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coldslaws-gear-station · 15 days ago

Note

Here it is, again, warning, triggering stuff here!

Metempsychosis

She woke up with a start, sharp intakes of breaths as she struggled to get a grasp on her surroundings. She was on something far too hard, far too cold, the air within the room stung her lungs wide open, tastes… Sterile. Eradication doesn't understand how she got here, in fact, she doesn't remember a thing at all, just the feeling of being perpetually suspended up within a large tube of liquid.

"Ah." A man began as he entered through the large metal door that barred whatever this place is and the outside, seeing her trying to blink herself awake. "Looks like someone's finally up!" The man was carrying some sort of rectangular device; a tablet? Maybe? Her brain was far too fogged up to recall. The man donned a white coat, far too bright, almost like he was a doctor or of the sort. Eradication frowned, "Where… I am?"

The man simply ignored her question, like she hadn't spoken at all, giving her a grin. "Looks as if you're ready for another round, is that right? Well then, if you insist!" Something snaps, her brain splitting wide open. She stared at the man, her breaths becoming ragged and her body tensed up, she knew this man.

She had been forced to see him so many times, too many times, all the time in this room. This room, this daunting room, a room that shouldn't be this starch white, not after everything that's happened within these walls. "Wait, no." Eradication finally managed to get out, her throat sore and torn from being unused for a long period of time. Shaking her head back and forth, she tries to get up off the table, "No."

"Now now, lay back down on your operating table…" The doctor coached her softly, gently pushing her back down onto the cold metal, too gently. "Please, you can't…" She tried to protest, but her words were slurring too much. The man hummed, looking at something else, so unsympathetic. "I'm aware. I'm aware. You're so upset that you've been experimented on and tested with, but it's for a higher cause! Don't worry, you'll feel much better about it once I've properly sedated you."

Eradication shook her head, forcing herself up again. The man, however, with little effort shoves her back down onto the table again. Tightening a strap around her chest to make sure she doesn't struggle. "Don't worry." He pushes back the hair that had collected up on her wet and sweaty forehead. "These straps are for your safety, remember?" No, no she does not. She shoots both of her arms up, trying to get the strap off, but the man slams both her arms back down with a painful force of somebody losing his patience.

"Ah-ah, I need you to keep your arms down for me." He straps her arms down, the tightness hurting as it slightly cuts off her blood flow, blue bands of skin around her arms from the previous time they've done this exact dance and tale. "There we go, all secured!" She hated him.

She struggles and fights to keep her falling eyelids open, struggling as hard as she mentally can to keep herself awake when her mind is already so cloudy. "Just relax for me." The man cooed, his attention elsewhere as he tinkers with something, though his eyes do flicker to her at one point, curved up into a smile. "There's no point in fighting, you should know that already." Her head slams back down onto the table, hoping the pain would be enough to keep her mind awake, it is not.

"That's it, you're doing so well…" Why must he always talk her through it? "Soon, very soon, you'll be at my mercy. Under my command and incapable of anything other than obeying. Incapable of feeling anything but too heavy, too drowsy, so relaxed and unable to speak a word against your superiors." Even though she was unable to speak at all, the man just kept talking, guiding her through every single sick and sadistic process and experiment he plans to do to her this time. Every single intricate and intrinsic detail.

"Once you're asleep, no matter what is done to you, you will not be able to resist." It was worse than any of the experiments.

The man hummed to himself, grabbing something off the metal plate that resided on a rolling table near her, she didn't want to know. "You won't be aware of anything that's happening to you, just sleep soundly, utterly at my mercy." Eradication glared up, and the urge to try and spit at him is strong. "You're incapable of mercy." She thinks, bitterly. "You just think this is all just a sick and fun game."

"Though once the sedative kicks in finally." He grabs a vial off the table, drawing the liquid from it with a needle, the liquid clear and sloshing around within the confines of the plastic. He makes eye contact with her, his head tilting as he smiles down at her. "You won't remember a thing." If she could, she would grit her teeth at the news, trying to tense up and fight him, but the heavy bracelets slung around her wrists prevented her from causing any harm to the scientist. Eradication was unable to do anything but stare up at him, blinking rapidly as her breathing increased, trying to stay awake for as long as possible.

He looked down at her with faux pity. "Though, now I see you'll need something to guide the sedative along, here." He pulls out a mask, the kind you would only see in hospitals where anesthesia would be given to a patient, a whine comes from the back of her throat. "I'll just place this on you and secure it…" She struggles, using all her strength to shake her head in protest. The scientist scoffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "It's just oxygen right now, calm down."

He straps it down tightly against her face, "Now, breath in, breath in deeply even, if that's what you want." She holds her breath, though even with all her might, she only lasted for a few seconds before she broke. Gulping down greedy breaths of the air that was being forcibly provided. "That's it. Try a deep breath for me. In and out…" He picks back up the needle, grabbing her arm tightly. "I'm going to start the sedative. It's going to take a few minutes, but before you know it, you'll be oh so sleepy and relaxed."

She tries to hold her breath in once more, trying the best she can to delay the enviable. But once the scientist notices, he slams a fist down onto the hard middle of her chest, forcing her to take a sharp deep breath in. "Now now, there's no use in holding your breath!" It hurts, she wheezes, eyes blurring from sleep and tears collected from the blow. Eradication finally took a deep breath in, unable to stop herself from being drugged.

"There we go, finally." The man breathes out, watching her with a keen eye, discarding the needle in a bin close to him. "Just relax and let the sedative do all the work on you. Soon you'll start to feel drowsy and floating as the drug makes its way through your system. Your eyes will become too heavy to keep open, and you'll soon drift off, leaving your mind completely blank and relaxed." He leans in closer, the blue swoop of hair he has tickling her face, smiling with that shiny crazed look in his eyes as he whispered.

"So, tell me, do you feel it yet?"

She only has enough energy to lull her head to the side, her arm lifting just to try and swat the man's face away from her, but it doesn't even make it an inch off the table before falling back down. The scientist laughed, getting up and walking around the table, drawing circles around her as he wrote in that strange tablet of his. Never touching her as he walked around her like a Pyroar inspecting it's prey, not like that mattered, as soon as she was unconscious she knew her skin would be poked and prodded at.

The worst part though? She won't even remember when she wakes up in a confused daze, not until she spots him. Forever stuck in an endless loop of repeating the same actions every time she woke up, forever stuck in a cat and mouse game from hell.

"You're starting to look a bit dazed." He commented, leaning over to pet her hair like she was some kind of distressed Pokémon. "That must mean the sedative is beginning to work, I think…" Eradication could do nothing but close her eyes… Only to shoot them wide open when she realises how close she must've been to falling asleep. "You're feeling nice and relaxed, aren't you?" The scientist giggles, Eradication blinks slowly. Doing her best to pay attention to his words as a way to ground herself. "Oh so sleepy, I can see your eyes blinking oh so slowly."

She doesn't know what she'd be subjected to this time, but she was far too terrified to find out. With what little strength she has, she tries to launch herself up and off the table, crying out in frustration when the restraints proved to be too strong for her to fight against. "No, no." He admonished her, holding her back down with a grip around her neck, a cold look in his eyes. "It's no use to struggle against the drug, against the restraints. Soon you'll stop fighting it, and go to sleep."

He releases her neck, markings blooming on her pallid skin. He flexes his hand, his joints popping with the movement as he whispers to himself. "Just like the rest of them…"

He clears his throat. "Your body is becoming heavy and your mind is growing hazy." Eradication felt a sense of betrayal run through her body as she realises her body is doing as the man says, relaxing and stopping her meagre attempt to escape her situation. "Just lie back onto the table and-- ah, yes, that's good." He picks back up his tablet, readying it as he looks down on her. "I bet you feel so calm and peaceful… Like you just wanna let yourself drift off to sleep, right?" He looked at her curiously, almost as if he genuinely wanted to know how she was feeling. She hated him.

"Your body and mind are relaxing and becoming one as you are being sedated, and there's oh so little you can do about it. Your eyelids want to drift shut, so why are you refusing them? That tiredness is spreading and engulfing every inch of your mind and body, pulling you under." The scientist raked his fingers through her hair in an attempt to trying and soothe her asleep, somehow catching every knot in her unbrushed hair. With his tablet in the other hand, he leans forward and taps her nose thoughtfully. "Is it starting to get hard for you to keep your eyes open? Is your head starting to feel heavy? Do you feel like you can fall asleep at any moment?"

She huffs and turns her head, an attempt to avoid all of the onslaught of questions. The scientist, obviously annoyed she'd turn her head away from him, clicks his tongue. Grabbing a fist full of her hair and wrenching her back to look at him, staring at her for a few moments before letting her head drop down harshly against the metal. "Yes." The scientist nodded, writing something down onto the tablet. "That's how the sedative is supposed to make you feel; calm, sleepy, and relaxed. You're fighting your body's natural urge to go to sleep, you will lose that battle, Eradication. You need to go to sleep."

Determination ran through her body, only for it to be snuffed out by an even stronger wave of exhaustion, wiping out whatever traces of motivation she had before she even had the thought to try and use it. She hates him. "Did you realise you've stopped fighting against the restraints? In fact, it looks like you can barely keep your eyes open." A tear slipped past her eye and landed against the cool table, the scientist hums softly. "Slowly but surely, the sedative will put you to sleep, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's no use in fighting it anymore, those eyelids are shutting all on their own."

Eradication already felt a part of herself give in to the effects of the drug, already knowing that there's no longer any use in fighting it, her existence was unknown to the world. There was nobody who would come to save her. Her arms relaxed at her sides as her head lulled comfortably against the hard and uncomfortable table.

"That's right." The scientist cooed. "You're completely unable to fight the drug. It's strong and powerful, while you are weak and boneless." Eradication, the lady of pride herself, couldn't argue with the man in front of her. They both knew who was the one with the power here, and it most certainly is not the one strapped down onto the operating table. "This will make you feel float and drowsy and oh so blissful in no time, it will override your desire and ability to stay awake. It was over the second you woke up, but, you're such a smart experiment. You already knew that, didn't you?"

She fluttered her eyes over at the other man, only having enough energy to slowly blink at him. The scientist seemed pleased with this. "The sedation is conquering your body and soon it will override your mind. Your body will fall asleep soon, let yourself stop fighting, let sleep claim you. Let your eyelids close, Eradication." She fell into a complete lull, it feels just so comfortable, so blissful, why did she ever want to try and fight this feeling? "You're becoming drowsy, drowsier and more sleepy. Soon your eyelids will close, and you will give into the power of the drug. You will be docile, and pliant, and entirely at my mercy." The scientist pauses, a cruel smile on his face as he leans in closer.

"Are you ready for that?" Eradication couldn't answer, but the man didn't seem to mind nor care. Though, he never seems to care either way.

"The moment those pretty eyes of yours close will be the point of no return. A fleeting moment where you're not quite asleep but nowhere near awake, a moment where you know you've lost the fight. Where you'll be completely and utterly under my control, helpless." Eradication blinks slower this time, the fight in her flickering out like a dying candle light. "There we go, shut those sleepy eyes for me now…" The man whispered, a smile growing on his face, but for a fleeting moment, his face stills and relaxes.

"Don't open them again."

Eradication's breathing evens out, her eyes closing for the final time. "Fast asleep." The man sounded so giddy, sickening. "So very, deeply asleep. I bet it feels just so good to stop fighting and finally fall asleep!" Though there was no response, the man continued to talk to himself, snapping on a pair of gloves and moving his tray of equipment next to him. Grabbing his rolling chair, he sits down, having the pleasure of sitting down while he works. "And now that you've fallen asleep, I can finally get to work!"

The scientist grins, turning around in his chair to his computer to begin typing, setting up a recording system. He stares into the camera and smiles, a maniac kind of smile, grabbing a hold on one of the scalpel on the table. "Project; Eradication, Experiment PQ023. Beginning Phase Four."

Father gave her a brother.

