#also yes the fire collar is an issue and it's not good

[pomellon]

Okay, I’ve been thinking more of the Dragon Valley AU and since people liked the tags on my small little posts so far I typed out the beginning for you!

To recap for anyone who missed the first post, this is a Stardew Valley inspired au with a dragon twist! Punz inherits farmland and everything on it from an unknown relative, including a dragon egg which was delivered to him due to its high value, only for it to hatch before he can figure out what to do with it.

The au will include Funz and Drunz, and eventually lead into Funzwastaken, but the beginning is heavily focused on platonic Punznap with Punz figuring out how to care for this little baby dragon!Sapnap that suddenly ended up in his care. 

Since this is a modern fantasy, dragons aren’t rare but when people keep them as pets they’re usually pygmy or pseudo dragons that don’t grow much bigger than a cat. Sapnap is already the size of a cat when he hatches so Punz knows for sure he’s not either of those, but the vet he takes him to can’t determine a breed so they have no clue how big he will get. 

Punz does contemplate just dropping him off at a shelter at first. He has a small single-room apartment, works long hours at a boring desk job, and hardly has the energy to even game or chat with friends when he gets home. A pet is definitely not something he needs, yet he can’t help to grow attached.

Sapnap is a silly little thing, not used to his limbs and body, constantly stumbling around and trying to keep his balance by flapping his tiny little wings. He’s constantly tumbling and flopping over but it never seems to bother him, always getting right back up to keep exploring or playing with the toys Punz gives him. He’s also clearly attached to Punz, squawking in alarm when he loses sight of the human and constantly curls up in his lap, or on his feet should he be busy, stubbornly wrapping himself around Punz’s leg if he’s moving around too much. 

As luck would have it he’s the perfect size to fit in a backpack and Punz's place of work allows pets as long as they’re quiet and well-behaved. So yeah, Punz keeps him, and a year in Sapnap starts talking to him, telepathically. Up until then Punz has felt the dragon's presence in his mind from time to time, but only emotions and often when Sapnap has tried to communicate a want or need. It was surprising at first, but Punz has heard about that being an ability some dragons have so it doesn't freak him out too much and he gets used to it pretty fast. 

Words are a little bit more startling though, but Sapnap isn’t too chatty at first, his favourite words simply being “NO” and “MINE”, usually used together when Punz is forced to pry the hatchling’s mouth open to remove inedible or dangerous items.

Year two gets a bit more challenging. Sapnap is now the size of a medium-sized dog, he’s a lot more chatty and very opinionated, often accidentally distracting Punz and getting him in trouble for not listening or paying attention. He also gets braver and more curious, sneaking away from Punz’s work desk to explore the office and more often than getting into trouble.

One such time was when Sapnap clung to Punz’s insistent thought of wanting to get up and get the energy drink he left in the office fridge, but having no time to do so. Sapnap decided he would be perfectly capable of helping his dear human himself, so he crawled out from under Punz’s desk to venture into the kitchen. This of course turned into a disaster as Sapnap attempted to scale the fridge shelves, resulting in them crashing down to the floor and spilling various food content and liquids, including Punz’s energy drink, all over the place. Sapnap would find himself attached to a harness tied to Punz’s desk the following weeks, Punz just barely managing to keep his job after that incident.

Year three is when things start to get difficult. Sapnap is now the size of a very large dog, he’s a lot more active and harder to control, and his fire pouch has started to develop. His size makes it difficult for Punz to travel with him and his new ability to chuck up burning bile or accidentally sneeze little breaths of fire makes him a hazard most people don’t want around.

Punz again takes him to a vet who suggests surgically removing Sapnap’s fire pouch, which Punz quickly refuses due to Sapnap’s alarm at the suggestion. A loud mantra of “My fire, my fire, my fire, MINE, can’t take, DON’T TAKE!!” bounces around Punz's head until he manages to calm the dragon down and assure him he won’t let the vet take his fire. Instead, at the vet’s second suggestion, Punz gets Sapnap a fire collar which simply goes around the dragon’s neck to add enough pressure to stop fire bile from coming up.

Despite this Sapnap is quickly banned from entering the metro, no longer small enough to fit in any kind of bag and being declared a safety hazard, forcing Punz to leave the dragon alone for long hours at home. He isn’t all that surprised when he returns to a trashed apartment a few days after the new arrangement, but it still causes him a whole lot of stress and frustration. His funds were already running low after vet visits and the increasing amount of food Sapnap eats on the daily, so he doesn't have much money to spare to replace broken items or any damage the dragon might cause to the apartment. On top of that Sapnap insists on spending time with him when he gets home, showing little regard for the human’s growing exhaustion as the dragon keeps him awake at night to play.

Then one day Punz gets a call from his neighbours that they heard the fire alarm go off and they smelled smoke from his apartment. They had already called the fire department but wanted to let him know what was happening. Punz instantly leaves his job, ignoring his manager yelling after him that he will be fired if he leaves, all his concern being on Sapnap and praying the little dragon hadn’t trapped himself in a fire.

As it turned out it wasn’t quite that serious. Sapnap had managed to wiggle his fire collar around and the shifting pressure had caused him to throw up some fire, but only enough to leave a scorch mark on the floor. It had been enough to trigger the fire alarm but the dragon was fine and overjoyed at seeing Punz coming home earlier than usual, Punz’s landlord however, was not too happy.

The moment Punz gets back home they give him an ultimatum, either get rid of the dragon or get evicted.

Punz isn’t sure what to do. He’s just been fired and now he’s stuck with the choice of getting rid of Sapnap or becoming homeless. He’s very upset with the dragon at the moment but doesn't want to act on rash emotions, so instead he just ignores Sapnap for the rest of the day as he cleans the apartments and tries to figure out his options. 

Meanwhile, Sapnap grows increasingly restless and worried the longer he’s ignored, he heard and understood the landlord’s words too, at least some of them, and “get rid of the dragon” won’t leave his mind as he tries to figure out what he’s done wrong. He’s still just a baby, all he wants is love and affection which is something he’s been getting less and less of the past few days, and now Punz is ignoring him. No matter how much Sapnap keeps waking in front of him, butting his head against his legs, or trying to nuzzle his snout into his hand, Punz isn’t giving him any attention and Sapnap starts to feel more and more panicked.

At the same time, Punz is getting more frustrated that Sapnap won’t leave him alone, still trying to keep a cool head and not snap at the dragon. This eventually leads to Sapnap trying to snap at Punz’s phone, which the human is focused on trying to look up work and new apartments, just as Punz goes to shove his snout away, resulting in Sapnap biting down on his hand.

They’re both stunned by this and Sapnap instantly lets go, surprised, and they just stare at Punz’s injured hand, tiny pinpricks of blood slowly welling up. It isn’t until the pain registers and Punz lets out a gasping hiss that Sapnap understands what he’s done. Guilty, fear, and panic finally consume him as he cries out in distress and dash to hide under Punz's bed, screaming into Punz’s head “I’m sorry I’m sorry didn’t mean to I’m sorry don’t get rid of me don’t leave me I’m sorry!”

The distress is so sharp that Punz almost feels it as his own and he struggles to get up to patch up his hand. He takes a moment to calm down, Sapnap still crying and whimpering under his bed, before he crouches down to coach the dragon out. He’s tired, but he reassures Sapnap he’s not mad and apologises for ignoring him, doing his best to explain his point of view to the dragon who keeps sniffling and apologising for biting him.

They end up sleeping in a pile on the bed once they’ve both claimed down, Sapnap completely tuckered out due to emotional exhaustion. Meanwhile, Punz struggles to fall asleep, still trying to figure out where to go from here. 

He knows he can’t get rid of Sapnap, pretty sure he couldn’t even if he wanted to, which he doesn't. The thought of no longer feeling the dragon’s presence in his head should be a relief, but instead it's haunting. It already feels weird being apart when Punz had to go to work, the distance between them dulling their connection. It had made him anxious in a way he can’t fully explain, and having Sapnap with him now, warm scales coiled around him, makes him feel calm and at ease despite their situation.

He can’t get rid of Sapnap.

And that’s when he remembers the farmland. It’s a ludicrous idea really, Punz has no idea how to live on a farm, he has no expertise that could help him get a job or work in the countryside. But it would be a perfect place for them to live, no one could tell them what they could or couldn’t do. Sapnap could spend how much time he wanted outside, explore to his heart's content, and maybe even stretch his wings for the first.

Punz has no clue how he will make it work, if he can make it work, but he makes the decision then and there to keep Sapnap and figure the rest out along the way.

[darlingdia1007]

OMG hi I saw that you ate taking requests and I just HAD to request.

Could you maybe do a Stanley x F! Reader where they are an old married couple and resder is angry about something and keeps cussing and being a meanie. The twins are scared and looking at grunkle stan for help about this and to calm Reader down before she sets the shack on fire but Stanley just says this is normal and he intact finds it incredibly hot.😜😜

Beating the heat

(Thank you for requesting this one. It seems very silly honestly. I do apologize, it’s been a while since I’ve written a fanfic.)

It was around 1:30pm when the temperatures had reached its highest of 105° degrees and the AC wasn’t working correctly in the shack. Stepping outside wasn’t the best idea either since the wind would only blow hot air.

Stan and his wife were sitting at the kitchen table as they began debating if they should close the shack since it would become a bigger issue as the day went on. This heat was slowly getting to (Y/N) very quickly. Placing her hand on the collar of her shirt, she began to fan herself with her shirt. Beads of sweat slowly moved down her face as the breeze she created felt amazing.

“Even when you’re melting over there, I bet I can Make you melt in other ways~” a scraggly voice said in front of you. Stan had made one of his “flirty” remarks at you. Most of the time you would love them and shoot one back his way, but dear lord was it a bad time. “Hun, Right now isn’t the best time.” She said as she looked at him and rolled her eyes. This heat was really getting to her now. “Oh come on, you love that one!” He remarked as he got up from his chair.

Sometimes, even after the 30 years the two had been together, married, she could still get mad at him for reals sometimes. This was one of these moments. Getting up from her chair, she had quickly put your chair back into its place and entered the gift shop. An Idea that would probably save her life but she couldn’t do it till everyone was out of the gift shop.

Reaching for the open sign, she switched it to closed as to let people know they will be closed for the rest of the day. Now the only issue was getting people to leave the gift shop. Sitting herself down at the register, she began helping people pay out one by one. Around 20 minutes later, the last customer left. She smiled and waved goodbye to the woman and hurriedly locked the door.

A sign of relief left her lips as she ran a hand through her graying hair. Stepping away from the door, she went to the vending machine and began typing in the familiar code as she made her way down the stairs.

—————————————————————

“Grunkle stan, Why does Grauntie (Y/N) seem… mad?” Mabel had squeaked out from around the corner when leaving the gift shop and entered the living room where her grunkle was seated while watching the TV. “Mad? What do you mean kiddo?” He looked at Mabel in confusion when Dipper came from behind his sister. “She was all pushy and grouchy towards the customers when she was checking them out. She was also sweating pretty hard.” He wiped the sweat from his hands as he soon realized it was getting a little hot.

Stan sat there for a sec and an idea popped into his head, “Kids, go get your swim suits, we’re going to the pool.” Shouts of excitement lept from the kids.

——————————————————————

“Ford… hello?” She had made it to the last couple of steps as she placed her foot on the solid floor. It was surprisingly cold down here so the biggest smile crept onto her face. Standing next to the stairs, she closed her eyes and embraced the cold that was creeping over her body. Unknowingly to her, her brother-in-law heard her and was walking towards her. “Yes?” He asked as he looked at her.

“Oh good, you’re here! I need to ask the biggest favor.” She pleaded as she looked at him. “The AC is broken and I have no clue what’s wrong with it. Could you please save me and fix it? I’ll make you those sugar cookies you really like.”

His attention was quickly caught on when he heard that his favorite dessert was about to be made for him. “I’ll get right to it then.” A small smile was placed on her face as she began to go up the stairs when she heard a familiar voice that she was a little annoyed at.

“(Y/N) are you down here? Honey?” It was Stan. Her smile left her face when heard her husband calling her name. Finally making it to the surface, she came face to face with him. “God you look so hot when you’re feisty.” He quickly grabbed her and spun her around. She couldn’t be mad at him for long after that. A small kiss was placed on her lips as she held onto him, slowly melting at the affectionate she was being given from him.

“See, I told you I could make you melt.” He laughed as her face quickly became sour and pushed him away. “What? I can’t like my women a little feisty?! Hey, go get your bathing suit, I’m taking you and the kids to go swimming to beat this heat.” He began walking back to the living room as (Y/N) stood there at the small gesture.

Walking upstairs to their bedroom, the sounds of floorboard creaked as she made her way to their shared bedroom. Quickly reaching to the dresser to pull out her swimsuit, she placed it on the bed and grabbed the sunscreen, sunglasses, and the beach bag. Everything was packed and ready for the pool. The sounds of laughter could be heard from the outside porch as the twins were talking to each other. Mabel seemed to be the most excited out of the two of them though.

“Honey, we gotta be home before 5, I still need to make the cookies I promised your brother.” You had said as Stan walked out in his swimsuit. Those adorable striped swimsuits would never get old.

[itsabouttimex2]

Yandere Alphabet: Red Son

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

Yes, yes, and yes. A thousand times over. Red Son’s pride is unmitigatable, an ever-searing pillar of his person. Y/N is viewed as a silly mortal pet, with a collar to boot. Though his opinion of you might eventually improve to seeing you as something of a friend, it still wouldn’t be great.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is their obsession responsible for their own food?

So long as they don’t injure themselves further than a mild burn or cut, Y/N is allowed free roam in the kitchen, allowed to make themselves what they please. Good behavior earns them a little fridge all to themselves, stocked with healthy snacks and ingredients they enjoy- Red Son can be generous, when he wants to be.

Not that he won’t steal from your plate if the things you cook look good enough. In a way, it elevates your status with him, sharing food with you as family would.

If you do get hurt too bad, Red revokes your access to the stove, oven, and knives. He’ll starts to make your meals for you, with the addendum that you help with the non-dangerous stages of food prep. Of course, what’s actually happening is that he’s making extra portions of what he likes, then giving it to you. Let’s hope you like spicy food.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Immediate scorching of whoever dared to lay their hands on property of the Demon Bull Family ensues, and then continues until their flesh has carbonized. Red Son will clean and bind your wounds with a firm hand, viciously scolding you for daring to put yourself in a position where you might be harmed in the first place. “My family has a reputation to maintain, you numbskull! If anyone sees you damaged, what will they think of us?!”

This lecture will occur even if the perpetrator broke into the Demon Bull fortress and smashed down the door of your room to get to you. After some time has passed, he’ll feel slightly bad for blaming you, and bring you something sugary to drink.

If the wound is minor, like a cut or scratch, Red Son will scoff at the weakness of your skin and ignore it, mocking you as ‘whiny’ and ‘pathetic’. If the issue persists, he’ll steal a few high quality first aid kits from a hospital and throw them onto your shelf.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Laughter. Mocking, howling laughter. And then an immediate removal of privileges and freedom until they ‘grow up’, in Red’s own words.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N? Do they have a place for them at all?

In the Demon Bull Family’s Fortress. Y/N has a section in Red Son’s room all to themselves, with a little mattress and small shelf to fit several personal possessions. During the beginning of their captivity, Y/N will be shown a length of chain bolted to the wall with a shackle on one end- a warning that freedom is now a privilege, not a right. You’ll have to wear it all through the night for many months on end if you make any escape attempts.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

No. But that’s only because doesn’t even try. The most he’ll do is lie to his parents about the depth of his obsession- and they’re willing to believe (for a time) that he merely wanted an amusing little pet to keep him company.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

Yes, to a stifling extreme. Red Son will torch the entirety of your wardrobe in order to replace it with something more suited to him and the tastes of his family- expect lots of red and purple. Secretly, Red enjoys matching with you. He might spare a few pieces of your clothing from his fire if you argue to their sentimental value. Also, he’ll do your hair, likely in a way that resembles his mother’s style. He might even force you to grow it out so that he can pin it up in twin ‘bull horns’.

Again, he forces you to wear a collar stamped with the family insignia (pictured here twice, the Chinese word for ‘bull’, written in bone script), but good behavior will have him upgrade you to a large pendant instead.

Also, you’re getting a bindi/tattoo like his- but only after he’s shifted you from ‘pet’ to ‘sibling’.

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

Unfortunately, a disabled Y/N in the clutches of Red Son is very likely to be the victim of humiliation and dehumanization- for a time. As his affection and care for you grows, the blade of his pendulum swings. He switches quickly from constant mockery and boundary stomping to stifling care and strict restriction. One day he’ll be kicking your crutch or hiding your anxiety meds while you panic, the next he’s demanding you to relegate yourself to the constant use of a wheelchair and punishing you for not taking your medicine where he can see it.

Intertwine- How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

Red Son is pretty reserved in terms of touch- he’ll accept minor displays of physical affection, but rarely initiates. When he does, you can expect condescending headpats and lots of hair brushing. If you’re feeling particularly down, he’ll muster up a half-hearted hug, awkwardly thumping your back.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out in public? Where do they go?

No. Not unless they’re willing to be led around by the aforementioned shackle, the chains rattling with each step taken. However, Red Son might teleport them to somewhere isolated and empty for a few minutes, allowing them a little bit of fresh air as a quick reward for compliance and obedience.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

The Crystal Heir AU leaves him extremely protective towards Y/N, acknowledging their trauma and suffering- and he works to be a better person for them.

Alternatively, when you get very sick- Red Son will stay beside you all the while, stuffing you with water, medicine, and hand-made soup. Having you completely vulnerable only serves to make him softer, given that you can’t fight or sass him- he might even cuddle you once or twice, letting you rest against his ever-warm body.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

His family’s goals and ambitions are always at the fore of Red’s mind, a perpetual desire to please them. Given the time he has to spend planning or tinkering, Y/N does have time to themselves- enough to plan or attempt an escape, if they can muster the courage.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Any form of ‘rigorous’ discipline or outright abuse. Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning your thighs or whipping you hands, and wouldn’t ever beat you outright. You might get slapped on the back of the head or receive a sharp swat on your nose- but he wouldn’t really go any further. Also, no deliberately putting Y/N in danger. He’s just not risking it.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

He handles it himself. As mentioned before, Red Son plies you with water, soup, and medicine. He’ll restrict you to his own bed, sleeping in the guest room as you recover- and he’ll sneak in during the night to wipe the sweat from your brow and refill your glass.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Food and drink with warming (but not spicy) spices, like cookies with a dash of ginger and cinnamon. Stray dogs that would be better off taken in hand and brought somewhere safe. Any little flower that’s blooming all alone.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

Jokes aside, he’s not too great- but there’ll be some mild, concerned effort. Maybe just lay your head in his lap and let him play with your hair- it’s more comfortable for him trying to give you a hug or pep talk.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

His family. Red’s obsession with Y/N will never come before his love for his parents, even after they find themselves forcibly ‘adopted’.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Unlikely, but not impossible. After several months/years spent spent with them, Red Son will grow more protective and less cruel, but his obsession never really fades.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Many mocking and insulting epithets are bestowed upon Y/N, the most frequent being, you guessed it- peasant. If Red Son grows particularly angry, he’ll get more threatening with his wording, referring to you as ‘kindling’ or ‘firewood’.

After a few months spent in captivity, he might refer to you as little sister (妹妹) or little brother (弟弟). These moments are fleeting, but impossibly soft and genuine- and after a few months or even years spent acclimating to your new life, you might see fit to call him older brother (哥哥).

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

Just one- Y/N.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

His parents are massive enablers, unfortunately. So what if their son has a little mortal pet? They want to take over the world- Red Son taking one of the mortals that they wish to subjugate as a slave/pet/companion does not bother them at all.

Though they do find you to be very cute- especially when Red Son forces you to dress and style yourself like a member of their family.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Red doesn’t bother- he doesn’t need justification. He wanted Y/N, so he took them. The end, with no regret.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N? What caused this obsessive love?

Probably they do one or two nice things for him and he snatches them up, not unlike a human adopting a cute and friendly stray. The bulk of his obsession comes later, after he’s spent enough time to start caring about you.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

Approval, attention, and affection. Red Son switches from desperately seeking his father’s pride and love to demanding to have yours, finding it a much easier goal to achieve.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Given that they’re almost invariably a mortal he finds amusing, Y/N is much younger.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

Red Son is extremely casual the majority of the time- he’s entitled and prideful to the point that he sees nothing wrong with what he’s doing. Why would he be anything but relaxed?

Author’s Choice 1: What do Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King think of Y/N?

Iron Fan thinks of you as adorable when Red Son styles your hair like hers, and might even throw some of her old clothes your way- they’re abraded to softness and cozy to sleep in, offering some comfort during long nights. She’s not too opposed to having you as part of the family, even if she has to help her son “train” you into obedience and politeness.

The Demon Bull King uses you as practice for his future rule over mortals, making demands of you. He chuckles as you scurry about to fulfill them, trying hard to avoid his ire. Occasionally he’ll lift you by the scruff of your shirt, examining you closely. It’s fun to watch you yelp and kick, fearful that he’ll drop or crush you- he won’t actually do either, to his credit. It’s just funny to him that you think he might.

[keigosstarlight]

Pairing: Dabi x GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+, kidnapping, captive darling, noncon & dubcon, BJ, head pushing/guiding, mind break(?) (reader is sympathetic after a bit), praise & degradation, calling reader "pet," reader calls Dabi "Touya," burning, punishments.

Wordcount: <1000 (700+)

Summary: A.U. where Dabi kidnaps you after he's killed Endeavor.

A/N: This is the first fanfic that I've ever shared. 🫣 I also don't write a lot anymore, so I'm hoping it's decent enough. This was originally a fem reader, but I wanted to be more inclusive, so apologies if I missed anything! I read this like eight times, but shit happens. My brain is fried and I wrote this in like an hour.

You resisted when Dabi kidnapped you, but after that first night when he punished you, you decided it wasn’t worth it. He had fucked you senseless, face buried the mattress as your tears stained the sheets. The fading burn on your hip is a constant reminder how he held you despite your pleas, the stinging sensation of the flesh now numb in your memories since your brain forcibly detached. The events are fuzzy at best and completely hidden at worst.

Besides, he treats you well enough, rewarding your obedience with some new clothes that you were sure were more for his eyes than your own happiness, your own toiletries, and a cute little collar with a “T” on it. Of course, if he takes you anywhere, they have to know you belong to someone. He even gave you your own bedroom to retreat to. Sure, he barged in sometimes and invited himself to your bed, but his heat was a comfort now. When you woke up to his palm pressed to your stomach as he held you close, it was almost enough to make you forget.

Every day, you watched the news with him while they replayed his video, time and time again. You heard the details of how his father abandoned him, that his father only married his mother for what her quirk could provide - every single day. After so long of hearing about that abuse, of seeing the anger in his face every time the number one hero showed up, one day you felt you couldn’t be mad at him anymore. Despite Endeavor being dead now, it wasn’t enough to soothe that fire in his heart. You felt sympathy for his broken childhood.

You hated it, and yet, for some reason, the way he looks at you makes your heart skip today.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Touya?"

Dabi gives a teasing smirk, his gaze still glued to your body as he replies, "Because I can, sweetheart. Is there an issue?"

"No." 

You’re so confused, but you can’t deny how badly you want him. You fight the urge to move closer, but as hard as you wrestle with it, you give in, scooting inch by inch closer to him on the sofa until your hand comes to rest on his cheek. Your thighs brush together, the warmth is all so familiar.

