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nullen-void · 6 months ago

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The Heterodyne Boys and the Atomic Clank!

June, 2013 Canaima National Park, Venezuela

Today sucked, actually.

It was just supposed to be a lighthearted cryptid-hunting expedition. Something to distract Robo from all the everything. He could only listen to the fearmongering talking heads calling him a secret terrorist with false personhood for so long. It was supposed to be a vacation.

Best-case scenario, they discover some kind of South American Bigfoot or whatever and distract the public from that thing with the nukes for a couple weeks. The worst case, he had assumed, would be a nature hike in the jungle.

But no, apparently the actual worst-case scenario was a secret underground civilization of rock-people from before the dawn of time being mind-controlled by Dr. freaking Dinosaur. And now the mountain had been destroyed by a giant, allegedly immortal lava worm while the reptilian idiot's stupid bomb was going off.

Maybe he should take a break from action science. Maybe he'd spend the next decade or two just doing... I dunno, math or something. Or maybe I should look into medicine, take the time to finally get that second doctorate--no, knowing my luck I'd stumble into a zombie virus plague. Ugh. "AHAHAHA! Look at all that inevitable twenty-three dimensional doom!" the idiot shouted, dragging Robo's focus back to the horrible, horrible present.

"Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I'm NOT dying on the back of a giant lava worm," he pledged to himself.

"Magma!" Bernard shouted from somewhere below, which wasn't helping.

"Robo!" the radio in Robo's head crackled. "This is Dr. Sandoval. Do you read?"

He looked over at the helicopter circling the giant worm. "Yes. Doctor, I need you to get closer. I have a terrible idea."

Dr. Dinosaur continued rambling to himself above. Robo tuned him out as he did some quick math in his head. The bomb was continuing to gather energy, and was slowly approaching his position.

"We can't hold this position for long," Sandoval reported, the helicopter struggling to get close to the thrashing worm.

"Won't have to. I'm taking the shot." First things first, though. Robo slid down the lava worm's side toward his employees, grabbing them in his arms.

"What about the bombs?!" Vik yelled from his position over Robo's back.

"First, I need you guys to go limp."

Lang's eyes widened. "Wait, when you say that, you--"

No time to let them realize or they'd struggle. Robo heaved, throwing all three of his team at the helicopter. Vik made it to the side door, while Lang and Bernard managed to grab the copter's landing gear.

"Now get as far from this thing as you can!" he ordered.

The stupid bomb was falling in earnest, now, the worm's undulations sending it falling down its... back? Side? Whatever, doesn't matter. Dr. Dinosaur was nowhere to be seen, which was just typical. The machine was sparking something fierce, and Robo latched on as it fell directly into him. "I got the nukes!"

Now he needed to hurry and disarm this thing somehow before it went off, and who knows how long that would ta--

Everything went blue.

------------------------------------------

Winter, 1867 Somewhere North of Belgrade, Serbia

Miron stuck his tongue out as he worked something out from under his fingernails with a knife. Whatever it was, it was in there deep.

Opposite him across the campfire, Grishnarf turned the spit holding the boar over the flame. The shaggy Jäger leaned closer, drinking in the scent of cooking meat.

Miron glanced up. "Hy vouldn't get so close if Hy vere hyu."

Grishnarf looked up in time to miss his long beard falling into the fire. "Eh?"

Miron waved him away; he'd figure it out soon enough. "So, do ve know vat de Masters iz doink in Belgrade?"

One of the twins looked up from sharpening his sword. "Savink de day, vat else?"

"Hy was hoping for sometink more specific."

The other twin looked up from sharpening his axe. "Hyu vould know better den uz, Hy tink. Hyu got closest before dey entered de city."

Miron sniffed. "Dot vasn't dot close en hyu know et. Der Masters vouldn't be heppy to see uz."

The other grumbled at the reminder. It never got nicer to hear no matter how many times it was said.

"Prob'ly zum big clenk vat's makink a mess, Hy bet," the twin with the axe offered.

"Hoho, hyu tink somevun turned on old Master Nimrod's hunting clenk? Hy tink he left it somevere around here."

Grishnarf frowned in thought. "...Vas dat de vun vat hunted, or de vun dat got hunted?"

There was a distant explosion, and all of them paused to let the sound of far-away screaming wash over them.

"...De vun vat hunted, methinks."

"Aye."

Grishnarf suddenly howled as he finally noticed his fur was on fire, abandoning the spit to run around the clearing in a frenzy. The sword twin took over cooking while the axe twin shouted 'encouragement.'

"Careful, Grishnarf! It's almost at hyu hat!"

The furry Jäger yelped and dropped into a roll in the dirt.

Miron ignored all that, having finally found whatever was in his fingernail. "Dere hyu are, hyu liddle..." Setting the knife aside, he reached in with the claws on his other hand and gingerly gripped whatever it was. Wincing, he pulled out a splinter nearly the same size as the finger it was embedded in.

The sword twin hissed through his teeth. "Ooh, dat looks like it smarts, brother."

"Hy thought mine finger vas feelink stiff lately." Miron flexed his finger, working the kinks out, and studied the splinter intently. Then he picked his teeth with it for a second before tossing it away. "So, vat are ve tinking vit de pig? Hyu want to do it fancy-like vit de spices, make some stew? Or do hyu just vant to tear into it?"

The twin--his name was either Rem or Rom, Miron could never figure out who was who--gave the question due consideration. Another explosion echoed from the direction of the city. "...Hy tink ve gots time to cook it proper."

Miron nodded, standing to get the supplies. Grishnarf finally put his beard out, breathing heavily.

"Tank hyu so much helpink me, hyu guys," he grumbled, checking his hat for damage.

"Hyu looked like hyu vas having so much fun, Hy couldn't bear to stop hyu," Miron said, grinning. He tossed Grishnarf his knife, and the furry Jäger set about cutting away the burnt parts.

Miron was in the middle of trying to figure out where the herb jars ended and the poison vials ended when suddenly, every hair on his body stood on end. He blinked. "Dot's inneresting. Hyu guys--" he began, turning to face the others and finding them in similar states. Grishnarf's face completely vanished under his fur, and electricity arced between his hairs. "--Hy guess hyu feel dat too, yez?"

"De Masters must have got dat lightning gun vorking after all," the sword twin guessed.

"No, dat feels different, and hyu can taste it in the air ven it goes off. This is different," Grishnarf said.

Miron held out his hand, and the shaggy Jäger tossed his knife back. With that in one hand, Miron drew his sidearm and sniffed. Something on the edge of his senses drew him... north-by-northwest. Without a word, he leapt into the treeline, climbing into the hgih branches. His brother followed behind him.

Static jumped from his fur to his weapons, and Miron vaguely wondered if that would be enough to set off the gunpowder in his bullets. That would be a neat trick. As they went, the charge grew, and one of the twins sneezed; there was something in the air.

On some signal none of them could directly perceive, they stopped over a patch of bare forest ground.

Grishnarf looked troubled. "For zum reason, Hy find myself tinking of old Robur," was all he had time to say before the world lit up blue.

Miron pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes as, down below, an sphere of blue light ten feet across appeared with a crack of thunder.

"What--"

Then just as suddenly as it started, it was over. They blinked the spots out of their eyes and looked down, not knowing what to expect. They weren't too surprised to see a bulky silver clank lying on the ground. More interesting was the way that all the matter the sphere had encompassed simply wasn't there anymore, perfectly smooth trunks of earth and tree deleted from reality.

Most surpising of all was that the clank was wearing tattered green pants. That was unusual.

"Did de Masters do that?" the sword twin asked. When they looked at him, he clarified. "Hyu said it might be a clenk dey vas fightink. Is dat it? Did dey send it here?"

Grishnarf shook his head. "Not Nimrod's. Dat vun was big, gold, und looked like a gorilla. Tho Hy guess ve don't know dot's vat they vere fightink..."

"Hy didn't tink zo," the twin said. "Too small."

The other twin smacked him. "Then vy did hyu say it, eediot?!"

"Hy thought it vas vorth asking!"

The two of them bickered while Grishnarf noted that the charge in the air was gone, patting his fur back down. Miron's eyes were locked on the clank. Aside from the clothing damage and some minor scratches, it was entirely intact. He'd fought a lot of clanks in his time, and he'd never seen one quite like this. It was incredibly humanoid, but also very... plain. No insignias, no obvious signature, no paint ... could be a new Spark, he supposed, but it would have to be an unusual one to create a clank so devoid of decoration. Most Sparks had a developed sense of aesthetic.

The clank's eyes flashed.

"Shuddup, it's waking!"

The twins froze as the clank's eyes lit up, glowing a sky blue. Then, bizarrely, it groaned, which was a very weird thing for a clank to do.

"Ughhh..." The clank sat up, rubbing its head in a veyr human way. Maybe it was a man in armor instead? Its legs looks too skinny for that... It looked up, and the four of them back up into the shade of the branches. They needn't have bothered, since it was looking away from them. "Daylight? How long was I out?" it said in clear English.

It stood, dusting itself off. It looked around, scanning the environment. "Wow. Must've flung me for miles..." It squinted. "Or more. This is a temperate forest, not a jungle."

Miron looked over at Grishnarf. What do? he mimed. Grishnarf shrugged. Then he grinned hopefully and punched his hand. Miron considered it, then relunctantly held up a hand to wait.

The clank put a hand to the side of its head and started talking to itself. "Hello, Tesladyne. This is your robot-in-chief checking in. I appear to be alive." It waited. "Okay. Civilian bands then..." it muttered.

The twins shifted, readying their weapons. They clearly weren't content to wait. They weren't looking at Miron either, so he couldn't tell them otherwise. He tried anyway, taking a step towards them.

Something cracked under his foot. All four of them looked down. The branches they were standing on all looked fine. Miron looked further down. The tree that that ball of light cut into was this tree.

It started falling. Miron and Grishnarf had time to exchange a wide-eyed look before they went down.

The twins got in each others way and became tangled up in the tree branches. Grishnarf jumped for the trunk and held on for dear life. Miron instead elected to jump clear and away, flipping twice in the air before landing feet first one the ground.

Directly behind the clank.

It whirled around, arms spread in a ready stance.

Miron blinked at it.

It blinked at Miron.

Then it heaved a sigh. "Oh, the crazy isn't done yet. How disappointing."

Miron grinned. He opened his mouth to make some sort of clever comeback; something along the lines of the clank not having seen crazy yet, or perhaps getting offended that he was considered a disappointment.

Unfortunately, before he could get a word out, the clank punched him in the mouth, and the fight was on.

#girl genius #atomic robo #fanfiction #nullenvoid #jagerkin #heterodyne boys #dr dinosaur

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kadavernagh · 1 year ago

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Regan’s "apartment" PARTIES: Regan and Jade SUMMARY: Jade is thrilled after trading some innuendo-laced conversation online with Regan. She thinks she's about to score. Regan thinks they're about to discuss ulcers, for fun.

Honestly? This didn’t even crack the top 3 of weirdest booty calls in Jade’s life. Without looking at a list, from the top of her head, she figured this would be more in the 10 to 6 category. Maybe push top 5, depending on where the night took them. The potential was there. She couldn’t wait to figure out who Regan was and why she liked using medical terms to get in the mood.

(Yep, her browser history was currently filled with anatomy questions, so what?)

(The facial nerve was her favorite cranial nerve. Mostly cause she didn’t trust herself to say glossopharyngeal correctly)

And anyway? Weird was subjective, cause usually Jade ended up having a great time.

(Usually. Number two, you know what you did)

After Waze almost navigated her straight into a river, delaying her arrival in several minutes, Jade finally parked her motorcycle outside the building’s address. Cute. Way better than anything she’d seen in Worm row. She’d never banged a doctor before (cause like, chiropractors totally didn’t count, right?) (She got rearranged alright, though). Where was she? Right, though she had never been inside a doctor’s home before, she imagined it had to be super fancy. Like, well lit, and big tubs and giant beds. Maybe she could ask for a tour before they got down to business. And… Pft, why would she be imagining things, when she could just go up and check? That second floor called for her, so she hopped off her bike, locked everything there was to lock and strutted inside the building.

She reached for the second floor, carding her fingers through her hair to get rid of her helmet head before she rapped against the door once. Firm. Then followed it up with three knocks in quick succession.

It wasn’t often Regan allowed herself to indulge in a meeting of the minds. She had little to no interest in regular social excursions, but it was rare that she met someone so enthused to discuss medicine – except for Dr. Rickers, who she wished was less eager to share his thoughts with her. Jade’s interest in the subject won her over. And she probably wasn’t a bearded pathologist with far too many progeny. As Regan prepared the living room, it occurred to her that the only other person that had ever been here with any frequency – aside from herself, rarely – was Reilly. The apartment was practically a prop to convince him she was well-adjusted and absolutely not living in the woods. Maybe it would convince Jade of the same.

On her laptop, she had a PowerPoint loaded with a couple of exceptionally compelling case studies and then a few slides of her favorite ulcers. Set on the table next to it was a dead squirrel, still fluffy, but rapidly stiffening as rigor mortis took it. Regan had also taken the liberty of pulling out a couple of choice texts and underlining some discussion points. What would Jade bring? What kind of medical professional or scientist was she? Did she like squirrels?

The knock on the door derailed her train of thought. The wondering would stop now. Right?

Before opening the door, Regan took a deep breath and held it, almost for as long as she could tolerate. The room started to grow fuzzy. She palmed the wall for balance. With a gasp, she let her lungs spill out and bring in fresh air. They seized in acknowledgement of the oppression. Whatever Jade thought, no matter how out of place Regan felt, she would be prepared and in control.

