#* ･ﾟ by the grace of the fire and the flames ┊ laboratory.

[ichorai]

the scientist & the assassin ; natasha romanoff.

read part two ; afterlife.

pairing ; natasha romanoff x gn!scientist!reader

synopsis ; fragments of time with your girlfriend, soon-to-be-wife, natasha.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, established relationship, scientist au

warnings / includes ; a bit of cursing, blood/injury, set before civil war era, avengers found family trope idec, sexual innuendos, bucky and sam annoying reader lol, steve being an absolute sweetheart, mentions of fire, liho cameo, mentions of yelena

main masterlist.

JANUARY.

Small sparks flew up from the welding torch as you worked the blue flame over the metal, eyes narrowed with concentration. It was a delicate process, and you were taking extra caution not to mess the process up. You were building new protective gear on Nick Fury’s request, and had to make sure that it was without fault. 

Your girlfriend of three years, however, clearly had other plans. Natasha was leaning against your workbench, brows quirked as she repeated the question that had flown right over your head in the midst of your fixation.

You hastily turned the fire off and shoved the protective welding mask away from your face so you could properly look at her. “Huh? Did you say something?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, though not without a ghost of a grin to her lips. With a sigh, she asked the question for a third time. “I know you’re busy making all your little gizmos and gadgets… but are you coming to Tony’s party?”

A beat of silence. You blinked in confusion. It was only then did you realize that your girlfriend was all dressed up, face dolled up with flawless makeup, donned in a silken, viridescent dress that complimented her figure beautifully. “What party?”

“The annual New Years’ party—Tony’s asked you to come a million times. You’re not gonna leave me all alone with him, are you?” Natasha asked, walking closer to you until her nose was only an inch from yours, placing her hands on the lapels of your lab coat, tugging you closer.

A gulp lodged in your throat. “No, ma’am,” you murmured, lips dipping forward to catch hers. 

She leaned back before you could, however, tilting her head expectedly. There was a playful glint to the deep green of her irises. “Go get ready, then. I already laid out a matching outfit for you to save you the hassle. Who knows… maybe we can leave a bit early too…”

Before she could finish her sentence, you were already shirking off your white coat, hurrying out of the laboratory to get changed for the party. Natasha couldn’t help the amused smile gracing the corner of her lips as she watched you scramble away.

FEBRUARY.

Blood dripped from her cheek. Her hair, her dress, her legs. She was drenched in it.

A shuddering sigh of exhaust fell from her split lips. She gingerly slipped out of her heels, holding the two of them in one hand and walking up to the house barefoot.

“Nat,” you whispered in part-horror, part-concern at her bloodied state when you swung the door open.

“It’s not mine,” she hoarsely mumbled, slipping past you, bee-lining towards the bathroom, in dire need of some cleaning.

Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, plagued with memories of the bloodbath of a mission. There were many questions you wanted to ask her, but you held your tongue. She was in no state to answer your barrage of queries, and needed nothing more than someone to care for her, for a change.

Gently, you took her crimson-slickened hands within yours, uncaring of the blood smearing on your skin. You led her to the rest of the way to the bathroom, gently telling her to take a seat on the edge of the bathtub. A small towel cloth was dampened beneath the faucet, and you slowly cleaned off the delicate wounds littered over her arms, her face, and her abdomen. The two of you were completely silent, basking in the comfort of being there for each other. Natasha’s green eyes shone with simultaneous gratitude and hollow trauma. For a moment, it appeared as if she was going to weep, but she kept the tears at bay.

Once you cleaned off most of the blood, you left the bathroom to fetch her some of her sleep clothes—which was really just a worn, sleeveless shirt of some obscure rock band you didn’t recognize, and a soft pair of basketball shorts. She had wiped away the rest of the blood when you came back, stripping her outer layers and shirking them into the sink to wash later.

For now, the both of you just needed to sleep.

She slipped on the pajamas, before settling into the bed with a lethargic sigh.

“Thank you,” she croaked out just as you clambered beneath the blankets on the other side of the large bed.

You hummed in response, roping her close to you, pressing a soft kiss to her hairline. This time, Natasha had to willfully force the urge to cry away.

“Get some rest, Nat. I love you,” you said into her skin.

Natasha relaxed into your hold, eyes drooping shut. She wanted to say that she loved you back, but found that she was already falling into a deep slumber.

MARCH.

“What about Jennifer? She’s in the analytics department,” said Natasha, sipping on her iced tea as she eyed Steve expectantly. “I can set you up with her if you want.”

The blonde man shifted uncomfortably. “I… I don’t know, Nat—”

“For God’s sake, Nat, stop it already!” you exclaimed, but not without an exasperated smile to your lips. “Look at him, you’re embarrassing the poor guy. Sorry, Steve—she’s just looking out for you.”

The hundred-year-old man smiled handsomely, forking some scrambled eggs into his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m not really looking to date at the moment… still trying to figure out how things work this century before I can really settle down.”

“Well, you take your time, Steve,” you told him gently.

“You sure? Rumor has it Allison from human resources has had her eye on you for a while—ow! I was joking!” she exclaimed when you sharply elbowed her in the ribs. “But, really, Cap… I’m happy you’re taking your time.”

The blonde hummed gratefully. “What about you two? Any plans on…” He gestured vaguely, which made you and Natasha glance at each other with a grin.

Your girlfriend scoffed, the green of her eyes glimmering with mirth. “Why? You wanna be the best man?”

Steve seemed to splutter at that, vehemently trying to backtrack. Heat flushed his cheeks a soft pink hue.

“I’m just pulling your leg, Steve,” Natasha quipped, playfully kicking at his foot beneath the table. “Lighten up, will you?”

“We haven’t even spoken about marriage yet,” you chimed in, smiling warmly at the ex-assassin. “But who knows? Maybe we will soon.”

APRIL.

Nails tapped loudly against the surface of the table she was sitting on, legs crossed as she languidly leaned back, staring up at the artificial white lights of the laboratory. She was saying something—something about her last mission with Tony. 

Judging by her expression you quickly stole a glance at, you could tell that she was complaining. There was a slight knit to her brow, and she was frowning ever so slightly.

You made quiet, absentminded noises of acknowledgement as she told her story, nodding emphatically. You were working on a device to immediately disable strong magnetic fields, tinkering with the small bits and pieces with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe I should just stop worrying about him—it’s not my problem if Tony drinks until he can barely stand up…”

She trailed off, tilting her head back down to watch you work. With an amused scoff, she said your name. Without taking your eyes off your work, you merely hummed, “Mhm?”

“You haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said, have you?”

Hopping down from the table, she made her way closer to you, her fingers nimbly slotting beneath your chin. You met her gaze, briefly glancing down at her parted lips, skin flushing with embarrassment. 

Sheepish, you grinned apologetically. “Sorry, Nat.” She arched a sharp brow and you winced. “I love you…?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha acquiesced, a ghost of a grin tracing the corner of her lips. “I love you, too.” She let you go to haul herself back up onto the table, swinging her legs in an almost child-like manner. “Anyways, as I was saying…”

MAY.

Sunglasses, glasses of chilled orange juice, and warm sand beneath your feet.

Closer to the beach’s shallow waves, Bruce, Steve, and Clint were playing with a frisbee, while Tony and Thor were off on a ski-boat, skimming across the waters much faster than they probably should be going. The team was on a little mini-vacation, needing some well-deserved rest after going on nonstop, continuous missions.

A book was cracked open on your lap, one that you had been meaning to start for ages now, but never had the time before. Beside you was your girlfriend, lathering sunscreen over her arms and exposed skin. “Did you put on sunscreen?” she asked you, offering the bottle.

“Yeah,” you replied, prying your eyes away from the novel to press a kiss to her cheek, and then another to the side of her nose. 

She grinned beautifully, the green of her eyes gleaming with fondness. “You’re such a nerd. Who brings a book to the beach?”

“Well… look who’s dating the nerd who brought a book to the beach?” you replied with a level tone, trying your best to suppress your growing smile.

Huffing in amusement, Natasha lightly shoved you, taking another sip of her orange juice. “God, it just feels like we never get to fully relax like this, you know? I wish every day could be like this.”

Shutting your book, you placed it off to the side and shuffled closer to her, curling an arm over her shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you hummed, tracing aimless shapes along the skin of her arm. Hesitant, you spoke up again, “Hey, you remember when Steve asked us about getting married?”

“Mhm?”

“Well, uhm…” you started, but thought better of it, not wanting to ruin such a perfect moment as this one by forcing your girlfriend into a commitment you weren’t even sure she really wanted.

When you trailed off, Natasha pulled away from you slightly, her head cocked in an expectant manner.

“If you’re not gonna ask me, then I will,” she told you with a laugh to her voice. “You wanna get married?”

For a moment, you spluttered for words, not expecting this turn of events. 

“You… Nat, are you sure?” you rasped, cupping her face gently. “I don’t want you to rush into anything. Yes, a thousand times yes, but fair warning—it means you’ll be stuck with me forever. Forever is like… a really long time.”

Natasha hummed, leaning forward until your nose brushed against hers. Gods, you loved this woman so fucking much. 

“Sounds like a nightmare,” she whispered, a ghost of a smile to her lips. “Sign me up.”

With that, she kissed you, tasting of orange juice and a tiny bit of sunscreen.

JUNE.

Sam and Bucky hovered around your lab like a pair of incessant flies that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much you swatted at them. 

“Don’t touch that, Bucky,” you found yourself saying nearly twenty times, followed by an exasperated sigh as he would proceed to prod and poke at the machinery. 

Sam was no better, asking you about a million questions in regard to all the different gadgets and gizmos in progress.

On a normal day, you usually wouldn’t let these two into your lab, but you were ordered to fix and improve both of their broken comm links, and made the terrible mistake of inviting them to come watch. Of course, they grew bored of watching you toy with wires and circuits, opting to wander around your lab with wide, curious eyes.

“Hey, what’s this?” Sam asked, holding up a small, black cube half the size of his palm.

“Collapsible motorcycle,” you replied, briefly glancing at him, before returning your gaze to your work on the table. “Just don’t press the button on the bottom.”

Whistling with clear impression, Sam looked nearly tempted to try it out. But he knew you would slice his hand off if he did, so he set the cube back down. “That’s sick, man. Who’s it for?”

“Nat,” you said. “Made it for her. It’s still in its testing phase—I’m hoping it'll be all done and ready by her birthday.” 

Bucky glanced over Sam’s shoulder to look at the cube. “I like riding motorbikes,” he said. “Could you make me one?”

“Unless you could get Fury to order me, that’s a no,” you huffed out with a mild laugh. “I barely agreed to fix your comms for you—which, by the way, how did you even break them this bad? Did you guys pour a bucket of water over and stomp on them, or something?” 

At the memory of Bucky and Sam both accidentally tumbling into a river during a mission, they both grimaced.

“Something like that, sure,” said the century-old man, wearily pulling at his face.

“That’s not fair,” Sam, a full grown man, just about whined. You halted in your ministrations, raising a brow. “How come you don’t make us any fancy little tools or weapons or bikes or magical gizmos, but you make ‘em for Nat?”

Scoffing, you dipped your head back down to continue polishing off their comms. “Yeah, well, she’s my fiance.”

“And?” said Sam, placing his hands on his hips. “Am I not your best friend? Is Mr. Cyborg here not your second best friend?” 

Another deeply amused laugh rumbled from within your chest. “With how you two are behaving, I’d say Steve is my best friend right now.”

The two were left sulking in your lab for the next hour, with Bucky nearly catching on fire when he picked up a flamethrower disguised as a potted plant. Both of them left with charred fingers, singed eyebrows, and about half a dozen of your tiny gadgets stuffed within their pockets.

JULY.

It was Steve’s birthday, which meant Natasha organized a barbecue in Clint’s large backyard. There were red, white, and blue streamers hung up over the trees and over the house’s porch, several star-shaped lanterns decorating the wooden tables set out. Bruce and Tony were manning the grills, while you were playing a game of catch with Peter and Clint’s kids. The rest of the Avengers were gathered by one of the tables, piling up their plates high with food.

The air was heavy with the mouth-watering aroma of cooking hot dogs, grilled corn, and juicy burgers. Dessert was an assortment of cookies, an array of melting popsicles, and a large blue birthday cake that made Steve smile so wide it was yet to leave his face.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Natasha speaking to Thor, her hand extended out to him as the God inspected the ring on her finger.

“A grand ring, that is!” the Norse God bellowed. “Green suits you, Natasha.”

“Thanks, Thor,” said your fiance, grinning warmly. The two walked off to grab some hotdog buns and harass Tony to hurry up with cooking.

The ball nearly hit you in the face because you were so busy staring at Natasha, stopping inches from your nose when Peter darted forward with his near inhumane reaction time to grab it away. 

“Woah!” he exclaimed, afraid to have accidentally hurt you by hurling a fast ball at you when you weren’t even paying attention. “Sorry, are you okay? What are you looking at?” 

You pursed your lips, glancing one last time at Natasha. A blush creeped up your neck. She was going to marry you soon. How on earth did you get so lucky?

“Nothing, kid. Come on, hand me the ball, why’d you stop?” you cleared your throat in a fruitless attempt to play it off.

Peter followed your line of sight, brows raising when he caught sight of Natasha now showing off her ring to Steve and Bucky. He smiled slightly, but didn’t say anything about it, instead tossing the ball right back to you (which you still somehow missed catching).

AUGUST.

“Here,” you said, handing her the steaming mug of coffee, just how she liked it—dark with a tiny bit of sugar. “You okay? You’ve been more quiet than usual the past few days.”

The two of you leaned against the balcony’s railing, watching the sun rise over the cityscape, painting the sky a myriad of soft oranges and clementines and tangerines. With your free hand, the other being occupied by your own hot cup of tea, you wrapped around Natasha’s waist, tugging her close. You pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, brushing an errant strand of hair falling away from her loose braid.

“Sorry, I’ve just recently been thinking,” she whispered, a bit distant. “My sister is out there, somewhere. Sometimes I think it’s best to just give her her space, since she hasn’t reached out, either. Maybe she doesn’t want to see me ever again—after all, I’m a living, breathing reminder of the Red Room. The terrible things we were forced to do. I’m not too upset about it… it’s not like we were a real family, anyway. I don’t know. I guess I just miss her.”

You weren’t entirely sure what to tell her. Go find her sister? Forget about her? Tell her to think about it some more? Natasha rarely ever spoke about her past, much less her temporary ‘fake’ family.

A frown crossed over your lips, brows divoting. “Nat, if your sister really wanted to see you, she would reach out. You’re an Avenger—it’s not that hard to find you. You can’t really say the same about her… you don’t know a single thing about where she might be now. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Natasha sipped on her coffee, blowing out a tired sigh. Tears warbled over her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, sniffing slightly.

“Do you think she remembers me?” her voice broke just a bit. “Because sometimes I forget what her face looks like. Did she have blue eyes, or were they green like mine? How blonde was her hair? What did her smile look like? I… I’m scared I’ll just completely forget and I won’t ever see her again to—”

“She remembers,” you murmured in response. “You were her sister. She’d remember.”

Another sniffle. Natasha wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand. 

“God, sorry. I’m such a mess,” she croaked, laughing bitterly.

“And I love you anyway,” you told her, kissing her just below her watery eyes. “Come on—let’s go watch some TV.”

SEPTEMBER.

The wedding was a small, quiet event. 

You, Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers family were once again gathered in Clint’s expansive yard—though, this time, everybody was dressed much more formally than they had on Steve’s birthday. The ceremony was full of tears and sniffling, tissues and running mascara. 

The vows you had written for Nat were long and nearly ramble-y, whilst hers were perfectly short and to-the-point.

Once Bruce had officiated the two of you (having learned how to do so online), you had embraced each other with a watery kiss, grinning against one anothers’ lips. The rest of the group had burst into raucous applause, Tony and Steve the loudest of them all, the two of them being the best men of the wedding.

Then came the food and the dancing, which lasted well into the night.

She was glowing the entire time. Your wife was glowing.

And when you told her so, she smiled, all wide and toothy. “It’s just nervous sweat,” she replied with a laugh as you gripped her waist tighter, before twirling her around in your arms.

“God, I love you,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against hers. 

The green of her eyes sparkled with your words. “I love you, too. I can’t believe we’re married now.”

“Take your time,” you hummed. “You’ve got the rest of your life to get used to it.”

OCTOBER.

Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, tongue poking out the corner of your mouth. The table was a mess, covered in orange mush, a dozen knives, and your phone playing a video on how to properly carve a pumpkin.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath when you messed up the shape, letting out a long, drawn-out groan. “Why is this so hard? It’s just a pumpkin!”

When you glanced at Natasha and her fruit, you weren’t at all surprised to see that she was well into carving an intricate, detailed design with wide eye-holes and gnarled teeth.

“It’s not that hard,” she replied with an easy smile, clearly amused at your struggling. “What’s going on with you? You’re usually really good with your hands.”

Heat flushed up your neck and spidered across the skin of your cheeks at the hidden insinuation behind her words. “I don’t know,” you huffed, wiping down your hands on the apron you were wearing. Usually you weren’t one to give up so easily, but you had been tinkering with several new task-droids, and there was no better time than now to test them out.

“What are you doing?” she curiously asked once you slid off your seat, reaching into one of the cabinets to pull out the little cuboid robots. “God, it feels like I’m in a Black Mirror episode,” she murmured, watching them come to life and start carving up your pumpkin for you with tiny microblades after you input a design for them to work on.

“San Junipero Black Mirror or Metalhead Black Mirror?” you replied, propping your face up on an elbow as you watched the small bots diligently work. 

Your wife scowled, her sharp brows divoting. “Definitely Metalhead.”

The both of you shuddered, before you dipped forward to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m gonna make us a batch of cookies—at least that I know I can’t mess up.”

NOVEMBER.

A wince, a frown, an uncomfortable shift. Natasha was used to pain, and was taught from a young age to steel herself, but the wounds usually never got this bad.

There was a deep slash across her stomach, dark blood dousing the entirety of her abdomen, dripping down her sides and leaking off the lab table you had set her on. You tried to be gentle while you cleaned her up, tried to be quick with the stitches to lessen the pain—but the wound was tender and wide, and you had to slow down to be careful.

The entire time, your face bore an expression of pure worry and concern.

“I’m sorry,” she hoarsely whispered, lips twisted into a grimace.

“For what?” you quietly mumbled, focused on fixing her up.

She blew out a pained sigh as you started another stitch. “For making you worry. I shouldn’t have gone on that mission, I know.”

“Well, you did,” you lightly replied, teeth gnashing together. “No reason to dwell on it. It’s okay, Nat. I’m not mad at you.”

There was a beat of silence. She laid back, fists clenched by her sides as she endured through the pain.

“Just disappointed?” she asked, gingerly laughing, despite the pain it brought to her chest.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I am. I just don’t like seeing you pointlessly throwing yourself headfirst into a suicidal mission, just to come crawling back in shreds. I also don’t like seeing you hurt because I love you, and I need you to be more careful for me.”

Natasha pursed her lips. Her green eyes flashed with pain when you wiped away the excess blood. “Okay,” your wife croaked. “I love you, too.”

DECEMBER.

“Open it!” you goaded, nudging Natasha to the suspiciously unwrapped box. 

Her green eyes were narrowed as she shot you a warning look. “I swear to God, if a fake snake is gonna come flying out like last time—”

“It’s your birthday, I would never!” you interrupted impatiently, gesturing to the box once more.

With a huff, Natasha peeled back the loose lids of the cardboard box, making a noise of surprise upon seeing a little black cat curled up inside, snoozing contentedly. 

“Oh, my God. You got us a little kitty,” she crooned, slowly picking the cat up. The black-pelted feline purred at the contact, nuzzling her dark nose against Natasha’s face. “This is literally the best thing you’ve ever gotten me. It beats anything you’ve ever made for me!”

Clearing your throat, you toyed with the collapsible motorcycle you had hidden in your pocket. “Well… don’t say that too quickly. You wanna name her?”

Natasha stroked the cat’s dark head, her hazel eyes happily blinking shut. “Liho. It means misfortune in Russian—black cats are bad luck, right? She’ll have to prove her name wrong.”

“Liho,” you parroted, smiling so wide it was a wonder your face didn’t split into two. 

With a grin, Natasha placed Liho back down on the ground, who took to weaving between both of your legs, her fluffy tail curved around your shins. 

“God, I love you,” your wife suddenly announced, cupping your face between her palms and littering several chaste kisses all over your cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You’re gonna love me more after this,” you told her, brandishing the small black cuboid from your pocket. “Come on—I’m gonna have to show you this outside. Let’s go, Liho.”

The three of you made your way out of the house, Liho silently following along like a shadow. You beamed brightly at the small cat, then at your wife, who was squinting against the sharp sunlight, smiling nonetheless. It was all so perfect, nearly too good to be true.

Until the collapsible motorcycle burst into flames while you were trying to uncollapse it, which had Natasha yanking the curious Liho away from the growing fire as you ran into the house to grab the extinguisher.

Alright—maybe not entirely perfect… but amazing nonetheless. 

“Happy birthday?” you sheepishly said as you doused the flames away. “That was, uh… that was supposed to do that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, setting Liho back down before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You can clean that up later. Let’s go cut the cake—maybe we can skip on blowing out the candles this year.”

As the three of you made your way back inside the house, Natasha glanced down at the little black cat trotting in front of you. “She’s living up to her name so far. God, I can’t believe you got me a cursed cat for my birthday.”

[abidarte-blog]

                   /      *                EDITS PERSONALES    :    familia bidarte. 

[yostresswritinggirl]

Albedo. I just rolled him and finished his quest.

I would love to talk about travelling with him, or at least being someone who brings in the ingredients for alchemy. Someone who goes out of their way for him and gets the best. Maybe the only gardener in Mondstadt to grow alchemical roots and grasses.

I'm happy for you, rolling the cute alchemy boyo ywy I only rolled in his banner to get Bennett in five rolls I'm sorry Albedo, my primogems are for Xiao and Hu Tao- *shot*

Back to business! I really, really like this cute idea awww thank you for distracting from the angst fics in my head haha (TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE IT PROPERLY AND SO THE POST IS HORRIBLY SHORT WAIT- FIXED IT WOOHOO)

Albedo's Personal Botanist

Background

Most ingredients in alchemy usually come from ores and liquid ingredients formed by chemistry methods. Stuff like Tuttia, Bismuth, all that shindigs-

So while plant life can be useful for alchemy, not everyone recognizes its utility straight away, and provide for the common plants for arrangements rather than scientific inventory

I can imagine that you'd be a normal gardener at first but very passionate of their properties.

Might be a Dendro vision wielder too, the Dendro archon loves those who wield the power of knowledge, more so when they use it on nature.

You carry with you a lil book about all the plants and shrubs that you've personally cared for, down to their finest detail and properties. But you're a gardener, not a master of Alchemy, so some parts of the notes you couldn't really figure out yourself.

The first time you met Albedo, he was around a year into staying in Mondstadt. He was forced to go out and take a breather because of his workaholic schedule, and instead of relaxing in a bath, he ended up drifting to the market area to get more ingredients local to Mond.

Unlike the other flower stalls, he was pulled into yours because of the wide variety of your wares. Roots, grasses, shoots, plants you couldn't just find outside of the walls.

You were tending to your mini greenhouse in the back and left your botania book on the shelf outside, and this LIL SHI- Albedo, having no proper training for social interactions, straight up just opened that shit and read it all.

