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in1-nutshell · 10 months

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Concept, mtmte Megatron accidentally adopts young human buddy.

Like there's basically just a teenager on the lost light, and because teenagers have no fear of death, they go out of their way to interact with the ex-warlord.

Time goes on, and eventually, when Megatron realizes the dynamic he has, he goes into a typical angsty brooding session. Bonus points if it has Brooklyn 99 energy of Peralta accidently calling holt 'dad' energy.

I really do enjoy your blog because a lot of the stuff is either platonic or familial, and that's my favorite shit. Hope you have a good day and drink water.

Thank you for the compliment! I have been drinking water and been having a pretty decent day. Now, Human Buddy who knows no fear is about to strike the fear of their well being upon others! Megatron is their prime target...

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron 'accidentally' adopting human Buddy who fears nothing

SFW, familial, platonic, mentions of injuries but nothing graphic or in details, Human reader

MTMTE/LL

Oh, Buddy starts off as the bane of his existence.

Buddy joins the lost light before the events of Delphi happen. Meaning they have been dealing with everyone’s problems since a little over day one.

Let’s give Buddy some context.

By sheer luck, Buddy managed to enter the Cybertronain/ Human Liaison program and was now the proud representative in the Lost Light.

Many bots on the Lost Light thought that this would be a little liaison and would be a bit fearful of the hulking giants around them or some sleazy politician. Some were just curious as they had never seen a human until that moment.

Rodimus is preparing for a Prowl like or Magnus like person to board the bridge. That’s usually who they send when it comes to relations, except Marrisa Fairborn, she was an exception.

At first Buddy did come off as someone overly polite… that was soon going to change.

“Welcome Buddy aboard the Lost Light.”—Ultra Magnus

“Thank you, Ultra Magnus sir.”--Buddy

“And I will be your Captain! The names Rodimus Prime.”--Rodimus

“Well, I’m just Buddy. Sorry but I should be entering my room now before take-off. Thank you again for the introduction sirs. I hope to find you soon?”--Buddy

“Absolutely, we will start the meeting in an hour in the meeting room down your hall.”—Ultra Magnus

“Thank you.”--Buddy

“…Great another stick in the mud…”--Rodimus

“Oh, hush they seem like a nice human.”—Ultra Magnus

A week later

“Hey Rodimus, I bet you can throw me into that mattress over there.”--Buddy

“Oh? You’re on!”--Buddy

“I have the reports ready—OH SWEET PRIMUS! BUDDY!”—Ultra Magnus

Timeskip

“So let me get this straight… You bet Rodimus, one of the most impulsive and childish bots on bourd—”--Ratchet

“Hey!”--Rodimus

“To THROW you across the room to a small mattress and it didn’t occur to you that you could bounce off the mattress!?”--Ratchet

“Well at least all the blood is internal right? That’s were the blood is supposed to be?”--Buddy

“…”--Ratchet

“Oh Primus…”—Ultra Magnus

“Oh, Primus indeed.”--Rodimus

Buddy does not know what ‘self-preservation’ is. Its not in their vocabulary. Ratchet has lost count of the amount of times that Buddy has come in the med bay with an injury that was caused by some atrociously dumb plan.

“Alright… what’s the damage today? Whirl brought you in this time so it must be bad.”—Ratchet

“Rude.”—Buddy and Whirl

“Well, I’m waiting. What happened?”--Ratchet

“Well… I was trying to follow Skids trails through the vents, which is so cool to visit—”--Buddy

“Kid.”--Ratchet

“Right. Well, I thought I could jump across the vent opening and kind a didn’t…”--buddy

“What?”--Ratchet

“Good thing Whirl was there to break my fall! Sorry again Whirl for the glass.”--Buddy

“Next time you bust my glass at least do a flip next time you fall on your back.”--Whirl

“What you fell on your back?! You have glass imbedded in it!”--Ratchet

“Huh? That explains why my back hurts so much.”--Buddy

“…”--Ratchet

Rodimus takes it back he loves this little human. Buddy is his best human friend. Whirl wins this though, he already asked Buddy to be his Amica Endura, and they accepted!

“Hey Ratchet—”--Drift

“Shh!”--Ratchet

“Rude—”--Drift

“No. It’s quiet… to quiet…”--Ratchet

“What do you think we are going to get attack?”--Drift

“…No, it’s something much worse.”--Ratchet

“What could be worse—”--Drift

“Its Whirl and Buddy! They haven’t made noise in about 10 minutes!”--Ratchet

“Ratchet I think that them not making noise—”--Drift

BAM!

“Eat floor Cyclonus!”--Whirl

“Whirl! Run! He’s gaining on us!”--Buddy

“I stand corrected.”--Drift

They make friends with a lot of bots on board. Many are happy to meet an individual such as Buddy. But this also comes at a cost. Many bots have to watch for Buddy in case something bad happens to them. They are so small and they keep getting into dangerous situations!

Rung has a line of bots that express the same worry for Buddy one day doing something dumb and not being able to come back from it.

Buddy knows no fear.

How does the crew know this?

Buddy made it their life job to make Megatron uncomfortable when they found out he was going to be the Co-Captain.

“Hey! MegaDork!”--Buddy

“Hmm?”--Megatron

Bucket of oil falls from door.

“Theres more were that came from Bucket Head! That’s for Earth!”--Buddy

Megatron can’t do anything about it. He hates organics and he can’t kill this one, not without causing another war. When Ravage shows up, he thinks that Buddy might back down a bit. I mean what human in their right of mind would try and continue to prank him when ravage is around? Buddy takes this as a challenge that needs to be beaten. If anything, Ravage helps a bit.

“He slipped on the paint! Go! Go! Go!”--Buddy

“Ravage!?”--Megatron

“All is fair in music tapes and war Megatron.”—Ravage

Buddy has the ring tone of Megs comm to “Be Prepared” from the Lion King. Swerve helped them put in the music. He laughed nonstop when it first worked.

They are petty.

Everyone is on edge whenever those two are in the same room.

Half ready to shoot Megatron down the other half to get Buddy to safety once they manage to trigger Megatron.

Is there any chance that Megatron will get a break?

Yes, yes, he does.

He managed to finally get a place holder for a poetry night in one of the classrooms. Not to his surprise no bot shows up. He is about to leave when he hears the quick little sets of footsteps coming in.

“Wait! Wait! Hold the door! I’m here! I’m here!”--Buddy

“Buddy?”--Megatron

“I’m not late, am I? I just saw the flyer from Swerve. And—hold on—sprinted from my room back here.”--Buddy

“Oh, umm, no one came…”--Megatron

“Oh, okay then its just us two them Big Guy?”--Buddy

“Wait—”--Megatron

“Call dibs on the chair on the left.”--Buddy

Megatron never pegged Buddy to be into poetry. He is also floored with Buddy actually talking to him and giving pointers on how to improve his own pieces of work. Even referring to other poets’ works so he could get some inspiration!

He nearly misses the shy look Buddy gives when he compliments their work.

He thinks that this is a onetime thing.

He is deeply mistaken.

“Hey Megs! You ready for today’s meeting?”--Buddy

“Oh, yes I am.”--Megatron

“Good! I have a bunch of works that need to be peer reviewed and I can’t trust Rodimus to look over these; and Whirl sadly isn’t an option for these either.”--Buddy

“Why don’t you ask Magnus? Surely, he could also help?”--Megatron

“And have him explain to me the importance of an Oxford comma when I forgot to put one in my writing? Yeah no, I need your optics for this.”--Buddy

“…Me?”--Megatron

Buddy no longer causes too much trouble for the Ex-warlord. Still trouble but not as much as last time. They always come to the poetry club and even managed to snag a couple of their friends to come with.

He is not going to admit to anyone, well maybe Ravage, that he started growing a soft spot for them.

“Ravage… I think I might be growing fond of Buddy…”--Megatron

“Congratulations! You’re officially the last one to know.”--Ravage

These little interactions begin happening more and more, Megatron is just happy that things are finally going well.

Then it happened.

It was at Swerve’s.

He was sitting at the bar looking over Buddy’s latest writing with Buddy, themselves sitting patiently. He gives a compliment and gives them back the writing.

“You’ve improved Buddy. These are getting better with more time.”--Megatron

“Thanks Dad.”--Buddy

“…”--Everyone

“Why is everyone so quiet?”--Buddy

“You just called Megatron here, ‘Dad’.”--Whirl

“What’s a ‘Dad’?”--Tailgate

“No! I didn’t say ‘Dad’! I just said, ‘Thanks Man!’”--Buddy

“I don’t know Buddy. It sounded a lot like ‘Dad’ to me.”--Whirl

“Seriously, what’s a ‘Dad’?”--Tailgate

“Well, you heard wrong Whirl!”--Buddy

“Do you see me as a father figure Buddy?”--Megatron

“No! I see you as a bother figure if anything.”--Buddy

“Hey respect your Dad!”--Ratchet

“Is no one going to tell me what a ‘Dad’ is?”--Tailgate

After that interaction, Buddy begins to avoid Megatron after the confrontation and nearly shuts down when someone brings up the event. Megatron really wants to talk to buddy about the incident but decides not to. Maybe it was a mistake.

He broods over it for a while.

He finds Buddy again at Swerve’s where a rather drunk bot was making fun of Buddy for their little ‘slip up’.

“Wow Fleshy. You messed be so messed up in the processor to call Megatron your Dad.”—Drunk Bot

“Hey drop it.”--Buddy

“Oh, look at me! I’m so scared of a human how I could flick across the room if I wanted to.”—Drunk Bot

“Oh, please I know that barely existing processor of yours isn’t that dumb. But even then, I hope Natural selection takes you if you follow through that threat.”—Buddy

It was getting to the point where it was becoming insensitive.

Bots around were getting uneasy at the conversation and some looked like they were going to come over and do something.

Megatron is quicker.

As he strides over, he is met with the infamous brick of parenthood. Should he really take up such a mantle?

He takes that mantle by the horns and makes it his.

“My child, is something wrong?”--Megatron

Voice crack “Nope. Just Peachy.”--Buddy

Everyone looks over.

Buddy is just beaming.

Megatron has no regrets saying what he said, he lets Buddy know this.

No, Buddy isn’t crying. You’re the one crying.

#transformers #transformers x reader #more than meets the eye #mtmte x reader #mtmte rodimus #mtmte megatron #mtmte ultra magnus #mtmte ratchet #mtmte whirl #mtmte drift #maccadam #human buddy

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reve-writes · 2 years

Text

—of antidotes; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1,5k words. ʚ you and kaz were separated from the rest of the crows after a job went wrong. ʚ physical injuries. ʚ a/n i just love the little things, especially with kaz brekker. he's definitely the type to go out of his way and do the little things. this is a repost!

“There are worse things that could have happened,” you said, trailing after the disheveled Kaz Brekker as he limped ahead with his cane. An acquisition gone wrong in so many different ways, you were starting to think your luck had run out.

He didn't reply for a moment, but the silence seemed to bother him more than your statement did. He indulged in your attempt at finding a silver lining, “Like?”

“Like—” Honestly, this was as bad as it could've gone. “Like all of us dying.”

Inej was taken to Saints-knows-where, but you were quite certain she slipped away. Matthias might be well on his way back to Hellgate by now. Wylan was smart enough to stay in hiding. Neither of you had any idea on Nina or Jesper's whereabouts. You were forced by Kaz to retreat after being hit by a slow-acting poison. There was a growing swell on your thigh where the dart hit.

“Isn't it great that you're the only one dying then?” he sneered.

“I'm fine,” you mumbled, although the tips of your fingers were starting to feel numb and tingly. It took more effort to clench your hands into fists. “You do have an antidote, though?”

“Yes,” he replied. “The poison was commonly used a few years back and I'd kept a few just in case.”

He could be lying and you wouldn't know, anyway. Kaz Brekker was always one step ahead of you in that way. You could never read what went on in his mind. The few times he had let you take a peek were all on his terms.

“Thank the Saints you're paranoid,” you joked. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in your left leg. As quickly as it came, it was gone, along with any feeling you had on said leg. You stumbled forward with a yelp, barely catching yourself in time with your hands.

Kaz turned around, his eyes widening with worry, before he limped briskly towards you. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He searched you for any kind of injury. You shook your head.

“Poison.” You were struggling to speak now. Each breath was a chore.

He clicked his tongue. “The safehouse isn't far from here. Can you hold for five minutes?”

You nodded. Kaz weighed his options. He could go by himself, pick up the antidote and bring it back to you. However, he didn't think he would be physically able to leave you here. Not knowing if you were still okay, having no idea whether the poison had reached your lungs or your heart. Orpheus' decision to look back and check if Eurydice was there suddenly made some sense to him.

“Lean on me,” he said, gritting his teeth as he pulled you up. The two of you hobbled forward down the dirt path through the field. “Tell me if anything else starts to feel numb, okay?”

You were sweating bullets, way too much for the current weather. Your head was starting to pound painfully as well. You gulped. “I'm sorry.”

He continued to hobble you forward. “It's not your fault.”

“I'm sorry anyway.”

Your head started to droop. You could feel yourself slipping further into unconsciousness.

“Hey. Hey, ___. Don't pass out on me now,” Kaz frantically warned. He called your name repeatedly, occasionally shaking you as he quickened his pace.

“I'm trying, Brekker.”

“Try harder,” he hissed. “Do you remember the one time you told me that?”

Your focus was drawn to the event, clearing some of the clouds that were hanging over your head. “You got yourself locked up with me.”

“I was trying to get you out,” he retorted. “I had a plan.”

“The whole plan hinged on you picking the locks of the jail they kept me in,” you argued. “You couldn't pick the locks.”

“I was trying.”

“I told you to try harder.”

“I continued trying—a moderate amount of trying,” he said, spotting the small barnhouse that he had turned into a just-in-case safehouse. “I got us out.”

You hummed in response.

“I got us out of there. I got us out of Pekka Rollins' meticulous plan. I'm getting us out of this, too,” he said, more to himself. “Come on, we're close.”

“You've always had my back, Kaz,” you slurred. “But who has yours?”

“We're here,” Kaz announced, barely letting a second to let your words ring. He set you down against the wall of the barnhouse, unlocking the doors. You lost consciousness sometime around when he got the door open.

When you woke up, you had a splitting headache, but you could feel your left leg again. Your eyes found Kaz, his coat and vest thrown aside. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a cut on his shoulder blade. He was struggling, twisting his body around to assess the damage.

You cleared your throat.

“You're awake,” he stated, straightening up on his chair. He must've moved too fast because he winced ever so slightly. “Have some water.”

He nodded towards a cup of water by your bedside. The bed was unsurprisingly hard and it smelled like old laundry, like if you'd kept your clothes in the dresser for too long. You thanked him and downed the whole glass in one go.

"Where are the others?"

"Hopefully somewhere safe."

The silence that followed was anxiety-inducing.

“Are you okay?” You asked, wiping your lips on your sleeves. His eyes followed the movement and settled on your lips for a second longer.

He shrugged, which was a bad idea because he immediately hissed. His hair fell over his forehead as he hunched over.

"I'll take that as a no."

You slid off the cot, intending to walk over to him. He seemed to have decided to place himself as far away as you did in the tiny hut. His chair was placed by the window in the opposite corner of the cot. While your legs were fully mobile, dizziness washed over you when you stood. You stumbled, catching yourself on the small table by the cot before you fell.

Kaz abruptly stood up. "You should be resting."

"As should you. I wasn't the only one hurt."

He sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair. "Go back on the bed."

You were about to sound your protest when you heard the screech of his chair dragging against the floor. He brought it and a tin of medical supplies over to you. He set the chair down and straddled it. His back was angled towards you, while he leaned his chin on the back of the wooden chair.

"How bad is it?" he asked, barely tilting his head back to look at you.

"How did this happen?" you asked back.

"Someone thought plunging a knife to my back was a good idea," he grunted. "I wasn't fast enough."

You didn't quite know what to do with your hands. "It looks bad."

"It feels like it looks bad," he scoffed. He looked at you and saw your hand tremble. He added, "The other guy had it worse."

You huffed out a laugh. "No one can best Dirtyhands, it seems."

"Yet."

The thing about Kaz Brekker was that he was notoriously bad at lightening up situations. That was your role. You didn't quite want to think about the implication of yet.

"Do you have gloves around?" you asked. "Because, you know—"

He threw his gloves at you. "Don't get too much blood on it."

It felt strangely intimate, but you pulled them on wordlessly before he changed your mind and decided to avoid you like you were a plague. Aside from occasional curses under Kaz's breath, the two of you were silent as you dressed his wound and put a bandage over it. It was two times harder than it needed to be with the gloves, but you managed it anyway.

"It's done. We should find a healer, though. To be safe," you said. He shrugged his shirt back on before turning around. You stared at his hands—they were pale with a lot of visible veins running through them. His eyes were fixated on your hands as well, clad in his gloves which were a loose fit. He wanted to hold his hand up to yours to see the sizes of your hands.

He coughed. The ridiculousness of his thought dawned on him. Impulsive thoughts that stemmed from somewhere deep within him—the place where he kept Kaz Rietvield.

He held his hand out. "Gloves."

You pulled them off and gave it to him. "I quite like them. Perhaps I should invest in a pair or two."

He hummed. "Get some rest. I'll try to gather news about the others."

"I can help—"

He was already buttoning up his vest. "I don't want to have to drag you back here again."

You frowned. "I am sorry."

He sighed, pulling his coat on. "Get some rest, ___. I'll pick up food on the way back."

You nodded. It wasn't until hours later that you woke up again, feeling more refreshed. Kaz Brekker was nowhere to be found, but you suspected that he had been back at least once because by your cot, there was a pair of gloves—new ones in the colour that matched your outfit.

[]

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #—ki writes 🍯

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angstigone · 2 months

Text

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓼

𝗛𝗲𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗘𝗿𝗮! 𝗥𝘆𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝘅 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

(A/N): hello there, lovelies!

dearest besties, I shall take the next week off but till right now here's something to keep you anchored!

(and yeah a sequel is in the works).

as always, comments and reblogs have me writing faster and better!

have a nice day!

SUMMARY: in times of need you found yourself praying to the god in the woods

An idea hit you as you are suddenly reminded of your mother’s trips in the woods to pray as the house in which you had all lived hadn’t been built near the village and hence she couldn’t go to the temple; she had made with what she had and she had a few times brought you to pray upon the altair. You hadn’t ever cared about such things - not as a child, too busy observing everything and playing games, not as an adult, when hunger and tiredness where all you felt - but you now understood the search for comfort as you assured yourself that both children are deep sleep before you slink into the night, directed towards the forest. And maybe it was the fact that you wish to disappear not unlike your father or to search for comfort in nature… Either way you found yourself on your knees, praying to a god whose name you don’t know and promising everything if only he helped your brothers - and you - survive. “I don’t ask much but a modest life and a bit to tend to” you weren’t lazy, nor stupid and the wind that blows seemed to say ‘what will you give me then?’ “Everything. Everything I am and everything I own”.

WARNINGS: mention of death, injuries, blood, animal death and such, pre-relationship, gothic and fairytale elements, she/her pronouns - afab character.

Last winter had taken a toll on the village and especially on your family.

Your mother had been long gone when your father hadn’t one day come back from a hunting trip.

This meant that you had been left alone caring for your boyfriends as it seemed like everybody was convinced that bad luck followed your family.

Left without parents, you had tried to handle the housekeeping and hunting, mostly growing the small garden in the back of your house and taking care of the few animals left alive by the intense cold that had just begun to thwart the income of a shy spring.

Whatever you needed you tried to exchange it at the weekly market but oftentimes, merchants or villagers would refuse a deal with you due to the bigotry of your circumstances and when men accosted you, it wasn’t with pure intentions.

