#i would suck the sewage off her fingers

[macaronitrash]

finally watching love lies bleeding and im transcending. this is what the lesbian gaze looks like. i wanna crawl into kristen stewart’s eye bags.

[sunsetcurve]

t... tiara thief + “have you been waiting up this whole time?”

fandom: knight squad relationships: arc/ciara, pre-relationship word count: 1,482 a/n: okay, first of all, i want to thank you for this prompt because it single-handedly pulled me out of the writer’s block i’ve been suffering for months. i haven’t completed something in a hot minute, so despite the fact that i wrote this all in one go while i was supposed to be studying for my calc test tomorrow and reading it over once was the extent of my editing so it’s probably Not Very Good, writing it made me incredibly happy. it’s so fluffy and i love writing their dynamic and just,, it’s such a great prompt for them and i hope you guys like it! dedications: tagging my dearest fellow tiara thief stans:  @ciara-knightly@perhapspearl @mistyskiesrambles @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @knghtsquad @soni-dragon @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @bitchmilsky summary: In the morning, she’ll chalk it up to the fact that she’s not thinking straight. She’s too tired to think about the implications of it, too out of it to actually use her better judgement. And too lonely. She’s been Princess Angelica for days—she wants to be Ciara for a night. She misses Arc, misses having his steady presence by her side, familiar and constant and unconditional. She just wants him to stay.

It’s late by the time Ciara makes it back. The castle is still and dark and dead-quiet as she approaches her bedroom, heels dangling from one hand and the skirts of her dress pulled up in the other, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. 

It’s not the muscle-aching, satisfying sort of tired that always comes after a long day of training or a successful mission, though—it’s the kind of weariness that’s accompanied by flashes of irritation and leaves her feeling more than a little drained. Not for the first time, the itch of resentment towards her Princess duties crawls under her skin. She should’ve spent the last few days on a daring quest with her squad, not faking smiles through ball after ball. But it’s the height of trade season; they have appearances to keep and responsibilities to fulfill. There’s a whole mess of politics involved that she’s slowly familiarizing herself with, getting comfortable with her position. And yet she misses the tension of her bow, the adrenaline rush of a fight, the thrill of a good adventure—and she misses her team.

They should be back by now. She was supposed to meet them in the training yard tonight, but the party ran long and she couldn’t pull herself away, so she’d had to cancel at the last minute. They’re meeting at the Tasty Trunk first thing in the morning to catch up over breakfast, but still, she’s half-tempted to take her passageway into the squad room and see them right now. 

But it’s late, and they’ve just gotten back—they’ll all be asleep. 

Ciara huffs a minute sigh and pushes open her door. She should get some rest, anyway, so she’ll be ready for training in the morning with a slew of excuses about her miraculous recovery from an illness that didn’t really exist. When she sees her bed, another wave of tiredness hits her full-force; she’s almost ready to throw herself under the covers without even changing out of her gown.

Except she can’t. Because there’s a figure slumped in the armchair by the balcony.

Her hand goes instinctively to her side, before realizing that she’s not in her gear and therefore doesn’t have a weapon. Mind whirring, she weighs the risk of transforming in front of this person—but after a moment, she realizes that they haven’t moved. She shuffles her feet to get a better angle, and moonlight spills over a head of blonde hair, rumpled clothes, and a dark green shoulder pad.

“Arc?” Ciara hisses.

“Wh—” He jerks awake, falling right out of the chair. His sword is still sheathed, but it hits the floor with a clang, and the sound rings through the room and makes her wince. His head jolts around before his wide eyes land on her. “Ciara! Hey, hi! Fancy seeing you h—here,” he finishes around a yawn, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re in my room,” she says pointedly. There’s a part of her that thinks she should be annoyed, that she’s tired, and he scared her, and the noise probably woke half the castle, but in truth she’s just happy that he’s here. She would never say it out loud, but seeing him makes something in her chest swell.

“Hmmf...touche.” He smacks his lips, clearly still half-asleep even after being startled, and Ciara registers that he’s streaked with dirt and dressed in his gear.

“When did you get back?” she asks as he pulls himself into a sitting position and redoes the top few buttons of his shirt.

“A few hours ago.”

“Have you been waiting up this whole time?”

Arc rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and the gesture is so painfully endearing that Ciara feels herself melt a little, a rush of fondness surging through her. “We were s’pposed to meet up in the training yard,” he says, and yawns again. 

“I sent you a mirror message that I couldn’t make it.”

“Well, yeah, but I had to come chew you out in person for bailing on us.” He pouts, nothing serious behind his words, and Ciara finds herself lifting a hand to hide her giggle.

“Oh, yeah? Chew away.”

He fixates her with his drowsy eyes and says, with the utmost sincerity, “You suck. And—and I hope you find dragon dung in your pillow.”

She laughs openly now, the happiness and easy comfort of seeing him pushing away every negative emotion from the night. “Just say you missed me,” she grins teasingly.

“I did not.”

“Mhm.”

“I hope—I hope Sage covers you in unicorn poop again. I hope someone steals all of your tiaras, even the sparkliest one. I hope your snack catapult breaks.”

She gasps. “Take that back!”

“No. You deserve it.” He gives a little self-satisfied smirk, his eyes fluttering shut. It’s obvious that he’s just about ready to pass out again, and as Ciara tries and fails to stifle a yawn she remembers that she’s not that far off either. She moves to nudge him with her foot.

“C’mon, get up.” 

He groans and swats blindly at her. “I can’t. I’ve lost that ability. Also, my back hurts. Your chair is not as comfortable as it looks—false advertising.”

“I didn’t ask you to sleep there,” she snorts, kicking him again. 

Arc blinks his eyes open at last and lifts a hand into the air, looking up at her expectantly. She rolls her eyes and takes it, hauling him off the floor. “Idiot,” she grumbles, though she can’t keep the affection out of it. 

“Your idiot,” he responds without missing a beat. Distantly, she thinks that she’s going to wonder over that line again and again when she’s not so sleep-deprived. In the moment, though, it just feels right.

“M’kay, I am going to bed,” Arc announces blearily, and starts making his way to her passageway. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You don’t have to go,” she says, and then bites her lip. Maybe if she had an ounce of impulse control left over, she would’ve stopped herself, but she doesn’t. 

He stops in his tracks and turns to her. “No offense, but I think the beds in the squad room are more comfortable than your floor, if only by a little—”

In the morning, she’ll chalk it up to the fact that she’s not thinking straight. She’s too tired to think about the implications of it, too out of it to actually use her better judgement. And too lonely. She’s been Princess Angelica for days—she wants to be Ciara for a night. She misses Arc, misses having his steady presence by her side, familiar and constant and unconditional. She just wants him to stay. The words stumble out: “My bed’s big enough for both of us.”

He blinks at her. Tilts his head, like he’s trying to tell if she’s serious or not. He opens his mouth and then closes it, rubs at the inside of his eye with his fist, and then says finally, “Are you sure?”

She shrugs. “As long as you’re out by morning, or my dad will flay you alive.”

“I’m not afraid of your dad.”

“He’ll call my sister.”

He winces. “Okay, her, I’m scared of.”

Ciara laughs a little and holds her hand out to him, palm-up, and he slips his fingers between hers and lets her tug him towards her bed. He strips off his vest and his shoulder pad and sheath, and she takes the tiara off her head and lets her hair loose from its updo. She doesn’t have the energy to change out of her dress right now, just aches for the warmth of her covers and the softness of her pillow.

When she turns back around, Arc is staring at her. There’s exhaustion still worked into the corners of his face, but there’s something else, too—a sort of softness behind his eyes, a little burst of affection.

She smiles to herself and crawls into bed, burrowing into the sheets. “C’mon,” she tells him quietly, patting the empty space beside her, and he hesitates for a moment before nestling into place.

His whole body goes limp almost instantly. “I’m going back to my thieving ways for one last heist,” he mumbles, muffled by her pillow. “I’m stealing your bed.”

“Not allowed.” He’s warm and soft beside her. She presses close to his shoulder, her eyes slipping closed. “You smell like sewage,” she hums.

“Fought a troll.”

“Did you win?”

“Duh.” His breathing slows, and she matches its pace without thinking about it. She feels light and safe and floating, and she’s barely half-awake when his quiet voice breaks through her haze again. “Ciara?”

“Hm?”

“I did miss you.”

She nuzzles into his chest, warmth flooding through her at the knowledge that she’ll wake up next to him. Even as she’s drifting out of consciousness, she feels herself smile. “I know.”

[the-chaoscrow]

The building exploded behind us we didn't look back we just ran faster beside me was my second in command Alec, aka Orange cat, together we ran the now most powerful gang in all Altlastix... probably I'm not sure if the original "most powerful gang in Altlastix" building exploding counted as the gang disbanding or if us being the root cause of it exploding counted as us defeating them. Back to the explosion. On the other side of Alec was Cailne, they were pretty tough and were most likely the person who started the fire which caused the boiler to catch fire but I'm rambling again, they're Zool had something to do with demons and/or fire maybe goats we had no idea as they had to suppress their zool so that they wouldn't be killed when they moved to an "all human area" god I hate that term. Back on the present in Cailne's arms was a... a baby where did they get a baby, what the hell, as I stared at said baby they flipped me off so obviously I flipped them off. Mind you we were still running and we will still be running until I say otherwise.

"HEY! GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE" Shouted Cailne's cop boyfriend, Salic, cop being the nicest term I had for him my current favorite jibe at him and his checkered past was "Zool killer" just remind him of that constantly even though he personally hadn't killed a Zool he hadn't stopped others from killing them and worked with people who mostly just blamed everything bad on Zool and killed them for it.

"... where'd you get the baby" he asked as we bolted into a secret tunnel that some would call a "man-hole" personally that term was a bit outdated but I don't have a better one.

"He's...Je...Jehon" Cailne said putting said baby down on the floor the baby flipping everyone off he was barely.... wait

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT BABY IS THE MOTHER****ING EX MOB BOSS WHO LITERALLY KIDDNAPPED US FOR THE BOUNTY ON YOUR BOYFRIEND'S HEAD," I shouted I started laughing hysterically "what in the f***ing hell." I held my head in my hand staring at the floor through my fingers

"I- yes... well uh"

"How'd he turn into a baby" Alec asked staring at the baby who was currently trying to stand but was unsuccessful as his hands had seemed to freeze in the flip everyone off position, he almost fell in the sewage water.

"I don't know one second he was an adult the next he was a baby who apparently still has his memories and is still mentally an adult" Cailne shrugged with an equally confused look on his face as the rest of us. I should have started at the beginning shouldn't I

So from the beginning... technically. This is a few minutes before I meet Alec and 5 years after I lose my memories, don't worry I get them back, obviously.

As I stared at the TV on it was the news it stated that the dreaded "Zool gang" was on the rise again, I subconsciously rubbed my Zool mark, and that anyone found helping them would be sentenced to death and by anyone they ment Zool. I was jostled by the crowd moving to wherever they were going. The news channel showed a picture of their current leader, as the one before him had gone missing persumed dead as she hadn't shone her masked face in a while, he went by the name "Orange cat" no one knew his real name and if they did they're were too scared to tell anyone.

"Orange cat and his gang recently took over a Zool-free neighborhood kicking out the people and the police took control as soon as they showed up but Orange cat and the rest of his gang had already left raiding the homes and stealing all valuables from the homes of the proper residents" stated the woman on the TV in a monotone voice as she spoke pictures of families crying and running from gunshots. I didn't believe it was from the Zool gang. Which was strange as I had, had no contact with them and didn't know them but it felt like that...must be because I'm Zool. I should probably introduce myself I'm Blixsis, I don't know much else about my life before 5 years ago all I know is that 5 years ago I was found in the middle of the ocean by some fish poachers who rescued me and took me to Altlastix, I'm surprised that I didn't die as the Zool health-care sucks, but before that I can't remember what my life was I remember a sense if family and safety. I'm homeless currently, so I never feel that way anymore but I know for certain that once I had a loving family. I hope I can find them again. An orange blur bumped into me. They turned and we locked eyes. The Orange cat. He grabbed me and carried me off, I was to startled too fight back. Soon we we're jumping from rooftop to rooftop I was holding on for my life I prayed to whatever being was out there to pray to that he wouldn't kill me or worse. In less time than I would've liked. We reached a covered area it didn't seem very private from the outside but on the inside where a lot of boxes and an area that looked very sleeped in. Unexpectedly two clones of him sprang to life and stood gaurd. It didn't surprise me as much as it should have. He put me down gently and I scrambled backwards as far as I could and grabbing the closet thing to me.

"BACK UP I'M NOT AFRAID TO..." I had grabbed a rolled up paper shit I was so dead he was going kill me.

"Blixsis it's Me you know me I'm not going to hurt you, you know that" he said barely speaking he sounded so soft which I was not expecting... wait how did he know my name and what did he mean. I know Of him sure but I don't really know him but it felt like I did know him.

"How do you know my name"

"12 years ago you tried robbing from me and then well... wait did you lose your memories?" He asked quizzically.

"I- y...yeah 5 years a... ago" the hell why did he know me what was he saying........

A/n I'm tired so I'll write more later if you have any questions please ask 💗

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Ruined By Raphael

Warning: Dubious Non-Con you have been warned

Raphael and Karai

Karai awoke to darkness and the thick musty odor of rotting wood and as luck would have it, her hands bound above her head. Great, how did she end up in this mess? The last thing she remembered was trying to procure a shipment for her master and then a fight, a bloody drawn out brawl with the big one, Raphael.

By her current situation it did not end in her favor which angered her even more, bested by those beasts. The red one had been alone and separated her from her ninja. His fighting style was different then Leonardo’s. Leo’s had more finesse, light, like a dance but the brute’s was more hands on. Close quarters, it was difficult to avoid getting his hands on her. Always bringing her body to his, pressing into her whispering his sarcastic comments with flirtatious intent.

She would have found it appalling but the bass in his voice had a certain roughness to it, raw and gritty. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it had pulled at something deep within her belly, something that she didn’t know was there; a forbidden fire she had concealed. Karai had to grind her thighs together to quell the ache he had created. That had to be the reason she was strung up like a piece of meat at the moment. He had distracted her with his, wiles, his rugged charm, whatever it was she was fucking livid.

“Come out beast!” she screamed into the void of darkness. “I know you’re there.”

It took a few seconds but a flame erupted into a warm dancing light as a large figure set a torch a glow. Another followed across the room too quick for a normal humans speed but that of a ninja was possible. For being so bulky Raphael was fast, she had to give him that.  

“What do you want?” she hissed yanking at the ropes that bound her wrists finding the fibers soft and non abrasive. It was as if he was trying to keep her comfortable but yet tight enough to hinder her escape.

A dark rumbling laughter came from the beast as he came into the light. He was massive, intimidating and dear god he was impressive. His green skin seemed to glisten in the flames light and his honey green eyes flashed with something she hadn’t seen before.

“I think the question is, what do you want Foot Princess? You see I’d like to consider myself an observant kinda guy. Always aware of my surrounding which is a must for this line of work I’m in, bustin’ bad guy’s heads and protectin’ this city from scum like you and your old man. But now I want you to remember something, I’m part animal, I can smell things you humans can’t. Like the scent of arousal, thick and inviting like a burst of heady flavor when it hits the taste buds. I smelt ya back at the docks when I had you pressed up against the wall. There was no mistaking it.”

Karai snapped her teeth in protest trying to deny his ridiculous accusations. “You must be brainless then you bothersome creature. To think I would have any inkling of attraction for you, you……brute. Why the very site of you makes me sick!”  

He was so close now, so fucking close and she could smell him, damn he was quick. She expected the putrid aroma of sewage but it was leather and cedar with a light hint of grease that took over her senses. Did he work with machines with the genius, good with his hands? And the heat, now that they weren’t fighting she could feel the heat that was radiating from his massive frame. It was dizzying.

“Back away!” she squeaked as his mouth come within inches of her throat. What was happening?

His nostrils flared as he took in a long pull of her scent and his chest fucking vibrated. She could feel the waves of it hit her skin, she had never heard them make that sound before.

“I don’t think that’s what you truly want.” His large mitts rested on Karai’s hips gripping tightly, just enough to cause slight discomfort gaining a gasp from his prey. “I think you’re curious about us, with a thing for a little bit of pain…. aren’t you foot brat?”

“Fuck you! Release me!”

Another dark chuckle came from the brute as the tips of his callous fingers hooked under the fabric of her pants pulling them down to expose the black lace of her panties. “Oh I plan on giving you release. But not until you beg me for it.”

“You think I will beg for you to defile my body?! Not l-likey..” the last bit came out more breathy then she intended as the large mutant sunk to his knees his smiling beak now in line with the apex of her thighs. Raphael pulled the rest of her pants down and off her body making her suddenly aware her legs were free. She had been too distracted by Raphael to know her lower half was free for attack.

She tried to bring her right leg around to knock at the brute from her person and fumbled as he anticipated her move. Which in turn only brought her leg up and over his wide shoulder subsequently bringing his beak to the sopping fabric of her underwear. His breath was molten against her core and his tongue snuck out running the broad appendage along the slender line of her sex. Just that little tease made her arch up gasping back at the moan that threatened to crawl up her throat.

It was beginning to eat at her how much she was enjoying this. Don’t let him know you enjoyed that you stuck up little bitch, how would daddy react to you with his mortal enemy between your thighs?

“You’ll die for that.” Her voice wasn’t her own, a whiney mess that resembled someone weak not the confident second in command of the Foot Clan, the daughter of Oruko Saki.

“Empty promises Karai.” His hot tongue returned pressing into the fabric coming more in contact with the hidden bead. His wide beak enclosed around the mound blowing hot air into the aching flesh beneath as his tongue pressed harder making quick little circles.

“NAhh-st---aahh-fuc—kk-k!”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t make that out.”

“What are y-you doing to me?” her breathe was coming in quick short bursts and her hand clenched and unclenched trying to regain some composer but he gave no reprieve. This time, oh god this time his finger pulled the thin black fabric to the side exposing her absolutely dripping cunt to his mouth. God what he did with a barrier what could he do with full access.  She should be fighting him, she should be, but the turtle was right, she had always been curious about them.

They were formidable enemies on the battle field, determined, focused and their brute strength unparalleled to anything they had ever seen. What were they like as lovers? She imagined Leo a very dedicated lover, focused on his partners pleasure, knowing exactly where to touch, where to kiss and taking his time making every second count ending in a shared orgasm. Michelangelo would a fun and pliant partner, both submissive with a kinky side that left his lover on a perpetual high. Donatello would no doubt a perfectionist in bed, with years of research under his belt. He would know just how to work the human body guaranteeing an explosive end each time. But Raphael, he was made of anger and strength, a perfect solider and a very physical lover. Hands on, and able to use his force for all the right reasons. He could inflict pain and pleasure at the same time. Intense would be a good word for Raphael.

Suddenly he was there, his lips, his tongue, devouring her like she was the last thing there was to eat on this plant and he was starving. His hand hooked under her other leg bringing it up to rest on his other board shoulder and she was helpless to resist. His tongue swirled over the throbbing bud before sucking the tiny flesh into his mouth pulling an inhuman cry from deep within her lungs. She would have been embarrassed the way she mewled and screamed as the brute worked her cunt. Raphael was everything he was in battle as he was as a partner (if you called it that at this moment); relentless, skilled and as his hands came up to her bottom sinking his digits into the plump flesh he held her firmly to his exploring mouth, he showed his strength. He held her up like she weighted nothing mouth covering her folds his tongue delving into the warm heat of her body.

“Y-you fool! I’ll have your head on my mantel after this! Jesus f-f-uucking Christ!” She felt his tongue dive deep stretching pulling the start of her orgasm as it raced with warm undertones until her skin was on fire and her belly was in pleasant knots. As she began to topple over the peak the rush was cool air and the loss of his oh so talented mouth Karai howled in frustration.

“Savage! Insolent insect! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Raphael’s mouth glistened with her essence and the white of his teeth appeared in the dark as his devilish smile widened. “I love it when you talk dirty. If I was mistaken the way your thighs pulled me in closer I would think you were enjoying this.”

“I-I would never…”

His tongue darted out again teasing her throbbing flesh, so close to the end so fucking close.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered pressing his lips to her inner thigh before sinking his teeth down.

“Argghh I want….”

“You what?” his mouth enclosed around her again pushing his tongue deep into her body bringing the ach of her climax back to the surface once again. He worked with fervor making wet sounds against her soaked core until she was just at her peak. The heat rolled up and up, her throat tightened as it swarmed her and the insufferable beast was gone again along with her climax.

“What do you want Karai?” the expanse of his board tongue swiped up through her folds making her mewl in aggravation again. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

Karai’s eyes were wild with hate, lust and murder. Each breath was labored as her shoulders heaved this mutant was infuriating and irresistible all at the same time! Her whole body was throbbing with two unspent climaxes and she needed the release.

“Or maybe you want something else, maybe something bigger, thicker? Something that will ruin you for every other human.” Raphael pressed another kiss to both of her inner thighs before slipping her quaking thighs from his shoulders. He stepped back a little and cupped the massive bulge in his shorts rubbing his trapped cock until he was groaning from the friction.

Karai watched him finally push his shorts to the floor allowing his engorged cock spring free. It bobbed heavy between his legs the tip already moist from his excitement. It was huge, the biggest she had ever seen and god it was glorious. Despite the green color fading to a pinkish tan at the tip and the apparent mouth watering size it looked like a normal human cock. He even had two tight green globes hanging just under the heavy rod of flesh.

She squeezed her thighs together again, god she wanted to see what it was like. But she couldn’t say it out loud, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t give this smug son of a bitch the satisfaction. If anyone found out at foot head quarters she allowed Raphael to fuck her she would die.

Raphael was there again but this time we had Karai against the wall and urging her legs around his waist. He was so warm and his smell was overwhelming her senses dulling them until she was shaking against the large mutant with need. His beak pressed into her neck breathing into her heated flesh while his hand gripped the base of his throbbing cock. “I promise it will only hurt for a few moments. You’re pretty little cunt will adjust to the size quickly.” Pressing forward the red banded terrapin glided the glistening tip threw her folders circling around her hidden jewel.

Karai squeezed her eyes shut drinking in the warmth of the helm of his length as it passed so close to its destination. Then his mouth descended to her pulse point sucking at the skin rocking his hips forward giving them both a bit of much needed friction.

“You’re so wet Karai, I bet it would slip inside without any resistance.” He brought the tip to the tight channel and circled the opening without entering. His smile grew wide along her throat as the princess of the foot clan’s hips rocked forward trying to gain some of him. “Nuh uhh princess, you need to ask for it before I oblige you.”

“Beast….”

“That’s not asking for it Karai. Tell Raphael what you want.”

“Never, I’ll never….shhit—aghfu-ah.”