"Oh, hello there, mister- HEY, THAT'S MY STUFF, WHAT THE HECK"

Flustered, confused and alarmed, Albedo tried his best to quickly reason with your garden-spade-wielding self. And with his pretty boy self, you managed to calm down and listen.

You may or may not had smacked him with a bouquet of horsetail for good measure.

"Such vast knowledge and detail orientation, why waste away your talents in selling productive fauna when you can wield them into something more?"

Master Phytologist of the Knights of Favonius acquired!

Working with Albedo!

Your greenhouse in the Knight of Favonius HQ is most definitely connected to Albedo's laboratory! And very spacious too.

More than one occasion, you've seen the Chief Alchemist casually sneaking around the area, plucking a Flaming Flower or scraping dandelion seeds from the pot while you were busy tending to other flowers on the other side of your area.

65% of the time you caught him red-handed and you will be met with the rare sight of a fumbling, queasy Albedo.

30% of the time you just find out something is missing after checking inventory for the day, usually ends up with you hunting and shouting for Albedo. Because the guy seem to have a sixth sense as to when you find out his thieving adventures.

5% of all of that, Kaeya would be the one stealing from your 'safer' floras to woo a random citizen in Mond. And as a master of botany, your precious babies are always in tip top shape. Top quality bouquets all day, all night.

Those moments are the ones Albedo hate more than getting smacked with your spade. Those are your flowers, and by association, his. Grown to their maximum potential by your calloused yet gentle hands FOR HIM-

Kaeya: *reaching out to pluck a perfectly healthy glaze lily*; Albedo: *his short ass of a shadow looming over him*

NOW IT IS HIM WHO WIELDS THE POWER OF THE GARDEN SPADE

The atmosphere of your work area is significantly different from his own messy laboratory. The glass walls and roof that lets in just the right amount of sunlight, with a perfect view of the scenic landscape of Mondstadt and beyond.

When Albedo reaches a wall on his research, he picks up his sketchbook and just- waltz in to your workshop through the door connecting your workspaces.

The fresh air, the soft kiss of the sun, your humming, it was all a symphony of heaven concocted just for him.

He’ll find himself sketching your babies, dozen or more times you are included.

Your notebook’s illustrations are mostly courtesy of him, and he greatly basks in your pure admiration of his drawing.

To help him focus, you once took on the great task of organizing his laboratory, to no avail. Even if you manage to fix and align his inventory, it’s gonna go back to chaos after three days minimum.

It’s okay tho, it’s normal for him, more excuse to visit you-

Guilty, he wants your spacious and refreshing greenhouse and often asks for a redesign of his laboratory to share similar workspace with you.

Acting Grand Master Jean had to decline this idea just because it costs more than a million mora.

He’s definitely gonna sulk in your greenhouse after that, back leaning on the warm glass wall as he does nothing but sketch you and your plants the whole day.

Don’t stop him

Just admire the pout

Actually Working with Albedo! (Finally)

Whenever Albedo discovers/explores a new area, you’re always sure to tag along whether willingly or by force

YOU BET YOUR FROZEN ASS YOU’RE COMING WITH HIM TO DRAGONSPINE

DEFINITELY BY FORCE

I imagine that despite being his assistant/student, Sucrose and Timaeus are more focused on research and the application of Alchemy, so they’re not much of the resource gathering type. That said, Albedo is very thankful of your existence, it’s a breather to his already full schedule.

Albedo is both considerate and inconsiderate unconsciously : While he may run off to experiment on the traveler and leave you scouting the area yourself, he doesn’t willingly set you on fire from the inside.

Every time he comes back to camp after finishing the step by step experiment with/on the Traveler, he makes sure to check up on how you are doing.

TAKE NOTE: Our prince is very occupied and busy with his own work a lot, so he’s never really seen you in action when you go out to get the the materials he needs-

So he is purely horrified when he saw you hanging off the cliff with nothing but a rope around you to keep you safe, carefully investigating a petrified tree branch up close.

Suddenly, elevator.

Again, Imma bet, he’s gonna be accompanying you in all your expeditions after that. He’ll need to know where and how you acquire every ingredient outside of your greenhouse.

Does it require you to climb a mountain? Are there any Hilichurl camps nearby? Maybe mobs that are attracted to that type of flower?

He would be very attentive of your inventory reports and would recognize if a dangerous gathering journey is near. He’ll be right there with you.

Violetgrass x1000

He’s gathering more than a month’s worth just to make sure you don’t go back to make that dangerous trip. It’s very impractical, but let him rest his heart.

You and Albedo: Resource Gathering Expedition; Other Knights: Outdoor Dates Disguised as Work-Related Outings

Flower crowns are good and all but have you heard of flower bracelets?

Omg so cute hhh imagine a Flaming Flower Stamen bracelet for his Dragonspine expedition- it’s not gonna last forever but it’s so precious he’s definitely keeping that shit even when the heat already dissipated from it gah-

“Paimon wonders, what’s that thing around your wrist?”

“A flame bracelet, made to keep the cold away.”

“Woah! Sounds very useful! Sure would be handy for exploring, you think we can borrow it-”

“No.”

Something angst-y: Albedo has yet to make a Dendro affinity potion and he’s really, really devastated about it and himself. You’ll have to forcibly pull him out of his self-deprecation, force him to get a breather.

Overall, Albedo greatly appreciates not only your utility but also your consistent company. He values your tenacity and comfort, sharing unadulterated curiousity as you both venture the great unknown. There’s a lot of stuff he can pray about to thank whichever archon has graced you. And despite his Vision lacking the function to actually help in the advancement of his research, he is now thankful for it, for he has found with it a greater purpose: Ensuring the safety of his precious Gardenia.

I CANT BELIEVE IT, THIS THING WAS 30 TIMES LONGER BUT TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE THE DRAFT PROPERLY AND HAD TO GET EVERYTHING BACK THROUGH MEMORY, AND MY MEMORY IS B A D. I’M SORRY I KNOW YOU JUST WANTED TO TALK BUT IT ENDED UP BEING SUPER LONG AND LOOKS LIKE A HEADCANON THAN ANYTHING, MY FORMATTING IS REALLY LIKE THIS AAAAAAAA- I hope you enjoy ywy I like your brain, it brings good ideas and gives me good ideas too!

[retvenkos]

nhaban (rising phoenix) | k.y.b.

Grishaverse - A Kuwei Yul-Bo story, angst.

tw: lots of burning imagery, mentions of death, choking imagery, spoilers for Six of Crows

word count: 1.2k

A/N: We don’t get a direct translation of the phrase “my son” in Shu, but “yul” is “son” and “kebben’ya” is “my kin/my only” so i made some inferences and I am 90% sure “yul’ya” is how you would write “my son.” I’m doing my best, here. Also, in this house we love and support Kuwei Yul-Bo, so I expect you to bow down before him.

Summary: Kuwei was always a phoenix - burning from the inside out, choking on all that ash.

When Kuwei had been a child - not yet anything - a boy with a life in the making and a haunting not yet rooted deeply, the world was vast and painted in beautiful, burnt hues. He spent those days running in the gardens of his home, his father chasing him through the flowers, his grin too wide and his sides aching with too much joy. His father would catch him and raise him high in the air, where the sun caught his being and warmed him to the bone. Kuwei would squeal with delight, and when he stood down on the earth again, he would cast a look toward his mother, resting in the shade. She would smile, and Kuwei wouldn't notice anything else.

At night, his mother would tuck him in, her dark hair rippling down her shoulders, her hands warm and strong. "My little phoenix," she'd say. "You shine brighter than the sun."

And Kuwei would feel a fever in his chest, then, something hotter than warmth, but not quite bitter.

Kuwei's father was a scientist, and his mother was an artist. In their home, equations mixed with pictures - drawings on the margins of lengthy operations, numbers jotted on the corner of sketches - and there was never enough surface for pencil and pen. Once, when Kuwei was sleeping, he awoke from his slumber and saw his mother standing in his room, her hair pushed back behind her ears, her paintbrush precise as she filled Kuwei's wall with depictions of little phoenixes, their feathers on fire, their beaks open in a triumphant cry.

Kuwei watched her without speaking, and in the morning's stillness, he noticed the way her brow sweat with effort and how her hands shook with tired uncertainty. When he was a boy, not yet anything but balancing on the precipice of something, Kuwei saw how his mother stood and how all her life seemed to fail her slowly, all of her strength ebbing away from her chest. Kuwei gasped with some naive realization, and he couldn't remember what happened next.

The color blue was for mourning, and too soon, his family was draped in the shade.

✧ *:･ﾟ

Kuwei was always a phoenix - burning from the inside out, choking on all that ash. When he was a boy, barely old enough to recognize the flame sparking in his chest, his father used to take his hands and cup them - like he was trying to catch all that Kuwei was before his son fell apart. 

"Yul'ya," he would say. My son. "This fire will not burn you forever. This power will not take you away from me."

But in its own way, it had.

Bo Yul-Bayur scoured his science for an answer. He believed, despite the fear that clawed at his sides, that there was a remedy for his son's cursed gift. Bo stayed inside - lost somewhere in the whitewashed walls of his laboratory, hidden somewhere within the blanched casing of his skull.

Kuwei watched his father from a distance - peering into doorways and stretching for glances over tall counters. 

Kuwei watched him and memorized the fear that glinted in his golden eyes. When he was old enough to understand the equations that filled the walls of Bo's laboratory, Kuwei joined in his father's work. Together, they searched for a saving grace. Together, they searched so Kuwei wouldn't smolder.

And during the day, Kuwei was a scholar; but at night, in the solace of his room, Kuwei burned.

If it wasn't a spark at the tips of his fingers, it was a funeral pyre in his stomach. Kuwei was burning before he learned to fan the flames; he was smoldering without respite. Even when he had been too young to fathom that his fire had the power to consume, Kuwei could feel the burning in his chest. He only indulged it at night, and in the silence, Kuwei burned from within.

In the morning, he was ash, and if his father ached when he looked at him, perhaps it was because of the soot.

✧ *:･ﾟ

Kuwei was always a phoenix, but he was more than just a mythos for the devout, more than whispers of the occult, and more than just drawings a woman had once painted on the walls of his room, fading but beautiful - dripping with devotion and despair.

Kuwei was a phoenix because he burned, and in his flames, he created something infinite. In the light of his fire, Kuwei could see the flash of his father's eyes and the amber of his burnt, perpetually summered world. And occasionally, when the tongues of the blaze jumped high enough, he could see smoke curling into the figure of his mother - a woman singing him to sleep, all of her hopes and dreams caught in her throat, choking her sweetly and harmonizing just for him.

Kuwei was always a phoenix because he burned, and sometimes, his fire wasn't strong enough to light the way. Sometimes, he was just spitting - popping sparks of what he had once been, yearning to devour whatever stood in his path, but not having the necessary firepower laced in his heaving chest.

When his father created parem, Kuwei wanted to ignite the laboratory and all of the research it held. He wanted to watch it burn down to the ground and turn his golden world into nothing but ruin and cinders. The heat within him was already leaping in his chest, but his father warned him that something would rise from the ashes, and perhaps it would not be something they could control. Kuwei had seen fear in his father's eyes, then, so he let his fire stew within him, his chest aching with greed, vowing that one day, he'd burn every laboratory and factory until they were nothing but ash. Someday, he'd let his work on parem explode from within.

Then the Fjerdans attacked, and Kuwei was not burning, but his father was. His father was a phoenix, with fire in his heart and his golden eyes dancing with ire. Kuwei watched his father as he always had, his golden eyes sharp, his reeling mind apt, his bleeding heart still raw, building with the pressure of a scream. His father was burning - he always had - and together, they were becoming ashes.

The Fjerdan's caught them, their foreign language harsh on Kuwei's ears, their eyes filled with bloodlust, and their wolves snapping at their feet. Kuwei's father was bloody and bleeding and dying, but he took Kuwei's hands in his own and cupped them - like he was trying to catch all that Kuwei was as his son fell apart.

"Yul'ya," he had struggled to say, his life failing him slowly, all of his strength ebbing away from his chest. My son. "Your fire is mine; it burns you no longer."

And Kuwei knew what it meant, and no matter how he cried and no matter how the flames ravaged his insides, he was not a phoenix - he was just a boy with death in the making and a haunting that was rooted too deep. This fire would not serve him, so he would keep it in a cage - like his father once had. And if it burned, he would not feel it. He couldn't let it - not when he belonged to drüskelle, now.

Kuwei's tears were hot, and in his heart he was spitting, and in Shu, he whispered powerlessly. "This power will not take you away from me."

But in its own way, it had.

--

taglist: @fives-cup-of-coffee, @musicallisto, @catsbooksandmusic, @thefifthweasley, @thegirlwhocriedwerewolf, @amirahiddleston​ // message me if you want to be added!

[cant-think-of-anything]

Pirate AU (Part Nine)

Kamala sought out Grace as soon as she returned back to their own ship. 

It wasn’t a difficult task, Grace was always lurking down near the lower levels when Kamala tried to find her. She desperately needed to talk to her before Tatiana recovered, before Tatiana tried to get into her daughter’s head as she always did.

“Grace!” She called, making her way down the winding pathways.

Before she could shout again she caught a glimpse of her, sitting cross legged on one of the empty beds that was meant to belong to a military official. Like most things in their life, the ship was stolen.

“What do you want?” Grace sighed irritably.

“You can’t be enjoying this,” Kamala said softly, approaching the girl carefully. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? They deserve it after all.”

“Oh? Alastair Carstairs deserved to be jailed and sent to trail?”

Kamala was worried about him too. She knew the London government wouldn’t take mercy on a dark-skinned foreigner, especially one with a vague backstory that could easily crumble upon closer examination. 

Grace stiffened, discomfort seizing her face for a moment. “If that’s what it takes.”

“I know you think that your mother is right, that these families deserve to suffer. But Tatiana lies.” 

“They killed my family,” Grace hissed. “Why should I have mercy?”

“Tatiana may not be responsible for her husband’s death but she certainly played a role in her son’s death.” 

Her eyes went wide. “Jesse?” Suddenly there was no hostility in her voice anymore. Just pain.

“Before I joined Tatiana I tried to dig up information about her. She let Jesse become sick and she let him die. Some sort of crude point to the Herondales, that if they wronged her they would have blood on their hands. And when that wasn’t enough she went after their children. Please Grace. I’ll prove it to you if I have to,” She gently laid a hand on the younger girls shoulder.  “But don’t let your mother take another child’s life.” 

~~~

Alastair inwardly groaned when he heard the door open once more. It had been doing that all morning, or at least, he assumed it was morning. He wondered if all prisoners were told so little about their situations. Even more unfortunately a rather unpleasant man was questioning him. 

“Where were you born?” Charles Fairchild asked, his bright red hair giving Alastair an intense headache.

“Paris,” He responded, which was true enough.

Charles gave him a skeptical look which he leveled with a glare. Honestly were all English people so dim-witted? 

“I would like to speak with my sister,” Alastair said before Charles could question his place of birth further. 

“You are in no place to make demands.” 

Alastair smiled lightly. Careful not to reveal anything true, he leaned forward. “Aren’t I? Fairchild, the youngest of the two is known to frequent scandalous places but the eldest is a reserved politician with a lovely fiance. So why was said eldest Fairchild seen multiple times near a bar reserved for rather improper activities among the youth? I could dig deeper if I wished but I don’t believe either of us want that.”

Charles had turned an alarming shade of red. At least he matched his hair now. 

“So,” Alastair said tilting his head to one side. “My sister?”

~~~

Cordelia’s first choice for any venture would’ve obviously been Lucie, but she found herself quite amused in Ms. Lightwood’s company. 

“You seem to be quite distracted lately,” Cordelia started, her voice low but clear in the chatter of the London streets. She’d been beyond relief to get a permit to visit her brother earlier in the morning, but she felt nerves build up thinking of what was to come. 

“Haven’t we all?”

“Not in that way,” Cordelia responded, grinning when Eugenia’s face flushed. 

“And you are an exception? Is staring at Lucie a hobby of yours then?”

Cordelia sputtered, and Eugenia laughed. 

“So I was right! Delightful. Tell me all about it darling.”

Cordelia’s face heated up. She knew she wasn’t being subtle with her yearning but she hadn’t expected someone to pick up on it quite so fast. “I don’t know what to say about it-or to her. The timing of it all seems horrendous. I don’t even know how she feels about me. We’re friends aren’t we?”

Eugenia snorted, “Oh you’re certainly more than friends. I don’t see you wistfully gazing at me or Thomas.” 

“You and Thomas seem to have your own people to gaze at,” She retorted, smiling when Eugenia stopped talking. She wanted to ask but she also didn’t want to push.

“We’re here,” Cordelia said, instead regarding the building with distaste. “Stuffy nobles and their stuffy rooms with their-” She broke off and looked guiltily at Eugenia. “I apologize.” 

Eugenia simply looked amused as they stepped inside, following the person leading them to the jail room. “Don’t apologize. I’m rather tired of it myself. I wish-” 

She was cut off by their guide opening the doors and saying “Five minutes. That’s all.”

Cordelia pushed past him, running to where her brother glanced up from his book, a half amused, half worried look on his face. Where he managed to get a book in prison was beyond her. She wrapped her hand around the metal bars.

“What do we do?” She whispered, horrified by the desperation in her voice. “How do we get out of this?”

Alastair didn’t respond for a moment, brief concentration flickering over his face before he responded, “The trail will be private. I have an idea but you’ll need to create a distraction for me.”

“Distraction? Of what kind?”

“Anything that will take their eyes off me.” Then he stopped. “But please Layla, do try not to destroy the entire city in the process.” 

She glared at that, flicking his arm lightly though inside, she felt a bit of worry dissipate. “Fine. I will. Will you be alright? This prison seems rather cramped.”

“There are worse.” 

“I suppose so.” Her voice went low. “Did they hurt you? On the ship?”

“No. They didn’t.”

Cordelia wanted to believe her brother but Alastair had mastered the art of spinning stories to soften both his pain and hers. Before she could push any further she felt Eugenia’s hand grip her shoulder. Cordelia nodded, pulling away from the cell.