When she was ready, she opened the door. Her eyes drifted past the beautiful woman and down to the driveway; she noticed a motorcycle residing where there was definitely not a motorcycle before. Didn’t Jade know how dangerous – right, Jade. She found herself staring right into her face. Jade was young, though Regan wasn’t sure she could cast a stone there – she probably looked about the same age. A professional was a professional, even if they were light on the seasoning. Her eyes stayed stuck for a moment. Jade had windblown waves and what were probably lovely zygomatic arches under the skin of her face; she was easy to look at.

Regan felt herself stiffen. Did that deep breath do nothing? Right. Say something. “Hello. I’ve, um, prepared.” She shifted around inside her winter coat, nerves getting the best of her. She wasn’t sure of Jade’s profession, but given her years of experience Regan wanted – admittedly – to impress her. What if the presentation wasn’t enough? What if Jade already had all of her books, well-read and dog-eared? What if she didn’t think the squirrel was high quality or in her preferred stage of decay? Swallowing her hesitation, she opened the door and allowed Jade inside. The setting was obvious: the only things in the living room were two chairs, a table, and bookshelf. There wasn’t even any art on the walls to drive attention elsewhere. She let Jade get her bearings before speaking up. “It’s nice to meet you. In person. I think. I don’t – I mean, I don’t do this often.” Doubt trickled in. She tried to cut it off with a hopeful question. “Did you bring anything?”

“Regan,” Jade greeted, low and teasing, lifting a curious eyebrow at the sight of the woman wearing a winter coat. In… the middle of summer? But then it clicked, when she said she had prepared. (In hindsight, it really didn’t click. Like, at all). Oh, wow. Lucky her. Her lips curved slowly. “I can see that,” she dragged her eyes up and down the other woman, before stepping inside the apartment. Normally, she would’ve waited to be guided in, but well…they were past that, weren’t they? Regan dropped her address for a reason. So she made herself at home, moving closer to Regan, until they were inches apart. Her eyes twinkled, hazel locked on blue as a mischievous smile spread across her face. “Watcha hiding in there? Did you prepare a show for me?” Having said that, she resumed her walk inside. “Actually don't answer that, I love a good surprise”.

“Oooh, okay. Feeling jittery?” Jade couldn’t say she did this a lot either. Not with complete strangers at least. (Mmm, okay. Maybe that was a tiny lie). Fine, maybe not the strangers part, but dropping right into someone’s apartment without any previous face-to-face meeting? Yeah, that was newer. Cause that felt straight out of a horror movie. Like… begging to be murdered. But she had this under control. She was carrying a switchblade she could always use in case of emergency. Not that anything bad would happen, she and Regan were like, totally vibing. “It’ll be fun, don't sweat it. We’ll ease you into it. And it stops when you want to” cause sure, it was a little annoying if she almost drowned for this booty call to end up void, but like…nothing ruined the vibe more than being pushy. She could just stop by the bar, she’d find company there if she were to be clam jammed. “I brought…uh, all of me? Should be enough. Like I said, I’d prefer a more… hands on approach for now”.

The further she stepped into the apartment the more Jade realized this big, fancy, doctor apartment she created in her head for all of five seconds was…not like that at all. In fact, it looked like Regan had recently moved in. And she was waiting for the rest of her stuff to be delivered. (Was she being catfished?). “Huh, this isn't very Feng shui of you…” At least they had some surfaces. And…was that a squirrel!? She so needed to ask about that, but first, what they came for. (Hah) (Yeah, alright, fine. Maybe Ruby was right, she did have to grow up). She removed her jacket and folded it on one of the chairs, popping the second button of her blouse before turning back towards Regan. And speaking of hands, “would you mind if I use your sink or your bathroom? My hands feel dirty and that's...obviously not gonna be good for you”.

Jade was close. So close. Why was she so close? Regan was too stunned to move, and found herself staring down into Jade’s eyes, close enough to admire the pink of her lacrimal caruncles and her narrowing pupils. How could such a small person have such an oversized presence? She had met banshees who carried themselves with less confidence. The scent of mint rolled from Jade’s lips. Regan had her face in a septic chest cavity just a couple hours earlier, and while Jade’s breath lacked that character, it still tickled her nose.

The moment snapped in half as Jade walked right past her, inside, and Regan was stunned once more. What was that? “I do not get jittery.” She frowned, jittery, suppressing the cramp in her stomach.

Jade seemed to be assessing things, appraising them to make sure they were to her liking. Did she have something in mind? It sounded like she wanted a show. One she thought Regan might have in her coat. Did she think there were more squirrels in there? Did she want more squirrels? Regan could get more squirrels. Did she have a squirrel in her shirt? For a second, it seemed as though Jade might have been about to show her, her hands expertly poking at pesky button. Regan tilted her head, confused. She could feel that there was no squirrel in there, but of course Jade didn’t know she had that advantage. Just as Regan felt like she was on the precipice of figuring something out, Jade declared that she needed to address her hands.

“Oh, of course. I always appreciate good attention to hygiene. It’s over there.” Regan jabbed a thumb toward the bathroom. “Are you ever going to tell me what it is you do? I can peg someone as a surgeon if I see how they wash their hands.” Jade wouldn’t mind that the mirror was shattered, right? She had never gotten around to scream-proofing this place, given how infrequently she was here. Unfortunately, Reilly’s presence was destabilizing enough that investing in some military-grade glass was probably a good idea. Though it was not a priority. As Jade strutted off toward the bathroom, Regan poured out two glasses of Sprite – Jade’s noted favorite – and waited patiently, staring at the door. Why did everything feel so tight? She didn’t think it was just her wings crammed into the winter coat. Something was off. Jade brought no books, never shared her credentials, and didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. Did she… have other motives?

No, Regan decided; she was just nervous, strange. Regan wouldn’t judge her for it. The image of Jade’s delicate fingers plucking open that button on her shirt stayed glued in her head. Nervous… strange… yes, that was all. When did it get so hot in here? Right, the coat. Regan slid the window open, mindful of the glass, and cleared her throat. Her lungs seemed to want to fill it. They pulsed in her chest, greedy for oxygen. What was happening? There was no threat, no flood of bothersome emotions clouding her judgment. Cliodhna would have pointed her to the blade, reminding her she was clearly not good enough if such uneventful circumstances were leading to flimsy control of her faculties. Regan shrank away from the thought, and the opening door of the bathroom offered further escape.

“You’re back.” She brightened. “I got Sprite. Like you mentioned. I thought, if we’re going to be engaging in such vigorous activity, your performance might be improved if you had access to your favorite beverage.” Regan found herself close to Jade again, enough to smell mint and the lemony scent of the soap her bathroom was stocked with. She hoped she carried some of the last autopsies’s assortment of smells on her skin for Jade to appreciate. Only because it would enhance the experience they were about to have. That was all. “So, uh,” She ran a hand through her hair, “Would you like to start? I don’t do this often. I mean, I haven’t in years, really. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to engage with like-minded peers in this way.”

Oh okay, Regan didn’t get jittery. Yeah, alright. Sure, like she was some sort of machine, a soulless robot. (Though maybe she couldn’t say that anymore, with the state of technology. Yikes). Jade almost gave her an eyeroll, but she suppressed it on time, dismissing her with a head shake instead. It was silly, everyone got jittery. Even she got jittery (like when there was a concert pre-sale). (Or her father’s booming voice whenever anger took over). And that was fine. Normal. She had already figured out Regan liked appearing impenetrable, though. That she couldn't hurt or whatever the conversation had been. It wasn’t something they could discuss right now, or ever, if things went south tonight. She chuckled at the question, cause why was Regan so insistent on knowing what she did for a living? This wasn’t an interview. So she blatantly ignored her in favor of washing her hands.

And as soon as the door closed, she launched onto one of her favorite activities: snooping around. You could tell a lot by a person’s bathroom. Jade opened every single cabinet and door, reached for every shelf she found (except the top one because…she had some limitations). Things got weirder the more she searched. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not even a pathetic 5 in 1 shampoo and worn down dish rag in the shower. Even guys had those. Crap. This was a red flag, wasn’t it? Ugh. It wasn’t a deal breaker per se (that top 3 looked to remain unchanged unless Regan pulled something outlandish), but maybe this was a warning to tread more carefully once outside. Which, she was taking a little too long, right? It’d get suspicious. Shoot. She washed her hands quickly and exited the bathroom, looking cool and collected when her eyes landed on Regan.

Jade almost joked about the window not being big enough for her to escape, but then she spotted the glasses of sprite and she squealed, her smile widening. “For me? You're spoiling me, babe" she let out a dreamy sigh, choosing to walk over Regan’s side instead of rounding the counter to stand across from her. If Regan was trying to make up for the fact that they didn’t even have a couch, that was fine. It meant she felt a little bit guilty, right? Not something a murderer would feel. She leaned in, shoulders touching as she happily took a sip of her drink. A sip she didn’t get to fully swallow because Regan’s comment caught her off guard. Some sprite spilled down her chin. Alright, geez. Maybe the doctor had a few tricks up her sleeve too. Color her excited. She cleared her throat, thumb brushing under her lower lip. “planning on wearing me out?” she joked without missing a beat, batting her eyelashes.

And Jade thought that was gonna be it. The ice breaker kicking things into gear, but Regan was nervous again. (Or something, cause she didn’t do nerves or whatever. The filthy liar). She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, studying the other woman for a moment. She could tell Regan was all thoughts, all the time. How exhausting. Sometimes those were her favorite kind of people. The most fun to work up, at least. Like, it was amazing what an attentive touch and expert mouth could unravel. There was nothing more beautiful than a blissed-out person, and she hoped to see that side of Regan later. For now, it seemed she totally had to ignite some of that fire she’d seen online. “Nuh huh, nope”. She shook her head. Maybe Regan needed incentive? To show her what she was missing with all the nerves? (Again, liar. And not even a good one). Yeah, that was it. She left the glass on the counter, an idea springing to mind.

She moved quickly behind Regan, forgoing touch not to rattle her further. Jade walked backwards to one of the chairs, making sure Regan’s eyes were following her. “Show me what you prepared,” she stated plainly. That wasn’t going to do the trick, obviously. Incentive, right. She flipped her hair back, curls no longer spilling around her shoulders, leaving her neck exposed. Her left hand crept up steadily, searching for that third button. A crowd pleaser, generally. She flicked it, the fabric sliding lower down her shoulders, just enough to get a small peek of lace underneath. Her piercing gaze found Regan's, beckoning her. The intention was clear in her smile: The rest were for her to undo, if she wanted to. “Show me,” she coaxed gently, taking a seat. Hands resting on her thighs, fingers dug into her jeans to restrain herself from reaching and ripping Regan’s coat herself. Patience (Always a problem for her). The slow rise and fall of her chest grew shallow in anticipation. “Please? I wanna see”.

Jade’s presence behind her set off Regan’s sense of alarm, as if it wasn’t already blaring warnings and pointed questions at her beforehand. There was something not adding up here, and she liked to think that she was skilled at putting pieces together, like assembling a shattered plate of the skull as she’d done earlier in the day. But Jade was harder to figure out than a pile of bone fragments, and while Regan’s body had practically glided through the earlier task on instinct alone, it hung limply now, betraying her. Jade’s shoulder swishing against her coat – the motion and the sound of it – was enough of a shock to make a screech nearly spill out of Regan’s lungs. It came knocking and she wasn’t fast or strong enough to slam the door on it. But she caught it in her throat, not letting it leave her mouth. Her teeth vibrated and with one huge gulp, she forced it back down her esophagus. She was prepared. Ready, always ready. And that was why. Regan stared at Jade’s lips as her finger glossed over them, thinking about how close they had been to flying right off her face. Jade, completely unaware of the near accident, seemed to have something more important on her mind and abandoned the half full glass of Sprite with a saunter Regan could only watch.

Oh. Her eyes caught on Jade’s shiny hair – which seemed to be exactly where Jade wanted them – and then snapped to her neck. It was gracile and elegant, and as Jade exhaled another winter fresh breath, Regan studied ripple that ran through her suprahyoid muscles. And there was her hand. Climbing. Back to the buttons. Caught between her fingers like a pea, and then released. Was it hot in here? She couldn’t tell, given the coat. It always felt hot. “I can, um, turn down the temperature, if you want. If you’re hot. You know, you do look hot. I should, uh, go… do that.” But she had trouble meeting Jade’s eyes, instead drawn to that glimpse of lace, white under green, which was far more potent than it ought to be. Her throat went dry, and she had to swallow hard, with just as much effort as pulling back an errant screech. The thermostat went untouched.

Show me.

Regan’s legs felt tangled, torn between backing up and allowing herself to get reeled in like she’d just spotted an entire deer carcass by the side of the road. Intentional or not, she found herself approaching. What was wrong with her? Jade had joined her for innocent edification and Regan’s own traitorous mind was soiling it, scampering off into other territories when it should have been focused solely on the task at hand. It was a lesson she had needed to learn in Saol Eile, too. Wandering eyes were met with sharp reminders to focus on herself, her own body. But Jade’s face was so bright, her eyes daring, and her teasing voice twisted around Regan’s willpower like the snaking ivy of a promise bind.

Regan brought herself down to Jade’s level, her eyes darting between Jade’s eyes and that damned button. Her fingers burned to be used, and her wings fluttered beneath her coat.

…Right. Reality came crashing back. The wings. The coat. The danger. She hadn’t realized her expression had softened, and just how close she’d inched to Jade, a near stranger, even lowering herself, until the bubble had burst like a blister, and she forced herself to harden once more. She jolted upright as if she’d been jabbed by a fire poker and gazed at pretty much the only other thing in the room: the table and laptop.