Raphael let the tip of himself slip just into her heat giving Karai a taste of it, what it was like to have a mutant inside her. “Say it nice. If you do maybe I’ll let it hurt a little. I know you like a little pain with your pleasure.”

Karai couldn’t think, every part of her was screaming at her to allow it to happen. The sweet tingling pressure of just the tip was enough to make her body involuntarily start to shake. He was so big, so warm and she could feel the throb of it.

When she felt the flesh begin to recede she cried out, “Stop!”

“Yes?” Raphael’s face came level with hers his eyes boring into her very soul and his mouth millimeters from her lips. Even his breath was pleasant. Fuck him! Fuck him!

“Please……”

“Please what?”

“I want…I want you inside me, I have to know…god help me….please.”

Raphael’s smile grew with each syllable she pleaded in breathless want and gave her exactly what she wanted. Pressing forward Raphael sheathed himself within her body inch by inch stretching her core to its near breaking point.

Karai hissed at the dull pain and rocked forward to take the brute into her body. The slide was slow and sweet and ever ridge and vein that adorned his beautiful cock could be felt as he glided inside. It was painful, overwhelming and god it felt like heaven.

As he bottomed out his lower plastron came flush with her body with a grunt. Gripping her hips Raph leaned further in making sure every inch was incased and he was balls deep. He even pulsed the embedded flesh for good measure hearing the foot brat gasp at the flex.

“Oh fuck.” Her eyes were wide and mouth open taking in deep heavy breaths adjusting to the massive intrusion. She had never felt to full, so wide open like this, it was nothing she had ever experienced. The pain was a low steady ache but when the mutant started to withdraw, it soon ebbed away to an electric wave of pleasure.  Then, oh god then he slammed forward and every ounce of oxygen in her lungs expelled with an undignified moan. More, she needed more and with what voice she had left she let him know.

“M-more.”

Another withdrawal and brutal snap forward the brute growled into the shell of her ear. “Louder.”

“MORE!”

“That’s my girl.”

The next drive was straight and true and Raphael buried himself to the hilt and Karai arched and screamed. “Oh god! Fuck me you god damn beast!”

He obliged, using the strength in his thighs and his ass he rammed into her body starting a rhythm only he could maintain. The lost climaxes she was denied came back with a vengeance and rushed through her spine like a freight train overtaking every cell with an explosive fire. It started at the very tips of her toes; heat crackling and rolled up and up until her belly was clenching and screaming. The force of it hit and her mouth opened to scream to release the energy that came crashing over her but nothing came out. The pent up climax stayed and erupted blinding her. She felt like ice and fire and Karai tensed up as he continued to rut into her fucking Karai through her climax and into the long crawl to the next.

The sounds coming from the mutant were just as exhilarating, his grunts and rumbling only heightened this weird fucked up experience. His mouth moved over her collar bone nipping and kissing leaving wet trails of his saliva as he feasted upon her flesh. Through the haze of her fading euphoria she could hear him talking.

“Gonna make you so fucking messy inside.” He moaned after a particularly brutal snap of his hips. “You’re gonna smell like me for weeks so daddy knows whose fucking claimed his princess.”

She should have been pissed at his lust filled rambling but the truth was she was feeding off of it. The thought of getting caught, disobeying father was taboo, thrilling. Suddenly the beast hooked his arms under her knees and brought her legs over his shoulder folding her in half all the while not missing a beat.

This new angle allowed the spongy head to drive directly into the roof of her heat striking the bundled nerves dead on. The sensation was all new and sent Karai’s body into over drive. The steady rise of her next climax intensified and she keened and thrashed against the mutant with each battering strike to her cervix. No man had ever given her what Raphael was currently subjecting her body too. Every cell in her being felt like it was being torn apart and sewn back together all at the same time while being burned with this all consuming fire. The obscene sounds of their bodies colliding reverberated through the hollow space, echoing high into the rafters.

The crest of her orgasm raced her down as her body rocked against the wall and by the way his breathing shuttered against her throat Raphael was close as well. His grip tightened and a low dark sound came from deep within his chest.

“Y-you’re gonna crave me.” He voice was rough and dark. “No one else is gonna be able to satisfy this pretty little cunt of yours.” His breath caught in his throat as his rhythm faltered. “I’m gonna fill you so fucking full of me.”

She could feel his cock swell and then he was looking at her, his pupils were blown wide and his mouth parted struggling to breath. “If you want this again.” He punctuated his words as he drove forward with brute strength. “If you want this again you’ll scream my name when you cum on this cock.”

The rush of heat came quickly washing over her body as she peaked and peaked hard. Her back arched nearly snapping her spine as she came undone around him. Everything went white and Karai felt her body die and come back to life. She could feel him, feel him as he erupted inside her body, his cock pulsing each load of white hot steams of his seed bathing her inside with his essence.

The heat of his release, the weight of him as he brought their bodies as close as he could as his filled her to the very brim until she felt him spill down her backside, she let go, let him in. “Ra-RAPH-EAL!!!!!!!”

The last thing she remembered was his mouth crushed against her, kissing her, his tongue moving with hers as he emptied himself into her womb. For a mutant even his talent for kissing left her breathless.

With a start Karai lurched forward sitting up on the cot she was perched upon. The morning light was trickling through the broken windows of what looked like to be an abandoned church. She was free and very much alone. The dull ache of her wrists brought her back to the night before. She was now dressed but the soreness between her legs made her very aware that it wasn’t a dream. Even now she could Raphael him spilling from her body.

Slowly a smile graced her feminine features as she rose to her feet wincing at the remembrance of being stretched by the brute. He had been right, he had ruined her, the thought of coupling with another human man gave her no joy. The only thought was Raphael and how she would mange getting him alone again. But the next time would be different, the next time she would be the one in control.

 @imthegreenfairy88​ @waterstar2016​ @hollybunch95​

[undermounts]

Bound―Chapter 8: Chosen

 AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: Ancient creatures lurk in the forest.

Pairing: Gaius Augustine/Diana Leigh (BB MC)

                                    Bergen, Norway, 2042

The sun had already set long before Diana woke up from a deep and dreamless sleep. She stretched out amongst her tangled mess of blankets, pressing her face into her pillow as she yawned, joints popping. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, glancing around the dark hotel room. Gaius’s bed was empty, a shallow impression in the mattress where he had slept. She wondered how long he’d been gone for.

She checked her phone for any updates from Jax, but there was nothing. Only a few pictures from Kamilah, updating her on a few new seasonal additions to her garden. Diana smiled softly and replied before tossing her phone on the bed and retreating to the bathroom for a hot shower. Afterward, she lounged in a swivel chair in a bathrobe, feet kicked up on the desk as she flipped through a Norwegian tourist magazine. And then another. And then a pamphlet.

Sighing, set all of the booklets she had perused on the desk and absentmindedly spun in circles in her chair. It was yet another night in Bergen and she hadn’t learned anything new about the third artifact or the Tree of Death. She supposed she should be glad for the lull in activity, and in a sense, she was grateful for the downtime. It had allowed her to catch up on sleep, which she definitely needed after long hours of sifting through Gaius’s memories.

But now, she was restless. Perhaps Jax had rubbed off on her in the last twenty years.

Diana rolled her shoulders, turning her gaze to the glass sliding door and the town beyond, the dark sea glittering with reflected golden lights. Perhaps it was time for her to get out and stretch her legs. Her eyes flicked to the cover of one of the magazines she had read, its glossy surface picturing a waterfall surrounded by lush foliage. The Bogstifossen.

She could go for a hike.

Diana tugged on the psychic bond as she got to her feet and crossed the room to her duffle bag of clothes. How’s your night going?

…You must be very bored if you’re asking me that, Gaius replied coolly and Diana rolled her eyes.

Guilty, she admitted and she heard him chuckle, the sound silky and low in her head. Find any trouble?

No. Quiet night; the creatures here are rather benign. Although I did pick up some supplies.

Anything sweet for me? Diana asked, pulling out a pair of thick, wool leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and a weatherproof puffer jacket. Having a bit of sweet tooth, he had certainly read up on all of the most popular Norwegian desserts over the last few days, although she had yet to try any.

I said I got supplies, not your groceries, Gaius snipped and Diana was willing to bet he was rolling his eyes. There’s nothing out here for me tonight. I’m heading back.

See you. Diana bid him goodbye, but he dropped the connection, leaving her without a reply.

“Typical,” she huffed before slipping into the bathroom to get ready.

Diana had just finished brushing her teeth and sat down on the foot of her bed to lace up her boots when Gaius returned, a large paper bag tucked beneath his arm. He looked her up and down, a single eyebrow raised as he closed the door behind him.

“And where are you going?” he questioned, setting the bag on the desk in front of her. “On an expedition?”

He was teasing her, but Diana let it go. “Of sorts,” she answered, swiping a magazine off of the desk and tossing it to him. “Going to take a hike. Find a waterfall or something,” Diana shrugged, peering into the paper bag he left on the table. She raised a brow, hefting out a gallon bag of blood. “Um, do they just sell these in supermarkets now?”

Gaius rolled his eyes. “I got it from the local butcher.” He inspected the magazine, humming thoughtfully to himself before tossing it on the bed. “I’ll go with you. To the waterfall. It’s been a while since I’ve been in these woods.”

“Alright,” Diana shrugged, relieved that she didn’t have to ask him to come with her. Odd as it was, she wasn’t afraid to admit that she had grown used to his company. Had even come to enjoy it sometimes.

Gaius gave her an odd look, as if he had been expecting her to protest, but as quickly as it had come, the expression faded and he withdrew another paper bag from inside of his coat. “Here,” he said, tossing it to her. “For you.”

Diana sent him a question glance as she caught the parcel, but as soon as she caught a whiff of vanilla and cardamom, she abandoned all suspicion and opened the bag. She beamed. “You brought back pastries for me?”

Inside sat about half a dozen shard-shaped cookies edged in ridges and dusted with powdered sugar as well as several thick, flower-shaped cookies, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, stomach growling in response to the delicious aroma that flooded her senses. 

“There’s your something sweet. The baker said these are fattigmann and rosette cookies,” he said casually, then seeing her expression, he lowered his brows. “Don’t give me that look. I just used the extra cash you gave me.”

Diana smiled slightly as she crossed the room to him and pulled out one of the rosette cookies. She grabbed his hand and pressed it into her palm before taking one for herself. “Thank you.”

Gaius’s lips parted as his gaze flickered from Diana’s face to the cookie in his hand, as if surprised by this small gesture of kindness. Then he shook his head and turned away, biting the cookie as he shrugged off his coat and swapped it for another jacket that was better fit for hiking. “Hmph.”

Diana huffed a laugh and rolled up the bag, setting it with the rest of their snacks. “I’ll save these for later. Ready to go?”

Gaius merely grunted in response and she took that as a yes. She glanced at her sword, debating whether or not to take it before deciding against it. Instead, she grabbed a pair of daggers instead and slid them into her boot, just in case.

“So we don’t have a repeat of the tunnel,” Gaius said, holding out a cylindrical shaped object. A flashlight. Diana smirked, then took it, placing it in her pocket.

“Right, then,” she declared, zipping up her jacket and striding towards the door. “Let’s go hiking.”

                                    Diana wasn’t sure when was the last time she had been deep in the wilderness.

Growing up, she loved the outdoors. She loved the scent of moss and wet soil, loved the way the leaves whispered when they played with the wind. But for the last leg of her life, she’d grown more accustomed to concrete jungles, the scent of sewage, and the sound of idle engines and blaring horns.

Being out here in some distant forest, thousands of miles away from home… it reminded her of simpler times.

This forest was ancient. Diana could feel it in her bones. Even in the dark, the forest seemed to be breathing, feeling, watching. The thought that it was alive didn’t unnerve her nearly as much as she thought it would. Diana knew very little about Norway or Scandinavian mythology, but she had a suspicion that whatever creatures roamed these lands were good-natured―at least most of them, anyway. It felt as if the forest wanted them here.

The air seemed to hum, leaving a metallic taste coating her tongue. Far in the distance, thunder grumbled with the promise of rain, and with that, renewal.

You seem...content, Gaius wondered inside her mind, although he showed no indication of having paid her any attention as he trekked ahead of her, following an overgrown path.

I like it here, Diana admitted, reaching out to stroke the spine of a fern that stretched its fronds in front of her. It’s peaceful. You’d never even know what was going on in the rest of the world if you stayed here.

I see what you mean. I imagine if you wanted to go somewhere you would never be found, this would be the place to be, Gaius hummed thoughtfully, tone reflective. These forests have been here long before us. They will be here long after.

Diana wondered if that sort of philosophy retained to her now too.

They continued on in silence for sometime, the trail they followed eventually bringing them alongside a small river. Inexplicably drawn to the water, Diana paused at the grassy bank and knelt down to dip her hand into the stream, feeling the current surge against her palm. The water was freezing cold, but in it, Diana sensed immense power, ancient and pure. Through it, Diana sensed everything the river connected. She closed her eyes, seeing the plants it watered, the animals it hydrated, the fish it sheltered. Life.

We’re not far now, Gaius said. The waterfall is just ahead…

Diana heard him stop, as if just realizing she wasn’t following him anymore. Footsteps soft on the mossy ground, Gaius backtracked. She felt his hand on her shoulder as he crouched beside her.

Diana… look.

Confused, she withdrew her hand, resting her forearm on her knee and opened her eyes. Across the river, deep in the shadows of a massive yew tree, lurking around its trunk, were three sets of tiny, glowing eyes. She inhaled sharply through her nose, legs tensing to stand, but Gaius’s hand held her in place.

Diana flicked her eyes to him, questioning. He caught her gaze and held a single finger to his lips, then nodded towards the hidden creatures on the other bank. Trust your senses, Diana, he advised. Breathe. What did you think about the forest?

That it’s good, Diana replied, sucking in a deep breath. As she did, she felt the power beneath her skin dissipate. She hadn’t even realized she had called it to her in the first place.  And kind.

Yes, Gaius said, squeezing her shoulder in approval. Now, watch. Listen.

Diana nodded silently, doing as he said. She slowed her breathing and focused, tuning out her own heartbeat. She heard Gaius’s beside her, calm and steady, the rushing river, the rustling leaves, the whispering wind, and amidst it all, the sound of small creatures, moving all around them.

Slowly, more eyes blinked open around them, glowing like little stars in the shadows. Diana thought back to the feeling she had earlier, as if the forest were alive and watching them, and realized that, of course, it had been.

What are they? she asked, placing her hand on Gaius’s knee, partially to steady herself and partially just to feel his warmth on her skin.

The Little Folk, he answered, hand sliding down to the small of her back, an action for an action, a touch for a touch. The little ways they communicated, she thought absently and without consequence, as if being in each other’s heads wasn’t enough. Small fairies. In the old days, they used to bring gifts to travellers. 

And now?

And now they like to keep to themselves. Humans don’t even know they exist. I imagine the last vampire to have seen one did so over a century ago. Diana stared in awe as more eyes looked back at them. She sensed their interest in her, their curiosity. They only reveal themselves to their own kind and other creatures of magic. Or those they deem to be even better.

Her brows drew together. Like what?

A pause. Then, Like goddesses.

Diana stiffened, pulling away. Did he mean her? Judging by the look he gave her, intense and challenging, she assumed he did. Diana shook her head, pursing her lips. No, I’m not… I’m not a goddess, Gaius. I don’t want to be.

He stared at her for a moment longer, expression unreadable. In this lighting, his eyes were an enticing shade of midnight blue that Diana thought she could drown in if they had belonged to any other man in any other place.

Gaius turned away, expression softening. Regardless of what you want or don’t want, they seem to disagree.

Diana followed his line of sight to the other side of the bank where a few glowing eyes peered out at them over a rock at the water’s edge. A minuscule arm reached over the top of the rock and nudged something forward before darting back into the shadows.

It was a crown, woven out of willow twigs and vines, laced through with bluebells and baby’s breath. Diana stared at her, a lump in her throat, as she fully felt the weight of the dozen sets of eyes on her, her wonder transformed into something indescribable that made her chest tight.

Slowly, so as not to frighten the Little Folk, Diana stood, Gaius’s hand slipping to his side as she sought the spot where the river was shallowest and crossed. She shivered as the cold current went rushing around her calves, both from the temperature and the way her own power awakened. All at once, she was both bleeding power into the water and drawing upon it, whatever she possessed mingling with something far older and more legendary. As she crossed to the other side, she felt more of the forest come to life around her, as if other creatures she could not see were suddenly watching.

As Diana reached the rock the Little Folk had set her crown upon, she peered around it, although her benefactors had retreated from the water’s edge, preferring to watch her from afar. Chewing her lip, she picked up the wreath of vines and twigs, careful not to destroy it. It was light and finely made, little wisps of moss and lichen clinging to its edges. Diana couldn’t help the small frown that tugged at her lips. This crown was far too delicate and beautiful to be held in hands as bloody as hers.

When Diana looked up, the eyes had all disappeared, the Little Folk vanished. They had given their gift to her. They would not let her give it back.

What had she gotten herself into? Or had this been a long time coming? A result of the power she assumed, the ancient blood in her veins? Diana had always thought her lineage and history of vampires had been shrouded in darkness and violence, but perhaps there was some bond to be had between the creatures old, who had seen the world rise and fall together. Who would see it rise and fall again.

“Why me?” she whispered into the forest, but her question went unheard.

Diana gently tucked the crown into her pack, careful not to break it. She couldn’t bring herself to leave it behind, but she also couldn’t bring herself to wear it either, beautiful as it was. Not until she was certain she had deserved it.

After crossing back to the other side of the river where Gaius stood, watching her with an odd expression. Diana opened and closed her mouth, unable to put her thoughts and feelings into words. What had just happened? “Gaius, I―”

She cut herself off abruptly and they both turned in unison, facing upstream. There was… music, suddenly. A long, drawn out note, and then a flurry of faster, higher notes that gradually fell back into that long lapse and began again. It sounded as if someone had been playing an instrument―a violin perhaps, although the music was far more upbeat―just a little ways up the river.

Diana and Gaius exchanged a look, then followed the sound of music.

What is it? Diana questioned as they hastened along the path, weaving in between trees and shrubs. Diana could hear the roar of the waterfall, it’s sound increasing with the music that continued to play. It had broken free of its joyful, repetitive tune, the music transforming itself into something slower, more curious. Diana didn’t know a lot about music, especially folk songs, like the one they heard now, but she knew that she had never heard anything more lovely than this.

I’m not completely sure, but I have a suspicion. 

Diana didn’t miss the excitement that colored his tone. It was not an expression she was used to him showing, which only piqued her interest further.

At last, they finally came to the foot of the Bogstifossen, the waterfall they had been searching for. Here, the music was loudest, cutting through the thunder of falling water with ease. It didn’t take long enough for Diana to see why.

It’s… a man? she asked, perplexed. What appeared to be a bearded man with long, dark hair stood in the river at the base of the waterfall, seemingly immune to the thousands of gallons of water that crashed around him, surging around his bare torso.

A water spirit, Gaius amended, and Diana noted that he was practically a walking encyclopedia about all things mystical and supernatural. The Fossegrimen.

Diana watched the Fossegrimen with increasing curiosity. A good water spirit?

Neither good nor evil. He simply is, Gaius replied and Diana had to refrain from rolling her eyes. How many times had she heard that before? Her lip quirked down. Hell, how many times had she said that herself about something? She supposed life only became more gray the longer you lived it. He lives to play his fiddle, and that’s all. Sometimes he teaches aspiring musicians. For a price of course.

What, like their soul? Diana raised her eyebrows at him and was surprised when Gaius laughed softly, eyes sparkling.

No, nothing like that. A piece of meat will do. Gaius tilted his head as he leaned against a tree and watched the Fossegrimen with naked fascination. His foot tapped against the loamy soil, the sound muffled by moss. I had heard about how magnificent his songs were. I never imagined I would ever hear them.

Diana’s eyes flicked between Gaius and the water spirit, noting that Gaius seemed more than content to watch from afar. Don’t you want to meet him?

Gaius glanced at her sidelong for a moment, then closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree’s trunk. Honestly, no. It’s possible he may leave once we make ourselves known. And this is enough for me. To hear the songs of legend. Some things are best left undisturbed and observed from afar.

Diana nodded at this, leaning against the tree beside him. Her eyes wandered from the Fossegrimen, to the majestic waterfall, to the sky full of diamonds above, her view fractured by the winding branches of the yew tree. An entire, enchanting song passed before she spoke down the bond again. You love music.

Is that a question or a statement?

An assumption, Diana clarified, bumping her shoulder against his. Am I wrong?

...No. You aren’t. Gaius exhaled softly beside her and Diana felt some of her own tension dissipate as well. I have always enjoyed it. Over the years, it is the one thing I have never tired of.

Do you play? she questioned, glancing down at his hands. His fingers were long fine-boned. She tried to imagine them holding an instrument rather than a sword and found that this possibility wasn’t as outlandish as she once would have thought.

A little. The pianoforte. Gaius cracked an eye open, studying her. He smirked to himself before closing his eye again and shifting against the trunk. One day, I’ll show you. Perhaps.

Diana hoped that “perhaps” would become a promise.

A few minutes passed again before Diana once again broke their silence, starting to get a little restless. Why do you think he’s here?

Gaius opened his eyes, fixing her with a look. You’re just as bad as Matsuo. You can’t sit still.

Leaning against a tree isn’t exactly uncomfortable, Diana snapped back, pacing away from the tree until she found a fallen log to perch on. She set her pack on the ground between her feet and leaned her elbows on her knees. But seriously. You said you never thought you would get to hear the Fossegrimen, but here he is. Why?

I thought you were the one who said not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Gaius rolled his eyes, sitting beside her on the fallen tree. Or some butchered version of that.

She narrowed her eyes. Gaius.

He huffed, tilting his head to the side. Fine. I don’t think you would like the truth, so I’ll offer you a lie: mere coincidence. Perhaps he’s got a schedule he follows, travelling around Norway to play at the bottom of different waterfalls and our schedules just so happened to line up. Lucky us.

Diana could hear the sarcasm dripping off his words and she glared. Gaius.

You want my honesty, then? Gaius teased, lip quirking. He shrugged and faced the waterfall again, looking at the Fossegrimen, deep in consideration. Very well, Diana, he sighed into her mind before she could bite his head off. I think he is playing for you.

Diana frowned and glanced down at her bag. She unzipped it, carefully withdrawing the crown the Little Folk had given her. Diana sighed to herself, turning the crown in her hands as the music washed over them and Gaius returned his attention to the Fossegrimen. As she studied the crown, she couldn’t help but wonder why the forest had apparently chosen her and what for. 

Whatever it was, she hoped that when the time for answers came, she would not disappoint. 

                                    Back in the hotel room in Bergen, Diana was just climbing into bed, the first hints of dawn peeking in through the sliding door curtains, when her phone rang. Diana glanced at the caller ID, rubbing her eyes.

