’t take much for him to get rid of your ugly face as it is, and I’m a camp counsellor.”

He knows it’s not the most morally correct use of his title. He knows he might be stepping over the line. But he also knows you’re always being ignored or trampled over and he’s tired of pretending like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired of people trying to force you into something you’re not. Of you crying in his bed at night because they’re trying to drag a violence out of you that isn’t there. Always in the name of fucking play.

Luke takes the sword off the boy’s neck and shoves him backwards. His calf is bleeding, not a deep wound, but a wound nonetheless, and Luke is full of pride when he realizes you did that. The boy’s bad leg makes him wobble and fall at the force of the push. Luke enjoys watching the scramble. “I—I was just trying to be nice, it’s not my fault she took it the wrong way!” The boy flails his hands in the air, rising to his feet again, and Luke shoves him down twice as hard. A piece of his shirt tears off in Luke’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop talking or I really am going to kill you,” he seethes. “Don’t touch her ever again. Go.”

Luke is sure he looks homicidal right now because the guy finally tumbles his way down the hill. His body fades into the distance, swallowed up by shrubbery and sweat.

The second he’s gone Luke tosses his sword and armour and gets back to you. “Shit,” he mutters, kneeling down. You’re still shaking, your head in your arms, and all his hatred morphs into a love so desperate it terrifies him. “Angel, come here. Let me see.” He lifts your face with his hands and scans you rapidly. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Anywhere?”

“Just my arm,” you whimper. “My arm.”

He knows it’s not the cut that’s hurting you; it’s long, but thin, and it’s not bleeding too thickly. He takes the cloth from the Aphrodite boy’s shirt and wraps it around your arm, knotting it at the end. “All right, that should be better.”

You look at him with watery eyes, and he knows all you need is for him to hold you. He folds you in his arms and leans against a stump. You can’t get close to him fast enough. The tip of your nose buries itself in his neck and he feels the dampness of your cheeks on his skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt swaths over him for a brief moment; he wonders if he shouldn’t have done all that, if he should’ve been more sensible. Then your lips form a ‘thank you’ against his skin and all is forgotten.

You feel so small. The shock is still running its course, so all you can do is cry it out. Your hands still shake when you thread your fingers through Luke’s necklace to steady them. He soothes you the best he can, running his hand along your spine, all the sharpness of his voice softened just for you. “You’re all right, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that for a while. The sounds of the forest return to you; leaves in the wind, birds chirping, Luke’s breath tickling your hair. You crane your head up to nuzzle your nose against the faint stubble of his jaw. “My hero,” you murmur, and feel his skin shift as he smiles.

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Saw the cut you gave him on his leg.” He kisses your temple. “I hope it gets infected.”

You giggle weakly no matter how you try smothering it in his chest. “Gods, you’re awful.”

“He deserves it! I probably should have killed him!”

“You came pretty close, didn’t you?” You mumble. Luke’s expression is wary, but you smile to yourself and it dispels everything. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Good. Serves them right, messing with you like that. Fucking idiots.” He kisses your face again for good measure, “You sure they didn’t get you anywhere else, princess?”

You nod but you know you look wounded. You nudge into the crook of Luke’s neck again. “They … you know, it’s just … the usual stuff.” Every word weighs a pound as it comes out. Your heart feels sore.

Luke tenses again instantly. “What usual stuff?”

“Um, just—” The shame gets caught in your throat. “They all think I’m useless, Luke. Why can’t I do this right?”

You start to cry again, but he just holds you closer. Sometimes it surprises you how much patience he has. He prides himself as the harsher one between the two of you, but you don’t know who he’s fooling with the way he always knows how to comfort people.

“I don’t know what to do,” you continue, blinking back tears, “I’m not—I’m just not good at this, I don’t know why I’m in Ares, I don’t know why I can’t … be that. Why is he my father? I’m no good at being angry. I want to be angry.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment. Nothing changes except his hand rubbing circles on the nape of your neck again. Then he sighs deeply and says, “You don’t owe your father a damn thing. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He’s resolute, firm, a sharp contrast to his gentle kiss on your hairline. “You’re the smartest, most generous person I know. You need those people in battle. You’ll lose if you don’t.”

The warmth of his skin prompts you to look up at him. He looks different so often, the way he can shift between so tough and so gentle. Sometimes, like now, he’s caught in the middle, the remains of a furious sweat hardening his face, but his eyes are nothing but tender. You think it’s how you like him best.

“Besides, we’re not our parents, right? Who cares about Ares anyway?” Luke shrugs.

“Luke! Don’t say that!” your tears turn into a giggle. “The Gods might punish you!”

“I’ll handle it. There’s enough fight in me for the both of us.”

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter with a weak smile.

You’re still sniffling. He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, and his gaze softens. “You’re an Ares kid because you are a fighter, angel. You just fight a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. Best one I know. Well, other than me.”

It makes you smile. “So second-best?”

“Tied for first.”

He kisses you with that stupid roguish smile. It’s salty with tears and sweat, but it mends your heart anyway. There is nowhere in the world you’d feel safer.

“I love you,” he says against your cheek. “Be as sweet as you want. If anyone has anything to say about it I’ll mess ‘em up good.” Your face warms as his voice drops to your ear, “And I know you’re an Ares kid because you’ll encourage it every time. You might not have a violent bone in your body, but you sure don’t have a problem with me using mine.”

“Diplomatically, Luke. Diplomatically.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re not entirely sure why he loves you so much, why you love him so much, but you never feel quite as secure as when you’re with him.

Cheers boom from the other side of camp. Luke’s head perks up like a dog, and you turn back to search for spots of red or blue. “Did we win?” You ask, craning your head to get a better view.

“Don’t care,” Luke says.

You look back at him. His anxious face says it all. “Yes, you do.”

“Okay yes, I do, and I need to see if those douches found our flag so I can choke them out with it.”

You laugh, standing so Luke can jog off to see the state of your team. But before he goes, he picks you up and smothers you in kisses, holding you like you’re his prize.

You are not a fighter, but your boyfriend sure is. And you’re perfectly okay with that.

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - Broad Street Bullies

Mob Boss Nico Hischier x female reader

Warnings: kidnapping, cussing, blood, weapons, general violence and threats

A/n: She's finally here!! This is a blurb from the beginning months of Mob Boss Nico and reader's relationship. It is extremely long but I tried to keep it as short as possible without cutting out any pivotal moments or details. Also disclaimer, I have nothing against the Flyers and they're simply a plot tool in this.

Thanks for reading!

______________________________________________________________

The streets of Manhattan are busy, even with the chilly fall weather. The line outside of Lady Liberty stretches around the block, all the rich and famous of New York trying to get in.

Nico doesn’t care. He pushes through the groups of people, feels the weight of the gun in his waistband as he shoulders his way to the front of the line. Igor is bouncer tonight, long hair tucked back under a beanie and he’s smiling and laughing with the group of blonde influencers at the front of the line when Nico gets there.

The smile quickly falls when Nico splits through the group, grabbing Igor by the collar or his long sleeve. Someone gasps behind him, a few people shout at him but it falls on deaf ears.

“I’m here to see Trouba,” he grits out, “now!”

Eyes wide, Igor lifts his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Give us a sec would ya?”

Nico lets him go, clenching and unclenching his jaw as Igor calls over Rempe and mutters instructions in the rookies ear. A hand slides up Nico's bicep, fingers tapping at the clenched muscle.

"Hey handsome," a drunken voice purrs. Nico's ears go hot, anger flushing through his body and he shakes the girls hand off, glaring over his shoulder at the honey blonde making eyes at him. Even in her drunken state she flinches away, the rest of her group yanking her a couple steps back.

When he turns back forward, Rempe is already watching him and the stupid kid has the audacity to smirk and wink at him as he heads to the bar.

That’s all it takes for Nico to lurch forward, yanking the security rope down and storming towards the door.

“Whoa, whoa, Hischier!” Igor cuts him off, shoving at his chest to push him back. Rempe disappears inside, Nico struggling to follow after him. "Give him a sec, Jesus fuck," Igor mutters, giving Nico one final shove back.

He's angry, but he's not stupid so he doesn't retaliate, instead paces back in forth in the area between Igor and the dismantled security rope. Finally, Igor lifts a finger up to his ear piece, eyes squinting as he listens. Then he's nodding to the doorway and Nico pushes around him into the humid and packed bar.

Jacob Trouba is sitting at a large booth in the upper level, the brown leather of the seat cracked and sticky when Nico slips in across from him. Mika and Bread eye Nico, standing guard by their boss but with a wave of Trouba's hand they disperse.

"When you asked to visit a bar on this side tonight, I didn't think you meant mine." The Rag jokes, a crooked smirk on his face. Elbows thudding on the table, Nico leans into closer to him.

"My men were attacked tonight," he spits "at your bar, on your side of the Hudson. And I want everyone who was taken back right now or you'll be cleaning up a big mess here tonight."

Red and blue party lights pulse around the bar, the crappy lighting obscuring some of Trouba's features. But it does nothing to hide the way his eyebrows pinch in confusion.

"My men have been here all night Hischier," Trouba says earnestly, and Nico feels his heart sink to his stomach, the anxious knots in his belly squeezing it tighter and tighter.

He hadn't even let himself think it might be possible that the Rags don't have you. There was no reason to entertain the idea because the universe wouldn't do that to him. There's no way you're that far from him, that lost. It can't be true because if it is, this just got a lot more complicated.

Trouba is looking at him curiously, head tilted to the side like he's examining him. Nico ignores the inquisitive eyes, pulls his phone out of his leather jacket and texts Timo.

Start pulling up camera feeds around our hot spots, familiar faces but not NY ones

"Who is she?"

This isn't what he's here for. Not to tell Trouba about you, to reveal to his biggest rivals that he's got a vulnerable spot for them to exploit. But when he meets Trouba's gaze, it doesn't matter. He's already given it away.

"Important to me."

Trouba smacks the table so hard his scotch rattles, a deep laugh bellowing out of him. "Aren't they all? Or have you just gone soft?"

"No," he spits out, jaw clenching and unclenching "which is why I need you to start talking or I'm outta here and my boys are coming in."

Amusement twinkling in his eyes, Trouba sips his drink. "This is clearly new for you Hischier, so I'm gonna help you out. Lee and Barzal spotted Farabee and Couturier around the Upper West Side earlier today,

"My guess is that they've got your girl."

His ears ring, like someone just shot a gun right by his eardrum. It echoes in his head, beats against his temple. This is the worst thing he could've been told, absolute worst case scenario. That would mean you're not tucked away somewhere in this bar or just down the street, but that you're halfway to fucking Philadelphia with the biggest jackasses Nico's ever encountered.

"You're lying." He denies, standing up from the booth and crowding over Trouba. "Giroux doesn't know about her."

The Rag leader scoffs, mockingly pouting at Nico. "You have lost it, Hischier. What is that girl doing to you that you're not using your fucking brain anymore?"

"Don't fucking talk about her!" He's seething, pinning Trouba into the back of the booth by his shoulders until the man is wincing.

"Alright alright, calm down! I'll tell you what I know if you just fucking sit down!"

He has to pry his hands off Trouba, chest heaving as he slumps back into the booth and glares at the man across from him. Luckily, Trouba is just as fed up with this little meeting as he is and he starts explaining right away.

"You've been different the past like year," he starts "we saw less and less of you, more of the boys. And yet your operations were going smoother than ever, deals were coming in easy, it all worked.

"And then you were back for about a month, and worse than ever I'll tell you that. Fucking everywhere I looked, you and Devs were there, you were ruthless and angry.

"And then it all went away again."

Nico doesn't get what he's saying, the point of it all. None of it has anything to do with you other than the fact that he met you almost a year ago.

Sighing, Trouba rakes a hand through his hair. "Look, it's obvious that you were with someone. Less hands-on time with the job for more hands-on time with her. It's what happens when we finally decide to try and have it all, because you can't. It's the business or the girl, you can't protect both."

Nico huffs. "Maybe you can't but we're-"

"Different, yeah I know." Trouba interrupts, lips smiling knowingly. "My girl and I were different too. Until we weren't. Because she made it better, all of it. The Rags run so well today because of her. And you can't hide what having that partner does for you and the business.

"That's how Giroux knew. He's been there too."

Sinking further into the seat, Nico lets it fully hit him. Trouba is right. That long streak of deals and success were because he had you, because he was happy with you and was trying to make it all work. He couldn't separate you from his work and it showed, even when he did everything to hide you.

You're the soft spot of the Devs.

Even tonight. He missed the Flyers roaming around the city because he was too busy letting all his patrollers follow you. He was so paranoid about a night out in the city that he put all his resources into protecting you, and instead it just revealed his greatest weakness. He doesn't know how to do this with you.

"I gave her up," Nico mutters, "I brought too many men over and it showed them that it was her."

For what it's worth, Trouba does look sorry when Nico meets his gaze. Nico imagines he's reliving it, how terrifying it was for him to fall in love too.

"Yeah," Trouba says softly, throwing back the rest of his drink. He drops the glass back onto the table. "They're our best and our worst, our strength and our weakness.

"And they always will be, so you gotta let her in Hischier. Once she's yours, even for a second, that's it. Every squad in the area will know, so you better make sure she's ready for it."

That's the thing. Nico isn't sure you're ready for it. God knows he hasn't done jack shit to make sure you are, not like this.

He feels like he's moving on autopilot when he gets up, throwing a half-assed thanks to Trouba and stumbling out of the bar. He recognizes Igor as he leaves, but the faces and bodies are blurry, just obstacles between you and him right now.

Nico doesn't know what he's doing, how he's going to fix this. All he knows is that the longer it takes him to think, to act, the further you get from him. And the more danger you're put in.

Timo is waiting outside the Range Rover when Nico rounds the block, practically running towards the gathered group of vehicles. Jack and Haula are hanging out of Erik's truck, ready to move at a moments notice. Jesper's SUV hums, him and Jonas leaning against the light up headlights. He can see the silhouette of their guns in hand. Mercer is with them too, and for the first time in his life he doesn't have that goofy grin on his face.

He looks like he might throw up. In fact, almost all of them do.

Nico imagines he must look the same.

"We gotta go," he rushes out when he's in earshot. "Giroux has her, we gotta get to her before he gets her into Fargo."

Like a gun at a starting line, the boys shoot into action. They're clambering back into the vehicles, engines roaring to life. Nico climbs into the passenger seat, flicks on the radar gun and map for Timo who's already pulled away from the curb.

Grabbing the radio off the dash, Timo brings it up to his lips. "They've got an hour on us boys," he informs the following vehicles, "let make it up."

Static beeps of confirmation come in, a shaken but determined "copy that." from Jack. Timo steps on the gas harder, and Nico tries to piece together a plan in his head. No matter how fast Timo drives, they won't catch her before the Flyers make it back to Broad street.

Yanking out his phone, Nico brings up the contact of the one man that he knows can help. Rumor has it that the Flyers were causing trouble in Pennsylvania lately, and the Pengs pushed in on the boundaries to keep them from heading West.

Praying it's true, he hits dial and brings the phone up to his ear. It rings, and rings, and rings, and then it clicks.

"Sid, I need a favor."

~~~~

The air smells of garbage and popcorn, so thick it cuts through the fabric of the hood over your head. It's an odd and disgusting combination, and it makes your heart thump even quicker in your chest. You have no idea what place could be responsible for such a smell, no idea at all of where you could possibly be.

All you know is that you were in car for a long time, long enough that you're almost certain you're not in New York or Jersey. Time is hard to tell when your head is in a bag though.

And that's even worse. The more confused and discombobulated you become, the harder it'll be to survive.

A loud, metal clanking sounds behind you, like rusty gears of an industrial door closing. Sure enough you here it bang shut, and immediately the air grows thick and hot without the fall breeze blowing in.

"Move it!"

You flinch at the demand, flailing forward when two hands roughly shove you. Blindly, you stumble forward until the men take ahold of your arms, pining them behind your back and marching you forward.

Panicking and unsure of what to do, you think of every self-defense tip you've ever seen online, on posters around school, from friends.

"Hello!" You shout, and relax all your weight into the ground. "Help! I don't know these men! I need help!"

Your knees scrape the ground, feet dragging and shoulders stretching painfully as the men struggle to hold your weight up. Someone kicks at your foot, screams for you to shut up but you keep yelling.

"I'm in danger and I need help!"

The words echo, bouncing off the walls of wherever you may be and you feel your throat close up in panic. It's silent, there's no one here to hear you.

"I said shut the fuck up!" The hood is yanked off your head. You blink, shake your head and frantically look around for any sign of help. It doesn't matter.

Your surrounded by cement walls, long tunnels of a dark and empty warehouse. Pallets and boxes line the walls, industrial freezers and coolers tucked into the sturdy walls.

"No," you mutter, tears blurring your vision. "No. no. no-"

A hand clamps over your mouth, squeezing your jaw tightly. You still can't see who it belongs to, but their grip is so rough it makes the tears in your eyes bubble down you cheeks.

"Walk!"

Helpless, the men drag you down the long hall, away from whatever door led to the outside world. Rounding a corner into a smaller opening, you wiggle and try to kick free when you see the enclosed cage against the backwall. It's surrounded by boxes and trash, abandoned warehouse equipment tipped over against the chain link. But the door in the front is wide open, taunting as you get pushed closer and closer.

Now within reach of the cage, you quickly spring to your feet and press your toes into the bars of the door. Trying to fight back, you push back into the men, locking your knees and bracing yourself against the opening.

"For fuck's sake," one of them cusses behind you, pushing your wrist up towards your shoulders. You cry out, the sound muffled by the hand over your lips and crumple to the ground in pain. In a last ditch effort you yank your head back, the hand sliding down to your chin and you clamp your teeth down on the man's palm, biting until you taste blood.

"Oh you bitch," he screams, pulling his hand from your mouth and stepping away. The sudden action makes them both release you, and you spit the coppery-blood taste from your mouth. Spinning around in hopes to get up and run, your stopped when stars suddenly flash in you vision, everything going dark for a split second as pain shoots across the right side of your face.

The hit knocks you onto your side, startles you so much that your being picked up and thrown onto all fours into the cage so quickly you'd think you were on fire or something. Which you might be because heat springs up in your left wrist, burns and sizzles up your arm and you instinctively move to get the weight off of it.

Not that it matters, because a new slice of pain bites at your thigh, far worse than the sting on your cheek and in your arm. You cry out, jumping up and backwards onto you behind. The closed door of the cage digs into your back, the footsteps of the men fading as they leave you there.

You don't even get a chance to turn and see what they look like. Because a large shard of glass has stabbed into your left thigh, the jagged end sticking out of your ripped jeans. Blood soaks into fabric, wet and sticky against your skin. Fingers shaking and numb, you touch the large piece of glass and hiss when it knicks your fingertip. You're not sure what's worse, the blood or the fact that you have no idea what to do.

Or any idea where you are.

~~~~

Music plays throughout the office, the bluetooth speaker in the corner swapping colors with the beat of the song. Johnny's not sure what song this is, but the artist is definitely British and can definitely play a fucking guitar well.

He bops his head along with it, gnawing at his bottom lip as he looks through expense books. Tanger is pretty good at keeping them up to date, but with the group not fully in Pittsburgh right now, Sid thought it would be best to have a second set of eyes look over them.

Taking a swig of his Red Bull, Johnny blinks to refocus on the ledger when the music cuts out abruptly. His phone vibrates on the desk and the speaker announces "Incoming call from Sid."

It's really late for Sid to be calling, especially when he knows Johnny is here at work so the boy swipes up his phone and accepts the call.

"Marino," he answers, leaning back in the desk chair and nibbling on his thumb nail.

"It's Sidney," his boss answers and Johnny rolls his eyes because obviously he knows that. Sid is still old school though and forgets the world can see his contact just fine.

"What's going on boss?"

"Got a quick job for you," Sid replies, the sound of an engine turning over in the background. "I got your gear in the car and I'm coming to get you so be ready."

Johnny gets up, holds the phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins to clean up. "What's the job?"

"I'll explain more on the way, but it looks like the Flyers found their way up to New York and started some trouble."

"With the Rags?"

"Nah the Devs," Sid corrects, sounding amused. "Hischier's got himself a girl that likes to go out in New York apparently. Claude jumped at the first chance to get her."

Locking the books away in the safe and shutting off the speaker, Johnny flicks the lights down and grabs his keys. "A girl? With Hischier?"

He locks the office door, making his way down the old creaky steps.

"He may be untouchable as a boss but at the end of the day he's still just a man. And the right girl will turn any man stupid."