Since you had grown into what was considered an age to be a spinster, everybody at the village refused to entertain a conversation with you but men didn’t disdain the possibility to bed you for a night, even under a compensation and although the thought disgusted you, there was a brewing desperation in your chest the night that you found your chicks slaughtered by an animal.

Eggs had always been a good source of income as the villagers in - at least - that department weren’t picky, with the scarcity that came as the nearest farm was miles away and many couldn’t have chicks.

So, with their death, you had now lost the major source of income for the following weeks and you didn’t have enough money to exchange for new chicks, even in a fewer quantity than the ones you had owned.

You had wrecked your head all night for a solution, although one didn’t come easy as you thought about rationing the food and selling what had been left behind and was valuable enough at the weekly market although you doubted that anybody would have made a deal with you

Unless you sold something else.

The thought of selling your body felt atrocious to you, but your little brothers would starve if you didn’t do something as you are the sole family left to them.

«Big sister is worried» Kahiro had uttered at dinner as you tried to spoonfeed his twin, Shin’chi with the roots soup that you had cooked, hoping that such a meal - although not inviting - would fill them for the night.

You, yourself, went without dinner as the worries were raging in your head and you wouldn’t have been able to feel the taste of things.

«I don’t want it!» Shin’chi kept on protesting while you tried to be both sweet and kind, stern and authoritative but eventually the soup drenched wood tiles of the kitchen floor and suddenly you were hungry and feeling like a dog as you considered licking it off to sate your aching stomach.

Instead, you steadied yourself as a burning headache filled your mind and you couldn’t help but think that maybe your father hadn’t simply wandered off: he had willingly gone away to avoid the misery that came with your family.

Never like right now, hungry, worried and resourceless you had felt the curse upon your house.

«Then go to bed, immediately! No more dinner for you!».

You dreaded the task of being harsh with your brothers; they are much younger than you, enough that they could be sons instead of brothers - which they are as there is nobody else to handle them - and yet, you are young as well.

A whole child who turned up too old as the heavy burden lowered your shoulder and your tired gaze followed a disgruntled Shin’chi bolt to his room, while Kahiro was swift to finish his soup and follow him.

Not before passing by you and clutching your sleeve to attract your attention, he said:

«Don’t cry, sweet sister. He’s just… being a meanie».

And only then you realized you were crying, immediately brushing away tears: what good did they do to the world?

They were just a waste as irritation brewed in your stomach and you wondered why were you crying?

What use was there to cry when you couldn’t provide for your brothers or…

You hadn’t ever cared about such things - not as a child, too busy observing everything and playing games, not as an adult, when hunger and tiredness where all you felt - but you now understood the search for comfort as you assured yourself that both children are deep sleep before you slink into the night, directed towards the forest.

And maybe it was the fact that you wish to disappear not unlike your father or to search for comfort in nature…

Either way you found yourself on your knees, praying to a god whose name you don’t know and promising everything if only he helped your brothers - and you - survive.

“I don’t ask much but a modest life and a bit to tend to” you weren’t lazy, nor stupid and the wind that blows seemed to say ‘what will you give me then?’ “Everything. Everything I am and everything I own”.

The praying session in the woods left you tired and without a purpose as the realization had hit you: there were no gods, nor miracles and by the following morning you’d still be hungry with two more mouths to feed and even less food to do so.

Or so you thought, as when you went to open the door to try to at least milk the starving cow that you still own to offer milk for your brothers’ breakfast, you are startled to find the carcass of a deer; you startled at the gory sight and wonder who ever could have done this.

Which animal, more likely?

The skin is damaged thoroughly and although the whole thing is still quite meaty and for the moment you doubted whether to bring it inside or not, you did wonder whether it could be a trap or how it had come to you.

Still, you found yourself not caring as the deer lasted you a week with the skin being sold in the weekly market: the villagers might have their bigotry but the few pieces of its mane that you were able to save from the blood spectacle on your doorsteps, were wonderful of a deeply white that has you wondering whether you were committing a sin against the gods by selling it.

Still, it must be the gods - or better, the god in the wood - that had sent you such a thing, hence it is no sin.

By then, you weren’t yet convinced that it’s the gods’ work, truly; it must be a coincidence but then other gifts start showing up: other animals horribly killed and yet, each one is enough to last you a week if not more if you are careful with the meat.

Then alive animals, some new chicks and a horse.

And while the horse could have been a wandering one, the chicks didn’t seem so accidental.

You welcomed everything still, as desperate as you were, promptly noticing that the gifts came at the start of the week and they would be delayed if you didn’t come in the woods, as if whichever god that had taken you beneath his mantle, was a jealous and worried one that rewarded your visits and prayers with gifts and your lacks with silence.

By the time summer approached, your life had much improved as you weren’t only able to properly provide to your brothers but the gifts of the god changed in nature; as you were by now able to handle your brothers’ needs, the things coming to your door are far more… frivolous.

It started with flowers: nothing that could have been found in the woods but instead, you were sure, they had belonged in a luxurious foreign garden.

Then it was pretty dresses, much fancier than you had ever owned even back before your family had fallen from grace.

You had nowhere to wear them though, as going to the village in such fabric would have given place to rumors and that was the last thing you needed as they all seemed startled already by the amount of game and furs you brought to sell, as you justified their existence by stating you had found it all in the woods.

Still, such luxurious fabrics tempted you and when you’d be at home, finished with the harshness of the average day, you’d try them on and indulging your brothers you’d pretend to be a luxurious lady or even princess of some fable, blessing your soldiers with a favor before sending them off to battle or declaring a winner among their internal ‘wars’.

You sometimes wished to have a mirror to see yourself in such a getup but you couldn’t handle such frivolousness when your main purpose of each day was to save some starving mouths.

Still, you wore the exotic fabrics when you’d go and pray, mostly to show to your god your gratefulness and he seemed to enjoy such a thoughtful action, rewarding you with two deliveries that same week: one for you of a beautiful headpiece made of what you were sure was jade, and another for your brothers.

Matching wooden ponies for them to pretend to ride as you had yet to teach them on the same horse that had been delivered to you.

As summer broke through, though, things started to get slightly more complicated as it seemed like different villagers had been attacked by what many described as a curse through the night, leaving the bodies horribly disfigured to the point that their loved ones struggled to recognize them.

You had been trying to avoid, then, the trip to the village as you knew that your visits were further witnessed with a tenseness that had many uncomfortable if not suspicious.

Still, you couldn’t rely wholly on the kindness of your god for everything and your brothers had insisted on a visit to the village, having been cooped up with the good season in the house and although they had each other for company, you guessed they might just enjoy some kids their age.

You kept an eye on them as you went through the market, selling your eggs as you kept an attentive ear to the rumors going around although a strange silence fell onto you the moment you walked in as if the conversation had been awkwardly about you and nobody else, and now caught the villagers felt shame.

Or worry.

“Don’t play with them” you heard a mother call out to her own child, who was waving around his toy to your brothers “They have a curse upon them. And their sister is nothing but a witch”.

You clenched your teeth at the insult not just for yourself but also your poor brothers who fell behind you, any joy left being shut off as they clutched your skirts as if to hide underneath them.

That visit didn’t solely leave behind a bad taste in your mind but as you were coming back you were caught in a summer rain tempest that left you drenched and although you were quick in bathing your brothers, they both came down with a severe fever the following day.

You trekked down the village - feverish yourself - to seek out a healer and some medicine that might help your brothers.

Still nobody wished to sell you anything and the healer shunned you out, pushing you out of her hut the moment that you walked inside.

In the dirty mud you cursed underneath your breath before promptly regaining a bit of your dignity and going back with an unsteady step to your own hours and although you weren’t a firm believer in miracles - no matter what happened in the forest - you still hoped and prayed that your brothers would be safe by the time that you came to them.

You were startled at first upon hearing noises coming from the door, as your brothers had been too weak to get up from bed and it couldn’t be a wandering animal as you had ensured that everything would be closed and looked; you rushed inside mindful to grab a huge rock to use as as weapon as inside the sight was startling: a white-haired human was standing atop your brother’s bed, who looked less flustered and far more peaceful in their slumber as a wet rag had been put on their foreheads.

As if sensing your return, the white haired stranger turned to you with a prompt neutral expression as they started speaking:

«Their fever broke through and it shall pass through the night»

You were startled as you inwardly clutched tighter the rock in your hands, having hidden it behind your back.

«… I have left some medicine brewed for you as well, and if you allow me, I’ll take onto the household chores for the day and…».

«Who are you?» you screeched, croaking due to the sickness in your body and although you were trying to sound threatening you were well aware that if they had any bad intentions, they wouldn’t only have the advantage of you being sick but they could easily hold your brothers hostages.

The fact that they hadn’t till right now was a good thing, but you had grown to rely only on yourself, shunned out of your own community, and now the sudden quest of trust had you uneasy at best.

«My name does not matter as it’s my lord’s own» not very reassuring and the intruder noticed the disbelief promptly on your face «… but if you must know I am Uraume».

«What are you doing in my house, Uraume?» you questioned as you pushed the rock forward if anything to show them that you had a weapon onto yourself. Not a very good one as the white-haired stranger promptly sent you a disimpressed look «… how… how did you get through?».

«The door» oh you didn’t enjoy that they were being sarcastic, certainly not when they had intruded in your peace and although they had somehow meant to help your brothers, you’d have preferred for them to leave.

And never come back.

«… and it’s my master that has sent me. To help you, my lady».

«I am no lady» you shot down before rushing out of curiosity «… who is your master?».

Now the plot thickened as if this stranger had been sent to you by somebody there must be a bigger plan and although they might not be an inherent threat, you felt unease at the thought of people - strangers - knowing about where you and your brothers lived.

You couldn’t pick up your things and move, especially with all the gifts that you had received recently, no matter the distaste you found for the village who hadn’t helped you. You couldn’t leave your god of the wood behind and suddenly it hit you while Uraume’s face brightened in satisfaction.

«No… it can’t… it can’t … be» and yet, he was the sole one who knew of your struggles, and the sole one that had seemed to care so far «… your master… is a … a god».

«Not yet» Uraume corrected promptly «… but he’s quite close. He’s glad that you have enjoyed his gifts so far as he finds your gratitude satisfactory».

It startled you to know that the help you had received wasn’t the result of a god who just wished your devotion, but something definitely more human as Uraume might be ethereal but you could tell they were very much as human as you; and this scared you although the heated state of your mind: if it was a human behind everything…

… considering the state of the animals he had brought to your door…

«I see fear in your eyes, but I’ll have you know that my master doesn’t wish any injury nor cruelty upon you or your siblings» they spoke attentively, coming one step closer to you definitely ignoring the rock in your hand, probably painfully aware you were far too sick to swing it to them and with the way they fluidly moved you thought Uraume to be human, but not human enough «… he finds your worship an entertaining practice and such a thought fills him with satisfaction. He asked me to come to you to be of help to you».

And it downed you: although Uraume and his master were strangers to you, they had been a better community than the village that had been supposed to cherish you.

The god in wood might be a cruel one but he was still your god.

«… I… can’t think» you admitted but you startled when your legs suddenly gave out underneath you and all too soon Uraume was beside you, trying to swiftly push you to lean against them although you protested; you might have come to conclusion that neither them nor their master would harm you, but this didn’t mean that you were eager to have either in your house «… let me… let me go!».

«Not till your own fever breaks» they spoke now less haughtily and respectfully «And such thing won’t happen if you don’t rest».

«I… I can’t…» on top of the lingering illness, you had been too concerned with your brothers to even sleep and it all came onto you although your body tensed up and shivered as it tried to fight against Uraume’s hold «… I don’t… you might… your master might be my god but I don’t… trust you».

«Then trust him» and as if talking with a spoiled child, Uraume added with a meager smile «… he has always helped you when you most needed it. He’d never send somebody to hurt you. Or your brothers».

You felt like Uraume had hit the target with their words and although begrudgingly you agreed to be brought to bed, with your eyes settling like an hawk on Uraume who was swift to move around the house, as if it was their own and you’d have been far more worried if you had been in your right mind as a boot of sanity came by when the attendant went to serve you dinner, by spoon feeding you.

Your brothers’ sleep had seemed much better than any they had gotten the previous night and Uraume insisted that they’d wake up soon.

It was enough that as you were treated as a child yourself, you grew restless and ask Uraume some questions.

«Who is your master?».

«That’s for me to know and for you to discover when the time is ready».

«Isn’t that ominous?» you protested lightly as a spoon of hot soup was promptly shoved into your mouth «… not that I am not grateful for his help, but I just wonder… how… and most importantly what he might want from me?».

«He shall come soon to tell you in person».

The thought set fear alive in the pit of your belly, although it alighted with something else as well, a feeling you couldn’t detect fully as it was new for you as well.

«… and he shall tell you what he wants from you».

The thought didn’t thrill you as Uraume, themselves, held an air of eeriness; their master must be somebody far more ruthless, considered the animals he had haunted for you and your brothers, and somebody far more powerful.

To meet such a man… it thrilled you in both a positive and negative way.

«I know it feels scary» it seemed like Uraume could just read your mind as they went to grab a clean rag to douse your burning forehead although with a belly full and rest beneath your eyelids, you definitely felt better and far more relieved at your brothers’ safety «… but if my master had any intention to hurt you, he’d have done so long ago».

«… again, that isn’t exactly reassuring» you shot back promptly, as your eyes moved to your brothers: your safety might be assured but what about your own? Uraume, again, caught the drift before you could utter your worries.

«My master might be a harsh one but he won’t harm your children, my lady» you startled at the title, as you flustered about being called something you had never been but Uraume shut down any attempt you made at correcting her «… if anything your devotion to your brothers is something that he admires. Greatly».

You flustered, although it wasn’t a true complement, suddenly finding that the verbal spar you had had with Uraume had left you tired and although you wished to keep an eye on the attendant, you found yourself drifting towards unconsciousness, startled when you woke up to your brothers’ little hands pushing and pulling on your shoulders for you to wake up.

They didn’t seem anymore feverish and were running around the house while the sole telltale sign of your previous sickness was a slight headache and for a moment you considered everything of the previous night a dream, although the whole house was ordered and you even found some food awaiting for you, an homemade treat that you hadn’t cooked.

And although you were grateful for Uraume’s help, you felt the tension at what they had said: their master would soon come for you and then you’d understand what he might want out of you.

You had taken to lose sleep at night because of this, and that’s the sole reason why you managed to get out of the house when the fire first started; you had taken to be restless and although the woods always calmed you down at times like this after the revelation that your god existed and wanted to connect with you, you had paced yourself with your visits although you knew they’d mean less weekly gifts.

You had been sitting down at the window sill of your brothers’ room watching them sleep comfortably in their beds as this sight always calmed you down although all too soon your nostrils were tickled by something that smelled akin to smoke.

You at first thought that it might be from the hunters’ encampment in the woods but then it became more extensive and you saw the phantom hand of smoke.

You were quick to shake awake your brothers as you opened the window to let yourself and the children out of the house, startled when you saw the front going up in flames; was this… was this the punishment from your god for your dissertation?

No, it couldn’t be: Uraume had said that he wouldn’t have harmed you and so far, your lacks had been returned with silences on his part. It had little to no sense to punish you - and your brothers - so harshly, when before he hadn’t ever.

Still, you came all too soon to a second realization as you heard voices and chants and quickly sending your brothers to hide in the woods nearby, you notice a crowd of villagers with torches; those fuckers… they hadn’t only shunned you and your brothers out due to their bigotry and superstition, but they had wished to hurt you and your brothers.

Purge your own lives with fire.

And that was when it hit you, just how awful you had been treated.

«Why… I…» you tried to make sense of the burning feelings in your chest «… I hate them! I hate them! I wish they would all be dead!».

It felt childish and with a second thought, you’d have been careful of the words that left your mouth as an eerie calm settled across the whole area and the flames were promptly smothered, much to the villagers’ horror as their eyes settled onto you.

«Witch!» they shouted all in chorus as they raised their torches and you’d have thought they’d have burned you alive «… curse upon our village!».

«There were children in my house!» you shouted back, uncaring of the feeling of a rope snapping tight around your stomach as if you were being pulled by something «… you… you are the true monsters!».

«Let’s burn her and ensure that whatever she does in our village will stop, before it’s too late!» one of the most important villagers spoke, as he moved closer to you with a torch, pushing it in your direction while you tried to back away but all too soon the villagers had surrounded you and you felt like a trapped mouse about to meet the end of a trap.

You closed your eyes and heard a slight and sharp breath of wind, promptly startled when you heard the noises of the villagers dim down as they had done when the flames had gone out all in a swift move.

Also in that case you had heard a gush of wind and slowly you understood the two things had been connected.

Your god had arrived as he moved through the parted crowd of villagers.

You noticed that a few had been brashly cut in half in an horrid spectacle of blood and guts.

The man, you had thought your savior, was at least a few heads taller than any man you had ever met; bright pink hair and maroon eyes - double in number - set on you as he moved through the road he created for himself.

He wasn’t human, that much you knew.

And while you should have felt dread - fear at least - for what he had done to your fellow villagers, you found yourself not shivering due to that, as you reasoned that if he hadn’t killed them, they’d have done the same to you.

A prey never feared the predator who ate the animal stalking them and hunting them down.

Your god was massive and strong and with elegant gestures of his hands he freed himself quickly to come to you, with blood slightly coating his four arms and the elegant traditional clothing he was wearing, as elegant in the fabric as your own and startled by such a parallelism you uttered, almost stupidly.

«My dresses… the ones… you gifted me… they were inside» you doubted that they’d have been salvageable and the thought filled you with a sensation of shame at having shown such gifts so little care, startled when the enormous monster offered you one of his impressive hands as if to tell you to come and with a slight hesitation you put your hands in his, startled to see it was the least bloody one.

«I’ll have new ones made for you» he spoke solemnly and resolutely «… better in quality and more fitting».

You nodded a bit flustered by how easily this unknown man - a stranger - wished to take care of you with an intensity that hadn’t been in your life for such a long time.

He gently pulled onto your hands although you held your ground.

You knew he could have easily swept you off your feet or eaten you - as his elongated fangs indicated - but he simply looked at you curiously as if he couldn’t place your behavior.

«… my brothers…» you couldn’t leave them behind, not even for such a caring monster.

«They are with Uraume» he spoke promptly and obviously, as if he was already ahead of you «… probably bothering them as they take after their sister’s inquiring curiosity».

You raised an eyebrow at the slight tease, not truly convinced that such a huge monster could joke so easily. And get you to smile so openly as you hadn’t done in a long time.

So, you followed him before saying.

«You aren’t going to hurt me, right?.

Iit made little sense as to how much he had done for you, rescuing you through the winter and saving your brothers in the summer. Right now, he had even avoided you burning alive, although your house was gone.

«Hurt you?» he chuckled boisterously although his face scrunched up in displeasure «… why would I hurt you, little dove?».

You flustered at the petname, effectively unable to come up with an effective reasoning as to why he’d hurt you: he had protected you so far and most importantly he wanted something from you.

«… then… what do you want from me?» from a poor orphan who had just her brothers to look after.

The monster smiled, all sharp and scrunched eyebrows. It shouldn’t have felt reassuring as he clutched your hand more gently, effectively stopping to clutch it as he’d do with a resisting person.

«Isn’t it obvious what I want?» you shook your head and he pursued his lips in disapproval, as if to say ‘I thought you smarter’ «I want your devotion, sweet thing».

Again the petname, again that slight fluster, but still it wasn’t enough as his eyes gently downed onto your lips for but a moment.

«I want your devotion to me and I want you to worship me, as my rightful wife».

credits for dividers: @/saradika-graphics

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starkwlkr · 1 year

Note

hi love <3 your work is some of my favorites! was wondering if u could write about charles and pt!reader? its their first year with ferrari as a physical therapist and hes been trying to get closer to them, so he dramatizes a small injury just to go see them. feel free to adjust or whatever, you always make it work beautifully! much love :)

love hurts | charles leclerc

sorry for the wait :/ i hope this is what you hoped for <3 almost done with more requests so more content coming soon!