“A distraction. We can manage that.”

~~~

Lucie tapped her fingers anxiously against the counter she was seated on, the repetitive noise drowned out by the chaos that was Christopher’s lab. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had come down to her cousin’s laboratory but she quite enjoyed it. There was something soothing about the disorder. Thomas had accompanied her, now sitting next to Chistopher, anxiously watching the controlled fire.  

“Christopher!” She called, waiting for him to glance up from his notebook where he was furiously scribbling something down. “What would be your advice,” She started, choosing her words carefully, “to someone who needs to confess something, but isn’t sure how to go about it?” Thomas looked up as if he too was interested in the answer.

Christopher put down his pen, tilting his head. “This is about Cordelia?”

Lucie choked, nearly slipping off the counter. “Why- why would you-”

“I thought everyone knew,” He said, giving her a perplexed look.

Lucie had no response to that. She stared at the ceiling, willing her face to stop flaming. The door swung open and it took every ounce of her will to not run out of the room when she saw Cordelia and Eugenia step in.

“You’re here!” Cordelia exclaimed, smiling.

Lucie just nodded faintly, glaring at Eugenia’s knowing smile.

“We needed to get something, do you think you could help us?” Cordelia asked, looking at Christopher.

Christopher lit up, listing off ideas rapidly. Lucie smiled and crossed over to where her friends were seated, listening to him talk excitedly.

“Do you need help?” Lucie asked, once they had all reached a general consensus.

Eugenia and Thomas had to return home, worried that their parents would notice such a lengthy absence but Cordelia and Lucie opted to stay with Christopher. 

When he shook his head, Cordelia piped in “Explain it to us then? My brother talks often about criminal forensics and I would like to recognize at least some of the words he uses.”

“You wish for me to tell you about it?” He sounded surprised, causing an uncomfortable twinge in Lucie’s heart.

It was often that when Christopher talked of science or her of writing, their friends would cease to pay attention, Thomas being an exception. To have someone care about something you cared for… Lucie smiled to herself and nodded.

“We would.” 

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno @barbra-lightwood @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid 

[ironmandeficiency]

refreshing

pairing: hardcase / jedi!reader

word count: 4122

summary: you’re able to convince (read: blackmail) anakin into letting the troops take a pit stop on your home planet of naboo for a couple days of morale boost.

request:  hi i’d like to order a hardcase combo with a side of smooching (u write him so well i’m a mess!!!)

warnings: unprotected sex, outdoor sex, slight exhibitionist kink?

a/n: my first time writing a full-length fic with smut!! always remember, wrap it before you tap it.

“we are not stopping there, y/n. there’s no time.”

“just like there wasn’t time for you to make a ‘very important call’ to someone that wasn’t even a jedi right before our last battle.”

“how did you-“

“i have more than two brain cells, anakin. now next time you speak to the senator, make sure you tell her i said hi.”

silence. then he tersely orders the pilot to set the coordinates to naboo, silently beginning to contemplate a way to get payback.

you entered the clones’ barracks by anakin’s side, a wild grin still crossing your face at the success of your plan. heads turned to the sudden entrance of two generals and several shinies abruptly stood at attention before being relaxed by older brothers. neither you nor anakin enjoyed the idea of your men dropping everything for something as time-consuming as a salute.

“good news men,” anakin begins while barely stifling a groan. “before we return to coruscant, we’ll be making a brief pit stop.”

that was a poor way to explain it. several groans filled the air, thinking that there was yet another mission to be completed. the men hadn’t been on leave for several long and testing weeks and the idea of such overworking was rather repulsive.

“boys, don’t look so glum! we’re going on vacation!” your giddy shout shocks several of them and confounds many others. why the kriff would they go on vacation? they were soldiers fighting a war, there was no time for something so trivial. even if there were, they were clones. clones weren’t given vacations.

anakin takes a moment to enjoy the bafflement before clarifying your statement. “on paper we’re touching base with the local government to ensure friendly republic relations. once we’re there, however, we will have two days of pre-leave leave. a vacation, if you will.”

rex was dubious. “are you sure this is allowed, sir?”

oh rex, always dependable when it came to the book. his sense of duty was unrivaled, and moments like this made it clear. “anakin and i have both done far worse things without the council’s approval. surely an impromptu morale boost wouldn’t even hit the top ten.” your grin disarmed several troopers, them finally beginning to accept that they were indeed getting a small vacation.

“as long as you’re sure, general,” a small smile graced the captain’s face as he turned to speak to his brothers. “men, we’re going on vacation.”

“but sir,” dogma spoke up. you turned to him and took in the way his eyebrows and tattoo were twisted in concern, finding it very fitting for the trooper. “what planet are we going to?”

“good question, dogma. we’re going to naboo.”

after a few hours spent at the palace, you and anakin were free to join your men. you had to at least make your twist of the truth convincing by actually visiting the naboo palace, even though queen jamillia wasn’t expecting any sort of jedi visit. didn’t need anyone finding loopholes in your future cover story in case they went to looking.

the five-oh-first was currently stationed in a wooded meadow dotted by several tiny ponds and vibrant wildflowers. some were swimming, others were wrestling in the daisy patches, and there were a few napping on moss-covered rocks or logs. everyone was smiling and/or laughing, though, and that was the best part.

the speeder anakin drove you back in skirted to a stop at the edge of the clearing. he offered you a hand to help you off, his driving being the kind that would quite easily disorient someone not used to his methods, and you took it with a smile. there was no way you would be letting him drive again, that was for certain.

it took seconds before your arrival was noticed. “hey everyone, the generals are back!” fives shouted to his brothers that were in one of the small ponds with him. the information spread like wildfire and soon you were both surrounded by men competing for yours and anakin’s company.

“come swim with us, general!”

“no, come join us for sabacc!”

“we’re wrestling in the flowers over there and need an unbiased ref!”

“our pond has a better view!”

“no it doesn’t!”

anakin laughed before bringing about a compromise. “we have two days, guys. we’ll both try to spend as much time with you all as we can, but i’m going to start by judging a few fights. y/n, you know where to find me.”

jesse and spears were excited to have won general skywalker’s attention, neither containing the whoops as they pulled anakin toward the match continuing on without them. from the looks of it appo was winning against jude, which was an interesting turn of events.

now you were left with a choice. you could go play sabacc with kix or go swimming in either hardcase’s pond or tup’s, both of which had spectacular views of the countryside. the decision was a bit biased (which you would tell no one) but you had to put effort into making it look like you spent more than two seconds making a choice.

hardcase was shirtless in front of you, clad only in his soaked briefs that left very little of his body to your vivid imagination. geometric lines decorated his chest, beads of water sliding down or beginning to dry against him in the sun pulling you in. it was hypnotic and quickly becoming a fuel source to your less jedi-like dreams.

you already had plenty of sources to draw from but it never hurt to add more. there was the wild gleam in his eye when taking down clankers with his z-6 and the way he’d comfort his younger brothers when they struggled with anything from night terrors to painting their armor. this wasn’t even mentioning the time you’d gotten a nasty blaster wound to the thigh and he had to carry you to kix and coric, the strong arms a cocoon of safety (kix told you later that you had called hardcase honey in your blood loss delirium and he flushed redder than a tatooine sunset).

he hollered in victory when you slung an arm around his shoulder, letting him guide you to the pond that he was sharing with queen and daze.

hardcase had to be frank with himself when he examined his motives behind wanting you to join him. it did have a lot to do with how he enjoyed you as a person, but he selfishly wanted to bear witness to the way you’d look with the pond water clinging to your skin and underclothes.

but that isn’t to say he only wanted you for your body, maker that couldn’t be farther from the truth. to hardcase, you were more than a general or jedi, and far more than a beautiful body. there was a selflessness he got to see when you interacted with civilians and compassion you showed to him and his brothers that endeared you to him. you were fun and wild and adventurous, and he couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted more.

you spent a few hours playing games in the pond, chicken and marco polo being the favorites. the guys banned you from being it during marco polo, realizing early on that the force was the reason you were finding them so easily and it was most definitely not hardcase splashing you like a child every chance he got. nope, that was not it at all.

the company rotated throughout the time you spent in the pond, the only constant being hardcase. it was pleasant being able to spend so much time with the heavy gunner without having to worry about protocols or codes. you got to just be yourself and spend time with hardcase while doing it, the recipe for a perfect day.

the sun was setting and campfires were built around nearly every pond, both flames and night stars reflecting off the water beautifully. ration bars seemed to taste better on naboo, and dinner was spent singing drinking songs and telling stories of brotherly shenanigans.

you were recounting one of the occasions anakin reprogrammed temple mouse droids to hit people in the ankles on purpose when you noticed it. hardcase’s eyes hadn’t left you for a while, and right now they felt as if they were dissecting you on a laboratory table with their intensity. you wanted to know why but that wasn’t your information to know right then. if he felt comfortable telling you then he would do so in his own time.

nearly everyone was tuckered out by the excessive fun of the day, quickly falling into a peaceful slumber in their bedrolls the likes of which they hadn’t had in a long time. but hardcase, he was far from tired. he was far more awake now than he had been when you were on his shoulders during games of chicken played with fives and tup.

you were enjoying the crackling of the fire paired with the occasional snoring from troopers on all sides when hardcase stood and moved next to you. he had set his roll down on the opposite side of the fire, a decision he now was regretting as he had to maneuver himself carefully around the bodies of sleeping vode.

he eventually made it to your side without waking anyone and let out a sigh of relief as he plopped down next to you. his shoulder lightly bumped yours as he scooted closer and you couldn’t help but be glad he hadn’t put a shirt back on after getting out of the pond for ration dinner.

peaceful silence was achieved (outside of snoring) as you enjoyed each other’s company. you weren’t expecting him to break the silence so soon, but you especially couldn’t predict the way he broke it. “i had a good time today,” he spoke quietly (a true feat for the man) and moved a hand to rest on your knee. “thank you for convincing general skywalker to let us stay here for a couple days.”

the crackling fire illuminated his face just enough for you to see the patches of red on his cheeks and tips of his ears as he continued. his eyes held your captive with their sincerity, emotions swirling wildly just below the surface. “i really enjoyed spending time with you, gen-“

“call me y/n, hardcase. please, it makes everything so much easier.” you had come to a decision a couple hours earlier about how you felt about the man next to you and what you would do about it. there was nothing in you that could maintain the semi-distance you had with him prior to today, not with the way his laughter quickened your pulse and sent waves of joy over you. even his force signature was intoxicating under the nubian sky, you couldn’t get enough.

perplexion overtook his features. he had no idea what you were talking about, silently hoping that you hadn’t lost your mind to fun. “makes what easier-mmm-“

you cut him off with your lips, silencing his question before he could finish. he responded in kind, hands pulling you into his lap without breaking the kiss. it started all tongue and teeth, the adrenaline and arousal beginning to flow through your veins as steady as your blood.

“gen- y/n,” he broke the kiss to catch his breath, quick to correct himself to using your first name instead of rank. his chocolate eyes were blown out with desire, his hands had ventured toward your ass, cradling it with the utmost care. “i-is this what you want? do you really want me?”

your answer was first given with legs wrapped around his waist, mouth meeting his for another breath-stealing kiss. but then you sensed hesitation as his hands gripped your waist and slowly began to detach you from him. he was worried and you had to reassure him, make sure he knew how you cared about him. “more than anything in the galaxy, my dear.”

your eyes conveyed this truth to him the very same way your words did, and the answer given satisfied him. he returned his hands to your backside and gripped the flesh hard before continuing the kiss. you opened your mouth to invite him in and he obliged, his tongue swirling around yours and maker did he taste good.

kissing hardcase was euphoria unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. there wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t aflame where your body met with his, the burn being one you’d relish in for as long as you lived.

one hand left you for a moment before coming back with a loud smack! that produced a whine from your throat. hardcase would do anything to hear that sound again, so he brought his hand down harder and groaned when his ears caught the mewl he ripped from you.

you slid a hand between your bodies and palmed his cock, giving it sweet resistance when his hips thrust into your hand. he felt thick and hot even through his blacks and you could only imagine how he’d feel inside you.

then a grumble from nearby harshly reminded you both that if you weren’t quiet, there would be an audience. hardcase grinned like a loth-cat before rising to his knees, arms holding you up and against him. “let’s take this somewhere a lil’ quieter, sweetheart.”

with the change in position you could feel his member press deliciously against where you wanted him, grinning in triumph when you wiggled your hips against him and wrestled a groan from the back of his throat. he was standing in seconds and barely bothering to avoid stepping on sleeping vode in his haste to get you as alone as he could.

he walked you both to the edge of the meadow, one of the tiniest ponds being only mere feet away from where he set you down on the ground. you pulled him down to you by his hips, not wanting any space between you as he nipped at your neck and jaw. he sucked hard at a sweet spot just above your collarbone and he nearly ascended to the stars at how beautiful his name sounded from your parted lips.

you tugged at your tunics desperately, wanting hardcase to take the hint and rip them off you. he was smarter than some gave him credit for because it took seconds for him to work them off you, tossing the fabric to the side with abandon. callused hands ran across your chest like the flowing rivers this planet was known for, learning the terrain of your breasts and stomach like battle plans.

his mouth descends lower and latches onto your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud before biting it gently. you’d never felt anything like it before and it drove you wild, his name stumbling through your lips.

“you say my name so pretty, y/n,” he smiles against your breast, lustful chocolate eyes looking at yours under long lashes. you reached your arms around his back and let your hands wander the waistband of his blacks, trying to tell him he was wearing too much but most of the words left you. the resulting sentence was fragmented and flooded with desperation that you didn’t bother trying to hide.

“‘case,” you breathed, “g’t ‘em off, please,” the offending fabric was hiding him from you and you weren’t going to put up with it any longer. he chuckled against your skin before moving back to remove his blacks. his boxers had long since dried from swimming and through the light grey fabric you could see spots of precome.

the boxers were peeled off seconds later and once they were low enough on his legs, he kicked them off to leave him completely exposed to you. his naked body rivaled those of marble sculptures kept in the elite coruscanti museums of art, and exceeded the expectations of the artists that had never been blessed to see such beauty in a man before. the tip of his cock was littered with pearlescent droplets you wanted to both taste and have inside you at that very second; you weren’t picky, either one would have you reaching nirvana in record time.

you sat up and brought him into a bruising kiss. he slithered a hand into your underwear and slid it between your folds, eyebrows raised when he felt how wet you were for him. his hand left soon after and, after breaking the kiss, let your lips wrap around the slick-soaked digit. you swirl your tongue around it and sucked lightly, hardcase loving the way you eagerly tasted yourself around him.

pushing him backward into his back, you straddle his lap and slide yourself across his length. hardcase growls at the contact and his fingers move to grip your hips and move you faster. but you wanted more, you wanted him to split you open and fill you up the way only he could. so you raised your hips up slightly and took his cock in one hand, steadily lowering yourself onto it with a moan.

once he was fully sheathed inside of you, your walls clenched around him and for a millisecond you thought you’d killed the heavy gunner with the way his eyes rolled back at the sensation. it was almost painful for hardcase to keep his hips from fucking up into you but he wanted you comfortable; not to brag but he was thicker and longer than average, and he didn’t want to hurt you by going too fast.

the stillness was sending you up a creek. you wanted him to move, to take what you were offering to him, yet he was resting while buried inside you. you were impatient and decided to take initiative, rising halfway off him before sinking back down. it was divine, the way he stretched you out as you went back down on him, and you could tell he was thinking the same when your name was emitted from hardcase with a primal grunt.

it took only a couple more movements on your part before he had you in a bruising grip, holding you up and pistoning his hips into yours recklessly. it was rough and wild and feral, the only goals being release and staking a claim into the other.

your head was thrown back, neck bared to him as he pounded you. in a moment you didn’t expect, he had you on your back and his head buried in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, continuing to bite and suck at the skin in a way you were positive would leave delicious evidence of the night’s activities.

the new angle aided him in finding your g spot, which you were both immensely grateful for. you were seeing stars that weren’t the ones above you when he found it, a choked whine indicating to hardcase the specific way to thrust to continue hitting it with precision only a soldier could have. his forehead pressed against yours as he fucked you, maintaining eye contact no matter how fast he went.

“fuck, hardcase!” his balls were slapping your ass as he went harder and faster, the man holding nothing back. he pressed a finger against your mouth before panting, “gotta be quiet for me, sugar,” he paused to give you a particularly hard thrust that threw you closer to the brink. “don’t want anyone findin’ us, do we?” the rasp and growl of his voice was unreal but he kept talking, and you buried your head into his neck to ground you.

he smelled of a smoky battlefield and fertile earth and honey sweeter than you’d ever tasted. a delicate lick at the sweaty sheen coating his skin had your tastebuds in paralysis and hardcase grunting mando’a curses as his pace grew erratic. he was close.

your walls began to flutter around him, you telling him that you were close with a moan.

“that’s it mesh’la, i want ya to come for me, you can do it beautiful,” he gripped your thigh and pulled it up his waist, spreading you further open for him and oh force it was unbelievable.

“come with me, please!”

“i’m about to, i’m gonna- where do you want it?” images ran through your head of him unloading onto your tongue or your chest and it nearly made you one with the force, but there was plenty of time in the future to experiment with that. you wanted him in you, to fill you up in every sense of the word.

“cum inside me, hardcase!” suffice to say, hardcase was not expecting that reply, shuddering in ecstasy at the thought of his seed leaking out of you.

“sugar, you’re killin’ me, i- holy kriff!” he thrusted a few more times before slamming into you balls deep, making sure that not a drop of him spilled out of you in that moment. you flexed around his cock and milked him for everything he had as the sensation brought you over the edge with him, his name repeated like a prayer.

he braced himself as much as he could before collapsing partly on top of you, sweaty skin mingling against sweaty skin. he was still inside you and the slightest movement ran the risk of overstimulation, but you didn’t want him to leave you empty yet. so you wrapped your arms around him and rolled you both on your sides, facing each other while still keeping him inside you.

you brought your hand to cup his cheek, running your fingers feather light across the lines and dots that decorated his face. he hummed in pleasure, eyes shutting in bliss. his hand not supporting his side was gently stroking the crook of your hip. neither of you spoke for several minutes, just letting yourselves bask in the afterglow.

then hardcase has an idea.

“hey sweetheart,” he begins softly, still hesitant to speak but just as badly wanting you to hear what he has to say. your hum of acknowledgement spurs him on. “wanna go for a swim?”

this man was sent by the gods.

that’s what you told yourself as he slowly slid out of you and helped guide you to the edge of the closest pond. you slid in and he was right behind you, immediately pulling you as close as he could. he didn’t try to continue the prior activities, just simply leaned against the edge of the pond and held you close.

you couldn’t remember the last time you were held for a reason outside of warmth and self-preservation. it was bliss, so comforting and peaceful and safe. you floated and let hardcase anchor you to him, fully trusting him to keep you above the surface as he held you and talked about anything and everything.

the conversation was easy and the touches soft as you talked away the night. you eventually wrapped your arms around his neck and used his chest as a pillow, taking comfort from the way his hands smoothed over the bruises he made in your skin a few hours earlier. his heartbeat was steady against your, the thumping strong and true.

“hey sugar,” he whispered into your hair before slowly unwrapping your arms from his neck. you let him and the water move your body, your back pressed against his chest and his arms holding you in place once again. “look over here.” he pointed to the sky where the sun was beginning to rise, the sky painted in pastel pink and lavender and marigold.

it’s been too long since you’ve gotten to watch the sun rise on your home planet. sharing the moment with hardcase made it all the more a beautiful. “hardcase, it’s gorgeous.”

he smiled and kissed your crown. “it doesn’t compare to a certain jedi i know, don’t even come close.”

“i didn’t know you had a thing for anakin, dear. i’ll be sure to let him know.”

he sputtered in indignation, laughing at the insinuation but taking it as a challenge as well. “you know that’s not who i’m talking about, beautiful.” one hand slides down through the water and comes to rest between your thighs, his index and middle fingers teasing your clit. you push your ass against his dick in retaliation and reeling as you feel him stiffen against you.

you spent the sunrise w in ith hardcase slowly thrusting into you, lips locked together and hands caressing your bodies gently. your legs were wrapped around his waist as he pressed you against the pond’s edge, taking his time with you as the stars faded from view.

[dreaming-in-alicante]

Chapter 3 is finally done! Sorry it took longer - finals week happened and it was a harder chapter to write for some reason. I'm excited to finish this story though - we're half-way through :)

Chapter 3: Lighting the flame

Christopher met his friends outside, where they piled into a carriage and set off for the Devil Tavern. The atmosphere between them was still tense; James and Matthew, sitting across from him, were quiet. Christopher wished, as he so often did, that he understood people better. He hated it when they all fought, and now it was partly his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it. Thankfully, James took the initiative.

“Kit,” he began, “we’re sorry for being so confrontational. It’s only you have to understand how it looks from our perspective. Grace’s actions, even if she regrets them, caused a great deal of pain.” James looked troubled.

“Thomas shared some of what you all learned yesterday talking to Jesse,” Matthew said softly. “About how bad things were for her with Tatiana. And it…well I still don’t trust her but it sounds like she’s trying to be – to be better. And I out of everyone should be sympathetic to that.” His hand moved unconsciously to his jacket. He had stopped carrying a flask everywhere but after so many years of drinking, it was still a reflex to reach for the alcohol.

James seemed to notice this motion, and clasped his parabatai’s shoulder briefly in support, then returned his attention to Christopher. “I suppose what I’ll say is that I cannot soon forget what Grace has done, and I prefer to avoid her,” James said carefully, “but I – none of us – should be trying to control who you spend time with Kit. I am sorry. If you trust her, then we shall trust you.”

“Oh, jolly good,” Christopher said, immensely relieved. He hated conflict, especially with his friends. “I am sorry that I didn’t think to mention her helping. She’s the first friend I’ve ever made.”

His friends all looked suddenly gut-punched for some reason. “Kit, do you not think we’re friends?” Matthew asked, appearing quite distressed.

“Of course we are! Aren’t we?” Christopher was, for a second time that evening, horribly confused.

“But you just said –” James began, looking stricken.

“Do you mean she’s the first friend that you personally have made, on your own, Kit?” Thomas asked, understanding Christopher best as usual.

“Precisely!” Christopher said, then realized, “Ah, I understand now how that sounded. I meant that – well, I’m related to two of you and we all just sort of fell in together didn’t we? I have never made a friend on my own.” The rest of the Merry Thieves relaxed visibly.

“Fair enough,” Matthew said, looking relieved. “Honestly Kit, Grace Bla – sorry , Cartwright – out of everyone you could choose for a friend.” He shook his head but there was a teasing glint in his eye.

“She’s really a wonderful lab partner!” Christopher assured them cheerfully. “She’s been organizing everything and making an inventory. And she had a wonderful insight the other day about this reaction with sulfuric acid.”

Thomas shifted on the seat next to Christopher as he said “I never would have expected scientific curiosity from Grace of all people, but she was right at home in that laboratory today.”

“Honestly, it took me a second to recognize her – wearing a dark dress, and those ridiculous goggles that you also wear in the lab,” Matthew said, gesturing at Christopher.

“They may not be fashionable, but they are very important as protective gear,” Christopher told him.

Matthew shuddered slightly but smiled good-naturedly as he said, “And that is why I will never pursue science. Terrible field for the fashion-minded.” This started him on a wild story about finding a new waistcoat earlier that week. Christopher was quite satisfied that peace had been restored, and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the night with his friends.

_________________________________________________________

The following Wednesday, Christopher was even more eager than usual to get to Grosvenor Square – Henry was due to arrive back in London that morning. He was keen to get Henry’s thoughts on several projects, especially the runed guns and the fire messages.