Johnny shakes his head, praying to god that's not him one day. This must be some girl though, if she's got Nico dragging the Devs all the way to Broad Street. Wonder what's so great about her.

~~~~

Digging your teeth into the back of your hand, you yank the shard of glass out of your leg and bite down. Electric shocks of pain zip down your thigh, your toes feeling numb as you curl into yourself and cry.

Hot tears roll down your cheek, the saltiness making the right side of your face ache and you guess that whoever had hit you earlier had broken skin.

Grabbing the jacket you peeled off earlier, you press the fabric into the wound and wrap the sleeves around your thigh, tying it off as tightly as you can. The knots digs into the tender flesh, sends another wave of tears down your cheeks and you sniffle, wiping your blood stained hands off on your shirt before wiping at your cheeks.

Gentle and curious, you prod at the right side of your face. It's sore and swollen, and sure enough you can feel a freshly opened wound right on your cheekbone. Your fingers shake as you push up the sleeve of your shirt, stretching the fabric up to pat at the wound. Little flakes of dried blood stick to the sleeve, and you sigh in relief, at least a little bit of it. It's not bleeding too much so that's something.

Still propped up against the door, you finally take a look around the area. Two rows of metal shelves rise to the top of the cage on either side of you, bottles of every kind of liquor in the world stacked on them. Which would explain the broken glass on the floor.

Sure enough when you look down by your feet the orange lid of a Tito's bottle lay there, surrounded by shards of the glass. With your good foot you push the glass away as best as you can, careful to not cut yourself anymore.

When your fairly sure it's safe, you press your weight into your good foot and wrist, climbing up from the floor. You have to hold onto the cage to keep yourself up, your injured leg trembling in protest when you begin to put weight on it.

Ignoring the painful throbbing, you slowly look around the area. More freezer doors line the walls, the giant silver handles stamped with signs that say "Cooler 1" and so on. You shiver, not even wanting to imagine what these men store in there, if it's something that actually belongs in a freezer or not.

Nausea stirs your stomach, mouth watering as the taste of bile builds up in your throat and you squeeze your thumbs in your fists, wincing when your wrist painfully aches.

The pain is a good distraction from the nausea though, and it gives you time to choke in and out deep breathes. Looking around the area, you take in more details of the place.

Championships signs on the walls, old broken hockey sticks scattered in pieces around the room, an abandoned Zamboni in the opposite corner.

It's an arena.

And you were correct about it not being in Jersey or New York. Because a large crate by the Zamboni is stamped with a location in big, black letters.

3601 S BROAD ST, PHILADELPHIA, PA

You've never been to Pennsylvania, don't even know how far from Jersey it is. Which is stupid because you know geography and should be able to recall how close the states are to each other but you can't get the photo memory of the map to focus in your brain.

All that keeps flashing in your head is that you're in another state, bleeding and hurt, surrounded by freezers large enough to hide a body (or 12).

Nico's not coming, you realize. Why would he? How could he? He has no idea where you are. Maybe he'll sniff around New York but for how long? How long until he gives up on it, on you?

It's not like you’re a Devil, not anyone big like Timo or Jonas. You're not in the family, so why would it matter if you disappeared from it?

Bone crippling fears claws up your throat, chokes you and you slump back onto the concrete ground. Gasping, you rapidly blink against your blurring vision and try to focus.

You need to find a way out of here.

~~~~

The interstate passes by far too slow for Nico's liking. He feels like he could get out and run faster, and it makes him uneasy. That stupid gut-wrenching, heart pounding, nausea inducing uneasy, and he can't stop himself from peaking over at the dash.

102 MPH

Groaning, Nico throws his head back against the headrest, brings his hands up to his hair and painfully tugs at it before he explodes. It doesn't really help but the pain is a little distracting.

"I swear I'm going as fast as I can." Timo defends but that just pisses Nico off even more because he knows that, he knows this isn't Timo's fault but saying that just makes him realize even more that it's his fault.

"We're not gonna make it in time at this pace."

"In time for what?" Timo scoffs, "It took us too long to track her down, they've already got her inside Nico. There's no intercepting her."

His fault, his fault, his fucking fault. That's all Nico hears as Timo goes on and on about how the Flyers and how they finally managed to do some damage to a rival. The words bubble in his veins, his skin growing hot and bones jittery. He feels like he's choking, gagging on the guilt in his chest and he explodes.

"I know! I fucking know Timo! I fucked up, I let her go into the city tonight and I'm the fucking idiot that brought all our men with!"

The silence in the car seems to ring in his ears, so unbearable that he just keeps blabbering.

"I should've told her no, I should've been a fucking man and just dealt with the puppy dog eyes or the cold shoulder or whatever bratty treatment she would've given me because at least she'd still be here!

"Or I could've gotten her a better spot in the bar, made her stay in the back by an exit or next to the wall but no she wanted to be close and I couldn't disappoint her..."

Nico feels manic, like he's sliding down an icy hill and kicking his feet trying to stop but he can't. And he's just falling and rolling on the ice, the cold, hard surface smacking him in the face.

"And I brought every fucking available man with us, and I didn't even put them to good use! They should've been patrolling, watching the bar but I let everyone just hang out because she wanted to, she wanted everyone to have fun!

"Some fucking fun we're having now Jesus fuck!"

Chest heaving and throat burning, Nico runs his hands down his face and realizes his cheeks are wet. He's not sure if the few tears that trailed down his face are from sadness, anger, or fear but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that he royally fucked up again and has lost you worse than he had before.

"Are you done?"

Nico clears his throat, feeling pathetic as exhaustion settles in the little space left in his body for even more emotions. He nods, watches the yellow line on the highway fly by his windows.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this from me because I know you don't wanna hear it at all, but just listen for a sec, ok?"

Timo waits for him to nod before continuing.

"This is not your fault Nico," the words sound earnest but they hit hollow to Nico. Of course this is his fault. Who else's could it be?

"Yeah we should've been better prepared for an emergency like this, and I mean we, not just you. But this has never happened before. None of the other girls have ever been messed with, because they're not yours. And like it or not, that's what really matters. Is that she's yours Nico."

He hears what Timo is saying, tries to shove it into his brain so he'll understand. Mine, he says over and over in his head, she's mine. All it does it remind him that the blame is also his.

"You love her, you wanted to do something nice for her after the past few months she's had. And that was the right thing to do for her, but we weren't ready for this, for her. And accidents happen Nico, you can't beat yourself up over it like this."

Nico inhales, takes a moment to hear his best friend. Timo is right. You, the whole situation tonight, it's all different. He's never had to deal with something like this. Still, he was raised in a mob family, he knows what it means to bring a partner into this life.

"I should've been ready," he argues, but it feels weak. Defeated, he feels defeated. "It's my job to be ready Timo and I didn't do it, and who knows how she'll pay for it."

"You can't pick when to fall in love, man. Just like you can't pick who you fall in love with, and how it'll happen, and how it will go. So you can't really be all that ready for it either.

"The fucked up thing with our lifestyle is that tiny detail of unpredictability usually gets someone hurt."

Again, he knows deep down that Timo is right. His friend has become wise beyond his years in the time since they started the Devils. It's what's made him such a good #2, a good person to work with. That and the fact that Nico has never had to shy away from his feelings and thoughts with Timo. Not like he does with the others. With Timo, he doesn't always have to be strong.

"It' scary," Nico mumbles, "Every day of my life since I've met her I've been scared. Scared to lose her, to hurt her, to ruin her life, to have her in my life. But it's even worse to not have her in it."

Fingers find his shoulder, hold onto his hoodie tightly and squeeze reassuringly. Nico looks over across the center counsel and meets Timo's quick glance. Even in the small fraction of time before he refocused on the road, Nico could see the certainty in Timo's eyes.

"It's worth it though, isn't it?"

Nico nods, licks at his dry lips and chokes out a painful chuckle. "Yeah, it's worth it. Of course she's fucking worth it."

Timo laughs with him, puts both hands back on the steering wheel and checks the police radar scanner before pressing down a little harder on the gas. The engine roars in protests, hesitating for a moment before pushing forward.

"I can't lose her Timo. I don't think I could ever get over her."

"You won't have to Nico, we're gonna get her."

Nico checks the GPS on the screen. Halfway there.

~~~~

Sid parks the car two blocks away from Fargo. Him and Jarry open up the back hatch, Jarry immediately pulling out equipment for Johnny to take in with him.

"Simple task John," Sid starts, taking a firm hold of Johnny's shoulder with his left hand to make sure the boy is actually listening. He is, but Johnny has one of those faces that always looks clueless.

"My guess is Giroux has got her somewhere in the warehouse. He wouldn't want her near the offices or shop talk..." If she's new to Hischier, she's new to it all. No sense in letting her hear anything that could help her out. "You just gotta get in, find her, and report back to us on how she's doing. Hide somewhere and keep her company until Hischier or his boys get in there for her."

Jarry shoves a mic pack in Johnny's jean pocket, handing him the wireless cuff to put in his ear. He rolls the little bud in his fingers, waiting for the signal to test it.

"Under no circumstance do you engage with the Flyers, ya hear me?" Sid shakes him a bit, brown eyes serious and commanding. Johnny nods.

"Unless they're gonna kill you or her, you're just surveillance. Keep her alive long enough for the Devs."

"Yes sir," he confirms, and Sid ruffles his hair, grins proudly.

"Atta boy, now test out that mic for us."

Johnny puts the earpiece in, hears the static burst of it connecting to Jarry's equipment. He tests it out, listens to his own voice echo back to him through Jarry's speaker. Once they're certain it works, he grabs brass knuckles and a knife, tucks them into his pockets.

"Ready?" Sid asks, and Johnny quickly agrees. "Report back to us how you find her, I gotta let Hischier know how to get to her the quickest."

"Yeah, no problem Sid." He confirms, the toe of his boot crunching as he turns to start walking towards Fargo. He only makes it a couple feet before stopping and turning back around.

"She means that much to him?"

It's unspoken who him is. They all know Hischier is the topic of the night. More specifically his sudden loyalty to this girl, sudden interest in a relationship.

Sid shares a look with Jarry, one Johnny can't really read from where he's at but he feels the weight of the words just as heavily.

"She's everything to him Marino."

~~~~

Your fingers ache, wrist throbbing painfully as you maneuver try to jam the sliver of metal further into the padlock. You’re not even sure where the thing came from but after scrounging around on the shelves you found it and figured might as well try.

It’s difficult to hold the padlock, your wrists having to twist it at an odd angle to reach the key hole on the bottom. You don’t even know how to pick a lock but something’s gotta give right?

Cursing when the lock doesn’t budge, you violently jiggle it and hope that something gets knocked loose or falls into place. You yank on it, metal clattering loudly in the abandoned warehouse before dropping it. Petulant and annoyed, you tenderly rub your rapidly swelling and bruised wrist, glaring at the lock.

The shuffle of a shoes scraping on the dirty floor of the warehouse makes you freeze, body stiffening and sense going on high-alert. You look around the large room, a cold chill trickling down your spine as you wait for any sign of the men from before.

But no one comes through the open door, not even a mouse. Yet you can hear movement from somewhere, little scuffles like they’re sneaking around.

“That things too dull to pick the lock.”

You whip around, gasping in surprise at the head of curly hair and brown eyes peeking out from behind stacks of crates and boxes.

“W-what?” You stumble, unsure of what to even say. You don’t know who this boy is or how long he’s been here. Is he with them? Or did they take him too?

“You can’t pick the lock with that,” he says again, pointing to the hunk of metal you had previously been holding. “It needs to be thinner at the top.”

You look down at it, kick it away with your shoe and take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart.

“Oh,” you mumble, dumbly. “Ok. Who are you?”

The boy looks around the room, checking for anyone else. When he’s sure it’s just you, he rises to his feet and perches on top of one.

“John,” he introduces. “Marino. M’here to make sure you’re ok and not like gonna die or anything.”

And well that tells you nothing. Not about who he is, who sent him, why he’s in charge of checking up on you. For all you know the men that took you sent him here to make sure you don’t bleed out.

However, he did seem to be sneaking around. Like he shouldn’t be here. Or he could just want you to think that, think that he’s actually helping you so you let your guard down.

John looks confused when you don’t say anything. He taps at his ear, purses his lips together and starts gently swinging his foot.

“Nico sent me,” he adds and just the name of your boyfriend has you trembling. Instinctively you stumble forward, pushing yourself to the far end of the cage. It’s pathetic, the way you half drag your injured leg behind you and crash into the chain link.

“Nico sent you? You know Nico?” You beg, desperate to know anything at all. Desperate to see him, to know that you’ll see him again.

Your fingers cling onto the fence, squeezing painfully and your wrist throbs so hard you think you’d be able to see it beating if you looked down. But you can’t look away from John, not until you know for sure that he knows Nico.

“Yeah I do,” he confirms, skeptically.

Frowning, you pull back just the slightest bit. “If you really know him,” you murmur “then tell me something about him?”

John bawks, looks you up and down like you’re crazy before his eyes narrow challengingly. He hums, taps at his chin like he’s thinking really hard.

“I think you’re lying Johnny boy.” You taunt, narrowing your own eyes at him.

“Fine,” he grunts “I know that Nico has a tattoo of a triangle on his ankle that he never shows anyone and no one knows what it means.”

You’re shocked by his answer, leaning back and loosening your hold on the fence. Nico does have a tattoo like that on his ankle and no one who’s just passed him in the street or heard of his reputation would know that. It’s always hidden by his clothes, a secret mark of his and he’s yet to tell you its importance. Even Timo told you he doesn’t know.

John takes your silence as victory, smirking proudly and tauntingly pointing at you. “Did you know about the tattoo sweetheart?”

“Of course I did,” you scoff “I know every little mark on that man’s body, thank you very much.”

Facing scrunching in disgust, he groans quietly, leaning back on the crate as if he’s trying to physically get away from you. “Ok didn’t need to know that.”

“Sorry,” you say quietly, and then the room is silent again. Nervous, unsure of what’s happening or what you’re supposed to do you gnaw at your bottom lip.

“It’s ok,” he says gently when you don’t continue. For the second time that night John looks you up and down, slower this time as he takes in the details of your face and clothes, eyes lingering on your wrist that’s now turned a dark shade of purple.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, “like really hurt?”

Teeth sinking painfully into your lip to keep it from wobbling, you inhale shakily and nod. Up until now it felt like you couldn’t admit how much your body hurt, how every muscle feels sore and bruised. Your leg feels useless and cold, and just the air on your wrist makes you want to curl into a ball to shield it.

“My leg is bleeding,” you choke out, hands shaking as you let go of the fence and reach for the jacket you’d tied around it. “A lot, I don’t know what to do about it.”

John is silent as you untie the knot with trembling fingers, unwrapping the jacket and revealing the rip in your jeans, the dark red and still gushing blood slit only your thigh.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, jumping up from his seat like he’s just been electrocuted. “Ok, quick wrap that back on there.” He instructs you and you immediately do as you're told, tears slipping down your cheeks as you try not to cry out in pain. It hurts even more the second time around.

John holds his finger up to his ear. “Sid we gotta get a sewing kit or something in here, she’s gonna bleed out on the concrete.”

Your head snaps up to look at him. "Who's Sid?"

"My boss," he responds, looking away as he listens to whoever is in his ear. Sid, you guess. "Hold up, yeah that'll work. Get it to the Southwest vent, last one on the right. I marked it with my knife."

Now addressing you, John crowds up close to the cage, his own fingers gripping the chain link. "I'll be right back ok, just sit down or something and don't move, capisce?"

Alarm bells go off in your head, your hands reaching out and locking over his in panic. "N-no don't leave, please don't leave Johnny."

"Hey, hey, hey..." he murmurs, ducking his head down to be eye-level with you. His gaze is reassuring, strong and certain in a way you've only ever seen from Nico. It makes you stop, heart jumping into your throat. God you wish Nico was here. "It's gonna be ok, I just need a moment to run and get something to fix that leg of yours, ok?"

He waits for a signal that you're hearing him before continuing. "I'm gonna be right back, I promise. You'll be ok, you're tough, I can tell. No girl of Nico's wouldn't be, huh?"

"Yeah," you mumble, the words sounding muffled in your ears.

"Ok good," John nods, rising up to his full height. "When I come back you're gonna sit your cute butt right there and tell me all about it, ok? I gotta hear how Hischier hooked you."

Nervously, you laugh and agree but you're not really sure what you're laughing at. You just know he was smiling at you like he made a joke and that was all you could do.

Watching John disappear in the back corner, you slump back to the ground and squeeze your eyes shut, counting your breaths until he gets back.

~~~~

The phone line rings, trilling through the speaker. Giroux sits with his feet propped up on the desk by it, dirty black boots lulling back and forth with each ring.

He answers moments later.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Now, that's not a very nice way to answer the phone." Giroux tsks, lips curling in amusement when Farabee shakes his head across the room. "Is this how you always handle business?"

"I have no business with you Claude," Nico snarks back, the static of the phone giving him more of a growl than he usually has.

"Hmm then what would you call the pretty little bird I've got here?"

"Off-limits," he spits, "touch one hair on her head and you'll be fucking sorry."

Giroux laughs, a loud obnoxious belly laugh that has Couturier and Farabee snickering alongside him. "Oh I don't think I will Hischier," he sighs happily. "But I can offer you her back, in mostly good condition, just as long as you hand over the contract for the deal with Met."

The line goes silent for a moment, so quiet that Giroux sits up and drops his boots back to the floor just to make sure the call is in fact still going.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Nico finally responds, and his tone sounds like it's dropped a few octaves, heavy with rage.

"You heard me, hand over the deal?"

A sarcastic laugh barks through the phone, harsh and unforgiving. "You even dumber than I thought you were," he goads, "there's no fucking contract you idiot. Unlike your gang of fuck ups, I actually know how to do business."

The two men are watching Giroux, confusion etched all over their faces. His face flushes with embarrassment and anger, hating being talked to like this in front of his men.

"Watch your tone Hischier or that girl of yours will hear for it."

"Like I said, touch her and I'll make you regret it," Nico spits, the venom of his words practically dripping through the phone and all over the desk. It makes Giroux rise, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

"Let me tell you about how we do things in Jersey, Claude. We're respectable gentlemen, we hold open doors and we help carry grocery bags, and we shake hands with our acquaintances. Acquaintances that we do business with, and that personal touch is a helluva lot stronger than a fucking piece of paper."

Dread creeps down Giroux's spine. There was never a deal, not one that can be breached. Nico and the Devils had a Jersey contract with MetLife, and even if they stole deal right out from under the Flyers, local gang sealings always win out over paper contracts.

Giroux has just never bothered to have one, never needed one. The Philly deals have always been minor. But he knows the unwritten law of the gangs, knows what not to breach. His mistake was believing Hischier had done this on the books.

"On the other hand," Nico continues, cutting off his spiral. "we protect what's ours. And you've taken something of mine that was not up for grabs, you've taken one of ours. I don't know how you run shit down there, Claude, but up here in Jersey, we don't play games with the women that feed us, clean up our wounds, keep the family together ya know?

"That's just bad manners. And we answer bad manners, with bad manners of our own. Things like showing up uninvited, or I don't know even burning all of Broad Street to the fucking ground. And don't think I'm joking Claude, there's a reason we're called the Devils, after all.

"We're not afraid to fight with fire. And we will raise hell."

Claude smacks his hand over the phone, hitting mute before looking up at his men. "Find somewhere to move her, now!" He demands frantically waving them around the room. "Hischier can't find her here, we need another safe house or drop her on the fucking street, I don't care. And call in back up!”

Farabee and Couturier spring into action, moving around the room like headless chickens. Nico barks his name through the phone and Giroux unmutes it, clearing his throat and putting forward his best amused voice.

“You do that Hischier,” he encourages, “Drop out of the deal or the only place you’ll see your girl again is in hell.”

~~~~

You’re still counting your breaths when his boots scuffle on the floor again, eyes snapping open to find him crouched by the cage. John is holding a little black box in his hand, fingers trembling slightly as he grips onto the fence.

"You still with me?"

"Yeah," you nod, swallowing thickly and sitting up straighter. "What do I do?"

John motions to the shelf behind your back. "First, I need ya to get that bottle of Everclear."

Doing as told, you force yourself to collect the bottle of alcohol for him, sitting back in your original spot with your wounded leg straightened out in front of you.

He keeps going through instructions, almost methodically as he tells you to take a quick swig of the drink, for nerves of course. Choking back the drink, you untie the jacket from your leg once again and lay it off to the side, looking at the boy next to you expectantly.

"Now here's the hard part," he winces, "you gotta sterilize the wound as much as possible."

"What?"

Sighing, he jabs a finger at the bottle of Everclear. "Pour it on there, as much as you can for as long as you can. And try not to be too loud, last thing we need is Flyers coming down here."

Hesitantly, you bring the bottle up and over your leg. Your free hand grips onto the collar of your shirt and you lift it to your lips, biting into the thin fabric. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tip the bottle and let the alcohol pour down onto the wound.

The pain is unbearable. You want to scream, cry, kick your legs like a toddle in a rampage. But it's paralyzing, has you stiff as a board as you cry into your shirt and twitch uncomfortably.

You don't know how long you keep pouring, but it feels like minutes to you, though it can't be. Not judging by the amount of liquid still in the bottle. Even so John looks pleased when you pry your collar out of your mouth, swallowing down another harsh gulp of the drink before discarding the bottle to the side.

Messily, you wipe at your cheeks, sniffling as you blink up at him.

"What now?"