"I've missed your touch, Touya."

Surprise flashes in his eyes at the affection, but this is what he’s wanted since he claimed you, so he's not questioning a damn thing.

"Good pet, I knew you'd like it." he praises with a smile.

He caresses your cheek as he looks at you with a lustful grin, his touch becoming more daring as he slides his other hand to your inner thigh.

"Now, I want you to make me feel good, and I think you know how."

Your breath hitches as you bite your lip anxiously, but your response is immediate.

"Yes, Touya."

The verbal obedience is enough to make his dick twitch, but when your hands come to help him undo his belt and pants, that's when he knows he’s got you right where he wants you; completely and utterly his - body, mind, and soul. There was no need for restraints, no need for force, to manipulate your body how he wanted. As much as he loved having that power over you, hearing you choke on his cock while you rested your pretty hand on his thigh instead of pushing away screaming was so much better. 

Muffled noises of your pleasure vibrate around his dick as he toys with your nipples, earning a hum of approval from your captor. Your sweet tongue swirling around the head of his cock makes his eyes roll back. He places a hand to the back of your head, gently guiding you up and down as he lets out sighs of bliss. His attention is locked on you while you take every inch of him, pubes tickling your face, his scent filling your nose as you gag for a moment before he lets you back up.

"Good fuckin' pet." He grunts, head rolled back on the couch’s back.

He fucks your mouth at a steady pace, hips thrusting upwards as your mouth slides over him. Once, twice, three times, he spurts down your throat and you swallow every drop of the salty cum with a slight cringe. Though you’re much more willing now, it doesn't make the taste any better. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, shifting on your knees as you look up at him panting softly as you catch your breath. His eyes flutter, his palm reaching to caress your cheek, a smirk coming over his face.

“So obedient, so submissive. You finally know your place.”

[whump-in-the-closet]

I thoroughly enjoyed your medic story! Always a fan when the whole team gets a piece 😂 Do you think you might continue it someday?

Also, if you have the motivation, I beg of you to please write the western one! I feel like there's never quite enough outlaw whump

Have a great day today!

Hey thanks! I'd probably continue it if someone specifically requested it...I just have issues with pacing in a story if I'm being honest lmao

Anyway, western whump! I was very excited about this ask >:)

cw: branding, gun wound, pistol whipping, western whump, death mention, captivity, manhandling

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

With the malignant, rose-colored sun setting behind the shredded trees.

With the blood pooling out around him, staining the red clay.

With the butt of his gun glinting just out of his aching fingers' reach.

With the sheriff's men picking their way towards him.

He was supposed to get away.

They circled him, spurs cutting through the tall grass. They towered over the outlaw, smiling with satisfied confidence. The outlaw had seen vultures with that same expression in their beady eyes.

The sheriff crouched down, pushing his hat back to look at the outlaw. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and leather.

"Well, well," his toothpick shifted between his coffee-stained teeth, "Evenin' sunshine."

The outlaw grunted, keeping pressure on his injured arm. His fingers were slick with blood. His head buzzed, and he could suddenly see two of the sheriff.

It wasn't a pretty thing to see two of.

"You ain't talkin' so proud now," he said, hooking a calloused hand under the outlaw's arm and hauling him to his feet. He tied the outlaw's hands in front of him with quick movements, giving the outlaw no time to protest. "Should have put a bullet in your arm a long time back."

The rope was thick and the sheriff cinched it mercilessly.

The outlaw cursed through gritted teeth, his wrists turning an irritated red beneath the rawhide. "My-- my arm--"

The sheriff slapped him lightly. "None of that bitchin'." He gave the rope to one of his men and picked up the outlaw's gun.

The sheriff spun the outlaw's gun, letting him get a good look at the weapon.

A murderous glint flashed in the outlaw's eyes as the rope was tied to a horse's saddle. "That's mine," he spat.

I'll kill you.

The sheriff laughed. The toothpick jumped inside his mouth. "No, it ain't. Not anymore. The only thing that's yours is a date with the gallows." He stepped in close, too close, and pressed the still-warm muzzle of the gun to the outlaw's forehead. "You got that?"

The outlaw held his gaze, then dropped it. He said nothing, setting his mouth in a thin line.

The pressure increased. "Say, 'yes sir'."

The outlaw's mouth twitched.

"Say it."

Those two words brought the outlaw more pain than the bullets lodged in his shoulder. "Yes...sir."

Somehow, he made it sound like fuck you. He worked his jaw in a tight circle, swirling the tobacco and blood out from between his teeth. Wasting no time, he spat in the sheriff's face.

The sheriff didn't waste any time either. He swung the butt of the gun across the outlaw's forehead.

The outlaw crumpled-- hot pain spiking behind his eyes.

A thin line of blood traced away down his shirt collar.

His hat was knocked off his dusty hair and when they rode away, it was the only thing to mark that they were ever there at all.

A cowboy hat, discarded in a muddy pool of blood and trampled grass.

They dragged him for miles.

Stumbling, coughing, arm ripped at jarring angles. Until his legs turned to lead, and every breath made his ribs ache. His jeans were shredded where he'd fallen, knees bruised and raw.

When they arrived at the camp, they tied him to a low-lying tree. They left him alone as they built up a fire, but his cramped muscles hardly let him stretch and every movement felt like his last.

The young moon shone with a tired glimmer, highlighting the sandy patch of earth with a watery glow.

The fire snapped, sending up sparks into the grey night.

Somewhere, a coyote yipped, and another joined in, then another. The chorus became a long, drawn-out howl.

The outlaw watched as they ate.

His stomach growled. He had been on the run for weeks, and the smell of venison made the starved realization crash down harshly.

The sheriff stood up with a long stretch. He bent over the fire, adjusting a metal prong. He turned towards the outlaw with a slow smile.

The outlaw snarled. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

The sheriff approached him, nodding to two of his men.

A straw-haired man put out a cigarette on the heel of his boot and walked towards the outlaw. Another man, with a greasy mustache and striped shirt, followed.

The outlaw glared at both of them, straining against the ropes. "Fuck--" Too much pressure on his arm. Hurt. He inhaled deeply. "Fuck off."

The sheriff looked down. He spat at the outlaw.

Tobacco-stained spit dribbled down the outlaw's face, and he couldn't wipe it away. He squinted up at the sheriff.

"Do y'know how long I've waited for this?" drawled the sheriff. "A long time. A long, long time."

The straw-haired man grinned. He was missing his front teeth. "We always knew you were gonna git him, sir."

"Shut up, Barney," said the man with the greasy mustache. "Kissass."

The sheriff ignored both of them. "I reckon," he said to the outlaw. "You know how many men you killed when you stole those cattle?"

Three.

"I dunno."

"Three," the sheriff confirmed. "Three good, hard-workin' ranch hands, you cattle-lovin' bastard." The sheriff spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Now the ways I see it, you're about to get what you deserve."

A cold dread filled the outlaw. "The gallows?"

The sheriff smiled. "That. And this." He waved his two men forward and turned back to the fire. "Death is too kind for the likes of you."

The straw-haired man flicked open a knife, and the other pinned the outlaw against the tree. They cut off his shirt, leaving the fire to cast shadows on his bare skin.

The outlaw cursed them, cursed the sheriff, and cursed their mothers.

The greasy-mustached man grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back until he shut up.

The sheriff's spurs clicked to a stop beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, the outlaw could make out the red-iron of a cattle brand.

His breaths quickened, rising and falling at a sharp, frantic pace. "No--"

"Yes. A cattle brand for a cattle thief. Only fair."

A new terror blossomed, wrapping around the outlaw's ribcage and rising up his throat as the brand loomed over him.

He could feel the heat before it even touched. He shrank back, incomprehensible swearing cutting through the night. Like his words were the only thing protecting him from the burning touch.

The sheriff pressed the brand down on the outlaw's chest.

The pain was instantaneous and brilliant, a fiery throbbing that made him scream until his voice was raw. He ripped away, back arching in a futile attempt to escape. Raw tears burned their way down his face, blurring his vision until the world narrowed to two things: the smell of burning flesh and the sheriff's veiny hand.

He collapsed as soon as the sheriff's men let go of him, spine curved in the moonlight as he doubled over.

The agony was new and fresh and throbbing, throbbing, throbbing.

The coyotes paused their chorus, then started up again. This time, the outlaw's crying joined them.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Ok, so. I have a Jolteon (called Needle). He's pretty young. I also have an Eevee (Speedy), who is older than Needle (he wears an Everstone collar). They're always together, since they get along well. Here's my concern; Needle has problems with his electricity discharge, and if he gets too excited, he quite literally sparks. And yes, he has plenty of enrichment. Is it safe for Speedy to be around Needle? I'm worried I might come home one day to find Speedy injured due to Needle's electricity.

have you gone to your vet with this? a jolteon should have good control over its electrical discharge even in an excited state. this is either a health or behavioral issue.

as far as hanging out with speedy, until you know what's causing the discharges, i would not let them play together unsupervised. although it's just sparking right now, if you don't know what's causing it, there's a chance it could get worse without warning. they should be okay to be together as long as you're there to intervene if something goes wrong, but you can't guarantee that while you're not present. just like you wouldn't let a fire type with poor flame control around other pokemon unattended, you shouldn't let a pokemon with poor eletricity control around others unattended.

[my-own-walker]

On The Other Line - Epilogue

note: sorry this took so fucking long i literally forgot about it lmao. many thanks to the anon that reminded me.

summary: the happy happy ending, marital bliss and such

warnings: none, just like fluffy stuff

+++

The vanity mirror in front of me lit up my face unforgivingly. I sat staring at my reflection, all too critical of the person staring back at me. Sighing, I picked up my moisturizer and got to work. An attempt to not feel so gross.

It had been years since Colin and I made the promise to each other to be together. 6, actually. 6 years ago to the day.

The date held a certain significance to both of us. Exactly two years after Colin's plea for us to give things a try behind the library, we got married. It was a small ceremony in the Easttown Fire Hall, the cheapest venue. The reception began as soon as we said our 'I do's.' We cleared out the makeshift 'altar' and it became our dance floor.

Small, yes, but also beautiful. I wore a vintage gown. A yellowing babydoll fit floor-length dress with deteriorating lace detailing and sheer fabric sleeves. It was my grandmother's. Colin had only proposed a few months prior. He was so excited to marry me, we rushed the whole ceremony. Looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way.

He wore a deep blue suit. He stood so stiffly at the altar it was as if he was in the police academy again. He cried as he said his vows. We danced all night in mutual bliss, surrounded by our closest family and friends. My Uncle Nick cried, too, when he made his speech, harkening back to the night we first met in his bar. It made him happy to take ownership of the beginning of our relationship like that.

Our first dance was to 'Waterloo Sunset,' by The Kinks. I didn't want anything sappy. Colin cried regardless.

Our tradition became going on a date every year on our anniversary as if we were only first dating again. We owned a house together, yet he'd still show up at the front door and ring the bell, flowers in hand like he was picking me up for our first date. He'd go visit his mom for the afternoon and get ready there, all so he could make things seem authentic. I loved how fresh it made things feel.

Only this year, I actually had butterflies. Not first date jitters, of course. No, this year I had a secret. One I was going to tell Colin about at dinner, or whenever it felt natural, I guess. Putting the brush down, finally satisfied with my work, I opened the bedroom closet to see a dress with a note attached to it.

'I saw this and thought of you. I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Colin.'

I giggled to myself at his terrible handwriting. I unpinned the paper and brought it to the box I kept all of Colin's handwritten notes in. The dress was a precious brown floral mini-dress with a ruched chest and a white Peter Pan collar. There were puff sleeves and a tie in the back. It was exactly something I'd wear. My heart swelled when I noticed the price tag on the sleeve (the actual price hastily scribbled over by Colin) and saw it was from my favorite vintage store in town.

I slipped it on, softly praying it would fit, and to my surprise, it zipped up with no issue. A wave of nerves and nausea hit me. I doubled over slightly, scared I'd ruin the dress, trying to let it pass.

The doorbell rang so I forced myself to straighten up, slip on some shoes, and meet my 'date' at the door. I turned the knob and saw Colin standing on the step, wearing a brown shirt that matched the color of my dress perfectly under a suit jacket. His tie was knotted pristinely, signaling to me that it was his mother's handiwork. He had a bunch of daisies in his hand, my favorite type of flower.

'Holy shit,' he breathed, drinking me in.

'Oh shut up,' I giggled, feeling shy like I was a teenager all over again.

'That thing looks fuckin' awesome on you,' he grinned. 'I did a good job.'

'Ever the humble man, Zabel,' I quipped.

'Well, Mrs. Zabel, shall we?' he suggested, extending his hand to guide me out of the door. We walked arm-in-arm to the car, daisies now in my hand. He was sure to open the door for me demonstratively, further playing up the chivalry.

The restaurant he picked this year was a pretty good distance from home. I wasn't surprised to see it was an Italian place when we arrived. His favorite. The meal went well. It was a place we'd never tried before but we both ended up loving it.

Shortly before the dessert menus came, Colin produced a small box from his jacket pocket along with a handwritten letter.

'Colin, you didn't have to do that,' I whined.

'Uh-huh, yes I did,' he smirked. 'I don't wanna hear none of that shit, you're my wife and I want to spoil you.' He slid the box over the table to me and gestured with his hand for me to open it. I looked down and weighed the object in my hands.

I looked up at him, gazing through the strands of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes disapprovingly, knowing he spent all too much on an insignificant 4th wedding anniversary. I opened the tiny black velvet box to reveal a pair of dainty gold dangly earrings. One a sun, one a moon, each one possessing both of our birthstones.

'These are beautiful, my gosh,' I breathed, getting all choked up. 'I didn't get you anything nearly as nice!'

'You didn't have to get me anything, gorgeous,' he replied with a smile.

I took the earrings out of the box and put them on, then took a moment to admire how they looked on me using my phone's camera. I grabbed the letter off the table and slipped it into my purse for safekeeping.

'If I read that here I'll probably cry so embarrassingly we'll never be allowed back,' I laughed. 'Now my gift to you.' My stomach lurched at the thought. I couldn't exactly pin down why it made me so nervous to tell him my secret.

Colin took the card out of my hand and opened it. It was a regular anniversary card, but I made a very intentional writing error.

'The 3 of us have an amazing year ahead?' Colin read aloud.

'Mm-hmm,' I nodded, smirking.

'Who's the third?' he laughed, trying to make fun of my mistake. I didn't reply. I just sat there smiling until I saw the look of understanding wash over his face. 'No...'

'Yes,' I grinned.

'You're pregnant?!' he exclaimed, as calmly as he could, given we were in a public setting. I nodded. 'How long have you known?' His words came out in a breathy whisper. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He couldn't contain his smile.

'Just a couple of weeks. I figured it could wait until today.'

He sprung out of his seat and came over to the other side of the table, taking me by my hands to pull me to my feet.

'We're gonna have a baby,' he declared as he wrapped me in a tight embrace. 'I'm gonna be a dad.'

He pulled away, holding me at arm's length, looking at me with sparkling joy in his deep brown eyes. I had never seen a smile so big on his face. I was at a loss for words. His utter delight with the news told me everything I needed to know about our future.

+++

The happy ending Colin deserved :') I'm literally so sorry I forgot about this story idk what happened lmao. Thanks again to the anon that reminded me and thanks to all of you for your continued patience!

[halfagone]

Got it, thank you! What’s been on my mind lately is the whole Danny x Kara thing (honestly surprised it got as many votes as it did tbh). I’d love to see someone expand on this idea in the future with its own story or something along those lines, as I got the inspiration for the idea from seeing you doing Danny x Cass in your Lex Luthor story. So I suppose my full prompt would be a story where Kara actually meets Ellie first, as I think those two could have a lot in common with being in the shadow of another hero from their family. Maybe Kara can even act like an older sister to Ellie. Then, it eventually leads to Kara meeting Danny though Ellie, whether it be due to Ellie destabilizing and calling Danny for help or even having Ellie play matchmaker and purposely introduce the two, the romance starting from there. I think it would be fun to see!

Ooh, yes~! What fun! I've been watching different animated versions/renditions of Kara in preparation for an upcoming scene... That shall be the most I share on that subject. Hehehe~

(Now, this isn't super refined or edited, or put into my regular prose, but I hope you like it anyways.)

I can imagine many possibilities for how Ellie and Kara could meet up or run into each other. I've always imagined that Kara takes care of more intergalactic threats, but Earth is still her new home, and she doesn't want to be away from it for long if she can help it. Not to mention she does have a civilian life she has to keep up.

So much like her cousin, Kara takes care to settle and assist in domestic issues, like wrangling forest fires or assisting natural disaster relief efforts, maybe even taking care of the occasional megalomaniac, as any good Super does. She's fairly popular, and the public might always be happy to see a fresh face, but it's hard to push out the occasional remark from the crowd that she can't help but overhear about how they prefer Clark or one of the Superboys. If there's anything Kara has to say about Earth it's that she's not fond of the misogyny. But she doesn't let that deter her, although sometimes she finds she just needs to stretch her legs and take a flight around the planet before she ends up punching some creep who's gawking at her legs a little too much to be brushed off as a mistake.

And it's here that she starts running into a younger girl with bright white hair and illuminating green eyes. Kara is of course startled when she first spots her, it's always a surprise to see someone outside of the hero community flying around, for business or pleasure. Kara tries to approach, cautious as always, but the girl seems to startle at that too. So Kara tries to back off a little, and just waves at her in a friendly manner. The girl waves back, shy and unsure, and she quickly zips away again. Kara doesn't chase after her, but she does mentally log the instance. The girl didn't act hostile in any way, and while Kara doesn't know who she is, she also doesn't know every hero or meta in the world. She resolves to keep the instance in mind for the future, but she mostly brushes it off in the meantime.

But their run-ins keep happening, either as Kara is rushing to another rescue or even taking a lovely little flight as the sun sets. They never actually introduce themselves, but she finds that their waves of greeting become warmer and warmer over time, with the white-haired girl often eagerly waving at her first. Kara is always happy to wave back, a smile on her face. She finds her run-ins with the strange girl to be some of her favorite parts of any flight, and she occasionally gets disappointed when they don't bump into each other.

One day Kara is sitting on a seastack out in some archipelago she unfortunately doesn't remember the name of, and the other girl hesitantly approaches her, face burrow slightly in the collar of the hoodie thrown over a hazmat suit design. The girl introduces herself as Ellie, and Kara returns the greeting with her own name. (She knows better than to give her civilian name, even though that name has far less meaning to her than her birth name.)

They talk. A lot. Often times about absolutely nothing and sometimes about quintessential 'girl' stuff as some of the girls in her class would call it. Kara doesn't really get it entirely, but she has to admit there are just some experiences that she would never share with clark even if she'd blabber all about it to the wonderful Ma Kent. Whenever they bump into each other now, they always make sure to stop and chat. Unless Kara is rushing off to an emergency, of course.

At some point, Ellie tells Kara about her brother. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that they have a complicated relationship. But the most that Kara can carefully needle out of Ellie is that there's a few years age gap between them that usually wouldn't be a problem for most families, but Ellie's family definitely isn't like most families. She speaks highly of her brother, even if it's in that begruding, whiny way that she'll hear Tim or Damian complain about their siblings to Kal's kids.

They're close, but their living situations mean they don't get to see each other face to face very often, and they find themselves communicating primarily over the phone. Kara figures it's not ideal, but there are plenty children from divorced parents that often have the same struggles. Kara only ever hears about a father figure, a pretty damn bad one too, and she doesn't really feel like she has the right to ask about the mother.

She learns that Ellie has many powers, although she gets to see very few of them in action. (The question of why Ellie has no heartbeat is always on Kara's tongue, but she refrains from asking every time.) Ellie isn't really interested in being a hero, and Kara always tells her that she's not wrong for not wanting that. Being a hero is a lot of work and responsibility, no one should have to carry that weight on their shoulders if they don't want to.

Ellie always looks at Kara with stars in her eyes, and Kara tries not to preen with pride. Ellie's compliments have always felt different, more personal, than any accolades she receives from the adoring public.

Eventually, Kara has to inform Ellie that she has an upcoming mission in space, so they won't be able to meet up for a while. When Ellie learns of this, she instantly blabbers about her brother's love for space and astronomy and "You two should totally meet! He'd love to hear you talk anything about space!"

Somehow Kara gets roped into doing just that. She doesn't know what compels her to agree to a meeting with Ellie's brother, Danny. But there's no going back now, and she wonders if she should feel more self-conscious about what this means for her relationship with Ellie. But then Ellie shows up at their meeting spot, brother in tow, and everything settles.

Kara wouldn't call it an instant click, not like the romcoms and romantic Earth fairytales would describe it, but it- settles. That's perhaps the only way Kara can describe the way she slowly eases into conversation. There are some awkward bumps, and the occasional uncertain silence, but Danny is eager and curious and snarky, and well. He's pretty cute too.

So if she tucks some hair behind her ear and laughs at some joke Danny says then that's nobody's business but her own.

Ellie had been so excited for two of her favorite people in the world to meet. But then she started to notice the blushes on their faces and she realizes with dawning horror that she might have just created a monster.

[cuccoamongdragons]

The Boy and The Heron Notes/Critique:

TLDR: LOVED the animation and it had some impactful themes, also strongly disliked several things.

(SPOILERS)

- War. Very common theme in Ghibli. Always animated with such a punch.

- Hold up, dad married his dead wife's SISTER??? Got her pregnant, and THEN decided to introduce his kid (Mahito) to her for the first time? As they were moving in with her??

- Mahito's aunt/stepmom decides her first-time introduction should be "I'm your new mom." and to grab his hand and make him feel her pregnant belly?

- This kid is so shut down all he does is say yes and keep his head low, trying to avoid conversation & confrontation. He's still clearly grieving and showing some signs of PTSD from the fire. None of the adults address this if they even notice.

- Dad continues to be tone-deaf by insisting on dropping Mahito off to his new, poorer & more blue-collar school, in a fancy ride. He showed up looking like a rich kid who's never worked a day in his life to a place full of children who work all day. Dad put a target on his back.

- Mahito self-harmed and pretended it was from the fight earlier. This is two-fold. It meant he didn't have to go back to that school, and it was an outlet for all the hard feelings he didn't have a safe place to express. Dad does what rich-kid/bad parents do: throws money at the problem, and takes it personally instead of focusing on the kid.

- 2/3 of the first things Mahito takes an interest in are scary or forbidden. The Heron is a horrifying creature, the tower is forbidden, and then there's archery. For the 1st time we get something Mahito could connect with his aunt/stepmom on as a shared interest. But they don't.

- Why did the Heron shit in his window?

- Aunt/Stepmom has a hard time with labor and everyone pressures Mahito to go comfort her. Everything in his body language and behavior indicates he doesn't know her, he's uncomfortable, and he doesn't want to. It's not his responsibility.

- One of the old ladies get some serious character fleshing out. Oh wow I ADORE her. A++ Development.

- The Heron not being voiced by Danny Devito feels like a crime. Bird discovers that sometimes even though you're mostly not a nice being, sometimes someone will still love you.

- Pelicans and commiting violence out of desperation, terrifying self-awareness of the impact on next generations.

- Mahito meets his mom through time shenanigans. They DID NOT have a rehash of the romantic issues around When Marnie Was There. His mom gives off mom vibes and is likeable. Feels like he never gets a full closure kind of conversation with her. (His original reason for going to the tower.)

- Implication that Great Uncle was the death that pulled Mahito's mom into the tower for closure. While for Mahito it was wanting closure about his mom, and then doing the right thing trying to save his aunt/stepmother.