“I, um –” She stammered. “Sorry. I – distracted. I got distracted. It is my own failing. Why don’t we skip straight to the best part?” She floundered to her laptop like it was a liferaft and gave the trackpad a couple of frantic taps, setting off a cascade of ulcers of every size, shape, and color. They zoomed onto the screen, shiny with bodily fluids and the flash of the camera. Refreshing. Attention-grabbing. Distracting from the distraction. Regan paused on one particularly colorful ulcer – a beautiful marrow-yellow with swirls of red, decorated with peacock spots of inky black. “Uh, so these are – um, are you familiar with Wischnewski ulcers? Some of the finest gastric mucosal erosions. I think this one is especially lovely. It, um, compliments your – shirt. Yes… shirt.” Somehow, it felt hotter in here yet. “You know, why don’t you share? I’m sure you prepared something special. And I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time.”

Jade’s eyes crinkled in delight, her confidence soaring as she watched her effect on Regan. Not only was she following her, but the icy blue in her eyes thawed beautifully, black expanding the more she allowed herself to look at what was waiting for her. So, so black. Whatever teasing remark Jade had left died in her throat, no longer interested in sounding smooth or funny, not when she had Regan’s full attention. Her lips parted, watching Regan level with her. Jade’s eyes sparkled, encouraging and keen, waiting for whatever apprehension held Regan back to slip away. Impatience coiled tighter below her navel, each time Regan dared dragging this longer with her dumb, wandering eyes. But okay, it began flowing in tandem, her own gaze flicking to Regan’s lips each time hers dipped lower. She liked that. Whenever they’d climb up, finding each other again. Lungs taking in less and less air. She leaned forward, fingertips burning to trace Regan’s jawline, hoping to anchor her until she was enticed to close the distance. Or maybe, wishing the touch would tip the scales in her favor.

But…Regan was gone. Quick and sharp and already out of reach before Jade could even process. She gulped. Her mouth dropped, letting out a shuddering breath, snapping out of the moment. Wow. Okay, yep. Regan was so fooling her with the nerves act. Game recognized game. It only made this more exciting in the long run. Her eyes followed her, confused when she reached for the laptop, but soon connected the dots (in hindsight…yeah, nope). Regan was obviously gonna put on some music, cause she had a show for her, duh.

Her eyes bulged comically at the hideous sight on the screen. Good thing she had a strong stomach cause those were some nasty, nasty pictures. Jade froze, watching in horror, and couldn't even comment on the adorable stammer because… What? WHAT!? Had she suddenly stepped into a different dimension? Regan’s monologue forced her to trace back several steps in their conversation. What was happening? She almost reached for the phone in her jacket to find proof of their previous interactions, to convince herself she hadn’t gotten this entirely wrong. Oh. Oh.

Jade looked at the screen, then at Regan, looking all professional and doctor-y. Oh, no. No. This was bad. It was so so bad. Astronomically bad (but not ‘elder vampire in the wild’ bad, at least). Naturally, she reacted the way any other human being would have in her position.

She cackled.

If Regan had neighbors, they heard her. If Regan's neighbors' had neighbors the vibrations must’ve traveled far enough to feel the disturbance. “I’m so sorry,” came out breathless. Jade covered her mouth with her hands as she dissolved into a laughing fit. “It’s not you. I’m not laughing at you,” she amended quickly, but couldn’t get her laugh under control. She probably looked like a lunatic now. “This is all me” she closed her eyes, fingers tapping the space between her eyebrows. She really had to explain that she thought this was a booty call? Oooh. Buttocks, she had mentioned buttocks…Why didn't that give her a pause? Who the hell used buttocks in 2023?

Her eyes were shiny with tears when the laughter subsided. She let out a content sigh. Yeah. It was funny. And silly and… “I thought—” her smile didn’t waver, her tone remained unaffected. It was a mask too perfectly crafted for one little inconvenience to wipe it off. The pillars of her self-worth stuck to the ground by sheer stubbornness, even when it was all rubble at the foundations. Nothing would crumble over a misunderstanding. But a finger did poke the hole in her jeans, repeatedly, throat unusually heavy. “I thought you wanted me” Jade rolled her eyes, chuckling at herself. She inhaled sharply to forget the sting of rejection. Cause really, was it even rejection if Regan had never thought of her like that? Flipping that switch was all she needed. She breezed through the feeling, saved it for when she had her coping habits in hand and put herself together in record time to segway again.

Jade rubbed her forehead, chest rising with another powerful cackle. She stood from the chair, hands fumbling over her buttons, but neglecting them when a thought hit her. “So, so the whole skin and organs talk, was that not an innuendo… At ALL!?” How was that not some weird type of foreplay? What the… “I thought you had like…some kinda thing for bruised and battered. Not judging, some girlies dig that. I came with like, empirical evidence or whatever you dorks call it? I googled it for you!” she emphasized this with a wave of her hand. She was so excited for Regan to discover her weekly collection of bruises, thinking it’d get her all hot and bothered. But nope. Not at all. They were truly talking about…science. Medicine. Cause she was a doctor. Duh.

(Once she stopped reeling from the revelation, maybe she’d come to appreciate the fact that all of this oddly made Regan less of a weirdo in her eyes). (At least a smidge. There was very much a squirrel lying on the table. Still. Both physically and in terms of permanence). (And actually, what was the squirrel for?)

Shoot, right. Irrelevant.

“I’ve no idea what Wazowski ulcers are,” she whined, eyebrows knitting together in apology. Jade was out here wasting a freaking doctor’s time. And her effort. Like, it was super fun to mess with people, but doctors? She wasn’t evil. She could make up for that at least, right? “I could still see what you got. Obviously you worked on it and all” A whole Powerpoint? She hadn’t used Powerpoint since college. Geez. Ugh. She hoped it didn’t sound like pity. But like, she did feel ultra bad. No, maybe Regan was too proud for pity. With her aversion to being human and all. “Or! I can be out of your way…Yup! That sounds way better, this wasn’t on your mind. Again, my bad. Not yours,” she tilted her head, squinting at Regan. She flicked her wrist, gesturing an estimation. “Eh, maybe a little bit yours”.

Regan could hear her own laborious heart beat in her ears. Each second ticked by. And Jade stood unmoving, with seemingly nothing to share. No PowerPoint of her own, no prepared information in her pocket, nothing... except a laugh. A rich, howling laugh like a giddy hyena that practically threatened the windows just as much as one of her own screams. It was harsh in Regan's ears. Not painful. Harsh. Her spine stiffened and part of her wanted to spill her own lungs back at Jade. If this was mockery, she would not stand for it. She had been mocked enough for two lifetimes. But then came the clarification, as Jade's laughter still echoed through the nearly-empty room. Regan tilted her head, her eyes narrowed at Jade's. Why the smile? She did not return one. "Why– I do not understand." She bristled a little. She had prepared all of this and didn't expect or appreciate to get laughed at.

Jade was red in the face, difficult to hear as the occasional huff was still leaving her lips. Not laughing at her? "O...kay." Regan blinked, less wary but more confused. Her lungs deflated. Slowly, quietly.

Never mind. Her whole body pulled tight and inward again. I thought you wanted me. Regan's forehead scrunched. "I do. That's why I've invited you here..." There was something else, though, something she wasn't getting. But then, Jade asked about innuendo. And it clicked like a bad patella. She thought of the buttons squeezed between her fingers, the way she'd addressed the coat, the tantalizing way her face had hung so achingly close to her own before, the scent of mint rolling out of her mouth. "Wait. Are you saying–" Regan thought she had been wrong. That she was so starved for physical affection of any kind that she'd conjured up what she could not have. But Jade was never here as an intellectual pursuit. She thought they would have sex. That interest, bold and clarion in her mind, now seemed blazingly obvious. An intense heat crawled across Regan's face, and she turned away from Jade with an awkward wobble. Her chest felt like a big old moth was thrashing about inside of it, and it was never good when that happened.

Her tongue was dead in her mouth but she brought it to life eventually. She crossed her arms, the fabric of her coat swishing, as she took offense to the reason behind Jade’s offer. It at least gave Regan something to hook her thoughts around that wasn’t imagining – “You have no interest in ulcers.” She rubbed her temples with her hands. She didn't want to berate the girl. This was a misunderstanding. One on both sides. And... how much of a misunderstanding was it really? "Do you know what an ulcer is at all? You're giving me one. No, don't–" Leave. Stay? She wasn't sure. "–I – sorry. I'm catching up. You're ahead of me. I'm – is that why you're –" She waved a hand toward Jade, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was gesturing toward herself. Attractive? Was that what she'd wanted to say? She couldn't form the word. "I don't, I'm not, I can't, I – my ulcers need me. I'm busy. You know. Doing other things. I mean, not that I was going to do –" Her lungs could take no more of this. The glasses exploded, seemingly out of nowhere. Sprite geysered across the room. “Sorry! I’m sorry!” Regan barked, eyes wide and white with panic. At least the drink had been on the table, far enough away that Jade didn’t get soaked. “You know, I think you should go. Not that you did something wrong. I am a fool, a failure and a – I need to go clean this up.” She swallowed with great difficulty, and her face still felt like it was radiating heat. “Here.” Regan plucked the dead squirrel from the table and frantically pushed it into Jade’s hands. A peace offering. “Be off.”

Typically, when Jade proclaimed her intentions of sleeping with anyone, the reactions were a lot more positive. (Like that one dude who full on sobbed). Don’t get her wrong, people were allowed to have no taste and reject her. Their loss. But Regan’s tiny wobble was baffling and unprecedented. She couldn’t take it too personally. It was more like Regan had her own issues to deal with, right? She wondered if no one had ever come onto her before. No, that felt all kinds of absurd. Of course others had shown interest before. Like, she was totally doing it for Jade even with the hideous winter coat she never got to take off. (And that ship had sunk now. Bottom of the ocean, chilling with the titanic sunk). So what was it?

Her eyebrows pinched together, watching Regan process the misunderstanding. And alright, damn, she didn’t know she was headache inducing (eh, well…). Should she be offended Regan wanted nothing to do with her? No, better not open that can of worms until she hit a club later. She chucked that thought aside, hanging her head in mock shame when she was grilled for her lack of interest in ulcers. Her lips pressed together, failing to suppress a smile. She chose to ignore the little dig at her intelligence. Just cause she wasn’t a woman of science didn’t mean she was dumb. Ever heard of the school of life?

“In terms of wet openings nooo, nope. I can’t say ulcers make it to my top 3, no” Jade scrunched up her nose, schooling herself not to snicker. She didn’t want Regan to think she was laughing at her. It was the situation that was super hilarious. (Ignoring the rejection of it all). Maybe they could both laugh about it some day. If Regan was someone who laughed. The jury was still out. “But I’m very sorry I’m giving you one, that’s like…so not what I wanted to give you tonight”. She swallowed the word multiple, cause at that point she feared Regan might as well combust if she uttered it.

“Totally fair, that powerpoint looked so kickass, by the way. I mean, except for all the ulcers… I didn’t know you could make that sorta transi—” her body jerked at the sudden explosion, gaze quickly landing on the two non-existent glasses. Crap. Alright…weird. Like, actually strange behavior. She had glossed over the broken mirror in the bathroom, cause… who hadn’t had a bit of a drunk meltdown at 3am and then taken it out on their reflection? That was womanhood, baby. But the glasses exploding as Regan spiralled? Gave her a pause. Though, of course, it was possible they had shattered due to the scorching UST in the room. It had been documented to happen in her presence before. (So flattering). But what if it was something else? Checking in with her slayer senses didn’t reveal anything problematic either. Sure, her skin thrummed, but not in the usual 'hot vampires in your area' way. That was just...Regan’s doing.

Regan, who didn’t wanna give her time to think and grabbed the dead squirrel, storming toward her. Nope, not happening. Jade moved quicker, managing to snatch her wrist. She barely felt it under the silly coat she was wearing. (Though, actually? Maybe Regan was onto something. Super soft fabric. 7/10. Three points deduction based on how little she could actually feel Regan). “Okayyy. Chill out, babe” she tried gently, exerting inhuman power not to pay attention to the dead squirrel being thrusted against her partially bare chest. She pushed against Regan, the dead animal dangling between them, brushing against her skin. Her breath hitched. Nope. Ew. She could not look down, or she’d lose it too. She locked her eyes on Regan’s again. “I’m off, I promise. And you’re not a fool or whatever. I just have this effect on people” she pushed more forcefully against Regan, unwilling to take the dead animal. What was it even for? Why did Regan have a dead animal just lying around? And why on earth did she think she wanted it? “Nuh uh. Keep it. I think it’ll make you way happier”.

Jade let go of her, if the animal landed on the floor, well…it wasn’t up to her anymore. She reached for her buttons, less allure and more fumbling as she worked her way up this time. Maybe the black lace would’ve sealed it. Yup, that was her real problem. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure but…” she trailed off with a smirk. It was entirely possible Regan didn’t get the double entendre, and honestly? that was for the best. She moved into her space again, but instead of trying any last minute tricks that proved effective in the past, she simply reached for her jacket. Then stepped back, offering a dazzling smile in hopes of providing comfort. This stuff happened. Not to her, mind you, and certainly not with a dead squirrel in the vicinity, but there was a first time for everything. Taking advantage of Regan’s inaction (the squirrel was totally working!), she walked backwards toward the door. “Yup. Leaving now. If your ulcers stop needing you, you know where to reach me,” and with that, she twirled and exited the apartment.