Y/n watched as Charles exited out of his car. The start to the Australian Grand Prix was already a mess for him. She was starting to think that every time she said good luck to him, it only brought him bad luck. The 2023 wasn’t too kind to Charles Leclerc so far.

“He’s fine, he’s okay.” She said to herself as she continued watching the race. Turns out, nothing was really okay. The Australian Grand Prix was for sure one to remember.

After the podium ceremony, Y/n was in her office going through paper work. Her work was interrupted when she heard a light knock on her opened door. She looked up and saw Charles, still in his racing suit.

“Hey, Xavi didn’t tell me you were coming.” She said. Usually an engineer or even their team principal would tell Y/n that one of their drivers would be visiting her.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.” Charles admitted. “My back has been hurting a little. I just want to make sure I didn’t injure myself.” He said.

“Oh. I can help with that. I mean it is my job, obviously. It would be unprofessional of me if I didn’t help you. And I’m rambling so just ignore me and come in.” Y/n nodded then watched Charles close the door and walk to the examination table and sat down.

“Did you say back pain?” Y/n asked when she saw that Charles was sitting rather than laying down on his stomach. He knew he had to lay down, he had done it many times before.

“Now that I remember, I think my shoulder hurts too. And my knee and I definitely feel a headache coming.” Charles listed.

Y/n chuckled at his words. She then cleared her throat and looked at him with a serious face. “Charles, this is serious.”

“I’m more serious than ever. You’ve been here a year and we’ve never gotten to know each other. I think we should change that.” Charles said, swinging his legs like a child.

“What would the media think when they see Charles Leclerc and his physical therapist together outside of work?” Y/n asked.

“They would say we look cute together and I would agree.” He smiled at her. “We have a month free. I would very much like to know the real you. No work, no races, and no faking injuries just so I can see you.”

Y/n swore her knees were getting weak. She never thought that Charles would even ask her to hang out outside of work. Was it even a hang out? Did he consider it a date? Whatever it was, she was all in.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #cl16 x reader #ferrari

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tenaciousbouquetearthquake · 1 month

Text

Shall I tell you how many Nazis I killed today?, pt2

Read it on ao3 / Check out the story’s masterlist

Anders *may* have been faking injuries to come and see you in the infirmary, but this time he's actually been shot. In the leg. By Freddy.

Humor, angst, mentions of violence, and Anders Lassen backstory. Also, Anders has a dirty mind and is a bit of a lovable asshole.

Anders Lassen is bored . Bored, bored, bored , bored , bored .

Anders is so bored that he's been silently writing a novel in his head for the last two days. A thriller, of course, about a man and a bear fighting to the death in the wilderness in Denmark. It's a psychological thriller, a great story about man against nature, about the animal within the man, and about a man facing down his demons.

There's also a woman.

A beautiful woman. Strong, smart, kind, intelligent, and way too good for the hero of the story, but like all great love stories, she’ll decide to settle down with him in the end because he can fight off a bear with his bare hands, and also because Anders is writing the story and the woman in this tale of his looks remarkably like you. Although she's much happier to see her hero than you are to see him as you scowl down at him from his bedside.

Your arms are crossed over your chest in a delightful move that pushes your breasts out just enough to catch his eye and Anders grins at the sight at it, mentally returning to the last time he had you—and, by extension, them —all to himself. Now that , he thinks, was a damn good night, and a far better story than the novel he’s been writing in his head.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You're scowling, your mouth pinched in that particular way that always gives Anders a little thrill when he sees it. He loves it when you're angry, loves it when you're scowling, loves it when you're damn near ready to murder him for glaring at the other patients in the room who are eyeing the pretty medic like the last time he showed up here. You could make that look at him all day long and Anders would still love it.

Of course, he'd also be making a mental list of all the ways he could wipe that scowl from your face and replace it with something a little more inviting. An endeavor, he mentally adds, that would also be far more entertaining during this visit than his half-written novel that currently sees his alter ego about to be mauled by a great mama bear.

“Who, me?” Anders asks, gesturing toward himself as he looks up at you, thoroughly amused by the look of annoyance on your face. “I just came to visit my favorite medic. It's been a while since we’ve seen each other, you know, and I can't stop thinking about that time you threatened to cut my balls off with my own knife.” He watches your face go a little red, cheeks warning with embarrassment at the memory. “You remember the time, don't yo–”

“ Yes ,” you hiss, and Anders grins widely again, propping his hands behind his head to lean against them in a relaxed pose. You were a nurse then, too, he remembers. Right after he came to England. Right after Eric was killed. When Anders didn't know what he was going to do and didn't have any other direction or purpose than killing as many Nazis as possible. Not that that detail has changed, of course, but somewhere along the way, that plan came to involve you, and then you were removed from the team on a temporary assignment, and ever since Anders just keeps ending up in the infirmary. One injury after another.

What an awful string of bad luck.

“You know,” Anders drawls, making a show out of eyeing you up and down and even wiggling his eyebrows at the sight of you. “I like this outfit, but I don't think it suits you.”

You give him a look that says exactly how unimpressed you are with that statement, but for Anders, every look you give him just makes you more enticing. More exciting. More irresistible. Really, the sight of you angry or annoyed with him is just a big turn on for him and he can’t help wanting more. Needing more. To numb the pain of existence with the heady balm of your body and soul. “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion on my uniform, Lassen .”

His grin doesn’t falter for even a second, although he does have a small internal debate about whether the sound of you saying his last name with such frustration is more arousing than when you were moaning it that first night you were together. “Ja, you look much better wearing my shirt and coat,” he says, watching your cheeks turn bright red as you glance around the infirmary quickly, wondering how many people can hear him. It’s not many—or there aren’t many who would dare to acknowledge it, anyway. Anders has all the men in this tent thoroughly terrified. That happens when a six foot plus tall bear of a man with a reputation for blood lust glares at you from across the room. Somehow, people decide to find other things to be interested in. “But I like you best wearing nothing at all.” The way you look at him with such absolute fury then, the color in your face and creeping down your neck, the narrowing of your eyes.

Has any woman ever looked as sexy as you are, glaring at him like that?

That’s when you decide that you’ve had enough of this and Anders, well, Anders can’t help but stare at you as you close the distance between yourself and his bed, picking up his chart to look at it. “So,” you start primly, apparently having decided that you’re not going to let him bother you anymore—something Anders won’t stand for at all. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

Anders pulls his hands from behind his head and affects his most sullen, pained look. “Gunshot wound, Nurse. It hurts terribly. Perhaps,” he drawls, looking up at you through his eyelashes, “you can do something for the pain?”

He watches you swallow, the subtle movement of muscles in your throat and neck, the way you’re trying hard not to show that he’s bothering you. He thinks that he’d like to kiss you there next time, to pay special attention to that particular spot and to hear you moan his name when he leaves small, sucking kisses there. He’d like to see how your neck looks all marked up by him, to see you physically claimed by him.

He thinks about that a lot.

“You shot yourself in the leg?” You ask dryly, letting your hand with the clipboard fall against your leg with a quiet thud as you look at him with complete exasperation, and strangely, Anders is quite in love with that look, too.

“Ja,” Anders says, feigning embarrassment—as if he were capable of such a feeling. “Ja, it was terrible. We were fighting Nazis. There was blood. My finger slipped on the trigger.” He deliberately leaves out any more details, looking down at his wounded leg and shaking his head. He finds that people tend to believe this story more if he seems as though he’s too embarrassed to tell them everything . “And now, I’m stuck in the infirmary until I’m well enough to murder people again.”

There’s a moment when you’re silent and just gazing down at Anders, and he’s close, so very close, to looking up at you again. Just to see your face. Whether you believe him (you probably won’t). Whether you care (he hopes you do). Whether you’re worried about him (god, please let you be concerned for his well-being). Whether you’re overanalyzing this situation and he needs to run damage control (he’ll probably have to do this anyway, but it’s more fun when he gets to do it with you). Whether you’re anywhere close to figuring out what actually happened (Freddy did it—it really was an accident…probably…but maybe Anders should stop coming onto him and otherwise fucking with his head for a while?).

“Oh, come on,” you practically snap, gesturing toward his leg with your free hand. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that? What, you couldn’t come up with a better story this time? You weren’t fighting off a bear in the wilderness somewhere and he took a bite out of you?”

Anders perks up like nothing else now, literally shoving himself up in the bed, purposely putting enough extra weight on his arms to make his muscles bulge and—he notes with satisfaction—draw your eyes there. “You want me to fight off a bear?” There’s real interest in his voice, real excitement. He’ll fight a bear for you. He’ll fight a hundred bears for you. He’ll fight an entire bear army as they march through Denmark in the dead of winter with no shoes on his feet because that’s the only handicap that will make it a fair fight for the bears, if it impresses you. God, you’re even more attractive now than you’ve ever been before. “I can do this for you. Do they have any bears here in England?”

Your eyes only faintly pull away from his arms, from the sheer bulk of them, to his face, and he can see the second the annoyance with him slips back into place. Or, at least, the second you try to be annoyed with him again. It doesn’t quite take this time, not completely. “That’s not the point,” you respond, and Anders notes that you don’t really answer the question about whether he should fight a bear for you. He wonders briefly how he can arrange your next meeting so it involves bears. Maybe he can find one and let it loose in the infirmary? “Last time you were here, you said you broke your foot and could barely walk on it, and it needed immediate medical attention or you wouldn’t be able to keep working with Gus.”

“Ja,” Anders says, sighing as he remembers. He’d stubbed his toe on a rock while he was helping to train some new recruits for Gus. The pain had been excruciating. It had clearly required medical attention. From you. “The mission, it was a dangerous one. I was lucky to come back alive.”

Your eyes narrow at him, but Anders can see that hint of a smile near your eyes, the way they crinkle and sparkle at him. “And the time before that, you said you’d taken a hit to the side and had been gravely injured and needed to be examined.”

“ Oof ,” Anders makes a dramatic noise of pain. They’d helped liberate a community of people on the Nazi controlled Channel Islands. A child ran up to him in excitement and hugged him too hard in thanks. He’d barely been able to breathe the whole trip home. Obviously, he needed to be examined. He could’ve died. “The pain,” he says, clutching a hand to his side. “It was unbearable. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t think I would have survived.”

Your mouth is still pinched in that delightful way Anders likes, your gaze just as sharp. But your lips are twitching. He can see it—he’s getting to you. “And the time before that,” you say, tucking the clipboard back into its customary spot at the end of his bed. Anders watches you, sensing that you’re about to do something from the way you’re moving. “You had a terrible pain in your chest and thought you were having a heart attack and needed emergency medical attention.”

Anders’s meaty palm immediately goes to his chest, splayed over his head, as he gives you a pained look. “My heart,” he says, closing his eyes in a dramatic expression. “It was so frightening. I didn’t know if I would survive.” He looks up at you through those glasses he wears. “Luckily, you were there to make it better or I might not be here today.” He ate one too many bowls of a really spicy Greek dish at dinner. It felt like his chest was going to explode. The only remedy he could think of was to come and see you.

You’re trying to be subtle, to be stealthy in how you move. Anders can see it. Anders has a pretty good idea of what you’re about to do. He’s a hunter, after all—half of his job is to know how animals and people think—and as much as he adores you, he can read you like a book. He can see the way you inch forward, the way you lean in just a little over his leg. He knows exactly what you’re about to do.

He also knows the pay off afterward is going to be worth a little pain. Or a lot of pain. Mentally, he prepares himself.

“Of course, I was,” you say sweetly, enjoying Anders’s game as much as you try to pretend otherwise. Anders can tell this, too. “I am a trained nurse and a medic, after all. My job is to be here for everyone who comes in with an injury.” Anders is scowling at the implication in your words that he's not special when you come down hard on his injured leg, the weight of your body pressing down straight on the wound that he knows you were expecting to be fake. At this point, most of the intake people don't really ask him too many questions—he just grumbles at them in that big, bearish way of his, and they give him a bed and track you down to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. So, it really shouldn't be so satisfying when his body jumps in the bed at the pain that shoots up his leg or he growls and lets off a string of words in Danish that his mother most certainly would not have approved of.

But then you're yelling, too, and you’re moving back and forth between his leg and his face with a look of absolute horror and concern, and it is satisfying. It's so fucking satisfying that Anders thinks it's worth every second of pain. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry,” you’re saying frantically, uncertain what to do or where to start because you're not usually the person who causes pain. You're usually the person who makes it better. This must be so unsettling for you.

Anders obviously has to take advantage of it.

When the screaming calms down and you’re still distraught enough to not look too closely at him, he leans back in the bed and looks pained. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says in a faux attempt to soothe you, even as he appears to be in agony. “It’s only a little pain. Just the whole leg. It’s not on purpose.”

“It’s not okay,” you argue, looking between Anders’s face and his leg. You gently readjust the bed around it, then the blankets, looking like you’re nearly in tears as you glance back up at him. “You’re actually hurt and I just made it worse. I’m supposed to be a nurse, not a torturer. Your poor leg. Are you okay? What can I do?”

“Ja, ja. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Anders says, pretending to be fighting back a groan of pain as you shuffle to try and make him feel better. You’re leaning forward to help him adjust himself comfortably at the head of the bed, moving his pillows for him, moving the blankets. Anything you can think of. Leaning over just enough that Anders, blessed, innocent soul that he is, can just peek down the top of your dress to those breasts that he’s oh so fond of.

It takes an awful lot of effort not to grin as he ogles them.

“No, it’s not fine. It’s not fine at all,” you insist, although Anders is actually only half listening at this point. “I’ve been so stressed with everything happening here, and we’re constantly busy, and I just assumed that you were being a pain in the a— what are you doing ?”

The question takes a few seconds to register, Anders is so caught up in the sight of your cleavage and all the other wonderful parts of your body nearby. When it finally does, he’s equally as slow to respond, his eyes only gradually moving upward, dragging casually over the other parts of you he can see—the perfection of your collarbone, the curves of your neck, that place just near your ear where he kissed you one time and discovered that you’re extremely sensitive and ticklish there. When he finally meets your eyes, he can’t even affect a look of anything approaching innocence, instead giving you a shameless grin. “Have I ever told you, min elskede,” he says, lowering his voice to something husky and clearly meant for seduction, “what a lovely figure you have?”

Your jaw drops open and you just stare at him for a long, long moment, as if your brain can’t quite compute what’s actually happening. That Anders Lassen is not only wounded ( actually fucking wounded , for once), but that he’s here and apparently determined to be a pain in your ass. Which, to be fair, is not an area that Anders is particularly interested in.

Unless you’re into that sort of thing, of course. Or you’d like to be in pain.

Anders is really quite flexible when it comes to the interests of his sexual partners, if he’s completely honest. And his choice in partners, in general. He’s not coming onto Freddy just to fuck with his head.

Well…not completely, anyway.

Long enough time passes that Anders is actually wondering if you’re okay. He’s about to say something when your mouth closes abruptly and you pull back, leveling one more glare at him before you turn to leave.

“Oi, min elskede,” Anders calls out to you. “We were just having a lovely moment. Where are you going?”

You pause midstep, stand there long enough to get control of your temper, and turn back to glare at him with the most beautiful, most delectable look of absolute irritation that he’s ever seen in his entire life. “ To get your knife and make good on my threat from before .”

Anders’s grin is so wide as you leave that his face actually hurts, but it’s a good pain.

The problem is that you don’t come back for the rest of the day or, more importantly, after dark. It’s not that Anders is afraid of the dark. He left behind those kinds of childhood fears a long time ago. There wasn’t really room for them in the space of his childhood, filled as it was with both the luxuries of extreme wealth and the hardships of choosing a life as a hunter. As a boy, he often spent his days attempting to appease his mother by acting like a gentleman and attending his school lessons, only to sneak out after dark and venture far enough from the family estate that he could get away with all sorts of trouble. Usually, he’d find somewhere quiet enough and with enough natural light to be able to practice his archery for a few extra hours. Sometimes, he’d run into a wild animal and nearly get eaten or mauled but manage to escape with his skin intact and his parents never the wiser. In the years that existed somewhere between boyhood and manhood, before Anders eventually wandered away from the fineries of the estate to a harder, more rugged life, his nightly adventures began to involve the opposite sex—or the occasional boyhood friend who shared a curiosity and attraction that they were willing to explore with him.

Anders Lassen is not the type of man to be afraid of the dark. Not then and not now.

But he is afraid of his dreams, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, even to himself. In his dreams, he goes back to that place . To the dark room, where shadows dominate every corner. To the scent of vomit that’s been sitting, the air acrid and sour. Anders might have vomited, too, except that he didn’t have anything left in his stomach to throw up—not after he’d killed the guards outside this place, taken his first human lives. His throat still burned from when he’d doubled over and emptied his stomach right afterward, his hands thick with their blood as it dripped from the blade of his knife.

It’s always somehow too big and too small a room in his dreams. It feels cramped and claustrophobic, but the path to the center of the room is endless, stretched before him in a distorted vision of violence and its aftermath. When he gets here, Eric is still somehow alive, even though his heart is missing. He’s strung up by his hands, his face battered and bloody, his body broken and bruised, his heart cut out, but he’s still alive.

Eric looks up from where he’s hanging and sees Anders, his beloved older brother who always protected him as a body, standing there. He looks at Anders in accusation.

“��You’re too late . See what they did to me? ”

Anders wakes with a start. His heart is pounding, palms sweaty, hands clenched so tightly that his nails are cutting skin. It’s a few breaths before he even realizes that he’s not in that room anymore, that this place is bright and sunny and sterile, and that it reeks of rubbing alcohol and scrambled eggs. His eyes are wide open before his brain has time to process that the sudden light is too much for them and he winces and clenches them closed again, blinking them open slowly to adjust to the morning light that filters in through the window. It gives him time for his heart to stop pounding, to catch his breath and bring himself under control before you come into view.

“You’re running a fever.” You frown as you gaze down at him, your hair framing your face in that way that catches the highlights of the sun and lets rays fall gently over your face. It's almost angelic, and in the nightmare rattled mind of Anders Lassen, the effect is even more powerful. In that moment, you're the ray of light, the angel of mercy and goodness, the ultimate salvation. “How do you feel?”

Anders take a deep breath, then another. One more. He quietly tells himself to push past it, to leave the dark behind and walk into the light, into you. Somehow, though, he never takes that final step. A part of Anders Lassen remains in the dark, in the shadows and nightmares. A part of Anders Lassen really doesn't believe he can ever come back, if he was ever fully there at all. “Like I could fight a bear,” Anders replies, but he can feel that something is off.

Like looking at a painting that's been hung on a wall and you know that it's not straight, but it looks perfect from where you're standing.

Anders tries to pick up a detail to focus in on, something to draw his mind back to the present and away from the things he doesn't want to think about. The feeling of your hand on his forehead, a subtle weight he didn't notice at first but that now feels like it's always been there and like it should always be there. The flecks of green and gray in your eyes when the light catches them as you lean forward, odd strands of hair catching in your eyelashes when you move to examine him from a new angle.

Your hair is longer now than it usually is. He wonders if it's still as soft. His fingers flex on instinct at the thought, muscle memory taking over, and if he didn't feel so tired, and if you didn't look too perfect to touch, he'd indulge his senses in the feel of your hair. And your skin. He wants to touch your lips, tinted lightly with whatever balm you’ve managed to find. He wishes he had a pencil and some paper so he could sketch you while he’s here, cataloging all the details of you that he doesn't want to forget as he recognizes them.