- Haha big murder-birds parakeets.

- Telling a Great Uncle/ancestor that Mahito sees what is left to add to the legacy and it's corrupted.

- The only way to get Aunt/Stepmom home is to give her the unearned & undeveloped "crying for mom" by Mahito. Literally after she told him she hated him. An adult screaming in her stepkids' face that she hates him. And it was rewarded by him calling her mom. In front of his actual mother who he's had nothing but a good relationship build with the whole time.

- Letting a family legacy turn to nothing because it's become unhealthy. Breaking the cycle and the guts it takes to do that. Helping others (pelicans/parakeets) break the cycle in turn

- SO MUCH BIRD SHIT. On everyone, and they're calling it cute & laughing. (Also what happened to active labor??) Why is there so much bird shit in this movie???

- Door is open for Mahito to make his own tower with the stone he kept & talisman of the old woman but we're not going to think too hard about that.

- And then they all left to go back to the city.

[dadsbongos]

chapter 3 - hungry howie's big date

2.6K words

warnings - mmm? daddy issues, i think that's it

prev. chapter / masterlist / next chapter

It’s during third-period chemistry with his favorite lab partner, Chrissy Cunningham, that Eddie is interrupted from work he was actually looking forward to. By Michael Wheeler of all people.

“Journalism Pass!” Mike holds up the back of his sister’s badge to Mrs. Clink and she bats her hand dismissively.

Chrissy tightens the scratched plastic goggles around her head while Eddie leans his hip against their work table, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, “Yes, Wheeler?”

“There’s a showing of Rocky Horror that I wanna take Jane to this weekend.”

Eddie snorts, peeking over his shoulder at Chrissy, pressing the palm of her hand into her glossed lips to keep back her giggles, “That’s an R-rated movie, wonderboy.”

“Yeah,” Mike rolls his eyes, “and I still can’t date my girlfriend unless you’re dating her sister. So we both have good points.”

Brows shooting to her hairline, Chrissy “woah”s at the little guy’s audacity.

Eddie gestures flippantly to the lanky mess in front of him, “Right? Worse than Henderson, I tell you.”

She wide-eyed nods in agreement.

Returning to his cash cow, Eddie tilts his head - eyes narrowed, “So what? You wanna double-date at Rocky Horror?”

“No, obviously not,” looking through his peripherals, Mike notices Mrs. Clink staring at them a little too hard and turns so his and Eddie’s backs are facing the woman, “I just need you two to be out on a date so I can take out Jane. I also need you to get us into the movie and then leave. Or sit in a different row.”

So demanding, so unfavorable.

Eddie sticks out a hand, palm up, “Fifty. Now.”

Through a positively murderous stare, Mike asks, “What makes you think I have fifty bucks on me right now?”

A long huff passes through Eddie’s nose, “You’re a spoiled, conniving, upper-class nerd and you’re one of my best friends,” he curls his fingers into a fist twice before shoving his flat palm closer to Mike, “Now cough it.”

Similarly sighing, Mike bends down at the knee and yanks out a folded stack of crinkly ten-dollar bills from his sock.

Snatching up the money, Eddie pats Mike’s head as one would a dog, “Now if you wanna complete your Munson-ification process, stop carrying fat wads on your person,” he slaps the pad of tens against the bridge of Mike’s nose, “Everyone knows you’re rich, Wheeler - don’t flaunt it.”

Before Mike gets the chance to properly defend himself, Eddie tucks the money into the snug waistband of his boxers and shoos him away.

“I’ll figure out something for my beloved shrew, but right now Cunningham and I need to light scraps of metal on fire for an hour,” Eddie nudges Mike back by the shoulder and returns to the girl’s side.

She’s tugging on her rubber gloves while Eddie puts on his own pair of safety goggles.

“You know anything interesting going on this weekend?”

Blinking, Chrissy hums before the blankness brightens, “I think there’s an H&M sale in Indianapolis featuring some Laura Ashley stuff. She might like that.”

“Something easier on my fifty-buck budget, please?” he watches her light the Bunsen burner.

Shaking her head, Chrissy pouts, “Sorry, Eddie.”

“No worries,” he stares up at the water-stained ceiling, “I’ll just have to get my own idea.”

And getting Eddie to have his own idea is like asking a teen movie to not rip off the movies before it.

Eddie’s van sputters up to the Hopper cabin precisely two minutes after he said it would. Black backdrop and twinkling stars watch you shoo Eleven off and they awkwardly pull their collars and glance away when your father sternly calls your name before you can follow.

“You’ve had a bad attitude lately,” his hands are on his hips and he’s barely gotten out of his uniform, “I know you’re growing up and need your space, but if you’re gonna go out with this guy then I need to know who the man is.”

And flashing, headache-inducing red lights blare in the back of your mind at the idea of him meeting Eddie. So you resort to manipulation, “He’s a friend of Mike’s - isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he removes the Sheriff’s hat he’s always claimed squeezes too tight and runs a hand through his hair, “I barely like Mike. You expect me to like a senior he’s friends with that I’ve never even met?”

Glancing back, you can barely make out the pinched brows and overly invested lean of Eddie Munson’s concern through his tinted windows.

“Eddie Munson,” you’re too tired to fight and your eldest daughter intuition tells you Jim’s pager is about to go off soon anyways, “that’s the friend.”

“No!” he puts both hands up, evidently distressed, and you find joy in the way his gray hairs must be growing in, “No way.”

“Yes way,” you shrug and waltz towards the van, waving off your father, “I like him so play nice!” and you aren’t totally sure if you’re really saying that to piss him off or if it’s true. Jim opens his mouth to retort, so you lug the passenger side door open and shout before he can, “Can’t hear you over the pager that’s about to go off in two seconds!”

And before you’ve even got the van door closed, his pager does - in fact - go off.

Eddie wants to ask, and you see that, so you just nudge him with your elbow and he pulls out of the dirt driveway quickly.

“Intense fight there,” Eddie hisses through his teeth, “Honestly, I was about to put earmuffs on the kids - it was scary.”

It’s his way of prodding. Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke and then still getting hurt if you turn him down.

“He’s just been up my ass ‘cuz I’m not going to college.”

Eleven comes forward, face puffing up between yours and Eddie’s seats, “You’re not going to college?!”

You shove her back by the shoulder, sick to the stomach at the idea of explaining your life plan (or lack thereof) to your little sister, “What’s the plan for tonight, Munster?”

“For them,” he braces, arms stiff and eyes nervously flickering between you and the rearview mirror, “an R-rated movie. For us? Leaving before the movie to go somewhere totally romantic.”

Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke - his true specialty.

“Sounds spectacular,” you muse, and his arms loosen from their ramrod-straight position.

Totally romantic ends up being at Lover’s Lake next to his van. A threadbare, plaid blanket with a mysterious black stain in the upper right corner is laid over surrounding grass and rocks with a Hungry Howie’s Taxi yellow pizza box in the middle. You suspect the pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie is nervously picking at his shoelace as he waits for you to sit down, so you choose to not say anything.

As soon as you sit beside him, Eddie shoots up onto his feet, hands bracing you for patience, “I almost forgot!”

Eddie slams open the back doors and disappears inside, you hear a clunk and curse before he tramples back out, uneven-footed and stumbling. A boombox in both hands, he sets it down and presses play.

The borderline waxing poetic opening guitar to Cinderella’s ‘Nobody’s Fool’ crackles over the speakers and Eddie hurriedly turns it down to a gentler hum.

“As long as you don’t listen to the lyrics, it’s kind of romantic,” Eddie pops open the Hungry Howie’s box and grease stains dot the top, “You probably don’t know, but most metal ballads- “ he gestures to the boombox leaking out Tom Keifer with raised brows, “even hair metal ballads - are not super romantic.”

“I can pretend,” you lean over his outstretched leg and brush against his leather-clad side to grab one of Howie’s infamously thick slices, “This is already the most well-thought-out date I’ve been on.”

And you haven’t been on many dates. Eddie knows that, too, but he decides to keep his big trap shut.

The pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie so nervously tucks an arm into the swirling pit of his stomach and you decide to keep your own trap shut. Eddie can’t say why he’s so nervous - it shouldn’t matter whether or not you actually like him. It really, really shouldn’t, but he can’t help but hope you do.

“Uhm, so,” his eyes look nice under the shiny little pinprick stars, and you chastise yourself for focusing on that when he’s trying to talk to you, “I’m more than happy to listen if you wanna bitch about your problems with the old man. Not that you would be, you know, bitching bitching, just complaining. Yeah, complain. ‘Cuz you’re not a bitch, you know that- “

“Thanks, Eddie,” you cut him off, a hand on his shoulder. You finish off the slice of pizza in your other hand and shrug, “I mean, bitching doesn’t sound too bad if you actually mean it.”

“‘Course I do,” he turns to face you completely, the gentle swoosh of the lake water under moonlight easily forgotten in favor of you, “Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone gets parental problems, it’s me.”

“Well,” you normally have trouble talking about things like this, but something about Eddie makes you feel open. Like a social worker’s dream, he is the softest couch and sweetest candy bowl, “He’s always busy with work - way too busy for me and Jane. And when he is home, it’s about me not going to college and Jane’s stupid high school romance and my attitude as if he’s not the dickhead that causes it all in the first place…” you sigh, a physical weight off your chest, “Only good thing to come of his bullshit lately is that I get to paint in my ex-mom’s storage unit downtown.”

“Ex-mom is an interesting term.”

“Diane wanted to adopt me as a last-ditch attempt to save the family after their birth daughter died,” the years of this exact thought process echoing around your head prevent you from shutting up, “And then she decided she wanted nothing to do with either of us and just,” you make a ‘scatter-off’ motion with your hands, “Left behind divorce papers and then Jim was a wild alcoholic and wilder smoker until Jane came along and then… suddenly he wants to be better.”

The clarity hits you like a stack of bricks, that you spilled your guts embarrassingly fast and that mortification makes you look over to Eddie, who stares back with wide eyes.

“Anyways…”

“No, just- “ he grins and you can’t help but grin back, “I’ve never had someone actually trust me to just let go like that,”

“I’m glad to be the first.”

If Eddie truly had no inhibitions, he would’ve said he wants you to be his last.

And he doesn’t know where that comes from.

“What do you paint about?” so he leans back on his elbow and breaks the thick air. Shatters it completely like it was nothing to begin with.

You cringe preemptively, “My feelings.”

“Oh, a poetic type,” he punches your shoulder softly, “It’s cool, I write songs about that. All the mucky shit.”

You turn onto your stomach, propping your head up on your elbows and ignoring the soft ache it initially stirs in your chest, “Will you ever show me one of your songs?”

“Only if you show me your art.”

“You’re moving a bit fast.”

“Nah, that’s only - like - first base.”

You two linger there. Soft eyes and pouty lips and pizza cooling under the night sky. He hums, entirely to himself, and you lean forward to nudge his arm.

“What’s going on in your pretty head, Munster?”

“Honestly,” he’s quiet. So much quieter than he normally is, and that’s as scary as realizing his rejection hurt your feelings, “I’m just thinking about how you’re not nearly as mean as everyone says.”

“Yeah,” you turn onto your back, eyes up at the stars instead of Eddie’s kind face, “people usually assume you’re a bitch when you’re not smiling at them 24/7.”

He doesn’t respond, and that would be terrifying if he wasn’t motioning for you to continue.

“I mean, I’m not surprised,” so continue, you do, “People usually just expect women to smile and nod to whatever they say as if there’s no thoughts or feelings to each person,” at his persistent silence, you inhale sharply, “First base was actually my feminist rant all along.”

You look back over to Eddie and he’s smiling so big and wide, all for you - at the fear of misspeaking, he intentionally makes himself BooBoo the Fool, “I love Debbie Harry.”

“Oh my God!” you swat his shoulder and he falls onto his own back.

“I’m kidding,” his head swivels to lock eyes with you, sweet bambi eyes nothing except sincere, “but feminism is metal. Equality for all, I fuck with that.”

“I’m glad,” a sudden memory makes you giggle, and at Eddie’s curious stare you expand, “I actually dumped Jason Carver in freshman year because he said women should obey their husbands.”

He gags histrionically, “I’d never say that.”

“I figure.”

You’ve heard from older women the dangers of getting wine drunk with no men to kiss - being that sauced with that intense a romantic urge could kill someone, you’ve heard. And it’s strange - how just being around Eddie can drive you as mad as the stories you’ve heard.

You turn again, onto your side now, “Are you drunk?”

He looks at you like you’re nuts and you’re almost embarrassed at the fact that Eddie can actually drive you so crazy, “No.”

“I’m not drunk either.”

It takes him a painfully visible minute until finally, the lightbulb above his wild hair dings alight and Eddie excitedly matches your position. He tenderly puts a hand on your cheek, calluses purely lovely on your skin as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

The ache in your chest that you imagine is what the prolonged poison of having no man to kiss when wine drunk hits, you nod, bizarrely giggly, “It’d feel like a personal attack if you didn’t.”

Maybe you were scared for nothing. Eddie seems like a sweet guy with sweet intentions and sweet words. His kiss is sweet, too. It tastes like the tomato sauce of Hungry Howie’s pizza and the weed he smokes and no sinister third thing lingers.

Eddie, however, feels sick. He needs to talk to Mike and he knows Wayne would punch any other guy straight in the head for doing what he’s done to you. He likes you. He likes your bitterness and your anger and the way you roll your eyes at his antics and he wants to soften your edges and he wants to be your one moment of sunshine. He can’t do that if he’s taking money to date you, so he needs to talk to Mike.

But for now, he likes kissing you on his old blanket with the coffee stain he can never get out and cold Hungry Howie’s pizza an arm’s length away.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Eddie has never doubted himself to the point of getting a hideous stomach ache, not even when he had to perform with Corroded Coffin in middle school, “I think I’m falling in love with her, Wheeler.”

“That’s perfect!” Mike, on the other hand, is purely ecstatic, teeth on display as he smiles, “Just keep taking her out, but without me paying you - Jane and I can keep seeing each other and you two are happy. Done deal, Munson,” and this excitement gives him the courage to smack Eddie on the arm, “Just be cool about it.”

“So just don’t tell her?”

“Exactly.”

His stomach twists tighter at that idea, but he swallows it down and pretends to be a little bigger than he is.

“Fine,” finally, he sighs it out, “We don’t talk about it.”

“We don’t talk about it.”

~~ how we rockin? good? good?

going outta state for like 3 days and remembered i should probably update this while i have it

[banisheed]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Wicked's Rest State Park PARTIES: Nicole (@nicsalazar) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Nicole must deal with a stranger who claims to be boning. CONTENT: no warnings

It was a good day to get boned. If Siobhan was being technical, which she was wont to do, it was always a good day to bone. Boning was an art she had perfected; no one boned like she did. Today, she was boning in the state park, which was her favorite place to bone considering that the likelihood of a human interrupting her intimate boning sessions was low. She liked to bone in peace, was that so wrong? A banshee ought to be allowed her private boning sessions. In some ways, maybe she was glad to be out of Ireland; there was no peace to be had boning there. If you wanted to bone, there were half a dozen other banshees that eyed that same place for boning. Siobhan had fought banshees off enough femurs to understand the relief of a solo bone session. Yes! It was wonderful to be here, in this horrible country, in this city that she didn’t care for, far away from home, boning! Indeed, it was a good day to get boned.

The firecracker pop of a branch behind her stirred her attention up like a prey animal; Siobhan stared between the tree trunks. The sun hit the tip of her steel trowel, shooting a ray into her eye. She groaned and dropped it and with it, the phalanx she’d just dug up. Blind, she groped around for her bone-bag—the banshees of Ireland would descend on her treasures with hunger and the instincts of boning were hard to dislodge. She caught the strap of the black duffel bag and yanked it towards her. The results of her boning tumbled out: a mandible, a sternum, a tibia, even a pubis. It was, after all, a good day to get bones. She hadn’t identified them yet, she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home, out of the heat. She didn’t dress for the weather, she never dressed for the weather. Today she dressed like she planned on robbing a bank: black cargo pants (pockets for bones) and a black turtleneck (bones could be kept in the collar) and black gloves (she just liked gloves). Maybe she would rob a bank later, the day was still young.

She stood up quickly, kicking aside her tools. “I’m trying to bone,” Siobhan said, aggrieved. It didn’t occur to her that boning meant something else to the humans. She only knew the true meaning of the word: the way that she used it. “This is a park; I’m allowed to bone here.” In truth, she didn’t know if she was, but she also didn’t care either way. In fact, it was more desirable to her if she wasn’t allowed to. She’d gone off the trails thinking it would make finding her impossible. The sun cleaved her eyes, and even holding her hand up and squinting, she couldn’t make out the figure approaching. How had someone found her? This spot radiated death; something big was buried beneath her feet and she wanted it. 

The pockets of her cargo pants were also good for knives. Her hand crept towards one on her thigh.

—

Nicole was at the station filing incident reports moments when her radio pinged. She stopped swaying on her chair and leaned forward, picking up the device and snatching a pen in case she needed to write something down. It wasn’t abnormal to move around the park, take on different roles, put out different fires. The crew was too reduced due to the dangerous conditions to stick to one job only. Most days, she was everywhere: the stations, the trails, the exhibitions, the gift shops, as were the other rangers, adapting to different demands. Whether it was injured wildlife, or issues at different campsites, or a collapsed trail, Nicole had to be ready to answer the calls and do her best to solve problems.

Some calls, admittedly, were less common than that. Hastings was radioing her to inform her about a suspicious looking figure, dressed in all black, venturing away from the marked area of the Whispering trail. He spotted it while guiding a group of tourists around the park and couldn’t turn around to deal with it. He trusted her to figure out what was happening. Hardly sounded like something to worry about, so Nicole ended the call, grabbed the keys to the vehicle and set out in the direction of the Whispering trail.

When she was there, it was a matter of finding the mysterious figure. She parked at the trailhead and continued by foot, aiding herself with her heightened senses to pinpoint human presence in the area. The footprints helped too. They suggested an odd choice of footwear to be trekking in the park. Perhaps, Hasting was correct in his assumption that there was more to this than a hiker with a love for the color black. Nicole walked slowly, quietly, knowing it was in her best interest to be silent around the trail. It didn’t get its name for no reason. But the fucking branch she stepped on had different plans. Fucking— She froze, gaze shifting amidst the trees, waiting on something to pounce. Blood pounded in her ears, until a feminine voice came through. Nicole decided against yelling at her to keep her mouth shut, because at least, the suspicious black figure revealed her location.   

Nicole wasn’t alarmed by the woman admitting her intentions for the hike. Slightly weirded out, sure, but not alarmed. Couples looking for intimate places in the forest— she’d encountered a few of them, unfortunately. It was always awkward and embarrassing for everybody involved. For her sake, Nicole hoped the woman and whoever she was with had all their clothes on. The sun breaking through the cracks illuminated the dirt path ahead of her, and Nicole trudged through the bushes and overgrown roots following the sound of the woman’s voice until she was in front of her. All black clothing in place, thank fucking god. However, nobody else accompanied her, and Nicole wondered if she misunderstood what was happening. 

She rubbed her jaw, closing her eyes for a second. Did she spot a tool on the forest floor? And a duffel bag? Bones? Yeah, it didn’t make any sense. Her shoulders screamed from the tension building. It was going to be one of those days. Ma’am, she hesitated before continuing to rehearse what she wanted to say. She was likely to test out a few options before opening her mouth. The woman didn’t look much older than she was. Some found that level of respect uncomfortable. Nicole found all levels of socialization uncomfortable. She opened her eyes, “Good—” fuck, what time it was, was it past noon? “Good…uh, m— yeah.” Worst of all, the woman looked familiar. Where would she know that kind of woman from? The fruit aisle at the grocery store? The pet store? A bar? Nicole’s options were limited.

Didn’t matter, she was going to handle this. “Don’t suppose you got a… reasonable explanation for—” she eyed the bag pointedly. No, reason didn’t exist in this town. When would she learn? “If you trying to bury your trash, we got places for that. Will show you, it’s called— the trash can.” She would worry about the trash in question being bones later. She was resolving one issue at the time. 

—

“Trash?” Siobhan huffed; the insult stabbed her as though she were the trash in question. The insult worked in layers, much like trash itself: the insinuation that Siobhan would litter, the insinuation that bones were trash, the insinuation that she didn’t know what a trash can was. A cloud passed overhead and Siobhan sighed, relieved that the sun’s unrelenting light was paused. In the temporary dimness, Siobhan regarded the human. She looked familiar. Where did she know her from? The grocery store? The pet store? A bar? Siobhan’s options were rather limited. She didn’t know her from any graveyards; the only people she met there were dead and the woman was—sadly—not dead. However, the state of living was mutable. Siobhan’s various knives sang a resounding “use me” in her head but there was something gaudy about a stabbing in a place like this. This state park seemed to beg for some cliff-pushing. 

“This….ealaín isn’t trash.” Siobhan gestured to everything scattered at her feet. The cloud moved along and the sun returned and suddenly Siobhan drew a conclusion as to the woman’s familiarity: she was dressed just like the strange, unfashionable humans that dotted the park. It was some sort of cult, she guessed. A strange cult that seemed to boast authority over the trees. They told her things she never listened to, such as how she wasn’t allowed to write messages in ‘red paint’ around campsites. Like the woman, they insulted her with their insinuations. She’d never be so tacky as to use red paint, it was blood. “The only trash here is your clothes. You look like you’re going to have a business meeting with a squirrel.” And she looked like she’d lose the meeting and the squirrel would run off with all her money. 

“And I do have a ‘reasonable explanation’: I’m boning. I said that. Don’t look at me like you don’t know what being boned is. I could bone you but…” She eyed her silly outfit up and down; she didn’t even want her bones. Siobhan waved her hand out, shooing the woman like an animal. “Go on. This is sexy woman business.” Siobhan paused. “Actually, do you happen to know where the nearest cliff is?” She grinned. “Say, one as big as—oh, for example, if one were to push you off it, one where you would die a slow and delicious death? One about that tall?” She imagined shattered spines. 

—

Nicole was on the slower side intellect wise. Stupid, but aware, if such a distinction could be made. Possibly why she managed to fool a couple of her coworkers into believing she was more capable than she was. Her eyes, however, worked perfectly, better than most. So the woman’s clarification was both unwanted and unnecessary. Sure didn’t stop her from opening her mouth, though. Why would it? “It’s— bones, I know—” she interjected, a hint of irritation edging her words. Did the woman believe her actions would somehow make more sense to Nicole by clarifying the bag’s contents? 

Her forehead creased, frown more pronounced when she heard the comment on her uniform. Nicole wasn’t going to let her get on her nerves. She wasn’t. This was absurd. But it didn’t stop the growing annoyance slowly replacing her confusion. The muscle in her jaw jumped as she clenched her teeth. “What are you— Squirrels don’t—” She buried the rest of the sentence with a sharp exhale. The woman was right, and Nicole hated it. Almost as much as she fucking hated the uniform, it was beside the point. She had to wear it no matter what. At least summertime allowed her to swap the button-up for a T-shirt. Not switching to shorts, though. She would never wear those. Thankfully, she left the hat in the vehicle. If she already looked stupid, she didn’t want to know what commentary the woman would have on that. 

The conversation was going nowhere. The stranger repeated her initial explanation, and Nicole should’ve seen it coming. “Right— You keep saying that like it makes sense” boning was sex, no? Even she knew the term. Unless definitions changed drastically during the years the jaguar trapped her in the zoo. The woman wasn’t here for that, no. But she had bones with her— A heaviness set behind her eyes. Some connection existed there, but where? What the fuck was she planning to do with— Her eyes widened. Did… did the woman…shoo her? 

