#does that much blood occur from a stab wound

[tamblerdraws]

Joel week night four - diverging paths

Also tw for blood (not very accurate blood probably, but it do be blood)

Tangled au tangled au tangled au tangled au

Also closeups

@risibledeer

[dilfhuntersblog]

loss of mein liebe | könig x f!reader angst (lowercase intended)

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, severe angst, torture, blood, weapons, mentions of sexual assault (does NOT actually occur), NOT CANON AT ALL, NOT EDITED VERY MUCH, written at 3 am so probably incoherant at some points :p

2,000 ish words

it had been two weeks since she had been taken. kidnapped by the russians after a failed mission. neither kortac nor the 141 (who ironically were working together on this mission) had any idea where she could've been. that was until they had received a small parcel (addressed to konig). inside were her bloodied dog tags. konig immediately threw the items across the room and began researching where the package came from until finally, he was zeroed in on the location. somewhere in liski, russia. immediately, he called an order to drop everything to go save his little liebe.

a few days later, he now found himself alone in the basement of the warehouse, while the 141 scouted the rest of the building. konig walked around the dark, dingy spaces, looking for anywhere his little prinzessin could be. the building was suspiciously empty, the 141 reported, but konig was too focused on finding her to notice how strange it was. after stumbling upon a multitude of empty rooms, he finally came to the last room at the end of the basement hallway. peering inside the small window, he spied his liebe.

bloodied. beaten. unconscious.

he kicked the door open, forgetting all protocol. his liebe was more important. not that it was important anyway. other than konig and his princess, the room was empty.

her wrists are bound by rope and tied to the ceiling, caked in blood as they were too tight. a fresh scar dragged from her eyebrow to her cheek, caked with blood. her feet were an inch off the ground as she dangled from her wrists. her clothes were torn and bloody and her hair matted and dirty. she was hardly breathing. a dirty, bloody cloth was stuffed in her mouth, gagging her, perhaps to muffle her screams while she was tortured. a small, broken camera was attached to the corner of the ceiling.

“nicht schlafen, meine prinzessin…” könig murmured softly in german, softly patting her cheek. he felt his whole body tense up as he came near her--but then, he relaxed. noticing her ragged breathing, he cut off the rope with his combat knife.

placing her onto her feet, he held her steady and gently wiped her scars with his gloved hand. “please. open your eyes…” he whispered.

she stirred gently, opening her eyes and seeing konig. but she didn't see konig. she saw another man - coming to torture her. perhaps kill her. from behind the gag in her mouth, she began screaming and crying, the salty tears stinging the scar on her cheek. she kicked at konig, trying to save herself from more pain.

“schatz! it’s me!” könig cried, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “it’s me! i’m here to save you!” könig loosened her gag and gently pulled it from her mouth as her screams continued. “it’s your könig, your darling, your love… I’ve come to save you--” but her screams continued.

“i’m getting you out of here,” he assured, carefully picking her up and cradling her in his arms. “we have to go, my love. we have to go now.” but she still was in hysterics. flailing, screaming, kicking, crying. so hard that an old stab wound on her stomach began bleeding again. so much that her wrists began to drip blood onto the cold concrete floor.

“stop,” he said calmly in german, attempting to silence her by hushing her into his chest. “sweetheart, calm down. i’m here to save you, and you know it. i know it. but i can’t get you out of here unless you keep quiet.” he took his white handkerchief and carefully covered the wound on her stomach, trying to slow the bleeding. “you have to be quiet for me, my beloved, okay? i know you’re scared, i know i’m the last person you’d ever expect to see right now.”

she tries to talk from behind the gag in her mouth but all that can be heard are muffled cries.

“shh,” he repeated in german, shushing her into his chest once more. “my love, you know i’m the only person who could rescue you. you trust me, don’t you? trust that i’ll keep us both safe and that no harm will come to you while i’m here.” könig gently traced her face with his gloved hand. he carefully removed the gag from her mouth. “i need you to be quiet,” he said one last time.

"please… please don't hurt me." she whimpered.

“shh…” he gently shushed her again, using a finger to silence her. “i haven’t come to hurt you--you know that. i would never hurt you, not on purpose. i just need you to stay quiet while i get us out of here, okay, liebeling?” könig glanced to the door of the dingy, dark, dirty cell, and began planning their exit.

"who… who are you. please i want to go home. please i dont know anything" she begged, still not in her right mind.

“ich bin könig,” he said softly in german, placing a protective arm around her as he spoke softly to reassure her of his presence. “i know you’re confused, my love. i know you’re scared, and that you want to go home. and I’m going to take you home to your safe, warm bed, i promise. i just need you to help me out and stay quiet, okay?”

könig gently caressed her cheek, running his hand through her hair before kissing the top of her forehead.

her eyebrows furrowed. no torturer would kiss her forehead. finally, she looks into his eyes.

"k-konig?" she asked, tears streaming down her face as she remembered her beloved. "how did you find me? you have to go! they'll kill you! please! leave me!"

“no,” he whispered firmly, “i’m not leaving you here. you know i’d never leave you here. ich liebe dich. i love you too much to let anything bad happen to you. and you know that.” he stroked her dirty hair. “we’re leaving together,” he continued, “just please stay quiet. i promise you— you’ll be okay.”

and suddenly, an alarm rings out. they know he's here. they knew konig would try to save her.

it was a trap all along. konig's eyes fill with fear. his little liebe begins to cry again.

“scheiße,” könig swore under his breath, hearing the alarm ring out and the clanging of men’s feet as boots rushed towards the door.

he quickly pulled her into a protective embrace, holding her close to him, trying to think of a way out. there was only one exit in the room and only one way out of the dingy basement hallway. in an attempt to quiet her sobs, he put a gentle hand around her mouth.

“just stay silent, princess,” he murmured in her ear while the soldiers rummaged around. “it’s fine… we’ll be fine.” he promised as the sound of kicked-in doors began to grow ever closer.

even with his hand silencing her, another sob rings out.

“Nnein, nein, meine liebe… du tust mir so leid,” he whispered in german. he sighed and hugged her tighter, burying his face into her shoulder. “alles wird gut sein, nur halt ruhig.” he urged, trying to calm her.

könig held her close to him, trying to reassure her that it would be okay, even if it was a lie.

"well, well, well." a voice rang out. they had been found. the leader of the russian military walked in, a smirk on his face. "we knew you'd come for your little liebe konig." he explained as eight men raised their guns towards konig and the love of his life, who was still bleeding and crying in his arms. her tears doubled after realizing they had been caught. they were gonna die. she knew it.

“tch.” könig narrowed his eyes at the smug bastard standing in his way, clutching the love of his life tightly. he wasn’t about to die here, not when so close to his princess. not when she needed him. and he damn well wasn't going to let her die. that was never an option.

“i don’t care how many men you have, you’re going to have to pry my princess from my cold, dead hands,” he sneered, standing tall and pulling the knife from his belt. Two can play that game.

"hm. so be it! MEN! bring me the girl!" he called. four huge men with even bigger guns rushed forward, ripping the girl from konigs arms, pointing their guns at him to make sure he didnt move. konig raised his arms in defeat. one man escorted her back to the russian leader.

"well. it seems you have lost again, konig. it's a shame i have to kill your little princess in front of you. she is quite delicious" the russian man says, sniffing her neck creepily. she lets out another cry. "shut up!" the russian yells and slaps her across the face, splitting her lip and causing her to fall to the floor. he drags her up and holds a knife to her throat. "any last words, konig?"

"nein! nicht meine prinzessin! take me instead!" he snarled, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. he had to get the girl out of this alive. even if he had to die in her place. the russian man simply laughed.

"oh too late, my boy. i might even keep this one for myself. she's so young and easy to break" he licked her neck, causing her to flinch. "i think i want to make this slow and painful. for both of you," he says cockily.

"nein! ich tue alles was du willst! schatz, lass mich die nehmen, bitte!" könig begged in german, looking around at the four men holding guns to him with a pleading expression. he wouldn't die for nothing, not without trying to save her. he had to try.

"maybe i'll make you watch as i take her. and then i'll make you watch as each of my men take her. only when i'm finished, will i make you watch as i slit her pretty throat and watch her bleed out like the swine she is." he spits.

“du verdammte arschgeige!” König swore in a growl, anger flashing across his face. he wouldn’t be powerless against a man who would harm an innocent girl. with his free hand, he threw his knife at the leader, aiming for the throat. the man simply sidesteps and the knife hits the concrete wall instead, clattering to the floor.

the leader laughs at konig's futile attempt. "well, have it your way. men! restrain him! he's going to watch as the life drains from her eyes." the eight men tie konig up, the same way he had found his princess. hands in the air, feet barely touching the ground. no matter how much konig tried, he could not escape.

"bitte, ich bitte dich! ich will sie nicht sterben sehen! ich liebe sie!" in his panic, könig forgot all of his english lessons and reverted back to his mother language in a desperate and emotional tone. He wouldn't let his girl die! könig struggled as the eight men tied him up, gritting his teeth and letting out frustrated growling noises as he tried to escape.

the russian leader only laughs. konig's princess lets a tear drip down her face.

"konig." she calls. he looks at her, his cerulean eyes full of tears. "it's okay konig. it'll be okay." she says with a knife against her throat. she smiles sadly. "i love you. i loev you so much. never forget that." she said trembling.

könig roared, desperately straining against the ropes that tied him up. tears streaked down his face as he watched helplessly.

“don’t talk like that!” könig cried, his voice cracking. "im going to get ou out of here!"

“ws ist nicht zu spät, schatz, ich liebe dich!” he pleaded, shaking violently and pulling desperately at the ropes. “don’t say it’s okay… ich liebe dich noch mehr!”

"say goodbye to your little liebe, konig!" the russian yells. his eight soldiers all release a booming laugh at konig's desperation.

“du verdammter arschgeige!”

könig threw his head back and thrashed wildly against his bonds, his voice growing hoarse and desperate as he yelled at the leader in a fit of rage.

“ich werde dich ficken, und deine verdammte arschgeige!” he roared, spitting as he shouted at the leader.

the russian man only laughs as he presses the blade into her throat harder and drags it swiftly across, cutting into the girl's jugular. he laughs as she holds her throat and blood spills out. he laughs as she drops to the floor, gurgling on her blood. he laughs as the life begins to drain out of her eyes. through all the blood, she looks to konig and lets out a gurgling "i love you." before she stills.

“nein! nein, meine liebe!” König pleaded desperately. "bleib bitte bei mir! ohne dich kann ich das nicht schaffen!"

but it's too late. konig's libeling is gone. the russian men laugh and walk out of the cell, locking it behind them. leaving konig alone with her lifeless body.

a dark, ominous feeling flooded the air and enveloped the room like a fog as if it were the embodiment of the very hopelessness that hung heavy in the air.

könig fell silent, tears freely flowing from his eyes as he looked down at his princess.

his mind went blank as he stood, bound and helpless, next to the body of his love. her dark brown eyes were still open and her blood ran from her mouth, filling the crevice the scar in her cheek had left.

finally, the ropes gave under konig's constant thrashing. immediately, he ran over to his little liebe.

könig held the body of his princess close to him, weeping silently as he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. the loss of his love felt like a stab to the heart, piercing his chest with such an unbearable pain that he thought he was never going to feel anything again. könig's sobbing continued, drowning in grief and sorrow that was as deep as the very oceans.

suddenly, ghost and the rest of the 141 kicked the door down, guns raised only to be met with the scene in front of them. they were too late.

ghost stood in the doorway, his heart dropping at the sight in front of him. "könig." he said, stunned and hurt. könig looked over at ghost with pained, tear-filled eyes, his arms wrapped tightly around the body of his princess, who lay lifeless in his arms.

"she's gone…." konig said, a tear dripping off his chin and landing on her cheek.

ghost walked over quietly , kneeled down next to konig and reached his hand towards her face. konig, thinking he was going to hurt her, pulls out a gun and holds it to ghost's face. "mate…" ghost says sadly. ghost reaches over to the girls face and closes her gentle brown eyes. "look. now she's sleeping." he said softly. the rest of the 141 boys were quiet, faces downcast, unspeaking.

tears filled könig’s eyes as they watched ghost close the girl’s eyes.

“she looks so peaceful…” könig whispered. He continued to hold the body close to him, a part of him not wanting to let go.

“thank you….” he muttered, lowering the gun.

"mates.. we have to go," soap said to ghost and konig. "we don't want to be here when they come back to find konig."

a dark silence filled the air, the only sounds being the soft crying and sobbing of könig.

könig looked up at ghost, his face contorted with anguish and pain as he sniffled, wiping away tear trails with the sleeve of his shirt.

a nod was the only reply könig could give, and he allowed ghost and soap to lead him to the exit.

konig looked back, hoping that maybe the world was playing some cruel joke on him. hoping that his little liebe would put on her perfect smile and jump up saying "just kidding." pull another one of her silly jokes that konig rarely found funny. but she never did. and she never would.

with the weight of a mountain on his shoulders and pit the size of an ocean in his chest, könig followed ghost and soap as they walked out the door and into the night.

the weight of the world felt like it was pushing down on him, threatening to tear him apart. but the weight of the ring box in his pocket seemed infinitely heavier.

könig's world had been shattered by the loss of his princess, and a piece of him died with her. a piece he would never get back.

i am

so sorry?

for my bad writing

for the scenario :)

[deanzelly]

Medically induced [1??]

Pairing: Medic!Fem Reader x Captain John Price

Summary: Resisting temptation is harder than thought. Especially for the Captain when his sweet, sweet medic is there to help.

Warnings: They aint much here, just pining, pining and more pining and a cliff hanger. I want to see how it does with the people before a possible part 2 ;) There is some smut foreshadowing so please 18+ in bio. ALSO may be an ooc Price. I’m tryin here.

A/N: Hello :))) So last time I updated was a whilllleeee back but I was busy with finals and bullshit so I couldn’t focus on writing. However here is the first part of this one, it will likely only be two parts but I needed to split them because of eventual smut. Since I want it to be perfection and I haven't written that much off it :p Also I want to thank the people who left likes and comments, kisses for you all. Reports are hugely appreciated.

Wordcount: 2,8k

Fear is looming over you, looking over your head and shoulder; taunting and mocking. You could practically hear it over the rushing of your heartbeat as you sit in the van. It’s bumping and speeding up to pick squad 141 up from their recent mission, the van jumps and you follow with it, it not helping your growing ball of anxiety dissipate only making it worse. You know for a fact that something unpleasant and grim had occurred when they ran into your study and called you out. Being one of the few medics they had you were the only one available, not sure if it’s a good thing so you could be there first hand and assess the situation or, a bad thing because of who could be hurt. Not wanting to see the ones you have formed a bond with and now deeply care about being hurt. 

You try to calm yourself with deep breaths in and out, but to no avail. Leg jumping up and down as the van comes to a standstill and you grab your kit as fast as plausible as the van doors fly open. And voices from outside bleed into the vehicle. 

“Go, go, go. Push him in.” A deep baritone British voice booms from outside as he holds open the doors. You are ready for what's about to be thrown in your face, the earlier anxiety is partially gone only to be replaced by intense patience and professionalism for your job. And that’s when you lock eyes with the man practically being hauled into the vehicle using someone else as a crutch and holding his forearm on his other side of the lower abdomen trying to prevent bleeding. Your heart stumbles for a second, dropping only to put yourself immediately into action helping the captain sit on one of the benches as everyone else begins to fill the van. You quickly lift his shirt to see that there’s blood everywhere on his right lumbar region coating the fair beige behind it. 