Jax.

She sat up straight, feeling Gaius’s questioning stare on her from where he sat in his own bed as she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Diana,” came Jax’s voice, tone serious. “I did what you asked and looked into the islands around Demetrius’s.”

Diana’s heart was in her throat. “And?”

“And there are reports of entire communities on the closest islands going Feral. They were mature, isolated communities made up entirely of adults and their elderly, so no children were involved, but…” Jax trailed off, clearly agitated and upset. 

Diana’s entire body went cold. “Entire communities,” she echoed, her voice hoarse. “Feral.

Across the room, Gaius stiffened, his eyes burning into her skin.

“Diana, whatever this is, it’s not good.”

“What’s the radius?” she asked, gripping her phone so hard her knuckles were white.

“About fifteen miles,” Jax replied and her stomach plummeted. “The islands in the region were either scarcely populated or completely uninhabited. But Diana, you need to tell me what this is, or what you think it is so I can tell Kamilah and Adrian. They have to know.”

“Yes,” Diana breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she felt a headache coming on. The back of her skull was prickling with such an intensity, she had to close her eyes, fighting to stay focused. “We think it’s Demetrius. For some reason, his influence is growing, and I can feel it sometimes. Gaius thinks it’s because I’m his descendant, but―”

Gaius inhaled sharply and Diana realized her mistake too late, breaking off mid-sentence.

“Gaius? ‘We?���” Diana winced, Jax’s shouting adding to the pounding in her head. “Diana, what the hell? You didn’t tell me you were―”

“Now’s not the time to go into that, Jax,” Diana cut him off, opening her eyes and glaring at the corner of her bed. “Listen. Tell Adrian and Kamilah that Demetrius’s influence is growing. I still haven’t figured out why, but I feel like finding these artifacts will help me stop it. They have to. But I need you guys to evacuate the islands nearest to Demetrius’s zone, just in case. I don’t know how fast it’s spreading, but I can’t risk any lives.”

“Diana―”

“Please, Jax,” she pleaded, a spike of pain shooting through her skull. Distantly, she heard Gaius swear as if he felt it too.

What the hell? he snapped in her head and Diana could only shrug helplessly. There was too much going on at once.

“I promise, I’ll explain everything in due time, but right now you have to tell Kamilah and Adrian and I have to go,” Diana said quickly, tossing back the sheets and climbing out of bed. She was moving on instinct, driven by the tingling sensation that always preceded a vision. 

“Fine,” Jax replied, not sounding very happy about it all. “I’ll talk to the others and we’ll figure out a game plan. But then, you’ll talk.”

“Promise,” Diana replied, crossing the room to the closet and wrenching the door open. “Call me later, okay? I have to go. Bye, Jax.”

Diana hung up, tossing her phone on to Gaius’s bed, which was closer to where she now stood.

“Diana?” he asked, confusion and concern coloring his voice at the phone call and her erratic movements.

But Diana didn’t respond, all of her focus trained on the amphora, which they had hidden with the amulet in the back of the closet. The prickling sensation intensified and Diana knew with utmost certainty that it was the ancient vase that was causing all of this commotion in her head.

It was finally ready to talk.

                                    Note: Check out the Fossegrimen’s song here

Tagging: @bachelorettebound14, @somin-yin, @bigmemesplz, @mkamra2355, @dorkylittleweirdo, @xbobbatea, @mindlesschicca, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski

[fuwafuwamedb]

The King’s Dumu Lugal Pt 11 (Hakuno, CasGil)

Previously: One, Two, Three, Four, Five , Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

____

Tasks of being a king, that had to have been fun.

Hakuno moved carefully through the living room, going straight to the bathroom and turning on the small shower in the corner.

She had meant to be working for maybe two or three hours today. She had planned to be able to get breakfast around to the servants that often didn’t feel the need to leave their areas, help out with a project or two, and then return to spend the afternoon and evening with Ur. What she’d found, upon heading down to the lowest level of Chaldea to deliver breakfast to Edmond Dantes and a few other servants, was a massive overflow.

The sewage pipes had broke, leaving the servants to fight an onslaught of flooding and released pipe pressure that would not cease for even a moment. She’d sounded the alarm for Gudako and rushed into action. The Count had been beaten by a few pipes bursting. A few other servants were still attempting to pipes back up, finding others falling and a few other servants taking hits and falling unconscious.

What had been a ten minute task had turned into the whole day.

She’d allowed the servants to take both the public baths as well, ruining and using up all the soaps available immediately. She’d made several trips to the storage spaces to get them more, ensuring that the group could clean themselves up properly. She turned down bathing in front of them. They’d have seen her command spells if she did that.

So- in the end, reeking of things she didn’t want to think to greatly upon, she’d returned to Gilgamesh Caster and to her son. The two were simply sitting on the floor, as clean and as happy as could be. Both boys glanced her way, all golden haired and bright eyed.

Hakuno sighed, leaning against the wall of the shower and letting the hot water practically burn off the top layer of skin.

Her day had been long. It had been stressful.

Maybe tonight I should make something easy and just relax.

The only problem with simply relaxing was that she didn’t want more of her memories going into Gilgamesh’s head. He’d already seen the night when… well… He’d gotten to feel what she had thought of their night together when she’d had Ur conceived. He probably had noted all the semi-romantic jargon that had flown through her head.

How high had his ego gotten?

How much was he going to gloat?

Gilgamesh was like a damn peacock when it came to having his ego stroked. It didn’t matter what kind of insults you threw, the moment you threw anything remotely like a compliment, he was sucking up the verbal fodder and preening with pride at his own strength and beauty and whatever else you wanted to throw his way. If he grew bored of you, he left. If he grew annoyed with you, he’d kill you.

There was one person important in the world for him: himself.

That was it.

That was all.

Hakuno closed her eyes, shaking her head.

That had been hard to remember when that night had happened. She’d been caught up in the lights and the sounds and the freedom of it all. There had been eternity before them, spiraling further and further out into the unknown. She’d felt his arms around her, his voice murmuring nothing less than pure sin into her ears. The man had a way about him. If he said something of merit, which was rare, then you believed it.

And she’d believed every word. She’d been golden to him, if only for the night.

Every touch had been on her mind since that night. Every word had echoed in her thoughts when she saw the king. Hakuno had found herself volunteering to help Caster Gilgamesh with everything he could possibly need just because she had remembered Archer’s words.

She had seen his fingers stroke at a newly written tablet and she’d remembered him caressing her. Her eyes had met his a few times and she’d found herself holding her breath, waiting for recognition to kick in.

Today he’d set aside the work and he’d remember her.

Today he would wear something tacky and call it ‘fashion’.

It had started to become disheartening before he’d caught her with Ur-Nungal. The moment she’d looked up and seen him, she couldn’t deny that she had felt her heart flutter in her chest.

The door behind her moved.

A rush of air sent shivers down her spine, but she barely had time to move before she saw the slight glimmer of the Gates of Babylon. A whoosh of something came pouring down onto her, leaving her to gasp at the cold rush of what had to be some kind of soap.

“You smell foul, Hakuno,” Gilgamesh grumbled, his hands yanking her up against him. “Standing here stinking up the bathroom, you were going to make the whole room need fumigating.”

Hakuno turned her gaze upwards, noting the man holding her. His hands scrubbed at her hair, his lips curled in distaste.

“Ur’s laying with his toys. I think he’ll be asleep within moments.”

He did that. She was enjoying his tiring himself out and spontaneous naps. It made for helping the Chaldeans a much simpler task.

“We should take him to Uruk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Aside from the fact that the Chaldeans were having rayshifts tracked and were keeping her hidden away as a run-of-the-mill third rate mage facility worker, there was also the problem that they would be entering Gilgamesh’s time and Gilgamesh could very well want to remain there.

Which couldn’t happen.

“You don’t think Ur should know where his birthright is?”

“It can’t be his birthright though,” Hakuno pointed out. “Thousands of years have passed since Uruk, Gil. There have been enough kings.”

“I still think he would like it. You would enjoy it.”

He was getting that tone again.

She could feel those hands moving to the back of her neck. The man knew how to manipulate her. She’d let him too far in, too close. The moment he rubbed right at where all the stress and frustration had been building up was the moment she felt herself melt right against his chest, her eyes closing.

“You lack the knowledge of how to find your own pleasure,” her king cooed to her in that low and sultry manner. “You aren’t accustomed to being pampered or beheld properly, but these are things I’m well versed in. You only need to let me do as I please.”

The command spells were there. She could get out of this situation if she really wanted to. Between the two of them, she was the master and he was the servant.

But his lips pressed lightly to hers and Hakuno found herself enjoying the heat of the shower and the steam billowing around them. She could see those red eyes gleaming, knowing he’d won.

“I-I’ll think about Uruk,” he deflected weakly.

The responding kiss had her knees buckling, earning a laugh from the man as he helped her rinse off the soap that had been dripping down her person.

She’d never felt so refreshed after a shower like she did now. Tucked into one of his robes from the gates, she found herself brought out to the living room and Ur nestled into her arms.

“I had a crib made,” the king told her, opening the gates and bringing forth the gawdiest golden thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

However, she saw cake and was happy to spoil her dinner on that.

Gilgamesh was a dangerous man, she thought weakly, watching the man rouse Ur enough to feed him some baby food from the fridge.

She was getting too accustomed to being spoiled.

[rachel-writes101]

Konnect: Sewer

Konnect was exhausted and out of breath. Her every muscle screamed. The desire to give up the chase had set in and was growing with every step. But she couldn’t just let her quarry go. He was a prolific armed mugger who had killed one man and left a young woman fighting for her life in hospital. Konnect had managed to find him during his most recent attempt, the blade still in his hand as he had sprinted away from her. She skidded to a halt as she reached the end of the alleyway. The thrill of the chase pumped adrenaline through her and she looked around urgently. Before her was a brick wall, too tall for the man to have climbed without her seeing him disappearing over the top. The alleyway walls were completely free of doors, ladders or windows the man could have forced himself through.

“Where did he go?” she demanded through the constant phone call.

She continued to look around as her partner, Rick, stammered into her ear. She was using her powers to call him while he sat in their base, watching CCTV to ensure she didn’t lose the suspect and checking that no bigger crimes were happening that would require the superhero to intervene.

Before Rick could think of a delicate way to phrase his answer, Konnect’s eyes landed on a manhole cover in front of her. She grimaced.

“Please tell me he didn’t…” she pleaded, already making her way towards the cover.

She couldn’t help but notice one side was a little more raised than the other. She tried to kick it free with her foot but it didn’t budge.

“He did.”

With Rick’s confirmation, Konnect knelt. Thankful for her gloves, she pried up the lid. Immediately she caught a glimpse of her prey. He had been waiting, hoping that she would give up the chase and leave him safe in the sewer. But she couldn’t just let him

Trying to hold her breath, Konnect dropped into the sewer.

 The sewer was dark and Konnect immediately went to use her powers, create a ball of sparking electricity between her fingers to light the way. Suddenly Rick’s voice came through the phone link.

“You won’t be able to use your powers down there,” he said.

Konnect frowned. The phone call was using her powers and it sounded absolutely fine. She wouldn’t have been expecting anything less. Her powerset meant she always had signal, regardless of where she was.

“I mean the blasting. The bolts of electricity. You’re in a sewer. Sewer gas is flammable. One spark and it could blow.”

Konnect bit back her complaints, reminding herself that she was after a dangerous man. Even if she didn’t take him down, just knowing where he ran to would help to uncover his identity and put a stop to what he was doing. She took a moment to try and work out how she was meant to find the man in the sewers in the dark. Then she had an idea. She pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket. She always brought it with her when she went out as Konnect in case her powers did ever actually fail. She turned on the torch, hoping that it would not generate any sort of spark.

“Can you bring up maps of the sewer system?” Konnect said. “This place is like a maze.”

She heard Rick agree and began shuffling towards. She flicked her torch down every pipe that led off from the large tunnel she was in and resisted the urge to gag. The Copperby sewer system was incredibly old. It had been built as the city expanded and that meant it was a mish-mash of different styles and sizes of tunnels and pipes. She didn’t want to miss one that the killer might have just been able to slip down.

“Sucks he didn’t have a mobile phone on him,” Konnect grumbled.

Konnect guessed it was bound to start happening eventually. The smarter criminals were getting wise to what her powers could do. They had realised that if they carried electrical devices on them when they encountered her, she could lock onto them and ensure that she knew exactly where they ran to. So they ensured that if they went out to commit a crime, they didn’t carry any mobile devices with them.

“I have maps,” Rick told her triumphantly. “Looks like our mugger will have been forced to follow the main tunnel. You might be able to fit down some of the side ones but not a fully grown man.”

Konnect thanked him and pressed on further. She picked up as much speed as she dared, desperate to ensure she didn’t slip over.

“How does it smell?” Rick asked, wanting to make conversation.

“I am trying not to focus on the smell.”

“Maybe go back to yours instead of coming back here when we’re done for the night. Have a chance to shower.”

So caught up in how uncomfortable she was in the moment, Konnect had completely forgotten that the smell would no doubt linger. She had no clue how she was meant to get it off her and her costume and no clue how she was meant to explain what had happened to her mother who believed she was tucked up in her nice, warm bedroom that didn’t smell of sewage in the slightest.

That was a bridge they would have to come to later. Maybe borrow a textbook from a friend of Rick’s brothers – one who was an apprentice plumber – to see if they could cause a big enough fault in her toilet at home. But one that wouldn’t bankrupt them with repair costs.

She was about to suggest the idea when she heard the sound of footsteps echoing from in front. She hissed at Rick that she was closing in and knew Rick had immediately sobered, prepared for a fight to erupt.

It wasn’t a routine attack. Konnect normally had the use of her powers to defend herself and to take down criminals. Having to fight off a knifeman without the ability to use blasts of electricity to defend herself was going to put Konnect on edge and she knew it was having the same effect on Rick. She wasn’t nearly as good at hand to hand combat.

Konnect froze as she heard the noises from ahead stop. Then she slowly edged forwards. She wondered what had happened. Had her suspect decided to try and change path? Found a manhole and made his way to the surface?

She passed through a narrow arch in the tunnel, tiptoeing along the edge to ensure neither of her boots sunk into the river of sewage beside her. Konnect’s mouth opened wide as she realised that she could not see the man. The tunnel was empty. She looked around, flicking her torch about in the hope she might find a pipe he could have ducked into.

Then she saw the light glint on polished metal. She focused in on it as it swung towards her, realising with a sickening jolt that it was a knife. Her immediate thought was to fire a blast. By the time she had fought back the urge, she barely had time to dodge the falling blade.

She felt it slice through the air beside her and swung her torch around.

The man stood there. His face was covered by a balaclava, hands enclosed in leather gloves. The blade in his hand was almost as long as Konnect’s forearm. He cried with rage as he twisted his grip on the knife so the point was aimed directly at her. Then he swung out again, the point being driven directly towards Konnect’s head. She dodged just in time, looking up as the knife narrowly missed a pipe directly behind her. A horrifying thought crossed her mind. The blade was metal. The pipe was metal. If they collided, there could be a spark.

“Stop!” Konnect tried as the knife was swung at her once more. “You are putting us both in danger. You hit one of those pipes and we could both die.”

The mugger merely roared at her once more. He lunged at her with the knife and Konnect decided there was no way she could talk him down. She grabbed his wrist, deflecting the blow from where it would have sunk into her abdomen. The man was far stronger than her, able to break free of her grip was lightning speed. Konnect decided the only choice she had was to use surprise to her advantage, try to knock the knife out of his hand before he had the chance to reaffirm his grip on it.

She let him swing the knife at her once again and slammed a fist into his jaw. He stumbled back and Konnect sprung forward, prepared to try and pry the knife from his hands. He recovered too fast. The knife was flicked, angled just low enough that her attempts to grab it would have resulted in her hands being sliced open. She leapt back just as the man tried to lash out once more with the blade.

“You okay?” Rick called in her ear.

“I’m fine,” Konnect growled back at him.

She just needed to get the knife. She sprung again, this time aiming a kick at the man’s chest. He was thrown backwards, falling messily into the stream. Konnect had the decency to grimace for him before jumping forward. She slammed a boot down on his wrist, forcing the hand beyond to release the knife it gripped. She scrambled to grab it before the struggles of her attacker scraped it across the concrete floor of the tunnel. Then she sprinted away, dropping the knife into the filthy stream and ensuring it was lost to the man. She was sure whichever unfortunate police officers were sent to find it would understand.

She heard a series of splashes coming towards her and turned just in time to see a fist swinging towards her. The fist slammed into her jaw, sending her stumbling backwards. Her phone was sent flying out of her hand, the light disappearing moments later. Konnect’s arms windmilled and she managed to grab hold of the edge of a pipe. She used it to keep herself standing but still slammed hard against the wall of the tunnel. Her head pounded and throbbed as her vision blurred. She heard the man slowly moving closer, feet stirring the sewage he walked through.

He was just as blind as she was in the darkness. Konnect wondered briefly if she should try looking for her phone but thought her focus should be on taking the man down. She listened as hard as she could, working out exactly where he was going to be from the sounds of his movement. He was right in front of her, she was sure of it. She blindly reached out with her left hand. She felt it brush against something and immediately closed her grip. It was the man’s jacket. She tugged, trying to focus on his attention on her left hand. Then she swung her right fist forwards. She felt it land and felt the jacket pull tight in her left hand as the man was knocked off balance. She didn’t give him the chance to right himself again. Pulling hard on the jacket, she dragged him forwards. She slammed him into the wall and rushed to pin him there.

“You’re unarmed, just give up.” Konnect snapped.

He drove an elbow back, hitting into her stomach. Konnect doubled over and wrestled to keep her gulps for breath restrained. She felt sick, the vile stench clinging to the back of her throat. She didn’t want him to realise where she was.

She heard the man turn and forced herself to stand straight. She estimated where his jaw would be and swung out madly. She felt it hit something but wasn’t sure exactly where. From the gasping and spluttering that followed, she guessed it had probably been his throat.

She lashed out with a solid kick, hitting him in the chest. There was a thud with a metallic ring and Konnect assumed he had hit his head. He crumpled to the floor and she let out a sigh of relief.

“I think he’s down,” she said, edging closer.

The lack of movement from him reassured her and she gave him the best check-up she could in the dark. His lack of reaction convinced her he probably was unconscious at her feet.

“Can you get the police here?” Konnect asked.

She heard Rick agree to and then the sound of him getting to work at the keyboard. They often sent the police written messages so they didn’t get samples of them talking that they could use. Knowing Rick would send the police to her location, Konnect decided it was time to get ready to leave.

She reached out with her powers, sensing her mobile phone was lying on the ground nearby. She looked down and grimaced as she saw it had landed in the stream of sewage beside her.

[thenixart]

Unedited Dorohedoro fanfic (opening of chapter 1)

Bioremediation

What do we say to Death?

-Location: Hole?-

“Uhg...” Consciousness comes back to Ton like a hammer to the side of his head. Searing pain radiates from his temple to his ear that only increases as he gets up. He groans, “Oww.”

Taking stock of his surroundings, Ton is absolutely certain that he is no longer in the Hole shopping mall. There was no sign of the door he just opened or the wave of sludge that washed over him. Not even the hallway he’d just been in with the numbered doorways. The place he was in now looked decrepit, like a building long abandoned and left to rot. The ground was uneven, cracked and broken in places, large slabs that looked like they’d been moved and some point before being dropped. Massive metal pipes, plastic-covered soft grungy tubing, corroded iron girders, walls with struts, and studs visible. It felt like a half-finished construction project left in the rain.

And it reeked.

A familiar kind of raw sewage, wet mud, and rotting corpses kinda smell. The boss’s scent. Strongly emanated from the thick sticky reddish-black liquid dripping from him. It was some kinda sludge, grainy and thick and not unlike the stuff he’d see in the bathtub as a kid after the boss had done his weekly shower. He had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach about this. Using his relatively cleaner undershirt he wiped the muck from his face and set about trying to find his comrades.

“Saji!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. One hand cupping the side of his mouth and the over carrying his now ruined undershirt. “Tetsujo! Ushishimada! Damnit guys where did you go?”

There’s something niggling in the back of his mind like he’s forgotten something very important, something he saw in the dark fluid that washed over him. As he walked he realized that this place is far far larger than it first appeared, starting to look more like a rotted rundown city not unlike Hole. Just worse. And in places freakishly organic. 

He stops and there is a hole in the ground not too far ahead filled with clay-colored bubbling muck. An arm sticks out of the hole and lays limp along the ground. Seeing what is probably a person in trouble he rushes to action. 

“Hey! Hold on tight!” He grabs the hand and pulls, bracing himself with his weight on his back leg and not the leg close to the edge of the hole. The pit looks nasty and he doesn’t know if the edge is stable or not. The mud makes a horrible sucking sound as he wrenches the person free. Whoever they are they’re fairly slim with long hair and absolutely covered in the muck.

Using his undershirt he cleans the person’s face and after clearing the layer of grime his heart jolts-- “Natsuki!”

He clutches her close and can’t help but shout, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Wake Up! Natsuki!!”

Then he realizes that she isn’t breathing. 

“Shit!” He lowers her back to the ground and tries to pull up those CPR lessons from back in the day. Medicine along with fighting were the two main things that the boss actually taught them. He inhales as deeply as possible then locks lips with her and forces that air into her lungs.

“Natsuki! Don’t die!” He downright orders as he starts with chest compressions. Using his full upper body strength he pushes down directly on her sticky bare chest and then releases and counts. One... two… ten… thirty… forty-two… sixty-six… one hundred! “I said breathe! Damnit!”

Natsuki complies with wet coughing that forces red slime out of her mouth and nose. 

“Thank goodness!” He sighs in relief and cleans more of the gunk off of her. His shirt now irredeemable is left on the ground. As he looks at Natsuki’s naked huddled form turned away from him his mind swarms with questions and the nagging feeling that he’s forgotten something important. 

“Hey,” He says to get her attention as she seems to be very distracted about the whole nearly drowning thing. Ton takes off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. “Natsuki, how did you get here? Why are you butt naked? And how did you get to Hole?”

She says something. He knows she’s saying something. He’s looking right at her and can plainly see her mouth moving and she’s even gesturing with her hands. She’s saying something but he heard nothing. It felt like there was water in his ears and something he needed to remember. Whatever had happened to her didn’t change the fact that they were still lost in a strange and possibly dangerous place.

Compared to the other heavy lifting he’d done that day carrying Natsuki was a breeze. Hell, she was even smaller than Dokuga and Ton knew for a fact that he could bench press the other man without breaking a sweat. He picked a direction and kept walking.

And walking.

And walking.

And he is forgetting something important.