Somebody else would’ve been offended or hurt by the diss. Nicole didn’t have the time or the energy to care about her appearance. She knew it wasn’t an issue. If anything, after all those years the jaguar exiled her from her own body, she was thankful she had one at all. Regardless of how the woman liked it or not. “In that case, we should both go then,” she grumbled, pointing back to the trail with a curt nod of her head. Whatever attractiveness this woman did or didn’t possess was repelled by her attitude. She wasn’t sane, that became evident. Who would bluntly admit wanting to kill somebody? Nicole took her murder intentions calmly, brain trying to piece together a reasonable explanation. It was impossible not to wonder about the woman’s mental well-being. Did she lick one of the mushrooms around the park? Happened twice last week, that they knew of. Rangers didn’t put nearly enough signs to discourage visitors. 

She reached for her radio, and considered calling Hastings, rope another ranger or two. But she didn’t act on it, thumb hooking on the belt instead. Nicole was capable of handling one odd woman. The park was full of them. But she couldn’t figure out if this one was dangerous or simply a nuisance. She wasn’t going to disclose cliff locations, logically, but half an idea formed in her head. “Don’t know, maybe I do,” for once her lack of facial expressions would help. “Been to every summit in the park. But— You don’t sound like the kind of person I’d— share that with. Don’t wanna be pushed off a cliff, you understand.” she glanced at the bones scattered on the ground. The size ruled out they belonged to humans. “Why don’t you explain what you do with the bones first?” 

—

Siobhan wasn’t sure that she liked this woman. She had a nasty habit of cutting her own sentences off, which was irritating, but on the other hand it meant she didn’t have to hear a full sentence from her, which was nice. In the end, it left a confusing taste in her mouth. The only words she enjoyed hearing were “yes” and “you’re sexy”; the woman gave her a lot of “no” and inane questions. “It’s boning. I’m being boned. These are bones.” Was it so hard to understand? Human minds always seemed to be shrinking; it must’ve been all the Ticky-Toks and processed foods. Any big, wrinkly brained human would’ve fallen to their knees weeping, praising her beauty and cutting the bones out of their bodies themselves. 

Siobhan stumbled back, pierced by the unfashionable-woman’s words. She crushed a phalanx under her wilderness-inappropriate heels. “What do you mean I don’t sound like someone you want to share a large, dangerous cliffside with?” She could understand the sentiment, she hardly wanted to share one with herself, but to be told that so brazenly was a shock. “I’ll have you know I’m very…very…” Very what? By her own doing, she wasn’t friendly. She enjoyed the sound of her voice too much to care to listen to other people. She was impatient, irritable, and arrogant. She didn’t like herself, she didn’t make herself into someone to be liked; she wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, she wasn’t born to be palatable. “Very sexy,” she said, as though it made her agreeable. It did to some people. The shallowness of humans was, ironically, a deep well for her to pull from. When it didn’t work, there was nothing to reach for. 

“I collect them,” she admitted with a measure of shyness; honesty tended to make her blush. “I—what do you mean you wouldn’t share a cliff with me? I’m very—maybe I didn’t want to share a cliff with you anyway.” Siobhan’s hands curled to fists at her side. Why did this suddenly bother her so much? To be the sort of woman that couldn’t be trusted around a cliff was the sort of woman she wanted to be. Yet, to be told so, to have it admitted to her…. There was no control here, Siobhan told herself. Yes, that was it. She needed control and this woman took it from her by deciding she wouldn’t show her a cliff. Siobhan was a contrarian; yes, that was it. She liked to do the opposite of a thing. If the woman said she wasn’t the sort to share a cliff with, then Siobhan wanted to be the sort. Yes, yes, all of this was it, and nothing more. Nothing else. 

“I wouldn’t push you off a cliff today,” she said. Tomorrow though, probably. And any day after that, definitely. “Why don’t you…” Siobhan tried to smile the nice way, not in her usual smirk. Her cheeks ached; was she doing it right? “Why don’t you show me one? I love a nice vantage point. I’m a little like a bird in that way.” Her mind flicked to Jade and the I-Piss. Jade would show her a cliff. “Are you familiar with Nelly Furtado? No, never mind, that’s not relevant.” Siobhan knelt, picking up the worn skull of some bird. She strode towards the woman, displaying the delicate bone in the palm of her hand. “‘We are the birds that stay.’ To see the blue horizon is a simple pleasure; the tops of trees like wild nests. This land is beautiful, don’t you worship it? Don’t you want to share it with a soul seeking salvation?” And as she believed that the woman’s attire meant she was a part of the strange tree authority cult, she meant the question with complete sincerity. 

—

“Sure… not seeing the—” What was the word Nicole was searching for— what did sexiness have to do with bones, boning or anything? “Correlation, don’t see the correlation.” And she doubted whatever explanation the other woman provided would be satisfactory. She expected more confusing words, strange behaviors and dead threats from her. “Sounds exactly like I said. Wouldn’t share a cliff with you.” Yet she had the nerve to be offended by Nicole’s negative to share information on the park’s landscape. And why the fuck was the word sexy being uttered again? Was this— a prank? Hastings' call was strange from the start, she should’ve read more into it. But why? Was there some noteworthy date she forgot about? She was fairly confident her birthday already passed. Sometime in— June?

She glanced at the woman, looking and sounding far less theatrical when she spoke again. Was that it? “Ah,” Nicole said to fill the silence she required to process the information. Collecting. That was less odd. People collected weird shit all the time, didn’t they? Museums collected bones too. Why the fuck wouldn’t she say so from the start? She remembered Yadiel, when he was ten, going through a phase where he kept all those stickers on fruit. Her mom didn’t find it so amusing when he stuck them in the closet drawer, though. She didn’t know what to do with the sudden memory of her brother. She didn’t want it, not now. If only that was something she could control. “Shouldn’t you— collect them somewhere safe?” not a closet drawer, or the middle of the forest. “They’ll get stolen here—” she trailed off, eyes drifting to the duffel bag, then the tool. 

Something else clicked. Possibly, the one thing that should’ve clicked from the start. She wasn’t collecting them inside the park, she was here to pick up new items for the collection. “Ah,” Nicole breathed again, embarrassment flushing her neck. She was unsure if the explanation was reasonable like she wanted it but— she appreciated the truth. “Alright,” she accepted it, a new assortment of questions quickly spinning in her head. How could the woman find so many bones in the short time she was in the park? Were collectors that talented? She didn’t ask any. She hated the phrase “ignorance is bliss” but— sometimes. Only sometimes, she could see value in it. 

Why was the woman switching back? Acting as if Nicole was wronging her for not wanting to die. She was used to being confused, but this was completely different territory. “What? You don’t want to share a cliff. You wanted to push me off it,” and why, were those words she had to speak out loud? She frowned, looking more perplexed by the second. Her face would freeze like that, surely, if she continued to talk to the woman. At least the murder offer was put on the back burner. For one day. Nicole liked that, she very much wanted to live. The breath that caught in her throat felt like a laugh, but why would she laugh about anything the absurd woman said? 

Deciding it was safe to go ahead and take the visitor where she wanted, and hoping it had all been an acute case of miscommunication, Nicole opened her mouth to agree. Before she could, the woman picked up something from the ground and walked toward her, carrying it in the palm of her hand. What was this, was she being offered a bone? “Not touching that,” her lips pressed into a thin line, her best attempt at a polite smile. Her eyes landed on the bone, briefly, because the alternative was staring at the strange woman who five minutes ago wanted to murder her. More words were spoken, and it was uncomfortable. Was she— was that poetry? A song? Who the fuck was Nelly Furtado? Was it the woman’s name? She was receptive to the tone, however, despite all the fancy words making it hard to follow. She chanced a glance, and to her surprise, the woman looked sincere. She supposed her voice wasn’t nearly as grating when she wasn’t dishing out dead threats either. 

But they were talking too much, Nicole was increasingly aware of the fact. She didn’t want to do that in this particular trail. And risk drawing one of those creatures the trail was infamous for. “Pick up your stuff, I’ll—” she let out a defeated sigh, “there’s one close. Not great for pushing— one of the best views, though,” the bed of bushes directly underneath didn’t leave her mind either. Precautions. She waited until the woman grabbed all her bones to move. She was not walking ahead, offering her back to be shoved when she least expected it. “You know— Nobody would think anything of you if you weren’t… dressed like that.”  

—

To reject a gifted bone was a terrible insult in banshee culture. Possibly because it was extremely difficult for a banshee to deny the liberation of a bone and so it must’ve meant that the other banshee was deeply and truly hated. This human couldn’t have known what she did, but Siobhan was wounded nonetheless. No one had ever rejected her bones before and she felt that even Regan would’ve accepted it. Siobhan slipped the skull away into one of her many cargo pant pockets where it clinked harmlessly against the other tiny bones there. She searched for her usual haughty anger but grasped only at hurt. It was a nice bone and she’d offered a line of poetry with it. Siobhan strode back to her bag, hips swinging as she was still in heels and the ground was uneven and she never learned how to walk like she wasn’t trying to seduce the air. She knelt down and stuffed her bones back into the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She was definitely going to push this woman off of a cliff now. 

“Dressed like what?” She asked, more than a little annoyed now after the terrible insult paid to her. And then there was the matter of the heat. Siobhan had never fared well in it: she was a banshee and a winter child and dressed with funeral colors almost exclusively. Sweat beaded around her forehead. “With the utmost offensive I don’t think I want fashion advice from someone who looks like they could be posing next to a department store catalog lawnmower.” She grumbled. “This is work clothing,” she said. “Clothes for boning,” she said. “Normally there would be more cleavage; I don’t dress like this.” Siobhan wiped her sweat away. There were more murders in summer, she thought suddenly. “In fact, if you hate this so much…” 

Siobhan dropped her bone bag suddenly, a move she’d regret later, and pulled her black sweater off. “There,” she said, stuffing it inside her bag and pulling it back over her shoulder. Immediately, her pasty, freckled skin screamed red under the sun. She had enough sense to keep her glamor on but not enough to have applied sunscreen; she didn’t think she needed it. Still, it was a relief to be out of her shirt. The cool wind grazing her sweaty skin was a feeling comparable to boning. “Happy?” She scowled. She could feel herself burning but said nothing about her glowing red skin. She tried to keep walking under the shadows where possible. “I don’t care what people think,” she said, “least of all you.” Never mind that she’d done this because of what the woman thought. If she made another comment, the pants were going next. 

Siobhan’s black bra was also ill-suited for the weather and ill-suited for physical activity and though she’d been uncomfortable before, each step propelled her into new states of discomfort. “How close is it?” She’d push the woman and be done with it and sleep inside the big freezer she used for dead bodies. 

—

Nicole didn’t think she was getting a headache. She knew it. The pressure behind her eyes grew heavier and unrelenting the longer she spent time with the woman. Why was she so abrasive one moment and then acted— acted what? Strange. Childish. Nicole watched her pick up her bones like a kid who was chastised and had to put away her toys. Nicole didn’t get it. Though there wasn’t much she got about anything in the first place, it wasn’t surprising. Once it was all over, at the very least she would be an interesting story to share back at the station. She should focus on that.

The woman seemed annoyed as she stood, ready to go visit the promised cliff. Good. Nicole didn’t allow herself the satisfaction of pissing someone off too often. It went beyond the type of interaction she was comfortable with. The snarky back and forth would make her anxious. But this woman deserved contention. What was the— a taste of her own medicine. English idioms were fucking absurd. The woman defended her outfit and the corner of Nicole’s mouth twitched, one side curving imperceptibly. It wasn’t a smile, she lied to herself. “And this is mine,” she pointed out, hand pulling down the hem of her shirt. One thing was true though, she wasn’t the person who should be offering any kind of advice. “Fucking hate it. Can’t do much about it,” she shrugged. She didn’t know what effect it was supposed to have on visitors. It didn’t inspire authority. To Nicole, it almost felt like dressing like a clown.  

“Don’t hate yours, I’m saying it draws too much—” Nicole didn’t finish her sentence, eyes widening when the woman dropped her bag and started… undressing. What the fuck— “I didn’t— I wasn’t— I meant… the black. Nothing wrong with—clothes are fine. No— not everything. Those aren’t hiking shoes,” she looked down, eyes darting on the ground instead of the woman flashing her. Though could a bra be considered— This was a prank, of course. And now her coworkers came out from behind the trees and everybody would have a laugh. She’d try following along, but in reality, she’d be humiliated. Nobody showed up, however. It was only them on the trail, the realization that it was a real human interaction she was having sinking slowly. “You always take things to an extreme?” she questioned with a scowl, glancing up at the woman. She kept her eyes from wandering anywhere but… the vicinity of her face. Because she couldn’t look her in the eyes either. 

“Right,” if the woman didn’t care about her opinion she had a weird way of showing it. Nicole couldn’t take any word that came out of her mouth seriously. Once she was done with her little show, Nicole was able to expand on her initial comment. “All black makes you look like a fucking cartoon robber,” what was so wrong about gray, or that military green, or brown? She processed her words, and her eyes widened in fear. “Keep the rest though, please” she added, for safety measures. This was not the type of woman she should be interacting with. Where were the simple people? Nicole needed at least one more year of being back in the human world to be able to deal with her. 

Hoping no other acts of exhibitionism would be committed, Nicole turned her attention to the path ahead. The other was ready to go too, it appeared. Not that she trusted anything or anyone at the moment. Logic and reason were buried on the ground where the bones used to be. “Ten or fifteen—” she huffed out an answer, casting a side glance when they finally got on the road. Was it too much to hope for a quiet stroll? “Could be more, with inappropriate footwear,” she reached behind her, searching for something in her back pocket. She held out a small tube of sunscreen for the other woman. She had a feeling she would be bright pink in no time. “It’s no bone but— uh, will keep you protected”.  

—

What was the world coming to? Did the humans think of their cults as work now? Siobhan grumbled, trudging over uneven ground, kicking the occasional rock. In her time, cults were a fun hobby, not work. “Take it up with your leader,” she said. “You shouldn’t walk around looking that ugly. It’s insulting.” Even the usual black cloaks were more flattering. She kicked a few more rocks, most tumbled back down to her feet, so she kicked them again. She wished she was still boning. Even to prove a point, or whatever it was she was trying to do—the whim melted out of her mind with the heat—this was one step too far. All this physical labor for what? A cliff? Why couldn’t she just stab her? Watching humans spatter like crushed insects was fascinating, yes, but now, with all this walking, was it even worth it? Siobhan counted at least ten good stabbing spots in the woman’s back. Oh, but it was so hot. Why even bother with that? 

Energy drained out of Siobhan quickly and only stubbornness kept her moving. “Am I not hiking in these shoes?” Poorly, she thought, each step threatened a twisted ankle. “They are shoes I am hiking in. Ergo, hiking shoes.” Her grip on her bag tightened. “Extremes?” Her laughter shot up like a howl, sending one poor bird flying off in a lopsided flight. “Live long enough, and mild becomes synonymous with boring.” Which was a rather verbose way to say yes, she realized. Did she always talk like this? And in this weather? Under these circumstances? Maybe she ought to start grunting one word at a time. “I am a robber,” she said. There was no praise for her straightforward response, which disappointed her. She gave up any attempts to speak less immediately. 

“Ten or fifteen what? Feet? Miles? Minutes?” Siobhan scowled at the distance. Could the woman be leading her astray? She wanted to go back to her house now—she missed the air conditioning. Siobhan snatched up the sunscreen. She squeezed the cool cream into her hand and spread it across her red shoulders. She offered no thanks, despite how her skin was soothed. She ought to have rejected it, as the woman did to her bone, but the day was getting to her. “How far away is it now?” She asked. And again, not even a full minute later: “How about now?” 

—

“My… leader?” Somehow, Nicole managed to look dumbfounded. As if she didn’t learn by now who her hiking partner was. Did the woman truly not know the National Park Services? She walked slowly, due to the other’s poor choice of shoes, as well as her own paranoia. She didn’t trust her not to do something if she kept her back toward her for too long. “My… leader,” she repeated, kicking one of the rocks that landed by her feet. Tossing it as far away from the trail without much effort. “Out of my control, I guess. Too high up the chain. Will have to keep— offending you with my ugliness,” she shrugged, half a smirk reaching her lips at the thought of insulting the woman simply by existing in a stupid uniform. Better than any real confrontation, Nicole figured, and carried on.     

The woman wasn’t wearing hiking shoes. Didn’t matter what bullshit argument she was spewing, she had to know that. So, no, Nicole didn’t fall for the bait, tempting as it was. It wasn’t often she was certain about things, she would’ve enjoyed the chance to call out her terrible outfit and footwear, but— better keep her mental peace than get roped into another pointless discussion. Her silence seemed to be an affront to the other woman, whose howling laugh made Nicole flinch. Her eardrums were intact, but she wished she had her earplugs with her, should another one of those… attacks come. She tensed as the bird flew past them. Knowing they were stepping away from the dangerous areas of the trail wasn’t enough, she grabbed the woman by the wrist and rushed her as much as her stupid, inappropriate hiking shoes allowed. She almost told her not to try that laughter again, but— don’t must sound like do in the other woman’s head, so she relented. 

Why did she continue to speak and act as if she was much older than Nicole? it made no fucking sense. A decade older at most, no? She clenched her jaw, fighting the snappy remark long enough that her exasperation vanished. “Live long enough, you revert to acting like a child?” she asked flatly, though she admitted to herself— At this point, she was intrigued. 

The admission that she was a robber would have been concerning, if Nicole could take anything that came out of the woman’s mouth seriously. That ship sailed long ago. Granted, she kept that piece of information in the forefront of her mind, should it become relevant at any point. Though it was difficult to keep anything important in her head, when there was a persistent voice chiming in behind her. “Minutes,” she grumbled. Did she forget to say that part aloud? Shit. It happened sometimes. Her mouth got tired and stopped uttering words. Sometimes, they stayed in her head, in a senseless mess that couldn’t be untangled, so they didn’t get a chance to come out. When the other accepted the sunscreen, Nicole kept her eyes ahead, paying little attention. “Make sure to get your back,” not that her polite advice would be well received, of course. 

And if Nicole briefly hoped that her gesture would be perceived as conciliatory, those hopes were stomped on the ground by inadequate shoes when the woman called out, asking when they would arrive at their destination. Nicole let out a weary sigh. Should she let herself be pushed now? It would end this painful interaction, after all. A broken rib was potentially less horrible. She was finding joy in pissing her off, surely. She couldn’t allow that. “We’ll get there when we get there, you’re the one who wanted the cliff, no? Can take you to one of the exits, if you prefer.” What else could Nicole have done? This wasn’t a woman who would’ve taken a ‘please step out of the trail’ kindly. “So what is it?”

—

There was no relief under the unrelenting sun. The merciful trees shielded her as much as their pitiful branches could, but scorching rays of heat dappled through the leaves. It wasn’t this bad back with the bones and Siobhan guessed her misery must’ve been a combination of things: the woman’s ugly fashion and general unpleasant attitude; the physical labor; the wasted time; the lack of bones; her own blistering annoyance at everything. “Not a child,” she whined like one. “How many times can you stand the same words? The same events? How long until predictability grinds your mind to a paste? The same things over and over again—if your life is boring, you lose your years. The passage of time turns to sludge.” Siobhan’s grip on her bag tightened as she tried to remember the years she passed in exile. As humiliating as her false commands were, they were all she remembered. In forty years, what remained were a handful of hope drenched moments. Everything else was the unending, unrelenting shame. 

“Is that what you want?” She added, allowing her bitterness to keep her legs in motion. “To forget your life? A lack of fun is merely a lack of life.” In someone else’s mouth, it may have sounded inspirational, but Siobhan intended nothing of the sort. She pulled the words from her throat with an acrid conviction; as much a product of her current state as it was her hatred for this truth—wouldn’t it be nice to be boring? She couldn’t bear it for long, the self-hating itch of her mind burned as terribly as the sun. Forty years, she thought. If she had to pass another second like that again, waiting for nothing, she’d shatter the world. How could she endure anything so monotonous again for the rest of her centuries? It was better, always, to live in extremes. 

It was easier too. In extremes, one did not need to think. Siobhan had never been very good at thinking for herself. “I can’t reach my back,” she said. In truth, the act of rubbing one’s own back was an embarrassingly ungraceful gesture. “I’m not going to try. Are we there yet or not?” Clearly not, the horizon was still swallowed up by tree trunks. The exits were tempting; each human-made path of trampled grass pulled her attention. And she watched them until the trees swallowed them too. She liked to think each of those paths led back to the parking lot, where she desperately wanted to go. 

“No,” Siobhan said. She didn’t know which way the official exit off this trail was, but eventually the sliced paths between the trees thinned out until there was only the trail they walked and she knew that leaving now would probably be a longer trip than simply finishing what they started. “You’re stuck with me. In fact, we’re glued together. Forever. Always.” Siobhan liked the idea only because she thought it would horrify the woman. How terrible was it to be going about your tree cult business with someone like her trailing behind? “I’m going to come back every day. I’m going to be boning. I’m going to find you. I’m going to remind you that your fashion is ugly.” She smiled, now accepting the unrealistic idea as the fuel for her jellied legs. If only she could get to the cliff, and then turn this woman’s life into a nightmare as punishment for…well, actually, this was her idea. 

“Are we there now?” Siobhan punished herself enough; she was full of punishment, unable to make room for one more. It would simply have to be deferred to this unfashionable cult member. 

—

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nicole argued under her breath when the woman whined childishly, after being called childish. She seemed to believe she had to prove Nicole wrong, if the weird existential rant that followed was anything to go by. Nicole frowned, hearing words she only understood on a surface level, growing annoyed with herself for being unable to keep up when the other was trying to outsmart her. She shook her head, “Got the wrong person, I don’t think about that stuff,” she opted to lie, in hopes of getting out of a conversation erring into a more serious discussion. “But you got me, I’m not fun—or have a life. Suits me fine.” 

After what had to be the third or fourth insinuation that the woman was something beyond human, Nicole was forced to reckon with the fact. Usually, she preferred making conjectures about supernatural species after lunch. Mornings were often reserved for Nicole to live under the pretense that she worked at a relatively normal job in a slightly weird town. Nothing more. But not even that peace of mind the woman was willing to grant her. Despite her appearance, she claimed to be old. So what? Vampire old? If her reaction to the sun was anything to go by… possibly. Nicole reached for her neck, instinctively brushing the fang marks there. Sure as fuck she didn’t want to find out if her hunch was right. 

“I want peace,” she answered curtly. Why should she need more than a dog to care for, walls to keep the cold away, the comfort of a solid mattress and a kitchen to make a warm meal? When she’d lived the alternative, no— when she’d survived the alternative, it was easy to find fulfillment in small luxuries. “I won’t live several lifetimes like you have, though.” Hopefully, she’d reach a hundred in good condition, a sound mind. To make up for the decade she’d lost to the jaguar. That would be nice. The universe repaying her for what it put her through at a young age. She didn’t linger on her hopes and dreams, focusing on the fact that despite living for many years, the other woman didn’t know shit about life either. Nicole had expected years would bring wisdom and experience, but looking at her companion, anxiety wormed its way into her chest. Was she doomed as well?

