#Cold Steel 200

[clinicsharmartia]

When I was younger I really believed that I was going to be super responsible with my money and have a proper savings account and have a retirement fund etc. Now that I’m older with free will and a paycheque I can’t stop buying Cold War memorabilia to fuel my ever long special interest.

[inkedmyths]

Every once in a while I remember the matching Rean and Crow plushies exist and I don't own them. And I get very sad.

[timetodecidedjo]

The Poolverine Wedding Fic is here ❤️💛

Huge thank you to @avenging-captain for being my beta reader, and just genuinely being so sweet and supportive of my work!

It’s also posted over on my AO3 under I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You) by xuaerduobb if you wanna leave some love 🥺

I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You)

The air was crisp and filled with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. The sunlight, a vibrant golden amber color, was preparing to set on the day and transition into the evening. Logan felt the cool chill of the wind down his adamantium grafted spine and made a joke in his head about getting cold feet.

It was the evening of his wedding, and minute by minute, it was getting closer and closer to ceremony time. Most of their guests had already arrived and were seated in their mismatched chairs on each side of the aisle, waiting with excitement and anticipation for the happy couple. Everyone looked so nice and dressed up for the occasion, clad in scarves and warm coats to combat the chill of the October air. Logan had decided he wanted to be in full black for the wedding, black suit, black shirt, black tie. His blushing “spouse to be” always said he looked so good in dark colors, minus his iconic yellow suit.

The rolling hills of upstate New York made for such a breathtaking backdrop that Logan couldn’t help but to keep thanking Vanessa over and over for the help finding the perfect venue. Wade had said on so many occasions that it didn’t matter to him where they had the wedding, that he would’ve married Logan Howlett right there in their crummy apartment. Logan knew that he wasn’t kidding, but also knew that Wade deserved to have the perfect day he had always dreamed of.

“Logan, I have the rings, do you have your vows?” Laura asked, pulling Logan back into the present. He nodded and pulled out a folded up piece of paper from his jacket pocket, waving it in front of her. Laura was wearing a floor length black satin dress, gold jewelry and a pair of short heeled nude shoes. Her long hair was pulled back into a messy bun, with a few pieces of hair framing her face. She had a simple makeup look for the day to celebrate her TWO dads.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Logan beamed as he took his daughter’s hand into his own.

She smiled and pulled him into a loving hug, so proud to be a part of their day. She pulled back when Vanessa tapped on her shoulder to alert her that it was almost time, and that everyone needed to get into their positions. Laura gave her father a reassuring smile and followed Vanessa back to the barn on the other side of the lawn where Wade and the rest of the wedding party were waiting.

Logan walked up the aisle to stand at the front of their entire family, smiling and waving at the guests that were there. The sight was so surreal. Never in his 200 years of living did he think that this would be his life, that he would get to experience falling in love and getting married to the person of his dreams.

Wade had asked Colossus to be the officiant for the wedding, and he was there waiting for them at the end of the aisle. Logan reached out to shake the steel man’s cold hand as a thank you again for agreeing to be a part of their special day.

“It is no problem, Logan,” the man made of organic steel replied as he shuffled through the book he needed to read from. “I am very happy for you and Wade.”

Just then, the hired DJ began playing the orchestral music that the bridal party was to walk down the aisle to. Wade had picked a classical version of pov by Ariana Grande, and though Logan was pretty sure he had never heard the song before, he had to admit that it was just as beautiful as the evening had turned out to be. First to come out was Yukio and Ellie, both dressed in similar black dresses to Laura’s. Their floral bouquets were decorated with sunflowers and red roses, a nod to Wade and Logan’s suits.They both had big smiles on their faces as they walked down the aisle to end at their respective spots, Yukio on Wade’s side and Ellie on Logan’s.

Then it was Vanessa and Laura’s turn as the maid of honor and best woman. Vanessa’s long black hair spilled over her shoulder and onto her back, her pale skin contrasting from the black dress she had on. They walked together with their arms linked until they had to separate, Laura standing by her father’s side, and Vanessa waiting for Wade. She looked over at Logan and mouthed, “He can’t wait to see you.”

Next, arguably more the star of the evening than Wade was, Mary Puppins pranced her way down the aisle with a basket of red and yellow flower petals hooked to her back. She ran straight to Logan and hopped up into his arms allowing all of the petals to finally fall out of the basket and onto the ground. She gave Logan quite the stinky kiss before he put her back down where she sat at his feet, like she could finally relax.

At long last, it was time. Logan was about to watch the love of his life walk down the aisle, dressed in his best suit, looking as handsome as ever, and when they’d walk back down said aisle, they’d be husbands. There was a mix of gentle, swirling energy inside of Logan’s abdomen, like his stomach had been doing flips. Before even seeing him, Wade gave him butterflies.

The barn doors opened completely this time, revealing Logan’s future husband and mother in law. Althea, who had been like Wade’s mother figure over the last 10+ years, shuffled her way down the rocky aisle, arguably Wade moreso escorting her. Though she was blind, there had been no one else Wade would’ve wanted to walk with on this special day. It was funny really, because it was kinda like a metaphor, right? Wade, blindly finding his way to the person who would be his soulmate to the altar, the aisle being the time it took for them to get to this day. The writer is hoping that makes sense…

When their eyes met, everyone else faded away, and it was just the two of them. Time had immediately slowed down. The noise, the people, the nerves… it all became a blur as Logan’s full attention shifted to Wade. He could feel his eyes soften and his vision become blurry as they filled with tears. Happy tears. Wade helped Althea to her seat and made his way to the spot next to Logan’s, where he wanted to be for the rest of their lives.

“Hey, Honey Badger,” the merc smiled, looking so incredibly handsome in his all black suit to match. “Or should I say Mr. Logan Howlett-Wilson.”

“Not just yet,” the Wolverine teased, taking his fiance’s hand into his own and kissing it. “I have some things to say to you first.”

They both turned their heads to face Colossus, but stayed in place, hands still intertwined. Wade’s hands were so cold. They always were. Logan made a mental note to send someone for gloves once the ceremony was over.

“Friends and family,” Colossus began, reading from the book in his hands. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the love between these two men, Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett. They are two of my closest friends, and I am so appreciative of their friendship. I have known Wade much longer than I’ve known this Logan, but now I don’t think I could ever know them separately ever again.”

“That’s right,” Wade grinned, still gripping onto Logan’s calloused hands tightly. “I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

Logan shook his head, but couldn’t help but feel a smile creep up onto his face. His cheeks hurt like hell from all the smiling, but it was a good hurt. One of the best hurts he’d felt in a long time.

“It is now time to exchange the vows. Who would like to go first?”

Before Logan could even say Wade, the merc with the mouth was already pulling out the sloppily written notes out of his pocket with one free hand.

“To my Honey Badger, my sweet boy, my Logan:

You know, they say don’t meet your heroes… that most of the time, these idealized versions of people will only set us up for disappointment. People have flaws, imperfections, make mistakes, and sometimes make choices that aren’t always the best. But meeting you, Logan, and getting the chance to fall head over heels, slit my own throat in love with you, has proven all that to be wrong. I did have a glamorized idea of you in my head, and you’ve exceeded it in every way possible. I know that it’s hard for you to see the things that I see in you, but I think I always knew deep down that you were and still are the best Wolverine. You’re the best Logan. Especially for me. I wanna fight with you. I wanna hold you when you’re feeling anxious. I wanna make you breakfast in bed on the weekends, even though I’m always burning the eggs. I wanna make sure you know how loved you are. Most importantly, I wanna make everyone in our apartment building uncomfortable when we’re taking a trip to pound town.”

“You do that already!” Althea called out from her seat in the front row. “The landlord gets at least 10 complaints every week. I know. I’m 7 of them.”

Everyone burst into nervous laughter, except for Althea and Ellie. It wasn’t funny.

Wade looked back down at his vows, and continued on with reciting them, this time not reading from the paper, but looking into Logan’s tired eyes.

“I call you by so many names: Wolvie, Honey Badger, Peanut, Angel Baby, Loverboy, Sweet Cheeks, the list goes on. But you’re also: my protector, my teammate, my best friend, my soulmate. I love you with every cancerous fiber of my being and I’m so excited to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

The emotions that Logan was feeling in that moment, all of them, hit him like a ton of bricks. He was never one to cry or show any emotions really. Other than anger. For so long, it was just anger. But from the moment they had met, Wade was one of the only ones who could ever break down his walls, brick by brick. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, he just couldn’t anymore. One single tear finally fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek. The merc released his grip on Logan’s hand in order to use his thumb to wipe away the wetness. Logan leaned into the touch and smiled softly before pressing a quick kiss onto Wade’s palm.

“Sorry I made you cry, Wolvie,” Wade apologized as he took his hand back and brought it back to Logan’s.

“Wait till you hear his,” Laura whispered with a small smile.

The mutant pulled out his written vows from his jacket pocket and opened them up slowly. This was hard for him. Being vulnerable like this in front of so many people… it was like knocking the wind out of his chest. He felt paralyzed, frozen there in his spot at the altar. Laura pressed a supportive hand to his back, quietly giving him the strength that he needed to say what he needed to say.

“Wade, that day in the bar when you found me drunk, wallowing in my self hatred and filled with so much anger… you literally showed up out of the blue and dragged me back to reality. You reminded me of who I am, who I was always meant to be. You continue to make me a better man every single day, teaching me patience and taking me out of my comfort zone. Wade, you keep me focused on the present and more importantly, our future… and you never make me feel bad about my past. You never stop making me laugh. Even when you’re being the most annoying person on the planet, you’re still making me laugh. You’re the funniest, sweetest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever known. You’re also a bit of a fuckin’ lunatic, but that’s just part of the Wade Wilson charm.”

Again, another laugh from the crowd, even Wade joining in. His eyes were just as glossy as Logan’s were before.

“You do these little things to show me how much you care; things that most people don’t ever see. In the middle of the night when I’m having a bad dream, you help me to wake up and realize that it was nothing but a nightmare. You’re always bringing me back little trinkets from places you travel to for work, and I still have every single one. When we order pizza on the weekends and they put mushrooms on it even though I always tell them not to, you pick them off for me before I ever notice that they’re there. You brought the daughter I never knew I needed into my life, and you love her as much as I do.”

Logan took a small breath so that he could finish his vows, his stomach in knots from all of the emotions running rampant.

“You’re the anchor being of my universe, and I’m so grateful that you made an educated wish two years ago. Our love transcends time and space. It’s a love I never knew I was capable of. It’s a love I never thought I’d ever get to experience. I love you, Wade Wilson.”

Not a dry eye in the house. Classical fucking Logan… swooping in and making a bigger impact on the audience, as always.

“Who has the rings?” Colossus inquired, primarily asking Logan because everyone knew not to allow Wade to keep them in his possession. He could be trusted with getting milk on the way home from a mission or feeding the dog every single night, but when it came to their wedding rings, it was better to be safe than sorry. Laura pulled out a small velvet jewelry bag that contained the rings out of her bouquet and passed it over to Logan. He took the ring he had picked for Wade out of the small bag and placed it onto his ring finger. Being an expert sword fighter, Wade could always keep a steady hand. But now? His body was shaking. He was barely keeping his shit together. It felt like his entire body was vibrating with excitement, anxiety, joy, adoration, desire… Once the ring made its way down his finger, the mutant brought Wade’s hand to his lips to press a kiss onto it.

Logan flipped the small bag over and out plopped the ring Wade had picked out for Logan. It was beautiful. Both rings were. The pair had been specially made out of adamantium and each had one singular garnet gemstone and a yellow sapphire embedded in. Wade had saved up every penny he could to get those rings and did NOT steal them in any way, shape, or form. Got it? Good.

Colossus continued to read from the book he held in his hands, flipping to a particular page.

“These rings represent infinity, signifying your eternal love and bond. It is a visible promise that you are forever devoted to each other through the highs and the lows, the hardships and in prosperity, when the sun shines and when it rains-“

“Hey, big guy,” Wade whispered, giving the steel man his best side eye. “That’s all very sweet, and I love the sentiment, I really do, but I’m dying to kiss this smoking hot, very soon to be completely off the market hunk right here. Finish strong, ‘kay?”

The steel mutant sighed and rubbed his forehead with his palm, closing the book he was reading from in the other.

“I am not really sure if any of this is actually legal due to Logan being from another timeline, but, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you… married! You may now share a kiss.”

Wade had practically launched himself into Logan in an effort to be as close to him as possible. If body parts happened to rub against each other in the process, that was just good luck. Not for everyone else attending the wedding, but that's neither here nor there. Logan took Wade’s face into his hands and they shared a deep kiss, a familiar warmth consuming both of their mended hearts. It was a kiss that hit both their bodies like a tidal wave, and sent all of their emotions into a frenzy. Every guest broke out in a supportive cheer, and the orchestral music began to play again. When the two men broke away from the kiss, they walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, as newlyweds.

_________

Set against the rustic charm of the old barn on the venue’s property, the wedding reception was this small and cozy atmosphere. There were golden string lights hung up all around the ceiling that gave the inside of the barn just the right amount of glow. It was enough to see one another, but it was dark enough that you could relax and unwind from the evening. Every table was adorned with lanterns and floral arrangements that accompanied the bridal bouquets from the ceremony. There were several fire pits set up outside so that guests could go outside and drink under the stars. The DJ had a steady stream of music pouring out of the speakers, and people were already starting to drink and dance on the makeshift dance floor. It was utterly perfect.

The DJ lowered the volume on the music and started to speak on the microphone.

“I’d like to turn everyone’s attention to the doors at the front of the barn to give a warm welcome to the newlyweds…”

The barn doors opened allowing Logan and Wade to walk in together, hand in hand, all smiles and full of so much joy.

“Please clear the dance floor so these two lovebirds can share their first dance as a married couple.”

The entire barn erupted in applause as the happy couple walked inside and onto the dance floor, people moving out of their way so that they could share their first dance.

Aretha Franklin’s I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You) started to play softly from the speakers, the sultry jazz and blues music adding to the coziness of the atmosphere. It was an interesting song choice for sure, but the couple had made quite an interesting pair.

Wade pulled Logan close and wrapped his arms around the older mutant’s waist, the biggest smile permanently fixed onto his face. Logan looked at Wade, his eyes softening, and draped his arms around Wade’s shoulders. They slowly grooved together to the music and took another opportunity to kiss each other, this time a little more risque than it had been back at the ceremony. It was their wedding, damnit, and Wade could NOT be expected to keep his hands or his lips to himself for the rest of the evening.