A flash of memory passed him by so fast that the only thing that registered was the sound of torn flesh. Ton becomes aware that he has a splitting headache. For some reason, it feels like it’s been hurting for a good minute and he just didn’t notice. Natsuki taps his shoulder and he notices that their surroundings are dimmer and the walls are oozing sludge. An uneasiness settles into the pit of his stomach and he has her hand him one of his knives from his jacket. He carries it in his mouth just in case danger appears and he keeps walking.

The feeling of danger passes and Ton fills the time and silence with idle chatter. Worry gnaws at his gut as they find no exit or any other people around at all. He knew he’d been walking for damn kilometers at this point. Worry turns to dread when he sees a hole filled with sludge. His protests that it couldn’t be the same hole that he pulled Natsuki out of are killed by the sight of his crumpled and dirty undershirt beside it.

He has remembered the thing he forgot.

The realization of death feels like the floor falling out from under him. He feels the pain in his head and ear and ah… That’s why he couldn’t hear Natsuki. The thing in the sludge tore through his head.

They were nowhere. Alone together in the void and fully dressed.  He was so very tired. 

“You’ve been here a long time, huh,” Words came slowly as his mind grew foggy. “I… wasn’t able to help you… I’m sorry...”

The darkness closed in.

Rough slender fingers closed around his hand and squeezed. 

With a jolt, they are thrown from the abyss. It feels like his body is full of pins and needles as his surroundings come into focus. They were laying in a hallway full of numbered doors in a pool of blood and back powder. What?

“Ok! I haven’t had a trip like that since that time Maki gave me a bad batch of Black Powder.” Natsuki’s voice croaked as she rubbed her temples. 

“Natsuki!” Ton shouted and engulfed her into a crushing hug. “Thank the devil! You’re ok!”

She hugs him back just as tight. When he lets go he notices her expression and the fact that he can see right through her to the door behind. Oh.

“Ton...” She says and her smile is tinged with sadness. She pokes him in the chest and he notices that he too is transparent. Weird. Weirder is the faintly glowing blue cord going from her wrist to his on the hand that she’d grabbed not too long ago. “I’m pretty sure we’re dead. Maybe ghosts or something?”

That made sense, given the whole weird ass gunky… limbo? (Limbo? That’s a word he hasn’t thought about in a very long time.) that they were just in. Plus his memories of something taking out a chunk of his skull and slashing up his ear. If the blood on the ground was his then he was extremely dead. But…

“That’s… not possible.” A touch of the past flashed behind his eyelids of a quiet conversation. A heavy hand on his head and flowery incense. A woman’s voice. That may be what happens, but that’s not remotely fair. And damn the devils for it. “Sorcerers go to hell when we die. Like immediately. Only humans turn into ghosts.”

Natsuki shrugged and an ‘I don’t know’ sound. “Big bro, all I know that this isn’t hell and that I definitely died.”

“...how did you die Natsuki? Last I heard Doguka sent you on a solo mission. Did something go wrong?”

She stood and turned her back to him. He heard her take in a deep breath then release it. “I was leaving the manor. For some reason, Dokuga insisted that I leave through the back exit. On the way out I ran into the boss. He… licked me. On the mouth. It was weird. Then he told me he wanted me which you know super exciting--”

“Eww! You like fifteen and he’s almost thirty!”

“Sixteen!”

“Same difference! Still nasty!”

“As I was saying. Super exciting! Butterflies in my stomach and everything. Then he kissed me (btw the boss really needs to brush more often like hot damn) and...” She paused. He could see her hands shaking even while hidden inside of her poofy hoodie. “He used En’s magic. He filled my insides with mushrooms and cut me to pieces with his knives. He was… smiling. Smiling as he killed me.”

She buries her face in her hands and he’s there instantly one arm around her shoulders and another on her head. He makes a soothing sound because his words fail him. He wanted to say that the boss would never because… well, the boss half-raised him and the others. Saved their lives and gave them a reason to live. Sure he was pretty cold and blunt but he… Ton, Saji, Ushishimada, Tetsujo, and Dokuga… they all loved the boss and it was clear that they were loyal. That Natsuki was loyal. Why would the boss…

The one who killed me was a Crosseye! I’m sure of it. Risu’s voice bubbled up from a traitorous part of his mind. As Natsuki turned to cry into his chest he felt the phantom pains of his knives turned against him by Risu’s magic. Powerful rare magic. Yeah… the numbers on Natsuki’s smoke readings were pretty damn good and defense magic? Well that’s really fucking useful, isn’t it? If they’d have met under different circumstances if she hadn’t been a Crosseye and able to use her magic? Well, neither he nor any of the guys would have hesitated to take her head for the boss. That was the stone-cold truth yet something about it made him nauseous. 

Natsuki was a nice person. Hell, from what he heard about Risu before his death the kid was bright eyed and bushy tailed too. Actually in it for the cause and not the money.They were killed by the boss. The faces on the thing that killed me had cross eye marks, his brain supplied. Natsuki and Risu didn’t deserve to die.

“You can let go now.” Natsuki said, pulling away from him. She rubs her eyes and looks very tired. “Alright. So… what next.”

He shrugged. “No idea. Wanna find the others?”

“Why not?”

------

It doesn’t take them long to find Ushishimada, Tetsujo, and Saji who are now rather loudly looking for Ton. Which was nice. 

“Where’d that dumbass go?” Ushishimada was saying when Ton and Natsuki caught up with the rest of the group. Rude. Ton stuck his tongue out at him. 

Natsuki waved her hand in front of Saji’s face as he read a sign about where exactly they were. “I don’t think they can see us.”

“Nope. Let’s see if this works,” Ton took in a deep breath, “HEEEEEEEEEEY GUUUUUUUUYS!!!!”

No response. Huh. The guys continued with their conversation and Ton shuddered when Tetsujo walked right through him like he wasn’t even there. Tetsujo stopped and his shoulders tensed and his eye darted around. Oh! Perhaps? Before he could try again his attention was drawn to the horrible wall of ooze pulsating further up the hall. About around where he’d woken up. Very familiar black slime.

“Ewww, you see that?” Natsuki said, pointing at it. Ah good, he wasn’t just seeing shit. 

“Whooa!” Tetsujo’s hand flew to his sword because apparently he saw that shit too. 

“What’s wrong Tetsujo?” Saji did not see it.

“I--I dunno,” Tetsujo was on high alert now. Granted it didn't take much to really set him off. Man carries his sword even to the bath, he’s got issues. Not saying that the rest of them don’t have issues but Dokuga and Tetsujo were the most paranoid people Ton knew. “But just now something..”

The phantom wall of slime vanished the moment Ushishimada’s shout caught their attention. He’d picked up the powder trail and found the door marked with Ton’s blood. Door nineteen.

“Shit! Ton we have to do something!” Natsuki shouts as she reaches out for the guys. Her touch fails to even raise the hair on the backs of their necks as they open the door. Ton’s nerves feel like they’re on fire, his attention locked onto the bloated monster inside of the room and the meaty sucking noises it was making. It wasn’t the only thing he saw. From the blood spatter patterns and bullet holes in the wall it looked like there’d been a gunfight in here recently. Even from this angle Ton could clearly see that it looked like the boss had been partially decapitated, the top of his head flopping a bit as he… ate. The boss was eating something. 

“...Is that really what the boss looks like now?” Natsuki’s voice was barely audible as the pain in his ear returned. His head throbbed and half of his face felt raw and torn. There was static in one of his legs and it felt like his guts were falling out. 

Ah, well that’s that then. 

A hollow feeling slithered inside of Ton as he detactedly watched Tetsujo, Saji, and Ushishimada’s excitement at finding the boss turn into unease and confusion and then morph into horror as they discovered what Ton had already figured out. There was something weird about seeing your own corpse. Even weirder to see someone who you genuinely loved just going ham on your carcass like your guts were made of bacon. Something that was almost a laugh escaped Ton’s ghostly lips as the puns caught up with him.

Though looking at the boss, he definitely didn’t get that big by just eating him. Hell most of his carcass wasn’t even in him yet. There was a lot of blood everywhere. And there was no way the boss could have gotten to this room on his own and as strong as Dokuga was this was pretty damn far to carry that thing on his own. And definitely no way that Dokuga would have made such a sloppy attempt at decapitation if he had reason to harm the boss. So a firefight in which someone hurt the boss and the boss ate the resulting bodies. As well as Ton because... he’d shown up. The boss had still been hungry and he’d shown up and as far as the boss had been concerned Ton was food.

The monster that was the boss pulled his torso closer and seemed to hesitate for a moment before digging its claws into the flesh of his chest and tearing it open to get access to the organs inside. Ton felt that. Pain seared through his ghostly body and his ribs snapped and popped in time with his real ones as the boss tore out his ribcage. 

Saji was the first to act. His voice was shaky, begging, and on the verge of screaming as he tried to pull Ton’s remains away from the boss. “S...Stop. Stop it already! That’s your friend! Have you forgotten that?!”

Was the boss ever actually their friend? The part of his heart that would always remember being beaned in the face with a burger, the one and only time the boss shared food that was meant for him. The fun trips to the fancy restaurants.The fighting as a team. But… really it was more the boss tolerated them while they loved him unconditionally. Well sort of. The boss… Kai… saved their lives when they were kids. Gave them a reason to keep on living in these shithole worlds. Not the reason they told themselves or the recruits but reason enough. To be useful. To feel protected. To be provided for and free from want. That’s probably as close to loved as a bunch of losers like them could get from someone (something because the boss was never quite like a proper person now was he?) that powerful. They used the fear of Kai to use others. And the boss used them. And threw them away once they were no longer useful to him. Simple.  

And yet it made the traitorous part of Ton’s heart burn with rage.

They’d been loyal! Saji deserved better than to be on the verge of tears playing a pathetic game of tug of war with one of his best friend’s rib cage while begging the man who half raised them all to remember that comrades aren’t snacks. They’d been kind! Ushishimada should have been home, helping Ton cook up a hot breakfast for their brothers in arms instead of sinking to the floor in grief.  They tried to make things better! He didn’t want to see Tetsujo vomit from stress and feel the need to draw his against someone he trusted, it was like watching something get irreversibly broken. 

THEY DESERVED BETTER!  

Like a match in a methane mine heat burned through the numbness of Ton’s incorporeal body. (And how dare that bastard actually finish eating his body while the others were breaking down!) There was a fight brewing and the odds are astronomical bad. Neither he nor Natsuki could really touch anything or be heard. Tetsujo was the most ready to fight but he was emotionally shaken. Saji was still in denial and Ushishimada was in a worse state. And Ton knew exactly how fast Kai’s horrible horrible tube mouth was even if the monster could barely move the rest of its overstuffed body. Then the odds decreased rapidly when it called upon the magic it stole from Natsuki.

Fuck.

That didn't stop Ton for instinctively reaching for his knives. What did stop him was the large gloved ice cold hand grabbing his wrist. Colors muted and time slowed enough for him to actually be able to track the movement of that whip quick tube mouth as the monster simply bit a chunk out of Ushishimada’s chest. Instantly killing him with Saji following soon after and about as gruesomely. From the corner of eye a shadow flies out and over the corpses of his friends, pausing briefly and then flying back out of sight. 

“Ton!” Natsuki calls out in alarm and he sees a similar shadow wrapped around her. 

“Hey!” He shouts turning around quickly the hand still firmly grasping his wrist. The figure before him causes a shiver to run down his spine. Her face was a skull partially obscured by a gas mask not unlike the mask of that Aikawa dude (the one who tried to stop the boss who the boss turned into... ), there was even a thick black tube running from her mask that dropped down in loops around her waist like biomechanical intestines. Thick leather armor reminiscent of firefighter gear largely concealing her figure. She towered over him and Ton was not a small man. The black scythe in her other hand felt like a solid threat.

“You are dead,” Death said, sounding tired which given all of the recent killings she probably was, “Rejoice. These problems are no longer yours. You can rest, forget, and move on. Your friends will meet again in Hell.”  

His friends will meet again in Hell? “But I’m still here now. I could help Tetsujo survive.”

“Buy doing what? You are one soul against a mountain of angry dead. Even if you did manage to kill the host, and he’d probably thank you for it the poor boy’s been trying to stop himself for years… even if you did kill him your living friends are unlikely to survive the birth of that thing. Either they’ll be eaten very soon or just after the kid gains its own physical form.” 

“Host? That thing?” There were puzzle pieces coming together but so much that he still didn’t know enough. And why… hadn’t they been taken to Hell? Ton had to assume that those shadows that ghosted over Saji and Ushishimada’s bodies where their souls getting harvested. But… “Why did you say my friends will meet up again in Hell?”

“You certainly are nosey,” Death sighed. One of her tubes looped around him and she let go of his wrist. She altered her grip on Natsuki to a singly less restrictive loop around the girl’s waist. “And I still have so much work left to do.”

“Ok but--” Ton started only for everything to go dark.

[griimreaping]

@utternocries​ - one word fic prompts

Lower ( part 1 )

The tolling of the church bells was genuinely ominous. An impending sense of dread dominating the grey morning fog, which blanketed Novigrad. Those silvery sounding clangs ringing out through the mist to call forward its faithful masses from the gloom. Pulling the traveling cloak tighter around her shoulders, if only to stave off the nerves rather than the general chill that harkened the coming of autumn, Jean flinches when Geralt's shoulder lightly brushes hers. Nerves had been high in the woman's chest as they neared the city, the last time she'd stepped foot in those walls being the night before her family died. Now with the cold solid stone rising around them, Jean couldn't help be reminded of a tomb.

This must have shown on her face from the flicker of a frown that graced the Witcher's mouth. He'd been summoned on a contract put forth by one of the wealthy governors that had come to occupy a mansion in the northern district of Novigrad. Since he'd taken up residence there, it's caused the man nothing but grief. Deaths in the family, along with some more insidious spectral activity that made even the most persistent of tenants shy away from even renting the place. Which only added to the misfortunes befalling an otherwise uninteresting and mundane man of wealth. With such wealth, he enlisted Geralt's help, and by some lucky stroke, Jean as well. Who had insisted she come along since the governor had mentioned something about black vines overtaking most of the house. 

"What plant has black vines?" Had been the first question Geralt had asked when done skimming the frantic letter that had been sent forward to Downwarren. The Witcher had to stop spending so much time in her little hut, now even people outside of the village were beginning to notice. Plucking the letter from his hands and chewing on the inside of her cheek as she read, Jean's mind crunched over all the various odd species that thrived in this environment.

 "Devil's bramble is the first that comes to mind, but it's more of a shrub than vines. Could also be just a mistaken color?" Placing the letter back down and folding arms across her chest, the Druid casts an uneasy glance out of the dewy glass in her kitchen to the misty bog. She hadn't been to Novigrad in nearly fifteen years. The harsh smell of a house fire coming back in a wave so sudden it took a considerable amount of will not to choke on the air stuck in her lungs. Hugging herself tighter, Jean forces the words out of her lips in an attempt to cast away unwanted memories. To drown the screams.

"You'll probably need an expert on plants and herbs," a glance is cut at the Witcher to gauge how the words are received. "I won't ask for any of your payment, I'm just genuinely curious now and could do with a bit of adventure away from the bog and corpses." Geralt grumbled a few words about how things were dangerous, and Jean's rebuttal of how she could handle a sword along with magic seemed to lessen the worries only marginally. Or at least enough that he put them to bed. Now walking among the cramped sewage reek which clung to the southern district like a diseased lover, Jean begins to miss her bog. Roaches hoof beats echo in the dull mist as they weave through cobblestone streets going north. A beggar approaches before seeing the Witcher and thinking better of his choices, slinking back into a darkened patch of fog that yawned into an alleyway. The struggling morning sun had yet to touch these streets, sleepy shop windows gazing out onto quiet abandoned boulevards. A liminal moment in time before the meager warmth of an autumn day shone through the slate clouds above.

 That invisible line between districts isn't so invisible in Novigrad. A stark change between cramped tenant buildings that had begun to go crooked like a thieves smile, to the gaudy colors in the markets almost hurt the Druid's eyes. Even at such an early hour, a merchant in puffy gold pants tried valiantly to hawk some bruised peaches to her, claiming they were the city's sweetest. More polite "no thank yous" than Jean figured were necessary, and he'd given up his venture only to flag down another tired traveler bustling away. They did not make it out of the markets without expending a small amount of coin, which Jean put out to receive a small set of glass bottles in return, which now clinked softly in her bag. Geralt eyed the merchant selling her the glass wear with a critical eye, waiting to see if he was going to swindle her or not. This intense cat-eyed stare is more than likely what got jean a reduced price just to make them go away.

"I think I have a new idea about what the vines are." The Druid pipped up as another jarring change in scenery happened from the markets to the northern district. Now polished iron gates bore their teeth at them from the mouths of massive walkways up to ostentatious villas. No longer is the lower districts' corpse stench lingering; instead, a delicate waft of mountain roses and lemon trees walk in step with the Witcher and the Druid. Jean felt dirty here like she shouldn't be permitted to touch anything for fear of sullying it beyond rescue.

"There's a rare type of flower which only grows on the site of immeasurable evil. I've only ever read about it, though; the drawing seemed close enough to the description he gave." Rummaging around in the folds of her cloak, Jean produces a very worn and overly bookmarked tome. Roughly the size of her palm, the books brown and yellow pages had the look of something that had been steeped in bog water and perhaps blood at one point. Leafing through to the proper page, the pages crackle with age under the woman's touch.

"Here, Dagon's breath. Black vines with leaves about the size of a supper plate, able to produce flowers but only on full moons. Dried flowers turned into a powder can produce some of the most potent madness-inducing potions known to the world. Since this is such a rare specimen, there are speculations that even the scent of the flower can cause severe hallucinations." Reading this passage aloud, the Druid could feel a cold hand drag down her spine. If this was what they were dealing with, then whatever cast the curse even to make it grow had to be obscenely powerful.

The Dagon is old magic. Older than what most perceived as life it's self, coming from the chaos before time. From all that Jean could find in the books in her home, it was a god born of entropy and discord but required strict worshippers to ensure that it would have a proper host to inhabit when the void took back over. Mages and fanatics alike that dabbled in the Old Gods were ones that put their minds in the hands of babbling madness willingly, hoping to be rewarded with some form of forbidden insight to the world. The thought made the Druid shudder. She'd tasted the sharp edges of madness once before, those dark whispers in a language lost still snaked into the blackest of nightmares that she couldn't wake herself from. They'd always promised such alluringly unfathomable things to her.

It's lost in these troubling murky visions that cause the woman to bump into Geralt when he stops at one of the ornate gates. Placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her, the Witcher's disquiet shows fully. He'd had many half-hearted qualms about bringing her along on this, and now that she was becoming so distracted, it only furthered his worry about her being a liability.

"You should go wait back at the inn. Now that I have a better idea of what this plant is, it shouldn't be a problem." I don't want you to get hurt; goes unvoiced, but his cat-like eyes' narrowing conveys the sentiment. Jean's face flares pink around the ears at her embarrassment, but she doesn't allow the dialogue of the inn to go any further. Making a vague gesture at the nameplate affixed to the gate, the woman lets out an irritated breath, the frustrations more directed at herself.

"We're already here; it wouldn't make sense just to send me away now. Plus, I don't remember which roads we took to get here through the fog. Come on, Geralt, just let me continue, and I'll keep my head on straight, okay? No more distractions." A half-hearted smile that she hopes will cement the words into place only has Geralt absently rolling his eyes. Producing the key that had been sent along with the letter they'd received, the gate is unlocked. A horse post just inside the iron portal is where they part with Roach, who busies themselves with munching on the fresh hay that had been left out.

Path flanked on either side by overgrown flower beds containing every flavor of poisonous plant known to the region. Even a few that look notably exotic had a tight knot of anxiety forming in the woman's chest. A breeze sighing up the path causes the nefarious blooms and grasses to seethe in a green ocean around them, their ghostly voices curling in Jean's ears. Reaching out to place a holding hand on Geralt's arm, Jean freezes in her tracks when the house looms into view from the dismal fog, which had turned into a light misting rain.

When the governor had stated the vines were growing along the house, she had expected a few sparse fingers grasping greedily at the spaces between the bricks. Instead, what they were greeted with was a building that seemed to move with a life of its own. Thick coal-black leaves nearly the size of Geralt's head shiver in the breeze giving a sinister shivering quality to the house from foundation to rain gutters. Interspersed with wine-red flowers sporting elegantly curved petals and long golden yellow pistils that reminded Jean of a great blood-sucking insect searching for its next meal.

Then the whispers.

"Geralt, we shouldn't go in there." We're the words Jean heard herself saying, startled by how her voice sounded so terrified. While the Druid can listen to most of the passive voices of the plant life around her, these held that same nebulous darkness that only spoke to her in deepest nightmares. They carried the same voice as the madness. Their saccharine-sweet smell only there to lure you in closer with beckoning leaves and candy red petals.

Before responding to such a statement, a loud voice calls to them excitedly from the house. A gaunt man in a midnight black traveling cloak hurries toward them, waving his arms and wearing an almost crazed smile that shows far too much of his gums, which are far too pale to be healthy.

"Witcher! And... company. So good of you to finally arrive, and when I fear I am at my wits end!" The man nearly shouts at them, reaching out to vigorously shake Geralt's then Jean's hand with both of his clammy skeletal paws clasped around theirs. When his fingers leave the Witcher's, he notices fresh raw wounds on the man's forearms peeking out from his dark robes' confines. They looked almost like symbols carved into his skin, but such a quick glance hadn't been enough time. Deep-set eyes that once would have struck a woman dead with a glance now flit in their sockets nervously, the striking ocean blue ringed with bloodshot scleras and the deep shadows of exhaustion. The man looked to be hand in hand with death, yet the cold grip that clutches Jean's own spoke of fierce hidden strength that still dwelled like an angry spirit inside him.

"You must come inside! He has told me so much about you. I am looking forward to speaking with you before we get to such dark and dismal affairs. Come come." Voice and grip offering no rebuttal, the governor loops his arm with Jean's, nearly dragging the woman toward the house of dark whispers. Following close behind, Geralt notices the low humming of his medallion as they approach the building. There was nothing good contained within, the corrupted magic oozing out and tainting the air around them.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

When Love Must Die (chapter 8)

Longer chapter this time. Hopefully, you, guys, will enjoy it :)

Link to Chapter 1 (masterlist)

Tagging:  @armaggedidnt @oh-hamlet @foxyfoe-reblog @s3dgy @butttteeerrrrrr @swanheart69 @giulisetta  @tonystark5ever @agentlokii @tardisoftheshire @maehemscorpyus

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Chapter 8

 A few moments after all the sounds in the adjacent room seem to die down, Anathema finally gathers the courage to step out of her hiding spot in the kitchen and slide cautiously into the living room, Newt following hot on her heels.  She heard… some of what the demon had said, though it didn’t quite make sense to her.  But it was the angel’s reaction to the demon’s words that truly got to her – the raw, unbridled fury in his voice she didn’t think him capable of; the seismic shockwave of it rolling through the cottage like a hurricane-force wind, knocking out light bulbs and rattling windows and doors.