Christopher started the morning by testing another rune combination on a message. This attempt ended, as many did, in a small explosion. He was still putting out a fire on the lab table when Grace arrived for the day. She greeted him briefly before starting to set up a reaction flask. During her organization of the lab she had come across a vial with some mysterious white powder. Christopher had no idea what it was, so they decided it would be an intriguing exercise for her to determine the contents.

Soon after Grace’s arrival, a humming noise sounded, then a whistling, signaling that the elevator down to the lab was in use. Christopher hurried over as the doors opened. “Welcome back, Henry!” he said, grinning.

Henry looked just the same as always, with perhaps a bit more gray in his hair after the stress of the past few months. “Kit, my boy!” he greeted as he maneuvered his Bath chair out of the elevator and towards the lab table. “How are things going? Any progress on those guns with the pithos? And you must help me examine this sample of water I brought back from Alicante, I wonder if we could try using it in another version of demon repelling ointment. Being around so many wards, it may be imbued with some demon-repelling properties.” He reached the work table and paused as he finally noticed Grace standing there. Henry looked bewildered and Christopher struggled to remember whether he had mentioned Grace in his letter to Henry. He was fairlysure that he had.

“Hello!” Henry said to her pleasantly, “You’re the one with the demon powers that was briefly engaged to my son. Gladys, yes?” Well, letter or otherwise, at least Henry remembered her.

“Grace, actually,” she replied, looking tense, her posture stiff. “I do want to apologize again for…everything.”

Henry waved off her concern and said, “It all ended alright didn’t it? Charles Buford will find someone else. And Kit mentioned you’ve been a great help in the lab recently!”

Good, Christopher thought, I did remember to include that in the letter.

“I would actually be quite interested to hear about your power and how it worked. Especially through a bracelet, fascinating!” Henry continued as he maneuvered towards the rack of chemicals.

Grace appeared exceedingly uncomfortable, but quickly warmed up to Henry throughout the day as he described various project ideas to her and took a look at her reactions. By that evening, when all three were involved in a lengthy discussion about runes and the application of runes to invention, it was as if Grace had always been part of the team. Christopher was delighted anew that Grace understood both he and Henry in a way that very few others did.

They finally finished for the night after Charlotte had called down the stairs three times with increasing insistence about coming up for dinner. Grace left to catch a carriage home with a smile on her face. Christopher wished briefly that she could stay longer, but he was comforted by the fact that she would return in the morning.

_________________________________________________________

“Hullo Grace!” Christopher said happily as she entered the lab early the next day. He then bent back down to examine a glass slide under the microscope. Henry was occupied entertaining some visitors with Charlotte, but Christopher was already hard at work. “You must come take a look at this sample of water from Lake Lyn that Henry brought,” he told her. It was fascinating watching the microorganisms move about in the droplet under the lens. When Grace did not immediately respond, he looked up and actually got a good look at her face. “I say, is something wrong, Grace? You’re a bit –” He was about to say ‘splotchy’, for her normally pale face was quite red in parts. He caught himself at the last second however, remembering his mother saying that a gentleman should never remark on a lady’s less-than-favorable appearance. “You look upset,” he said instead. She was not her normal cool and collected self.

He thought that Grace would brush off his concern, and she indeed stiffened and started to turn away. Then she met his gaze and her shoulder slumped in resignation. “I encountered Charles on my way in,” she explained.

“Ah. I forgot that he would be returning with Henry,” Christopher said, wincing. “Things are still awkward after ending the engagement then?”

“More than awkward,” she answered, expression still pinched. “He is still extremely upset that I manipulated his mind. Said I’d made a fool of him and he doesn’t want me in his house.” She set her coat and hat down on the stool with more force than strictly necessary.

Christopher frowned and said, “Technically it’s Henry and Charlotte’s house.”

A faint smile rose on Grace’s lips. “That’s precisely what I told him, and I mentioned that I worked with Henry just yesterday. He then called you both ‘trusting fools’ and made some…unflattering statements about my personage.”

“Well perhaps if we give him some more time, he’ll come round!” Christopher said optimistically. “I suppose it’s easier for me to say since you only used your power on me once or twice compared to the many more times you used it on him.”

Grace looked at him, pale brows drawn together in puzzlement. “I never used my power on you, Christopher,” she said slowly.

Christopher was wholly astonished by her statement. “You – never? Really?” he asked, mentally reeling. “What ho! But the night you came to the laboratory and helped me figure out the pithos I – are you sure?”

Grace shook her head. “Never. I’m completely sure,” she said firmly. “I would have apologized if I had, I –” she stared at him, looking almost indignant. “You really invited me here, have been working with me, and all this time you though I had manipulated you that night? And never gave you a formal apology?” she asked incredulously.

“When you asked about joining me in the lab that first day, you apologized for everything again. I assumed that included any time you used your power on me!” Christopher said, thoughts racing. He had been so eager to help her that night. Although now that he thought about it, they had discussed a lot of science, which he now knew Grace was genuinely interested in. “Why didn’t you?” he asked her, very curious.

Grace hesitated before saying, “I didn’t need to. You weren’t bothered by my being there and you were happy to show me around.” Something flickered in her pale eyes. “I never liked using my power when I could avoid it. I suppose because I knew that it was wrong,” she added. She looked as if she might say something else, but at that moment a whistling noise from the elevator indicated that Henry was on his way down to the lab.

They were soon absorbed in experimenting and discussing theories but at points Christopher found his focus drifting back to their conversation, and even farther back to that first night in the lab. It seemed like Grace had used her power on nearly everyone at some point, yet incredibly, she had never used it on him despite numerous opportunities. Christopher didn’t know what to make of that.

_________________________________________________________

It was just Christopher and Henry in the lab the following day. Grace was training with Jesse, and then planned to take a tour around the city with her brother, Lucie, and Ariadne (who was apparently going by Kamala these days). Christopher could never be bored working with Henry but after having Grace’s constant companionship for nearly a month it was…strange, to be working with only Henry and not her.

The day’s work proved incredibly successful, however. Upon Henry’s suggestion, Christopher added a bridge rune to the fire communication rune he had been tinkering with for months. He was thrilled to observe the message burn up and reform a few feet away. Henry, delighted, helped him replicate the results numerous times to prove that it was a repeatable phenomenon. Henry demonstrated it for a startled Charlotte (she had been interrupted in the middle of writing a letter in her office). She beamed, proud of them both, giving Henry a congratulatory kiss.

Christopher could not wait to share the good news with Grace. He wished she had been there to see it the first time, but no matter – there would be plenty of time to demonstrate it tomorrow.

He and Henry spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get the messages to travel farther than a few feet. Although foiled in these attempts, the breakthrough left them both very pleased as they finished for the day.

_________________________________________________________

Christopher was waiting at the entrance for Grace the next morning, eager to share the news. She looked startled to find him right behind the door as it opened, which he supposed was unusual given that they always met down in the lab. She had barely finished saying good morning before he could not contain his excitement and exclaimed, “You must come see the breakthrough Henry and I made yesterday, Grace! We’re so close to having a working fire-message!” He caught her arm and hurried her to the stairs down to the lab. She seemed a bit disoriented by his sudden enthusiasm but listened intently with a bemused smile as he explained the thought process behind the rune combination they had tried.

They reached the work table and Christopher quickly traced out the new rune. The paper burned up and reformed a few feet in front of them. When it reappeared, Grace grinned widely. “Incredible!” she declared, and she snatched the paper to study the rune. It occurred to Christopher that Grace had a very nice smile. She normally had a serious face, but smiles had become more frequent as the weeks had passed.

“What have you tried adding to this so far?” she asked. Christopher grabbed his notebook and they reviewed what he had recorded the previous day.

“Do you mind if I try some things?” Grace asked. “I’ve been studying that book on runes that Henry gave me – I think I may have a few ideas.”

“By all means!” Christopher told her, delighted. “I could use a break from runes after all the work yesterday. I think I’ll experiment with the Lake Lyn water today and try a demon-repelling ointment again.”

“All right, then,” she said, and set to work with a determined expression.

Later that afternoon, Henry already finished for the day and off to some important dinner, Christopher was checking the now-complete inventory list. “Blast!” he said softly, then called over to Grace, “Do you remember seeing nightshade anywhere when you were organizing?”

She pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head. “No, none,” she answered.

“I suppose I’ll be taking a trip to the Shadow Market tonight then,” Christopher said. He was determined to try combining some nightshade extract with the new demon-repelling ointment he was developing.

“The Shadow Market?” Grace queried, eyebrows raised in interest. “Do you go there often? I wanted to go before when I was looking for something to help Jesse, but I was never confident that I could find my way around.”

“It’s a wonderful place! I have to go fairly often for ingredients that are, er, not strictly approved by the Clave,” he explained. “Oh!” he said, struck by an obvious thought, “would you like to accompany me tonight?”

“I would love to,” Grace said, looking excited. She sent a letter to Jesse to inform him of the change in plans, and eagerly questioned Christopher about various aspects of the Market.

They each wrapped up their work as the sun began to set, the changing sky visible from a high window in the basement. Christopher was locating his coat and hat when he realized he should ask Grace about weapons. It was unlikely they’d face any demons in the carriage or Shadow Market, but it was good to be prepared. She had daggers on her already, but he offered her a seraph blade in addition. Ready, with ingredient list in hand, the set out to the carriage.

Christopher offered Grace an arm up, then followed her in. Their knees brushed together as he settled on the seat opposite Grace and the carriage began moving. Christopher noticed that she looked somewhat flushed. “Would you like the window open?” he asked. “You look a bit warm.”

“No, I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you,” she said, appearing discomposed. “What are you hoping to accomplish with the nightshade that you’ll be getting?” she asked.

Christopher happily launched into a lengthy explanation of his thought process and the previous attempts at demon-repelling ointment, and the discussion lasted them all the way to the Shadow Market.

[yandere-toons]

Yandere Dr. Akita (Platonic Scenario - “Absolute Zero”)

Warnings: Death, Blood, Implied Immolation, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. – Sometimes, I imagine these stories as prequel to canon, while other times, they feel like part of a far-off epilogue.

Akita placed a hand on your shoulder and pushed you towards the curious stares of the scientists.

Inquisitive whispers spread throughout the group as a technician stepped forward to request that you follow them deeper into the lab.

As the two of you descended the metal staircase and approached an assortment of colourful beakers and test tubes on racks, Akita eyed the chief scientist with smug mirth. "It is my most prized creation. I trust you will treat it with respect."

They frowned and narrowed their eyes in disdain, snatching a black suitcase from an indifferent assistant. "How much respect does a war machine need?"

The latch on the luggage was detached to reveal a computer system.

Akita slipped a paw into the folds of his lab coat, withdrawing it once a muffled beep graced his ears.

Following the clacking of keys, they shot the scientist an impassive look. "You can expect payment shortly."

A devious smile unfolded on Akita's snout. "That won't be necessary," he affirmed, tone poised. "Watching fellow scientists marvel at my creation is rewarding enough."

The boffin squinted and observed the dog with skepticism. Before they could contemplate his intentions further, a scream erupted on the floor of the laboratory.

The technician clawed at their eyes as acid cascaded down their body in vibrant streams.

Multiple beakers and collections of shattered glass marred the ground, countless liquids draining into every crevice.

You stood at the foot of the table, motionless and apathetic as if awaiting the next command.

Shrieks continued to spill from their mouth until they sank into a heap of molten flesh.

Mayhem devoured the area as employees abandoned their stations and scattered. Many fled to the nearest exit, some dove behind lab equipment, but all were intercepted by mounds of concrete and steel sailing through the air like artillery fire.

You hoisted a table off the detritus and scanned the workers for a prime target, beakers splintering and flinging incendiary minerals across the room. As the chemical mixtures birthed a fire beneath your feet, you hurled the slab of wood at the closest scientist before pursuing another.

The foundation began to crumble, sacrificing another circuit board and support beam to the flames. Exposed wires writhed and hissed while sparks of electricity burst from the torn rubber. A discarded liquid swallowed the voltage, and half the lab was consumed by an orange and red typhoon.

Torrents of embers and scorched machinery wafted downwards in spirals, dancing around Akita's head and burrowing into his fur. Ash settled on his lab coat, and the rims of his glasses were stained with soot. The metal underneath his paws was heated by the barrage of smoke and flames circulating in the air.

No amount of sizzling and stench distracted his gaze from your figure as you dislodged a section of the ceiling and sent it plummeting onto several technicians sprinting for the door.

The scientist's ears perked when a series of screams followed, and he grasped the handrail to observe the mashed bodies closer. A cackle began to reverberate through his throat and expand to the stretch of the laboratory. "Behold my creation! What a brilliant symphony it sings!"

Panting and stumbling spurred him to whip around, and he witnessed the chief scientist collapse in a fit of wheezing. Akita met their gaze with a marvelling smile, calamity reflecting in his eyes. "Tell me, professor. Have you ever gazed upon something more beautiful?"

The boffin's lungs were pumping more smoke than they were oxygen, rendering their voice a hoarse mutter. "Akita, shut it down now!"

"Why would I do that," he inquired. "You asked for a demonstration. Is my creation unsatisfactory?"

As chortling filled their ears, anguish and humiliation flooded their mind. "This was all a farce." They turned to watch a falling piece of rebar impale a lab assistant, pinning them to a mass of bloodied rubble. "You were never planning to give it up, were you?"

The scientist unveiled a remote control from within his pocket and aimed it at their disgraced form.

An array of support beams descended from the ceiling as you tore a chunk of concrete out of the wall and hurled it at a technician cowering behind an overturned table.

Streaks of sunlight poured through the cavity and clashed with the sheets of metal scattered across the floor, casting a glare onto Akita's spectacles. "This machine has only one master."

A shriek escaped the technician when you landed on the top of the debris and lifted a multitude of cinder blocks above your head. Their leg was tangled in slabs of concrete and wood. They threw themselves against the disarray below and wrapped their arms around their face, sobbing.

The sensation of having their skull flattened like a popped balloon never arrived, and they peeked through their fingers to discern nothing but smoke and ash.

A shadow swooped over the chief scientist.

Fumes beat against their face in smothering whacks and swallowed every drop of vitality, scooping their innards into their throat and yanking them to the floor. Bones seemed to melt around muscles and accumulate in their fingertips. Blotches of colour flashed in each glance, and a caged beast attempted to split their cranium open.

The collar of their lab coat was seized by a tremendous force.

Before the boffin could identify the culprit, they were flung over the guardrail.

Limbs outstretched and hands scrambling to clutch the bar, a screech tore at their throat as the steel singed their flesh. Fire engulfed their vision as they plummeted into the maw of the conflagration. The final sight their eyes beheld was Akita's cruel visage courting delight as their screams echoed in between the roars of the flames.

Arms crossed behind his back, the scientist smiled with a calm malevolence. An orange glow shimmered in the light of his glasses, gaze trained on the agony of those who once called themselves his compatriots. He stood above the carnage, inhaling the scent of charred corpses and exhaling an aura of gratification.

Clunky footsteps approached from behind, possessing a rigid structure only a machine could accomplish.

The slightest twitch of an ear indicated Akita's awareness of your presence.

After a brief moment, you appeared at his side.

He rested a paw on your head and cast an oblique glance littered with supremacy. It was the prideful expression with which one would regard a pet that had performed a trick. "Excellent work." His eyes flickered across the laboratory drowning in flames. "Such a shame our partners didn't agree."

Chest rumbling with a subdued chuckle, the scientist retracted his hand and began strolling to the entrance. "Come, we have a date with an old friend in Tokyolk."

[maswartz]

Power Rider Hybrid

(Logo by@riceyhot)

A group called the Alloy Army commissioned several laboratories to create the next big technological wave. One group discovered a way to harness the essence of a living creature or an object into bottles creating a type of fuel they dubbed Fuelsion (fuel + fusion). Hybrid Laboratories learned they intended to use their discovery as a weapon and refused to hand it over to the Alloy Army. They decided to use it to create new technological marvels. However the Alloy Army was not fond of being rejected and used a mole to steal their research injuring a scientist in the process. Eventually Hybrid Labs was ready to test their Fuelsion and put a call out for test subjects. One of the volunteers was a young woman named Samantha, a genius without motivation she found herself interested by the concept. However during the test the Alloy Army attacked to steal the rest of the research. The Army reveals they have created monsters called Fusers, made by exposing people to the energy of Fuelsion directly. During the chaos Samantha used a special suit meant to manipulate the Fuelsion to fend off some of the attackers allowing the scientists to flee to a secondary lab. This lab had a hidden entrance inside a storage container. The scientists who remain on board decide to fight back against the Alloy Army and modify the suit Samantha used to create a Rider suit. They help her fight against Fusers by creating new weapons and restoring Fuelsion she collects from fallen Fusers into usable bottles. For reasons the scientists don’t fully understand each bottle of Fuelsion has a partner that it resonates perfectly with. The energies feed into each other unleashing their full power.

Power Rider Hybrid- Samantha Nguyen - A 22 year old woman, Samantha has a brilliant mind but is lazy and unfocused. She volunteers to test the Fuelsion because the concept interested her and when the villains attacked she used the tech to fight back and defend the scientists. She decides to help reclaim the stolen tech and for the first time has motivation. At first the only bottles she has are Hare and Artillery. When Samantha defeats the Fusers she reclaims the stolen Fuelsion used to create them. Face Claim: Lana Condor Transformation Device: Fuelsion Injector Hybrid Model Transformation Call: Let’s Ride Transformation: As she cranks the belt a helix of energy surrounds her forming the armor Weapon: Spiral Buster- Finisher- Spiral Breaker Final Moves: Defaults listed Rider Hopping Blast Kick- She cranks the belt shooting a helix of energy trapping the enemy leaving them open to a charged kick Rider Primal Gem Punch- She cranks the belt charging his fist with energy Rider Soaring Bullet Shot- She spins the barrel of the gun charging the blaster with energy Rider Shadow Panel Slash- She cranks the belt charging the blade with energy Rider Howling Call Rush- A ring of phones surrounds the enemy as an energy wolf runs through them before attacking Rider Shell Age Bash- Freezes time around the target and bashes them with her shell Rider Insect Photo Flash- Flashes the camera stunning the enemy and striking with the beetle horn Rider Long Cyclone Twist- Creates a cyclone around the enemy before attacking with the giraffe neck Rider Chomp Speed Strike- Rushes up to the enemy and strikes in a flurry of blows Rider Frozen Trick Crash- Freezes the enemy in place and speeds in on the board shattering them Bike- CyCall- Phone that turns into a bike Main Mixes Hartillary- Hare + Artillery Perfect balance of offense and defense

*Hartillary Refined

- Enhanced form- stronger attacks

*Hartillary Raw

- Stronger power, risk of losing control

*Hartillary Pure Hare/Pure Artillery

- Enhances power of individual bottles - Keeps the power boost without losing control - Pure Hare combines power of Animate life Fuelsion - Chimera Blast - Pure Hare is much faster and agile - Pure Artillery combines power of Inanimate objects Fuelsion - Armory Blast - Pure Artillery is much stronger and has stronger firepower

*Mega Mix

- Final form - ALL Fuelsion - Combines every Fuelsion into one form - Mega Chimera Blast - Mega Armory Blast - Increases all attributes exponentially

Apestal- Ape +Crystal Has incredible strength and defense

Falgun- Falcon + Gun Grants flight as well as a powerful blaster

Ninmic- Ninja + Comic Arms Hybrid with a ninja sword with four different powers

Wolfhone- Wolf + Phone Allows Hybrid to use sonic howl attacks

Tortime- Tortoise + Time Slows down time for a targeted foe.

Beetera- Beetle + Camera Allows Hybrid to pinpoint weak points in enemies defenses and attack with piercing horn.

Girafan- Giraffe + Fan Creates high winds and gives extended range

Sharkcle- Shark + Cycle Enhances speed greatly and allows for quick devastating blows

Pengoard- Penguin + Skateboard Freezes the environment and allows for quick travel on the frozen surface Other Mixes Porcugine- Porcupine+ Fire Engine Bearket- Bear + Rocket Buccanail- Buccaneer+ Rail Leouum- Leo + Vacuum Squlb- Squid + Bulb Dinocer- Dinosaur+ Racer Tigcer- Tiger + Flying Saucer Phoebot- Phoenix + Robot Spidge- Spider + Fridge Whalet- Whale + Jet Grizee- Grizzly + TV Flowpter- Flower + Chopper Uniser- Unicorn + Eraser Scorpold- Scorpion + Gold Dogmic- Dog + Microphone Deermid- Deer + Pyramid Ghognet- Ghost + Magnet Wasub- Wasp + Sub Rhirer- Rhino + Dryer Different Fuelsion has different prefixes for attacks. Hare- Hopping Artillery- Blast Ape- Primal Crystal- Gem Falcon- Soaring Gun- Bullet Ninja- Shadow Comic- Panel Wolf- Howling Phone- Call Tortoise- Shell Time- Age Beetle- Insect Camera- Photo Giraffe- Long Fan- Cyclone Shark- Chomp Cycle- Speed Penguin- Frozen Skateboard- Trick Spider- Web Fridge- Freeze Wasp- Stinger Sub- Torpedo Rhino- Horn Dryer- Burn Leo- Hunter Vacuum- Vortex Squid- Ink Bulb- Flash Buccaneer- Cannonball Rail- Steam Bear- Claw Rocket- Orbit Porcupine- Quill Fire Engine- Rescue

Power Rider Mythril- Rebecca Carter-  A 21 year old woman who answered the ad for the cash. Street smart and quick on her feet. She stayed with the scientists as well and understands the threat the villains pose with the stolen tech and offers to help. Eventually gains the ability to transform into Power Rider Mythril, powered by the Drake Fuelsion Face Claim: Kiana Lede Transformation Device: Fuelsion Injector Mythril Model Transformation Call: Let’s Ride Transformation: She cranks the handle of the belt igniting flame energy around her forming the suit Weapon: Dragon Sword Finishing Moves: Burning Slash Mythical Kick

*Mythril Scorch- Enhanced form gained when Rebecca pretended to defect to Helix Inc in order to gain a sample of their solid Fuelsion. This form was lost during a later battle.

* Mythril Blaze- Enhanced form with stronger armor and weapons.

* Mythril Eruption- Final form- Supercharged with extreme heat and flames. Finishing Move: Eruption Burst, a fury of flaming attacks.

Power Rider Gears- Kelsey Zhu- A woman in her 20s, mechanic, works for Helix Inc. a second lab who was working on Fuelsion. Helix Inc created a more solid form of Fuelsion and sends her out to prove their version is superior. Aided by a trio of Fusers who are able to keep their sentience while transformed (Fortress, Barn Owl, Beetle) When Scar arrives and attacks all parties Kelsey joins forces with Samantha and Rebecca at first out of necessity but soon she grows to consider them friends. Face Claim: Malese Jow Transformation Device: Fuelsion Injector Gears Model Transformation Call: Let’s Ride Transformation: She cranks the handle of the belt creating a group of energy gears forming the suit Weapon: Gear Gauntlet Finishing Moves:Piercing Drill

* Gears Mechanic- Final form-Supercharged with extreme cold and armed with a robotic claw

Power Rider Scar- Grace Wen- One of the original scientists who developed Fuelsion, she volunteered to test it before it was ready. A flaw in the equipment caused an explosion that scarred her face and body. Filled with rage she took some of the equipment and fled. Now she has returned to take her pain and anger out on all parties. She believes her actions are justified and that she is in the right. However after Samantha saves her life she puts her agenda aside to help fight the Alloy Army. Soon she learns the truth behind the accident and when given the chance to take her years of anger out on the person responsible she lets them live, leaving her rage behind once and for all. She is aided by her Mechanical Fusers enforcers Tick and Tock

Face Claim: Fan Bingbing Transformation Device: Fuelsion Injector Scar Model Transformation Call: Let’s Ride Transformation: She cranks the handle of the belt creating cracks of energy around her body forming the suit Weapons: Revenge Blaster and Vengeance Blade- Combines to the Retribution Rifle Finishing Moves: Avenging Blast, Avenging Slash.

Villains- The Alloy Army, determined to use the latest in technology to fuel their conquest of the world.

Echo- Giselle Odinsdötir- Serious and strict she is the loyal enforcer of the Alloy Admiral’s commands. Any who cross the Admiral fear the shadows when she’s near. What her suit lacks in variety it makes up for with brute force. Face Claim: Billie Piper

Venom- Sullivan Jones- Eccentric and self serving he is sadistic and enjoys testing new weapons and abilities on his enemies. He enjoys coating his weapons in his experimental toxins and seeing their impact on his targets. Face Claim: John David Washington

Tarantula- Karl Jones- Dramatic and brutal he was sent to the field after the repeated failures of Echo and Venom. The fact he and Sullivan are brothers does not prevent him from unleashing his frustration over their failures against the Riders. His enhanced powers make him a match for the Rider’s stronger forms. Face Claim: Evan Ross

Power Rider Maniac- Natalie Parker- A mole working for the Alloy Army the whole time. She gives them samples of the tech the lab develops allowing them to reverse engineer it for Alloy Admiral to use. Was the one responsible for Grace’s accident Face Claim: Brianna Hildebrand Transformation Device: Fuelsion Injector Maniac Model Transformation Call: Let’s Ride Transformation: She cranks the handle of the belt creating chaotic energy around her forming the suit Weapons: Chaos Blaster and Chaos Blade- Combines to form the Chaos Rifle Finishing Moves: Cruel Blast, Brutal Slash.