His breathing is slow and steady, his eyes following you as you crouch down on one knee. The ichor smell fills your nose so intensely with you now being closer to the lesion. Voices blend together as they tell you the issue and what went down to fill you in on some parts of the situation. The captain, Captain Price, John being hurt sends a sour feeling down your stomach. It burns like acid as you open your medical kit to bring your dressing, needles, and supplies out. He got stabbed and pulled out the knife like an idiot without having any medical supplies nearby. You want to reprimand him for his foolish mistake but you refrain, thinking about doing it later. “Move it.” You say hastily, pushing his hand away so that you can get a look at the injury. 

It’s not that deep, meaning he could survive for a few hours without medical attention. Passing out could be a guarantee, however. From assumptions alone, you could probably guess that the attacker did not get deep enough before John fought back so the cut is not lethal. You breathe out in relief and get to work cleaning up around the wound. He groans a bit and tenses up as you start working on sewing up the wound, muscles ripening beneath your touch. What you don’t know is that he isn’t squirming around in pain.

On the battlefield, John could only think of you. You, you, you envelop his head and thoughts. The lingering touches you leave on him every time he gets hurt and the fire gleaming in your eyes so bright wanting to scold him for being stupid. Maybe he gets hurt just because the possibility of seeing you is greater than the pain of the wounds. He’d gladly get scars on every inch of his body if it meant having to see you stick out your tongue in focus so that he could get the best treatment. 

His breathing gets heavier the more your fingers touch his skin igniting a flame for every stitch being sown. “I’m sorry, but you have to sit still captain.” You look up at him all pretty and in such close proximity he feels like he’s going to pass out. He tries to sit still even though your closeness is what's messing him up more than the wound itself, to him it’s barely painful. He lulls himself into past situations with you. Remembering the shape of your lips and how you sway your hips with vigor as your steps are heavily laced with annoyance. 

“What did you do now?” He sees you standing in the doorway to the infirmary with hands on your hips as your coat constricts your every curve. Your look displays displeasure and disappointment as you shake your head back and forth in disagreement. He feels the heat bloom below his belt as he chuckles at your small scowl. “Eh, it's nothing major, sweetheart.” he locks deep blues with yours as you start slowly walking forward. “Oh John, never cease to disappoint, do you?” You joke around, smiling brightly as you pick up his gruff hand, and against yours, it looks so big and burly, years of heavy, bloody, and dedicated work seeps in the seams of his hands. He can’t help but notice your soft hands and how gently you pull up his sleeve while looking him in the eyes, smiling softly revealing the minor injury. 

He knows what he does is risky but the consciousness flies away as his other hand grabs your thigh and pushes you closer to him. You let out a small gasp as both of you are but a few inches from each other “Let’s hope I stop disappointing you then, ey?” His voice is low and gruff. He shouldn’t do this but you are so close, and warm and soft and… just so perfect.

He stops dreaming when the van jumps again and your hand gets pushed into his crotch, a wheeze leaves his body as he tenses up making the stitches tighter and his pants also getting tighter. Your other hand now squeezes his thighs tight so that you get your hand out of his region, you look up at him face flushed with embarrassment and shame. The groan that wants to be let out gets swallowed as he just looks away from you instead, afraid that you noticed his damn bulge that's growing harder by the minute. Afraid that if you see his face you’ll really know what's on his mind. “I’m sorry,” You said sheepishly, still embarrassed about the situation. Price looks around, curious if the others saw. To his benefit, the others seem to be captured in conversation about their mission. “ ‘s fine, love.” He looks back down, driving his attention back to you while you are still patching him up.

When you’re done you take your seat right next to him, breathing heavily from sitting on your heels in a moving vehicle. Also breathing heavier from completely embarrassing yourself, in front of the captain no less. You always feel like you're making some kind of mistake around him, but this was way beyond from what you two have done before. Yes, some fleeting touches here and there but never past that, you’ve always felt like John pulls away. You look up at him, meeting him halfway and he holds your stare not backing down. His blues mesmerizes and even through your embarrassment you manage to hold his stare. He smiles easily, looking so kind and soft when he leans in towards your ear. His palm meets your thigh squeezing it and your eyes fall close, reminiscing in the warmth of his palm. “Let’s keep it a secret between us, yeah?” He pulls back, licking his lips while looking down on yours, your breathing speeds up once more. He leans in but stops when someone calls for him, he leans back and lets go of your thigh.

Shame and regret creeps up your body, this is always what he does. Fed up with his behavior and how he always manages to leave you frustrated. He should feel the same about you, how can he pull away so easily? Does he not feel that strong of a want? Or is he just toying around, bored from everyday military work? You don’t intend to find out, afraid of the possible answers.

The next time John finds you is in the cafeteria, you’ve refused to see him for a couple of days now. Spitting out some lame excuse just not to see him. And every time his lesion needs tending to they throw someone else his way, and they don’t do it right. Not like how you would do it. He debates whether to hurt himself on purpose like he’d done before, just to feel your touch, your warmth, and spite. But there you stand laughing with the others and he can’t help but feel thick, green jealousy coating his throat. His body completely submitting to it, you turn your head and lock eyes with him. His gaze wanders down, your chest, your stomach, hips, and thighs. Everything about you in his eyes is perfect.

You can feel the effect of his gaze, wandering up and down your body. Burning. You turn your gaze and continue to speak with the others in your establishment, choosing to not acknowledge your captain. Your want becomes stronger the longer you’re away from him, it’s like your thoughts are consumed by Captain John Price. He’s going through your mind and only him, you so badly want him to do something. Anything, to put out the fire within. Your other coworker calls your name and you’re snapped out of your trance. Trying to switch your focus back onto them. But the plague that is your thoughts decide that it’ll be better to stay, why not drive you mad thinking about the one person you can’t have?

You find yourself trying to sleep but to no use. It is hot and stuffy. The air is suffocating and you’re lying on top of your bed only in your nightwear. Which happens to be a short lace gown, the events of the week had been... something that's for sure. But the need and want is still laying there, simmering waiting to boil. You writhe around in your bed when you decide it's useless. There's no point in trying so you choose to take a walk thinking it would be the better option. You stand before the door hesitant, what if you see him? It's a very small possibility but non the less. 

Yeah, because who could predict that he’s standing right there? Behind that exact door, debating whether or not if it's a good idea. If it is a good idea to knock on your door and succumb to his greediness. He knows it's a bad idea, with him being your superior. Both of you could get in a lot of shit. He stands there for way too long because the door opens and there stands you. Mouth agape, your breathing hitches, shocked at seeing him right there. His eyes wander your body, seeing your nightwear. He wants to devour you, his innocent gaze before turns into lust. Now there’s nobody here, nobody on camp or anywhere. Just you, only you exist in his vision and he so badly wants it, wants you. You and your gentle touch, even years of death and sacrifices on his hands still didn’t turn you away. You've told him he’s kind once before but he knows you haven’t seen him at his worst, and how could your kind soul say that? Look at you, helping him every time. 

You close the door a bit, leaving it open enough for him to see your head.

“What do you want?” You whisper a bit breathless. He licks his lips and looks down at yours. 

“I need help with this bastard.” He points down to his stomach, where his recent injury is. You shake your head.

“Get somebody else to help you, I'm sorry Cap but I can’t.” You smile tensely, closing the door when he shoves his foot in stopping it. 

“Sweetheart, look I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m here for.” He pushes the door open making you back up. Looking up at him so sweetly. The door closes gently and he steps closer to you. So tempted to grab you by the neck and pull you up to his lips. Then his name flies out of your sweet mouth and he decides to forget everything else. How can he when he wants to bend you over and fuck you on the spot. Oh, how sweet your moans would be, begging Captain John Price for more. His breathing hardens, and you can see it. You put your palm on his chest and he looks up into your eyes.

“John, if you’re backing out I don’t want this.” You breathe out looking intently into his eyes. “I don’t want you looking at me like this, or you being this close to me.” You drop your palm and cover your chest, maybe in hopes of covering your heart in the process. Directing your gaze onto the floor. 

“That’s part of the reason I'm here, to apologize for two things.” His palm goes up to caress your cheek, thumb swiping back and forth. Gentle and soft. “One for how I’ve been acting.” You look up at him confused waiting for his answer. 

“And the second?” You lick your lips, your eyes glassy. His other hand placed now on your other cheek, gliding down to your neck.

“For how I’m about to act.”

Yeaaah sorry not sorry about the ending. Constructive criticism is welcome, the change in pov’s might be a little confusing but other than that, hope you enjoyed. Also if anyone wants to be tagged in the POTENTIAL second part, hit me up ;)

Copyright © 2023 Deanzelly. All rights reserved.

[artheresy]

Okay listen, I got sick while at work so I’m in a bit of a delirium idk the word for it whatever, this is what I get for thinking about Blade. The brainworms impacted by immune system /j

Anyways, I’m wondering again about the extent of his immortality and healing. So we get in his hairpin relic lore that his body is perpetually healing wounds that are far too gone to actually be healed, like his hands. We get this line “sharp and distinct with phantom pain” and then this entire paragraph describing it “Like the incessantly flowing stream of a mountain spring, his long black hair never ceased growing. His flesh twitched and throbbed beneath his skin, like river carps flipping and swarming... Fascinating powers ceaselessly reconstructed his body, bringing an everlasting pain of bones and tendons rupturing and healing. As countless phantom agonies and torments tore through his body, his shattered past was also beginning to come together...”

And yet we still see him like die from injuries so clearly, it’s working very very slowly in his body to repair him. Perhaps when he actually fully dies, that power within his body redirects the focus it uses to just generally keep him alive and heal parts of himself that cannot be fully healed to bring him back to life. Hence why he wakes up so far even if there is a pause, a moment of actual rest and peace before he is alive once more.

Now, again we’ve only seen him die via stab wounds and I have that whole other post wondering the extent to which one of Ren’s body parts would theoretically be cut off and how exactly his body would heal that, whether it heals before the limb is entirely cut off so its at least somewhat connected thus making the entire healing process occur properly even with difficulty or if it would literally grow him a whole new arm like a restoration/regeneration type of situation, or if (this wasn’t in the post but) if the injury is treated so he doesn’t die from blood loss which would be the fatality more som would he just like… be without an arm forever? Until he dies next and his body fixes that? I mean I think in terms of non fatal wounds he seems to have a slower healing like I said and then when he’s actually dead, the body focuses on healing the exact area in which he was fatally wounded. And yeah yeah we won’t get this explored much because Hyv is gonna keep things PG-13 and won’t show us any blood anyways

My actual wondering is, I wonder how poisons specifically affect Blade especially just given how different poisons can act. If it’s a slow acting poison, can his body just filter it out with its already slow healing rate? Would he still die if he was slowly poisoned and only then will his body be cleansed of it? Surely he would actually die from something super fast acting right? I mean we already established that Ren’s body slowly heals him and only speeds up when he’s dead. If he has a poison that acts instantaneously, surely he would die and then come back from it after his body has cleansed it from his system with its whole abundance thing.

Or theoretically, does that Abundance power already cancel out poisons working at all and it has to be an intensely violent way that he dies? Perhaps even in his special case, he’d be an exception where it would affect him and then he’d be healed since we know he’s not like on 100% the same level as the marastruck soldiers we fight due to whatever else is causing his immortality (probably the dragon heart or whatever it is) canceling it out so that they both work in tandem with each other. But anyways yeah like, I need to know so badly the different ways Blade’s power (and in general the power of the Abundance) works when faced with all kinds of different methods of killing him.

Also, I wonder how his body is with substances that aren’t lethal in smaller doses but then can be fatal in bigger amounts, things that when they get to that level are considered poisoning like Alcohol and alcohol poisoning and stuff. Could Ren hypothetically get drunk if he drinks a lot? Would his body just clean it out of him overtime naturally getting him sober, presumably at a faster route than normal people? Would he even be able to get drunk? What I said about his body getting him sober faster, would that even happen if its a non-fatal amount of alcohol or would his tolerance to alcohol be solely based on his build?

I dunno there are stupid questions that will literally never ever ever come up in terms of HSR’s story, we won’t see any of this stuff at least answered on screen but doubtfully at all. I’m just so interested in the way Blade’s healing works and I hope I get some kind of idea in order to explore it at some point.

[notwarriorswiki]

Oh whoops, it was asked how everyone who died in the Great Battle, well, died. Here we go...

Brambleclaw is killed by Hawkfrost. He's helping Squirrelflight and Lionblaze carry Alderkit and Sparkkit to safety when Hawkfrost ambushes them. Dovewing sees this from across the forest with her power, and tells Hollyleaf to go and help them before Hawkfrost hurts someone. Caught off guard and more focused on defending his kits, Brambleclaw is struck a lethal blow by Hawkfrost. Hollyleaf makes it to her father, but it's too late to save him. Lionblaze, Hollyleaf, and Squirrelflight watch tearfully as Brambleclaw dies, Alderkit and Sparkkit stunned and scared as their beloved dad dies right in front of their very eyes. From across the forest, Jayfeather feels a sharp stab in his chest, a sorrow overtaking him as he knows something terrible has just occurred, but does not know what... He doesn't get to find out until later.

Birchfall and Applefur end up cornered by the very cats who trained them in The Dark Forest. The two exchange words, thinking back to their days as kits on the journey, and how they were each other's best friend despite being separated by borders. With one last hurrah, the two fight back to back, fighting off an impressive amount of enemies before being sadly struck down.

Firestar goes in a similar way to the books. However as dead cats can't, well, die again, it's all about beating them back to buy time for Jayfeather's plan really. Tigerstar attacks the medicine cat who is no match for him, but is beat back by Firestar. The ThunderClan leader will do anything for his clan, but he's going to be unable to hold back even if he wanted to when it comes to his grandkits. Firestar ferociously fights Tigerstar to protect Jayfeather, buying enough time for Lionblaze, Hollyleaf, Squirrelflight, and the kits to reunite with them. While Firestar does manage to defeat Tigerstar's ghost, causing him to vanish for the time being until he reappears, Firestar is fatally wounded. Lionblaze hurriedly tries to get his body out of there and to safety where the other injured are, but it's too late. Firestar's last life slips away, and he names Hollyleaf his successor. He murmurs how he already sees Leafpool there... waiting for him...

Foxleap is technically an "offscreen death" in a written sense but he's killed by Mapleshade while fighting alongside Ambermoon, Berrynose, and Icecloud. His sister is devastated :(

Leafpool was initially told to stick to the safer areas and help the injured, but worried for her kin after Jayfeather doesn't return to her side, she leaves to go find him. In her haste she finds Dovewing and Sandstorm, pleading and asking if they've seen her son. However, Dovewing is able to help, scanning the forest with her power, and able to point Leafpool in the right direction - but not before telling her about what happened with Brambleclaw. Leafpool is horrified, and worried about her sister and her kits. With assurance Jayfeather is ok for now, Leafpool goes the opposite way to hopefully guide Squirrelflight and the rest to the safe hollows. The sisters do manage to reunite, Hollyleaf and Lionblaze relieved to see the she-cat is well. Still, she looks pretty tired, breathless even - though they don't overthink it. Leafpool knows just the way to go, and is instrumental in ensuring this isn't an absolute slaughter for Squirrelflight and her young. Everything is safe, and everything would be fine... until it wasn't. Along their path, Squirrelflight would notice the growing amount of blood on her paws, and realize... it was coming from Leafpool. All this time... it had been coming from Leafpool. She had been hurt on the way to see them, but has persevered and ignored it with her sole focus being to help and save them. Unfortunately it's too much for Leafpool, and the she-cat apologizes to her kin for not telling them. She's just... so happy they're safe... that Squirrelflight is alive... that Sparkkit and Alderkit are alive... that Hollyleaf and Lionblaze are alive... but please just... protect Jayfeather. She hadn't been able to... see Jayfeather... one last time. Leafpool succumbs to her wounds, Squirrelflight shrieking in horror after losing both her mate and sister back to back. She struggles to go on but... so soon after, Leafpool's spirit is right there, smiling at her. They still had much to do, and her dear sister couldn't stop and cry now. No, Squirrelflight was strong, and Leafpool knew she could lift her head up no matter how difficult things got... (I'll write that one-shot one day)

Mousefur dies fighting just as she always wanted to. She may be an elder but she goes down swinging. Longtail fights alongside her, because he's not dead at this point in the rewrite. In my rewrite it was Ferncloud who died to the falling tree helping Briarpaw, so Longtail fights with all he has - and survives.