It was terrifying.  And she wasn’t sure she was ready to face whatever the consequences of that fury left behind.

 Turns out, she was right, but not for the reasons she thought.

 The smell hits her first – burned flesh and rot, emanating from a blackened puddle on the floor just outside the now extinguished demon trap.  She doesn’t understand the meaning of it, not at first.  Not until she shifts her gaze to the angel, back in his familiar shape now, standing at the very edge of the still-smoking puddle, with his head low, his shoulders hunched, and his hand gripping a vaguely familiar sword engulfed in flames.

 “Holy Belladonna…,” she gasps out, and the angel startles at that, turns around to face her, sword at the ready.

 There’s a moment of shocked silence as he stares at her, eyes glazed with darkness and pain so palpable that she has to fight the urge to shy away from that gaze, to retreat back into the kitchen and stay there until the suffocatingly terrifying swirl of emotions she feels emanating from the angel settles down.

 The angel blinks, slow and dazed, as though coming out of a trance, and the sword clatters to the ground, breaking the silence, the flame going out the instant it touches the floor.

 “They have him,” comes the equally dazed, quiet revelation.  “Hell… They have Crowley.”

 Anathema flicks her gaze to the gooey puddle beside the angel, purses her lips in doubt.  “He told you that?”

 The angel shakes his head, swallows with visible effort.  “Showed.”  

 There’s something in that admission, in the way his voice catches and breaks on the word that sends a jolt of compassionate worry through Anathema’s heart.  She dares a step or two closer, hovers almost within reach.

 “He’s alive then,” she tries for comfort. “We know for sure now that he’s still alive.  That’s a good thing, right?”

 The angel’s face twists in a terrifying display of raw, unadulterated pain.  “You don’t understand!”  

 The grief in his voice is once again a powerful, physical thing.  It pushes against Anathema’s senses, and she can’t help but recoil from the sheer force of its pressure.  

 The angel doesn’t seem to notice.  Stands where he is, hands gripping the sides of his head as if to keep it from splitting open, and words pour on, disjointed and rambling.

 “He’s an angel now.  The poison he absorbed, the poison he took from me – it destroyed his demonic essence, burned it away.  It should have… it should have killed him.  Permanently.  Because once you destroy a demon’s essence, there’s nothing left.  Same with angels.  But Crowley, he…” Tear-bright blue eyes find Anathema’s, and he smiles, bitter and wistful, “he’s different, isn’t he.  Always has been.”

 “He kept his angelic essence,” the guess spills out of her in an awed gasp.  Because she’s read about the Fall, alright? She got curious after the failed Armageddon, she wanted to know more about the forces that started it all.  And there was a lot of squabbling and disagreements between the different accounts she’s seen, but the one thing they all seemed to agree on was that the Fall was painful and traumatizing for the future demons and that the process burned away all traces of their former angelic essence, everything that ever tied them to Heaven. The mere idea that one of those fallen angels could somehow manage to save even a spark of that heavenly connection within them… it was… it was…

 “Ineffable,” the angel breathes out, as if reading her thoughts, his smile wobbling as tears spill down his cheeks.

 “It’s still a good thing, is it not?” Newt chimes in from behind her, and she jumps, having all but forgotten about his presence.  “I mean, if he hadn’t, he’d be dead now, but this way we can still get him back, right?”

 Aziraphale blinks at the question and looks away to where the demon’s remains slowly congeal into a cold viscous mess.  And there’s that wave of pain again that rolls off of him, tinting his aura a sickly mustard yellow.

 “I’m guessing an angel trapped in Hell is never a good thing,” Anathema muses, thinking back to the confrontation at the Tadfield Air Base, remembering the open rage and hatred she felt pouring off Crowley’s demonic colleagues.  She remembers something else, too: the cold, ugly swell of deadly menace from both the demon with a fly-shaped hat on its head and from Satan himself, both directed at Crowley.  “Traitor,” the fly demon had called him. And, oh, she thinks.  Oh!…

 “It’s worse for Crowley, isn’t it,” she blurts out, trying for gentle, but not quite succeeding, judging by the way the angel flinches at her words.  And she gets it now, the reason for Aziraphale’s distress.  Because… “They were already angry at him in Hell, weren’t they?  For messing up their plans?  And now they get their hands on him and he’s an angel…”

 “Archangel,” Aziraphale speaks up finally, voice hollow and bitter with pain.  “Raphael.  Lucifer’s baby brother.”

 Oh… my…

 “He was tortured!” Aziraphale whirls back toward them, eyes blazing with self-directed fury.  “All this time.  All the time I’ve spent feeling sorry for myself, moping around this place like a goddamn fool.  He was tortured, and I… oh dear God!” He pales, hand clamping over his mouth as he looks for all the world like someone about to get violently sick.

 “You didn’t know!” Anathema tries.  “How could you?  We all saw what happened, we all assumed that he was–”

 The angel shakes his head. “Crowley would have known,” he forces out, strangled.  “He always… he always…  He would have known!”  His words break on a pulse of guilt and self-hatred so strong – it physically pushes Anathema back a step.  And then it dies out, just as quickly as it came, leaving behind a swirling murky sea of weariness and despair.  “I gotta get him out of there…”

 “Yes,” she nods, still feeling quite off-balance from the whirlwind of powerful dark emotions radiating from the angel.  “But how?”

 The angel shakes his head, forehead creased in thought.  Murmurs a quietly helpless, desperate, “I… I don’t…”

 “Um… I hate to bring this up,” Newt cuts in again, “but don’t we need to do something about this?” He points warily at the puddle of demon goo on the floor.  “I mean… you said yourself he was a… a duke or something. Wouldn’t the others be expecting him back?”

 Aziraphale’s head shoots up at that, face brightening unexpectedly, eyes gleaming with almost childlike excitement.  “That’s it!” he cries out, reaching his hands toward Newt as though aiming to embrace him.

 “What?” The younger man stumbles back instinctively in the face of the angel’s near-manic fervor.  Reaches up to fix his glasses in an awkward attempt to maintain his cool.  “What did I say?”

 Instead of a response, the angel snaps his fingers, and Anathema sucks in a startled breath as the angel’s form shifts once more: the white hair lengthens, the soft curls straightening out into an unruly tangled mop; the smooth perfect skin darkens and sags, breaking out in ugly, weeping warts; the bright angelic blue of his eyes disappears in the pools of seemingly bottomless inky black…

 “Holy shit…,” Newt gasps out beside her, and, yeah, she thinks, as she watches the newly-baked demon roll his shoulders, adjusting the hopelessly stained, worn-out trench coat on his shoulders, that pretty much covers it.

 The disguised angel smiles at them, revealing a row of rotten smoke-yellowed teeth.  Twirls around for good measure, arms spread out wide, as if inviting them to appraise his newest form.  

 “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and now, despite his earlier distress and confusion, despite the ever-present pain in his aura, he exudes nothing but frighteningly calm, furious conviction.  “Bring Adam here if you can and have him wait for me.”  At Anathema’s questioning frown he explains, “He helped me once, when my old corporation was destroyed.  I’m hoping he can do the same for Crowley.”

 And with that and another flick of his fingers he’s gone.

 ***

 Hell is different from the last time he remembers.  For one, his return is not greeted by any special fanfare.  There are no demon guards surrounding him, tracking his every move.  No hungrily leering gawkers crowding the hallways, their sharp teeth bared in anticipation of a good show.  He walks through the damp, sewage-smelling hallways unhindered.

 It’s a blessing on the one hand.  On the other – he needs to find Crowley, and he has no idea where to go.

 He gets lucky finally after yet another sharp turn into a winding corridor with a leaking overhead pipe that a couple of low-rank demons are lazily trying to patch up.  

 Perfect.

 Shoulders squared, mouth set in a haughty disgusted sneer he’s seen Hastur wear on numerous occasions, he strides purposefully right up to the pair, growling out a “What the Heaven are you two, idiots, doing here?” in lieu of a greeting.

 The demons turn around, startled, their grime-smudged faces frozen in fear.  Stare back at him in a helpless flounder.

 “Well?” He lets his frustration and worry seep through, disguised as anger.  Lets the threat of it flash in the blackness of his eyes. “Why aren’t you over there guarding that traitor Crowley?”

 One of the demons, a squatty wart-covered thing, stammers out finally, “Not… not supposed to be there, Your Lordship.  It’s Armaros’ turn now.  And I think… I think they may be waiting for you?”  The demon ducks his head immediately, perhaps fearing he’d spoken too freely.

 Aziraphale narrows his gaze, aware that on Hastur’s face it looks menacing enough to cause the two demons to cower and tremble before him.  He uses that fear to his advantage.

 “Take me to him,” he says, and when the demon hesitates a fraction, giving him a look of scared confusion, he snaps, teeth bared in a clear show of menace, “NOW!”

 The demon jumps forward as if shocked and scurries obediently down the hallway, careful to stay only a couple steps ahead.  Pauses in front of a thick metal door whose surface is dented in places and smeared with grime.  

 “Armaros has been working on ‘im for the past couple hours,” the demon reports with a tremulous smile.  “But ‘e should be good and ready for you now.  You want me to announce you?”

 “Leave!” Aziraphale growls, barely restraining himself from pulling the flaming sword back out of the hidden plane and running the bothersome demon through.  Crowley is there, behind the door.  He can feel him – the familiar tug he’s learned to hone in on over all those millennia.  And he needs to get to him.  Can’t afford to give himself away just yet.

 The demon gulps nervously and is gone faster than could be expected from a short-legged creature like that.  

 Aziraphale yanks open the door and steps inside.

 For a moment – a long breathless moment – everything stops, as he stands, frozen, on the threshold of the makeshift torture chamber, its air so thick with the scent of blood and sweat and despair that it makes him want to gag.  He thought he was prepared, he’d glimpsed some of what was awaiting him in Hastur’s memories, and he tried to mentally steel himself for this very moment.

 It turned out to have been a futile endeavor.  Because nothing, nothing could have possibly prepared him for this!

 He sees Crowley, hanging by his wrists from a spiked metal chain that cuts ruthlessly into the tender skin; rivulets of blood – angel-gold blood – trickling down the skinny trembling arms from there the barbs pierce the wrists, sliding past the awful looking bruises and welts that cover every inch of those arms to drip in a monotonous cadence down to the floor, where they merge with a much bigger puddle that has collected at his feet.  He sees those bare feet, burned and bloodied, barely scraping the cold surface of the floor – not enough, not nearly enough to provide any support for his sagging body; Crowley’s head hanging limply on his scourged chest, the beautiful sun-red hair dull and matted; his beautiful wings – horribly mangled and torn, sticking out at awkward, broken angles, vulnerable and unprotected behind his back…

 There’s a loud roar in his ears, an awful pressure in his chest – so strong he thinks he might burst from it.  And for one horrifying moment his vision goes dark, as though someone somewhere had just turned off the light.

 “Hastur!”

 The raspy gleeful voice pulls him out of the suffocating blackness of his stupor and he blinks to find a tall scraggy demon, whose presence he had previously ignored, stepping out from behind Crowley’s back, one of its many unnaturally long, clawed appendages curled around the handle of a knife steeped in angelic blood.

 “It’s about time you showed up,” the demon continues, a lewd smile pulling at his blackened lips.  “I’ve been getting quite bored here.  There’s only so many notches you can make on those wings before the blasted creature passes out on you, and then you have to wait for him to wake up.  And waiting’s no fun, if you know what I mean.”  

 The demon looks back at his prisoner, pretending to consider him a moment.  “Perhaps I could wake him up for you now,” he offers with a laugh, low and grating.  Grabs Crowley’s wing, pulling it sharply toward him, his knife hand poised to strike down.

 And drops howling to the floor as the flaming sword slices through his appendages like a hot knife through butter, leaving behind blistering, sizzling stumps.  The sword swings down once more, swift and vengeful, and the demon’s screams cut out, silenced into a dying fizzle.

 Aziraphale doesn’t give him another glance.  Steps forward instead, swinging his sword at the chain that binds Crowley in place.  The Hell-forged shackles yield under the furious onslaught of holy energy, crack and shatter, scattering onto the floor in tiny smoking pieces. And Aziraphale lets go of the sword that same instant, lets it clatter to the ground unheeded, as Crowley, released from his cruel bonds, drops boneless toward the blood-covered floor.

 Aziraphale catches him before he hits the ground, the momentum driving him to his knees.  He lingers there just long enough to take a quick, relieved breath – perhaps his first one since crossing the threshold of this awful room.  Then he stands, his precious burden cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped around him with the desperate protectiveness that’s tempered only slightly by his fear of causing Crowley more pain.

 Crowley’s head lolls with the movement, a soft moan slipping past the cracked lips, and Aziraphale stills once again, breath bated as he waits hungrily, selfishly for more.

 “Crowley?” he prods, realizing belatedly as the former demon jerks suddenly in his arms that the voice coming out of his mouth is still Hastur’s voice.  

 And, oh, he wants to kick himself, wants to bang his stupid head against the wall for needlessly scaring his friend!  He should have just kept his mouth shut.  Just long enough to get them both out of here so he could shed this hated disguise.  He should have–

 Crowley shifts against him, effectively silencing his self-deprecating train of thought.  Opens his eyes a slit, his bleary, pain-filled gaze skating slowly up Aziraphale’s face to rest on his eyes.  And Aziraphale wants to close them, wants to keep Crowley from seeing those hateful soulless pools of black he knows are looking back down at him.  

 But Crowley doesn’t flinch away.  Stares mutely into Aziraphale’s eyes for a long breathless moment, and then, inexplicably, smiles.  “Angel,” he exhales, his eyes slipping closed once more as his head rolls, his battered face nestling trustingly into the stained smelly material of Hastur’s coat.

 It takes Aziraphale another interminably long moment before he can breathe again.  Before he can blink away a veil of tears that washes out Crowley’s dear features and get his hopelessly rattled emotions under some modicum of control to snap the two of them back to the Jasmine Cottage, miracling the flaming sword away onto the hidden plane as an afterthought.  

[kainablue]

LECTURE ME - Don’t Ask (part 1)

[Chain Reaction]  [Distracted]  [A Quick Smoke]  [Into the Wild]  [Heavy Rain (part 1)]  [Heavy Rain (part 2)] [Moonstruck (part 1)] [Moonstruck (part 2)] [On the House]

-

Okay, wow, I have a small collection here! Yay! 

Here’s the next chapter (finally!) In case you’ve forgotten - this is a dirty little bundle of stories about a professor and his student (and some other peeps). You can read them in any order that you like (except for the ones with ‘part 1′ and ‘part 2′ on them - these chapters were too long and that’s why I separated them like this)

The first part is pretty safe. Only some profanities and a bit of thirst! Enjoy! 🍷

Don’t Ask (part 1)

Oliver

What a shitty day. And not just because of rain.

As if getting scolded by the department's secretary for losing the keys to my office - again! - wasn’t bad enough, a couple of students at my last lecture were particularly annoying. Two wiseasses trying to convince me that morality is completely unnecessary in modern times. I wanted to crack their shit-filled skulls with an iron bar. But I kept my cool, I did. Barely, though. And I wonder was it really worth it because now I have a fucking headache as if someone smacked me with an iron bar.

A familiar smell of petrol tickles my nose. My eyes dart to my dashboard - I’m almost out of juice. Fuck. I rub my throbbing forehead and wonder what the helI did I do for karma to punish me like this. 

Well - I can feel a smirk tugging my mouth - I haven’t been an innocent lamb jumping around the meadow, have I?

As I turn around the corner, two streets away from my home, a slight silhouette darkens my peripheral view. I would have missed Filipa if she wasn’t always on my mind. I do believe my brain is overstimulated and now I am hypersensitive to anything related to her.

I memorized the sound of her shoes walking over different types of floors. From the way utensils are positioned on a plate, I can recognize her leftovers in the dining hall. And I can sense her arousal by breathing in her sweat enriched with musk and floral perfume. Aaah, just the memory of that sex aroma, that perfect combination of refined and vulgar, is making me dizzy.

I pull over next to a willow tree bending over the gates like Juliet over her balcony. A shower started recently, a light drizzle, but strong enough to be annoying. Filipa is pacing, her head bowed down, carrying a box in her hands. Several rectangular stamps are one it. Oh, so she’s been to the post office. But why aren’t her packages delivered to the Academy's department office, like everyone else's?

I open the window. “Need a ride, pretty lady?”

Filipa lifts her head and stops, swaying a bit. There’s something odd. Was she— A tight knot of pain stabs me in the throat. Was she… crying? There are no telltale signs on her face, just… the feeling. Like when you see a famous actor on the street for the first time. They look the same but it’s not the character you know. Like another person. Like someone without a mask.

Filipa doesn’t avert her eyes (she’s never the first to buckle - never!) and approaches my car. A lovely, almost innocent smile curves her lips and the whole costume is back on - the mask, the robe, the hood – the girl I saw just a second ago has vanished.

She places one her elbow on the window edge and the other hand holding the mysterious box on the car roof, bending her back. There isn’t much happening at the front of her clothes: her flat chest covered by her school uniform with buttoned up shirt. But her skirt… I imagine it is now way up. As she lowers her upper body, adjusting herself to my height, the skirt is going up and up, slowly sliding above her knees and her thighs. Maybe even her ass. 

A passer-by checks her out from behind, looking under her skirt like a fucking pervert! 

That ass is mine! 

“We are going in opposite directions, professor.”

Her voice is creamy like always, with some light notes of mirth attached to the word professor. 

“How about a detour?” Really, why not? “Hop on. I have something to show you.”

Her eyebrow jumps in surprise and then joins the other one in vexation. A very different sounding words shoot me.  

“Seriously? Of all the cheesy lines you have, you are offering me 'I have something to show you' one? I know how your dick looks, Oliver.”

“But it’s a very fine dick, wouldn't you agree?”  The rolling of her eyes was expected but always entertaining. “No, something else, but not as big, I’m afraid. Come.”

“Where to?”

“My apartment.”

She tilts her head, amused. “Wouldn’t it be suspicious, professor: a young naive student and her mentor heading to his unholy den?”

“To earn her some extra credit.” 

I crack myself up sometimes. The absurdity of my statement even draws a low chuckle from Filipa.

“All right,” she sighs and pushes herself away from my car. I forgot about the box. Such a dull looking thing, wrapped in a brown paper, and yet she holds it like a treasure… The familiar static fills my brain clouding my every thought. Oliver, don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do —

“What’s in there?”

You. Fucking. Did. It.

If eyes could make a sound, hers would be hissing at me.

“I should head back, professor.” And with that statement, heavy as a concrete block, she proceeds to march towards the Academy.

I fucked up.

I put my Ford in reverse and start to follow her.

“Fine. I’m sorry. Don’t tell me what’s in your damn box. Let’s go.”

She doesn’t stop. There is no other person who can blank you like Filipa can. I turn off the engine and take a deep breath. She won’t like this. Not at all.

I get out, leaving the car door open. In several big steps I catch up with her and immediately block her way. Because she was walking with her head down, probably protecting her eyes from the rain, Filipa headbutts my chest. I touch her upper arms but she springs backwards. She clenches her package and snarls like a monkey holding stolen goods. The ire in her eyes is so forceful I freeze. 

We stand like that for a few moments. Rain is dripping down my face and dampening my shirt. It's cold. I swallow a lump. Filipa is all wet and beyond pissed now. Why do I get horny when she looks like she wants to massacre me.

“Come on, doll. I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

She hardly blinks. Rain is getting heavier by the minute and she… isn’t bothered even the slightest? Blinking is for the weak, and Filipa is everything but weak, I laugh inwardly.

A much lighter expression takes over Filipa’s features. Not necessarily a good thing. She shifts into a more relaxed pose. 

“Beg.”

Not what I expected. “Okay, please.”

“No. I mean… beg.”

Oh. 

Someone could fucking see us! I turn around: luckily, the street is empty, but that can change in a second. And far more importantly - my clothes! Crap! I stare down at her. I could literally scoop her up and carry her to my car, but… She wouldn’t just kill me then, though; she would literally crush me into a lump the size of a marshmallow and eat me.

The resting bitch face in front of me is unforgiving. I know she doesn’t care. She will just leave if I refuse. And… I don’t want that. Just like I wouldn't want any of my nails pulled out with rusty pincers. 

I take a deep breath in… and kneel. A humiliating wet cold enters my clothes and spreads over my knees and calves. Fuck! 

“Please.” I stare at Filipa’s ugly, dirty shoes, gritting my teeth. Someone will see us! And then I’m screwed! “Please, please, please.”

Filipa is silent. She is enjoying this so much, I just know it. Murky water around my knees is restless from the raindrops hitting it. But I can somehow make out two faces: one pathetic, with eyes wide open in apprehension; the other, upside-down – and victorious.

Her foot moves up, water dripping from the shoe sole. The dirty, worn-out tip has a shallow scratch - just above her big toe. 

"Kiss."

I swallow. I was expecting this.

Let's get this over with.

I close my eyes and press my lips on a dry patch, just above the scuff. The smell of mud and old leather tickles my nostrils.  

“Are you satisfied?” I croak. My head is flying from one side to the other, checking if someone’s approaching. This is so dumb and risky and… exciting. I suck on my lower lip. Fuck me and my sick, twisted brain! I want to bend even more, shove my elbows in this disgusting sewage water and lick her legs. I want her to place her hand in my hair and pull while —

A finger brushes along my jaw and lifts my head up. Filipa’s lips are curved into a poisonous smirk. Her smile is like a drug – a deadly line that boils my blood and ruins my life. And I need it all the time. 

All the fucking time.

“Very,” she whispers, a slight tremble in her voice. She really is. “Let’s go.”

***

Filipa

I expected Oliver’s room to be a bit more… chaotic. More bachelor like. More I’m-overwhelmingly-anxious-to-keep-my-job-but-also-uncontrollably-hedonistic-like. But it isn’t. 

His shoes are neatly aligned next to a hallway wall. The wooden floor is old but clean, not even a pebble stuck between the boards. No weird stains, no underwear on the kettle, no porn hastily hidden bellow a carpet. He has a separate bedroom, but I bet he even made the bed before leaving his apartment this morning. Smell of cigarettes is glued to every piece of furniture and I soon spot a full ashtray. But aside from that dirty metal container and a bunch of papers and books scattered all over the floor and any horizontal surface, this apartment is… quite neat.

“I don’t think you came here before?” Oliver moves the curtains and more grey light colours the room. 

“I haven’t.”

There are no pictures on the walls. I think they used to be white,long time ago when this house was built; but they are more creamy brown now. Years of tobacco using tenants did that, I guess. Except for one spot where colour is still unsoiled and almost completely clean. In the perfect center, opposite from the windows, there used to be a cross. Not a large one, nor particularly prominent judging by the shape. But it bothered Oliver enough to remove it.

