#and then he's pulverized off the face of the earth

[melanodis]

making a shitpost because i dont want to finish this rn

[mingsoooo]

Just Us Two

Pairing: Jake& Sunghoon & the fem reader

Genre: R18, smut, unprotected, vampires

Synopsis: You were supposed to be at a match making ball. But why were you in the presence of the two men?

wordcount: 1.5+

Author's Note: AHHH! I FINALLY HAD THE COURAGE TO WRITE A SMUT??! WTF! anyways, although it is me pushin bounderies, i can tell it's not polished but welp, this is me today. I shall write better tmmr! enjoy

"Huh," you gasped at the sight of two men near you. The only source of light was the little lamp near the bedtable. It was still hard for you to cope that you had traveled through time and had landed in the household of Sim's. They were a warm family who were kind enough to let you stay with them while you stayed there as a guest. 

"Ou, Y/n-ahh, you finally woke up. You see, me and Hoon were deciding who should be the one to enter you first." Jake's eyes glistened in a vermillion red. 

'Eh? What?' Your blurry eyes shot open. What on earth was happening? All you knew was that you were about to attend one of the matchmaking balls for the first time, but then you drank a cup of water and then.

"Now now, how about you be a good girl and let us pleasure you?" Jake got down on his knees and pulled both your knees towards him. Meanwhile, Sunghoon, the butler of the family, had a cold look in his eyes. 

He spoke no words but instead took off his shoes and sat behind you while you were dressed in only a single layer of clothing. Jake took off his gloves while his long, warm fingers slowly drew down your thighs. The touch was slow and teasing. "Ah~" You took a sharp breath in as he placed his entire palm on the side of your enclosed thighs. 

You could feel your head clouding up. Meanwhile, Sunghoon nibbled on your earlobes. His wet lips slowly bit your ear while his crotch directly pressed against your back. 

"How could you go to the matchmaking when you have us~" Sunghoon had a bitter tone in his voice. He moved down from the ears as he started to lick your neck. You could feel your body starting to feel ablaze as these two men focused on your two holes. 

"Tsk." Jake clicked his tongue as he spared a glance at your face, which was pulverized to the core. Just the hot breath of Sunghoon was enough for you to feel the ecstasy, which didn't sit quite well with him. He forcefully opened your legs, diving his face into your womanhood. Underneath the chemise, his warm breath hit your sex, which throbbed. 

In a slow motion, his tongue touched your clitoris. In just a touch, your soft moan entered Sunghoon's ears. It was sensual. Sunghoon, meanwhile, took his sweet time biting and leaving marks on your neck. He kissed your jaw, your nose, your neck, and at the very end, your lips, while his hands reached for the chemise as he slowly took it off of you. 

Jake fiddled with your clitoris with his tongue while a subtle amount of your juices started to hit his jaw. 

"Your trembling, Y/N-ah. Do you want me that bad?" Jake sensually spoke while having his face only an inch apart from your womanhood. 

"Yes~" you managed to say in between Hoon's smooches all over your body. 

Your answer brought a smirk on Jake's face as he dove into your sex. Jake was not so gentle as he pushed his tongue through the hole, making you whine. Your insides could feel the burning sensation as he pushed his tongue through. 

Sunghoon had both his hands touch your bosom. His big, warm hands fondled your breasts, slowly tingling your nipples while he pressed his messy lip on top of yours. Sunghoon was far from generous, as he too entered your mouth, exploring parts of you with his tongue while pinching your nipples. It was euphoria at its finest, intoxicated in the fluids of two of the finest men of the kingdom. 

Your breath started to labour. It was hard to breathe as Sunghoon continued to kiss you, muffling and tying down your moans. Jake, on the down end, had started to move with a faster momentum, making your hips shake in a faster movement. His face buried in between your legs, your legs unconsciously wrapped around his neck while your arms reached for Sunhoon's manhood. The hard, thick dick had started to poke your back. 

While you slowly stroke it underneath the pants, your hips could feel something burning up. Jake moved even faster, drinking away all your juices, while Sunhoon's grunts pleasured your ears as he nibbled on your shoulder. His gentle hands cupped your bosom, giving equal attention to each of them. Just a little more! You could feel your insides burning; your body started to move on its own as you gave all your attention to the hoon's manhood, which pushed you to be out. 

"Ah~" you screamed out as you came out. The overflowing sticky juices were like a hot, thick stream of river that splattered on Jake's face, but instead of disgust, he had a golden smile on his face. You had your eyes closed, lips almost drooling. You were breathless. Accelerating heartbeat, and even your hand had let go of Hoon's dick. 

Like a crashing wave, Jake drank all of it. Not leaving a single dropout just then Sunghoon made you turn towards him. His cheeks were rosy, his ears slightly flustered, and although your legs were not working, he took off his pants while kissing your right breast. His teeth slowly bit your tip while also caressing your other breast. 

This time around, you had no control over your moans. You had your eyes closed while Hoon was done taking off his pants. His thick and long manhood stood straight, ripping hot. While Jake wiped his lips with the back of his hands. The sound of your moans was like music to his ears. Your body was trembling and your pussycat even more. 

Your hole continued to throb, and so he pulled your hips back while leaning at your back. "May I enter you, princess?"

His hand spanked your butt cheeks, and only then did you tear your attention from Sunghoon and give a soft nod. It was fairly obvious you had fingered yourself every night, but of course, your tiny fingers were nowhere near the real thing. As Jake's thick dick entered inside you, you could feel yourself being torn apart. It was hurtful, tears pooling in your eyes, but instead of caressing you, Hoon brought your face closer to his dick. 

"How about you lick it?" 

His face underneath the lamp's dim light looked glorious, especially his scarlet-red eyes and his burning cheeks. Only a breath away was his dick, which you had touched and stroked. With curiosity, you wrapped your fingers around it and brought your tongue near its tip. Just as you touched it, it tingled. It had a musky scent. 

While Jake slowly started to move, you too twirled your lips around Sunghoon's grith. Your fingers started to move up and down his size while your tongue took down a little part of him at a time. Jack, behind you, took his time moving his hips while spanking your butt; after all, you were a naughty little girl taking in two of the kingdom's best bachelorettes all for yourself. 

Hoon pulled your hair to the side, taking a bite at your shoulder. 

"Ah~" you whined in pain. His sharp canines entered your skin, taking away your blood while your insides throbbed. You tightened around Jake's dick, which only made him more excited. In the midnight, when everyone except the night creatures were said to have fallen asleep, inside the chateau of the Sim's, where no servants were present, three young blood shared their love. 

The moans and groans and sounds of the bodies filled the air. The night continued to get darker while the three of them continued the filthy yet pleasuring act of sharking the fluids, intoxicating themselves until they completely became wild. 

You had both your holes filled. Your senses had become numb, and especially having your blood taken, you had completely lost sense of yourself. You could feel the movements. The way your body prepared you to come. Jake started to move even faster. His hips thrust up and down, similar to Sunghoon, who had his bulge fill your lips with cum. 

"Ah~ just like that." 

Although Hoon was closed off and spoke fewer words, the way he had his way with his words was like a stroke of magic. Jake could feel your insides taking hold of him. Just a little more! He could feel it. Jake's moans and grunts started to get louder, and his spanks were even more. 

"Ah~"

That was your breaking point! You cum along with Hoon and Jake. It was a sticky mess as all three of your sex juices mixed with your fluids. Jake had your hole filled with his warm white cum, which overflowed and even leaked on the bed. 

Meanwhile, your mouth was filled with Sunghoon's cum. Warm, stinky, and mouthful as you drank it all, but your eyes started to get blurry. Naked under the mercy of two nightly creatures, you had fallen asleep.

"So brave to think this is enough to satisfy us while sleeping so peacefully." Jake reached to your face and pulled the hair from the side of your face. 

[berylcups]

Idk if you requests are closed or not pookie but can I get a vento aureo X reader like it doesn’t really matter who but like this is my first ever request to anyone so I don’t know how😭💕

Hello There! So sorry I took so long! Since it's your first request I wanna make sure it's a good one. And for waiting so patiently, I added 2 bonus character! 🥰 I Really hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for sending in an ask!

What Makes La Squadra Unexpectedly Blush? +2 Secret Characters!

CW: Suggestive content, blood mention, eating, death mention, body dysmorphia (DW, you get supported booboo❤)

Risotto 

The first time you made him blush was when you came back from a mission that didn’t go as smoothly as you expected it to. You dripping from head to toe caked in the enemies blood. And it’s not simply because of the blood factor. He felt hot under the collar because you weren’t some dainty little prince/ss that avoided dirt and grime. He loved how you weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. From getting forearm deep in soil while working in your garden, whipping up a new recipe in the kitchen, to painting a masterpiece out of oil paints, to committing murder. He would have to excuse himself every time to get ahold of himself!

Risotto heard loud chopping and slamming noises coming from the kitchen. 

“That doesn’t sound good…” he pondered to himself . 

He went into the kitchen to see you hunched over a bloody massive piece of meat ready to slam the tenderizer over it again. He felt his heart skip a beat as he watched you pulverize the meat getting myoglobin liquid all over you.

“What are you making today???” He purred as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind while resting his chin on your head.

“Just a roast. Nothing special…” you panted. Tenderizing took a lot of energy but it’s good exercise! 

“ I bought this tougher cut because it was cheaper and I could just tenderize the shit out of it to make it softer.” You explained.

“Mmm… you’re doing a damn good job.” He kissed you on the top of the head.

Formaggio 

Formaggio always thought it was downright adorable when he caught you lost in thought. He always knew you had a million thoughts going through your head that you tended to drift off into your own little world. You would make this cute face that would stare off into space that would just make him fanboy and blush over how adorable you were being. 

“...” you were staring out the window half listening to what he was saying. It was a sunny day out and the sky seemed bluer than usual. When was the last time the sky was this blue? When was there anything else in nature that was that blue??? You really like blue…Blue is a cool color. Its also a primary color. It’s the only cool primary color-

“Hey~.Earth to Y/N~. Are you there?” he questioned holding back a laugh.

“Oh- shit. Maggi. Sorry uh…what were you saying?” you asked completely off guard.

“Pfft. I was talking about our next mission silly. Heh, you are too cute, you know that?” he pinched your cheek. 

“Sorry, My mind always tends to wander.”you sighed.

“Don’t be, baby. You’re just a deep thinker. We need people like that, you know. You’re hard thinking keeps me out of trouble, and I keep you from going too deep down the rabbit hole. We complete each other!” he patted your back.

“Yeah, you’re right. Well now that you have my attention, lets go over the plan again.”

Illuso 

He looks like a stuck up judgmental prick but there’s one thing he can’t get enough of is…a super soft body! When he saw your stomach rolls as you sat down on the couch he had to keep his hands to himself. He really wanted to touch your belly. He’s still learning that this is a sensitive subject so he showers you with praises and tries his hardest not to grope your soft rolls. (A+ for effort… D- for execution 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♂️) 

You were looking at yourself in the mirror with your old favorite outfit on. You weren’t happy that it wasn’t fitting right. There were rolls flooding out, too much chest showing that you were comfortable with, shorts hugging your thighs a little too tight.

“Sigh… really??? I gained more weight didn’t I? Son of a bitch.” You groaned.

“Quit acting like that’s a bad thing.” You heard a voice through the mirror.

“Lulu! You’re watching me through the mirror AGAIN??? You perv.” You hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been here the whooole time. It’s not my fault you just noticed.” He snickered as he came out.

He picked you up and put you down on the bed so he could snuggle you.

“Heheheh so soft…” he buried his face in your chest.

“That’s the only good thing about me.” You whined. 

“Bullshit! I love this soft belly and this ass… and these thicc thighs!” He sighed happily. “You’re clearly perfect because I have high standards hun.”

“Pffft! Whatever!” You laughed.

“It’s true. You’re stuck with me. Sucks to be you!” He chuckled while peppering your face with butterfly kisses.

Prosciutto 

You looked in your compact mirror and sighed. You were hyper focusing on every single line on your face. A face that this uptight man adores! The time he saw your smile lines it melted his heart! It just showed that you were living your life right! He HATED all this plastic surgery and Botox bullshit… whatever happened to aging gracefully and naturally??? Of course if that’s what you wanted that’s what you get. But he’ll be damned if he’s going to let the media make you feel self conscious! Not on his watch! 

“You’re frowning amore. What’s wrong?” He inquired.

“I feel like I’m too young to be getting wrinkles…” you grumbled. “ These smile lines make me look like I’m 100 years older than I really am! And I think I’m starting to see crows feet.”

“ You're using a high magnifying mirror. Of course you are going to see everything that you don’t want to see.  And you don’t look older. Even if you do, there's nothing wrong with that.” He asserted as he brushed aside your hair.

“But—-“ you began.

“No buts. Before you even say aging isn’t hot I give you a counterpoint: Milfs and Dilfs. GMilfs and GDilfs if you will.” He stated.

“O-oh…” your face became flushed. “But even so… I’m not ready to be considered one of those just yet.” You stuttered.

“If you really need it I will get it taken care of. But I really like your smile lines. I think they make your smile that much more attractive. But it’s all about what makes you comfortable.” He kissed your forehead.

“Thanks Prosci. You're so sweet! Maybe in a couple years I’ll embrace it…”

Melone

Melone has a lot of fetishes… feet are just the tip of the pervert’s iceberg. He never knew how flustered he could get when he watches you eat. Watching you munch away and stuffing your cheeks like a hamster, hes in love~! Fuck table manners! He doesn’t care!  Be as messy as you want, be as prim and proper as you want, or better yet…let him feed YOU. He daydreams sometimes about you objectifying him by eating sashimi and nigiri sushi off his nude body…but he knows you won’t go for it… It’s unsanitary and quite expensive to secure that much sashimi grade fish. 

“Are we feeding for two~?” He purred rubbing your belly.

“You wish.” You snickered. “I’m just really in the mood for grapes.” you stated grabbing a handful and eating it like popcorn.

“Perhaps I should fix that then… hmm?” he flirted again. “Would you be open to eating a fruit salad off my beautiful body???”

“Haha ew no Mel. That's unsanitary and you won’t stay still for that long” you giggled. “But you can feed me grapes like I'm some sort of Roman God/dess.” you offered. 

“Really?! Yes Amore! I’d love to~!” he eagerly grasped the bowl and started feeding you.

“Very good…now try to act like you don’t have a raging hard on when you give me more.” you snickered.

Ghiaccio 

The first time you got chilly from the drafty base. Seeing your skin go from smooth to having the lightest little hairs on your body stand up to trap in your body heat in did something to his brain chemistry. Looking and feeling every bump of your cold skin makes him feral. When your teeth start chattering he’s having a full blown brain aneurysm.

“Geez Y/N. I know it’s winter but it’s not THAT cold. It’s 7 C outside.” He observed your shaking.

“ 7 C my ass! I used to live on an island! This is freezing for me!” You chattered through your teeth. “See??? Look at this Ghia. Look. My skin is getting Bumpy! It’s weird!” You snatched his hand and forced it to rub up against your arm.

“It’s called goosebumps dumbass..” He grumpily remarked. “I kinda like it…” he bit his lip while staring at your chilly skin.

He subconsciously kept rubbing your arm, enjoying the sensation. 

“Hey~ I think you’re enjoying it too much, you lil perv. Your cheeks are turning red.” You whined.

“Shut up.” He used his stand to make his hands ice cold and proceeded to grab your shoulders.

“Ghiaccio—-stop it you prick!!!  It’s too cold~!” You squealed and tried to flail out of his grip.

He clung on harder while laughing. “You big baby! I’ll show you cold!” He squeezed your chest with his frozen hands.

“Aaaah——! Not my titties/man-titties!” You squealed again.

*Bonus!*

Doppio/Diavolo

The boss couldn’t help himself but feel his cheeks turn red from hearing you mumbling to yourself. He thought it was just too damn cute! He’s never letting you go.

“*mumble mumble* Y/N you are sooo forgetful! Where on earth did we put your favorite CD?” You mumbled to yourself as you looked through the CD booklet. “We absolutely CANNOT clean the living room without our favorite album on. Doppio will be sad and Boss will be grumpy when they see that the living room isn’t spotless!”

“Haha~! Oh Y/N… who on earth are you talking to?” Doppio giggled.

“Oh—you’re home early! I’m so sorry that the house is still a mes—“

“No no! It’s okay! We can do it together now that I’m home early!” Doppio beamed while grabbing a broom.

“Tuuuu rurururrururrururu! Oh the boss is calling! I have to take this first.” He said as he grabbed the dust pan and brought it to his ear. “Doppio speaking!”

“Oh- oh my… of course! I’ll tell them!” His face was flushed as he hung up the “phone”

“Umm… uh, the boss wants to let you know you’re doing a good job and he’s going to reward you when he comes home!” He stuttered.

“Oh…” your cheeks turned pink. The boss seems to be in a good mood today. 😳 I wonder who did he cross off on his hit list today…

Tiziano & Squalo 

You get flustered easily and having two boyfriends just makes it so much worse. You get tongue tied and so flustered that you suddenly stop speaking! They can't help but be a little flushed themselves seeing you shy up so adorably like you do!

“What’s the matter Y/N? Talking Heads got your tongue?” Tiziano purred brushing the hair out of your face. 

“….” Your face went beet red as he flirted and you turned your head to break eye contact.

“Tiziano… don’t be so intense. Poor Y/N just went nonverbal on us. We need to take things more slowly.”  Squalo whined.

“I know I know… but aren’t they just so cute when they get shy like this? I could just eat them up!” Tiziano chuckled.

“I’d say it’s a bit more than just shyness. I do admit it is cute though.” Squalo replied while stroking your hair to comfort you.

“Don’t worry about being verbal or not Y/N. We will always be here for you. If anyone has a problem with your lack of communication we will speak for you” Tiziano cooed.

“There will be hell to pay if anyone has a problem with OUR Y/N…” Squalo growled defensively.

“Calm yourself Squalo. We both know Y/N is perfectly safe in our hands.” He responded, giving Y/N a kiss on the forehead. 

[rosemaidenvixen]

Witch Hunter

Chapter 25

<Previous

Ao3

Claire watched the dirt boil and seethe as her vines dragged Temperance down to her living grave. Frightened gaze vanishing beneath the earth, fingers scrabbling on the surface until they too were pulled down. The dirt shifted and churned a few moments more before going still, not a trace of Temperance remaining.

She thought she’d feel some sense of satisfaction at this, some finality. Instead the searing rage shooting through her sank deeper, smoldering low and dangerous.

“Satan’s harlot!”

She scowled, rage surging back in full force, as she turned towards her other prisoner.

Hopkins squirmed against the ground. Held in place by her vines. Hair all askew and face red, practically spitting with rage.

“Foul jezebel! You bring rot and ruin to god’s creation–”

Claire narrowed her eyes and tightened her fist. Her vines tightening around Hopkins’ leg, cutting off his protests with a pained grunt. The vines wound tighter and tighter until a loud crack echoed through the air as his shinbone snapped. Hopkins letting out an ugly shriek.

“Shut up,” she spat, stomping towards him “This town’s always been a backwards, narrow minded little hovel, but you were the one who spurned them on, that convinced them a witch was the cause of all their troubles,”

She threw an open hand in his direction. The vines around his other leg tightened instantly, going tighter and tighter until both his legs were ensnared. There was a loud snap as his other shinbone snapped but Claire didn’t relent, tightening her vines further and further, pulverizing already broken bone and shredding flesh, blood welling up around the thorns. 

“Lying whore,” Hopkins spat through gritted teeth “Puppet of the prince of darkness–”

She threw both her hands forward and squeezed, heat in her belly smoldering, more vines shooting up to ensnare Hopkins’ arms.

“I wasn’t a witch until after you put me on the wheel,” Claire spat “Did that even matter to you? Or were you too caught in being Arcadia’s savior?”

“I have been ordained this mission by god,” Hopkins managed to speak, voice tight with pain “Even if you kill me I was be most high–”

She tightened both hands and twisted, her vines shattering both of his arms at once. His tirade cutting off into a guttural scream.

“You break my bones,” she tightened her fists further, the vines constricting even tighter, grinding the already broken bones to powder, blood staining his sleeves and trousers “I break yours.”

A giggle came up from beside her, Claire glancing over to see the witch sitting on a barrel beside the meetinghouse. The fire around her surged, spreading closer, the witch gracefully leaping down in a flutter of gold silk and copper hair just before the flames could touch her.

“Excellent work so far,” she crooned “And I hate to interrupt your grand finale, but there is someone you missed…”

Claire followed the witch’s gaze only to go still at the sight of the familiar figure staggering towards her.

Her heart stopped.

Pale, dark hair and blue eyes. Limping ever closer, uncaring of the vines and fire.

Her only friend in this god-forsaken town. The one who stabbed her in the back and left her to die.

For a second she was too stunned to react, numb shock filling her. Then searing bloody rage took its place. The vines responded in kind, shooting up and dragging Jim to the ground as Claire stomped towards him.

Jim made no move to get up from where he was crumpled on his knees, tearing at the bandages on his hand with his teeth. The fire in Claire’s chest burning even hotter.

How dare he. How dare he kneel before her in some show of subjugation, as if he had any right to beg for forgiveness after what he did to her. Jim had been the kindest, the best of them, the one person who hadn’t treated her like scum for praying with a rosary. Temperance and Hopkins and their ilk may have been rotten from the start but Jim had been her friend only to betray her in the worst way possible–

Her hands tightened into firsts, the vines constricting in kind.

That made him the worst of all.