The box in his hand is a sewing kit. Meant for clothes or bags, but he insists it'll do the job, at least for now. John cleans the needle for you, pulling out a small pink lighter from his pocket and holding the needle in the flame. Then he's threading it for you, softly muttering instructions as he shows you. You're glad he doesn't make you thread it because you can't really feel your fingers anymore. Just buzzing, numb fingertips.

Too soon, he's slipping the threaded needle through the cage to you, telling you how to hold it and keep the thread untangled. He doesn't have to tell you what i's for, you already know.

So you steel yourself again, biting into your cheek as you follow his commands of pinching the wound shut with one hand, methodically pushing the needle through the flesh until you've got a fairly good looking stitch.

"Atta girl," he compliments, grinning proudly and it makes your chest flutter with relief. At least something is going well tonight. "Bellissimo."

You chuckle wetly, beginning the next one. "Non male, eh?"

John's grin grows at your words, eyes twinkling. "Tu parli Italiano?"

"Sì lo faccio," you answer, wincing at the pinch of the needle. "My family is Italian. Mamma and papa left Italy to get married, here in Jersey."

You're not sure why you're telling him all of this, but having something to talk about it making it easier to sew up the wound so you keep going.

"They were running from the mafia," you snort, humorlessly. "Little did they know, huh?"

John shuffles, drops down onto his bottom so he's sitting facing you, back leaning against the crates. "I left Italy for school," he says quietly, "my Papa stayed back to pay for it. Went through some mafioso friend to pay for it for me. Four years at Harvard, he's sill paying for it."

You tilt your head in confusion. "Still?"

He clears his throat, nodding solemnly. When he speaks, it's in Italian again. "They killed him, when he couldn't pay it back in time. I was two months away from graduation."

Pausing, you sit up and look at him. He looks younger than he did before, hunched in on himself, brown eyes heavy and sad. "I'm sorry John." you reply, addressing him in Italian too. "I can't imagine."

"Johnny," he corrects, "call me Johnny. And it's not all that bad. I got to stay here, with Sid and the Pengs. S'nice. M'sure you get it, feeling at home with the Devs, yeah?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes and slowly going back to stitching yourself up. "They don't speak Italian," you say, "For awhile I think it was just Swiss guys and Bratter. But Nico's got a big heart, he ended up letting anyone in."

Johnny laughs. "You joined a mob that's not Italian? How'd that happen?"

"I didn't join," you correct, "I fell in love."

The two of you continue on like that, speaking softly in Italian like it hasn't been months since you've used the language. Johnny seems to enjoy it too, giving you tips and pointers on your stitches.

And you tell him everything, the story of the past year of your life with Nico and the Devils. How you met Nico just before the start of your senior year of university, at his bar that you basically made your own. And for months you were with him all the time, spent every free second with him, even if meant he was just watching you study, patiently waiting until you gave him the sign that he could slip you out of your clothes and into his bed.

You're friends learned about him, warned you about what the streets said. But you ignored it because he felt so right, and the more you were with him, the more wrong you're friends became. Around Spring you become his unofficial girlfriend, his girl to the group and to your friends, but hidden from everyone else.

Two weeks before graduation you asked him about the group, for real this time. And he told you everything, what he did, how he got into it, how they got their reputation. Exactly what kind of lifestyle it was.

Not the greatest, but for him worth it. So worth it that when you went to your parents with the information that your boyfriend, your mafioso boyfriend would be attending graduation, they gave you the ultimatum. They didn't flee organized crime just for you to bring it back into the family here.

You showed up for graduation unsure, confused, and lost. But Nico had shown up, and with him came Timo and Jack and Dawson, all somehow in the front row being rowdy and annoying.

It was a no brainer. You'd pick him in any lifetime. Because you know he wouldn't make you choose, he'd find a way for you to have everything. After the ceremony was the last time you spoke to them.

Four days later you told Nico you were all in, that you'd given up your parents and brother, your life to be a part of this life.

And the worst happened. He said no. Even when you begged and cried, told him that you love him more than anything else, he still said no. You're not dumb, you knew what he was doing. You loved him enough to lose everything, and that terrified him.

For a month, you lived without him. Miserable, family-less, and doing everything to just move on. It came in the form of going out every night with your friends, to forget him, to let loose before your adult lives started for real.

That month must have been hell for him too, because he came running back not too long later. Telling you he was sorry, that he had been scared and unsure, that you caught him off guard. He hadn't been ready before, but he was now.

You knew better than to let that feeling of love go, so you went against the advice of your friends. You followed him to Jersey, set roots in the Devils that had been growing ever since.

Talking to Johnny is nice. It feels like having an old friend back, not one Nico has assigned to you or ordered to listen to you, but someone genuinely curious. You haven't felt like that since early summer, when you were still with your college crowd.

"Wow," Johnny whistles when you've finished. "I never would've thought that that is what Hischier had up his sleeve this past year."

"Yeah," you laugh, listening closely as he tells you how to tie off the thread of your stitches. They're a little wonky and sloppy, but they do the job just fine. At least that what he tells you before instructing you to cover them with your jacket again.

"So when did you officially join?" He continues, and you chuckle.

"I haven't," you reply, "I don't have a pendant yet. Up until tonight, I didn't even think anyone actually saw me as Nico's girlfriend except him an-"

"Wait," he interrupts, shaking his head. "Giroux and the Flyers came after you without a Devs mark?"

Assuming that's who you've been taken by, you silently nod. He fishes out a pocket knife, slips it to you so you can cut the thread off. You hand him the needle back, trying to slip the knife back through when he grunts.

"Nah you keep it," he says, "you can use it to carve up some Flyers when we get you outta here."

~~~~

Timo has barely slammed on the brakes when Nico is throwing the door open, jumping out of the vehicle and stalking towards Sid and Jarry.

"What's happening?" He demands, shoving his gun back into his waistband. Behind him, the other vehicles come to a stop, all the boys slipping out in similar fashions.

Sid waves him over, an iPad in hand that he holds out to Nico. It's a simple map of Fargo, specifically the ground level. A thin red line trails through it, carving out a path.

"Earpiece my guy has got in has a tracker," he informs Nico, nodding to Jarry's equipment. The broody brunette is hunched over a radio system, large headphones over his ear. "He's in there with her now, this is the route he took."

Nico's head snaps up, glancing over at Jarry. "He's in there now? And she's with him, you're sure?"

"Yeah," Sid laughs, "he's been in there for a little over an hour. No sign of them coming down to fuck with her since he got there, but he mentioned medical aid."

Jittery, Nico takes in the map, commits it to memory. Then he's handing it off to Timo. "Memorize it," he instructs gruffly, "all of you. We get in, get to her, and take the same way out. Jack and Mercer, you keep two vehicles out here running. We get out with her, get her in one and drive, no matter what. Seperate, don't let anyone see what car she is in. You don't meet up again until you're sure you're not being followed,

"The rest of you will kill as many fucking Flyers as you see in there. And on the way out, burn it."

Sid is giggling when Nico finishes explaining the plan to his men, and he looks over at him through a burning glare. "What's so funny, Crosby?"

He holds both hands up, shaking his head in amusement. "Nothing. I’ll instruct the boys on where to take her. Got a safe house not too far away.”

“Thanks,” Nico nods to Jarry. "What's he doing?"

Sid looks over, raises an eyebrow. "He's in Marino's ear, taking reports on what's happening inside. Been listening to him chat with Miss Devil for a bit now."

"He's listening to her?"

"Oh yeah," Sid nods, "not that he really got anything. They've been talking in Italian I guess. Jarry's strictly English over there and well I just know a little Russ-"

"Can he talk to her?" Nico interrupts, impatient and tired of this conversation. "Can she hear him?"

"Well Marino can," Sid confirms, "he can't take the comm out because it'll disconnect but he can relay a message to her, for sure."

That's all Nico needs to hear. He's ripping the earphones off Jarry, the cord slipping unplugged and static erupts from the machine. But then he hears it, slightly muffled but definitely you. He'd know that voice anywhere, how sweet it sounds, even when it's speaking a language he barely knows.

"The mic," he demands, and Jarry is handing him the tiny mouthpiece, bristling when Nico yanks it out of his hand and shoulders him away.

"Marino," he calls into it, "it's Hischier, do you copy?"

The speakers go silent for just a moment before his voice flows through, louder and clearer then yours. "Marino here, I copy."

Nico breathes out a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping inwards. "I-just wait with her a bit longer, ok? My men and I are coming in, tell her to hang on for me, ok?"

He knows he sounds pathetic, weak and desperate but he doesn't care. Not right now, not with her so close but so far.

"You got it," Marino confirms, continuing his words in Italian and Nico knows he's sending the message along. He's not sure entirely what he's telling her but he recognizes the words good and lucky.

Nico barely gets to here your far away voice say his name before shouts are cutting you off, scuffling and you screaming breaking through the line.

And then it goes dead.

~~~~

"Looks like it's our lucky day," Johnny grins at you, removing his finger from his earpiece. "The good guys are here for ya."

Your hand clenches around the pocket knife you've been holding, heart thudding in your chest and you try to fight back the smile tugging at your lips, the relief fluttering in your veins.

His name is on the tip of your tongue, desperate to ask for him, to ask to hear him through the earpiece, just for one moment, just to know he's actually here.

All that comes out instead is a terrified screech, one that rips through your throat and chest painfully. Johnny is roughly hauled up into the air and around the side of the cage, tripping over his feet as a tall brunette towers over him. Though he's got quiete the build on Johnny, it's not him that's terrifying. No it's the barrel of the slick, black pistol pointed at Johnny's head.

"Well look what waddled in," the man hisses, effortlessly tossing Johnny to the ground next to him. You're frozen, mouth hanging open with horror as Johnny scrambles to his feet only to hold still when he comes face to face with the gun.

"Farabee," Johnny says lowly.

"Last I checked she was with the Devils, not the Penguins," Farabeee says, tilting his head in thought. "Walk, now."

Farabee shoves Johnny around the front of the cage until he's at the locked door. Then the brunette is glaring over at you, dark eyes so piercing and cold you stutter, mouth clamping shut.

"Over here sweetheart," he instructs and you hesitantly get up, wincing at the pull in your stitches. You don't stop until you're standing in front of the door, peering at Johnny with wide eyes through the chain link.

"I'm gonna unlock the door," Farabee explains, faux sweetness dripping off his tongue. "and you're gonna open it for your good friend Marino here. Then I'm gonna close it, and we'll see how much fun Giroux let's me have with you two, ok?"

Johnny's jaw clenches, nose flaring as he grunts out his agreement. Your throat is to dry, tongue too big in your mouth to say anything so you just nod, meekly.

"Good, now get on your knees!" Farabee barks, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and you sink down onto your tender leg, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

"Oh you like that one, huh? No hesitation, sweetheart? No wonder Nico likes you." He taunts. Heat crawls up your neck and ears, burns at the apples of your cheeks. You keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the low top converse Farabee is wearing. No socks underneath either, the pale skin of his ankle sticking out.

Nico never wears those. Of course he's got Nikes that he loves, wears them everywhere, even with formal attire. But he always wears boots on a job, protective and steel-toed. Heavy too, you know from the time you tried them on and clunked around his apartment like a clown.

He's protecting weak spots, you realize, he can't get away if a deal goes bad if someone's injured his ankles or feet.

Ears ringing, you swallow harshly and let your fingers find the blade of the pocket knife in your hand. You hear key rattle, the lock above your head jingling, though it's muffled by your thoughts.

With a shaky left hand, you push open the door of the cage, looking up at Johnny through your eyelashes. Farabee shoves him into the cage and he stumbles into you, enough that when you lean to the right and leap forward, it looks like you're simply moving out of his way.

But your fingers have locked on the knife, pushing the blade out and you quickly swipe at the left foot of Farabee. With all your strength you drag the blade over the back of his ankle, the knife getting hot and slippery at the amount of blood that spurts out.

Farabee cries out, falls forward onto his knees. The gun in his hand clatters to the ground as he reaches for the wound behind him, and you drop the knife to reach for the pistol.

You don't know much about guns, but you know that the safety is off and all you really have to do is pull the trigger. Which is what you do, aiming for his chest, but the recoil makes you flinch back and the bullet sinks into his right armpit.

Falling back, the gun once again clatters to the ground. You're ears are still ringing, hands numb as you scramble back into the cage, kicking until you've collided with the shelf behind you.

He is laying in a heap on the ground, is legs squished under his body awkwardly. Even from here you can see the pool of blood around him. But you can't move, can't hear, can't see anything but the blood on him and on your hands. It feels like the gun is still in your hands, heavy and daunting.

You gasp, wheezing as you try to catch your breath, try to get your head to focus. Someone will definitely come down here after that, and you and Johnny can't be here.

Two hands cup your face, so cold on your flushed and sweating skin that it jolts you, makes you blink and look up to find Johnny looking down at you.

"Cara," he calls gently, in Italian “we gotta get up, we gotta go now."

Dumbly, you latch onto his arms, let him haul you up onto your feet. He leaves you standing there as he picks up the gun and knife from earlier, glancing at Farabee on the floor before rushing back to your side.

When he speaks to you again, it sounds like your underwater. "Take this, try to keep up."

He shoves the bloodied knife back in your hand before crouching down to slip your left arm over his shoulders. Then he's taking you by the waist, practically dragging you as you limp out the open door and past Farabee’s body. You can't bring yourself to look at him, to see if he's dead or not.

He's not moving, and that's enough for you.

You're choking down breathes, clinging to Johnny as he guides you back towards the old zamboni. The two of you have just rounded it to reveal a short hallway when your eyes seem to focus, a familiar figure busting though the door at the end.

"Y/n!"

It's instinct, the way you immediately leap from Johnny's hold at the sound of his voice. More figures have followed him through the door, but you don't spare them a glance, you can't look away from him.

Nico seems to pick up his pace when he realizes your limping, quickly closing the gap between you two. You fling yourself at him, arms locking around his neck as you push off your good leg.

The knife Johnny had given back to you presses into his shoulder, the blood staining his white shirt but you don't care. You just squeeze your eyes shut, let the others shove around you two as you try to keep sucking in air.

You’re panicking, dry heaving, shuttering sobs that get caught in your chest and throat. Nico strokes over the back of your head protectively, his arms and body so strong and safe.

Gunfire sounds behind you, some shouting and you pull back from Nico, grabbing onto the hem of his shirt as you look back down the hallway. Johnny and Timo are there, leaning around the corner to fire shots. And pressed against the side of the zamboni are Haula and Jesper, their own weapons out and ready to go.

"Let's go baby," Nico urges you, hands on your waist as he guides you back down the hall. After a few limping steps, Nico stops, turning and swiftly picking you up.

Your hands stay locked in the fabric of his shirt, terrified that if you let him go he'll disappear. Through the door is another abandoned room, smaller and darker, with old wooden desks. Like it was some sort of office.

Numbly, you look around, only stopping when you come face to face with Nico. He's glancing down at you as he goes, trudging through another door and hall. You bite your lip, take in the way his eyebrows are pinched together and mouth pursed in a thin line. And his eyes, they're so unlike him that you don't even know what to say. Dark and droopy, almost haunted looking.

You open your mouth and the only words that come out are “You came for me?”

Nico falters in his steps, slowing down as he stares at you incredulously. “Of course I came for you baby,” he says and shakes his head in disbelief. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” you hiccup, dropping your gaze in embarrassment. “I-We’re in Philadelphia and it’s far and I didn’t know h-“

“I will always come for you,” he interrupts, unable to just stand there and let you break his heart. "Baby, you gotta know that. There's no way I would have just left you here."

His earnest rattles your chest, brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes and you swallow heavily. After everything these past couple months, you should know that. He came back for you before. But you're mind loves to focus on the month he didn't want you, the month that he did leave you.

You shake the thought away, sniffling as he comes to a stop by the back corner of the wall. "Alright baby," gently, he places you back on your feet. "I'm gonna lift you up through the vent. Jonas is out there waiting for you, he's gonna help you ou-"

"You're coming too right?"

Nico clamps his mouth shut, tilting his head sympathetically. You immediately shake yours, tightening your hold on him. "I can't - Nico please-"

"Ok, ok, breathe for me baby, breathe."

He holds your face in his hands, frowning when his thumb ghosts over the cut on your swollen cheek. Trembling, you breathe in and out with him, squeezing your eyes shut when he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.

"M'not leaving you," he promises quietly, "s'ok, I'm not leaving you."

Clinging onto him and his words, you take another deep breathe and for the first time all night, bask in the hope of walking out of here alive.

~~~~

Sidney Crosby is his real name. That's what he tells you when Nico helps you out of the car Mercer had been driving. By the time you'd driven away from the warehouse it was already going up in flames, Nico looking through the back windshield with glee.

You felt it too, for a moment. Heart thumping excitedly and relief flooding through your veins. It quickly faded when the adrenaline did, and the pain in your face, wrist, and leg returned.

Barley able to hold yourself up, Sidney motions you into the front door of his overly large mansion. Right, he's the boss, he's Johnny's boss-

"Johnny!" You gasp, straightening in Nico's hold as alarm bells go off in your head. You remember seeing him with Timo, seeing Farabee’s gun in his hand. "Johnny, where is- I left him Nico."

Both him and Mercer look at you like you’re crazy but you're already fighting off their hold, trying to limp back to the front door. "I have to go back for him," you cry when they latch onto you again, Nico easily pining you to his chest. "No, I have to-"

"He's ok, he's ok!" Nico is yelling over your cries, "He's with Timo and the others, he's ok."

You grab at Nico's hand, dig your nails into them as you sob. "I forgot him, I forgot him..."

Everything in you gives out after that, bones and muscles turning to mush in Nico's hold. He drags you across the living room and into the kitchen where a man is standing by the table with a medkit.

Now that you're crying again, you can't stop. You can barley see through your wet and swollen eyes, broken whimpers leaving your lips and Nico has to fall into the dining room chair with you in his arms, holding you tight to his chest.

You feel the sharp sting of the needle in your arm, bristling as you look up to find an unknown pair of brown eyes and a thin face peering down at you. Warmth spreads through you, everything turning to Jell-O and all you can do is lay in Nico's arm, hiccupping as they go to work fixing you.

~~~~

"I didn't realize she had such an attachment to Marino," Sid says quietly, him and Nico watching you from across the room. After Sid's personal doctor Fleury sedated you, Nico was able to hold you still until your hysterical cries had quieted. But as soon as the rest of the boys arrived and Marino came barreling into the kitchen shouting for you, he was quickly kicked out of the dining room chair.

You're holding Marino's hand, perched on top of the kitchen counter as Fleury finishes up stitching your cheek. Your poor little face is swollen and bruised, lip busted in the corner. Fleury's got a temporary cast around the wrist you fractured, and he's had to cut the pants leg off of you're injured leg to redo the messy stitches there.

"Me either," Nico murmurs, arms crossed over his chest. You look like a trainwreck to put it honestly. And yet still so sweet, even when your mind is half gone. You're talking, the words slurring a bit but it's in full, fluent Italian and from the look on Marino's face, he can understand you. So you must be pretty coherent.

It has been awhile since they sedated you to be fair. Nico still worries though, wonders what you're blabbering on about.

"Eh kid needed a friend," Sid says, nodding towards Marino. "I took him in after his father was killed in Italy, he was fresh outta college. Never really got to have fun, to be a kid. And he sure as hell never gets to speak Italian."

Nico hums. "She doesn't either," he says. "All the family she's got is us, and we don't know the language."

Him and Sid look around, take in Haula, Timo, Jonas, and Jesper sat at the kitchen table, sipping on beers as they too watch her. Jack and Mercer hover, standing behind her like they might jump into the conversation if they could.

"S'pretty good fucking family." Sid compliments.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Thanks, for your help tonight Sid. And tell Jarry thanks too."

"Of course, no problem Hischier."

"If you ever need anything, you know who to call. I guarantee my men will be fighting over chances to pay you back for her."

Sid laughs, claps Nico on the back. Before he can say anything, Marino is calling for him.

"Her highness over here is ready for a shower," he says, jabbing a thumb at her. She giggles at him, messily wiping at her sniffling nose before looking to Nico. "And she really needs one too, peeew."

Nico comes over, takes her warm hand from Marino and helps her off the counter. Sid motions to the hall across the room. "Gotta a room down here for ya, Geno took in clothes for you both."

Nodding gratefully, Nico leads you and your bambi legs down the hall and into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. Not wanting to get blood or dirt on anything, he doesn't let you sit down until your in the bathroom, perched on the countertop.

He turns the water on, strips himself of his shirt and jeans before moving to you. You're already watching him, eyes red and glossy, and you hold your arms up for him to peel you out of your shirt.

"I think I killed a Flyer," you say quietly "Johnny said maybe he lived but I didn't see him move."

Nico swallows, distracts himself with gently removing your cast from your arm. "You didn't kill anyone baby," he comforts. "Anyone that died, anyone that got hurt tonight is on me."

His throat burns as he says it, eyes stinging with tears. It's the truth, all of tonight was his fault. Your pain, Johnny's, even the Flyer you hurt, is on him. Because he put you in that situation.

"He was a bad person," you say slowly, but the words are strong and certain. Nico keeps going, helping you undress and lay your ruined clothes on the bathroom floor. "I don't feel bad, but it was scary."