She's absolutely out of her mind on drugs. Something for the pain, something for her aggression and rejection, something to keep her abilities in check. She… She doesn't remember when or how the dark and damp cell she was kept in below deck where that scientist would experiment on her turned into a cozy child's bedroom. In fact, she doesn't remember much at all, how long has it been? Is it daytime? How long has she been out of it…? A crazy, almost unhinged part of her, the part that lost it's screws after the fifth endless week of nothing but torture, misses it. She misses the dripping pipes and the lack of stimulus, the way the smell of sterile and mildew never seemed to get any more bearable. The hours of silence and darkness that were a soothing song to her fractured and broken body.

This place however… It makes her hands shake.

She can barely even see, her vision blurring and doubling. Her stomach swoops and swishes with nausea, her head aching from swaying side to side slowly. She's perpetually aware of her swaying, on her knees before her father, a pathetic sight. But the drugs, they're making everything cyclical. There's a chasm in her head, a warping vacuum that drags away every single thought she has, twists the sounds around her into the whispers of voices she has long since forgotten.

She wants to cry, but Father hates her tears. "My daughter."

The voice of Father comes from above her, a demand for her attention, but Father must know by now that there's none left to give. Nothing that has been left whole after the scientist's meddling, he left her a fractured doll with nothing inside. Father must know that though, because he's merciful enough to guide his daughter with his own gentle hands, fisting a handful of her hair and jerking her neck back to look at him.

The smile is terrible, it stretches across his aged face too wide, pushes his features from graceful and poised, to deranged. "I've found a use for you after all."

That's good. That is… A good thing. Useless children are given to the scientist, and the scientist only knows how to break his experiments. It's good for her to be useful now. She shouldn't dread it, a pit shouldn't have formed in her stomach at the sight of her Father's grin. That's a sign of disloyalty, and the punishment for disloyalty is severe. Maybe Father can read her mind, like Equilibrium, or maybe her trepidation seeps through the cracks of her skin like a bellow of smoke. The thrum of fear, the undercurrent of disgust. Stop it.

She is not human, merely a half-made thing. But even monsters and freaks can only go so far with no motivation, Father crouches before her, shifting his gentle hands from her hair to her face. He cups that fragile, pale skin of her cheek, peering into the eyes of his creation. "Do you want me to tell you your name?"

It might be a test, a mind game, a trick of some kind to see how attached she is to the name she thinks she deserves. A good daughter should say no. Instead… Instead, she grapples through the fogginess of her own mind, tugging together thoughts that threaten to fly apart at the slightest change within the wind. The daughter manages to get her lips to function, despite the drugs, despite the damage to her brain and body. It comes out a raspy stutter, another flood of iron coughed up her throat. It's pathetic, and Father sneers at her in disgust, but she manages.

"Y-yes, Father."

For a long moment, they stare. Father has the most fearsome red eye, the rim around it dark, slanted like a Ninetales'. In comparison, the clouded, fragmented red eyes of hers are like a Rattata's, a bottom feeder. There's no respect in that gaze, nothing to indicate that the daughter is anything resembling a human being in Father's mind.

"Do you want to know your purpose, girl?"

Father grips her by the chin, turning her face to the other side of the room, to the bed with a boy on it. It's a child's bed, so small. The sides have railings so he won't fall in his sleep, almost like a crib. The figure sleeping is shrouded in mist. It's a baby, it's a baby, and his hair is almost the same kind of green as hers.

"You exist to protect him." Father murmurs, close enough that his perfumed breath brushes against the daughter's neck, sending shivers down her spine. "That is your only purpose, Eradication Harmonia." The relief is instant. Like a hit of an opioid, sinking into every crevice of Eradication's bones. So overpowering that she almost crashes onto her hands and knees. Father holds her up, pinching her face between his fingers, forcing her eyes to lock onto the child.

"You will guard him." He hisses, and Eradication feels the order take place in a fractured part in her mind. Feels it click into her soul as something else slips away. The baby shifts, cries out in his sleep. Father lets go of her face, letting her drop down onto the ground with a thud, like a puppet whose strings were cut. Eradication flops onto her stomach, her cheek hitting the faux wooden floors with a slap, but her eyes remain on Father.

The green haired man kneels next to the bed, and all of the air is stricken out of Eradication's lungs. She's never seen Father present himself in such a caing and loving way, most certainly not for something as mundane as rousing a child. But he does. He kneels over the boy, bows at waist to kiss his mist shrouded forehead, shifting the tufts of hair to the side. It's tender and gentle, without the same mockery he imbues whenever he touches Eradication.

Irrationally, insanely even, she finds herself envious.

Father doesn't hear her mutinous thoughts, or at least they didn't bother him at all. All of his attention was directed to the boy, to softly rousing him, coaxing him from sleep with more patience than Eradication ever even thought her Father was even capable of. "Pendulum…" Father murmurs. It's his son, Eradication realises, when the boy's eyes fly open. Ninetales eye. Green hair. It's his son, that’s who she's protecting.

She should feel honored.

Father rises to a stand once more, this time with a boy attached to his hip. Eradication can feel the gaze of Pendulum, curious but fearful. She resists the urge to look back. "Do you see this thing?" He says, nudging Eradication with his foot. "It is yours to command, my child. It will care for you when I can not." "It's scary." Pendulum says, burying his face into the neck of a man far more intimidating than her. "Why does it look like that?"

"It's a monster I've raised from the pits of the Distortion Realm and tamed to be your very own pet." There's a teasing edge to Father's voice, the slightest bit of humour. Eradication feels herself drifting off, stuck in a sense of unreality. This is too far from the laboratory, too much all at once. She almost wants to go back to being a worthless, nameless thing. But the prospect of the scientist, of allowing that man to twist her bones into something more abstract than humanly possible, is something she does not want to ever wish upon herself.

"It's not scary." Father says, lowering the boy to the ground, however Pendulum still remains stuck against Father's leg. "It won't hurt you, I promise." She lays there, listening to her Father. She doubts that she'd hurt Pendulum if she could. The voices… They don't like that idea. "Is it… A playmate?" Pendulum asks, so curious.

"If you want it to be."

"Can it talk?"

Father kicks her again, one much harder than the one before, this time in a soft part just below her ribs. "Speak." She coughs, the rising tastes of pennies rest on the back of her tongue. "Yes, F-Father." Eradication says. It shouldn't feel like she is being rewarded for it, but it does, and she is. Father gestures for her to rise again, and then pushes the boy into her arms.

He's given her a brother.

Pendulum is warm in her arms, her skin is cold and lifeless, you'd think you're touching a corpse if you grabbed her arm. Instinct has Eradication cradling the boy into her chest, hooking her chin over that slim shoulder. Despite his original reservations, Pendulum sinks into the embrace, fisting his small hands into the fabric of Eradication's shirt. They almost look the same, and that shouldn't matter, but it does. Pendulum looks like the girl she used to be who died in that lab, with his small face and green hair. He could pass for Eradication's brother, and they even share the same Father!

It pleases her, it soothes a sick need for order, to see it like that.

Pendulum is hers to protect. Of course he is, that's what Eradication was made to do, the only reason she's alive. She looks up from her vacant stare, the weight of the child in her arms dragging her back down to earth. Back into the small cozy bedroom, away from her place in that cell within the laboratory. She can't be there anymore, even if she craves the release of death, because now she has a reason to live, she needs to be in here.

Father meets her gaze, and for the first time in the entirety of her life as she remembers it, Eradication feels strong enough to hold it. Father peers down at her, the softness from before now stripped away from his face with Pendulum's back turned. He raises an eyebrow at his puppet. It's a question and a command all at once, an order waiting for acknowledgement. Eradication tightens her grip on the boy, clinging to sanity with the same grip.

"I'll do it." She says, and the words come out far clearer than he thought herself even capable of. "I'll protect him." Father smiles again, smug, the Liepard that's gotten the Tranquill. He crouches before the two children, one hand on Pendulum's shoulder, and the other coming up to cup the side of Eradication's neck. The proximity makes Eradication want to cringe away, to put distance between her and her Father, to fall back onto her stomach like before and plead for his mercy.

But the man does not punish her, he leans closer, hand squeezing tighter around the girl's neck. "Yes." He says, and he doesn't even need to layer compulsion into the weight of his words. This is a command that Eradication doesn't even think of disobeying. "You will."

There was a time, not so long ago, when Eradication felt big.

She can't remember why, or when, or what makes her think that way, but she remembers the feeling. The stretch of it, building in her long bones the ache of growing. Comparing, constantly, scratching out markings into the walls in shrill screams and pleas while her bones snap and reshape themselves into something bigger. So much blood. Too much blood, the sickening stench of iron and the wetness of it all…

There is a. Gaping hole. Inside her head.

She can feel it, right now, sucking and sucking, endlessly hungry. Siphoning her focus into an unending vortex, trapping her in a whirlpool. She is drowning and the… The faucet leaks. Her feet have gone numb from standing, thighs trembling and knees bowing ever so slightly at the effort of trying to keep her upright, she's unaware of how long exactly she's been standing here.

Nights are always the hardest. Pendulum sleeps at night, and without the distraction, without the direction, there is nothing to interrupt her path into spiraling. Eradication barely sleeps at night anymore, having not seen the use in doing so, she loses large swathes of time to the dark hours. So, she doesn't know how long she's been here, frozen in front of the sink, listening to the round, metallic plink, plink, plink of the water as it hits the basin.

She should. Should stop it, the leaking. She should make the water stop.

Her limbs move sluggish, like they are suspended in honey, fingers latching on tightly on the lip of the sink, curled up and bracing herself against the metal. She hears the joints in her arms and leg buckle and break at the movement, unused and unwilling. Her body swayed side to side ever so slightly, looking down into the mouth of the drain within the sink.

Eradication blinks. Blinks harder. Then looks up at her reflection.

The light is not on. They are not allowed to be on while Pendulum is sleeping, for they might wake him up. The scientist did something to her eyes, he made them rheumy and sensitive. Turned them into a fragmented purple overlapping her natural reds. She does not need the lights to see the soap scum congealed on the faucet, the grime caked around the cold metal. She does not need the lights to see her own looming, macilent silhouette in the mirror.

Eradication looks up. Remembers, abruptly, why she came into the bathroom in the first place. Her teeth are stained black. They twinkle with highlights of red within the inky black mess of her parted mouth, her medication must be wearing off again. Eradication brings a hand up to her lip, touches oh so gently against the bitten skin. The sensation of it, the pain, filters in so, so sluggishly. She bites back the urge to gag.

Her fingers come away blood stained. Her tongue tastes like pennies.

Father would laugh if he could see his daughter like this. Paler than snow. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. Just from a bit of a coughing fit. She leans forward, over the sink, puts her face right next to the dripping. This close. It's much louder. Much bigger. She digs her nails in, so she won't fall.

It smells like wet metal and fatty soap. Thin strands of her lifeless green hair flops onto her face, escaping the half-hearted pulled back knot of a braid that runs all the way down her neck and back. She opens her mouth, runs her tongue over her black, blood coated teeth, and turns the faucet on. Water fills her mouth, runs down her cheek and over her neck. She squeezes her eyes shut, grounded by the taste of sink water and iron. She rinses until iron is all she can taste, and it doesn't feel so gritty and painful to swallow, and then stops.

Even when she turns the water off, she just holds herself there, underneath the still dripping sink, shivering and shuddering, heavy breathing from filling herself up with more water than she could manage. She could drown. Actually, really and truly drown. Not just her head. Fill herself up to the brim until the vortex is smothered and her body stops shaking. Eradication lets go of the sink and drops down to the ground with a thud, hugging herself. Resting her forehead against the cool and wet metal of the basin. She feels feverish. Unwell. But she always feels unwell…

… She needs to get up. Go back to the bedroom so Pendulum isn't alone when he wakes up, he doesn't like to be alone, she should know that, she does know that. But there's a long time till it hits dawn, and Eradication isn't quite used to being in her own head alone. It's… Unnerving. Quiet. To be alone.

She might've stayed there all night, if not for the sound of approaching footsteps.