“Have a seat,” he points to an armchair in childish excitement, “and get ready to be amazed.”

I humor him and take a seat. Right in front of me, taking up quite a large portion of the living room, is a… table? A desk? Huge tablecloth covering it falls down some unexpected curves. Not to mention the tabletop is set too low for any standard chair. And yet it’s also too high for a coffee table.

Oliver removes piles of books that were covering the top and, with a wiggle of his eyebrows, he asks: “Are you ready?”

This can only be something incredibly stupid when he’s so excited. I brace myself expecting to see a rocking horse or an overly complicated sex toy. I nod.

He takes the tabletop and lifts the whole thing in one swift move. Table cloth flies with it and for a moment Oliver resembles a magician uncovering a rabbit underneath a mystery box.

But there is no rabbit. Only a - bathtub.

Although,  I have to admit, a beautiful one. It is wooden and shaped as those old baths that you can see in period dramas. But this one is brand new and shining like a freshly licked candy. I stand up to get a closer look. It really is gorgeous. 

“You made it?”

“Yup.” This big man’s ego just got a bit bigger. “Touch it.”

I glide tips of my fingers along the rim. It’s like ice.

"I used seven layers of finish so it could be as smooth as glass," he trails off and zones out. For a few seconds I was almost able to observe his tiny thought monkey with cymbals taking a break from wanking himself and actually using his brain for a change. And then he spoke in enlightenment: "...for your lovely, precious, little ass."

I don't know what I expected.

"Lord Byron, step aside, you've been outshined."

Oliver chuckles. “I would be honored if your ass would be the first one to sit in it.”

I look at the bathtub again. Is there a trick? Will something happen? I hardly believe Oliver would do something to openly anger me, but to simply push my buttons for shits and giggles – yes. And I’m not in the mood for it.

“Come on, sweetie. You know you want to soak that wet and cold flesh of yours in a hot bath.” He shifts behind me, a towering presence of muscles and heat. Oliver kisses the top of my head. “I will wash you, my mistress.”

A purr escapes my lips in response to this deep, rich and velvety voice whispering in my hair. It would be quite nice to replace the moldy odor of this sad room to a floral scent of soap. Bliss overcomes me as I imagine warm water clinging to my body and the brisk air biting my flesh when I expose myself. Oliver moves closer to me. A slow shiver shoots up along the back of my thighs, where his legs are touching mine. And, of course, the idea of his hands gliding up and down my skin, feeling me, caressing me, teasing me in all the right ways - does sound divine.