"Yeah," Nico sniffles, "I was scared too."

You gasp. "You were?"

"Of course I was, I was scared I'd lost you for good this time."

Tender hands cup his jaw, force him to look up at you. You've got the sweetest smile on your lips, so pretty even with all the bruising and cuts.

"I told Johnny how much I love you. While he taught me to stitch."

He nods. "Marino kept you alive."

"Eh," you make a face, "I think it was more the thought of you. Of getting back to you. That's why he asked me about you."

Nico heart aches, the pain so bittersweet he thinks he could look down and physically see his own chest cracking open. But he keeps his eyes on you.

"You don't cry very much," you whisper, stroking his cheeks. "Maybe we should sedate you too."

Unexpectedly, a wet laugh bubbles out of him and you giggle in response. Yeah, you're definitely still feeling that shot.

"Maybe," he agrees, "but first let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, ok?"

"Ok," you agree, sitting there patiently while he finishes undressing. "Can Johnny sleep with us?"

He frowns, helps you down from the counter. "No, he can't"

"Just in the same room then?"

"Baby, no. Why would you want that?"

You pout, looking up at him with sad eyes as he peels back the shower curtain. "I like him," you say, as if that's enough of an explanation for Nico to let another boy sleep in the bed with you.

"He's got his own bed."

"Can we sleep in there with him , then?"

Nico huffs, steps into the hot water and tries to urge you in. You don't budge.

"I want to sleep in our own bed."

You sigh, holding his hands and join him under the spray of hot water. "How about Sid then?"

Nico runs his hands over your face, wipes away all the dripping dirt and blood. "Why do you want us to sleep with everyone?"

"I don't know," you shrug, "I like Sidney Crosby."

Shaking his head, Nico laughs and helps you wet your hair.

"He's pretty," you continue, fingers reaching out to play with the wet hair matted to Nico's forehead. "If he had dimples he'd be as pretty as you."

Nico blushes. "Thank you."

"Johnny has no tooth," you add, "but he's still cute too..."

And he lets you go on and on for the rest of the shower, any little thought that pops into your head coming out, even when he's in the middle of rinsing shampoo out of your head and instructed you to keep your mouth closed. Instead you get a mouthful of suds.

Neither of you care. You mostly because you're still loopy, but for him, it's because he knows you're home safe and sound. And Giroux and the Flyers on choking on their own ashes right now.

[nethhiri]

Kid and killer with someone who is a literal mouse/rat ? ate the mouse zoan fruit unknowingly thinking I’d be a cooler ability

I hope you don't mind if I turned this into a little drabble bc it inspired me. It was such a cute idea.

(Okay this got out of hand... I am incapable of telling a succinct story)

The Only Free Cheese Is in the Mousetrap

You had to admit, when you first ate the Mouse-Mouse fruit, you thought it was going to be something a little bit cooler. Mice were small and lame. No one would blink twice at a silly little mouse. As it turned out, that was your advantage.

You had been trying to hitch a ride through the Grand Line and you had been successful for the most part, hiding in the storage of random ships, eating whatever you could find. You didn't need much as an innocent little mouse. This ship, however, had no food in storage. There were only weapons and prisoners. If you got caught on this ship, the consequences would surely be dire.

The mistake was made when you decided to venture around the ship in search of food. You happened to find yourself in the workshop of the notorious K.I.D., Eustass 'Captain' Kid that is. Unfortunately you were a very unique, bright white mouse. It didn't leave you much in the way of camouflage, unless there was a bowl of flour somewhere. Even more unfortunate was that Kid was a very observant man and spotted you instantly.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A wee mouse?" Kid crouched in front of you.

You had been so sure he was going to crush you under his foot.

"Yer not even scared, eh?"

In truth, you were terrified, in the third, secret state of fight or flight: freeze.

"Wait here, mousey."

Kid returned to his bench, where there was a mostly empty plate, save for some crumbs. He collected them in his hands and returned to the interesting white mouse, sprinkling them on the floor.

"Here ya go."

He returned to his work, glancing up at you every so often to watch you nibble on the crumbs.

The next evening, you returned. He wasn't going to squish you and he even fed you. If he continued, you could just do this and survive until the next stop in port. You were pleasantly surprised to find that he had already set out some cubes of cheese.

"There ya go, mousey. I got the good stuff from Killer's stash."

That made your tiny mouse ears flick forward. So there's better food somewhere on the ship.

It turned out, you didn't have to search for it. Kid brought it to you. Over the next evenings, Kid left grapes, cheese, bread, bananas, and a bunch of other little tidbits. After about a week, there was a tiny metal table and chair set out with the food on top. You played along and sat in the chair for him, which mad him extremely happy. He moved it slightly closer to his bench every night until it was on the top of his desk. If someone had told you that you would be eating cubes of cheese, sitting on the desk of Eustass 'Captain' Kid, you would have laughed in their faces, but here you were doing just that.

This evolved even further until you were being carried around in a pocket on the inside of his coat. It was a little warm, but it offered protection. Every so often, he would sneak a crumb into the pocket for you.

"Boss, why are you feeding your coat?" Heat had been watching him put crumbs in his pocket over the course of dinner.

"No I'm not!" Kid said defensively, not answering the question correctly.

Killer reached out to pull open his coat, but Kid snatched it closer to him. Killer tugged on it harder.

"Stop it! Yer gonna hurt Mousey!"

"Mousey?" Killer let go of Kid's coat.

Kid hmphed.

"Kid."

Begrudgingly, Kid opened his coat.

"I don't see anything," Wire quipped.

Kid's face had a light dusting of pink. He whispered into his coat, "Come on out." Nothing happened. "It's okay."

You didn't expect to be revealed to anyone and you were reluctant to come out. Kid had kept you safe this far, though. You poked your snout out of the pocket and sniffed. There were quite a lot of people in the room. Your round, soft ears followed until your whole head was peering out of the pocket's edge. You were met with a chorus of adoring squeals from the girls and even some of the guys in the crew. Kid scratched between your ears, which you were ashamed to say, felt amazing and a squeak slipped out of your mouse mouth.

Heat covered his face. "So cute." Heat reached out to scratch your head.

"Don't ya touch my Mousey." Kid possessively closed his coat.

Heat's face got even sadder than it normally was.

"Just keep that thing out of my kitchen," Killer said. "They're full of germs."

Kid muttered down into the pocket. "Don't listen to him, Mousey. He's just jealous."

The next few days, since you weren't really a secret anymore, you spent sitting on Kid's shoulder. Killer had just as much disdain for you as he did initially, much to Kid's dismay. He really wanted his first mate to think you were as cool as Kid thought. Even the tiny leather jacket he made you didn't convince the blonde.

Kid fed you well, but you were still intrigued by this secret food stash that supposedly existed. There wasn't much entertainment as a mouse on a ship and you were getting bored. So at night, you had been searching the ship for this treasure. The kitchen was the most obvious, yet the scariest place to hunt. Certainly if there was hidden food, it would be there, however, Killer was extremely territorial and observant. It would be dangerous to search that particular area. Tonight was the night you would risk it.

It was easy enough to slip under the kitchen door. Finding the good treats was harder, but your well-equipped nose was able to sniff them out. The problem came when your tiny mouse hands were unable to figure out how to open the secret paneling that the food was hidden behind. You could turn into your human form, risky as it was. It would be nice to stretch it out. You had been a mouse for several weeks.

Taking your human form, you poked around the paneling until it revealed its contents. There was a variety of fancy or high quality specialty foods, including cheeses and preserved meats. You found a knife and cut small pieces from a few things you were interested in. Then you put everything back in its approximate original position. You climbed onto the counter and reverted back into a mouse, stuffing the tiny pieces of food you had curated into your cheeks.

The following day, as Killer went about his business, he noticed a set of bare footprints on the floor. There was a light dusting of flour from the day before when he made pasta from scratch. He hadn't noticed it before now. What was strange was that the footprints were only in one spot, like a person materialized and dematerialized there. It was also strange that someone who wasn't Kid was barefoot in the kitchen, and these footprints were about half the size of his. He somewhat brushed it off, that is, until he noticed the other footprints on the counter, the much tinier, much mousier footprints.

You had been spending most of your time in the walls of the ship, when you weren't being carried around in Kid's pocket. Today was no exception. You spent some of your time exploring listening in on others' conversations. Peering through the cracks of the wood, you decided to eavesdrop on Kid. Killer had come to talk to him and you were curious about what the captain and first-mate talked about. It was a good thing you did, since you were the subject matter.

"Kid, there's something up with your mouse."

His head snapped up from what he was doing. "What? Did something happen to them?"

"The 'mouse' is fine." Killer made air-quotes as he spoke.

"What do ya mean 'mouse'?" Kid copied his air-quotes.

"I mean I don't think it's just a mouse." Killer explained. "There are footprints in my kitchen that go from human to mouse." Killer wasn't stupid. He could put the pieces together.

"So ya think Mousey is a person?"

"I do."

"Prove it."

Shit. He was on to you. You didn't even notice the footprints you left behind. Should you even show up to eat? Or would it be more suspicious if you didn't? You ended up waiting until Kid left for the night before skittering out to grab your little crumbs and retreating into the wall.

You made yourself relatively scarce for the next few days, meaning you spent more time spying on the crew, for entertainment purposes only. One particular conversation caught your attention. You only caught portions of it, but it was clearly a mutinous theme. It ended shortly after you caught on to it, however, so you didn't get any details. Technically, it wasn't your problem. This wasn't your crew and you weren't planning on sticking around. It ate at you though. It felt wrong not to repay Kid for keeping you safe. Maybe you could return the favor.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary after that. Maybe they had given up on their plans. Until one evening in particular, someone new had delivered Kid's dinner to his workshop. He didn't always eat in there but he did more and more after he started feeding you. There was something off about the smell of the food. It wasn't right. Before Kid could eat any, you scrambled up to the table and bit his hand as he reached for the fork.

"Mousey! What the fuck?! That hurt." Kid bopped your head with a finger. "No biting."

As he reached for the fork again you knocked it onto the floor.

"Don't piss me off, Mouse."

He wasn't going to take the hint. He leaned over to pick up the fork, which is when you took the opportunity to push the plate onto the floor.

"FUCK!"

You knew he wasn't going to be happy, in spite of that, you couldn't watch him eat poisoned food. You tried to run away afterward, knowing this. However, you were slow compared to him and his powers quickly put a tiny metal cage around you.

"Ya act like this after all I've done for ya?! Bad mouse!" He picked up the miniature jail cell and gave it a shake, causing you to tumble around inside, with squeaks of discomfort.

Kid stomped off with you in tow and threw you to Killer once he found the first mate.

"Take this little shit to the brig."

Killer gave him a questioning look behind his mask. "You want me to put the mouse in a cell?"

"Well, I ain't gonna kill it. I'm not a monster."

Kid relayed all your crimes to the blonde. It was funny, how Killer felt a little bit bad for you, even though he had never shown you favor prior to that. You bounced with every step he took down to the brig.

"Oh, Mousey. You fucked up." Killer was to keep you here until they docked somewhere to let you go.

No, you fucked up. Neither of them were familiar with mouse physiology it seemed. The bars on your prison were way too far apart. As soon as Killer left, you squeezed out of the cage and made a beeline back to Kid's workshop.

It was vacant at the moment. You hurried to the desk and found a writing instrument. It was tough in your diminutive body, but you left a message for the captain:

YOU ARE IN DANGER.

You hoped he took it seriously. Then you scurried your furry body back to your cell before anyone noticed, not that they would.

Unfortunately, Kid thought it was a prank. You tried another note on his desk. You tried to leave him a note on his mirror in lipstick. At this point, Kid considered that there was a ghost on board. Clearly this method wasn't working. Once it became obvious, you started venturing out of the cage when you knew there wasn't anyone scheduled to come down there to feed or check on you. The next best thing to try was going back to spying and figuring out who exactly was involved.

Now, what you would do when you figured it out? That was decided for you. It wasn't what you intended. But what were you supposed to do? One of the men spotted you. And he backed you into a corner. And he was going to step on you. Your only choice was to transform. And when he pulled a knife? Well, of course you had to disarm him. And now that he had seen you and knew you heard his plot, you couldn't just leave a loose end like that. So you had no choice but to cut his throat. You left the knife in his hand. Not very believable but there were footsteps in the hall and you had to get out of there.

Not long after that, Killer came down to your cell and squatted down, lifting your prison until you were eye level.

"I know it was you."

You licked your paw and groomed your ear, very cutely, you might add.

"You can't fool me. You really need to learn to cover your tracks."

You scratched the back of your other ear with your hind leg.

Killer let out a frustrated growl and dropped your cage. He stomped out of the brig.

How is he so observant! You really should have remembered about the tracks, especially since that's how he noticed the first time. Now what? Either their plan would be foiled by losing a member or they would escalate, thinking they had been found out. You knew there were others, and you had to find out who they were, and quickly.

Your investigative antics became riskier. You went into cabins and dug through drawers. You followed people around using the walls. You were getting closer. Until one day, you found two more people chatting. They were definitely up to no good. The more you listened the more alarmed you were. They were going to make an attempt on Kid's life again tomorrow.

There was no way you could take them both on. The only reason you won against the other guy was because you took him by surprise. You couldn't send a message to Kid either. That hadn't worked. If you tried to tell him as a human, he wouldn't trust that. The only person that knew your secret, or at least was fairly confident in his assumptions, was Killer. Maybe you could risk telling him. Maybe he would believe you. It was doubtful.

When you scampered back to your cage, you came to an abrupt stop. Killer was there waiting for you. You gulped. You were frozen. You were caught.

"Where have you been, mouse?"

The jig was most certainly up. He snatched you in his fist faster than you thought possible. You squeaked, trying to gain a little sympathy as a cute creature. Maybe it would make him believe you were a regular mouse. Then you bit him. He didn't even flinch. He was smart. He was trying to force you to reveal yourself, squeezing you gradually tighter and tighter.

You were forced into your human form to avoid being crushed, even then, his grip on your throat was immovable. You could sense his smugness in being right. He wasn't even surprised. You were grateful that however this fruit worked, you got to keep your clothes on when you transformed.

"Stop! Please!" You scratched at his hands.

Killer slammed you against the wall. "You killed one of my crew! You're going to pay for it."

"M-mu-tiny," you rasped out. The edges of your vision were going black.

Killer loosened his grip. "What did you say?"

"There's gonna be a mutiny."

Killer pushed you against the wall harder. "So you're a murderer and you've turned our own crew against us?"

"N-no. Please. L-et me go." You gasped for air. "I'll ex-plain."

Killer was decent enough to hear you out, and was shocked by the accusations. You couldn't help him further though. You hadn't heard their names and the way you described them was vague. It left Killer in a tough place. He didn't trust you, yet if you were telling the truth and his captain was in danger, he had to.

"I-I have an idea."

Killer didn't like your idea. Yet, it was better than anything he could think of, so he went along with it. And that was how you found yourself sitting on the inside of the Massacre Soldier's helmet, hanging onto his hair the next day. You could see out of the eyeholes better than you expected. Killer was strategically staring at each individual member and you were to whisper in his ear when you saw the people who were plotting.

As you spotted them, you hurriedly signaled to Killer that they were the culprits. As they had no proof, Killer was simply going to talk to them. But, as one does when being approached by a brick house of a man like Massacre Soldier, they got scared. This was not their plan, but they were so nervous, especially after one of them was killed, that they thought they had been found out. They both jumped Killer, and in the process of him defending himself, you slipped out of his mask and fell onto the deck.

You shook it off and your eyes searched for Kid, who was so distracted by the seemingly random scuffle, that he wasn't watching his own back, where a third, unexpected assailant was waiting. You ran as fast as your short legs would carry you. He spotted you instantly.

"Mousey? How'd you-"

Kid was taken aback by watching you run straight through his legs, and as he turned, seeing you transmute your form into that of a human. A human who was wrestling a gun out of someone's hand. Someone who was obviously trying to point said gun at him.

Regrettably, Kid was just a touch too shocked to react in time. His devil fruit activated to take the gun, but only after a shot was fired. He felt nothing. You, on the other hand, dropped to your knees and doubled over, clutching your midsection.

Was this how you imagined yourself being celestially discharged from this life? No. Did you have regrets? Probably. But saving Eustass Kid wasn't one of them. After all, what other mouse could say they saved a notorious pirate captain? Maybe your devil fruit wasn't that lame in the end.

______________________________________________________________

Kid thought about you a lot. They didn't have a trained doctor on board. They had to leave you at an island that had, thankfully, been in close range for you to be treated. He shouldn't be sad; his plan was to drop you off at the next island. Still, it felt wrong not to say goodbye or at least thank you.

Killer was grateful to you for saving his captain, even after being 'imprisoned' and roughed up by them. Even though you owed them no loyalty, you were more loyal than crewmates they had on board for months.

Several weeks passed. Kid happened to look up to see the NewsCoo delivery bird. The bird landed with a newspaper, some new wanted posters, and a small package. Curious, Kid picked it up and shook it next to his ear. Weird, what kind of gift made squeaks. Kid tore it open to find a dazed, white mouse.

"Oh fuck! Mousey! Sorry!"

You stumbled around in his hand, dizzy.

He hugged his hand to his chest and gave you a giant kiss on the head, staining your white fur red. In his excitement, he forgot you were a person. Upon remembering, he had a pink dusting to his cheeks and set you down.

You transformed into a human in front of him.

"Why did ya come in the mail?!"

"Cheaper fare than a boat," you grinned.

Kid all but threw you over his shoulder. "Killer! Look what we got in the mail!"

Killer stifled a laugh as he noticed a big red imprint of lips on your forehead. Kid went just as red as the mark when he noticed that it transferred to your human appearance. And neither one of those assholes told you it was there either.

Kid dropped the "y" from the end of your name from then on, but slipped up on occasion, still referring to you as Mousey. He still asked you to join him for dinner sometimes, too, as a person though, not a mouse; he didn't give you crumbs either. He liked your company.

Killer was impressed by your knowledge of cheeses and asked you to come shopping with him on islands for provisions. You also had a knack for picking the ripest fruits. He usually asked you to personally deliver Kid's meals, you know, to avoid another poisoning.

And some would even go as far as to say they saw a white critter scurrying under Kid or Killer's doors in the late hours of the night or scurrying out early in the morning.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

I’d Break the Back of Love for You

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France)

Warnings: Oral (f receiving), sexual situations

Summary: You have some serious appreciation for Daryl’s shoulders.

A/N: As you should, reader. As you should.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“How long will you be gone?” You asked before popping a strawberry into your mouth. Daryl had brought them home upon his return only two days prior. You didn’t ask where he found them and he didn’t offer, but he wasn't banged up so he likely didn’t risk life and limb for them. Well, anymore than he always did by going outside the safety of the Commonwealth. 

He was already gathering supplies to head out again after a broadcast that Eugene had picked up on the radio. There wasn’t much to it. Just a couple of scrambled words and a lot of static. Not enough, in your opinion, for Daryl to run out and risk himself. 

The archer gave you a quick look, a corner of his mouth tugging upward when he noticed the plate of strawberries by your hip. “Few days maybe.” He answered, wrapping some bread and grabbing a couple of refilled bottles of water. He placed the items next to his shirt, on the counter you were currently calling a seat. 

When he scratched at his chin, your eyes followed his movements but lingered once he had dropped his hand and moved on with packing. His goatee was more of a starter beard these days, no time for trimming. It didn’t bother you. The salt-n-pepper hair felt good when scratching against the right patches of skin. 

There were so many things about your archer that you could admire in that regard all day if you ever had the chance. 

The obvious one being his cock. You couldn’t say it was the biggest you’d ever seen but it was definitely to be admired. The first time, back on the Greene farm, he’d pushed into you and you’d nearly came from the stretch alone. It wasn’t just about size though. The man knew how to use it to make you come apart over and over. It always made you want to giggle when you would think back to how socially stunted he had been one day and then the next, he was fucking you stupid over Hershel’s porch railing. 

His hair was so long now, the waves taking off a few inches. It was well onto his back when wet. You could still remember when it was barely over his eyes. You had loved it then too. But now, when you would bathe together, you’d have him sit in front of you so you could wash it for him. You’d always end up playing with it; braiding it or carding your fingers through it. However, the best thing was how it clung to his face and neck when he was sweaty after a thorough fucking. You’d push it off of his face, letting your fingers catch on the tangles as you kissed him. 

His hands were so much bigger than yours. On the few lazy mornings you were granted, when Carol would get the kids to school for you, you’d just lie there and hold your hands together. With your palm flat against his, he could bend his fingers over the tops of your own. It was easy to imagine his thick fingers inside of you. He had sent you tumbling into oblivion plenty of times with only one curling within your walls. Those hands didn’t just hold weapons; they worked magic, too. 

But it was the man’s shoulders that did you in. All that lean muscle that contracted and moved as he lifted and tugged at things to pack. You’d never admit it, but the nights alone in his absence, it was the thought of your legs over those broad shoulders and his face buried in your cunt that brought you to completion over and over. 