Panic is an odd feeling, at least in this state. It doesn't come as easily as it should, muffled back like the rest of her sensations. She's lost it, like how she lost her will to fight, and gained servility in its place. The only thing she truly fears now is Father. But even so, the sound has her stiffening. Eradication straightens her posture, smooths out the wrinkles in her dress and skirt, and turns to face the bathroom door.

It's only as Pendulum shuffles around the corner, his tiny green-tufted head coming into her view, does she realize she can hear something else as well. Something nearly drowned out by the sound of his bare feet tapping around the cold ground. Her pupils, as slitted as they are, dilate. Wider and wider until her head spins with it, and her grey-scale vision sharpens into something picture perfect. Her fingers twitch, the muscles in her body spasming, a physical reaction to the command programmed into the depths of her brain.

The boy cries the same way he did when they first met. Softly, quietly. The lancing sound of it prickles down Eradication's spine, until she can't even think around the failure. "Pendulum." She says, the words dragging up from the clawed up recesses of her chest, scraping and tearing all the way. It's dreadful, like nails on a chalkboard. "Why are you crying?" She kneels, then, because as small as this ship makes her feel, as Father makes her feel, she's just far too big for Pendulum. Bigger, and stronger, technically, and it's her job.

Her knees are jarred, bones crunch and move by the reverberation, and she falls forward, her palms out for the boy. Pendulum is filthy. Eradication pauses, hovering just short of touching the child, blinking down at the mess in front of her. There's snot all over his face. Crusting on his cheek. Getting into his eyes. His shirt is soaked in bile, chunks of regurgitated food plastered down his front. He smells strongly enough that, this close, Eradication can taste it. Sharp and acidic, in the air around them. Worse than that, though, is the wave of heat that radiates from the boy, flushing his face, eyes glazed and swaying.

Oh. Oh, no. No, no.

Pendulum trembles, shaking so violently that his teeth chatter. And when his teeth start chattering, he starts coughing, and when he starts coughing he starts gagging, and--

And Eradication watches, in horror, as the boy pitches himself forward, and vomits all over her.

It's warm, and wet, and viscous and as soon as it touches her skin she immediately wants it off her. Even without the corrosive bile, the sensation of the throw up is putrid. There's such a, such a profound sense of disgust to it all. Visceral and automatic. Eradication rears back, something that she's never have done with Pendulum, cringing away from the boy. For a second, Eradication truly does exist in the moment, shocked into her skin, without the depress of the drugs or the vacuum of her thoughts. She just reacts, scrambling out of the way even as Pendulum continues to vomit, flinching every time it splatters onto the flooring with a splat.

A horrible, horrible sound. Like something is being wretched from the deepest parts of her, almost violent. All the while Pendulum continues to cry. Big, fat tears streaking through the caked up grime on his face. "Oh." Eradication says, strangled, wheezing ever so slightly. "Oh." He's sick. The boy's never been sick before in her care.

Eradication is frozen, drenched in very quickly cooling vomit. It smells. It's dark. And the faucet behind her is still dripping. Plink. Plink. Plink. A metronome of rhythm to the sound of Pendulum's terrible crying. She doesn't-- She doesn't know what to do, but the compulsion in her is screaming at her to fix it, and she can't just sit here and gawk at him.

She's moving before she even realises it, stooping to wrap her arms and hands around Pendulum's waist, hoisting him up, at arm's length. The maneuver stuns him into a soft, hiccupping silence, and Eradication has never been so grateful for anything in her life. "Hush." She says, roughly, stumbling across the cramped, narrow bathroom to the tub. "Be quiet, little boy." He doesn't listen, tipping his head back, and wailing his indignation at the low, popcorn ceiling. Her chest hitches, rhythmic and jarring.

Eradication sets the boy down into the bathtub, pulling off her own vomit-crusted dress, leaving her in her under-dress shorts. It's foul. Overwhelming and sour. She would be crying too, if something as nasty as that came out of her. She strips Pendulum, listening to the boy weep in the darkness, basking in the fever that pours off his skin. When he breathes, his chest rattles with a sound that is almost physically painful. Eradication pities the poor, sick creature.

"Hush." She says once more, not quite as reassuring as she wants it to be, with a growl for a voice and a face that came straight from the depths of the Distortion Realm. "Hush, hush, hush." Pendulum softens for her anyway. Lifting his arms so Eradication can take his top off, letting himself be manhandled by the other woman in the tub. Eradication detaches the shower head from its place in the wall, crouching half-naked next to her brother. She turns on the water as hot as it'll go, which is very much to be honest. Pendulum's teeth chatter, regardless of the hot water.

Father will know. Even if he doesn't visit tomorrow, he'll know. He always knows, he knows everything. She's unsure whether or not Father will be mad, doesn't know if he'll blame her for allowing the boy to get sick in her care in the first place, or will praise her for taking care of him so well in the process.

Pendulum clings to her, wrapping his wet, dirty arms around Eradication's neck, while she tries vainly to clean him off. He's shivering, pressing his sweat-soaked face into Eradication's shoulder. It takes too long. Eradication has to climb halfway into the bathtub herself just to get the job done, soaking her shorts in the process. By the time she's wrapping Pendulum up in a towel, and carrying him back to his room, she's only in her undergarments. Dripping wet and soaked, wracked with shivers of her own.

Her feet pad against the hard floors, the sound is oddly mundane. Eradication cradles Pendulum to her chest, chin tucked over the soft green tufts of hair, breathing in the smell of the soap she used. The vortex is calm. Negligible even. Eradication feels… Present.

"It hurts." Pendulum weeps, lips moving against Eradication's collarbone. He's hanging there, limp and exhausted, one arm managing to squirm free from its binding in the towel to get a fistful of Eradication's hair, just holding it in a tight grip. "What hurts?" Pendulum sniffles. "My feelings." Her face twitches ever so slightly. "Your head?" Eradication suggests, tightening the arm she has around the boy's thighs, leaning back, to free up a hand and let the rough pads of the tips of her fingers brush over Pendulum's forehead. "Mhm." "Alright."

Tomorrow, she'll use the Xtransceiver to call for Father. It's for emergencies, technically, but this feels like an emergency to her. Pendulum is never this lethargic. He needs medicine, right? Soup, Ginger? For his stomach? She doesn't know. She doesn't know what to do in this kind of situation, Father had never prepared her for this scenario in case of it happening.

The room is as it was. The same, small, yet cozy bedroom where Eradication first met Pendulum. The bed hasn't gotten any bigger, because the boy hasn't gotten any bigger. "No!" Pendulum squeals, when Eradication goes to put him down. He digs his nails into her scalp, tugging on the knotted mess that is her hair. It hurts. In a stinging, distant sort of way. Eradication sighs, shifting the boy so he's balanced precariously on her hip, and goes about getting him some new clothes on.

There's an itch at the back of her throat, the threat of another bout of coughing and gagging, and Pendulum isn't any help in the situation. Squirming relentlessly as Eradication tries to dress him, getting the thin, tickling stands of his hair in her face and up her nose. She's been getting more and more of them lately. Long, yet debilitating fits that leave her doubled over and wheezing. Looking and smelling like she just went through a poorly made cheap thriller movie. The drugs aren't helping as much anymore, and Eradication doesn't know how to feel about that. Doesn't know how to care about it.

But what she does know, is that she does not want Pendulum to see it. So she stifles it as best she can, clearing her throat gruffly, shoulders jerking in muted, aborted shudders. She dries Pendulum's hair, the movements automatic, almost ingrained. It's not good to go to bed with wet hair. Pendulum curls up in her lap, happy, sedate, clean, and content. However he's only getting hotter, there's sweat beading on his freshly cleaned face and skin. In fact, Eradication feels warm just by being near him.

"Bedtime." She tells the boy, once he's dry and fully dressed again. She picks Pendulum up, stumbles over to the bed to put him down. Pendulum does not let go of her hair. Eradication hisses, tugging, trying and failing to get the small child's limpet hands out of her hair. "Pendulum." She says. "Pendulum, I need you to let go. Please let go." "No!" She lets herself be dragged down, the bars of the bed digging awkwardly into her stomach, painful in a way. A pair of skinny arms wrapped tightly around her neck. She hovers there, hugged to Pendulum like a glorified Teddiursa, bare, back exposed to the room.

Demanding. Children are always so demanding.

Eradication shifts, kneeling down, so she isn't awkwardly hunched over the bed so dramatically. Allowing herself to be draped over the boy, turning her face sideways, so her cheek rests on Pendulum's chest and the weight of his head is on her shoulder. Only then, does Pendulum begin to settle, eye fluttering shut, breathing heavily through his mouth. Eradication just simply lies there, not daring to move.

She waits, anxiously, for the fog to descend again now that the boy is back to sleep. Waiting for that faded, tarnished feeling to creep back in. It feels imminent, like a storm cloud is just beyond the horizon that is her sense of peacefulness. It never comes, though. Eradication stays painfully solid, blood swishing in her mouth, trapped within the arms of a child.

She thinks that, maybe, this is what happiness is truly like.

Okay so, just to clarify a few things before I forgot, no she's not infantilizing Penny in the second half by calling click a baby. The drugs made her mind numb so when she saw him for the first time her brain thought; "Small human = baby." Obviously this corrects itself by the third part where she calls click child instead

There was actually supposed to be a fourth part of this, but I felt like it ruined the vibe of the story, so I stopped writing it abruptly. Though I'll post it below, it is not betaread like the above;

[She's recently gained a new hobby. Sewing.

It's mundane, monotonous. Thread needle in and out, in and out. Her brain felt numb and her head felt heavy, unyielding, all of her thought snatched away and all that remained was in and out. Her senses dull, though it felt as if there was lava pouring on her head. Eradication's brain swirled around her skull with each way and movement. Hurts. In and out. In and out.

All of the fabric collect for this experiment was collected from discarded uniforms and ruined pillows. In and out, in and out. None of their uniforms have red in them, so she has to use blue. She found blue uniforms while scavenging through the stuff that was being sent to the incineration room. In and out, In and out, it was theirs, it had their emblem. So why hasn't she seen them before?

In and out, in and out, in and-- "Sissy?" Prick.

Straight through her finger. Ouch. It brings her back down to earth, seeing the blood drip down her inhumanely long finger. She does not react, simply lulls her head to the side. "Yes, Pendulum?" The boy grabs a hold of the chair's arm, reaching to see what's in her hands. "What are you doing?" The sounds of the child reaching and whining, trying to get a look, was annoying to Eradication. She pulls the needle out of her finger and places it on the table. "Stop that, child." Pendulum squeals happily as Eradication picks him off the ground and places him in her lap.

Pendulum snuggles himself up into Eradication's chest, grabbing a hold of her hair. He never stopped doing that. "I'm sewing. Look." She holds up the plush for Pendulum to see, he squeals in delight and reaches for it. "A Zorua! A shiny Zorua!" "I didn't have red fabric."

Once the toy is in his hands, he squeezes it to his chest with a puff. "Careful. If you break it, I can't fix it right away." Eradication wraps her arms around the boy's abdomen. He is lively and warm. She is deathly cold. Comforting. She places her chin onto the top of Pendulum's head, the child's green tufts of hair tickling her face and nose. They're both snuggled together. Comforting.

"Why does it have a ribbon tied around it's waist?" Eradication does not answer immediately. Fiddling with the aforementioned ribbon, a nervous tick she has yet to squash. "I like the feeling of it."]