Jade’s hand clinging to her sleeve brought on another wave of panic, this time of a different flavor. Why wasn’t she accepting the squirrel? Regan thought it would get her out of there faster. Take it and go. But she was being met with force, and if Jade didn’t want the squirrel, it was her loss. Yes, Jade was the only one losing here. Only Jade. Regan lost out on nothing at all. “Okay, fine, don’t take it then. I’ll – it’s not going to make me happ – forget it.” The thought soured in her mind and she could smell mint mixing with the earthy dead squirrel’s scent and she still just needed Jade out of there before the windows exploded.

Jade got the hint. Regan nodded emphatically, all the while stepping backwards. She tripped over the chair but caught herself at the last second. “Yes. Right. Pleasure. Goodbye. I will not reach you. I mean, contact you. I’m not going to do that. The ulcers, you know? They always need me. I’m constantly in demand because of ulcers. Do you know how many people have ulcers? Almost everyone – the living, the dead, ulcers everywhere. I’m always busy.”

She watched Jade swoop out – keeping the promise she surely hadn’t realized she’d made – and stared as she walked out the door. When she realized where her gaze had dropped to, she frowned at herself. The squirrel dangled by the tail for a moment before her fingers just went too numb to hang onto it, and it hit the floor with a soft thud as the door clicked shut with finality. The carcass barely flopped. Rigor had taken it, Regan noted, trying to focus on that over the motorcycle thrumming from the driveway.

Regan placed her forehead in her sweaty hands and bit back whatever strangled thing was trying to worm its way up her throat. “Regan, tá tú ina ulcer rectal iomlán pléascadh.”

#c jade #writing

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dasenergi · 2 years ago

Text

It is the absolute most perfect day out there. I just got home from our local wetlands nature preserve. It's 75°/ 24° C out there. A slight breeze, 8 mph. The sunshine feels so good on my skin! When I got into my car this morning, it was covered in pollen. Spring is here!

I went to the nature preserve to work on the "The Sacred Trees" module from the Inner Temple Mystery School.

When I arrived I did an intuitive nature walk and let my crystal pendulum guide me along the path, it told me which direction to go. First it took me down a hidden path to a tree where I used to have sex with an ex-boyfriend. When I arrived under the tree, it is a great old tree with stories to tell, but the pendulum was telling me, "No." So we went back to the main path.

It eventually led me off of the main trail to a young oak grove. When I was in the middle of three young oak trees it told me, "This is the spot!" (It was swinging in a circle.) So I setup camp to spend about 90 minutes in meditation, limbs from the trees overlapped above to create a canopy protecting me.

First I did a grounding meditation, planting my roots in the soil, connecting to the trees and life around me. My hands reached down to the soil. When I do reiki (energy work), my hands get so hot. The same this time. My hands hot, the energy tingling down my arms. My energy field was reaching out to the trees on either side of me. Connection.

I felt held, supported, inspired by the interconnectedness of all life around me. The bees gathering pollen from the trees above me. Beneath me the dark and rich soil full of life, bacteria, fungi, insects, and worms, breaking down fallen leaves and dead wood releasing nutrients back into the soil. The warm breeze, carrying pollen, and life-giving oxygen, fresh and clean from the trees, the sound of leaves blowing in the wind. (Later, when I opened my eyes I found fallen leaves in my beard, shoulders, and on my shirt and lap.)

I was in bliss. This is what a forest bath is all about.

I did a Rebecca Campbell guided meditation, "Earth Pulsing With Trees." It was so calming, deep breathing with the pulse of the Earth, leaning into the trees, supported by the warm breeze. So much interconnected life energy surrounding me. I felt the balance of, "We are One." Humans are a kindred of the trees. Distant cousins. We both come from water and need water to survive. But trees also provide us with oxygen that we also need to survive.

Then I did the "Tree of Life, Soul Journey" meditation. I already did this one a couple of weeks back. Again, the Green Man came to me as my nature spirit guiding me through the Enchanted Forest. It told me its name is Kneebog. (The same name it told me last time.)

Whenever I visit the Enchanted Forest during my "Tree of Life, Soul Journey" meditation, I am reminded of the fantasy forest in the 1985 Tom Cruise, Ridley Scott, Tim Curry movie "Legend". I think I need to watch it again soon.

As always, my "Tree of Life" is a giant Majestic Oak like the one at the Botanic Garden near me in Claremont. So big. Such a huge canopy. Hundreds of years old. I've always imagined Queen Titania, King Oberon and the rest of the faeries dancing around the tree in Claremont on some midsummer eve. (As a druid, it truly is an ancient, sacred, holy tree. The Tongva tribe, native to this region also thought so.)

The Tree of Life didn't give me any new information today, as usual it tells me I am on the right path and to keep doing what I am doing. My job in this phase of our awakening (evolution) is a sower of seeds. It is important to keep sharing this wisdom on Tumblr, spreading seeds. This wisdom will take root in other minds and the knowledge will grow.

I didn't try kything with the trees too much today. I actually got an odd feeling from them when I first tried. The trees are too young, and they aren't naturally grown from that land. They were planted there. Kything with them almost felt like reading the mind, emotions, and energy of an awkward confused and insecure 12 year old going through puberty. It was very complex and challenging. And I wasn't in the emotional state to handle that. I wanted calm and grounded.

But I touched them all, and thanked them all. I told them I will revisit them again in the Spring/Summer. And I will see how much they have changed in that time.

Then I did a closing ritual, packed-up, and began the walk back to my car. All the while, simply enjoying what a beautiful perfect day it is today. Not too hot, not too cold, but just right.

The dark days of Winter are behind us. Life and renewal are here.

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slutsfordoves · 2 years ago

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Hello! would it be ok to ask for knotting + breeding + impregnation + dacry for Wintersberg? Set post RE8, Ethan+Karl survive and get away from village with Rose. Karl always wanted a big family and Ethan doesn't want Rose to be an only child, plus the resulting kid will be as special moldy as her. With Ethan being the pregnant one (bc he's all moldy -making the necessary parts wouldn't be that difficult if the mold can make a giant dragon out of a woman). If I'm being too greedy with the amount of kinks and restrictive with setting, then I ask just for the impregnation kink in any setting you want, please!

hello anon! thank you for playing! here’s one of two fills i was pondering for this prompt. this is the softer version, set in a nebulous alternative "some people live, other people die" universe wherein heisenberg has already been domesticated, lol. still i spent more time than i should have establishing a relationship for the purpose of the filth. i am so rusty (and wrote a decent chunk during a migraine whoops) so i hope it isn't incomprehensible. enjoy.

rating: explicit

word count: 5.3k

warnings: sadism, masochism, breeding kink, dacryphilia, face fucking, anal sex, implied mpreg, anal fingering, light(?) feminization, some mild cbt, and a smattering of other things that matter less

pairing: karl heisenberg/ethan winters

"We'll do what we can to keep you off the BSAA's radar."

Chris slid a thin stack of folders across the table. Old floorboards creaking when he shifted his weight in the rough-hewn slat back chair. Ethan flipped through them, taking note of their contents. Beside him, Karl sat staring at Chris, sunglasses and hat on even in the dim light, face dour and chewing on the foot of an unlit cigar. He held Rose drooling and propped on his shoulder, her small fists wrapped in Karl's beard and hair.

Fabricated identifications, passports, birth certificates, all printed, signed and embossed. An envelope of bank slips for an account into which a modest monthly stipend would be deposited. Paperwork for the small house, the three acres of land it sat on. A decades' worth of tax forms. A pamphlet for talk therapy.

"You won't be safe. I won't - can't - guarantee that. But you will be safe enough."

Ethan stood and Chris stood with him. They shook hands until the military stiffness with which Chris held himself splintered, and Ethan found himself pulled close and caught in an embrace. The thick wool jacket Chris wore smelled like pine and cigarettes and gunpowder and lead. Ethan could feel with his cheek the plate carrier concealed beneath the fabric. Equally as heavy, Karl's eyes sharp at his back.

"Thank you, Chris. For all you've done."

"Take care, Ethan."

"You can't trust these pricks," Karl said once Chris had gone and the growl of half a dozen car engines had faded into the mountains.

"We don't have a choice."

"Of course we do. Get him and his wolves back in here. I'll slaughter them while you pack up the car."

"Don't say that. They won't think you're joking."

Rose sneezed, wriggling like a worm, and Karl rocked her and cooed her name until she settled. Her hair was growing. Now little wisps fell long enough to frame her face in a halo, and Karl had tied some back with a little pink slip of a bow.

"You don't have to like it," Ethan sighed, when the silence in the kitchen had grown too thunderous. The documentation of their rebirths stacked between them, lit yellow by the kitchen's single halogen bulb. Karl stared at the papers and held Rose against his heart.

"As far as I'm concerned, this is just another leash."

---

Ethan had already had the chance to become accustomed to this way of living. The house he had shared with Mia had been handpicked by whatever BSAA paper-pusher had been in charge of his case file; they'd not even had a say in the color of the carpeting. So long as Rose was warm with mashed peas to fill her belly, there was little he felt worth complaint. This still was true. Yet much had changed and it was in other ways he now struggled to adapt.

In early dawn and on the cusp of waking he often forgot that Mia was dead. Once the memory returned he would weep and become unfit for company for hours. They were higher in the mountains now than he had been; he was plagued by increasingly frequent headaches. Most troublesome: he had trouble acclimating to a man with heavy footfalls walking the halls of his home. Knowing it was Karl but being unable to convince his heart rate or his pulse that there was no danger lurking, no teeth waiting to snap at his neck. Only a man tasked with the uncertainty of freedom - who often in the hours of the day found himself doing nothing and who had not yet learned how to cope.

The house was small. They crashed against one another often, violently, passionately. Fights first, and then stalemates, and finally fucking. This was what they both understood, and after everything that had transpired in the village, what made sense.

---

Ethan woke to a strange room cramped and black with shadow. His armpits and the sheets beneath him swampy, stinking of sweat; his pulse thrumming and his breathing quick and he knew with the conviction of all prey that something lay in wait in that blackness with hunger and with teeth. For 120 seconds, he counted the ticking of the wall clock and waited to die. When death did not take him he gasped and wept into his hands until the tightness in his chest began to ease.

"Karl," he said, when he could speak, "I think I had a nightmare. Karl."

But where Karl slept was empty.

Ethan, shaking, drenched, rolled from the bed. He crept towards the little bassinet where Rose sometimes still slept and found it also empty, the mattress cool to the touch. A horror cold like lakewater flooded him, drowned him in panic. He tore the blankets aside, but she was gone. His Rose. He put his hand to his mouth and bent to retch, his eyes flowing again with tears. Where was she? Where was she? He lurched for the doorway, stumbling and blind in the dark.

"Shh, little darling, quiet or you'll wake your daddy."

"Karl?"

Karl looked up from Rose where she lay cradled in his arms. He stood with her in the living room, the both of them cast in the warm flicker of oil lantern light, their hair and their skin red and gold. Karl was wearing only the ill-fitting sleep trousers they had scavenged from the bedroom closet; Rose he had bundled tight in her favorite blanket. Her body lax, dreaming. When Ethan had spoken, Karl had had his nose pressed into the thin wisps of hair on her head.

"She smells like you."

"You're alright. You're both right here."

"Neither of us could get to sleep so I figured we'd take a walk." Karl frowned, seemed to notice the state of Ethan; the cold sweat pouring out of him and the tremors shaking through him and the fat wet tears streaked across his cheeks. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine. Just a nightmare, that's all."

He didn't look convinced. But Rose huffed and his attention was taken. He adjusted his hold on her little body, dwarfing her in the circle of his arms.

There was no fighting the thought. They fit too right together. This was what Karl would look like, as a father, if he had ever been given the chance.

---

"Did you," Ethan began but soon quit, the question heavier than he'd expected. His tongue was not up to the task.

"Did I? What?"

Karl who tinkered with a little metal toy for Rose did not even break to glance at him. He unscrewed a screw with his hand and it floated from his fingers and idled by his head. Ethan sat with the discomfort of the question coiled inside him. How to ask such a thing?

"Ethan, spit it out."

"Did you ever want a child?"

Karl paused. The screw rotated round and round, and his teeth and the corners of his mouth moved like he would have liked to be smoking. Ethan knew very little of Karl's life before Mother Miranda's influence. Only what little he'd been told and what little more could be built through conjecture. A factory inherited meant a father to bequeath it. Ethan didn't know much of inheritance, but he did know well enough about the expectations of fathers.

"What I wanted." Karl scoffed and shook his head. "Who cares what I wanted? Shit. A child? Who knows?"

"My dad wanted me to marry young. Settle down."

"And look where that got you. I think the most my father expected out of me was to knock a girl up out of wedlock and ruin the family business. Joke's on him, of course. The world ended for us before I could manage either." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and peered at Ethan past the rim of his glasses. "Why? What brought this up?"

"You're good with Rose. A natural. I just - it was a thought I had. That's all."

The toy and its screws and parts spun back into place, resolving into a recognizable shape. It was a monkey made of brass and tin, with arms that wound on a dial, and polished black nail heads for eyes. Ethan couldn't recall having bought it. Nor could he imagine any shop from where it might have come.

Karl sighed.

"I guess - well, isn't it what every man wants? A pretty wife and a litter of kids. I'm no different."

---

"Oh, fuck - !"

Ethan shuddered through an orgasm, on his back and Karl rutting over and into him. His thighs and legs quaking, jerking - first through the weak spurting pleasure of his peak and then from the overwhelm, of having come and Karl not relenting. He whined and Karl laughed and kissed his slack mouth and screwed his thick wide cock into Ethan's ass, holding him still by the hips when Ethan jerked and tried to lift himself away.

"Where are you going, huh?"

"Nowhere, fuck, please come - "

"You want that? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, yes - !"