She raised a hand, the vines curling further around Jim’s body, thorns cutting scarlet trails on his skin. Jim appeared not to notice, continuing to tear strip after strip of fabric off his hand.

Claire curled her fingers, the vines snapping tight around his throat, red dribbling down from beneath the thorns, struggling now, Jim nevertheless continued tearing at his wrapped hand with his teeth.  

Anger burned bright and hot within her. Curling her fingers and vines ever tighter, one good squeeze was all it would take to tear his throat open–

A flash of black tumbled to the ground from beneath the white fabric, Jim grasping it with fumbling hands and tossing it towards her.

Claire was so startled she lost her grip on the vines, faintly aware of Jim gasping in a deep breath, glancing down towards her feet to see–

A single plait of shiny black hair, glimmering in the glow of the firelight.

A cold, slippery something wriggled in past the all consuming anger.

Her mother’s hair.

“I…I’m sorry…”

She jerked her gaze back up towards Jim, staring up at her, face a mask of utter misery.

“I…I betrayed you in the worst way possible,” he said quietly “Saving this little piece of your mother doesn’t come close to redeeming it but it was something I could do…”

He hung his head, shaggy tangles of black hair hanging down in his face “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I don’t deserve forgiveness and I don’t ask for it, I only promise that I won’t try to escape my just punishment,”

“A sweet story…” the witch cooed “But pretty words don’t mend broken bones–” she glanced towards Claire, her smile turning vicious “Or broken hearts, go ahead and finish him sweetling,”

Claire didn’t move, she had no eyes for the single braid of her mother’s hair or Jim’s heartbroken face, too busy staring at his concovered hand. Each of his fingers was unnaturally bent, swollen to the point they didn’t even look real anymore, the thick bandages around his left hand told her it was in a similar state. Another bandage with a dark stain was wrapped around his leg.

Jim hadn’t been walking straight when he’d approached, what other wound was inflicted on his leg? How many more were concealed beneath his clothes–

Did you think Hopkins would be any gentler with him, show him mercy? Hopkins didn’t have a merciful bone in his body

Tears ran down his dirt smeared face, shining in the firelight.

It– it didn’t matter. What a little pain? What mattered was that Jim had forsaken her, betrayed her–

But for how long hadn’t he?

The thought was ice water crashing over her.

How long had he held fast while they’d broken his fingers, destroyed his hands, wounded his leg? How much pain did they have to put him through to make him force the words out?

His hands were as ruined as her arms and legs were, he’d never so much as hold a spoon again

More ice crept it, rapidly overtaking the smoldering fury.

S– so what if he’d broken during her interrogation? Later at her execution, he could have done something, said something–

Then they would have broken him along with her, maybe Barbara to, maybe even Enrique. Her fate had already been sealed by that point–

Did he owe it to her to die with her? Is that what friendship meant?

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, grit her teeth, and balled her hands into fists, vines snapping tight, Jim choking out a gasp.

Of course he did! He was the one who gave them her name in the first place! The least he could do to atone was suffer along with her, bear the same punishment as her, then he…then…

Then Hopkins and his hunters would have too tallies in their ledger instead of one

Her fingers loosened, vines doing the same. Ice and fire warring inside her. She was still angry, she was so so angry. The one person she’d allowed herself to trust had betrayed her and left her to die. She was furious with him–

But she didn’t want to hurt him either.

The witch made a tutting sound in the back of her throat “Darling I know you want to take your time, but I do have places to be, hurry up and finish them won’t you,”

Claire didn’t respond, slowly reaching down to pick up the plait, soft and silky against her scaly skin.

“No.”

The witch snapped her head around “What did you say?”

“No.” Claire gripped her mother’s hair in her clawed fingers “I won’t do it,”

The witch scowled “You’d really spare this wretch!?” she stabbed an accusing finger in Jim’s direction, his only response was to continue hanging his head in silence.

“He betrayed you! Sold you out to the witch hunters, make him pay with his life!”

“No!”

Fury twisted the witch’s features “Why you arrogant little wretch!” she stomped towards Claire “You owe me blood! His blood! And I’ll not be cheated just because you’ve decided to indulge in some misguided sense of merc–”

From out of nowhere the witch stumbled, staggering and struggling to remain upright

Glancing down, Claire saw one of the vines, her vines, twined around the witch’s ankle, bright red blood beading up from under the thorns.

Glancing around, Claire saw more of them, dark vines crawling towards her and the witch. She could still feel their warmth smoldering inside her, but when she tried to pull them back, push them away, nothing happened. Vines creeping ever closer. Strangely enough, despite being close to him the vines left Jim untouched.

The witch ripped her leg free with a scowl “I tire of this petty squabble,” she grabbed Claire by the shoulder, fingers digging in painfully tight “Kill the boy before I tear off your head!”

Claire blinked at the vines then slowly looked up at her “Ruination…that’s it isn’t it? You called down ruination to give me power, and now there must be ruin to pay. And if Jim doesn’t pay then we have to,”

The witch’s face darkened, telling Claire she’d struck the truth dead on “Kill him,” she hissed “Or I’ll tear his head off myself,”

“I don’t think so,” despite the hammering of her heart, vines already starting to wind around her ankles, Claire looked up and stared her straight in the eye “It has to be me, doesn’t it? If you could kill him and settle the debt yourself you would,”

The witch’s face was a mask of cold fury. Fingers digging so hard into Claire’s shoulder for a second she thought the bones might break all over again.

She opened her mouth, but before the witch could get a word out another voice spoke up

“Come now mother no need to lose our composure,”

Both of them turned to see the Englishman striding towards them, vines shifting and parting beneath his feet to allow him passage “Death is not the only road to ruination,” he held up a glass jar filled with black liquid “There are other, less traveled, paths, and even in ruination opportunity can be found,”

In an instant the witch released her grip on Claire’s shoulder to pluck the jar out of his hands, rage from moments ago replaced by an easy smile “My Strickler you always were a clever one,”

She turned and all but threw the jar at her, Claire catching it reflexively “Here, pour this on the boy. He will live on unharmed and your debt will be paid in full,”

Claire stared down at the jar, dark liquid sloshing within “What…what is this?”

“A potion of sorts,” the Englishman spoke up “Whomever it touches shall be as Cain. Shunned from the world of men, turned away with stone and spear, even the light of the sun will forsake them,”

Claire still didn’t move, staring at the dark liquid swirling within the jar. 

“And whatever you do choose be quick about it,” the witch said snippily “Or soon enough the choice will be made for you,”

A sharp sting in her calves had Claire glancing down. The vines were twined halfway up her legs now, even with her leathery skin she could feel the bite of the thorns. Lifting her gaze back up to stare at the swirling contents of the jar, her thoughts at war with themselves.

She didn’t want to die, she’d fought and clawed her way back from the maw of death and the last thing she wanted was to go back. But…to do this to Jim, it was almost worse than killing him. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she didn’t want to die– 

A sharp tug on the edge of her skirt had her whipping her gaze down. Jim held the edge of her tattered dress in one ruined hand, having crawled across the ground towards her. Staring up at her, eyes filled with pain.

“Do it Claire, any earthly punishment is better than the boiling pit of Hell I deserve, and I don’t want you to suffer any more because of me,”

Something heavy and hot and neither pleasant nor painful shot through her, swirling in her stomach and twisting in her chest. Then before she could stop herself she tore the lid off the jar and dumped the contents on his head.

Ink black liquid cascaded out of the jar, crashing over Jim’s head, soaking his hair and staining his shirt, dark rivulets trickling down his arms and chest.

Immediately the black vines sank back and pulled away from her feet, Claire sent a tug and she could feel them back under her control. 

Jim moaned, pitching to the side and collapsing in the dirt.

There was a part of her that itched to help him but Claire didn’t move. Watching as Jim groaned and writhed on the ground. 

A crack of bone, Jim’s arm jerking skyward, mangled fingers unnaturally curled, skin of his hand dark and bruised.

More cracks, more spasms of limbs. His arms, his legs, his neck. Jim twitching among the dirt and vines like a smashed insect. Moans of pain turning into howls of agony.

Then those howls became roars.

Fabric ripped and bone crackled as Jim’s limbs grew longer and thicker. Pale skin darkening to a deep indigo. His hair became coarser and thicker, spreading down to his exposed back. A beastly howl of pain and a pair of bones erupted from the top of his head.

Claire forced herself to look away, now empty jar tumbling to the ground. 

But in looking away from Jim her gaze landed on Hopkins. A low, throaty sound of pain escaping him as he spasmed on the ground, shattered limbs twitching.

His eyes found her.

“F– filth– filthy witch!” he hissed, foam flecking at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh next I suppose you’re going to want to spare him to,” the witch spoke in a clipped, impatient tone, stepping up to Claire’s side.

Claire stared down at Hopkins for a few moments longer, then turned towards her, meeting the witch’s cool gaze head on.

“All his arms and legs are broken, that counts as ruination right?”

The witch’s lips thinned “I suppose it does…”

Claire glanced back towards Hopkins, then back towards the witch.

“Your younger son, is he still hungry?”

The witch blinked in surprise before a wry smile broke out across her face “I think I may end up liking you after all. Oh Bular darling!”

Loud thudding reverberated through the ground as the dark, hulking figure of the troll king approached.

The witch smiled up at him “This little sweetling is all done here,” she pointed down at Hopkins “Do you want this one?”

A wide toothy grin split the troll king’s face. Hopkins’ eyes widened, gasping and jerking his ruined limbs in a futile attempt to crawl away.

The troll king strode forward, lifting up Hopkins by the shirt, broken bones crackling as his shattered, useless limbs dangled in the air.

“Wh–” Hopkins struggled to speak “Wai–”

The troll king reached forward and ripped off Hopkins’ arm, the scream he made so pained it barely sounded human. The troll king paid no mind, popping the limb in his mouth like a biscuit.

He reached for Hopkins’ other arm but Claire looked away, allowing the sounds of screams and snapping bone to fade into the background along with the roar of the fire and the steady hiss of vines. Turning back over to where Jim was.

Jim, undeniably changed but still utterly recognizable, sat on the ground, staring at his fingers in wonder. There were only nine of them now, skin deep blue and nails dark as charcoal, crisscrossed with rows upon rows of silvery scars. But whole and unbroken all the same.

He was taller, broader, his features more angular. His dark hair more a mane now, sharp tusks jutting up from his jaw and large ivory horns sweeping back out of his head.

So this was what the Englishman meant by ‘as Cain’. Jim was still himself, one look in his eyes assured her of that, but anyone who saw him would see only a beast. Any town he approached would drive him out on the end of muskets and pitchforks.

“As fun as this little detour was, we'd best be on our way,” the Englishman strode forward, sparing a glance down at Jim “Care to join us?”

Jim jerked his head up “What? But I’m…”

“Yes yes rejected from the world of men,” the Englishman waved him off “But we’re not the world of men now are we?”

“I…” Jim turned towards Claire, face twisting up with painful uncertainty.

She looked away “Do what you want. You betrayed me, I cursed you, as far as I’m concerned all debts between us are settled,”

“But…”

“Come now darling it isn’t as though there’s anything left for you here,” the witch gestured around them, the burning buildings and mangled corpses, every inch of ground overgrown with thorny black vines “Come now dears, this detour has been delightful but we have places to be, enemies to conspire against,”

She began striding away from the meeting house, back towards the forest, the troll king and the man in black keeping pace with her.

Jim stayed where he was kneeling on the ground, watching them retreat. For reasons she didn’t fully understand Claire stayed where she was, lingering.

Suddenly there was a yowl, a large shape bounding up to Jim and pressing into his side. 

Jim turned and stared at the beast, mouth dropping open, tusks on full display, and eyes going wide “Cinder….?”

The large cat let out a pur, licking his cheek.

For a few moments silence stretched between them, the only sounds Cinder’s purs and Arcadia continuing to burn.

“...where’s Enrique?” Claire said at last.

“The Williams were given custody, they went to the next town over to…beg for assistance from Goody Williams’ brother, my mother accompanied them, they departed just before…”

“Good,” Claire said curtly “The Williams are kind folk, they’ll take care of him, far better than any life I could give him now,”

Silence lapsed between them once again. A raven swooped down and perched on her shoulder, she made no move to wave it off.

“I truly don’t bear you any more grudge,” Claire said quietly, making Jim jerk in her direction.

“I…may not be able to call you my friend, not the way I did before, but…but you’re not my enemy,”

Jim looked stunned, appearing to struggle for words “What…what will you do now?” he said slowly.

“For now I’ll follow them, learn all I can about what it means to be a witch. Later. perhaps I’ll go to Spain and kill my uncle, perhaps not,” her voice lowered “But whatever comes…I wouldn’t mind a familiar presence, even one that’s not my friend,”

With that she turned and quickly began striding away, doing her best to cross the distance between her and the witch’s company. Cinder perked up and bounded after her, leaving Jim alone.

For a moment Jim stayed there kneeling on the ground, watching them retreat. Then he slowly turned towards the meetinghouse. The building was on the verge of collapse, more flame than timber now. The other buildings nearby fared no better. It wouldn’t be long until the entire town was ash. Mangled corpses lay scattered all about, illuminated by the firelight, all twined with the wicked thorny vines. 

The vines were everywhere, tangled around every corpse, spreading as far as the eye could see and wrapping around every building they touched. Consuming what little was left of Arcadia.

Then Jim looked down at his hand, with one fewer finger than the other.

He slumped forward and let out a heavy sigh. Then after a moment he braced his legs underneath him and stood. The motion was smooth, both limbs fully supporting his weight.

He cast a long, lingering glance towards the place that had been his home then turned away. Following in the path of the others, leading away from the fire into the depths of the dark night.

What is well documented is the disaster that occurred the evening following the witch's execution, an event now referred to as ‘The Witch's revenge'. There are numerous accounts with varying contradictions, but all agree that the town of Arcadia was burned to the ground, foodstores destroyed, all the livestock slaughtered, and many people were killed. And many more starved to death that winter. It is also believed that this event was the origin of the witch creepers (Sanguis malefica), a species of predatory vine, unique in that it is an obligate hematophage, which only lives in Arcadia. As this is the first known record of their existence.

*

--according to legend the witch was broken on the wheel and left hanging from a tree outside of town. That night when the devil came to aid her he cut off the arms and legs of a demon and gave them to her to replace her broken ones. However, determining fact from fiction is difficult due to the scant documentation of the witch's life and execution.

While most historians scoff at the idea of magic being at the heart of this disaster, the fact remains that before 1624 it was well documented that Arcadia was a thriving agricultural community. Then after ‘The Witch's revenge' and the appearance of the witch creepers it marked the end of Arcadia as a farming community, as the witch creepers outcompeted every single attempted crop and inhibited the grazing of livestock, and were highly resistant to all attempts to eradicate them. But while farming and agriculture were an impossibility, the town of Arcadia rebuilt itself around the legend of the witch and the study of Sanguis malefica into the thriving community we know today.

There is still much we don't know about the exact events that transpired four hundred years ago and may never know, but one thing we are certain of is that the legend of the Witch of Arcadia will live on for many years to come.

--Excerpt from the presentation by the Arcadia Oaks Historical Society from the Arcadia Oaks Quadricentennial Celebration

It was late into the night, but bright street lights kept the large banner hanging over the town hall well lit. Illuminating the words 'Four Hundred Years of the Witch' for all to see. Not that there were many left to gaze at it. The celebrations of the evening had largely died down, leaving only crumpled paper cups and stray fliers dotting the ground as evidence of the large crowd that had been there a few hours before. A small group of stragglers lingered, giggling and passing a bottle concealed in crinkling brown paper between themselves. Drunken mumblings of 'Season of the Witch' echoing through the near silent square.

Had they been a bit more sober, or perhaps glanced up, they would have spotted another figure hovering at the edge of the square. Quiet, unassuming, hood pulled low over her face and hands shoved into her pockets.

She glanced up at the trees. Strands of glowing orange lights hung from their branches, twined with the thorny black vines that grew on and around every tree in the square, the two firmly entangled. She had no doubt that there would be many cuts and injuries when it came time to remove the lights. 

Her gaze shifted to the other objects adorning the trees. There were countless of them, some made with clear artistry others with clumsy, childish hands. 

Crafted with wood, paper, and metal. Adorned with ribbons and paint, spikes and nails, thick lumps of glue covered in glitter. They ranged from the size of her hand to as wide across as her arm. No two were alike, but all shared one common trait.

They were wheels.

Hang a wheel on your door

Witch will trouble you no more

She stared up at them, swaying cruelly in the breeze. Many times when she gazed on these wheels it filled her with blinding range, but now she could only feel a numb emptiness.

Turning she made to leave only to be halted by a tugging on her coat. Glancing up, she saw a vine, one of the so-called 'witch creepers' stretching out from the tree towards her.

She made to lift her arm and then hesitated, glancing at the intoxicated group. There was a chance they were too tipsy to notice, that in their drunken haze they'd barely be aware of their surroundings. But what if they did notice, what if they saw, screamed, ran? Wailing about the horror they'd witnessed. Would she escape their notice or would the legend of the witch gain new teeth this night?

After a few more moments of introspection she found that she didn't truly care.

Pulling her arm free she held it out towards the vines, black scales glittering under the orange lights, curled talons mirroring the thorns on the vines. Something that would have looked far more at home on a lizard or a dragon than a human arm.

The vine wrapped around her hand, thorns respectfully curled inwards holding back their sharp points, winding around her fingers, palm, and forearm in a caress.

A twisted, hateful creation showing deference to its creator.

After a few moments the vine pulled away and she shoved her hand back into her coat. A glance to the side revealed that the drunken revelers hadn't noticed either the vine or her malformed limb. 

She glanced up at the banner again, giving it a long, lingering stare before turning away with a heavy sigh. Walking out of the brightly lit town square away into the shadowy streets.

[whump-card]

DRAGGED: One-shot

A short and sweet little piece for @sunshiline-writes

690 words

CW: gore, dragged by a car, exposed bones, deathwish, slight creepy whumper, character called “boy” is an adult

~~~

0300 hours.

The stadium lights stood tall above them, shining down onto the drag strip, harassed by moths and midges. The white points blurred as Mikalai panicked, on his knees, his hands tied in front of him with thick, strong rope. 

“Andrei, I didn’t mean to - I meant no disrespect, I…”

Towering above him - tall enough to tower even if Mika had been standing - was Andrei, his posture mimicking the lights: erect, uncompromising, his head bent to stare down at his lit subject. 

“I don’t care,” Andrei’s loud voice trampled over Mikalai’s quaver, “Your foolishness made me look foolish. Now, I have to enact the consequences. You think I want to do this? Mika,” Andrei’s voice softened with affection and he reached out to ruffle Mikalai’s tousled hair, “You’re my boy. I have to train you up right.”

Mikalai shivered under Andrei’s touch.

“Please…”

Andrei ignored him, briskly taking a step back and snapping his fingers. Two enforcers fell upon Mikalai, looping a chain around his wrists - a chain attached to the bumper of a drag car. Mikalai’s car, a cherry-red 95 Corvette, tricked and modded into an angel of speed.

It wasn’t his car anymore. 

The engine revved. Mikalai began to babble desperately.

“Andrei, please, God, I’ll do an-anything, anything but this, please Andrei, oh God…” Uncontrollable sobs ripped out of his chest. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the car.

It started to move, rolling slowly away. The enforcers took a step back.

“Andrei, please!” Mikalai screamed - but Andrei remained silent. Impassive. Almost serene.

The chain rattled as the length between Mikalai and the car began to uncoil.

“No, no, no no nonono…” Mikalai jibbered, scrambling to his feet.

He felt the first tug, pulling him along a few stumbling steps.

“Andrei!” he shrieked, still hoping, maybe still believing just for his own sanity’s sake, that this was a cruel trick, that Andrei would call it all off now.

The driver floored it.

~~~

Mikalai didn’t pass out.

He wished to God that he would.

With every breath, his exposed ribs expanded and contracted, glistening pink, red, and white under the stadium lights. His skin and flesh had been stripped away by the asphalt, sanded down slowly until his very bones dragged on the road. His upper chest, though not taken to the bone, was ripped ragged; flayed muscle, a missing nipple, seeping blood.

Mikalai had no choice but to breathe, each movement of air feeling like the movement of tectonic plates, earth-shattering, unbearable, pieces of himself that were not meant to touch rubbing together.

His knees, too, were stripped. One kneecap was missing, leaving behind a spongy mess of meat. The other barely hung on, the white cap looking like a fungus growing out of his leg. The right side of his face was gone; his eye had been protected by his prominent, well-formed brow and cheekbone, handsome features that were now pulverized beef, his sight blinded by the oozing blood.

He tried to blink. He glimpsed the lights above him, so briefly, through a sheen of red. A cough fought its way out of his body; his whole being spasmed, lighting every abrasion, every break, every joint on fire anew.

Both his arms were dislocated. They had been yanked from their sockets by the car’s acceleration, first thing. One elbow had scraped the road so forcefully and long that it wasn’t just the thin layer of skin that was gone; the bone itself had been abraded down to the marrow, the nerves within, never meant to touch air, screaming to high heaven.

One foot was twisted out of place. Somehow, this was the least sickening sight.

Mikalai lay on the tarmac, the low rumble of his car, once a comforting thing, humming nearby. He could taste blood and gasoline fumes in his throat.

He would have preferred to die, honestly.

He would have preferred to go to Hell.

A voice. There was a voice, somewhere in the haze of agony.

“Make sure he lives.”