-💌

finally got around to replying to this. embarrassingly enough i actually read it a little bit ago but thinking about my son made me run off to work on smth for a bit so i didn't respond right away 😭 anyways that aside

JESUS MAN. WHAT THE HELL /LH

this was SO hard to read.. but like in a good way. you're really descriptive and visceral. in the beginning i lowkey wanted to shake colress around because of his insistence

reading all of this was like the most conflicting experience ever because on one hand i was like omg my son :∆ and just over the moon that you like him enough to write sm about click. and then on the other hand it was shock and horror and dread. like oscillating between these two images the entire time

i feel so bad for herrr jfc. i feel bad for penny too (sick :( ) but her treatment was way worse obvi. hate that ghetsis got penny to call her an it. i mean he would but it still sucks ARGH

for a sec there i thought penny was going to dematerialize before us.. that would've been so evil 💀 also just have to say. with how bleak and horrible the final paragraph building up to it was, the last line being about happiness was harrowing. all this about blood and puke and sickness only to end on a line about happiness. erm💥

but thank you for leaving in the sewing story. it's not the happiest thing ever LMAO but it was a nice bittersweet pallet cleanser after all of That. they make me feel. i just want the best for them your honor

#alright incoming trigger list of biblical proportions #gore cw #emeto tw #emeto cw #body horror cw #blood cw #vomit cw #violence cw #abuse cw #cw abuse #needles cw #child abuse cw #repeating words #repeating words cw #drugs cw #ask to tag #long post #penny harmonia gropius

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brunnet4minx · 3 months ago

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Why every man who likes me from the first glance, blocking me in a week of chatting, I can’t figure out. It’s something weird with me, with them wtf

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glitched-username · 7 months ago

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Biblically Accurate Turtles (1/?)

Basically their heights match the relative sizes of their respective turtles

1-2 years before the events of the show start up.

Donnie finds something rare: a completely intact still functional phone! Being too small to get it on his own, he employs Raph (and the 2 other turtle Tagalongs who invited themselves) to help retrieve it. The phone isn't the only thing they run into in the sewers, and Raph is ready to protect his family from it.

AKA: April O'Neil's terrible awful no good very bad day

CW: blood, violence and generally everyone freaking out

4000+ words

Also color coded height references (green is April for comparison)

“Speed it up Raph! I don't want it to get any sort of water damage!” A tiny blur of purple zoomed through the sewers in excitement, followed by a larger snapping turtle. Despite being nearly three times the size of the softshell, Raph struggled to keep up. The extra weight on his back and head certainly didn't help

“Psh yeah Raph, keep up!” Leo playfully mocked while still getting a free ride. Raph responded by purposely jostling the foot tall slider in mock annoyance and tilting his head back.

“You're one to talk! Want Raph to just drop you here and see if you can keep up?!” Leo just gave a dramatic huff and got comfortable again.

Atop Raph’s head, the snapper felt the feather light touch of his tiniest brother moving a bit, still gripping onto his mask tightly. “Why’d you even want to come, Leo? No offense but… uhh… I don't think you're strong enough to carry something bigger than me all the way back to the lair.” The box turtle nervously laughed.

“Well, I know that I've carried you around plenty and if I can drag around someone half my size then I can EASILY bring home something a tiny bit bigger! I just don't want to!” Leo closed his eyes and smirked, “I'm just here cause I wanna see what's got the nerd so spazzed out!” Leo shouted that last part pointedly at said nerd.

“Yeah yeah! I get it! My excitement is such a momentous occasion!” Donnie shouted back in a tone no one knew if it was sarcastic or not. “Now can we PLEASE speed things up?! We’re almost there! Right up ahead!” With that the softshell sped off again, purple light fading in the distance.

Raph just rolled his eyes and kept his pace steady. As much as he was annoyed by the shinanigens of the two hitching a ride, Raph didn't wanna jostle them too hard or have either fall off by speeding up.

After a minute or two of running, the tiny purple light returned and Raph barely had a second to register as he heard Donnie uncharacteristically shouting expletives. He all but slammed into Raph, who caught the panicked scientist into a hug with a slight ‘oof’ and saw Donnie holding his prize: a completely intact smartphone with cat ears.

Donnie was panting from the overexertion, barely able to speak from being so out of breath, even his jetpack was burnt out. Mikey and Leo stopped messing around and looked concerned.

“Donnie? What's-”

The softshell pointed in the direction he came and saw a larger white light shining their way. Raph was confused until he saw a shadow from behind the light.

It was massive. Almost three times Raph’s height. He knew from when Donnie talked about their heights and stuff that while Raph easily towered over his dad and brothers, he was still dwarfed by humans. But to actually see one in person?

It terrified him. Raph only had one thought come to mind: protect his family. She would NOT hurt them. Slowly, Raph crouched down to let his brothers off and silently told them ‘Get home IMMEDIATELY’. The brothers obliged. Mikey grappled onto Leo with an iron grip. And Leo picked up the phone best he could scrambling away with Donnie who tried his best to help Leo.

The sight comforted Raph as he prepared for what was going to be a difficult fight. He hunched over and was ready to do whatever it takes to stop the human from daring to threaten his brothers. His long tail swishing in anticipation.

She looked around in confused panic. “Agh! Where did that stupid phone go?! The tracker said it was right here--” their eyes met and it made a shiver ride up Raph’s shell.

She dropped the source of light, and Raph took that as his moment to pounce.

Faster than either could really process, he grappled the human’s leg, claws baring into her skin. She shrieked, flailed and tried to kick him off but it just made Raph bite down. Hard.

He didn't even notice her yelp from pain, falling to the ground or the taste of blood in his mouth. Raph did notice when he felt hands pushing at his face and trying to pry his mouth open. Eyes white and feral, Raph let go of the human’s leg and bit down on her arm, using his hands to claw at anything in front of him. He pushed and pryed the arms away to reveal a neck to bite into, and was about to when he finally got a look at the human’s face in the dimmed light.

Eyes were wide and had a constant flow of tears streaming down her face. And despite the size she looked young, around Raph’s age.

And… she was scared.

Terrified.

Her body was completely frozen as if her body was preparing itself for the fatal blow. The image made Raph think back. He attacked first, he drew blood and nearly cleaved her limbs off, the human was just reacting defensively, she didn't even leave him with a scratch.

The thought that he almost killed someone who didn't understand what was happening, someone so close to his age, someone who was defenseless and scared… it made him sick. The taste of blood from the arm still in his mouth made him sick.

He quickly let go and pushed himself back a few feet. Both to make the human feel safe, and so he doesn't get kicked in any defensive crossfire. He tried to spit out any blood left in his mouth but it just caused the deep crimson to smear on his face, scales and shell.

Now that he was a good distance away, Raph was able to get a better look at the damage he caused. Scratches littered the poor girl’s arms and legs with two very distinct and very bloody bite wounds. Nothing was ripped out but it would still require a lot of stitches and time to heal.

It ripped out his heart. Raph didn't know what he would've done if any of his brothers came home looking like that. Actually, that was a lie. He does know because he almost did it to the human.

Raph didn't know where to go from here so he just sat down, hugged his knees and tail to his chest and began to mutter apologies as tears silently fell.

----

April was having a bad day that only got worse. First she missed her bus so she had to walk to school. Then she trips and loses her phone down into the sewer. And THEN when she finally finds it, some random purple… something runs off with it.

And now she's being attacked by a freaky sewer monster.

It doesn't even reach her waist in height but that doesn't stop the turtle-monster-thing from easily attacking and biting down hard on her leg.

The pain was blinding. It felt like her leg was being ripped off at the joint.

April fell to the ground, bringing the creature down with her as it clawed at her legs. Her mind slipped into instinctual self preservation as she tried to pry open the monster’s mouth. She realized the mistake a moment too late and its attention was flipped to her hands and arm and bit down even harder on them.

It was agony, her lungs seized, she couldn't breathe, but the monster and it's cold white eyes were hell bent on ripping her to shreds.

April tried so hard to protect her face, but either was in too much pain or the monster was so strong it was able to shove her arm away. It was staring at her, at her neck- oh god she was going to die!

…

The pain eased from her arm and the weight on her chest quickly disappeared. April should've felt relieved but was left gasping for air and began to full on sob.

Everything hurt, she was bleeding bad, didn't know if she could walk, had no way to call for help and was left at the mercy of a blood thirsty, fucked up monster---

“...m’srry…”

April barely registered the tiny, muffled sounds. Trying to ignore the sound of her heart beating out of her chest, she heard what almost sounded like… an apology?

That got her attention. Who was apologizing? And for what? Pushing through the pain, April used her good arm to push herself up enough to get a look at whoever was remorseful and was surprised to find out that it was the creature. It was hunched over and curled in on itself.

April would've called it cute if she didn't know that thing could've easily killed her…

… but it didn't…

Why?

------

Raph was too scared to move. He didn't want to hurt anyone like that and was worried he'd scare the human or hurt her again by accident.

It was always his biggest fear. Raph was so much bigger than everyone he knew that he had to be extra careful. He thought he knew his own strength, how much of his weight was safe to throw around.

He thought that a human would be far more durable, so much tougher. I mean, every Lou Jitsu film he's watched told him that humans are powerful and unstoppable. But it turns out humans are just as fragile as his dear brothers. No shell, no carapace and no tough scales. It was like he was shredding through paper.

Raph heard shuffling and the sobs and whimpering cease but didn't stop his rambling apologies. What else was there to do. He'd never live with himself if he killed her, but if he ran then more humans could appear and deem his family as a threat to kill. On top of that, he was genuinely remorseful and wished more than anything he just waited to see what the human's first move would've been. But it's too late now.

…

…..

“You… you can talk?!” That snapped Raph out of his spiral and he looked up at the human, meeting her eyes. Tears littered both of their faces and the two froze and stared at each other. She didn't look angry or upset, but just confused and scared. That made Raph feel even worse as he broke the stalemate and began crying and apologizing again, this time much louder.

“M’SORRY! Raph didn't MEAN to--I didn't know what-- we’ve never seen a human before and I freaked out! M’SO SORRY!”

April honestly didn't know what to think at this point. One second she was being ripped to shreds by a crazy sewer monster, and the next she felt the need to comfort what she could now see as a turtle. A weird one that can talk, but a turtle nonetheless.

Maybe it was because she could tell he felt genuinely remorseful. Maybe it was because he mentioned having a father and little brothers he was trying to protect during his ramblings. Or maybe it's because he seemed as scared of her than she was of him. Something about the attack seemed desperate and feral, like he wasn't fighting just to pick a fight, but more fighting to protect his life and the lives of those he mentioned.

She felt the terror begin to seep out of her body, but the confusion and bloodied pain remained.

Though it hurt to keep the position, a nasty bruise on her abdomen going to for sure appear in a few hours, April forced herself to keep upright enough to look at the sobbing heap nearby.

“Okokok, I think we both need to cool our jets a bit,” she winced and shifted to lean on a nearby wall. “I… this is--man, this hurts!” She saw Raph take a shaky step forward, like he wanted to help but was worried about further injuring the human by getting any closer. Any terror she felt over the turtle melted away at the sight.

“I'm not gonna die… but… but I need help. I know it's awkward and freaky for both of us but, please? We can worry about apologizing and questions later.”

The question left Raph dumbstruck. He knew she didn't immediately trust him, but he was the only chance she had at getting her any aid so tried his best to switch into “protective bigger brother mode”.

“Y-yeah! Of course! Anything! What do you need? My brother is a lot better at medical stuff than me, he can probably fix you up!” Raph took a step forward and fidgeted with his hands, ready to do whatever he could to fix this mistake.

April avoided the mention of a brother. “No, but I need my phone to call for help.” Raph’s eyes widened at the realization. “The phone that was taken by something that led me your way. I'd go get it but...” She gave her legs a test wiggle and winced. “Yeah…”

Raph grimaced but now understood the reason why the two ran into each other. She wasn't there by chance or to hunt anyone down, the human was just looking for something… that her brother now had and would probably strip for parts as soon as he gets home!

“Yeah! Don't worry! I can get it! Just… stay here? You probably can't go anywhere--but yeah--I'll get it!” Stammering a bit, Raph took his objective and began to sprint back home (keeping an eye on the ground just in case his brothers aren't back home).

He didn't spot them as he approached the entrance to the lair: a curtain covering a sewer grate large enough for him to squeeze easily through but not for any humans without them forcefully sawing off the grate (thanks Donnie for soldering the metal together).