Thornclaw also dies in the most fitting manner possible - in war, crossing borders, a grin on his face. He's a menace and goes down smiling. He did his best to protect Sorreltail, ensuring her that his brother Brackenfur won't be mourning her and the kits today - not on his watch.

Cedarheart is cornered by Tigerstar, pushed from the rocks and falling to his death. Tigerheart is horrified, having fought to push back his Dark Forest mentor to save his uncle, but it not being enough. In a rage, Tigerheart flings himself at Tigerstar, thrusting him off the ledge as well and down onto the ground, all the while keeping him at bay from reaching the Moonpool.

Oakfur is sadly killed by his own son, Redwillow. Ratscar is horrified when he finds his mate's body, and even more devastated when he learns their own son did this. Snowbird tries to convince her brother to run and get to safety, but Ratscar won't have that. He wants vengeance, and he's going to tear things apart to make sure the Dark Forest pays for tearing apart his family.

Redwillow is killed by Scorchfur. The once close friends strike at each other over and over, Redwillow's strikes certainly more powerful as Scorchfur has never been a good fighter. Redwillow readies to throw Scorchfur off the ledge and to his doom, just as his father Cedarheart was, but Scorchfur's sharp eye sees Redwillow's excitedly lashing tail and is able to snatch it in his mouth. Pulling Redwillow off balance, Scorchfur uses the brunt of his body to shove Redwillow off the edge instead, the tom plummeting to his death. Grief overwhelms the soft and reserved Scorchfur, who sits on the dark edge in silence, alone...

Shrewfoot is also killed by her brother Redwillow. She was killed first, and then came Oakfur. Their sister, Olivenose, managed to escape in horror, Ratscar not there when they were ambushed by their own kin :(

Volewhisper is an elder at this point, but he's eager to get some revenge when he hears Brokenstar is on the prowl. This old geezer comes out paws swinging, but he really can't do much at his frail age :( He can barely get a scratch on Brokenstar before the former ShadowClan leader tears his throat out. However, ShadowClan's apprentices surround Brokenstar, the beloved cat who told them stories of the forest having been killed. They were going to fight and make sure Brokenstar had a wall in his way. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers, Brokenstar is defeated by the teamwork of Ferretpaw, Stoatpaw, and Weaselpaw. They hope Volewhisper would be proud of them...

Weaselpaw later in the battle is killed by Maggottail, much to Pinenose's horror. She pleads for her baby to wake up, but unfortunately the new 6 moon old apprentice doesn't open his eyes :(

Boulderfur is a newly named warrior when the Great Battle happens. He's killed by Darkstripe and his siblings Furzepelt, Slightfoot, and Hootwhisker mourn him.

Onestar is killed in the Great Battle by Darktail, who actively seeks out his father in the chaos. He wants vengeance for Sol's death and wishes to still make The Kin a reality, honoring his adoptive father's dying wish. Harespring and Darktail fight, but Darktail overpowers Harespring, leaving him for dead. Harespring is helpless as Onestar is cornered by Darktail and has all of the rest of his lives ripped away over and over as Darktail repeatedly drowns him. Harespring is found by Kestrelflight, who tends to his wound, but Harespring blames himself for not being able to save his father.

Swallowtail freezes up in the battle when she sees Antpelt fighting for the Dark Forest. She's horrified and sad, not sure what to do. In her hesitation, she is struck down by Sparrowfeather of the Dark Forest.

Thistlebriar is better known as Thistlepaw (TNP) for her brief little encounter there. (Listen I needed more women for family tree stuff). She's the daughter of Tornear and Thrushwing, sister to Weaselfur, and mate of Whiskernose, their kits at the time being Crouchpaw and Oatpaw. She's killed by Brokenstar early in the battle.

Tornear dies seeking venegance for his daughter. Brokenstar beats him back, shredding the older tom up. He gave a good fight, but it wasn't enough.

Webfoot is an old thing at this point, but he's still got claws and fangs. Even for an elder he packs a mean bite, very much WindClan's Mousefur in spirit. He's ultimately killed by Houndleap, but he did not go down easy.

Dapplenose was killed helping her sister Lakeheart escape after looe branches fell and trapped her in the warriors den. As the two sisters work together, Dapplenose is ambushed by Rushtooth and Willowstar, Lakeheart horrified as all she can do is run away in horror, shame overwhelming her.

Mossyfoot is fighting alongside her brother, Hollowflight. She apologizes for how mean she was to him growing up and that she pushed him into such a dark place as to train in the Dark Forest. Hollowflight forgives his sister and they fight alongside each other, but Mossyfoot ends up slipping on the wet rocks, Deerfoot and Tangleburr able to take the opportunity to strike a fatal blow, much to Hollowflight's horror.

Otterheart is excellent at water combat, and her and Minnowtail are fending off much of their enemies with help from Mousewhisker of ThunderClan. Mapleshade joins the fray though and launches herself at Otterheart, the force of her massive body slamming Otterheart back into the ground and hitting her head against the rocks. Otterheart dies instantly :(

Pikekit is the youngest victim, the son of Perchwing and Pouncetail killed alongside his father as they tried to escape with their kits. Pouncetail tries to protect his son, but he too is killed, Perchwing sorrowfully escaping with Foxkit and Copperkit.

Pinefur fights bravely but is rushed by a number of Dark Forest warriors, who pile on top of her and tear her apart. Her kits Lizardtail, Shimmerpelt, Heronwing, Rushtail, and Duckstream mourn her (two different litters before you ask).

Voletooth is killed by Tigerstar when the tabby tom lumbers through the area. Voletooth's small size, no matter how hard he fought, was no match for Tigerstar's frame.

Birdwing is killed by Thistleclaw, but she manages to get in some good strikes, much to his dismay considering her background.

Mistfeather is killed by Darktail. He attempts to avenge his mate Honeytail, as well as his adoptive father Rockshade and mother Nutpetal, but Darktail easily defeats him and finishes him off.

Pebbleshine dies protecting Stormheart. Stormheart goes into labor during the Great Battle, Pebbleshine managing to fend off cats to help Stormheart escape. Due to the injuries she had sustained, Stormheart dies giving birth to Twigkit and Violetkit, having lost too much blood. Pebbleshine is too late to save her friend, but she will give her dying breath to save those kits. She manages to hide Twigkit and Violetkit in a safe enough spot that they go undiscovered until the battle is over, but unfortunately Pebbleshine too succumbs to her wounds. The worst part is though... the cat who finds them is the one cat they would never have wanted to find them... Darktail.

Petalnose is very much not a fighter and joined SkyClan to take care of her kits. She's so out of her element and part of her wanted to run - but her heart belongs to her clan and she'll fight with every fiber of her being. She is killed by Brokenstar :(

Rileypool is killed by Thistleclaw early in the battle, ambushed by the tom and unable to fight back.

Sharpclaw was killed by Darktail around the middle of the battle. While Darktail is looking for Onestar, Sharpclaw has a bone to pick with him. The two toms have a very bloody fight, one that leaves Darktail in... extrememly questionable shape, to the point Harespring is shocked he's standing when he does find them, and then even more shocked when Darktail beats the ever loving crap out of him in that very state. Sharpclaw fought hard, but Darktail... Darktail is something else.

[anonymousewrites]

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 3) Chapter Seven

Father Figure! Lucifer x Teen! Reader

Chapter Seven: You Must be a Great Business Partner

Summary: Pierce's identity is revealed.

            “Well, I’m here,” said Pierce, walking down the stairs into the empty Lux bar. He glanced at (Y/N), obviously wondering why they were there, but he focused on Lucifer. “This couldn’t have waited till morning?”

            “Time-sensitive, I’m afraid,” said Lucifer. “Or, in a way, the opposite.”

            “Just tell me what you want,” sighed Pierce.

            “Right, well, we’re both familiar with the accomplice theory—that our blind barbarian had someone working with him,” said Lucifer.

            “Yeah.” Pierce crossed his arms, and (Y/N) didn’t fail to notice the defensive gesture.

            “Right, well then, it occurred to me that what if the Sinnerman was the one working for someone else?” said Lucifer, a smirk on his face. “What if the man we arrested was the accomplice? What if the true man behind the Sinnerman was someone else?” He pulled the photo (Y/N) had stolen from his jacket pocket. “Exhibit A. Here is Mr. Sinnerman as a child. With a man that he seems very close to. Interesting birthmark. It’s a very similar shape to your military tattoo, actually, wouldn’t you agree?”

            Pierce’s jaw clenched. “So?”

            “Well, so it stands to reason that this man would be very, very old by now,” said Lucifer. “Or if he isn’t, he’d have to be—” he chuckled “—you know, immortal.”

            Pierce chuckled, but it was strained. “An immortal crime boss.” He put his hands on his hips. “Just like you’re the devil,” he said sarcastically.

            Lucifer let out a brief chuckle. “Yes, I know, it does sound absurd, doesn’t it? So, as such, there’s really only one way to prove my theory.” He leaned over the bar counter. “Right, (Y/N), look away.”

            (Y/N), realizing that Lucifer had to be dramatic confronting pierce, closed their eyes. Lucifer spun and stabbed Pierce in the chest. It would be a fatal blow for any human, and he let Pierce’s body hit the floor.

            (Y/N) opened their eyes and furrowed their brow distastefully. They were able to not go into a panic for the sole reason they knew Pierce was a crime boss and would stand up in a few moments. Still, their slight anxiety didn’t go unnoticed, and Lucifer reached and squeezed their shoulder. (Y/N) relaxed at the knowledge he was with them.

            They tensed as the body gasped suddenly and sat up. Pierce Cain groaned as he pulled the knife from his chest.

            Lucifer smirked. “The world’s first murderer. Marked by God and doomed to walk the Earth alone for a tortured eternity. It’s quite the moniker. Yet, still, nowhere near as ridiculous as the Sinnerman.”

            Cain stood, glaring down at the bloody knife in his hands.

            “You’re really name is much cooler,” said (Y/N). “Isn’t it, Cain?”

            Cain narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he seemed ready to lunge at them and Lucifer, and the shadows below him seemed to vibrate in readiness to protect their master, but Cain relaxed and just coughed and pressed his hand to his wound. He walked past them and grabbed several napkins to press to the still-bleeding wound in his chest. (Y/N) swallowed hard at the blood but steeled themself. They weren’t running away now.

            “Well, gosh, we have so much to catch up on, don’t we, Cain?” said Lucifer jovially, as if he hadn’t just stabbed him through the chest. “Or would you prefer Mr. Cain? Make it sound official?”

            “Let’s just stick with Pierce,” said Cain.

            “I don’t like people like you, so no,” said (Y/N).

            Cain glanced at them. “You found the pictures, didn’t you?” he realized.

            Lucifer smirked but stepped between them protectively. “They realized something about you was amiss. I was the one who identified you.” He cocked his head. “Why all the games, ‘Pierce?’ ” He would humor, even if only to get answers.

            “No games,” said Cain.

            “I think all the Sinnerman shit qualifies,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes.

            “Next you’ll be claiming your appearance on my doorstep’s simply coincidence,” scoffed Lucifer.

            “No. I’m the one that had you knocked out and left in the desert,” said Cain honestly.

            “I see,” said Lucifer.

            “That’s all I did, though,” said Cain.

            “So you’re going to blame everything else on your eyeless stooge?” challenged Lucifer.

            “He wasn’t a stood. He was my right-hand man,” said Cain.

            “Until you shot him,” pointed out (Y/N). “You must be a great business partner.”

            “He went rogue,” said Cain, defending himself. “I have no idea why he did what he did. That’s why I had to take him out.”

            (Y/N) looked at him appraisingly. He didn’t seem to be lying, but they still wouldn’t trust him. He just felt off, and (Y/N) couldn’t shake the knowledge that he was a threat. Their guard remained up around him.

            Lucifer tossed more tissues and a few towels to Cain. “You know, for an immortal, you really do bleed a lot, don’t you?”

            “Yeah,” admitted Cain. “I’m still human. I still feel all the pain that comes with death. It’s just the wounds heal.”

            (Y/N) shivered. They remembered their near-death experience. It hadn’t been pleasant in any sense of the word. The cold had settled into their bones, and even these days, they still woke up occasionally, afraid and clutching themself, desperate to feel warm as the ghost of the freeze of death seemed to loom over them.

            “Sounds like a bitch,” said Lucifer, remaining playful but putting a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder as he noticed their reaction. He too remembered the fear he had felt as they nearly died. The desperation that had filled him had been overwhelming, and Lucifer never wanted to see them anywhere near death like they had been then.

            “Yeah, well, I don’t have to tell you what sort of sick sense of humor your father has,” said Cain.

            “Which is why I’m surprised that you’re working with Him,” said Lucifer. Cain looked at him in confusion. “Well, there’s no sense denying it now,” said Lucifer coldly. “I know you gave me back my wretched wings. I know you took my devil face. So tell me, what did He offer you in return?”

            He didn’t mention (Y/N)’s abilities or wings. A small part of him wanted to make sure Cain didn’t know about them since it was possible it was slightly unintended, and then he would know their secret. That and a tiny part of him wasn’t completely sure Cain was involved with God, so Lucifer didn’t want to risk sharing what had happened with (Y/N).

            “I would never work for your father,” said Cain. “And I had nothing to do with your wings or your devil face.”

            “I don’t believe you,” said Lucifer.

            “I don’t care,” said Cain. “Now, after getting stabbed and killing the closest thing I had to a friend, I’ve had a long day.” He pushed past Lucifer.

            “Where do you think you’re going?” questioned Lucifer. He grabbed Cain. “You can’t just walk out on me.”

            “Or what? You’ll kill me?” scoffed Cain. He shoved Lucifer off him and walked away.

            “I’ll tell everyone who you really are,” said Lucifer.

            “Go ahead, they don’t even believe you’re the Devil.” And with that, Cain was gone.

            “Lucifer, what if he’s telling the truth?” asked (Y/N).

            Lucifer pursed his lips. It was a legitimate possibility, unfortunately. “Then he has a different reason to be here in LA.”

            “So what do we do?” questioned (Y/N). “I mean, we can’t just let him run around and not know what he’s up to.”

            Lucifer straightened. “Luckily for us, I work at the LAPD. I’ll figure it out.”

Taglist:

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[vipier-a]

is that … blood ?