Hearing complaints about the sunscreen, Nicole shot a judgemental glance back, ignoring the small pang of pity she’d never dare voice. “I’d offer, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it,” going anywhere near a woman who had stated her intentions to push her off a cliff was plain stupid. She shook her head, answering the second part of the sentence instead. No, they weren’t fucking there yet. Like they weren’t two fucking seconds ago, when the woman asked the same question. They were getting somewhere, however. The path twisted before them, the trees growing dense, canopies closing in for long stretches, then trunks peppered along the trail as the sky revealed itself again. 

It should’ve been a sight that brought relief within Nicole, a step closer to getting rid of the nuisance she’d stumbled upon, but the woman had a different idea. Stuck. Glued. What? Nicole looked back at her, realizing how pleased she looked for coming up with such an evil plan. She smirked despite herself, because the woman’s vindictiveness made her stride faster, stupid inappropriate shoes be damned. Whatever worked for her. “You sure about that?” She drawled through her smile, tugging at her shirt. “Would have to hand you one of these, if you plan on being glued… voluntary ugliness,” she was thankful the woman didn’t know shit about her, otherwise she might have believed she was joking with her. She wasn’t. Didn’t know how to, of course not. “If you say so. Sounds to me like you’re the only one who’s gonna suffer,” because Nicole was slowly getting the hang of the woman’s tantrums. While she’d never had what it took to be a good conversationalist. If anything, only one of the two would find her silent company aggravating. 

“Got no issues with you boning, by the way. Could’ve gotten away with it— if you didn’t dress like you came out of— Scooby Doo,” an information sign ahead of them indicated they were close to the summit. She let out a sigh of relief. “So maybe you didn’t. Want to get away with it, I mean. Maybe you wanted someone to find you,” she mused, forehead creasing. Was that it? Children wanted attention, didn’t they? Most people did, she supposed, though she was foreign to that concept.  

Thankfully, they reached the end of their path a moment later. Crisp air filled her lungs, a much needed dose of oxygen after walking up the trail with an argumentative woman behaving in erratic ways. A wide area of foliage and rock extended ahead of them, giving them a panoramic view from one of the highest points in the park. The sun was at its tallest, rays unforgiving on their skin sure, but illuminating the horizon and showcasing the best of Wicked’s Rest woodlands. The sky was a bright blue, with scarce wisps of clouds that refused to give any kind of shade. Sweat beaded her forehead, but it didn’t matter, it all made up for the trek to get there, and the company she’d brought along the way. She breathed out, taking it all in for a moment, heightened senses attuned to the sounds of nature, allowing the vast landscape before her eyes to speak for itself. A minute passed, then she straightened her back, pointing at the distance. “We’re here. Viewpoint over there, careful with the boundary, or—” No, she didn’t know how that sentence was supposed to end, so she refused to finish it. With a nod, she encouraged the woman to go ahead. “Forgive me if I don’t walk farther than this, I have a murder threat to my name”.

—

The apartments weren’t empty, they were filled with dust—it was the thought that coursed through Siobhan’s mind as the woman claimed not to have a life, not to desire fun. She thought of herself—she was always thinking of herself—and the empty apartment. No, not empty. There was the dust and there was her. If she stayed in one long enough, she became convinced she memorized the pattern of the wood grain. What was the point in furnishing a temporary space? What was the point in doing anything else but her duty? Which then, those forty years, demanded that she wait. Siobhan winced as she recalled it. The humid air transformed into the stuffy aroma of an unused space. Surely, the woman had no idea what she was referring to.

“You’re part of a cult,” Siobhan said. “That’s fun. Clearly you need fun. Clearly you need something.” The idea that anyone could live happily with nothing made her shiver. And then, the idea of peace made her laugh. “No such thing as peace.” Siobhan sneered. “Fate will disrupt you; it always does. And what then? Why desire a falsehood? This world has never known peace.” She should’ve asked the woman what she meant by ‘peace’, as Siobhan herself was unconvinced of it and unsure of the exact definition. However, it was more fun to deny it outright. In her estimation, they were beyond amicable philosophical discussions now. 

But they were not beyond murder. Siobhan imagined it, yearning. She was going down her mental list of all the different kinds of sharp, pointy things—cleaver, stick, fork, particularly sharp pencil—when the ugly-dressed woman dared to interrupt her again. Nevermind the fact that they were having a conversation. “I was not asking,” she said and then: “no, you will not.” It would be a touch of poetic irony if she used a stick to kill her; killed by the very thing she worshiped in her unfashionable cult. “You are attempting to dissuade me from gluing myself to you. You are attempting to pretend as though it would not annoy you. You lie. I will not have to wear the ugly clothes.” Somehow, she was struck with the rather distinct feeling of being treated like a child. The stick she planned to use transformed into a dull, rusted saw. “You’re the one that will suffer.” She was struck with the rather distinct feeling of acting like a child. 

Where was that damnable cliff? “I don’t want to be found. I don’t…” Siobhan’s voice faded away. Didn’t she? Why had she worn the outfit? Because she looked good in it, yes, but who exactly was she expecting to be seen by? No one, of course. But then why? “I don’t wear ugly things, it’s the principle of the matter. The principle of not being ugly. You wouldn’t understand.” But was that enough to explain it? Did that even make sense to her? Siobhan shifted, forever displeased with her own seemingly contradictory nature. “I am not someone who dreams of being found by another.” But wasn’t she? 

Where was that damnable—oh, there it was. Siobhan met the cliffside. The tops of trees like a quarry of green greeted her, the glorious sun embraced her, and the cloud waved to her, rolling over head. At once, her unpleasant attitude dissolved; it was impossible to be mean in the face of nature’s beauty. “Thank you,” she said, and spun immediately to the woman with alarm on her face. If she knew to take it, if she accepted it—she swallowed. Maybe she wouldn’t? Maybe— “I take that back. I take that back.” But it didn’t work that way; she’d said it, the fae magic was out there. “I had decided to use a rusty saw to kill you actually,” she said quickly. “Not the cliff. If you wanted to…” Disgusting. Was she really inviting her over? “Do nothing. Do absolutely nothing. Go turn around and leave. That’s what I want.” 

—

Park Rangers belonged to a cult, according to the woman. One more reason for Nicole to believe she wasn’t talking to a human. She rarely met people who cared so little about concealing that side of themselves. Hell, she could count the number of people who knew about the jaguar in one hand. Not this woman, no. She was too clueless or too proud —perhaps a mix of both— to care about secrecy. It made their previous misunderstandings slightly less annoying. Only slightly. Nicole couldn’t let the murder threat go. She looked back at the woman, who laughed bitterly. She’d given up acting like a child, speaking instead like the jaded old woman she kept claiming to be, talking about fate being disruptive and shit. Nicole couldn’t figure out exactly what emotion weighed in her throat as the woman gave her verdict, —the world has never known peace— but it was tight, and it dragged down its chest like lead. Didn’t she know that too? Didn’t fate disrupt her life at every turn? Maybe peace was an impossible thing to achieve, but Nicole was stupid, wasn’t she? It was previously established. So she’d keep believing in it, hoping for it. Like the idiot she was. She cleared her throat, the only audible proof that she heard what the other said. 

“Not much of a liar,” she grumbled, as the woman doubled down on her “evil” intentions. She kept on walking like she had places to go, finally, so Nicole nourished that energy. “At least you’d have fitting shoes—” Why was the woman attempting to convince her of how awful she was? It was often the other way around, no? People liked to pretend they were better, kinder than what their actions revealed. Nicole trudged past the forest that was her perpetual confusion, determined to follow the conversation. This woman was weird. Contradictory. She was certain that she could cause any of Nicole’s suffering. As if. It was amusing, almost. But the words were consistent with a self-centered monologue. “I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” she dismissed the claims. It was meant to be reassuring, though if the woman’s goal was to cause the suffering— it was likely to have the opposite effect. 

No, she didn’t understand. The list of things Nicole didn’t understand grew longer with each passing day. The other woman wasn’t achieving anything new. “You’re right. I don’t understand,” another thing they could agree on, regardless. She paid no attention to the empty comments and the woman’s fixation on ugliness. She was full of shit, Nicole gathered as much. If she was honest about not wanting to be found— “Gotta be better at hiding, then. Camo print… next time,” perhaps, left to…bone unsupervised, she’d be able to find the elusive peace she claimed not to believe in. 

Cliff-watching didn’t last long. Certainly not for someone who faced the scorching sun to reach the destination. Nicole was wrong, nothing new, it wasn’t a good cliff to push people off. Right, that had to be it. She was displeased, annoyed to be pulled along for this in shoes that looked more like torture devices. The woman didn’t ask for a picture or anything. Nicole considered offering to take one, but again, they were too near the cliffside for her liking. Safety first.

Half expecting a snarky remark after witnessing such a disappointing cliff, Nicole was surprised to hear a thank you. Too abrupt to suppress the expression on her face. She accepted the words with a shrug, aware that she didn’t need them. “You’re welcome, but it’s my jo—” she was cut off by the woman taking her thank you back. Nicole frowned, confusion bringing out a dry laugh, “what— too polite for you?” she almost rolled her eyes, but chose to ignore the outburst. Being thankful seemed to disturb the other woman to the point she needed to get back to making death threats. Fucking weird. Nicole hummed, eyes narrowed. It was a much weaker attempt, though. “You won’t find one big enough,” she dared her, emboldened by her logic. If the woman expected her to cower in fear, she should’ve tried something else. In fact, being friendly to begin with would’ve set off her flight or fight response quicker than cliff-pushing or sawing ever could. 

“If I wanted to do— What?” Nicole blinked at the woman. Did she— miss part of the conversation? Shit. She must’ve been too inside her head to realize it. But no clarification was supplied, instead, the woman seemed adamant about going. And do… nothing? What? Nicole looked behind her, in case a wild animal was creeping nearby, causing the sudden shift. No. Only other hikers reaching the summit. “Right. Uh— Can’t do that. Nothing. Doing my job and shit right now, but—” she gestured back to the trail, “if we descend the other way we’ll find my car. I’ll leave you at one of the exits.” She hesitated, looking over at the viewpoint. No picture then? No picture. Her loss. She shuffled back to the trail, waiting for the other woman, eyebrows furrowed tightly as she replayed the conversation in her head. Whatever she missed, she wouldn’t know until she was alone. For the time being, there was a not-too-happy woman right in front of her, finally ready 

to leave. “I uh— can make the way back entertaining for you, if this wasn’t up to standards,” her frown eased, a small smirk creeping on her face instead. She made sure they were too far gone from the cliff to finish her thought. “Go over what you can and can’t do at the park. Rules. List is long, got plenty of time.” Torturing could go both ways, no?

—

Siobhan walked alongside the ugly-dressed woman, defeated. She did not bone, as she planned. She did not toss this woman off a cliff, as she wanted. The only victory she could claim was knowing that the woman intended to annoy her, but inside the monotonous drawl of her voice listing things-for-Siobhan-to-do—they were rules and thusly things-not-to-do but to Siobhan they were a to-do list—she found an odd measure of peace. The woman’s voice laid out before them as the sounds of the forest did, underscored by the crunch of Siobhan’s heels. She might’ve seemed tortured—stomping around as though she could stamp out the heat—but her erratic thoughts were scooped out. The section on littering only reminded her that she would litter later; something compostable, she wasn’t a monster. The section on after-hours visitation cemented plans to come in the dark. The woman droned on and Siobhan, a chronic insomniac, was sleepy. 

When she crawled into her car, she didn’t consider that it was that feeling—the tension withered from her muscles—that the woman was referring to. Instead, she thought it was odd that a cult should have so many rules. What a boring cult that was and she’d be back to tell the woman all about it. 

[chunibyo-x-sorcerer]

||The Misadventures of the Phoenix and the Shadow Chimera Sorcerers Part 10- Battle of Ice and Fire ||

Hi everyone. This is Part 10 of this Drabble series. This is for my rp friend, @the-silver-peahen-residence. If you haven't read the parts yet, please do. That said...my grammar is a bit iffy as this is written for pure enjoyment. Enjoy.

---- Previous Parts -----

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

--- Esteemed Guests in drabble ---

Taz Hellion, Kinie, Rioto Kir-IN, belong to me Taz and Kine from @demon-blood-youths and Daichi and Rioto on this blog. Both blogs belong to me.

Ryomen Sukuna, Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Maki Zenin, and Nobara Kugisaki are Peahen-men's muses. They are mentioned briefly in the Drabble.

----- Summary ----

The Tokyo and Kyoto have a team-up mission regarding an infenstion of cursed spirits in huge village. The mission has been completed and both schools are taking a break. Daichi and Rioto meet up and hang out together until they came across a missing one. What will happened?

---

"So Rioto. How are you doing at Kyoto High?" Daichi asked.

"Um....Kyoto is alright. Utahime-sensei is nice and but a little strict. So is the principal, Gakuhanji is something. I had to prove myself why I want to become a sorcerer. So I did and told me that I should stick to being a first-year to catch up and help other years."

"Did you make any friends?"

"Well...uh...there's Kamo and Miwa. They're just classmates but they were nice. The rest...are uh....getting used to it." Rioto sighed.

"That's good!" Daichi

"Not really? I mean Kamo feels bad for me and so is Miwa. The rest don't like but they like Miryu." Rioto mentions his cursed companion, Miryu. A blue seahorse with a unicorn horn and two antlers. Similar to Eito, he also look plush-like and flies with tiny flappers similar to seahorse. He blows bubbles while saying 'Buu...' and 'Muuu."

Both Miryu and Eito are playing as they are flying above the two sorcerers. No doubt, his classmates like Miryu.

"So what happened?"

"Well...."

-------

"Everyone." Utahime introduced Rioto to the class, "This is our new student....Syougo Shin-"

"I am Rioto Kirin!" Rioto said his name. "I prefer if you all call me by that name!" He said firmly surprising the class and startled Utahime. "And this is my trusting partner, Miryu!"

A seahorse floats by Rioto's side.

"Muu..." Miryu introduces himself, blowing bubbles from its nose as he is swimming around the class. The girls in the class, Miwa, Momo and Mai find it cute. The boys are intrigued.

"It's nice to meet you, Rioto. My name is Noritoshi Kamo." He said with a respectful nod. "This is Mechamaru, Arata Nitta, Todo Aoi. You must be the new first-year."

That I am, yes." Rioto nods.

"What's up with horns?" Arata asked, pointing at his ice horns that look like antlers. Not to mention, the fur around his collar of his uniform.

"This is for daily battle!"

"Daily Battle?" Arata sweat dropped.

"So you must be the one who brought a village almost to a ice age ." Mai said. "I'm surprised a curse user is allow to attend our school."

Kamo sighs a little, hearing that. Mai has no filter. But he is surprised to hear Rioto's response.

"Correction. My issue is with the few people of the village before my deserving defeat at the hands of Great Daichi Pheon-X. My goal is fight Daichi Pheon-X. That said, I am here to owe a great debt to him and work to pay it off to make it up for my wrong choices by contributing in Kyoto High and to help jujutsu society in general." Rioto says.

"Daichi Pheon-X? The sorcerer who streams online?" Kamo asked.

"The guy with that little bird of his?" Mechamura asked.

"Looks dumb." Momo said. But the bird is cute.

"I hear he's attending Tokyo school." Said Miwa. Rioto nods, "Correct. The Great Daichi told me that Jujutsu High is a good place to meet others who wishes to understand jujutsu sorcery and curses along with other things. That said, I hope we get to along well."

-----

"Doesn't sound bad." Daichi said. Rioto sighs, "Yes....errr..."

----

During lunch time where Kamo explains the classes to him, Todo got in his way.

"Hey! What kind of girls do you like?"

Rioto blinks. "What?"

"Todo...please." Kamo sighs, knowing where this is going.

"I asked if you have a type." Todo asked. "What kind of type is your woman? Answer me!"

"Uh....well..." Rioto looks unsure of this, looking dumbfound a bit.

"It can be boys too." Todo said. Kamo begins, "Rioto...you don't have to..."

"If you're talking about romance....then...then.." Rioto begins. Kamo held his breath, hoping Rioto has a good answer.

"Then I have no interest in that kind of thing! Something like that does not interest me at all!" Rioto said with utmost confidence which made Kamo gasp and sweat dropped. Oh no...

Then Rioto hears a sniffle and is staring wide as Todo cries. Making Rioto blinked, "Wait...why are you cryin-" The ice sorcerer got whiplash by a clothesline. "You! A coward!" Then he picks up Rioto and does German duplex, Rioto quickly breaks the fall using ice making Todo slip. Rioto got out of his hold and does a flip, not before taking his asthma pump.

"What do you think you're doing?! If you wish to fight, I will be glad to take your challenge!!"

"You don't think about women?! Not only, you're not interested in women and men?! What kind of man are you?!" Todo yelled. "What kind of answer was that?!"

"Why does that matter?!" Rioto yelled.

"I'm going to beat the crap out of you and I hope you change your answer!"

"BRING IT!" Rioto summons his ice golems. Kamo yells in a panic, "Not inside the school!"

Little does Rioto know, he has been brutally defeated thanks to Todo's Boogie Woogie technique. Kamo had to take him to the nurse's office for his injuries.

-----

"Then I got beat up by the third year, Todo Ali The Oni!" Rioto tightens his fists as he is upset.

"Uhh...because of your answer on what kind of woman is your type?" Daichi blinked. Rioto sighs and nods, "And he keeps bothering me till I change my answer. To be honest, I don't know what woman or man is my type because I never think of it so I try to come up with a excuse."

"You could of been just honest?"

"So I get beat?!" Rioto exclaimed. "No way! I make sure to avoid him at all costs! I even try to pay Mai to get him out of the way!" He sighed. "I even ask Miwa to hide me from him!" He sighed.

"Well...at least you have friends!" Daichi pats him on the back. But as they walk together, passing a warehouse. They felt a prescence. A cursed one.

Both look at each other and enter inside without hesitation. They missed a cursed spirit and on their way to exorcise it. Not thinking this spirit is almost above their grade.

----

"Where are we?" Rioto asked as the room changes. Daichi gulps, "I read something about this. Where we are is in innate domain?"

"Huh?! Wait...if that's it! Then that means..."

"We're dealing with 1st grade or a special grade!" Daichi frowns which makes Rioto spooked a little. Both Miryu and Eitio can sense their concerns so they stay close to their partners. "Okay, Rioto. You and me gotta be careful until we found the cursed spirit."

"So what kind of cursed spirit would make this?"

The place is full of edges and stairs. It's like an labrinyth. Regardless, they kept going and going. Going. Going. Going. Still going.

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" Rioto yelled, stomping on the ground as ice freezes the part of the ground. Daichi sighs. They have been walking, climbing the stairs and everything. They keep on moving but nothing in sight. Daichi thinks as he sits down on a stair. Maybe the cursed spirit is smart and tries to exhaust them by having them walk anywhere in its domain. They passed rooms because Daichi doesn't think it's good idea to enter in one of them so sooner or later, they have to confront this spirit.

Then both heard a chuckle. "You will never find me. You two are just bait!" A voice crackles. Two immediately became on guard as they brings out their preceptive elements. Daichi with his flame sword and Rioto with his icy lance. Miryu and Eito remain close to the duo. More laughter is heard.

"You two have no idea what you're dealing with! Can't believe one of you is with the vessels that held King of Curses and the other one that calls itself Kinie Ger."

Daichi widens his eyes. Wait..what?

"My master would be pleased."

Master? Daichi narrows his eyes. "Who are you?"

"The name is Tsumi! Your enemy and I found you two the most ridiculous bunch! You two make the perfect bait. I will lead those sorcerers here and kill them until I get to face off those two cursed spirits! Who knows! Maybe I can get that girl that hold Kinie Ger. She seems fun."

Daichi scowls hearing this. Yeah...no way in hell. He won't let anyone hurt his friends. "Where are you?"

"Patience. If you wish to jump to your death, go up!" Tsumi chuckled. Daichi takes a breath and looks to Rioto. Rioto nods. "Wherever you go, I will go with you, my great rival!" He grins. Daichi smiles. Both went up. To see a door and enters. Inside is a arena where a skinny male with a youthful look. He has green slick-back hair and swishes his long tail.

"Here we are!" Tsumi laughs as he brings out his claws. He jumps down, "So you two must be Rioto and Daichi! Two idiots over their heads. For I am Tsumi! A cursed spirit who is smarter than any human."

Rioto and Daichi just stared.

"Listen here, you foul curse! We will prevail!" Rioto points as he strikes. pose. Daichi chuckles and does it too. Tsumi sneers, "Let's see what you got!"

The battle begins.

----- Somewhere ------

"Hmmm..." Megumi sips his drink, making a face as he is eating his soba noodles. Nobara and Yuji noticed this. "You okay, Fushiguro?" Yuji asked, eating his noodles. Taz is eating her grilled eel over rice, hearing this with a curious look.

"Not sure. Just a feeling." He said. "A feeling where things go wrong." He said.

"I mean we exorcise all the cursed spirits in the area." Nobara said. Megumi grumbles a bit, "True. But...there's something else." A face came to his mind.

"Where's Daichi?" He asked.

"He's hanging out with Rioto." Taz answered. "That's what he told me." She answered. Megumi hears this and sighs, "I just hope those two don't run into trouble."

"Oh come on, what would the worst thing can happened?" Nobara said.

--

"Wow! So these are the Great Daichi and Rioto! You two with dumbest titles I ever heard of is on their knees. What makes you think you two can defeat me?!" Tsumi laughs. Daichi and Rioto are on their knees, panting. Right now, they felt disoriented whenever Tsumi keeps on moving.

Daichi tries to figure out his cursed technique. Is it dizziness, messing with the senses. Tsumi chuckles, "You see, my technique is Distortion. I mess sense of direction and spin the room around." He laughs.

So that's it. Daichi looks to Eito and whispers to him. Then Eito whispers to Miryu. Miryu whispers to Rioto. He widens his eyes and look at Daichi to whom he nods. Both are slowly standing up and hold their hands together. Tsumi laughs seeing this.

"What? Are you going to confess to each other? Well..I can't blame you. You two are going to die anyway!" Tsumi laugh and activates his distortion.

"Not quite!" Daichi said as both unleashes their curse technique. Flames and a blizzard. With them both holding hands, they go to dance as they go in a circle. Shooting out powerful flames and blizzard, this got Tsumi blink as he backs off. Soon, they turn into a spiral of the dual elements. Weathering the arena to where it becomes weak. Tsumi screams as he felt the burns of both fire and ice. Tsumi unwittingly turns off his technique. Tsumi got blasted by fire and was impaled by a ice shard. Tsumi stumbles and staggers. Then he widens to see Tsumi blink his eyes, both sorcerers of fire and ice jump in the air, throwing their respective attacks.

Fire in a form of a Pheonix. And a blizzard attack in form of a Kirin. Both hit Tsumi and send him flying and he was crashed against the wall. The domain begins to fall apart.

"Have you two lost your minds?!" Said the cursed spirit as he can't believe this. Tsumi can't believe these two will cause so much damage. The scaly figure had to take steps back from them with fear now. These human children. ARE NOT NORMAL!

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Rioto and Daichi laughed together insanely as they combine their attacks together. Calling it their combo attack, "Dual Elemental Blast!" They both said as they fire off their attack of their presceptive elements, fire and ice.

---

KABOOM!

An explosion is heard in the distance. Megumi and Kamo look at the huge smoke coming off from their positions. What the???

--- Minutes later ----

Under the rubble, Daichi and Rioto got out as they are breathing heavily. Their companions, Eito and Buu were getting them out of the rubble. The sorcerers have won.

"We survived!" Rioto exclaimed with a grin.

"That was crazy." Said Daichi, dusting his hair off from the debris. As both Chunibyo sorcerers got out of the rubble and dust themselves, a crash is heard making them turn around. The warehouse is now half in rubble.