Alloy Admiral- Evan Burke- Leader of the Alloy Army with dreams of world conquest. Thanks to Natalie’s efforts he is able to utilize Fuelsion from other Riders. In his civilian identity he’s a wealthy CEO who invests heavily in technology. His hands reach into many companies whether they know it or not. Face Claim: Ted Danson

Using the Drake Fuelsion he gains stronger attack power

Using the Hare Fuelsion he gains better agility.

Alloy Admiral Darkness- Uses the power of darkness and black holes. Also gains the ability of teleportation

Alloy Abomination- Frustrated by his losses he injects Fuelsion directly into his bloodstream mutating him into this abomination. Power Rider Arcade/Hybrid: During the final battle with V.A.I some of his code ended up on the internet where it eventually found its way to a computer inside of Hybrid Laboratories. Utilizing the Fuelsion system it built itself a new body forcing the Arcade Riders to assist Hybrid and the other Riders in destroying it once and for all.

(Faces by @dream-chef-flavors)

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[malusart]

This is the title page of Oswald Croll’s Basilica Chymica (Chemical Basilica, 1608/9). It was an influential work in the spread of Paracelsian philosophy, medicine and alchemy.

Here we see six important alchemical authors, from the Egyptian Hermes Trismegistus, author of the famous Emerald Tablet, to Paracelsus himself. In his hands, Hermes is holding a tablet with the most memorable words ‘What is Above is what is Below’. This message is reinforced by the images above and below the Basilica Chymica’s title: above we see an upwards-pointing (fiery) triangle representing the Holy Trinity, surrounded by 9 orders of heavenly angels (Seraphim, Cherubim, etc.) while below we see a circle, again with a triangle at its center, this time (watery) pointing downwards, representing Body, Spirit and Soul of all things created (animals, vegetables, and minerals).

While the upper triangle has the divine Hebrew name יהוה (YHVH) at its center, this lower triangle has the words ‘Terra Adamica,’ the red earth from which God formed Adam. The names of the other three elements, Fire, Air and Water surround the triangle, with the three Paracelsian principles of matter, Mercury, Sulphur, and Salt at the points of the triangle. Encircling this central image are the names of the three main practices promoted by Croll and other Paracelsians, like Heinrich Khunrath: ‘Theological Cabala’, ‘Astronomical Magic’, and ‘Alchymical Medicine’; actually, Alchemy is described as ‘Halchymical,’ playing on the Greek word for Salt ἅλς (hals), emphasizing the importance of salt in Paracelsian medicine.

Near the circumference of the circle we find the signs of the Zodiac, connected with the Astronomical Magic. On the left we see an alchemical furnace (athanor) and glass receiver, while the alchemist prays for success in the background, the Christian Cabalist name for Jesus יהשוה (YHSVH) overhead. On the right we see alchemical equipment at ground level (bellows, tongs, crucibles, glass vessels), with shelves above bearing jars and bottles of laboratory substances, books of theory and practice, and a lute hangs from a hook perhaps to while away the time spent waiting for something to happen in the in the athanor or even to tune in to the harmony of the spheres.

Hermes Trismegistos the Egyptian - often regarded as the inventor of alchemy, holding the Emerald Tablet: ‘Quod est suprerius, est sicut id quod est inferius’ (What is above is like what is below). In the background is the image of a phoenix sitting in flames.

Arabic Geber - author of the most influential medieval book on gold-making, the Summa Perfectionis Magisterii (Sum of the Perfect Magistery), with the words ‘In Sole et Sale naturae sunt omnia’ (All things are in the Sun and Salt of nature). Behind hims another alchemical bird, a Pelican is feeding its young with blood from its own breast.

Morienus the Roman - the first Christian alchemist, who it is said taught the first Muslim alchemist, Khalid ibn Yazid. Below him is the advice ‘Occultum fiat manifestum, et vice versa’ (Let the hidden be revealed, and vice versa). In the background we can see a church, possibly because he was a hermit, and in the air two serpents biting each others’ tails, alchemical symbol for digestion, regeneration, and the union of opposites.

Roger Bacon - a 13th-century monk, one of the first to write about alchemy in England, with a Salamander, believed to be able to live in fire, symbol of the Philosopher’s stone. His words: ‘Per elementorum conversionem Ternarius purificatus fiat MONAS’ (Through the conversion of the elements the purified Triplicity is made the ONE.’

Ramon Lull - a 13th-century Spanish philosopher, missionary and mystic, shown with a hexagram (symbolizing Fire & Water combined), holding 3 roses. In the background what might be a lion killing a swan, with the words ‘Cum igne tandem in gratiam redit aqua’ (With fire at last water returns to grace)

Theophrastus Paracelsus (1493 - 1541) the German, accompanied by the fiery Sun and watery Moon, together with the spheres of air and earth [?] (i.e. the four elements), his hand on the pommel of his sword, bearing the word Azoth, offers us the sage advice ‘Separate et ad maturitatem perducite’ (Separate and bring to fruition).

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Wedding (End): Black Swan Bay Nightmare

We’re almost done with this. HOLY HECK. My brain is melting out my ears on how to finish this series in the most impactful way. MC gonna hit the end of this story like a METEOR. Just you wait!

@rurifangirl

You startle awake with a gasp. You’re lying in the snow. The breeze is frigid, but you’re well protected in layers of warm clothing and fur. You don’t remember falling asleep but you immediately know where you are. 

Black Swan Bay, 1991, Christmas Eve.

Of all the orphans that day, you were the oldest and the number 3 ranking. You were tall, muscular, but your body was not womanly like Khorkina. Your hair was black as soot and your eyes were charcoal. You weren't a white icy queen, like Renata. So you had no one to dance with you at the party.

The blizzard that day was very intense. The wind howled around you like a screaming demon. But you stood tall against it, looking into the distance. Not a ray of light could be seen in the sky. The world was plunged into a thick darkness and the whirlwind swept the snow powder into a white dragon in the sky. Black Swan Harbor closed the main entrance. All the doors and windows were boarded up so that the snowstorm would not affect the atmosphere of the Christmas party.

You walk toward the recreation building, Golden Hall, where the party was being held. You’re not hampered by the snow or the wind. You were a hybrid and this great storm was only a mild inconvenience for you. You lift your head and look behind you. Your instincts were trained and always good. You could sense when you were being followed. You wait for several seconds, but nothing happens. You turn around and continue to walk.

You push open the door, and the warm air and music poured in, shards of gold leaf flew in the air, and the golden hall was brilliantly lit.

 Soldiers played accordions and young girls sang and danced. Children gathered around the huge Christmas tree to make wishes and tiptoe to reach the gifts on it. The scent of beef soup, baked sweet cakes and the perfume of women filled the air. The appearance of the Doctor sparked a tidal wave of applause as the Doctor greeted everyone with his hands raised.

 "My dear friends, today is Christmas and an important day for Black Swan Harbor. Our friend Major Bondarev from Moscow has confirmed to me that our research work has been highly commended by our superiors! Soon we will be able to go home in groups to visit our families. Everyone here will be rewarded, you will have military medals and be able to go to the Caspian Sea for vacations! You are a credit to your country! Let's sing and dance! On this wonderful night!"

You stand apart from it all. Your heart filled with a terrible rage and sadness. Liar. He’s a liar. He was lying this whole time. 

The golden hall was getting more and more lively. The room was getting warmer. The young people were dancing the sailor dance. They got so hot that they took off their uniforms and threw them aside. The nurses took off their outer clothes, showing the white lace of their underwear under their undershirts. 

They had all been drinking a lot, and their eyes were nakedly provocative. The smell of hormones overpowered the smell of perfume, stimulating everyone's body to redden. They danced and embraced. The soldiers put their hands in the undershirt of the nurses, they bit each other's lips like lovers and bloodthirsty beasts. 

The children also stirred up, following the adults' example and hugging each other in a face-to-face dance. Anton and Khorkina are eighteen years old, Yakov is sixteen years old, and look very different from the thin and small Renata. The boys' upper lips had grown moustaches. While the girls' breasts had filled out and their waists swayed lightly as they walked.

You press yourself to the wall, but they still come at you, hands searching, not asking you to dance but chasing you! You cover yourself with your hands, swatting away their fingers, slapping their faces. Their faces are horrific and stretched into rictus grins. Their eyes are wide and blood shot.

You flee. You run into the night!

A loud bang! And you throw yourself to the ground. A ball of flames is rising from the laboratory building, red and gold, mixed with black smoke. Debris is thrown into the air, streaming fire behind them like fireworks.

Every single building went up in flames like this. But everyone was in the dance hall. Finally, the Dance hall itself went up.

“Renata! Renata!” You are running and the shadow is chasing you, faster and faster!  You skid to a halt.

Four children are on a dog sled. They’re trying to run. But Bondarev is approaching them. Bondarev pulls a gun. With expert precision, he puts a bullet into their hearts. One for each child. You fall to your knees and that’s what saves you. Visibility is down and you don’t move as he looks around. Next to his foot is a small piece of chocolate. Vera.

A hand takes yours. It’s Renata. You crawl away and she leads you back to another sled. This sled was pulling something large and very heavy. Along with your friend Z, who smiled at you sleepily. He wasn’t tall and proud. He was weak and couldn’t even walk. He looked at you directly and asked. “Who is that?”

Suddenly, everything stops. The wind, the snow, Renata, the explosion. Time completely stands still and you’re the only one moving.

“Who… is… that?” Z asks again.

This was a dream. You knew what was going to happen next. A big explosion, bigger than you’ve ever seen in your life even up until today, would turn all the Black Swan Bay into ashes. You and Renata would be shot from a helicopter. Renata would push you into the icy sea.

But despite your mind going through the beats, the image before you didn’t change. You follow Z’s gaze and you see a man in a tuxedo looking bewildered. “Ruri…?” You tilt your head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

The dream ends. You open your eyes. It’s still dark, but the air is warm. Your chest and stomach hurt. You’re staring into the eyes of Ruri Kazama. Those swirling hypnotic mandarin shapes were the last thing you saw when you went to sleep. “Where am I?”

Ruri Kazama does not answer. “How did you break it?”

“Huh?”

“How did you break it?” Ruri’s voice was a low threatening growl. “No one has ever broken free from me.”

“Break… what?” 

You’re surrounded by deep humid forest. The air was alive with insect sounds and sounds from croaking frogs, and night birds, nothing like the silent howling of the winds of Siberia. The sky was still dark and the wind still blew and the rain still fell. Ruri Kazama is staring at you. 

His bone spines are still embedded in your body, pumping a steady supply of clean blood to keep you from turning into a deadpool and dying. You don’t remember when you fell asleep or how long you’d been out. “Where are we?” You ask again.

“Tama River area. It’s all woodlands here. Very isolated from Tokyo. I’m taking you to where God will awaken.” He finally speaks. 

“Okay. What about Herzog?”

“He won’t touch you. He needs me. He will honor my request to have you there with me.”

You look down and see that you’re high in a tree, several yards off the ground. Ruri Kazama’s long white hair drapes like fine cloth behind him. Ruri Kazama has changed from his tuxedo to the great colorful kimono of the stage. You’re still in your wedding dress, but the skirt has been cut shorter so as not to be so unwieldy. 

He crouches and then jumps, hovering over the canopy of green leaves. He jumps from tree to tree like someone dancing over stones to cross a river. He’s so graceful, his long hair sails behind him like a tropical bird. These mighty leaps were like the rocking of a rocking chai. Even though he would jump over twenty meters at a time, he landed with silent grace. You found it soothing.

Once Ruri Kazama killed Herzog - again - you wondered what he would do after that. What was his end game? Even though he was lovely as a human, it turned out that he had the same philosophy as Herzog. The winners devour the losers without mercy. You didn’t think there was any real limit to his killing. Even though he said he would go back and become a performer of Kabuki, it was far more likely that he would go back and kill his brother and every Hydra member. Cassell would send their members after him and he would kill them all too… or die.

Who would he not kill? Who would not hunt him? Both of those lists seemed to begin and end with your name. You were the last person in the world he wanted. You were the last one in the world he trusted.

All noise in the forest has fallen silent. Dawn is breaking but it’s still dark with clouds. There are no birds. The wind rattles the naked treetops. When you turn and look, everything is covered in a heavy layer of what looks like snow that has miraculously endured the heavy rain. On closer inspection, it looks more like spider silk. The blanket stretches as far as the eye can see. Under the blanket is a thick layer of dead leaves as though autumn came and the trees dropped all their leaves in a matter of hours.

“We’re here.”

“Everything… looks dead.” You say. “What’s are those white threads?”

Ruri is accustomed to explaining things to you now. “It’s a growth from God. It’s feeding on all the surrounding life. It detects a heartbeat and quickly cocoons it. We have to keep moving or we will be swallowed as well.”

You were on the edge of the silky, fungal growth. Looking further into the woods, you would see that the trees ahead have been completely encased like cocooning insects. Even the ground was covered. “How are we going to make it through all that?”

A loud thumping sounds overhead. Ruri stands up as a helicopter flies low. Lightning flashes and you see it clearly in relief against the sky. 

“Hold on.”

He unsheathes his sword and the power from it lifts him in the air with an extra burst of height and speed. The ground races away from you and the black helicopter rushes towards you. The open cockpit comes into view and he lands cleanly without a sound. A seat was open so he sat himself down as though he were a simple passenger.

"No. That's something like spider silk!" The pilot said. He spoke in a quivering fearful voice, like he was seeing a ghost.  But the ghost was behind him. He was going to die. He didn’t deserve it. But you couldn’t stop Ruri.

Not yet.

You only watch as Viper Fang appears in his hand and pierces the copilot clean through the head, his blood filling his flight helmet.

 "You…  who are you? How did you get up here?" The pilot turns in a panic and you see he’s wearing a Cassell College badge and what looks like a camera on his head. The black lens shimmers like an eye. It would see you, attached to Ruri Kazama.

Viper Fang moves so fast, the cherry-red blade seems to grow from his heart in a flash. You couldn’t speak out loud but you mouth the words as clearly as you can to the camera. “Caesar. Don’t worry about me. Thank you. Goodbye.”

A terrible sound resounded through the helicopter, the sound of a long sword being drawn from a heart, the blood spurting, sounding like wind.

You weren’t on the helicopter for long. It turned out you were less than one kilometer from the great hole in the ground that held the underground lake full of mercury. Without a care, Ruri Kazama leaped from the helicopter. You look up and watch it fly away to crash somewhere. The ground rushes towards you but Ruri uses Viper Fang against the ground, buffering your descent politely before landing. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shoulder, using your hair as a veil to look through. All the members of the Devil Clan around you are shocked by your sudden appearance. Ruri Kazama stood still like a demon. His eyes glowing in the steady downpour, daring anyone to approach. But no one does. Quite the opposite. They are curious about you, but the killing aura is so strong they swallow that curiosity and decide that some answers aren’t worth dying over.

The well is many meters across and spanned by a large cross beam. Ruri walks over it and stands there, holding onto you.

White filaments crawl all over the inner walls of the water storage wells. They grow from the bottom, like the mycelium of some kind of mold. These mycelia can not only stain soil and trees, but can even penetrate steel. They can grow to several meters long, hanging on steel beams or trees, like countless slender hands swaying in the wind.

On the cross beam, Ruri seemed to fall asleep, his long hair drenched by the rain. There was nothing to do but wait. His eyes were open but empty. He was like one of the wooden doll children. He would move when instructed.  He didn't say anything and didn't listen. You immediately adopt that empty eyed posture. It is as familiar to you as a sort of meditation. The lightning flashes again and you see a smile on his pale empty eyed face.

The people working in the well were wearing protective clothing with extremely corrosion-resistant coatings to protect them from being stained by the white silk. The pumps are working at full capacity and twelve streams of blood red water are pouring into the deep well. This chemical reagent was mixed with the serum extracted from the deadpool fetuses. 

The bones of dragon-like and snake-like corpses were soaked in the mercury tainted well, and the bottom of the well was still filled with the deadly mercury vapor, so the Hydra members did not have time to explore the well thoroughly. The Iwarui Institute concluded that there was no longer any living thing in the well, but right after they left, a large number of bubbles were rising from the bottom of the water, as if something was spitting bubbles at the bottom of the well.

Humans always repeatedly make this kind of mistake. They never really understand the dragons, always imagining them as creatures similar to themselves.

White bubbles piled up on the surface of the water like foam. The heavy smell of blood filled the deep well and the water temperature gradually increased to near boiling. Millions of dead lung snails floated up with the bubbles. Their stench from being cooked alive and the smell of blood became a putrid aroma, enough to make an ordinary person gag. The pool of boiling water was like a soup pot full of flies.

The King General Herzog strolls along the beam after Ruri Kazama and praises him in a poet-like tone: "Smell it? This birthing smell! This is the smell of life being born! That great life is waking up! This day Satan returns from hell to earth, and it will cleanse this rotten and bony world with fire, and a new world will be reborn by fire."

He stopped. Ruri stared at him with a clear threat.

“Oh come now, won’t you let me see her? It’s been so long!” He pleads.

After a moment’s consideration, Ruri pulled back the veil of your hair. You were staring at Herzog with your tongue out and your eyes crossed.

Dr. Herzog leaned back and clutched his stomach in roaring laughter. He staggered and slapped his knee, whooping and hollering like a mad man. “It’s been so long, MC. You haven’t changed one bit! Hahaha! Hahahahahaha!” He lifts his mask slightly to wipe away a tear. “Never one to take anything too seriously.”

Ruri Kazama did not answer. He just smiled grimly, as if he was incomparably joyful.

“The god has awakened. Now please lend it your precious blood for a moment and pay homage to the newborn god." The king general patted Ruri Kazama's shoulder while still chuckling at you.

And just like that, you were accepted onto what you were sure would end up a killing field like Black Swan Bay. Herzog will not let anyone leave this place alive. You were sure of it. But you play along and smile. Just like in Black Swan Bay, he will hype everyone up that they’ll be able to go home. Everything will be amazing. And then...

Boom.

Ruri Kazama drew his long knife and slit his wrist, pouring his blood into the deep well. It was only a few hundred milliliters of blood, and there should be no trace at all after being diluted by the large amount of water in the well, but at the precise moment those blood beads touched the surface of the water, the whole red well shook, as if something huge was stretching its body in the depths of the mercury.

"Sonar detects large object coming up to the surface!" The engineers working at the bottom of the well stepped back in fear, leaning their backs against the well wall.

 The King let out a large dramatic shout.   "Let's welcome the return of God!'' 

[danddymaro]

A Dance Just For Two | PT.2

Previous : Just You

Word count : 2761

Pt. 2: Marshmallows

It was late by the time they had arrived home, actually a smidge past midnight.

So, of course, neither of the two would have expected to run into anyone. 

As far as (f/n) was aware of, Natasha was away on assignment.

 It was one she didn’t bother to disclose too much information on, which wasn't too much out of the ordinary because Nat never really revealed too much about where she was going, or what she’d do when she left.

It was always confidential, and everyone knew to not ask.

The redhead had left two days prior on a starless night, dressed in her form-fitting black uniform, leaving with nothing more than what was on her. 

And though she was strict about what she’d reveal about her missions, she did, however, offer a small smile, along with her goodbye as she usually did.

Clint Barton had long left, announcing his retirement with a tired and half-hearted smile following up the battle in Sokovia. Prioritizing his family was beyond anything else, and seeing the growing team, he decided it was a good moment to part ways.

And hell, (f/n) couldn't blame him, because if she had a family herself, she’d pick them over everything else in the world.

Bruce Banner was still MIA, his whereabouts being a mystery to everyone, and worry ensued for him.

He was a kind man with a heavy curse, one he had no control of, and the (h/c) haired young woman could only hope he found his way back soon, returning back home safe and sound. But for the moment, it seemed that he didn’t want to be found and it was clear as day.

It was also plainly obvious that his departure had its effect on a certain member, 

‘That’s probably why she keeps herself so busy now...’ (f/n) thought to herself with a touch of sadness.

Thor had also decided to part ways, his face filled with conflict as he bid his farewell, seeming to have too much on his mind to express.

Up to date, he hadn’t sent word back, and she wished there was a way to reach him, just to know if he was alright out there. (f/n) couldn’t even begin to imagine what things lay beyond the earth, what other threats the thunder god took care of alone. 

She could only hope that whatever dangers he encountered, they were no match for his might.

Wanda Maximoff had become an official member of the Avengers not long after the battle in Sokovia.

She grieved over the loss of her only kin, her hands empty as she realized she had nothing more left because everything she cared for had been there at her side until his final breath, bloodied on the battlefield.

However, Clint Barton assured her she had a place, that she could pull through because her young life was filled with promise. 

Every day since then, the young woman worked tirelessly to gain more control of her strange powers, learning ways to expand the manipulation of them she had access to.

Vision, who had also become a member after the events aided her, the two becoming a close pair soon after, an obvious attachment grown between them during the duration of time.

They went together like youth and inexperience, and in a sense, they represented the two sides perfectly.

The artificial being, though not requiring rest, would often partake in the falls of slumber, most often times around 10, finding it to be a reasonable hour, whereas Wanda was a toss between ten or three, with no real indicator to which she would lean to.

Either way, she stayed in her quarters, unbothered by the world outside.

Tony, of course, was someone else who stayed up late quite often, stuck in his laboratory doing things (f/n) would never come to understand because to put it plainly, she wasn't a whiz kid like he was. He stayed locked in the wide space, a dark roast of hot beverage chugged down excessively with frequency.

Heck, the man lived on coffee.

But she knew well enough it wasn't just the drink that had him up, it was much more that would haunt him, leaving him restless at night.

What was much more to leave him awake: Pepper’s absence.

What solace he’d find at her side at night went missing as she left.

“ A small business trip,” she said, to which everyone believed.

But then she didn’t return to the home, nor was she frequently shown at Stark's side like before.

She was still active as CEO of his company, something he’d never take from her, because all in all, she earned it. She was his successor despite any strain in their relationship, and (f/n) found it fitting.

(f/n) was close to Tony Stark, having grown a mutual fondness at first that grew into genuine feelings of love. And while she was certain they could speak about anything, Tony was someone that didn’t like bothering people with his own problems too.

Similar to her, he felt like a burden while opening his heart.

‘It would be nice if we could all just let go,’ She mused, ‘Let go of all the feelings that anchor us.’ She added, knowing that all of them had something that weighed them down.

Side glancing at the blonde beside her, (f/n) smiled softly, ‘ Would I be happier if I let you go?’ She wondered.

‘Or can I actually find a way to reach you, reaching happiness that way?’

The gentle warmth of the spacious room then spread all around her, smoothing her like a fluffy blanket, bringing her instant comfort, to the point of making a small moan of delight leave her to show her contentment.

Needless to say, it felt good to be home, and when she said that there was no place like home, she truly meant it. 

There truly was absolutely no place like the Avengers facility, and she would go so far as to admit that it was far better than the tower they had previously gathered within.

‘It’s perfect,’ she thought gleefully as a sweet, creamy scent wafted towards her, tickling her nose and making her mouth moist with desire for the teasing, traveling aroma, even if she wasn't quite sure what it was.

She couldn't pinpoint it, but it was somewhere there on the tip of her tongue, moreover, it made her feel giddy for some reason. 

And hidden in the background, being outshined by the visiting smell was a smokey wild cherry that was more recognizable and well known throughout the place.

The crisp “snip-snap” cracking sounds of the blazing fire in the room caught her attention, causing her to pull up a soft smile at the view, knowing that the lovely display was out again, spreading out warmth as well as the sweet, welcoming scent of Cherrywood.

‘Tony really outdoes himself.’ she thought to herself, gazing at the flames with fascination, watching the Amber-colored heat dance in mellow movements.

Though Stark might find improvement in the place, always running through the rest of the crew with new ideas, she thought the building in its entirety was just fine, perfect even.

She wasn't sure about everyone else, but that’s how she felt at least.

She felt that nothing needed to change as It felt like a true home, packed with people she loved.

Isn’t that what made home, well, home?

Love..?

As she swam in that thought, one particular man set himself off from the rest, just as he always did. 

Her (e/c) colored eyes peeked over to the said man to find him engrossed within the sight of the soothing fire, caught in thought, just as she had been a moment ago.

With sincere admittance, she'd have given anything to know what he was thinking, and what was much more, know if there was a part of his pondering that was about her.

The smile gracing his face as he watched the flames dance made her feel warm fuzz all over as she continued to observe him, the slightly dimmed lighting doing nothing but accenting the lovely edges of his features.

As if he wasn’t astonishingly handsome already.

“ looks real doesn’t it?” she commented, her voice sweet-sounding and soft as she airily spoke, making him turn his attention to her, snapping out of his light daze with her simple question.