You really needed to hide any of his shirts that weren’t tank tops. 

Who would’ve thought that out of any part of that man, the one that would make you almost instantly wet was his “shoulders—”

“What?” 

You shook your head and looked around a bit wildly until you found his gaze and locked on. “Hmm?” 

“What ‘bout my shoulders?” He asked as you lifted another strawberry toward your lips. His question had you fumbling the fruit, catching it at the last second before it could fall to the floor. 

You laughed nervously. “Shoulders? What? I didn’t say—” you stuffed the entire berry into your mouth to stop your embarrassing rambling. Hopefully, he’d just let it go and keep packing. 

That hope went careening out the window when he looked down at his right shoulder and then back at you, a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. 

“Nah, ya definitely said somethin’ ‘bout shoulders.” He sat the canteen he had been about to fill next to the sink and started walking toward you. “Still got my hearin’, Sunshine.”

You felt heat pooling in your cheeks and…other places when he leaned into your space, a hand braced on either side of your hips. The strawberry was swallowed down with an audible gulp. 

“I, uh, like your shoulders.” You whispered. Daryl laughed in the form of an exhale and leaned in closer, his lips coming to press against the side of your neck. Maintaining any sort of control was almost futile. “Daryl, you need to get packed.” You attempted to sway him but he simply hummed against your flesh. 

“Whatcha thinkin’, pretty girl?”

You groaned but leaned back your head to grant him more access. “A lot of things that are gonna make you late.” He didn’t respond to that. Not verbally. He grabbed your hips and pulled your body to the edge of the countertop, your groin coming into contact with the evidence of his own arousal. 

“You’re right.” He rasped against your collarbone. With one roll of his hips, you both gasped from the friction. “I guess I should be gettin’ on with packin’.” He rolled his hips again, growling against your jaw. “D’rather have those legs’a yours over these shoulders.”

You whimpered and squirmed against him, mewling when the rough fabric of his jeans grazed against your sensitive core through your thin sleep shorts and panties. That voice of his always made you putty in his hands. “I—please, Daryl.” 

“M’gonna give ya whatcha need, Sunshine.” He leaned back and tapped both of your biceps. “Up.” Your arms were immediately raised and your shirt pulled over and off. The cold air against your nipples had them hardening before Daryl could even touch you. 

Your small hands found his shoulders, gripping tight while he worshiped your breasts with mouth and hands. The skin of his palms was rough and calloused but that alone brought you so much pleasure. He cupped your left breast, kneading the soft mound and pinching your nipple while circling his tongue over its twin. You had never been so sensitive to a man’s touch in your life, but Daryl could play your body like an instrument. 

He pulled off of your breast with a wet pop and searched out your lips, his tongue pressing through to tangle with your own. 

“Lay back.” He ordered against your mouth. You did as you were told, only slightly embarrassed by how you knew your wetness was showing through your shorts. Of course, that was the first thing he noticed when he took a step back. “So wet for me an’ I’ve barely touched ya.” His thumb pressed into your clothed opening and trekked upward, earning a few panted moans and a raise of your hips. 

He continued past your pussy until he reached the waistband and turned his hand to dip his fingers underneath it. Joined by his other, he pulled your shorts and panties off in slow movements, letting them fall onto the floor. 

His large hands pressed into your inner thighs to open you up so wide that it bordered painful. All you could do was bite your lip and watch him. His tongue creeped across his bottom lip, and you shivered. 

“Prettiest pussy there ever was.” He commented absently, releasing one of your legs so he could slide his index finger up and down your slick lips. He was rewarded with a needy whine and the sight of you clenching around nothing. With a smirk, he moved his finger straight to his mouth, not pushing it past his lips until you opened your eyes. “Sweet lil’ thing too.”

“Daryl.” You whined. You both knew you weren’t above begging. It was only a matter of whether or not he wanted to hear it this time. 

“I gotcha, Sunshine. Gonna make ya feel real good, okay?”

You had zero doubt about that. 

“Sit up for me.” 

You planted your palms on the counter and came up to meet him, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to drag him in for a kiss. He chuckled, a sound you adored, and pulled away from you to sink to one knee. A sweet kiss was pressed into your left thigh and then he was looking up at you. Oh, you were burning that sight into your memory for later. He placed his hands beneath your knees and stilled, smirking. 

“You’re gonna need to hold on, pretty thing.”

You gave him a quizzical look but then he pulled you forward, his face diving into your waiting cunt as his hands quickly moved to your ass. You had just enough time to twist your fingers in his hair before he was rising from the floor. 

“Oh, fuck.” You yelped, not just at the sensation of his tongue breaching your opening, but also at being six feet off the ground. How the man knew where to walk was anyone’s guess but his steps were sure. Your back pressed against the wall beside the refrigerator, giving him a little leverage to really work at your pussy in earnest. 

The initial shock had worn off, now replaced by the sensations his mouth was causing and the absolute thrill of legitimately being perched on those fucking shoulders while he devoured you like a man starved. 

“Fuck, that feels good.” You praised, fisting one hand in his hair while the other came up to palm the wall beside your head. He knew exactly what he was doing in every sense at that moment. You could feel the tense muscle below your thighs. His tongue delving deep inside your fluttering walls. His nose rubbing against your rapidly swelling clit. His beard scraping your overheated flesh. 

A new wave of arousal seeped out of you and he groaned, happily lapping it up with sounds that definitely did not belong in a kitchen. The cord inside you was heating up, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, an absolutely delicious feeling of both tension and ecstasy building and yearning just below the skin. 

When he slid his tongue up through your wetness to flick at your clit, you almost couldn’t stand it; desperate to cum and hear him cooing praises after he drank every drop, but also wanting to savor the delectable journey toward an inevitable mind blowing orgasm that would likely leave you unable to speak anything but his name. 

“Fuck, oh, right there!” You slapped your palm once against the wall with a long, wanton moan. You wanted to grind against his face, aid in coaxing your high out of you, but he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. His grip on your ass tightened and he pressed face even closer to you, lips encircling your bundle of nerves to suck at it while his tongue worked it from inside his mouth. “Goddamn, Daryl! Fuck!”

He went back to kitten licks, tilting his head down so his nose continued to press at your pulsing nub while he slurped up any new arousal that had dripped out of your entrance.

He was killing you. And you loved it. 

Daryl Dixon may have been called many things in his life, but absolute destroyer of pussy needed to be added to that list. When he wasn’t sucking your ability to think right out of your clit, maybe you could remember to call him that in front of one of your friends. 

“Fuck.” You felt like you could almost cry, your orgasm not just creeping closer but sprinting. “Daryl, I’m—I’m gonna cum.” He gave your ass a hard squeeze, his way of demanding you let go. 

It was gradual, a pins and needles sensation that started from where his lips pulled tightly on your clit and spread out through your limbs, causing them to begin trembling. Then it was all at once, a wave of pleasure hit you so hard that you jerked and the back of your head hit the wall while your hands pulled roughly on his hair. There were a few moments unaccounted for, your vision overtaken by darkness and stars and the distant sounds of your own screams of his name. 

When you came back to yourself, your arms were dangling uselessly. You were panting while your body spasmed through the last pulses of your high. And Daryl was eagerly lapping up every drop. 

Once you were completely spent, you felt one of his large hands slid up to brace the small of your back while the other lifted one of your legs from his shoulder. He switched, gripping just above your hip on that side to keep you from falling while he moved your other leg. Then you were sliding down until he stopped you just in front of his face, his lips readily pressing against yours. 

You could taste yourself on his tongue, feel your own wetness smearing across your face from where it had gathered on his beard. The kiss itself was sweet and lazy and loving, whispered praises between each press of his lips. Your feet slowly touched the floor and his hands came up to cradle your face. 

You wanted to melt against him and beg him not to leave you. To clean you up and take you to bed so you could surprise you both by climbing above him and riding him until he filled you over and over. That fantasy had you reaching to cup him through his pants, feeling the straining hardness for only a moment before he gently grabbed your wrist. 

“Let’s take a bath an’ getcha cleaned up an’ ready for bed.”

You pulled back, frowning in confusion. “Don’t you have to leave?” You felt your heart spin when he gave you the sweetest smile; the one he gave to only you. 

“Nah, need to be here.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, one side and then the other, before gently cupping your chin and kissing you. “They can send someone else.”

“You mean it?” You asked, eyes sparkling with more hope than you meant to reveal. 

“Nah, lemme go an’ finish packin’.” He started to turn away but you caught one of those beautiful shoulders to easily spin him back to you. He deflected your attempt to smack him by ducking and hoisting you up over the very same shoulder you had grabbed. “You’re stuck with me.” 

“Oh, woe is me!” You laughed, kicking your legs to get out of his hold. You didn’t even remember you were still naked until he gave your ass a gentle smack as he walked up the stairs. Once at the top, you wiggled forward so you could reach and slap his ass one good time. “Hey, if that’s what happens when I say your shoulders are sexy, what would you do if I said you have a nice ass?” 

He barked out a laugh that you didn’t hear often enough and used the heel of his boot to kick the door closed. 

[4ft10tvlandfangirl]

You know what's incredibly upsetting? Seeing so many pro-Israel or pro-Zionist posts parrot that the only reason anyone could be pro-Palestine or call for a free Palestine is because they hate Jews.

I know what this tactic is meant to do and I know how making people apathetic, how discrediting their knowledge of a topic or questioning the genuineness of their empathy and other similar tactics are used to benefit the oppressive group but it's still pissing me off.

I am a descendant of enslaved people.

Our history lessons always begin with the slaughter & genocide of the indigenous peoples that were here first, primarily the Taino, who thankfully have a few descendants living in isolation along with the protected Maroon villages. It is normal throughout high school to take history trips to former great houses & plantations and see for ourselves the sites where our ancestors were brutalized and massacred; the weapons and tools of torture preserved and on display so that we knew but a taste of what they went through.

My university is built on the grounds of a former plantation. There are businesses and homes built on top of mass graves & on top of sites of slaughter. There is literally no escaping our colonial history because it touches everything. Our last names are not even our own! Most of us have English, Scottish and Irish last names given by the plantation owners to our ancestors. Or you know...because many children were the product of rape. We cannot accurately trace our true heritage more than 4-5 generations back because most families have no complete records.

A lot of you like to bring up grandparents. Cool. My great-great grandmother was the daughter of a mulatto free woman and a white Scottish sailor. She was white passing. Because land and work were hard to get here under colonial rule, she left the island for a better life with her husband who was a Cuban born mulatto and they ended up living in the US through WWII and after. They were considered an interracial couple (black & white rather than both being seen as mixed) and could not live in certain places because it was illegal. Papa couldn't find work, was treated horribly, because he had darker skin but Grandma found work passing as white and was treated much better. She worked 2-3 jobs to provide for them and their 5 children.

But, there were times when she would appear darker like if she was out in the sun too long or her curls would start to show and a Jewish neighbour/coworker suggested to her it might be safer to tick Jewish on forms rather than white if her race was ever questioned. I suppose due to that kindness the family formed friendships within the Jewish community where they lived & Grandma's eldest son actually married a Jewish woman. His kids and grandkids are all Jewish and they still live in the US.

I share this specific thing because I have very real concerns for those members of my family. But while I worry for them in this time of increasing anti-semitism and absolutely decry any verbal/physical attacks against them, I am still going to speak against things that are wrong. What Israel is doing is wrong. Of course as a non-Jewish person I can acknowledge I may misstep and if I say/do something that is genuinely anti-semitic I'll take the correction. But if your aim is just to intimidate me into silence it's not going to work.

And trying to tell me 'well black people are not welcomed there or black people wouldn't get treated well in Palestine' as if that affects the cost of bread. Guess what? Black people face racism everywhere. Even among our own and colonialism has a lot to do with that. That same grandmother, I was fortunate to grow up with her in the latter part of her life after she returned to the island and every time I went out with her there were questions of whether my family worked for her. Or why was I, this little black girl with this little old white lady as if I meant her harm. She had to say proudly, "This is my granddaughter." How other people view me or treat me isn't going to stop me from speaking up for what's right.

With the history of my people I could never ever ever side with the oppressor. Ever. Whether its here in the west or in the east, whether it's happening to my fellow black people, or any other group of people, I cannot in good conscience stand with the oppressor. My ancestors were forcibly stripped of their humanity, called savages, animals, barbarians and all of that was brutally beaten into them. That same language and similar acts of brutality are being used against Palestinians today.

You think you can cower me into staying silent on that? With unfounded accusations of hate? I refuse.

N.B. - my use of the word mulatto here is strictly to provide the historical context of how my grandparents were seen/classified and spoken of. It is not a term we use.

[mintaikk]

Moments in the Hunger Games that Dr. Gaul would hate

Dr. Gaul says that humans are naturally violent, and to prove her wrong, here are moments in the Hunger Games that show that they aren't.

-Lucy Gray comforting Jessup when he wasn't feeling well

-Lucy Gray crying and mourning when Dill died (Wovey in the book)

-Lucy Gray making sure Jessup ate despite her having the advantage if he didn't eat

-The first thing Lucy Gray doing in the arena was look for Jessup and run away with him so they could both have a chance at surviving, despite all the murder and chaos happening around them

-Lucy Gray comforting Jessup as he was dying

-Lucy Gray in general

-Jessup protecting Lucy Gray from the bats (rabid raccoons in the book)

-Reaper giving Lamina cloth and Lamina giving him food. Then Coral, Mizzen, and Tanner came and she warned him (in the book)

-Reaper collecting the bodies of the fallen tributes and covering them with the flag to give them proper respects

-Reaper warning Wovey when she was walking to the snakes

-Lamina killing Marcus. Ik it was still murder, but it was a mercy kill. She even comforted him before and stared at his body and curled up into the fetal position after

-Lamima has a lot of empathy in general and I love her so much and she's litterally just walking proof of Dr. Gaul's theory being wrong. Her name is litterally animal spelled backwards, which is what Dr. Gaul belived the tributes were. Violent animals

-Bobbin letting Wovey sleep on his shoulder

-In the walk to the cart, Bobbin was holding Wovey's hand

-Lucy Gray letting Wovey hold her hand before the games

-Treech protecting Lamina when Brandy was killed from the bullet

-Reaper going out of his way to protect Dill. I could make an entire post on this alone. But like, in every scene with them together, he's always looking out for Dill. Even when he jumped at his Mentor, he was looking at Dill before to see how she was doing. Dill's death is what made him want to honor the other tributes deaths. I can only imagine how that made their friends and families feel at home, to see the person they loved getting the respect they could in such violent games

-During the bombing, Marcus ran back to go get Lucy Gray despite thst fact that his chances of dying there were very high

-Ik he wasn't part of the games, but Sejanus going to spread bread around Marcus's dead body (I love Sejanus sm and I better not see y'all thirst over Snow anymore)

-In the book, there was no bloodbath scene. Most tributes ran straight for the tunnels, while Coral, Tanner, and Reaper went to get weapons, but even Coral, who was known for being violent, ran. Only Reaper stayed

-Reaper apologizing for having to kill the tributes the night before, and promising to honor them

-In the book, Teslee was running from the snakes and Lucy Gray came out of the tunnels singing so the snakes would be distracted so Teslee would have time to escape

-Screaming and crying and throwing up because Reaper killed Teslee but brought her body over to the other bodies because it's really all he could give her

-In the book, Lucy Gray and Reaper were the last ones left, and they procrastinated on killing each other. Lucy Gray killed him by getting him to drink poisoned water, not by any violence. She even closed his eyes when she realized he had died.

This was just the 10th Hunger Games. Damn. Imma go on to the other ones now

-Instead of of breaking their alliance by killing each other, Maysilee just left Haymitch saying that she didn't want it to come down to the two of them

-Haymitch staying with Maysilee as she died

-When Annie's district partner died, she gained serious PTSD, which should be proof enough that naturally, HUMANS DONT LIKE VIOLENCE

-Katniss volunteering to protect Prim

-Thresh smiling at Rue when she managed to steal the knife from Cato (this is so sweet to me, I love the District 11 kids sm)

-Foxface not killing anyone (that Katniss knows of) and running away, proving thst people are just trying to survive and not be violent

-Foxface and Katniss bumping into each other but then running away. Especially Katniss, because she definitely had the advantage

-Peeta joining the careers to protect Katniss

-Peeta telling Katniss to run when the careers were hunting her

-This wasn't shown to the audience, but Katniss said that if her and Rue were the last 2 left, she'd let Rue win

-Katniss letting Rue cuddle under the sleeping bag so that she could stay warm

-Katniss mourning the death of Rue by leaving flowers over her body and then giving respects to District 11. She even cried and threw her spear when Rue died

-Clove and Cato's entire friendship (also, Clove smiling at Cato while they were on the plane)

-Thresh killing Clove purely because of what he thought she did to Rue, implying that he wanted to protect Rue. (I like to believe that he didn't make an alliance with Rue the dame reason Katniss didn't make an alliance with Peeta in the beginning; he didn't want it to come down to the two of them). Despite that, he was still heartbroken when she died

-Thresh sparing Katniss's life because she was friends with and protected Rue

-Clove calling for Cato when Thresh was threatening her, and Cato coming to help (in the book)

-Cato crying and begging Clove to get up when she was dying

-Katniss mercy killing Cato despite everything (in the movie)

-Katniss and Peeta not wanting to kill each other and deciding to eat the berries together instead

75th Hunger Games

Yes, ik the rebellion. But I'm still counting it.

-Peeta volunteering to avoid having Haymitch go to the games

-Mags volunteering for Annie

-The female morphling (who I headcanoned as her name being Chassis) sacrificing herself to save Peeta

-Peeta staying to comfort Chassis and talking about how pretty the sky was

-Chassis and Autus (male morphling) teaching Katniss how to camouflage, despite her not knowing about the rebellion, and for all they know, she could try and kill them. But they still wanted to save everyone, so they kept Katniss alive

-MAGS. Mags is the best

-Finnick staying with and protecting Mags despite her chances of surviving being very low

-Katniss keeping Finnick alive, despite not knowing about the rebellion

-Peeta staying to comfort Katniss and Finnick during the jabberjay attacks

[shadowqueenjude]

I wrote a little Rhysta.

@ennawrite @kateprincessofbluewhales

Rhysand woke up with a stinging pain around his neck. He lifted his hand towards the source of the pain, then found something that felt distinctly like a knife digging deeper.

His eyes flew open, and for a wild moment, he thought it was Feyre standing before him. But no. The face that surveyed him had stronger features. Eyes just a little more grey, lips a little more full, brows quite a bit more angular, her gold hair a tumble of waves down either shoulder. A cunning face-calculating. And one that held a knife to his throat.

“Wake up,” she hissed. Rhysand blinked blearily, trying to focus on her. Despite being human, he found her to be prettier than the cursebreaker. He could only imagine how devastating she would be as a faerie.

“What?” Rhysand croaked, not daring to speak too loud else that dagger pierce his skin. How in Prythian had this human girl got a hold of an ash knife? What was with this family?

“I want to know what exactly you’re playing at,” Nesta answered, her simmering glare branding him even in the dark. Rhysand’s heart rate kicked up; was it more or less embarrassing that it wasn’t from fear?

“Nothing. I’m just here to protect Prythian and the human lands from Hybern’s corruption,” Rhysand said mechanically.

Nesta snorted delicately. “Spare me the bullshit. Even if Feyre bought into that molded loaf of bread, I am not so gullible.” She bent closer to him, her tantalizingly soft hair brushing against his cheek. “Or did you use your faerie magic to hoodwink her? For the Feyre I know would not change her loyalties so fast, and last I knew, she was in love with Tamlin.”

Rhysand tried to swallow a couple of times before she gave up. “Tamlin treated her poorly. So she left.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I was mean to her for years and she never wavered in her loyalties. So tell me what you’ve done to her, High Lord.”

Rhysand stared into her silver eyes, the loathing palpable in them at the nearer distance. How should he answer this? The truth? He imagined that wouldn’t go down very well with her. With lies? She didn’t seem the least bit fooled by them.

“Nothing. It was Tamlin who changed her.”

Rhysand didn’t have time to react before Nesta drove the knife into his shoulder. Too much in pain to even scream, all he could manage was a pitiful whimper. God, he had forgotten how much ash stings. He hadn’t encountered such weapons since the war centuries ago.

“You really think you can fool me, Amarantha’s whore?” Nesta demanded.

Rhysand stilled at the nickname. “How did you-?”

“Feyre told me everything that transpired between her arriving in Prythian and when she came back. You were what prompted Tamlin to send her away. A loyal servant of that bitch who tormented Prythian for decades.”

“You don’t understand. It was all an act-“

Nesta twisted the knife in his shoulder, and Rhysand let out another pained moan. Blood was all over his shirt, his skin sticky. “Killing twelve kids isn’t an act, you coward. I already told you I won’t be easily fooled.” Nesta bared her teeth, looking every inch the faerie Feyre could never be despite her super strength and pointed ears. In spite of the blinding pain, Rhysand breathed out a laugh. “Oh, pity you aren’t the Cursebreaker. You’re a lot more fun than the huntress.”