“You know, I keep waiting to wake up from this dream. This just can’t be my life,” Wade murmured as he danced with his new husband. His husband. His Logan.

“Wow, and you didn’t even say ‘wet dream.’ I’m a little offended. I got all dressed up in this nice suit, let Yukio fix my hair, and you’ve hardly made any inappropriate comments about my ass. I’m even wearing that thong you bought that says ‘eat me.’”

“We’re gonna come back to that last thing, but I’m a married man now. That’s like, major adult-like behavior,” the merc replied back, watching Logan immediately rolling his eyes and laughing at his response.

“Plus, I promised Colossus that I would act appropriately tonight. As soon as he leaves for the mansion though, I’m not gonna stop making inappropriate comments about your ass. I’m gonna say absolutely vulgar and obscene things about it, to be quite honest. And don’t even get me started on the kitty ears you got going on up there,” Wade yapped on, taking his index finger and swirling the little cowlick on top of Logan’s head. “And good choice on the whole monochromatic black look. A callback to 2013’s The Wolverine when you attended Yashida’s funeral? Arguably one of the only good decisions Fox ever made.”

Logan did what he always had to do to get The Merc With a Mouth to shut up and planted another big sloppy kiss onto his lips, successfully getting his message across. Loud and clear. They continued like that for most of the night, swaying together to the music, hands all over one another, drunk off of the bliss they felt just being with each other like this. Married. In love. Soulmates. Forever.

[marzipanandminutiae]

I do believe the hunger games books do fall into the femininity thing. Katniss doesn't describe the shape of the Capital's buildings but she does say that they're all the colours of artificial candy.

And Capital fashion in the books is even more outlandish than the films, with jewels embedded in people's skin, whiskers in people's cheeks, people dye their skin green or tiger-striped.

Yeah, so, I don't think the books do much better on the "Does being a girl make you part of the Bourgeoisie."

I still like em though.

Yikes. I forgot that part. All of those things are unironically awesome and it's bold of the books to assume "respectable" mainstream rich people have done anything that cool with fashion in a long time.

Well, it's been a hard-wired trope in a lot of media for over 200 years at this point. I suppose we're bound to still fall victim to it sometimes. But it remains annoying.

I mean, imagine how cool a mostly colorless, sleek, ultra-modern Capitol would have looked contrasted with districts full of folk art (which has always been a thing, since humans always love art and creativity) that are visually beaten but not totally broken. That still have some joy and individuality to express in the face of oppression- which the Capitol writes off as "tacky" or "childish." Warm woodwork and bricks against cold plexiglass and steel. Old buildings with surviving stained glass, crumbling but still standing, against impersonal skyscrapers. Mended, treasured objects made of natural materials against disposable plastic.

I'd love to see it.

[ellaa-writes]

Good Dög

authors note: Part 2, part 1 here. In the same Universe as The Beast Within series. Can't wait to expanded the world more. But anyways, enjoy! :) (wow did not notice i reached 200 followers!)

summary: His favourite words include; down boy, good dog, heel, fetch and his most favourite, get 'em. Well trained, and listens good. Loyal through and through. Always striving to be the absolute best. Ready to attack at all times, always on guard. Loves discipline, either giving or receiving. Working for a criminal mastermind, lurking in the shadows. You both trying not to be seen or noticed but after one unlucky night, all you both can see are the ghosts. He invades your life, if you both like it or not.

tags: Alternative Universe. A/b/o dynamics. Female reader. Lots of trauma in this one. Mentions of a dead body. Mentions of weapons, self defense. Reader has a panic attack. Simon saves the day once again. Slightly stalking Simon. not proof read

Two weeks passed since that fateful night at the corner store. Your days were filled with nightmares, and those eyes and that voice were always there to save you. Too pull you back into the light, always waking up with your heart pounding.

The police realeased your belonging back to you, you didn't bother telling anyone. If you did they would just urge you to seek out help, to talk to someone. But you can't afford that right now, you were already overworking yourself trying to save up enough money to move out of this hell hole.

Two weeks and not a word from him, Simon. You laid awake most mornings and nights, wondering what he was doing and if he thought about you to.

You felt silly for thinking that, sure Beta and Alpha relationships were common. Hell your parents were in a Beta/Alpha relationship. But you always felt unworthy, never meeting someone that sparked your interest as much as that Alpha did.

You had a few days off, only because the law required it. But if it was up to your employer you would have been working today.

You decided to get out of your apartment, to go for a walk, to try and not thinking about the cold steel on your throat and that evil smile. Anytime it crept into your mind you would wipe it away. Shove it back down with all the other shit you refused to face.

It was a beautiful day in the city, lucky for you it was a weekend. People littered the streets, groups walking together and chatting. The restaurants had their patios open, only if you had friends you thought. You'd be out there, drinking your fancy drink, eating your fancy food and smiling and laughing. Reminiscing about the good ol' days, but you had none of that. Instead you watched from a far, wishing that one day you'd wake up in a new body, new life.

But that never got you far. You've always been a keep your head down and don't stay for long type of gal. Having been alone in this world for longer than you remember not being.

You lost your mother young, and your dad left all together. Not wanting to raise a child by himself, being a single widowed father. Instead he forgot about you and met someone else. Started a new family, one where you weren't in the picture.

Living in foster care after foster care, until your turned of age and was pushed out into this unforgiving world.

You found yourself staring at the people, laughing and enjoying their time. You were staring for too long, sometimes lost in your own world. Taking your eyes off the people out on the patio, you began casing things out.

Since the accident, you've been on edge more. Keeping a small pocket knife on you at all time, and a can of bear mace. As regular mace wouldn't take down a drugged up Alpha.

As you were looking around you noticed something, or someone. The eyes that haunted your dreams, staring at you from across the street. The same eyes and voice from the corner store.

It couldn't be, you must be imagining it. That feeling of uneasiness creeping up from spine, your brain telling you to run. So you did, you spun around and decided this was a bad idea. Leaving your apartment was stupid. Mentally beating yourself up as you sped walked down the block. Trying to get as much distance between you and those eyes.

They didn't scare you, not intentionally. But you were seeing things, they weren't real. Taking a short cut through the back alley, not wanting to waste anymore time. You were too much in your own head, speeding down the desolate alley, not noticing the fast approaching footsteps behind you.

All you felt was the hands grabbing your arm, and in an instant you were spun around. Your bear mace in hand ready to spray at the intruder. But before you could it was knocked out of your hand. Flying into the brick wall beside you.

And there he was, Simon. It was real, you did see him. "You could kill someone like that." you snapped at him. Picking up your now busted can of bear spray. Hoping you can get another one soon. "Plan on using that on anyone?" he asked. His voice just as husky as the first time you heard it. Your heart skipped a beat, holding in the breath you just took, your core getting tingly.

"Well not anymore." you huffed, shoving the broken can into your bag. "Had anymore run ins?" he asked, noticing the small knife next to the can. "No." you were shuffling on your feet. Not wanting to be here anymore. "Just precaution." you explained.

You hated the way he was looking at you, his head tilted. He was judging you, noticing things about you that even you didn't.

The tenseness in your body, the way you were constantly looking around you, how you held your bag tight to your body. Your quick movements and that look in your eyes. The one he knew so well, the same look he'd have often.

You looked like a lost doe, eyes frantic and legs wobbly. He pitied you, knowing the inner battle raging on inside of you. One that he wish he could take away.

"How have ya been holdn' up?" he asked. Stupid question he thought. He knew from just looking at you, that if a big gust of wind were to come you'd crumble like a dry leaf in autumn.

"I uhhh-" you didn't know what to say. Do you lie to him now? "I'm getting by." you replied. Knowing that didn't fully answer his question.

You were running, not psychically but mentally. Your movements becoming more frantic, your eyes wide with fear, the lost doe cornered and trying to find a way out.

Simon knew this, as he felt it often. He did the only thing he could think of, and he wasn't sure if it was even going to work. He purred, he never purred before. Not even sure if he was doing the damn thing right, but it was pure Alpha instinct. A female in stress can sore the nose, the smell permeating far. Letting everyone know, it was old basic biology, things have evolved since then.

The purr was deep and low, sounding like a bike engine off in the distance. As he slowly stepped closer to you, making sure his shoulder were laxed and his scent enclosing around you like a bubble.

You didn't know what was happening, you felt the tightness in your chest. You began struggling to breath, wanting to dive into the garbage bin and hide. To scream, cry, kick and bite. All these emotions coursing through your body, you hands shaking. Trying to grip onto your arms, hugging yourself tight. Rubbing you neck against your shoulder. Trying anything to make this feeling go away.

Simon wrapped you in his arms, pushing your head into his chest. That's when you finally heard it, the low purring coming from it. It soothed you, making you feel like a pup being cradled by its father.

He held you tight to his chest, enclosing both of you in a bubble of his scent. Blocking out all other noise and smells. His juvenile attempt at consoling you were working, you began sucking in even and deep breaths. The tightness in your chest and back relaxing, you unwrapped your arms from yourself and wrapped them around Simon.

If you were anyone else and this was any other moment he'd he ripping your limbs off. But it was you.

The nights he'd spend wide awake, thinking about you. Everytime he closed his eyes he'd see your dead lifeless body, your dead soulless eyes staring back up at him. He couldn't sleep the first time, he had to make sure you were alright. Sneaking into a vacant apartment across the street, just to make sure she was alright, he told himself.

But it was nightly, then daily. Ignoring his own work to watch night and day. Making sure nothing could or would happen to you. He didn't know what got into himself, why he had these strong feelings towards you. What made you so special.

What made you different from the rest, you haunted him night and night out. And you were alive, so why does he keep seeing your dead body everywhere he turns.

His boss noticed he'd been quiter than normal, which is saying a lot for him. A conversation he had while sitting in his bosses office one night. He use to hate the man, seeing him as enemy number one. Making it his dying mission to take him down, to take him out.

But when shit hit the fan, and Simon was sent to prison. His years of decidated and hard work went down the drain, along with his life. He was a walking reminder, the people he considered close some even close enough to be family, all cut him off. Discarding him like he was yesterday's trash.

The man across from him in the office, sitting on the stiff leather chair. The man that went by König, he was the only one that was their for him. When he was realeased from prison, he was their at the gate. Leaning up against a black sports car. Simon thought he was dead, everyone at least still thinks he is.

He gave Simon an offer, a too good to be true offer. Turning it down, vowing to never cross that line. To go over to the other side. But after finding out that no one gave a shit, that him going to prison didn't change anything. Him taking the fall and paying the price. Just to have them all act like he never existed. So he didn't.

Death by fire, he found it fitting. He felt like his whole existence was flawed, the moment his mother became knocked up with him. A bastard growing in her belly. She left him like the rest did.

But what made you so special, it was a question that he didn't know if he'd ever get an answer to.

For two whole weeks he couldn't shake you. Lying too himself that he wasn't stalking you, that when you were gone for work, that he wasn't breaking into your place. To make sure the windows were sealed and the smoker detector wasn't low on batteries. He even fixed the buzzing from your fridge, something you did notice but chalked it up to old appliances.

If he knew any better he'd say he was infatuated with you.

With you still wrapped in his arms he brought you back to your apartment. Using your key to unlock your door, carrying you into your bedroom. Setting you down and wrapping you up. "I'll be back." he told you. Leaving for only a moment, coming back with a bag of hot food.

It was late in the night when he finally left. You were tucked into bed, everything locked and secured. He didn't like the idea of leaving you alone, but he'd be right cross the street. Having rented out the space after squatting in it for a few days. Paying for two rents wasn't ideal, but in his mind it was only tempory.

You guys talked for hours, you telling him about your past in foster care. How you saved up everything you could to move here and get this place. Only for you to now do the same so you could get out.

You told him about your dream to live out on the country side, to live a small village. To have a farm, yellow house and maybe a few pups running around. But how that dream seemed to slip away faster and faster everyday.

As he settled into postion, on the weathered chair at the window. Watching people flow in and out of the street below. His mind asked the same question it always did when he found himself in this spot. Why you? What was so special about you. But now he also thought about how he wanted to give you, your dream.

The yellow house, the farm to look after and of course the one thing he never would have wanted or thought of wanting....pups.

[merchant-wizard-and-jerry]

“Hello, I’m the friendly wizard _____. My name got taken by a fey prince but it hasn’t really hampered my life. Anyways I am new to this wider wizard community and would like to get along. I have a magic book, a cart, and a friend. His name is Jerry, he is a fungus colony that has taken over my magic book and acts sort of as my patron. He…is a little weird but great fun.”

*sound of an explosion in the background, a book flys by being chased by goblin shamans casting fire ball*

“He is…”

“He is fine.”

“Anyways, I am here to sell goods and make a small profit. If you need something I’ll see what I can do : ) ”

“Also apparently I helped smuggle an amnesiac @fattocatto-wizard out of the city in my wagon. That was a shock, though he was just a cat.