SOMETIMES TRISTAN THINKS IT WAS MUCH EASIER WORKING AS AN INDEPENDENT AGENT THAN PART OF A PARTNERSHIP. he has more stability now than he did before, of course ; a house, a car, a stable identity, far more consistent pay, and overall less risky individual assignments. ( safety is a commodity, after all, and while the danger remains relatively high, he no longer risks his life at the same frequency. the agency prefers to preserve their instillations. ) the package came with a husband, too, which tristan still hasn’t figured out what to do with, despite the strict legality of the union and the very real marriage certificate tucked in the bedroom safe. many months have eased any initial suspicion between them, such that they’ve found themselves sharing a bed to sleep, to seek warmth when the stress of the job crashes over one of them. never had further lines been crossed until very recently, when a particularly rough mission left @k4ssa visibly raw and needy, a rarity in itself. he’d begun by curling into tristan as he always does, their bodies searching across the bed for the warmth in each other. things typically ended there — but on this occasion, before tristan knew it, cassian was pressing warm kisses to the column of his neck that turned insistent and heated until the two men found themselves in a tangle of sheets and desperate limbs, sharing gasped breaths and grasping each other tightly enough to bruise. cass sought in him a force to ground him back in his skin, tristan knew, among the many things he’d learned about his husband ; for his part, after some strategically placed stubbornness, tris allowed him to take, take, take until cass was satisfied, perhaps despite common sense and his own better judgment.

the challenge is that tristan has known for quite some time now that he’s in love with his partner. that makes fucking him somewhat more complicated.

as he stands in the kitchen of their home, absently washing the dishes in the sink to the soft sound of a john denver record drifting from the vinyl player in the living room, it occurs to tristan that he never expected to have the opportunity for such mundanity, even part-time. not fighting for his very life through every single assignment certainly proves less stressful than the former alternative. however, it certainly gives him more time to think than perhaps is ideal. he doesn’t exactly relish thinking about his individual assignments, and thus, his mind often falls to any other possible topic. the subject of cassian lingers on the periphery, as it often does, but now with more insistence in light of recent events. it’s been a number of days now, two of which tristan spent out of town on a spot of business that had unfortunately included a pesky confrontation with a man who clearly didn’t realize what he was dealing with. to his credit, he’d scored a hit with his pocket knife, along with a mild shiner to tris’s brow. tristan attributed it to momentary distracted sloppiness he had no plans to repeat. surely nothing to do with the events of the previous night and the lingering aches he’d still felt from them at the time. there had been no hiding the bruise above his eye from his husband, but he’d managed to conceal the knife wound for the past day and a half — although why he bothers pretending, he’s not sure, all things considered.

“ is that … blood? ” cassian’s voice asks from behind him in the kitchen entryway. tris starts briefly, then blinks over at the other man in confusion. cass’s eyes are glued to his lower abdomen and tristan’s fingers search out the spot on instinct. he can feel something warm and sticky seeping through the cotton fabric of his white tank top. a single glance confirms his spouse’s concern ; a generous stain has begun to spread from the precise stab wound he’d thus far managed to conceal. that’s awfully inconvenient, isn’t it?

“ well, shit, ” sighs tristan as though cass had pointed out something as utterly mundane as a food stain on his shirt. “ must’ve popped a stitch. ” almost reluctantly, he sets the sponge and the plate he was washing back in the sink and dries his soapy hands before sitting at a chair at the kitchen table to peel the fabric back from the leaking wound. he doesn’t mean to wince when he sees it, but he does anyway, despite himself. shit. as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not looking good — pesky, given the overall cosmetic nature of the wound. if he’s not careful, he could infect it, assuming that hasn’t already occurred. although he’s thus far remained silent, tristan has felt cassian’s eyes follow him since first he spoke, and finally, he lifts his gaze to meet the other man’s. there’s a steel there he recognizes that pulls his mouth into an impatient frown and he can’t help the roll of his eyes in response. “ oh, don’t give me that look. it was no big deal, barely a flesh wound. my stitch job was just shit. will you grab the kit? and do we still have that spare round of antibiotics? ”

[isamajor]

Whump drabbles : Lucien Flavius

I- « Does that hurt ? » / Stabilization

They had been attacked by an entire troop of conjurers while passing near a fort in Eastmarch. The fight was long, difficult, and in the end, victory tasted bitterly of blood. Lucien had been able to preserve himself by fighting the mages from a distance and now acted as a healer for his crippled friends, stabilizing their wounds with his healing spells, so much so that in the end, his arms were shaking.

"Does that hurt?" asked Inigo, concerned.

Lucien bit his lip. Using to the last of his Magicka's resources was painful, yes. But that was the price for saving the others. (104)

•

II- « You're doing great »

Compared to the rest of the troop, Lucien generally acted like a spoiled baby, struggling to defend himself alone, relying on the ability of the other members of the group to ensure his survival. But gradually, he was developing certain reflexes and when Draugr were about to strike with their icy blades, the young Imperial was able to quickly ignite them with his spells. It was almost getting scary. But it made Inigo smile with all his fangs, who never stopped encouraging Lucien.

« Good job, Lucien. You did well here. You are becoming a very powerful mage. I will try to tease you less... » (104)

•

III– Bite

Remiel smirked as she wrapped Lucien’s bleeding hand in a linen bandage.

"You told us you were good with animals, Lucien."

Lucien emitted a small cry when the Breton added a bit more pressure to the wound.

"I usually am, but I didn't imagine that puppy would try bite my hand off."

She rolled her eyes with an audible sigh.

"It was a wolf, Lucien ! Even if it seemed fluffy and friendly it's a beast, not a dog ! And it probably has rockjoint and Mara knows what other disease ! Anyway, you should ask Xel to brew you a potion." (102)

•

IV - Self-defense

The bandit's dagger lightly nicked Lucien's cheek, who, with a squeak, casted a ward to try to protect himself from the guy who wanted to kill him and rob him. With little hope, he tried to parley with his assailant.

“Radical suggestion here, but I was wondering... Have you considered not trying to murder me ?”

In response, the bandit tried to stab him again, until his magical ward broke, leaving Lucien helpless and staggering. Without thinking, in self-defense, the Imperial cast a flame spell. Lucien looked horrified when he saw that turned his foe into a living torch. (100)

•

V - Choke

The anger had clouded his mind. His friends were down, deceived by what had turned out to be scoundrels of the worst kind. Lucien's blue gaze darkened. Instinctively, he casted the Choking Grasp spell on the bandit in front of him. Every attempt of the guy to suck in some air was met with a suffocating struggle.Lucien could see in the bandit's eyes the panic welled up in him as he choked and his eyes clouded over, clawing at the invisible magical hands, desperate for release, but the Imperial, with a cold rage look, held him captive of his spell. (103)

•

VI– Panic attack

It snuck up on him out of the blue. Lucien was standing in the inn, talking to some merchant. Abruptly, he felt his heart racing beyond any semblance of control. His big blue eyes widened as he began to feel light-headed. Lucien's breathing soon followed, desperately gasping for oxygen yet feeling like somehow there wasn’t enough in the room. It was the first time it occured to him. The enxiety grew on him and he laid down on a bench, fully convinced that he actually dying. Until that feeling came to an end, letting him shaky, confused and exhausted. (102)

•

VII– Knife to throat

Lucien squeaked when the bandit grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and dragged him up to his knees. He was ready to fight back with his magic, but the shining blade in the bandit's hand made him hesitate a second too many. The brigand pressed the knife to his throat and Lucien went very still. The knife pressed firmly under his Adam's apple began to notch lightly the skin of his throat. He had to focus to prevent himself to shiver too hard. Lucien closed his eyes, hoping his friends would get him out of this tight spot.

•

VIII– Bruises / « Who did this to you ? »

They found Lucien laying down on the grass. His lips were swollen, his nose bleeding and had some big visibles bruises on the jaw and shoulders. But he was alive, it was all that mattered. Already his companions had rushed to hand him some healing potion but the blow he got to the mouth prevented him to drink it. He tried to move. It only made the Imperial whine, his bruises being too painful.

His ears back and his fangs curled, Inigo growled, visibly furious.

« Who did this to you, my friend ? Tell me, so I can put an arrow through his eyes. » (103)

•

IX – Friendly fire

Lucien was becoming a very powerful mage. It was fearsome to see the young man, with his big blue eyes and his friendly face, being able to unleash a complete inferno on ennemies threatening his or his friends' lives. But, alas, he was often as clumsy he was powerful. And sometimes, his friends who were too close to an enemy would suffer of his spells. Inigo would roar in pain his tail was on fire, his fur was singed or his whiskers burned. Kaidan would groan that's why he hates mages, unable to control their magic. (97)

•

X – « I said I'm fine »

« Steady on there, Kaidan. You've lost a bit of blood. »

Kaidan sighed, a little annoyed, replying to Lucien he was fine. The cut wasn't that deep, even if the blood smeared on his whole leg. He knew Lucien was just worried about him. He always was. About everyone. As if the team wasn't worried for this milkdrinker, so fragile and clumsy. The Imperial brandished a health potion in front of his face.

« I said I 'm fine. ». Kaidan's voice was a bit harsher this time. It wasn't the first his first wound. He would get through it. (102)

•

XI– Self-treatment

Inside the crypt, a thick metal gate separated Lucien from the rest of the group. The scholar was injured in the process but tried to hide his wound. When most of the squad left to find a way to open this gate, he whispered to Inigo :

« I... I don't feel so good, Inigo. I'm bleeding. »

With horror, the Khajiit realized he hadn't any health potion in his backpack.

« I will... put some pressure on it. I'm sure that will be fine... » said Lucien, trying to reassure him, adding « ...Any linen wrap ? So I can... try to make a bandage ? » (103)

•

XII– Choking

Lucien had found some strange spell tomes, with ominous names on them. He was a bit worried, should he learn things like this ? But curiosity was always stronger. He opened the tome named "Chocking Grasp" and read it. Lucien suggested the Dragonborn to train with him.

« Be careful not to... Choke on your aspirations. How's that ? », the Imperial scholar tried to joke. He watched his wide-eyed, breathless, guinea pig gesturing frantically around their nose.

« Oh ? Too much on the nose ? I'll work on it. » he added a bit nervously, serching how to undo the spell before his friend runs out of oxygen. (105)

•

XIII – Fracture

Attacked by bandits. Again. Was this where all of the fighting age population of Skyrim ended up? To escape conscription in the civil war that was ravaging the region? Deep in thought, Lucien saw the sledgehammer coming too late. By reflex, he protected his face with his arm, but nothing protected his arm from the iron that fell forcefully on him. He howled. He felt his legs give way beneath him and rolled to the floor whimpering, holding his good hand to his bloody forearm. He could see a spike of broken bone protruding through the gaping wound. His arm was done for, broken. (104)

•

XIV– Surrender

All that for a stray arrow that had mowed down a chicken in the town. The population had become hostile and a horde of guards was already running, swords out. The blows rained down and they defended themselves as best they could. Lucien squeaked "We surrender!!!" while holding his hands high, hoping for mercy from the guards. The others watched the scene apprehensively. Instead of politely apprehending him or letting him speak, the guards threw him to the ground, shoving him facedown in the mud. Seeing this, his friends saw red. Despite Lucien's protests, they violently attacked the guards. (100)

•

XV – Human shield

Before these Draugr, these ancient Nords reanimated by who knows what old magic and who watched over the secrets of Dragon priests, Inigo the Brave was nothing more than a terrified little kitten. These undead froze his spine, and the memories of receiving his facial scars from their withered fingers were still painful. Lucien stood between the Draugr's blade and his friend, like a shield, with glints of defiance in his eyes, chin high and fire magic in his palms. The scrawny blond Imperial was just as frightened, but he couldn't afford to show it: his friend needed him. (101)

•

XVI – Gag

They had found themselves in a Falmer-infested cavern. The darkness, barely lit by the reflection of the glowing mushrooms on the dripping walls of the cavern, was stifling. Lucian squeaked. Instinctively, Auri clapped her hand over his mouth, telling him to be quiet. The Falmer were blind, but their hearing was very keen, even allowing them to fire their bows with surprising accuracy. Everyone here preferred to try to avoid confrontation as much as possible. Auri whispered into Lucien's ear that she wouldn't hesitate to gag him at the next moan that came out of his lips. (100)

•

XVII – Strangle

He saw the undead set upon Inigo, whose blue fur was stained with red. Lucien had exhausted all his Magicka against these constantly rising enemies. He felt helpless to rescue his companions. Staggering backwards, his foot stumbled against a chain. He looked up. The necromancer was there, back to him. Gritting his teeth, the Imperial leapt up and slipped the chain around the sorcerer's neck, squeezing and turning, falling with the necromancer clawing at his neck desperately for air, frantically kicking his feet. Lucien was crying, shaking, but didn't let go. He would save his friends. (98)

•

XVIII– Bedridden

Kaidan groaned as he struggled miserably to prop himself up on one elbow before sinking back onto the pillow. Lucien reprimanded him, telling him to calm down because he was burning with fever. He made it clear to the colossus that he would not leave this bed as long as he was not recovered.

"I'll bet 100 septims it's from an infected wound."

Kaidan looked away in response, muttering that it was going to cost a fortune to keep him in an inn bed all this time.

"Then it's fortunate my wealth is useful. But please, don't be stupid, you need to take care of yourself."(108)

•

XIX – Distrust

When they arrived at Winterhold, cold stares greeted them at the Frozen Hearth inn. The city now was nothing more than a heap of ruins, half-collapsed in the Sea of Ghosts. Only the famous Academy of magic seemed intact and majestic. When Lucien politely asked how to access it, the looks turned hateful. People spat on the ground at their feet. The mages had lost the people's trust in Skyrim. Between the Oblivion Crisis, the collapse of the city of Winterhold, and the rise of Altmer supremacism, the Nords had now plenty of reason to hate magic. (99)

•

XX – Ensnare

The problem with venturing into not very reputable places with people much more experienced than you, is that them, they were used to spotting and avoiding traps.