Nesta wrenched the knife out of his shoulder, causing even more pain as she returned the knife to his throat. “And I’m about to be a lot more fun if you don’t tell me what you did to Feyre in the next thirty seconds.”

Gods, she was magnificent. Well, Rhysand could offer a partial truth that would hopefully appease this powerful woman.

“I forced Feyre into a bargain in exchange for healing her under the mountain.”

Oh, the scent of Nesta’s fury was delicious. Rhysand gloried in the smell as he sensed Nesta trembling with rage. “I fucking knew it. You faeries and your bargains. I’m assuming it’s this mark right here?” She dug a sharp nail into his arm, and Rhysand yelped, jerking away, which only caused more blood to ooze from his shoulder wound. “How did you know?”

Nesta shrugged. “I guessed, since Feyre has an identical one on her own arm.”

Cunning, furious, and observant. A crying shame this queen would only live a mortal life. “Get her out of the bargain,” Nesta whispered.

Rhysand chuckled. “Or I could just break into your mind and be done with it.”

“You can try,” Nesta seethed. “But not even a High Lord’s glamour can work on me. Tamlin tried and failed already.”

Rhysand blinked. Nesta…possessed the true Sight? Some mortals were gifted with the ability to resist nearly all kinds of Faerie magic in a way that even most powerful fae have difficulty with. Jurian, of course, was one of them, which was how he’d led the humans to victory all those years ago. Immune to daemati and glamours, this woman could be exceptionally useful.

Rhysand reached for her mind anyway, finding that she was just as immune as she had claimed. The eldest Archeron didn’t mess around, clearly. She possessed walls more fortified than the Cauldron itself. Mother above.

“I warned you,” Nesta snapped. “Break the bargain.”

“And what will I get in exchange?” Rhysand crooned. “Surely you understand I cannot release her without getting something in return.”

“I could just kill you and be done with it,” Nesta mused. Rhysand smirked at her. “True, but think: I am a High Lord, and a major asset in the war against Hybern. Without me, your odds lower significantly.”

“You can be replaced,” Nesta drawled dismissively. “Not me.” Nesta spat on his face. “You faeries are even more arrogant than we were taught to believe.” She smoothed down her nightgown with her free hand. “Take me instead.”

Rhysand blinked. “Really?” That was exactly what he had been hoping for. Nesta would prove to be far more useful than the illiterate one. “On the condition that you will never physically or sexually harm me, nor will you use your magic against me in any way, nor will you allow any of your cronies to do it in your stead.”

Rhysand could not say yes fast enough. “Yes, I promise. It’s a deal.”

Nesta and Rhysand stared at his arm, watching as the tattoo disappeared. They both waited for a new one to appear, and when it didn’t, Nesta began her venom again. “You fucking liar, I will slit your thro-“

She stopped, and Rhysand knew why. He watched as whorls of paint wrapped around Nesta’s forehead like a crown. An identical one must be present on his own.

They surveyed each other for a moment, this new bond that had just formed between them tugging them closer together. At last, Nesta let the knife drop.

“Welcome,” Rhysand murmured, “to the Night Court, Nesta Archeron.”

[sludge-wizard]

List of my headcanons that are real from the movie:

-Luigi struggles to keep up with Mario for health reasons (He states he has bad knees in the opening) -Luigi is scared of big dogs -Luigi 100% swears ("That HELLhound is gonna escape!") -Luigi was a gifted kid ("You're bringing your brother down with you", the refusal to talk back at dinner, the block castle) -Luigi 100% eats whatever Mario doesn't like (Taking the mushrooms from his pasta, eating it when Mario doesn't want to) -Mario and Luigi are VERY SMALL GUYS -Mario was NOT a golden/perfect child -Luigi is a bit of a mama's boy, likely due to being shy and her needing to do things on his behalf (Giving him his soup directly after he struggled to get any bread or salad, THANKS UNCLE TONY) -The boys share a room -Mario sucks as video games but still plays them because he's stubborn -Large immigrant family living together -Mario is an INCREDIBLY stubborn person -Princess Peach is less of a ruler and more of a guardian/protector/spokesperson -King Boo and the presence of boos in Bowser's strongholds implies he's taken over their former spaces when they were alive ("the darklands. they're under Bowser's control") -The shell is NOT part of the Koopa's body (The dry bones had a separated spine from the shell) -Coins are pretty big -The blue shell is the highest ranking troop, with other shell colours indicating rank as well. -Power ups are as much a tool as a weapon -Cheep cheeps are just fish -There's an entire kingdom of Kongs, containing both monkeys and gorillas -Cranky Kong is Donkey Kong Senior, and Donkey Kong's father -Mario was not a natural at all, even if he was a sporty kid -Power-ups can actively transform the body and not JUST augment it (The super-bell giving mario cat reflexes and adjusting his joints to operate like a cat's. also a plus, he purrs when grooming himself and makes biscuits on DK's back briefly) -Shortcuts to skip worlds are real (The cannons, rainbow road) -Anti grav can be toggled, but will auto enable under certain conditions -Bowser's green scales run down his back and under his shell (it's hard to see but noticeable in the fake proposal scene) -Mario is a kart guy and peach is a Bike gal -Koopas tend to greatly admire feats of strength and power, and sparing somebody is seen as very romantic. -bullet bills are sentient -all humans are cartoony -Bowser isn't just a bully, he's actually a sad and hurt person who grew up alone and likely fought for the throne

[sacrificeformymadness]

Callum Turner in Assassin's Creed (2016)

Putting some of Callum Turner's AC bread crumbs here. (Spoiler alert for those who haven't seen)

His character is called Nathan and he's from England. He's a descendant of Duncan Walpole (He was briefly seen in AC:IV Black Flag)

We can see him in assassin outfit in the... deleted scene *cries*

You can check it out here

Good thing there's a close-up pic of him in this outfit.

***Spoiler here***

Also, he was supposed to survive... *cries again* you can see it from the deleted scene here that he has wound from the arrow but is still doing fine. He also has a speaking line.

He later joined Callum (Lynch) in the final scene, based on the bts pic here.

***End of Spoiler***

Nathan's background was explored more in the novelization of the movie. We'll see why he's hostile towards Cal, how he was effected by the bleeding effect due to his young age.

So he came from London. He was a hot-head who dropped out from multiple schools because he always picked fight with other kids. He joined a gang and sold drugs. One time he almost beat another gang member to dead. Then he got captured by Abstergo prior to the event of the film. Since he's young. He didn't get to live his own life much to have memories of his own. So the bleeding effect got to him the worst among assassins.

You can read the summary from here

Nathan's weapons of choice are a sword and a phantom blade

Also, there's a pic of him from Assassin's Creed: Into the Animus book. Callum (Turner) stealing an apple from Callum (Lynch)

Here's some scenes that feature him

[your-averagewriter]

Hi,

Can I please request a young!Haymitch x reader where they’re both in the 50th Hunger Games and they team up and there’s like romantic tension (+ some rivals to lovers) and they end up having a steamy make out please?

Word count: 3.4K (I got so carried away here.)

Warnings: Blood, weapons, murder, death, usual Hunger Games warnings, kissing, make out session.

“I think we should work together.” I say, planting myself down on the seat in front of Haymitch.

“And why would we work together?” He says, bringing the fork full of food to his mouth.

“There’s gonna be 48 kids in that arena, do you really want to go in there alone?” I ask him.

“Why would I team up with you?” He asks as if I’m disgusting.

“You know me.” He looks at me unconvinced. “Well, sort of know me. Know of me then.” I correct. “We’re from the same district, similar age and I’ve got a good set of skills. I could be a good asset to you.” I say, with less confidence than I intended as this boy towers over me, even sitting down.

“What skills do you have?” He asks, still doubtful and rightly cautious of me.

“I can track, animals or people. I can identify most if not all plants and roots and I can prepare them for eating. I can also hunt with minimal tools, I only need a blade, the size doesn’t matter.” I say with a smile, content with my pitch.

“And you want to be allies?” He asks.

“Yes. You and me until the final five or six.”

“If we get that far…” He chimes in.

“Yes… If we get that far.” I sigh. “So, what do you think?”

“I’ll work with you but I’m not gonna put myself in danger for you.” He says, with a dark, snarky tone.

“Okay.” I say and chuckle slightly nervously. Having Haymitch with me not only offers me a bit more protection but company and companionship.

“In training tomorrow we can figure out more of a strategy and how this is gonna work.” He says signalling to the two of us. I nod, happy that he’s changed his mindset.

“I’ll see you then.” I say, hopping up from my seat, grabbing a bread roll and leaving the room but not before Haymitch stops me.

“Also, this is exclusive.” He signals to us again. “Don’t go partnering up or inviting other people.” He says and I nod before leaving the room.

------------

“(y/n).” I hear someone whisper as I enter the training room. Slightly overwhelmed by the sight of masses of armed kids in the room and the loud noises they’re all making I turn around, slightly stressed looking for the voice. “(y/n).” I hear again although slightly louder this time and I manage to clock the direction of the voice. Turning to face the voice I’m met with Haymitch sat on one of the benches sharpening a set of knives.

“Hey.” I say quietly, walking over with a smile and sitting next to him. “What are these for?” I ask.

“You. I wanna see how good you are with them.” He says, focusing on the blades.

“I thought we were going to plan a strategy.” I say, confused.

“We can’t plan a strategy if we don’t know what each others’ skills are.” 

“Okay.” I say and he stands up, gripping the knives.

“C’mon.” He says and I follow him blindly towards one of the stations. We move to stand by the throwing mark, luckily the station is unoccupied. “Go on then.” He says passing me three blades for the three targets.

I step forward to stand on the throwing line and take a deep breath before preparing the blades. Each one I throw hits right in the centre of the target (the meaning on the target has taken on a much darker meaning after being thrown in these Games). I turn around to see Haymitch with a small smirk on his face causing a hint of a smile to emerge from mine.

“I told you I could hunt.” I say and tries to suppress his smile.

“You did. Okay, you’ve held up your end of the deal, my turn now.” He says and I follow him again through the training room to the weapons rack. Collecting an axe he walks over to a different station to present his skills.

He prepares to throw and hits the bullseye quite impressively and I cheer for him despite him looking back at me with a scowl which only makes me chuckle. It’s funny how an action so small can make you forget about having to fight to the death. 

“That was impressive, where’d you learn that?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask where you learnt to hunt in a district lacking in nature so don’t ask me where I learnt my shit.” I’m taken aback by his response and the abrasiveness of it.

“Sorry.” I say quietly and trail behind him again, suddenly all too aware of the eyes following us.

“It’s fine.” He says reluctantly, the depth of his voice finally revealed. “Let’s just get on with the strategy.”

The next few hours were spent either eating (lunchtime) or spent planning for the arena: tactics, plans, strategy, weapons, everything. Luckily during our planning session he relaxed a little and we ate lunch together (separate to the other tributes, there’s no point getting to know people who we’re gonna kill or will get killed).

-------------

Today’s the interview day which means a day packed full of fancy clothing and fake smiles. Every year we’re forced to watch the Hunger Games and nothing feels more fake than the interviews. This year because it’s a Quarter Quell and there’s double the number of tributes we’ve been paired with another from our District so Haymitch and I are getting interviewed together. 

I’m smothered in perfumes and fragrances and a dress is fitted to me, needles prodded in me on multiple occasions. It’s a fairly horrendous dress - it’s black and form fitting with trails of rock  like material symbolising the coal mines of District 12. I’ve got red lipstick and a fairly generous amount of blush.My hair is pulled back and pinned as tight as they could without pulling it and similar black “gems” are dotted on my head.

Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the dressing room to go and meet Haymitch (who is hopefully dressed better than me but I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re matching) in the tribute queue. I walk through the corridor and curse the black gems stuck to my eyelid preventing me from blinking without them irritating me.

I find the queue and look for Haymitch.

“Haymitch?” I question, craning my neck to see down the line.

“Down here!” I hear him say, sticking his hand out from the line, waving.

I make my way down the line, careful to look out for Haymitch as I trail past the districts, a slight wobble in my step because of the unnecessarily large heels.

“Hey.” I say, finally reaching the end of the line, tripping slightly at the end on my dress but mostly because of my heels.

Haymitch reaches his arms out grabbing onto my hands so I don’t properly fall over. I feel his warm palms against mine and manage to restabilize myself.

“Thanks.” I say, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You look… beautiful.” He says, looking up at me and still holding onto my hands just a little more gently.

“Really? I hate the dress.” I say looking down but luckily the excessive blush covers my natural blush. “The lumpy bits are so tacky.” I say, looking at the things that are meant to represent coals.

“Okay, maybe not the rocky parts…” He says trailing off with a chuckle.

“I can’t believe you don’t have these stupid rock things on your suit, that’s so not fair!” I say and he finally releases my hands to straighten his tie. “You’ve only got the little gems on your tie!” I point out and cross my arms in frustration.

“It’ll be fine. We’re last anyway so most people will have stopped paying attention by then so no one will even care.”

“You don’t think anyone will watch?” I ask, slightly down about it and he seems to ponder the question. “How will we get any sponsors?” I say, disheartened.

“I’m sure our scores of 9 and 10 will help there.” He says with a small smirk referencing our private training sessions that were assessed.

“We did pretty well.” I say.

“Now, you’ve just gotta look pretty and answer their questions with a smile. Shouldn’t be too hard.” He smirks.

“Only if you turn on the charisma and show everyone your dashing smile. Maybe then we’ll get sponsors.” I already have a smile on my face.

“You’re making this too easy to win.” He replies, a smirk planted on his face.

-----------

After a successful interview filled with smiles and sponsors and small flirtatious comments we finally got to sleep, ready for what the next day had coming: The 50th Hunger Games.

I wake up the next morning and after choking down some bread and butter we’re all sent straight to our prep teams then off to the arena.

I get to talk to Haymitch once more before we’re thrown into the arena so it’s our last chance to finalise our plans.

“As soon as we get in the arena you don’t go for the Cornucopia - I’ll grab what I can from the outskirts before meeting you by the edge of the forest or whatever it is, the edge of the Cornucopia. Got it?” He asks, holding onto my hands and emphasising the plan. I try to listen to him but the nerves make it harder and harder by the second.

“Y-yeah.” I manage to breathe out but I can feel my heart thumping in my throat.

“You sure?” He asks, aware of what I’m feeling, at least partially.

“I’ve got it. Basically run.” I say trying a smile but only managing to upturn the edges of my lips. He nods and grips onto my shoulders grounding me before we’re separated.

In my tube (separate from Haymitch) I can’t help a hopeless feeling overwhelm me before we start rising. Finally in the arena, I survey the area, it’s woodland which optimises both our skill sets and offers us resources. My eyes scan across the tributes, searching for Haymitch, he’s a little less than half way around the circle of tributes meaning our positioning could be better but it could be worse.

Looking behind me I check for possible meeting points before spotting a backpack which we were told includes a water bottle, rope, a small weapon (likely to be a knife) and possibly a sort of medicine, bandages or food. My mind replays the conversation I just had with Haymitch about running but the bag is so alluring. Our chances could be greatly increased by the contents of that bag so I make the decision as the countdown starts to race to grab the bag before running.

The clock is counting down and as it reaches the lower numbers I prepare to launch myself off the podium but I’m careful not to step off before the countdown is up.

As soon as I hear the gun fire I dart off of the podium towards the bag keeping an eye on the tributes around me. A lot of them ran but because there’s a greater number of tributes a greater number ran towards the Cornucopia including, surprisingly, me.

Sprinting across the field I feel my heart thumping in my chest, terrified of the prospects of a battle but desperate for the chances the backpack could provide. I get to the bag and reach for it, wrapping my fingers around the straps and hoisting it onto my back before shooting back away, towards the treeline but I feel someone’s hands on my shoulders pushing me to the ground. I fall and knowing it’s not Haymitch I try to roll over and squirm away only to be met with the smirking face of one of the District 4 boys. My chances at life diminish as time goes on and I feel the tears fall down my cheeks as he makes mocking remarks and motions, shoving a knife in my face - playing with me. I try to move out of his way but he has me pinned down by my shoulders and he’s sat on my torso, legs around my waist.

I try to push him off and when he budges, falling off of me I know that it can’t have been because of me. He’s at least twice the size of me, at worst three times.

I look around and shuffle backwards hurriedly trying to remove myself from his grasp. Once I’m out of his reach I turn around to see him being tackled by another boy who then knocks him out but I’m not sure whether he’s dead or not as there’s so many cannons going off it’s hard to tell who's is who's. Now scared of this unknown boy who just beat up my attacker I shuffle further, stumbling as I try to get to my feet but he turns around to reveal a familiar face. Haymitch. I let out a small sigh of relief before he’s running back towards me, grabbing at my arms and yelling at me to run.

I shake my head, slightly, snapping back into the Games realising that these moments define our lives or our deaths. He grabs hold of my arm and I’m careful to grip onto the bag as we run. We make it to the treeline and I watch him turn his head quickly, looking for the other tributes but he makes sure to keep it brief and turns, pulling me into the woodland with him.

We run for what feels like forever but could’ve only been a matter of minutes. There’s no noises other than that of the cannons and our fast breathing, and I swear that I can hear his heart beating over mine. His hand remains securely lodged in mine, careful not to release me as we make our way further into the forest, for I’m not sure how much longer.

After a few more minutes, Haymitch’s pace slows down and I’m glad it does because my lungs feel like they’re gonna explode.

He slowly lets go of my hand as we draw to a stop in a grassy, wooded area. Immediately, I fall to the floor, on my hands and knees to try and catch my breath whilst he stands leaning over, his hands on his knees, gasping like I am. Whilst I can run, I’ve never run like that before.

Dumping the backpack beside me I notice that Haymitch has a large cut on his calf. I quickly open the backpack, desperate to see that it was worthwhile running for the bag. I start pulling items out of it: a rope, water bottle, small set of knives, a bundle of bandages and a wound cleaning kit. I sit back on my heels and feel a sense of relief as I make my way towards Haymitch. 

“S-” I swallow, clearing my throat. “Sit down, please.” I say quietly, still struggling with my breath.

He sits down on the grassy floor and I shuffle towards him, preparing to clean and bandage his wound. “I’m sorry.” I say, quietly, ashamed that my quick thinking got him hurt. “I’m so sorry.” I say and I struggle to focus on the medical equipment in front of me when my tears blur my eyes.

He doesn’t say anything so I move to clean his wound.

“I thought I was gonna die.” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “He was mocking me, had his knife in my face and that.” I say, finally in control of my breathing, my heart rate still too high. “He would’ve killed me if you weren’t there.” I say and pause looking up at him even though he’s not looking at me. “Thank you.” I wrap the bandage around his leg, careful to tie it tight enough but not too much. “I owe you my life.” I say. “I hope I can repay you one day.”

“I hope you can’t.” He says and I look at him, confused but also happy that he’s talking.

“What? Why?” I say getting up after finishing with his leg.

“I don’t want you to die for me.” He stands up a mere moment after me and finally looks me in my eyes.

“You just put your life on the line for me. You could’ve died.” I point out even though it’s obvious. “Because of me being stupid and not following the plan.” I say with a frown. “You said you wouldn’t do that.” I say, remembering the conversation we had when we first became allies. “You said you weren’t gonna put yourself in danger for me.” I repeat his earlier words.

“Yeah, well, things change.” He says.

“What changed?” I ask, my hands threaded in my hair, stressed out by both the conversation and the situation we’re in.

“I changed.” He says before leaning in towards me and tentatively placing his lips against mine, it’s experimental and he pulls back after a few seconds, nervously. My eyes are wide and my mouth lies open, confused but also in awe of what just happened. It takes me a few moments to process what just happened before I see Haymitch staring at me, looking slightly disheartened by my reaction.

“Forget about it-” He starts and turns to walk away but my hands reach for the sides of his face and I pull him back round so his lips meet mine again. This time more fervently and with a sense of desperation and longing. Now it’s his turn to look confused but he quickly gets into it and his hands move to find their place on my waist. He deepens the kiss, his lips desperate against  mine, determined to make the most of these moments. One of my hands stays cupping his face whilst the other moves to the back of his neck where I find myself playing with the tufts of his hair.

After a few more seconds I pull away, needing to breathe but I place my forehead against his as we both breathe in unison. There’s a smile on my face, the feeling of stress has now been replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach - butterflies as some would say.

“You do seem to have changed…” I say with a quiet laugh.

“Shut up.” He says, suddenly embarrassed by his previous words before pushing his lips against mine harder than before,

The force sends me back a little bit due to my surprise but his hands on my waist reassure me of my safety as he pins to a nearby tree. The bark is rough against my back but I can’t say that I care when his lips are on mine. His lips move roughly against mine and I gladly allow his tongue entrance as it presses against my lips. Mingling with mine, his tongue pushes through my lips and seems to search through the corners of my mouth. His lips are dry but so are mine after our run. He pulls away only for his lips to meet the skin of my jaw, he peppers kisses along my jaw but makes sure each kiss has all his attention and care. 

I tuck my head to the side, embarrassed at how bare I am, standing, pinned against a tree by a boy I only really met a week ago.