Character Cheat sheet

( 3 currency to 16 silver crowns and 2 copper crowns)

(3 skulls to a coin)

(2 currency to 1 gold)

(100 currency to a 1000 grams gold bar)

(1 currency per 10 grams of gold)

(Current balance 89,359.250,001 currency, one penny, 23 meat pucks, 14 pounds, 2 gold coins one with Julius Cesar on it, 3 naturally-grown mana stones, 2 highly enchant able metal pieces, and one bar, 1 special bug corpse, 1576.5 gold, silver 18, 70 aus, 5kg silver, magic dirt house size. 24 counterfeit currency. Moss/lichen-coded bio stone. An inverse cold torch. 99 BG silver. EMERALD LINCOLN, GOLDEN CARROT, 200 SALTED MEAT DISKS, 200 POLISHED ROCKS, 82 FIGET SPINNERS!, A FULLY EQUIPPED LICH'S DUNGEON, and a cardboard box (magic black marble).” Invisibility stone, a bundle of drake feathers, quantum locked rock, raw gold. 9 Gold coming from the green goblin empire, 50 mushrooms, 92 secret society emblem. 5 trans enchanted gold coins, 2 skull coin, ancient lost civilization fragment, 5 glistening green metallic coin, 31 writhing bugs of gold, jade coin. Pile of gold coins and gold coin bugs, pile of shines from harpy, dust, quantum glass shards, bag of tooth shaped candy, 6720 candies from the festival, bag of holding money bag, 68 money bags, 500 flat Foxen, double sided dollar coin, 3 floppies, a Brahman horn, a medkit, a few candy bars, and an umbrella, 130 goblins eggs (goblin cooked chicken eggs.), 17 bars of pure gold, 1 crate of guns, temp singularity potion. 762 grasshoppers glow in the dark.Book on the formation patterns of natural portals - @serious-tabaxi. Edward Evandrian’s expired library card. Gems and frenicx mother gem and a junkarian leap amethyst. white mithril sapling. Timeseed, infinite note book, time tunnel. A nice gold bag. bag full of candied scorpions 💰, large gem stone. 💰 💰 💰, gems = 70currency. 1/3rd a gold bar. Compass map, it's keyed to the Island of Silence. N=10^7 menger sponge. 2416 shadow cloaks, 52 shiny stones. 20$, 3 gold coins 100 grams. Gummy worms. 100 journals of Ventus Asamuran, Last Peacekeeper of Har Aminas. car keys, box of a 27 rusted necklaces with warding spells. an amulet made of stone, with blue rectangular crystals growing out of it. 48 shiny stones, 30 currency worth of silver. 3 sets of custom made chips @crickled-thorn-thug. Gold potion It opens a portal to the realm of metals! It causes any land within 20 feet to be transmuted, temporarily, into a variety of metals. If left untouched, the land reverts after a day. If harvested, the stuff stays metal and can be used. It also causes uhh 20 gold peices to spawn, and anyone within the radius to get a bit of vertigo. Causes slight iron deficiency, for some reason. 23 bouquets of metalic flowers. They're grown beneath volcanic chambers, uses the heat of magma as a supplement for sunlight. Given their environment, they grow petals sharper than claws and harder than steel. They can be used for creating armours and weapons. one box of nightmare inducing Mac and cheese)

(Currently holding baby dire bunnies. A ring of mana (covers energy into mana. Only suitable if you don’t have mana)

(Jerry’s balance 13 gold, a fancy rock, 1 coin, flower petals (snacks for later), harpy eyes, feathers, vocal cords, and talons, a coin with @informis-the-many-faced on it, it is locked away for emergencies. bottle of magic mold rejuvenation powder, wooden key @crickled-thorn-thug)

(Warlocks of Jerry @fungal-boy-witch-yay @ignisuadaroleplay @life-is-okay-rn2 I think that is who it was…)

(Possessions - wealth stone, Antidote stone)

Owner of membership cards

——————————

@the-final-knight-2

@confused-sorcerer

@bi-gender-sorcerer (+ 10% off for employee discount)

@the-mighty-dalob

@detectivewizzard

@goblin-wizard-in-the-making

@serious-tabaxi

@weltreths-wanderings

@ignisuadaroleplay (will)

@shittest-wizard-ever

@wizard-wylin-wylerian

@akronus-and-associates (the primordials)

—————————————

@hallowed-the-silver-gun

@jormungand-seas-champion

@crow-natures-wrath

@antros-ember-of-fear

@akronus-the-redeemed

@clockwork-time-watcher

@aldira-born-anew

——————————

@wizard-ghost

@yeast-wizard

@crickled-thorn-thug

@sorcererest-sorcerer

@damnable-druid (+ 10% off for employee discount)

@informis-the-many-faced

@kittycatwizard

@gun-sorcerer

@crime-wizard-conglomerate

———

Perks

———

5% off all purchases

Special requested items

More favorable bartering

———

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Chapter 2

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) FemOC 

Word Count: 2500

Summary: You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Burning Hearts Chapter 2: The 2 Year Sentence

— — 

“So would you rather eat 200 spiders… or spend a week in Impel Down?” Shachi asks his cohort from a desk chair as he flips through a News Coo. 

“Spiders for sure. I’m not built for prison.” Penguin responds as he lazily tosses a tennis ball against the cold, steel walls of the surgical bay. 

It had been 4 days of keeping the new mysterious patient sedated while her body healed from its grievous injuries. Shachi and Penguin took shifts watching over her during the night and double teamed the job during the day, all while administering the necessary sedative drugs. The boys were the only two crew members occupying the safe house while the rest of the Heart Pirates accompanied their Captain to the crisis at Marine Ford. 

Shachi sips from a can of cola and flips the page. Several minutes of silence go by, the only sounds to be heard were the slow rhythmic beeping from the winged girl’s heart rate monitor and the sharp thumping of Penguin’s tennis ball against the wall. 

“Would you rather have crayons for teeth or live shrimp for nipples?” Shachi asks, desperate to fill the hours with some sort of entertainment. Penguin holds onto the tennis ball and thinks for a minute. 

“Could they be white crayons?” Penguin follows up. 

“Sure. But they’d still melt if you ate hot foods.” Shachi flips another page. 

“I’d still pick the crayons. I think you’d be able to see the shrimp through my jumpsuit…” Penguin looks down to his chest. “Ok my turn.” Penguin sits up straighter and turns towards Shachi. 

“Fuck, Marry, Kill… pancakes, waffles, French toast.”

Shachi looks up from his News Coo finally, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Dude that doesn’t even make any sense, how am I supposed to-“ 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

“Wait why is its heart rate increasing…?!” Penguin sits up on the heels of his hands and looks at the monitor. 

Shachi puts down the News Coo and rises from the chair. He approaches the monitor. “It shouldn’t be… we just injected her 30 minutes ago…” Shachi checks the IV line to make sure it was still clear and functional. It was. Shachi’s heart dropped into his stomach. The patient was waking up despite the heavy dose of sedatives. The patient who had broken a cabinet and two steel medical carts the last time she decided to-

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

“Oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck-“ Penguin’s eyes widen as he panics, standing up. 

“Calm down.. Don’t freak… the Captain put her in sea prism shackles this time… she can’t break them…” Shachi tries to calm his crewmate. Penguin would have maybe believed him if he didn’t notice Shachi’s obvious shaking and heavy breathing. 

The woman’s eyes flutter open.

“Whhdsshhshhh hnnnn..?” Garbled nonsense slipped from the woman’s lips. Her eyes were fully open, but they struggled to find something to focus on. “Whrr mmeye? Why cnteye moovvvv?” The words come out in drunk, mushy syllables. 

The woman, Daisy, as the Captain had insisted they call her, was weakly pulling at her restraints but failing miserably. Unlike her impressive showing before, the sea prism stone had sapped all of her energy. Upon realizing they still had control of the situation, Penguin and Shachi move to flank the body on the operating table. They stare down at the woman’s wide, panicked eyes, unable to find a target to look at fully. One eye was brown and one was grey. The way the eyes frantically searched for something made them seem like two different people were occupying this body.

Shachi and Penguin looked back up at each other before looking down at the confused, bound woman. 

“Um. Hi. So, this is probably really weird for you but-“ Shachi nervously starts. 

“Nnrfffffhh? Lufffnnuyy? EWrhrrhrwrrss louuuffyy?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying. The sea prism stone around your wrist is probably melting your brain right now. I’d love to take it off but you tried to kill us last time we did that, and the Captain has specific orders.” Shachi explains the situation to the disoriented patient. “And until he gets back we have to keep you out, little bat.” 

Shachi sidles over to the steel medical cart and retrieves one of the emergency sedative syringes. 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP* 

“Mmmpph!! Nhhh!! Lsssttnn luffnnn!! Kzzrroo hrrrmppp!!” The girl huffs out as her head lolls to the side, body completely limp due to the sea prism. It was clear to both men that she was trying to resist. 

“Shach maybe we should hear her out.. I don’t know if we shoul-“ Penguin moves around to the other side of the operating table to stand beside Shachi. 

Shachi readies the emergency syringe. 

“Since when are you a vampire sympathizer? You were calling her an “it” five minutes ago, I don’t want to hear the savior act now.” 

Penguin sighs at Shachi’s response. He backs off. 

“NNPNNHH!! WATTPHHH!!” Daisy groans out as Shachi delivers over 100 cc’s of sedative right into the her exposed thigh. 

“Lufffy!! Hrrlllp...” The woman’s eyes roll back in her head and her body becomes limp against the operating table once again. 

— — — 

*We’re too weak! Run away!* 

“Shit…” 

You were awoken from your nightmare by a violent heaving in your throat. 

“Oof-“ 

You push yourself up as far as you can go before turning yourself to the side and letting go of the tension. Your stomach contents are heaved forward into the conveniently places trash receptacle on the side of the surgery table you were strapped to. Your body lurches against the restraints involuntarily. After a painful few moments of heaving, you feel the shackles on your arms and legs release.

You didn’t care how it happened, you were just happy that you could fully hold yourself over the trash can to vomit. 

After the wave of nausea passes, you slump down on the cold, metal floor and try to catch your breath. You allow your eyes to close as you relish in the feeling of being unrestrained. 

“Rito Daisy…” A deep, booming voice comes from the darkest corner of the now dimly lit operating room. 

Your eyes snap open. You wipe your mouth. Your head whips towards the sound. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m-“ 

“That ‘Surgeon of Death’ guy. From that shit at the auction house. I know who you are.” You state in between labored breaths, finally regaining your mental clarity. You back yourself up against the wall of the surgical suite, putting the metal barf bucket in front of you. 

Law steps out of the shadow and stands before you. 

“Then you know I don’t take the news of an enemy showing up in my camp lightly.” Law sets his large sword down against the medical cabinet. You notice that someone has repaired it since you had destroyed it with your wings during your last attempt to break out.  

Your wings. 

You realized now you were in your full human form. What good could your wings do here? Always able to carry you away from any problem… but not now… you were trapped… again… 

“Miss Rito my name is Trafalgar Law and you crashed into our base camp several days ago. Your body was badly damaged. I sewed your…” Law swallows.  “…appendages… back together. Your bones have still not yet completely healed, which is why I’ve had you sedated.” Law explains methodically as he sits down in the desk chair. 

You couldn’t escape. This asshole was so confident in his ability to best you that he was lounging in his office chair while you were completely unrestrained. You weren’t an idiot, you knew that you were at the mercy of this strange man. You had no idea where your blades were anyway. Probably lost in that avalanche. Shit

“Where’s my Captain?” You asked blankly. 

There was a long pause. 

“He is alive.” Law eventually states. 

You stare at each other. 

After a few moments, Law pulls a News Coo from his jeans pocket and tosses across the floor of the surgical suite at you. 

You refuse to break eye contact with Law, still suspicious of his intention. You pick up the News Coo and open it in your lap. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Rito Daisy.” Law cocks his head at you, prompting you to begin reading the article. 

You keep your gaze on on the ice grey eyes of Trafalgar Law. This tense stare lasted for a few moments before you decide you had no choice but to peruse the article. 

The air in the med bay became so thick you could eat it by the spoonful. 

“Ace is dead… Two years… Become stronger…” You sigh and gaze absently at the newspaper. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You close the newspaper and look up at your captor. 

“You’ll stay with me. I will train you.” Law meets your gaze. 

You furrow your brows. 

You burst out laughing. 

“HAH! Yeah I don’t think so.”  

“Your captain ordered that you stay here.” 

You were in shock. There was no way Luffy would ask you to spend any amount of time let alone 2 years with an enemy pirate captain. You must have heard him incorrectly. There must be some mistake. 

“… What?” You look up into Law’s frigid, grey eyes. 

“I saved your captain’s life after the battle at Marine Ford. Once he regained clarity, I told him my crew mates had found one of his. He made me promise to not allow you to try and find him or the rest of your crew. I promised him that I would train you and give you access to the strength that will prepare you for the New World.” Law explains. 

Your eyes widened further. 

“You can either stay to train,” Law reaches an arm towards you to help you off the ground. “Or you can go against your Captain’s orders.” Law raises an eyebrow. 

There was a long pause. If this was truly what Luffy wanted, you didn’t have much of a choice. Without breaking his gaze, you clasp your hand around Law’s elbow and allow him to pull you up. 

“We are not allies. We are not friends. I am here at the orders of my captain.” You state as you rise to your feet. 

“Understood, Miss Rito. It may help you to know that I'm not pleased with the situation either. I’ll show you to your room.” 

— — —

You walked through the unfriendly, unfamiliar metal halls of the Heart Pirate’s base with your new mentor leading you. After several minutes of silence, Law arrives at a steel door and opens it. Inside the room was a small closet, single bed, desk, and half bookshelf. There was a small window behind the bed. The bed had two white pillows and a grey quilt. Not only did this place feel like a prison, it really looked like one too. You grimaced as you looked over the sterile environment before noticing something laying on the bed. It was your bag and blades. 

“My stuff!” 

You pushed past Law who was still in the doorway, bumping him into the frame in the process. He straightened himself and watched you rip open your tattered, filthy backpack and empty it out onto the bed. You sift through the contents to make sure everything was still inside. 

You brush your hands over each item. Hope flutters in your heart at the sight of familiar things. Your sword sharpening stone, your botanists notebook and pens, a spare set of clothes, a pink hairbrush and hair elastics, and an empty glass container that had been previously been filled with banana pudding. Sanji always made sure to slip your favorite treat in your bag before leaving the ship for the day. You smiled remembering how lush it tasted, feeling glad that you had eaten it on Sabaody so it didn’t go to waste. 

You come across a crumpled paper. You flattened it out to reveal a photograph of You, Nami, Robin and Chopper. Nami was pinching Chopper’s fluffy little cheek, the blush evident on his face. You and Robin were arm in arm and laughing. A third hand was behind your head making little bunny ears. You all looked so happy. Your smile faded. Were they okay? And everyone else? There was no way of knowing… 

Tears started welling in your eyes so you put the photo down. 

“Wait where’s my-“ You realize that your personal bag of herbs was missing. 

“This?” 

You turn around to face Law. He was holding a small, red woolen satchel in his hand that you knew contained your stash along with some paper and a butane lighter. The drawstring bag dangled from his tattooed fist. 

E, A, T, H. 

“That belongs to me, give it back.” 

“I do not tolerate illegal drug use in my base. I’m disposing of it.” Law shoves the bag back into his jeans pocket. 

“I’ll smoke outside then, shit. Just hand it over. Also, illegal drug use? We’re pirates… isn’t everything we do technically illegal?” 