A presence. Mikalai’s eyes fluttered; the stadium lights were blocked by someone leaning over him.

“A shame,” Andrei murmured, “You were so pretty.”

[drivinmeinsane]

{ Eyes Always Seeking }

1/3 ※ Officer K (BR 2049) x Sierra Six (The Gray Man) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

next chapter -»

※ Summary: Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Canon-typical violence, Descriptions of a Crime Scene, Eye Horror, Descriptions of Injury, Frottage, Handjobs, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, References to Greek Mythology, Hand Holding ※ Word count: 4,789 ※ Status: Chapter 1 / Complete ※ Author's note: I would have had this chapter up and ready to go sooner but the Saw franchise came into my life like a brick through a window. 😔 K and Six are close to being my Roman empire alongside Driver and Ken. I hope ya'll enjoy this pairing as much as I do. ※ Song inspiration: Like Real People Do - Hozier

Rice today. Not steaming, just cold and forming a congealing lump in the corner. There had been some sort of sad attempt at vegetables to go with it, but those had long since been further pulverized between K’s teeth and swallowed down. Currently on his fork is the last chunk of grub protein. It had been textured and flavored to look and taste like chicken. The replicant can’t vouch for the authenticity of it. Real poultry was something only the wealthy could dream of.

The tines of the metal fork are barely between his parted lips when Joi glitches to a halt, frozen mid sentence. She is “sitting” on window ledge, in the midst of prattling on about the breeds of chickens she might like to keep if they had the space. Privately, K thinks he might like to keep bees in another life.

A telltale chime of an incoming call seems to come from Joi’s open mouth, eking out past her teeth. It’s his madam. He knows it before the popup flashes to life to the left of his pretend wife’s face. There’s no one that would call him other than Lieutenant Joshi. He lets his fork clatter into the container, bite untaken.

“Accept call,” he addresses the projection.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your night. I’m sure you have plans.” Joshi’s voice sounds wrong, insincere, coming from Joi’s frozen figure. He averts his eyes, stares at the table so he doesn’t have to look at the mockery.

“Of course not, Madam.” K shoves down the ball of emotions that want to burst out of his chest like a living, breathing creature and keeps his tone free of anything resembling bitterness. She knows that she’s not interrupting anything. Even if she were, it wouldn’t make any difference. He’s always at her disposal for any whim. She owns his time. Owns him.

“I’m having you meet up with another officer. I’ll send over the coordinates. An informant tipped us off to a possible meeting place for some of the skinjobs we’ve been searching for. I need you to go sniffing around out there. See what you find. Might be nothing, might be a whole lot of something.

“Yes, Madam,” he agrees, getting to his feet. His body is thoughtlessly obeying.

“And, K? The officer.” He reflexively looks up at the sound of his name. “He’s one of your kind,” his madam says, ending the call. K stands beside his vacated chair, stunned. He accidentally ignores his pretend wife when she tries to resume their playacting like she hadn’t been stalled. Joi is talking, flitting around him with buzzing touches of her slender hands, but it feels as though he’s under water.

He tells himself that the details don’t matter, that who, or rather what, he works with is of no consequence. A job is a job. The officer forces his mind to compartmentalize as he goes through the motions of readying himself for night ahead. He is proficient at digging in the earth of his mind and laying thoughts in shallow graves. It keeps him out of retirement.

Mind carefully blank, he sets the remnants of his dinner inside the small refrigeration unit. His stomach needs to be as empty as it can be for this. If K had had more warning, he simply would not have eaten yet.

Once in the main room again, he “kisses” Joi goodbye before turning off the console responsible for her. The hard line unit that crosses the ceiling shrinks back into a neutral position like a kenneled animal. There’s no emulator to take her with him. Not yet. Soon. He’s only a few more payouts away.

K moves further down the hall that makes up the entryway. With slightly unsteady fingers, he pulls his long coat off of the peg and shrugs the reassuring weight of it over his shoulders. He checks the firearm in his holster. It’s firmly tucked into the synthetic leather, nothing amiss. He hadn’t bothered to take his equipment off before dinner, having had an uneasy feeling. Intuition had evidently been working behind the scenes. He’s already wearing his boots, usually is unless he’s in bed or in a rare state of undress. K prefers to avoid the feeling of cold tile against the bottoms of his feet. Satisfied that he is as prepared as as he is going to get, the replicant slides the door open and exits his apartment unit.

The stairs are as treacherous as always. They are perpetually overcrowded and K is resigned to knowing that the milling throng is on the cusp of a riot every time they are reminded that yes, he does exist and, yes he lives in this building alongside them. Conditions are not much better once he steps out in the neon lit glow of the night. He flips his collar up and fastens it shut against the smog and the near constant freezing rain. It’s a short walk to the parking garage where he keeps his spinner. It, like the apartment and his firearm, had been provided as a courtesy of the Los Angeles Police Department.

He presses his fingertip to onto the door lock for the spinner. It beeps in acknowledgment, releasing the latch and letting the door swing upwards. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before shoving himself into the pilot’s seat and slamming it closed. The replicant’s tumultuous emotions are not so suppressed that they don’t bleed out into his actions. He’s never been paired with another of his kind before. He was made to go solo. Organics don’t trust groups of them, not since the rebellion, the riots. Pack hunters would be too dangerous even with the compulsion for obedience woven into their assembled DNA. There’s a part of him that’s almost excited, being on the same side for once.

The spinner’s systems light up with the touch of a button. As soon as the computer screen comes online, K checks his messages to find that his madam did send over the coordinates as promised. It only takes a few taps of his fingers to get the GPS running. He straps himself in, harness material digging uncomfortably across his chest, and manually steers the vehicle out of the garage and off of the pavement. Once he reaches cruising altitude, he sets it on autopilot. The spinner can handle itself until he reaches his destination.

During the flight, Officer K studies the provided aerial photos of the location. Nothing of note to see, he memorizes the layout all the same. It never works out to be surprised. He makes notes of where the other officer parked, and unable to help himself, he looks for details on the replicant. His efforts only muster up a number, no photo. A Nexus 9, but so is K and most other police controlled replicants these days. They needed to be stronger, faster; more capable than the older models. Bred for compliance. No mistakes. No abnormalities. Never a state of life too late to cull.

A beeping sound draws him from his contemplation, the spinner has delivered him. He flips off the autopilot and puts his hands on the wheel. He puts the machine down next to the other officer’s on a patch of broken up concrete. It was an old parking lot for what his implicit tells him was a store. It’s nothing but a shell now, roof blown off and the walls crumbling in the acidic elements. Despite the ruin, it still serves to hide them from the more intact warehouse behind it. He ducks out of the spinner into the open air the moment the door lock releases. He pauses for a moment to lean back into the vehicle to deploy his parrotfish. Having it in the air provides a sense of relief. It ensures less work and more security if things go sideways outdoors.

He straightens up and casts a critical look at his surroundings. There is no one else around that he can see. The other spinner is unoccupied, but something catches his attention. There is something written in the growing flakes on top of the other officer’s vehicle. Closer examination reveals that it’s a crudely done map, clearly traced out with a fingertip. It depicts two rectangles and a triangle. There are dashed lined leading from the triangle to the closer of the two rectangles. At the end of the line is an X. Presumably, the map is saying that the other replicant left the spinner and looped around the side of the defunct store and will be waiting at the corner of that building to have a line of sight to the warehouse they are charged with investigating. K feels thankful. This will save him hassle in locating his assigned companion.

A faint shadow passes over K and the map he’s still staring at. He looks up to see that the parrotfish from the spinner is doing lazy circles. His has joined in on the motion. The effect is of two vultures circling a carcass. It would be a bad omen for someone superstitious. Good thing he wasn't made to be.

K follows the barely visible trail in the slush. Deep boot tracks, likely from a male judging from the size of the footwear and the length of the stride. They match his own in a way that makes his stomach roll. Before long, he registers a figure leaning against the wall right where the map had indicated. The other replicant’s head is turned in the direction of the warehouse. Snow has settled over the shoulders of the jacket in a similar thickness to the spinner’s dusting.

There is no reaction from the replicant, even though K knows that the other officer has to be aware of his prescience. He had not been making any effort to mask the sucking sounds of his boots in the slush.

“KS6-2.8.” K’s tone is neutral. It’s not a polite greeting. There is no need for one. They’re here on business and neither is superior to the other. Both came from an artificially constructed womb.

The other replicant turns.

Unpleasantly, K feels the return of the drowning sensation he had felt earlier. It is almost as though someone had placed a mirror in front of him in a dream. The reflection is him, but distinctly not. His mirror image has neatly trimmed facial hair where K has nothing but thick stubble. There are faint crow’s feet by his eyes that K hasn’t aged into yet. If he even gets the opportunity. More startling is a glaring similarity, one that he never would’ve expected. They have the same misalignment of their eyes, the same sagging eyelid. Their genetic source must have had the same flaw.

“KD6-3.7. You’ve been briefed?” The other '9 asks. Nothing is given away on his face. If he’s surprised to see himself looking back into his eyes, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes.” K feels his lips twist up in a smile that seems friendly enough if you don’t look too close. The other officer raises an eyebrow. He’s not fooled. K drops the smile, his eyes harden. His companion’s jaw is working, he’s chewing on something. Tobacco? Gum? Seems like he’s not without his own vices. K supposes that they all must do something to feel a little more human, a little more real.

“You ready? The lead’s not going to get any fresher,” K says as a follow-up when the silence drags on longer than he would like.

KS6-2.8 only nods. The other replicant pushes off the wall and trudges through the ankle deep snow, leading the way. It’s disconcerting watching him. K gets the uneasy sensation he’s watching his own body walk away from him. The hair is longer and the muscles are bulkier, but all the same…

The only sounds to accompany them are the sloppy crunch of their footfalls and the crackling flapping of plastic sheeting somewhere in the distance. They reach the front of the warehouse only to realize that it’s completely blocked off with layers upon layers of chain link. It must have been taken from the building’s product cages. There are no windows.

A low grumble gets K’s attention drawn back to his fellow officer. The other replicant signals him to follow with a crook of his gloved fingers. He’s taking the lead and K knows he should probably find issue with that, but he doesn’t. He is willing to be obedient, for now. It must be the novelty of working alongside someone who doesn’t have the room to maintain a moral high ground.

Once around the corner and at the back of the warehouse, the replicants split up. K briskly angles himself at the loading docks while his assigned partner checks the back door to see if it can be pried open from the outside. He spots a slightly raised loading door. It’s likely wedged fast, but there should be enough clearance for at least him to slide under. With any luck, the additional bulk of his fellow Nexus 9 shouldn’t prohibit him from getting through as well.

No ladder. K quietly whistles to get KS6-2.8’s notice. The response is immediate.

“Got something?” The other replicant asks, moving to stand alongside him. There is a yawning cavern of space between them. It doesn’t feel right.

“Open door.” K responds, a jerk of his head at the sheet metal in question.

With nothing more than a quiet grunt, KS6-2.8 drops into a crouch and offers his cupped hands to him. K accepts the boost, as foreign as the assistance is. Once on the platform, he offers his hand and hauls the other replicant up. There is something comforting about their interlocked hands. K drops it as soon as the other officer is settled and scrambles under the door. The rubber seal catches on the back of his coat. His partner joins him shortly.

The loading area is unlit. Dark. Without the moon’s light bouncing off the snow, K can make out the faint, golden glow of KS6-2.8’s pupils. There are still are still traces of the older generations in them both. If K were sentimental, he would say that his predecessors were something like family. Good thing he wasn't made for that either.

K’s boot catches on something and he stumbles. The concrete floor is littered with old, torn scraps of nylon rope and shreds of plastic wrap. The wood pallets that would have filled this place are long gone. Used for firewood most likely. There’s nothing of apparent value left.

They push their way through into the main part of the warehouse. The shelving has been moved to form corridors. It’s a maze, one with a high possibility of some entity stalking them in these enclosed paths. There is a faint glow accompanied by an odor that makes the hair on the back of K’s neck stand up. Without saying anything, both replicants work their way in that direction. It's slow going. They have to inch sideways in some areas, their shoulders too broad otherwise. K irrationally imagines unraveling a ball of yarn to mark their way out.

The smell is getting worse the closer they get to the light. Bile threatens to rise in his throat alongside the bites of dinner he had swallowed down not even a handful of hours ago. No amount of jobs will ever desensitize him to this. K does not have the stomach for this career. Not that it matters. He was made not to protest.

It’s as though they hit a wall of heat and rot when they breach the center of the maze. Both officers can only stand shoulder to shoulder and take it all in. Bodies circle a gasoline heater, tucked into makeshift beds on the floor. They’ve all been dead for a while. The decomposition appears to be consistent among them all. Mass killing? Suicide? They are all naked.

There is a lit lantern sitting on top of the heater. K can’t believe that the place hasn’t blown. Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

“CO2 poisoning, you think?” asks the replicant at his side, echoing his silent epiphany.

“Probably.”

As one, they spread out into the room. While K turns off the heater, cutting the supply of carbon monoxide being pumped into the warehouse, KS6-2.8 checks each decomposing face. K watches as he holds open the right eyelids of each body to make sure they all still have the eye necessary for their investigation. For each replicant he checks, the other officer reads off numbers taken from one of the files that had been provided to them. There’s no data pad in sight, he might have memorized each face’s corresponding numerical designation.

K knows that they will still have to take the eyes in order for Joshi to be satisfied. Anyone can change their face with enough money and the decomposition is too advanced for their field scanners to read the slowly deflating eyeballs here at the scene. K is mostly just thankful they have eyes left at all. It makes things easier. Replicants rarely receive dental care. The chances of identifying them by their teeth are slim to none.

While he is in the midst of pulling out a roll of evidence bags from an inside pocket, he catches a glimpse of his partner suddenly going stiff and standing up from his crouch beside one of the bodies. He doesn't have the time to question the other replicant. There is a sudden, crushing pain in his side and the edges of his vision go dark. He crumples to the grimy floor and tries to struggle to his feet as his assailant is knocked away by KS6-2.8. His head is ringing. The image of a glowing, white fountain materializes in his scrambled vision. Bile clouds his throat before he realizes that it's only the lantern.

K stands, shakier than he would like, and gets his breathing under control. The scene unfolding before him is disconcerting. KS6-2.8 is wrestling with their attacker, clearly another replicant judging by the way he’s managing to hold out even slightly against K’s fellow officer. K reckons that he must be an older generation given that he’s gradually losing ground. He’s missing the final edge to make it a truly even fight. Despite the disadvantage, the replicant manages to shove KS6-2.8 hard enough that the officer’s foot goes straight through the chest cavity of one of the rotting replicants. Their would-be killer lets out a howl that drowns out any protest from K’s partner, as violent and earsplitting as if it had been his chest that was caved in. K’s fellow ‘9 is forced to let himself fall backwards into the soupy embrace of another corpse as the assailant takes wild swings at his face with a sharp piece of metal produced from a pocket of his ragged jacket. A rudimentary knife.

Still disoriented, K doesn’t think before he pulls his gun out of his shoulder holster and shoots. A red mist signals that the bullet found its mark. The attacking replicant is still alive, even as he falls to his knees and slumps over KS6-2.8. K didn’t shoot to kill. He has questions.

A few strides has him standing over the two replicants. He fists his hand in the back of the assailant's jacket and pulls him off of his companion. His gun is re-holstered and he’s not gentle when he hauls the replicant to his feet. Blood pulses hotly from the wound that K inflicted, soaking through a scarf that is tightly wrapped around his neck. He’s bleeding out. Rapidly. The bullet had nicked a carotid.

KS6-2.8 gets to his own feet with a groan, the back of his jacket soaked through with whatever liquids the dead replicant still had pooling in their body. He hooks his hand under the older gen.’s arm and together he and K shove him up against one of the shelving units forming the room. K holds their attacker steady as his partner slams the hand holding the scrap metal over and over into a shelf post until the replicant is forced to let it fall from his grasp with a clatter onto the concrete.

As soon as the makeshift weapon is out of the equation, K starts his questioning. “What are you doing here?”

Nothing, just a rasping breath. The replicant is wild eyed and frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal K had heard described in a decades old report. It had been from a time when there were still enough real, organic animals around to carry and spread the disease.

“What happened to the others?” He tries again.

That gets a response. “I saved them.”

“Saved them how?” K questions.

“I could have saved you too. But you wouldn’t let me. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet… dreams…” The pinned replicant laughs and laughs and laughs, eyes wide and gleaming with a feverish shine.

Suddenly, he lunges at K, tearing out of his and KS6-2.8’s shared grip. The open maw reaches to snap closed on his nose, strings of saliva shining obscenely in the lantern light. His contact is stopped short by a bullet blazing through his left eye, blowing the back of his head open in a nightmarish spread. It’s over. Done. KS6-2.8 saw to that. K can taste the blood in his mouth. His hair is plastered flat with another one of his kind’s brain matter. They had encountered the beast in the maze, their very own Minotaur, and they had slaughtered it.

KS6-2.8 holsters his gun, trading it for a small knife taken from his pocket. He pries the eye out with steady fingers, severs the optic nerve. They let the dead replicant slump down against the shelf. He’s a warden over the eternally slumbering bodies. K retrieves the roll of bags he had dropped in the scuffle. He opens one and lets KS6-2.8 drop the severed eye inside before sealing it. He fills out information panel printed on the thin plastic with a pen that had been stashed inside his pants pocket.

Together, silently, they approach the nearest body in the circle. It is the one with the caved in chest cavity. They both crouch. K steadies the head while the other officer removes the leathery eye. He offers another bag. His partner drops it in. They repeat this same procedure three times before the silence is broken.

“Six.”

K looks up from the face he’s holding. The other replicant is looking at him, blue eyes unflinching. Blood is pooling in the hollow of the collarbone K can just barely see. A question is forming on his lips, but before K can bring it to life, the officer speaks again.

“KS6-2.8. Six.”

Oh. Warmth floods him. They are the same. Interlinked.

“K,” he responds. Something forbidden is clawing at him.

The other replicant, no, Six smiles. His teeth are a dazzling white in the gloom. Predatory. His canines are noticeably sharp compared to the rest of his teeth. They are like his. Would they feel the same as K’s own underneath his tongue? He shakes the thought off, buries it with hundreds of others, and they finish collecting the eyes.

While Six is occupied with a final survey of the rotting scene, K approaches the recently retired replicant. He kneels beside him for a moment, as though he’s paying graveside respects, before he reaches out and unwinds the blood soaked scarf from around his neck. If he still had his eyes instead of one taken and one shot out… well, K isn’t sure how he’d be looking at him. The fabric of the scarf is wet and gritty underneath his fingers, packed with old, infertile soil. He rolls it up and slips it into an inside pocket of his coat. It won’t be missed. He legitimizes his presence at the replicant’s side by picking up the makeshift knife off the floor and depositing it into an evidence bag.

Nothing else comes out of the darkness. There’s old trash strewn on the floors. They don’t find any more bodies, only the drag marks of old blood. It looks as though not all of them had gone peacefully in their sleep from the high concentration of carbon monoxide. Their attacker had gone mad in the dark. They find his ramblings on the walls. Some of it is carved into the material, some of it is painted on with substances they don’t want to address. It’s a manifesto of sorts. It seems like this might have been a splinter of a larger movement.

A team will have to be called in to photograph the scene. K will pour over the evidence later, put the pieces together. He’s going to be spending more time in the bullpen than anyone wants.

They leave the way they came, following an imaginary string. Their pockets are laden down with bags of stolen eyes. The weight of what they had experienced together is a heavier burden.

K slides under first the door first again. He doesn’t need to assist the other officer into standing but he does. Six’s hand is a comfort after what they had just done. The other officer holds on long enough to assist with K’s journey off the loading dock before letting go to drop down beside him.

They walk side by side, close enough that their bloody knuckles brush. K wants to take the other replicant’s hand, feel him finger to finger. He doesn’t dare, not under the open night sky.

“You okay?” Six asks.

“He cared about them.”

His partner’s stride doesn’t falter. He merely makes a noise. Agreement? Placation? K can’t tell. Neither of them can say anything more without tipping their hand and potentially revealing more than is safe.

“Are you?” K asks, biting down the rising tide of things he wants to say instead.

“It’s just another Thursday.”

K nods. He can relate to the sentiment.

They reach the spinners, K unlocks his and drops into the driver’s seat. Six leans against of the side of the vehicle while K powers it on. The LAPD logo appears on the screen. “Madam, please.” he tells the unit. It dials her. She picks up on the second ring.

“You’re a mess.” her tone is curt. Her eyes flick to where she can barely see the other replicant in the frame. Her severe expression deepens to a frown. “Report?”

“There was one survivor. He took the others to the retirement home. Weeks ago from the look of things.”

“Those his brains?” She asks.

“Yes, Madam.”

She makes a considering noise, “You or him?” she asks with a jerk of her head to the other officer.

“Both,” Six cuts in before K can answer. It gets a sigh from Lieutenant Joshi. She is going to have to make sure they both get a bonus. One that, by rights, should be solely Six’s since he was the one who put the final bullet in the old gen. K feels appreciation curl in his gut.

“We have all the eyes, Madam. Should we turn them into evidence or bring them to you directly?” K asks politely, seeking to soothe Joshi’s ire. He does not want a correctional visit from her. He vaguely wonders if the gore spattered vision of him will linger in the back of her mind and keep her at bay for a while. Will she imagine the squish of brain matter between her fingers when thinking about pushing his head down?