Upon entering, Raph was greeted by 3 small and very exhausted turtles circling around the phone. Mikey was flipped over on Leo’s shell, the slider in question seemed barely conscious (he must've had to do most of the heavy lifting). Donnie was the most awake and tried to drag the winnings back to his lab. No one seemed to notice Raph entering.

Seeing the softshell start to drag the phone off, Raph sprung into action. “Wait! Donnie stop, I need that phone!” He got a few paces closer, finally getting the scientist’s attention. Donnie’s eyes were tired with a hint of annoyance but widened in terror when they locked onto Raph.

“Raph? Is that… blood?!” Donnie took a step back, not knowing what else to say.

That snapped the other two brothers out of their exhaustion and Leo bounded towards the largest.

“Shit! Raph, sit down! Let me look at you! Are you okay?! Did you hit your head?! Sit down!” The panicked slider grabbed Raph’s massive hand with two of his own and tried to guide him closer to the ground for inspection. Mikey was freaking out, terrified that leaving the oldest brother to face the human resulted in him getting horribly injured.

Raph was suddenly made aware of the red soaking his face, hands and plastron. For a brief second he believed his brothers panic and thought that this was his blood, only for reality to crash down that this was all the girl’s. He shook away the guilt, he could save it for later, he had to help her.

“No! That's not- I'm not-it's not my blood!” The three immediately stopped mid freak out and stared, almost trying to catch Raph in a lie, expecting to find any hidden gashes or cuts but found none.

“Then…”

“Is that the human's blood?!” Leo finished Mikey’s sentence. Raph silently nodded.

“Didn't mean to… Raph thought… she was trying to hurt Donnie… didn't know that I’d hurt her that bad…” Tears started to well up in his eyes again and Donnie looked slightly embarrassed.

“Ah… that's… not good. She didn't hurt me, or was even aggressive. I ran back because I wanted you to just scare the human away. I probably should've communicated that in a way that didn't imply that violence was needed.” Raph hugged himself and sat down, curled up the same as before.

Mikey jumped on his knee, kneeled down and tried to comfort Raph, giving gentle rubs to his head and tried to ignore any blood he got in contact with. “It's going to be okay, Raph, we'll figure this out. Is the human still alright? Is there anything we can do?”

Raph suddenly remembered the task he was given and his head shot up. “The phone!” Mikey fell back in surprise but caught himself on Leo who didn't even flinch at being used as a jungle gym.

“Oookayy, but what's the phone gonna do? You think that hunk of metal can patch up wounds better than any of us?” Leo looked at his other brothers, “Well, better than me?”

“No! I need it so she can call for help! Raph hurt her legs really bad so she can't walk and we can't get her help because of our not human-y-ness and the phone is the best thing to get her help so I'm bringing it to her now!” Raph didn't want to go over anymore questions and just laid it all out. Deciding to just snag it without another word and book it.

He barely noticed a smaller form latch onto his shell.

As he drew closer, Raph swore he could smell the blood and, thankfully, still saw the girl in the same spot. After a second, she heard his footsteps and turned towards him, flinching the tiniest bit but that didn't stop her from giving a kind smile.

Raph grew nervous as he stopped and slowly and carefully shuffled toward the human, holding the phone out to her with both hands, too nervous to make eye contact. “Here’s the phone! It still works! Just when you leave, please don't tell anyone about us! ‘M so sorry I hurt you but if anyone knows about us, or what did that to you--they’d--we’d be--”

“Hey, don't worry, I'm not gonna say anything.” She gingerly took the phone from Raph’s hands. It still terrified Raph seeing hands so much larger than his draw closer, but took pride in swallowing down his panic. “I've honestly dealt with feral street cats who roughed me up just as bad, and they didn't even have the courtesy to apologize, much less get me help.”

“But--but I should've known better! Raph was taught to be careful about how strong he is, and the one time I’m not I--”

“Apologies, but I think that's more my fault than anything.” Raph was suddenly aware of the weight on his shell, reached back and gently pried a very nervous Donnie off, holding him in both hands.

“Donnie? What are you--”

“Apupup! I'm talking to the human, miss uhhh…”

“...oh! Uh, April? April O'Neil.” The human, April, seemed shocked at the sudden visitor, either if it was by the additional person or by how much tinier this one was compared to the 2’6” ft one in front of her. Was this his brother? No wonder he was so protective. The thought was enough to get her to forget her pain for a minute.

Donnie nodded “Donatello,” he continued despite Raph holding him like a teddy bear, speaking quickly and robotically. “Now, as I was saying, I'd like to apologize. I was the one who took your phone and in my haste to keep such an invaluable piece of technology… I may have caused some confusion over the overall situation. What I thought was conveyed was for Raphael to simply scare you off so we can make a clean escape. However, when I got to him, I was out of breath and couldn't verbalize the plan so he must've confused my exhaustion for panic and fear and thus interpreted you as a threat. Apologies.”

April took a moment to process the apology before, “Wait--that was you who took my phone?!” Raph flinched slightly at the sudden shouting, hugging Donnie closer to his chest. The softshell was mostly unphased, more grossed out by being pressed up against (now dry) blood more than anything.

“...yeess? And I still would've loved to keep it but, seeing as you need it in this situation, I'll concede and wait for the next one to fall through a sewer grate…” April just snorted at the casual tone, letting Raph relax his bear hug on the smaller brother. The three fell into a mostly comfortable silence before the human winced at the flare of pain, breaking them out of the calm.

“Eugh-boy, probably should get that help then?” Raph grimaced, silently nodding. April noticed and leaned forward a bit to gently pat Raph on the head with her uninjured hand.

“Hey, don't worry big guy, this was a really awful first impression but I'm not gonna be mad at you for it.” Raph gave a soft smile, leaning slightly into the touch. Satisfied, April looked down at Donnie, “I am a bit ticked at you for taking my phone” the softshell nervously laughed, tucking himself slightly into Raph’s hold, “buut I'm willing to overlook it if we can meet up again? Preferably with less violence and more getting to know you guys?”

Donnie and Raph perked up immediately. The younger squirming out of Raph’s grip and moved to the back of his neck, pushing down on his head to get a better look at April. “GASP! Of course! You're the closest I've ever been to a human, I'd figuratively kill to trade notes and questions!”

Raph snorted a bit and grabbed his excitable brother again, holding him loosely in one arm. April huffed at the sight and drew up a lopsided smile. “Yeah! Honestly I've got like a million questions anyway that I'm going to write down cause I will forget!” With that, she turned her phone on and after a few moments of scrolling for the phone app, Raph got the tiniest bit anxious again.

“You, promise you won't tell anyone ‘bout us?” April paused but held the soft, reassuring smile.

“I promise. I even have like five different cover up stories about what got to me and none of them involve any small turtle people!”

“Disbelieving laugh! That's the first time anyone's referred to Raph as small!” Donnie laughed a bit and Raph rolled his eyes and playfully bonked Donnie’s head with his chin.

“Okay. Okay. Yeah! I'd love to see you around, and I promise that I won't go crazy on you again!”

April nodded and looked at her phone again. “...sooo I guess you guys should head out before I call someone?”

“--Oh! Right! Okay, Donnie let's head out!” Raph said, mood completely lifted and happy that this didn't turn into as big a disaster as it could've been.

“You say that like I have a choice…” Donnie was squeezed a bit into Raph’s plastron.

“That's right! You don't!” He said in the same sing-song-esc tone and walked back home, looking back and giving April a small wave. When she waved back, his tail wagged a bit in excitement.

After a couple minutes of walking, and when he knew the two were out of earshot, Raph stopped and flicked Donnie in the forehead.

“Ow! What was--”

“You have 30 seconds to tell me why you seem so casual around humans.” Raph spoke with a sternness saved for when he's trying to get a confession from his brothers.

“Ah. Well. I kinda… go to the surface,” Raph raised his eyebrow, “...a lot. And I don't talk to any humans? But I do get close enough to snag any useful technology. And I do have enough pattern recognition to tell what is a dangerous human and what is a skittish human.” Raph stared, “And I would never willingly talk to a human either way outside of this extreme circumstance and I should've let you know I was joining you when I was hitching a ride with you.” Donnie nervously smiled. “Is… is that good?”

After a moment Raph sighed. “Fine, I'm not gonna stop you from getting what you need, just… tell me next time? Okay? I know you guys can take care of yourself, but it just worries Raph that if something happens I won't know what happened to you…”

Donnie untensed and relaxed into his brother's hold. “I'll be sure to keep reminders up so I don't forget.” He felt Raph huff a bit, “Setting up reminders to remind you to remind me?”

“Exactly. Glad you understand! Not to mention if something does happen (even though that's very unlikely) then we seem to have acquired a human ally who might be willing to assist!”

Raph froze and thought about their interaction before he left, and then… he continued walking, tail wagging again.

“Yeah, guess we did…”

16 notes · View notes

mojavebluez · 8 months ago

Text

bound by blood - a bbc sherlock / johnlock fanfic

chpt. i

John once said to Sherlock: “I’ve seen people die before. I thought I’d never sleep again. I’ll sleep fine tonight.”

fic summary | John has killed before - but not like this. John would do anything to keep it a secret. To keep his family safe. Sherlock would do anything to solve a case. And he seems to have taken a keen interest in this one.

tags/warnings | BBC Sherlock, johnlock, parentlock, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, semi-slow burn, mild smut, violence/ injury, substance abuse

words | 5.6k

a/n | it’s been a while! I can’t say how long this will be but I’m on my holiday now so I’ll have more time to write. Each chapter will be about 5.6k words I’ll try and get part 2 out asap but I just wanted to see how this was received first. Enjoy :))

ao3 edition

————————————————————————————

"You've got to tell him."

"I can't tell him, Mary."

"He would tell you."

Silence. "I know."

"He can help you."

"No one can help me."

—

"Morning, John." Sherlock called from the kitchen as soon as John set foot in the hall.

"Oh, morning, Sherlock." John stifled a yawn and shuffled into the room. He tied his tattered dressing gown around his waist in a lacklustre knot before meeting Sherlock, a regular ritual. No one needed to see his pyjamas - they'd definitely had better days.

"How long have you been awake?" John probed, sweeping a mug of coffee off the table. He gingerly took a sip, but set it back down again after realising it tasted faintly of decomposition.

Sherlock didn't turn around. He was wearing only his pyjama bottoms and a worn pair of slippers. This was nothing new; John had seen Sherlock in various stages of undressed before, even near nudity (in Buckingham palace, where else). So why did he feel the need to avert his eyes when he turned around?

He avoided the sight of Sherlock's bare chest, which filled his vision, instead smiling up at him and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Er, a couple hours, I think?" He whisked back around again without even glancing at him.

John sighed internally. What's wrong with you? It wasn't as if he was naked. He must just be tired still. His thoughts were muddled, nothing made much sense to him right now. Coffee.

"Jesus," he pulled his chair back and walked to the sink, "coffee?"

John didn't know why he bothered asking. Sherlock didn't bother to shake his head in response. "Made some," he carried on clattering about at the counter, "try it."

John cast a sideways glance at the mug. "I did."

Sherlock twisted around, eyes narrowing. "And?" It's like he couldn't help but bring his fingertips together in their signature diamond shape.

"Vile."

"Hmm," Sherlock grunted and eyed John briefly before continuing with whatever he was doing. "I'm not sure why you're surprised, John. I'm always up early."

"Yes, but it's seven. A couple hours ago could mean anything." John glanced at his watch.

Sherlock looked up, seeming to realise something. "Oh, it is seven. Why are you up so early?"

"Sherlock," John let his head fall back in exasperation. "Are you kidding me?"

Sherlock drew his eyebrows together. "Uh, I don't think so."

"Work. I'm going to work. You know, the thing I do three days a week."

Sherlock stared at him like he thought he was lying. His eyes were unfocused, as they usually were when he was working something out. "Oh?"

"Yes, Sherlock. That's where I go all day." At this point, John was leant on the counter, arms folded, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The smell almost masked the ever-present aroma of Sherlock's failed experiments that coated the air like London smog. John wondered how Sherlock had managed before he came along - his living space must have bordered on uninhabitable.