Law ignores you and turns to leave the room. You were irritated by his refusal to answer you and refusal to return your bag. You grab one of your twin blades that were resting against the bed frame. As you unsheathe the blade, a shooting unbearable pain throbs in your shoulder causing you to drop your weapon onto the floor, the metal hitting metal making a loud clatter. 

“Fuck!” You cry out and grab your arm, head beginning to spin from the pain. 

“Your body is still healing. You’re in no shape for a fight. Training begins when you’ve recovered.” Law heads out of your room without closing the door and is already halfway down the hall. “Bathroom is down the hall. Dinner’s at 7.” 

You hear his footsteps fade away as he disappears deeper into the base. You were alone. You look around the bare bedroom and reality sets in. You were going to have to be here for 2 years… 

You flop down face first onto the bed and begin to cry. 

xx

Authors note- thank you to anyone who is reading this self indulgent series. Sorry if it’s weird, gotta set up the story before we get to all the smoochin. Are you guys into this? It’s my first real series so I’d love feedback. Love y’all :)

[v1-kisser]

LEV1: "ANNIVERSARY"

WORD COUNT: 2191

CONTENT WARNINGS: CANON-TYPICAL BODY HORROR/GORE. WAR. THE APOCALYPSE. YAOI I GUESS

HOLY SHIT

IT'S BEEN A YEAR

WHAT THE FUCK HERE'S A FIC ABOUT IT

Edit log: 11/05 - Fixed some grammar and logical descriptors.

The city burned. It was one of three rebuilt. It was not one of skyscrapers or sprawling highways. Humanity no longer had the pride to build such things; When a skyscraper is toppled, it suffocates everything around it. Too many people had choked on the dust for 200 years. Now, if any were left, they would be charred and crushed.

Even across the bay, the sounds of Streetcleaners haunted the air. Their flamethrowers torched indiscriminately. No more corpses to burn. Faint explosions littered the streets like confetti. Metal creaked and groaned. An oil rig off the shore was finally dying. The war machines on board made unruly guests. One of its legs crumbled, and it screamed. A dying beast, bursting at the seams with flame. Its oily intestines spilled into the dead ocean, and fire came with it. Nothing could survive that. Levi had never listened in on Hell, but he imagined that it sounded like that.

“Clear,” V1 reported, sliding in from deeper within the forest. It paused to watch the rig die. The mechanical camera lense focused to see it clearly. Processing. It looked unaffected.

Several lights illuminated them both: V1’s gentle, constant sights, the fire, and the moon… though she was obscured by smog. Levi blinked. He was trapped in a horrified daze. He ran from the carnage the moment that it started. Now, he truly faced it. The rabbits of the city were long dead, and the wild dogs were content to rip each other apart.

This city was never Levi's home. So many people that he will never meet, that he should care about. The thought made cowardice run cold through his veins. The machine next to him was the only reason he wasn't burning with the rest of them. Could he stand to look any of those people in the eye?

Metal crumbled on the ground next to him. A dead machine. The distant screams continued.

“I thought you said it was clear,” Levi stated, simple and unoffended. His thoughts were trapped behind the net of familiar horror. He hadn't seen a city burn in 10 years. It was a terrible nostalgia.

“It is now.” V1 holstered its revolver and sat across from him. It wasted no time, cracking open the dead thing’s casing. The hole from a piercing shot still steamed. It paused, and whirred as it looked to Levi. His eyes were glued orange to the skyline.

“Levi.” It insisted, and he tore his sights away to look at their prize.

“Oh, that's…” He struggled to process it. “That's fascinating.” He traced along the edge of the ripped open casing. Flesh almost spilled out of it. It was in excess.

“Some kind of error?” V1 guessed as it tried to sort through what must be several pounds sitting in the chest cavity.

“A mutation, more likely. An error in biology…” Levi mused. He dug down against the side, trying to find the bottom of the mass. “Oh, fuck, this thing is packed. It must have been causing all sorts of issues.”

“It seemed off-balance.”

“Now you know why.”

V1 seemed satisfied with that. They slipped into a normal routine: V1 harvesting what it can and draining blood, while Levi starts a fire. It would be nothing compared to the inferno across the bay. Steel screeched in the distance, but there was silence between the two of them. The machine worked efficiently and callously. If the flesh was alive before, it wasn't then. Blood seeped into the open chest cavity as each tendon was snapped. V1’s armor hissed as it soaked up every stray drop.

Levi was sure most machines would be too attracted to the bloodshed within the city to notice a small campsite, but V1 had an escape route mapped just in case. He sparked a kindling. This small thing between his palms was precious. His air sighed as he breathed life into it. Just like that, a tiny fire was born. He had an entire childhood’s worth of practice, lighting gentle fires just outside of a warzone. Every time felt just as terrifying and bitter as the last. He looked across his little fire, and almost expected to see his sister. The machine gave him an unfeeling glance. He pushed down these emotions. They would do him no good here. He continued to nurture the flame in silence.

Silence was painful, too.

“How much blood do you think you’ll get out of it?” The sound of his voice surprised him. A distraction was in order. From everything.

V1's processors hummed. It snapped the last tendon, and weighed the mass in its hands. “A tank and a half,” it stated. It seemed confident in its assessment. It always was.

“Yeah? How's your supply currently?” A smile flitted across Levi's face. He didn't look up from the fire.

“47 percent. I’ll be set for a while.” The mass squelched as V1 lifted it fully out of the chest cavity. It's an ugly, dripping red thing. “Jackpot.” It muttered quietly.

Levi laughed. “Jackpot?” His eyes were wide with amusement.

“I found it by chance. I killed it. I won. This is the prize.” V1 peeked at him over the slab of meat. “You’re welcome.”

A scoff. Levi focused on his fire again. As the flame grew, the prize drained. The blood poured onto the machine’s chest, dripping and caressing each crevice before soaking through. It sighed. The sound made Levi's heart ache. Something about it had reminded him of people, the sigh they gave after a large meal, the creak of chairs, the clink of utensils. The thought of his war machine across a table from him was strange… but he still longed for the connection of eating with it. But blood is made useless when cooked. Eating after it would have to do.

The sizzle of meat sickened him. He had only made himself a portion of the mass, as much as he could stomach. It burned his hands, but he didn't care anymore. He just sank his teeth into it. Streetcleaners faintly screeched. The wave from the oil rig’s collapse finally slammed into the shore, just a dozen meters down the cliff. Smoke obscured the moon completely.

V1’s focus, though, was Levi. Its lense trained on him, fidgeting with a coin between its fingers as it watched. And watched. Levi found a particularly tough section of meat, and had to pull it apart with his teeth. He seemed embarrassed. V1 only shifted closer. Its eyes didn't say much, but all that could be read from it was interest. Interest. Interest. It said nothing.

A thought. Less than a thought, a premonition, turned over in Levi’s mind. He swallowed and spoke before he could think.

“What's today's date?”

V1 blinked. Its lense went distant for a split second, calling on its internal clock.

“November 3rd, 2129.”

Something about that was significant. He asked another question. “When did we meet?”

V1 called on more data. “One second.” A significant pause. “I didn't have my clock set up yet, when we met.”

Levi shook his head and shifted to sit on his knees. “No, no- I mean- When did I reactivate you?”

It tilted his head and blinked. “It was November 3rd, 2128.” It seemed surprised at this revelation, too.

He sat back and smiled. The glow of a distant inferno warmed them both. V1 was still so magnificent. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“I’m guessing a year is some kind of goal?” Its voice sounded dry. Unimpressed, but sincere. Levi couldn't help but laugh.

“Mhm. A big one.”

V1 hummed. It raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Well, then. Congratulations to us.”

Levi’s heart bled with an affection that he had no shortage of. Just that simple message made him feel so, so much lighter. He couldn't hide it if he tried. “Yes, congratulations to us. Happy anniversary, V1.”

A moment of silence as Levi continued to eat. V1, surprisingly, was the one to break it.

“Does an anniversary warrant sentimentality?”

Levi smiled. “Generally, yes, it does.”

“Oh, damn. I already used up all of mine. Well’s all dry.” It sighed, pretending that it wasn't joking. Levi swallowed the last bit of meat, and once the gamey taste was out of his mouth, he snorted.

“Mmh, better luck next year, huh?”

“Better luck next year.”

V1 turned to look at the city. The fire still raged. It would burn for days and days and days, until all was embers and ash. The skyline looked empty without the oil rig. If he looked closely, Levi could swear he saw machines desperately paddling against the inky waves. Drowning in black and chrome, glimmering in the light of the surrounding flames. But it was just that: glimmers.

The two felt a heavy, fulfilling silence, even while the broil of warfare bubbled up across the bay. In this moment, in this tiny space, under this large sky, there was peace. They were the only two souls that had it. Levi was determined to hold fast to it. He stood, and hauled the remains of the hunted machine into the ocean. V1 watched, and though it could help, it elected not to. It stood and watched, amused, as Levi struggled to carry the metal. It clattered down the cliffside towards a waiting ocean. The black waters swallowed each piece whole. He huffed and sat next to it, breath heaving in his chest.

“Asshole.”

“What? You didn't ask for my help.”

“It's our anniversary, I shouldn't have to. You have to be extra nice to me.”

“Better luck next year.” It retorted. Levi laughed, and his breath calmed with the distant waves on the shore. The beaches were greyer the closer they were to the city. Embers blanketed the sand and disintegrated in the waves. His fingers gently nudged against V1’s. If it noticed, it didn't care enough to react.

“You're funny.” He fixed his eyes upon V1. He wanted its sights on him again. He spoke, again, without thought. He wasn't sure what made him speak his mind so brazenly that night. Maybe it was the fire. Maybe it was sentimentality. “Do you remember that close call with the Swordsmachine?”

V1 shifted, and Levi got his wish. A soft yellow glow casted on his face as it focused back on him. “Yes. What about it?”

“Had you been a second later, I wouldn't be here right now. It took my shotgun.”

“Yes. And I took it back. Why bring it up?”

Levi sat closer. He didn't know how successful he’d be with this. Getting so sappy usually just made V1 irritable. He tried it, anyway. His chest ached with a thousand blooming emotions, and that night he chose to nurture the good ones. “Because… This milestone could have never happened. So easily. And I don't know if it will ever happen again… I honestly don't think it will.”

The machine took a second to process this. Then another. Then another. “I could protect you for that long.”

“Maybe, but you couldn't feed me.” The wind tussled through his hair, from a dead ocean, into a dead forest. Levi couldn't remember the last time he had seen the color green. What grass was left had died with the change of seasons. He couldn't remember the last time he saw a deer, or anything larger than ants and flies. An awful dread sat in his chest. V1 considered this.

“As long as I eat, you’ll eat.” It decided. So simple. Oddly sweet. Levi smiled sadly.

“Thank you.” He leaned on V1’s shoulder, and stared out across the water. No response. More wind whistled. The ache of cold began to sink past his skin, into muscle and bone. The smog overhead showed no signs of dissipating. Screams of rage and torment echoed on the cliffs, eaten alive by the barren trees. Their peace continued. “Seriously, V1, thank you.”

V1, in all its inexplicable mercy, pulled Levi close. It was warm. Its machinery purred against his skin. Servos twitched with inactivity as its programming struggled to focus on something physical. It fidgeted with his fingers, watching the muscles and tendons in his hand stretch. It said nothing. It only purred, softly in his ear. Its gliders folded to make room for him. He had already taken up so much of its internal storage. He would continue to occupy its files long after he was gone. V1 never thought about it like that, though. It only knew that this cooperation, this connection, was beneficial and special. That it would cling to this for as long as possible– If not for a lifetime.

“Levi…”

“Hm?”

“Happy anniversary.”

Levi beamed, and cuddled closer. Knelt together on a cliff, by a fire, watching the inferno of war rage across the water. Cold, but precious. His heart beat steadily against its chest. The gentle, pulsing proof that he was alive and well. “Happy anniversary.”

He pressed a warm kiss to its armor. Blood brushed his lips. Though V1 didn't understand kissing, it knew what they meant.

I trust you. I love you. I need you.

V1 set another objective.

November 3rd.

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 8 __ Violent Ends

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

A/N: This chapter contains the usual CM violence. We’re nearing the end of this series which makes me sad and excited for the next ideas I have lined up. Two more chapters after this filled with pure fluff. Hope you enjoy!

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

“These violent delights have violent ends.” - Act 2, Scene 6. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

The entrance door of the abandoned house was unlocked. As the three agents stealthily walked inside, they noted the lack of furniture and the lack of dust—an indication that someone had been here recently. Morgan cocked his head towards the staircase, signaling he’ll take the second floor while Emily and Spencer continue on the first floor. 

They both rounded each corner with their guns drawn and steady. As they reached the kitchen, Spencer nodded at the closed basement door. Steeling their breaths, they descended into the cold and dark depths. The smell of copper was the first thing they noted, blood, and by the strong stench, a lot of it. Next was the stainless steel table, big enough to support a human body, and the weapons neatly laid beside it. There were also Polaroids taped on the nearby wall, photos of the male victims before and images of their taken body parts after. 

Noting no other human presence beside their own, they trekked the long winding hidden hallway tucked in between the shelves with Spencer taking the lead and Emily covering his back. A muffled shriek momentarily stopped them in their tracks before picking up pace. As they reach they reached the blue painted door at the end of the hallway, they nodded to each other before Spencer kicked it down—a movement that would make Morgan proud. 

“Elijah Williams, FBI!” He shouted. Eyes widening as he took in his form on top of Olivia and her state of undress. 

“Step away from Olivia, Elijah,” Emily commanded, gun trained on the suspect as he made no move to follow so. His frenzied eyes glaring at Spencer like there was no other agent in the room.

“Ah, Paris. You came,” he drawled out as if they were friends, catching up over coffee. “How great of you to seek death regardless of the mercy I’ve given you.” 

Olivia’s eyes flickered to Spencer inspecting for any injuries from the last time she saw him. She believed him to be deceased with Elijah gave no indication as to what he had done. Different emotions were flowing through her—relief that he was alright and terror of the gun that was on her stomach.

“Elijah, step away from Olivia,” Spencer stated again in a way that showed his false bravado. His mind was racing at a 200 miles per minute as the unsub made no move, even pressing the gun more to dig into her skin. He switched tactics lowering his gun ever so slightly, alarming both Emily and Olivia. “Romeo, step away from Juliet. I do defy thy conjurations and apprehend thee for a felon here.” 