Lucien yelped in pain. He had stepped straight into a bear trap and now his calf was trapped between two strong iron jaws. He had wanted to avoid the bone garland that served as an alarm, and hadn't seen the metal trap stretched under his foot. And with his scream, obviously all the bandits would be aware of their presence, come for them, and try to murder them... (96)

•

XXI – Blindfold

His curiosity had been the strongest. Stronger than knowing the dangers of laying eyes on an Elder Scroll without the usual training and preparations of Moth Priests. But the thirst for knowledge was as much Lucien's greatest quality as his greatest flaw. When he rolled up the parchment after staring at it for a few long seconds, his gaze was blank, his pupils dilated. He felt sight leaving him. The Imperial tied a piece of cloth around his eyes in a blindfold to keep them out of the light, hoping that this blindness would be reversible... (97)

•

XXII – Sore

He was unaccustomed to the harsh, cold life of the Nords. Neither to hunger, thirst, nor to forced marches until they find good shelter. Having to fight for this shelter. To fight with the intention of dearly saving his skin, despite the protectors he had at his side. Lucien wasn't used to the pain every night in his aching muscles. To the bruises that marked his sides after a bad shield blow. He was crippled with small pains, of course, but the adventure and all that he discovered day after day pushed him to continue every day, despite feeling sore all over. (103)

•

XXIII – Pinned

The bump of his head against the wall made him squint and wince. Kaidan had pushed him away with some violence, out of anger. His harsh and sarcastic words had hurt the mercenary Akaviri. Lucien felt intellectually superior to this man who had spent his childhood wandering half of Tamriel. But he realized now bitterly, that intellect did not mean sagacity, facing a colossus who had pinned him effortlessly against the nearest wall. Lucien did not dare to move. He didn't want to piss him off anymore. He knew that Kaidan's big gloved fists could easily smash his face, if he wanted to. (104)

•

XXIV – Shock

The shock made him drop the sword he was holding in his hand. With difficulty, Lucien turned his head. The mage was there, crouched in the tall grass, sending out lightning bolts. Lucien moaned at the painful, aching sensation of his muscles contracting. It hurt so much... He wanted to push back those electric arcs with his own magic, but to his great despair, he felt his Magicka reserves draining at a maddening speed. He dropped to his knees. His body was riddled with involuntary tremors. The repeated electric shocks threatened to knock him down for good, if someone didn't intervene... (102)

•

XXV – Helpless

Lucien's usually sharp mind and vast knowledge were of no use in this situation. Cornered by a group of scoundrels who had seen him arrive with his nose in his books, his attempts to reason with them were met with harsh laughter before they decide to hit and rob him. Lucien, trying to protect his books, couldn't even cast a spell before being knocked down by a punch, leaving him breathless and defenseless. He felt totally helpless in this alley of Riften, feeling his clothes being ripped off in search of money or jewelry, under the threat of more blows. (102)

•

XXVI : Blood

The adrenaline of the fight was waning and Lucien discovered with a dazed air the grass of the reddened plain and the acrid smell of metal everywhere. Lucien had fought for his life, fear in his stomach. He looked down at his feet and the reddened, sticky leather of his shoes. His usually white, clean hands were dripping with blood. He felt the blood sticking to his face. He saw him staining his fine clothes. He couldn't tell if it was his own blood or that of the bandits who had attacked them. Lucien felt his head buzzing and his legs shaking. (103)

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 33: Trial, Day One.

The first trial day of Cosmic Turnabout in fact takes place on December 16th. We'll pretend that's the reason I'm pushing this chapter out now. We'll pretend that I haven't had this chapter ready for a while but been unable to proofread it because my brain is made of wet scrambled eggs and apparently only works underneath the shame of it having been a year since I last updated.

Thank you all so much for bearing with me and I am afraid this will be happening again, as I have less than one single page written for the next chapter. I wanted to make some headway on that before I posted this one, but, well! That didn't happen!

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches of Los Angeles Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Enough snow has fallen to lightly coat the roof of the courthouse. On Apollo’s approach, a familiar bird launches itself from the edge, dislodging a cloud of powdery snow that scatters across the stairs above him. It clutches a collection of papers in its talons and delivers them right into Apollo’s hands when he reaches up for them. They are cold as everything else is, and wet from resting in the snow. He knows exactly what they are but forces himself not to look until he has made it into the lobby and can sink into a couch rather than rely on his trembling legs to support him.

An autopsy report, like any other autopsy report he has ever seen, but this is Clay Terran’s autopsy report. His best friend’s name at the top left in tiny black type, and maybe this is where it sets in, or maybe this is where Apollo invents a new kind of denial to be studied by psychologists for decades to come. He managed to trap his childhood behind those kind of walls for many years. He—

—can’t do it for something this plainly in front of him. The report contains a photo of Clay at the scene. Still in his orange space suit like he was ever going to make it into the rocket, into orbit, but there is the knife sticking out of his chest, and the blood soaking through the fabric. Cause of death: fatal stab wound. 

He might be down one eye by his own choice, but that still can’t save him from seeing what lies in front of him in this moment. He turns the report facedown and sets it on the couch next to him. Clay is dead, stabbed through the chest. Athena is hiding something, and her secret is regarding that knife, the murder weapon. Apollo spoke with a dead woman about his case and found no leads. His head hurts. He forgot to eat while he was at his apartment. He left with his hair still wet from his shower and it has begun to freeze on the walk over. His best friend is dead. 

Athena’s eyes lit up red. She’s lying. She’s hiding something. Apollo sits in the lobby and waits for her to arrive to assist him with this case. What else can he do?

-

The next person to arrive is not Athena, but Juniper Woods. Athena must have told her what happened yesterday. He wonders - distantly, as though it were a thought that occurred to someone else and was then told to him - who else might know. Who else might have heard through the grapevine: Athena, Trucy, perhaps even Phoenix, could have told any number of people. And then he will have to go through this again, and again, the condolences, the looks that they give him - he doesn’t want pity. He wants the truth.

He can’t say that. Juniper is Athena’s best friend. He can’t say to her, “Hey, my best friend is dead and I wonder if yours might be involved in his death, somehow.” That’s insane, even if Apollo is too.

So he greets Juniper politely instead. She knew Athena when they were children; she might somehow know some secret of Athena’s that would explain everything, that could somehow shed light on on this strange happenstance. Apollo does not ask. He accepts the lotus root she offers him - she says it’s for good luck (which he could really use), and is good for the eyes (which he doesn’t need, his eyes are good and that’s the problem, Juniper doesn’t know that, Juniper knows what she’s been told by Athena and Athena can’t know that), and that her grandmother told her that looking through the holes in the root can let one peer into the future (which he doesn’t want). He thanks her. 

(He thinks of peering through the hole in Phoenix’s magatama and the truth made visible that way. He’s terrified of what truths can be made visible and he needs to know and he doesn’t want to know.)

But he didn’t eat breakfast and he has no recollection of whether or not he ever ate any of the dinner that Trucy pushed on him, so he has already begun gnawing on the root when Juniper tells him that it shouldn’t be eaten raw. Looking like an idiot is, all in all, not high on his list of current concerns, but, well - there it is, he’s looked like an idiot, and maybe he’ll remember this happened later, if someday he can’t figure out why Juniper is giving him a funny look.

Or maybe the murder trial for his best friend’s killer will uncover some horrible truth about her best friend, and they’ll never speak again.

All that at stake and yet he just sits here and waits.

-

Perhaps it’s Apollo’s mind running away with him. It wouldn't be the first time in the past twenty-four hours that it’s taken him down strange roads. But something seems off about Prosecutor Blackquill, too. More aggressive than he usually is, which Apollo wouldn't have thought possible - quicker on the draw, quicker to shut down any line of argument that disagrees with his conclusion. Like he wants Starbuck convicted as quickly as possible. As if naming him guilty will neatly tie off this matter and he’ll never have to think about it again. Apollo wishes he wouldn’t have to think about any of this ever again. 

But here they are and Clay is dead and Starbuck’s life is still on the line, so Apollo has to think this through. Wring every scrap of information he can out of the prosecution, of the witnesses, just like any other trial, this is any other trial. Like Mia said. His job hasn’t changed. This is as he always does.

And Blackquill, like he always does, looks at the defense, and the defendant, and he laughs.

-

Athena stands to Apollo’s left. He covered up his right eye but she still stands where he can see her. Of course she does; it’s where she’s always stood. She can’t know - but she’s hiding something. She has to know that she’s hiding something, and that it’s important, and she knows that this case is important to Apollo - and yet - and still—

He doesn’t see any flashes of red and maybe that’s because he’s stopped himself or maybe it’s the way that Prosecutor Blackquill acts as a signal jammer for magic. Does it matter? It doesn’t matter. Not until he has to step out of this room and talk with Athena about the case if they can stop Starbuck from being convicted today. 

They have to stop Starbuck from being convicted today.

-

Like many clients Apollo has had, Solomon Starbuck will probably be fined for perjury at a later date. Blackquill told them to go ahead and let the defendant testify, and he grinned as he handed them the rope to hang themselves and their case. But they didn’t have the chance to speak with Starbuck at the detention center about what happened, and they don’t have the information that they need. Blackquill told them to play the game exactly the way he had planned for them to, and so they do as the prosecution wants.

And Starbuck spins two testimonies out of whole cloth before Blackquill forces him to admit that he doesn’t remember. All those prescription drug side-effect warnings about not operating heavy machinery after taking, and Starbuck took his medications and walked towards a rocket launch and came out of it remembering nothing, including but not limited to actually taking the medication. He claims someone must have slipped them to him, drugging him with something he was actually permitted to take.

Apollo sets that thought aside. To come back to it when Blackquill isn’t pushing him on a different matter.

-

The damaged security camera footage shows the two astronauts escaping from the rocket launch pad, where one explosion occurred, into the lounge where Clay’s body was found. One of the astronauts was carrying the other. This was presumed to be Starbuck carrying Clay’s body.

This was Clay helping Starbuck out of the boarding area. Clay was alive until then, after all. Starbuck’s testimony is useless but arguing with Blackquill about what he makes of it gives Apollo a lifeline to follow. Who was first to arrive on the scene? If Starbuck didn’t kill Clay, then perhaps one of the newcomers did - or lied, or was confused. There were two people who found Starbuck and Clay - the director himself, and a detective.

No obvious motive. But nothing is ever obvious in a murder trial. Apollo knows what his job is. Keep digging. Find the truth. Cry when it’s over.

-

There is a man who has run up to the witness stand to yell that the disarmed bomb from the Space Center, evidence for this trial, has been rearmed and is about to explode. This is like the time Trucy faked her kidnapping at the hands of the mob, except not at all, and Apollo feels none of the panic and terror and concern that he did then. He knows he should but it has not even been twenty-four hours since he got that phone call from Starbuck and since then time has slowed down and sped up and twisted all around. 

People are already running and screaming and Prosecutor Blackquill stands across the courtroom, calmer than anyone else. The fae can still die, if that’s what Blackquill is. He’s an inmate on death row. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe he thinks this is a trick, like Trucy’s. Maybe he just knows that people are prone to panic and that helps nothing. He studied psychology just so he could know how better to break people apart, after all.

The world is again moving very fast and very slow all at once. But they can’t let evidence for the trial be destroyed here. They can’t let it end like this. Isn’t the truth worth dying for?

“You’re an idiot!” Athena snaps at him. Apollo didn’t realize he said any of that out loud. “We are not going to get blown up today! Or any day! Come on!” She shoves him out from behind the bench and he staggers, and she grabs his arm and tries to drag him and only makes him stumble across his own feet trying to keep up with her.

The doors seem both very close and very far. And while Apollo’s heart has no concern for what happens to him here, his body falls victim to inertia and keeps moving. Away from the case, away from the evidence - the bomb that was supposed to be evidence and now is creating a crime scene. What is the point of all of this? What is the point of any of this? Of anything at all? Clay is dead and their case is about to literally go up in smoke—

Athena loses her grip on Apollo’s hand when they both try to fit through the doorway at the same time as three other people. Apollo is jostled against the wall, snapping him out of the momentary stupor, and he hears someone behind him yell his name, yell for Athena, and he turns back. Juniper, pale green and wide-eyed, wobbling like a newborn deer, and she had no reason to be here today but concern for others, and there’s a fucking bomb and Apollo get all the way out of here or he can go to her and he’s not letting someone else’s best friend die—

He extends a hand to help steady her and she takes it and yelps and withdraws her hand because of course, he’s wearing fucking iron, and she’s half fae, and he’s seen her touch it before but she’s also said her health changes by the day, and she loses her balance entirely and tumbles to the floor. Apollo bends to help her - and imagines shrapnel coming for his head, the bomb going off and the roof collapsing in chunks on top of Juniper while he stands right there—

He drops to the ground instead, and the impact of hitting the tile floor elbows-first reverberates up through his teeth for the single moment before his eardrums rupture and the only sound he hears is ringing. Juniper curls into a ball and throws her hands around her head and Apollo pulls his arms up over his own head and waits.

A heavy impact between his shoulder blades, sharp pain that makes his vision go momentarily dark. Another strike, something clipping against his shoulder and falling away. The cold breeze must mean that the roof has caved in significantly but he doesn’t want to expose his head to check. His vision blurs again as something else hits him on the hands on his head and the ringing in his ears continues unabated and the two coherent thoughts he can form through the pain are they’re going to have to note down so many bruises on my autopsy report and I guess there are worse ways to die than trying to save someone else. 

-

The furious ringing continues to echo through Apollo’s head. He can make out several voices yelling over it but not the words being said by them. His back feels like it’s on fire. He had curled up to protect his head but he is staring at the sky now. It is still snowing. 

-

Someone split Apollo’s skull open and is making it vibrate the way it’s a fun party trick to make a wine glass sing. He’s a gong still shuddering long after the initial bong. 

(He argued with Trucy once about whether attending one single rock concert was liable to give them tinnitus.)

He can still hear at all. That’s a good thing.. Voices, quiet and nearby, their individual words distinguishable, a welcome sound. 

(It was not the one single rock concert’s fault if he has tinnitus now.)

“So assuming he’s not lying—”

“That’s not usually how I approach a trial—”

“But this is a thought experiment and you’re my assistant in it! So assuming he’s not lying, then - what? Then someone else drugged him, but why? And why just him - why not both astronauts?”

“From his reluctance to admit to taking medication, even under oath, I imagine that at most, only a few other people were aware. And then I would imagine that he kept those pills quite hidden, so for someone to have been able to find them and use them - either they were wildly unprepared for what they intended, and desperately tore the building apart looking for any usable substance. Or, quite a bit more likely, it was an inside job.”

“Ask Mr Starbuck who knew about his meds, then.”

Apollo isn’t lying on the floor anymore. It’s softer but there’s still something heavy pressing down on his legs. People wouldn’t be so casually discussing the case if they were right next to someone still partially trapped beneath rubble. Maybe he’s a ghost. Can ghosts have tinnitus? That would be a question for Mia but it’s also a stupid fucking question in the first place. 

He opens his eyes. He can see through both of them. Someone must have checked him over, removed the bandage when they found nothing wrong with his eye. The weight pinning his legs is a large dog who, made of smoke and mist and spite and faery magic as she is, should not weigh anywhere near as much as she feels like she does. 

“Vongole, get off,” he says, or tries to, but his tongue feels fuzzy and his head feels fuzzy except for the parts that feel like a metal pot lid dropped on the floor clattering and rattling around, and he makes a fuzzy sort of sound instead. The voices, familiar but still not identifiable to Apollo’s addled brain, came from somewhere to his left but have gone quiet now. He turns his head. It aches. 

Trucy stares at him. She sits tucked in a small uncomfortable armchair, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms folded over them. And behind her, precariously balanced on the back of the chair, shoulders against the wall, his feet sharing the seat with Trucy, is Klavier. He snaps his fingers and Vongole springs up like a swift gust of wind, settling into a languid puddle on the floor, halfway beneath the bed.

The bed Apollo is in - the bed, the chair, white walls and - hospital. He’s in a hospital. The courtroom exploded and he’s in a hospital. That makes sense. The facts of this case are becoming clear. A bomb went off and the ceiling fell on him when he was trying to help—

“Juniper,” he says, and his mouth makes the sound of words more easily now. “Is Juniper okay?”

“She and Athena are fine,” Trucy says, and yes, Athena was there, but she was ahead of them, she should have gotten out, and she’s also - Athena who looked at the knife and her eyes blinked red. He doesn’t want her to die. He doesn’t want her to lie. “A little scraped up but there’s paramedics - they’re still down at the courthouse. The police are keeping everyone there while they investigate - everyone who was better off than you, anyway.”

“But you…” It’s been a hard morning. A hard twenty-four hours. He was the first one to arrive at the courthouse, and then Juniper was there, and Athena and Trucy showed up together and Trucy gave him a hug and said she’d be watching. If Juniper is still there and she was in the gallery, then Trucy who was also in the gallery should also be there. “Shouldn’t you be… how’d you get here?”