Instead, Anders lets you examine him with the grace of someone who’s examined far too many soldiers. “You're burning up,” you say, moving methodically as you take his temperature from his forehead with the back of your hand, then feel his chest. It's a testament to how not good Anders is feeling that he doesn't make some smartass about it. He doesn't even try to grab your hand and steal a kiss on the inside of your wrist, right over the delicate veins there. “How's your leg?” He feels you lift the blanket to examine it, the bandage being unwrapped as he hums and only half follows your movements with his eyes.

“Still there.” Anders snorts. It’s not his best line, but it’s the best he can come up with, given the circumstances. Besides, he can’t think past how sticky he feels in the bed and the droplets of sweat on his forehead and the feeling of cool air against his burning leg. It’s almost too much until he feels your fingers gently above the gunshot wound, the same featherlight touch that always seems to bring him back from whatever dark hole he finds himself in. He almost thinks he imagined it when he sees you move to look at him, both of your hands in view, but Anders doesn’t waste any time on self-doubt. He’d know your touch anywhere.

“The infection is getting worse.” You’re trying not to sound worried. Anders can hear it. “I need to get a doctor. I’m going to be right back.”

He tries to protest—he really does. But your hand feels cool against his forehead and his cheek when you caress him there briefly before you disappear from his view, and he’s too lost in the sensation to argue. It feels like an age before you come back, but as he smacks his lips and notices how dry his mouth is, Anders realizes he’s losing track of time. It’s disorienting, this lack of control, the feeling of drifting in and out, as if he’s back on the Maid Honor, that night you spent above deck, and he’s feeling the boat rocking back and forth, but he wants to reach out for you and can’t quite make it.

“Min kærlighed.” The words are a whisper, a sigh into empty air. “Min kærlighed.” He remembers an old saying in Danish, something he heard his uncle say once when he was a young boy. The memory is disjointed, the words seeming to come out of nowhere, drifting through his mind the same way the Maid Honor was drifting in the sea. He’d repeated them, some of the very first words he spoke, tasting the sk sound of some of the words on his tongue, testing his grasp for a new form of communication.

His father and his uncle had laughed when they heard him. A very young Anders had laughed, as well, delighted to have caused such good humor.

His mother, however, had not been pleased—gentlemen didn’t say such things.

“Min kærlighed.” He taught the phrase to Eric once. Anders was twelve and Eric was—how old was he? Anders had only recently discovered the full meaning of the saying, something bawdy and irreverent. He couldn’t wait to teach it to his younger brother, his fellow conspirator in whatever trouble Anders was able to get into. True to form, his mother had not been impressed…but his father and uncle had laughed themselves into tears.

Anders can still remember the look his mother had given his father when she’d caught them laughing. It reminds him of the way you look at him when he manages to really piss you off.

“Min kærlighed.”

“ Shhhhh .” The feeling of your hand on his forehead is heaven. The cool, wet cloth you place there afterward is even better. “I’m right here.” You’re holding his hand. You’re touching his face. You caress his cheek gently with your knuckles, smooth back his short bangs from his face, trace a line from his forehead down the bridge of his nose.

He used to do that with Pippin, his childhood dog. A small, ratty thing. He wasn’t supposed to keep her. She wasn’t exactly hunting dog material, more like a ratter, and the Lassens didn’t really keep dogs as pets, anyway. They were there to help with the hunt. But Anders didn’t care—he snuck the dog into his room and by the time his parents and the servants in the house realized he’d taken her in, he was too attached to the little ball of fur. His parents didn’t have the heart to take her away from him.

“Min kærlighed.”

The comparison amuses him. Is that what it’s come to—Anders Lassen, a dog? A mere animal of a man? He supposes it’s an appropriate description. The Nazis and even most of the men he’s met would agree with it.

“Min kærlighed.”

You scowled at him the first time he called you that. It was just after you met, back when you didn’t really trust him or anyone else. You were newly qualified as a medic. Anders was newly arrived in England and had volunteered to help rid the world of Nazis. “ I don’t speak Danish ,” you’d snapped. “ But I’d appreciate it if you’d call me by my actual fucking name , thank you. ”

No one respected a female medic—no one wanted you in the field or trusted you to have their backs. It was actually the nicest thing any of the men had called you, although you didn’t trust that when he told you so.

“ Min kærlighed .”

Pippin died. It was Anders’s fault. He’d taken her with him on one of his late night adventures. They ran into a wolf. Anders froze, the only time it’s ever happened in his entire life. Pippin stepped in, charged the wolf, tried to protect him.

Is this how he dies? But who looks after his family, if he does? Who looks after you?

“ It’s okay .” You sound so far away. “ I’m right here. ”

Eventually, you asked him what all the things he called you meant.

Min kærlighed. Min Skat. Elskede. Min blomst. Smukke. Yndling.

You were both in bed. It was a rare occasion when you’d been able to get away, disappearing into a hotel room and not coming out for an entire weekend. He was stroking his fingers up and down your arm, your lips pressed to his chest in a kiss—something soft, reverent. Chaste. He could have told you the truth, but somehow giving you the words in English simultaneously made it too real and too unreal. It would mean admitting an emotion that he was determined not to experience. It would lose some of its magic in the translation.

“Ugly fish,” he’d declared after a long moment of silence. He felt you freeze against his side, felt the weight of your glare on him.

“Ugly. Fish.” You bit out the words.

He hummed the affirmative.

“All this time,” you started, placing an emphasis on every syllable, “all those names, and they all translate to ‘ugly fish’?”

“Ja,” he’d said on a heavy sigh, as if the subject were a burden to have to explain to you. “Ugly salmon. Ugly trout. Ugly tuna.”

“ Ugly tuna? ”

You’d scowled at him for days. Anders had loved every second of it, knowing without needing to ask that you weren’t really mad at him. You knew he was lying.

He knew that you knew he was lying.

It was a game and Anders Lassen so loves to play.

“ You can’t just stay by his bedside the whole time. You have other patients. ”

“ And you have other nurses. ”

“ May I remind you that you’re only here because you have a job to do. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near his hospital. ”

“ You can remind me all you like. It won’t make a difference . I’m not moving from this bedside. ”

Who are you arguing with?

Anders dreams about Appleyard. It’s the day of the mission to rescue him from the German garrison. Anders is fighting his way up the stairs, down the corridor. He charges into the room where they’re keeping him, killing one of the Nazis through sheer, brute force. But it’s all in vain. They got here too late. Appleyard is already dead. There’s no battery attached to his nipples, just Appleyard hanging from the chains around his wrists, his chest carved open, his heart cut out.

Just like Eric.

In a fury, Anders attacks the remaining Nazis. He kills them. He cuts out a heart. He tries to put in Appleyard’s chest, hands frantic and slippery with blood as he tries to replace the life that they stole, to save Appleyard from his brother’s fate.

It doesn’t work.

“ You have to hold on, Anders.”

“ I won’t forgive you if you leave me like this .”

“ I can’t lose anyone else. Please. ”

He dreams again, but this time, it’s you. He’s running through the corridor. He can hear you in that room, that place that’s somehow where Eric died and where Appleyard was kept, dark and light at the same time, waiting for him at the end of that hallway that seems to stretch on forever. You’re screaming—dear god, you’re screaming, your lungs emptying of air as the sound claws its way through the hall toward him. You’re screaming his name.

Anders…Anders, help me!

He can’t reach the door. Why is the door so far away? Why aren’t his legs working right? He’s faster than this. You’re screaming and he can’t reach you.

“ Anders, please .”

Anders, please!

He’s nearly there—he’s nearly there. He can make it. He can make it.

“ Anders… ”

Anders!

Anders doesn’t reach the door in time. He never reaches the door in time. Not in any of his dreams. He never saves anyone, especially the people he cares about most. Anders fails in the only task that matters. He was built to protect.

But all he does is kill.

Death will be a blessing, a sweet release. He’ll see Eric again. He can apologize for not getting to him in time. He’ll apologize for not saving Appleyard. He’ll apologize for not protecting you. He can sleep. God, he can sleep without any more nightmares or seeing the eyes of the men he’s killed staring up at him, their blood on his hands, the weight of their murders pressing down on him. He wants to die.

He wants to die.

…he wants to die…

“ I need you .”

The world comes back into focus in minute details, one after the other. The ticking of a clock, the sound steady and constant like the metronome his music teacher used to use. The warmth of sunlight on his face. The feeling of linen scratching against his bare arms, sheets threadbare from too many washes. The sound of someone breathing near him, the quiet exhales like the air against his face in the seconds after releasing an arrow, the string of his bow reverberating near his cheek. The scent of something feminine—not soft or gentle, but crisp like the morning chill that bites against the skin of his face in the autumn back in Denmark. A weight against his arm, heavy like a body, the way his own body feels heavy in the bed as he slowly becomes aware of each separate extremity.

His toes wiggling, the one that was broken a few weeks ago still popping at the joint. The throbbing in his leg, the wound deep and fleshy where Freddy accidentally shot him. The base of his spine, stiff from staying too still for too long in a bed that’s too hard on his back. His heart beating a steady rhythm, as calm now as when he’s hunting elk, a quiet beat beat beat in his ears. The shoulder that’s been sore the last week after using it as a battering ram against a Gestapo agent. The twitching of his fingers, first one, then another, curving incrementally without Anders consciously thinking about the movement.

You. You, like an extension of his body, the beating of your heart against him from where you’ve positioned yourself over him to sleep like a blanket. Your hair against his neck, one arm draped over him in possession, your lips as they move in sleep and form soundless words that Anders will think about later and wish desperately that he had some way to know what you were saying. The tension in your arm, even in your sleep, holding onto his body like a lifeline, as if you could drag him back from whatever darkness was drawing him in, as if you could protect him— you could protect him , the Danish Hammer, a motherfucking Viking, a force of nature, who’s wrestled down bears with his bare hands.

His head feels fuzzy, too tired to concentrate and too stubborn not to try, turning slowly to look down at you and letting the weight of his head gradually droop in his pillow so that it settles naturally into a position where he can see you without effort.

Your eyes move behind closed eyelids as you dream.

What are you dreaming about?

Anders wants to touch you, to pull you closer against him and cradle your body against his, but he can’t bring himself to disturb you. Not when you’re holding onto him like that. He just stares at you and watches you sleep until you begin to wake up, as if you can sense that he’s awake and his attention is entirely on you. Everything about you is light and silken—the color in your face from sleep, the light catching in the highlights of your hair, the curves of your lips, your expression relaxed. Everything about you is alive.

Everything about you makes him want to be alive. Everything about you makes him wish that the world was a very different place and that he was a better man.

“Hello,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice barely audible. It sounds like the lightest note on the violin his sister plays, the one she refused to give up when his family left for England, the first hints of sound when bow meets string.

“Du er så smuk.” His mother would be amused if she could see this. She’d be sizing you up and planning a wedding and picking out names for her grandchildren.

You blink away sleep and practically climb your way up his body, not satisfied with how close you already were to him. A hand settles on his shoulder, your arm on his chest, your face next to his, your body claiming him completely, and distantly Anders thinks that he can’t remember the last time he was claimed by a lover. “You know I still don’t speak Danish.”

“Ja.” A large part of Anders is selfish and hopes that you never do. That these truths he can’t say any other way will never ever be revealed. “Ord kan ikke beskrive min kærlighed til dig. ”

You swallow, your throat bobbing. You’re not going to ask what he’s saying. Whatever’s transpired since the last time he spoke to you consciously, neither of you is ready to deal with it. “Maybe you’ll teach me one day,” you whisper. “Once we get back.”

Anders couldn’t make himself look away now if he tried. “Get back?”

You nod, careful about putting too much pressure against his body. “I’ve been reassigned back to Gus’s team as the medic. Once you’re ready to leave, we’ll be going back together.”

Anders smiles as the two of you settle back into a comfortable silence.

Fucking finally, he thinks. He was running out of ways to pretend to hurt himself.

#anders lassen #anders lassen x reader #anders lassen imagine #alan ritchson #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #ministry of ungentlemanly warfare fanfiction #x reader #henry cavill #gus march phillips #geoffrey appleyard #alex pettyfer #guy ritchie #henry hayes #freddy alvarez #henry golding

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nogreatillusion · 2 months

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Three months! How can so many things happen in three months?

I said to my therapist “I know it’s self-pitying, but I feel like bad things just keep happening to me?” And she said “No, that’s objectively true,” and I laughed through my tears.

Our car was stolen on Arlo’s fifth birthday. When the police found it three days later, it was filled with bullet holes.

A few weeks later, for reasons I can’t bear to name, the depression I’d been battling since age 12 hit an all time low. I was incapable of doing anything other than contemplate and plan my suicide. I was voluntarily committed to the psychiatric ward for four days. It was the single most traumatic experience of my life and also utterly necessary.

The hospital referred me to a doctor to manage the medication I was prescribed. Days before my first appointment, I received a call that my appointment was canceled. The doctor had died, unexpectedly. I was never able to get someone from the practice to return my calls.

A few weeks after I returned home, my grandma died. It was not particularly sudden, but I took it harder than I expected to.

A few weeks later, while I was on vacation in Cape Cod with my family, my mom got up in the night and thinking she was entering the bathroom, stepped into thin air down the basement steps. She suffered a traumatic brain injury, a broken vertebra, a fractured knee, and a sprained ankle. I spent much of the rest of my vacation in the hospital, worrying she would die.

After I returned home, I found out the nannying job I’d been clinging to with a hopefulness I didn’t realize I had left in me, had fallen through. I felt unsurprised in a way that broke my heart.

Arlo didn’t qualify for his IEP for kindergarten. The occupational therapist informs me that I’m going to have to fight to get him what he needs. The pharmacy is texting me that I’m about to run out of medication and I still don’t have a doctor. Thora flares up with hives all over her face and body and we rush her to urgent care. Ben’s mom asks if we’re still thinking about another baby. I cry in the bathroom at a family function. Arlo’s gymnastics coach leaves me a voicemail, asking how they can help him get through the days at camp. I don’t know. I don’t know! Everything keeps happening and I’m barely here!

No tidy endings to this list. It feels more appropriate to end with an ellipsis. A foreboding “to be continued…�� Is that bad luck?

Seconds after I wrote the paragraph above, there was honking, a shot fired directly outside our house and a scream. Ben and I fell to our knees, away from the windows and called 911. Later, more shots, further off in the distance.

It felt like a warning, an echo. A reply.

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wanderinginksplot · 1 year

Text

Commander Fox + Mercenary!Reader

As a mercenary, you travel in and out of Coruscant a lot. You find it more than a little strange that Commander Fox himself always seems to be on the Coruscant Guard team investigating your transport when you come back planetside...

Commander Fox x gn!reader (platonic-ish, with a hint toward future feelings)

Thanks to @nowait-whathappened for the prompt!

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: mentions of weapons, mentions of bodily injuries, implied lack of trust

Masterlist

---

“Transport 47816, prepare for boarding.”

The groans that echoed through the transport ship were instant and harsh. None of the familiar faces around you held an expression more pleasant than ‘irritation’, but you were well used to this by now.

“Why?” Kann bit out harshly. You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was a close thing. As the Lament’s near-constant pilot, Kann knew exactly why you were being boarded just outside of Coruscant’s airspace, but that didn’t mean he was going to make things easy.

“Transport 47816, you’re returning from a neutral star system. It’s protocol.”

Kann snarled. “Shove the protocol up your-”

“Shut up and let the troopers on the ship,” Skoh ordered. “I don’t have time for you to argue with the whole damn Guard.”

Despite his previous eagerness for a fight, Kann clenched his jaw and nodded. “Dropping shields now.”

Kann was one of the more reckless members of the Lament, but Nakte Skoh was a force to be reckoned with. When the tall Togruta spoke, every one of the mercenaries on the team listened. Disobeying him was a good way to get killed - sometimes by the enemy and sometimes by Skoh himself.

The troopers who boarded the transport were wearing the familiar Coruscant Guard colors. You even recognized a few of the patterns and greeted them with a slight nod. You wouldn’t have minded being a little more exuberant, but not among your coworkers. It would be unwise to show too much emotion surrounded by mercenaries.

“Everyone stand.” Grumbling. “Leave all weapons here. We will be interviewing each of you separately.” More grumbling, even as everyone started to reluctantly comply.

The trooper issuing instructions was none other than the commander of the Coruscant Guard, Commander Fox. You could recognize him by his visored helmet easily enough, but there was something in his voice. What exactly made his tone was hard to pinpoint, but if pressed, you thought you could pick it out of a crowd. Even if that crowd were made up of other clone troopers.

So you stood with the others, smoothly pulling your blasters and blades out from their usual places. The pile they made on your empty seat was respectable, the wear on the weapons a mark of your ability to use every one. With a last quick count to make sure none of the other mercenaries decided to take something that wasn’t theirs, you followed everyone to the link between your ship and the Guard’s.

“Hope they’ll be less stupid about their weapons checks this time,” Yarrex muttered to you. The Kiffar was impatient at the best of times, but she knew her stuff better than most. “Last time, they misaligned the power pack on my rifle. If I hadn’t checked, it would have taken all of us out.”

You nodded fervently, remember how close a call that had been. Yarrex’s rifle had been actively overheating by the time she returned to the transport ship and she had hissed loud curses the whole time she fixed it. You couldn’t blame her - the smell from the flesh of her fingertips burning had lingered in the ship for days.

There was a Coruscant Guard trooper just inside the larger ship, ushering you to your ultimate destination. “This way, down the hall-”

“-And to the right,” you finished. “I know, I know.”

“Been here a few times?” Yarrax asked over her shoulder.

You shrugged, glad there was no one else behind you. What you were about to say could easily turn into tales of bad luck, and eventually spiral into you not being hired onto as many jobs. “Every single time I come back to Coruscant.”

“That’s not fair,” one of the trooper protested.

You aimed a dry look in his direction. “We both know it is, Chase.”

“I didn’t know they had names,” Kann remarked as he was led to one of the interrogation rooms.

Yarrax hissed disapprovingly at his back. The trooper stammered, “I- I’m not Chase.”

“Save it,” Skoh advised with a nod in your direction. “That one can smell lies.”

Chase glanced at you, clearly nervous even through the protective cover of his helmet. You gave him a broad smile and went to sit down.

Chase and the trooper who had directed you to the interrogation area were watching the room. The unfamiliar one had a medic’s cross on one shoulder and you wondered idly whether the Guard was expecting trouble.

They shouldn’t, honestly. The standard Coruscant Guard procedure was to pull everyone into individual rooms to ask questions about the most recent mission. The Lament had some latitude in the way they conducted business, but everyone made a point of being as vague as possible in their answers. It was an entertaining game you all played when you came back to Coruscant.

Though, apparently, no one played it as often as you.

There were two interrogation rooms being used at the moment. The ship had at least a few more, but Lament missions were made up of ten mercenaries by rule - no more, no less. With Kann and another mercenary in the interrogation rooms, there apparently weren’t enough of you to warrant using more rooms.

Mercenaries weren’t the most lively and talkative bunch, especially not after a long mission. A few of them shut their eyes to catch a few moments of sleep. The lone Nautolan in the Lament, a female named Veng, worked on repairing a tear she had gotten in the shoulder of her shirt. The needle flashing in and out of the ripped halves was mesmerizing, but your attention was caught by Skoh.

Your leader was watching the room, gaze intent as he studied the mercenaries and the troopers watching you. There was no real tension in him, not even the kind disguised by the specific relaxation he took on when a negotiation was leading toward violence. But he was awake and alert, so you decided that you should be, too.

Not that there was any reason to, of course. Skoh and Yarrix were the next to disappear into interview rooms as the first two went back to the transport ship. You weren’t among the next two to be called, or the ones after that. When it was only you and Veng left on the Guard ship, the door opened for Khyr to step out. Commander Fox stood in the doorway, sternly announcing that you were next.