Before he could respond, Morgan quickly entered the room with his gun drawn. Elijah’s eyes shifting from each FBI agent present, the situation donning on him that this will not end in his favor. He cackled manically, alarming Spencer enough to train his gun back on his form. Instincts screaming at him. 

“The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss. A dateless bargain to engrossing death.” Elijah declared.

Realizing that he planned on copying the original ending of Romeo & Juliet with Olivia—dead with a gunshot from him and him, dead from their gunshots, Spencer aimed at the extended shoulder and shot him. He toppled over in pain and the agents quickly moved to apprehend the killer—with Emily moving the gun away, Morgan with the cuffs behind his back, and with Spencer unchaining Olivia from the bed post. 

He removed the duct tape on her mouth and made quick work on removing her bound arms and legs. Tears streaming down her face, Olivia threw her arms around his neck—violently sobbing and ruining his collar with her tears. He didn’t care. All he cared about was that she was safe and this time, this time, he got there in time. 

Noting that Emily and Morgan escorted Elijah out of the premises to possibly give them some privacy, he returned the hug with a tight squeeze. “Olivia, let’s get you out of here, okay? You’re alright,” he soothed her, caressing the back of her head and wiping the traces of her distress.

“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed out. “He-he wouldn’t tell me what he did to you. I was so—so worried.”

“I’m alive. I’m here. We’re okay.” He repeated again and again until her sobs subsided. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?” 

She nodded as her hands shook to close her blouse. Observing how Olivia was unsuccessful even with numerous tries, Spencer offered his help—asking for her permission, before reaching out and closing the buttons, always mindful to not touch her skin lest she starts to panic again. He also took off his FBI jacket and draped it over her shoulders, an act that she seemed grateful for as it added a layer of protection from the cold and the trauma that she experienced confined in the small space. 

As they exited her decorated cage, he made sure to tuck her face in the crook of his neck to avoid further exposing her to the horrors the basement held, the surgery table and it’s laid out torture devices. She doesn’t need to see that and imagine what happened with the male victims that the unsub has killed and skinned like animals for slaughter. 

She went rigid when a male paramedic touched her arm and Spencer felt himself puffing up as some kind of protector. “What are you doing?” 

The male showed both of his palms in surrender. “She needs to be checked out.”

“I know that,” he scoffed, aware that the team was watching the encounter. “Ask for her permission before you try and touch her. There’s no need to re-traumatize her, got it?” 

He mutely nodded before leading the couple to the back of the ambulance. As the paramedic gave her a look over for any external injuries, Spencer shifted farther back but not before Olivia’s hand clasped his tightly. “Please. Stay.” 

“I’ll be right back, Olivia, I just need to talk to my unit chief—”

A pat on his back interrupted his rambling, it was Morgan. “Kid, we’re flying back to Quantico in an hour. You coming?” 

He gave her a fleeting glance. “Actually, I think I’ll stay with Olivia. You think that’s alright with Hotch?”

Morgan gave them an appraising look and chuckled. “I’ll let him know, lover boy,” he turned to Olivia with an eyebrow raised. “You take care of him now. He’s fragile.” 

Olivia laughed as Spencer lightly shooed him away. With a quick wave to the team, they both rode the back of the ambulance to get her checked out.

———

“It’s a good thing he didn’t break anything,” Olivia joked to lighten the mood as they entered her home. It was early in the morning, 2:15am to be exact, when the couple arrived back in Washington, DC. Fortunately, there were no external injuries or complications from Olivia’s captivity and the hospital saw no need to keep her under observation. She saw a grimace past by Spencer’s face before it disappeared. “Sorry. Too soon?”

He tucked the escaped lock of hair behind her ears. “Just about. I’m glad you’re alright.” 

“Are you—are you hungry?” 

Spencer shook his head, the tension that started to crackle between the rendering him mute. 

“Me neither.” 

She sheepishly smiled as she took his hand into hers, leading him up the staircase and into her room. Spencer surveyed the most intimate space in her home. It felt light, airy, and well lived in. It warmed his soul in ways he never thought was possible. As a known germaphobe, the only place that had ever evoked this emotion out of him was his own apartment, yet here was another.

“You can take a shower first. It’s right through that door,” Olivia gestured at the mahogany door on the far left of the room.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded before giving him a light peck on the cheek and escaping out of his reach. Giggling under her breath, she watched him freeze as if his mechanisms glitched before a blush bloomed on his face. He ducked his head and all but floated to the bathroom. 

Hearing the door close shut, Olivia’s face was quickly painted with hysteria. She didn’t know what came over her when she dragged him to her own bedroom. There was a ready spare room just adjacent to hers but the idea of being alone and not seeing Spencer was enough to send her thoughts into a panic. Although she had repeatedly said she was alright, flashes of Elijah’s hands caressing her face and body came and went into her mind. She felt violated, disrespected, and assaulted. Looking at herself in the mirror, she vowed to burn or give away the clothes adorning her body. The idea of wearing them again or even keeping them in her closet made her want to vomit. 

She took a calming breath, grateful that the FBI jacket around her shoulders smelled like Spencer—smelled like comfort. They both still have to talk about the brimming attraction between them but as of this moment, all Olivia wanted to do was burrow herself into his warm chest, rest, and wake up with his arms wrapped around her. 

“Olivia,” Spencer called out. 

She peeked her head out of the walk in closet. “Spence?” The nickname slipping out of her as if it was a normal thing to say.

He boyishly smiled. “It’s your turn.” 

She thanked him and took a quick shower, not wanting to be out of his sight than more than necessary. She’ll scrub herself raw tomorrow when the horrific kidnapping is no longer fresh from her mind. 

When she stepped out of the shower, clothed in her best pajamas, Spencer was sitting on the edge of the bed, back straight and hands on his knees. She giggled at the sight.

“Let’’s head to bed, Spence.” 

He glanced at the bed and at her. “I—I don’t think we should—” his voice trailed off.

She nodded in agreement. “I just want you to hold me. Is that alright?” 

“I-I can do that,” he cleared his throat as he slowly got into the bed beside her. 

Burrowing into the crook of his neck, a perfect slot for as if she was always meant to be there, Spencer wrapped his arms around her body and gave her temple a kiss. “Olivia, there’s this psychological explanation to this attraction you’re feeling for me,” he paused to caress her hair. “It’s called transference—the subconscious associating a person of the present to a past event or relationship. You may be interlacing me with the feeling of security and safety but I’d like to see where this, us, would lead to. If you’re alright with that.” 

“You mean taking it slow?” 

He nodded. 

She kissed his neck. “I’m okay with that. I’d like to get to know you, Spencer. Not as my knight in shining armor but as you, the man I find myself very much attracted to.” 

“Thank you, Olivia.”

She felt sleep pulling her under. “No, thank you, Spencer.” 

[urbanrelics]

TRAINWORKS

The history of the Liège steel industry goes back further than the birth of Belgium in 1830. In 1817, the Englishman John Cockerill founded his first steelworks in Seraing to produce the steel for his looms. In the following decades, the steel industry develops to its peak, until it takes its first hits in the early 1980s. The majority of the steel activity in Liège and Charleroi is then brought together in Cockerill Sambre. Several blast furnaces, coking plants, coal mines, hot and cold rolling mills, factories for processing blast furnace slag,... dominated the Walloon economy for almost 200 years.

Various mergers and acquisitions attempted to revive the declining steel industry. When the Indian steel giant Mittal came on the scene in 2006 and took over Arcelor to form ArcelorMittal, the end was near. Numerous layoffs and austerity measures followed, much to the dismay of workers and unions. In 2013, after years of social unrest and negotiations, the curtain finally fell on the Liège steel industry. Some companies are still being placed "under cocoon", with the prospect of a potential restart, which unfortunately never comes...

This site contains the administrative buildings, where the main administration of the steel company was located. The main building still contains a number of beautifully dilapidated offices and archives.

Apart from the administrative wing, there is also a large part of the site where there is a workshop where the company's trains were maintained and repaired. This part was mostly emptied.

[paxmorgana]

At this point I feel it’s mandatory to have an OC rant, so..

Complimentary doodle of the specimen before we begin:

Cain Infodump:

——————

-Cain stands at around 200 feet tall, and carries a massive sword on his back (I didn’t do it justice here)

-His helmet unhinges both from the top or bottom, meaning he can show either the top or bottom half of his face. This works for him since he usually wants to keep it on.

-His face under that helmet is pretty scarred (big tear in his lip that exposes his teeth, burn marks, a nose that’s been broken often). He avoids showing his face if he can. If you’re familiar with how the “steel bull” torture device muffles the screams of its victims to make the sound of a bull, Cain’s helm works w that same distortion tactic, but since his vocal cords are much deeper due to his size, it gives the impression of a roar rather than a battlecry!

-Cain is secretly scared of putting others and himself in harm’s way, so he tends to drive other people away by being intimidating or cold towards them. If he has the choice not to, he won’t hurt people, but when he gets pushed to his limit, Cain can be absolutely brutal. Though, unless someone directly harms him, it’d take a feat to break his patience.

-Good god he’s so sweet with children. This man has CRAZY parental instincts, and actually was a father in the past (was). Obviously he wouldn’t threaten a child or anything, but oughhh if he sees someone endanger them there’s no saying how pissed he’d be.

-Cain tends to use terms of endearment for those he grows close to, such as dear, darling, etc.

-As for dietary habits, he mainly hunts big game and the other 20% of the time he fucks around in the ocean (poorly).

-UNDER CAIN’S HELMET: I don’t think I’ll draw his face anytime soon so here’s a descriptor of the un-skrewed up parts of his appearance. His eyes are yellow, he has long black hair that slightly protrudes from the back of his helm, sharper teeth, and a forked tongue that really just looks more like it was split because why not.

——————

Rough minor reference sketch:

Thank you for listening to me yap abt my oc :)))

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 7]

In which half of the group flirts in the mountains while the other half is going insane in the swamp.

CW: The beginning of Eletha's PTSD spiral, she's aiming to drill straight down into the Underdark to get away from her problems, also Pregnant Character (Mayrina)

(Prev)[Part 6] (Next)[Part 8] [Master Post]

[(tumblr being fucky, half the time it works)]

“I think I found something that might interest you,” Astarion told Eletha as they left the druids’ sanctuary. She’d just finished talking Gale down after Nettie nearly poisoned her. Astarion held out a folded scrap of paper. “While you were busy, I took the opportunity to have a look around. This was hidden away with some of that nasty woman’s things.”

Eletha ignored the praise in the way Astarion drew out the word ‘nasty’ and snatched the paper from him. After reading the brief missive, she said, “If this is how it sounds, we could leverage it to keep the tieflings in the grove. I guess we’re going to the swamp. Lovely.”

Astarion made a sound of disgust. “Must we help every weakling on the road?”

“Think of it this way; we keep them off the road, they won’t get in our way. There’s enough going on already,” she explained, but it wasn’t like Astarion’s opinion mattered much. It did matter, yes, but not when he was just being whiney.

“A good observation. Besides, this Halsin might be more inclined to help us if we keep his grove from destabilizing in his absence,” Gale said as they made their way back out of the grove. Behind Eletha’s back, Astarion stuck his tongue out at Gale and mouthed the words ‘kiss arse.’ Gale only spared him a lifted eyebrow.

Eletha tried to stay out of the squabble between the two humans and Ethel, but Wyll insisted on jumping in to diffuse the situation. It came as no surprise to Eletha that Ethel was a hag; she’d come across a few in her time. Even after convincing the two young men to not fight, they still ran off in the direction of the hag’s abode. Wyll, of course, tried to stop them. Eletha put a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave them be. We can’t be wasting our energy on idiots,” she said sternly, nonplussed as he shook her off.

“How can you be so cold?” Wyll asked, hurt and angry. “I took you for someone who comes to the aid of others.”

“Young man, I haven’t survived wandering Faerun for over 200 years by chasing after every lost cause. If you’re going to keep that pretty head of yours, you should learn that.”

“But that hag has their sister,” he insisted, eye bright with heroic fervor. Eletha went from disappointed to harsh.

“People go to hags for a reason. It’s none of our business what their sister wants from her. People make their own decisions,” she explained firmly, a bit of steel in her words. “The more pressing matter is dealing with these druids. If you want to throw your life away for a family that doesn’t have a single lick of sense between them, be my guest.”

The morning after the celebration, the group was going through their things while discussing next steps. Lae’zel wanted to head for the creche, insisting that they’d already wasted enough time. Eletha wanted to go into the Underdark and search for this legendary forge that they’d caught rumors of.

“I don’t feel good about not dealing with that hag,” Wyll remarked rather seriously, his glance reserved for Eletha. 

“Why are you looking at me? We have an even more adult in our presence now,” Eletha argued, indicating Halsin. The druid chuckled.

“I am not much older than you,” Halsin insisted. “Besides. It seems to me that you have the most experience in this situation. I obviously have some lessons to learn about leadership.”

She took a moment to consider this as she prepared some more arrows.

“Fine. We can split up. Lae’zel, Gale, Astarion, and Halsin can scout ahead into the mountain pass for this creche. The rest of us will track back and see what this hag is about,” Eletha explained with a sigh of resignation. “Any arguments?”

Without a complaint to be heard, they geared up and went on their respective missions.

----

“Marvelous,” Gale said to no one in particular, soaking in the splendor of the view.

“One of the Oak Father’s many gifts,” Halsin agreed in his own way, also giving their surroundings an appraising look.

“I’m just glad we weren’t roasted back there.” Astarion huffed as he came up to stand beside them on the cliff. It was rather breathtaking. There was so much green. Much more green than Astarion would have ever seen in Baldur’s Gate, if he’d been capable of it. And the way the light of the sun seemed to wind through the mountains like a river, drawing the eyes to the ruined monastery? No wonder the Lathander monks picked this spot.

Lae’zel made one of her annoyed sounds at them. “No time for gawking, is’tiks. We have wasted enough time already.”

“She’s quite wilful, isn’t she?” Halsin asked with a little laugh, breaking away to follow her. Astarion broke away next, but when he noticed that Gale wasn’t following, he stopped. The wizard was just… staring, oblivious to being left behind. Or perhaps he was enjoying a moment of solitude. But given what things could be lurking out here, Astarion called out his name.