"Fuck - "

Karl gripped him, held him like a doll, slammed against him and stuttered and came. He stayed wet and slowly softening inside Ethan's body, rocking against him, holding him. Pressing bristly, wet kisses to Ethan's sweat-slick hair and forehead. Handsome, Ethan thought, and then, dangerous - Karl leering like a predator above him, face framed by the fall of his gray hair.

Gradually the rocking stilled. Karl unwound Ethan's arms from his neck. Then came dislodging his cock from the mess he had made of Ethan's body. Ethan hissed at the raw tender agony when the blunt head slipped out of him, catching briefly at the rim; followed then by the shameful trickle of lubricant and spend.

"No, not on the sheets," he groaned, agonized, thinking of laundry. But Karl only grinned and kissed him and rolled Ethan onto his stomach.

"It's fine. Be quiet, now. Let me enjoy this."

Ethan huffed against the pillows. Still he listened, laying quiet, while Karl held his still swollen cock in one fist and let the wet leaking head drag over Ethan's fuck-loosened hole.

"Beautiful," he said. "Looks like I fucked a cunt into you."

Ethan winced. Felt a flush of heat that spilled red over his cheeks and shoulders. The tips of his ears as well he'd guess by the sly way Karl laughed.

"You like that, Winters? Knew you could be a bitch, but - "

"Stop," Ethan said. Skin burning, throat burning, stomach dropping to his knees. All familiar consequences of the cruelties meted out to him when he and Karl played these kinds of games. This was and was not the same. Surely he didn't - it wasn't true. Karl was only winding him up. Still. Karl's words - and his insistence, his confidence, his knowing what Ethan liked - dredged some latent want out of him even now. He tried the taste of it. Karl had fucked his cunt. Well. His spent cock twitched.

"Fuck that. You know what you say if you want to stop."

Karl grabbed him, covering his cock and his balls with one huge hand, Ethan's cockhead nudging up against the rough calloused palm. First the grip was only firm and the anticipation sent Ethan's breathing heavy. That and the way he fit so neatly there, how Karl could enshroud him completely. Then, a squeeze, the pressure enough to seize him, the pain like the pressing of a bruise.

"Karl, please - "

"A pretty pussy is nothing to be ashamed of."

"No, no - "

"That why you ask if I wanted a baby, Ethan? You want to give me one?"

Christ. Red liquid heat pooled between his thighs.

"Karl - "

"Yeah. That's it, isn't it? Fuck. You'd look good pregnant."

Ethan jerked forward, rabbit-fucking the soft head of his dick into Karl's fist, whole body aching and alight. He could not come again, was not hard. Still dazing bolts of pleasure lit the whole inside of him, buzzing along his nerves, terrible and joyous. Karl tightened and then released his hold and Ethan shuddered, whining, loud enough that Karl shoved a hand over his mouth to quiet him and followed him as he collapsed on his back into the skin-warmed bedsheets and the wet mess that had leaked from his hole.

"Do you think she heard?" Ethan whispered.

"Shhh."

They laid together in the tense quiet, waiting. No sound came from the rest of the house. A sigh, then, shared between them. Blessed relief. Then:

"I don't want to sleep in the wet spot."

"Christ. Quit your bitching."

Karl moved him and kissed him again, rolling then to his feet. He padded nude from the room. Soon after came the sweet thick stink of tobacco smoke curling from the kitchen to the bed. Now the haze and euphoria of the pain had fully passed, Ethan dragged his fingers through the cooled filthy mess on his stomach. Inside, beyond the dull ache of having been fucked, he felt strange and hollow. He pressed his hand into his stomach. Dreamed he felt a heartbeat drum back against his fingers.

---

Put a baby in you. Knock you up. Breed your tight little cunt. When they had the time to fuck this was what came tumbling out of Karl's mouth more often than not, said with the indulgent tone of a parent. Ethan, reluctant to encourage this behavior, nonetheless came like a punch to the sternum every time he did it.

At least Karl seemed similarly affected. He had begun to spend long moments of their post-coital bliss prodding into the warm mess of Ethan's insides, shoving his spend back into Ethan's hole and plugging him with his thick fingers. Karl had claimed space for himself in Ethan's life and in his ass; now it seemed he was just as intent on claiming space in Ethan's belly. All of it was absurd - and yet. He found himself often drifting toward the dream of a child. Tugged along by the heady pull of shared fantasy.

"I think you could," Karl said one night, knuckle-deep in Ethan's ass, pinky and ring finger folded against his perineum while index and middle finger rutted without mercy towards the throbbing heat of his core. Mindless, writhing and leaking against the sheets, Ethan was unsure he'd heard him correctly or if he had spoken at all.

"Wh - what?"

"Think you could get knocked up."

Hunger welled behind his teeth.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He spasmed weakly around Karl's fingers. "It's just - Karl, it's a fantasy. That's all."

"I'm serious. Ethan, you aren't human. You aren't even like me. Similar but - not the same. We don't know what makes you tick."

"I can't - I can't think right now - "

Karl tucked his fingers deep and Ethan whined, toes curling. The throbbing in his overtaxed thighs and in his fucked-open rim near indistinguishable from one another, all of it a mass of heat and ache and pressure that made his cock drip.

"You willed yourself into growing a new heart, Ethan. You don't think you could handle a womb?"

Insane. Impossible.

(As impossible as a man capable of manipulating metal with his mind. As impossible as a corpse kept moving through the influence of mold.)

Ethan clenched hard around Karl's fingers, whimpering and shaking as he came.

"Do you want that?" Ethan asked in the aftermath.

Karl grunted.

"I said it, didn't I?"

If it never worked… But Karl wanted a child. Deserved a child. Everything had been stripped from him. The least Ethan could do was try to offer him hope.

"How would we know if it even worked?"

"Shit, Ethan. We just keep trying until it takes."

---

"Oh fuck. Fuck."

Ethan groaned, his face shoved hard into the floor, jarred by the sudden pain unlinked from arousal that lasted until Karl wrapped one huge hand around his pathetic leaking prick and squeezed. A sharp lance of electric pain jolted him, making him spasm. Making his dick pulse against Karl's palm.

"God, oh, fuck. It hurts."

"How bad? How bad does it hurt? You feel like you're dying?"

"No, no, no. Keep going."

Karl obliged him, digging two fingers past the grasping hot rim of his ass and fucking him, hooking inside, pulling him open and apart. The dull ache not as electrifying as the shame, the humiliation of it. Caught as he was by Karl, his strength, the thick heaving weight of him. Ethan could prevent nothing. He lay entirely at Karl's mercy, able only to roll into the drive of Karl's fingers, to thrust his own throbbing needful cock towards the floor in the absence of more substantial stimulation.

Karl lowered his chest down to rest against Ethan's back, making Ethan bear more of his weight. Ethan spread his legs, settled more firmly onto his knees and elbows. The extra weight was not comfortable but neither was it unbearable. He could breathe. Then the fingers inside of him hooked again and then twisted, tugging up towards Ethan's spine, dragging him up and open; he whined and his thighs and hips raised to try to follow, but Karl hunkered down atop him and he could not move, only take, his toes flexing against the floor.

"Oh fuck, fuck, no, no - "

"No? Doesn't feel like no to me, baby. You're so wet."

"Karl, please, please."

Chuckling, Karl reared back, slipping his fingers out of Ethan's sore hole. He guided Ethan to lay on his back, then grabbed him by the thighs and dragged him across the floor until he was laying nearly against Karl's lap.

"Alright?" Karl asked, one hand resting in the crease of Ethan's leg, his thumb not touching Ethan's throbbing cock.

Ethan took a breath. The muscles in his legs ached and his face felt bruised and he could feel the weak fluttering of his hole. He felt small, hurt, ugly. Prey mammal bunkered down in the dark. Revulsion flushed through him, suffusing him with shame, with heat, and Karl looked at him with such raw unhinged want that Ethan's eyes and his untouched cock both began to leak.

"Oh, darling." Karl touched Ethan's face. "Too much for you?"

Ethan shook his head.

"Good,” he said. “Good.” Smoothing his hands down Ethan’s cheeks. Cupping his chin. Ethan shuddered and a fresh wave of tears fell and caught on Karl’s fingers, sliding down and disappearing into the hair on his knuckles. “Christ. Love it when you cry. You look so pretty. Let's fuck that face for a while."

Karl got him to his knees again. The floor was hard beneath the bone and he could have asked for a pillow or one of the thin blankets from their bed but he didn't, neither did he want to speak nor did he want that comfort, however small. Ethan sat back on his haunches, waiting while Karl stood and peeled away his briefs.

Pretty, he’d said. Pretty. How could that be so? What could he look like, here on his knees at Karl’s feet? Only pathetic, lean, pale; the sparse hair on his belly and chest thin and blond, an unkempt wiry nest at his groin and an unimpressively average cock. Karl - Karl was so large. Yes, the huge purpled length of his cock, but the rest of him as well. Muscle packed beneath fat, a body that even before its corruption had seen labor, sweat, and few lean days. His soft belly and his chest covered in greying hair, his strong shoulders and arms, every inch of him thick. A body that could hold a man like Ethan down by the throat with the same grace and ease it took to rock his daughter back to sleep. (Privately, Karl was what he thought of when he thought even the word man. Deeper, darker still: the idle dream that if Mia had lived, Karl would have taken her from him; and what would he have been able to do but let him?)

“Open up,” Karl said, cock in his fist, stepping towards Ethan. Ethan obeyed and Karl pushed the wide silken head past Ethan’s lips and thrust to the back of his throat. The strike made him gag, made his eyes water. His hands flew to the tops of Karl’s thighs, but Karl said, “Keep them behind your back,” and he lowered them, and Karl said “Breathe, Ethan,” and he took a deep breath through his nose. After a few moments of stillness, Karl grasped him by the longer hair at the crown of his head and by the back of his skull. He pulled back, enough that his cockhead rested on Ethan’s tongue, then he thrust again, and again, until he found a rhythm of rutting that Ethan could take.

"Thinking happy thoughts, darling? Like how fucking good you'll feel once I've got my dick up you?"

Ethan gurgled, drool unspooling down his front. He had been. Karl felt so huge like this. He wanted that cock inside of him, breaking him apart. Another brutal thrust struck the back of his throat, then another angled towards his soft palette, and a bright terrible pain blotted out his thinking. He coughed and shuddered, and Karl held him down. His lips and his nose squashed flat against Karl’s belly, Karl’s dick fully in his throat. Ethan was aware only of the thunder of his blood in his ears and Karl’s soft, pleased murmuring and the exquisite pleasure of being choked.

After hours - only seconds, truly - Karl let go of him and he tore himself away, breathing in great gulps of air. A viscous churned froth of spit and precome fell in strings from his gaping mouth. He had the absurd thought to be grateful that Chris had purchased a house with no carpet.

“Fuck, you look good,” Karl said. Ethan coughed again, struggling to blink the tears from his eyes. Karl stood tall and staring down at him, his expression black with hunger.

“It’s time - ah, time to put a baby in me, right?” Ethan winced at his own awkwardness. But Karl only grinned and knelt to scoop Ethan up as though he weighed no more than Rose.

“Hands and knees again,” Karl said as he deposited Ethan onto the bed. Ethan rolled to his stomach, complying. Behind him, Karl shifted the sheets and the blankets, then stood, then returned, his weight depressing the bed. Ethan heard a snap. A drizzle of cold lubricant poured over his hole, Karl’s hand resting firm on one of his cheeks. For a moment his heart seized and he thought Karl meant slide in his fingers instead of his cock and he opened his mouth to beg - and Karl mounted him in one smooth motion, covering Ethan’s body with his own, hilting his cock into Ethan’s ass from tip to root.

“Oh, fuck - !”

“Yeah - !”

Too big. Too tight. Too much all at once. Karl’s hands held him by the hips, tight enough to bruise.

“You take dick so well,” Karl crooned near his ear. The tips of his long hair dragging across the back of Ethan’s neck. “Tight, though. Gonna have to fuck this cunt of yours open, baby.”

“I want - I want you to - ah, fuck - ”

Ethan clenched and rocked while Karl began to establish a rhythm, deep slow strokes that made Ethan feel as though he were being hollowed out. He dropped down to his elbows, pressing his filthy wet face into his pillow. This angle made the already deep strokes feel deeper, and it made him feel like a whore. Face down, ass up, desperate and greedy for it.

“Karl, please. Please fuck me.”

Karl snapped his hips forward. Drove his cock in. Fucked Ethan just as he’d asked. Ethan thrust his own hand between his thighs, grasping at his half-limp cock. He’d begun to soften from the intensity of the penetration, but once he had himself in hand he filled out again to full hardness. His palm was dry; still it was good, Karl fucking into him and sending Ethan’s dripping cockhead to crash into the loose grip of his hand.

Arms wrapped around Ethan’s waist, his chest. A hand groped at his flat chest, pinching one of his nipples hard between index finger and thumb. He wanted it to stop and he wanted to twist away and instead he pushed desperately against Karl’s hand, gasping when Karl pinched him again. The pain grounded him. Set the orgasm back. He’d thought for a moment that he could have come like that, with just Karl’s cock in his ass and his own hand to rut against. Karl rolled his palm across one side of Ethan’s chest and drove hard into him and said, with a strange tone of contemplation, “Think you could do that too?”

“What?” Ethan said. “Do, do what?”

“Grow a pair of tits?”