Veng didn’t glance up to see the amused look you gave her, but that was fine. It hadn’t really been for her, anyway. The commander stepped aside for you to enter the interrogation room, then closed the door before following you to the table.

“Commander Fox,” you greeted with a nod. “How are you? How’s the wife?”

The commander removed his helmet, all the better for you to see the confusion and exasperation mingling on his handsome face. “The wife.”

“Or husband,” you amended. “Or partner. Non-specific.”

“I don’t have any of those,” he told you. “Did you get hit on the head during this massacre?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the way you always did when he disparaged your line of work. “Not a massacre. Not this time, at least. We do things other than kill people, you know.”

“Yeah? What was the objective on this mission?”

It just so happened that the mission you were returning from had been far more violent than expected, so you stepped neatly around the question. “Anyway, the point is that I see you so often, I feel like I should get to know something about your life. With anyone else, I would know about their partner or children or pets or hobbies. I see you more often than my parents.”

“That so?” Fox asked, tilting his head to deliver his skeptical expression to best effect.

“Not in the slightest,” you admitted easily. “But it has come to my attention that not every Lament mission gets investigated by the Guard when they return to Coruscant.”

Fox stiffened slightly. “We do our best to stop every transport, but our team is spread thin…”

“I’m not doubting your work, Commander,” you assured, “just your selection methods. Why is it that my team is always the one to be stopped?”

“Coincidence.”

Now, it was your turn to be skeptical. “You’ll have to do better than that, Fox.”

His eyes widened briefly and you wondered if you had offended him by dropping his title, but he recovered in the next instant. “Are you suggesting that we should be suspicious of you?”

“No, but you are,” you countered. “Otherwise, why would you always be focused on my missions?”

“I told you: we aren’t.”

Despite the way Fox’s teeth were gritted, you pushed on. You had a trump card, and you intended to play it: “Then why are you here? You, specifically? The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, investigating a transport full of mercenaries? You have better things to be doing than this. It’s suspicious.”

“I’ve told you, it’s a coincidence.” Fox sounded overly stubborn, even for him.

You lifted your hands innocently in front of yourself and leaned backward in your chair. “Fine, fine. Total coincidence. Your complete lack of supporting evidence or further arguments has convinced me. Proceed with your interrogation, Commander.”

He scowled intensely at you, but sat in the chair across from yours and started with the typical round of questions. Name, address, interplanetary work-travel permit number, employer, job title.

When you had answered them all successfully, Fox set his datapad down on the table between you. “Now, tell me about the mission you completed just prior to coming back to Coruscant.”

“We were on Raydonia,” you answered easily. “We were hired to protect a village.”

Fox gestured for you to continue when you stopped. “And what were you protecting them from?”

“They were hit by two unknowns a few weeks ago.” The explanation was a little shaky, but it was the only one you had been given. It was still more than you usually got for a job and you were fine with that, but Fox seemed determined to think you were untrustworthy. “They took some of the most powerful warriors in the village. The village elders were worried some of the surrounding people might take the chance to attack them. They were right.”

“Were there any casualties?” Fox asked, carefully not looking at you.

You smiled despite yourself. “No Republic citizens were harmed.”

It was a vague and a polite way of reminding him that he had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Republic-controlled planets. Technically speaking, Fox had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Coruscant, but you wouldn’t bet on that stopping him.

“And among your team?” he asked. “No injuries or deaths?”

“Nothing major,” you told him with a shrug. “You can count. I’m sure you noticed all ten of us are here and accounted for.”

“What about minor injuries?” he pressed.

You knew better than to shift in your chair, or look away from the easy eye contact you had maintained up to that point. Fox was an expert, and a sharp one at that. The smallest possible tell and he would know everything there was to know. That was what made him dangerous.

“None to speak of.”

Even your flawless delivery left him looking distinctly skeptical. “Then why are you limping?”

Despite the surge of frustrated exasperation that rose in you, your lips curved into a smile. “You’re too observant for your own good, Commander.”

“Which isn’t an answer.”

That made you chuckle aloud. “No, it wasn’t. But since you’re so insistent on an explanation, I sustained a minor injury on the mission. I treated it promptly and it is well on its way to healing.”

“How were you injured?”

Dimly, you wondered if Fox realized that he had leaned forward slightly under the weight of his own intensity. But only dimly, because most of your attention was drawn to the way he was even more handsome from a shorter distance away.

“Why?”

Fox blinked, and it seemed to break the spell he had put himself under. An instant later, he was scowling again - a fairly regular expression for him during these stops. “Because I’m the Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard and I asked you a direct question.”

“I don’t answer to you,” you reminded him, privately savoring the look of profound irritation blossoming on his face. “Not about missions that take place in independent systems. Even if they result in injuries.”

“Maybe I have cause to believe that you sustained that injury in Republic territory,” Fox proposed. “Maybe I need proof you aren’t lying to me.”

For a mercenary, you were even-tempered. Remarkably so, in fact. It helped you get along with your more volatile coworkers. But you did have a temper, and when it sparked, you were far from subtle.

The slam of the chair’s front legs reconnecting with the floor was loud. Fox didn’t jump - he had too much control over himself for that - but his eyes darted to yours in a way that made his surprise evident. Your hands connecting with the top of the table between you was loud, too, the sound specifically and purposefully sharp.

You leaned in toward Fox and the expression on your face was unpleasant enough that he looked concerned. “I like you, Fox. I think you’re a good man doing your best in the galaxy’s worst job. That’s why I’m gonna give you this one warning: I do not appreciate being called a liar.”

“I didn’t-”

Your gaze was hard as you stared him in the eyes. Fox looked startled as well as concerned by that point. He had never seen you truly pissed before.

“Yes, you did,” you said firmly. “I will be the first to admit that I exaggerate. I dramatize. I embellish for comedic effect. But I do not lie. I have never lied to you or any of your men, despite what is verging on harassment. I do not intend to lie in the future, and I don’t want to file a harassment charge, but all of that depends on you.”

It was honestly a shock when Fox didn’t take advantage of your pause to speak. It told you that he understood how deadly serious you were. With his attention sharp on you, you told him, “I’m a reasonable person. I am willing to overlook this misstep… once. And that offer is entirely dependent on what you say next.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox said, honesty ringing in the simple words. You waited for more and he obliged: “You’re right, you have never lied to me - to any of us. Not about anything big. It was unfair of me to accuse you of it.”

“And why did you?” you asked.

The question felt a little like twisting a blade in an injury, but you needed to know. You needed to know that it wasn’t going to happen again, and if it did, you needed to know enough to anticipate it. Because you had grown to respect Commander Fox, damn it, and it had hit surprisingly hard to have him misjudge your morals so dramatically.

“I… don’t like the idea of you being injured,” Fox admitted, sounding mystified. You understood, since that explanation left you feeling a little mystified yourself. “I would like to know about your injury if you’ll agree to tell me.”

You watched the commander for another long moment, doing your best to gauge his sincerity. It wasn’t easy - especially since it required you to look past those lovely eyes and flawless bone structure - but you managed. It was one of your most reliable skills, after all. Fox seemed to be telling you the truth.

When you leaned your chair backward again, the tension in the room shattered. You sent him a cryptic half-smile. “You know us mercenaries,” you drawled. “We don’t give away anything for free. You ask your question and I’ll ask mine. A truthful answer for a truthful answer.”

Fox considered it for only a moment before he nodded. “How did you get injured?”

“One of the attacking villagers had better aim than I expected,” you said, smiling wryly. “After I pulled his vibroblade from my calf, I changed my previous opinion.”

“Do you have a bacta patch on it?” Fox asked. “If not, I can get you a fresh one before you go back to your transport.”

“I already have one, thanks,” you assured him. “And I’m feeling generous, so I’m going to point out the fact that I let you ask two questions. Now it’s my turn.”

Luckily for Fox, you really were in a good mood again. You only let him dangle in his discomfort for a few moments before you asked your question. “Do you always stop my transport on purpose?”

“Yes.”

For all that you had suspected that answer, hearing it directly was shocking.

Instead of responding immediately, you paused for a moment to take a breath. If Fox was targeting you specifically, you had to believe there was a reason. And since you had already come this far, you may as well find out what that reason was. “Why?”

Fox looked reluctant and faintly uncomfortable. It was the look you imagined most of the troopers got when they were asked to do an unpleasant chore. But, to Fox’s credit, he gave the answer he had promised.

“You’re not the typical mercenary.” You frowned, already opening your mouth, but he quickly went on. “Not that you don’t have your skills, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on the missions you’re a part of. That is, the Coruscant Guard has. There is a concern among the men that the Lament would leave you behind on a mission or allow an injury to go untreated.”

Well, it was an explanation, but you felt like it left you with more questions than answers. “Nice to know you guys worry about me, but I still don’t understand why you care.”

Fox shrugged, but the casual gesture was belied by the way his eyes were locked with yours. “You look at us like we’re human.”

You frowned again.

“And I… admire you,” Fox added quietly. “You have a code and you follow it. Unusual, especially for a mercenary.”

“Again with the insults about my work.” Despite your heavy sigh, your tone was playful, and you knew he would take it as the tease that it was. “I look forward to seeing you too, Fox. That’s why I haven’t complained about being stopped every time we come back to Coruscant.”

He gave you a disbelieving look and you laughed. “Okay, fine. That’s why I don’t complain too much.”

Fox didn’t immediately reply. Normally, the two of you traded barbs and witty remarks back and forth so quickly that it would make an onlooker’s head spin. But you didn’t feel the need to say anything further and, apparently, neither did he. The room filled with a surprisingly comfortable silence, warm and cozy in a way that durasteel interrogation rooms rarely managed.

“So you’ve decided against filing harassment charges?” Fox asked at length.

“I have no intention of it,” you told him. “We made a deal. Guess that’s more evidence of my rare and admirable moral code…”

Fox rolled his eyes and you laughed. Before he could say something sarcastic, you added, “Besides, I think I would miss seeing you guys if you stopped checking up when I return from missions.”

“You would miss us?” You would have accused Fox of fishing for a compliment if he hadn’t sounded so charmingly stunned.

“Of course,” you told him, narrowly stopping yourself from winking at him. He really was a very attractive man. “But I need to get back to the transport now. They wouldn’t leave without me, but one of the others might get a little grabby with the weapons I left behind. Especially since I have a sharp new vibroblade.”

Fox stood when you did, leading the way to the door with a suspicious look on his face. “This isn’t the vibroblade that…” He finished the question only with a vague gesture toward your injured leg.

“If someone stabs me with a knife, I get to keep it,” you told him seriously. “I believe that is common courtesy.”

“No new weapons on this next mission, then,” Fox said as he stood aside to let you pass. “No risks, no injuries, no killing.”

You shook your head in exasperation, already starting down the hall back to the Lament’s transport. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what being a mercenary is, Commander.”

---

Author's Note - Happy Fox day! I knew I wanted to write something for 10/10, and big thanks to @nowait-whathappened for giving me this prompt! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!

You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here. As always, I'm happy to remove you from the taglist if it's no longer in your interests.

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @stargazingthenightaway @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @adriiibell @boomtowngirl @bitchylittleredhead @blck-omen @lackofhonor @captxin-rex @literallydontlook @salaminus @lucyhelena @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @bikerlorian @torchbearerkyle @frietiemeloen @tsedeshgishnii @buddee @justanothersadperson93 @leotatombs @mavendeb @rain-on-kamino @itsagrimm @captain-splock-you @dancingwiththeplanets @hummellchen @theclonesdeservebetter @cyarinka @ladyemxo @maulslittlemeowmeow @rosmariner @staycalmandhugaclone @coruscanticoffee @crookedwiings @eyecandyeoz @fordo-kixed-rex @musigrusi @lucyysthings @dinsverdika @bombshe77 @cawyden

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #commander fox #coruscant guard #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #fox x reader #fox x you #gn!reader #no use of y/n #fox day #cc 1010 #fic prompt #ink's fics

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spacebarbarianweird · 8 months

Note

Since requests are open can I request a f!Paladin Ilmater Tav with Astarion, preferably with a happy ending for them both. (She joined the church after having seen abuse firsthand no thanks to her dad)

One more devoted Tav, now in the domain of Ilmater!

Ilmater, also known as the Crying God, is a patron of opressed, suffering and persecuted. He is a willing sufferer, bearing the pain of others to spare them from it, and it is said that if he had his way he would do so for all the suffering in the world. His symbol is a pair of white hands bound with red cord. More about Ilmater Church of Ilmater

TW: A mention of CSA and abortion

Astarion x f!Paladin!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

Your oath is self-sacrifice.

Abused and beaten by your father, assaulted more than once, you became pregnant at the age of 14.

A drunken healer terminated the pregnancy, but you nearly died from blood loss and injuries.

Afraid to face the consequences, the healer and your father left you to die in the streets, hoping no one would ever find you.

Whether it was pure luck or Ilmater's will is unknown, but you were found by a passerby who brought the bleeding and dying child to the local Ilmater monastery.

The Reverend Father took care of you and made sure you felt at home.

You have grown up among the Ilmateri, helping the poor and unfortunate, in places plagued by poverty, plague, or war.

You know much about the suffering of this world and have an open heart.

As you reach adulthood, you gain a vision.

Ilmater, The Crying God himself, appears to you in human form and presses his bleeding hand to your chest.

"Protect the less fortunate in my name. Choose your oath, paladin."

The only thing you manage to whisper is "self-sacrifice."

You tell the Reverend Father of your vision and receive his blessing to leave the monastery.

You wander the Swords Coast, living up to your faith and vows.

But one day, you are kidnapped by the Mindflayers.

Your oath dictates its own will. Save your friends from the Tadpoles, destroy the Absolute.

You are selfless and caring to all your companions. Especially Astarion, for he may have suffered the most.

You forgive him, care for him, trust him.

Astarion can't get enough of you - you are his knight in shining armor who has finally come to save him from his misery.

Thanks to him, you are learning to think about your own good, too.

Maybe choosing comfort isn't so bad.

Or thinking for yourself for a change.

But when the time comes to save the world, you make your choice.

You have to sacrifice yourself - to let them turn you into a Mind Flayer. You are a martyr, a paladin.

Astarion rushes towards you and holds you back.

He begs you not to do this.

For the first time in two centuries, he has something. He has a future. He has you.

"I have an oath to Ilmater! I must sacrifice myself!"

"Where was your god when you were raped by your own father? Where was Ilmater when I was beaten and tortured for two hundred years? Ilmater was the first human god I ever prayed to! And to him, I prayed for decades! And he never listened!"

"He did listen to you, Astarion! He... sent me."

A realization comes to you.

Astarion is the embodiment of all the suffering a mortal can endure. Everything that could be bad has already happened to him.

You are a savior.

But you're not saving the world, you're saving a man.

And the whole world he is.

Karlach willingly takes your place because it's the only way for her to survive.

You leave the city hand in hand with Astarion - he wants to see the world, and you know there are many people who need your help.

Over the years, you notice that Astarion's attitude towards Ilmater and the whole idea of "saving the less fortunate" changes.

Sometimes he prays with you.

He has read all the sacred texts dedicated to the The Rack-Broken Lord.

He won't admit it, but he recognizes himself in the image of Ilmater.

You, too, have changed.

You are more selfish now, for you need to save yourself before you save anyone else.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume

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grandlinedreams · 11 months

Note

I don’t know if you’ve done something like this before..but could maybe write about a time where reader took care of zoro and then one where he took care of you??

Thank you!!!

Absolutely I can do that for you!! Idk abt anyone else but the softness of taking care of someone when they're sick/hurt,,oof

[Heads up!: fluff, tiny bit of angst, Zoro being Zoro, mention of injuries, mention of being sick]

"Hold still."

Zoro tries to do as you ask, though the tickle of thread pulled through his skin makes him twitch, and he grunts when you swat at his upper arm. "What was that for?"

"I said hold still!"

"I'm trying, damn it!" Zoro huffs, brow furrowed as he does his best not to move any further. "Don't understand why you're the one doin' this anyways."

"Because Chopper is busy taking care of Luffy and Sanji," you explain, holding the black thread taut and snipping it. "And you were already injured, but you popped your stitches." You pause. "Would you rather I let you bleed to death?"

"Guess not."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. "You guess? That's not much of an answer, Zoro." Your expression softens. "Try not to get torn up too many times, okay? I worry about you."

"Don't have to," Zoro grumbles, then studies your handiwork of neat stitches rather the bleeding, ragged mess it'd been when he popped them. "Thanks, I guess."

"No problem." He listens to the click of the first aid kit, the shadow that falls over him as you stand. "Guess I owe you one."

"Not at all." You know he'll probably want to take a nap, and you prepare to take your leave before you glance at him. "We're crewmates, Zoro. We look out for each other."

"Yeah, fair point."

You watch as he leans back, mindful of the fold of his arms behind him as he closes his eyes. You wish you could do as he does, though you understand why he has the knack for sleeping anywhere.

Still, you smile. "Sleep well, Zoro."

ㅡ

You're burning up.

It'd been bad luck to get caught in a bout of nasty weather, the sudden switch from bright and sunny to cold and rainy coming with very little warning, even with Nami's skills.

You'd been busy making sure that the Sunny wasn't battered too badly by the swell of waves and fixing things that'd been shifted with the violent rocking to change clothes ㅡ and now you're paying for it.

Though Chopper had diagnosed it as nothing to be too worried about, Zoro still doesn't like the flush to your cheeks and heat that radiates from your forehead, your breathing strained and uneven.

So he takes it upon himself to keep an eye on you. If anyone asks, it's because his normal spots to nap have lost their appeal at the moment ㅡ but if the look Robin gives him is any indication, she at least knows there's more to it.

Zoro is far from a perfect caretaker, but he tries. He soaks a rag in cold water, squeezes it, then settles it on your forehead, hoping to bring your fever down. When it dries out, he repeats the process.

You drift in and out of fevered sleep, and he listens to the little mumbles ㅡ often of your crewmates, including him. He wonders what you're dreaming about that includes him ㅡ and if it's good.

He highly doubts that it's much in part to him, but he's still pleased when you finally wake enough to want food ㅡ and he goes to get it for you before you can protest.

"Don't need you gettin' everyone else sick," he tells you when he returns with a bowl of soup. (He hadn't even threatened to chuck it at Sanji, who'd been surprised at the lack of verbal barb from the swordsman.)

"What about you?"

He scoffs. "I don't get sick."

The look you give him says you're far from believing that, but you turn your attention to the soup instead. Managing to get at least half of it down, you let Zoro finish the rest of it. (Much as he hates that stupid cook, he does make good food.)

"Thank-you for looking after me." Zoro watches as you sink back down into the heavy mess of blankets, likes to think that there's a little more healthy color to your face.

"Yeah, yeah." He looks away. "It's like you said. We're crewmates, we gotta look out for each other." You stare at him, and he huffs. "Right?"

Your expression softens. "Right."

(You get better after another day or two. And when Zoro does actually catch what you had, you're the one who offers to take care of him.)

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous #–ml: zoro.

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hannahmanderr · 7 months

Text

Before we get into the chapter, a HUGE platonic smooch for @duchi-nesten who took the time to draw the Ancients from this story with bribery from me and @scarletsaphire I'm absolutely screaming over them still, they are just UGGHHH SO GOOD

From left to right is Zunje, Babel, Pele, and Kala!

Anyway, onto the chapter! It's an important one! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Everything begins. Everything ends. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jazz flinched as another wayward blast of ectoplasm exploded into the wall of the office building across the street, reducing it to little more than rubble. The battle was becoming more and more destructive as time bled on, and her nerves were really starting to get to her. She needed to get back out there and put a stop to it.

Unfortunately, there was the slight complication of her parents.