“Drop them off. I’ll send a team out for the rest. Come on back for your baselines.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Joshi ends the call, forehead creased with agitation. K recalls his parrotfish. A quick rap of the knuckles on the hood of the spinner and a nod is all the goodbye he gets from Six before the other replicant gets settled in his own spinner and goes through the necessary motions.

They take off, roughly in sync with one another. They are both going back to the LAPD headquarters.

His mind races with the passing city, alight with more curiosity than he should be feeling. Six is not what he expected. He knows that it nearly unheard of to come across another law enforcement owned Nexus with a shared face. The police departments don’t like their skinners to have matches. It complicates things. Their genetic code is engineered to result in different features, even from the same source DNA. They are meant to feel alone, to feel dreadfully distinct.

next chapter -»

[requindeterre]

Spring sprouts in the cold winter

A/N: This was originally intended to be a longer piece when I wrote it back in September but I don’t have the skill yet to take it where I had intended. Title is taken from a translation of one of Fan Chengda’s poems: 满江红.冬至 This is set during the events of PIDW, specifically during Shen Qingqiu’s imprisonment after Yue Qingyuan’s fate. CW: canon typical violence and dark subject matter, death. None of these depictions are in-depth or overly graphic. Word Count: 1,134

It was a universal truth that nature acted in cycles. Spring bloomed into summer, faded into autumn, withered into winter, and begat spring anew. Perpetual. Unrelenting. 

Even the Demon Emperor Luo Binghe’s merger of the three realms could not stem the shifting tide forever. While it may have stymied the flow for a time, nothing could stop the cycle permanently. The seasons’ return came in fits and starts until suddenly, one day, all at once, a new (and often deadlier) normal had been established.

This held true as well in the crumbling and forsaken corner of the Water Prison to which Shen Jiu had been relegated. No season could truly reach him this far in the hollowed belly of the earth but a cycle found him just the same. Here, alone in the dark, with nothing but the shards of Xuan Su and bitter memories for company. It had been bright once. Shen Jiu could clearly recall the glint of torch light off the Beast’s canines as large meaty paws constricted over his flesh to “alleviate Shizun of things no longer necessary”. More of a bearing of fangs in false triumph than a smile, really. Shen Jiu’s collar bones and pelvis had been pulverized regardless to fold, press, and squeeze him into the jar Binghe declared his new residence. He had lost consciousness from the shock and feigned it further upon waking despite the blood parasites rousing until the echoes of the little emperor’s fury radiated through them too deeply to continue the charade. It was easier overall to tune out this “A-Luo’s” gloating and taunts than the last “A-Luo” who had separated him from Qi-ge. Just as it was easier now for Shen Jiu to tuck himself away in the recesses of his own mind as he had so many decades ago to escape to a place where neither beast could touch him.

It had been worth it, he mused, to see the storm rage across the upstart’s face as his pot was hoisted into place with thick chains. It had been less worthwhile to see the fragments of his final failing left where the only way to see them would be to bow his head in mock supplication. He was again a fool of his own making caught in a cycle of spite and its consequences. It was difficult to say how long ago that had been exactly, there were no natural light sources so deep in the prison but it had been long enough left unattended that the torches which had been lit had gone cold. Oh, his jailers had come for a time with stale water and gruel thin enough to pour down his throat, grumbling and muttering the whole while. That had lasted a few weeks (under the generous assumption that the former Peak Lord was tended to at least once a day) until whispers of Luo Binghe’s latest lengthy campaign reached even his ears and the immediate threat of their superior’s wrath no longer loomed. The rats tasked with his ‘care’ scurried off as soon as their Junshang’s infernal sword lifted from their necks, literally dropping the half full bowl of soupy mush to shatter on the stone floor before hoisting Shen Jiu’s pot back into position in haste. The speed at which they’d yanked him up had wrenched his neck hard against the lip of the pot and made his vision swim. Shakily trying to measure his breaths slowly and evenly against the vertigo filled the emptiness the miserable little imps’ retreating feet had left. 

As far as Shen Jiu was concerned, this was, overall, to be considered an improvement as it left him unobserved, blessedly alone with enough space and quiet to think. Escape was impossible. Even if his cultivation hadn’t been sealed early on in his imprisonment, the current level of damage sustained ensured he’d never make it out of the prison. He’d been too concussed when they’d hauled him through the winding maze of stairs and passages from his previous cell to this new cell to focus on much besides fighting the maelstrom of nausea swirling in his throat, let alone to memorize a route back to a central corridor that could lead him back to the sky. Now though, there was little reason to open his remaining eye. The stench of his own waste and the subsequent rot leaking from the opening of the jar had long since burned through Shen Jiu’s sinuses - a small mercy- but it remained enough to make his eye water. Soon it wouldn’t matter. Shen Jiu knew his end was finally coming. The hunger and thirst that his sealed cultivation could no longer suppress combined with the infection and rot of the remaining flesh had overwhelmed the last of the meager colony of blood parasites keeping him trapped in this husk. Soon, Shen Jiu mused, soon he too would return to the natural cycle. He let his head drooped back, colliding with his prison within a prison with a hollow thonk. Yes, everything in nature had its cycle. Shen Jiu’s personal winter came to an end with a rasped chuffed laugh as he slumped deeper into his jar. A last rattling sigh eased itself from his scarred lungs, and finally - utter stillness as the once proud Shen Qingqiu fled through the last escape left to him. [Initiating Transmigrational Exchange Protocol…] [Exchange failed. User Source File corruption error…] [Attempting file restoration…]

[Restoration failed…]

[Searching for compatible users…]

[Searching…]

[Searching…]  

[Compatible User File located. Loading…]

Whatever Shen Jiu had been expecting from the realms of the dead, nothing in the texts he had read in his tenure on Qing Jing Peak had suggested this. Whatever this was. 

The first thing his mind registered was that his body felt weighed down and pressed into the stiff surface beneath him. The second was light bright enough to make his closed eyes water and noise. So much noise. A low and constant hum, a rumbling churning of air from somewhere high and to his left, an irritating repetitive beeping that was gaining in speed, and a persistent chiming as he took stock of his body. Toes and fingers to flex, novel after years without, and an unpleasant tugging sensation in the top of his left hand when his fists clenched. By the time Shen Jiu had cleared his crusted eyes enough to get a visual sense of his surroundings, the chiming had grown louder and drawn closer from near his feet to right beside his ear. Annoyance flashed through him. Even dead it seemed he’d find no peace. He caught a glimpse of blurry white walls, blurry white floors, and blurry white ceiling before a large less blurry blue panel filled his vision. 

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times!]

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 8: My Little Pony

As Heisenberg pulled them out of the chaos and toward the parking lot, Rose kept thinking, for whatever reason, of birthdays.

Specifically, hers. More specifically, her eighth. She didn't even remember where they'd lived then; several towns ago, dozens of apartments. Incomprehensibly, Heisenberg had arranged for a bunch of her classmates to come out to some dingy warehouse. The party took place in the square of dead grass that backed it, full of rusted metal and the wrecks of old cars. None of the kids were her friends, exactly. Just the ones whose parents had made them come.

Probably regretted it when they saw the birthday girl's dad standing atop a wrecked car, yelling come right on in! Get your asses to the party! Don't be scared, kids! Rosie won't bite! Hahaha! like some kind of deranged ringleader.

The pony incident happened later, after the kids had managed to actually have some kind of fun, running and scuffling through the old scrap, playing games of darts that Heisenberg threw in favor of which child was nicest to Rose. He brought out the cardboard refrigerator box with a flourish- haphazardly wrapped, a bow tied at a rakish angle on top- and clicked his fingers, the other children leaning in with big eyes, rapt.

There was a sound like a revving chainsaw, the hiss of steam, and the box was pulverized, torn open from the inside. The thing reared: a pony welded together from scrap metal and pieces of what looked like old motorbikes, its eyes glowing like the pits of hell. Screams and gasps broke out through the assembled children as it stomped back down to earth, snorting twin jets of steam.

Go on! Heisenberg had urged, and Rose climbed into its makeshift saddle. It hummed under her, its metal almost too hot to comfortably touch. She sat there as Heisenberg applauded, as he made the pony trot around.

The humming got worse. A rattle started up.

Rose remembered hanging on, too nervous to dismount. Heisenberg's expression had shifted as the sound of rattling grew louder.

Kid, uh- maybe you should get off-

Something went pop.

Off the pony! Now! He'd flung out his arm as flames gouted from the gaps in the pony's metal plating. Rose was hurled upright, metal barbs hooking into her shirt and yanking her bodily into the air. The other kids shrieked and scattered an instant before the pony detonated in a blast of flames and pressure. Shrapnel went ping. Rose hit the ground, bounced, and rolled. Her head smacked metal. Amidst the pain, the ringing in her ears, the screams and burning remnants of the pony shooting toward the sky like a beach bonfire, she remembered how cold she was, the sensation of her blood weeping into the dirt, the knowledge that, yeah, that was it for this place.

They'd have to move on.

Again.

It was later that Heisenberg found her in her bedroom. They lived in a trailer at that point, on the edge of some woods, and her window looked out into the pines. She remembered that much: the smell of pine sap and dry grass, the way the wind sounded when it soughed through the trees. The August heat had felt like she was drowning in syrup, even with the fan pointed right at her.

Kneeling on her bed, she leaned out the window, listening to the wind in the trees, to the drone of insects in the grass. Her head still hurt- less after Heisenberg had stitched it up- and she kept fighting the urge to tug at her bandages.

The other children were long gone. Picked up by parents, hustled away. She suspected cops had been called. They weren't here yet. Heisenberg was banging around in the trailer, packing stuff up. Only what they needed. Whenever they moved to a new place, he only took as much as they could easily carry.

Silence fell. Rose shifted her face to the other side, letting the sunlight hit her other cheek. Footsteps approached her door and paused.

"Kid?" he'd said.

"It's okay," Rose said. "Come in."

She listened to the door open, the floor creaking under his weight. The room was so small he could cross it in one step. She heard him sit on the other side of the bed.

"Listen, Rose," he said, after a moment. "That didn't go as planned."

Rose said nothing.

"That fucking pony was supposed to work. The prototypes worked no problem. Reactors fired up and ran clean. Maybe..." He trailed off, and Rose imagined his thinking face, the icy focus in his eyes whenever he ran through an issue with one of his projects. "Maybe the fuel injectors didn't like the humidity...gaskets disintegrated when the...no, no...shit, what was it..."

"We're leaving again," Rose said.

He stopped talking.

"Yeah, kid," he said, finally. "We're leaving. This place wasn't our scene, anyway."

"We always have to leave."

"Yeah. Like I said, this isn't our place."

Rose watched the slow flight of a bumblebee as it neared the sill. It came to land on the bleached wood, scrabbling with its little legs at the grain. She stuck out her finger and let it crawl over her hand. Its gold and black fur glowed in the evening sunlight. It looked soft as down, but she didn't stroke it. It might sting her, and she didn't want it to die.

"I like it here," she said, her voice small.

Heisenberg didn't speak for a while, so long that Rose had thought he might have fallen asleep. He hadn't. He was still staring at the far wall. Maybe he was listening to the wind in the trees, like her. Maybe he was thinking and thinking, like he usually was.

The bee buzzed away, soon lost amidst the grass and trees.

"I know you do," Heisenberg said, soft and bitter.

Rose looked at her hands.

"We'll start over somewhere else, somewhere better," Heisenberg went on. "We're too good for this shithole of a town, anyway."

He leaned back, arms behind his head, kicking one tanker boot up on the doorknob. "I'll get it right next time. You'll see."

"Like you got the pony right?"

He'd turned his head, sharply, pinning her in place with his pale gray gaze. He snorted. "Yeah," he growled, low in his throat. He faced forward again, letting his eyes drift shut. "Yeah."

"Heisenberg."

"What?"

"You don't have to get it right." She'd reached out and taken one of his, much bigger, hands. His skin was warm, rough with scars. "As long as we're together. Okay?"

He chuckled. "You think it's that easy?"

Rose had nodded.

He'd ruffled her hair. She'd given him a hug. Then, it really was that easy. Now, she remembered that time, that place, that August heat. The bittersweet sting of moving on, knowing she would not be alone in this next strange place. Her simple delight in being held. He'd held her tight, and she'd felt something brittle in it down at the heart.

She knew it now. The incredulous, ferocious, selfish love of someone denied that love as a child, of a man, once starved and beaten, now fed and healed. Always afraid that his old reality would come to find him again, to sink its teeth in somewhere in the dark.

***

Heisenberg drove like a maniac. He'd drag-shoved Rose and Sam through the Scream Scene, the crowds disintegrating under the sirens from the disturbance at the House of Horrors. No one got in his way; Rose understood why. When he was really fired up, he could be terrifying, shouldering people aside, the air around him crackling with static electricity and the thrum of his power. Lights popped and went out in his wake. Lesser life forms quailed.

Sam was sobbing, her face a red mess of tears and smeared makeup and blood, her face and forearms cut-up from all the broken glass. Rose hung from Heisenberg's grip, numb and limp. She let him push her into a waiting car, a beat-up old hatchback with wine mom bumper stickers that was almost certainly stolen.

She heard him order Sam into the back despite her protests. He got in and clenched his fist, the engine sputtering to life under his command.

He slammed the car into gear and peeled out, narrowly avoiding two cop cars that were pulling into the lot.

"We have to go back!" Sam wailed, pounding on the headrest. "Mara's still back there! She's still back there, and you just left-"

"No," Heisenberg growled.

He was way too big for this car; his shoulder bumped Rose's every time he jerked the steering wheel left and right, weaving in and out of traffic. She huddled in her seat, her bloodied hands palm-up on her knees.

"What?" Sam gasped. "Fuck you, you-"

"We don't fucking go back!" Heisenberg bellowed, twisting round. He wrenched the wheel as he did so. The hatchback swerved wildly; horns blared. "You hear me?" He lifted a fist. "You need me to show you too?"

"You saved Teodora-" Rose mumbled.

"Teo was alive when I sliced her open and stuck the Cadou in her guts. That girl back there was stone-fucking-cold. You understand that? She's dead. That's why we're not going back."

Sam threw herself against the back seat, curling over her knees, the sobs coming thick and awful. Another horn blared past; Heisenberg kept veering over the center lines. He'd never really gotten the hang of traffic laws.

"How did you find us?" Rose whispered.

"You were stupid, kid," he snarled at her. "Didn't I teach you anything? I could hear what stop you got off on. Then all I had to do was follow the screams. Got there just in time too. You would be dead if not for me. You get that? You'd be dead, you and the bitch in the back seat, and it wouldn't be your little friend you'd be freaking out over, it wouldn't be anyone at all, because all of this, all these years of running and hiding and protecting you would have meant fucking nothing-"

He cut off. The hum of his power pulsed from him, stronger and stronger. Rose felt the frame of the car around them vibrating, the entire vehicle gripped in his mania. They were nearly home, she realized, with a pang.

Shit, maybe he was gonna kill her after all.

Heisenberg swerved into the front lot, parking diagonally over two spaces. He splayed his hand and the driver's side door tore itself off its hinges, spinning through the air to embed itself in the apartment building's front sign. He shouldered out of the car, its tires smoking against the pavement, and stalked away.

"Rose!" he bellowed.

She made herself get out of the car. Behind her, Sam opened the door and bolted. Without turning around, Heisenberg crooked his hand; a strip of metal tore itself free from the car and latched around her wrist, jerking her back toward him.

Sam skidded with a scream, dragged bodily across the pavement. He let go of her next to Rose, and she collapsed to her hands and knees, still sobbing.

Rose knelt alongside her. Her own eyes were hot, her chest all one big ache, but she couldn't cry. She wouldn't. Not in front of him.

"Don't," she whispered. "They'll find you, too. And get you."

"Mara's...she's...she's dead...they killed her..."

"I know. Don't you die too." She gave her a little shake. "Don't you dare."

The ache in her chest pounded harder. She got up and ran after Heisenberg, Sam a few steps behind her.

"Maybe you shouldn't have kept things from me!" Rose screamed at his retreating back.

He flung open the door with his power, breaking the lock with a crack. "Shut it, kid. You are in so much shit-"

"Maybe you shouldn't have kept the truth from me!" She ran after him up the steps, slipping as her legs quivered, catching herself by the rail. Mold veins turned her skin nearly black. White shocked in her vision. She was so angry she could have summoned her mold and ripped him apart right then and there. The only thing stopping her was the pure, burning need for him to look at her and tell her the truth.

"You know what that...that thing in the mirror maze was," she said. "It was...she was me- how could she be me? You know about the monsters, too, don't you? The Embryo?"

"How the hell..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Oh, yeah, I know. You figured I wouldn't find out I was being hunted down? I thought you were smarter than that,"she said. "You think I'm just a good little girl, sitting at home, doing everything you tell me to do. Let's get up and move, Rose. Let's only trust each other, Rose. The mortals aren't good enough for us. Fuck them! Fuck everyone who isn't us! Isn't that right?"

"Maybe it is!" "And maybe you're wrong! What did you do to me, Heisenberg?" Rose demanded. "What did you do to make me forget- forget- everything?"

He stopped in front of their apartment door, his head bowed. When he turned, the anger was gone. That look from before was back, that shame, that fear.

Of her? For her?

Both?

"I can't," he said. "Rose. Damn it, I can't."

"Why not? You scared I'll leave you alone? A lonely old man with nothing left but himself?" She shoved him. His back hit the door; his hands tightened into fists. Rose recognized when he was shutting down, cutting her off. She needed to shock him, to hurt him, so he'd do what she wanted, so he'd finally open up.

You could never hurt him, a part of her said, aghast. He's always taken care of you. Always kept you safe. And now you'd repay him with this?

Fuck it.

"You scared I'll see the true you?" she cried. "Manipulating me, keeping secrets from me so I won't see you for what you really are? Well, I see it now. You're just like Miranda."

The pit opened in his eyes. Oh, god, it went down forever. He shifted forward; Rose tasted metal on the back of her tongue as the lights in the hallway flickered, as his power hummed to life again, deadly as a cresting wave.

It never crashed.

"You need to trust me, Rose," he said.

Something inside her snapped.

"Too fucking late," she snarled, and she brought back her fist, and she punched him, hard, in the face. All her strength. All her power. His head snapped back. He actually reeled.

Not for long.

He came back up with his arm slashing down.

Metal screeched: something hit Rose in the midsection so hard she thought he'd stabbed her in the stomach. The stairwell railing, she realized, a second before she was thrown head-over-ass and skidding down the hallway. She came to an elbow-grating halt by the door to the roof at the far end. Something stung in her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue.

Dammit.

She looked up as Heisenberg advanced on her, Sam behind him pressed against the far wall, the pieces of railing orbiting around his torso like moons around their planet. He circled one finger lazily through the air as he neared, keeping the metal aloft.

"You're not gonna win this one, kid," he called to her.

Rose spat out a mouthful of blood. "Want to bet?"

She slapped both hands to the floor. It flooded black, the power surging from her so fast it felt like her skin tearing away, her arms knotted with black veins like vines growing from deep inside her. A vast tentacle of mold burst from the floor and thundered toward him; he brought his hands together, railing twisting together in an instant, becoming a scrap-metal blade, gnarled and ugly. It sheared through her mold, splitting it into two tentacles.

They writhed, then struck, winding around his arms and wrenching them in opposite directions. Bone crackled. The metal blade broke apart, pieces pinging against the walls. Heisenberg grit his teeth, pinned in place, mold tendrils rooting his boots to the floor.

"You're so predictable," Rose yelled. "I knew you would do that."

"And you're still a dumbass," Heisenberg said.

A chunk of metal rocketed from nowhere and hit her in the forehead with a clunk. Stars burst behind her eyes; she sprawled to the ground, blood dripping down her face and into her mouth. Metal closed around her wrist: the remnants of the railing. It jerked her backward; she slid along the floor, hooked like a fish.

"I don't need my hands for my power," Heisenberg called. "Neither do you. You'd know that if you weren't so scared to use it."

In a clang of metal against metal she hit the door to the rooftop and stayed, stuck there, a note pinned to a fridge with a magnet. Gritting her teeth, she yanked hard, her concentration lapsing; the mold-tentacles holding Heisenberg melted away.

He kicked free of their remnants and strode toward her, one slow step at a time. "Is that what you really think?" he called to her. "That I'm like Miranda?"

"Let me...let me go-"

"I'm nothing like Miranda. Nothing. The things she did- the ways she hurt us-"

"You hurt him, too, didn't you?" Rose yelled back. "My real dad. You hurt so many people before you got to me. People in the village. Innocents you bludgeoned to death when they got in your way. Did you lie all those years ago in the forest, when you told me what I thought was the truth? Did you kill him so you could have me, take my power for yourself, defeat all your enemies with it? How'd that work out for you?"

He shook his head. "Maybe I did! Maybe that was what I wanted back then! It isn't anymore. It's- it's nothing like that."

"Then...what?" She stopped trying to tug her way free, breathing hard, staring at him. Despite her promise to herself, she felt the warmth of tears slip down her face. "Tell me what it's like."

"I-" Heisenberg began.

He never finished.

Sam came up behind him and hit him in the back of the head with a piece of railing. Heisenberg cut off with an "Agh!" and stumbled.

Around her wrist, Rose felt the metal scrap loosen. She pulled; metal scraped her skin. She pulled harder. With a flare of pain she ripped her hand loose.

"Don't try any-" Heisenberg said.

She tried everything. With a scream she slashed out with both arms, again and again. The mold filled the hall, swarming over the lights in coils of slithering darkness, drowning the hallway to pitch-black.