Ethan gasped. Karl still running his hands over Ethan’s chest, though now with a greater sense of purpose. Exaggerating the curve of his fingers as though he were cupping flesh that was not there - cupping Ethan’s breasts - Christ. Could he? They didn’t know for certain that this would work, though they had agreed to try. Could he, though? Could he? The fire in Ethan’s belly roared. What would it be like, to sit in Karl’s lap, that thick cock lodged up inside of him, swollen tits and belly held in Karl’s wide hands? Ethan felt himself unraveling. The desire so strong. Tears pricking and welling in his eyelashes and threatening to fall. He couldn’t say it. (How could he say it?)

“I don’t know, I don’t - ”

“Bet you could,” Karl said. His hips stuttered.

“Karl, please - ”

“A nice set of swollen tits to nurse our baby girl. Fuck. Ethan.”

Karl wound an arm around Ethan’s collarbone, pulling him upright, forcing his back to arch. His other hand still holding Ethan’s tit. This angle changed the feel of being fucked, made it sharper, made it hurt. Ethan grasped Karl by one of his thick, hair-covered thighs, digging his fingernails into the skin when Karl thrust a certain way and stars shot up the curve of Ethan’s spine.

“Ready, baby? Ready to be my sweet girl? Gonna take this knot right up your ass.”

Yes, Ethan thought, dizzy and cock-drunk. Yes, please, yes. Karl rarely knotted Ethan. There wasn't time, usually, nor reason, and though Karl was not shy about this inhuman part of himself truthfully Ethan feared it. The size when it swelled - when first they had coupled Karl had forced Ethan's hand to the base of his cock while the bulb had begun to fill. Fascinated, horrified, Ethan held it. His fingers could not quite touch when circled around the widest part. He’d taken it before, he’d loved taking it, but a whisper in his skull had said it will ruin you and he couldn’t help but listen.

Karl grunted, the fat leaking head of his prick striking Ethan perfectly inside, again, again. Surely he would shake apart if he weren't so thoroughly mounted. He thrust once, twice, then instead of pulling back to let only the head and a few inches wallow and drain into Ethan’s ass, he pressed them together, chest to back and hips to hips, forcing the whole length of dick up into Ethan’s guts.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Ethan whined, struggling to move and pinned by Karl’s strength. He could feel it. The knot. Engorged and blood-hot and throbbing. Slow like a tanker Karl pumped his spend thick and wet into Ethan's ass, Ethan sore and sick with it. The knot expanding, plugging him up. Nausea passing over him in waves, punctuated by Karl's languid humping, his dribbling cock stirring and soaking Ethan's tender insides. His hands running flat down Ethan's flanks as though he were an anxious horse.

“Feel that?”

Ethan groaned. Full to the point he feared come would pour from his mouth.

“Yeah, fuck. I. I feel it.”

“That’s our baby.”

Karl dragged his knees against the bed to get closer, get his feet under him and press more deeply into his haunches and force his cock and the knot further down into Ethan's aching guts. He reached beneath Ethan and found his cock and engulfed it in one hand, pulling him off easily. Ethan came with a whimper, a sad smear of come dribbling onto Karl’s hand. He felt overheated and overfucked. Brain turned to mush. This is what I am, he thought, too aware of Karl’s cock still hard, still pouring into him. A cunt. A womb. Life shall thrive inside of me and when the time comes I shall birth it.

Karl wiped his hand on the sheets beneath them. He took Ethan's hand and he placed both against Ethan's belly. To his horror, he was swollen. His belly distended. The skin bulged out, tight and hot.

“Feel her, Ethan?”

Yes. Yes. The cold morning when Mia, fresh from showering, first noticed her baby bump, she had woken him and forced his hand to fit over the small prominence, that clump of cells caught in their slow process of dividing. It had felt just like this.

“I feel her,” he said, breath hitching.

Karl shifted, sat back, brought Ethan with him into his lap. He eased them both down until they both laid on their sides, and he arranged their hips in a way that allowed Ethan to rest comfortably, the knot seated and not tugging against his sore rim.

“Can’t wait ‘til you start showing,” Karl said into Ethan's neck. His beard scraped, making Ethan’s stomach flutter. Hot humid breath bloomed against the fine hairs at his nape before Karl clamped down with his teeth and bit him.

“I’m not a chew toy,” Ethan said, instead of what if I never do?

“Look like one to me.”

“What kind of comeback is that?”

“The only one I can manage right now. Be thankful I can talk at all.”

It took nearly an hour for the knot to shrink enough that Karl could remove it. By then Ethan had begun to doze, eyes shut and his thoughts half in dream. The backs of his eyelids swimming with visions of a little girl, her head full of dark hair, who smelled like powder and like Karl.

“Ethan,” Karl said, rousing him. “You ready?”

Ethan nodded.

Karl eased his cock free from Ethan’s grasping body with a soft pop, and with it came a flood. Come gushed from Ethan’s sore, gaping rim. Karl cursed, tilted Ethan’s hips forward, eased him up onto a pillow. Still, the molten heat and then rapidly cooling crust of spend pooled into the crease where his ass met thigh, and around his balls, and dripped onto the sheets and down his spent cock. Another wave of sickness washed through him, cold and arresting, though this was accompanied not by another driving stab of Karl's dick or another fresh wave of Karl's spend but with a deep inner churning as though someone had reached into his guts and pulled. His hips ached with it. His legs. He was being emptied.

Karl bunched the top sheet up and began to mop at his ass, his thighs. It seemed to do little good. After a while he relented, balling the whole thing up and tossing it to the floor.

“Pretty sure this sheet set is fucked.”

“Oh no,” Ethan mumbled into the mattress.

---

Karl knotted him as often as they could manage. Slept with his ear pressed against Ethan’s belly. Ethan gained weight that seemed concentrated on his middle. He woke in the mornings plagued by nausea. His chest swelled and grew sensitive to touch.

“It might be nothing,” Ethan said. “I’m eating well. I’m getting older.”

Karl slotted himself behind Ethan, caught him up in his arms. Held him and pressed both his hands against the slight protrusion at his belly.

#prompt fill #wintersberg #ethan winters #karl heisenberg

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tobacconist · 11 months ago

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the hardest of men shave with a blowtorch. and they put garlic in their socks. i smoke my pipe upsidedown in the rain. behold, i see a woman riding a pig backwards. wait, its not a woman. its a man in a dress. look! she has an elaborate headdress on her head, it looks like a big castle made of smaller castles, with heather about it. and theres a little dog too, no, wait, i dont know if its a dog or a pig. it could be a small pig. its a small hairy animal, and it has wings. it could be a bearcub. hes swimming beside her and there is a mongoose with him, but the mongoose doesnt have wings. the 'woman' is called an angel, and she plays the saxophone. i see a hexagon, and the inverse of a seahorse, and a high heeled boot kicking a football. i learned long ago that there is a certain kind of rare jewel which glows in the darkness, which has medicinal virtues. and it is possible to dissolve it in wine, and it has the power to change the past and the future. but i cannot tell you its name. it is obtainable only in the far far east. so far east that youre almost west again, 'weast', as we call it. hark! hark! hear the dogs bark! news from the west! you must wear a vest! news from the north! let us go forth! news from the east! a fast and a feast! news from the south! shut your mouth! but i shall not. she is a mute, yet great is the multitude of her words, she is the barren one, and many are her sons. i am the mother of my father and the sister of my husband, she said, once. i dont think anyone knows what she meant by it. beware, there are serpents crawling at your feet, i wear a snake around my neck. was i not there when the earth began? when jesus rode on dinosaurs, and all the forests were full in plenty? and no one hurting eachother, and all was merry, and all the aminals living in peace, and adam and eve aswell, and the fountain, and the angels that walked then amongst us, and the glory of the garden. it was precious, and i remember it well. and i remember the tower of babel, and the green man who lived on the island, and the giants and dwarves; and the dragons which are now slain. and was i not there at the sacred touching-of-the-beards ceremony? i wove mine in with the rest, wizards we, and it was for the greater good. when mary and elizabeth met, their babies jumped for joy within their wombs. and know that the baby jesus never once cried, and that he was born with his eyes open, and that his smile is most precious. once, peter and jesus went out upon the fields, and they ploughed three furrows and brought up three worms. one was black, one was white, and one was red. in ancient days, the world was divided in three parts: the waters, the lands, and the skies. and they were three separate kingdoms, and only the swan could move freely between them. when we die, worms eat our bodies, then birds eat the worms, and we eat the birds. its a little bit disgusting, actually. twice, mary ran to the shore carrying three worms, one black, one white, one red. the first time they were living, the second time they were dead. and she cried for her son, like no woman has cried. we all heard it, in heaven and in earth. and didnt the earth tremble? and the sun and moon look away? worms wriggle and writhe. the black one was called ignorance, the white one was called shock, and the red one was called pain. when jesus was a little boy, he made some sparrows out of clay. thrice, the cockerel crowed for peter. the boat was lost at sea. three worms mary held in her hand, one black, one white, one red. and didnt the salty wind whip her about as she stood there on the beach? the flight to egypt was perilous, airtravel wasnt as good back then you see. they were stopped at customs many times and accused of stealing their gold and smuggling their incense.

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snarkymonkeyprime · 1 year ago

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What good is a self-made OTP if I can't make them grope each other in a closet?

Kai was sure he'd never get tired of the sight of Ethan frustrated, pale blue eyes hazy with lust. Didn't mean he necessarily wanted to be groped in a coat closet with half of Portland's upper echelon milling about only a few feet away.

Still. He rested his arms on Ethan's shoulders, hands loosely clasped. A boldness he didn't always feel crept over him and he cocked his head slightly, blood singing at the way Ethan's eyes never left his. "Problem, officer?"

Ethan scowled. "Do you have any idea what you look like?"

Kai fought a grin. Instead, he blinked innocently. "Why, whatever do you mean?" he teased.

Ethan's fingers dug into his waist drawing a hiss. He leaned in, resting his lips against Kai's jaw and growled, "They think you're Xerynn's."

Kai did laugh then. "Wh-what?" Still snickering, he watched Ethan draw back, a very obvious pout on his face.

I love you, you idiot, he thought with affection, his own heart stuttering at the realization. His humor softened and he cupped Ethan's cheek, dragging a thumb against his boyfriend's neatened beard. "Who does?"

Looking every inch a petulant giant, Ethan looked away. "I kept hearing them say how . . . how surprised they were by Xerynn's new arm candy." His throat worked as he frowned and looked steadily away from Kai. "Like, like they thought you weren't good enough."

Kai's heart overflowed in that moment. He brought his other hand up to Ethan's face and forced the man to look at him, smiling at familiar want and affection in those eyes. "Ethan, are you seriously angry that they didn't think I could get Xerynn?"

"Maybe," he mumbled.

You idiot, he chided, grinning. He leaned close and kissed the tip of the man's nose. "Frankly, they should be wondering if something's wrong with me mentally if they think I'm here with him because anyone he actually seems to want to pursue always has a few wires missing," he retorted. Granted, he only had Jac as an example but it was a hefty example.

Ethan's eyes flicked to Kai and away, but beneath Kai's fingers, the man's jaw no longer jumped.

"Ethan," he murmured. Eyes swung back and locked on Kai this time. His heart jittered at the heat there. "Ethan," he repeated. He kissed Ethan gently. "Were you jealous?" he teased.

He gasped when Ethan pinned him to the wall again, startled by the sudden movement. He didn't fight when Ethan took Kai's wrists and held them above his head.

Of course you only need one hand you goddamn behemoth, he mused as Ethan drew his empty hand down his neck. Thank fuck. His eyes fell shut and he lifted his chin, shivering at the blunt scrape of fingernails along his skin. By reflex, he widened his stance and whimpered when Ethan pressed close, letting Kai know just how affected he'd been.

"You're mine, remember?" Ethan growled, leaning in to fasten his mouth to Kai's neck. He dragged his teeth along Kai's skin, lips curling in response to Kai's startled yip. "Wish I could mark you. Wish I could show them you're mine."

Kai squirmed, growing hard and flush at the want in Ethan's voice. It was the same for him, though. Everywhere they went eyes followed Ethan. Lust trailed after the man like an unending river. And while Kai knew Ethan would always be faithful, it didn't prevent the tiny doubts that would worm into his head when they were separated for long periods.

"I am though," he whimpered.

"Are you?" Ethan's voice changed, darkening. He huffed a puff of air across Kai's dampening skin. "Are you mine?" He let go of Kai's wrists but when his arms began to drop he growled, "Keep them there."

Kai shut his eyes and nodded frantically. The whine that came out when Ethan reached for his waist might have embarrassed him once but now, he only fidgeted, his imagination filling in the next steps.

He shifted again as air passed along his now bare stomach, Ethan having yanked his dress shirt from out of his tux. He bit his lip at the moan that burst in his throat when Ethan slid one hand down the back of his boxers, squeezing roughly.

"This," Ethan hissed, fingers digging into Kai's ass, "is mine."

"Yours," Kai gasped, hips bucking against Ethan, his dick already throbbing and seeking. "Ethan, anyone ever tell you," he swallowed, opening his eyes to slits, a loopy grin slanting his mouth, "that you're kind of horny?"

His boyfriend surged forward, knocking him to the wall as he brought their mouths together, a spark of pain rapidly fading under the welcome onslaught.

#hhnf #Kai hunter walker #detective Ethan Oakes #hhnf gaiden

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majimemegoro · 2 years ago

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This account has given me brain worms over the implications of old gay mafia mountain men and their tragic love(???) story

November

When Sato woke up, at first he was surprised that he wasn’t in his cell. He had gotten used to that dim, miserable little room. But instead he was - what, in some kind of shack? There was worn wood overhead, and the smell of dirt and woodsmoke. He blinked blearily up at the low ceiling and shifted a little as he struggled to remember where he was, and how he had gotten here.