She’d tried to play dumb when Frostbite slipped up, but it had been pointless. Frostbite had been all too happy to explain that the Great One was, in fact, the ghost hero known as Danny Phantom.

Perhaps if it had just been her dad there, she would’ve been able to distract him, or figure out how to explain it away, but as luck would have it, her mom had pulled up shortly after the ghost king’s arrival.

It didn’t take them long to put two and two together. At least, that’s what she assumed.

Even more unfortunate was that her concussion had spontaneously decided to rear its ugly head, causing her to lean over and throw up in the middle of the road. Mom and Dad were far less than keen on letting her continue fighting after that. She’d protested of course, pointing out that the all-powerful ghost king was about to raze Amity Park to the ground, but they wouldn’t have any of it.

She had been forced to take shelter behind a large pile of rubble, along with her parents and Frostbite, as the battle intensified. Pariah Dark’s question about Danny had been met with a brutal attack from one of the four-armed Ancients, and the battle had progressed from there. At some point, the little lava-haired Ancient had taken over the direct combat with the ghost king, aided by the gnome and the four-armed ghost with a cloak of clouds. The last Ancient - Pandora, if Jazz remembered correctly - had engaged the black-armored knight. Sam and Tucker were still out there, somewhere, working to keep the thrall army at bay.

And that was just the fighting. Overhead, in the sky, the rip that had heralded Pariah Dark’s appearance still gaped over Amity Park. The air seemed to vibrate with its intensity; Jazz could feel it prickling at her skin, making her feel foreign in her own body. Like reality itself was beginning to fail.

In short, things were Bad-with-a-capital-B.

Jazz leaned over to peer around the rubble protecting them. “We should really be out there,” she muttered, even as her head throbbed worse.

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady,” Mom said. “Not while you’re injured.”

“I told you, I’m fine! I got it out of my system, I’m good to go.”

“I may not know many details about human biology,” Frostbite said, arching an eyebrow at Jazz, “but I have enough experience with the Great One to know that head injuries are serious in humans.”

Jazz didn’t miss how her parents winced hearing about “the Great One” and his injuries.

They hadn’t said a word about Danny - Fenton or Phantom - since Frostbite’s slip-up. It only put her that much more on edge. Sooner or later, Danny would return, and if Mom and Dad were going to flip out and shoot him on sight, she wanted to at least have the chance to warn him.

As it was, she couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Her mother’s poker face was nothing short of perfect, and her father, though he often wore his heart on his sleeve, was strangely stoic about it all. If there was one thing Jazz hated, it was not knowing things, and not knowing their thoughts on Danny was killing her.

She could only hope and pray. The fact that they weren't actively trying to gun down Frostbite was a good sign at least.

But for the time being, she pushed those thoughts away. “Believe me, I know plenty about head injuries. I wouldn’t be wanting to go back out there if I thought it was serious enough.”

“I don't think the person with the concussion should be making that judgment ,” Mom said. “You won't be going anywhere until we know you're safe.”

Jazz frowned. Was that a hint of hysteria in her voice?

Yeah, that couldn't be a good sign.

Still, her words gave Jazz an opening. “Alright, fine! Whatever! It's not like the world is ending or anything, in case you haven't noticed. Why aren't you guys out there, at least?” Maybe if she could convince them to go back to the fight, she’d have a chance to catch Danny before they saw him. Maybe she’d have a chance to warn him.

Her parents didn't answer. They exchanged a glance that Jazz couldn't read, and Dad’s shoulders sagged. He opened his mouth. “We -”

“What's going on here?”

Jazz’s eyes snapped up to see Valerie hovering just behind her parents and Frostbite; Wes clung to Valerie with his eyes screwed tightly shut. Her parents turned at the sound of Valerie’s voice, and though Jazz couldn’t see her mom’s eyes behind the red-tinted goggles, she could only imagine the look on her face.

Her dad, however, beamed widely. “The Huntress!” he exclaimed, grabbing at Mom’s arm like an overexcited child.

To her credit, Valerie avoided wincing too strongly. “Yeah, that’s… me.”

“Did you find him?” Jazz asked. She didn’t bother to hide the anxiety in her voice.

Valerie frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, but he’s… well…”

“Can we maybe have this conversation on the ground?” Wes asked shakily. Valerie responded with a roll of her eyes, practically shoving him off her. He stumbled the short distance to the ground and collapsed spread-eagle on the street. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Dad’s nose crinkled in confusion. “Uh… is this the backup you were talking about, Jazzy-pants?”

Jazz ignored him. “What do you mean? Where is he?” she asked Valerie.

“It’s okay, I’m here!” a voice called out. A moment later, Danny - as Phantom - pulled up beside Valerie. “I’m here.” Jazz’s breath caught in her throat. She had known, of course, that Danny had gone to get the Crown of Fire, but for some reason, it hadn’t crossed her mind that he would have to wear it. Granted, the crown on his head now was most definitely not on fire, but she thought the frosted look complemented him much better than fire. The way it sat on his head, and the way the cloak he wore rippled in the breeze and caught the light…

He looked regal. Like he really was a king.

It made her heart swell with pride. Her baby brother… he had come so far. She’d never doubted his leadership abilities, not really. His common sense could be… debatable at times, but her brother had a good heart. He was still young, of course, and the thought of him being a monarch had never occurred to her, but in that moment, Jazz couldn’t help but think that the role suited him.

She must have shown it on her face, because Danny caught her eye, and his hand flew up to the back of his neck. “It’s a long story…” he muttered sheepishly, his cheeks growing green.

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but Dad stood up abruptly, cutting her off. Mentally, she kicked herself. She’d gotten so distracted by his arrival, she’d forgotten about their parents.

Danny instantly paled. Whatever he saw in Dad’s face, it couldn’t have been good. Jazz tried to stand, to intercept him, but Frostbite gently held her down. “Easy,” he rumbled quietly. “Do not act prematurely.”

Of course, she wanted to protest that, but she quickly became distracted by her father’s slow approach towards Danny. Her mother wasn’t too far behind.

Danny’s hand twisted into the cloak, and he averted his gaze. “Look,” he began shakily, “I… I get it if you hate me, and - and I… I’ll let you hunt me down or tear me apart or whatever you want, but please, you have to let me stop all this first, or there isn’t gonna be a world for you to tear me apart in. I just need to - mmph!”

Jazz squeaked and clapped her hands to her mouth as Dad lunged forward. She pushed Frostbite’s paw away to stumble to her feet. She had to get there first, had to stop him from hurting Danny -

- but her heart stuttered to a stop as Dad wrapped Danny in a tight embrace.

“Danny,” he said, his voice cracking. “We were so worried… You have no idea…”

A stunned Danny returned the hug as Mom pulled down her hood and glommed on to his other side. “You don’t… hate me?” he asked, his voice muffled by their dad’s burly form.

“Listen to me, Danny,” Mom said, peeling him out of Dad’s arms and holding him by the shoulders. She looked him firm in the eye. “No matter what you do, no matter what you are, we could never, ever hate you. Never, do you hear me?”

Jazz could see the tears glistening in the corners of Danny’s eyes even from where she sat. His lower lip quivered the slightest bit before he threw his arms around Mom’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I should’ve told you forever ago, but I just…”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” their mom said, rubbing circles into his back. “It’s okay. We’ll have time to… to figure it all out.”

“Yeah, assuming the world doesn’t end first,” Wes snarked from his position on the ground. Jazz shot him a heated glare.

Valerie simply looked away and folded her arms across her chest. Jazz frowned. Something clearly wasn’t sitting right with her, but…

“Wait,” Dad said, furrowing his brow, “what’s this about the world ending?”

“It’s okay,” Jazz said. “The world isn’t going to end. Danny’s going to make sure of it.” Maybe she’d have felt more sure of her words if there hadn’t been a gaping hole in the sky threatening to rip reality apart, but someone had to look on the bright side.

Their parents glanced between the two of them. “What do you mean?” Mom asked slowly.

Before either of them could answer, another wayward ectoblast flew overhead, crashing into the roof of the building right above them. Huge chunks of rubble broke off of the building and began to plummet straight towards them.

Valerie reacted quickly, pulling Wes up by his shirt collar and grabbing Jazz to drag them to safety. Danny and Frostbite reacted just as quickly by throwing up ectoplasmic shields. The rubble slammed into them, then slid off the shields and away from the rest of the group.

Valerie whipped her head towards the battle. “I think I’m… gonna go help them,” she said. She flew off before Jazz could say anything, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in her wake.

“I need to go help too,” Danny said thickly. He stared after Valerie. “It’s… that’s what I’m supposed to do. If I can beat him, everything will go back to normal… Mostly, anyway.” His hand twitched up towards his head.

Mom whipped her head in the direction of the battle. “Him?” she asked, nodding to where Pariah Dark and the lava-haired Ancient were still fiercely fighting each other. To Jazz’s horror, the Ancient seemed to be losing ground.

“Precisely,” Frostbite said jovially. How he could manage such a tone in these circumstances was beyond Jazz. “Once the Great One is able to defeat Pariah Dark, he can assume the throne and put the Heart of the Infinite Realms at ease! It’s quite simple, really.”

“Assume the - wait!” Wes shot upright. “You’re telling me that dumb crown isn’t just some weird costume?”

Danny flushed green, and his hand flew up to the back of his neck. “I, ah… like I said, it’s a long story.” He glanced at Mom and Dad. “I’m really sorry, believe me, I wish I could’ve told you differently, and I definitely wish it wasn’t the case, but…”

Jazz watched as Mom’s gaze drifted up to the crown on Danny’s head, as if she were just now noticing it. “What throne?” she asked weakly.

“Um… it kind of maybe sort of might be… the throne of the entire Ghost Zone?” Danny replied with a sheepish grin.

Dad scratched his head. “When did this happen?”

Danny’s face grew sober again. “I don’t know. I only just found out a few hours ago myself.” His eyes flicked away from their parents, down at his feet.

A pang of sympathy struck Jazz’s heart. Sure, Danny looked the part of a king, and somehow, she had no trouble believing he was the king, despite her earlier confusion, but somehow it had escaped her that he had barely had enough time to process everything. That everything was happening so quickly.

And their parents… it had to be equally difficult for them to process. They had only just learned their son’s true identity less than an hour ago, and now they were finding out he was essentially the heir to the throne of a world full of the same beings they had once sworn to annihilate. It would be a lot for anyone.

And so it nearly brought Jazz to tears when she saw Dad fight to plaster a smile onto his face. He placed a gentle hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said in a tone entirely too quiet for Jack Fenton, “it’s okay. Like your mother said, we’ll have time to figure it all out.”

Danny still didn’t look up. “Yeah,” he said, barely audible. “We’ll have time.”

His tone told Jazz he didn’t believe that in the slightest.

An ear-splitting roar shattered the moment. Everyone slapped their hands over their ears. Jazz only just managed to catch a glimpse of Danny gasping and hunching in on himself, clutching at his sternum.

A wave of hot air washed over Jazz. Trembling, she peered around the rubble, only to gasp in horror at the sight of the little girl Ancient bleeding lava all over the four-armed Ancient. She was still alive - as alive as a ghost could be anyway, but it was evident even from a hundred yards away that she was fully incapacitated. Pandora still fought with the knight, but everyone else - Sam, Tucker, Valerie, the other Ancients, even the thrall army - had practically frozen in place.

The most terrifying sight of all was the evil ghost king, looming over the street, staring straight at her.

No, staring straight at Danny.

“Come and meet your fate, little Prince!” he called mockingly. His voice reverberated over the street, causing buildings to rumble ominously. “Or will you take the coward’s way out?”

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the humming of the rip in the sky. Jazz held her breath as Danny glanced at their parents, then gently pushed Dad’s hand off his shoulder and took to the air.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he called back. “Just… give me the Ring before things get worse.”

Pariah laughed, a menacing sound that sent chills down Jazz’s spine. “Why should I surrender what is rightfully mine?”

Danny's eyes flared. “That power’s not yours. It’s mine.”

Jazz blinked at the sudden shift in Danny’s tone. It was still his voice, yes, but there was something about it…

Pariah roared wordlessly again. “Never!” he snarled. “Kilaris is MINE!”

With a guttural yell, he launched himself at Danny. Jazz could’ve sworn she saw a bright white light flare from the crown on Danny’s head, just momentarily, but when she blinked, it was gone, and Danny too had charged forward. The two collided in a blinding explosion of red and green.

Mom and Dad moved to follow Danny, but Frostbite held a paw up. “No,” he said, his voice somber and heavy. “This is not a fight you can help him with. He must win this by his power alone.”

“Listen here,” Mom snapped. “I don’t care how you do it in your world, but I will not stand by and watch my son fight some impossible battle on his own! I - we are going to help him, whether you like it or not!”

“I understand.” Frostbite flinched and threw up a shield just in time to stop another huge chunk of building from crushing them all. “But though you may not be able to help him in combat, there are other ways you can help him.” He glanced at Jazz. “Keeping your daughter and his friend safe, for one.”

“Pfft. Me? Friends with Fenton? Fat chance,” Wes scoffed.

“He will be able to fight with a sound mind if you help him protect yourselves and the other humans,” Frostbite continued, ignoring Wes. “And I must go and help my colleague.”

Mom turned, watching the battle with helpless eyes. “But… Danny -”

“ - will be just fine. But we must give him a fighting chance by helping elsewhere.”

“He’s right,” Dad said quietly, taking Mom’s hand. “We have to help get Jazz out of here. It’s getting too dangerous.”

“I told you, I’m fine! I can help too!”

Another explosion rang overhead. Jazz yelped and ducked as an enormous bolt of green energy flew over her head. It came close enough that she could feel its cold aura graze the top of her scalp.

“Y-you know, on second thought, I think I’m with Yeti Man over here,” Wes muttered, cowering behind a fallen wall. Jazz had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

Her attention, however, quickly turned back to Mom. Again, she found herself wishing she could read minds. She could see the gears turning in her mother’s head after all, but Mom’s stoic face didn’t give her true thoughts away.

Jazz hated not knowing things.

Then Mom’s jaw tightened, and Jazz’s heart fell. She knew that look. “We’re getting you two to safety,” Mom said. Then, giving Frostbite a pointed look, she added, “And then we’re coming back to help Danny.”

Frostbite closed his eyes. “You will only distract him from what he needs to do. It is not wise.”

“That might be what you think,” Mom said as she bent down to help Wes stand, “but he's my son. I've let him struggle alone for too long.” Her voice cracked. “I have to start… making it up to him…”

“I assure you, the Great One does not bear any ill will towards you,” Frostbite said, frowning in sympathy. “This is not the time to begin ‘making amends’, though.”

Mom opened her mouth to retort again, but Dad laid a hand on her shoulder. “C'mon, Mads. We can figure it out later. Right now, we've gotta help these two.”

It was strange seeing her father being the rational, calm one, but Jazz chalked it up to the weirdness of the day. It was the only way she could keep it all straight in her head.

Mom shot Frostbite one last hard glare before leading Wes towards the RV sitting down the road. Dad scooped Jazz up into his arms and began carrying her to the RV, much to her embarrassment.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Don’t you worry, Jazzy-pants!” he said. His tone was bright as always, but Jazz could tell it was at least somewhat forced. “Soon as you’re safe, we’ll get right back out there and help Danny kick some evil ghost king butt!”

Jazz bit her lip. “What about what Frostbite said? About… interfering?”

Her dad hesitated before answering. “I’m sure he’s wrong. You can’t trust a ghost, after all!” His face froze as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean, uh, not Danny of course! He’s different.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that. That… was a misconception they’d have to clear up sooner or later.

As she peered over Dad’s shoulder, back towards where Danny was fighting tooth and nail against Pariah, she hoped there would actually be a sooner or later.

“Be careful, little brother,” she whispered to herself. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The thread flickered.

Clockwork frowned as he allowed it to flow across his hands and in between his fingers. This certainly was the correct timeline, he knew that without a doubt, but its flickering concerned him greatly. It had been so strong when Vlad Plamius made the decision to allow Danny the Crown, but now…

He closed his eyes as he sifted through time. Before, the future had been as clear to him as any other. Now though, he could only see up to a certain point before it was obscured behind what felt like a thick wall of mist. There was still a future there, yes, but not one he could see.

It was, in a word, unusual.

“My dear Kilaris, what are you up to?” he murmured as he let the thread of the timeline slip from his fingers and back into the broader tangle of Time. Its flicker became swallowed up by the combined glow of the cluster of timelines, but Clockwork knew it was still present.

His eyes drifted to one of his time windows. The same image of Danny exiting the portal that he had watched just an hour or so ago played out again, this time in real time. A thin trail of frost followed in his wake as he flew to meet his family. The frost shimmered briefly in the ethereal light of the rip in the sky above, leaving a silky, glowing strand, almost like -

- ah. Of course.

“Must you always be so overdramatic?” Clockwork said aloud, the semblance of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He rested his hands on top of his staff. He knew what needed to happen now.

It was only a matter of time. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fighting Pariah was nothing like it had been the first time around.

Before, Danny had been fighting in a clunky mech-suit. True, it had helped enhance his powers (until it tried to kill him), but it had made his movements equally clunky and stiff. He’d needed to adapt to the added weight and size quickly, but it still cost him when he took a few crucial hits.

This time he was not bound by any suit. He was free to move as he pleased, using the advantage of his smaller form to move with agility and speed that Pariah did not possess. He could dive in close for a punch or a kick, then turn on a dime and dart away. He wouldn’t have been able to do that in the Ecto-Skeleton.

There was also the fact that he had the help of the Ancients. True, it looked like Pele had taken some nasty hits from Pariah and would be down for the count, but the others were still going strong especially with Zunje now, keeping the Fright Knight and the thrall army at bay. He didn’t like seeing Sam and Tucker down there in the fray, so close to his own battle with Pariah, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

And then there was the Crown. It remained secure on his head, feeding him a power that buzzed through his veins and his core, making him feel like he’d just taken six shots of espresso mixed with pure ectoplasm. It was an exhilarating feeling, one that made him wish he’d actually used the Crown when he’d had the chance, during his first fight with Pariah.

(A wish he immediately scolded himself for.)

Danny gritted his teeth as he threw up another ectoplasmic shield, this one with a thick coating of ice thanks to the power of the Crown. It helped protect him from Pariah’s elemental attacks, which ran much hotter than his own.

Ectoplasmic fire exploded across the shield, and Danny could feel its heat as it curled around the edges towards him. He had to dig his heels into the air to brace himself against the sheer force of the hit.

Pariah didn’t give him a chance to fire back. No sooner had Danny lowered his shield did he see Pariah lunging for him, fangs bared and a fiery, maniacal look in his lone eye. Danny yelped and darted to the side, just barely missing Pariah’s fist.

Danny tried to respond with his own blast of ectoplasm, the Crown’s power coursing through him, but Pariah deflected it easily with his mace. The blast ricocheted off of it and into the street. Danny gasped as it flew right over Jazz’s head, just barely missing her by a foot.

That turned out to be a mistake. He should’ve known better than to let himself get distracted. It gave Pariah the opportunity to take another swing with his mace, catching Danny in the gut and sending him crashing into the ground.

Danny gripped his stomach and swallowed down a cry. The mace’s sharp spikes were not just for decoration, it seemed; they’d dug mercilessly into his torso, leaving him with deep, ragged gashes. The fall into the street hadn’t been too kind on his ribs, either. He could already feel the Crown diverting some of its power to the injuries, trying to heal him as quickly as possible.

Pariah roared as he dove for Danny, fire exploding to life around his fist. Danny managed to roll out of the way, and Pariah’s fist slammed into the street, cracking it even more. In any other fight, Danny probably would’ve tried to make some snarky comment about how the potholes in Amity Park were already bad enough and they didn’t need more, but he was still struggling to get air back in his lungs. Not to mention he found it much harder to crack jokes in the middle of his more serious fights, mostly because he had to concentrate on not getting beaten to a pulp.