Tentacles struck again and again, rebounding in bursts of blue sparks off metal; oh, shit, he was summoning all the metal in the hallway, every scrap, the railing, the nails in the walls, the light fixtures coming away in a chorus of shrieks.

The door behind Rose began to shake, and she twisted to the side as it tore itself from the doorway and shot toward him, colliding with the armor of scrap he'd assembled like a shield around him.

All Rose could see of Heisenberg in the sudden pour of daylight from outside was the glint of his eyes, the crackle of his lightning. Was he about to mutate? Crush her into nothing on the spot? She'd only seen him mutate once, when he was really, really pissed at their Wi-Fi. That had ended in a building leveled.

She struck out again with her mold but it barely slowed him, his electricity turning everything she threw at him into inert sludge. The hum ached in the backs of her teeth, the taste of blood and metal in her head so strong she felt sick.

"You're gonna do this?" he called to her. "You're gonna make me kill you, is that it?"

She couldn't hold it anymore. The effort would rip her to pieces. With a gasp she broke off her attack, and whirled, and ran. She stumbled up the concrete stairs to the roof and into the rainy afternoon dark. Wildly, she searched the roof for a fire escape, a ladder, any means of escape. Could she jump, like before, catch herself with her mold and bolt?

Did she even want to?

She whirled as he slammed through the doorway, carving great gouges in the frame: a monstrosity encased in metal, great spikes and plates crackling with blue-white power. He towered over her, wreathed in haze as the rain crackled to steam on contact with his superheated makeshift armor.

He raised one arm. Power surged; Rose lifted her chin, tears streaming down her face. Let him see them. Let him know.

The metal fell away.

Rose winced as it clanged to the ground, as the lightning died down, as the rain streamed uninterrupted over his shoulders and dripped off the ends of his hair. His eyes still glowed, but as he stared at her they dimmed, and he looked like Heisenberg again, the man she'd known nearly her whole life, who'd been everything to her for so, so long.

But he was both, she realized. Just like her. He was the monster crackling with lightning, abristle with scrap metal, tooth and scrap and snarl, a junkyard nightmare. And he was this, now, standing before her, nothing but rain between them.

"Go on," Rose called. "You're gonna do it, do it."

"Don't be a fucking idiot," he said. "Don't you get it, Rose? All of this- all of this-" He crushed a fist to his chest. "-Has been for you. To protect you."

"How-"

"Your father," Heisenberg said, cutting her off. "I knew him. Yeah, I knew him. I didn't lie to you back then. He died to save you, sacrificed himself in the bomb that glassed the village, wouldn't let Redfield and his goons set it off remotely. Because he was dying himself. He was one of the Black God's mutants. Like you. Like me. Except he didn't know it. And by the time he figured it out, it was go-time for Miranda's master plan."

"Me," Rose whispered.

"You." He drew a breath. "You were supposed to be her girl, Rosie. Her lost daughter. Her little Eva. She took us and twisted us as playthings and puppets, gave us paper crowns and told us each we were her favorites, her children, her saints, her soldiers. But it was all a sham. We were snacks before the big meal, the real thing. And when she got her daughter back, that would have meant the end for us."

He stopped for a moment.

"For some of us," he went on, "it was."

"And my father?" Rose asked. Her pulse pounded in her throat. The world felt suspended around her. Nothing was real but the rain on her face and Heisenberg's words.

"He came to get you. Didn't let anything get in his way. Not even me." He let out a snarl of laughter. "I was Miranda's loyal son, her lieutenant, so she thought. And yeah, you're right. In the decades of my service to her, I did things to people that made me deserve the worst kind of end."

A bitter smile exposed a glint of teeth.

"I should have got it, too, if there's any kind of justice in this merciless world of ours," he went on. "Slaughtered entire families that stood up to her. Hunted down girls like you, hunted them through the snow as they stumbled for freedom on bloody feet. Dragged them back screaming, pleading, praying, so Miranda could perform nightmares on them in that lab of hers. Made monsters of good men, all for my own freedom, all for vengeance. And when your father came searching for little lost you, I was supposed to stop him. Stuck him full of metal a time or two. Threw him to the wolves."

"You..."

"Hurt him, yeah. A lot. By the time he took my offer of help, I half wondered if it was because a part of him knew he wouldn't be physically able to make it on his own."

"If not for you, he might still be alive," Rose whispered.

"If not for me," Heisenberg said, "you wouldn't be. So that's that. It's a balance, then, kid. Like everything."

"A balance?" Rose said. "A balance? I'm a vessel for a dead girl and you're a cult leader's attack dog and you're saying it all evens out? Because- what? You've been pretending to be my dad for fifteen years? Pretending I'm more than a means to an end, a bargaining chip so my real dad would kill your evil mom for you?"

If she'd expected comfort, lies, Heisenberg to stop being such a grade-A-dickhead for thirty seconds, she was sorely mistaken. "Pretty much, yeah."

Rose clenched her teeth, the tears rushing to her face.

"You've got one thing wrong, Rose," Heisenberg said. He moved closer, close enough she smelled the familiar metal-and-tobacco scent of him. "You're not just a vessel for a dead girl."

"Then what? What am I?"

"You're much more," Heisenberg said. "So, so much more."

He lifted his hand.

"I can show you," he said. "Or we can leave. Tonight. Pack up our shit and go. It's your choice, kid."

Rose stared at him. He stared back. For a moment, she wanted to. Smile and nod, believe him when he said he'd get it right the next time and the next. You don't have to get it right as long as we're together.

But that was an insult to him and to herself.

Us monsters have to stick together, after all.

"Then show me," Rose said.

He nodded, and pressed his hand to the side of her head.

A crackle of electricity. The smell of ozone.

The world whited out, and Rose was flung backward, down and down and down, into the black pits of her hidden memories.

[jdgo51]

SEPTEMBER 1, 2024

Courage and Strength

Daniel Samuel Christian (Gujarat,

India)

"'I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Do not fear, I will help you.” - Isaiah 41:13 (NRSVUE)

"When I was 70 years old, my doctor told me that I had a hernia and would have to undergo an operation. Prior to that I had not experienced any health issues. When I was told that I would need an operation, I was very frightened. But my doctor told me there was no alternative.

On the day of the operation, my fear caused my blood pressure to increase. They could not operate until my blood pressure came down, so another patient was taken in for surgery before me. My family members waited and prayed for me. I prayed as well.

Soon I experienced God’s presence and felt that God was reminding me that because Jesus suffered and died, he understood my fear. At that time my fear vanished, and when they checked my blood pressure, it was back to normal. My operation was successful. Praise be to God.

When we face difficult situations, we can remember that our great God is always with us and will provide us with courage and support. Praying to our living God, we find new hope and strength." In times of uncertainty or stress , just turn to the Lord. Things will always brighten ip.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Dear God, thank you for giving us courage during difficult situations. Please provide courage to all those in need. In Jesus’ name we pray." Amen.

Isaiah 41:8-16

"'8 But you, Israel my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, offspring of Abraham, whom I love, 9 you whom I took from the ends of the earth and called from its farthest corners, saying to you, “You are my servant; I chose you and didn’t reject you”: 10 Don’t fear, because I am with you; don’t be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will surely help you; I will hold you with my righteous strong hand. 11 All who rage against you will be shamed and disgraced. Those who contend with you will be as nothing and will perish. 12 You will look for your opponents, and won’t find them. Those who fight you will be of no account and will die. 13 I am the LORD your God, who grasps your strong hand, who says to you, Don’t fear; I will help you. 14 Don’t fear, worm of Jacob, people of Israel! I will help you, says the LORD. The holy one of Israel is your redeemer. 15 Look, I’ve made you into a new threshing tool with sharp teeth. You will thresh mountains and pulverize them; you will reduce hills to straw. 16 When you winnow them, the wind will carry them off; the tempest will scatter them. You will rejoice in the LORD and take pride in the holy one of Israel."' God is forever there, wherever you find yourself to be. Trust Him to make it right. Bless you all! Joe

[t-t-t-t-twain]

Week 15

This week we read some of Mark Twain’s later writings including “Seventieth Birthday Speech”, “Early Days”, “Little Bessie”, and The Death of Jean. In this blog post I will be focusing on the “Seventieth Birthday Speech” and the ways in which Twain approaches vice as he embraces his persona of The Man in White. The speech is quite humorous and Twain spends a lot of time talking about his health and morals as a sort of satirical uncle Twain advice session and we can see a sort of self acceptance in this speech. Our quote for the day is:

“I will grant, here, that I have stopped smoking now and then, for a few months at a time, but it was not on principle, it was only to show off; it was to pulverize those critics who said I was a slave to my habits and couldn’t break my bonds,” (Twain 305).

Here Twain is poking fun at himself, but he’s doing it in an endearing way that has no sign of self criticism. This is often his go to method of talking about himself. It’s normal for him to make a harmless joke about himself that brings criticisms of his character back down to earth. It’s really difficult to make a jab at him for smoking when he’ll retort with a statement that is absolutely ridiculous, but somehow twists in just the right light to bring some truth along with it. Mark Twain may smoke, but he didn’t die from a disease of the lungs. 

I really think that this method of joking is his way of coping with the fact that he was a flawed person. This was his opportunity to acknowledge himself as a person, rather than criticize himself. It is also important to acknowledge that he’s writing this speech at the same time that he’s writing The Mysterious Stranger and that piece is far more self-deprecating with the conclusion that Twain is but a Thought. So here it makes sense that when he’s among friends he is going to take a completely opposite turn. He is happiest when he’s amongst company and when he is happiest he can write about himself with charm and silliness. Mark Twain’s approach to morals and vice as The Man in White when juxtaposed against The Mysetrious Stranger leads me to fall back on this sort of split life he has to lead and that he may have had a secret love for performing. He often complains about how much he hated performing, but I think he hated the before and after of performing, the act of performing was probably a comfort for him. When he performed he had the opportunity to be endearing and bring smiles to the faces of his audience. Everything that he hated about himself disappeared because he could twist it into this exaggerated persona that was somehow more human than the reality of personhood. Being Mark Twain was the most fulfilling thing he could do when faced with the decision of being Samuel Clemens or Mark Twain.

[scribbledonausednapkin]

Mountains in Texas

Joel x Ellie Travel Fluff. Lincoln to Chicago.

No warnings. 1.7k

As the blue chevy S10 rumbled on its broken path, the light tapping of a nail on glass and the lyrics of a Linda Rondstadt song that buzzed with static underneath the light chimes of the instruments dominated the space between the driver and passenger. The smell of soil and death that always violently pushed through every crevice left on earth pulverized Ellie’s nose and she scrunched up her face in disgust. She was accustomed to lingering scent of death, but animal shit also littered the nearby wild forests by the highway and that was not an aroma her nose had grown used to.

She rolled up the little bit of window that was left down on the passenger side and it squeaked loud enough for her traveling companion to notice. The bearded man lowly grunted as his eyes flicked to the action for a second before they were back on the cracked and grassy pavement before him. He had to pay attention to the maze of broken cars ahead, he had no time to argue with the little girl about the stuffiness of the truck; sometimes you had to pick your battles to keep the peace. By peace, he meant to prevent any sarcastic comments or snide remarks from the curly haired monster beside him.

“Joel?” she asked as if reading his mind; she knew when he did not want to speak. Not that he ever wanted to speak, to anyone. Especially now.

Really, Ellie was just fucking bored; they’d been on the same road for almost a full day. She kind of had to pee, but she didn’t bother asking to stop.

“What?”

“You’re from Texas right?” She turned to him, but he kept his eyes on the road. His jaw clenched. His gray beard was swiped with dark and light shades as the sunlight gleamed through the window.

“I said no questions-“

“It’s not about you. Conceited much?” Ellie smirked and Joel jerked his head, eyebrows knitted at the girl in red. He went back to the road, slowing going over a massive crack revealing dirt and tall grass underneath pavement. The wheels bumped over the exposed earth and then he maneuvered the truck through two smaller cars in the middle of the road.

“What was Texas like?”

She leaned back, her head hitting the cream pleather seat. Her fingers wove themselves behind her neck as she looked out at the dilapidated highway, chaotic foliage, and damaged vehicles around them. Her spine curved like a crescent moon in a welcomed stretch. It was not an uncomfortable seat, but she had been sitting for a long while. Her butt was sore, her lower back was stiff, and she was feeling the need to run. She’d settle for a conversation if Joel would participate for once.

“Didn’t that school teach you anything?” Joel sighed.

“I mean I know it’s like desert and snakes-“

“Desert and snakes?” Joel huffed, but before he could continue a tan deer spotted white sprang over a dented railing on the side of the highway. It hopped across gracefully, right in the path of the blue Chevy.

Joel braked hard and the car jerked toward to a halt. The deer pranced ahead with little care, barely acknowledging the two passengers hitting their chests hard against their seatbelts.

Ellie gasped, heart racing. She sucked in a breath before she noticed Joel had stuck his arm out in front of her chest, forearm bracing against her. Her seatbelt dug into her torso and she looked down as he retracted his arm.

He was protecting her, she thought, as she looked over to see his frown.

“You alright?”

Joel’s heart pounded in his ears, his foot was still forced hard against the break pedal. He took a deep breath.

“Yea,” she breathed, still shocked. She faced ahead eyes not really focusing, but thinking about the doe dancing beyond the pines out of sight.

“That is why we wear seatbelts,” Joel said lightly turning his attention back to the road. He eased off the break and pushed down on the gas, but the car began to bounce. He looked down at his feet, deeply frowning.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Joel scowled at Ellie for a second and looked to the hood of the truck in front of him. He pushed the gas again and the truck attempted to lurch forward, but the bouncing persisted.

“Shit.”

“What? Is it broken?” Her quick high pitched concern grated his eardrum. Her heart switched back quickly from its lull to frantic beating as a new obstacle stuck out its foot.

“No. Did you grab the toolbox like I asked you to?”

Joel turned to Ellie putting the car into park. He turned the keys in the ignition stopping the truck engine completely.

“The green one?” Ellie asked wide eyed. Her uncertain tone rang louder as the engine ended its roar and the soft sounds of the forest permeated the space.

“I don’t know what color it was. The one by the door,” he replied gruffly while taking out the keys and opening the truck door.

“Uh, I think so.”

Joel grunted in response as his boots hit the dusty pavement. He made his way to the bed of the truck looking under the tarp for a green toolbox.

“Find it?”

Joel unfurled the tarp to see a concerned Ellie sticking her head out of the back sliding window of the truck. The opening was small, so it really was just the floating head of a fourteen year old girl with a few small brown curls on her forehead.

“It’s blue. Not green. How did you mix those up?” Joel lifted the navy blue beaten toolbox from the dark storage space.

Ellie gaped, then frowned. “Can’t you just be happy I remembered it?”

Joel didn’t reply, taking the rough handle of the box in his grip. Ellie rolled her eyes, retreating back to her seat.

“What did they teach you in the that school?” The older man murmured moving to the right side of the front of the truck. Just as he suspected, a flat tire. Great.

He bent down to inspect it closer, placing the toolbox neatly beside him. A familiar squeak was heard overhead, but he ignored it. There was a nail head imbedded in the rubber. He was grateful Bill had left a pump already in the back of the truck. That man really thought of everything.

“What’s wrong with it?”

The annoying voice came from above him this time. Ellie hung out the window gazing at Joel with curiosity.

“It’s flat,” Joel said shortly.

“Why?” She leaned out fully by her waist, her torso bending over as Joel’s thumb brushed the dirty metal puncturing the tire. Her ponytail swayed in the sunlight as she bounced against the side of the truck door, palms pushing off against the metal.

“It’s out of air,” Joel answered opening the toolbox and looking for a pair of pliers. Ellie scowled, pausing her not so gentle swinging. Joel was made a lot of dad jokes for someone with no kids.

“Duh. What happened to it?” She was always inquisitive, this walking threat to his life.

“We hit a nail.” Joel went to work removing the nail, carefully examining the placement along the treading.

“When?”

“How would I know that?”

Ellie paused, shrugging.

“Can you fix it?”

He sighed.

“Yes, I can patch it up, but eventually we’ll have to replace it,” Joel replied strained, trying to focus on his work.

“Do you know how to replace it?”

“Yes.”

“How long will it take to patch it?”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling.

“A lot longer if you keep bugging me,” he chided in a low tone. He didn’t look up quick enough to see Ellie’s disappointment, only her anger. “Will you stop doing that, it’s bad for the truck.” His eyes watched her freeze mid upswing, folding her arms across her chest.

Ellie scoffed, hands then moving to the window frame to lift herself back into the truck. “Whatever,” she shot under her breath. She proceeded to slump into her seat and rolled up the window, sticking her tongue out at a concentrated Joel.

He raised himself up and ambled to the bed of the truck to get the pump. The heat beat in through the windshield, the sun moving higher into the sky. Ellie felt the direct beams on her face, delightfully burning her cheeks. She squinted into the sun, blurry dots hitting her vision and she closed her eyes, seeing shades of red and pink.

“It’s too early for this,” Ellie heard Joel grunt through the back window, still ajar. She leaned over to look out the passenger window and Joel didn’t raise his head. He was bent over doing something - but Ellie refused to engage.

After a few minutes her burly companion opened the driver side door. He adjusted himself in his seat scooting back and grabbing the keys from the cup holder.

Ellie had her cheek up against the warm glass of the passenger window, smudging it with her skin. Her hand was underneath her jaw, pushing against the glass with equal force. She refused to look at Joel as the truck started and he shifted into drive.

“Texas isn’t all desert and snakes. There are forests and mountains too. Plenty of deer.” Ellie craned her neck, slightly. She did not move her smushed face from the glass, but her dark chestnut eyes peered over from her peripheral.

“I’ve never seen a mountain,” she said with attitude, but it was true. The truck jittered forward along the uneven road, rotting automobiles covered in vines slumping into the gray highway on either side.

“You will.”

The young girl’s back shot straight for a moment and her brows knitted together. Her arm pushed off lightly from the window as she turned to Joel. He smirked, his dark eyes meeting hers for a moment.

“I will?”

There was the hint of a crooked smile and brightness dancing in the depths of her pupils.

“Sure, the mountains in the west are some of the biggest there are.” Joel’s expression was serious, his tone was that of a teacher. His eyes darted back to the road, training themselves ahead for the rest of the long journey. The music from the cassette filtered through the speakers once more. Ellie turned back to the window, pressing her sleeve into the glass, looking out at the dense trees.

“Cool.”

She suddenly felt a tightness in her bladder, now she really had to pee.

[spectralsleuth]

FLIPSIDE WON! Let's goooo. Alrighty, disclaimer that all WIP's are subject to change since I rewrite things a million times before posting and have no beta or editor.

Michelangelo: Make a Portal

“It shouldn’t be possible.”

Michelangelo has heard some variation of this over and over again for far too long. It wasn’t new. He wished he could harden his heart against the expectations of hearing something different, but if there was one thing Michelangelo Hamato had an abundance of it was hope.

(If he hardened his heart even once for this, it would never soften again.) 

So every time a mystic expert arrived at the base, they took a look at Michelangelo; and every time, he got his hopes up that maybe this time someone would know what was wrong. Maybe this time someone would look at his knobbled knuckles, his sore feet, the creases around his face that were outstripping his brothers- and know how to fix it.

Leonardo said he didn’t get his hopes up, but Michelangelo knew different. He was quieter the days after these exams, and although Michelangelo could never catch him at it he knew Leo was looking at his little brother with something like sorrow.

Michelangelo hurt, was the thing. Getting old sucked, but getting old when you were only thirty-nine mega sucked.

Michelangelo didn’t walk much any more, because his knees were riddled with arthritis and if he stepped wrong the impact would bring tears to his eyes. His tendons jumped and popped like old cables, and although Michelangelo kept trim and fit and stretched the same as all his brothers, he couldn’t stop himself from losing elasticity. He couldn’t bend, couldn’t jump, and although he gloated while he hovered over Leonardo during strategy meetings, it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t sure he could run any more.

His skin was thinner, the scales duller, his head hurt all the time- and he hadn’t told Leonardo, but. Sometimes, he felt a flutter and a burning in his chest, that would bring a wave of nausea so strong that he had to sit down wherever he was until it passed. Pins and needles would move through his whole left arm, and he’d tuck it inside his cloak to rub the pain away.

His soft heart finally having had enough, it seemed.

Michelangelo was getting old, and no one knew why.

Until he finally did.

“It’ll take everything I have.” He told Leonardo, and he meant it.

There was never a world where Leonardo said jump, and Michelangelo didn’t ask how high. Michelangelo would spend every last bit he had left for one last hail mary, one last attempt to stem the tide of the Apocalypse, one last try to save his brother's son if nothing else. Leonardo knew that. They both knew that, even if Casey Jones Jr. with his Hamato eyes and his mom’s crookedly healed nose didn’t.

Michelangelo centered himself.

Not just himself, but he centered the world. He felt for the edges of space where he was standing, the ground under his feet and the exact space he was occupying. He felt for where they were hurtling through space clinging to the skin of a bone bleached Earth, and he felt for how the faint flex of his plastron as he breathed moved that space all the way down. From the planets solar orbit, to the grains of pulverized concrete under his toes.

Every single little thing was connected, and if you had a big enough lever you could affect it-

And Michelangelo had a very big fucking lever.

He felt along this connection like finding his way in the dark, and once he knew the space it was simple to take a step to the side, and know the time.

‘Anyone got the time?’ He couldn’t help but think hysterically. He’d only ever practiced this; brushed the edges of time with the crackling tips of his fingers during meditation, until he’d jerked his hand back like he’d been burned.