“Don’t hide your face, love.” He says and the pet name at the end makes me feel weak and my knees suddenly become wobbly which doesn’t seem to bother Haymitch as he just holds us both up - one of his knees pushed against the tree, between my legs to keep me up. I look into his eyes as he’s focused on my jaw, making his way up my face to my lips once again with nothing but desire consuming his eyes.

“They’re watching.” I say quietly, indicating with my eyes towards the cameras hidden amongst the arena.

“I don’t care.” He says between kisses. “Fuck them.” He breathes out as he presses his lips against mine with one of his hands trailing down my torso to my leg, stroking the plush skin of my thigh causing me to feel hot and flustered, the feeling tingling and travelling through my veins and making my body hot.

“Fuck them.” I say, quietly against his lips, feeling him smirk against mine.

-

AN: I really enjoyed writing this, it was such a good request and I loved it so I hope you do to! Thanks for the request!

I got a bit carried away with this piece, I only intended it to be about 1,000 words but it turned out at three times that much.

[enam3l]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYHUKpBj/

Three words: Dad! Eddie Munson

Ok well I'm obsessed? I was literally just gonna reply like I love this but no I got too carried away and produced one of the most random and bizarre fics I've ever done. I'm sleep deprived okay!

the munson sandwich (rockstar eddie x reader)

/ hella fluff / taglist and requests open

you can see all rockstar eddie x reader stories and lore at #enam3ls rockstar eddie or the masterlist! and check out my new series love, lola

Should kids sleep in their parents bed? It was always going to be a bone of contention. Eddie was to the core, a clinger, he wanted to be in physical contact with you constantly. So you knew from the get go it would be no better (if not worse) with your children. After reading all the parenting books your brain could handle before imploding, you decided you didn't have a strong opinion either way on whether kids slept with you or not. 

However, once you had Sloane, both of you were so besotted, it wasn't even a question. As if meant to be, she fitted perfectly between you and Eddie in bed. Every night you would all get cosy and form the Sloane Sandwich. A perfect recipe with a slice of mom and dad and in between was the filling of Sloaney Bologna (a nickname coined by Eddie that neither you or your daughter were too thrilled about). Both of you were infatuated with the perfect little cherub you made together and just wanted to be near her always. Sloane could happily snuggle against her dad with you being big spoon and still able to keep your arm over her and Eddie's torso. It was ideal. 

Then Iris came along aka Eddie's clone and shadow. Naturally, she inherited her dad's clinginess as well as everything else. Unlike Sloane, who just slept happily in the middle enjoying both parents. Iris insisted on clinging to Eddie like a tiny curly headed spider monkey. Now it was a slice of you, Sloaney Bologna and then Iris insisted on being so close to Eddie, she was more like a condiment smeared on top of him rather than an extra filling. For the first time in your relationship, your sleeping position of having your arm draped around Eddie's stomach was no longer possible. Instead he just had a little Iris laying right on top, a mini Munson stack. But, you couldn't be angry, not when they looked so cute. Little duplicates of each other who'd become inseparable. 

It worked out that you had two years between each daughter. So by time you were pregnant with Maeve, the bed was full with four year old Sloane and two year old Iris, plus you and Eddie. Realising there's quite a difference between that and just a baby and a two year old in the bed. Iris was now less of a little mini Munson stack on top of Eddie but rather a lump. All of that mixed with your baby bump, meant it was time to have the talk with Eddie. 

'Baby, we can't all fit in the same bed anymore,' you broke it to him. 

He gasped like you had suggested something outrageously cruel, as if you now wanted your kids to sleep in cages. 

'But we're a Munson sandwich?!' He huffed. 

'Well, you've overfilled the sandwich,' you raised a finger at him, stopping him from sniggering at the innuendo. 'I am the top piece of bread that can no longer balance on top! Between you, your clinger, Sloaney and now the bump, your beloved wife and carrier of your children is practically falling out of bed.'

Over the years, you had learnt using carrying his children was a sure fire way to win with Eddie. He groaned like a teenager, knowing you'd used the secret weapon. 

'Fiiiine. We'll get a bigger mattress, sweetheart!'

Your jaw dropped. 

'Eddie! That is not what I was suggesting!'

He held his hand up in protest. 

'Well, sweets, you should've known better than to have ever let me have my way and have the girls in the bed. We're a bed sharing family now. Deal with it. We shall be getting a bigger mattress!'

By the end of the week you were the proud owner of a mattress that seemed to be the size of every other one you've owned, stitched together. Yet, Eddie would soon learn it would not be enough. Nothing was a match for the terror of Maeve Munson. 

'I don't know how, but I know you've taught her to do this,' he accused, outraged that a baby kicked him so hard he had a black eye. 

After you dealt with Iris clinging to your husband for the last two years, he was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Although, Maeve was far more ruthless than her sister, even as a newborn. 

'You were in her way,' you smirked, 'she thought you were trying to steal her Mommy.' 

'You were mine first,' Eddie grumbled from the other side of the bed, sore eye and all. 

Now Sloane was six, she wasn't a permanent feature in the bed but her absence did not create more space. Maeve simply turned it into a buffering zone. If her dad were to encroach on the space, little limbs would kick ferociously to keep him at bay. 

One night you had even been awoken by a wail from Eddie. 

'AHhh you better be sure that you didn't want anymore kids, Y/N because Cerberus Munson has just crushed all hope of it!!'

To go with his now sore balls, he got a hard shove from yourself. 

'Cerberus Munson? Absolutely not. That nickname is vetoed. Far worse than Sloaney Bologna. If Maeve is Cerberus, that means I'm hell!!'

He knew he'd stitched himself up with that one so sulked in silence the rest of the night; bringing you your favourite breakfast in the morning. 

As you sat on your bed, eating your apology breakfast, alongside a black eyed and tender balled, Eddie, you strategised. Despite how funny it was, there was no denying your precious, protective Maeve was a health hazard. It would be a real shame to injure him further considering you'd married a man with such a pretty face and balls. So, a new arrangement was made. No longer were you and Eddie the slices of bread in the Munson Sandwich. It now went a slice of Iris, a filling of dad, a filling of mom and then a slice of Maeve. It meant for the first time in four years, you and Eddie could actually fall asleep on each other like you had your whole relationship. Then, on the occasion Sloane joined, she could slip perfectly in between you just as she had when she first arrived. 

Even as your children grew older, the Munson Sandwich was still beloved. On sad days or chilly nights, the Sandwich would reassemble. It didn't matter if they were adults with their own children, Eddie and you were going to cuddle your girls like they were still your little babies. 

---

my taglist angels: @whoahoney@lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos @munsonology@mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar @therosietoesy @littlepotatobeansworld

@josephquinncore

[vampiric-succulent]

OUAW EP 22 second half:

TW for a bit of gore

COMBAT TIME BABEY

I need a detailed description of how Gideon’s manacles work I Need to Know

TORBEK W MOMENT WHEN HE BECOMES GOREBEK AND MAKES AGDON ACTUALLY SCARED

HOW DID THEY DESIGN THESE CHARACTERS HOLY SHIT

Mace i like your ignition idea but aren’t you also gonna burn down the bridge you’re on??? Nope okay nvm

This guy has a 15ft long scarf. Can’t we just grab that? It’s literally trailing.

Oh fuck. Is Twig dead? No no no

love how Derek just goes “nah fuck that I cast Shield”

“These awesome guys…. And Gricko…..”

THANK GOD SOMETHING HITS HES GRAPPLED GOING DOWN

I LOVE MACE BANGING THE TABLE SO HARD THE BATTLEMAP CAMERA SHAKES

Y’all are IGNORING Twig rn. Can’t someone stabilize her????

Twig is so iconic

NOT TORBEK. THAT IS NOT TORBEK. WHO IS THIS GUY

Oh my god.

GEAR TWOOOO— Woah that’s a bisection.

MY HEART. KREMY DO NOT LET TWIG DIE.

“I don’t feel so good Mr Kremy” GAH

Hootsie is magic??? I guess that makes sense

DONT CLOSE YOUR EYES TWIG

I feel like maybe Gricko should have been able to roll a perception check when Agdon stole something from him underwater— even at disadvantage— how is Agdon seeing? Magic?

Frost could be such a good villain who uses sympathy as a weapon— “I can save you”

What is this random frog doing here? Also I bet Frost looks lowkey ridiculous trying to talk to Agdon through the swamp midfight

YES GRICKO IS GOING FOR THE SCARF wait. This could uh. Be a trap

HARE TODAY GONE TOMORROW I GOT IT

not the chuckles coming out for battle 😭

Gorebek is so fucking scary. I love this so much.

YES THEY GOT HIM HOLY FUCK

Oh fuck Torbek is gonna drown

Twig how are you just making banaña bread right now

TORBEK MY LOVE

Oh fuck vaguely Russian gourd headed scarecrow

WHAT?????? GEHENNA????????? WHAT KID CAME UP FROM THERE????????????

Holy FUCK that’s a way to end a session

PLEASE tell me more about the Gear System. Also oh my god this was such a good episode. Holy shit.

[boycaca]

Ik this is gonna sound kinda dumb but one thing im really curious about is how the sheep raised chuuya. Like how did he go from amnesiac seven year old who doesnt know what bread is but knows the concept of food to a fifteen year old kid who the rest of the sheep depend on so heavily to protect them. I wanna see how that went. Like how did chuuya shift into who he was in fifteen and how the sheep started to see him more as a weapon rather than just another kid in their organisation. How did SHIRASE of all people stop seeing him as a kid just like him? Considering the fact that he was the one who insisted on recruiting this poor malnourished child? How did chuuya learn how to use his ability when he didn’t have anyone to formally train him or tell him how his powers work? Like ik im never getting an answer to these questions but it’s interesting to think about

[dreamingcloudie]

hello! I'm kinda shy to request about this if you don't mind at all, but is it okay that you write about dottore with a s/o adopting a child and basically just cute married couples with family type of shit? it would be interesting to see his dynamic with the kid would be!

If you want too ofc! ^^

also i really like your content! it's so well written and it cheers me up so much :) 💖💕

❛❛ A Step Into Fatherhood ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ What do you mean I'm getting soft? ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore x GN!Reader

Genre/Format: Fluff (oneshot)

Warning(s): Use of Dottore’s (speculated) real name

wc: ~3k

Notes: Oh god I'm sorry I haven’t posted in a while 😭 I was on writer's block and still kinda am. But at last, here's finally a fic!! Haven't written in a while and got rusty, so this might not be good :') Anyways, I LOVE THIS REQUEST AHHH 💕💕💕 Dadttore is so UGH 😫👌This request got me all giddy. I hope you'll like it :D

Gentle flakes fell to the ground as you went from store to store. Your husband was in need of some materials to carry out his experiments. He asked a segment to gather them but you offered to help instead. You wanted to go out for a stroll anyways, so why not?

You were about to go back to the palace when you heard a noise coming from a nearby alleyway. It sounded like someone was rummaging through something.

You knew it was dangerous to investigate on your own without any weapons on you. But you couldn't help it, curiosity got the best of you and your legs subconsciously brought you closer towards the sounds of clanking.

Following the noise, it led you to a dumpster. The lid was closed so you weren't able to tell what was inside. Judging by the size of it though, you assumed it would be some sort of animal. You were expecting to see a raccoon when you opened the lid but what you saw made you scream and stepped back instead.

What the…

You slowly opened the lid again and an equally shocked but frightened face stared back at you. 

What is a child doing here? You thought.

It was a little girl who looked no older than ten. She was wearing a thin layer of clothing and her hair was stained. In her hands she was holding a paper plate of thrown out food from a restaurant.

When you got closer again, her hands that were holding the plate recoiled to her torso and turned into fists. Tears were forming at the corner of her eyes and her form shook.

"Hey… it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," you said in a hushed voice.

Once the little girl seemed calmed down enough, you spoke again, “What are you doing here? Where are you from?”

"I'm from over there…" She pointed. You followed where her finger was pointing at and your heart dropped.

House of the Hearth.

The orphanage where Arlecchino trained the kids to become soldiers? What was this kid doing here?

"I see… I don't know how you got here but why don't I take you back—"

"No!" She yelled, taking you off guard.

"Please… I don't want to go back there… The others are mean to me…"

She was now sobbing and you were trying to think of what to do.

She looked like she really didn't want to go back there… You would feel bad for forcing her to go back. But it couldn’t be good to just leave a kid all by herself here as well. 

From the looks of her fragile frame, she definitely hasn’t eaten a sustainable meal in a long time. Poor kid, it was cold out and that bread didn’t look edible.

What other options did you have?

You were someone who adored kids, and the protective instinct inside of you screamed.

Without thinking, you blurted out, “Why don’t you come with me? I can take you to a warmer place and give you something nicer to eat."

The little girl was hesitant, but you could see her eyes lit up a little.

“Really?”

“Of course! Being out here by yourself is dangerous anyways.”

She got out of the dumpster and approached you with small steps. Once she got close enough, you took your own coat off and draped it over her.

“There we go, this will keep you warm enough until we get back,” you muttered, gently taking her hand into yours as you made your way back to the resting quarters.

- - -

When you reached the palace, you quickly took her to your room, trying to avoid anybody on your way there. You couldn't risk letting anyone see the kid here, who knew what they would do to her if they found out she escaped Arlecchino's orphanage?

And you most certainly didn't want to face that harbinger's wrath.

You let out a breath of relief when a Fatui agent only nodded to greet you as he passed the hallway without making a comment on how your stance was off, while simultaneously holding the bag of materials at an awkward angle. You waved back at him with a sheepish smile. Once you made sure he was out of sight, you reached behind you to take a hold of the little girl's hand again before continuing on your way.

"Alright, we're almost there."

You looked both sides of the hallway, taking a double check to make sure nobody saw you before grabbing the door handle and pushing it open, pulling the kid inside with you.

The door closed with a click and you leaned against it, trying to calm down how fast your heart was beating. Archons, were you glad that Dottore convinced you to take some basic stealth lessons. You didn't think it was necessary… up until now.

"Okay, well, welcome to my room!" You walked over to a desk and set the bags there. Thinking you could just give them to your husband later.

The girl looked around your room in awe, it was huge. To her, this felt like a bedroom a royalty would own from the tales she had heard of. There was a queen-sized bed in the middle and the blankets looked really soft and fluffy. She could imagine how nice it would to sleep on it.

"Wow… I've never been in a room this big before!" She exclaimed, her eyes wandered through different pieces of furniture and objects decorating the room.

"How about we give you a nice warm bath? Then I can show you around more later."

You took her to the bathroom and ran a hot bath for her. She was making bubbles in her hands while you washed her hair, rinsing the suds off her head.

"And we're done!" You clapped your hands together, feeling satisfied with how clean she was now.

You wrapped a towel around her and took her back to your room again, digging through your closet for clothes that were suitable enough for her to wear for the time being. Fortunately for you, you were able to find some of your old clothes from when you were a kid. You didn't throw them away just in case you wanted to reminisce about your childhood.

Well, instead of sitting at the bottom of the drawer collecting dust, you could put them to good use again.

Once you were done with dressing her up, she looked at herself through the closet mirror and her eyes widened at how nice they looked on her.

"Mr(s)... Um…" 

"What's wrong?" You asked, worried that she might not like them.

"I don't know what to call you…"

That was when you realized you never told her your name, nor did she ever tell you hers.

"Ah, how could I forget! My apologies. You can call me (Y/n)! What about you, sweetie?"

Her eyes glinted at your name and smiled.

"Thank you, Mr(s) (Y/n)! I really like these clothes. They look so nice!" She paused before responding to your question.

"My name is Lilly."

Right as she finished her sentence, someone knocked on the door.

"Dear? Are you in there?" A voice you knew too well spoke.

Shoot.

It was your husband. And there was a random kid with you. 

Oh no, what am I going to tell him?! You panicked. How were you going to explain to him you brought a child to your shared bedroom?

Your thoughts were disrupted when he knocked on the door again.

"Dear? I'm coming in—" The door handle twitched, but stopped when you yelled, "Wait!"

You told the child to hide in the closet and to not come out unless you said so. A look of confusion mixed with fear appeared on her face but she obliged anyway, hiding at the corner of the closet.

Closing the closet doors, you jogged over to the bedroom door and opened it, revealing your husband who was standing there, twirling a vial of blue liquid in his hand.

"There you are, darling. That took you a while, is everything alright?" He asked.

"Oh nothing, I was just, uh, examining the materials I went to collect for you!" 

Archons, you hoped that was convincing enough.

"Really? Since when did you get interested in Chaos Cores?" He teased, showing you his signature grin.

"Just today! Haha…"

"Is that so…" He trailed off, noticing something on the ground.

"Hmm?" He hummed, taking his mask off to take a better look of the floor.

There was a water droplet. No, multiples of them.

"May I ask why the carpet is wet?"

Oh no, it must've been from the little girl's hair. It was still wet and you didn't dry it fully.

"I-I spilled some water! Yeah… I was clumsy." You smiled sheepishly at him.

He looked around the room and raised a brow.

"But I don't see a cup anywhere around here?" His attention went back to the droplets on the ground and noticed it was a trail. 

A trail leading toward the closet.

He walked over to it and stopped right in front of it. You were about to stop him but he was quicker. His hands swung the closet doors open.

From where you were standing, the clothes on the hangers casted shadows on her form and they were hiding her well. They should be able to hide her from your husband's sight too… you hoped.

But of course, with keen eyes such as his, nothing could escape him. His squinted eyes were now slightly widened. He expected to find someone or something, but definitely not a kid.

"What—"

"W-wait! Zandik, let me explain."

You told him how she ran away from the orphanage and she was all alone out there, so you wanted to help her.

"So you're telling me… this is a kid from Arlecchino's orphanage? Darling, you know how she could get if she finds out," he reasoned with you.

"I know, but she was scared! And I couldn't just leave her on the streets on her own either. So with no other choices, I decided to just take her here, and maybe take her in…" You trailed off. Gesturing to the little girl that it was safe to come out now. She got up and approached you, hiding behind your leg as she looked at Dottore.

"So, can she stay, please?"

He stared intently at the ground, seemingly deep in his thoughts.

Now, you knew that Dottore was not fond of kids. But unbeknownst to you, occasionally he would dream of having this fantasy of his. To have a little family with you…

And of course, he wasn't ready to become a father to his own kids yet, so maybe he'd take this opportunity to practice parenting.

He signed, faking his annoyance to conceal his unexplainable excitement.

"Fine, she can stay."

- - -

For the first week of her stay here, she was shy. The only person she wasn't afraid to talk to was you. She tried to talk to Dottore once but he unintentionally acted cold towards her, causing her to back away. 

You couldn't blame him though, he was awkward around kids.

So, to make it up to her in his own way, he ordered his segments to set up a new room for her.

You brought her to the room they were preparing in, wanting to know how she was liking her room so far and to also introduce her to the segments.

You knocked on the door and went in, while she trailed after you, hiding behind you as usual.

The segments stopped what they were doing and turned to the sound of someone coming in.

"Ah! So this is the kiddo Prime told us about." Beta was the first to speak.

Theta got closer to the both of you and kneeled down to Lilly's eye level. 

"Hello! I'm Theta, you must be Lilly, yes?" 

Lilly was too distracted by the white and black mask he was wearing, not listening to a single word that came out of his mouth. She tugged at your pants and said, "Mr(s) (Y/n), he looks like a clown!"

Upon hearing her words, you and the other segments began to laugh, all except for Theta.

"S-She called you a clown!" Beta wheezed.

"Quite fitting, don't you think, Theta?"

"I'm not a clown! God, what was Prime thinking when he chose to wear this mask back then…" He said, deadpan.

Omega quieted down his chuckle and asked, "So, how are you liking your room so far, little one?"

Lilly looked around the room, the wall was painted with her favorite color and animal for the pattern. The bed she was given to was smaller than the one in your room, but was still big to her. A unicorn plushie, which was made by Delta, was placed on it.

"I love it!" She bounced slightly in excitement.

- - -

For the second week, Dottore and Lilly would start to interact with each other more. He has been taking notes by observing the way you'd talk to her, how you'd take care of her… 

He was still awkward around her, of course. But at least he wasn't being cold to her anymore,  so that was an improvement. 

And Lilly, she was starting to grow more comfortable around him, as well. He wasn't as intimidating as she thought he'd be when he gifted her a mini robot, made with the leftover parts of a ruin guard. And now, she would sleep with it next to her at all times.

You were out to run some errands today, leaving Lilly in Dottore's care. She was reading a children's book on her bed, while Dottore sat next to her, patting her gently on her head.

She got to one of the pages and her eyes shined at how pretty the princess looked in the picture.

"Mr. Zanny?" She called out to him, using the nickname she gave him.

He hummed in response, signaling her to continue. 

"I want my hair to look like this pretty lady's, do you know how to do that?"

He leaned over to see an illustration of a woman with long, braided hair.

"Why yes, I do, angel. Would you like me to do that for you?" He said.

In return, he also had a nickname for her. He thought the word "angel" suited her. As she's such a pure and innocent child.

Lilly nodded eagerly and turned around, her back facing Dottore. Grabbing a brush from the vanity table, he brushed her hair and undid the tangled locks, until it was tidy enough to be put in a braid. 