Not that John tidied that often. In fact, he regularly wondered how the place managed to stay as clean as it was. He suspected Mrs Hudson might have had something to do with it - though she'd only admit it if she was in an argumentative mood with Sherlock. She usually brought up the, 'I do everything around here!' when it suited.

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down, peering into a Petri dish. John wasn't sure how he could look at such off putting things at this hour. Sometimes he really wondered if he was human.

The coffee had come to boil and John poured two mugs full of the black stuff. One milky, two sugars, one black, one sugar. He sighed loudly to himself before slipping Sherlock the black mug across the table and leaving to get ready. Sherlock must wonder where all the coffee came from.

John stopped still, suddenly remembering something. He ducked his head back in the doorway, noticing that Sherlock was sipping the coffee, unsuspecting. "Oh, and you can forget me all you like, but just don't forget Rosie. She's asleep upstairs."

Sherlock looked up at that. His jaw had fallen in mock-offence. "John, how dare you."

John smiled and shook his head, walking back out the room as he had before. Sherlock yelled something from the table, along the lines of, "Besides, Rosie is far less forgettable than you."

Sherlock didn't say goodbye that morning. John wasn't offended - he was used to it. Still, he called out his own bellowing farewell from the front door and stepped into the street, peering up at the window of their flat as he turned right.

He wasn't at all surprised to see nothing but the swaying curtains. He wasn't even sure what he expected to see - perhaps the familiar figure of Sherlock, waving him off. Smiling down at him. Who was he kidding? Sherlock had never, ever done that.

John was a little disturbed with himself the whole journey to work. He'd woken up half an hour earlier to give himself enough time to walk there (he had given up on cycling a long time ago, much to Sherlock's amusement), but he wasn't feeling the usual benefits of the walk at all.

He couldn't shake the image of Sherlock, bare chested, holding a vial of something brown, standing over him. Every time he blinked it was there. He was there.

I'm going fucking crazy, John thought to himself, I need to go on Tinder or something.

He nodded at this idea once and pulled his phone out of his coat pocket. He swiped to the final page, searching for the icon. He eventually found it, thumb hovering over the screen. He slowed his walking pace, thoughts ticking, barely registering the people that shoved past him in the usual London manner.

He completely stopped when he realised what he was doing. On the fringes of his mind, reflected on the concrete slabs, he could see Mary, smiling at him, holding their child. He waved it away, not even caring that he looked like a smackhead. In its place, the woman on the bus, Eurus, smirking from across the aisle. John pressed a firm hand to his forehead.

I'm seriously losing the plot now. He hadn't thought of either of them for months, but somehow, the images always appeared one way or another. He knew he couldn't just stop meeting people - not even Mary would want that for him, he knew. But he couldn't allow himself to. Every time the prospect came up, internally or externally, it was like a brick wall slamming down over his mind.

He wasn't sure what it was. Rosie, maybe. The idea alone that she would grow up without her mother was troubling enough. He knew that he didn't want her growing up with a collage of different women in her life - it didn't feel right to him. No, he needed to be stable for her. Steady.

But it wasn't just that. He couldn't connect the dots, not now, in the middle of a busy street. Still, the answer floated somewhere in his headspace, though he couldn't grasp it. He'd mull it over later - at work maybe - if it was quiet.

I need to start waking up later. The whole morning had been a mess. It was Sherlock's fault, entirely, of course. If it wasn't for him, his skin, utterly stupidly smooth, way above him...

Christ. John slapped himself, hard.

—

Work dragged on, as per usual. The waiting list was long, far too long, leaving John no time to search his brain for what he'd been missing earlier.

At half five on the dot, he leapt from his chair and tidied his room up for tomorrow. His phone buzzed from inside his coat pocket and John, unsure what it could be, eyed it from the cupboard. It stopped for a minute or two then buzzed once again.

John exhaled loudly and stalked across the room, several possibilities crossing his mind: Sherlock with a new case, Sherlock with a Rosie crisis, Sherlock with a general anecdote, or his mother.

Instead, he saw: We still on 4 2nite? See u at the Stag if so - M

Then: Gonna get WRECKEDDD

Shit! John had forgotten about that. It was Friday, and he had agreed, in a slightly more motivated moment, to meet a couple of his friends for drinks. And because he'd forgotten (in the chaos of the morning, Sherlock) his wallet at home, he'd have to walk back to Baker Street before he went out.

He stood briefly with his head in his hands, willing any motivation to rise. He really could not picture himself drinking tonight, let alone with a gang of friends he hadn't seen in months. All he wanted was to head home and watch a Sean Connery film with Sherlock, with Rosie dozing off in his lap. That was his usual Friday routine. And he liked it.

Eventually, by twenty-to, the motivation came. He seized his coat off the hook and walked out of his room, waving bye to his receptionist as quickly as possible to avoid any conversation. She managed to slip out a barrage of questions about his evening, his weekend, his sister (how does she know about Harriet?) despite John shaking his head. He managed to make it out with not a single question answered.

He marched down the street in a manner that resembled his military training. It was fascinating, really, to see the ways those years abroad and in battle shaped him. Sometimes he was truly astounded with himself. Like the way a gun felt in his hand - like it was supposed to be there, like an extension of himself. There was a reason John was the one that carried the gun and Sherlock didn't. He much preferred target practice on Mrs Hudson's walls.

He reached Baker Street in half the time it had taken him this morning. His head was empty of the previous things that had bothered him - though he suspected that would change once he set foot inside. He had no idea what to expect every time he came home.

He only trusted Sherlock with Rosie if Mrs Hudson was in the building. Thankfully, he had created a work schedule that benefited them all and allowed John to work part-time. Working with Sherlock could probably sustain them all, but the consulting industry was temperamental, and John knew the importance of keeping a steady job.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Sherlock, he just got carried away with himself sometimes. For all his supposed hatred for humanity, he was pretty good with kids. John suspected it was because Sherlock acted like one himself most of the time - he knew what to say to them. Especially Rosie.

John was the opposite. He'd never been good with kids. His childhood seemed like a distant thing, something he had no doubt experienced, but a very, very long time ago. Rosie was different. John supposed that was fatherhood - it changed the person you thought you were, and replaced you with something completely different. An imposter. But a welcome one.

John knocked lightly and let himself in, the smell of home washing over him. He was greeted by Mrs Hudson, who was on her way down the stairs with a basket of folded laundry on her hip.

"Oh- I told you not to bother with our washing anymore." John sighed as he wiped his shoes on the welcome mat.

"Well, I don't see either of you washing it. How clean's that shirt? Give it to me when you're done with it."

"We- well, alright. If you insist..." John shrugged off his coat, "how have they been, by the way?"

"Lovely, fine. The things I hear him telling her though, John! Murder and all that. You need to give him a good talking to." She made a disgusted noise in her throat then pottered off to her flat, shutting the door curtly behind her.

John just shook his head. What made Mrs Hudson think Sherlock would listen to him, John wasn't at all sure. In fact, he'd love to hear her reasons.

As John ascended up the stairs, two familiar voices (one distinct, one babbling) became clearer. He stopped halfway and shut his eyes, trying to make out the conversation. He didn't know if they were aware of his presence yet, but he tried to be as quiet as possible.

"...quite short, isn't he?" then, "...obviously he's been off with her...needs to get sacked..."

Once John reached the top of the stairs, he could make out music wafting into the hall out the open door. Familiar music.

"Sherlock! You're letting Rosie watch Top Gun?"

Sherlock didn't turn to look at him, instead waving a hand in his general direction. "Yes, John. You said it was your favourite - I wondered if it might be hereditary."

John scoffed. Rosie turned from the TV, making a pleased noise at the sight of John by the door. She got up to greet him, steadying herself on the arm of John's armchair. Sherlock moved to help her but leant back again when she toddled off by herself.

"She seemed to be enjoying it. Not for me. A bit too..." he made an odd gesture in the air.

"I'm not sure what that," John jabbed at Sherlock, "means, but I'm going to pretend I didn't hear it."

Sherlock just hummed, unable to tear his gaze from the TV. His eyes lingered extensively on Tom Cruise's six pack.

John sighed, holding Rosie's pudgy hand as she looked up at him with wide blue eyes. "Any clients?"

Sherlock nodded, keeping an eye on the TV. "Yes, four."

John raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"Boring, boring," Sherlock stabbed at the air with a slender finger, "okay, and boring."

"What was the okay one?"

Sherlock pressed his fingers together. "Convinced her husband was a goat-man hybrid controlled by the devil, or something or other."

John was slightly stunned. "Well?"

"Carbon monoxide." Sherlock didn't elaborate.

John just widened his eyes and nodded, at a loss for words. Rosie reached up to him, wanting to be picked up, but John made no move to do so. He stared at the TV with his eyes glazed over. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"You're going somewhere."

John snapped out of his daze. "Correct."

"You don't want to."

"Also correct."

"Let me guess," Sherlock stood up nimbly out of his armchair, "the pub with Mike."

John nodded, swiping a hand over his face. He had no idea how Sherlock could know, but he wasn't interested in finding out.

"And others." Sherlock frowned slightly, bending down to pick Rosie up. He held her somewhat awkwardly as though he still wasn't used to the gesture, but she didn't seem to mind. She squealed happily in his arms.

"Yeah, a couple guys I haven't seen since the wedding." John's voice cracked a little on the last word. He hoped Sherlock hadn't noticed.

"Well," Sherlock adjusted Rosie, "don't worry about us. It'll be an early night I think." He smiled at her.

John wasn't convinced. "Sure." He paused, looking down at his shoes. "It's not that. They'll ask about Mary, and..."

"And?"

"I really don't want to be hungover this weekend." John frowned at Sherlock.

Sherlock seemed to be considering something. He set Rosie down, who wandered off to watch the end of Top Gun. "Well, I could come with you."

When John pulled a face, he continued quickly to make his point. "Make sure you only consume an acceptable amount, redirect conversation, et cetera..." He watched John's expression carefully.

John worried his lip. Usually, inviting Sherlock to any friendly alcohol-driven setting was not a great idea. Especially considering the last time they had gotten considerably drunk together, they'd ended up in a jail cell by the end of it. Even worse than that, the last time these guys had seen Sherlock was during his rather distracted best man's speech. John winced.

"Well," John began, "I'm not sure. What about Rosie?" He looked over at her. She was standing barely an inch away from the TV, mesmerised.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "We can put her to bed and Mrs Hudson can keep an eye on her. We won't be out all night." He smiled as though he had already won the conversation.

He had. "Alright, Sherlock. You win."

He turned to walk out the door, en route to his bedroom. He couldn't exactly show up to the pub in business-casual. He called behind him, "I don't even know why you want to go. You hate this sort of thing."

"Just looking out for you, John." Sherlock said in an odd tone.

"Hm," John hummed sceptically. He wasn't convinced, but he also didn't have the energy to make Sherlock explain himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to get the reason out of him.

John proceeded up the stairs and began getting himself ready. He picked his usual jeans-and-jumper ensemble and re-combed his hair. Sherlock, of course, decided to wear a suit of sorts - him and Mycroft had that in common, at least. He went for the slightly more casual choice of a partly unbuttoned white shirt, however, which was the closest he could ever get to the concept.

It took them all but twenty minutes, most of it being John contemplating messaging Mike about the new addition. He opened and closed messages about fifty times before deciding against it. Showing up unannounced with Sherlock was not John's smartest idea, but it was better than the alternative of having to deal with an awkward text conversation. No doubt Mike would try to wriggle out of it somehow.

"And you're sure you're okay with it?" John asked Mrs Hudson by the front door.

"Oh of course, don't worry," she assured them, "you boys deserve a date."

Sherlock smiled at the ground, but John intercepted. "It's not- oh, you know what? Never mind." He shook his head at nothing in particular.

Mrs Hudson's faint voice followed them out the door, muttering something about "live and let live". John decided to ignore it.

"I really don't know why you're doing this, Sherlock." John commented.

"Like I said, John," he looked straight ahead, "I'm just looking out for you. That's what friends do." He smiled a strange little smirk that John didn't miss.