Then there was a shuffling sound to one side, and a face was looming over him. And Sato found himself staring into the eyes of his mark.

Okudera, 55 years old, 1.8 meters, 86 kilograms. He was bearded, and his hair had grown longer, but it was unmistakeably the man from the photograph Sato had been given, smuggled into jail rolled up in a toilet paper tube.

Urgently Sato tried to sit up, succeeding only in raising himself onto his elbows and sending a wave of excruciating pain through his body. A flash of white overtook his eyes, and then faded away. He swallowed with difficulty.

“Oh no,” the man said, backing away a little, “Don’t move! You have a nasty frostbite, you’ll damage your tissues.”

Frostbite. Yes. Sato had been thrown from the snowmobile, and wandered for awhile, and been sure he was going to freeze to death.

But he was alive. And his mark, the man who had apparently been impossible to find for two years already, also seemed to be alive. If only he could confirm the identity for sure-

“I’m Okudera, by the way,” the man said.

Sato let out a shaky breath and lowered himself back down onto the bedroll.

“What’s your name?” Okudera asked.

Sato said nothing.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go into town and check the news to see which inmate recently escaped from Abashiri.”

Reflexively Sato tried to sit up again, and pain shot through his body anew. He considered lying, but - the location, the prison uniform - it was obvious. There was no point. “Turn me in, then,” he rasped. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to kill Okudera quickly in this state. This whole hit was turning into a mess. Instead of tracking Okudera, offing him in one good, clean swoop that would look like an accident, and then disappearing again, Sato was injured and at the mercy of the man he was supposed to kill.

But Okudera shook his head, and crouched over the fire, poking at it with a stick. “I don’t want to turn you in,” he said. “I just want to know your name.”

Again Sato considered lying, but as Okudera had just pointed out, it was an easy thing to fact-check. Sato’s mugshot was probably papered all over Sapporo by now. “Sato. Sato Kiyoshi.”

“Nice to meet you, Sato,” Okudera said. “Are you hungry?”

Sato was, in fact, hungry. Hungrier than he could remember being. He turned his head to look around the little hovel and saw there was a fireplace with a pot over it. “...Yes,” he admitted.

“Great,” Okudera said. “You still shouldn’t move much, but if you can prop yourself up a little, I can tenderly feed stew into your mouth.” He threw a grimy pillow at Sato’s face. Sato gingerly maneuvered it behind his neck.

Okudera finished preparing two bowls of stew and scooted over beside Sato, placing a bowl down.

There was a moment’s pause.

“Oh, I was kidding about feeding you,” Okudera said lightly. “Moving your arms a little isn’t going to kill you. Probably.”

Scowling, Sato managed with difficulty to get into a hunched sitting position.

The stew was hot, the meat tender. It was seasoned plainly, with just salt and onions. Sato tried to eat slowly, moving his arms as little as possible. It was difficult not to just wolf it down; it had probably been over 24 hours since he had eaten, and he had been through a lot. Ordinarily when he was ill he had little appetite, but maybe a brush with hypothermia had a different effect on him. “...How long was I out?” he asked between bites.

Okudera swallowed what must have been a giant mouthful, from the effort it seemed to take, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “A whole day,” he said. “I carried you back late last night, and now it’s late again. I don’t know what time. It’s been dark for hours already.” He began shovelling food into his mouth once more.

Sato nodded, and resumed feeding himself. The meat was a bit gamey. It conjured up very old memories. “...Is this rabbit?” he asked.

Mouth full, Okudera nodded. His eyes widened a little, as though he were impressed that Sato could recognize the meat by its flavour and texture. But he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he swallowed another massive bite. “By the way,” he said, “I don’t suppose you have any contraband on you?”

Sato narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“You know. Isn’t jail a hotspot for contraband? Do you have any cigarettes or drugs?”

“Uh, no.”

“Aw. Shit,” Okudera said good-naturedly. “Oh well. Can’t have everything in this world.” And he turned his attention back to the food.

Can’t have everything, huh, Sato reflected sarcastically, observing the surroundings. It seemed more like Okudera had almost nothing. The building they were in was more akin in size to a hunting hut than a proper house, and one in a poor state of upkeep at that. But the impressive array of items hung on the rough walls and piled at the edges of the floor - more than any man could carry with him - left no doubt that this was Okudera’s permanent dwelling.

Wary of seeming too observant, Sato looked back down to his rabbit stew and kept eating.

“You’re lucky I found you out there,” Okudera said conversationally. “If I’d been half an hour later you probably wouldn’t have made it.”

Sato didn’t reply. He was thinking about the little hearth, about having a fire in such a small, derelict structure; thinking about whether it would be possible, in theory, to suffocate Okudera and somehow blame the death on the fire. Burn the place to the ground, with Okudera inside. Preferably already dead, since Okudera looked strong and the walls didn’t. Destroy the evidence that way. It was possible. But Sato didn’t yet know if anyone else knew he was here.

He cleared his throat. “Do you live alone?” he asked. His voice still hoarse, more than usual. He had almost frozen to death. It was to be expected.

“Nope,” Okudera said. “This guy is staying with me. I rescued him from the mountain. He’s an escaped convict from Abashiri.”

Sato’s eyes narrowed. “...Are you talking about me?”

“No, I’m taking about the other escaped convict I rescued,” Okudera said sarcastically. Then, “Yes, idiot, I’m talking about you.”

So Okudera did live alone. And with any luck, he wasn’t close with any neighbours he had, as might be predicted from the fact that no one had been able to track him down until now. Getting close to anyone was dangerous for a wanted man. Sato nodded slowly. “I hate to impose on you,” he said. He would have to exaggerate the effects of the hypothermia and frostbite, maybe even fake an illness until he had a foolproof plan, so Okudera would think he was weak. “As soon as I recover I’ll depart-“

“Ah, I don’t really care,” Okudera said. “You can stay as long as you want. But,” he added sharply, “I’m trying to make money, here, so you’ll have to learn to hunt if you want to stick around. I’m not wasting good game on you if I can help it.”

“I don’t eat much,” Sato said.

Okudera scoffed. “Be grateful I fed you anything,” he said. “I don’t owe you shit.”

“Why did you save me?” Sato asked. “You seem like a pretty selfish guy.”

The comment had been calibrated to make Okudera angry, but instead Okudera just made a stern, motherly look. “My dear man,” he said. “Can’t a selfish guy do something out of character, if he wants to?”

What an odd, dangerous thought. Sato flexed his aching fingers, judging how long it would be before they regained enough strength to pull a trigger, to grasp a knife, to wring a man’s neck. Not long. Not long. But Sato was a professional, and he didn’t want to leave any loose ends. So he needed to learn more about his target. For now, he would bide his time. Learn how to hunt, if he had to.

And he said, “I guess.”

Soon after they finished eating Sato passed out again.

When he woke up, it seemed to be midday and Okudera was nowhere to be seen. The sun was actually filtering down through narrow cracks in the shack’s roof, and Sato briefly considered that he was lucky that the whole heap hadn’t collapsed on him while he was sleeping. If anything, Okudera should feel lucky to be put out of his misery.

Ignoring the aches in his body, Sato managed to get up. Without wasting time he performed a silent and rapid search of the space, keeping his ears open all the time for the sound of its owner returning. First Sato lifted a tarp and reached into the box underneath it, pulling out: an empty paint can with an old issue of a wildlife magazine rolled up in it, along with two magazines featuring photos of large-breasted women. There was also a water-damaged 1970s pocket book of mahjong strategies, an empty bottle of Quaristice Premier Grand Cru, and a pile of rubber bands. Sato put it all back and opened the little wooden crate beside the box, revealing some gun oil, a pair of heavy duty snow gloves, a pile of rags, and several tins of sardines. On a low shelf at the shack’s back wall, there were (Sato noted particularly) three empty liquor bottles as well as a gin with probably two shots’ worth of liquid left in the bottom. Shoved among the bottles was a small tin box full of old metal pieces: screws and nails and wingnuts, bits of old twisted wire, and so on. There was also a wrench, two ceramic bowls, a pile of cold weather rations, and a single raw potato. A broken pair of snowshoes hung on the wall beside an old silk tie and a skin bag full of rice. Overall there seemed to be little rhyme or reason to how Okudera’s possessions were put away.

Nevertheless, within five minutes Sato had located Okudera’s spare ammo and some knives and an axe. There was no sign of a rifle or a proper hunting knife. Either Okudera didn’t have one (unlikely), or he was out hunting now. Sato considered taking one of the cooking knives and hiding it under a floorboard or something as insurance, but it was too early to gamble on Okudera’s being absent-minded and not noticing the knife had been moved. He had eluded the yakuza for this long, after all.

Plus - Sato only now noticed - the floorboards, such as they were, were directly on the frozen earth, rather than raised above it as they ought to be in a proper winterized house. No wonder the decrepit shack got so cold.

Sato made sure everything was exactly as he’d found it, down to the folds in the plastic tarp covering the pile of stuff. He crept to the door and slid it open just enough to look out. He was still dressed in his prison uniform, so he couldn’t risk being spotted by anyone less strange than Okudera and hence less likely to be comfortable simply leaving an Abashiri runaway on the loose. Yet neither could Sato miss a chance to gather intel on his current location. So:

It was snowy out, and the sun was shining bright. About ten meters from the door, a narrow river gurgled by, bridged by a simple wooden plank. Beyond it, what was presumably a dirt road - still shrouded by last night’s snowfall, but not exactly buried - slanted away uphill. Several small houses with their roofs capped in fluffy white were visible. To the left stood a tall cliff, sporting a larger structure of its own. Some of the village architecture was built partially in a very familiar traditional folk style.

Sato’s heart juddered with something like surprise. Was this a matagi village? It made sense suddenly how Okudera, who was by all accounts an impulsive idiot, had managed to avoid the least surveillance for so long. Where better to hide out from the yakuza than in a place where the residents didn’t have cellphones, let alone security cameras on every corner? Sato had to admit that this mission would have foiled even his skills at tracking down difficult targets. Except that fortune had thrown him right into his mark’s path. Fine. Luck was a useful asset to a hitman, too. Sato wasn’t going to complain.

The door to the next-nearest house opened, and Sato quickly slid Okudera’s door closed, leaving only a crack narrow enough for a single eye to look out. A man in an orange coat left the nearby house and headed away from Sato, up the road, a cage trap held under his arm. He whistled, and an akita bounded up to him, racing joyfully in the snow, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. The dog quickly overtook the man and disappeared over the crest of the hill, soon followed by its master.

For a few minutes longer Sato peered out at the village, mentally transferring what he could see to a proper bird’s eye view layout and committing it to memory. Sato wondered what direction he was facing. He wasn’t used to working in the wilderness, without resources. He had no idea how to tell where North was based on the sun and the shadows. In any case, it was too bad that Okudera’s house was below the larger cliff instead of on it. Sato always preferred high places.

He was getting very cold in his thin prison uniform. He got back on the bedroll and wrapped himself up in the dirty quilt he’d spent the night (and most of the morning) enveloped in. He would have stoked the fire, but he hadn’t found any firewood or kindling during his sweep of the house, and it would be best if he weren’t caught snooping too much. In his current state - he clenched a fist weakly - his priority had to be avoiding suspicion. Let the fire die down, then, let him get cold; let him seem helpless.

In the event Okudera came back not long afterward, probably only 20 minutes or so. He hung his rifle on the wall, apparently on two hooks Sato had missed in the relative dimness. He had a nagasa, a contemporary one with a black metal hilt, attached to his belt. The blade was quite long. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Okudera said. “Still bundled up, I see?”

Somehow Sato resisted the urge to bristle. “It’s cold,” he said mildly.

“Well, yes. The fire is out, you silly man!”

“I looked for firewood but I couldn’t find any,” Sato replied.

Okudera shrugged. “Yeah. We ran out.”

“You ran out of firewood?” Sato asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.” It didn’t seem to trouble Okudera. Like he had no idea that running out of kindling could mean death. He sat down on a dirty red cushion, took a pack of cold weather rations off a low shelf, ripped open the pack, and dug in.

“…Okay,” Sato said. “So I couldn’t have stoked the fire. Unless you want me to go out after firewood and get spotted by the villagers…”

“What! Don’t do that!” Okudera said, suddenly dismayed. “For fuck’s sake, Sato,” he complained, “After all the effort I took getting you here? No, don’t do that. There’s no point.”

“…Okay,” Sato said again, mentally filing away the outburst. He’d rarely seen a person with such a mobile face.

“Anyway,” Okudera said, brow unfurrowed and distress gone as quickly as it had come, “Don’t worry about the firewood, I’ll just buy some off one of the other villagers later today. And then chop some more tomorrow or something. No big.” He continued eating the rations.

“…Okay,” Sato said yet again.

“Anyway, Sato, how are we feeling?” Okudera asked. “The frostbite and all?”

“Not great.”

In sympathy Okudera pulled a face. “Yeah. It’ll take you a few days to fully recover, I bet. You look so sickly… do you have a fever?”

“No!” Sato said. He better not have. But knowing his luck, and it had been nearly six months since he was ill-

“There’s no shame in it,” Okudera said, regarding Sato curiously. “I just want to know the truth. So I can know what to do.”

Yet the truth was the one thing Okudera, at all costs, must not have. Sato pulled the blanket tighter about him. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Okay.” Okudera set aside his rations for a second and reached behind him, grabbing the nearly-empty bottle of gin. He looked at it, and then screwed it open and took a drink. “You can’t have alcohol because you might be sick,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Do you want some food, though?”

The hunger that had afflicted Sato after his trials on the mountain had abandoned him, and once more he had no appetite. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

Okudera’s face made some strange little barely perceptible frown, like he wanted to say something, but he shrugged and tipped back the bottle instead.