 “I was just thinking that.” he said shaking his head. “ looks like someone lit a fire behind a glass window. And then the smell... it’s hard to believe it’s not real,” he added. “ Technology has gotten pretty crazy, I would have never imagined sitting down and warming up next to an imitation fireplace this realistic.” He admitted.

“I mean, yeah we had these, but not as convincing,” he explained.

“It's scary isn't it old man...” she said wiggling her fingers in front of him. “Technology is so scary,” she said adding tremor to her voice, continuing to giggle with glee as he stared at her flatly.

Raising an eyebrow at her with a teasing smirk growing, he waited for her to calm down more before speaking,

“ Oh...aren't you the one paranoid about that little movie?” he asked her, “ what was it...” he muttered to himself, humming, his right hand taking a light hold of his chin. “ Ah, Wall-e right? Robots are gonna take over the world and control it, right?” he asked her and she stopped laughing, piping down.

“ That was a kid's movie and you were paranoid about something like that, ” he said poking her cheek. “ So, I guess, technology is scary, ohhhh…” he said mimicking her earlier actions, taunting her with the same childish actions as she stared at him with a halfhearted glare.

“That wasn’t exactly it,” she told him.

Sure that little film gave her anxiety, but not for that very reason, 

“ Besides, if we're talking about that... I wasn't so far off…” she grumbled, referring to the incident with the ‘peacekeeper’ Ultron.

The entire ordeal had been a complete nightmare for her.

While, of course, Large, menacing, reptilian-like aliens would be something to fear, nothing really took the top off as much as psycho killer robots, but that was just her opinion.

She began to nibble on her left thumb’s nail as she recalled the event, all with a cold shiver.

“- Quit sucking your thumb,” Steve chided, chuckling as she instantly brought the entire hand down, her hand fisted to her side as she glared at him. 

“I wasn’t sucking on it!” she said with a short hiss as an exaggeration to the ‘s’ sound.

Ready to challenge her, Steve opened his mouth to speak, stopped by another masculine voice, 

“ Well, well, well, having fun alone you two?” Bucky said teasingly, finally catching the other two’s attention.

“Don't you two know how late it is?” he chided tisking, adding on a small chuckle.

His attention was trained over the counter as his back faced both (f/n) and Steve, not letting them see his true, troubled face.

“-Jealous?” Steve said raising a brow, quirking up a partial smile, mindlessly teasing his friend.

“Maybe…” Bucky huffed, “ I wasn't invited out after all.” Bucky replied bitterly.

“You know, my two friends decided to hang out without me.” he sighed, “ How could I not be?”

“ We were just out for a stroll,” (f/n) said rolling her eyes, “You're such a drama queen,” she added playfully.

In response, he hummed and turned around with two mugs of a hot beverage, pursing his lips as he looked off to the side, “I always have a comeback at hand,” he warned her, “ But being the grown-up here, I’ll keep them to myself,” he said while walking towards the two.

He then handed each of them their own cups, going back to retrieve his own.

Curious, she gazed down to see her kitty mug filled with hot cocoa, brimmed with small marshmallows.

With eagerness, she smelled the sweet aroma up close,

“ Oh, Hot cocoa ! “ she chirped joyously, giving the man a closed eye smile, absolutely joy-filled.

‘That’s what that smell was,’ She mused, 'It was right there,' She added, having been bothered by the fact that she couldn't name it off the bat, and by then feeling silly for not recognizing it.

Bucky’s smile broadened as he nodded while seeing her obvious excitement,

 “Yeah, I thought you guys would want some,” he told them. “ It's starting to get real chilly out there.” He pouted, not liking the cold.

He wasn't really a fan.

“Ohh, you even put the tiny marshmallows on it, “(f/n) muttered, “Whoa, A whole bunch of them,” she added with a grin, all while looking within the cup.

“Just how you like it, I remembered,” Bucky replied, watching her face bloom with happiness.

“Love you Buck, You’re the best,” she said looking up towards him in gratitude before she started to blow on her drink.

“ I only got two,” Steve said staring down at his hot chocolate, plainly glaring at it with a disappointed pout, because he couldn't help but feel robbed.

“There wasn't much to work with,” Bucky said shrugging, the words accompanied by a nervous laugh.

 “That’s all we had, I swear,” He added.

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve argued back flatly, “After you practically chucked the entire bag into (f/n)’s cup, you didn't have any left, right?” Steve replied with accusation.

(f/n)’s face heated up, taking a look at both cups with embarrassment.

“ I'm sorry Steve !” she said immediately. “ We can switch if you want,” she said frantically,

“Or I can just-”

Both men stared at her with amusement, Bucky being the first to laugh, shaking his head as he spoke,

“That’s cute,” he muttered.

“ Its alright doll, no need,” Steve said shaking his head. “I'm just teasing!” he exclaimed, calming her down. “Seriously,” he added.

 “ I wouldn't get so worked up over some marshmallows,” he assured her.

“And Besides, I know Bucky here made that especially for you,” he said smiling knowingly with a grin, denying taking any contents from the cup in her hands as he lifted up his free hand in a stopping motion.

“He likes to play favorites between the two of us. I’ve gotten used to it anyway,” he added.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” (f/n) said sheepishly, not believing him.

“No, I do,” Barnes said with certainty, his upfront admittance making her keep her eyes down to her drink,

‘Oh Bucky,’ She thought with a smile, shaking her head at his response, not sure if he meant it, or said it just to be a tease.

After taking a sip, she looked back towards Bucky, her eyes full of gratitude and amusement,

“At least you made some for yourself, “ she said with relief to which he shook his head,

“Nah,” he replied, making her stop drinking.

“ You didn’t make some for yourself?" She asked him, and shaking his head again, he answered her, “Nah, but it's fine.” He said with a dismissive wave.

“But wait what’s that in your hand,” she asked, pointing her finger towards his cup.

“Water,” he replied, “ I only realized afterward that I only made enough for two, but again, it’s fine,” He assured her, putting it down on the closest surface to him.

“Oh Bucky,” she said sighing, walking closer to him and leaving Steve's side altogether.

She took one of his hands, the warm flesh one, raising it up to touch the steamy mug in her hand. She pressed it there beneath hers as she gave him a small smile. “ Here, “ she told him, her hold loosening to let him take hold of the drink.

“But It’s for you,” he reminded her, being quick to return it, doing the same as she had by holding her hand to the mug,

“Really,” he said sweetly, begging her with his eyes.

" Half and half ?" She suggested, not willing to let it go.

"That's the closest I'm getting to winning, huh?" He asked her with defeat, and nodding (f/n) agreed, "Pretty much," she said, having gone unbeaten up to date, getting the last say.

'Only because it's you.

Only because you're so sweet.

Only because I love you so damn much,' The dark-haired man thought with a soft smile.

Bucky caved, the three people enjoying the warm drink as they talked, letting the night take its course.

Next : Little Smooch

[abidarte-blog]

                  /      *                EDITS PERSONALES    :    qué hay en la mochila de aitor bidarte. 

[donatello-writes]

Not Quite Human - Part IV

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Mystified by your date's bizarre actions, you wandered about your apartment, racking your brain as to where you'd gone wrong. Overthinking was your specialty, and you feared that perhaps you moved too fast, making him feel uncomfortable. Mortification painted your face as you hoped that wasn't the reason. Noticing Noodle sniffing around excitedly by the couch, you walked over to see what he was so interested in. Kneeling down for a closer look, you found a few pale green flecks dotting your carpet. They were lightly iridescent with a rough texture, almost like the skin of a snake. "...Are these...Scales?"

The sound of labored breath, laden with guilt, echoed through the otherwise silent midnight alleyways of New York city. Donatello felt like a fugitive fleeing from the scene of a crime as he darted from rooftop to rooftop, further distancing himself from you. The crisp October air burned his throat, but not as badly as the words left unsaid. He failed to have the courage to finally come clean about what he actually was: a mutant. The fear that surrounded him admitting his truth to you was paralyzing, knowing the outcome would most likely result in him never seeing you again. There was no chance that someone as perfect as you would want to be with a freakish reject like him. Beauty and the Beast is a lovely story, but things like that never happened in real life. 

Engrossed in thought, he was unprepared when his two-toed feet split through the small converse shoes, causing him to lose footing and tumble across the next rooftop. As he laid face-first on the cold and unforgiving concrete, he vowed to replace the shoes he'd destroyed, they were Mikey's after all. The human-turtle hybrid moved to get up, only to remain on the ground when a sharp pain shot down his back. He involuntarily coiled into a ball in preparation for the worst part of the change. The smooth skin on his back began to crawl before hardening as it reformed into his carapace.

Wincing, the Donatello hugged his own body for comfort. To distract himself from the pain, he focused on the sound of the sweatshirt slowly tearing apart as it surrendered to his expanding form. He felt terrible for destroying your belonging, but due to the intense stress of the moment, he was unable to remove it in time. It wasn't long before his shell triumphantly burst through the clothing, regaining it's rightful place on his back. The mutant breathed a sigh of relief, it was all over. Removing his glasses, and retrieving his mask from his pants pocket, he tied it back onto his face. Surveying his surroundings, he located a nearby manhole and quickly slipped down into it. 

Staggering through the sewer tunnels, vision doubled, Donatello struggled to even keep himself upright. Sewage splashed up onto his bare legs with each heavy step that he took. What little material that remained of his tattered jeans clung to his larger mutant form snugly, making movement difficult. This wasn't good. For the first time, he actually felt woozy following his change. Why are the after effects so adverse this time? He thought, mind swiftly consumed by worry. Thankfully, the journey wasn't long, and the lights of the lair soon illuminated his path.

The fatigued terrapin stumbled back into the lair, breathing still strained. Wobbling legs that had been threatening instability the entire jaunt home, finally gave out, and he collapsed like a newborn baby deer. Normally he would have rested before returning home, but he wasn't thinking clearly in his agitated state. Alarmed by the less than graceful entrance, his brothers rushed to his aid. Leonardo was the first at his side, followed closely by the others.

"Donnie, what happened? Where's all of your tech?" the leader in blue questioned.

"I...was attacked by foot soldiers...They ambushed me, I barely escaped...They took everything, but thankfully I awoke before they could do anything else." He lied again, something he abhorred, but had been doing a surprising amount of lately. Mikey tried his best not to react, knowing full well that his older brother's story was likely untrue.

Somehow the genius managed to convince his brethren that he was fine, and stole away to his laboratory. How was he going to explain this to you? After leaving without so much as a goodbye out the bathroom window of your high rise apartment unit. That, in and of itself, would be quite difficult to explain without telling you the truth. Worst part of all being the very moment at which he departed. The two of you were getting rather intimate, and if not for his pesky changing form, he would have stayed. The last thing he wanted you to think was that he wasn't interested in you that way. As if any of that even mattered at this point. Once you saw his true form, that flame of desire would surely die. 

Clearly his homemade ooze was unstable, it's effectiveness dwindling with each use. Time was a cruel mistress and refused Donatello any leeway. There was a limit to how many more times he'd be able to turn human, and honestly, he wasn't sure how much much more of it he could take. The formula was still incomplete. There was a key ingredient missing, and he couldn't figure out what.

***************************************  

Back at your apartment, you collected the cluster of scales discovered after Donatello's bizarre and hasty departure. Digging a microscope out of the closet and unboxing the device, you carefully set it up. Slipping the scales between slides and under the lens, you examined them. Following some tests, the scales were identified as being of the common North American box turtle. Perhaps Donatello has a pet turtle? It was just odd, as turtles usually shed similarly to snakes, in large sloughs rather than individual scales. 

As with most cases where you were in need of immediate answers, you turned to the internet. While navigating the seemingly unending information on box turtles, you happened upon a video. It was an excerpt from a nature documentary explaining their mating habits. The narrator prattled on in his proper English accent about how the males emit what was described as a churr, followed by footage of a male box turtle making an extremely familiar sound. Immediately recognizing it, you sat at your desk for a moment, completely stunned. It was almost identical to the sound you'd heard coming from Donatello. 

This new bit of intrigue encouraged further investigation. With the few supplies that you had, you assembled everything needed to conduct a rudimentary DNA test. Running into your laundry room, you retrieved his signature flannel shirt. Upon careful inspection of the garment, you managed to find a hair that you could use for analysis. You placed the hair besides the scales under the lens and had a look. Moving your eye from the microscope, you gasped. Somehow, the structural appearance of each seemed to almost match.

"But that would mean...There's no way." 

The tools required to conduct a proper test were not at your disposal, so you were quick to doubt the accuracy of the results. If your hypothesis was correct, Donatello would easily fit the description of those beings you'd heard about on the news. Considering the strides in genetic research that had occurred within the past decade, the existence of such a genetic marvel wasn't completely ludicrous. However, one fact remained: all of this was nothing but speculation until proven. This realization brought your wild theorizing to a halt.

Perhaps a goodnight's sleep would help to clear your restless mind.

Merely an hour or so after your head hit the pillow, a ruckus reverberated down the alley outside of your apartment, stirring you from fitful slumber. Understandably irked by the rude awakening, you grumbled and rolled over in your bed. The sound of a familiar voice among the others swiftly quelled your annoyance, prompting you to venture out of bed and over to the window.  

"Donnie...?" 

The name came out in the form of a whisper as you gazed skyward to the origin of the commotion. It was difficult to make out detail in the veil of night, but what you could see were four humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of a neighboring building. The longer you stared, the more you came to realize that these figures weren't human. They had what appeared to be shells on their backs...turtles? Your eyes were drawn to one of them, specifically. The one who appeared to be decorated with various pieces of electronic equipment. 

Why do I feel like I know him somehow?

Further investigation was in order. Clumsily stepping through the window, you made your way out onto the fire escape. Still hazy from sleep, little attention was paid to your footing. One misstep was all it took to send you over the rail with a yelp. Thanks to quick reflexes, you managed to grab onto it, leaving you dangling from a dangerous height. 

Fingers losing grip with every passing second, it wasn't long before you finally began to fall. Knowing ground impact was immanent, you shut your eyes tight. But instead of hitting the hard pavement, you found yourself being whisked upward. Someone had caught you. Rough, scaly arms surrounded you, holding on tight and trembling ever so slightly. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to, his expression spoke volumes. Jaw dropped, releasing ragged breath, and eyes visibly ravaged by worry from behind his...tortoise shell glasses. This realization came too late, however, as you made the mistake of looking down. Dizziness assaulted your vision and the world swiftly went dark. 

Once he climbed your fire escape, his tension eased to see that you had fallen unconscious. That eliminated any awkward questions that he couldn't answer. His voice was too recognizable to you. It could give him away or, at the very least, cause suspicion. 

Gently, he laid you down onto the bed. Bringing the covers over you, he then lovingly tucked you in. He couldn't resist resting a hand softly on your cheek. So warm against his cold palm, a reminder of how different you were. It was easy to forget at times while waltzing around in human skin. 

Just as he turned to leave, you shifted in your bed and mumbled, "Donnie..." He shuddered at the sound of his own name. Peering over his shoulder, a sigh of relief left him to see that you were still out cold. 

It was just a coincidence, he told himself.

***************************************  

Awakening with a start, you were bewildered to find yourself in bed. "B-but...impossible." 

Throwing off the covers, you ran back to the window, gazing up to find the mysterious creatures had long since vanished. Before falling you could have sworn that you heard Donatello, but it all happened so quickly that you started to doubt yourself. With your crack theory regarding the nerdy lad all but consuming your thoughts as of late, you weren't all that surprised. 

It was just a dream...right?

The next day, he called. Despite him being the one who initiated the conversation, you were the first to begin.

“Donnie! About yesterday...If I made you feel uncomfortable at any point, I am so, so sorry.”

“No! That wasn’t it at all! I called to apologize to you.” there was a momentary pause as he collected his thoughts before continuing, “I’ve never been with another person in that way and I just got a bit...overwhelmed.”

Though you maintained that jumping out a window was not the best choice, you understood. Nerves can make a person do crazy things.“Well, if that ever happens again, can you promise me one thing?”

“Of course, anything.”

“Next time, please use the front door.” snorts and laughter came from the other end as he agreed to your terms. After a bit of talking, the two of you made plans to meet up. Excitedly stuffing all of your necessities into your backpack, you immediately headed out. 

***************************************  

"You forgot something the other night." with a broad smile you then handed over the flannel shirt, neatly folded and cleaned. The scent of lavender and vanilla laundry detergent clung to the material, filling the air with it's pleasant aroma. "It seems as though you're determined to have me keep this." 

Noticing a curious purple rag poking out of his pants pocket, you swiped it for further investigation. It looked so familiar, but you couldn't place where you'd seen it before. He jerked after feeling the item leave his pocket and turned to you. Gears were already turning in his head, preparing his answer to whatever you were about to say.

Upon further examination of the brilliantly colored cloth, you came to discover two specifically cut holes in it. Additionally, there were designs up and down both sides. One appeared to be Japanese kanji and the other...*an icon of a turtle*. That was it! The terrapin rescuer of your dreams was wearing a mask almost identical to this one. 

"Is this a...mask?" 

Without missing a beat, Donatello replied, "Yes, because I'm secretly a crime fighting superhero by night." He said, laughing a bit louder than necessary. 

"You did mention that you work at night...The pieces of the Donnie puzzle are finally coming together." with a wry smirk, you played along with his comical hypothetical. As he reached out to reclaim his possession, you swiftly tied to onto your face. 

Puckering your lips goofily, you then requested his opinion, "How do I look?" adding to the humorous display with hands on both hips and a sassy rolling of the shoulders. 

"I'm not going to lie...you look good in purple. Unfortunately, now I will have to kill you because you know my secret identity. It's such a shame too...I was really starting to like you, we had a good run." as the two of you exchanged a laugh, he wrapped his arms around you; using this as a distraction to remove the mask. "Now, are we just going to fool around or are we going on a date?"

***************************************  

Within the next few months, when Donatello wasn't working on the ooze formula, he was out with you. The more time that you spent together, the more he couldn't help but worry about telling you the truth. He was leaving a crucial fact out of the equation: that he wasn't exactly human...Well, not completely. Guilt ate away at his delicate conscience, his anxiety surrounding the matter only worsening with each passing day. The night that you shared together was a close call. It was only a matter of time before it somehow surfaced whether planned or unexpected. Not wanting circumstances to come to the latter, he resolved to tell you on his own terms. It was just a matter of finding the right time.

Going over the plans for the evening in his head, Donatello gathered everything he needed for the night. Dinner, a movie, and a walk through the park. That would allow more than enough time to return to your apartment, and for him to confess to you before the ooze's effectiveness wore off. Without the visual, his story would be hard to believe. A much as it pained him to think of you watching his gruesome shift in form, it needed to be done. 

With a heavy sigh, he headed away from the lair and deep into the sewers to take the ooze. Following his change, he donned a Queen t-shirt and squirmed uncomfortably while fitting his suspenders over his shoulders. It felt strange wearing his usual cargo pants. Not only were they ill-fitting on his smaller human body, but they also served to mark the end. The end of being human, the end of being normal, the end of being...with you. 

The final touch: his purple flannel over shirt. It would undoubtedly be torn apart when he reverted back, and he couldn't think of a better way to get rid of it. He couldn't keep the article of clothing after all that it came to stand for. The outfit was far from fashionable, but at that point in time, he was in need of functionality. He didn't bother to remove his goggles, there was no point, she'd already seen them. Bedsides, it'd be far better to be prepared in case anything happened.

***************************************  

"Nice suspenders, you're really playing up the hot nerd look, huh?" You joked.

Making a point to adjust his glasses he replied, "You know you like it." 

Shooting him a smirk, you grabbed hold of his suspenders and pulled him into a kiss. "Oh, I definitely do...And I surrender, the nerdy allure is too much for me to handle! Have mercy!" You both chuckled as you made your way to the restaurant.

Hopping seamlessly from dinner to movie, the date was just as normal as any other. However, once you left the theater and headed off to your next destination, Donatello leaned in and whispered, "I don't mean to alarm you, but...It appears that we have chaperones accompanying our date. They're undoubtedly looking for revenge after what I did to them before." He concluded, and you breathed a sigh of relief. He still didn't know that they were after you, specifically. 

After a series of twists, turns, and misdirections that would make even the Scooby Doo gang dizzy, it seemed you had thrown the ruffians off your trail. The detour had taken a decent chunk of time, and by now it was already dark. Given how far you both were from her apartment, he was forced to find a secluded place where there'd be no threat of him being seen as he transformed. 

A rooftop. 

Taking your hand in his, he led you up a nearby fire escape. You didn't question it, figuring this was still part of your evading the current threat. Once the two of you reached the top, stared up at the sky wistfully before turning to you. Gazing deep into your eyes, he wasn't sure where to begin. After everything that had transpired that night, his time frame was limited. Within the hour, the effects of the ooze would cease and his true appearance revealed. 

Noticing his unease, you wrapped your arms around him. The tips of your fingers traced up and down the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. You followed with a delicate touch of the lips. He savored every kiss that you granted him, knowing this would all come to an end once you knew what he really was...a monster...those words still echoed in Donatello's head from that terrible night at the Police station. His analytical brain made sense of the situation, he'd rationalized long ago that what those police had said came from a place of ignorance; however, knowing that fact didn't make their words hurt any less.

"Y/N...I...I haven't been myself lately." He began, words slow and heavy.

Puffing a chuckle, you replied, "It's okay, it happens to the best of us."

"No. You don't understand, I-I'm not hu--"

Angry shouts cut Donatello off from his confession. The Purple Dragons who had been following the two of you earlier had managed to locate you once more. Effortlessly scooping you up into his arms, your beau made a mad dash for the fire escape. While descending the stairs, your phone wriggled free from your pocket and plummeted down to the concrete below. You let out an involuntary shriek as it did so. 

"S-sorry, I'll get you a new one!" He promised as you finally reached the bottom. Without hesitation, he then bolted down the alleyway with impressive speed. You looked back to see a few new thugs had joined the chase and were not far behind. The change was upon him, and in a panic, he hastened his pace. He was paying little attention to navigation, but thankfully you were. Recognizing the area, you shouted at Donatello to stop. Unfortunately, the warning came too late, he'd already turned to face a dead end. 

Pain finally gripped him and he froze, allowing the pursuers to catch up. Nestled in his arms, you could feel his muscles twitching incessantly, begging to regain their proper form. Surveying his surroundings, there were no fire escapes, no windows, nothing to grab onto to make a getaway. The only thing in this alley was a faulty streetlight that flickered weakly, offering an eerie lighting to the already tense situation. 

***************************************  

Your piercing screech echoed down the streets, making it's way to the ears of a certain leader in blue. Out with only two of his brothers, he couldn't ignore such an apparent cry of distress. Following the sound, they came to find only the Purple Dragons all converging on one point. Clearly they were up to nothing good, so they silently followed from the rooftops. Eventually coming upon the objects of the chase: a young, unassuming couple. 

Raphael tilted his head, perplexed, as he concentrated his gaze on the stranger below, "Hey, doesn't that guy look kinda familiah?" He inquired, nudging his little brother. 

"Nope, nope...Haven't seen that dude before in my life." Michelangelo straightened up, trying his best not to seem suspicious. Knowing it was Donatello, and concerned for his safety, the orange masked turtle added, "Should we go down there and help them?" He then looked to his older brethren for guidance. Both of them traded glances before surveying the scene below one more time. The heroic young man was poised to fight off his attackers, and he didn't appear to be a stranger to combat, judging from his solid fighting stance, and the fierce expression on his face.

Leonardo shook his head decisively, "No, if it's not absolutely necessary for us to intervene, we won't. We are not going to risk being seen over a small skirmish." the leader had spoken, and he directed his younger team members to follow him away from the stand-off. Not but a second later, the human man prepared to dish our the much deserved beating that his assailants were begging for. 

This was a dead end in every sense of the phrase. Standing between you and the enemy, Donatello held his place firmly. He would do anything it took to ensure your safety. As if some otherworldly force were at work in his favor, just as the miscreants prepared for attack, the streetlight cut out. Scant beams of moonlight streamed in from between the lofty buildings and offered little light to the scene. Low gasps and groans of displeasure came from the Purple Dragons, but not him. He was completely at home in the shadows.