"You're so..." John trailed off.

"Thoughtful?"

"Wasn't the word I was going to use, no." John weaved through the crowds, trying not to lose Sherlock.

Sherlock met him again and turned right, John jogging slightly to catch up with his long stride. A sign that indicated the pub, nestled between several terrace-style shops, jutted out from the wall. John stopped suddenly.

"How did you know where we were going?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, sweeping his coat behind him as he stepped into the entrance. He held the door open for John. "After you."

John mumbled his thanks. He braced himself for the sight of his friends, no doubt at the bar, and their reactions to his companion. Once they caught sight of John, they all whooped, moving to greet him with their arms out. Their celebrations faded when their gaze rested upon Sherlock, who stood assertively behind John with his hands in his pockets.

John sighed. The next few hours would be interesting.

—

"So you're telling me you don't know who the queen is?"

Everyone was at least four beers deep now. The pub had gotten busier with each passing hour, and the five of them were piled in a booth, elbow to elbow.

The whole place had a warm glow, the ceiling strung with exposed bulbs and bunting. The feel of the decor was very clearly industrial, every wall being exposed brick or faded red wallpaper. It smelled like overpriced beer.

"No," Sherlock replied to one of John's friends who sat opposite. John was squeezed between Sherlock and another one of his pals. John could feel every word that Sherlock said like a deep vibration, and every breath he took warmed his neck.

John was finding it very hard to concentrate.

Especially because Sherlock's leg was pressed right up against his own, and John couldn't bear to move an inch.

"How can you not know that?" John's friend looked around, baffled, his beer sloshing onto the table. John peeled his coat off the already sticky surface to avoid the backsplash.

"It's not important," Sherlock replied.

The whole evening had gone far better than Sherlock had anticipated - each of his friends had taken a great interest in Sherlock's work, all barraging him with questions. They, of course, also had questions about the wedding and Sherlock's speech, but he had skilfully diverted the conversation. Whether that was for John's sake or his own, John wasn't sure.

In fact, John had barely gotten a word in edgewise. He was grateful for that, though - the beer had made him drowsy rather than buzzed. He had to splash his face a couple times in the bathroom to keep himself awake. Sherlock seemed to notice this.

Sherlock nudged John's foot under the table. John, who had his face in his hand and his eyes half-closed, looked up to see everyone staring at him.

"Oh, sorry," he blinked. "What was that?"

"I said," his friend opposite smirked, "are you seeing anyone?"

John paused, a little stunned. He had no idea when this topic had arisen. Sherlock cleared his throat. "They asked me, but I told them I'm married to my work."

His friends laughed at that, which Sherlock looked quite confused about. "Not at the moment, no," was all John could manage.

John noticed a crease between Sherlock's brows. He didn't say anything, though.

"Really?" Another friend joined in, "have you tried any apps? I met my..."

Their voices dissipated into the noise of the pub. John was barely able to concentrate on the conversation anymore. He could feel Sherlock's body heat rolling off him in waves, warming his whole right side. It made him even more tired. It took all his strength not to close his eyes and let his head fall.

Sherlock made the whole table explode into another round of booming laughter, jolting John awake. He groaned and swiped a hand over his face. No one seemed to take note. Except from Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up suddenly, palms pressed on the table. He thrust a handful of coins onto the table from his coat pocket. "Another round gents?"

They all cheered in response, apart from John. Sherlock seized him under the arm and excused them both to the bar. He swept up the coins and thrust them into John's hand as he dragged him along. John was a little dazed.

"Feeling sleepy?" Sherlock said sarcastically, holding John's shoulder.

"Yes, Sherlock, I am," John looked around at the crowd. He could barely hear Sherlock's voice. "Why, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing all this?" John clenched his jaw. "Switching on the charm?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sherlock said.

"Yes you do," John mumbled. "You hate going out. Every time I introduce you to a friend you insist on making sure they never want to see me again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes theatrically. John saw this as a sign to carry on. "And suddenly you're cracking jokes? Trying to impress them?"

He was cut off by Sherlock ordering another round of beers. He shouted over the noise at the bartender. John waited, mouth in a tight line, his first clenched on the bar.

When he was done, John continued. "So what's this about, huh?"

"You're exhausted, John," Sherlock dragged his eyes to meet him. "Imagining things."

"You're kidding, right?" John scoffed. "No, that's not it, is it?" John searched Sherlock's face.

"If you must know! It's for a case," Sherlock hissed through his teeth. He picked up two glasses of beer, gesturing at John to get the others.

John didn't budge. He stood, frozen. "Unbelievable," he watched Sherlock with his mouth agape. "You could have told me. Could have said something."

"Like what?"

"Something!" John pinched his nose bridge. "You barged in on my one meeting with my friends in months! Years! For a case!"

"You didn't want to go anyway. I was doing you a favour." Sherlock moved to walk back to the table, but John grabbed him by his coat sleeve and dragged him back.

"So what is it, then? Huh? Tell me, is one of them a murderer?" He said sarcastically, but his voice held no jest.

Sherlock inclined his head. "Maybe. I'd hardly call them your friends, though, certainly not two out of the three..."

"You know what?" John was barely inches from his face now. He unknowingly still had a fistful of Sherlock's coat. "I don't want to hear it. Keep your deductions to yourself, Sherlock Holmes."

John let him go. Sherlock seemed to be at a loss for words. He was still holding the beer glasses, though a considerable amount was running down his arms.

John spoke for him. "I'm going home." He grabbed a beer glass out of Sherlock's hand and raised it to his mouth, downing it in four gulps. He wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve, eyes shining. "Take your time."

Sherlock called his name as John left the pub, weaving through the groups of people. He let the door slam behind him. The night swallowed him whole as he stomped down the street, his shoes slapping against the pavement.

He had no idea what time it was. The street was empty. He looked up at the black sky, stars like white-hot pinpricks scattered sparsely across. He shrunk back into his jacket once the cold bit into him again.

He could see his breath fogging the air before him, but he couldn't help himself from gasping slightly. He just couldn't believe Sherlock's nerve. He knew that his sudden interest in socialising was odd, anyway. It all seemed to make sense now.

John wasn't even sure why he was surprised. It wasn't as if this was the first time Sherlock had done something like this. Taking off in the night, leaving mid conversation, disappearing for hours with no explanation… the subconscious list went on.

It seemed to be fading as of recently. Sherlock, a man who detested routine, had settled in to 'family' life well. But John couldn't help but notice the way his leg bounced constantly, or the increasing quantity of stabbed paper on the mantelpiece.

John felt guilty, in a way. Sometimes, at night, when he couldn't sleep, his mind wandered to a time when it was just the two of them. Never sleeping, solving one case after the next, leaving whenever.

John had reassured Sherlock that he could still solve cases without him. Sherlock said that was ridiculous. He tried that before, remember? And it ended the same way it had began: Holmes and Watson.

John huffed into his hands in an attempt to warm them. It barely worked. All he could hear was the wind hissing past his ears and his footfall on the pavement.

Until they were accompanied by something else. Someone else's steps, falling in time with his own. John ignored them for a while, his mind still racing with thoughts of Sherlock.

They grew closer, barely six feet behind him now. John glanced back but only saw a figure dressed in black, the hood of their parka pulled over their head. They seemed to be staring at the floor behind John's feet.

John move aside to let them pass despite half the pavement being empty. They didn't make any attempt to move or quicken their pace. John felt an increasing uneasiness in his stomach.

John decided to take a random turn off the main road, wanting to see if the man followed. There was no clear way back to Baker Street now unless he went past the river.

His bad feeling only got worse when John reached a break in the houses. An alleyway bathed in darkness stretched to his left. John was about to break into a run when the person grabbed him by the shoulder and thrust him into the alley.

John slammed against a brick wall. "Hey! The fuck are you doing?" His voice echoed across the empty street, but the person slapped a hand over his mouth.

John couldn't make out the person's face. Their hood cast a shadow over their features, making them indistinguishable. John mumbled, yelling, against his palm, readying his leg to kick out.

"Do you know Mary Watson?" The person hissed. John froze. A gun had been removed from his pocket and was pressed against John's temple. He flattened his hands on the wall.

They threw back their hood. The person holding the gun to John was a young man, barely twenty-five, with a youthful face. His eyes, however, held something dark. He stared at John with a bitter distaste.

The man moved his hand slightly. John, far too terrified to speak, kept his mouth clamped firmly shut.

The man didn't like that. "I said," he pressed the gun further, bruising John's face, "do you know Mary Watson?" He brought his face so close John could feel his breath.

"She's my wife." John gasped. He fought to get the words out, before realising his mistake.

The man brought a hard fist to the side of John's face. John spluttered, pain clouding his vision. What did this guy want with him? With Mary? This wasn't just a mugging. That punch was personal.

He watched as John rose back up to his full height. John clenched his fist, prepared to throw back his own punch. The man was too quick - he kicked out John's legs from underneath him, causing John to whack his head on the concrete below.

Spots danced across his eyes. He groaned, barely registering the next few kicks to his gut. The man spat out assaults. "It was your bitch wife that did it! I'll kill her!"

John scrambled against the wall. "What do you-" he gasped, trying to rise to his feet, "want?" He finally choked out.

The man smirked. He didn't rush to kick John back down. "Does AGRA ring any bells? Or did she keep that one quiet?"

Just the acronym made John's stomach drop. He hadn't heard that in a very long time. And the emotions he already associated with it, even without the beatings, were bad enough.

"Your wife betrayed them. Betrayed my dad. He was tortured to death because of her."

Through the pain, John fought to recall anything Mary might have said to him before about this. The process was painful enough. Though, there were so many secrets, so many lies, that John couldn't even be sure if her stories were true.

"No? Nothing?" The man drew closer now. The gun was still in his hand, dangling from his palm.

John waited. Slowly, he rose to his feet, using the wall behind him as support. The man just chuckled to himself. This was his first mistake.

John flexed his fingers. Then, rather unexpectedly, his fist connected with the man's jaw. He staggered back but regained his footing, eyes misted with abhorrence. He ran to hold John against the wall, but he moved in time, instead twisting round to grab the man by the back of his neck.

He was strong, but John was stronger. John held him there, cheek against the brick wall. "You're insane."

"You must be," the man spat, "if you married her."

John couldn't help himself. He pulled the man's head back, and smashed it into the wall. He cried out, trying to reach for John, but he couldn't. John pinned his hands behind his back.

"I don't even know who you are!" John yelled in his ear. His vision was hazy, all he could feel was hatred. Hatred for this stranger, who somehow knew all about him, all about his wife. Who wasn't even alive.

"You will," he hissed. "Ask Mary about me. Ask her about my father."

John clenched his jaw. "She's dead."

The man's eyes widened, his black irises twinkling. “Ha!" He gasped.

John tightened his grip on his neck, but the man only winced. He grit his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. Everything that had been filling his thoughts was gone now - all he could see, all he could register, was this disgusting man.

John wanted to kill him.

The man grinned with bloody teeth. “Though, I wish I could’ve done it myself.”

Something inside of John snapped. His breathing quickened, heart thrumming in his ear.

The man’s head met the wall. Again. And again.

The noises he made filled John’s ears - he hadn’t known, then, that he’d hear those screams for the rest of his life.

John didn’t stop. Not when the wall was splattered with blood, not when a trickle of the slick red stuff tumbled down his face, staining John’s coat. Not when the man went limp in his hand.

John’s chest heaved; his head buzzed with static so loud he couldn’t hear the words the man was spluttering out. John fought to focus, to read his lips:

“I’ll say hi to her in Hell.”

John let go. The man slumped into a bloody heap on the floor, breathing rattling breaths. John tried not to look at what he had done - the man’s nose was a crimson pulp on his fractured face. The wall was stained with John’s actions. His choices.

John once said to Sherlock, a long, long time ago: “I’ve seen men die before. I thought I’d never sleep again—“

John raised his foot, and brought it down, hard, on the man’s face. The heavy breathing ceased. His eyes slowly glazed over, gaping at the scattered-salt sky. John had seen this look before. More times than he could count.