Klavier’s eyes finally move from Apollo to level a silent, disapproving glare on Trucy. She glances at him, rolls her eyes, and turns her attention immediately back to Apollo. “A little bit of misdirection, carefully applied,” she says. “You know how it is.”

He might not have Athena’s ears (he can’t stop thinking of Athena’s eyes) but he hears the strain in Trucy’s voice as she feigns levity.

“One of these days, Fräulein, someone’s going to find it quite suspicious that you’re sneaking away from a crime scene,” says Klavier, sounding just as stretched and strained as Trucy. 

“Yeah,” Trucy huffs, unusually bitter. “But it won’t be at the courthouse. They haven’t gotten any better at catching me since…”

Two sets of blue eyes lock back on Apollo. That line of thought leads nowhere good. “Daddy was here earlier,” Trucy adds. “He went down to the courthouse once the nurses said you’d be okay. I - oh! I’m supposed to tell him that you woke up!” She fumbles for her phone and it slips from her hands and clatters to the floor. She stares at it for several long seconds before she unfolds herself to retrieve it.

So: the bomb that was evidence blew up the courtroom. Apollo is in the hospital now. Juniper is okay. And the case - what’s going to happen with the case? He opens his mouth to ask and realizes that he is talking to two people with no way of knowing that, and he circles back to the conversation he heard before he fully awoke. Already it is half-remembered fuzz, like a dream - a regular dream, not a fae one. “You guys were talking about the case,” he says. “What - what are you thinking?”

They glance at each other. “Well,” Trucy says, “if our client is telling the truth that he didn’t take his medication, then someone slipped them to him. And if they knew about those meds, then it was probably someone close to him, right? So probably an inside job, not an outside saboteur.”

Clay has worked at the space center for years - Apollo has heard dozens, hundreds even, of stories about his time there, his coworkers there. For him and Starbuck to have been betrayed by one of them–

“The part I don’t follow from that is then why drug only one of the astronauts,” Trucy continues. “You would have seen in the autopsy report if he was drugged too. So why only incapacitate one of them - especially when there should have been concern about the confrontation with the other.”

Confrontation: Clay stabbed and killed, but Starbuck who was drugged was left alive. If they’d both been drugged, then - what? They never get off the rocket, dying in the explosion instead? Or they never make it onto the rocket in the first place and escape the explosion entirely? Would Clay have lived or would they both have died? 

Klavier’s frown deepens. Trucy taps out another message on her phone and then glances up at him. “You’re thinking something,” she says to Klavier. “So, assistant, what’s your theory?”

The chirp back in her voice doesn’t match her eyes. Klavier’s expression only darkens further. “Nothing you want to hear,” he says.

Trucy’s eyes turn towards Apollo. Klavier is studying the wall. Apollo's head is still ringing. Trucy notices things like he can, but what could Athena have said that made Trucy notice - what could Trucy have said to Klavier to make him think - what are they thinking? Apollo doesn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to see it but he did. His heart sits in his throat. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. “What is it?” he croaks. 

“You won’t,” Klavier says, “but you could probably argue a successful case for self-defense.”

For - what? Self-defense? What would Athena–?

They’re not talking about Athena, are they?

Of course they’re not talking about Athena. They’re talking about the known facts of the case from court, and if Apollo were arguing self-defense for that case, he would be arguing that Starbuck was defending himself from–

“That would - be an inside job, and explain why Starbuck was drugged but not - not - the victim, but–” Trucy stumbles over her words. The victim. She knew Clay. She met him. They went hiking in the woods together with Apollo and Ema to dig up a Gramarye treasure. Clay wouldn’t fuck around with fae things on his own but Apollo was going whether Clay wanted him to or not and Clay was a loyal enough friend that he wasn’t going to let Apollo go without him–

“You’re crazy,” Apollo croaks. “You’re out of your mind if you think that Clay - this is all he’s ever wanted! To go to space, to - he wouldn’t sabotage it! And he only ever got here because of Starbuck’s faith in him - he wouldn’t do anything to - he wouldn’t!”

“Like I said,” Klavier says tersely, “it isn’t something you would go for.”

Isn’t something you would go for, like it’s any kind of strategy at all to accuse his best friend of heinous crimes, of having been responsible for his own death because if it was self-defense on Starbuck’s part then Clay would have provoked it and it would be Clay’s fault that Clay is dead–

“I wouldn’t go for it because it’s not true! I know Clay, and I know he would never–”

They both keep giving him this look, Trucy and Klavier, and then to each other - like it’s pity, like he’s stupid, like he’s forgotten the way the world works. Of course he hasn’t. He’s seen Athena’s eyes, but they keep thinking about something else, something that could never be true because Apollo knows Clay better than he’s ever known anyone–

“Just because - because you’veboth had everyone betray your trust doesn’t mean that–”

“Apollo!” Trucy snaps, and he knows he’s stepped too far now with Trucy glaring at him and the way Klavier’s face changes - the way in an instant he goes weary and sallow to perfectly composed, an airbrushed model of a man as his glamoured mask slips back into place. And Apollo - Clay wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, Apollo believes that with everything he has. But he still hasn’t found Athena’s place in this puzzle and she might have betrayed him the way Kristoph and Daryan both put knives in Klavier’s back, the way Zak and Valant both left Trucy behind and Magnifi put her mother’s soul in a box—

A nurse enters without so much as a glance towards Trucy and Klavier. Like they aren’t even there, because they might as well not be. Apollo could blink and have them disappear, and he’d deserve it for not sticking his foot in his mouth fast enough. Trucy yells at him all the time but never seriously like that, and Klavier is glamorously inscrutable, the way he always used to be. Clay is gone and Apollo will make everyone else go away.

-

When Apollo is returned to his room after a few brain scans that confirm he’s not dying, Trucy remains in the chair, feeding Vongole pieces of a vending machine granola bar, but Klavier is gone.

“It’s been really busy at the Prosecutors Office before this happened,” Trucy says around a bite of oats. “He said he’s sorry he had to run off, but he doesn’t want to be in more trouble with Herr Chief.”

Apollo can hear him saying exactly that. He can see that Trucy isn’t lying. (He can see those things again. He needs to make a new eyepatch before he sees Athena again.) He just doesn’t know if Klavier was lying when he told her. She would see it, but would she tell him?

“Apollo,” she says, looking sad and pitying again and he knows what she’s going to say, knows that it’s making other people hurt isn’t going to stop the hurt you’re feeling and he knows and here they are anyway. 

He doesn’t want to hear it. He’s not sure what he would want to hear right now, other than that this has been a nightmare, that there’s been some mistake, that it wasn’t Clay, that it was all wrong. “I don’t know how you do it,” he says. “How you can just keep smiling even when - everything.” 

Mia told him what to do and he can’t do it. He has a concussion, and the nurse asked him if he lives with anyone who could check up on him and make sure that he doesn’t pass into a coma the next time he goes to sleep, and the evidence that should have helped point to the truth of Clay’s murder exploded instead, and the would-have-been queen of the faeries gave him one piece of advice and he can’t even follow that.

Trucy isn’t smiling now. But she smiled and told him to keep pressing the case when he was about to announce to a court of law that her biological father was murdered by Kristoph Gavin that spring, and he is trying to forget looking at Athena’s eyes when she spoke.

Apollo closes his eyes. He wants to sleep and leave it to fate and the severity of his head trauma as to whether he will wake up again. He wants to jump out of this bed and flee this hospital and go to the courtroom to look for clues and go to the Space Center to look for clues and find something that will put an end to this.

“I don’t really think Clay would kill anyone,” Trucy says, and Apollo isn’t looking at her.

He doesn’t need to know. Right now, he doesn’t want to know anything.

But he’s never been that fortunate.

After a while Trucy’s phone rings. She answers with a cheery, “It’s on speaker!” so that no one tries to talk about Apollo behind his back.

“They arrested Junie!”

It’s October and they’re standing in an auditorium and Detective Fulbright walks in to whisk Juniper away, and it’s December and they’re in a hospital and Athena is probably still at the courthouse and it doesn’t make a goddamn bit of sense.

“For what?” Trucy asks. 

“For the bombing! I don’t know what reason they think they have - they’re out of their fucking minds—”

Juniper? The police want to accuse a law student of knowing how to set off a bomb? If Juniper was the culprit then surely the argument would be that this bombing and the one at the Space Center are unconnected - and this can’t actually be a coincidence, can it? It can’t, but it could. Apollo’s head is pounding again. He doesn’t know anything about Athena but he doesn’t think that Juniper would give him a lotus root for support if she was planning to blow him up. He doesn’t think that she would nearly kill herself turning around to look for him and Athena if she had planned to blow them up. 

“Then we’ll defend her,” Apollo says. 

“I’m on my way to the detention center right now - I’m camping out until they close or let me talk to her—”

“What about Starbuck?” Trucy asks. “If his trial resumes tomorrow—”

“Then—” Apollo’s head won’t start spinning. “Then Athena and Mr Wright can defend Juniper. And - Trucy, you could be my assistant—”

He could trust her - could he trust her - he could trust her with what he saw - could he trust her with what he saw? He could trust her more than he could trust Phoenix. But that’s—

“Mr Wright didn’t sound totally confident that it would start back up tomorrow,” Athena says. “He’s still at the courthouse - or maybe he was going to start pulling on his connections at the Prosecutors Office to find out what’s gonna happen next for Mr Starbuck.”

The Chief Prosecutor certainly would know when a trial is going to resume. Apollo lets out his breath. He might go crazy if Starbuck’s trial is delayed a day and Athena stands as his assistant again. He might go crazy anyway. 

“There’s one casualty that they know of so far,” Athena continues. “She’s a witness for our case. The detective who was gonna testify about being the first to arrive at the scene. The judge was just calling her before the bomb went off, remember? Prosecutor Blackquill might need time to adjust his strategy without her to testify.”

“The detective…” Apollo can’t pull the name to mind. His heart sinks. Someone who could have helped them navigate the thorny path to the truth, gone. Prosecutor Blackquill likely knows the details of what would have been her testimony, but Apollo will have no chance for a cross-examination to pull out the details that matter only to the defense style of WAA lawyers. 

It can’t be a coincidence, can it? It can’t - but it could. Anything could be; that’s his luck. 

Vongole takes hold of the granola bar hanging half-eaten from Trucy’s hand and swallows it, plastic packaging and all. Then she looks straight at Apollo and he wonders what he looks like through her eyes. If she can see curses like Klavier and Phoenix can. 

He wonders if he’s cursed with more than seeing the truth.

-

By the time Apollo is discharged from the hospital, the detention center’s visiting hours have passed. Athena calls to say that she got in for a few minutes to confirm that Juniper has no idea why she was arrested and that Apollo is on the docket as her attorney tomorrow. Phoenix calls to say that Starbuck’s trial will not resume tomorrow. 

One more day for Clay’s killer to cover their tracks, if they aren’t Athena. Or even if she is. 

Their defense of Juniper has nothing but faith to stand on. They won’t get the autopsy report until tomorrow morning. Athena rants and rambles about her poor Junie being put through this again. Trucy goes out and gets ramen that Apollo barely eats. He fashions himself a new eyepatch out of bandages from the bathroom and changes the bandages on his arms. The deep scrapes have for the moment stopped bleeding, and the rest of his forearms are turning into one solid purple bruise. His back hurts and he wants to lay down and if he does he’s not going to be able to get back up and he can’t rest. There’s too much to do. He can’t fall apart now.

He lets Athena drive him home. He doesn’t dare meet her eyes.

His apartment is empty. Silent. Nothing has changed since he was last here. How could it?

Clay’s room is the cleanest it’s been in years. Can’t just go to space and leave a mess behind here for all that time, he said, a few weeks ago. Apollo groused that Clay could’ve organized sooner so that he could be on Earth to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Though Clay was never a slob in their shared spaces; he always cleaned enough to be sure that all of his protective charms were always in place. 

Some good those did him. 

Apollo steps inside, unsure of what he thinks he’s looking for. Clay’s GYAXA jacket hangs from his closet door. He didn’t need to take it with him, not on the launch day when he’d end up in a space suit. The pockets are empty but Apollo takes it down from its hook anyway, holding it over his arm as his eyes settle on Clay’s work laptop. What’s that doing here? Clay said that the director didn’t like him taking that home with him overnight, forget about for a weekend or the duration of a spaceflight. Having it outside of the center at all is a security risk. 

He sits at Clay’s desk, with Clay’s jacket draped across his lap, and opens Clay’s laptop. Clay’s password is a security risk too; his mother’s birthday. And then Apollo is staring at a GYAXA desktop and a dozen unfamiliar icons and program names, and not knowing what good any of that could do him, navigates to Clay’s email instead. 

He hasn’t received any new emails. The latest one is dated 9:15 pm, December 14th: the night before the launch. Clay was complaining about emails then. 

from: aurab@cosmoscenter

to: clayt@cosmoscenter

(no subject)

will be in my lab tomorrow 0500 on. if you change your mind come find me

They’d been over it already, Clay had said, the night before he died, when he got that email. And here was someone at the Center evidently thinking it wasn’t enough to have been over it already. 

Apollo’s search for any other emails from or to aurab yields nothing. They weren’t ever in contact with Clay before, so they didn’t work closely together. But they must have spoken in person, or over emails which Clay permanently deleted, for this followup email to be sent. Change your mind - on what? On the launch? Director Cosmos controlled the launch. Clay said he wasn’t going to back out. He said that to Apollo. He said they’d been over this already. 

Over what?

(Apollo hears Klavier saying self-defense and tastes bile, though that might be because he hasn’t properly eaten in two days.)

He slams the laptop shut. He has Juniper’s case to think about. He has a lotus root still in his briefcase. He has a concussion from trying to protect her. He can’t let himself be distracted. 

(If Clay’s email is clayt, then this person must be named Aura, and their surname begins with a B. That can’t be a common first name.)

Juniper’s trial is tomorrow morning. He’ll be ready. 

(Then Starbuck’s trial, and surely a chance to investigate the Space Center, and he’ll find this Aura, whoever they are.)

[raitrolling]

Re-Animator, See You Later

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

Lusien drifted in and out of consciousness for nights on end, only vaguely comprehending the scenes around him. He heard the beeping of the machines and muffled chatter between the doctor and their assistant, saw lights far too bright to make him want to keep his eyes open, and felt the frequent waves of pain and nausea between rounds of medication he could barely recall taking.

For the first time since that night he confronted Celise - however long that may have been, he had no idea - he found himself finally able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

He kept his eyes closed as he tried to sit up, grunting from the strain that any slight movement put on his back. His head felt like it was spinning, and putting a hand to his forehead confirmed the warmth of a developing headache. He was utterly exhausted, but also feeling a bit restless, like he needed to get up out of this hospital bed and do something.

He needed a cigarette. 

Lusien cracked open one eyelid just enough to figure out where the bedside table was, then blindly reached over to try and locate his pack of smokes. He doesn’t know where the nurse took his coat - or his other clothes, for that matter - but if she emptied out his pockets then she must have left it-

He winced and recoiled as a clipboard smacked against his wrist.

“Absolutely not, Avalon.”

Lusien grunted and held his wrist, and then opened his eyes to see the incredibly disgruntled face of Chryso Haanda, Vernrot Harbour’s local doctor. 

“I’ll need them later,” The blueblood mumbled, certain that the other troll is well-aware that no one enjoys going through nicotine withdrawal, especially someone who smokes as heavily as he does.

Chryso’s lips curled into a snarl, and they bopped Lusien on the head with the clipboard this time.