“Fine, my beast. You can have your wish.”

~~~

[to be continued…]

[theentiregdtime]

dennis buys a boat.

PHILADELPHIA, PA 5:00 ON A FRIDAY

"Look, Mac, I don't- I can't even comprehend what you're saying right now. How can you possibly not be excited about this? Are- Are you even human?"

"It's not that it's not cool, dude! I just- When you called me down here and said you were gonna blow my mind, I- How did this even happen?"

"It happened because I'm a genius, goddamn it, now are you going to get in or should I call Charlie instead?"

"No, I'm sorry, man! Look, don't call Charlie, I'll get in the boat."

Dennis is a visionary and Mac is a fool. Dennis is the king of the Delaware and Mac is a Hessian cretin. Dennis is... he's fucking Poseidon and Mac is but a lowly fish.

Mac could have come down here to the marina, chanted about how 'awesome' this was (he calls everything awesome!), and been goddamn Nerites. Not that he would have allowed him to take the reigns of this supercharged chariot, but still! Alas, he doesn't get the boat, not like Dennis does, so now he's just a fish.

Still, though, it feels good.

Dennis is stood aboard a 2007 Sea-Doo Challenger, of which he is now the proud owner, perched with his hands on his hips like a navy-clad demigod. The warm sun is shining down on his back, the speakers are blaring Steve Winwood's The Finer Things, and Dennis Reynolds is on top of the world, baby!

"So like," Mac says tentatively as he steps in, "where did you even get this? Last night you told me we couldn't afford two orders of fried rice."

A self-satisfied smirk twists  Dennis' mouth.

"How does anyone get anything, Mac?" he responds, dipping his sunglasses down to flash his eyes. "The world's not about money. It's about charm."

"That makes absolutely no sense, dude."

He's not certain why he expected someone like Mac to understand. He hadn't exactly grown up with the same... entitlements as Dennis had. His idea of recreation as a child was poking dead things with a stick and throwing rocks. As a matter of fact, he had probably thrown rocks at boats! The savage.

But Charlie would have gotten sewage and toothpaste and cheese and other mystery stains all over the vinyl, and Dee would have ripped a hole in the seat with her goddamn jagged bird arms.

Mac was the obvious choice. He was usually such a fantastic hype-man, and Dennis would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm here.

"That's because you don't have any charm, Mac," he retorts as he sidles into the captain's chair, curving his fingers around the steering wheel. "You tumble into rooms and knock things over and spit when you yell like the damned Tasmanian Devil."

"Be that as in May," -that's not the phrase, but Dennis doesn't interject- "I get stuff through the power of intimidation."

Mac plops himself down, rather gracelessly, in the passenger seat.

"When has that ever happened? And don't say the time you 'intimidated' that man at the mall into giving you a free massage, because I hate to break it to ya', but that's not what that was, buddy."

He pouts so overdramatically that his frown reaches his chin.

"Hey. I'm tough, Dennis," he persists, and per usual, appears to genuinely believe it. "But don't worry, that doesn't overshadow your charm thing!" Mac's smile perks back up and he reaches out to brush his knuckles against Dennis' shirt. "Like, you look way better in sweaters than I do, man."

It's not so much a sweater as it is a nautical polyester zip-up pullover, but hey, he does look good in it- so he'll let that slide.

"Okay, okay, just... shut up and hold onto something, all right?" Dennis rolls his eyes, but there's an excited sneer forming on the edges of his lips.

He screws the safety key around his wrist onto the slot until it clicks into place. Mac would say something along the lines of 'safety is for bozos' before surely setting himself on fire or plummeting off of a rooftop, but Dennis will not be murdered by his own boat like some sort of seafaring Cronus.

He gives a quick wink to- well, not so much Mac, more to the boat- before adjusting the trim and wrapping a hand around the throttle.

"Prepare to have your mind blown."

Before Mac can ruin the moment, Dennis sends the throttle forward. The dock is relatively clear, so he's out on the water doing 45 in no time. He leans back in his seat to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror (shame it's so small) just as the song tells him about the golden things life could be, and yeah, he looks pretty damn cool. Obviously, Mac must think so, too. Not that he cares.

He darts his eyes over to see if Mac is looking at him.

And oh man, is Mac looking at him.

But not like he's admiring how 'awesome' he is or thinking about how he wishes he could be so goddamn glorious- not like that at all. It's like he's just happy to be out here with him for no other reason than to be here. He's got this stupid little grin on his face... The nerve!

Dennis focuses his gaze back on the river.

Well, if anyone with half a brain is watching him, they will certainly admire how cool he is.

After a half-hour or so of going near-60 (perhaps to show off, perhaps not...), Dennis kicks it back down for a while, and they coast along the river maintaining a comfortable speed over which they can actually hear each other speak. Dennis can hear the music again, too, Wouldn't It Be Nice bamp-bamp-bamping through its last chorus.

Part of him regrets it, because Mac immediately shifts in his seat and starts babbling, like he's just been wriggling anxiously, waiting for an opportunity to speak. He gets that way, after they haven't talked in a while- a day, an hour, fifteen minutes- like he has to tell Dennis every single thought that's gone through his head in the meantime.

"Hey, what do you think fish think about?" he asks.

Dennis' eyebrows tense. He rolls his teeth over his lip. "What?"

Mac seems offended, as if the question were self-explanatory. "You know, fish," he reiterates.

"That isn't the part I was confused about."

That answer doesn't satisfy him, and Dennis can feel his stare burning a hole into the side of his head without even having to look. He's like a child.

Rick Astley is pumping through the speakers now, and Mac is totally ruining it.

"I don't know, Mac, what do you think about all day?" he deadpans.

The connection to Mac having the brain of a common herring flies right up the windshield and over his head. "Oh, uh-" he starts excitedly, "like, the bar, ideas for stunts, who would win in a fight between Dutch Schaefer and John McClane, you, french fries, whether or not I could put a bear in a headlock, which I think I could if I got a running start-"

"You've made your point!" Dennis has to stop him, because he already knows all of this, and Dutch would obviously win because John is more stealth than muscle and Dutch clearly has experience with stealth. "I don't think fish think about fast food, which they have no access to, or whether or not you could fight a bear, because they don't know you and you cannot, or..."

Or me, Dennis just now registers. Did he really say that?

He shakes his head and dismisses it.

"I think they think about absolutely nothing! Some part of their tiny, gelatinous brain reminds them to move and to swallow smaller fish, but I can tell you with great confidence that there is nothing else. There is not some- some tangled, Desperate Housewives-esque drama playing itself out down there, damn it!"

Mac whistles through his teeth. "But, like... can you prove that? Can we be sure? Because science has only come so far-"

"Oh, I will not have this debate with you again!" Dennis inches his speed up just a bit in an effort to drown Mac out. "Are you determined to ruin fish for yourself by... by subscribing to the notion that they are capable of complex thought? You know how much fish we eat, Mac!"

"That's why I'm asking, dude!"

Dennis nudges the throttle up further, keeping his eyes trained on the water passing underneath them like sheets of polished glass.

"If they've got stuff going on up here," -he imagines Mac is pointing to his head, where quite clearly nothing is going on- "then maybe we should switch to duck or something, man!"

"Why- You- You think a duck thinks less than a fish?!" Dennis sputters.

He's almost up to 60 now.

"I'm not saying that for sure!" Mac transitions into shouting over the engine, the goddamn lunatic. "I'm just saying, flying back and forth every year seems like a waste of time!"

"Are you criticizing the migration of waterfowl?!"

"Well, why don't they just stay in the city, Dennis?! There's always food there!"

There's a rattling sound now, and Dennis assumes at first that it's a migraine forming from his teeth scraping together, but it's so loud and-

Ah, shit, it's the boat.

The needle on the speedometer starts creeping down despite the throttle being all the way up. Dennis adjusts it, as well as the trim, but the grinding only seems to intensify and the boat only gets slower. He checks to make sure the safety lanyard is still connected- which it is- and everything on the dash seems normal...

He can hear the music clearly once more. God, I wish I was sailing again, Jimmy Buffett mocks him.

"Uh, how much smoke is too much smoke for a boat?" Mac asks hesitantly. For once, it's actually a relevant question, and not some sort of riddle or existential crisis.

Dennis turns to look over his shoulder as the gauge creeps towards 20 and, yep, delightful, that's smoke.

"Did you suck something up?" he inquires rather stupidly.

"Yes, I absolutely did, and I did it on purpose," Dennis spits as he unhooks the lanyard and pulls the levers back down, "and you know what? I hope it was a fish, Mac, I hope it was the biggest, smartest fish in this entire goddamn river," -he hops up and paces towards the back, his heavy footsteps echoing off the sides of the boat- "with hopes and dreams and aspirations, a thousand times more superior than any duck! And I've just crushed it with the impeller like meat in a blender!"

"Why would you put meat in a...?"

Dennis rips the sunglasses from his face and tosses them to the floor. He doesn't know what else to take out his anger on.

"Is that the takeaway, Mac?!" he squawks, spinning back around to look at his idiotic fish face. This is why Poseidon is so engulfed with wrath all of the time! "Is that the one thing you choose to pick out of this entire situation?!"

Suddenly, Mac is on his feet and closing the distance between them. He has that pitying, holier-than-thou expression on his face, and for a moment, Dennis thinks he's going to pick a fight with him (and he would lose just like he'd lose to a bear!), until he feels steady hands clamp down on his shoulders.

"Den, listen to me," Mac says softly, lifting two fingers to point them back and forth between their eyes, "I'm with you. I'm on your side, man. Fish are stupid and they suck and we're gonna keep eating them, okay?" He lifts his palms to press them against Dennis' jaw. "But I need you to stay calm so we can figure this out."

Dennis should feel patronized and belittled, but he doesn't- he's simply stunned in place. His breathing is starting to steady, and he thinks he's nodding. Whatever Mac says or does next, he has a feeling he's going to believe him- even if he claims trout are capable of high-order thinking.

"Okay," is all he manages.

Mac parrots back, "Okay."

He gives Dennis a double-pat on the cheek before passing him to peer over the stern. There is utterly no chance he has any idea what he's looking at, but that doesn't stop him.

"Well, I don't see anything."

Ordinarily, Dennis would ask him what he expected to see- some sort of hook hand hanging off of the boat? Instead, he merely shrugs his shoulders.

He's oddly at peace with this. Jet-boating is kind of boring, anyways. It's nothing like a yacht, there are not nearly as many bachelorette parties waving to him as he'd envisioned, and there's next to nothing to see out here. There's a reason John McTiernan does not direct movies about flat water.

"I'm so sorry, Dennis," Mac apologizes, for some reason.

Now that they're floating sans engine, the smoke has died down, and there are no more ear-splitting scraping noises. Dennis would rather spend the night on this thing than hear that sound again- it's going to give him an even worse headache if he does.

"Just- open that up." Dennis gestures to one of the storage compartments.

Mac nods dutifully and does as requested, looking like he thinks it might lead to something he can repair. When it opens to a mound of ice and Coronas, he raises a surprised- but not displeased- eyebrow.

"Oh. All right."

Not two minutes later, they're sitting on the back row of the boat, beers in hand, having given up trying to remedy the situation. I'd Really Love To See You Tonight (absolute classic) is playing just as the sun is starting to set. They'll call for a tow once it gets dark- Dennis doesn't have the energy to think about it right now.

Mac's got his arm on the back of the seat, around Dennis, but not really touching him. There's much more space they could be utilizing, but this is fine. It makes it easier for Mac to open Dennis' beers for him, anyways.

"I think you should start paying for boats with money instead of charm, Den."

Dennis scoffs. He leans back onto Mac's arm as he takes another swig.

"I don't know..." he mutters, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. You see, it really doesn't matter much to me, the speakers remind him. "This isn't so bad."

Mac chuckles through his nose. He doesn't object.

It's quiet for a while as Seals and Coley harmonize and Dennis polishes off the last of his drink. He discards the empty bottle, letting it roll until it meets up with his shattered sunglasses.

"You want me to get you another one?" Mac offers.

"No," he half-whispers and scoots a little closer- just to get comfortable. There's no sense in being uncomfortable.

Mac's hand rests on Dennis' shoulder, drawing him in gently.

"Okay," he whispers back.

He passes Dennis his own, half-empty beer. Without taking his eyes off of the sunset, Dennis takes a sip, then hands it back to Mac, who immediately does the same. They trade it back and forth a few times. Dennis hums I'm not talkin' 'bout moving in...

"Dennis?" Mac mumbles in his ear.

"... Yes?"

He could ask him anything in the world right now, and Dennis thinks he might give him a real, honest answer. He imagines the answer to a lot of those questions would be 'yes, I do, I'm just so scared to tell you'. He would really love to tell him tonight.

"How many pennies do think there are... in the river?"

Dennis takes another drink. He's too tired to argue. It's warm, the sky is amber-peach, the boat is rocking gently, Mac's arm is around him, there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out, and I'd really love to see you tonight.

Dennis sighs.

"Just pennies," he replies, passing the beer back, "or are we talking all change?"

[emptymanuscript]

Letting it drop - Lords of Pain 2 - 2/6/20

One of my very best friends gave me my favorite metaphor for Pain. She described Pain as like a liquid. We hold that liquid as if in a vessel. Each of us has a Pain cup.  pain pours into it and as it fills up we become overwhelmed. 

A small cup can only hold a little bit of pain. Even a little of that liquid drowns the individual’s ability to cope. But you can’t stop feeling pain just because you have pain. So the cup does not overflow. Instead, the pressure of that pain forces the cup to expand.

A larger cup can hold more liquid. A person who has experienced more pain, although they still feel the pain the same, can deal with more. Their cup can hold more of the liquid.

This means that you can’t compare cups, and you can’t compare pains. The same amount of pain acts differently on different cups so different people have no choice but to deal with their pain differently. That I can deal with a certain level of pain and another cannot does not make me better it just means that I’ve had more pain. That they cannot deal with as much pain simply means that their cup is size differently. So there is no way to value the cup interpersonally.

People don’t feel in numbers. It’s the same reason why a year feels a different length when you’re 10 compared to when you’re 30. We feel in something like percentages. I feel that this has been a certain fraction of my life and that fraction is consistent while the numbers are very different. The cup is the same. I can ignore 10% of my cup being full. If my pain cup is 90% full I can’t do shit. But someone who can hold 10 ounces of liquid pain will be overwhelmed by 9  ounces while someone Else who can hold 10 gallons wouldn’t even notice 20 ounces, more than twice what the 10 ounce cup can hold in its entirety. 

Because were human the temptation is to see that as being better. My friend calls this comparing misery dick sizes. It actually holds no value. A 10 gallon cup cannot compare to a 10 ounce cup because what they feel cannot be passed. The literal tan just can’t be felt. The 10 ounce cup couldn’t hold that much pain so while it would expand the person would just pass out. They just don’t have anything to do with each other, their personal. So, do your best to ignore that temptation. An individual must feel their individual pain and no other.

I’ll almost certainly talk about this again, it describes a lot for me. But for myself, and I think most others, this then ties into the Spoon Theory. 

The Spoon Theory is the idea of limited resources. Everyone has a certain number of spoons but as things deplete your capabilities you have less spoons to use on tasks. Permanently deplete abilities and you permanently have less spoons. Large scale depletion means you have a small number of spoons and you have to learn to count and ration them. 

I like the spoon theory a lot. It makes a lot of sense to me. 

But just for myself, I like to ponder where those spoons go. Do the used spoons go into the filling cup? As I do tasks, am I raising the level of the liquid pain? 

Because pain seems to come in colors for me but I don’t seem to get multiple cups. I don’t get one cup for my chronic pain, one cup for what I need to work on during the day, and a third for what I need to do to prop up my relationships. Hurting when I stand, coming up with a story, paying bills, doing a bit of plumbing work on the house,  talking to my sister, and bending low and jabbing with my fingers to give my wife a massage for her back pain all seem to come from the same (re)source pool of spoons and all pour their waste into the same sewage system flowing liquid pain into my cup. 

Which means, at least for me, it’s really hard to make that estimate of what I can and can’t do. I can think about it at 12pm and be quite certain that I have 18 spoons to use until 6pm but the act  of using those spoons means that my pain goes up so I have less spoons to use and that circles back to more pain in my cup and less spoons to use in a vicious cycle. So by 3pm I don’t have my estimated 9 spoons remaining but only 5 instead. 

This happened fairly blatantly this last weekend. We live in an extremely walkable area. So we just walk to the movies. If I am smart and take my cane, even if I feel fine and mistakenly believe I don’t need it, I’m fine with that walk. But I have more stress than usual right now. Not more physical pain, more emotional stress, just this little dollop of cloudy cataract colored liquid metastasizing at the bottom of my cup, making it feel full faster. So instead of being able to walk all the way to the movies pain free, somewhere around 4 blocks away I had to grit my teeth to the movies because it hurt like hell. Which also means I fell asleep during the part of the movie that bored me a little. Which gave me extra discomfort on the walk back for having to admit that. So it was more like six blocks from home where I’m trying not to cry and just wanting to collapse because it fucking hurts and I’m tired and I don’t want to deal with anyone or anything now. The slight imbalance was enough to make me quite noticeably wrong about what I was able to do, even having plenty of experience with the same activity. 

Unfortunately, this isn’t a one off for me. I’m bad about figuring out what I can do and energy / pain budgeting more often than I’m good. I can severely underbudget, and often do, but that ends up being like not cutting down a dog’s nails close enough to the quick. That ends up making the quick grow and you can’t cut your dog’s nails down as short. You can just accept that you’re going to be miserable which ain’t great for your mental health. I truthfully wish I knew how people budgeted well enough to thread the needle most of the time. I mostly carom off the edges of the space, getting fairly within my budget but either avoiding what I could do in favor of what I want to do or what I’m afraid I won’t be able to do if I budget higher OR I overspend and find I just don’t have the energy or discomfort tolerance to do what I want or know I should. 

This came up yesterday. My wife reached over, ran her knuckles along my cheek, or the hair on my cheek really, and said, “Ok, we have to figure out what we can do so you’ll shave outside the shower. Or take a shower every day like you should. Because this isn’t working for you. You’re looking pretty scruffy.” 

Because that kind of self care, being clean, taking care of my body’s needs besides for rest and food, is pretty much the first thing I drop. I decide that it isn’t the budget if I want to get x,y, & z accomplished. Or my budget has run out by the time the end of the day has rolled around and it’s simply too much effort and too much expectation of pain.

That’s partly because a good portion of my chronic pain is most likely psychosomatic. Things have hurt enough that I now expect things to hurt. The shower is going to hurt. Never mind that the water on my skin only hurts one time in ten, maybe. The association has been made and now I expect it so I overbudget for the shower. That’s two spoons of effort instead of one, and it’s three ounces of pain instead of one. Which often leaves me saying to myself, “I can’t. I just can’t. I’ll do that tomorrow.” And the ball drops. 

Because tomorrow is the same except now I also have that extra eighth of an ounce of oil-slick black guilt curdling in my cup, and so my budget is just that little cumulative extra off, meaning I run out faster and I just can’t. I can’t stand in that shower under the beating water and run a razor across my face until it burns for… for what? Do I really care? Do I care about any of it? Is anything worth the effort? Do I even want to do life today? Do I even want to do life??

And the ball drops. 

I feel guilty for letting the ball drop. I feel ashamed for letting it drop when we JUST talked about this and I promised to try harder. And clearly I didn’t / couldn’t / just wouldn’t because I suck. I let it drop right into the cup and dissolve into that oil-slick black shame, raising the level of the liquid until I feel like I’m drowning and the stress pours in in its cataract white. Then I push because I “know” I’ve got 18 spoons and I really can’t and the pain from burning into the spoons I really shouldn’t be using because I am going to use 18 goddamnit, even though I really only have 8, sears through me in its own blinding ruby biting sharpness into the cup rushing straight for the brim. And I just let it drop because fuck you and fuck me and fuck everyone and everything, I can’t. I really can’t. And I hate that it is even being asked of me.

And the ball drops and I’m sitting here typing this out with an unshaved face and unwashed pits even though this was yesterday. And I can already feel my pain rising. And my worry rising that I’m going to let it drop this evening, too. Because there just isn’t room for everything. That doesn’t mean not room for stretching myself. That means there’s so little room that just the mundane everyday tasks we’re all supposed to do every goddamn day is a stretch and way more often than I like, something needs to be cut. I think. Because I’m guessing. And I have no answers. Just a cup filling up. 

[wolf-with-no-pelt]

The Vermin’s Gift

                                                   Mood Music

It was dark, and cold outside. An empty city street stretching one way and another in a sliver of concrete grey that faded into obscurity as the safety of the city's street lights grew so dull that they barely mattered anymore, in the distance. 

Gentle swirls of snowflakes drifted down from the dark heavens, the stars hardly seen through the haze of Consequence's light pollution. 

Late enough that the houses and apartment complexes that lined the streets were under the embrace of slumber, with curtains drawn. No one would know that a young woman had pried open a manhole cover just enough to shift it to one side and leave a small opening to ease her way down into, until her boots found the hard metal of the ladder attached to the stonework wall. 

The sewer she had chosen wasn't for any real grand reason. It was just close to her apartment complex. Figuring if she was going to clear anything out, it should be a place where it might do some good to her living block. 

The echo of her boots striking the ladder's rungs was desperately loud, harsh in her ears when all she wanted to do was be so quiet. Once she was low enough, she braced herself on the ladder in a way that let her reach up with both hands and slide the cover nearly into place. A little tilted so that she could climb back up later, but not wreck any car that might pass over it. Plunging her into near complete darkness, if not for the pinpricks of faint light streaming through the holes of the cover, and the lamp she clicked on, strapped to her brow the way workers would do. Letting her touch down on the stone pathway on one side of the stream of sewer sludge and glance around with a path of brightness. 

In the underbelly, there is no snow. Only the cold, the wet, and the thin layers of disgusting ice. Everything suddenly threatens to give a bit of frostbite if anyone lingers too long in one place. but at least there's that concrete pathway. Lumi doesn't have to sift her way through three feet of sewage water to get anywhere. 

Lumiere had dressed warmly in a long sleeved turtleneck shirt and an outfitted vest with pockets and some protection. An item that she had pilfered from her cousin's closet. Dark jeans and boots that went up to the knee to hopefully protect her feet from any crud that might splash around if she ended up having to slosh her way through piss and shit. The smell was enough to make her eyes water with it, burning acridly in her nose though she did her best to ignore it and keep her mouth shut. 

Except for the incessant dripping sound all around, it's quiet. But does that mean its peaceful? The lamp on her forehead doesn't reveal anything out of the ordinary, but a keen eye will eventually spot the difference between normal brown sewer sludge and the occasional strange streak of green sludge along the path. 

Taking a few steps in either direction, it took several minutes until she began to notice the difference in sludge hues. At first thinking it was just some mold, before realizing there wasn't enough to be that sort of thing. 

The spirit in Lumi's phone suddenly beeps, contacted by an outside messenger.

The beep of her phone sent her shooting up in surprise, releasing a noise like a smothered yelp while she scrambled to pull her phone out and check the message. Puffing out a white gasp of a breath.

It’s a strange message from another communication drone. Not a written text, but almost like an open line requesting permission to connect and open a direct private line from one caller to the next.

After a second of indecision, the Glass Walker reached into one of the pockets of her vest and retrieved a small ear piece. Blue toothing it with her phone so that she could be hands free after giving permission. Tucking the piece into her ear and waiting with bated breath for the other end to speak up. Nervous apprehension crawling down her spine in dreadful worry.

“Lumiere,” the familiar robotic voice of Penny crackles over the line.She doesn't sound surprised, but there might have been a little curiosity to see if the other Theurge would pick up. “I'm calling you through our Fetishes. They'll make sure no one interferes or tries to listen in.” Some soft clicking fills the static air over the phone call. “I assume you've made it into the sewers. I'm sending you an Umbral map of the immediate area.” Lumi's phone beeps again. “I've been sending drones through these tunnels for days and they've picked up on strange activity in the pipes North of you.” 

The immediate relief that poured through Lumber was astounding. Finding more comfort in the droning voice of Bad Penny than she had ever thought possible. If it had been Locutus on the other end of the line, she wasn't sure what she would have done.

When Lumi is able to download the map sent from Penny's spirit to hers, a greenish pixilated network of the tunnels appears. Almost like a 90s maze game. Where Lumi stands, there is a bright blue dot, gently flashing. There is the occasional moving green dot that blink in and out before disappearing off the map, but never in any specific pattern. Then there is a vague spattering of blinking red dots far up ahead on the edge of the map as if she's not near enough to get their exact location. Just their general direction. 

Breathing a fraction easier, the woman held her phone up when it beeped again. The map that downloaded was less extensive than the one she had poured over after getting the blueprints for the area, but this one apparently had the activity of.. something. More than one type of something. Apprehension came swirling back, clicking down her spine through every notch with icy fingers while she trained her light ahead of her to study the tunnel as though she could catch a glimpse of any of the red dots.

“Have you noticed anything strange yet?"

Keeping her voice low, the woman started forward quietly in the direction of the red grouping. “So far, just some weird slime."

“Weird,” Penny repeats Lumi's choice of word to describe the green slime, but there isn't any inflection of opinion in her flat tone. The tapping on a keyboard continues. “Whatever it is up ahead, the drones refuse to venture any closer than 100 feet. I got one about 50 feet away, but lost the signal immediately. My hypothesis is it's a nest of some kind, and the scouts are taking out my spiders.  I advise you to get close enough to see for yourself. But do not engage.” A pause. “And maybe take a sample of the slime."

"Great.” The sarcasm in Lumiere’s voice was palpable, cutting off her tongue like a razor blade as Bad Penny offered up the information. She had known there was something down here, or she wouldn't have chosen the sewer. But the fact that it was sentient enough to be taking out drones was a different story. 

None of this seemed to bode well for her, wishing for the first time in a long time, that she had her pack to watch her back. But they'd gone to Earth and had been staying there for some time... shaking off the melancholy that threatened to drag her down, she crouched down next to a thin patch of the green sludge to examine it more closely. Fussing into a pocket to find a baggie that had been holding something else and emptying it out. Turning it inside out so that she could scrape up some of the sludge, then turn the bag back right side out. Flattening it down and closing it, rolling it and stuffing it into a pocket. 

Then she was moving again, following the map that she had been sent, but also trying to keep an eye out ahead of her lest something appeared that wasn't on the map.

Nothing out of the ordinary except for the random streaks of weird green slime along the path. Like a slug trying to get somewhere fast. The keyboard typing eventually stops. “I'm not very adept at picking up social cues, but I may have detected a bit of discomfort. Correct me if I'm wrong, but do you require company on this assignment?”

The shriek of a rat passes by as one darts out from a crack in the tunnel wall and dives onto a small pile of trash floating in the water. 

Lumiere’s lips thinned at the question, silent for several long moments on her end of the line. Slowing down in her steps while she swallowed thickly against the sudden lump in her throat. It was always the worst of times when everything came rushing in. 

Breathing in sharply to suck in the sickly, malodorous air into her lungs as a way of staving everything off, she jolted at the rat that darted in and out of view.  

“I was just thinking it would have been nice if my pack was here. But no, I don't require company. Thank you."

Quiet again. then the droning monotone voice returns. "A pack is a good thing to have. Or so I've heard.” 

“Sometimes.” The Twilight Travelers had been family... had been some of the most important people in her life. People she could have trusted to watch her back... to keep her safe, no matter what. Up until that illusion had been shattered so thoroughly, that there was no putting the pieces back together again. She wished The Bleeding Edge could have been something like that, but they spent so much time apart that.. there would never be the same level of familiarity. 

Back to furiously typing. "I'm going to stay on the line anyways. Keep it open. If you need me, let me know.”

“Thank you.” Another mote of gratitude, whispered. Having the line open was a comfort that she couldn't really admit to. 

Lumi's phone beeps.

“Furthest drone ten feet in front of you. What do you see up ahead?"

She straightened, growing more alert if that were somehow possible. Straining to see through the darkness, and listening for anything that sounded out of the ordinary. Sweeping her light to and fro slowly, to make sure she wasn't missing anything.

Darkness. Besides the immediate shine of dirty water and icy sludge on grimy walls. a few steps further and the narrow tunnel begins to widen, opening up into a larger chamber with a vent shaft up above where a metal grate probably leads to the surface streets. This is a junction of all the other tunnels in this network, where they cross and meet in one spot. 

Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first. Except a sudden waft of suffocating rot rushes up her nose and shoves itself down her throat, invading every pore of her body.

Lumiere gagged at the reek, the rotting stench coating her tongue, and throat, all the way down into her lungs. Clamping a hand over her mouth to smother out the sound of her choking and struggling to get it under control before she retched. Watering eyes peering around wildly to hunt down the source. 

There, in the darkness of the entrance of the tunnel across from hers, crawling out of the icy water, a moving blob of sludge and sewage. It gurgles and growls wetly, soiled toilet paper and pieces of junk sticking out of it. It looks the size of a dog, faster than it should be, rolling its way out and around the circular path that lines the chamber. 

It pauses before each tunnel, almost as if inspecting something, coming closer to the Glass Walker’s each time. 

“Lumiere,” the boring buzz of Bad Penny’s voice gives no real comfort, having no clue what's going on other than Lumi hasn't responded. 

The putrid stench of the creature is definitely tainted. This thing is of the Wyrm.

"I don't know what it is. Definitely Wyrm though. Sewage blob.” The only thing she could really think to describe it. Staring for a long moment in disgusted horror before she prompted herself to bring her phone up. Tapping along the screen to pull up a night vision view of the creature so that she could capture a few images and a video for as long as she could, until it was too dangerous.

 Stepping back into the darkness of the tunnel she had been going through as she listened to the creature grow closer, sending off the info through the connected line back to Bad Penny... mind racing in a wild frenzy of thoughts. Trying to figure out how she was supposed to destroy this thing.

Animated typing is her only response over the call for a while. Then a neutral grunt. "Definitely weird.” Lumi can hear the repetitive zipzip of a computer mouse scrolling. "That is called a H'ruggling. It's an elemental Wyrm spirit. So it should be in the Umbra, not on the mundane side of the gauntlet. And they're never alone.” More typing, and her voice never changes. No concern, no irritation. Just a calm confusion. "They prefer safety in numbers, hiding around Blights and Hellholes. They're dangerous in droves, but alone...it's just a Gaffling spirit. You could easily terminate it on your own. Are you sure you don't see anything else? Have you checked the Umbra?”

The tiny flame of hope she'd had that this was all it was, petered out as swiftly as it had arrived the more Bad Penny spoke.

“Not yet.” A part of her wanted to lament how hard it was to cross over. Blame it on some lingering effects from Adam Haupt and what he had done to them all not long ago before his death. It was easier than trying to explain that her connection with the spiritual world had been diminishing since the Rift had been blown open before her very eyes. 

With a hand still pressed over her mouth and nose in an effort to stave off the disgusting odor, she pulled out a small compact mirror from one of her numerous pockets. Adjusting her stance so that her belongings would fall to the ground and not in the sludge, if she were somehow successful. 

Angling her phone over the mirror enough to create a reflection for her to stare into she dredged up the connection that was tenuous and thin. Digging in deep to the cooling rush of Gnosis that felt just as out of reach as the Rage was. Trying to remember how it felt when it flowed through her... calm and icy, serene and maddening. 

Several long moments pass, her heart picking up pace with each passing moment that still had her standing on the dirty concrete. Growing more desperate while the seconds ticked by and the noise of the H'ruggling came closer. Until finally, the barest brush of webs and the free-floating sensation of drifting before gravity caught hold and she was falling. Drifting forward with an aching slowness that felt like an eternity.

When Lumi finally manages to drift forward and step into the Umbra, all her non-dedicated material items falling off and remaining behind, the stench of the Wyrmling spirit worsens. As does the sight before her. 

There are actually four H'rugglings in total, three of them crawling up the curved walls in protective positions while the one scans things on the ground below.

It was even worse than she had thought it might be. A horrendous stench that made her want to vomit up the little bit of food she'd managed to eat earlier. And there were THREE more of those nasty things. 

What are they protecting? A heavy, fleshy sack. Red, inflamed tissue and thick, inky black veins pulsing and throbbing with life as it hangs from the ventilation shaft up above. The Wyrm taint thickens in the Umbral air here as she looks upon it. 

The positioning had her eyes trailing, landing on the putrid sack that hung from the shaft. 

This was wrong. All wrong. Her fingers twitched, an instinctive, aching urge to fix this burgeoning deep down in her bones. But all she did was stare at the thing, until Penny's voice came through again. It was so hard to breathe.

“What's going on now? What do you see?” Penny's voice still crackles through the blue tooth, aided by their fetishes to keep the two Theurges connected even through the Gauntlet. 

“There's three more. And some... sack. Looks like living tissue. Really gross, with black lines."