You'd expect him to not know anything about braiding someone's hair but he was surprisingly good at it. 

Once he was done, he grinned at how it turned out. Lilly went over to a mirror and admired her hair, it looked neat and exactly how she thought it'd look like. 

She turned back to where Dottore and muttered out a little shy "Thank you."

- - -

It was late at night and everyone was sound asleep. Well, almost everyone.

Lilly was turning in her sleep, horrid images of scary monsters flashed in her mind and she woke up with a gasp. Her eyes darted around her room and it was dark. The moon light from the window barely lit the room up. She got out of bed and took the tiny robot Dottore made with her.

Luckily for her, the room you and Dottore slept in was not far from hers, she opened the door slightly ajar and peered inside. Noticing the two slightly moving silhouettes in the room. 

She tiptoed to your side of the bed and poked your arm.

"Mr(s) (Y/n)?" She whispered.

You were a light sleeper so it didn't take you long to stir awake.

"Mmm… Lilly? Why are you awake?" You asked, turning over to face her fully, waking your husband up as well.

"I had a nightmare and I'm scared…" She told you, her voice trembled and her arms wrapped around the robot tightly.

"Oh, you poor thing…" 

You helped her to get on the bed and laid her down between you and your husband. He yawned and was trying to comprehend why Lilly was in the bed with the two of you.

He looked at you for answers and you only said, "Nightmare." 

"Would you like to listen to a story to help you sleep, Lilly?" You asked.

She pondered for a while before answering, "Yes please."

“Let’s see… Once upon a time, there was a little girl,” you began, then looked at Dottore to continue. He groaned a little and tried to think of something in his sleepy state.

“The little girl had a knife— I mean uh… A teddy bear? His name was… Bob,” he said. Making his sentence a bit more family-friendly when you glared at him.

“She and the teddy were best friends, they would go on an adventure together.” You added more to it.

“Then the little girl later strangled the teddy—“ He stopped when you hit his arm. 

"What he meant to say was, the little girl later helped the teddy bear with a mission…"

The both of you carried the story on, well, more like you having to constantly make changes to Dottore's… questionable imagination.

But overall, it went pretty well, sometimes Lilly would snicker at the jokes Dottore made. But laughed even harder at his horrible attempt at talking in a high pitch voice to mimic the teddy bear. 

His face was red from embarrassment, to say the least, that he made a fool out of himself just to make the two of you laugh.

It was embarrassing… but it was worth it, to hear the laughter of his two sweet angels.

"And finally, Bob made it home safely… The end." You ended the story.

You turned your attention to Lilly and you could tell she was getting tired, her eyes were droopy and she could barely keep herself awake.

As her mind was about to take her away into the land of dreams, you heard her muttering.

"Night night, daddy… Night night (mommy / other daddy)..."

Bonus:

Dottore walked into Arlecchino's office and slammed some papers onto her work desk.

"The papers are signed, she is now officially my daughter."

"Very well."

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 27 - The Future King of Spaghetti

Some familiar faces join the crew.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

The sunlight was a little blinding as you stepped out if the clinic and into the street. It was just past midday, and your tummy was growling. No surprise, since you were eating for two now, and lunch was overdue. You licked your lips as you thought about what you wanted to eat, getting whiffs of bread and meat in the air. You tugged at Killer's arm like a needy child. “Hungryyy,” you pleaded, batting your eyes at him. Not having your mask had some advantages.

“What do you wanna eat, mama?” Killer snorted, taking your hand and leading you down the street where the scent of food was stronger, the street opening out to a square that was dotted with various cafes and bistros.

“Mmm…” you brought a finger to your pursed lips and thought about it. You were craving something saucy, tomatoes, oregano, and definitely meat. “Spaghetti!”

Killer's shoulders shimmied with a silent laugh. “That's my baby in there all right,” he stopped in front of you to press a loving hand to your tummy. You rested your hands over his, smiling fondly up at him. “Alright then lil guy, let's get you some spaghetti before mum has no choice but to go feral and start ripping out throats for sustenance”

“Gross,” you giggled as he bonked you gently with his mask, taking your hand again and leading you to a nearby bistro that had a chalkboard outside with neatly written cursive and a cute drawing of spaghetti and meatballs flying off a plate. A cute waitress with a black apron rushed over to greet you as you took your seats at a window table, Killer holding out your chair for you and pushing it in once you were sitting. The waitress began to hand you both menus and Killer waved a hand to stop her.

“We already know what we want,” he told her, and she smiled and pulled out her notebook from her apron pocket. “Two plates of spaghetti and meatballs, and a couple of glasses of juice please. Orange, if you have it. And a straw, please”

“Right away sir,” the waitress smiled, entirely unphased by Killer's mask or gruff appearance. A lot of the islands the log pose took you to were frequented by pirates, and they all relied on towns like this to resupply. The towns themselves often got a good portion of their trade from pirates, so it was a symbiotic relationship. Many towns were wary of pirates, but didn't do anything to fight them as long as the pirates behaved themselves. Nobody at the clinic had seemed phased either, they were probably more than used to getting patients with illnesses that were more than what a ship doctor could handle, considering how many ship doctors were just men with rudimentary first aid training.

You watched out the window as a mother passed by with a small girl holding her hand, another small baby asleep in swaddling wrap on her front. The father had been buying flowers at a small nearby stall while she was distracted, and ran up beside her to gift them. She smiled and smelled the beautiful bouquet, and leaned in to kiss him. He gave his older child her own smaller bouquet, and she squealed and danced around them all before letting her father pick her up as they continued on their way. Killer watched them too, turning back to you with an excited fondness.

“Jesus fucking christ Killer,” your hand fell to your tummy as you turned back to him, “we're having a fucking baby”

“We are,” he smiled under his mask and reached over the table to take your hand. “I'm gonna take such good care of both of you”

“I know you are,” you squeezed his hand and smiled lovingly at him, “what is Kid gonna say though? Fuck what if he tries to kick me off the ship”

“Don't worry about him,” he withdrew his hand as the waitress dropped off the orange juices, feeding the straw in his drink through his mask and taking a long sip. “You're not going anywhere, I'll make sure of it”

“How are we gonna have a baby on a ship?” You hummed, running your finger around the rim of your own glass, “we probably should have thought this through better. I can hide them, visually and audibly, during battles at sea, but what if something happens to us? And where are we gonna keep them? There's not exactly room for a nursery on the ship, we could convert my room but it's so far away from yours, I'd never stop worrying”

“There's a storage room on the other side of my wall, adjacent to the bathroom,” he assured, “it's not usually accessible since you get to it through the navigation room, but we can knock out some wall to add a door on our side and convert it to a nursery. It's mostly just old maps from Paradise in there, we can move them elsewhere”

“Okay,” you puffed out a sigh of relief at the good plan, “that sounds okay”

“It's gonna be fine Yin, don't stress yourself out,” he took your fidgeting hand from your drink and squeezed it again, “stress is bad for the baby. Just have faith that I'll take care of everything”

“Okay Kil,” you breathed, “I trust you”

“That's it mama,” he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, “just breathe, it's all gonna work out”

“Heh… mama,” you giggled.

“Is that okay?” Killer asked shyly. The nickname had just sort of naturally fallen into place since leaving the clinic.

“Yeah, I like it,” you smiled, the grin turning mischievous, “should I start calling you daddy?”

“Maybe after lunch,” he purred, letting your hand go so the waitress could place down your plates of food, kindly pretending she hadn't just heard that exchange.

“Will that be everything for now?” She asked sweetly.

“Yes, thank you,” Killer replied, and she gave a curt little nod and left to serve another table.

You picked up your fork and twirled your pasta, greedily digging in as your stomach gave another growl. You calmed your feverish devouring after a few bites and looked up to see Killer slurping his spaghetti through the holes of his mask. You openly snorted, it'd never not be funny watching him do that.

“Funny, am I?” He toyed, slurping more spaghetti.

“Yes, actually,” you laughed, “you're fucking ridiculous”

“I'm gonna tell everyone you're scared of needles,” he teased.

“No!” You gasped, “please don't!” He snorted in smug satisfaction, he'd won this round.

“Let's avoid the others for a few days,” Killer suggested, “just spend some time alone together, just the two of us, before it becomes three. I told Kid that's what we were doing anyway, he's not expecting to see us for a few nights. Then we can figure shit out better before we talk to him”

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, before performing your best impression of Killer slurping spaghetti. Sauce flicked over your face and you yelped as some got in your eye. Killer laughed, properly audibly laughed, and you felt like your heart might explode as you gave him your brightest smile and laughed with him, which must have looked insane considering the spaghetti sauce on your face.

“Was that supposed to be me?” He laughed, the unique sound slowly fading as it returned to his usual suppressed silence.

“Yeah,” you replied defeated, wiping the sauce off your eyelid, “but it would have been ten times funnier if I had my mask, and there wasn't sauce in my eye.” The waitress quietly passed the table, giving you a wink as she dropped off a large pile of napkins, and you fell into a new fit of laughter. “Our kid is going to be a fucking menance,” you laughed, “the two of us getting together might be a detriment to this planet. And to all the spaghetti on it”

“Here's to the future king or queen of spaghetti,” Killer snorted, raising his glass in a mock toast before slurping down the rest of his juice.

The next three days were bliss, spent in solitude with your lover, talking fondly of your future child and doing all the things normal couples would do between stints of rolling in the sheets. You bumped into the others occasionally, which wasn't a surprise given you were staying at the same inn and the town wasn't that big. You kept your secret for now though, Killer felt it was important that Kid be the first to hear. You had met up with Mohawk to receive some of the advice the doctor had given him to pass along, but for the most part you and Killer just did your own thing, just enjoying your time together.

You found out that Killer had long thought about being a father, but given his mental walls and his lifestyle, it was a dream he never thought was achievable, and he'd given up on it long ago. You didn't have much of an opinion either way, it wasn't something you'd ever given much thought to before finding out you were pregnant, but you were happy to help him with his dream. Killer was such a selfless man, always putting others before himself, making Kid's dream his priority and throwing away his own. You were happy to help him have this one thing, and you swore you'd never seen him smile so much. He splayed his hand out over your abdomen whenever he got the chance, and you'd caught him one morning laying with his head near your belly, whispering to the baby. You almost cried at how sweet it was. Lies, you did cry, in fact you were a blubbering mess, fucking hormones.

The two of you had even snuck into a baby wares shop, careful to check that none of the crew saw you enter or leave, and had fun looking at all the different things and talking about how you wanted to raise your baby. Breastfed or formula fed, sleeping arrangements, attachment style, how old they would be before you started teaching them to fight, his surname name or yours. Totally normal parent things. Though you absolutely refused to name your child Baby Massacre Soldier, what kind of surname was that? Val would do just fine thank you. Not to mention it was all you had of your mother, you wanted to pass it to your child. Killer had no qualms with that, his name was more of a epithet anyway, and he thought it was nice that you wanted to honour your mother.

Whenever you got too tired to walk, you'd both retreat back to the inn, pouring over pregnancy books - which was mostly Killer reading them out loud and you following with your eyes. Not only were you learning about your baby and what to expect, but also getting a bonus reading lesson. The doctor had prescribed you a variety of prenatal vitamins as well as anti nausea medication for your morning sickness, and you were taking them diligently. You hadn't thrown up again since you started taking them, and your sore throat was incredibly thankful for it.

Eventually though, all good things must come to an end, and very much against your will Killer dragged you along to the bar the others had been frequenting to meet up with them the night before you were due to set sail. You entered hand in hand with Killer, and Heat immediately called out to you, excited to spend time with you after having only seen you in passing for the last five days.

“Aye aye, there's the fucking lovebirds,” Kid roared as you slipped in to the booth, Killer pulling you into his lap so none of the other men at the bar would get any funny ideas. It was a large booth, and along with the usual commanders were a handful of colourful looking people you'd never met before, a ginger girl with a large hat currently perched on Kid's lap. “About fucking time you got here, I wanna introduce you to our new friends”

“New recruits?” Killer asked, taking the beer Heat slid in front of him and chucking a straw in it. He slid you a beer as well, but you told him you weren't feeling well and he shrugged and pulled it back to himself.

“Aye, we were already down a few men before Yin's little incident,” Kid replied, he was clearly already a little inebriated by the slow way he spoke, “and with another five down the drain we had to replace them or we'd be down too many next time we hit a fight. This here is Bubblegum, Pomp, the twins - Mosh and Boogie, Hip, Dive, and this girlie right here is Quincy” he gave a squeeze to the girl on his lap and she shrieked playfully.

“More girls?” Killer raised a brow under his mask.

“Aye,” Kid smirked, “first one proved a success, and after the shit the henchmen pulled I thought it was time we made some changes. Too much testosterone on the ship, it's about time they learned chicks can be just as tough, help em pull their heads out of their asses”

You were impressed, you didn't think Kid would ever bring more girls on board, but he'd clearly taken the incident to heart and you were happy to see he'd taken time to consider what went wrong and make changes to remedy it. You were excited to make some female friends, you hadn't had any since Egghead Island, if we weren't counting Delilah. Fuck Delilah.

The new crewmates were definitely a colourful bunch, and their hair and outfits made you sure immediately that they would fit right in with the rest of the crew.

Bubblegum was a tall, thin man, with blue hair that stuck out either side of a spiked helmet, dark lipstick and a heavy coat of red eyeshadow all around his eyes. From what you could see as he sat at the booth, he wore a dark tank top and a necklace made of thick red beads, as well as tan leather gloves.

Pomp was a short, stout man who you could barely see past the table. He was blond, with a spiky beret patterned in grey camo, with a belt that ran crossbody over his bare chest and spiky armbands that matched the band of his beret. His eyes were surrounded in dark green eyeshadow, making him look like a panda in the dim bar lighting.

The twins, Mosh and Boogie, had a similar style to each other. Mosh had bright pink hair, styled mostly slicked down and covering his left eye, with a thick ponytail behind him, while Boogie's was teal and mostly stuck up, save for the fringe that covered his right eye. They both had heavy, black, under eye liner and lipstick, reminding you of Kid's makeup. They both wore very punkish jackets and graphic tees, but what set them apart most was their size. Mosh was maybe the biggest man you had ever seen, as tall as Wire, but where Wire was mostly slim, Mosh was broad, making him an absolute beast of a man. Boogie was also broad, and while he looked close to Heat's height while sitting, you'd later learn he had quite short legs, making him closer to Killer's height.

Hip was a tan woman with blonde hair styled in a short bob. She looked like she could be Killer's sister, though her eyes were brown instead of his icy blue. She looked the least like she would fit in with pirates, with plain clothes that looked more like a civilian's, but her mean resting bitch face told you she would be a strong addition to the team.

Dive was a tiny thing, her bright green pigtails making her look like a child, had it not been for the short dress and fishnets with heels you saw her wearing whenever she got up. She wore a set of yellow rimmed goggles on her head, much like Kid, though hers had round frames, and when she gave a toothy smile you saw her teeth were all sharpened to points. Something told you those were her preferred weapon, and it made you smile, given your own preference for using your teeth. She was going to be a firecracker, you could feel it.

Last but not least was Quincy; a tall, beautiful girl, with puffy ginger hair that stuck out in two large buns either side of her face, under her giant, crown-like hat. She seemed to have a permanent smile on her scarlet painted lips and seemed like a beam of sunshine, not at all what you would expect of a pirate set to join a notoriously blood thirsty and violent crew. She wore an expensive looking criss-cross patterned jacket over a pretty pink dress, and whenever Kid jostled her you could see the large red ribbon that adorned her waist. She looked more like a princess than a pirate, and the way she was entertaining Kid made you wonder if she was just aiming to be Queen of the Pirates. She was the only one of the group you had some doubts about.

“Thank god, I was over the sausage fest,” you jested, giving the new girls friendly smiles. Hip gave you an almost playful sneer, and something told you you were gonna be good friends with her.

Mohawk appeared silently beside you, wordlessly putting a plain soda in front of you, which you accepted gratefully. You always seemed to be thirsty these days, no doubt due to the fact that you had to piss every five minutes. It was hard to believe it was only going to get worse as you got bigger.

“Anyway, welcome to the crew, I'm Yin, by the way, since our captain didn't bother to introduce me,” you gave Kid a scowl, “looking forward to seeing you all tied to the mast for the week”

The new guys all looked confused and Kid scowled. “Actually, they'll be skipping that, since we're low on men,” he avoided eye contact as you sent him a deadly glare.

“Excuse the fuck outta you,” you growled, “how come I had to do it? You know full well I'm worth fifty men, this is bullshit”

“Yeah well, I'm the captain so you can untwist your panties about it,” he waved his hand dismissively, “if I say they're skipping it then they're skipping it. Have a cry about it for all I care.”

You crossed your arms and gave him a cold stare. To be fair, the other commanders weren't impressed either, but there was no arguing with Kid. Everyone had the suspicion though that he was skipping it for the specific purpose of sparing Quincy, without singling her out.

“Anyway,” Kid continued, “Yin here is a commander, so treat her with the appropriate respect. She'll be in charge of all of the women on board, so go to her if you need help with your girly shit, the rest of us don't want to hear about it”

You were a little surprised to be given control over your own section of the crew, even if it was just a few ladies, but perhaps there was room for expansion in the future. Kid must have been impressed with your display of power, and this was also no doubt part of his subtle apology about what happened.

“Where will they be staying then?” You asked, taking a mouthful of your drink and eyeing your new charges, “you can't expect them to stay with the men, they fucking stink. The marines had us sharing unisex bathrooms which was fine but the men's quarters were always disgusting, even the marines aren't cruel enough to force women to sleep in the same stink.”

“It's already being taken care of,” Kid explained, “the materials to split the henchmen's quarters have already been loaded onto the ship, but it'll take a few days for them to install it and knock down some wall for a new door. We've set up a curtain in the meantime. They'll share the bathroom, they can either set a schedule with the men or get their tits out, I don't give a shit, as long as they don't bring any fucking babies on the ship. I'm making birth control mandatory for all sexually active women on the ship, including you. No exceptions.”

Killer stiffened behind you and you nervously chugged the rest of your drink, almost choking on it in the process. Mohawk's knee started to bounce nervously. Kid quirked an eyebrow at the sudden anxious display from the three of you. You and Mohawk had a tendency to be skittish, but he could read Killer like a book at this point, and grumbled to himself. Killer had no doubt he'd be getting pulled aside before the end of the night, as Kid squinted suspiciously at the three of you and took a slow drink from his tankard.

“Right, yup, of course,” you finally stuttered, “uh, and the girly shit, yup, on it,” you gave him a very nervous thumbs up which did nothing to shake his suspicious gaze. Hip smiled into her drink, knowing full well, between your reaction and the rejection of Heat's beer offer, what was happening. She was a quiet girl by nature, but extremely observant, and therein lay her strength.

“Where are we standing on the log pose?” Killer quickly changed the subject, reassuringly rubbing the outsides of your thighs with his thumbs.

“It's due to reset in the morning,” Double answered, “the ship is already loaded so we're planning to set out by ten, tide should be good around then, winds are supposed to be in our favour as well”

“Okay great,” Killer replied, “any word on where we're due to head next?”

“Locals say it'll be a uninhabited autumn island,” Double explained, “supposed to be about a week's sailing from here, weather dependant”

“Any trouble due on the way?” Heat interjected.

“Marines are apparently very active in the area,” Wire added his own intel, “we'll be skirting pretty close to a base”

“If we come across any marine ships we can take their eternal pose and hit the base,” Kid added, “otherwise we won't bother trying to find it.”

“Oh! How's my mask?” You suddenly remembered. You'd gotten kind of used to being without it but talk of fighting had spurred the memory.

“Glasswork came out fine, they said I can pick it up tomorrow,” Kid told you, much to your relief, “gimme like an hour after we set sail and I'll have it installed for you. The rest of the headset is fixed but we might have to do some fine tuning”

“Thanks Kid,” you replied with a little yawn.

You could feel your eyelids drooping as the other commanders continued to discuss the possibility of taking down the marine base, with the occasional interjection from one of the newbies with info only locals like them would have. You turned in Killer's lap so you were sideways, drapped across his legs and nestling in to him. One of his arms wrapped around your waist to hold you securely against him, while the other rested a hand on your thigh, stroking it lazily. You quickly fell asleep, exhausted from all the walking you'd done with Killer today on top of the pregnancy. At some point he carried you back to your shared room at the inn, removing your shoes and tucking you in for the night.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

A/N: ayeoh welcome to some of the missing crewmates. I excluded a lot of the known members of the Kid Pirates for thematic reasons, it was important the crew be only men for a lot of the story, and I didn't want to add the recognizable men without the women. This felt like a good time to add some ladies in though, so I just picked some of my favs to add back in so I don't get overwhelmed with too many new characters. Also headcannoning that Mosh and Boogie are twins, in reality we don't know much about most of the crew, we don't even know what sort of weapon Quincy has though I do have a fun idea for her. Also I know some people think Dive is a kid but she literally has heels and fishnets in a manga panel, that ain't no kid. She's just a small, feral lady lmao