“In my clinic? You’re damned lucky I didn’t remove your lungs while I had you under my knife. It’d make no damn difference whether you have them or not, lord knows how you managed to make it here with that much tar rotting you from the inside out,” they scoffed.

Lusien pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes again, which conveniently helped him fight the urge to roll them in response. 

“And don’t even think of doing any strenuous exercise like that while you’re recovering, if you’re even capable of such a thing. No swimming, no climbing up flights of stairs, and no picking at the wound no matter how much it may itch. If I have to redo those stitches a second time I will be ensuring they leave the worst scar imaginable, do not test me.” The tealblood tapped the clipboard with their pen as they listed off their various health advice and threats.

Lusien could already feel himself struggling to concentrate, and while Chryso continued to list off all the dos and don’ts of recovering from getting stabbed in the back with an axe, their words were starting to blend together in a muddle of annoyed sounds. He decided it would be best to simply nod along and pretend to listen, as any sort of wound care was the last thing on his mind.

There was the question of who was managing the lighthouse at the moment, if anyone at all. He knew from his time travelling with Anirus that it can go unattended for some time without any major disasters occurring, but in his current condition… It could be a while before it could be back in operation.

Then, there was also…

“How is Celise?” Lusien asked when he was able to get a word in, looking up at the doctor.

Chryso gave him a deadpan look, as if he had just asked something utterly absurd.

“They’re dead.”

Lusien’s mouth fell open, and his head began to spin from the immediate rush of blood to the brain from a combination of anxiety and pure terror. D- Dead? But he- It was only- 

Chryso did not react in the slightest, and continued. 

“Fatal traumatic brain injury via a blow to the head, preliminary analysis points to blunt force trauma being the primary culprit-” They stop, noticing the blueblood’s expression of horror, and sigh loudly. “- Is what should be the most straightforward answer. The reality is far more absurd, and, quite frankly, not something any doctor should ever have the displeasure of dealing with.”

The lighthouse keeper pauses, snapped out of his spiralling by that strange declaration. He then squints at Chryso in confusion.

“Which is…?”

“Despite every single test I have conducted since you dragged a literal corpse into my clinic confirming that, yes, there is absolutely no signs of brain activity and all organs have catastrophically failed, they are still conscious and moving. I had to bind the damn frog to their bed after they tried to bite nurse Baliso.” 

Chryso sighed a second time at the recollection, and briefly pushed up their glasses to rub the weariness out of their eyes. Lusien could not believe what he was hearing.

“I need to see them,” he said, suddenly urgent, and despite every part of his body protesting, he began to attempt to climb out of bed.

The tealblood grabbed him by his shoulders and tried to force him back down.

“You absolutely will not, Avalon. I warned you once, do not test me.” 

Lusien stayed firm, and attempted to push back against Chryso’s own strength.

“No. I will be seeing them. It’s important.”

Chryso bared their teeth, but could tell by the resolve in Lusien’s tired eyes that this was a losing battle. If he wasn’t going to see the other patient now, then they’d be likely to find him on the floor hours later, having passed out from pushing himself too far from disobeying their orders.

“Fine. You get fifteen minutes and zero chances to complain about any pain. I will not be providing you with any further painkillers from any discomfort caused by walking around when you have been told repeatedly to stop,” they grumbled, and likely would have spat if they were not in such a sanitary environment. 

Lusien nodded in acknowledgement, and as he started to haul himself out of the bed (with all sorts of winces and groans leaving his mouth as he did so), felt a tug against his wrist.

Huh. Oh, right, there’s still all the tubes from the IV drip and presumably a blood transfusion-

“Don’t touch those!” Chryso hissed, smacking Lusien’s hand away with the clipboard yet again, “Just- Just take the pole with you!”

Lusien paused, looking blankly at them, and then realised he would need to get off from the other side of the bed to accomplish that. Of course. 

He was unsteady on his feet once he was finally standing, and kept an iron grip on the IV pole in order to stay upright. His head and back still hurt, the lights were still hurting his eyes, and he was still desperately craving a cigarette, but he tried his best to put that aside for now. The doctor did not approve of any complaints, and finding out Celise’s current condition was more important.

Chryso led him out the door and towards the room where the other patient was staying, but not without first rolling their eyes and mumbling ‘I told you so’ at the sight of Lusien’s painfully slow pace. They did not help him, but opted to walk alongside him and kept their hand on the IV pole, so that if he fell it would not be knocked over with him. 

As the two approached the room, Lusien felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was that same feeling of wrongness once again, but this time… Different. Quieter. Hungrier. He glanced over at the doctor, but their expression had not changed. They could not sense it. 

When Chryso opened the door and ushered the blueblood inside Celise’s room, he could only stop and stare. 

Celise was sitting on the hospital bed, and as the doctor had mentioned before, had been restrained with medical-grade straps to prevent them from leaving their position. One wrapped around their chest and upper arms to bind them to the elevated half of the bed that allowed them to remain in an upright position, and presumably their legs were similarly bound underneath the bedsheets.

They appeared completely listless, eyes unfocused with teal-blue tinged sclera and pupils appearing slightly cloudy, and dark bags under each eye. The colour of their horns had dulled, darkening around the base, and their hair was greasier and more unkempt than usual. A sludge-like liquid dribbled out of their mouth, not unlike the ink he has personally experienced when under horrorterror influence, and there was a vague wetlands-y smell in the air. Under the bright lights, their skin had a slick sheen to it which Lusien first assumed was sweat, but upon closer inspection appeared to be more like a thin film of slime. Even the dark aura he could see with his psiionics had a lethargic air to it, less explicitly murderous but still highly dangerous.

As he had approached, however, Celise’s gaze suddenly fixated on him as they caught a whiff of his scent, and they emitted a noise that was a cross between a low growl and a croak. Between the slight curl of their lip, Lusien caught a glimpse of a pair of incredibly sharp teeth. They continued to drool, like an animal who has spotted a delicious piece of meat that is just out of their grasp, too transfixed on their own hunger to care about the liquid dripping onto their shirt.

It was incredibly obvious to him what they had become. A slight deviation from the norm for that kind of creature, but the signs were all there.

“Doctor,” he said, turning to face the tealblood. He spoke slowly and matter-of-factly, knowing what he was about to say would likely earn him a comment about whether he also suffered a head injury. But it needed to be done. 

“Do you have any spare cadavers?”

[finalslay]

@ubcs​ sent :  [ DISCOVER ] for receiver to find sender trying to clean blood off themselves. /  for amanda...

there’s  too  much  of  it.  too  much  blood,  up  and  down  her  arms,  staining  the  front  of  her  shirt.  some  of  it  is  from  the  survivor  —  the  blonde,  laurie  —  but  the  majority  of  it  is  amanda’s  own.  the  girl’s  little  trick,  the  one  where  she  takes  a  shard  of  glass  and  stabs  it  right  in  the  killer’s  neck.  amanda  had  forgotten  all  the  other  survivors  after  that  ;  she’d  focused  solely  on  laurie,  had  focused  on  making  sure  she  suffered  for  it.  she  isn’t  proud  of  it,  no,  but  after  the  things  that  the  act  had  dredged  up  from  the  recesses  of  her  mind  ...  yes,  amanda  had  needed  to  see  her  gone.  needed  to  know  the  entity  would  take  her  for  just  a  little  while.  

the  trial  is  forgotten.  she’s  tucked  off  in  the  room  that  used  to  be  hers,  when  this  was  a  real  place  and  not  the  entity’s  twisted  recreation,  pig  mask  thrown  to  the  floor.  there’s  the  sound  of  generators  popping,  but  amanda  no  longer  cares.  no,  as  breath  comes  in  sharp  gasps,  hands  furiously  attempting  to  clean  the  blood  away  with  a  rag  she’d  grabbed  off  of  a  nearby  worktable,  the  survivors  and  their  little  escape  are  the  last  of  her  concerns.  the  problem  is  that  when  glass  had  pierced  skin,  a  sudden  sharp  pain  on  the  left  side  of  her  neck  and  blood  pouring  from  the  wound  afterwards,  it  had  triggered  recollections  of  what  had  occurred  right  before  the  fog  took  her.  a  bullet  through  her  neck,  blood  on  the  floor  around  her.

a  sob  escapes  her  lips  as  she  realizes  the  attempt  to  clean  it  up  is  futile.  it’s  not  going  anywhere,  still  staining  her  skin.  and  it’s  only  when  she  looks  up  that  she  sees  him  stands  in  the  doorway  :  carlos.  of  all  the  ones  to  find  her,  why’d  it  have  to  be  him?  for  a  moment,  she  stares  at  him,  contemplating  taking  the  opportunity  to  make  him  bleed,  too.  another  sacrifice  to  the  entity,  another  kill.  it’s  in  that  same  moment  though  that  it  occurs  to  her  that  it’s  because  of  that  thing  above  them  that  she’s  sitting  here  right  now,  trying  to  wash  away  blood  that  refuses  to  leave.

after  all,  the  entity  feeds  off  of  suffering,  does  it  not?  

so,  instead,  amanda  looks  down,  breath  coming  in  sharp  little  gasps  as  she  whispers,    “  i  can’t  get  it  off  ...  ”  

[swampnightmare]

There's something I need to get off my chest. One of my favourite songs of all time, which is a fable about an abusive relationship (so it cannot be taken literally because of the symbolic images) started to remind me of Haladriel. Not the actual Haladriel but how Elrond, Gil Galad and others may perceive it. I listen to the song very often, as it was written by my most beloved music band — thus, my thoughts keep going back to Haladriel each time. Here's why.

First of all let me present you an English translation of the said song, called A Sorcerer's Doll.

“Dark, grim-looking corridor

Sneaking like an intruder

Make my way without a breath

Trying not to wake

Those already fast asleep

Those who have something to keep

In those rooms, discreetly in

I want to take a peek

To take a look at…

How insomnia in the night

Is leaving your humanity far behind

Whose intention is in your mind?

And why'd you want to prey on humankind?

Here is something you could check:

Crucifix hangs from my neck

Any power does it have

When we talk of you?

Many pages have I read

Many tricksters have I met

And your secrecy of blood

Don’t you try to hide!

‘Cause I have seen it!

It's a shame that you before

Have decided to ignore

That your fresh-acquired friend

Isn’t like we all!

And you even stayed with him

While knowing barely anything

And that he's a threat-to-all

Didn't bother you!

And then you fell to...

A true sorcerer's dooming spell

From which a lot like you were damned to hell

Like a doll to him at night

He now has full control of you in your plight!

It all occurs as if in dire dream

And dangers feel I staying here!”

Okay, obviously not all of that applies to Galadriel and Sauron, however some things do. For instance...

...Is leaving your humanity far behind

Whose intention is in your mind?

Galadriel to Adar:

Your kind was a mistake. Made in mockery. And even if it takes me all of this Age, I vow to eradicate every last one of you. But you shall be kept alive... so that one day, before I drive my dagger into your poisoned heart, I will whisper in your piked ear... that all your offspring are dead, and the scourge of you ends with you.

Well, the abovementioned song line reminds me of the dialogue between Galadriel and Adar, but the context is different. She isn't under some spell, blood binding hasn't happened yet. She's just being herself. Her words give off Sauron however.

Adar to Galadriel:

The way one always is, once he has wormed his way inside your mind.

No comments needed, I guess. Let's move on.

It's a shame that you before

Have decided to ignore

That your fresh-acquired friend

Isn't like we all!

A lot of flashbacks flood my mind.

You once considered him a friend. / Well, my friend. / I am your friend.

Moreover... back in 01x05 Galadriel goes:

Never known a smith's aide who could do that.

Girl, you're missing out so much important information about him! Just as if..

And you even stayed with him

While knowing barely anything

Next enters Elrond with all of the constant situationship shaming but mainly with he never left.

The long awaited reunion/fight/stabbing scene is basically:

Like a doll to him at night

He now has full control of you in your plight!

Especially since it was most likely Nenya that stopped Galadriel from joining Sauron. She looked mesmerized, hypnotized and willing to give not only the ring to him, before the words she wasn't expecting herself to say, judging from the facial expression she makes before the fall.

Okay, finally we have:

There are not merely wounds of the body. Her very immortal spirit is being drown into the shadow realm.

...corresponding the

A true sorcerer's dooming spell

From which a lot like you were damned to hell

I believe this song is one of the most fitting for them but it's unlikely I will make a video edit. If I post it on my YouTube channel, my TROP hating friends will denounce me. And punk rock... combined with Tolkien? A mix too insane for the world to handle.

Anyway, I wrote this! It's not gonna haunt me any longer! Shout out to @rey-jake-therapist for encouraging me.

[colorfuldreamsmkg]

agent of chaos || emile dupont || trial 1.1 || re: ozzy, lau fei

Amongst the crowd before them all, someone knows much more than they let on. 

Emile doesn’t know who, nor does he know all of the facts, but that much is clear within this endless expanse held between the sea and the sky. While it’s a deceptively beautiful sight, it’s uncomfortably empty as well - this is your cageless prison, so admire it all while you still can. So harsh, and so unforgiving, even within this captivating world.

This entire time, something’s been nagging at the back of his subconscious, unrelenting with its criticisms. Yet, neither does he voice it either, forced to fall back onto what’s more familiar instead. It should be simple, just as it always was advised beforehand. 

First, assess the situation. Next, categorize the information. Finally, break down all the possibilities, until you reach a verdict in the end.

And yet, simple as it should be, he feels out of his element. Certainly, he’s out of practice, hm? But still, even with the empty seat beside him, he’s gathered his composure long enough, before contributing to the conversation at last.

“Just adding on, if we’re following that the murder occured in the fear zone, then that means the culprit would have returned at the same time as Dahlia did at 9:16pm. That leaves only 15 extra minutes before the announcement went off. It’s not a lot of time at all, so it does explain why the blood and supplies were so rushed and sloppy, as Ozzy’s theory. It was only a matter of time before Dahlia would be discovered, so it’s likely the culprit would have only been on the bottom floor during that fifteen minute duration.

“The location of Dahlia’s stab wounds are also relevant too. Considering the wounds are on her left side, the culprit is likely either right-handed, or ambidextrous. That’s only assuming Dahlia was stabbed from the front though.”

There’s other information that’s been lurking around too, but for now that’s all he’ll offer for the time being. As for alibis…

“I can’t say I’ll be much help in terms of Dahlia’s whereabouts, but I’ll go over my own to add onto the list. I was in the classroom at first, until I headed to the music library at 7:20pm to meet up with Kanji since we’ve been going over some English lessons lately. We went over everything for about an hour, until he left at 8:30pm. I ended up staying for a while, until I left at 9pm to the kitchen, where Takuma and Cecille were chatting. I didn’t return to my SEKAI until 9:30pm to get ready for bed, but by then the announcement went off a bit later. I should also note that María Dolores was already in the room when I got there too.”

“As for the scuffs in the music library, I… don’t think that’s relevant to the case, at least. While Kanji and I were in there, Lau Fei and Swan were already driving around and crashing into the shelves there. It couldn't have been from the culprit.”

Man, that Barbie jeep is just. Maybe some driver's ed courses are gonna be needed in here.

[xsoldier]

Sadly, VERY much no. Not even in the slightest.

The whole ritual of Communion is actually from The Last Supper with a whole ritual there that Jesus does himself before Judas goes off to betray him. It's recorded in a few books of the New Testament, but the most detailed is probably Matthew 26:26–28, which is as follows:

“While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take and eat; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins’”

Note that this is TOTALLY SEPARATE from that time Jesus fed a bunch of people by miraculously multiplying bread & fish (Matthew 14:13-12) which is ALSO completely different from the time he transformed water into wine (John 2:1-11). Both fun miracle stories and both wholly unrelated to Communion and the whole sacrificial symbolism.