Michelangelo had known then the toll it would take. It was like standing on a railroad track and seeing the light getting bigger in the distance. At the time he had stepped off the tracks and let it go by, and told Leonardo what he’d felt later, only under the cover of night in the quiet where they told each other everything they had left to tell.

(The two of them always pressed shell to shell in a bunk too small for the both of them, Michelangelo aching in such a fierce way that not even the cold press of Leonardo’s mechanical arm against his elbows, knees, neck could keep tears from seeping beneath his closed eyelids while they tried to sleep.)

Here and now, in what was left of him standing in the wreckage of Central Park, he heard the krang dogs in the distance. He heard the crunch of feet on gravel and rebar, he heard CJ’s desperate yelling and he heard his older brother giving the marching orders. He could see the sky stained red, and couldn’t help but wish he could look at something different when he died.

That was a selfish thought. But the apocalypse had made them selfish.

Asking a kid to stop the apocalypse wasn’t right. But it was what they had.

Michelangelo didn’t need to turn and see the blood to know Leonardo wasn’t making it out of this either. He would be the last one standing though, Michelangelo couldn’t help but think wryly, as bits of himself started to burn away.

It was sad.

A sad end, to a sad story.

That was his last thought. He had one last time for a wink, and then he felt himself fall apart.

It didn’t hurt. It happened so quickly that whatever made him capable of feeling pain was gone before he could even comprehend it should hurt, his essence spiraling away into nothing but some apocalyptic dust.

It didn't hurt, and he didn’t die.

Michelangelo found himself in the same spot he often meditated in; that liminal space behind his closed eyes, that often sparked with gold, and seafoam green. He was waiting for something to happen- Karai to show, and guide him to the afterlife. Raphael, or Donatello to appear with wide open arms.

Dad.

The only things that made dying worth it, when he was leaving CJ behind.

(Selfish.)

But he didn’t see them. Instead, he saw that glimmering edge of time still standing open in the dark, and with a growing sense of wonder- he found something.

He felt like a kid again; turning over a rock to find a tiny rolled up pillbug, or beautiful patch of moss. Wonder, delight, understanding. Michelangelo hadn’t ever been scared of death, or he might have been panicking more at the prospect of his soul being sucked into an endless looping time vortex.

Instead, he only felt curiosity, and the deep burning joy in understanding the universe, and knowing how it worked. Michelangelo reached unafraid and put himself into what he had found, and he found-

Himself.

‘Oh.’ Michelangelo thought; seeing himself reflected over and over into infinity, a million iterations, a billion, every one of them as orange and bright and burning and full of love for his family as the last. CJ was sailing towards the future, and he felt the last remaining Hamato from their time like an anchor point, dragging his consciousness and awareness with it, and Michelangelo thought-

‘Oh. I can work with this.’

[bokettochild]

About Legend having insane leg strenght: what if the reason he never brags about that is because he's embarassed about it? He thinks that pulverizing a boulder with a kick is either something everyone can do or too similar to a bunny. One day he and Four get dumped into a monster camp without their items or weapons and Legend takes desperate measures to ensure they don't die: anihilating the entire camp with only his legs. He is unironically and literally capable of killing someone with his /1

This ask references this post btw, so, check it out if you need context!

Honestly, I loved this so much! THANK YOU!!! But I am half asleep, so the cool stuff I saw in my head is being stinky and not comng out. I'm sorry, hope you like my half-asleep drabbl of Legend being weak as shit while simultaneously having the strongest kick out of the whole Chain XD

Legend hates being at Ordon.

It’s not that he hates the people; he’s used to country folk, he was raised around them, heck, his grandparents have the same strong twang in their voices that everyone in Twi’s village does! He loves the fresh air and the sounds of animals and the sight of growing things everywhere he looks.

But he hates looking around and seeing Twilight’s entire village (even the freaking kids!) wander around lifting things that probably equal his entire body weight!

Seriously, Malo (that was the terrifying toddler’s name, right? That’s what Twilight said when he introduced them all, right?) could lift up a small goat with ease, and he was an actual toddler!

What was Uli feeding her children that they turned out this strong? Were all the village women using it? How on earth was every person in all of Ordon fully capable of throwing Legend over their shoulder?

It hadn’t happened yet, but Legend was on guard because it was only so much time before someone figured out it was possible, and it wasn’t as if he could fight them off.

He wasn’t jealous, definitely not. Not even when he saw Twilight carrying a mother goat across the village with an easy stride as he brought the nanny back to her pen. When he buried his face in his arms and sighed it wasn’t because he was remembering how much he had to tug and pull to move a basket of apples, no, it was just because the mere thought of carrying goats for the foreseeable future made him tired. Definitely.

But this strength was just an Ordon thing, right? It was totally just something that was common in Ordon, and Legend took comfort in that as he sat on the front porch of Uli and Rusl’s house and helped with the mending.

Even their blankets were heavy, what the heck?

But then Sky walked past.

And Sky was carrying a barrel, an entire barrel. One that swished and clunked with the sounds of grain filling it, and if the small trail of spilled seed that followed after the hero meant anything, then that thing was full.

Okay, so Skyloftians were strong too, no big deal.

Big deal.

Their entire visit to Ordon, helping to hide away animals and supplies before a local monster band stole them, was spent with Legend trying desperately to not be jealous as he watched everyone from Wind to Time lift and carry things that he couldn’t even knock over if he pushed against them.

It wasn’t even that most of thing things were heavy, it was just... he was weak.

Uli’s gaze when she’d figured out the truth had been surprised, eyes blown wide with shock as she watched as Legend, who’d opted to help indoors since he knew working outside would lead to him being more a burden than an aid, struggled to lift buckets of water to fill the wash basin. Dark brown eyes had followed him as he’s left the bucket outdoors and stomped inside, hissing and wheezing under his breath as he moved his attention to his bag and grabbed one of his power bracelets.

“Hun,” Uli’s soft country twang caught his attention as the woman drew close, concern filling her warm gaze. “Are ya’ feelin’ alright?”

And reputation or no, Legend’s Gran would have his hide on a hitching-post if he even so much as dropped his manners. There was something about country folk that was so inherently polite and welcoming, that even the salty vet couldn’t help but return with the same manners that his Gran had pounded into his head since childhood.

“Yes, ma’am.” Crimson trailed up his neck to blossom across his cheeks and shoot up his ears. He tried to ignore that Uli had a baby on one hip and a bushel of food on the other, breath contained and relaxes as she stood there, no hint of strain in her face or body language. His fingers trailed along the clasp of his power bracelet, shame building inside as he shuffled his feet.

You just can’t walk away when lady’s talking to you, especially if she’s being all polite like and just makin’ sure you’re okay.

“Are you injured?” The farm-wife pressed. “You were huffy something huge with that there bucket.”

And Legend would like nothing more than to sink into the earth as he glances over the full bucket of water that no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t lift. “I’m just not much of a farm-hand is all, ma’am. I’ll be right as rain in a tick, just needed to grab something I forgot.”

And while the look Uli gives him is a bright smile, he knows worry when he sees it peeking out of someone’s gaze. He tries to ignore that, instead turning back to the chores he’d been assigned and trying his hardest to ignore ethe fact that no one else was wearing power bracelets when they all came back for dinner that evening.

He’s not strong. So what? He can lift his sword well enough, and he can do most other things too when he wears the power bracelets.

Yes, he knows that Ravio warned him about not developing muscles if he relied on objects so much, but he’s never had time to work out or build any muscle mass, so when he needs it it’s a bit more important to just get his work done rather than hope he’ll develop it. He’s paying for that, and he knows it, but he can’t really help that he doesn’t have the time or space to really do anything about it.

Oh well, at least the others haven’t caught on.

Warriors hefts a huge rock over his shoulder and throws it, chuckling deep and loud as he smirks at the rancher. “Beat that!”

They’re clearing a road where an avalanche swept through and blocked off the main entrance to a local town. They’ve been at it for hours, and while Legend tries his hardest to be discreet by sticking to things he can actually lift, even if it does require his bracelets, the others have devolved into a contest to see who can throw stuff the furthest.

There’s nothing on the other side of the road except for the edge of a swamp, and even Legend has to admit that it’s ridiculously satisfying to hear each of the heavy stones go ‘plop’ as they land in the marsh.

Twilight smirks at the captain, all his sharp teeth on display as he hefts a rock that’s the size of Wild and easily bigger than half of the rest of the heroes. “Watch and learn, city boy.” Twilight grunts (well at least it took some effort) before throwing the boulder and watching with the rest of them as it soars through the air and lands with a dramatic ‘splosh’ in the middle of the swamp. Cheers erupt from the younger heroes, and a few even drop their own burdens to give a brief round of applause.

Warriors humphs shrewdly, gaze thin as he looks over at Twi, who only cocks a brow in challenge. “Anyone think they can beat that?”

Legend finds his gaze meeting Four’s swirling hazel, and they both quickly look away from the captain, both well aware that the biggest rocks they’ve lifted are maybe the sizes of their heads, and no where near the horrific loads that the taller heroes are tossing left and right.

“I’ll try!” Wild’s eyes are flashing as the kid clambers over the rock slide, eyes darting to and fro until they land on what has to be the biggest, most horrifically sized piece of rubble Legend has ever seen. The Champion beams, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles briefly before taking the stone in both hands and lifting it over his head and throwing it.

The swam erupts in goop and several of their group yelp and have to dark back as smelly water sprinkles the edge of the path. Wild beams down from his perch on top of the pile, hands on his hips as he looks down at them. “Who dares challenge my strength?”

“How about you, Vet?” Warriors nudges him lightly, chuckling with a cocked brow. The man is just teasing, and he doesn’t mean any harm, but Legend finds himself irritated anyways. He doesn’t know what it is about Warriors, but the man gets under his skin entirely too easily.

“No thanks.” He grunts, hefting his own stone (so small in comparison) a bit higher and adjusting his grip as he walks over to the swamp.

Wild scrabbles around above, knocking stones aside and sending them rolling down towards the vet. Legend rolls his eyes, dodging quickly around a few and kicking some of the larger ones in the direction of the swamp.

He smiles to himself at the satisfying ‘plonk’ as each one hits the surface.

Four’s head aches and the next time they see Warriors they’re going to kick him in the shins.

The captain is good at planning, usually, but if his planning means that Four is waking up to stare around a vast room where people in red and black PJ suits are eating bananas because said plan went wrong, then they think they’re a bit justified in wanting to kick the captain.

They’d reach to rub their head, to adjust the headband that’s riding too low and letting their hair all hang in their eyes, but their hands are bound behind them, and they’re left huffing their breath and scrunching their nose in an effort to relive their irritation. Their mind is too wild to shake their head, but they let their eyes wander.

Legend’s violet gaze meets theirs, sharp fury bubbling below the surface as Legend sits across from them, hands bound behind him, a rope leading from his wrists to a hook in the wall that is definitely higher than either of the two of them can reach.

As unkind as it is, they breathe a sigh of relief to know they aren’t alone (even if being four people in one body technically means that they’re never alone as is). It’s...nice, having Legend around. They don’t know what it is, but the taller boy feels safe and that’s something that they, especially Red, fond comfort in.

But the fact that two of them are here means that Wars is getting both his shins kicked, fair is fair.

Legend squeaks in that harsh way he does when he’s angry, a poor and rather adorable attempt at a growl, but apparently, he’s unable to make any sort of guttural noise, so the squeak is the best he can do. “I am going to strangle Wars when we get back. Yiga? Seriously?”

They raise a brow. “Weren’t we fighting moblins?”

“And a Talus. Unless these guys have transformative rings, then someone messed up.” The vet grates out, but before he can try and unravel their situation any more, a masked face is shoved into the vets own, one of the pajama clad banana eater’s apparently trying to leer over the vet, breath strong and rank even behind his mask.

“So! The friends of the hero awake! You will call me Astorah! Leader of the Yiga and supreme priestess to Lord Ganon!”

“I’ll call you annoying and maybe alive if you let us go.” legend drawls, unimpressed. “Seriously lady, get your face of mine or I’ll knock it in.”

They smirk. Legend is as polite and well-mannered as can be around the country villages, but the minute he’s away from thick mountain drawls and country twang, the Vet becomes a sour and salty speaker who’s as likely to threaten you as o smile at you. It would almost be funny if they weren’t being held captive.

Astorah makes an indignant sound, hand shooting out to smack Legend across the face. The vet can’t do anything to stop it, and the blow sends his head swinging to the side, a faint grunt escaping as the self-declared priestess stands to her full height (she’s taller than either of them at any rate) and promptly orders her subordinates to see to it that the prisoners be brought to ‘the mountain’.

“The hero will be looking for his friends,” The pajama clad leader declares excitedly, hands rubbing together like a villain in a bad stage play. “So, let's help him out, shall we?”

The vet and smithy exchange a glance, each somewhat surprised at how... pathetic their opponent seems to be.

“Their screams should do the trick; all heroes listen to cries of help after all.” There’s a mad waver in her voice and the pitching is all wrong.

She’s delusional. Vio whispers, and the rest of them are inclined to agree.

Across from them, legend scowls as another red and black clad weirdo comes to grasp his binds, unhooking them from above as yet another does the same to Four.

Ideally, they would try and escape now, but legend only follows along slowly as Astorah leads them through the endless halls and up step after step, murmuring, laughing and shrieking loudly as she goes, hands fluttering and gestures erratic as Legend’s scowl grows more and more each minute.

It all seems rather pathetic, all thing considered, until another, larger, more intimidating individual stops them, voice harsh as it grates out something in a language neither hero can understand. Astorah protests and shrieks at the figure, but they disregard her and instead turn to the heroes.

“Put them back, screams echo within a cave far better than on a mountain top.”

Four’s stomach sinks. Being outside means being closer to escape, means finding the others easier and kicking Wars for landing the in a battle where two of their own had been captured by the enemy.

Legend seems to be of the same idea, his eyes flashing as he pulls at his bonds, tugging away from the guard holding onto him.

The oddly garbed enemy slaps him again, but Legend doesn’t seem to be affected, only pushing harder and biting towards the next hand that swings his way. Astorah pulls away with a light sob, shrieking when Legend’s teeth keep hold of her hand while the enemies around them erupt into action.

Fours unsure of what happens next, their head is still spinning, and quite honestly, they’re sure Hyrule will declare him concussed when they get back, but he does see blows being thrown Legend's way, blades being drawn as shouts echo around them.

There’s a dark of movement, and one of the enemies falls. Four stares in shock for half of a moment before turning their gaze to Legend, who, for all intents and purposes, looks half feral.

Blood stains the Vet’s bucked teeth and his hair swirls as he spins and ducks beneath blows. His hands are still bound tightly behind him, a rope trailing on the ground as Legend evades contact, yet somehow still manages to down another enemy.

Four would try and help, but their mind is spinning, their brain not yet up to date with what their eyes are seeing, that and they’re still bound themself, their arms are fastened behind them and they’re not even sure how Legend is managing to get blows in.

And the he sees.

The vet’s boot swings up to make contact with one of the jaws of the enemy.

Yiga. Wild had told them about them, the Yiga clan, people out for the hero’s blood. The word only comes to mind now, but they’d had to tune out of the battle for a brief moment to remember it. They’re brought back to it as the sound of an agonized scream breaks through the air, accompanied by the harsh snapping sound that Four knows too well from having broken their own bones.

Legend fights with his hands behind his back, kicking out like an angered horse and injuring any who step near. It’s impressive honestly, watching how blood spurts and bones crumple from the force of the vet’s blows, and all that without having use of his hands.

The Yiga back away, eventually leaving the room entirely as Legend squeaks out an angry Legend sound after them, before turning his attention to Four. Four says nothing, and it appear Legend thinks that that’s okay, because he darts towards the door they had been headed too, leading Four with nervous glances being thrown back over his shoulder every few minutes.

The mountain top they emerge onto is higher than Four expected, and they want nothing more than to snuggle down in the cozy parka Legend once leant him, but they have none of their items, and they’re lucky to even be out in one piece.

It takes a lot of work to climb down a mountain with their hands tied, but their fingers are too cold to make any good of the knots, and they manage in the end to climb down. They’re in the last legs when Four notices what looks like a small group of travelers below, and they can almost hear the singing of the Four Sword from them.

They’d dropped their blade in their battle, the very reason they were caught in the first blade. They’re not happy someone else touched it, but they are glad they didn’t leave it behind.

“Four,” Legend’s voice breaks them from their thoughts, and as they turn to face him, they find that Legend’s face is flushed, ears twitching nervously as he avoids their gaze. “Could you...not tell the others about all that?”

“About what?” They clamber down another stone, Legend still within sight as he trails down beside them.

“The...kicking.” Legend flushes. “I know you guys- most of them anyway- could have it handled better. I just, Wars is bad enough as is, I don’t need him bring up my lack of strength next time he decides he needs ammo to mess with me.” There’s a scowl on the vets features as he hops down and across and small hold in the mountain side. “I get it, I’m weak in comparison, they could probably have beheaded those guys with their bare hands, but mine fingers are shit o a good day and-”

Four doesn’t know if they actually figure something out or randomly spew words, but Legend’s eyes turn to them in surprise when the smithy stares down at him. “You do know most Hylia’s can’t do anything by kicking each other, right? I’m planning on kicking Wars when we get back, and the most it’ll do is bruise him.” Their voice is flat, but they let Viol take over, he always had the best endurance out of them when it came to rocky places anyways. “You kicked a man’s ribs in, Legend.”

And it’s not funny, it really isn’t, but they giggle, watching as Legend flushes before their eyes, and when the others trail up towards them, gazes curious and concerned, Four is laughing hysterically.

It could be the head wound, it could be Legend’s face, but the thought that Legend was able to kick a man's ribs in and hadn’t done so to any of them yet was both surprising and highly relieving for whatever reason, and it’s hilarious listening to Legend try and explain himself as the vet protests and struggles against the fact that apparently Hylian’s don’t usually have enough leg strength to kill people with.

Yes, people died back there. Yes, Four just watched them die. Maybe it’s Shadow’s influence, but Four can’t find that they're overly bothered. They are tired and injured and cold, and if they can laugh about something as ridiculous as Legend’s strange strength imbalance, then Hylia danggit they’re going to!

They never do kick Wars’ shins in, they giggle to hard at the thought that Legend doing so could actually break them, so they topple over before they can lift their feet.

[starbudspresents]

Re.Gray 018 - Averted Catastrophe at the Black Order

[ Masterlist ] [ Read on AO3 ] [ Raws ]

Summary: Lenalee saves the day in her sleep.

♦ 27

Narr: The berserk Science Division robot "Komlin" has captured Allen, and Lenalee's in trouble too!!

Komui, side: GYAAAAHH Komui: Anything but machoooo!! Komui: Lenalee, you've got to wake up!

sfx: DON [wham]

18th Night - Averted Catastrophe at the Black Order (Amended from "Catastrophe at the Black Order")1

♦ 28

18th Night - Averted Catastrophe at the Black Order (Amended from "Catastrophe at the Black Order")

♦ 29

Komui: KYAAAHH Komui: Lenalee!! Lenalee!! My Lenaleeee!!! Komui, side: KOMLIN YOU FOOL

Division: You're gonna fall, Director!!

Johnny: ! D-Director, look! sfx: bishi [dramatic fingerpoint]

Komui: !

Johnny: Over at the end of—

Komui: !!

sfx: hyuuoooo [wind blowing through the abyss around and below Lenalee, who is standing on the tip of the hovervator's extended cannon, apparently sleepwalking]

♦ 30

Komui & Reever: Lenalee!!

sfx: fura fura [wobble wobble] Lenalee: I heard Allen's voice.... sfx: bohh [sightless stare]

sfx: pipi [Komlin beeping as it notices her]

Lenalee: Is he back now...? sfx: vun [Lenalee's Innocence thrums to life]

♦ 31

Lenalee: Innocence: initialize!

sfx: bachii [a bursting, popping noise as boots materialize on her lower legs]

♦ 32

sfx: goh [Komlin lunges] Komlin: Surgery for Exorcists!!

sfx: bah [Lenalee jumps high into the air like there are rockets on her heels]

sfx: GASHIH [Komlin grabs at the end of the cannon where she was and gets only metal, tilting the hovervator alarmingly]

Division: WHOA, WHOA

sfx: hyah [Lenalee does a sweet flip] sfx: tah [lands neatly on the railing]

Reever: Lenaleee, Allen's in here!!

♦ 33

Division: W-We're falling!! sfx:guraa [perilous tilt and sink which causes several members to fall off into open air, RIP] Division: Crank the power, crank it!! Division: C'mon we need more!! Division, side: GYAAHH, GYAAHH

sfx: pipipipi [Komlin beeping triumphantly] Komlin: Lenalee captured.

sfx: dan! [Komui slams into the railing] Komui: LENALEE!

sfx: SUBAN [Lenalee delivers a brutal back kick over her own head to Komlin's face]

Komui: !!!

sfx: zuzazazaza [Lenalee comes to a sliding halt on landing]

♦ 34

sfx: BI BI BI BI BI [Komlin fires a bunch of lasers at Lenalee, who dodges like she's dancing]

Reever: Haha, take that! Reever: Nothing can catch Lenalee when she boots up her Innocence. Reever: Dancing in the sky like a butterfly,

sfx: don [strike]

sfx: bashu [rebound jump]

Reever: plummeting to earth with the destructive force of steel: Reever: that's her anti-Akuma weapon, "Dark Boots".2

♦ 35

sfx: GYUOH [massive vertical heel strike that literally bisects Komlin] sfx: gagoh [it sags away from its grip on the cannon to either side]

Division: Hurrah—

sfx: bah [Reever shifts grip to look into the ruined OR door] Reever: Allen! Are you all right!?