As Danny rolled, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father scoop Jazz into his arms. Mom helped Wes up, and they ran towards the RV, which was still parked haphazardly down the road. Miraculously, it was still standing.

He could almost breathe a sigh of relief. He still didn’t know if Sam and Tucker were safe or if they were still out there fighting the skeleton army, but knowing his family (and Wes) were safe offered him a little bit of reassurance.

Focus. Do not lose sight of the goal.

Right. The Ring. He still had to get that. Somehow.

It was going to be much easier said than done. Getting it off of Pariah’s hand seemed impossible, especially with the relentless drive of the king’s attacks. Danny barely had the chance to recover and launch his own attacks, let alone come up with a plan to swipe the Ring.

He forced himself up and into the air. His cloak flared with cold energy as he allowed ice to gather in his hands. That was another advantage he had this time around - the help from his elemental core. His ice attacks were some of his strongest, and he silently thanked whatever unseen force had granted him an ice core as he loosed the energy all at once, freezing Pariah’s entire arm to the street.

You’re welcome, little Prince.

Danny almost stopped in midair. That remark definitely sent a flurry of questions flying through his head, but he had to keep his attention on Pariah. We’re not done with this, he still thought back.

Of course not. You still have much to learn.

He didn’t think the Heart meant it as a dig, but he still mentally stuck his tongue out. Even if he didn’t have time to ask questions, he could still be sassy. No one could take his sass away.

It was strange how much clearer the voice in his head seemed now that he had the Crown on. It had been clear before, but there was a new clarity to it, like when his eye doctor gave him a new prescription for his contacts. He supposed it made sense; now, he had that direct contact.

It still didn’t explain why the voice sounded like his own train of thought sometimes.

Even stranger was the feeling of the power offered to him by Kilaris. It was stronger than the power he’d had while wearing the Ecto-Skeleton, and that had probably been the time when he was the most powerful throughout the past two years. It helped that unlike the Ecto-Skeleton, the Crown did not drain him of his energy as he used it; instead, it continuously fueled him, pouring more and more power into his body, like it could never run out. It was thrilling, this feeling of endless energy. His core practically vibrated from it all.

At the same time though, fear nagged at him. This was how it felt with just the Crown on. How much worse would it be once he got the Ring too? The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he found himself subconsciously beginning to suppress his core. Suppress the ceaseless power flooding into him.

Why stop the power you are meant to have?

Danny swallowed.

That’s exactly what he was afraid of.

It all passed through his mind in the few seconds it took for Pariah to begin trying to melt the ice securing him to the ground. “Why you little -!”

More ice pooled in Danny’s hands. “Sorry,” he said as he re-froze Pariah’s hand to the street. “You just looked like you needed to chill out.”

Pariah bellowed, and the ice cracked and shattered. “Impertinent child!” he sneered. “When I am in control once more -”

“Save it!” Danny fired off a round of concentrated bolts of ice in quick succession, forcing Pariah to retreat a little. “I already told you, the Heart’s not yours anymore! It hasn’t been for a long time!”

“And you dare presume it is yours?” Pariah said. He quickly gained back the ground he had lost by leaping at Danny again.

Of course, Danny easily flew out of the way. “I don’t ‘presume’ anything!” he shouted. “I already know!”

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say, and he really didn’t like the taste the words left in his mouth, but if he’d learned anything throughout his career as Danny Phantom, it was that his opponents got sloppy when he riled them up. Snarking at them just happened to be the easiest way to do so.

Is it truly “snark” if you speak the truth?

In spite of himself, Danny almost laughed. If you’re gonna be stuck with me, you better get used to the snark, whether it’s true or not. We come as a package deal.

He ducked out of the way of another punch. He didn’t recover quick enough; by the time he managed to turn around to face the king, an entire wall of red energy was surging at him. There wasn’t time to fly around it. It struck him with a force so strong, he was thrown back more than a hundred yards.

His ribs groaned in pain as he slammed into the concrete and skidded back a few more yards for good measure. Nausea churned in his stomach from the blow, and he had to resist the urge to lean over and throw up. All too soon, Pariah was on top of him again, swinging his mace.

Knowing there was no way he could move in time, Danny turned intangible and allowed himself to sink into the ground. He counted to three, just enough time to get his nausea under control, then called ectoplasm to his hands. With the Crown’s power, the energy’s green glow was so bright, it almost seemed white.

It wasn’t difficult to track Pariah’s hot ecto-signature underground. Danny lined himself up underneath him, then sprang from the ground. His blazing fists collided straight with Pariah’s jaw. It didn’t push Pariah back like he had hoped, but it distracted him long enough for Danny to fire his ectoplasm in one long, continuous blast.

Pariah growled under Danny’s onslaught before finally bringing up a red shield. “You truly think this will be enough to stop me?”

Danny didn’t let up. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop a monster like you from hurting the Realms again.”

“Really now?” Pariah twisted his shield into a blast of his own. It pushed against Danny’s, and he once again had to dig his heels into the air behind him to keep from being thrown back again. “Then why don’t you?”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat, and his attack faltered for the briefest of moments. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Pariah said, laughing. “I have seen you. I have seen your fears, your doubts…”

“You don’t know me at all!” Danny yelled. Frustration distracted him, and he unwillingly drew on the Crown’s power to fuel his blast. “Just ‘cause you got in my head once doesn’t mean anything!”

“Poor little Prince,” Pariah cooed mockingly, as if Danny hadn’t even spoken. “This is why you are weak. This is why you will fail to protect everything you stand for. You are nothing more than a scared child.”

Danny couldn’t stop the anger-fueled energy pouring into him and, subsequently, pouring out of his hands. The Crown was all too happy to supply it. It just responded to him too easily. It responded to his resentment of Pariah, his frustration at the tyrant king’s insinuation that he was a coward, his rage at the fact that Pariah refused to hand over what was rightfully Danny’s -

Danny screwed his eyes shut tightly. That last one, he knew it was the Crown’s influence, but he couldn’t stop it. It was all coming too hard, too fast, too strong, and it was thrilling. The power flooding through the Crown just felt so right, like maybe he really was meant to have it all along.

He wanted to throw up.

The power demanded a release. It thrummed against Danny’s skin, coursing through his core, making his green ectoblast grow brighter and brighter until it was nearly a blinding white. It would not remain bound for much longer.

And so with a guttural yell, he unleashed it.

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened - the rush of energy leaving him all at once had left him overwhelmed and disoriented - but when he opened his eyes, the whole block had a thin layer of ice covering it, sparkling in the ethereal light of the rip above. Large branches of the trees in front of the buildings had frozen and cracked off the trunks, shattering on the ground below. He could see at least one downed power line.

Pariah had fallen to the ground, into a huge crater Danny swore hadn’t been there before. Crystals of frost coated his hair and his cape. He slowly sat up, rubbing his head, clearly just as disoriented as Danny.

Danny stared at his hands in horror. Did I really do that?

The Heart didn’t answer him. He couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

Probably bad. For him, anyway.

And in that moment, he swore to himself he’d never allow the Crown to give him that much power ever again. Never.

(No matter how right it had felt to control it.)

Pariah’s cough caught his attention. “You…” he muttered before stopping abruptly.

Danny’s breath caught in his throat as Pariah’s lone eye fell on the Crown sitting on his head. For just a brief moment, the world seemed to screech to a halt around them, and a silence filled the air, so thick it left a dusty taste in Danny’s mouth. Even the rip in the sky above seemed to pause in its yawning.

Then a fire sparked to life behind that one eye and a wave of heat crashed over Danny, nearly knocking him over. The roar Pariah let loose chilled Danny to the bone and left a whiny ringing in his ears. He didn’t even bother to try and stand his ground against a rage so strong; he simply turned and rocketed off in the other direction.

Just in the nick of time too, it seemed, as Pariah lunged after him. In an instant, a flurry - no, a storm of scarlet ectoblasts surrounded Danny. He twisted and ducked and dived and put all his flying skills to the test trying to dodge them all. It was difficult, since the blasts were all coming from behind him, but strangely enough, he felt as though he could sense them in the air as they flew at him, like he could just tell where they were without looking.

“Is that you?” he asked as he narrowly avoided yet another attack.

On the contrary. It is you, little Prince.

“That makes zero se- agghh!” A blast clipped Danny’s side, sending a flare of white hot pain up his ribcage. The blast was strong enough to send him careening off course, and he couldn’t stop himself from colliding with a building and plummeting to the street below. His head hit hard enough to cause his vision to go black.

He groaned pitifully as he laid on the road. The pain shooting through his side felt as though it was trying to burn straight through him, even in spite of the cloak and Crown’s efforts to heal him. Something sticky and wet pooled underneath the hand gripping his side.

For a minute, he just laid there, fruitlessly trying to will the pain away. Unbidden memories of being in a very similar pain in a very similar fight began to well up. He forced them back down. Not right now.

A blood-curdling scream had his eyes flying back open.

Vision half-blurry from the fall to the ground, Danny pried his head up off the street and looked. In front of him was the elementary school, surrounded by a shimmering green ghost shield. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared, since it was after school hours and the building would normally be empty, but his eyes landed on a small crowd of civilians, hovering near the inner edge of the shield and watching the battle with fear in their eyes. The scream had come from a little girl no older than six, covering her mouth in horror and pointing at him.

No, pointing behind him.

With a grunt of pain and a tremendous effort, Danny took to the sky again, wobbling in midair. Pariah’s boots slammed into the street not a second later, right where he had been laying.

This was bad. This was really getting bad. He was injured, and though the Crown and the cloak kept his energy levels high enough for the most part, he was devoting too much energy to the fight to focus any towards healing himself. Energy didn’t exactly help when it was his physical body that was damaged.

And now there was the fact that he had a slew of people behind him, huddling underneath a ghost shield. True, it would protect them from Pariah, and it would protect them from stray blasts, but rubble could easily go flying in, or someone could step out of the protected radius. It was too dangerous to keep the battle this close to them.

(Not to mention he saw more than one cell phone out and recording, and that definitely set him on edge.)

He tried to dart away from the shield, but Pariah managed to snag his collar as he whizzed by. He gagged and his hands flew up to his throat.

“A coward!” Pariah cackled. “That is who you are! Fleeing from the battle? Fleeing from those under your protection?” He threw Danny into yet another building. “And Kilaris dares deem you worthy?”

“So you admit it,” Danny coughed. His hand gripped his side again. “That the Heart wants me over you.” Not that he was crazy keen on that fact.

Pariah’s face morphed into a dark frown. “The Heart’s opinion is worthless!” he snapped. “It is I who controls Kilaris! Its will bends to me!”

In spite of the pain and every instinct telling him not to, Danny shot Pariah a cocky, albeit weak, grin. “Bet.”

He had to keep from laughing at the stunned look on Pariah’s face. It was clearly not the response he had been expecting to his declaration, and the fact that Danny had been able to catch him off guard that badly was priceless.

The humor didn’t last long, though. In the blink of an eye, Pariah was charging at him again. This time, Danny anticipated it enough to be able to phase back through the building. He emerged at the ground level, underneath Pariah, who was still looking for him.

Danny moved to leap up once more, but his ribs screamed in protest. He hissed as he tried to keep from doubling over.

The cloak’s interior had to be sub-zero at this point, it was working overtime. Another layer of frost was beginning to glaze over it. The Crown too grew colder on his head, feeding pulse after pulse of energy into him.

You have been holding back, little Prince. The power has the capability to heal you and aid you in battle simultaneously, but you must let go of your fears if you are to use its true potential.

Danny didn’t answer. He was too distracted barely dodging Pariah’s mace and firing up a barrage of ice at him to do so.

There was also the little fact that he didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to… couldn’t acknowledge…

Yet he couldn’t deny just how badly his core wanted it. The memory of how that power had felt just those few minutes ago burned through his head, and his core jumped in earnest.

He gritted his teeth and forced his core to quiet. It would be fine.

It had to be.

As soon as the ice left his hands, though, he collapsed in on himself once more, clutching his bleeding side. It was long enough of a distraction for Pariah to slam his feet into the street, causing enough of a quake to knock Danny off his feet and to the ground.

Okay, so maybe it wouldn't be so fine.

Pariah swung his mace down again, and Danny responded with a green shield. It was too hasty, not properly formed, and it shattered underneath the force. Danny yelped and tried to roll away, but the mace still clipped his back, tearing open the skin there.

Yeah, definitely not so fine.

The temptation to give in and let the Crown flood him once more was growing by the minute. Danny didn't know how long he could sustain himself with all these injuries, let alone how he could win the fight and take the Ring. His core ached to be filled by the Heart's power. He knew that if he let it happen, it would almost guarantee his victory.

But his eye caught the ghost shield behind him, where the crowd of civilians stood watching him with horror painted on their faces. He remembered just how badly he had destroyed the block over when he'd let the Crown's power overwhelm him, and his stomach flipped. No way could he put his people in that sort of danger.

You can control it, little Prince. You are more than capable.

Again, Danny didn't respond. The battle consumed too much of his focus. Gasping against the flare of hot pain, he took to the air once more to avoid yet another swing of Pariah’s mace. It missed him by a hair. He raised his hands once more to answer with an attack of his own, and -

“Danny!”

It was instinct. He turned his head at the sound of his mother calling his name.

It was the worst mistake he could’ve made.

He met his mom’s eyes for just a moment, but it was a moment enough for Pariah to make his move. Danny didn’t register the heat moving behind him until it was too late. He turned around just in time to see Pariah’s hand flying towards him.

Reflexively, he turned intangible in the nick of time. Pariah’s hand sailed harmlessly through his head and out the other side. His tangibility returned, and he reached out to return the attack.

It wasn’t until an emptiness unlike any other hit him like a brick wall that he realized it hadn’t been him Pariah had been gunning for.

Danny immediately dropped to his knees and doubled over in pain as his core cried out. Just like at Vlad’s, his core felt like it had been ripped straight from his chest and drained of all its energy. Cold air surrounded him as his cloak flared to life, trying desperately to compensate for the lost energy. The only sound was his frantically pulsing heart in his ears, and he couldn’t catch his breath enough to shout.

It hurt. Ancients, it hurt.

And unlike at Vlad’s, the emptiness pressed on.

Danny managed to look up as panic bubbled to the surface. His stomach only churned worse when he saw Pariah standing in front of him with a wild grin, holding the Crown that had been sitting on Danny’s head.

“You should’ve surrendered when you had the chance, little Prince,” he said.

Danny tried to respond, but couldn’t. It was too much. The void inside him felt like it was about to swallow him whole, just like the void above was threatening to swallow Amity Park.

Please, he begged in a fit of desperation, help me!

The Heart didn’t respond.

“It cannot help you now, child,” Pariah Dark laughed, as if he had read Danny’s mind. “Not when it is finally back in the hands of its true master.”

And as Pariah laughed once more and raised the Crown to put it on his head, Danny lifted a feeble hand towards him, trying to call up his ice, his ectoplasm, his anything, anything that could stop him. He couldn’t feel his power, he couldn’t feel his core, he couldn’t feel his Heart -

Pariah roared in pain. Danny’s head snapped up to see him drop a steaming Crown. It landed on the street with a loud clatter as Pariah held his also-steaming hand close to his chest.

“You!” he bellowed, glaring daggers at the Crown. “You will yield! That power is MINE!”

Danny ignored him. He had zeroed in on the Crown and begun to drag himself toward it. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realized he probably looked absolutely ridiculous right now, and it pained him to think about how badly he wanted - needed to get the Crown back, but he didn’t care.

He couldn’t tell if he was simply imagining it, but he could almost feel a little tendril of power, reaching out to him, trying to hook into his core, trying to pull him closer.

Pariah roared again, and Danny had to retreat back into the cooling comfort of his cloak as a wall of heat crashed into him. “No!” he snarled. “If you will not bow to me, then you will have no one!” With a shout that shook Danny to his bones, Pariah snatched the Ring from his finger and threw it down next to the Crown with such force that it formed a little crater.

Danny’s heart began to pound even faster. This was it. This was his chance. He just had to move -

But he never made it. Pariah unleashed a terrible scream, and then hot, red energy poured from his hands.

Straight onto the Crown and the Ring.

If losing the Crown had hurt, Pariah’s attack on it was excruciating. Danny gripped his head and his core, unsure if he was the one screaming or if it was someone else or if he was just imagining it.

“Stop!” he managed to gasp. “You - hurting…”

But Pariah paid him no mind. Instead, he yelled louder, and another barrage of energy slammed into the Crown and Ring. Danny reacted as though he had been the one to get hit, falling to his stomach and crying out soundlessly.

He could barely see the Crown and Ring through Pariah’s onslaught, but when he finally gathered the strength to lift his head and look, his entire being froze.

A crack appeared in the Crown.

And now he was sure he wasn’t imagining the scream of pain because it definitely had to be him with how his core cracked too, and there was definitely another voice screaming in harmony with his and Ancients, of course it would be screaming, with the way Pariah -

“I am the power of the Realms!” Pariah roared, and another crack appeared in the Crown.

Danny reached out one last time, but he knew it was fruitless. There was no way…

Danny cried out.

The Crown and Ring cried out.

Kilaris cried out.

And then

Kilaris

s h a

t t

e r e

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny #fanfic #danny phantom fanfic #hannah writes #supernova #jazz fenton #pariah dark #i have no clue what else to tag this

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intothedysphoria · 6 months

Text

“You’re telling me that the shit that snapped her out of it was Kate fucking Bush? God, that’s embarrassing.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure how they’d found Billy but they’d found him regardless. Sleeping in the trees, eating demobat meat for food. Hopper thought he’d just lost it, like his buddy had in Vietnam. Billy seemed fine though, perfectly lucid and no injuries that had the potential to be fatal.

So they took him in. He took a swing at several of the doctors who tried to have a look at him, until only Joyce was allowed to help. From what Steve understand, he’d spent most of the past week with his feet on the couch, being fed chicken soup.

Well, if anyone deserved the royal treatment it was Billy. God knows Steve had tried to give it to him. That is until he fucked up and Billy threw the promise ring into a bonfire.

Steve still replayed that night on a loop, alone in his bed. All the wrong things he’d said, bad decisions he’d made.

He was going to have many knarly scars draped across his back and spilling onto his chest. The Party, even though they would never officially admit to liking Billy, talked admiringly about them constantly. Steve had even heard Dustin call him a badass. Far, far cooler than Steve.

They were part of a small few who’d been allowed to know that Billy was alive, which led Steve to where he was now. Awkwardly perching on a chair in Joyce Byers sitting room, listening to Billy hold court to a raggedy pack of fifteen year olds and a fussing Joyce Byers.

She’d put some peonies in a jar for him. They’d always been Billy’s favourite flower. Steve still remembered Billy threading them into his hair, a proper crown for King Steve. It was what he’d brought to Billy’s grave too. After the funeral. A faggot like Steve wasn’t worthy of his son, Neil had said.

Max was loudly protesting, insisting that Kate Bush was cool. She’d cut her hair shorter so that it came just shy of tickling her shoulders. The doctors weren’t sure if she’d ever walk again. Steve didn’t think she seemed to care. Not now that she’d got her brother back.

Jonathan was fiddling with the radio, changing the station every other song because the past one had been too mainstream. Steve had been happy to tune it out as background noise until The Beatles came on and he winced.

From across the room, Billy winced too.

The months of Steve wearing out his record of Stawberry Fields Forever as he painted Billy. Just his face and chest, even though Billy had suggested post coitus and wiggled his eyebrows. Steve would pretend to be disgusted and push him away, only to pull him back and kiss him silly five seconds later.

They were high most of that spring of course, with the occasional dip into shrooms from Eddie’s stash. Of course being high was no excuse, but it was the only one Steve had.