“I apologize,” Gale told him once he’d caught up, using his staff as a walking stick on the treacherous path. “I was just thinking about how little of the world I have seen.”

“If we keep Lae’zel waiting, we both will be seeing a little less.” Gale laughed and Astarion smiled just a little.

“Most of us have lived life close to one locus or another. It makes me wonder, what is it like to be a true adventurer?”

“Judging by how Eletha turned out, it makes you into a bitter shell of a person, if you manage to live long enough,” Astarion remarked rather cheerfully for such an awful thing to say.

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Gale argued gently.

“Well, of course. She did lose someone as great as me.” Astarion postured flamboyantly, managing to trip in the process on some stones in the path. Gale reached out and snatched him by a strap on his armor. Astarion’s eyes were momentarily wide in surprise, but once he was stable, he smirked at Gale. “My hero.”

“Perhaps if you reined in your theatrics, you would not need rescuing.”

“That’s rather rich, coming from you.”

The two started exchanging light insults and witty remarks while trying to trip one another. Eventually, they caught up to the others and quickly separated once they noticed that Halsin was smiling at them in good-natured amusement while Lae’zel was huffing in annoyance.

“If you two wish to swordfight, perhaps you should save that energy for the evening,” she told them with narrowed eyes. Gale tilted his head in confusion.

“Swordfight? I have dabbled in the rapier, as any gentleman has, but-”

“She means our cocks, you knob,” Astarion growled, massaging his temple.

“Ah,” Gale said immediately, believing he understood. Then he actually understood. “Ah. … How does that work, exactly?”

“Oh, Gale, how are you both so innocent and yet know so much?” Astarion emitted a filthy little chuckle and shot Gale a cocky grin, complete with sensually running his tongue over one of his fangs. “Maybe I can fill those gaps in your education sometime.”

“My education is quite thorough, thank you,” Gale ground out.

“Have they always been like this?” Halsin asked Lae’zel, leaning over and lowering his voice a bit. 

“Our leader deems herself unfit to copulate with either of them, or anyone for that matter, despite their obvious prowess and compatibility. Thus, she has deemed it prudent to push them towards each other, to enrich their bond and tame some of their distractions,” Lae’zel explained rather clinically. Then she added, “Yes, they have behaved this way since I have known them.”

Astarion and Gale pointedly avoided looking at, walking close to, or talking to each other. Neither of them was going to dispute Lae’zel’s impression that nothing was going on between either of them and Eletha.

----

“Those poor boys,” Wyll said as their group came across the decomposing bodies of Mayrina’s brothers. They were in a swamp, so the smell wasn’t exactly prominent, but it didn’t help either.

“Boys? They were probably your age,” Eletha retorted with a humorless laugh.

“And yet you call me a boy.”

“Yes, well… You’re all children compared to me.”

After the fact, Eletha couldn’t have told someone what happened that day. One moment, the sun was still rising in the east and they were just outside of Ethel’s teahouse. The next, the sun was falling in the west, turning the sky a beautiful orange color, and she was walking up on a human man, presumably a Gur by the looks of him.

The others present would have described her behavior as ‘strange,’ ‘erratic,’ and ‘harsh.’ It wasn’t the cold Eletha that slaughtered her way through the goblin camp. It wasn’t even the pragmatic Eletha that first told Wyll to harden his heart a little. When Gale would later ask what was wrong with her, Karlach would answer, “Hells if I know. She just got weird.”

Eletha could hear two women arguing before they even opened the door. A chill started to seep into her spine.

“I don’t want a crumb left on that plate, girl,” Ethel said to Mayrina in a cheery voice, like the doting grandmother she painted herself as.

“Auntie Ethel, please. One more bite and this pie is gonna come back up to say hello,” Mayrina argued carefully, holding a hand over her swollen stomach.

“Don’t make me get the wooden spoon,” Ethel warned her, making it clear that she wouldn’t be disobeyed. “You’re eating for two, so get to it!”

It was then that Ethel noticed the four of them standing in the entrance to her home. Ethel’s eyes lit up with delight. “Ah, if it isn’t my heroes! You took ages. Come in - come in!”

Eletha stood stock-still, hollowed out by a gnawing sense of dread. Her eyes, focused and alert, stared unwaveringly at Mayrina struggling to do as Ethel commanded.

Ethel approached Eletha, trying to make eye contact with her. Concerned, she turned to the others, “What appears to be the problem with your friend, dearies?”

“Eletha,” Karlach hissed insistently under her breath. Ethel looked at Eletha again and a knowing smile wrinkled her face for a moment before Wyll addressed her.

“That’s Mayrina, right?” he asked despite knowing the answer. “I have some bad news for her.”

“Keep that hole under your nose shut. Or things will get messy,” Ethel nearly hissed at him, fixing him with a harsh glare.

“You know what that sounds like to me?” Shadowheart asked, smiling smugly. “Leverage.”

“What is it?” Mayrina asked, getting out of her seat and trying to get closer. Her voice wavered with fear. “What’s going on?”

“Auntie Ethel killed your brothers,” Wyll told the poor girl, glaring at the hag.

Then the girl was gone and so too was Ethel’s human disguise. With precision and unbridled ferocity, Eletha went at the hag with her longsword.

“Eladrin bitch!” Ethel sneered after a few strikes. Then she disappeared, but her voice, filled with amusement, could still be heard. “Jealousy becomes you, petal! You wear it so well!”

Karlach came up behind her as Eletha wiped the redcap blood off her blade. “Hey, soldier. You okay? You seem kinda…”

“You heard the girl,” Eletha said in a clipped, harsh voice. Her eyes were hard like stones. “Now we have to kill a hag.”

Navigating the hag’s lair was… hard. A gallery of desperate people, making deals meant to fix their lives, only to be driven to death and ruin. Eletha never dealt with hags, really. Out in the sticks, people tolerated them, for some odd amount of reassurance in dire times.

Dancing on the edge of a black pit, its deafening screams in her ears, Eletha was just as relentless as Lae’zel.

Then Ethel’s voice cut through the noise. The edge of the black pit crumbled away and Eletha fell.

“Wait!” Ethel cried out, hand outstretched towards Eletha. The hand flew off, trailing an arc of blood.

“Eletha!” Wyll yelled at her, running to catch up.

Then the hag’s head came off.

“You could have shown her mercy,” Wyll told Eletha angrily.

“You wanted this,” Eletha said, staring him down with those stoney eyes. “There is no mercy in this wretched place.”

“I’m so stupid. How could I have trusted her?” Mayrina asked herself aloud, shaking and terrified. Shadowheart was at her side, making sure she was steady on her feet. “I almost gave that monster my child.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Karlach cooed, giving the girl her biggest smile.

“Muh-my husband. She was going to bring him back. Bring Connor back to life. All I had to do was give her my child,” Mayrina explained without being asked, sobbing through her words. “I just wanted everything back- back the way it was. She was gonna teach them magic, give them a good life.”

“Hags eat children and turn them into more hags,” Eletha remarked dispassionately, going through Ethel’s things. Mayrina burst into big wailing sobs. They all shot Eletha a dirty look that she didn’t notice.

The group accompanied Mayrina to Connor’s body, to make sure she was safe.

“The thought of putting him in a wheelbarrow and making the journey all over again…” she said sadly, looking at her husband’s decaying corpse.

“We could bury him nearby, somewhere nice,” Karlach offered gently.

“No! Don’t put him in the ground!” the girl cried. Softly she explained, “Connor was afraid of the dark…”

“Do you really want your child?” Eletha asked, the first time she’d spoken in perhaps ten minutes of them fussing over Mayrina. They all turned to look at her.

“W-what?” Mayrina asked, confused, touching her belly. “I…”

“When you think of having to live your life raising it, can you imagine joy? Does the thought of teaching it about Connor, teaching it to love and fear the world, feel like something that will make you happy? To cherish this thing forever, to live your life in duty to it, because that’s what it means to be a mother?”

“That’s… I never thought of it that way…” Mayrina said to herself hesitantly, sniffling back tears.

“Eletha, what-” Wyll started, but was commanded to be silent with a simple gesture of Eletha’s hand. Eletha approached Mayrina and looked her in the eye, not with her stoney gaze, but with sharp wisdom.

“I… I can. Imagine joy, that is. In them taking their first steps… their first word…” Mayrina said fondly through her tears.

“Then you need to let Connor go,” Eletha told her firmly. Mayrina started to weep again.

“No! There has to be some way- I can’t do this without him!” Eletha placed a hand on Mayrina’s shoulder.

“I’ve lost many people. I carry them as a reminder,” Eletha said calmly, indicating the rings on her ears with her free hand. “I carry their stories with me. They have taught me things that have saved my life, changed the way I see the world. It’s the way of things, for humans just as much as elves. A piece of Connor will always live on with you and you will always carry on that love. You can’t teach your child to find joy in life if you can’t move on.”

Mayrina thought about this for a moment. Then she sniffled one last time, wiping her tears off on her sleeve, and puffed up her chest in new-found bravery. “I… I’ll try. But… what do I do about Connor now?”

“His body will return to the earth and feed new life. Who knows? Maybe one day you will pick a flower borne from a seed that his body nourished, and you will think of him.”

“That’s… beautiful… A little morbid… but beautiful.”

“Wow, Eletha, that was…” Shadowheart started to say uncertainly, almost impressed. Then Eletha’s eyes turned back to stone.

“We should search through her things and then head back,” she told them strictly. They all nodded in agreement, seeing no use in arguing with her.

Thus she found herself in front of the Gur loitering about.

“Ah, a fellow wanderer. Forgive the aroma,” he said in a friendly manner.

“I’ve used the same trick before. Hunting werebeasts,” Eletha told him after picking up on the scent.

“Ah, a fellow hunter, then.” As polite as one could, he sniffed her. “Ah, fey blood. I take it the lady of the house is no more.”

“My friend felt it necessary to investigate some business she had with a young girl,” Eletha explained in a calm manner with just a touch of irritation. “I apologize if you wanted to trade tragedies with the hag.”

“I won’t miss her, but I was hoping she could aid me in my hunt… No matter.”

“What do you hunt? We’ve been through this land quite thoroughly the past few days.” After some back and forth, he revealed his quarry. Eletha didn’t react. “What would you want with a creature like that?”

“A band of vampire spawn attacked our camp and stole away our children. We believe this Astarion knows where they’re keeping our little ones. If he’s captured alive, my people will make him talk.”

“I’m sorry to hear such a tale. If I come across any vampires, I’ll aim to capture rather than eradicate. I am headed to Baldur’s Gate myself, though I have some things to see to first,” Eletha responded calmly, only a little bothered. 

“Thank you, stranger. Good hunting,” Gandrel told her. After bowing their heads to one another, Eletha rejoined her companions.

“I can’t believe we left that poor girl with a hag for all this time,” Wyll remarked with equal mix disbelief and venom. “To be tricked into giving up your child to bring back the one you love-”

Wyll found himself on his ass, Eletha glaring down at him.

“People make choices, Wyll, whether they’re good or not.”

“But she was desperate and Ethel took advantage of her!” he argued, getting to his feet.

“You must have been desperate, to make a deal with a devil, and now look at you,” Eletha said with a snarl. “Should someone have come to your aid? Would you have accepted someone making that choice for you?”

“That’s different. I help people.”

“Heyheyhey, let’s all calm down,” Karlach said nervously, bodily separating the two.

Eletha turned on her heel without another word.

“What in the Hells was that about?” Wyll asked, rubbing his backside.

“I don’t know. Ethel said something to her, but I didn’t hear what it was…” Shadowheart said as she kept stride with the three. They remained within sight of Eletha, but hopefully even her hearing couldn’t pick up their words. “And she was acting strange before that.��

“Maybe she was right. Maybe someone else should be making the decisions,” Wyll muttered angrily. 

“She’s been all over Faerun. She’s worn out more boots than all of us combined,” Karlach argued. “She’s just been rattled. Give her some time.”

----

When the creche group got back, the moon was already in the sky. 

“So, how was hag-hunting?” Astarion playfully asked the three gathered around the campfire. 

“Weird,” Karlach answered, moving food around in her bowl with a spoon. The other two didn’t have much input. Astarion huffed.

“Well, we had a lovely time, thank you for asking.”

Astarion joined them as they all ate, not really listening as Gale filled them in on their trip through the mountain pass. Then Eletha stalked past, bow slung over one shoulder, a few waterskins over the other. She didn’t spare them even a fleeting glance. Astarion practically jumped to his feet to follow.

“Fancy some company?” he asked rather cheerily.

“No.” It wasn’t the first time Astarion ignored such an answer.

“Come now, you shouldn’t be going out there all alone.”

“You should stay in camp, someone’s looking for you,” Eletha told him dispassionately as they approached the edge of camp. “Something about stealing children.”

“Ah. Is that why you’re angry with me? Cazador made us do it. I forgot about it until you mentioned it.” He hesitated. “That doesn’t make it sound better, does it?”

“I don’t really care. Just don’t get caught.” The impersonal chill in her voice was both worrying and a bit tantalizing to Astarion. It was starting to feel like another one of their games.

“I know you’d never let anything bad happen to me, darling,” he purred, reaching out to grab one of her ears. Then he was holding a hand to his nose. “Gods, what was that for? Are you insane?!”

Astarion looked up into Eletha’s eyes and didn’t recognize her, as if something else was looking out from behind her eyes. Her entire body was ready for this argument to turn deadly.

“Stay,” Eletha commanded coldly in elvish.

“And go with you while you’re like this?” Astarion rebutted in disbelief and pain, his nose throbbing from her punch. “Go on then, be miserable. See if I care.”

“What happened to you?” Shadowheart asked upon his return. Halsin reached out and with some words, the pain in Astarion’s face dissipated.

“It’s not the first time a drunk has tried to ruin my pretty face,” he murmured, experimentally touching his nose. Then he fixed Wyll with a glare, although it wasn’t truly mean-spirited. “Thanks a lot, Wyll, you’ve ruined all my good work.”

“Don’t blame him, Astarion,” Gale told him with a chastising wag of his spoon. “It is reasonable to conclude that Eletha has been through something deeply traumatic. This situation with the hag and Mayrina likely reminded her of that trauma.”

“Mm, yes, Gale speaks truth. I have seen it myself,” Halsin said as Gale took a bite of food. His agreement made Gale excited.