Both look at each other. How are they're going to explain this?

"Uh...so...how are we going to tell this to them?" Rioto asked.

"Well...let's just say we fought a strong cursed spirit with a domain! Knowing them, they pretty much understand!"

"Right! If I tell Kamo, he will understand! Kamo is always understanding!" Rioto smiled. Daichi blinks, "Kamo?"

"Yes! He's the first I trust!. " He said as Miryu is blows a bubble and gives a 'buy'. Eito chirps in understanding.

"Anyway! I'm going to go to Kamo for help and tell him what happened! I think he's nearby!" Said Rioto. Daichi nods. "Right!"

Daichi lets out a sign as Eito chirps. "I know, right! I think me and Rioto did a pretty good job. Now...we need to explain this! As long as we get our straight, we will be fine!"

Little did they know, the explosion is heard from others. And they're going to deal with a very angry Fushiguro very soon.

To be continued...

[forestgoblinvibes]

141 x Male!reader (shifter Au)

So! I wanted to give y’all more information about the shifters in this AU before posting the first chapter (should be out soon)

These questions are some i have worked on for a while. Since while I’m making this a Modern Warfare AU. The character you read as, and the questions/rule’s below all come from a separate project I’m doing that was worked into this!

From this point on, questions from me made after I post this will be in green. Questions in blue will be from my lovely readers!!

To start:

What is a shifter in this AU?

Good question! A shifter is a person, who’s born with the ability to shapeshift into an and animal whether it be an avian, reptile, aquatic animal and so in.

This also means some people can be shifters of domesticated animals like basic cats and dogs. Not everyone has a more wild creature.

Can a shifter turn a human?

Another great question and no. That would make them a were-creature and that’s not what I’m going for. While it would be cool it can also create many issues.

What are the physical differences between a shifter and human?

It depends. In my story 90% of shifters look just like any other human being. From head to toe you really can’t tell.

Now! That doesn’t mean it’s always like that. Shifters have ability to let more animal features take over their features.

Some examples include: an avian allowing feathers to grow through their hair or they pupils became slit shapes. Or a reptile having faint patches of scales. An aquatic having gills while swimming in a pool. Or some having claws out on a regular basis. Or faint markings like spots or stripes.

It all depends on the person, and partially on how accepting the community around them is.

Are there shifters who prefer living an animalistic life?

Yes! In the shifter community these people are known as “ferals” or “nomads”

And their not looked down upon. Some people admire them and their protected under hunting laws.

In fact that brings us to our next question!

What kind of laws are in place that go against or protect shifters and humans from each other?

Let’s start with the protection laws! And I’ll just list these off for the most part.

Shifters cannot hunt a human obviously. If a shifter harms a human there must be a probable cause for self defense or protection of property or family. This goes the same for humans to shifters

Any shifter who wishes to live a nomadic/feral lifestyle is REQUIRED to let areas of power such as (police offices, hunting and game wardens and mayors ect) know who they are and what their form looks like. They are always required to wear a item of identification such as collars, scarves, chains or specific plants to make hunters aware that they are not game.

Following this rule, if a normadic shifter is killed with malicious intent (meaning the hunter saw and choose to ignore the shifter’s identification) said hunter while be charged with murder and punished accordingly. But if a shifter is killed and lacked any identification an investigation will take place and as long as the hunter is proven not guilty nothing can be down and any family members who may more the death will be given compensation for the tragic accident

There are serval laws that protect shifters and humans from discrimination against each other. A shifter can’t be fired/not hired for being a shifter or specific animal and vice versa

Shifters do need hunting license, this was agreed upon to help protect local while from dwindling or overgrowing of the area lacks many predators. They do not need licenses for flying or swimming though

And while I think of more laws or are given ideas I will add to this

So are there only predator shifters? What about bugs?

Fabulous question! To start no! Shifters can be predator or prey and they both live happily with each other. There are deer, horses, even mice and such. Prey shifters have laws protecting them from predators shifters as well to insure peaceful living. But there are no bug shifters, for me it’s not the best? I feel like they’d be to small and I’m to much danger that even if there was they’d live happily in hiding to avoid being squished

At what age does a shifter first change?

Well normally this’ll vary person to person from how they take care of themselves to stimulants around them. But on average most shift by 16 and this earliest shift recorded was at 3 years of age

Why are shifters a dying species?

That’s because of humans sadly. Before laws and regulations were in place, when shifters were first discovered humans were scared. And what does one do when scared? Protect what you know and kill what you think is dangerous. It took serval years long ago to reach peace

Are there clothing differences for shifters in the military?

So this idea comes from a TikTok artist and I do have their permission to use this idea. The artist is (@the_dumbestbitch)

But yes, Chirps (the reader) is not the only shifter in the military and obviously not the first so there was some trial and error to find a military uniform that worked if a shifter needed to quickly shift. Obviously no shifter wants to be naked when they shift back so after some testing. A special skin tight clothing was made.

These clothing items were normally one a piece sleeveless suit that went on under all their gear. So In emergency’s or when needed a shifter could quickly shed their gear and turn. All while being able to shift back and not be as naked as the day they were born.

Do shifters have more then two forms?

Yes and no? So to start the two forms are their human and animal. That’s a given, but some people can have more than one and this depends on family lineage. Now a wolf shifter and a feline shifter can have kids together. But the child in question will only take after one parent (so no hybrids/ligers and so on) but here is where bloodline comes into play. Say a human and a shifter get together, they can have kids, those kids have a 50/50 chance of coming out fully human or fully shifter no in between. And a child from a human and shifter could only have those to forms.

Now! If two shifters have a child no matter of the animals the bloodline is stronger and depending on the strength of said like going further back the child had a chance to have more then two forms. This all depends on how common it is in your families history. Take Chirps for example

Chirps comes from a strong feline family, mother was a tiger, father was a panther. Grandma was a lion and grandfather was a panther. It goes back a long way with a few wolves at one point but never a human so the shifter gene is incredibly strong in chirps.

So chirps could have more then the two. He’s never tried. So who knows?

But for the most part extra forms come down to two basic things. Bloodline and emotions. Fear is a powerful thing. Anger can be a dangerous fuel. Sorrow can be a blanket that suffocates. All of this can be portrayed in the form someone takes. All these emotions can unlock new and dangerous things.

Are any 141 members going to be shifters?

Honestly I don’t know. What do you think? I truly want options from others. I want the reader to feel unique and special. (In my experience AND THIS IS MY OPINION. I AM NOT SHAMING OTHER WRITERS) but when it comes to reading shifter story’s a lot of it is the omegaverse or smut driven and there’s nothing wrong with that. I just want something for readers that’s not smut driven. And yes I know there are plenty of incredible writers who have story’s that aren’t driven by smut. But at the same time I don’t find a lot of shapeshifter story’s

How tall is a shifters animal form?

This is intierly based in their human highs. For example a normal adult lion can be anywhere from 6/8 feet tall nose to tail (I think)

Now this is how it works to me? Say someone whines a shifter lion is 5,5. Their animal from while average out at 6 or so feet tall. Their second form will never be smaller then a normal animal.

But they can be bigger!! Agin, take Chirps for example. As a human he’s about 6,3 (almost as tall as ghost. Dennis is 5,10)

An average adult panther is about 5/7 feet from nose to tail and height is normally 2.33 inches (I think) so for Chirps there is a big different in normal animal height.

Wanna know how I fix that? With the magic of being a writer of creative liberty hahahaha.

Anyone, Chirps Panther from stand at about 7 feet tall at the shoulder. He’s a big bish (taller then ghost like that) but this leaders to another question asked but a friend.

Can shifters pick and chose their size when that large or in general?

And the answer is yes, with practice. So for Chirps his ‘true height’ while in animal form is 7ft at the shoulder. Which in most scenarios is extremely impractical, especially in situations where stealth is required. Chirps rarely using his true height, only in cases like chapter one where he needs to carry someone on his back to safety while also fighting. It’s a bulkier form even if he’s still slender. Normally he chooses a height of about 5.10 at the shoulder. Still large but more comfortable for him. The smallest he’ll normally shift to is that of an average panther.

What inspired me to make the shifter Au Chirps story in general?

A lot actually inspired me for this AU and the story in general. The episode Shapeshifters from “love death and robots” played into my inspiration for the AU. And “Teen wolf” inspired some of the ability’s or lore for my actual story. As well as “wolf blood” (does anyone temper that show?). And even “supernatural”. And some things like eye colors, abilities and weaknesses are inspired from these shows as you’ll see in further chapters.

But for now this is it. This will be pinned on my blog for easy access. If you have any questions please, please ask them! I’ll be happy to answer them on here!!! Same for suggestions that I can go off of for the story to come!! And with that, have an amazing time!! Don’t be scared to reach out!!

[reddogf13]

Outlast 2: Deliverance CH 11

Also on A03

Status: Incomplete

Rated: M - Dead Dove Do Not Eat This takes place in the Outlast 2 universe after all.

Previous chap: CH: 10 Sleight

Next chap: CH: 12 Wyrd

__________________

~Ch: 11 Dysania~

John was let go from the jail. He didn't return a report that day. That night Blake received more warnings from his dreams. He was running in a blind panic through the dark dirty mines. Roots snagging on him as a danger he didn't see, but could feel, approached. When he made it to a room lit up by torches he had found Lynn. Covered in clay with nothing much but some light clothes ware. Heavily pregnant, but also no longer with her whole front split in half from her hips to her collar bone. Organs spilling from the opening to collect in a bloody pile at her feet. “Look what they did to me!” She screamed at him. Blood mixed tears falling off her face. “You planned this!”

He pleaded. “No! No I-”

“You helped cover Jessica's! You wanted me dead next! You kill everyone you're close to!”

“No! I never wanted-”

“Angel of Death! Who are you after next? Is that why you keep Val free? Have her do your dirty work?”

“I want to help! I can-”

“Save everyone? You can't save them! They're all monsters who should rot with Knoth! There's nothing good in them! You saw it all and swept it away like with Jessica's murder! You told them it would be okay! Is it though?! You want to save a town of rapist baby killers?! You deserve to burn with them you disgusting piece of shit! A spineless coward! How did I ever love you?!”

He felt a pain not only in his chest, but from his arms. His head shot down to find many skinned hands clawing into him. Loutermilch's voice taunting him. “You can't hide your sins, Blake.” His arms yanked Blake back into a suffocating darkness.

Shutting his eyes tightly before he broke free from the painful grip. Eyes opening to him sitting up in bed, wheezing through a tight chest. God, maybe I can get that doctor to give me an inhaler. He got up to face the day with a trickle of energy. Book in hand to record what they had in stock. Meeting up with James for updates.

“No more food was stolen.”

“I know, everything should be settled now.”

“You caught the thieves? What'd you do with them? In jail now?”

“No, I said I would make arrangements to make them a messenger between me and Val.”

“You really went with that? I'm tellin' you they'll stab us all in the back. We're gonna wake up one day and find everything gone or on fire.” He grumbled. “Well, what did you tell them?”

“If they follow the rules, I'd help them through given rations.”

“A waste on those who do anything but help.”

“They do, a few are working already.” Puffing up the numbers, last thing Blake wanted was for James to start harassing people. If it sounded like a group was mixed in he'd be more cautious on going after someone.

“Who?”

“Names are between me and Marta.”

“I should know if they're working for me.”

“It's not necessary. Are they working? If yes, then there's no issue. If no, then get them working or tell Marta if they're a problem.”

“Tsk, I don't need to tell Marta. I'll handle the damn heretics myself.”

“You'll treat them like everyone else. I better not hear you starting witch hunts!”

Glaring down at Blake. “Or you'll what?”

Returning the glare he threatened. “I'll let Marta decide what.”

His confident glare shattered. Looking anywhere but toward Blake as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah... Okay… Long as they work and don't cause trouble. Guess it ain't so bad, then.”

“Good.” He ended the conversation. Leaving the farm lands back toward Mathew.

Separating dosages out from multiple pill bottles on a long counter and into small envelopes. Readying to pass out medicine for those needing it at the required time. He was becoming a doctor in training of sorts inside a small house turned hospital. Picking up first aid knowledge from Blake, who was always taught these things as common. “Hey.” Mathew smiled in greeting across the counter top.

“Hey, how's the supply holding up?”

“Doing fine. We won't run out of painkillers and most the other stuff until next month. Antibiotics we still have bottles left over in the back that aren't being used.”

“I'll do a count to be sure… Your dad tell you of our recent talk?”

“... Yes… He's trying.”

“What did you both take?”

“Food and medication that one day. We avoided taking anything until there was no choice.”

“Mm.” Could be lying. I should have interrogated him earlier before John talked to him. But if anything else was taken, I'll find out. Tapping his pen against the book. “What do you think of Val? Why'd you join her?”

“Used to see her all the time when she lived in Temple Gate. Val wasn't always like she was back around Knoth's death. She used to be gentle, caring and supportive like a mother was. She was a better listening shoulder then Knoth was. Some of my best friends were her kids. After she left I only saw her in brief meetings. Never talked directly with her after that, that was all my dad. After Knoth gave the commanded with the kids a few months back, me and dad lost our faith. I was one of the lucky few to slip by. Due to a few years age difference, if I was younger I would've been one of those with slit throats. Be prepared like lambs for the slaughter. I passed the school rooms of the younger kids before that day. Lessons were all about celebrating their deaths… That they could all be some hell spawn coming to kill everyone. Friends, family, didn't matter. They didn't know if they were some enemy against God. Told that-” His eyes watered. “... That everything will be fine. I watched my younger friends- by their parents own hands. Some took quick care of their many kids in one go. Val didn't have that mercy. She saved all those kids then- we all watched how she had to go on the longest. Rounds since the early morning carrying into the night. Knoth didn't allow anyone to help her, it was “Her duty to carry out.” Only gracing her with a break at mid day. Which didn't help at all.

… I can't imagine how unbearable the next rounds were. Knoth smiled the whole time she had to line up her kids for the pyre to be cut. Comforting them to stop crying before she stabbed them to death. Whole time Knoth sang songs of how God would carry us through it all. Val distanced herself from Knoth after that, then Temple Gate altogether.

Speakin' of the nightmares we suffered. She held secret gatherings on the cliff side by the lake to talk freely about that stuff. She fled with many others after a while. Me and dad stayed because we were afraid to run. We joined her cause after things were getting too bad in Temple Gate. Knoth's paranoia shot through the roof. Ordered Marta to kill all the heretics on nightly rounds. Lynch mobs got you in the day. Neighbors we knew, who openly refused to join Val, were killed for no reason. Because Knoth's paranoia of who else would run to join her got worse. Over time others wanted to escape, but no one knew how. Knowing how Val used to be, dad snuck out to meet her in the old meeting spot by the lake. We became coyotes - smugglers for people to reach the mines. Things were… Okay. For a short time.

Me and dad thought we'd eventually join the safe haven Val was making. After we saved as many as we could. Then it felt like too much with Val after a while, but we didn't know what else to do. Val-... We don't know what happened. Dad guesses she had a slow fall off after killing her kids. A lot of us were having nightmares about that night. Some seeing other sins they committed. She talked in secret of all the nightmares she had, repeating that night. As if that day wasn't enough for her to suffer through once. She lost her gentle compassion and it was replaced by a obsession for sin. As well as other things I won't say. Death had surrounded us on all sides. We stopped our smuggling for Val, afraid she'd go down the path of Knoth soon enough.”

“What about those in the basement?”

Mathew loosely shrugged a shoulder. “There was no plan for them. We just saw the chance to get them out of cages and we did. Where they fled from there was their choice. I'm Sure they all went to Val though, along with a p-” Cutting himself off. “Some others.”

“Mm, … That night someone died in the hall. What do you know? You didn't just run home.”

Mathew tensed, looking away without saying anything. Eyes flicked back and forth before he took a deep breath. “When I was running back home. I saw someone running toward the hall.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“It was too dark. I couldn't see any details about them.”

“Why didn't you say this earlier?”

“Afraid of what would happen if I did. I just wanted to get out of there. Didn't want to get involved.”

“I can understand that.” Recalling his own past. “Thank you Mathew.” Dipping his head before going to count meds. Recording everything was where it should be, he moved on. Weird to think Val was different less then a year ago. Was she really that caring or just more so than a lot of people here? Someone who threatened to leave a cut was preferable against a torture rack. Maybe John could tell me more of what was before. If he comes back at all. The second day passed by without John coming forward. Blake thought of giving him more time, but he couldn't wait for Val. The longer she refused to follow rules the stronger the possibility she could plot something. Leaving the barn he saw no alarming changes in the food taken for the day's meals. Stepping back through town to follow his daily routine. Closing his notebook to protect the pages from the falling snow. It had gotten so much worse these past few days. Wondering if he'd be able to make it to town in all this white. If he couldn't manage that, things would be a lot more serious. A chunk of dirt road was cleared of trees, but that only got them part of the way. The journey would still take a day or two on foot. He stopped under the covered porch of the burned church to open up the book again. Marking down his options to go over on what seemed best to pull off. Writing paused when his sunlight disappeared before Marta's shadow. She stood by his side waiting to be acknowledged before speaking.

“Yes?”

“I'm suspicious of one of the healed.”

“Are they tagged?”

“Can't tell. They all wore hand wrappings of some kind, even before the trap. Looked around the barn for anything and noticed one actin' strange by the fields. Managed them into a vice in the middle of their work. Couldn't slip away while James locked them down on tasks. They avoid me when I approach. If I do surprise them in getting close, they freeze up.”

“Weeeell, can't imagine why...” Looking Marta up and down. “You're very approachable. What do they look like?”

“All covered in black, same as your skittish shadow.” She let out an amused snort. “The others stand aside, but they don't freeze like them.”

“Mathew said he saw someone running toward the hall while he was running away. Maybe they’re the same?”

“I did manage to catch them walking when I kept my distance. It's been a long time, but I still recognize their steps.” What she said next turned his blood cold. “ If I saw their eyes I could be more certain. Val was one of the few with bright blue.”

“You think she's hiding with the healed?!”

“Bet on my soul. I haven't seen her outside the walls. Not since before our hunts started to be ruined. Same time when the healed were integrated. Have you?”

“Which one is she?”

“Ain't much to distinguish her from the others in black. I only know them by their steps. A set pace to make time without disturbing the peace. Hard for you to pick up, but-” turning to head inside the church she tipped her cane back. “That one leanin' on the rain barrel.” Gesturing behind her before stepping further inside.

Blake took a long sweeping glance to not seem too noticeable. Spotting the one Marta mentioned, ages away to the point he had to squint, leaning against a water barrel wrapped heavily in baggy black cloth to hide their form. Keeping their head down with face concealed by more wrappings if not by the large overhung hood. Even their hands were covered by gloves. Most the healed just wrapped them for easy bandage replacement. Blake pretended to write a few things down before heading inside to speak further. “What's she been doing?”

“Mainly keeping to schedule as every other healed since John was caught few days ago. Working 'til dinner then sitting in the hall, but not eating a thing. After that, head back toward the homes of the healed. Disappearing from there to I don't know where. Can't get close enough without scaring 'em off.”

“That's it?” He assumed she'd be doing a lot more. “Has she still been following me?”

“She'll take a look at you, but nothin' more. I'd say it's just 'cause I'm keeping close.”

“Dammit.”

“Want me to keep following?”

“Yeah, make sure they don't do anything, but Don't get too close. I don't want to ruin John's chance of talking if she's too nervous. Either he convinces her to make a deal or we'll handle them some other way.” Ready to dismiss her when he added. “And keep them away from me if they get too close.”

“Stay aware. I'll keep up the rounds.” Leaving him to continue his work.

When the sun set he picked up his dinner. On the way to his room he took a moment to look over the hall. Now that he was looking, it was noticeable that one wasn't eating. Not even having a cup to possibly drink from. Marta was sitting in the far back corner, eating her own dinner while watching the room like a hawk. Moving on he carried his bowl of vegetable mixed rice soup to his room. When this is over maybe we can pick up hunting again. Setting his food down on the table. Grabbing full buckets under his roof leaks to toss out the hallway window. Placing them back for the next time his roof dripped. Tell Liam about the leak. He reminded himself for the thousandth time. Transferring numbers between books as he finished his soup.

His sleep going as peaceful as the last. Running blindly through the caves with heretics at his heels. Thoughts racing on why he was here. Was it to talk things out? Was it to fix something? How could he stop them? If he tried talking would they only kill him? He had to talk to Val. She's the only one they might listen to. But he had no idea where she was or if she'd listen. Where's John? Wait- His eyes opened in bed after his mind caught up with him. “Dammit.” He mumbled with a rub of his eyes. Hearing the loud dripping of his roof he checked the bucket. Filled to the brim he got up to toss it out. When he chucked the water into the falling snow he noticed one in black making their way back to the healed area. He hoped they were heading back from talking with John. His time for confirming an answer was almost up. Blake rubbed his tired face in turning back to his room. Falling back into bed with a shove of the bucket back under the leak. Most hoped to dream of their loved ones face, but not him.

Lynn impaled on a collection of thorny branches coughing up blood. When he tried to desperately help her off she laughed at him. “You did this, what are you doing?” She laughed. “Some leader, why don't you tell them to do it?”

Who? He looked back to see a gathering of clay covered heretics. What? Facing Lynn when he saw himself covered in clay without any clothes.

“Look at you. You're just like them! How could you join them! After all they did to me! Don't you understand! They killed me and you're rewarding them for it!”

“I wanted to help.”

“You helped with Jessica and now with me.” Her voice drilled into his head. “Your sins won't stay hidden forever.” Pointing down to one of his arms.

Branches painfully pierced through his skin as they slithered from the inside out. He ripped them out in reaction to the choking vines. The sounds of his bones cracking to the vines woke him up wheezing. He sat up to look at his shaking hands. Covered in sweat he winced at the Light pooling under the door telling him it was morning. He felt unusually hot like the start of a fever. While it was still early morning, before anyone would be up, he decided to go cool in the river. Towels in hand he walked to the branch off of the river. It was safe there as it didn't meet the mine runoff yet. When it came to bathing he used the small shower in the great hall. Annoyed at it, because half the time it would stop and go on giving water. Deciding to just use the river when he was up for it. Setting his things aside he walked right into the water without undressing. Using it as a lazy way to wash his clothes. He looked down at the water, his reflection standing out with the sky Grayed by clouds. Various scars covering him that he could see directly on his arms. Smooth skin turned rugged by old burns. A similar patch marked the lower left of his face. The skin untouched by fire growing a 5 o'clock shadow he'd need to shave eventually. Eyes following the trail of the rest of his scars. Remembering where some came from like the dips in his hands. While others he wasn't sure, Remembering all the stupid things like running into shin high cacti. His attention drifted off to parts of Temple Gate in the distance. Adding more to his mental map of the place. He remembered a few areas, despite being chased through them. Others almost, but after fixing so much it didn't look the same. Was it bad, what he was doing? I can't leave now. I gave them all hope, I fixed their lives, what would I be if I just walked out now?

Lynn's voice drilled into him on who he was for staying. -A pathetic man who sides with killers because it's easier than going home to an empty apartment.-

They're not all monsters. They were doing what they thought was best. They've changed.

-Keep siding with them and see where it gets you. You’re too comfortable around the same ones who wanted you dead.-

He dunked his head under the water to drown out his thoughts. Listening instead to the water flowing by. Soaking in the cool stream when he saw Marta's blurry figure above the water. He sat up on the shallow shore to hear what she had.

“John wants to speak with you.”