Arrow #1: ↓ Allen Arrow #2: ↓ Timcanpy

Allen: I suppose....

Division, side: Yeahhh!! Division: That's it, Lenalee! Pulverize it! Division, side: Take it down! Division: You're the best!!

♦ 36

Division: PUL-VER-IZE IT ♪ PUL-VER-IZE IT ♫ PUUUL-VEEER-IIIIIZE ♫ (the Division)

sfx: nu [Lenalee raises a knee, ready to attack again]

sfx: bah [Komui throws himself between her and his baby] Komui: Now wait a minute, Lenalee. Komui: Komlin is not at fault! It was the coffee!

Reever: You—

Division: Ack, the Director— Division: How'd he get over there so fast—

sfx: ↑ yojinobori [clawing his way up]

Komui: Hate the sin, not the sinner. Komui: Hate the coffee, not my Komlin, Lenalee.

Lenalee: Brother mine.... Lenalee: Go think on what you've done.

sfx: DOKO [this-is-Sparta kick]

Komui ACK

♦ 37

Komui, side: WHAA— Komui, side: HGMPF

Division: I-Is it over...?

sfx: tontenkan tontenkan [clinking and clanging of a hammer] sfx: tontenkan tontenkan [clinking and clanging of a hammer]

sfx: kyuu [Lenalee twists the water out of a cloth] sfx: pito [lays it gently on Allen's forehead]

Allen: ...Mm.... Allen: ! sfx: gaba [Allen sits bolt upright]

Lenalee: Whoa, you startled me.

♦ 38

Allen: Lenalee....

Lenalee: Sorry about my brother's gadget. Lenalee, side: Are you still woozy?

Allen: Where am I...?

Lenalee: The Division's all busy repairing the labs, so... Lenalee, side: Hear that noise?

sfx: tontenkan tontenkan [clinking and clanging of a hammer]

Lenalee: This was in your coat pocket.

Allen: Oh right, the Innocence! Allen: Thank goodness it's still in one piece.... sfx: ho [whew]

Lenalee: If you're taking it to Hevlaska, I'll escort you. Lenalee: Welcome home, Allen.

♦ 39

sfx: zuh [Tim Canpy pulling the cloth off Allen's head]

Allen: I— Allen: I'm home... Allen: She sure is cute.

sfx: zawazawa [approaching chatter]

Jeryy: Scoundrels, how can you make your lovely lunch lady do hard manual labour?

Reever: We're short on manpower.

Jeryy: That's because you skipped breakfast!!3

Reever: Oh hey, Allen, you're up.

Jeryy: What in the world happened last night, sweetie? This place is a disaster area.4

Johnny: So's your room, Allen. Johnny, side: A total wreck.

Allen: Really!?

sfx: ahaha, hahaha [general laughter] Division: Welcome home, Allen.

Hevlaska: Welcome back, Allen Walker.5

♦ 40

Allen: Thanks, Hevlaska.

Hevlaska: It's been quite some time... Tim Canpy.... Hevlaska: Komui... gave you... a lot of trouble... last night....

Komui: Ahaha, come now, Hevvy.

Allen: ......

Hevlaska: The... Innocence....

sfx: shuru [the Innocence passes through the glass walls of its container as if they weren't there]

Allen: Huh? It just went right through!?

Hevlaska: I guard Innocence which have not yet found Accommodators within myself until the next time a marshal returns....

Komui: Counting Cross, there are five marshals. sfx: fugafuga [Vader-esque wheezing] Komui: While they're out on missions, we have them search for Accommodators too.

Allen, side: That's unsettling, sir. Allen: I see....

♦ 41

sfx: kiii [Innocence shines and flies over Hevlaska's face]

sfx: VUN [big thrum of initializing Innocence as Hevlaska prepares to receive it within her "body", the whole bottom of which is a gigantic and complex esoteric sigil6]

Allen: Whoa!

Komui: Those are Hevvy's insides.

Komui: There are holes engraved for each of the 109 Innocence in existence.

♦ 42

sfx: kiiiiiiiii [Innocence shining as it approaches Hevlaska's forehead]

Hevlaska: Sleep a little while... within me, Innocence....

sfx: kyun [the Innocence plummets into her open mouth straight down towards the sigillum forming her base, visible the whole time through her translucent skin] sfx: kiiiii [Innocence zooms over the sigillum's surface]

Hevlaska: Until the day you find your Accommodator... and become a weapon....

sfx: kyuin [it finds the hole marked for it and zips in smartly]

Hevlaska: This makes 41 Innocence recovered...7 Hevlaska: There are still many more out there in the world....

♦ 43

sfx: sakuh [a spoon's edge scoops out a chunk of a boiled egg in a holder] sfx: pakuh [nom] sfx: mogumogumogu [chewing sounds] sfx: pikuh [grimace] Skinn: ....It ain't sweet. sfx: gero [half-chewed egg drools out of his mouth]

♦ 44

sfx: dokyu [Skinn punches an Akuma hard enough to blow some of its skin off and show the Dark Matter skeleton beneath] Skinn: You clumsy clod! Skinn: You STUPID Skinn: USELESS Akuma! Skinn: I said to make it fuckin' sweet!! sfx: goh gah megyoh doko butsu [various pummelling noises]

Tyki: Hey now, no guro at the dinner table. Tyki: Its skin is... sloughing.

Skinn: I'm goin' home! You people have no taste.

Tyki: You're such a sweet tooth you can't even eat eggs?

Road: Calm down, will ya? It's been ages since we've had dinner as a family.

♦ 45

Road: Ain't that right, m'lord?8 Road: To lighten the mood, how 'bout you tell us why we're all here?

sfx: mogu ♥ mogu ♥ [chewing]

Road: Is it finally almost time Road: to get this show on the road?9

♦ 46

"Lounge" vol. 2

Q1. Are the "Tim" that was riding on Master Cross' head and the "Tim" with Allen now the same Tim? A. Those are both Timcanpy, yes.

Q2. I feel like Timcanpy has gotten bigger. A. Tim is a growing little golem, yes. If Manager Y-shi will let me, I think I'll just keep making it bigger and bigger!! ✧

Q3. Does the Earl really have bunny ears? A. Who knows.... ufufufufufu.

♦♥♦

FOOTNOTES

Yes, this whole thing is in fact the title of this chapter. [ ♠ ]

Kanji: 黒い靴 kuroi kutsu “black shoes” Furigana: ダークブーツ daaku buutsu “dark boots”

No, I'm not apologizing for the “boots up” pun. [ ♠ ]

The terms Jeryy used were just “chief cook” and “carpentry”, but their use of the feminine first-person pronoun (atashi) and certain feminine vocal elements makes it come off like they're protesting being included in the "man" part of "manpower".

Also, the play on words there is pretty much the same in Japanese in English: they didn't have enough “manpower” (hands to help with reconstruction) or “man-power” (because they, men, skipped breakfast and have run out of strength). [ ♠ ]

Jeryy calls Allen "Allen-chan", which is a suffix one would normally use for girls or children. Comes off cutesy and affectionate. [ ♠ ]

Here I translated okaeri as "Welcome home" and "Welcome back" one right after the other, because something about the way this jump cut is arranged puts a bit of a chill down the spine. Hevlaska's greeting feels comparatively less warm, friendly, and human when juxtaposed with the Division's. Some of that is the font used for her voice, which is a bit ethereal and patchy-looking, not as solid or present as everyone else's. Some of it is the fact that she addresses him by his full name, like Komlin did, which feels detached and... well, robotic. It's technically correct as a translation either way, so I'm just following a hunch. [ ♠ ]

Woo, here's one I've been excited for! The Sigillum Dei is... let me just copy/paste the wiki. (Emphasis mine.)

The Sigillum Dei (seal of God, or signum dei vivi, symbol of the living God , called by John Dee the Sigillum Dei Aemeth) is a magical diagram, composed of two circles, a pentagram, two heptagons, and one heptagram, and is labeled with the name of God and his angels. It was an amulet (amuletum) with the magical function that, according to one of the oldest sources (Liber Juratus), allowed the initiated magician to have power over all creatures except Archangels, but usually only reserved for those who can achieve the blessed vision of God and angels (beatific visionary).

So about that whole divine possession thing, with Innocence being pieces of the body of God.... Each slot in that graven-image body is labelled with parts of the names of the angels, and each slot belongs to a specific Innocence, as we see when this one flies over several slots without paying them any notice until it unerringly dives into the one meant for it.

The concept of the “Heart” won't be introduced for quite a while yet, but please remember this and the thing about Hevlaska's Cube being of a different “type” from every other Innocence when it does, because I'll find a hat and eat it if they aren't relevant. [ ♠ ]

I did a meta post (see #16) on this once: there's almost no way 41 can be the correct number. At the point I wrote that post, we knew of 20 equipped to active Exorcists, 10 to the Second Exorcists who never woke up, 8 in Yeegar's stash, then Alma's, Apocryphos, and Lala's, which add up to 41 just on their own. That would mean that no other marshal had any with them, which Hevlaska herself contradicts. Obviously there could be some overlap — some of those failed Second Exorcists' Innocences might have since found new Accommodators — but even then, that's a really low number for a hundred years of Order operations. Either Hoshino hadn't yet thought that far ahead, Hevlaska's lying, or we're missing something important here. [ ♠ ]

Okay okay. This one I haven't fully settled on yet, but it's a toughie. Basically, in Japanese, “Millennium Earl” (sennen hakushaku) is six syllables and change (the n's at the end of “sen” and “nen” are their own phonemes and can be syllables in their own right depending on pronunciation, which could make it eight syllables). That's a bit of a mouthful, so the Noah affectionately call him sennenkou, “Millennium Duke/Prince/Lord/Sir”, which is considerably shorter at three syllables and change. Unfortunately, as you may notice, they are the exact same length in English. Furthermore, “Duke” and “Earl” are both ranks of nobility with around the same amount of power, so it's doubly confusing if we just call the Earl “Duke”.

But here's the thing! Kou as an honourific isn't only used for specific titles like that. It's also used in a more general and familial way for a person whom one respects and obeys, but whom one is still comfortable teasing and being affectionate with. There's no direct equivalent to that in English, but I think “sir” or "my lord" can get close, in certain contexts. The way a teenager might snap a bad salute to their parent and say “yessir, right away sir” with a grin and an eyeroll is close. The way a spouse might snort and say “at once, my lord" when their partner is being a bit bossy is close. Gently mocking the target's supposed lordliness without actually disrespecting them. I'll backtrack and change them all if I ever think of a better way to express this, but for the moment, I hope this will get the job done. [ ♠ ]

The term Road uses here is 始動 shidou, which means “start” in the sense of “start the car”, or “activate” as in “the machine”. It is not the same term as is used for Innocence (発動 hatsudou), but it's close enough that the thesaurus probably lists them as synonyms. To my ear, shidou feels a bit more gentle and gradual than hatsudou, the difference between “boot it up” and “start things rolling”. In the absence of a handy mechanical translation, I opted to draw on the other major metaphor that gets used a lot — stage plays and showmanship — because it's pretty clear in context that the thing they're putting into motion here is the Earl's Scenario. Like he said: the prologue/introduction is over, the real thing is getting underway.

PS: Road's first-person pronoun of choice is 僕 boku, which is technically masculine but not exclusively so, and is often used by tomboyish girls. Her speech pattern is quite also quite masculine, rough, casual and slangy, on par with Kanda's (though not identical; he's just blunt and pissy, she has more of a sardonic drawl). [ ♠ ]

[mychemicalimagines]

Golden Quartet - Harry Potter - Chapter 8

Summary: The Golden Quartet (2 Weasley’s, a Granger, and a Potter) have been friends since their first year at Hogwarts. Now in their third year, Kelsey Weasley and Harry Potter can barely hold onto their feelings toward one another. Will Sirius Black, who has escaped from Azkaban, ruin their chances of being together…or will they get closer?

Warnings: Language, Talks of Family’s death, Talks of Murder, Violence, Witchcraft, Wizardry, Toxic Family Relationships

Words: 5,354

A/N: Here’s another chapter. I hope you guys are enjoying! With the New Year, I wanted to stick with one fandom for a little bit and Harry Potter is my number 1 fandom! Please give this a chance. It’s one of my favorites and an idea I’ve had for years. Hopefully I can get more sequels out soon! Currently working on Goblet of Fire! One of my Favorites!!

To be Tagged: Message Me, Submit an ask, Comment, or Tag Yourself In My Bio!​

Third Person POV   

“Kelsey! Help!” Ron’s voice echoes deep into the earth as he cries out for his sister again.

Harry helps her off the ground as he and Hermione run up to them. Before they can even think of crawling into the hole, the Whomping Willow brings a branch down and sweeps them backward, off their feet. They groan loudly, landing on their backs in a spot a few feet back. Kelsey helps up Hermione as she looks up at the branches swaying against the dusky sky, swishing with eerie movements.

Just as the trio starts to run back towards the tree, it goes into an almost defensive mode, swinging its limbs in their direction. For the first couple of times, they manage to dodge the branches that come down towards them like axes against a log of wood needing to be split apart. Making it closer to the tree again, a branch swoops down once more, aiming for them.

“Duck!” Kelsey cries out.

Hermione and Kelsey manage to duck just in time to avoid being swung away again. Harry, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as lucky. The branch snaps against his upper chest, just below his neck, and keeps on swinging. As he goes flying off in one direction, his glasses slip off his face, landing in the grass next to his body as he thumps hard against the ground.

Seemingly satisfied that Potter’s down for the count momentarily, the tree focuses its attention on the young girls, sending its branches every which way to throw them off guard and to knock them down. Kelsey hops over one of them that comes towards her feet like a high powered jump rope, and she looks, briefly, pleased and proud of herself. 

Only for a moment does she get to feel this way. She lifts her head back up as another branch sweeps her off her feet, grunting with the force of it, but she holds onto it with all her might. She looks down, searching for Harry, and when she sees him, she realizes that he’s searching for his glasses. 

“Haaaaaaarrrrrryyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!”

Harry squints up, still unable to find his glasses yet, only to see a pile-driving fist of a branch from the Whomping Willow screaming straight down for his head. With only a split second to spare, he rolls himself away, just a few feet, as the branch completely pulverizes the ground where he was just laying. 

Kelsey, still clinging onto the branch that swept her up high in the air, for dear life, whips around the tree.

Harry manages to stand up only to have to duck a moment later as the branch swings his best friend back around, nearly knocking him unconscious if he’d still be standing straight. The branch jerks Kelsey in the air before pulling her straight down through the other branches, scratching her face.

Glancing for a moment, Harry spots his glasses, nestled in a patch of grass, and he snatches them up quickly. As soon as he puts them on, his previously blurry vision turns crystal clear, just in time to see his best friend flying madly towards him, clutching the bark of the tree as best as she can.

“Harry!” She cries out.

His eyes widen a moment later when she reaches out, grabbing onto his shirt, and yanking him with her as the branch swings them from the spot where he just stood. The two of them, holding onto the branch for their lives, boomerang back and forth in the air. Just as the tree hurtles them towards the trunk, Harry catches a glimpse of Hermione.

She must’ve gotten slung away with one of the wayward branches since she’s climbing to her feet in the spot the trio was originally in when Ron pointed out the dog. In the split second that he had to catch that glimpse of his other friend, Harry’s attention turns back to the tree’s actions right as it slingshots him and Kelsey into the darkness-filled gap that Ron disappeared into.

He cries out as he slides down on his back before being fling forward by the unevenness of the small pathway. He groans but not even a second later, Kelsey lands on top of him in the same manner. Letting out a small grunt at the extra weight on him, he moves his hands to either side of his head, into a mock push-up position, and slowly pushes himself and Kelsey up off the dirt covered ground.

“I’m sorry.” She says softly, standing to her feet. 

“Don’t worry.” He says, looking up at her. 

A scream enters their ears as the familiar brown-haired girl gets launched down the pathway after them. Harry’s eyes widen and he quickly rolls out of the way, gently tugging Kelsey with him, knocking her back down but this time on his chest. Making sure she’s alright, he helps her to her feet again, before standing himself, and pulling out his wand.

“Lumos.” 

As the tip of his wand glows, he moves it around, lighting up the small area. The first thing he sees is a long, snaking tunnel, and then he sees Hermione. He moves the wand again, holding it in front of Kelsey and reaches up, gently plucking a small twig from her hair. He notices the couple of scratches on her cheeks from when she was pulled through the branches.

He uses his thumb and gently wipes away a little bit of dirt from her cheek. With his thumb still against her soft, yet battered skin, he feels her cheek heat up slightly as she blushes, biting her lip softly. 

“Where do you suppose this goes?” Hermione asks, standing off the ground.

“I have a hunch.” He says, dusting himself off, embarrassed by the moment they just had in front of the brunette. “I just hope I’m wrong.”

The trio make their way through the primitive passageway, ducking the roots that dangle overhead when the tunnel abruptly ends. Confused, they glance at each other before Kelsey looks up and points to a small opening. Turning the light spell off and tucking his wand away, Harry reaches up and hoists himself through, before helping the red-head. 

Hermione climbs out after grabbing onto her friend's jacket then her hand.

“We’re in the Shrieking Shack, aren’t we?” She asks, glancing at the stairs beside the opening in the wooden floor.

Glancing around the room, they spot paper peeling from the walls, stains, suspiciously similar to dried blood randomly blotting the floorboards. Shattered furniture lies strewn everywhere. Harry, nor, Kelsey answer as they stare at the dog prints in the dust on the floor. The only male in the trio shakes his head before taking the red-hand.

“Come on.” 

Hermione grabs onto Kelsey’s jacket once again, following behind the others as they walk slowly up the creaking stairs. They hear Ron’s grunts and groans coming from one of the doors at the top before a scream is let out. Kelsey tries to push past Harry to get to her brother but he squeezes her hand, keeping her beside him. 

He doesn’t know what awaits in that room and he doesn’t want her to barrel in there, getting hurt any more than she has. They make it to the top of the stairs, glancing in each room until they find the one with Ron sitting on a moldy, dusty mattress. His pant leg ripped and bleeding on the dusty floor where there’s tracks from when he was dragged in.

“Ron!” Kelsey calls out, letting go of Harry’s hand and running toward him.

She slides across the dusty floor, not giving two shits about her knees getting scraped up. She cups his cheeks, seeing if the dog did any more damage than what they could see. The only thing she can find is some blood on his chin.

“You’re okay!” Hermione says, running to their sides with Harry.

“The dog...Where’s the…” The dark haired boy starts but Ron cuts him off.

“It’s a trap! He’s the dog!” He points to a spot just behind his sister. “He’s an Animagus.”

Kelsey falls to her butt as she turns to the side, following the paw prints on the floor with her eyes. They all look up slowly, spotting muddy boots under the half broken door. The man on the other side slowly pushes the door closed revealing...Sirius Black. Filthy, matted hair hangs to his shoulders. His skin is pale like a corpse with tattoos peeking out of his Azkaban uniform.

Kelsey jumps up from her spot next to the mattress and stands in front of Harry, blocking him from the criminal’s line of sight. 

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too.” She states, putting her hands back on his hips.

Harry puts his own hands on her waist, keeping her close, just in case Sirius decides to do just that.

“No. Only one will die tonight.” Sirius says, stepping toward them.

“Then it’ll be you!” The black haired boy calls out, moving his crush to the side.

He runs toward the alleged murderer, grabbing him by the neck. Sirius grabs at his hands, but Harry gets the upper hand by turning them around and bringing them to the floor, the teen on top. He removes one hand from his enemy’s throat and grabs his wand from his pocket, pointing it toward the man below him. 

“Are you going to kill me, Harry?” He starts chuckling.

Before he can answer, the doors slam open as Professor Lupin runs into the room. He points his wand at the teen as he looks over his shoulder toward the loud bang. 

“Expelliarmus!” 

His wand flies out of his hand, landing somewhere near the door. He stares up at their teacher with wide eyes, wondering why he would do that. Lupin keeps his wand trained at them and tilts his head to the side. Harry jumps up from the floor, rushing to the side where his friends are. Kelsey grabs his arm, pulling him closer so she can try and protect him now that he is wandless.

He turns slightly and wraps the arm around her waist, keeping her against his side. Hermione sits on the mattress next to Ron, wanting to keep him protected as well. 

“Well, well, well, Sirius.” Lupin says, moving toward the man on the ground. “Looking rather ragged, aren’t we? Finally the flesh reflects the madness within.”

“You’d know all about the madness within, wouldn’t you, Remus?” Sirius says with a large smirk on his dirty face.

Their professor lowers his wand and stares at the man for a moment before a small smile appears. He puts his hand out, allowing Sirius to grab it before helping him up. The criminal pulls the professor in for a hug as if they knew each other for years...as if they were brothers. Kelsey tilts her head in confusion while Harry’s eyes widen at the affection.

“I found him.” Sirius whispers, still embracing Lupin.

“I know.” He pats his back.

“Let’s kill him!” The convict says, pulling from the hug.

“No!” Kelsey screams, trying to pull from Harry. “I trusted you! And all this time y-y-you’ve been his friend!” 

Harry pulls her closer, not allowing her to move from his arms.

“He’s a werewolf.” Hermione speaks up from the mattress. “That’s why he’s been missing classes!”