The feeling of wailing into Neil with his bat had been goddamn euphoric until Billy pulled him off, face puce. He’d yelled for a good hour about how the police could have got involved (Billy hated cops), his income kept them from homelessness and maybe Steve, Billy didn’t fucking want to be saved. That, and the incident had ended up outing Billy completely.

They hadn’t talked since then. Billy wasn’t exactly quick to forgive and Steve hadn’t much felt like testing his luck. Until they were in the same room together, Steve with a chunk torn out of his side by a demobat and Billy with more scars than Steve could even count.

And Billy was looking at him. Not glaring, just considering. The Party had gone through what song they all thought could have saved them and then turned to pestering Steve who mumbled something about the new WHAM album.

Billy snorted from the corner. They both knew that wasn’t the real song Steve would have chosen.

To keep up appearances, Steve pivoted and said in a voice far more confident than he actually was:

“Oh and what metal crap would your song be Hargrove?”

Billy could have hit him. Maybe should have. But he didn’t. Instead he did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He cocked his head knowingly and smiled at Steve, the way he’d used to before Steve had violated his trust and ruined what they had.

“Oh and for the record Harrington- the song that would have saved me is Strawberry Fields forever. Got a soft spot for The Beatles ya know.”

Only Steve knew what that really meant.

Steve, baby, everything is forgiven.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #tw homophobic language #angst #angst with a hopeful ending

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twinksrepository · 8 months

Text

Almost dying twice in one day doesn't seem like your idea of Fun

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Dante X F!Reader

CW: Blood, injury, almost dying, feinting

Word count: Roughly 4K

A/N: You'd gone to Fortuna on the promise of your own practice. Too bad you should have realized that an offer that sounds too good to be true tends to be just that. Hiding in your office as something that you refuse excuse beats down your door expecting to die, only for a knight in shining armor to show up. Well he's clad in a red leather jacket and you sure as hell don't think he's a knight. Letting him carry you around like a sack of potatoes is a lot better than being made into a human skewer though.

Chapter two: You really don't have any luck. Waking up and almost dying for a second time, at least your leather clad hero seems happy to let you ramble instead of facing the facts that demons are real. For now.

Back in the Devil May Cry Office a week earlier

“The order of the sword huh?” Dante had a feeling when Lady walked in he was going to end up dragged into another mess.

“Yes. Are you familiar with them?”

“Sorry. Religion and I don’t mix.” A quirk of his eyebrow as he kept eating not missing the silent chuckle coming from Trish. It might have gone without saying as to the reason, most religions weren't fans of those of demonic descent being a part of them.

“It’s a small congregation that gathers in the castle town of Fortuna. I guess the only ones who would have heard of it are the ones who take an interest in this type of thing.” With the tone Lady had, Dante could tell she was trying to butter him up for something.

“Like you.”

“Exactly. So just how much do you know about Sparda?”

“Well. From what I figure. There’s a lot of confusion surrounding him.” Glancing to Trish to see if the demon had anything to add from her time in Hell.

As the blond kept eating her pizza Lady continued on. “The story goes that Sparda served as the feudal lord of the city long ago. The people who live there today take these legends as truth and worship him just like a god.”

“They worship a demon as a god?” If Dante had ever felt incredulous regarding anything about his father he sure felt it now. Then again his old man did have more than a few humans that had been interested in the legend about him more than once.

“Peaceful worship can’t be condemned, but the real problem is the order. Lately, they’ve been running amok catching demons and have even butted in on some of my jobs.”

“Huh, maybe they’re starting a zoo.” Leaning across his desk only to have Lady steal his slice of pizza.

“Not just demons. They’ve also been targeting Devil arms like the ones you have.”

“OK then. A museum. So what?” A quick dart of his hand and he had the baked crust loaded with cheese back in his hand taking a bite.

“Doesn’t that concern you?” Lady leaned back from his desk, and folded her arms across her chest as Dante shrugged, continuing to eat his slice of pizza that he nabbed back. “Or how about that they might be collecting others that are part demon?” That has Trish and Dante pausing to look at her. “I see that has your attention.”

“What makes you think they might be collecting people that are part demon?” While it might have Dante’s attention, part of him is skeptical, there aren’t that many outside of the folks living on Vie de Marli.

“Right now it’s just rumors, but almost everyone in the town believes in Sparda. The town isn’t very friendly to outsiders who aren’t a direct part of the Order or those who are born there. It’s made it a bit of a pain to investigate but.” Raising a single finger while looking down her nose Lady grins. “A year ago a new doctor came into town, with zero ties to the locals, and was brought in by the current leader. With their general view of outsiders, I dug into the doctor, and it turns out she seems to be something of a miracle worker.”

“That doesn’t sound like anything to prompt me to think she’d be part demon.” Huffing and going back to his pizza as if to say give me something to go on. Watching as Lady sauntered around his office as if she owned the place.

“The doctor herself seems to think nothing of it, but people say they see her for bumps and bruises that are gone within hours of her touching them. Before she left for Fortuna she worked in one of the bigger cities and it sounds like the same thing but on a bigger scale. Broken bones healed in a matter of days over weeks and irreparable nerve damage being healed as if it never happened. The real interesting part? This doctor doesn’t seem to know she’s the cause. Even the medical folks haven’t figured it out as they just think it’s miracles out of nowhere, except for the Vicar of the Order of the Sword who offered her a job.”

Another shrug from Dante. “I’m listening but I’m not seeing anything to connect a so-called miracle worker to being part demon.”

“Demons that can heal others are exceptionally rare.” Trish quips before sauntering off the table and heading for the back room.

“Still doesn’t mean anything, she could be a front for something else.” Calling over his shoulder as Dante didn’t move his eyes from Lady. “I still don’t see why you’d think she’s possibly part demon.”

Rolling her eyes and giving her shoulders a shake before leaning down on the edge of his desk once more. “I’m just saying it’s an interesting rumor.” Only to have his pizza snagged again.

“Alright say she is, and everything else you’ve said. So what?” Giving up on getting his lunch back Dante kicked his feet up onto his desk leaning back into his chair.

“Well, what if their intentions are foul? And there’s a diabolical plan behind these apparently random acts?”

“Well then. I’d have something to keep me occupied.” Pushing himself to his feet before calling out over his shoulder “Trish!” Only for both him and Lady to turn to the silence and see a note written where the sword Sparda had been hanging.

See you there, maybe the doctor is cute

Back to the present

“Well, one thing for certain my passed-out friend, you do have something extra about you. In fact you’re kind of heavy.” Grunting at Dante stepped across another rooftop, between dealing with demons and keeping rebellion in one hand and you tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour the man was getting a workout.

Too bad that was when you decided to start to wake up. Opening your eyes to look down just as there was nothing but the cobblestone-lined street roughly three floors below you. “Holy shit!” Trying to roll away only to make the realization you were in the air with something warm wrapped around your middle.

“Calm down or you might not like the fall. Sheese lady.”

“Why am I on a roof? And who the fuck are you?” Screaming at the white-haired man holding you like you weigh next to nothing. Your arms and legs fail as you try to get away only to make the man holding you grunt and almost lose his footing.

“I guess you forgot the part when we jumped up here, now stop squirming or I might drop you for real!” If his tone is anything to go by he’s getting annoyed by your actions but you don’t care at all scrambling to try and get out of his hold. “Seriously Doll if you calm down for a second I’ll put you down.”

“My name isn’t Doll!” A final smack to the center of his back and you hiss, the ulnar side of your hand feels more like you smacked it against a brick wall than a man. “Ow.” With the pain lacing up your arm you’ve stopped struggling and find yourself unceremonial dumped on your butt in front of him. “I say again, Ow.” Looking up at him with a scowl, unsure where the sudden bravado came from.

Only to stare at his back. “I can never catch a break!” Taking a few steps forward with his back still turned to you and his hands in the air as if ranting to the sky. “Even the chicks I rescue give me attitude!”

“Maybe if you didn’t carry them like a sack of potatoes or drop them on their ass they might not be so rude about it.” Rubbing your butt as you stand, muttering under your breath.

“I still needed to fight doll. It hasn’t exactly been a picnic carrying you around and trying to keep us both from getting killed.” Your face is burning, you didn’t think he’d have heard you but he did. Looking down at the ground, well rooftop in front of you you take a few feet before stopping beside the man.

“My name’s not Doll.” You reiterate, giving your name to the man in red and wondering if he was the one that the townsfolk had been screaming about as they ran from the cathedral. Yet you can’t see it if he was the one who had attacked the Vicar that they had been screaming about, if he was what reason did he have to save you? You were no one, not really.. “I’m sort of the town's doctor.”

“Sort of? That doesn’t inspire too much confidence.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at him even if he can’t see it.

“I don’t get that many patients. You get sliced up or broken bones though? I'm who you want to see.” You’ve always been a damn good doctor, something about putting parts together had always appealed to you. So much so that you’d been thought of as a freak as a child, fascinated by death and diseases because in your mind if you understood what caused it maybe you could fix it before it was too late.

“Sounds a bit like boasting? You got a trick or two up your sleeve or something?” Looking at you, you can’t help but notice he’s good-looking. Like damn good-looking. Except you don’t get a chance to watch for too long before he starts moving forward and a leisurely pace and you follow with much smaller tentative steps.

“No. Sadly. I was sort of an oddball growing up.” You aren’t sure why you’re telling him this as you keep your eyes downward so you don’t fall, maybe some part of you still thinks this is a dream or a nightmare. That might better explain the handsome white-haired man who came to your rescue. He also seems to have a really nice butt under his jacket when the breeze lifts it and your eyes follow the fluttering of the material. “I didn’t have friends till medical school, most kids thought I was a freak because I was into biology. Like finding dead birds and trying to figure out what happened to them kind of biology because the teachers thought eight-year-olds shouldn’t be studying cardiology.”

“Eight huh? What you had a strange fascination with death?” Straddling the gap from one roof to the next you’re a little surprised when he turns and holds out a hand for you to take and help you across.

“Yes and no. I wanted to help people.” Shrugging as you took one of his hands and didn’t fail to miss the warmth that spread from him. “If I had a better understanding of how people’s bodies worked I just figured I could help them survive if they came to me for treatment. All my life I wanted to be a doctor.” Once on the other side, he gave a huff before spinning to step across himself.

“How’d your parents feel about that?” This roof is flatter and you find yourself watching him as you walk instead of the tiles under your feet.

“I only had my mother.” Shrugging your shoulders “She just cared that I didn’t draw attention to myself. Otherwise, she didn’t care much.” Biting your lip a little but everything you’ve said while you’ve been chatty isn’t any new information about you. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I guess also being turned into a human meat kabob will do that to you. What was that thing anyway?” You swallow down the bile starting to burn in your throat, you’re really hoping he doesn’t say what you think he’s going to say.

“A demon.” Well, that hope was dashed spectacularly. “You know for a doctor you’re a little slow on the uptake.”

“Or maybe I’m trying to think of a more rational explanation.” Too bad you’re brain isn’t coming up with anything. Waving your hands in the air yourself in exasperation as you wave at the city. “I get that this place says that some demon guy named Sparda ruled here, but that sounds more like a legend that a religion sprang up around.”

“Sorry Doc, world doesn’t work like th- Get down!” You don’t have time to process his words when his hand planting itself in the middle of your back and pushing you down to the ground. The sound of metal on metal has you lifting your head only to regret that decision. If this man in red hadn’t of shoved you to the ground you’d have had your head removed from your shoulders, his sword scraping along the metal blade of another of those strange scarecrow monsters. This time it’s on its arm instead of its leg.

It isn’t alone either. More scarecrows with blades for limbs had appeared.

“Do me a favor Doc?” A twist of his wrist and you watch as the sword he wields sends the blade attached to the demon flying upward and slices the thing in half. “Go hide.”

You heard him. You really did. Too bad your arms and legs don’t want to listen to your brain screaming at them to move so you can scramble to safety. It’s like there’s ice flowing through your veins and slowing you down as the fear has your heart thundering in your chest.

Another of the demons lets out that manica laughter as it sees you lying there helpless. It hops from side to side almost gleefully before launching forward with its bladed foot held out as if to lance you like a boil. A clang of metal as a boot lands in front of your face to meet the demon and with a pivot of his upper body you watch as it slices through his forearm, only for the man to snap his wrist as he grabs the demon and it’s cackling suddenly stops like it’s surprised. The creak of the leather of the belts across his chest and you can see the ripple of his muscles as turns his wrist and sends the demon flying off to slam into one of its compatriots and knocks both of them into a wall. A sickening thunk as both bodies flatten as if they’ve been deflated before they fade before your eyes.

“Doc.” Looking up to see the man grinding his teeth as he stares down at you. “Move!” Bellowing you finally find your hands moving pushing yourself up to your knees and scrambling to hide behind a chimney as the sound of clanging metal rings around you. It’s not dignified and your bag is bouncing against your back but you’re trying to get away from the sound of fighting and hiding just like he had told you to.

Another sickening sound, this time like a sac of fluid bursting open reaches you and you whimper, hands over your ears and tears running down your face. Why the hell is this happening? Where did they come from? As much as you might have wanted to refuse it, you need to face facts. Demons are real and you might not survive the rest of today at his rate.

Screaming when a hand pats your shoulder only to have a hand press against it, a leather-clad hand. You hadn't even noticed the sound of fighting had stopped and you doubted it had anything to do with your hands as your fear dulled your senses. “Doc, you’re alright.” Opening your eyes you see the man there crouched in front of you and for the first time you see a hint of compassion in his pale blue eyes. “I need you to not scream when I take my hand away. Can you do that?” That compassion is undercut by the exasperation in his voice.

Swallowing you nod slowly removing your hands from your ears as he lets you go and runs his hand through his white locks sighing before looking at you again. “You really are out of your depth ain’t cha Doc.” It’s not a question, just an admission that this is not you’re everyday normal.

“If I said I was starting to believe demons are real would that help?” Lifting your sleeve to wipe at the dampness on your face. “I’m probably going to get us both killed aren’t I?” Twice now he’s saved you, and twice all you did was freeze in place too overtaken by fear to move.

Internally Dante was sighing, the last encounter proved you really had no idea about demons and he was starting to think you were just a pawn on the board for something the Order was planning. ‘Guess I owe Lady that twenty bucks. This chick has no idea about demons forgetting being an actress and playing along. You can’t hide a reaction like hers.’ He needed to get her to Lady so he could move on with trying to figure out where the Yamato was and get this stranger doctor out of harm's way. Patting her shoulder he just sent her a smirk. “Both of us? Nah. I’m hard to kill.” Based on your reaction to his words that might not have been the best answer. “I’ve got a friend nearby, she’ll look after you alright. We just need to get to the hill outside the castle. Can you move?”

As his hand goes to help you up you find yourself moving on instinct. Grabbing his arm between both of yours, in your panic you’d forgotten he’d been sliced. “Right. You got hurt because of me, let me at least patch you up?” A quirk of your lips as you reached for your bag only to stop, watching as the wound sealed up and you felt your stomach drop. “That’s…” Trailing off for him to take over.

“Not normal.”

“What” Your eyebrows are furrowing as you push and prod at his skin, minus the blood there’s no sign he had ever been hurt. “Are you?”

“Well, you could say I’m a little on the demonic side.” Flashing you a wink with a flirtatious smile that showed his pearly whites. “And not just in the sheets.”

“I… I think I’d like to get moving again before I pass out again.” He has to be joking. He just has to be, and you let him help you to your feet before the two of you start walking again. Internally you're freaking out over what you saw but you know you don't have time for hysterics, or passing out again from the panic. Your broad knight seems content to ignore you for the moment and you think it's for the best, both of you moving in silence along the rooftops until your feet start to hurt from all the maneuvering along the roofs of the town.

At least until he sends you a steady stare after looking behind the two of you for a while with a frown. “Hate to say it Doc, but we’re starting to have a crowd trying to join this party. How do you feel about being carried out of here since we’re almost there?”

Dante hadn’t been willing to risk it earlier, just carrying you to Lady while you’d been passed out. Too much of a chance of you being in on whatever the Order was up to, now that was gone from his mind and he needed to get you out of the picture.

“Like a sac of Potoes again?” He can’t help but laugh at your deadpan voice and expression.

“No. A real carry this time.” Wiggling his eyebrows at you just gets him a snort in response but you do nod. In a moment he’s got you in his arms, one around your shoulders and the other under your knees. “Alright Doc, I recommend you put those arms around my neck and don’t look down. I’d hate for you to freak out like earlier.”

“Right.” You do as he says, and it takes everything inside of you not to scream as he starts running and jumping. You’re a little glad you’d had a light lunch or it would have been spat all over his front, keeping your eyes squeezed shut and tucking your face more into his body. If you hadn’t been worried about dying you might have enjoyed it a little more.

At the sudden stop, you almost hurl, feeling the contents of your stomach start to climb your throat slapping a hand over your mouth as the white-haired man places you on your feet once more. “Lady!” Yea almost was a dream as soon as you take a step, running to the side of a tree and emptying your stomach. “You here?”

“Sheesh, you trying to bring every demon nearby down on us?” You can hear a newcomer but you’re too busy throwing up to pay any more attention than that to what they’re saying.

Watching Lady point towards you before lowering her shades. “Is that her? She doesn't look like much let alone someone like you.”

“It is, in all her pukey glory.” Crossing his arms to watch her Dante can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the way she’s bent over. If it wasn’t for her throwing up he’d be enjoying the sight of her shapely rear stuck up in the air. “You were right by the way. Cept, she doesn’t have a clue. Almost got skewed twice.”

“And you saved her? My my, what a knight in shining armor you are today.” Ignoring the woman still retching the contents of her stomach for a moment before lowering her voice. “Trish made contact, she doesn’t know the details but the Order is looking for her. Apparently, she’s important for something, and the orders include keeping her in the dark about whatever it is. They’ve also sent some kid after you, using the excuse that you kidnapped her and killed that Vicar.”

“If they need her they should have done a better job looking after her, she was hiding in her office with a desk against the door when I found her.” Watching you stand Dante had to swallow, you were pretty easy on the eyes even if you were wiping your mouth with the back of your hand while still leaning against the tree.

“Could it have been an act?”

“Trust me, if she’s acting she should have a couple of awards for it.” Done with whispering he raised his voice just enough for you to hear him. “Hey Doc. This is Lady, do me a favor and give her a hard time alright?” Starting to walk away before flicking his fingers at Lady. “Oh and Lady, be nice to the Doc. She’s had a rough day, almost died twice.”

“Wait!” You jog towards the man in the red coat only for him to start to take off. “I didn’t get your name!”

“Dante!” Called over his shoulder before to your amazement he drops off the edge of the hill and you find your eyes going as wide as saucers.

“Did he”

“Just jump off a cliff? Yes. That man is more dumbass than brains some days, but when you’re the son of the legendary Sparda I guess you have to put on a show to live up to the name.” Feeling a hand patting your shoulder you’re surprised to see a water bottle being held out towards you.

Taking a sip from the bottle after snapping the seal you start sputtering. “Did you just say the son of Sparda?” As the woman’s words process and you stare at her, only to see her grin like the cat with the canary. “As in the dark knight Sparda that this town worships as God?” At her nod, the world feels like it’s spinning and you drop unceremoniously to the ground. “He’s real. And I met his son. Wait his son?” Wiping your head upwards to see the woman known as Lady looking down at you.

“Oh, do I have a story for you. You pretty little thing.” Winking at you and all you can think is how you might need to throw up again. Fuck. Demons and Sparda are real. And you just spend most of the last few hours checking out his son's butt.

Chapter one

#dante devil may cry #dmc5 #dante x reader #dante x you #dmc 4 #devil may cry #dante #dante sparda #x reader #twink writes #eventual smut #eventual romance

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