The first time Okudera shed his long-sleeve shirt in front of Sato - which was only days into their acquaintance, since they were after all together in a one-room snack - Sato was distracted for a moment by interest in the newly revealed irezumi before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to know Okudera was yakuza.

“I didn’t know you were yakuza,” Sato said.

“Oh,” Okudera said. “Yup. Well, not really, actually. So don’t worry. I definitely got expelled. I’m ex-yakuza.”

The tattoo covered his back, chest, and and shoulders, and extended down to just below his elbows. Like Sato’s orders had specified, the mark’s tattoo was of a bear and peonies on a stormy background, but the visual effect was far more striking than a mere description of the subject matter could convey. More importantly, Okudera had a big, powerful body. There was no way Sato could overpower the man if it came to an open tussle, even once Sato regained his full strength.

Okudera pulled on a new shirt, and the tattoo disappeared.

“What did you do?” Sato asked. “To get expelled?”

“I told my patriarch that I’d destroyed some files that were super important for a big project he was working on. Oh, and I called him a bitch-ass loser to his face.”

Sato blinked. Well. That would do the trick. “I - are you serious?” he asked when speech became possible again.

“Yes.”

“...How did you get out of that room in one piece?”

Okudera waved a hand vaguely. “I just booked it out of there before anyone could react. I literally just booked it until I was far enough away that there was time to hail a cab without being seen. I grabbed some cash I had stashed away with a buddy. Well, sort of a buddy. Anyway, I switched cabs a few times, got a ferry, switched cabs a few more times, then I finally hiked up here. And I’ve been here ever since.”

No wonder there was a hit out on Okudera. Privately, though, Sato noted the possibility - perhaps a likely one - that a man who was so very open about sensitive topics would be a liar, or at least might conceal certain crucial details. It was worth keeping in mind. The story was a pretty outlandish one.

“Do you regret it?” Sato asked for no reason at all.

Okudera settled down comfortably across from him. “What, pissing off my patriarch? Nope,” Okudera said. “It was probably the best day of my life, actually. And besides-“ he added, and he looked up and locked eyes with Sato and gave him a beautiful smile, “I wouldn’t have been around to save you if I hadn’t done all that. You would have died.”

Eyes fluttering, Sato looked away. It wasn’t quite true. He would still have been safely in jail if Okudera hadn’t been marked for death.

But that was not something it was useful for Okudera to know.

“Thank you for saving me,” Sato said instead.

In response Okudera just made a satisfied hum and poked at the fire. “You just focus on recovering, fast. I can’t spend all day babying you, hm?” With the words he gave a stern little scowl that might have been joking.

Afterward Okudera combed his hair. He combed his hair a lot. Every day, or almost every day, he would take it out of its ponytail and part it in the middle and comb it more than was necessary for detangling. A hundred strokes on each side and fifty on the back.

“Maintaining long hair when you can’t wash regularly is a lot of work,” he said. “You can’t just let it grow and leave it. It gets gross.”

Sato said nothing. Okudera’s hair reached a ways past his shoulders, and it was almost entirely black, unlike Sato’s, despite the fact that if the intel package had been correct, they were almost exactly the same age. There were a few streaks of grey at Okudera’s temples, but other than that - black.

“You could just cut it,” Sato said. For his part, he hadn’t minded how they shaved his hair in prison. The short fuzz wouldn’t get in his way for awhile yet. Okudera would be long dead by the time Sato’s hair grew enough to get in his eyes.

“Too much work,” Okudera said. “Do I look like a barber to you?”

“More work than combing it every day?”

“Yes. Have you ever tried to cut your hair with a knife?”

Sato hadn’t. He shook his head.

Okudera finished combing his hair, and then he braided it, making one neat plait down the back. He could braid it without looking.

Sato leaned back and closed his eyes.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Okudera asked.

Sato thought about it. He didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Tired, I guess.”

Okudera let out an audible sigh. “You can’t mooch off me forever,” he said. “Think you’ll be up to helping me hunt, soon?”

“…Sure. But you’ll have to teach me.”

A grin, like the opportunity to drag Sato along and explain guns and traps was a gift. Like the man who was going to kill him was a beloved fried. It was almost sad, Sato thought in annoyance. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had such a feckless victim before.

December

Okudera came back one day with provisions from the trader, and along with his basket of alcohol and carrots he had an extra bundle of denim.

“I bought you pants,” Okudera said, tossing them at him.

Sato unfolded them. It was a pair of blue jeans, faded and worn but still tough. But- “Why would you buy jeans?” Sato asked in exasperation.

“Huh? What do you have against jeans?” Okudera said mildly. “They’re cool and durable, and they don’t cost much.”

“They’re not exactly warm for the winter weather-“

“Oh, stop complaining,” Okudera said, unscrewing a cheap off-brand vodka - ‘Junction City’ - and sniffing it. “I didn’t pick them out anyway, I just told the trader to get something cheap in your size. I had to pay him extra for his trouble, too. So pipe down with your whining, because you’re stuck now. I’m not buying you any more replacements. Now go ahead and try them on.”

Sato tried them on.

“They’re a bit tight,” he complained. Not terribly tight, but tighter than he usually wore. Not that he usually wore jeans, even before jail.

“Oh, yeah?” Okudera said. He settled down on a cushion, with his arms draped comfortably along the beam at his back and the full bottle dangling from his hand. “Turn around, let’s see.”

Sato turned 360 degrees.

“They look fine to me,” Okudera said, and took a sip of vodka right out of the bottle.

Experimentally Sato kicked his legs. The pants didn’t really hinder his flexibility, but all the same - “They’re a bit tight!”

“Wear them or don’t, see if I care,” Okudera drawled, gesturing with the bottle held languidly between his fingers. “Not my problem if you want to go around the village wearing prison slacks. Or, hell, no pants! What do they say, ‘this look is kind of a puss-“

“I’ll wear the goddamn pants,” Sato growled.

So that’s how he ended up outfitted in tight bluejeans, a borrowed parka and fleece several sizes too large, and trekking up into the mountain in the wintry late afternoon sun, gusts of wind stinging on his face. The snow was crunchy and it sparkled in the light, like a crystal chandelier had fallen from on high and been shattered into a million pieces spread across the view.

“We’re just going to go into the bottom of the trailhead, and I’ll show you how to set traps,” Okudera said. “Because I’m tired today. You carry this.” He tossed a cage trap into Sato’s arms.

Sato felt rather bemused and stupid, hiking through the snow in his borrowed paraphernalia, following in the wake of the man he was supposed to kill, but it was undeniable that the inhospitable mountain would be a perfect place to stage a hit, and having knowledge of Okudera’s patterns was crucial to ensuring that things would go off without a hitch. So he carried the trap and tuned into Okudera’s words.

“-and the most important thing is to anticipate where the animals will be, based on the weather conditions and so on,” he was saying. “So it’s a bit windy today, and we’re probably mostly looking for hares. Where do you think we’ll find them?”

Sato racked his brains, trying to call up childlike memories of following the hunt. Nothing useful turned up. Better use bare logic, then. “...Somewhere sheltered? Away from the wind?”

“Nope. Not quite.” Okudera kept walking. He had several snares, and he spun one idly as he trudged on. “You’ll see.”

With Okudera at his side (or rather, before him, ploughing a way through the snow and making a wake in which it was easier to walk) Sato found the mountain nowhere near as intimidating as he had when he’d been wandering alone at night after his snowmobile crashed. It helped that there was light, too; even off the main trail, the bare deciduous branches let in so much of the sun that even the firs glowed with it, their feathery needles encrusted with sparkling ice.

Unexpectedly Okudera stopped. Sato walked into his back.

“Whoa, there,” Okudera said. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“What did you stop for?” Sato snapped.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty, isn’t it? So sparkly. It makes me… I don’t know. Moments like this I sort of get it… how people could worship the mountain.” He put his hands on his hips and kept looking. “But who wants to carry stonefish around with them? Gross, right?”

Sato stiffened. Okudera was referencing the matagi tradition; bring an ugly stonefish with you on the mountain, so the mountain goddess, seeing something even uglier than her, would be appeased.

It made Sato inexplicably anxious. “Are - are you Matagi?” Sato asked. “Or are you just making a stupid joke?”

Okudera gave him a curious look. “My old man would say that a person who deserted the village isn’t Matagi,” he said. “But why do you care?”

Sato shrugged. “What would your old man say about someone who was taken away from the village?”

Okudera turned around to fully face him. “Hold up,” he said. “No shit? Your family is Matagi too?”

Sato made a vague gesture that he hoped was appropriately matched to the complexity of the situation.

“Holy shit!” Okudera said excitedly. “We have so much in common! This is really the coincidence of a lifetime. Fuck! So I don’t need to teach you about hunting, then-“

Sato shook his head violently. “Just tell me anyway. It’s been a long time. I never - I don’t know anything.”

“Nothing at all, huh? Well, then, I’ll have lots to teach you. Oh - and what do you mean, ‘taken’ away from the village?”

Halfheartedly Sato shrugged, regretting bringing it up at all. “My father got a good job in the big city,” he said grudgingly. “I moved away with them. With my parents.”

“Ha,” Okudera said. “Funny how that works. Wish my old man would’ve got a real job in the city. But he was perfectly happy staring at snow all winter or whatever it is we do. ‘We’ - I mean hunters. Murdering animals or whatever the fuck.” Abruptly Okudera turned on his heel and began walking into the mountain, his footsteps heavier and more rapid than before, making the snow crackle and crunch in greater protestation.

For around ten minutes they hiked in silence; Okudera didn’t start up the conversation again, and Sato certainly wasn’t going to. Perhaps he should have done so, in the hopes of trying to gather more information about his target. But he was tired. And he didn’t want to accidentally invite more questions about his own past. He’d just revealed more about it than he’d told anyone else in about thirty years. Okudera was clearly one of those dangerous people who had a way of making others open up.

Hiking in mulish silence, Sato was getting out of breath, and his toes were getting cold. It wasn’t easy to slough through the snow, the crispy layer on top and the thick, icy powder beneath. Sato was by no means an expert, but he was pretty sure that with snow like this, his grandfather would have gone out in snowshoes or skis, not regular footwear. Exerting pointless effort like this on the mountain was either idiotic or suicidal, depending on one’s luck.

Well, maybe Okudera would exhaust himself and drop dead, Sato thought balefully, still carrying the cage trap.

By now Okduera had pulled far ahead, his rambling barely audible on the breeze, and at last he turned around, and noticed how far behind Sato was. More sprightly than was reasonable for a man of his size, he bounded back to Sato’s side. He wiped his nose.

“You’re looking a bit pale or weird or something,” Okudera said. “Should we take a break?”

“No!” Sato said. He was perfectly capable of doing a little uphill hike. Through snow up to his knees. In freezing temperatures. Shortly after recovering from a nearly fatal case of hypothermia.

“Bah, that settles it,” said Okudera. “We’d better not go much farther up, you seem like you’re about to keep over in the wind. My dear man. Come on.” He reached for Sato’s elbow, and Sato yanked it away instinctually, glaring.

“Heh!” Okudera said, apparently not bothered in the slightest. “You’re like a cat. You know how you try to pet them, and they just shrink-“

A gust of wind blew through the corridor, making the trees away. Okudera instantly looked up to track the movement. “Heyoo! The wind’s picking up, Sato!”

“So what?”

“Might want to move from there, in case the - whoops! Too late.”

The tree above dumped a pile of icy snow directly on Sato.

Spluttering, he ripped off his hat and shook it out, while trying to brush the copious amounts of snow off his shoulders. Okudera, apparently confident that Sato hadn’t been hurt, was laughing uproariously.

“Stop laughing,” Sato said through tight lips. “I’m - fuck!” A wad of snow had slid down the back of his collar and into his clothes, and all at once it made an icy trail down his spine. He jumped around, trying to get it out, and only with difficulty managed to extricate a small handful of slush. The rest remained in his shirt, a frigid wetness that would doubtless persevere the rest of the day, knowing Sato’s luck. Disgusted, he flapped his hand, trying to rid it of the last flecks of slush.

“Hard knock life,” Okudera remarked, hands on hips.

“You knew that was going to happen!” Sato accused.

“Well, maybe,” Okudera said seriously. “That was your first lesson.”

“Huh?”

“We’re looking for hares, yes? Follow me.” He set off at an excited pace, and Sato sullenly followed the little path ploughed by his sparkling footprints. After a few minutes they reached a large clearing, bordered on one side by a sheer gray cliff.

“Here we are,” Okudera said, a bit out of breath. His cheeks were bright red, like apples. “Why here?”

There was a spot at the top of the cliff that looked liked it would make a good sniper nest. “…I don’t know.”

“Come on, Sato. What’s distinct about this spot?”

“It’s a clearing,” Sato said dully.

“Good! Good!” It was like the obvious statement was something genius. “And what’s distinct about a clearing, Sato?”

“…No trees.”

“Yes! Yes! Keep going!”

Sato racked his brains and came up with nothing. “You’re saying that the rabbits are going to be here, where there aren’t any trees?”

“Yes! Yes! And why are they away from the trees, Sato?”

“...Because it’s windy,” Sato said at last, the pieces falling into place. “When it’s windy, the snow canopying the trees falls down. The rabbits stay away to avoid getting buried.”

Okudera smiled and nodded in approval. “On days like today,” he said, crouching to tie a snare, “Rabbits will be found in clearings.”

#okudera #sato kiyoshi #frozen roar spoilers #yakuza #banji's scroll #matagi #memecomradeoriginal #the pants scene is so funny to me idk !!!!

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