“—I’ll sleep fine tonight.”

END OF CHPT. i

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nsfwbible · 2 years ago

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‘So the Philistines seized him and gouged out his eyes’

Delilah wields the fateful hair-cutting shears in Rembrandt’s “The Blinding of Samson”, produced in 1636. These are details from the painting in the Staedel Museum.

#samson #delilah #samson and delilah #blinding of samson #rembrandt #biblical violence #judges 16

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bluberimufim · 11 months ago

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I just discovered that there's a biblical figure named Seth who has absolutely nothing to do with the Seth that I named my protagonist, Seth, after

#no bc i was just doomscrolling one day and then i am confronted with the knowledge that #1. adam and eve actually had 3 kids #2. the 3rd kid's name is seth??#JUMPSCARED BY THE FUCKING BIBLE ISTG #i had to go check if the seth i named her after was actually named seth #he is #no wait i'm still reeling actually #I NEVER KNEW THERE WAS A THIRD GUY IN THERE #seth is such an un-biblical name????#and he's the opposite of what i was going for when i named seth #just as an fyi #seth is named after the egyptian god #the god if violence destruction and the desert. that guy.#no bc i really thought cain and abel were adam and eve's only children #i guess i never considered the logistics of it?#god these tags...#ramblies #writing #my wips #devourer of souls wip #writeblr #me when i accidentally reference the bible #hey which seth do you think people will associate her name with first?#just curious #bc i was raised atheist but had a big ancient egypt phase as a kid #my perception may be kinda skewed on that front

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sspacegodd · 4 months ago

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youtube

Back in biblical times, violence stayed in cartoons where it belonged.

#cartoons #bugs bunny #warner brothers #looney tunes #violence #biblical times #Youtube

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campgender · 3 months ago

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summary of the Titus 2 movement

from Saving Sex: Sexuality and Salvation in American Evangelicalism by Amy DeRogatis (2015) pp.97-102

transcript under the cut

[…] families. Pro-natalists use this argument to define themselves against culture and other evangelicals.

Open Embrace, and other books like it, circulate among conservative Protestant women in loosely affiliated groups that identify with the labels Titus 2 or “Biblical Womanhood.” There is no one specific denomination or umbrella group that coordinates groups within this movement. The individuals who blog, write books, run workshops and seminars promoting Biblical Womanhood, or who identify as Titus 2 women, may hold differing theological views and practices. Some tend toward Reform Protestantism; others are more charismatic. Titus 2 writers are united around the belief in the inerrancy of Scripture and the effort to define the meaning of biblical womanhood—the view that men are the head of the household and obedience to a husband is ultimately obedience to God’s will—in their everyday lives.

There is a spectrum among Titus 2 ministries but the majority affirms that married women should fulfill their biblical role through homemaking skills, childrearing, and following their husbands’ leadership. This goal typically is portrayed as a countercultural position that is challenging for young wives who have grown up in country that supports feminism. Typically in the Titus 2movement, men are not characterized as brutes who force women to stay in the home and serve them. Women choose this role. Itisthe job of older women to teach younger women that true liberation comes from fulfilling their proper biblical roles.

Some—but not all—of these groups also oppose contraception. Whether they allow for family planning or not, biblical women position themselves against feminism, which they believe destroys godly families, ruins the lives of women with false promises, sanctions unbiblical sexuality, and promotes a pagan religion.

THE EXCELLENT WIFE

Biblical womanhood is defined by the most visible leaders of Titus 2 as an effort to reclaim women’s proper scriptural role of “helpmeet.” According to Nancy Leigh DeMoss, older women must teach younger women to serve their husbands and God before all others, and together they will change the world. In her words, it will be “a revolution” (unlike feminism) “that will take place on our knees.”

Writers like DeMoss find biblical authority and definitions for female submission throughout Scripture. For specifics, however, they focus on Titus 2:3- 5. In this letter from the Apostle Paul to Titus, his colleague living in Crete, Paul provides rules for organizing new churches, including the proper roles for Christian men and women. The specific verses state:

“Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can urge the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God.”

Besides detailing the qualities of a “good” woman (modest, loves her children, etc.), proponents of biblical womanhood emphasize wifely submission to support the word of God. A Christian wife’s willing submission to her husband, they explain, is a unique, daily way of witnessing to Christ.

There are a range of views regarding the meaning and practice of wifely submission based on Titus 2:3-5. Some glorify the Christian homemaker and her ability to provide hospitality. Others instruct women to stay with physically and emotionally abusive husbands— abused women should look to Christ, the divine model for suffering. Still others present an expansive vision of biblical womanhood, explaining that women are created by God to excel at multi-tasking in all areas of life, not simply in homemaking. Monique Mack, the founder of Titus 2 Women’s Network, praises a woman’s God-given abilities but does not specifically state that women work only in the home.

Women, Wife, Mother, wherever you find yourself in the following pages, you are unique. God masterfully created you with enormous ability. As women we have the ability to effectively function in nearly any arena that we enter. As mothers we have a tremendous ability to multi-task in the greatest sense of the word. As wives, He called us “helper” and enabled us as such to bring a greater capacity to the human relational experience. We are uniquely fashioned to bring a level of fulfillment to those we are connected to. God has duly equipped and enabled us to be triumphant in multiple roles.

Biblical womanhood is a fluid category that can include single, married, and widowed women who may or may not be mothers or homemakers.

Still, the majority of Titus 2 writers believe that women can best fulfill their biblical roles from within the home. Homemaking is a sacred calling. Here again there is a range of opinions regarding women’s roles and authority within the household. Some Titus 2 writers affirm that women are in charge of the domestic sphere. A few writers believe that husbands should be in control of all matters in the family, including household management.

In her 2009 book Quiverfull, Kathleen Joyce notes that “among some purists, it means submitting a list of daily activities to one’s husband for approval and following his directions regarding work, going to church, clothing, head covering, and makeup choices, as well as what a wife does with the remainder of her time. Sexually, it means being available at all times for all activities (barring a very limited number of ‘ungodly, ‘homosexual’ acts).”

Despite these range of opinions, all Titus 2 women agree that God created them as distinct from men. Women have unique roles, talents, and obligations to their husbands, children, extended family, other women, as well as to the church. These roles and obligations are given by God and found in Scripture.

Biblical womanhood, according to Titus 2 proponents, offers women a role in Christian missions without leaving the home. Authors such as Martha Peace consider a Christian woman’s cheerful submission to her husband’s authority as a form of ministry to him and to others. Peace looks to examples of celebrated Christian wives such as Edith Schaeffer, author and wife of Francis Schaeffer, who created a hospitable household and supported her husband even when he made poor decisions for the family. This, according to Peace, was Edith Schaeffer’s “accidental” contribution to her husband’s ministry.

Creating a beautiful home with dutiful children and a happy husband, Peace believes, presents a compelling witness to non-believers. Homemaking becomes a form of missionary work. Lonely and unsaved men need look no further than the honored Christian husband, admired by his wife and children, living in a peaceful, charming home, to find compelling non-theological reasons to accept Christ.

Peace and many other writers make clear that this complementarian understanding of spousal roles does not define wives as lesser than husbands. Each simply has distinct roles and obligations within marriage. The husband’s is to provide for and guide the family; the wife’s to support the husband in all of his endeavors and nurture the children.

Many of the leaders of the Titus 2 movement turn to the life and writings of Edith Schaeffer for inspiration. Edith and Francis Schaeffer were missionaries to Switzerland sent by the Independent Board for Presbyterian Foreign Missions. In 1955 they started L’Abri (meaning “shelter”) in their home.

Over time the community grew and by the 1970s L’Abri became known as a place for evangelical youth to stay for a few months. There, they engaged in heated discussions about philosophy, theology, art, music, culture, and literature. Francis Schaeffer presided at the center of the community, a charismatic preacher and teacher who desired to meld conservative Protestant doctrine with the history and intellectual concerns of Western culture.

Edith Schaeffer developed a reputation in evangelical circles as an extraordinary hostess who cheerfully cooked and cleaned for countless young adults who backpacked to her house and dropped in for a few months. Schaeffer wrote over a dozen books but the most important for Titus 2 women is her 1971 Hidden Art, later retitled The Hidden Art of Homemaking.

Hidden Art provides artistic inspiration for home design using natural and readily available resources (such a pinecones or scraps of material). In her slim book Schaeffer makes a case for the power of beauty and art to enrich a family’s life even in small and homespun ways. In her view, the home provided daily opportunities for a woman to express her creativity and love for her family.

Martha Peace is not the only conservative Protestant woman who valorized Edith Schaeffer. In the 1970s and 1980s her thrifty ideas and focus on the beauty of homemaking caught the attention of many Titus 2 women, who have gone on to enthusiastically recommend and cite her book over the years. In his 2011 memoir, her son Frank who left his family’s faith writes:

“An Edith Schaeffer cult (made up mostly of born-again middle-class white American women) grew up around Mom’s books after she began to be published in the late 1960s. I’ve met countless women who say that they raised their children ‘according to Edith Schaeffer.’ Of course what they mean is that they raised their children according to the ‘Edith Schaeffer’ fantasies they encountered in her books.”

Whether fantasy or reality, Edith Schaeffer’s life and writings provide a model of the quintessential Titus 2 woman who is a husband’s “helpmeet.”

Martha Peace’s portrait of a godly wife represents a fairly mainstream evangelical view on gender roles. The theological stance that men and women have distinct roles that “complement” each other in marriage was codified at the Southern Baptist Convention’s annual meeting in 1998. The preferred language for the wife’s God-given role in Titus 2 literature is “helpmeet.”

Peace explains, “Basically, we have said that the wife’s role is to glorify and submit to her husband. She was created to fulfill her role as ‘helper’ for her husband. It’s easy to see Eve’s role, but what about you? How, practically, can you carry out your God-given role?” The key to success and happiness in Christian marriage is for each person to fulfill his or her specific role and respect the unique qualities and distinctions between husband and wife. Trouble begins when either spouse acts outside of their God-given gender role.

On the margins of the Titus 2 spectrum are authors like Debi Pearl. In Created to Be His Help Meet, Pearl suggests that even in abusive situations women are called by God to remain with their husbands. She believes that this type of submission is a visible and important testimony to faith. According to Pearl, even the most loathsome husband should be respected and supported. Submission to an awful husband is godly because it is ultimately service to Christ.

“If you look at your husband and can’t find any reason to want to help him—and I know some of you are married to men like that—then look to Christ and know that it is He who made you to be a help meet. You serve Christ by serving your husband, whether your husband deserves it or not.”

Pearl urges women to look to all areas—including the tiny details of their lives—to find a reason that they may be the cause of their husband’s discontent or failures. “Always remember that the day you stop smiling is the day you stop trying to make your marriage heavenly, and it is the first day leading to your divorce proceedings.”

Some husbands will act in despicable ways toward their wives. This, however, is not a reason for divorce. A wife should always find ways to improve herself in her husband’s eyes and that effort will save her marriage. Marriage always requires sacrifice.

It is tempting to cast Debi Pearl as a radical outlier. For example, the blogger Mary Kassian of “Girls Gone Wise,” a blog dedicated to promoting biblical womanhood, characterized Debi Pearl as “fringe and extremist. She certainly is not representative of the modern complementarian movement.”

But her position is not as far-flung as some proponents of biblical womanhood have argued. John Piper, one of the founders of the Biblical Council on Manhood and Womanhood, author, and Chancellor of Bethlehem College and Seminary, stated in 2009 that women should be able to endure some physical abuse in marriage.

“If it’s not requiring her to sin but simply hurting her, then I think she endures verbal abuse for a season, and she endures perhaps being smacked one night, and then she seeks help from the church.”

Piper is clear that simply being hurt does not warrant a woman’s refusal to submit to her husband’s authority. Women are sometimes called to sacrifice themselves for the sake of their marriage. A wife who finds herself in this situation should call the church, not the police.

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