“I have read some observations on the subject. It is theorized to be a response meant to protect the individual. Thus they become avoidant, harsh, and sometimes violent. They can’t be hurt if there is no one around to hurt them. Unfortunately, they also appear to be prone to destructive behaviors. I postulate that Eletha has traveled alone as a more reserved response. Then Astarion came along, the first shockwave of mental destabilization. Now this hag has destabilized her further, leading, to, well-”

“Breaking my nose,” Astarion interrupted at the same time as Wyll said, “Biting my head off.”

“At least she kept her cool during all that fighting,” Karlach pointed out, clearly a little upset by all of Gale’s theories. “She could’ve given Lae’zel a run for her coin with how she swung that blade.”

“I regret not being there to see it. Perhaps we will face more foes worthy of such ferocity and skill,” Lae’zel said with a fire in her eyes.

“If it becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it,” Gale said finally after considering Karlach’s words.

“She broke my nose!” Astarion hissed.

“You probably deserve a lot more than a broken nose,” Wyll remarked dryly, clearly annoyed with Gale’s final stance on the problem. Astarion glared at him.

“Maybe she should have actually bit your head off, you little brat,” Astarion spat at him. Before their fight could turn physical, Halsin scooped Astarion up like an angry cat while Karlach blocked Wyll with her body from going after him.

“Conflict was bound to happen,” Gale said to himself before sighing and getting to his feet with a groan.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Okay. So you and one other person said they liked it and that's apparently enough for me to share. Now there's around 800 words instead of 200

So, have this tidbit of "Gotham's friendly neighborhood assassin"

It had been a quiet night. It was cold and humid out, fairly unpleasant. There was fog cloaking the tops of the buildings, and silence clung to the dark corners. It made for a quiet patrol, any suspicious sound carrying far. It had seemed like a good night to give Robin a bit more freedom, let him roam without Batman hovering over his shoulder.

It had been a mistake. Robin had been rushed by enemies while he was too far from him to give him immediate aid. His kid had had to run, getting farther and farther out. It’s been at least ten minutes since then and he has lost communication (Unacceptable. He’ll need to fix whatever caused the malfunction. Later) so he’s had to track his kid the old fashioned way. He follows the trail to an abandoned building. There's a few unconscious men laying about. Robin is ahead, having been forced down this hallway. Past that door.

There are no sounds of struggle coming from the other side, but that's not necessarily good. He moves carefully. Silent. Opens the door as quietly as he can, tries to see what’s happening without alerting anyone to his presence

Then he has to stop. Reassess.

Relief wars with confusion at what he sees.

All the henchmen lie on the floor, unconscious. All but one.

Robin is standing on his own two feet, keeping still of his own free will. There's a bundle of steel needles in his hands, long and sharp and sturdy, and a look in his eyes that he gets when he intends to learn as fast as you can teach him.

There is a man standing beside him. Dressed in casual clothes, except for the lower half of his face hidden under a simple surgical mask. Tall and broad and pale. Black haired. Unknown. The last conscious goon is in the man's hand, shirtless and with several long, steel needles protruding from his skin. The man is holding him aloft by a firm grip on the back of his neck, keeping him up on his tiptoes with no apparent effort.

The only sign the goon is conscious is his quiet, hopeless sniffling. He hangs limp otherwise but Batman doesn't realize why until the man points whit his free hand at the goon's arm.

"So, you know how it hurts like a bitch when you hit your elbow just wrong?"

Pressure points. The needles are stuck in pressure points.

Robin nods, eager.

"That's because there's an important nerve" the man taps his finger "right here".

He sounds friendly. He's using a person as a prop.

"Now, go on. Find it" he encourages. "You did great with the other ones".

Batman's Robin preens at the praise and separates a needle from his bundle. The goon sniffles harder.

"That's enough!"

Robin startles and turns around when he speaks. His face twists in a guilty grimace, like he just realized what he was doing.

The man does not startle. He just says "Is playtime over already?" without missing a beat. The goon is unceremoniously dropped to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut loose. He lands just as haphazardly, without moving a muscle away from the awkward position he ended up in. Bruce doubts he would move even if he could. There's something about the man's casual disregard that speaks of danger. Gotham's people know a threat when they see one. Not that the man was being subtle about it.

Robin avoids Batman's eyes at the sound of the body hitting the floor, uncertainty clear on the line of his shoulders.

The man sees. He turns to Batman without an ounce of fear, his limbs relaxed and his eyes amused.

"No need to get so worked up, Dad Bat". He crouches down, retrieving a needle from the goons shoulder. His fingers mark the depth of the wound on the length of the weapon when he holds it up for Bruce to see.

"Senbon are only fatal if you're truly good with them, '' he explains. His tone turns ever so slightly mocking. "Wasn't teaching your kid anything you wouldn't approve of".

The man throws his needle (senbon?) for Robin to catch and goes for the door, showing no sign of apprehension at having to walk past him, shoulders almost touching.

"Stop". Bruce's hand shoots out, grabbing the man by the arm. He allows himself to be stopped, looking him in the eye despite de cowl's lenses.

"Let the boy keep the things, will you? Children need their toys". Bruce does not deign that with an answer.

"Who are you?"

The man hums, amused.

"I'm sure you'll find out, eventually"

And then he just leaves. Shakes Bruce's hand out of his arm and walks through the door without hurry. He's no longer in the hallway when Bruce tries to follow

(that's about it, the rest I have is random ideas and half scenes. Also. I realized just now I have to clean up when I use real and code names. It has to make some sort of sense)

Oh oh this is fantastic

[miraxetine]

Ecstasy

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley x OC Fem!, John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Kate Laswell.

Summary: A new female operator has joined Task Force 141. Codename Ecstasy. The woman, here, began her first mission with Gaz, Laswell and Price in Spain. While on the other side of the world, Ghost and Soap find themselves alone in Las Almas, surviving empty handed, and curious about the new recruit joining them.

Warnings: Typical COD stuff, I guess.

A/N: Uh, I have not written stuff in ages, so excuse my illiteracy. The character goes by she/her. For some reason it took me too long to write this. And tbh, I feel like its mid. ANYWAYS, inspired by @the-bottom-of-the-abyss siren >>>>>. ENJOY <3, inshallah. Also why tf is the formattin here so weird. Also its short im sry i had a brain fart. okay bye

Recon By Fire

Spain

31 OCT 2022 1100

Haar covered the landscape, and the cold air created ignored goosebumps on the soldier’s skin. Flat on her stomach, behind the captain and the sergeant was the woman. Covered with garments that helped her merge in with the topography of the island, some island in Spain.

“We’re set at our firing point. Eyes on pair armed targets hiding in the field.” Captain Price stated in the comms. One eye shut whilst the other remained looking through the scope of his own arm.

“You’re green-lit. Execute when able.” The familiar voice replied after receiving status report.

“Rog’. Stand by…” Captain replied. “Gaz?”

“No wind. 200 meters. On me—“ Gaz was cut off.

Two silent bullets had already the killed pair of men who were sitting and hiding in the same field as she and the two other men were. Not even giving a chance to the fellow “teammates” to finish with comms. The captain looked back at her, scanning the shooter, giving her a stern look, and Sergeant Gaz remained quiet, starting to move his way through the grasslands of the island, not wanting to get involved in the rising tension between the two.

“Bravo, what do you have?” Laswell received silence, “Bravo, how copy?” faint concern was heard in her voice.

The newbie of the Task Force took her vision away from the scope, her eyes meeting with the captain’s. Price showed irritation by the silent commotion she’d made. The woman’s eyes were null, full of nothing. They were brown, the basic dark brown, maybe even black. There was not a single sparkle in them, not a single reflection of light, nothing. Not moved by her higher-ups gaze. Her body slightly moving from the reloading of bullets, she began to push forward and into the tall grass, disuniting the silent fight between both pair of brown orbs.

“Solid. Watcher. Two down.” The Captain spoke into the comms, his eyes following the woman moving, scanning her body language before he began moving himself. Her lack of liveliness bothered him, not even the Ghost himself was this null. Ghost showed concern and emotions when in a mission, miraculously maybe one on one, but this woman… It was just a soulless perfect body, built from steel and bolts, programmed just for ending the lives of other’s. Automatic aim and shooting.

“Good work. Push forward, see what you can find.” Laswell remarked.

The woman seemed to be already scoped in, her eye watching a group of armed men, gathered around a truck. Six men in total, with high chances to be part of the Cartel due to their complexion, the female knew her own kind and the memory of all the files Laswell had provided her with covered her claim.

“Scope in, Sergeant, and let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“I see ‘em.” Gaz replied, flat on his stomach a meter or two away from the silent woman. “Cartel?”

“Likely.” Price answered.

The feminine figure remained quiet throughout the next few callouts, listening and obeying. She didn’t report anything, she didn’t want to, and she felt like she didn’t need to. She saw what they saw, no need to add-on. Perhaps, she was more observant, more quick to realize her surroundings and more quick to acknowledge her surroundings. She read everything like a book and watched life through a scope. Perhaps if she were in a more dangerous situation, she would probably make more callouts than the captain himself. But she didn’t, she didn’t. Why share what we see? It’s not even sharing. It was seeing and stating the obvious, something everyone was capable of doing but chose not to. The woman was patient, but not too much with people who see but don’t observe, the obvious was obvious.

Everything that was going on was obvious, or close to the educated guesses she had made before landing on the isolated island. Submarines, cartels, terrorists, drugs, and the taking of Kate by Hassan’s men. The woman wasn’t surprised, upon receiving the call from the station chief for recruitment towards this mission, the female sniper knew too well this wasn’t going to end well. Laswell’s plans always had some type of imperfection that complicated everything.

Whilst Gaz and Price occupied themselves by worrying about what to do next to get to Kate, the woman stared blankly out of the cave before making her own internal call to get out the way she came in. Gaz changed his focus from the captain to the fellow she-sergeant going her on mery way back towards the ladder. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

The woman turned around making eye contact with Gaz. Her eyes obscure, empty, intimidating to the younger British. “I’m leaving to get Kate,” she pointed at Laswell’s direction with her sniper while keeping eye contact, revealing her voice to the other two.

This dry but intense interaction seemed to make Gaz nervous, it was obvious on his face. Her face and body was already plenty to leave a man in awe, to make him weak to his knees but her personality, her aura was one to make a man suffer. The coldness was the complete opposite from the warm tone of her skin, the cherry-colored lips that screamed sweetness resulted with bitter words, and the curvy and strong body that seemed to fight for the reverences of others, resulted to be a brick and stone wall, refraining others to break it down. The female raised a brow at his reaction.

Price didn’t seen to happy upon hearing the first name basis regard the woman had for Laswell, he walked up to her, the tip of the sniper close to his forehead. Not only that, John was the one who made the calls, not whoever she was. Price commanded and ordered everything, if he asks you to stop breathing, it’s a must. To stay behind, it’s s a must. To give up your on life, it’s a must. “You don’t have a plan, sergeant.” John gritted through his teeth, anger levels increasing after each word.

Lowering her sniper, the tip slightly missing the Captain’s nose, she moved her head towards her higher-up before parting her eyes from Gaz to meet with the Captain’s once again. “You don’t have a plan, captain,” she turned her body towards him, “Apart from sitting and crying, it appears you don’t. You can continue to wail while embracing one another, I’m used to working alone, anyways. I already have enough information and the balls to start taking action.” The woman announced before retiring towards the ladders, her footwork quiet as she moved up each step.

Gaz turned to the Captain, embarrassed for having such an obvious weakness for the new member. Price walked by him passively aggressively meeting his shoulder with him, sighing, “Let’s go.” Price commanded following the woman’s trace towards the ladders.

—————

Alone

Las Almas, Mexico

03 NOV 22 0000

“Ghost, you missin’ a knife?” the Scott asked, a knife in his hand, ignoring the dead Shadow before him and jumping out a nearby window.

“Several.” answered the man on the other side of the comms.

“I think I found one.”

“Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork…” joked the named Ghost, settled and safe in the church of Las Almas.

“You came through here?” Soap asked, feeling a certain pang shoot at his heart.

“On my way to the church.”

“And you left me?”

The man on the top of the church remained quiet, thinking about what his response should be. Looking through the scope of his weapon, aiming at Shadows at the bottom of the church, he answered. “I’m used to working alone.”

“So much for no man left behind.” Soap reminded.

“Just get yourself to the church,” Ghost replied quickly, trying to stand his defense, “tryin’ to keep you alive and get you here in one piece. One of us needs to survive to tell the tail”

“Taken a shine to me, then?”

“Not in the slightest. Still got a lot of ground to cover” The comms went silent.

And that is how the night progressed, killing, jokes, hiding, working alone, trying to survive all alone. Eventually, the two reunited. Struggled to meet each other, but reunited. Now, headed with much speed towards a destination unknown to the Scott.

“Get the chance to read about the Bolo joining us, Ghost?” Soap asked, his elbow resting on the window of his seat, trying to ease his breathing as his arm still remained in pain.

Looking forward, Ghost recalled one of the many files he had looked before the named situation with Graves had happened. “I don’t know whether you’re being racist or using shit American military slang.”

“I’m not being racist!” Johnny raised his arms in defense.

“She’s South American, sergeant.” His mind went back to reading the black letters under the woman’s picture on her file which gave her background information, ‘Maracaibo, Zulia, Venezuela’.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Soap scoffed, looking at Ghost.

“By reading the file you have just asked if I had read.” Ghost reminded him.

Soap became silent.

“I meant to use the term as a person who sucks at our line of work—“ tried to explain John.

“I figured.” Cut off Ghost.

“Ecstasy.” Soap called out the woman’s codename, “I quite fancy her face, should I try and get to know her bett—“.

A lot of people fancied her face, her looks overall. Her tan yet light skin. Her picture showed most of her body. She had the ideal thick thighs, hidden under the cargo pants, the long legs, her arms toned and smooth, her hands small and delicate, surprising as a soldier. Her lips plump and colored forming a smile, her skin clear, eyes in crescent moons, and black hair short to her shoulders, a green military beret sitting on top of her head, and on the side of her arm, a small french flag. She had served in France and in the picture she didn’t seem to have empty and soulless eyes. Happiness was written all over her face.

“Shut up, Johnny.” Ghost cut him off again.

Ignoring him, the man continued talking about the woman. “She was named so while working with the Americans a few years back. Apparently, she lives up to the name very well.”