It's easy to conflate those things as all being related to this because of all the Christian art, but that's all after-the-fact symbolism finding weird ways of representing multiple things all at once thematically, which also get tied up in other intersecting mythologies and contemporary Christian fictions of the time like Dante's Inferno and whatnot.

Though I'd expect there's probably some Roman secret society rituals tied in from when the Empire took over Christianity during the Council of Nicea and codified it into a single religion (since that's why artistic depictions of Angels suddenly look like non-bearded androgynous winged dudes, but that's a story for another time). At the time they kicked out the Vandals and other factions who didn't agree on Jesus as the son of God, but just thought he was a cool dude, and so big secret rituals were how they rapidly weeded out the OTHER Christians to take control of the religion and align it to their version across the Roman Empire.

The actual reason that the whole water & blood pouring out of Jesus' body occurred is that crucifixion often causes the victim to go into hypovolemic shock, resulting in fluid collecting around the heart creating a pericardial effusion. So, when Longinus' spear stabbed through Jesus' ribs and into his heart to ensure that he was dead after being crucified, the spear blade ruptured the pericardium AND the heart — thus all that collected fluid drained out through that wound at the same time as the blood in the heart did — looking like water draining out along with the blood.

This actually wouldn't be uncommon in anyone dying of crucifixion as it's typically either that or asphyxiation that kills them, especially with broken legs which was also common. So while it may SEEM like some shocking miraculous thing… it's actually just the science of the really fucked up ways that you die when you're crucified, and the end results of that being recorded in the Bible quite accurately.

(This is why it's fun having been raised as an Evangelical Free Christian, gone to Lutheran & Christian private schools, and had a Catholic best friend before moving to Utah — and becoming an Atheist as soon as I was in high school. Since basically everyone else was Mormon, I was the defacto "other Christian stuff" specialist, so I'm still a cornucopia of weird facts and information like this).

Being raised by areligious jews with 0 exposure to christianity outside pop culture is so fun. One time I asked my ex-catholic friend why a picture of jesus had a bristle crown and she looked at me like I was insane. One time I heard someone mention the "lance of longinus" and responded, word for word, "Like from Evangelion?" One time during a history lesson my professor described an important monk and scholar as "Dominican" and I spent the rest of class super confused and hung up on it because I was very sure that the Dominican Republic didn't meaningfully exist as an entity back then, maybe she meant he was a native Taino or something but that's a weird way to say that and I'm pretty sure this was pre- European contact? Really fucks people up when they realize I genuinely have no idea.

[certified-cix-hellbeast]

hiccup

this is something i intended to continue but didn't, but with the way i left it, it seems complete enough to post. i had a whole story thought out in my head, a mafia-type au with the characters a little bit older than they are in real life; this was planned to be a section of it, occurring at some point in the story. i quickly wrote down what i had thought of so i didn't forget, and then i added onto it. and then i kind of didn't know what i wanted or how to lead up to it. this was written in april of 2021.

enjoy!

group: mcnd

warnings: stab wound, blood, and angst

"Why does it matter?" he mumbles, and Seongjun swears that he looks precious in everything he does, but right now, he’s dying.

"What?"

"Whether I live or die. You've done your job. You killed the man who was after you." his eyes are open, trained on the leader, like black holes to get lost in. But Seongjun can tell he's exhausted, just holding on by a string that he's ready to let go of. "Why do I matter?"

Seongjun wants to smack him. He lowers himself more, lays next to the boy while Minjae is trying to stop the bleeding in his side. there's still a knife; he's wrapping a bandage around the wound now. It feels like a dream, calm yet chaotic. Seongjun caresses the side of Junhyuk's face gently with his hand, thumb brushing against his cheekbone. if junhyuk falls, Seongjun will catch him.

"You are worth so much more than you know."

Nothing is said between them after that. Seongjun's not sure if Junhyuk believes him, or if he’s even registered what he said, but he blinks slowly, staring with the most placid expression he's ever seen. Somehow, it calms the waves, washes away the anxiety. Minjae takes the knife out, and Junhyuk doesn't flinch. Now Seungmin is beside the medic, rushing to assist him.

Sounds grow hazy, voices mesh together. They echo in Junhyuk's brain, bouncing against the walls; he isn't sure where they're coming from, what's real or not. All he knows is that he's fading. He feels no more pain, though. He's forgotten that he's even supposed to be in pain. The light is too bright and the dark is too dark. His eyes hurt, and he's so tired. He's in the state of tranquility that he's always desired, somewhere within the lines of death and life. He doesn't know what side he's going to fall onto.

He thinks he wants to sleep eternally.

So Junhyuk falls, and Seongjun is there to catch him.

x x x

He'd never felt so heavy in his life.

When Junhyuk wakes up, his eyelids are weighed down with exhaustion, but he refuses to fall back into the comforting bliss of sleep. He pushes himself to the sitting position, the most difficult chore of his day. His muscles scream and his bones ache. The injury from last night comes back crashing. He can barely move without pain, but he does so anyway. Anxiety bubbles in his stomach when he takes a look around him.

He's not used to… resting… or, taking a break, or healing. Junhyuk doesn't even remember the last time he relaxed for once. He could never be allowed such luxury. 

But here he is now, and he relishes in it. He sighs; it's a deep flow of air that lets out everything that he's been holding in. Relief floats off in waves. He lays back down, letting the pillows and blankets swallow him however they please. It still hurts; he twists his body to make sure it hurts, because it's real. What happened last night was real.

The pain was definitely worth it.

x x x

Seongjun notices the blaze in Junhyuk's eyes the moment he sees him again, awake and coherent. Alive, buzzing with energy, desiring to move without being able to. He wants to get up, he says. He wants to move.

"Just a few more days." Seongjun tells him.

Surprisingly, Junhyuk listens. Minjae teases him, calls him a good boy when he quietly lets the bandages be checked. Said good boy rolls his eyes, because he knows that all of them are anything but. Huijun smiles fondly. Seungmin pinches his cheeks. Junhyuk is cutely annoyed. Seongjun just watches, as he always does, and always has.

Puzzle pieces fall into place. Junhyuk is the fifth member that they've been missing, each of them realize. he is exactly what they wanted. It feels as though he's been a part of them for years when it's only been a week.

The group plays games every Wednesday, watch movies every Friday, and Junhyuk's still sure it's all a dream. Maybe he did die from that stab wound and this is his heaven. He wouldn't exchange it for the world, no matter what.

[slashersidewhore]

Slashers! S/O hurt by a victim

Slashers x gn!reader

Includes Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair

Requested? Yes

Warnings: Beefy murder boyfriends, hurt/comfort, minor angst, injuries, blood, fluffy shit

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t want you involved in his crimes, he’d rather you keep your pretty self out of harms way. Whether that be at home, or somewhere else in general, just anywhere but with him when he’s busy killing. That being said, accidents happen.

You can’t help the curiosity that runs through you when a harsh bang comes from the backyard of the Myers house. It was sudden really, opening the back door when you were knocked backwards, head careening into the wall with a dull thud.

The minute you let out a yelp from the pain and being caught off guard, the shadow of a tall, looming figure isn’t far behind

There was only one word to describe the feeling bubbling in the killers chest and that would be absolute rage

Now, Michael isn’t one to worry himself when someone gets themself hurt, he could care less quite honestly. But seeing you holding the back of your head, blood covering your hands and forehead, eyes squeezed shut with unshed tears, the little bit of sanity left in him just snaps. The horrific screams of the victim who pushed you over are all that fill the house, quieting into watery gurgles and then just silence

Heavy footsteps stop before your slumped over form, rough, unpracticed movements that pull at your body drag a hiss from your lips. Although Michael isn’t one to stop, he’s focused on getting you to open your eyes, see you looking back at him, let him know you’re okay

A calloused palm soothes over the crown of your head, pulling another whine as his fingers hover at the wound. It’s nothing too serious, probably a concussion, some gauze and pain killers will fix you right up. But the usual silence from Michael isn’t comforting, especially considering the way he seems to have doubled in size, shoulders squared, fingers twitching to curl into fists, working eye squinted behind the cut in his mask. The man is clearly agitated, heavy breathing more ragged, rushed

He’s unable to stab his way through this problem, he can’t fix it by spilling more blood. That worries him immensely. He’s not used to taking care of anyone in such a manner, or at all. His body is acting as a shield from the outside world, not holding you close yet not letting you go. To the right, the mangled, haphazardly tossed body of the victim lies, their cruel death far more brutal than you’d even known Michael to be

He won’t say anything, as usual, but the manner in his body language is different, not soft but protective, cautious. He’s not sure what to do with these feelings, not sure how to process the sight of you bleeding, the one person he’d rather never even encounter a simple scrape

He promises himself right then and there nothing of this sort will ever occur again. Not if he can prevent it. He would watch the world burn before you so much as felt an ounce of pain again

Jason Voorhees

Same as Michael in the regards that he doesn’t want you anywhere near any of his potential or current victims. The idea that you could possibly get injured runs through is mind the daily, even without the threat of others. So if he’s dealing with naughty campers, you better be safe in the cabin, doors locked and windows sealed

Although Jason seems to underestimate the lengths some would go to survive, especially the rage that follows when their friends are slaughtered

Imagine his surprise when he’s hunting down one of the people that got away, heart beginning to race as he realizes their tracks lead back to the cabin, the exact cabin you’re supposed to be safe in. “Safe”, is a word that completely leaves his mind upon seeing what he does when he enters the ajar door. Your face is bloodied, bruised and swollen, collar of your shirt clutched by the victim he dared to allow escape. The sight is enough to send the poor man into cardiac arrest, heart beating so fast it feels to him as if his chest will rip open, but that can wait

The way he carves into the unsuspecting back of the offender above you is feral, machete driving down again and again until you’re left with a bloody heap rather than a person, a heap that is quickly tossed carelessly to the side, relieving the pressure from your weakened body

Even through the swell, pain and red, your eyes can see his swimming with extreme pain

He did this, he caused you to be hurt, it was his fault you were ever put in harms way. His racing pulse doesn’t subside even when you attempt a bloody smile, too overtaken with grief to calm his nerves. In Jason’s mind, he doesn’t deserve someone like you, no matter what you’ve done, what you’ve been through, you’re perfection to him. The fact that you’d chose to be by his side astonishes him, so to let you be injured in this way? Beaten and practically frail in his arms? He’s failed you

The anger in his veins disappeared the minute you softly called his name, hand reaching up to caress the side of his mask. There’s evident tears in your eyes, whether from fear or pain both options are the worst case in Jason’s mind. Yet you don’t seem upset with him, which confuses him greatly but ultimately, your anger towards him would only worsen how he felt

In that moment, holding you clutched to his firm, scarred chest, he promises to himself he’d never let another hand cause you such harm

Thomas Hewitt

In Thomas’s eyes, you’re safest as you can be furthest from him, no matter his hearts urge to keep you as close as possible

The image of you crying, bleeding, or simply making a face indicating unease, upsets his stomach, twists and turns his insides unpleasantly

That is until one day, another hot, overbearing Texan day in the heat when one of the trespassers managed to escape the basement, god knows how they did it, but they did. And now Thomas was lost in the sweat of a days work, eyes scanning the grain filled yard, dusty streets and dead land, no one in sight. Until the buzzing in his ears is cut off by the unmistakable, bloodcurdling scream of someone not too close, yet not far either. What makes his blood run cold isn’t the sound itself, but the familiarity of it. Now Thomas has never actually heard you make such a noise, but he’d be a fool to not recognize it, especially when it came from someone who brought him such warmth

Terror, he can also recognize the tone at which you use, the fear in it, he can feel every ounce of dread you do, tenfold at the idea he may be too late, he may not make it in time, if only he was closer

He’s running now, chainsaw alive and screeching, heavy pants beneath the leather on the lower half of his face, eyes wildly searching the open area for a sign of danger, a sign of you

Thats when he spots it in the distance, a figure standing above another, some kind of tool held high, what looks like a kitchen knife in the gleam of sunlight that hits it. His legs feel of jelly, unable to move until another scream fills his ears, this time it’s of his name, most desperate, pained. And if that didn’t get him moving, he didn’t know what would. Chainsaw raised in pure adrenaline, the lumbering man is quick to slice downwards, down and down and down until body parts dismember, organs are strewn, red covers the wheat and grass and dirt

Saw thrown off to the side, Thomas kneels beside your nearly curled up form, hands pressing into the stab wound decorating your side, blood seeping from your hands that clutch to keep it in. He’s gentle, like a butterfly kissing you, years of scars and rough work should make his hands feel like sandpaper, although grasping you like you’d dissolve, his palms are simply silk

Head lulling into his chest, ignoring the blood that’s spewed across it, you nuzzle the underside of his chin, although in grave pain, the wound stinging with each stride Thomas makes, you feel at peace, comforted by the large man holding you like you would a breakable doll

Dark, heavy eyes shift down to gaze upon you, worried brow furrowed deep, clearly in distress upon seeing you so weakened, losing blood. Luda Mae can fix you right up thankfully, he just can’t imagine ever seeing you in such a state again, he never wants too, it would physically kill him

Carrying your tired body, heartbeats one, Thomas enters the Hewitt mansion with one thing on his mind, he’s never to be far from you ever again

Vincent sinclair

You never went in the basement when Vincent was, “working”, you’d learned it best to leave him alone, ignore the screams of pain and smell of hot wax hitting warm skin

The mans activities aren’t a secret from you, although he’d rather you not watch him participate in such acts, he’d rather you keep from seeing such horrors, allow your sleep to be uninterrupted by nightmares unlike his

You were headed to the kitchen when the loud screaming of what sounded like someone in fear and confusion could be heard, the thunderous steps of someone hurling towards the room you were in, the form of a startled victim coming into view

Their eyes changed from fear to rage, seeing you unharmed, at peace in such a place that got their friends killed, mindlessly headed for the fridge. You could already hear the heavy boots of Vincent rushing up the basement steps, and as if he couldn’t move any quicker, your yelp of fear proved otherwise

Your eyes were wide when the masked man finally came into view, hands grasping as the arm around your neck from behind, body pressed against the person that had narrowly escaped, shaking as they held a kitchen knife to your cheek. The look in Vincent’s eye was deadly, in fact you would’ve been trembling in fear from the intensity if not for the fact that you knew the man would do anything to protect you, and vice versa

Garden sheers were clutched tight in one of his rough hands, knuckles caked with wax. The knife against your cheek began to dig slightly into your delicate skin, causing a soft gasp to leave your lips before red filled your vision, sprayed across where the offending weapon once was, arms leaving your body as the body fell limp to the kitchen floor. Turning to look at the damage, your face was softly grasped by two warm palms, eyes still wide from the ordeal, staring into Vincent’s now calm gaze

His thumb swiped at the blood beading on your cheek bone, clearly discontent with even the smallest cut adorning the face he loved the most, a low noise coming from the back of his throat, akin to a wounded animal

Pulling you into his broad chest, dark locks brushed the sides of your face, Vincent stared dead ahead, one hand on the back of your head as he internally cursed himself out, how dare he let someone that close to you, how dare he let them draw your blood

Glancing as the nearly decapitated victims body on the floor, blood pooling, Vincent swore to himself if anyone ever caused you such pain again, they’ve face a cruel, slow death

Hope y’all enjoyed <3