Lupin’s eyes snap toward the brunette before taking a step toward them. 

“How long have you known?”

“Since Professor Snape set the essay.” She admits, standing up. 

“Well, well, well, Hermione, you really are one of the brightest witches of your age I’ve ever met.” Lupin tries to say but Sirius cuts him off.

“Enough talk, Remus! Come on! Let’s kill him!” He cries out. 

“Wait.” Lupin puts his hand out. 

“I did my waiting!” Sirius screams. “Twelves years of it! In Azkaban!”

Lupin sighs and nods before glancing at the Boy-Who-Lived. He then holds out his wand to Sirius while speaking. Sirius lazily grabs the wand from his old friend's hand.

“Fine. But wait one more minute. Harry has the right to know why.”

“I know why.” Harry says, voice cracking slightly. “You betrayed my parents. You’re the reason they’re dead.”

Kelsey holds his jacket, keeping him at her side.

“No, Harry, it wasn’t him!” Lupin speaks up. “Someone did betray your parents, but it was somebody who, until quite recently, I believed to be dead.”

“Who was it, then?” Harry snaps, glaring at his professor.

“Peter Pettigrew!” Sirius calls out from behind his friend. “And he’s in this room! Right now! Come out, come out, Peter! Come out, come and play!”

“Expelliarmus!” A monotone voice calls out.

The wand in Sirius’ hand flies toward the door and everyone, including Lupin and the criminal himself, looks toward the door to see Professor Snape. He has his wand pointed at Sirius, scaring the man silently so that he backs up into the dust covered piano.

“Ahh, vengeance is sweet.” Snape says. “How I hoped I’d be the one to catch you.”

“Severus…” Lupin steps toward, but the potions’ professor turns the wand to him.

He just puts his head down and moves toward Sirius to be away from his co-worker.

“I told Dumbledore you were helping your old friend into the castle and now, here's the proof.”

“Brilliant, Snape.” Sirius says, walking toward him slightly. “Once again, you put your keen and penetrating mind to the task, and as usual, come to the wrong conclusion. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Remus and I have some unfinished business to tend to.”

When he’s close enough, Snape digs the tip of his wand into the criminal’s neck, causing him to gasp softly.

“Give me a reason. I beg you.” He sneers. 

“Severus, don’t be a fool.” Lupin speaks up once again.

“He can’t help it. It’s habit by now.” Harry’s escapee godfather explains, a slight taunt to his tone.

“Sirius, be quiet!” 

“Oh, quiet yourself, Remus!” Sirius snaps slightly, glancing over at his friend.

Remus turns away, sighing softly.

“Listen to you two. Quarreling like an old married couple.” Snape clicks his tongue.

“Why don’t you run along and play with your chemistry set?” Sirius retorts.

Snape digs his wand into the other man’s neck more, glaring at the pale, dark haired man.

“I could do it, you know. But why deny the Dementors? They’re so longing to see you.” He smirks as he notices something in his eyes. “Do I detect a flicker of fear? One can only imagine what it must be like to endure the dementor’s kiss. It’s said to be unbearable to witness. But I’ll do my best.”

“Severus, please.”  Lupin tries again.

Trying to be discreet, Harry uses the hand around Kelsey’s waist to reach into her front right jean pocket. She glances down slightly to see his fingers curling around her wand. She lifts her arm slightly, allowing him to take her one source of protection. 

“After you.” Snape gestures to the door with his wand.

He then looks at the teens, tilting his head slightly toward the door, silently informing them that they can go now. Harry steps forward before holding Kelsey’s wand toward Sirius. The man turns his face away, scared of what the young teen could do to him. Without any hesitation, he points the wand at Snape.

“Expelliarmus.”

Snape soars into the air, crashing into the bed on the other side of the room.

“Harry!” His friends say in sync.

“What did you just do?” Ron adds.

“You attacked a teacher!” Disbelief filling her voice.

Harry ignores them, immediately pointing the wand back at Sirius.

“Tell me about Peter Pettigrew.” He demands.

When Lupin starts to speak, Harry switches the wand toward him.

“He was at school with us. We thought he was our friend.” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “No. Pettigrew’s dead. You killed him.”

He gestures to Sirius with Kelsey’s wand.

“No, he didn’t!” Lupin steps forward, walking between the criminal and the teen. “I thought so, too, until you mentioned seeing Pettigrew on the map.”

“The map was lying then…”

Sirius cuts him off. “The map never lies! Pettigrew’s alive! And he’s right there!”

He points toward Ron, whose eyes widen at the accusation.

“Me? He’s mental!” 

“Not you!” Sirius scoffs. “Your rat!”

“Scabbers?” Kelsey glances between her brother and the wanted man. 

“Scabbers has been in our family for…” Ron tries to say, but the man cuts him off.

“Twelve years. A curiously long life for a common garden rat.” He starts walking toward the siblings. “He’s missing a toe, isn’t he?”

“So what?” Ron asks.

Kelsey steps in front of her brother with hatred in her eyes, forcing Sirius to take a step back.

“All they could find of Pettigrew was his…” Harry mumbles, watching him.

“Finger! The dirty coward cut it off so everyone would think he was dead. Then he transformed into a rat.” Sirius says, looking past the red-haired girl.

“Show me.” The Boy-Who-Lived says, watching his friends and godfather.

Sirius moves to walk around Kelsey, but she steps in his path once again. Desperately wanting to know the truth, Harry reaches over and gently grabs her hand, pulling her to his side. Seizing the moment, Black then reaches down and grabs Scabbers trying to pull him from Ron’s grasp.

“Give him to him, Ron.” Harry says, keeping a grip on Kelsey’s wrist, knowing she’s itching to stop the man from doing anything to her brother.

“What are you trying to do to him?!” Ron squeaks out as he loosens his grip.

Sirius takes Scabbers by the scruff of the neck, backing up from the group of onlooking teens. He, and Lupin, both grab a wand from the wooden floor before walking over to the piano. Ron cries out multiple, jumbled together words, trying to get them to let go of his beloved rat. Hermione kneels down again and holds him back since his leg is quite injured. 

Sirius then drops the rat onto the piano, silently waving their borrowed wands. Scabbers starts running across the piano, making a loud tone follow him. Each adult runs and waves their wands, almost falling over in the process. The rat jumps down from the piano and makes a run for the door. Just as he jumps through the hole in the wall, one of the adults’ spells work, changing the rat into a man. 

Kelsey gasps, grabbing onto Harry, shocked that the rat she’s been helping her twin with for years...has been a man all along. The man grunts and snorts, still snickering as if he’s still in his rat form. Sirius and Lupin quickly walk over to the man in the wall. Grabbing his legs and with all their strength, they pull him out. 

They push him backward toward the piano and the two adults point their wands at him, while Harry lowers his in shock, squeezing Kelsey’s arm slightly. Peter Pettigrew is an average heighted man with a large stomach, probably from all of Ron’s overeating. He has a large bald spot on the back of his head while the rest of his hair is thinning. 

His nine finger nails are pointed as if they’d been sharpened to points over time. He looks up at his old friends, snorting like a rat slightly.

“S-Sirius! Remus! My old friends!”

He opens his arms as if he was going to hug them then tries to make a break for it. Both men grab him and push him back to his original spot. Peter then sniffs the air before turning toward Harry and Kelsey.

“Harry! Look at you! You look so much like your father, like James!” He walks toward them, scaring the dark haired boy into standing in front of his crush. “Kelsey! I-I always thought you looked just like Lily! We were all the best of friends…”

Sirius runs over and his voice gets deeper as he snaps at his old companion.

“How dare you speak to them!” He then growls, scaring Peter to the other side of the piano. “How dare you talk about his parents in front of him!” 

Lupin stands to one side while Sirius stands on the other, making sure Peter stands in the middle away from the door. They point their wands at him, glares etched on their faces. 

“You sold James and Lily out to Voldemort, didn’t you?!” Lupin asks him with anger in his voice.

“I didn’t mean to!” He says, whining. “The Dark Lord, you have no idea the weapons he possesses! Ask yourself what you would have done, Sirius. What would you have done?!”

“I would have died! I would have died rather than betray my friends!” Sirius snaps.

Peter takes his second to try and climb under the piano to make a run for the door. Harry lets go of Kelsey and blocks the door. The rat stands up and runs to the young boy, pulling him to his chest while the Boy-Who-Lived cringes.

“Harry, James wouldn’t have wanted me killed! Your dad...Your dad would have spared me! He would have shown me mercy!”

Lupin and Sirius run over and pull him off their best friend’s son. 

“You should have realized Peter, if Voldemort didn’t kill you, then we would have, together.” Sirius says, keeping his borrowed wand pointed at the man.

“No!” Harry calls out. 

Lupin sighs and puts his head down slightly. “Harry, this man is…”

“I know what he is.” He says, cutting him off, stepping closer with his eyes trained on the traitor. “But we’ll take him to the castle.”

“Oh, bless you, boy.” Peter says with tears in his eyes as he falls to his knees. “Bless you!”

He falls forward, trying to grab onto Harry’s shirt.

“Get off.” Harry growls, practically kicking him away. “I said we’d take you to the castle. After that, the Dementors can have you.”

Peter starts whimpering while Sirius and Lupin grab him off the ground.

“Mr. Black, sir?” Kelsey speaks up, softly. 

His head snaps up at the red-head, shocked that she spoke to him. 

“If...Can you help Harry carry Ron out of here? I can help Professor Lupin with...him…” She continues as she steps toward Harry.

“Of course, Miss...” He hesitates, not really sure what to call her.

“Kelsey, sir…” She answers with a smile. 

Lupin smiles at his students before turning toward Ron and Hermione, making sure to keep the wand trained on Pettigrew while making sure the male Weasley is okay. Sirius looks between Harry and Kelsey before handing Harry his wand back.

“You know...and I’m sure you’ve both heard this a bit, perhaps. But, you two bear a striking resemblance to the Potters when they were younger. You,” He looks at Kelsey. “You remind me a lot of Lily. It’s like looking in a mirror, only...a mirror that allows you to be right there in the moment. Not only do you look like her, but you’ve got her spunk, her ‘I don’t give a bloody hell’ attitude. You might be a Weasley, but you could give Lily a run for her money.” 

He lets out a soft chuckle, recalling memories from all those years ago when Lily refused to put up with all the nonsense stuff that he, James, Lupin, and anyone else ever threw her way. Reaching a gentle hand out, he pats her shoulder. 

“It’s refreshing, to say the least. And don’t let Potter, or any other bugger for that matter, give you any bloody nonsense, yeah?”

Kelsey smirks and looks up at him, brow raised. “Does that include you too?”

He lets out a deep laugh and nods.”Bloody hell. You are a young Lily. Yes, Miss Weasley. That includes me.”

“Good.” Her smirk grows. “Because if you harm Harry in any way whatsoever, I can promise you, you’ll wish the Dementors had gotten you by time I’m done with you. They’ll seem like angels compared to me if you hurt him.”

“I believe you. Don’t worry. I will do everything I can to ensure that he isn’t harmed. Especially by me.”

After a brief staredown from Kelsey who tries her best to be as intimidating as she can be, she nods, accepting the older man’s words, and knowing that he’s telling the truth. Without another word needing to be uttered between them in that moment, Sirius, with a smile, walks over to Ron, helping him off the old mattress while Harry turns to his best friend.

“You okay?” He asks, handing her back her wand. 

“Yeah. Are you?” She cups his cheek, checking out the scratches.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s just...get him back to the castle then…” He pauses. “Do you…”

“Harry, hurry up. I wanna get outta here.” Ron says, breaking another moment between his friend and sister.

The dark haired boy sighs and walks over to the male Weasley, helping him up by wrapping his arm around his shoulder with Sirius on the other side. They make it to the dark tree tunnel before someone says anything.

“Sorry about the bite.” Sirius says, glancing at the red-haired boy. “I reckon that twinges a bit.”

“A bit?! A bit?!” Ron cries out as he tries to walk down the stairs despite being held by the two males. “You almost tore my leg off.” 

“Now, I was going for the rat.” He chuckles. “Normally, I have a very sweet disposition as a dog. In fact, more than once, James suggested that I make the change permanent. The tail I could live with, but the fleas...they’re murder.”

Harry chuckles as they gently pull Ron out of the Whomping Willow, setting him down on a rock. Hermione, who had followed the three out, knees down beside him, checking out the damage to his leg. Sirius looks around before spying the castle in the distance. As the Boy-Who-Lived kneels down next to his friend, he glances up at his godfather.

“You better go.” Ron says, panting slightly from the walk.

“No, no. Don’t worry, okay? It’s fine. I’ll stay.”

“You go, I’ll stay.” Hermione says, softly, wanting the two to have a moment.

Harry nods softly before looking at his male friend. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Go.” He nods. 

Harry turns and spots the man accused of killing his parents staring in wonder at the castle shining radiantly under the bright bowl of the night sky. The dark haired boy reaches his godfather, and Sirius, who already knows it’s Harry, begins to speak.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ll never forget the first time I walked through those doors. It’d be nice to do that again as a free man.” He says before glancing at Harry. “That was a noble thing you did back there. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Well, I just don’t think my dad would want his best friends to become killers.  Besides: Dead, the truth dies with him. Alive…” He looks up at his godfather. “You’re free.”

   Sirius looks down at the young teenager next to him, the one who his best friends - the boy’s parents - entrusted him to keep safe and look after if something ever happened to them. As he stares at the boy, the spitting image of James and Lily Potter together, Sirius feels emotions he hasn’t felt in a decade, not since the Potters were murdered and he was blamed. 

Suddenly, Peter’s voice enters their ears. 

“Turn me into a flobberworm. Anything but the Dementors!” 

Pettigrew prattles desperately, whining like the rat he’s been for a decade. Sirius and Harry both turn around, almost in sync with one another, to see that Kelsey and Lupin have gotten the once rat man out of the tree but he’s now kneeling next to Ron, trying to get him to pardon him. 

“Ron! Ron, haven’t I been a good pet?” He sniffs. “You won’t let them give me to the Dementors, will you? I was your rat!”

Kelsey, not wanting him near her twin brother for another moment, grabs the older man by the back of the shirt, pulling him away from the tree with all her strength. 

“Sweet girl. Clever girl. Surely you won’t let them…” Peter starts, but is quickly silenced with a death glare from Kelsey.

“Don’t talk to him.” She hisses.

“But, Kelsey!”

“Don’t speak to her.” Lupin snaps. 

The two stand near the others, keeping their wands trained on the actual traitor. Turning back to face the castle, Sirius Black and Harry Potter, Godfather and Godson, stand side by side in silence for a moment before the older man pipes up.

“I don’t know if you know, Harry…” He starts. “But, when you were born, James and Lily made me your godfather...”

Harry looks up at him with a slight smile. “I know.”

“I can understand if you choose to stay with your aunt and uncle, but, if you ever wanted a different home…”

“What? Come and live with you?”

Harry does his best to try and not seem overly excited, even though he is. The shock and excitement in his voice gives that away. Sirius looks up to the sky for a moment, both of them grinning softly at the half spoken, implied offer.

“It’s just a thought. I can understand if you don’t want to.”

Before another word can be said, Hermione calls out, her voice quivering with fear.

“Harry!”

Both of them jerk around, looking behind them. The brunette is now standing but she points toward the moon as it comes out from behind a mountain. One by one, everyone looks in the direction she’s pointing. Lupin is a rigid silhouette in the moonlight, staring at the white disc in the sky, his fingers twitching. 

The moon pulls his full attention to it. His pupils enlarge, the whites of his eyes going bloodshot, and his teeth immediately sharpen.

“Remus, old friend...did you take your potion tonight?” Sirius asks, running toward him. 

Lupin, his whole body twitching now, stares at the moon, not answering. With everyone no longer focused on him, Peter Pettigrew’s eyes dart around, taking in the dire, potentially dangerous, situation. Sirius wraps his arms around his friend, hoping to somehow stop him from changing into what his friend knows he’s ashamed of. 

“You know, the man you truly are, Remus! This heart is where you truly live. This heart here! The flesh is only flesh.” He says, as his friend collapses against him, both of them sinking to their knees in the grass.

Hermione turns around and helps Ron off the ground. Harry pulls them both to him but his crush is on the other side of the adults, unable to get to her friends. Kelsey’s eyes snap toward Peter as the professor drops his wand. She tries to shoot a spell at him but he dives to the ground, grabbing the wand, pointing it to his forehead. 

“Expelliarmus!” Harry points his wand at the man. 

The wand goes flying but he smirks, deciding to change his tactic. He waves his fingers, transforming into his rat form, his clothes laying on his ground. He starts to run away, and Harry moves to follow him, but Hermione grabs his arm.

“Harry, no!”

His eyes snap toward his crush who is now watching Lupin with wide eyes, not caring about the rat that just escaped. 

“Kelsey!”

“No one moves!” Sirius says before calls out as he holds his friend. “Remus!”

Lupin’s nails immediately sharpen to points and he cries out in pain, his voice changing into a howl. His body starts to transform, tearing the back of his suit in half while his feet slip out of his shoes as they grow in length. His face transforms from what they are used to into a wolf looking snout as his clothes fall off his body.

He flings his arms out, tossing his best friend and student in the air as he howls loudly, not caring at that moment about any damage he may have caused to them.

[alygatorwrites]

hi! i just came across your blog and i love your work!! if requests are open, i was wondering if you could write a porco oneshot where his warrior s/o gets injured on the field? make it super angsty if you can pls i’m a sucker for some angst 👉🏻👈🏻

thank you so much, love 💞 and i sure can!!

porco x reader

warning: angst, some gore

The second the sixth fragmentation shell from the Anti-Titan artillery gun hits you — impaling you through the stomach, through your legs, inches away from your face — you feel your titan’s knees buckle from the sheer amount of impact. With a heavy crash and a thunderous rumble of the ground, you collapse, kicking up dust and rubble into the air.

It’s not long before a harsh rush of steam sends your body slowly rising from the nape, blistering and scalding. You can taste blood pouring from your nose, metallic and revolting; it’s as if you’ve swallowed a mouthful of metal.

The iron clang of the armored train fills your ears as it loops back around on its tracks, but you can’t move. The world is dark.

It takes a moment before you realize that it’s not in fact dark; your eyes are just closed. Squinting them open with every last ounce of energy you can muster, you see the artillery gun focused on you, ready to deliver it’s final blow.

What a shitty death, you think. If only you could have fought longer. If only you’d been a little faster or —

There’s the flash of an object from your peripheral and you hear the ear-piercing sound of ripping metal.

You see it then; the Jaw Titan tears apart the train, crunching the steel in his large jaws and pulverizing enemy soldiers with armored fingers. People are screaming and bodies are falling from the walls, barreling into the ground until they are nothing but splatters of red.

Porco is the exact same as the first day you met him: unfaltering, daring, and smug. He’s self-sacrificing, wild, and remarkably brave in battle, told by the way he’s protecting you with his life. 

The Earth suddenly shakes beside you, and you spot Porco emerging from the limp body of The Jaw. He’s sprinting now, crawling onto your titan to loop his arms around your waist and heave you backwards. 

You’re torn away from the flesh of your Titan, the muscle harshly ripping off your face, sudden and all at once. There’s a barrage of agonizing, heart-stirring pain spreading from your core.

“Hey!” you hear Porco yell as he lays you onto your back. Wincing, you tilt your chin to look at him. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark with panic, hysteria, and fury.

It’s only then that you become aware of the absence of both your legs, your left arm blown away from the socket. A gaping hole sits on your side and it proudly places the ivory curves of your ribs on full display. Blood soils Porco’s chest as he shifts your battered form into his arms. 

The bond between two Warriors is more than personal, more than emotional, more than intimate; you share the same pain and the same experiences among the field. That’s why it’s so hard to let go.

“Hang on!” Porco tells you, his tone rough. “I’ll carry you to the trenches!”

Porco’s footsteps are frantic and hurried as he runs with you, dodging bullets by using the other fighting Eldians as human shields throughout your path. It feels like hours, but you two make it to the ditch, sliding down into the dusty pit. Soldiers bustle around, some crowding around your form and others running to grab bandages to stop the bleeding.

You must look like a corpse, because when Porco looks back down at you, pure fear strains his face; his brows are pulled together and his mouth is sculpted into a grimace.

“It’s fine…” you murmur, voice hoarse. It almost doesn’t sound like your own. “I’ll be fine.”

Porco bitterly shakes his head. “You and your fucking hero complex,” he all but screams. “I told you that it would kill you, and you just had to make sure you proved me wrong!” 

You attempt to speak, but your words only come out as a guttural shudder from the back of your throat. The sound of your labored breathing and your lidded eyes makes Porco freeze. He swallows thickly, and you know he’s attempting to keep his composure. 

It doesn’t work. 

“I really need you to live. I really need you to – fuck,” Porco huffs. A large palm cradles your cheek and you lean into him; he’s touched you with that hand, many, many times. 

“Sorry,” you exhale shakily, black stars creeping in from the sides of your vision. Your head is swimming. “I’m sorry...” 

“It's okay. It's okay,” Porco whispers, smoothing your bloody hair away from your forehead and tucking loose strands behind your ears. His fingers are trembling against your temple. Tears prick at his eyes. 

Maybe it’s out of misplaced anger, or maybe it’s out of grief from the inevitable. Probably both. 

You hum when Porco holds you even tighter and lightly rocks you in his arms, planting a kiss on your blood-stained lips. 

“Stay with me,” he pleads, one last time. “Just stay.”