Ghost remained quiet, not interested on hearing about Soap’s next target.

“Her ways of doing things was described by the Americans as ecstasy, the drug itself.” Soap looked at Ghost, trying to read his face, his eyes to be more clear. “The pleasure you get by just being in the same room as her, by just looking at her rather impressive skills as a sergeant, when making eye contact with her, it makes you feel like you’re on ecstasy, not that I’ve done it before.” He proceeded.

However, no response was gifted to him. After all this time together, Johnny still struggled to read the man. It was hard to do so. The mysterious picture Ghost gave himself, made it hard, his personality wasn’t enough, apparently.

Ghost did think about the Latina. Her eyes dead and dark. He wasn’t much phased, he’s met, saved, and killed people in this world, the woman is just another human, another person who will eventually die. Though, the codename did trigger him. He’s dealt with substance abuse, “naturally” Ghost would say. His past was harsh, and he supposed he managed momentarily with certain substances. Ghost knew what ecstasy was, how it made you feel, the obsession the Americans had with it, he understood. Though, he did not like the sound of someone nicknamed such way. She gave him the wrong impression without even meeting face to face. Bad vibes. Ghost, again, was not phased. Concluded to not think about it much, if one thing led to the other, he might even have to kill the new operator of 141, preferred to not get attached. Specially, now, since he noticed himself thinking about the woman’s features more than he would’ve liked.

“Ecstasy…” Ghost whispered to himself, the picture of the woman memorized in his head.

[suspicious-pools-of-blood]

The Night They Fled

This modern AU piece was inspired by "When You Hurt Me The Most" by Stream of Passion. It's a beautiful song, and, more importantly, the lyrics are whumpy as all hell. Go listen to it before you read this.

Taglist: @evilwriter-originals @literary-dandy

CW: whumpee getting their face cut up, stitches, mentions of beating and whipping

It was cold, the night they fled. The pain had become more than they could take. They knew they were not allowed to leave -- they themself had agreed to that, so long ago. Had they really known what they were getting themself into at the time? Perhaps. If they were being honest, they weren’t totally sure what they used to think. The past year all blended together into a blur of pain and passion and violence and sex and they didn’t know how much of it they were truly conscious for.

It had been a brutal past few days. Esir had been beaten badly enough that it still hurt to breathe, they had been belted until bruises the size of a grown man’s splayed hand formed on their back, they had been whipped bloody, and just for fun, she had also taken a knife to their face for the first time.

She had threatened to do so before, but that was all it was -- a threat. She would drag the tip of the blade along their jawline, maybe let it come to rest directly under their eye, if she really wanted them to sweat. But she had never really cut them there -- they were too pretty for that, she said; it would be a waste of a beautiful face, she said. Not this time. This time she had used her sharpest knife, the one she saved for special occasions, because of how easily it split open skin with even the lightest touch. They had kept their mouth shut when they screamed; they had tried not to move a muscle, in case they made it worse. The blade was so, so close to their eye, and was already cutting so much deeper than they had ever experienced there.

She gripped their jaw in her free hand to keep their head still where it was pressed against the hard wood beneath them. She straddled them on the floor, trapping their arms against their sides and pinning them down with her weight. They felt like they couldn’t breathe, though whether that was due to the rising panic in their chest or the better part of 200 pounds pressing down on them was uncertain. They could feel the skin of their cheek being split apart, could feel the intense sting of the air entering the open wound, could feel the warm liquid run down the side of their face and drip into their ear as the blood began to spill out.

It hurt. Of course it fucking hurt. But the pain induced a deeper fear in them, a fear that reoccurred every once in a while, the fear that she wasn’t in control. They knew she didn’t intend to kill them or injure them too badly or permanently, but sometimes they weren’t confident that she knew her own strength, or their own fragility. There were times that she pulled them into a stress position that, if she added any more pressure, would surely break something. Maybe a shoulder, maybe their spine. Other times she beat them badly enough that it occurred to them that she might just do irreparable damage to their internal organs. She had yet to actually do any of these things, but the fear was always there when she got that rough, especially if she wasn’t sober. And this time -- this time the fear was most certainly there. They could smell the whiskey on her breath as soon as she had gotten close to them and there was a look in her eyes that told them she needed them to hurt. And when they felt the cold steel of the flat of the blade press against their skin, they whined pitifully and tried to squirm away, but as soon as it turned to the sharp edge they froze completely still, every muscle tense and their breath held, even as tears blurred their vision, distorting the glint from the blade that lingered in the periphery.

Hours later, they sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and winced as Elvan disinfected the lacerations on their face, then applied something that, after a few minutes, reduced the sensation in the whole area. She opened up a suture kit and they looked away. They didn’t like needles, and they most certainly did not want to think about a sewing needle going through their face. When they saw movement approaching in their peripheral vision they squeezed their eyes shut and tried to stay quiet as they felt the needle pierce their skin and the thread be pulled through. The sensation was revolting. They were glad they weren’t feeling it in full.

After she was done stitching them up, they stood in the bathroom and stared at themself in the mirror. The entire left side of their face was covered in a series of parallel horizontal cuts, seven in total, evenly spaced from just below their eye down to their jawline, from just in front of their ear to the corner of their mouth. A dozen neat sutures ran in and out of the skin perpendicular to the cuts, top to bottom, with tiny knots at the ends. These cuts would surely scar. Every movement, no matter how small, of the muscles in their face hurt like hell, even blinking.

Somehow it felt different this time. They had witnessed the damage she inflicted on their body countless times before, but they could separate themself from that. For some reason, now that it was on their face, it was as if her influence had tainted the only part of themself that had still remained untouched, the part that held their identity. She had given them plenty of bruises on their face before -- they were no stranger to the sensation of a black eye -- but never something like this, never something that would last forever. Not there.

What were they doing? What were they doing here? Why were they giving themself so completely to her to destroy? They could be living their own life out there. They could be a normal person. Right? Maybe not. Maybe they wouldn’t be successful. But they sure as hell could try.

Once the decision was made, it was quite easy to execute it. They were not allowed to leave, but it is not as if Elvan did all that much to prevent it. They did not really have any belongings -- they had some clothes, but no shoes and no jacket, no phone or ID and certainly no money to their name. But if they were going to leave, they needed to do it before they changed their mind. Before these cuts scarred over and they forgot how they felt right now.

And that was how they found themself awake at 4 o’clock in the morning the following night. Elvan had sent them to the living room to sleep on the couch until they healed up a bit -- she did this every so often, when she knew she had gone too far with them; for a few days, she would leave them more or less alone, fulfilling her needs in the back of gay bars instead, like she used to do, before them. Tonight she had stumbled home intoxicated after fucking some baby butch senseless in a cramped, graffiti-covered bathroom stall, dropped her bag just inside the front door, and stripped down on her way to her room, leaving her clothes strewn across the living room floor before collapsing onto the bed to sleep off the past few hours.

They had already been asleep when she had come home, and the front door slamming shut had awoken them with a start. She had shooed them away before they could even offer to help her, so they retreated to a safe distance and watched to be sure she made it safely to bed. It did not take long for her breathing to become deep and steady, and once it seemed to have settled into that pattern, they silently padded over to her bedroom and eased the door closed, twisting the doorknob so it would close smoothly without an audible click. They turned back to the living room and picked up the clothes -- jeans, undershirt, t-shirt, socks -- like a trail of breadcrumbs between her room and the front door. They turned the clothes right side out and folded them to make a neat pile by her bedroom door, then went back to the entrance of the apartment. She had attempted to hang up her jacket on its hook by the door, but had mostly just thrown it in the general right direction where it fell to the floor unheeded. They picked the jacket up to return it to its place. It was a sturdy motorcycle jacket, made of thick leather; they hefted it from one hand to the other to feel the comforting weight of it, when they noticed something shift. There was something in the inside pocket. They fished it out and found themself holding her wallet. Made of smooth, worn leather, patinated from years of use and handling, it was itself of non-negligible weight. They looked back at Elvan’s closed bedroom door. They could hear her faintly snoring from the other side. They looked back at the wallet. They hung up the jacket that they were still holding onto, then, after another glance to the bedroom door and back to the wallet, they parted the opening of the wallet to look inside. Their heart raced as they thumbed through the series of bills, ordered by denomination, ranging from numerous twenties to a smaller -- though still considerable -- number of hundreds. They hesitated for a long moment, looking back again at the closed bedroom door. Their hand wandered up to the leather collar around their neck. They ran their fingertips along the stitching on the edges and the cold metal of the buckle and rivets. Then their hand went up further to lightly ghost over the grid of lacerations and stitches in their cheek. It almost hurt more now than it did initially last night. They pulled a single fifty dollar bill from the wallet, folded it up, and tucked it into the waistband of their briefs. They returned the wallet to the inside pocket of the jacket and, keeping an eye on the bedroom door and listening for any sound out of place, they took a deep breath and unbuckled their collar. There was no sense in trying to hide what they were doing; as soon as she got up in the morning and didn’t see them there, she would know what happened. So they placed the collar on the dining table, and taking one last look around the apartment that had been their home -- their prison -- they undid the locks on the door, turned the knob, and pulled it open for the first time in over a year.

And as they walked quickly down the street, the cool night air not yet warmed by the spring sun biting at their extremities, the faint pre-dawn light began to turn the sky from black to deep blue, and Calyx desperately hoped they had made the right decision.

[pathfinderunlocked]

Armored Necrogunner - CR14 Undead

Don't put TOO many holes in 'em. We need 'em for parts.

Artwork provided by client.

"The thing about this power armor is that it gets grafted directly onto your flesh, and seared in place as the machinery overheats. Tends to make the person wearing it really complain a lot. So we switched to horrifying undead abominations; they don't mind as much since they can't feel pain.

Also, when it dies - well, it's already dead, but you know what I mean - the whole thing explodes into a swarm of rot grubs. Usually you can see those wriggling under the skin, but the armor hides it. Genius design, really."

- Necrocraft R&D Department Notes

This is a commissioned monster. Its hit points seem low at a glance, but the rot grub swarm that spawns from its corpse has another 85 HP. It doesn't precisely follow the necrocraft building rules in Bestiary 4, which require higher challenge rating creatures to be extremely big; a CR 14 necrocraft would normally be Colossal-sized. This creature uses construction points and the giantblooded template by Green Ronin Publishing to reach CR 9, but it has bonus hit dice and unique abilities to augment that, and I altered the Metal Armor necrocraft ability to match how armor actually works in Pathfinder a little better.

Although this creature can fly (flavored as a jetpack, not magic or wings), its automatic weapon is most useful if it's on the ground, since it's generally impossible to get multiple enemies in a line from the sky.

Armored Necrogunner - CR 14

Bolted directly onto the flesh of this undead giant are numerous interconnected steel plates, cords, and tubes. What's visible of the creature underneath the armor looks like a dozen different creatures stitched together. It's carrying a massive machine gun, and using a jetpack to fly.

XP 38,400 Unique advanced giantblooded necrocraft NE Large undead Init +2 Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +2 Aura stench (10-ft. radius, DC 23, sickened for 1d6+4 minutes)

DEFENSE

AC 30, touch 11, flat-footed 28 (+2 Dex, +11 natural, +8 armor, -1 size) hp 126 (12d8+72) Fort +9, Ref +6, Will +10 DR 5/slashing Resist cold 5 Immune undead traits

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft., fly 30 ft. (clumsy) (40 ft. without armor) Melee 2 claws +17 (1d6+9) Ranged mwk gatling gun +9/+4 touch (8d6, 200 ft. line, see text) or rock +10 (2d8+13) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks rock throwing (120 ft.), quick clear

STATISTICS

Str 29, Dex 15, Con —, Int —, Wis 14, Cha 21 Base Atk +9; CMB +15; CMD 25 Feats Toughness Skills Fly -13; -7 armor check penalty to physical skills Languages Necril (understands only; cannot speak) SQ Construction Points (additional movement [fly], mostly zombies, stench), grafted armor, rot grub infestation Gear gatling gun (see text), grafted armor (see text), 800 bullets (enough for 80 attacks with gatling gun)

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Gatling Gun An armored necrogunner uses a gatling gun that is permanently grafted onto its body, and cannot be removed without destroying it. It can be sundered as normal, and has 10 hardness and 10 hit points. This is a masterwork modern firearm with the automatic weapon quality, which deals 8d6 damage. When attacking with the gatling gun, the armored necrogunner rolls a single ranged touch attack roll with a -2 penalty against all targets in a 200 ft. line. The armored necrogunner can make multiple such attacks as part of a full-attack action.

An armored necrogunner's gatling gun misfires if it rolls a natural 1 on an attack roll. A misfire gives the weapon the broken condition, but further misfires do not cause it to explode.

A single attack with the gatling gun uses 10 bullets. The gatling gun has a chamber size of 160 bullets, and thus can make 16 attacks before needing to be reloaded; it's a move action for the armored necrogunner to reload the gatling gun to its maximum capacity.

Grafted Armor An armored necrogunner wears heavy armor that functions like half-plate except that it is permanently grafted onto the armored necrogunner's body, and cannot be removed without destroying it. It can be sundered as normal, and destroying it deals 5d6 damage to the armored necrogunner.

Quick Clear (Ex) An armored necrogunner can remove the broken condition from its gatling gun as a move action, if that condition was caused by a misfire.

Rot Gub Infestation (Ex) When an armored necrogunner dies, it explodes into a swarm of rot grubs. Creatures within a 10-ft. radius, and any spaces below that radius (for example, if the armored necrogunner is flying when it dies), must succeed on a DC 21 Reflex save or be infested with rot grubs.

On a failed save, the infested creature takes 1d4 points of Constitution damage per round as the rot grubs burrow through and consume its flesh—this effect continues as long as the victim remains in the swarm and continues for 1d6 rounds after it leaves the swarm. Any energy-based attack (including damage from negative energy) that deals at least 5 points of damage to the victim automatically destroys all of the rot grubs infesting it, ending the effect prematurely. Additionally, any effect that removes disease instantly ends a rot grub infestation. Immunity to disease offers no defense. The save DC is Charisma-based.

A rot grub swarm is left in the armored necrogunner's space after it dies. If the armored necrogunner dies while flying, the rot grub swarm falls to the ground and takes falling damage as normal. Swarms take normal falling damage.