“Three more. Understood. Still manageable. You should be able to take them out easily enough.” Should being the key word. Even if Penny does suspect Lumiere's Harano state, she gives no indication of it. No modifications. No easy way out. Either Lumi admits she needs help, or she finds a clever way to deal with the problem on her own despite her disability.

“A sack. Not a nest? Can you capture an image of the sack and send it?”

Thankfully, her phone is her Fetish. So she lifted Cybernetica to capture a quick picture and send it off to Penny. Watching the creatures closely and looking for anything she could potentially use to clean these things up. Taking the time to think, while she still could.

"Got it. That is a Breeder Bane. It's basically a womb." 

Lumi's phone buzzes in her hand quietly. An image had been sent of information on the Breeder. 

Reading the tiny blurb of information scrolling across her screen was enough to send vomit surging up. Acid burning in the back of her throat that stung and threatened to climb past the prison bars of her teeth. She'd thought it was hard to breathe before with the reek, but now it felt like she couldn't get any air into her lungs at all. The world warbled in her vision, rounding out in a fish eye's view before snapping back into focus with a hard bite of teeth against her lip. Enough to taste the copper-salt against her tongue and bring everything keenly back into focus, because now wasn't the time to lose it with a panic attack. Now wasn't the time to relive the memories. Nothing could stop the gaunt shadows from passing through her thoughts, silhouettes of memories that had been firmly branded into her mind, but she could square her attention on the task at hand. Crumble later, and let the stinging wetness in her eyes come to fruition.

“The Ferectoi are basically kings among the Fomori. Powerful, cunning, instinctively malevolent. Worst of all, they can blend into mortal society with ease. They have full understanding of human weaknesses and are very good at exploiting those weaknesses. To great effect.” Bad Penny stopped typing. "It needs to be destroyed. As soon as possible.”

Whatever was inside the sack twitched in its fetal pose and slowly turned in the fluids within.

Lumiere exhaled a trembling breath, watching the thing twist inside of its sack with a sickening fascination before she finally pried her attention away to start searching for any spirits that might still be lingering. Not that she had much hope in that regard.

Other than the H'rugglings before her and the drones behind her, there doesn't seem to be any spirits nearby. The sludge banes have done well to keep them away, protecting their future prince. Even the water spirits that might have dwelled here once in the city's plumbing have been tainted by now. 

There is, however, small bits of evidence of other spirits that passed through here not too long ago. Like animal tracks, the spiritual traces left behind are unique. Rat spirits. Snakes. Raccoon. Possum. But without experience with those specific spirits, it would be hard to tell which tracks belongs to which spirit. And how to summon them out of their Umbral hidy holes. 

This whole place was messed up, and she hadn't really thought that there would be very many options. Some kind of animals, but she didn't have a lot of experience with beast spirits, other than those she'd managed to commune to, to learn her Gifts. And what use would they be anyway? 

“Are you sure you do not require assistance?”

Penny probably didn't even mean it in any way, but it felt like a kick to the gut. Knowing full well that she wasn't going to be able to do anything - she'd been prepared to handle things on the mundane side of the veil, where she'd had her weapons enchanted so that they could actually do something to a Bane, or whatever dastardly thing might be skulking about. Everyone else would know what to do. They could just shift and take care of the problem. Kolina could probably urge those animal spirits out to help her. Arthur would have some invention that he could have used. She just had a load of nothing. 

The H'ruggling crawling closer toward Lumi's tunnel stops, then continues rolling. And rolling, skipping over the next two tunnel entrances and seemingly headed toward hers. Fortunately, the sludge banes above still haven't noticed her.  “I don't really know what to do."

“Hmm.” Still, no real trace of concern. Definitely not a people person. "I think Cybernetica is picking something up.” 

Maybe it's a saving grace that Penny didn't seem to comprehend what the admission had meant. This admission that had felt like a knife scraping against bone, wouldn't mean much in the end. 

Lumi's phone buzzes quietly and the spirit in her devices brings up the pixilated map. But it's not about the red dot of the H'ruggling coming closer. It seems a large blue dot is coming up from behind. 

Dark eyes shifted from the approaching Wyrm fiend, down to her phone when it buzzed. Penny's words echoed in her head while a shiver cut down her spine at the sudden approach of a blue dot. Smothering out the urge to take a step back - in either direction - to put distance between herself and the H'ruggling, and what had came upon her back. 

When Lumi turns, beady yellow eyes glow in the darkness. Right at eye-level. Maybe a littler higher. There's a low, lazy hissing sound like a fat, wary mammal coming across something it's never seen before. It steps forward again and Lumi's lamp illuminates the long pointed snout of a possum spirit, whiskers twitching. 

Surprise shot through her, heartbeat drumming a wild pattern in her chest that she could feel down in her fingertips with the way her vision shook. A possum spirit.

She stood stock still, letting the spirit to get her scent. Here in the Umbra, easily seen by a spirit - patterns of ashy smudges across the young Glass Walker. Filaments of faded grey drifting off her skin the way fog steamed off the surface of a lake in the early morning. The faint waft of Harano that had begun to sink its teeth into the young woman.

Gnosis is still close enough to the surface of everything that it isn't so hard to tap into it again. Plucking at a thread to activate a Gift for a short while that would allow her to understand what the Possum was saying, and to be able to speak back effectively. 

"Wolf? Smells like wolf. But not wolf." The marsupial hisses again, this time more curious than hostile. "Smells like sad wolf. Not many wolves down here. Not even bad dancing wolves. Only H'rugglings. Only Breeder. Bad things. Eating drones. Need killing. You need killing? Who aaaaare you?" 

“Lumiere. Glass Walker Theurge.” There's danger at her back, but she did her best to be respectful and not rush through everything. Panic a tremor in her fingers, realizing at the same time that the spirit had children. "And yes, I need help killing these bad things.”

In her experience with the Gnawers, Lumi might remember somewhere in the very bottom recesses of her memory that while Possum is more about deception and escape, she is also known to be a fierce adversary when cornered. Especially when protecting the young and defenseless, as a mama possum would with her own babies in her pouch.In fact, a closer look will reveal a few beady eyes peeking out from this spirit's pouch. 

Somehow, the moment felt a little like Cockroach had given its blessing. Managing to somehow survive the worst of times with nothing more than a hard shell and a knack for navigating tight spaces.

"Good." Possum’s long, pointy claws scrape lightly against the concrete, digging up frosty sewage slime and eating it. Whiskers still twitching. 

She had to fight down the gag at the sight of the spirit eating the rotten sewage sludge.

Then the H'ruggling suddenly rolls right into their tunnel entrance, fazing from the mundane and back into the Umbra realm where they are when it senses Lumi's head lamp. 

Before it can gurgle an alarm, Possum strikes, her arm extending farther than it possibly should. those long dirty claws piercing the blob and quickly dragging it into the tunnel and within the circle of light that Lumi projects with her lamp.

Within a second, Possum unhinges her jaw and swallows the elemental bane whole. Gulp. 

She twisted to face the H'ruggling as it came oozing in, eyes widening a fraction to see what became of the Wyrm creature. 

Possum smacked her lips, staring Lumi in the soul, her yellow eyes glowing brighter as shadows wrap around her limbs in obscurity.

Feeling like her soul really was being laid out for viewing, and somehow... somehow, being deemed worthy enough to receive the gift. 

"I will help you climb. I will give you claws. As payment, bring other H'rugglings to me." Possum opens her maw again and breathes on Lumi. Instead of the rotten smell of the sludge she just ate, Possum's breath has a earthy, savory scent. like she just ate some steak smothered in mushrooms. Warmth spreads in Lumi's arms and travels down to her fingertips. When she looks, long marsupial claws have grown there. Shadowy, spiritual, deadly.

The faint quiver of her fingers was lost in the dusky shadows wrapping her arms, hit full force by a warm breath that she had to brace herself against. Only to find, that she hadn't needed to at all. It wasn't a fetid stench, but something aromatic. Inspecting her arms as the tingling heat spread down them, she found claws tipping her fingers. Dark and dangerous. This was a gift meant for violence, for devouring and harming. But for the first time in a long time, there was a mote of peace inside of her even if it would only be temporary. A settling, as she flexed the claws and dipped her chin at Possum with gratitude.

"Like Possum, you will be immune to their toxins. Now go, sad wolf."

Lumiere moved closer to the opening of the tunnel after the command. No less nervous or apprehensive, but no longer was there a worry of what might happen if she couldn't shift in time. Ticking the claws against the grimy tunnel wall to attract the attention of the H'rugglings.

Soft, gentle gurgles halt. Then one by one the sludge banes crawling on the ceiling turn and seem to glance in Lumi's direction. Two of them start rolling her way with disgusting, wet screeches. The third crawls closer to the womb sack protectively.

Possum had said climb... so she climbed. Heading up the side of the tunnel wall so that the H'rugglings wouldn't see her, and head directly to the awaiting spirit so that she could gobble them up as she had the first. 

Even if she hadn't been gifted with the claws, Lumi would suddenly find it strangely easy to find purchase on the wall. With the claws, she climbs faster than the H'rugglings crawl. 

Still they follow her blindly into the tunnel, easily on the attack, thinking they outnumber this slim creature that has invaded their space.

When Lumi finds her way back out into the wider chamber where the sack is, leaving the other two banes to their fate...she hears the near distant shriek of fear and pain as they are most likely swallowed whole. 

She couldn't fight off the faint shiver when she heard the dull shrieks of the banes as they were eaten, but like everything else, they would be something to remember later on. 

The third one clings to the side of the Breeder sack and screeches at the opening of the tunnel Lumi has left behind. 

Focusing on the sack and the final bane with her sneaky approach.

Suddenly, it detects her stealthy approach, rolling around and spraying her with a stream of sludge and sewage. Disgusting, putrid, filth and soiled water right at the face. Usually toxic, even for Garou, but even when it tingles against Lumi's skin...it seems to slide right off. Possum's immunity to snake venom and other toxins at work within the Theurge's body. 

She stopped breathing, desperately hoping to keep her stomach under control even as it threatened to rebel against her. Not wasting a second, hoping to use the bane's possible confusion when its attack didn't work, to vault forward and catch onto the fleshy sack with her claws. Intending to dangle from it in close proximity to the bane. But not lingering. Fully intending to let her claws shred down the womb like entity in a quick evisceration until gravity caught ahold of her and would drag her down. Taking hunks and pieces of the fleshy sack with her descent. 

All the thick fluids and flesh inside comes spilling out, splashing Lumi on the way down. The fetus inside is eerily human. and it too falls, dropping into the dirty water. 

This time, she does retch. Bile dribbling from her lips and coating her chin, but anyone would be hard pressed to find it among the amniotic fluids and sludge that coated her.

The H'ruggling loses its position on the torn and deflated sack, tumbling down and trying to cling to Lumi's leg with metal shrapnel digging into her skin as it shrieks.

She hit the ground hard on her feet, stumbling forward to get out of the way. But finding that the creature had latched onto her, and each movement made the metal shards twist in deeper. Stumbling not forward, but onto her knees instead. Slick with vile fluids and reeking to high heaven. The absolute dream. 

With a hard huff of air that burned in her throat from the acid, she kicked out hard against the creature, reaching to slash out with her dark claws just to get it off of her. Pain a sharp, drilling sensation curling up through her leg and into her knee, while blood spilled. Sucking in breath after breath and not daring to look at the fetus.

Her claws make wet, sloppy ribbons of the H'ruggling. It dies quickly, and the immediate danger is suddenly gone. 

Blissful silence fills the chambers. 

The fetus floating in the water is harmless, especially now that it won't be able to grow into the deadly Ferectoi prince it could have been. 

It's so disgusting. Made her want to vomit again. It didn't even matter anymore, that the ground was slimy and gross, all she could do was lay back on the cold ground and breathe. The Galliard's stories were always glorious, and she couldn't help but wonder why her endings were always so shabby and bleak. 

The drip..drip..drip of distant water drops comes back into focus. And then the scraping of claws on slimy cement nears. 

Forcing herself to sit up she kept her head turned away from the fetus. 

The pointed snout of Possum pokes out of the tunnel entrance, sniffing. "Bad things, dead things now. Sad wolf can keep climb. Sad wolf can keep claws. In Umbra. Outside Umbra. If cornered, they will show.” Possum crawled a little further out into Lumi's lamp light. Her yellow eyes still glowing brightly as little squeaks come from her pouch. "Only if sad wolf makes promise to defend all young. And from now on...try to balance out the sad again."

Mildly surprised at the words, she glanced down at the claws. "Thank you.” With the Chiminage put forth, all she could do was agree. "I will.”

When Lumi agrees, Possom comes near and pushes her snout to the Theurge. Then she moves past and devours the dead bane, only to slide into the water and also eat the fetus. 

Another sickening wave of nausea as the fetus is eaten, finding her knees and hands, then her feet. Pain sparking up as a rough reminder of what had transpired. Healing would take time.

Eventually, she departs down one of the other tunnels, disappearing completely into the depths of the Umbra. 

Lumi was completely alone. 

Except for the sudden crackling over her blue tooth. 

"Lumiere. Can you hear me?" A bit of uncharacteristic frustration colors Penny's usually robotic voice.

“Yeah, I'm here.” Her voice is rough, like she'd been crying. Hoarse, from the acid.

“I heard everything.” The static thickens on the call, but at least its reconnected. “Are you hurt?"

At least she hadn't babbled anything condemning. "Just my leg. One of them got ahold of me.” She closed her eyes against the weariness, and then focused again. Digging in for the strands of Gnosis that were tucked away, to work her way through the Gauntlet. Less time than before, but by no means an easy feat like other Garou seemed to have it. Stuck, swaying in place for several minutes until the sensation of floating forward overtook her, and she was drifting to the other side.

The static sharpens then clears when Lumi passes through the Gauntlet. 

Her head instinctively strayed to one side as though to get away from the harsh static, but she relaxed as it eased finally. Leaving Penny's voice to come through crystal clear.

“You've done well. The drones are scanning the area now. Looks clear. Do you require me to come pick you up?"

"No. I live nearby, so I can get cleaned up there.” She gathered her clothing. Pulling items on enough that it wouldn't be strange for a woman to be outside walking; taking care with her injured leg. Slinking back the way she had come with a limp, until she found the ladder and manhole cover. "I appreciate the offer, though. Just let me know the next time you want to meet up."

There's a small sigh of acceptance on the other end as the keyboard tapping stops. "How about you get some rest. Get healed up. Then come find me. Is that okay with you?"

“Sounds perfect to me.” Creeping up the ladder, Lumiere lifted the cover enough to peer down the street and ensure that no one was out there. As soon as she didn't see anyone, she hoisted the cover up, and then herself. Sliding the cover back into place and rising so that she could limp her way back to her apartment. Wanting nothing more than steaming hot shower and to seep. 

“Contact me if you need anything.” A quiet farewell and the line went dead, leaving Lumi to her own thoughts and shenanigans for the night.

[mindlessselfdeprivation]

The Nothing

It’s just like The Neverending Story. It’s not darkness, it’s not even a hole, because even hole would be something. No, this...this is just nothing.

That’s depression. That’s what true despair is, it’s The Nothing that eats up your everything. It bleaches your life, nothing has any color or flavor or texture anymore. Food sucks, company is annoying, being alone is excruciating and substances exist only as a shit-ass temporary floaty. Recreation means nothing anymore, every desperate action during the day is taken only to distract me from myself for a little bit longer. Sleep will come soon, and in sleep there’s just that sweet fucking nothing. 

Which is what you feel like you constantly have, at any given time. Nothing. The Nothing has it now. And now every memory is covered in spikes, too painful to even go near.

Nothing can make you feel ok anymore, and your good days are the ones where you only brood and lament your life for a few hours out of the day. You know, as opposed to every second you’re awake. 

Those days happen so much more often. I swear to fucking God, some days I feel like the pain inside me is gonna open a fucking hole in the earth. Like I’m no longer going to be able to keep this horrible monster at bay anymore, and the scream that finally peals out of me will shred my lungs and crack open an abyss that swallows me once and for all. 

I fear for anyone that might be around when that bomb goes off. Which is another problem. Although I’m desperate to be seen and heard and known and loved, I’m fucking terrified of getting near anyone ever again, it seems like an absurd idea to even say it out loud. I’m a goddamned hurricane, I’m a fucking natural disaster on legs, an extinction level event taken human form. All of my relationships....it’s just a festering sewage basin, that whole area of my life. Everything there, flies and pestilence, disease and rot. 

That’s my heart in there too. Fucking rotten, like an old forgotten tree stump wasting away in a swamp somewhere in whogivesafuck. Thinking on it, can I even love anymore? Do I even know what that is anymore? 

An older woman I work with asked me for a hug the other day cause she was a little sad, thinking about her brother that died...and I was happy to oblige, she’s the sweetest little thing. And I realized - holy shit, this is the first real hug I’ve had in an entire year. I’ve hardly touched anyone for ten months outside of a handshake or a friendly bro-hug. 

And afterwards she thanked me and said I gave great hugs, and it dawned on me...I remembered being a guy who loved hugs, remembered a guy that was very romantic and affectionate, that insisted on using physical touch to remind those around him that he loved them dearly....then I looked over from that guy to the one that’s in there now. What a shadow, what a husk he’s become. Empty and hollow and discarded. A lost soul...an inevitable consequence of The Nothing.

The worst thing? I mean, if there is a blacker black than all the rest...

The Apathy. That’s what The Nothing shits out and leaves behind for you. You just don’t....fucking....care...anymore.

I used to have passion, play music, learn language or just about any damn thing else (I was always such a junkie for knowledge), write stories or poetry or music or any one of a dozen other things that enjoyed. And I don’t even write this out of sadness or with some sense of self pity, this is just a cold, apathetic recall of facts. There was a guy who knew love and there’s the guy sitting there now. And those are simply two different guys. And the insurance adjuster in me is fairly certain that at this level of damage, it’ll cost more to repair the existing vehicle than it would to just buy a new one.

I don’t have any real relationships anymore. I have the ones that are necessary to maintain normal social function, but even those I put in just enough to get buy and no more. I’ve lost too much and hurt too deeply and hurt others far too much to let anyone close anymore. It’s hard to describe how it feels to look around you and realize you’re standing alone, no one around. 

The only times I hear from someone is when they need something from me. I’m like a tool for rent. Why buy this thing when I only ever need to use it once in a blue moon?

Family? No, two sisters and two brothers in law that I don’t know anymore and they definitely don’t know me. A mom that taught me to use people like pawns and a dad so devoid of emotion and connection that it’s impossible to communicate, a daughter I never see or speak to anymore and an ex that swore we’d remain amicable for the sake of our daughter but slowly, methodically, and fucking brilliantly shut me out of her life completely...and my daughter with her by extension. Friends? No one there that knows me either, just people I talk to on occasion to spend a little bit of my distraction time with someone else.

But no one around me knows this. I put on a pretty decent mask I suppose, my boss apparently thought I was a really happy guy and married with kids. Ha. Cool, it’s working. I’ve gotten good at camouflage. It’s just another form of lying, and I’m incredibly good at lying. 

Talking about it, is like...what’s the fucking point? This is a tar pit, baby. I’m not bringing anyone else in this. Even if you were standing right next to me with a brilliant torch, this darkness, this Nothing around me is far too thick to see it. 

I miss writing though, maybe that’s why I’m finally doing this. Putting something down. I’m going to commit to talking to this fucking thing everyday. No one knows me here, I barely use this website. I only ever got onto it for....well, another person who eventually left. Maybe that’s why I feel I can be ok here, being naked and bleeding and fucked up and real.....no one who knows me by my mask will have to know what lives underneath it. This is my tree of trust.

I don’t want this to just be a dumping ground for depressed Emo bullshit though, I can go listen to Dashboard Confessionals while cutting myself if I wanted to go there. What I want is a true exploration and record of The Nothing as it grows stronger, what it’s taking, what fuels it, can I escape. I don’t want help either, I don’t think there is any such thing (see tar pit reference above). Maybe you’re always alone too, maybe you’re also constantly afraid that the house of cards will get blown down and people will see the real ugly inside. 

Maybe this is just me yelling into the wind that you’re alone, but not so alone. Maybe all of us are and none of us. Maybe I don’t know what to believe anymore.

I’ve tried to remember it, you know. Happiness. I’ve tried to find that motherfucker like Sherlock and his dear Watson, complete with cocaine and violins. You ever try to think of a nice warm fire while you’re soaking wet and freezing your balls off? And how’d that work out for ya? Same idea - “Just think happy thoughts” is like telling someone that just fell into arctic waters that they should “Just think of a nice warm fire”.

Hopefully, they’re still giving you the finger when their body gets frozen in place. It’d be a bit of justice, if there is such a thing.

That happiness is like the thought of a warm blanket when I’m currently buried in snow. Doesn’t actually exist.

There’s not a day where I don’t wake up wishing to fuck that I hadn’t. And there isn’t a night that I go to sleep that I don’t pray that I won’t wake up this time. Life has become a grueling marathon of pain and most days I have trouble figuring out why I fucking bother. 

Even as I’m writing this, I’m constantly stopping to wonder what’s the fucking point. 

I’ve gone on dating apps, funny enough. But every time I actually think about having a connection with someone, it honestly freaks me the fuck out. I’m so fucking damaged, there’s just no fucking way I’ll find someone with a back strong enough to help me carry all this baggage. I freak out and delete the account.

It’s completely not about the sex for me, if you can believe it. I’ve got such a low libido recently that even the idea of it lately gives me paralyzing anxiety. I don’t want to have sex if it’s not with someone I have a good intellectual connection with, and I never have. The problem with that is that sex in my mind is held on this strange pedestal where it straddles the line between sacred entity and foul beast, and it’s gotten so complicated and ridiculous that I just don’t care anymore. 

There isn’t anything even tempting or alluring about sex anymore. Even masturbation is almost completely without enjoyment, used every so often as a tool for general upkeep. And even this The Nothing has it’s hands on. The other day, I stumbled on a video that looked almost exactly like my child’s mother with another man...and I got physically ill. After throwing up 3 times and shaking for nearly an hour, I slowly pulled myself back from the panic attack I was having.

I didn’t eat for 3 days and I couldn’t get another erection for more than a week. Suppose it’s safe to say I’m still in love with that woman, I guess. Not only did I feel like absolute shit that whole week, I felt like shit for feeling like shit. My Yin and my Yang were both very very pissed off. This is just one of a number of broken fuses and faulty wires inside this broken machine.

Sometimes I wish we had the ability to do a form of Vulcan Min-meld, but with emotions and empathy. Especially when someone asks what’s wrong. Just grab their hand and rest it gently over my heart and let it tell the story for which I’ll never have the words. 

That’s also why I’d be scared like hell if that were possible, I’d be afraid the weight of it would crush them. I’m not trying to be really morose or hyperbolic, I’m fairly certain the vast majority of people walking around out there don’t carry this. I’ve talked to them, I know them. When you’ve spent a fucking lifetime perfecting your camouflage and your tower of lies, you can spot someone else playing that game from a mile away. And I’m not saying everyone else out there is skipping through a magic pixie lolly-pop fairyland or anything, but most people out there are general pretty stoked about being alive and doing stuff. People like me are out there, but I don’t see very many people that are under the spell of The Nothing.

I fucking hope not, this is an existence I wouldn’t wish on anyone, friend or foe. On that note, I also hope you aren’t going through that as well if you’re reading this right now. If you’ve never counted the different ways you could choose to end your life instead of counting sheep to fall asleep at night, you are truly blessed. 

I hope you stay whole. And with whatever capacity I’m still capable of feeling it, I love you. Cause maybe you don’t hear it that often either, and for that I’m sorry. I’d rather go without food than love, and I’ve been in both spots before.

I hope The Nothing never finds you.

Until next time.

[jinmukangwrites]

Into the Woods (4/?)

Chapter one: [X]

Previous Chapter: [X]

Next Chapter: [X]

Story Summary: People with a grudge against KID use Aoko against him, now, both Aoko and KID on are on the run in the middle of nowhere, with no way to escape and nothing but a shaky trust that could either strengthen their relationship, or ruin it.

Chapter Summary: Aoko is determined to make food, and the nearest source happens to be fish. KID doesn't seem happy about it at all and Aoko wishes he'd quit copying Kaito.

-o-o-o-o

02/21/2019

It's been months since I last updated this??? I completely forgot about it and I recently came across to reading the first three chapters and it was one of those moments when you ask "WHERE IS THE REST?!" only to realize that you wrote it and if you want more you'll have to write more. Anyway, enjoy this chapter! I promise the next one will not take so long to come out!

-o-o-o-o-

"Maybe if Aoko can find a rock… I can sharpen a stick…" Aoko mumbled quietly to herself. KID stood a distance away from her, trying to look inconspicuous even though a guy, half naked, and cuffed belonged to the "very conspicuous" category. She was fine with him standing so far away, especially after her very… exciting morning.

When she had woke up, she had forgotten that she and the most wanted thief in the world were on the run from bad guys in the middle of an uncivilized forest somewhere in Japan. She had no memories of jumping into a river, walking for hours, and making camp, until her eyes opened and saw that she was the little spoon to someone. She turned around and saw her best friend's face and his naked chest and she felt a furious blush rise to her cheeks because she'd never had //this kind of dream before, but then she saw his bare arms and his cuffed hands wrapped around her middle and it all came back to her.

Let's just say, KID now had some new bruises and probably a burst eardrum.

To avoid any awkward eye contact or accidental touching, she announced she was going to find something to eat before they began trekking to nowhere again. KID looked like he was going to protest—whether it was about the fish she was determined to hunt or he just really wanted to starve—but she wouldn't hear it. She ordered him to help her find water.

He begrudgingly did, or she thought he did. The night's rest seemed to renew his ability to keep his expressions under control, so it was quite difficult to tell what he was thinking. It frustrated her because he was acting so much like Kaito; with his idiotic face, his layered expressions, and his annoying habit of copying Kaito's irrational fear of fish. It pissed her off, actually.

However, she forced those feelings to the side with the grim fact that they were both making their own soundtracks with their rumbling stomachs. Food was more important than KID's creepy and infuriating obsession with Kaito.

"Ah, there one is…" she said in mock cheerfulness. Anything to get her twisting stomach out of her mind. She bent down and picked up a jagged looking rock from the rocky shore of the river. They were further downstream than where they had initially jumped from the cliffs, in fact: the very same cliffs ran on the opposite side of the river still, which set her nerves on fire with the thought of those thugs still waiting for them. Although, KID said it would be best to follow the river, something about Man Verses Wild and civilization being found downstream?

She rubbed the rock between her fingers as she turned back to the forest. The sun rose higher in the sky and made her neck burn. She was sure she was getting close to acquiring a sunburn, and if the redness around KID's collar bones said anything, he was close too. KID watched her as she returned, his eyes betraying nothing which bothered the ever loving hell out of her.

"Stop looking at me," she snapped. She bent over and angrily picked up a broken branch that had been laying innocent on the ground. "And why don't you make yourself useful for once?"

She sat down on a boulder and began her attempt at sharpening a spear. She had just seen tons of fish in the river—if Kaito was there he'd probably wet himself—and they weren't going to skewer themselves. KID looked up to the sky for a millisecond, as if asking "why me", before he sighed and approached her.

"What would you need me to do?" He asked.

Her jagged rock sliced through the wood like a dull knife, a dull knife that somehow worked. She cut off a rather large chunk of wood before she looked up and glared at him.

"Find a rock and stick, idiot."

"Ah, but I have a rather limited range of motion," he said, grinning. He lifted his hands up and waved one, showing off his handcuffs like they were a new fashion statement. "If only I had some wire to unlock them with? Perhaps a bra?"

She growled and he took that as a victory. She didn't speak to him again until her stick was looking nice and sharp.

She stood up from the boulder and stomped over to where he was lazily lying on the forest ground. She dropped the stick on him.

He oofed as the stick landed on his stomach. He quickly grabbed the stick and sat up, giving her an unimpressed look. "What now?"

"Go fishing."

Aoko didn't miss the way his eyes slightly widened. She had to take a deep breath and remind herself that murder was a crime.

"U-uh… okay..." KID said, practically scrambling for words. "Yeah, yeah how hard can it be?" He said. Aoko noticed a line of sweat appear on his forehead. He pushed himself to his feet and jumped a couple times, as if pumping himself up. "Just gonna… gonna catch a f-fi-" he took a deep breath.

He looked over to Aoko then quickly looked away when he must have saw how close she was to snapping.

"Okay… okay..." He whispered quietly before walking down to the riverside. Aoko could still hear him whispering words of encouragement to himself even as he hesitantly put a foot into the water. "This is easy… I can do it… I'm Kaitou KID. I can d-do anything."

Aoko rolled her eyes and bent down to pick up another stick. Before she sat down to sharpen her own spear, she took another glance up towards KID, just to make sure he wasn't wasting her time, but what she saw made her stop and stare.

Kaito… was very good at hiding emotions. He could have the biggest grins even when he was was feeling lower than sewage. He could fake getting sick and convince the nurse he needed to go home. He could create tears at will to get out of homework assignments. Yet, there was always one thing that he could never hide, never truly fake, and that was his fear of fish. She'd seen him try to build a poker face while forcing himself to stare at a tank of goldfish, only to throw up in the pet store bathroom and become depressed the rest of the evening. He once begged her to get the leftover salmon out of her fridge so he could get to the chocolate milk behind it, tears in his eyes and everything. He could never stop the trembling in his hands or the green rising to his cheeks or how his pupils no longer quite focused. She used to make fun of it, throw fresh fish from the market at him, wear fish patterned underwear, dress up as a shark for Halloween, but as she got older, she realized that as irrational as the fear was, it was still very real to him. He hated fish and he hated that he couldn't stand them. If he was so afraid of something that it brought him to tears, she shouldn't provoke it.

She's seen him try to replicate that fear before. She's seen him fake terror of germs when asked to clean the school bathrooms, or act horrified when Aoko decided to show up to school without her makeup done, and he could never quite get it right. He could never perfect the shaking legs, never copy the clammy skin, the pale cheeks, the dilating pupils, and she could always tell that it was fake.

Now, as she looked at KID, she could see his hands gripping the makeshift spear like a lifeline, white knuckled and trembling enough to almost whack himself in the face with the stick. His knees were bent, as if he were contemplating running away. His eyes were... terrified.

She half groaned, half sighed. Of course KID had actual ichthyophobia. It was just her luck.

KID took a small step deeper into the lazy river and shakily placed the spear in front of him. His throat bobbed and his stomach sucked in and out a little too fast. She saw him swallow and lift the spear just a bit higher, but then something must have moved in the way he hadn't anticipated, because he suddenly jumped higher than what was possible and let out a shrill scream.

"HhheeeeEEEEAAAAA!!!!!!"

He scrambled backwards and slipped on something. His arms waved wildly, trying to find balance, but it was futile when his own body weight and the cuffs betrayed him and sent him splashing into the shallow bank water. Aoko stood up from her boulder and began to run towards him when he desperately began kick in front of him, doing his best to back away without the full range of his arms.

He was hyperventilating and as Aoko got closer, she saw a rather large fish bravely approach—which Aoko found odd but some animals were just evil, she guessed.

She didn't allow herself to feel annoyed at how KID was terrified of their easiest source of food as she came up behind him and grabbed him under the armpits. He didn't fight her as she hefted him towards the shore and dragged him back onto the rocky beech. They were both panting by the time they made a safe distance from the water and KID seemed to gain some of his bearings. He jolted in her grip, tearing himself away from her and landing roughly on his hands and knees. Small bits of sandy rock and dirt clung to his damp skin and stained his white shorts brown as he brought his head down to the Earth and began to dry heave—definitive proof of his fear and their hunger.

She swallowed and hesitantly scooted closer. She slowly placed one of her hands on his back and began to rub in gentle motions. They stayed like that for quite some time, enough for anyone lost in the woods to call it wasted time, but she found herself not minding. Maybe it was because he looked so much like Kaito, and denying comfort to KID would be like turning her back on Kaito. Or maybe she didn't want her only companion—as annoying and idiotic as he may be—to be driven away from her because she couldn't show some humanity.

After a few minutes, KID finally spat out a wad of spit and began to take more even breaths. She cleared her throat.

"Do you... Do you think you can eat some if it doesn't look like fish?" She asked slowly.

KID glanced up at her with unhidden confusion. "W-what?"

She swallowed. "Aoko... I… know what the fear of fish looks like. No one can replicate that perfectly…" she said.

KID looked away from her and maneuvered himself so he was sitting on his butt. Aoko removed her hand and sat besides him. "I'm sorry," he said, simply, quietly.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. Do you think you can  eat some?”

A moment. Then he swallowed. “I think so.”

A few more moments of silence. Then KID looked at her with a half grin, though his skin still looked at bit sickly. "You won't tell Inspector Nakamori will you?"

Aoko found herself laughing, imagining her father hiring the best fishermen and aquarium managers in the country to aid in catching KID. KID gave her a genuine grin, probably thinking the same thing, before he was laughing too.