He nodded and rose out of the water. “Coming, Need to get dry.” Sloshing water off him as he dried enough to put his shoes back on.

“That skittish was talking with John.”

“Mm.” his head dipped down. “ Where'd they meet?”

“They met outside the center of the healed blocks. Off in the forest away from everyone. Didn't hear what they were sayin'. Could tell both weren't happy though.”

“Great… Do you remember what Val was like? Before the children- em.” Cutting it there with a clear of his throat. “Was she always so- aggressive?”

Marta looked off to the side. “No.” Letting out a rough hum when she looked back. “More of, off.” Walking with him down the dirt path.

“Off how?”

“She always brushed off what was expected of her. Unruly toward her father, who trained her to take a deacon position. Calming down after he passed. When she got older and did gain the position, she was looser than her father and grandfather. Taking work Knoth snubbed, but she'd sweet talk him into it. Carein' for kids was one of 'em. Knoth stated It was “Women's work” and Val had “More important things to do.” Being a deacon. did fit her though. Soft on matters, but stern when correction was needed. Somethin' she picked up from her mother, who was a teacher. She made sure the kids studied hard and got to where they needed to be for mass. Knoth had her sacrifice a lot to keep carein' for those kids. No matter, Val made sure the kids knew he had to be respected. As well as keepin' up with handed down orders.”

“She ever hurt anyone?”

“Before, no. She'd never even done corporal punishment, like what Knoth leaned to. There was a slow shift when she was given orders to prepare the kids. Back talkin' Knoth far more than she used to. She wasn't so patient when he gave her deacon orders. Preferring to spend time with the kids as time dwindled. Knoth calmed her down after a few arguments before the day. That didn't happen after the kids were gone. She dropped her duty's to question what was going on. She tried talking to me about it by the lake, but I refused to listen to her questioning of Knoth's actions. I noticed she was missin' a necklace that showed our symbol after that. Her talks turned to Raging at anyone, including me about it all. Turning aloof she wandered around at night, defying Knoth's curfew. He tried being patient with his chief deacon. Thinkin' it was getting better when her nightly walks calmed her rage. Listening better to his calming words rather than giving hollowed looks. Until he got word she was makin' some concerning offers to people. Keeping details secret, but hinted heavily of sexual want. Instead of dragging her in, he convinced her to talk with him. The last conversation they ever had.

Things started out calm. I was present on the side in case Val couldn't be wrangled in. Knoth gave her a bunch of words that this would all pass. That he knew it was hard for her as well as everyone else missin’ their children. She needed some prayers and would be set back on the proper path after some spiritual healing. It looked to be working until Knoth got to speaking of God's forgiveness. How he would bless us all in the end. I saw a look in her eye that I knew well from my youth. It was the one time I was ahead of her. She lunged at him, almost sliced his throat if I hadn't blocked her. I'd wielded that weapon long enough to handle it, but struggled to shove her back. If you ever looked hard at that pick when I had it, it used to curve slightly down. She struck it hard enough to dent it almost straight by its middle. Sparks flew off our blades when I did shove her back. All of us stood by trying to understand what happened. She looked the most taken aback.”

“That you blocked her?”

“More like by her own actions. When Knoth spoke her name she fled from the building. He continued yelling her name and she continued ignorin' him. I wasn't used to the chase yet and stood still by Knoth's side. He didn't send me right away neither, Knoth was confident she'd return when demanded to. Knoth sent her a letter to give herself up and that he'd be merciful when she did. When she didn't, I was sent to fetch her with a lynching mob in the night. She was long gone with only a letter announcing her departure left behind. Nothing felt the same after that. Buildings she used to run went from warm and inviting to being left quiet and cold. From then on Temple Gate was shedding members to join her side. What heart Temple Gate had left after the children was ripped out. Nobody trusted one another, everyone was a possible enemy. I was angry at them all. Why risk they're souls, why betray the one who gave them everything? Did they hate God? Did God hate them for what they've done?” Breathing out, tired by the memory's. “More so at Val for starting it all. If only she didn't, then this or that wouldn't have happened. But it would've all the same without her being the main cause. A festering rot eating at us that no one knows where it started anymore.” Going quiet as they reached the hall.

Blake asked Marta to bring John while he changed. Drying off quick as he could in his room to redress. Coming out around the time John stepped in.

Appearing exhausted after possibly arguing with Val since being let go. “Twenty-seven.” Handing in his answer.

“How'd she take it?”

“Not happy, but I've been telling her we should've done this a while ago.”

“That why you didn't run after being dyed?”

He nodded. “She tried convincing me to run, but I took the gamble on it working out. Things were getting worse and if this didn't happen… It wouldn't have gone any better. Took a lot of convincing, but I'm sure she sees it the same now.” Tapping the table before continuing. “She doesn't want to risk anybody coming to pick up the rations. Can they be dropped off at a certain spot?” Voice just as tired hinting defeat already before Blake could answer.

“Depends where.”

“Past the lake to about the eastern mining mountain river.”

“That's a bit far.”

“Yes, it's the halfway point. You could transport it all fast across water and stop before the rapids. Its not close to you, but also not too close to us.”

“Alright, I can do that, but I need to check if we have a boat. Might need one built. I'll aim to get a week's rations out soon if not by the end of the day.”

“I know there are a couple tied to the small fishing shed. Good for what we need it for.”

“I'll go see after this. Is there anything you recommend that they need?” Opening up the door for John to add things on.

He tapped the table before fidgeting with his hands on if he should say. “More medicine. It helped some recover the last time, but others are still bedridden with a nasty cough. High fevers and heavy wheezing.”

“How cold is it up there?”

“If it's not snowing we get regular frost. The insides are no warmer unless we get some bonfires going.”

“Could be pneumonia. Do you have anything up there?”

“No, when Knoth stopped bothering with management due to the end of the world's approach. So did they. Scavenging enough to hold off until the next day. Never expected to still be here at all. When Knoth died and the sun still rose they figured out quick that they needed to pick up the pieces.”

“Alright.” Jotting down some notes. “Maybe I can make some care packages on top. Blankets, meds, matches, bandages. Would a cooking pot help?”

“Greatly, they've been using rock slabs or sticks for cooking.”

“Okay.” scribbling it down. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Since everything's settled and there won't be anymore theft, you can pick up hunting again. Long as you don't go favoring Val in where the meat goes.”

“No sir, promise.”

“Tonight I'll announce the agreement.”

“Uh, should we do that?”

“People are gonna ask why I'm sending a bunch of stuff across the lake.”

“Yeah, but- people are gonna be pissed.”

“I know, let me handle them. I won't mention you, I'll keep it to “hidden connections”.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Maybe you should stay in tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“I will. Looks like you should to.” Gesturing to Blake, still burning from his fever.

Sweat building already at his collar. Noticing now how dry his mouth was. “Yeah, I might.” Already wanting to go sit back in the river. Trading their goodbyes, Blake went out to gather up the supplies. Testing one of the boats John mentioned earlier. Assisting James with the gathering of rations. Dreading for when he'd have to make the announcement. All he wanted to do was sleep after running around all day. Taking a cold shower to dull the fever, refusing to cool. Picking up a box of meds from Mathew. Fearing maybe he caught something more serious than a possible flu he kept one bottle. Careful to gather up everything else for the boat delivery. A pile of blankets from storage and some cooking pots. Setting them away with the loaded food ready to be sent. Looking at the horizon with the setting sun he turned to James with a group of healed. “Take it to the mouth of the river. Place it on the shore closest to the mountain.”

“You want us to go now? What about the announcement?”

“I'm going to make it after you leave. The Voltaire get what they need and you won't be here for the riot about to happen.”

He laughed. “Pfft, you best keep Marta close.” Pushing away from shore to get the boat moving. “They may be wantin' a hanging over this.” Rowing away with the others.

“Ugh.” He sighed. Taking deep breaths the whole way to the hall. Passing by the whole town eating inside to the front of the stage. Seeing Val among them sitting at the back. Knocking on the podium's top to gather everyone's attention. “Alright, ...” Not sure exactly how to announce this. “After some discussion I have made a diplomat between us and the Voltaire. They will be passing messages between me and Val to handle any conflicts that arise.” Murmuring whispers bubbled up from the crowd. Quieting down when he spoke again. “I gave the Voltaire an ultimatum three days ago. Either they start following the rules we go by, or else. If they agreed, I would help by giving rations and other supplies.”

Receiving the expected simultaneous. “What?!” From the crowd. Followed by many outraged voices. “You can't do that!” “They already stole our food and now we're giving them more?!” “They haven't worked for it!”

He shouted over the crowd. “They agreed and I've already sent the first week of supplies!” But they only got louder. Standing up to crowd at the stage edge.

Silenced by Marta. “QUIET.” She ordered as she walked to the front. Standing by the stage as a physical reminder for everyone to behave. The smarter ones stepped back to their seats.

“Thank you… They agreed and I sent the supplies. Everything was carefully considered. I counted out how well we can hold without those supplies and we'll be fine well into next year. This deal only stays as long as they follow the rules.”

The shouting picked up again. A particular man caught all of Blake's attention. “And what if they don't?! What if they steal more anyway?!” His words were no different from everybody else's. Something about him however, unsettled Blake by his looks. Reddish brown hair turned partly white by a burn across his scalp. Half his face carved by massive gashes. One giving him a false permanent half smile. He'd seen many scars before, having him question why this was so different. “What if they kill one of us?!” Blake had to face away from him when his stomach threatened to come up.

Marta snapped the crowd quiet. “Ay.”

“Then they won't be getting anything and I'll send out the guard to hunt them down.”

“We should have killed them!” The riled up crowd chanted. “Kill 'em!” “Kill them!” “Kill them!”

“No, I will not be doing that!”

“Why not?!” Some at the front started questioning. “What are you gonna do to them then?”

That half scarred member spoke again. “Throw them in jail where they'll leach our supplies anyway? Heretics deserve to be crucified for their sins. Leave 'em for the vultures to feast!”

Blake was stuck staring at them. A clawing sensation gouging at his brain to remember them. His ill feeling knotted into a furious fire. Marta gave him a look, asking if she should step in. He gestured a rejection with a wave of his hand. Answering the question. “If it comes down to it. They'll be jailed.”

“This is stupid!” “Why should we help them?! They never helped us!” “Let them starve!”

“Because they deserve as much help as everyone else here. The decisions been made, there's no changing it now.”

“Why?! They killed so many of us across that mountain!” The front standees refused to back down. “Tortured us, chased us down and ruined every waking moment of our lives!” “How many of us were mangled?!” “This isn't fair!”

Blake couldn't contain himself any longer. His blood pulsing in his skull alongside a dreaded rage he felt so strongly only once before. “Look at me!” Pointing to his scarred body.” Don't you dare question me on what's fair! you did all those things to me and more! Did you all forget you hunted me all over this town?! Stabbing, beating me down, never giving me a moment's rest. You would've killed me if you caught me. All those kids, what about them?! Do you deserve forgiveness more than the ones who left after killing theirs? All those after who were tortured on racks, starved and murdered. How many of you stopped to think what's fair? Or what about how you all tortured my wife after a plane crash!” Tears threatened to leave his eyes. “When I finally got her back after suffering you all. You killed her! Ripped apart and celebrated over her dead body! You know what would have been fair? If the end did come and wiped this town to ashes! All of you dying a slow death to fall into a deep boiling hell. Why should I help any of you?! What did I deserve to have you all hate me?! What did Lynn do?! We wanted help! We wanted to go home! Now she never will! Because of you! I should have left you all to rot! It's what you all deserve!” His hardened stare broke to look away as the tears fell. The crowd shut down, heads hung low without knowing what to do.

Marta motioned toward the crowd, shuffling them back to the tables. “Go sit.” Given less as an order to suppress their opinions, but more so to give Blake much needed space.

When they backed away Blake could feel himself crashing. Sick to his stomach on shaky legs while tears threatened to fall. His racing heart needed him to run away from the problem. “I have to go.” He spoke quick before heading to his room. Collapsing soon as the door shut behind him. Curled into a sobbing mess against the door his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Crying past them. “I'm sorry Lynn.” Repeated into the night. “I’m so sorry.”

[letsgoshadows]

Starting Line

Xavier had been with the Shadow Company a little over three months– eighty seven days, he knows, could probably guess it down to the hour if he was pressed, and rounds up anyways– when he first met Lieutenant Rockanstansky.

He had needed Mbabazi. His direct superior, yes, but far more than that, far more than the men he could say the same of in the Army were to him, and he would know what to do. Because this wasn’t the Army– and thank God for that. The leash was longer, the collar looser, but when it snapped on you, you had far more to worry about than a discharge. Which was why he needed Mbabazi to sort it out. If it were only him and Fontaine involved, he could handle it. Could handle his bullshit. Knock his teeth out if he was really pressed. But the big, mean son of a bitch had dragged his guys into it, dragged the new kid into it too, made a big goddamn problem of it rather than hashing it out with him outside like real men.

He knocked at the office door, stood at attention, and waited. Shifted his feet a little further apart after he checked his laces and found that he was standing with them close. The lock clicked and the gathered the breath needed for the lines he’d rehearsed and– 

It wasn’t his Sergeant who opened the door. A masked face, eyes perfectly level with his own behind thick tortoise shell aviators. “Ah,” they had said, like he’d shown up right on time. Actually made him doublethink, had he been called and forgot, but then remembered enough for his brain to make something up? “Sergeant,” they leant back into the room, hand still on the door. “I believe your man is here. Spared us the effort of going to find him.” Mbabazi had said something, too quiet for him to really make out but his low voice carried enough to let him know he’d spoken. When they leant back out they’d fixed him with an analytical look, a contemplative sweep over him that made him self conscious of the faults he didn’t even know he had. “You’re here about James?” Was Fontaine’s first name James? He didn’t look like a James. But then again, what he looked like wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could name a baby. And James, the other James, he’d hardly ever spoken to, let alone had an issue with. So this had to be about Fontaine. “Yessir.” He hoped. They’d nodded, just once, and he knew they were done with him.

He stepped to the side, which they acknowledged with a polite nod as they passed, attention already shifted back to the documents in hand, and he slipped inside before turning to watch them go. 

And that is what they are to him for nearly half a year. A tall body, a broad back clad in Shadows black even when they could have dressed down, and a head of shorn off strawberry blonde hair, disappearing down a hall.

In the five months since then, he’s learned a great many things about the life of a mercenary.

Mostly what Mbabzi teaches him. Starting with the fact that he can rely on him to set things right, that even here there were good men and bad men.

He learns that he can choose which he’s going to be, and that you make that choice every day.

He also learns a hell of a lot about explosives. About materials and how they behave when they’re blown up, set on fire, crushed with a hammer, shot full of bullets, or destroyed in any other way he can think of. He learns that he’s a good fit for extraction. Strong, reliable, and safe. Inert, Mbabazi tells him once. Stable and unreactive under the specified conditions, the chemistry textbook he pirates later that night adds. That means that he can go through anything he’s asked to, no matter how hot it gets, and come out the other side intact. It makes him indispensable, lets him make himself so, and it sets him up for a long career in this company. So long as he can survive the lifestyle, the one he learns is a hard one. 

The money, though, is good. If he weren’t as aware of his shortcomings as he is, he might say that was what kept him around.

The others blow theirs as soon as it comes to them. Drugs, women, top shelf alcohol that doesn’t even taste all that much better than the cheap stuff. He likes the drugs too, maybe too much, but he lived in Boston long enough to know what any of them do to you if you take too much, too long. Besides that, prefers his women willing and enthused, not on a payroll. They come to him easy, though, too easy, some part of him knows, and he supposes that makes him say it. If he were like the others, too broken inside and out to lure in anyone near without the promise of a paycheck at the end of it, he might feel differently. But as it stands, he has his pick of the litter. So his money goes elsewhere. He saves part, sends part home. It goes towards his parents' mortgage and his sister's college. When the others ask, and they don’t ask often, he lies. He lies because this is not a job for a man with a family he loves.

The missions are grueling and thankless in a way Army work wasn’t. Hard and dangerous— the people even more so. In eight months he’s seen three men die, men that weren’t meant to, men he knew the names of. One choked on his own blood as it filled his lungs, one burned, and one dead on impact. He knew each time that the next time, if he got careless, if he was unlucky, that could be him too. But he won’t be leaving any orphans.

Not that he knows, anyways. And you can’t fault yourself for what you don’t know.

He learned after joining, for instance, that Russia has been in Iran since the eighteen hundreds. Or, since the 19th century, which he is pretty sure means the eighteen hundreds. And that people have been fighting them since then, hiring people to push them out. It hasn’t worked yet, but that’s never stopped anyone.

It was included in the debrief for the initial mission in the area, a few weeks back. Why they were there, the history and the impact. He doesn’t know if many cared, doesn’t know if he cared all that much, but it was interesting. Meant that someone cared. Felt the need to inform them even when it was all but wasted.

That first mission had gone… decently. Sort of. They got what they needed done, but it was sloppy. No deaths, but Cruz and Moltalvo had gotten hurt, Moltalvo badly. Out of commission for at least a few weeks. Maybe more if the grafts didn’t take right away.

Forever, if they didn’t take at all. The Commander had been angrier than he’d ever seen him. He’d seen people dressed down before, pulled out of the line while he listed off everything they’d gotten wrong. Shouted in their faces, made some of them cry with the abuse. All standard fare for a job with stakes like theirs.

He hadn’t been worried, though. As bad as it felt, and it felt bad, man, to be on the other side of his anger, of his disappointment, he knew it wasn’t him who’d fucked up. Then it had turned into a fucking lynch mob. He’d pulled Benson and Daniels out, same as usual, but when he went for his hip holster, when his pistol grip made contact with Daniel’s temple, dropped the man into a kneel, Xavier knew it would be different. Benson had recognized this, followed suit right after, falling to his knees trying to avoid the same. It hadn’t worked. Graves stood over them both, drove a kick right into his chest, yelling even as he wheezed and doubled. It was ostensibly on behalf of the men hurt, but Xavier knew it wasn’t. It was because they’d fucked up and embarassed the Commander. Made a goddamn joke of the reputation he’d worked so hard to earn, cost him money and time and personnel. Those two were lucky to be alive after what they’d done, what he’d heard they’d done, at least, let alone to have a job at the end of it.

It’s why he wasn’t surprised when he’d invited the others to join in. They were angry too, the only thing keeping it buckled beneath the surface being the fear of reprisal from the boss, and letting them burn it off where it actually belonged only made the punishment easier. Xavier had stood off to the side, watching frozen as the others crowded around. The violence had blurred, his heart beating too fast to let him remember what he had even seen then. Raised voices, the smell of blood. Daniels threw up. Someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. He could have sworn he saw the blood in it. It made him step back, the movement drawing attention. The Commander’s head had snapped up, gaze fixed on him. And he’d asked him what was wrong, low and slow. Why was he standing out? It was the first time he’d ever had such undivided attention from the man. So he’d answered, fumbled something out that he never really heard himself, and that seemed to put out a little of his anger. He tucked his gun away.

And then it was over. He ordered two of them to drag Benson and Daniels off, another to clean up the mess. The rest were dismissed and told not to fuck up the same way.

Left unscathed, it made Xavier all the warier of misstepping. He thinks the Commander knew that too, saw it in his eyes; he’s been on and off of missions since then, in the rotation far more often than most. It makes his bones ache, layers bruise on bruise, but it hurts just right. Keeps his blood pumping, earns him scars with stories, and learns him right. That’s how he knows it’s bad, things gone from tense to desperate, when the Commander calls his Lieutenant down from the tower. Five months and he’d seen them only in passing, a polite nod when their paths crossed or a hop to attention. Only heard their name passed quietly around tables in what he took as a familiar respect, or spit in contempt. He can guess why. The authority chain within the Shadows works as so: Graves, then everyone else. The other officers included. The exception is the Lieutenant.

Operating in that grey space between the top and the rest, the only one whose word is as good as Graves when he’s not around. Not well liked, not by the people Xavier speaks to, works with, but well respected by those closer to them. Carrying a kind of undeniability with them. 

(Them, not him or her, he learned a few weeks in. Some people said otherwise, made sure everyone knew who they meant with the venom in their voices, but the Commander was clear in the way he addressed them. The Lieutenant was something else entirely and that was not up for question.)

When the brief came in the morning before, it’s their name on it that changes the energy of the room completely. It would be them and the Commander both on this one. A low boiling tension, a kind of vicious excitement that simmered under the guise of enthusiasm for the job, swelled in the room. There would be no room for fuckups today, lest either of them catch sight of it.

He wonders if that’s why they stay up in the cockpit with Graves until they’re fifteen minutes out from touchdown. Giving them a moment longer to prepare before they arrive.

When they do come out it’s different from before, the shape of them shrouded in the same heavy gear as him, but still recognizable by the breadth of their shoulders, their stride, towards, rather than away this time. 

They halt at the first row of seats, arms folded behind their back, scan their eyes over the assembled men.

They stop on him, just briefly, and he can’t help but thrill at the sight. They’re of a height with him, but carry themselves with the kind of bearing that sets them miles higher. He wants to earn that kind of attention.

The others bristle, mumble complaints soft enough to keep them from hearing, but fall in line all the same.

(All but the ones with the eye tattoos. The tiny things inked dark and clear that he sees sometimes when he passes their table during downtime, glancing over to see if he can join them, should join them, though he hardly speaks a lick of Spanish, let alone Arabic or Hebrew or Russian or anything else the men there are speaking.)

(They sit a little taller, a little straighter, and he thinks he does too. There was more to them than the insults, the rumors, the hate. They’d been here too fucking long to have earned that vitriol and not made it back in respect along the way.)

“You all know who I am?”

Shadow 0-2. Control. 

Peril.

(He knows the name is a joke, too. Half of a pair that the Commander doesn’t wear his side of, but he doesn’t get it.)

“Yes, LT!”

“Well, alright.” He can’t see their mouth, what of their face wasn’t perpetually hidden behind a mask was now hidden behind goggles and a helmet, a muzzle-like respirator, but he can hear it. He thinks.

“It’s been a while, but I’m glad to see most of you still around,” The words come out in well formed, largely unaccented English. “Most of you.”

If they’re from the States, he couldn’t speak to where. Nor could he say where else. Not England, he’s sure, but past that he couldn't say. They sound educated in that way that peels the accent off of anyone, the way that he doesn’t think he could ever be, the Boston lilt marked too deeply into his voice to be taken seriously.

They run through the mission, secure, extract, rinse, and repeat, six buildings belonging to a shell company that filtered Russian arms into Central Asia, and from there into India and the Middle East, same as Graves had told them before they left, but with an utterly different air to it. If they had been to begin with, they were not smiling anymore.

The Commander smiles, gestures, looks you in the eye while he talks. Takes your shoulder when he needs you to listen closely, leans in and lowers his voice when he needs you to feel important. They talk into the middle distance, sweeping their eyes across the audience, hands moving like talking was what they did to make a living, rather than killing.

He’d been to a college a few times as a teenager. Not to college, but inside of one, touring them in case that was what he wanted to do with his life. It wasn’t, of course, he was built for learning with his body more than learning by listening to others speak, but he remembers it well.

The voice of the graduate professor who’d agreed to give a lecture to the group of listless highschool juniors, the way her voice carried in the hall. He remembers leaning over to his seat mate, some boy that counted him as a friend that he hadn’t liked much but hadn’t done anything annoying enough to tell him to fuck off– he’d wanted to make some smarmy comment to make him laugh. Just to do something besides sit and feel stupid. Before he’d even had the words all the way out, she was calling to him. Asking if he had a question, saying that if he wanted her to answer, he would have to speak up. He, unable to back down, had tried to think of something, muster something up about whatever she’d been talking about. The people around him had snickered into their fists, the boy next to him included. They knew he was dumb, everyone knew that except the too-earnest professor, and those snickers had turned into legitimate laughs as she did her best to actually answer his stupid question.