Drawing in a deep breath, Donatello began fighting off the group, and defend you. They all rushed at him, despite their limited vision, and the game was set. Maneuvering through the group with calculated grace, he easily evaded the flurry of fists and weapons. His strikes were deliberate, without a hint of hesitation. There was no time for flourishes like the last fight, this time he was all business. Admittedly, he was putting on a bit of a show to impress you the last time he faced off against these thugs.

Leonardo motioned for his brothers to follow him away from the scene, and the both nodded. Turning back to catch one last glimpse of the show, Raphael's eyes widened. He recognized those fighting movements instantly, they were exactly the same as what he and his brothers learned from Master Splinter. "Guys. Check out this nerd's moves."  

Well aware that his shift in form was upon him, Donatello was forced to ignore it, and focus on the fight. Scales began to replace skin, and the sound of tearing fabric rang out into the quieted night. His darkened form appeared to be growing, but that couldn't be possible. A single flash from the streetlight gave you a glimpse of your heroic beau, half-turned. It was only for a split second, but enough. 

The two oldest brothers watched in disbelief as this gangly human man slowly took the familiar shape of their brother, far too stunned by what their eyes were beholding to take action. Michelangelo shifted uncomfortably, being privy to the secret, trying to pretend like he was equally as surprised. The leader was speechless, not entirely sure of what he had just witnessed. While beside him, the red brute showed the most visible reaction. A myriad of emotions swept over the red masked turtle's face--shock, fear, and disgust, before finally settling on his usual: anger.

As the transformation persisted, so did Donatello's attackers. He wanted to double over, but couldn't let up his defense for a second. All that he could do was grit his teeth, and tolerate the pain as he continued fending off the assault. There were far too many enemies for him to be concerned with his change at this point in time. Meanwhile, his practically blind assailants were oblivious to his shifting form. 

It wasn't until he took down the last of his opponents, and reached for your hand, that he finally came crashing back down to reality from his adrenaline high. His three-pronged, green, scaly hand was outstretched before him, mere inches away from yours. At which point, the streetlight finally decided to remain on, shining brightly down on the newly turned mutant like a spotlight. The otherworldly force was not so benevolent after all.

The orange and red masked brothers were prepared to jump down and interrupt, but Leonardo quickly stopped them. "No...we're not needed here." He stated, knowing this was time that you and Donatello needed alone. The wise leader was able to read the situation effortlessly. Putting the disappointment that he was feeling on the back burner, he chose empathy. Knowing that his sibling was already stressed, he didn't want to compound that by getting involved at this moment. 

"Whut??? Didja not see our brother just--" the burly terrapin readied his argument, but was swiftly silenced by the head of the team. "Enough, we're not interfering. We can discuss this with Donnie later, but right now...They need to be alone."

Coming to the realization that you had just witnessed him transform for the first time, Donatello's eyes grew wide with horror and he quickly withdrew his hand. He wished this had happened under better circumstances, but these were the cards that he was dealt. Dread flashed over his features as you stared back at him, transfixed. The expression on your face appeared almost identical to the one in his nightmare. Anxiety at it's peak, he backed away like a frightened animal and absconded without saying a word. There was nothing to be said, his monstrous form spoke for itself, telling the story of his deceit. 

The mutant's departure was so swift that he didn't hear your plea for him to stay. By the time you'd found words, he had already disappeared into the night. You stood there, surrounded by fallen enemies, and the many tattered pieces of his flannel shirt that laid strewn about the alley. Kneeling down, one by one you carefully collected the pieces of material. After retrieving every last shred, you stepped over the unconscious men and slowly made your way home in a daze.

Once he had returned to the lair, Donatello shut himself away in his room, head reeling from what had just occurred. The look of fear on your face replayed endlessly in his head as if it were a video on loop. He didn't expect you to accept him like this, he was an abomination of both nature and science. He only wanted for you to be able to lead a normal life, and he was unable to give you that. Knowing this fact made his heart ache.

Surely you wouldn't want to see him again, he concluded pessimistically. Not after watching someone you thought was human horrifically transform into a monster before your very eyes. Someone you trusted...and maybe even...loved? He quickly erased that possibility from his mind, you'd never return your affection for him like this...as a mutant. You loved the human Donatello, and that was the reality of the situation.

You returned to your apartment, utterly dumbfounded by the recent events. From your brief infiltration of Dr. Stockman's laboratory, you knew that he made unbelievable breakthroughs in genetic engineering. Though you were not privy to the specifics of his work, rumors flew within the scientific community that he'd found a way to modify human and animal DNA with his miraculous purple serum. You didn't believe these insane claims, it was something like that seemed unachievable. Despite the fact that you'd been hired to purloin said formula, you still weren't convinced of it's effectiveness. Was Donatello really a human-animal hybrid? Even though you'd witnessed him change into his half-animal form right in front of you, if was still difficult to swallow. 

"He's...incredible."

...to be continued.

Tagged a few folks who asked to be: 

@ali-on-reverie​ @fullvoidmoon @notaliteraltoad​ 

[aquilaofarkham]

title: varulven rating: teen and up word count: 5,717 summary: After being bitten by a werewolf, Trevor, knowing he doesn’t have much of a choice, accepts his fate following a painful transformation during the full moon. He quickly gets used to his new body with the support of Sypha and Alucard, who uses his own wolf form to better connect with Trevor. Part two of this piece.

read on ao3 at aquilaofarkham

--

The forest overwhelms him; too many new sounds, new scents, and new sensations all happening at once. The newly born lycan can hear everything from the smallest mouse digging into the frozen dirt, readying itself for hibernation, to the subtle crack of an owl’s talons clawing into tree bark as it moves from branch to branch. It watches and waits, ever so patient for that very same mouse. 

This assault on his senses continues. All things previously closed off when he was human have suddenly been opened. Through his eyes, the world is closer, more intimate. No moment to breathe. His thoughts are bursting with excitement and uncertainty, confusion and fervor.

He lifts his head and sees a white wolf upon a nearby hill. Sitting on his hind legs, head raised high and tall, staring back at the lycan. The skies are dark, save for the full moon, but thank god it’s not snowing else they’d never find each other. He knows the wolf will stay there all night if he has to, but the lycan won’t keep him waiting for much longer. This is a comforting sight; one that compels him to move forward. To join his friend, now that the two of them share more similarities than ever before (unconventional as they are).

Contrary to what most people believe, vampires and lycans get along very well.

Trevor doesn’t know if he will make peace with this form. It’s too soon to tell. But joining Alucard on a run through the snow-covered woods seems to be a decent start. White fur and dark grey fur move quickly against a sea of pin straight black trees. Their swift paws kick up snow as one tries running just an inch faster and further than the other—whether either of them realizes it or not.

When Trevor arrived home a month ago with claw marks gracing his shoulder, Alucard and Sypha did their best. All of them did their best. The two consulted books, legends, and remedies while their hunter prepared himself for the worst. Trevor will forever be grateful to them, despite their failure to stop the lycan’s curse. After the pain of transformation ended, he suddenly felt nothing. He could see nothing, only blood red and an emptiness surrounding him. It was dark inside the wolf. A realization that his body was no longer his own. He had lost control over it.

The first thing Trevor heard was his name. Faint and very weak, not strong enough to pull him out of the darkness. Whatever force held dominion over his body, its immediate instinct was to bare its fangs and violently lash out.

“Trevor, it’s us. You remember, I know you do.” The second thing Trevor heard. Clear and recognizable, even in his state. Sypha’s firm, unwavering, yet calm voice, a voice he always hoped to hear again, was able to cut through the prison that trapped his human thoughts and sight. Another problem solved, another victory she could hang off her belt. Sypha needed one of those, yet she also knew it wasn’t time to celebrate. No premature smiles or breaths of relief.

Trevor vaguely remembers what happened next; low to the ground, he crawled towards the two human creatures in front of him. Uncertain of how much personal control he had regained. Nor was he sure of how easily it could slip away again. Then same another familiar voice, like a candle in a dark corridor leading him to someplace brighter. Trevor Belmont is always in want—or rather, in need of brighter things.

“Trevor...” Alucard was never one to reveal his true emotions especially in the way he spoke. Neutral, steady, and blunt. Most often rude if he were in a foul mood, yet he raised his voice sparingly. But if Alucard was attempting to hide a certain emotion in that single word, he failed. All Trevor could hear was a desperate plea for hope.

He put their fears to rest when the front of his head gently pressed into Alucard’s outstretched palm. Trevor didn’t move beyond that; too ashamed, too scared of this new form that dwarfed his friends. Alucard cautiously slid his hand up between the lycan’s eyes before scratching his ears. Something Trevor did to those old grey Belmont wolfhounds of his long gone home. A shockingly pleasant sensation, making him feel akin to one of said large, gentle beasts he misses so dearly. Large is obvious, but gentle? Trevor wants to try his best.

It was a good decision to leave the cellar with the now broken door. Trevor would have otherwise cowered in a corner come sunrise. Out here, deep in the snow and cold air, adrenaline rushes through his veins just as easily as blood. Mixed with his habitual tendency to compete against the dhampir, it’s enough to propel him forward, matching Alucard’s speed.

This forest is his. Theirs.

--

One should never underestimate Sypha Belnades. She’s sent demons back to hell in flames of her own creation. She stood against the vampires’ mad lord and burned him to ashes which flew off into the night sky, their final resting place unknown. She played reluctant peacemaker between two men, more like children despite their own abilities. A minimal accomplishment compared to others, but an accomplishment, nonetheless. All those moments when she held her bright fingertips close against their temples saying, “Grow up or I will light both of your skulls on fire”.

Keeping track of two wolf-like creatures seems easy compared to everything else. Stay close, stay watchful, and never stray too far from the fresh set of paw prints in the snow. A real-life Ariadne with her precious red thread. Sypha adored listening to those stories from her childhood, begging to hear one more before bedtime. It didn’t matter if they were real or not, though she always believed they were.

Belief is a powerful force; just as if not more powerful than her spells. She still believes in many things that cross bearing men reject; things good and bad. Of magic, vampires, and the myths that give life to both. Sypha loves her myths—even the unsettling ones. The ones that unearth truths that no one wants to hear. She once hoped some of them would help spare Trevor from his eventual fate.

She sat on the floor of their library, surrounded by piles of books like stone walls. A momen in time that feels long ago but in reality, happened only a few short days prior to the full moon. The words in front of her blurred together as she rubbed her aching eyes, yet she kept reading.

Sypha studied the lycan’s many origins: they came from a scorned lover of Gilgamesh, having been turned into a wolf against their will. No, they were punished by the god Jupiter for eating the remains of a sacrificed boy. Actually, they were merely by-products of the oldest vampires. On and on an on. She read of the symptoms: nightmares, vomiting, lack of an appetite. Increase in agitation. She wanted to scream, “I know that already” into the pages of those particular books. What she needed from these myths were cures.

While it made her hands twitch and her heart pound with anxiety, Sypha did what she promised Trevor: she kept searching. She kept reading.

So engrossed in her reading, Sypha barely noticed Alucard as he sat down beside her. A silence grew between them every time her fingers flipped over another page. He watched her eyes move from line to line, scaling down. A warm light filled the library; it would be dark soon and he wasn’t about to let her go through yet another sleepless night. Sypha’s sharp mind needed rest, but then again, they all did.

“You have that look again.” Despite how softly he spoke, Alucard noticed her jump. Sypha glanced at him briefly, then returned to her book, burying her nose in even deeper.

“What look?”

“The one that says focused yet angry. Calm, but disturb me and I will separate your head from your neck.”

She hid her amusement at Alucard’s dark brand of humour. “I am not angry.”

“Are you certain?”

“... perhaps a little. More frustrated. These books have nothing that can help us. There are apparently plenty of ways to tame a lycan after they transform.”

“But no methods of curing them.”

Sypha closed the book; Alucard took that as a yes. “What about you? I’ve seen you held up in that laboratory. Sometimes for hours on end.”

When they started rebuilding the Belmont manor with its library, bedrooms, armoury, and kitchen, they added a new room. A mirror image of the laboratory and clinic Alucard remembered so fondly. Full of medicines, glass tubes, and other devices neither Trevor nor Sypha fully understood but were willing to learn. He used it more often than them, carrying on important, irreplaceable work.

A local rumour began spreading amongst the neighbouring villages. Talk of a stranger dressed in black going from door to door, giving remedies to the sick while refusing payment. They never did manage to catch this good Samaritan.

Sypha once saw Alucard with his hair different. Still loose but tied with a simple hairband and hanging over his breast. When she mentioned it, innocently enough, Alucard went quiet. She hasn’t seen him like that since.

“Did... did your mother’s notes say anything?”

“Unfortunately, she didn’t have very many patients afflicted with the lycan’s curse.” Usually Sypha could recognize the sarcasm in Alucard’s tone; this time proved more difficult. “But I had more success reading the notes she and my father wrote together. I’ve started concocting a tonic using distilled wolfsbane.”

“And...”

Alucard didn’t want to give Sypha false hope. “It still needs work. With its current state, it will most likely kill him.”

“Maybe...” Sypha stopped herself. Never in her life did she want to admit defeat. Always too stubborn, too proud, tasting bile in her mouth if she even thought about it. Yet she told Trevor and Alucard to grow up. Perhaps it was time she did as well, especially if the life of someone she loved was at stake.

“Maybe it would be best if we let Trevor transform. We can use your tonic to ease the pain when he changes and then try taming him afterwards. These books annoy me beyond anything else, but I found a manuscript about northern lycan myths.” Shoving aside everything else, she grabbed a flimsy set of brown papers held together by thread and sheer perseverance. “It stood out the most. I think it may assist us.”

Alucard stared at the so-called “book” in Sypha’s hand. Its ink scrawls were barely legible to his eyes. “We would have to tie him down. Or lock him somewhere secure.”

“We have that cellar. I know you don’t like this plan.”

“I don’t think either of us does.” Sypha nodded in agreement. “I will tell him.”

“You do not have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to help him.”

“He won’t like what you have to say. He’s barely gotten any rest.”

“No one living in this house has.” He placed his hand on her back. “Don’t worry, Sypha. I will talk to him.”

“Gently. Remember to be gentle with him.”

“I shall.”

“Before you do that, we need to finish that tonic. I will help.”

“That won’t be necessary. You should—”

Sypha pushed the manuscript against his chest. “I said I’m helping. And you should read this.”

Alucard smiled. “There’s not much I can say that would convince you otherwise, is there?”

“Nothing at all.”

Deep in her memories, Sypha nearly trips over herself. Alucard was right; she hated that plan. It worked, but she hated it for making her think the worst. For making her feel as though she had willingly doomed Trevor to his fate. That she had been defeated.

Her feet begin to ache. She keeps reminding herself of one thing: this is not defeat. Only another obstacle to overcome. A door opening to a new way of life. Sypha is used to walking through those. She scales up another hill, her two boys off in the distance, still in sight.

She should have worn better shoes.

--

Wolves cannot run forever. Even those of supernatural origins must stop, which is what Trevor and Alucard do. But one still has mountains of energy to burn. His head is a flurry of different thoughts. Some take root while most leave just as fast as they entered. No matter where they came from or what they entail, they all succeed in contradicting each other.

One thought manages to rise above the rest: what else can this new body really do?

Alucard takes his rest not far from Trevor, who seems to be in his own little world. Not content enough to run around in circles, he takes to rolling about in the snow, attacking it the same way a pup would pounce at everything in sight, animate or not. A pup... yes, that’s what Alucard is reminded of. He watches in amusement as Trevor trips over his legs, too long and cumbersome for his liking. No normal wolf would be able to handle such abnormal bodily proportions of a lycan’s.

It takes some trial and error—more error than trial. Only when Trevor actually stops to think does he regain some control over his limbs. No more flopping around; now he can revert straight back to his playful demeanour, this time on much steadier footing.

—Quite the beacon of terror, the dhampir thinks. Villagers must be quaking with fear underneath their bedcovers tonight.

Alucard lowers himself against the ground. Let Trevor have his fun. Lord knows he deserves it after a month of hell. This might even count as a valuable lesson. There’ll be plenty more to come.

Trevor rolls off his back and makes brief contact with golden eyes against white fur. Gold like amber or the cinders of a well-used fireplace. He looks at Alucard and wonders if the dhampir’s transformation is ever as painful as his own. No, Trevor realizes the longer he stares. Not painful or ugly at all. A few gentle, graceful wisps of smoke and the deed is done. Seems everything Alucard does is gentle and graceful, no matter what form he takes.

A mischievous thought worms its way into Trevor’s head. Alucard maintains his statuesque posture; beautiful, regal, and boring. At first, he ignores the other wolf, occasionally glancing in his direction out of curiosity and confusion. Packs of snow get thrown into the air with every wag of Trevor’s shaggy tail. Alucard’s head tilts slightly, his ears pinned back.

—What are you planning? Why are you staring at me like that?

What can barely be described as a tense standoff ends when Trevor shoves Alucard. Despite being larger and arguably stronger as a lycan, this action does nothing to faze his companion. Trevor repeats the gesture; still not enough to crack his hard exterior—but not enough to deter his scheming counterpart. Trevor charges headfirst into Alucard, more a ram than a wolf.

Alucard, if he so wanted, could overpower the lycan. Push him off or knock him flat on his own back. Yet he stays in a somewhat defeated pose with his limbs bent and dangling. Trevor continues his attempt at what Alucard can only assume is... bonding? He nuzzles his snout into the white wolf’s fur while his oversized front paws push against his exposed belly. Another jovial act between his family’s cherished wolfhounds.

Trevor also recalls riding on their backs as they took him up and down the halls of the Belmont manor then outside through the gardens when he was still small enough. Sypha might be able to ride on his back, maybe even Alucard as well. Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold.

Trevor becomes lost in this new, break-neck pace of thinking, one thought after another and then another. He doesn’t notice that the playful bites he’s been giving his friend have unknowingly turned aggressive. Alucard retaliates by baring his fangs and letting out a deep, guttural snarl.

—Not so rough.

Trevor instinctively backs away. As an apology, he lowers his head and tries making his body seem much smaller than it really is. The same action he attempted in the cellar following his change. Lycans simply take up too much space. Too large, too obstructive, and too rough, even towards similar creatures. He huffs out a frustrated breath into the frigid air.

Alucard ceases his growling when he sees this abrupt shift. He didn’t mean for his reaction to be so harsh. He’s supposed to be helping after all. Days before the full moon when Trevor quietly wept out of fear—fear of himself—Alucard showed his own vulnerable side. He let Trevor rest his head upon his chest, wiping away the tears and offering small words of comfort until he drifted off into a desperately needed sleep. How could either of them forget that evening?

His father taught him that even those most experienced in transfiguration often have difficulty controlling their emotions. Too dulled down or too impassioned, exploding at any spontaneous moment. It would explain Trevor’s excitable behavior.

Softly, he treads over to the curled-up mass of thick fur. Trevor pouts as though he were still human. He really is just a newborn lycan on his first night out; an overgrown pup. His playfulness should be seen as a blessing in disguise. Alucard gives his snout a couple gentle pats, apologizing himself. To which Trevor merely grumbles.

—Stick in the ass you are.

Alucard has no way of telling if that’s what he’s really thinking, but he can come to his own conclusions. He knows the Belmont well enough. He responds with a frisky bite to his ear, eliciting a surprised yelp from Trevor. Rows upon rows of fangs snap at Alucard, who always dodges them at the very last second, before getting pinned down.

They continue like this, chasing and wrestling each other, causing their own little intimate chaos. Even their growls sound happier. It took some time, but they’re finally playing the same game. All is well again—or as well as things could be.

It comes to an end when a sound off in the distance catches Trevor’s attention. He raises his head; ears perked up, and listens. It’s not Sypha, no doubt making her way across the rolling landscape, closing in on her two boys. It’s no human at all. Something else, perhaps an animal or more, scurries through the frozen underbrush. A certain primal urge suddenly rises within Trevor, one that all beasts share: the need to chase and hunt. He stands up, nose pointed in the direction of the noise, ignoring the white wolf’s yips. Before he can run off, Alucard bites down and pulls him back.

—For once in your life, wait. 

Trevor does pause. but not without growling at him for leaving teeth marks on his tail. He begrudgingly lets Alucard take the lead. They begin their hunt.

--

Somewhere, a clock hand strikes past midnight. Trevor and Alucard huddle together, their eyes fixated on a small flock of wild pheasants. Not quite the prize they were hoping for, but decent practice. Like before, Trevor allows the white wolf to go first, all while trying to tell himself that as a human, he’s still the better hunter.

However, he must admit, it is mesmerizing to watch Alucard hunt as a wolf as it is watching him fight as a dhampir. Every step is deliberate and creates no sound as eyes never leave their prey, inching closer. A calculated, flawless leap forward, the panicked scattering of pheasants except for one thrashing around for freedom under his paw, and then finally, the wolf twists the bird’s neck in his jaws. He makes it all seem so easy.

Alucard carries the lifeless, slumped prize over to Trevor. So quick and barely even a drop of blood. He finds the rest of the flock a few feet away. They continue pecking at whatever berries and frozen grub they can scrounge for, unaware or having already forgotten that one of their own is dead. Trevor enjoys a challenge in all aspects of his life, but for now he’ll a dumb prey over a clever one. He start by mimicking Alucard’s movements and everything seems to be going well. Cumbersome due to his size but after some adjustments to his stance, the dhampir feels optimistic.

Then Trevor loses his chance to strike by half a second. The pheasants begin to disperse, and he rushes into them, striking one with his claws. It tries escaping; Trevor tries catching it. There’s a struggle as both hunter and prey put up their own fight. Jaws clamp down on the bird’s neck, but instead of a clean snap, splatters of blood and feathers cover the white ground. Trevor stares down at his prize, mangled and torn beyond recognition.

—Too rough. Again.

Alucard expected something like this would happen and, in the end, Trevor was successful in finishing his first hunt. So, he isn’t disappointed. Yet Trevor dully paws at what used to be a pheasant with dejection in his eyes. Alucard tries cheering him up by licking his bloody snout clean. It helps.

They come across a drove of jackrabbits with their guard down, a rare but lucky sight. The second hunt goes much smoother. Alucard catches two, Trevor four, all of which hang out of his mouth intact. If Sypha were here right now, she would have a good laugh at the sheer ridiculous sight of such a beast with his jaws stuffed to the brim with rabbits. 

Speak of the devil. Out of the corner of Alucard’s eye, he sees Sypha in the near distance, two pheasants hanging off her hip. He motions for Trevor to follow him.

Trevor doesn’t acknowledge him, nor does he notice Sypha. If a new sound or smell no matter how faraway demands his interest, then he must comply. All else, even close friends, fade away. He can’t help it in this form. He meanders over the hills, leaving Alucard and Sypha to do little but trail behind him. Something tells them that this is not just simple curiosity pulling the lycan.

Silently, Trevor leads them to a clearing in the trees. Out of the darkness, shapes and silhouettes come into view. Not particularly large, but substantial. Some far apart, some close together. Houses, few of which still have candles inside, burning the night away. The softened lights illuminate each frosted window like small drifting halos. It’s deathly still in this hamlet; they might have never discovered its existence had it not been for Trevor.

—Trevor. Alucard joins his side, fearing the worst. His head is lowered as he violently bats at it with his paws, agitated by some unseen tick. Every breath comes out as a growling rasp while streams of saliva drip off his fangs. The look in his eyes, the one Alucard and Sypha know so well, is gone.

It’s happening again. Even the idea of being so close to other humans is enough to reawaken the hunger. Not to hunt or feed, but to rip and mangle and leave nothing unscathed. Trevor loses his balance, stumbling from foot to foot, shaking his head. God knows he’s trying to gain back control, and it hurts him. Alucard barks in his ear, deafening him.

—Fight it. Trevor, or what Alucard hopes is still Trevor, responds with a fierce snap of his jaws. They snarl, and bark, and brandish their claws. Sypha tears her eyes away, despite not wanting to. She can hear voices within the houses, villagers stirring from their rest at what they believe is the sound of two wolves tearing at each other’s throats. She pleads for them to stay inside. This doesn’t concern them.

—Fight it. God damn it, I know you can. Fight it!

Trevor doesn’t care for Alucard’s thoughts. With another swipe, he sends him skidding across the ground and into the base of a tree. The pain is sharp but quick. Alucard stands, thankful that he is no ordinary wolf. Before he can charge at Trevor, Sypha moves between them, her hands raised.

“Trevor, stop!” She’s not afraid, not anymore. Or rather, she doesn’t look afraid. Her expression is firm, brows furrowed. All concentration on this one spell. It needs to be performed without any uncertainty. There’s no fire or ice emitting from her fingertips, yet Trevor howls bloody murder.

Spells that can change the mind and its contents are dangerous. In the hands of a less experienced practitioner, too much can go wrong. If one doesn’t succumb to an early death, then madness. Which is why Sypha has always preferred to manipulate tangible elements. But she’s never been above taking risks. She focuses every bit of her energy into restoring Trevor’s conscience. Hopefully it will shift itself in the right direction and neither she nor Alucard will be forced to commit the unthinkable.

“Look at me... keep your eyes on me. It will be alright, I promise.” Sypha doesn’t make promises lightly. Trevor huffs, gritting his fangs, but his gaze never leaves her. He waves his head from side to side again, as if trying to shake off a terrible headache. The growls quiet until they disappear. Sypha breathes a relieved yet trembling sigh when Trevor’s eyes soften. She steps forward and wraps her arms around his head, so large her fingers barely touch. Her forehead rests against his.

“Shh, none of that. You did well. I told you it would be alright.” She strokes his fur, listening to every whimper.

As his senses return, so too does his memory. Trevor wriggles free from Sypha’s grasp and runs to Alucard, still whining. While shaken up, his body bears no serious injuries, only some out of place fur. That doesn’t stop Trevor from licking and nuzzling him like an overbearing mother wolf. Alucard appreciates the concern, but he can stop now. After a moment of calm respite between the three of them, he decides that this night should come to an end. Before Sypha can follow him, the tip of her hood gets caught in Trevor’s teeth.

“What is it?” He lets go and lowers his underside against the snow, gesturing to his back. He knows Sypha came here by foot, all on her own; he can’t just let her return the same way. “Oh... well, this is...” Does he really want her to...?

Trevor gives her a nudge before she can stutter out another syllable. Alright, then. When in Rome and all that. Grabbing handfuls of fur, Sypha climbs aboard. She fumbles a bit then finds a comfortable position. Moments like these make Sypha thankful for their isolated, self-contained life. How would she explain this to her grandfather or the other Speakers? Even so, she can’t help but bury herself deeper in Trevor’s warm fur.

They catch up to Alucard with his mouth full of dead jackrabbits. Using the light of the moon as their guide, a lycan, a dhampir in the shape of a wolf, and a Speaker magician retrace their steps back to their home. Back to their bed.

--

The next day arrives, bringing with it the sun as it crawls over the Wallachian mountainside. Sypha stirs awake and forces her sleep heavy eyes open. The hazy light of early morning shines through the snow-covered glass of the bedroom window panes. Curling into the fetal position, she holds her knees tight against her chest. Both hands massage her bare feet, alleviating some of their soreness after her midnight excursion.

Is it possible for a single night to feel stretched out to its limits? Lingering for longer than a few hours at the most? Sypha remembers the set of events that occured last night, despite them feeling like a dream. All of them tumbling into place one after another without rest. The last memory is of her in bed, safe, warm, and guarded. A bit suffocated but sleeping better than she did for the entire month. She knows who to thank for that.

Sitting up (a feat much easier said than done), Sypha believes she’ll look down at two wolves who are fast asleep. Just as she did before closing her eyes in the darkness, their bodies cuddled around her. One has white fur and a sleek build; the second, a lycan with thick fur and a mass that might have broken the bed in half.

She sees the white wolf, but in place of the other is a large blanket spreading out. As though the lycan had been neatly skinned and stripped of all its fur. The most curious thing about it is the human-esque shape protruding from underneath. Sypha lifts up one of the corners and with wide, bright eyes, she smiles. None of the books mentioned anything about this.

Trevor lies on his side covered by the fur blanket (or what must have been his skin), naked and in the grips of a deep, comfortable sleep. His breathing is gentle and every so often, a soft snore escapes. Sypha thinks she’s staring at an entirely different man. The tired, dark circles under his eyes are gone and his skin looks softer, healthier. Those years of turmoil and loneliness since he was twelve, all faded away after one night.

Tenderly, she runs a few fingers through his tousled hair. He will be fine. The fear she had when his fangs sharpened, and his eyes grew vicious was only momentary. Sypha wants to be hopeful, her most cherished emotion right after belief. She wants to hope and believe that Trevor might find the strength within himself to live with this curse. She also wants to bend down and hold him for the rest of the morning, no fear that he will disappear the next day or even in the next hour. But Sypha won’t wake him just yet. She slips out of bed, hurrying across the cold floor, a blanket wrapped around her shivering body, until she reaches the manor kitchen.

The lasting effects of a night well slept soon dissipate as Sypha abruptly stops, staring with surprised eyes at Trevor and Alucard’s midnight spoils. Namely, a pile of dead pheasants and hares complete with bloody feathers strewn along the wooden table where they have their meals together. They were all so exhausted, she almost forgot about those.

Sypha walks past the pile and begins preparing her breakfast.

--

Alucard is next to wake up. He opens his mouth in a wide yawn, licking dry lips, before giving his back a good stretch. After a few smooth wisps of mist rising into the air, he returns to his normal form. Fully clothed, wearing everything from his high boots, tight black pants, and the white shirt with the plunging neckline. He remains splayed across the bedsheets, straightening out the rest of his limbs. Letting out a tired yet satisfied moan, Alucard props himself up on his elbow and turns to Trevor. His reaction is just as pleasantly shocked as Sypha’s. Reaching over, he nudges him awake.

“Good morning,” he coos. Once Trevor’s eyes open and he gains an awareness of where he is, his cheeks go slightly pink.

“I didn’t expect this.”

“Did you feel anything transfiguring back?”

“No, nothing at all. If only the first transformation went this way.”

“So, you remember everything we did. Hunting, running...”

“I do... more than I remember most things when I’m human. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it felt like to run that fast. Then there was... when I almost—”

“Nothing happened. It wasn’t your fault, and no one was hurt. Remember that as well.” Aside from a brief lapse in contentment, Alucard is relieved at how well Trevor is taking everything. He stares at him for a bit longer. His blue eyes, normally so tired and worn, look so much brighter in the winter sunlight. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Actually, I feel better than good. I felt so heavy before. Everywhere I went, even when I met you and Sypha, I was constantly carrying around all this extra weight. You could never see it, but it was there, beating down on my shoulders while I rotted from the inside out. I don’t know, it sounds like I’m being too dramatic. But now... I feel lighter. Newer, I guess. It’s as though I’ve just taken the longest fucking bath of my life.”

“Interesting way to describe it.”

“But, be honest with me.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“How hideous did I look? When I was... you know, in that form?”

Alucard doesn’t answer right away, preferring to keep Trevor in mild suspense. “It was not that terrible of a sight. You might actually look better as a lycan than a human.”

Trevor feebly tosses a pillow at his face. “Shut up.” Then comes an exasperated groan as he shoves his face into what used to be his “skin”. “Christ, that was a long night.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to go through it again?”

A valid question, and an important one. Trevor thinks about it at length. He can’t decide whether he wants his answer to be optimistic or his usual of reluctant acceptance. “I guess we’ll have to see in about a month’s time. Not like I have much of a choice.”

Alucard reaches over and grazes a couple fingertips along his stubbled chin. “You should know that I’m proud of you. We both are.”

“... don’t think I’ve heard that word come out of your mouth before.”

“Which one?”

“Proud. Of me in particular.”

“I’ve been proud of you many times in the past. I simply never vocalized it.”

“Well, my life’s purpose as been fulfilled. Guess I can die a happy man now.”

Grabbing the very same pillow, Alucard brings it down upon Trevor’s head again and again. “That was a horrible joke.” But the hunter, turn lycan, then turned back into a man only laughs.

Real laughter; it’s been too long since Alucard heard that sound.

[shadow-lord-by-day]

Chapter 2, The Curious Life of Moira X

Long ago, in a small village in the Scottish Highlands, a little girl was born. Her name was Moira, and she was the apple of her parents' eyes. She grew up in that country as most girls did, with laughter and cheer and plenty of friends. She played in the brooks and tarns, and knew all the names of the flowers and tors that surrounded her. One day, when she was twelve, Moira grew gravely sick, and her parents and the doctor feared terribly for her. However, to their relief and perplexment, she woke up the next day as well as she had ever been, and was immediately back to her life.  Moira graduated school at the top of her class, and married her boyfriend. Her teachers said it was a shame that such a bright girl wouldn't go to university, but Moira didn't care, and soon she and her husband had three beautiful children all of their own, who themselves ran and played and laughed on their little farm. As Moira grew older, her own children eventually left home, to be married or in one case take on an apprenticeship in London. They all came to visit very often, and it wasn't long before Moira's seven grandchildren were playing with the toys that her own children had once forgotten.  Moira was growing old by this time, and she and her husband decided to take a holiday to America, to see a little of the world before they no longer had the will or the means. Not long after they returned from their trip, Moira complained of an astute pain in her gut, and a much younger doctor was sad to inform her that she had a tumor growing in her intestines. Moira died not much later, surrounded by her family and friends, happy at a life well lived, at the age of eighty-six.  At the instant that her brain activity ceased, the universe hiccuped, and slipped back roughly eighty-six years and nine months.  In her second life, Moira was conceived in her mother's womb remembering in exact detail every moment of her first life. The foetus was confused, astonished, and most of all scared, and spent the next nine months trying desperately to work out exactly what was happening to her. She was born, exactly as she had been before, perfectly healthy and without issue, and screaming in confusion as much as in a need for air.  She decided not to let on to anyone what had happened, afraid of the village's overzealous preacher, and instead set her mind to working things out for herself. Her parents quickly began to notice that she was different. She walked, talked, and read much earlier than any of her peers, as of course these were all things that Moira already knew how to do. She was called a genius and a prodigy, and found herself being pushed towards the sciences. She did not complain about this, as to her this seemed the best way to figure out her situation. She met her husband from her first life, but in knowing every flaw, every vice, and every imperfection that he held and would always hold, she paid him no mind, bending every effort towards a place at Oxford University.  To her relief, her efforts bore fruit, and on her second graduation from school Moira’s teachers and parents were practically weeping tears of joy over her place at the esteemed university. Moira studied physics, as much as she could, trying to find any possible answer to the conundrum of her continued existence. To her dismay, in none of her studies did she find the answers she sought, despite the multiple PhDs that she acquired over the course of her studies.  Disheartened, Moira resigned herself to a life of teaching, trying desperately to produce a life worth living from the existence of perpetual study that she had built for herself. She entered into a hasty and toxic marriage, exited it equally hastily, and turned to drink to slake the existential melancholy that she found herself wallowing in.  Then, one day after her teaching was done, she returned to her apartment and switched on her television. She was immediately gripped by the content of the news program that came on, as it showed the face of a man she vaguely remembered seeing on campus from her days as a student. A man named Charles Xavier. He revealed to the world that he was a mutant, an individual who had through random genetic mutation gained certain supernatural abilities. Moira, entranced and excited by an occurrence that in her first life had gone almost entirely unnoticed, booked a one way ticket on the next plane to Philadelphia, which went down over the Atlantic with no survivors.  In her third life, Moira took a similar approach to things, not to mention a sigh of relief that she was born again. Already knowing everything there was to know about physics, she studied biology at Oxford, the course that she knew Xavier had taken. She met him, and they quickly became close friends. She pressed him on the subject of potential for mutations such as those which they both harboured, and he did confide to her that he had suspicions of something similar. To her disappointment, he never read her mind to observe what she already knew about the subject, and she quickly exited his orbit after observing what she believed to be his thinly veiled god complex.  Instead of following Xavier, Moira left for a laboratory in Norway, where she put forward her theories of mutation to the scientists already working there. They were sceptical, but Moira more than met the lab’s requirements for hire, and her ideas were published in a section of their journal. Interest picked up when Charles Xavier and Sarah Kinney published their own theories, despite accusations from Xavier that Moira had plagiarised his ideas. Moira exchanged a series of letters with Kinney, whose theories went above and beyond anything that she or Xavier had speculated over in their university years. Two years later, when SHIELD’s Department K released evidence of mutant existence to the public, they were overjoyed, despite Xavier receiving most of the credit due to coming out as a mutant almost as soon as they did so. When reports of other mutants filtered in from the public, Xavier was yet further lauded with praise, although Moira and Sarah were well congratulated among their own peers. They gradually stopped mailing each other, and eventually Moira heard that Sarah had become a recluse, working on a project that she refused to share details of. Moira was saddened, but got back to her own work with her friends.  Experimentation on her own tissue samples was enough to confirm that she was herself a mutant, and she commenced work on a way to potentially rid a person of mutation, seeing the startling level of prejudice that humans expressed to mutants almost as soon as knowledge of mutation became widespread. This didn’t aid her standing amongst other mutants, but as far as she saw it, this was for their own good. Or so she thought.

Moira groggily opened her eyes. She could hear a crackling, as of fire, and flickering shadows danced over the wall of the lab. She was bound by thick ropes, and she lay in a puddle of her own blood and broken glass. She looked up, to see a woman peering down at her. She blinked. They were clad entirely in black and wore a golden face mask, showing an amused expression. Behind the mask, lips moved. “You’re awake,” she said.  “Who the fuck are you?” Moira hissed, wriggling and trying to break free of her ties.  “Don’t you recognise me, dear?” The woman asked.  Recollection dawned on Moira. She had seen this woman on the TV once. She was a mutant and a terrorist, going by the alias of Destiny. “You’re that mutant supremacist,” she said through a mouthful of blood. She spat it out. “I figured one of your lot would find me at some point.”  Destiny stared at her through that unshifting mask. “And you were right.” She bent down, examining Moira more closely. “Do you know what my mutant power is, Moira?”  “Predicting the future,” Moira replied. It was a guess, but clearly a good one, as Destiny nodded.  “Very good. Do you know something else strange, Moira?”  “I know lots of very strange things,” she said, trying to shrug. The bonds restrained her.  “I’m sure. I can’t see you, Moira.” Moira blinked in surprise. “You are entirely invisible to me. I can see the effects that you have, they burn themselves into my irises like the sun. But in their center is a person shaped hole. That’s you, Moira.”  Moira almost laughed. “What did you do with Johan?” She asked with venom.  “Your lab assistant? He’s dead. We didn’t find him as interesting as we are very much finding you.” She fumbled at Moira’s face a little before grabbing onto her chin and pulling them eye to eye. “What are you, Moira?”  “A mutant.” There didn’t seem to be any point in lying at this point. “And my mutant power, Destiny, is changing the course of history.”  Destiny cocked her head. “How?”  “This is my third life. I’m born in the same place, at the same time, to the same people, every time.” She grinned. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”  Destiny stood up, dropping Moira back to the floor. “Very interesting,” she murmured. “But not true.” She turned her back to Moira, and Moira for the first time saw the crowd of people who Destiny now faced. “If you continue along this path, you will always run into me. We will always come for you and this cure of yours, and we will always kill you for it. You will run headlong into our arms, and you will die. And if we don’t get you, the humans will.” She turned back to Moira. “Besides, one wrong step during your childhood, one scrape too many, and you may die before your mutation ever manifests. And you will be dead for good.” She gestured with her head. “Pyro, kill her. Slowly.”  A man stepped forward from the crowd. Flames licked from his hands, and when he stretched them out they engulfed Moira, who screamed in pain and horror and terror.

In her fourth life, Moira decided to give Charles Xavier another try. This time studying anthropology, she approached him at Oxford and quickly entered his good graces. This time seeing past the flaws and failings, and gently guiding him away from them, she eventually allowed him to read her mind, showing him her three previous lives and the things she already understood, and it radicalised him. He came to love her, and she him, and stuck by his side for the foundation of the X-Men, through persecution, through good and ill. She helped him to spread his message of peace and coexistence, which he now clung to almost religiously, she helped the X-Men grow to the greatest superhero group on Earth, and was convinced for a time that she had beaten Destiny’s warning. She stood upon a grateful world, in which humans and mutants for the most part lived in peace.  It was then that the sentinels emerged. They were human made machines, robots with the sole purpose of eradicating mutants wherever they appeared. Moira died in a rain of fire as the sentinels wiped out Charles’s school, desperately trying to shield him with her body.  In her fifth life, Moira decided to arm herself. As a child, she wrote a letter to Doctor Strange, explaining her situation and desire to meet with and learn from him. He soon arrived in her village, and Moira’s parents were delighted that the strange American man had realised such potential in their daughter. She went to his Sanctum Sanctorum in New York, where she learned every secret of the arcane that she could find hidden in the Sanctum’s recesses. When Charles Xavier visited one day, she quietly ignored him, and continued studying. Strange learned to work around her, understanding that Moira intended to spend every possible moment of this life learning magic, and she was an exceptionally fast learner.  When Bolivar Trask revealed his sentinels, much earlier than he had in her fourth life, the public was astonished when they immediately sought out the Sanctum Sanctorum, tore Moira out of it, and burned her alive.  In her sixth life, Moira had a holiday. She lived a comfortable life as a professor of psychology and philosophy at Oxford. She married a man named Joseph MacTaggart, who she loved very much, and for the first time since her second death missed the time that she had been a simple farmer’s wife, just a little. When the sentinels came, she used magic to make Joseph forget her, and went out to meet her death with open arms.  Moira spent the entirety of her seventh life hunting the Trask bloodline. One by one, each member of Bolivar Trask’s family died in bizarre and mysterious circumstances. This received a great deal of media coverage, as the Trasks were an affluent breed, but the searching of secret services and police departments turned up nothing. Doctor Strange did find Moira, however, and after a duel of magic she defeated him and sent him home to his Sanctum, before retreating into the wilderness, mutants finally safe.  The sentinels emerged anyway. She found and fought them, in an AI controlled factory beneath the French Alps. She realised then that to try and stop the AI was pointless. It was something more than a computer program, and more like a meme that took root in anything that would receive it, be it Bolivar Trask’s mind or an abandoned factory complex. Moira died frustrated and angry, and with a hunger for vengeance.  In her eighth life, Moira took an entirely different approach. She went to Oxford, studying chemistry, and ignoring Charles Xavier. She spent much of her life hidden away with Joseph, and when the time was right left him, with an empty promise to return, and went to the mutant super-terrorist Magneto, visiting him where he sat sequestered in Asteroid M, his hidden satellite, and revealed what she knew to him. He listened quietly, and it radicalised him.  Magneto gathered a great army of mutants to him, some who would otherwise have become X-Men, and attempted, for the first time in any of Moira’s lives, a total domination of humanity. Armies fell, nations bent the knee, mutants were set free. Moira again dared to believe that it could have worked. As she wove spells and magic to keep humanity chained, she heard songs of resistance and freedom, and Moira and Magneto turned to see the Avengers. They fought them for decades, but were ultimately overcome. Tony Stark executed Moira on public television, and she died with another option in her mind.  In her ninth life, Moira went to Apocalypse, the mutant immortal who had walked the Earth since the fall of Babel, and the champion of the survival of the fittest. They gathered a greater army than even Magneto had managed, and began the systematic extermination of humanity. Humanity fought back, and the sentinels were released earlier than ever before. The machines adapted and learned quickly, soon attaining sentience and approaching technological singularity, and Moira began to despair as the mutants were beaten back further and further. The sentinels subjugated humans, who began ascending to machinehood themselves. Soon, the destruction of mutants was only a secondary objective to the machines, as they ever approached their final ascent to singularity.

Moira stood upon the rubble of the mutant capitol Tyr, the sky red above her. Tears streamed down her face. A corpse lay at her feet, a nameless mutant who had died in fire and ash. Their skin had been burned away completely, and their skull showed through underneath. Behind her, Apocalypse let out a furious bellow, slamming his hands together. “Is there no way for us to live?” He roared. “Must we die like this forever?”  Moira did not respond. She stared down at the mutant’s corpse, rage burning in her belly. She and Apocalypse had built the city and the mutant nation surrounding it from nothing, and it lay in ruin and disappointment at their feet. A drone whirred above her head, and her hand instinctively struck upwards and took it out of the sky with a burst of magical force. She remembered Charles, and Sarah, and Joseph, and even Magneto. She had left them all in each of her lives, and her last ditch effort for mutant lives had been crushed under her feet. She clenched her fist, feeling her nails biting into the flesh of her palm. “Apocalypse!” She called.  “What, Moira?” He returned. To her astonishment, tears were in his voice. “We weren’t the fittest. We didn’t survive. We are doomed, Moira!”  Moira turned to him. His hulking form was hunched over, holding the still corpse of Xorn, the Horseman of Death. “But we aren’t all dead yet,” she said, voice full of simmering rage. “One last attack. One last bomb against Nimrod. I’m going out with a bang if I have to go out at all.”  Apocalypse stood. He placed Xorn’s body at his feet. “One last fight,” he snarled. “Very well. Let us go.” He approached Moira, who held out her arms. She carved magical runes into the air, and as Apocalypse approached her she shifted space, and they were deposited into the vast steel cathedral of Nimrod the Lesser. Bright lights turned on them, the machines rounding to face them, plasma cannons outstretched, eyes flaring. Some towered, as tall as skyscrapers, while others swarmed like flies around them. A wall of force was thrown up by the cathedral’s defence systems, encircling Moira and Apocalypse. Three iterations of Nimrod the Lesser approached, each as large as Apocalypse, each showing amusement on its synthetic face.  “You arrive,” it chuckled. “Soon to be the last organic beings on this planet.” It clapped its enormous polymer hands together. “This is excellent.”  Apocalypse released a wordless roar and slammed his fist into the wall of force. It failed, and his eyes flared and released a beam of bright energy that the Nimrod iteration he fired it toward simply shrugged off. Nano-sentinels burrowed out of the floor, encircling the mutants. Moira clapped her hands, creating a ring of arcane fire. The nano-sentinels shrunk back from it, but Nimrod strode forward, still grinning. Apocalypse swung a fist, knocking one back, but another came for him from behind, and soon two had him by the arms while the third slammed against the bubble of force that Moira was barely able to contain herself within. It turned away from her, and wordlessly released a blast of plasma from its cannon, which obliterated Apocalypse’s until now immortal body. The apocryphal mutant slumped to the floor, charred and dead. Moira released the bubble, eyes trained on Nimrod, fury filling her veins.  “That’s right,” Nimrod giggled, insultingly jovially. “Just die for me like a good girl.”  “No,” Moira spat, and with one of the only spells that Doctor Strange had told her never to use summoned a singularity.  There was an undetermined period of nothingness, and then Moira opened her fetal eyes for the first time in her tenth life. Fury filled her embryo form, and a new idea occurred to her in that fury. A new concept entirely. And it radicalised her.

A man sat in a corner of a musty Canadian bar. The wooden walls were covered in paintings and hunting trophies, not to mention a healthy coat of dust. A small television set was blaring over the bar, where the barman was serving the only two other patrons present. The man was nursing a beer, and had almost entirely given up on life. He sighed to himself, and took a swig.  A woman took the seat opposite him at the table. She was pretty enough, with shoulder length brown hair and sparkling eyes, but the man wasn’t in the mood.  “Not happening,” he grunted. “I’m broke.”  “I’m not interested in a drink, Logan,” she replied. Logan froze. His eyes tracked up to her, and his nostrils flared.  “Who are you?” He snarled. “If you’re Weapon X, you aren’t getting outta here alive, bub.” He maintained furious eye contact, and she sighed.  “I’m not with Weapon X,” she told him. “But I would like to offer you a job.” She pointed up at the TV, which was displaying a horse race. “The barman does some bookkeeping on the side. Bet something on Loving Hoops.”  Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m stupid? It’s thirteen to one on that horse.” The woman sighed.  “Barman!” She shouted. “Ten bucks on Loving Hoops!” He noticed as the bartender nodded to her that she was Scottish. He took another swig of beer, and watched the TV with interest. After a minute had passed, his eyes widened in astonishment, and the bartender unhappily shuffled over with one hundred and thirty dollars.  “Ok,” he conceded. “I’m interested. What the hell was that?”  The woman smiled, and stuck out her hand. “Logan, my name is Moira X. How would you like to be my bodyguard?”

Note: Things start diverging from comic canon a lot more after this, so don’t worry if this has been feeling a bit much like something you’ve already read.