The ghost of embarrassment rolls down his back, beneath the layers of kevlar and polyester, and he pushes the memory down, tunes back into the present.

It would be 1-2 through 1-5 with the Commander, no surprise there, 4-1 covering for his Sergeant and taking his usual team, which left everyone else with… 

“With me, 3-4, 2-3, and 2-5.”

Before he can really register that he’s been forgotten, the Commander whistles, sauntering up from the cockpit with his helmet in hand, and lays his free hand on their lower back. 

“0-5.” Xavier does his best to repress the jolt that runs through him. Repress the memory of his eyes on him. Of Benson on his knees, of Daniel choking on his own vomit. 

They turn and look at him, not snappishly, but still in a way that makes him tense. You didn’t question in the Army and you certainly don’t question here.

“Extra hand. He’s our new Yamoto.” He’d never met the man– he’d been long gone by the time he’d arrived, much less been chosen to train up as his replacement, but he’s heard his name often. 

“Understood.” And the pressure ebbs. 

It doesn’t leave, it never really leaves when you’re in a life-and-death kind of career, but it mellows.

“Are we all clear on what is to be done today?” Graves takes the reins back and the LT all but fades into the backdrop.

“Yep yep!” It echoed in the little space, louder than the people in there should have been able to make it. “S’what I like to hear.” He chuckles. “We land in ten. Be ready.”

They disappear to the front again on the Commander’s heels. With them behind him, he disappears entirely from sight. It’s no stretch of the imagination to see them doing that on purpose, a warm body between the man they all follow into danger and the danger they follow him into.

The men beside him jostle in a way that couldn’t be passed off as simple turbulence. He keeps his eyes in his lap.

No one speaks, the mics are about to go hot and no one wants to be caught with their CO’s name in their mouth like that, but it makes him think of the things he’s heard elsewhere. Some made his skin crawl enough that he can hardly recall them, save for the lingering feeling of discomfort. 

But some bled together, knit a kind of picture of who they were, filtered with the kind of distaste usually reserved for strict teachers and the parents of spoiled children who’d had enough. They were all ex-military, some with a decade or more under their belts already, and… what? It felt too easy to assume it was the… gender thing. He was no expert in hating women, but the tint to the complaints didn’t seem to point that way. They got that way sometimes, sure, but the better portion was standard military bitching. Vague threats, the promise that they could do better, never mind what they’d have to do to get their position, the works. Maybe they were the worst of the lot. Isn’t that the expression– it’s always the quiet ones? 

Maybe he’d just not been around long enough to see it, maybe he’d see it today, but with the way the same men say his Sergeant’s name when they think he can’t hear, he’s hesitant to believe anything they say.

What he does know: No one has been with the Company as long. His Sergeant came close, by mere months, same as a few others collected early on, but none quite as long as them. No one stood quite as close to Graves, dared to look him so dead on when they spoke. The Lieutenant always seemed to know where they stood with an enviable certainty.

And they would be the one leading him.

The plane sets down on a patch of freshly leveled, clearcut jungle that one could generously call an airstrip. The landing is smooth as it can be for a makeshift touchdown, Gibson is a hell of a pilot, pulled them through fire before, but he still feels every rock and bit of gravel like they’re stuck in his teeth. 

He’s one of the last to pile off, and when he can’t find them at the head of the pack, he turns back to look at the plane.

They’re halfway down the cockpit stairs, their respirator pulled down beneath their chin, eyes closed. It strikes him so oddly that he doesn’t think to look away, that he’s witnessing something private. 

They draw a breath through their mouth, long and slow, then hold it just a moment longer before releasing it. Their eyes open and they quickly go about resetting the respirator over their nose, adjusting the strap holding it in place until it was like it had never been removed. 

Their head rises, gaze meets his, and they tense.

He’s acknowledged with a flash of the fingers– a sign? He doesn’t sign, has a hard time believing they wouldn’t know that, and struggles for a response. They pass him without further acknowledgement. 

Maybe that’s the point; something here was communicated that he has no way to understand.

He follows them back to the pack anyways. From there they divide up, do final checks, and part into the brush.

His team, the Lieutenants team, tracks the long way around in silence. Through the jungle, 2-3 carefully probing for IEDs as they do, and over a series of barbed wire and cinder block walls. One, he notices, stands alone. A wall unconnected to any others. It has a line of bullet holes in it. About neck high on him, broken up by gaps just wide enough to fit his shoulders into. He makes a point not to notice any more on the hour or so march before they reach their target. They ready up to breach the first warehouse as soon as it comes into view– the other teams in position to do the same all over the complex. All at once, together as Shadows. Don’t give them time to know what’s happening. 

There’s seven inside. 2-3 confirms it on his camera. Going about their lives. Hostile. Armed. “No hesitation,” they remind gently. Beside him, 2-5 nods to himself and Xavier thinks the reminder wasn’t for him. They split up, then, the Lieutenant beckoning him to follow. They take him around the far side, while their men handle the front side door. Radios are live, the quiet sounds of movement on the other side as the others get into position. “Set,” they whisper, wary of being heard inside. “Ready?” The Commander asks.

“Ready,” 2-5 confirms for all of them. The others follow suit.

The first gunshots break out in the distance. First far to the west, with 0-4. Then to the north with the Commander. 

“Door,” they whisper, and he’s moving before the word is even done.

He can see clear through the building as it swings open under his sledge, see the other trio claim their kills with ease, one after the other and before he can even pull his rifle. The Lieutenant takes one through the head as he tries to come at them with a knife, then another at the same time that one of the others catches him in the back.

The last two fall together, one pierced through the shoulder by the same bullet that opened his brother's neck. He doesn’t die immediately, hitting the concrete with a bloody, gurgled scream and another bullet finds the space between cheek and jaw before he can turn his head enough to confirm his loss. 

“Reloading.” It’s all they say before confirming the others are ready to continue, and heading forward.

He keeps his rifle up, checking for hideouts as steps over the bodies, the two men about his age whose eyelids still twitch with the last ounces of life in them. The others pay no attention to their own, save for 2-3 frisking down the bodies as the others stand watch.

Before she finds anything, though, the radio crackles to life.

“Need help at six.” He thinks he can recognize 4-1’s voice. Nervous, though, whoever it is. Weren’t they meant to be at warehouse five? “More than we thought. 0-4 got nicked– not bad, but it cut right through his armor, and–”

“Identify hostiles,” They order immediately, voice almost artificially leveled.

“We have a bead on twelve. Men on foot inside the warehouse, two levels. Has eyes on us.”

“Nationality, providence,” They hiss.

“Armament,” the Commander adds, low and sharp.

“Iranian militia,” 4-1 growls. “Better armed than the fuckin’ convoys we passed going in. Russkie money filtering through here.” Which meant better armed than the men here. He looks to the two boys, with the rifles older than they were, older than they’d ever be, now, and spares a thought to the briefing he’d kept folded up on his desk. Then returns his attention to the person he is sure now to have written it.

They shake their head, but go quiet. Thoughtful silence, he thinks. They seem like the thoughtful kind.

They linger on the button and he watches, soft– and how does he know they’re soft?– fingertips stroking it idly as the silence draws long. He doesn’t know how long passes before they press it, leaning into their shoulder.

“Commander?” Graves sighs. 

“I’m thinkin’, Peril.” The way he says their name makes him shiver. How can it rest so easy in his mouth? Experience? Or did it come with the title? “Don’t rush me unless you have a better idea.” They pull their fingers away.

The operative word there, he knows, is better. It’s a challenge. 

Mbabazi does that, sometimes, too when someone won’t quit pushing. Not enough to punish outright, but too much to tolerate. So you set them up to learn a lesson, let them reveal their own faults so that you can excise them.

The Lieutenant does no such thing. They heel, wait for his word. 

Still as a statue they wait, shrouded entirely in black. They all are, head to toe and near identical, but they had always been covered that way. He’d never seen their face before today. Trying to connect it, the now-blurry image in his head, to the person he was looking at felt like trying to put a face to a tombstone. Someone you knew once but would not ever see again. He hoped it was otherwise, but–

He hears a tongue click and his eyes snap back to the radio, like there’s anything more to see than their hand wrapped around it. 

“4-1, you and yours are gonna sit tight. Do not engage and do not move until we come and join you.” Oh, he was mad.

“I’ll collect the LT, get us ready for a firefight, keep the scene tight, and be with you in ten. Fifteen, max.”

“In the meantime, our mission is clearance, not containment. You see someone running and you put them the fuck down. This is a closed scene and American Ops aren’t welcome here. We understood?”

He responds on reflex, confirming his agreement like it actually matters here, despite the call button remaining distinctly undepressed.

3-4 throws him a look. He flips him off while the others aren’t looking.

“Peril, you come and find me. Round the back of warehouse five.” “Yessir,” they echo gently into their silenced radio.

They spare a look to 2-3, who nods, holding her rifle aloft again.

It’s a short trek between buildings, though with 4-1’s warning in mind they take it far slower, more cautiously than before. They make for the edges of the clearing, where the foggy floodlights don’t quite penetrate, and stay there in the shadows until they sight Graves.

They pick up their pace to meet him, the Lieutenant quickly taking their place closest to him. He stays close to the Lieutenant as they do, trailing their heels just a few feet back, and hears the Commander hiss as they come to his side. “Fuckin’ worthless.” The Lieutenant either does not hear this, or willingly ignores it. “Put them on cover, go in ourselves?”

“Gonna have to.” He spits. “You, me, Heliodor?” He shakes his head. “Want a better rifle. Keller.” “Keller,” they echo dully. “And Baby. Need a hammer.” Their head tilts.

“Baby?” He isn’t sure how to take the incredulity in their voice, but he tries not to take it personally.

“0-5,”  the Commander drawls, the curl of his mouth pressing the words into shape as he tips his head towards them. He thinks he hears them snort behind the mask. “Ah, Wolffe. Cute.” It was not an amused ‘cute’.

“Get us ready,” he snaps. They stiffen, but confirm they will as he stalks off to retrieve the needed men.

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem worried, though, crouching down and popping their computer case open on their knees. He stands loosely beside them, just in case. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t make an effort to know more than is offered to him. But when their hand comes up, trying to shield the screen from the full moon, he shifts to the right. Puts his bulk, if you could call it that, between them and it. A little laugh wells from them, barely enough to hear, let alone recognize as a laugh, if he hadn’t been listening for their response so carefully.

“Thank you, Wolffe.” They tap away a few minutes, 2-3 coming over to deliver their gear to them. They trade a few objects, allow him to fasten a few to their armor, then shut the laptop and pass it off to him. 

“Good luck, LT,” he tells them with a pat on the arm. Then, catches him off guard by addressing him as well. “You too, Baby. Stay safe.” 

Unsure what to say, he lets the man take off for the larger group being sorted out by Graves.

He returns a moment later with Keller in tow. With the others stalking off, taking stock of the area again and keeping it clear for them to work, their own team starts for the building. 

They had been tipped off by the firefights earlier, it would be a careful creep towards the building. The windows are dark, cloudy panes of old plate glass embedded in rusty metal siding. Along the side of the building, leading up to the only door they could reasonably get to with the floodlights illuminating all other avenues, is a narrow fire escape, leading up to a balcony. “You wanna take the lead, Peril? You got the camera.” Their head dips and they slide past him to take point. “Step to the outside, reduces noise,” they instruct at the bottom of the steps. They follow them up the iron fire escape in single file. At the top of the stairs, they crouch to get an eye beneath the door frame. “Wolffe, here,” they whisper. He’s at their side before he can even digest the order. “Wedge the door up for me, enough space for a snake.” He pulls a knife off his belt, the one he’d won off of Fontaine that had gotten them into that fight all those months back, and bends the blade prying the door up. He focuses on keeping it that way, even as Graves leans over him, puts his weight on his shoulder. The space is small, Keller can’t even fit up there with them, he was just trying to see what Peril– the Lieutenant– was looking at.

“East, just one for now,”  they order. 

The ordered shot rings, followed by a harsh machine sound and a dull flash of light from inside. They lean in towards the Commander.

“Half a second?” Graves sniffs. 

“Plus the turn.” His voice is low and tense, but cooler than he thinks he’d be in the circumstance. 

“Second and a half,” they amend.

“Think so?”

They turn over their shoulder to glance at him, pulling the camera back and coiling it as they do. 

“How fast can you get the door open, given the space we have?” Meaning: without blowing it up.

He slips up between them, heart picking up speed at the space being yielded to him by them both. The door itself was solid, iron shell over wood and set in a metal frame, but sliding his fingers around it he can tell that it’s a metal brace– more for appearances of security than actual impenetrability. The whole warehouse was built that way, some Cold War relic with too many coats of paint to make it look new again to people who didn’t know better. (Something about that initial brief comes back up in his memory, connecting to the thought in a way he can’t quite place, but it’s quickly replaced with more immediately pressing concerns.) “I can take it off fast, no problem, but they’ll hear it.” They nod and a giddy kind of warmth blooms in his chest. Just doing something right wasn’t cause for celebration, but it feels like it is in the moment, coming from them. “Understood. Keller, Graves, cover?” Both affirm. “Ready.” They slide past, ready to join in right behind. The screws holding the door hinges on are so old that once the solvent eats away the paint on them, they all but crumble away under his screwdriver. Testing it with his fingers reveals that the lock is all that holds it on.

“All ready?” His voice almost surprises him, the edge to it sounding unlike him. Nothing for it but to lean into it, though.

“Ready,” the three echo. He raises his hammer high.

The door cracks, spins on its corner, and falls to the side as they come out onto the balcony. Keller and Graves each take a guard on the rail, while the Lieutenant drops the man on the chain gun, before it can even begin to whir. 

The other men scramble to recover, one taken by Graves when he goes for the mounted gun and another by Keller when he gets a bead on the LT as they duck out of cover for their own shot. 

He’d dropped his hammer in the same motion he’d taken the lock off with, just to get it out of the way faster, but drawing a rifle took time and the fight was all but over  already. The men inside were scattered and panicking and no budget on imported gear can make up for you dropping your gun. 

Graves picks off another, and the LT takes the one beside him. Keller sends one stumbling, coughing, when whatever he’d been hiding behind starts to smoke, the rounds fired into it setting something off inside, wandering right into the LT’s line of sight.

Another follows, then another, one without a gun in his hands, and he picks off one of his own when he darts between crates. He kills the man who tries to drag him back into cover, too.

One, he doesn’t even see him until his rifle is peering over the balcony, and a shot from the LT sends him right back down the ladder. That– was that twelve? It had to be, but it felt like more– “Cover,” The Commander demands as he moves to slide down the ladder. The sound of his boots hitting the cement are muffled in the chest of the man who’d fallen, quickly kicked aside. Keller follows. The Lieutenant issues him down before themselves, a large hand splayed on his shoulder that he feels even once it’s pulled away.

There’s silence on the first floor, but for the sound of their footsteps, their breathing. Each row of crates yielding nothing but gently bleeding bodies, surreptitiously checked for life and then forgotten, as the silence grows deeper. Then, a horrible, proud yell from the lone survivor, a blur of movement in his peripheries, spattered in others blood as he rears up from behi—

The sound is cut short. His knife, wickedly curved and shining even in the dingy light, clatters to the ground. The Commander has to step to the side to avoid the body tipping over onto him.

“That was fourteen,” the Lieutenant grits, popping the clip from their rifle.

“Check,” The Commander snaps in the same breath.

4-3 retrieves the small screened device from the Lieutenant’s back.

“Only things in here are us and the rats, Commander.” The waver in his voice betrays his upset, despite the aggressive professionalism employed.

And that was that. Mission accomplished. 

The walk is still nearly an hour back to the plane, but somehow it feels shorter this time. With the sun coming up, Keller and Graves leading the pack again and keeping watch for mines, he’s not watching his steps as carefully, and he can let his mind wander. Walking closer to the Lieutenant, he falls into a steady  pace beside them, struggling to think of something to say that he wouldn’t hate himself for tomorrow. By the time he finally settles on asking about their name, the plane appears through the gaps in the trees, and he decides to save it for later. Graves breaks away immediately, saying nothing. He meets the waiting pilot at the door, exchanges what could have only been a handful of words, and climbs the cockpit steps inside. That leaves the Lieutenant for final checks with the rest of the Shadows. Going through each of them as they board, reporting injuries back to base ahead of time, making sure everything is strapped in for the flight, and ensuring that 4-0 isn’t gonna bleed out before they get back. It’s peaceful, really. The fear, of the Commander, mostly, but also of his Lieutenant’s presence among them, means it’s quiet. But they don’t bother him like they do the others, even less so now that he’s been under fire with them. It’s comfortable, almost. Once the engines start up, he can hardly hear himself breathe. Sometimes, he has to remind himself to when it feels like he isn’t. They move so quietly around the room he wonders if they breathe at all. It’s a stupid thought, he knows, but seeing them work, carefully zip up the long diagonal line that crosses 4-0’s back, it makes him feel… He doesn’t know.

He likes it, though. The Lieutenant leaves after the graze is clean, sealed to their satisfaction. They toss him a spare shirt and some instruction, and make their exit. They say nothing to him, which he tells himself does not hurt, is to be expected.

No one else speaks either, even once they’re gone. The mission is done, in short order too, but something feels… wrong.

The uneasy  peace holds that way, tense and awkward, until they’re in the air. Cruising altitude. The plane levels out and the Commander comes through the door hard enough to throw it into the wall.

“Who the fuck said twelve!” Xavier hadn’t been in any danger of falling asleep, but he’d certainly turned off the part of his brain that dealt with danger, giving it a rest after the hours of work it had put in. Having to start it up quickly made him jolt, made his head swim. “I want to know right now who the fuck put me and my people in danger like that!” He’d taken his helmet off, which in the quick track change from safety to danger, makes Xavier worry. Like it means someone is gonna hurt him, because he wasn’t ready. That thought makes him tense, nearly undo his belt and get to his feet as 4-1 rises. He tries to say something, tries to argue, he thinks, but Xavier can’t hear it over the roar of blood in his ears. Graves responds in kind, louder, angrier, and so does 4-1. He wouldn’t lay a hand on him, right? None of them would, the Commander– Movement catches his eye. The glint of mirrored glass. The Lieutenant is in the doorway. He relaxes before he even realizes he is. If they’re there, if they aren’t charging in… It was alright. They thought it was safe. They wouldn’t let anything happen to Graves. He realizes he’s staring when they give him a little wave, an unspoken: ‘Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.’

He tries to refocus on the argument, but it seems to be over.

“Then what the fuck do we pay you for?” The Commander throws him back into the seats. His head makes an ugly sound where it hits the frame. 

“Fuck up like that again, it’s not the goddamn Russians you have to worry about, you fuckin’ understand me?”

4-1 mumbles something like ‘Yes, Sir.’, but Graves isn’t around to hear it. The Lieutenant shuts the door behind him. He hears the lock click.

It’s quiet again, deadly so, after that, until they make it home.

The hangar crew is waiting there on arrival, the assistant medic whose name has yet to stick in his head there for 4-0.

And that’s it, really. No more fanfare. Seems to him like the Commander had worn himself out on the flight back, would handle everything else later. They’re dismissed back to do as they like, reports due in the next twelve hours.

(In his head, he had already begun rehearsing his, using the little frame Mbabazi had given him. Cause and effect, what happened and why he thinks it did, how to attribute it to the people who did it. It made him feel like he was back in highschool again, but–) He’s halfway to the inner door, head deep in his own concerns, when they find him. A hand catches his arm, not roughly, which is the first clue as to who it is, but he doesn’t register that until he’s already turning to face them. He comes to a heel reflexively, before they even signal that they’re going to speak. Before he can ask, he’s frozen in place.

They’d replaced their goggles and muzzle with their usual again, beret gone and pale hair plastered to their head with sweat. It makes his teeth hurt, makes him feel hot. He isn’t focusing and he needs to, but their tac vest is open and hanging off like they’d been in the middle of taking it off and the last thing in the world he needs to think about is Graves’ lieutenant taking anything off and– They smile at him. Their face is still covered, all hidden but the bridge of their nose and what he can see beneath the glass of their glasses, but he recognizes the expression from that alone. “You did well today, Wolffe. I’m glad to have you with us.” They say it with a little nod that makes a curl of light, nearly pink looking, red hair that’s slipped from the rest bounce. They reach up to tuck it back behind their ear and he notes, ever so briefly, the slight shine to their nails. Painted, clear. Short and neat, at the end of long, pale fingers, marked with simple black eyes over each joint. 

Then they’re gone again, a new memory of the way they look pacing away from him to usurp the old.

[cherry-blitzie]

Sometimes, I don’t feel like I’m an INFP, guys. I’m often described as blunt as hell, fiery, impulsive, aggressive (happens, ye :/ ), not sure if independent is appropriate but my dad once told me that he didn’t worry much about me bc I didn’t care about romance and stuff and considering my personality and little issue (I’m transgender, that’s not an issue at all) like I’m a tiny demon. And though I like the idea of having someone to share my life with, I don’t look forward to it bc I’m fine on my own, I don’t want to give up on my freedom and cut my metaphorical wings for anyone.

I can and will fight anyone steeping on my boundaries and I will fiercely protect my loved ones.

Have some examples of what makes me sometimes feel like I’m not an INFP, though I can see myself as an INFP:

• When I was 14, there was this kid in class who would always make sure I couldn’t take notes of what the teacher was saying, especially in math class bc I struggled a lot with math and this bitch knew that (yk it’s bad when kids think you can’t add two and two) and you have to know that even I had no idea I would do that until I saw the sharp end of my geometry compass stabbed in that mf’s arm.

• When I was 17, I got pissed so I set stuff on fire in front of the principal’s office door at school in FUCKING PUBLIC

• When I was about 16, a kid told me to stfu in German class while I was responding to the teacher bc she asked me a question, I grabbed my water bottle that was completely filled bc I hadn’t drank yet and smashed it on his stupid nose, serves him right

• When I was about 17, I grabbed my 10yo brother by the collar and threw him on the couch at home bc he was being a lil shit and that wasn’t the right time to upset me (that kid still remembers it and weirdly behaves when I scold him and he’s much taller and more muscular than me)

• When I was in high school, I would drive the principal crazy just for fun bc she hated my guts so I would give her an actual reason to do that

• Last year, I verbally fought a violent man without flinching an inch while knowing what I was risking but I didn’t care at all

• When I was about 7, my grandma used to tell me to eat my carrots (in France, we say that it makes you nice and makes your thighs pink but it depends on the area where you live bc my best friend was told that she would have a great eyesight bc « have you ever seen a rabbit wearing specs? ») and I told my grandmother that I’d rather be unpleasant than to eat my carrots

I’ve always been like this, straightforward, tactless, seen as mean, as stubborn as it’s humanly possible to be and rebellious with obvious authority issues and a concerning liking for destruction (I’ve always loved storms and the sound of thunder, that kind of things). It’s only recently that I’ve heard about how fiercely loyal I could be, for example. And I don’t see it, I just see an overprotective dumbass who’ll go through hell with and/or for his loved ones and stay until the bitter and bc I’m that kind of moron. But I’m also deeply honest and won’t go against who who I am and that lead to years of bullying and lots of anxiety nowadays.

Good thing I’m socially awkward irl, I’m telling you