#literally any given point in corridors or save the cat

[aprillikesthings]

in other news I still always have netflix open to spop in a tab and clicking over and seeing what scene I left off on is HILARIOUS because jfc I'm predictable, like 99% of the time it's one of maybe a half-dozen scenes/episodes

poked through my excessively long queue to find out the next time it becomes Nothing But She-Ra For Multiple Days and the answer is Tuesday in case you were wondering

[victorineb]

Bloodletting

An omegaverse fic for @hannigram-a-b-o-library​‘s Reverse Bang, featuring vampires, reunited lovers, and lots and lots of blood. Huge thanks to @idontfindyouthatinteresting​ for the inspirational artwork and idea, and to @desperatelyseekingcannibals​ for coming onboard as co-writer to save my hopelessly blocked self. All the love to both you guys 💖💖💖

---

“So you want me to tell you the story of my life?” Will asks, silhouetted by hazy golden light from the large windows of Hannibal’s office, an edge of red staining him where the sun filters through the drapes.

“Not all of it,” comes Freddie’s reply. He can tell she’s smirking without having to look. “Just start from when you met Hannibal Lecter. You are clearly very close. Is that usual for a psychiatrist and his patient?”

Will doesn’t respond, merely lifts an eyebrow at her, at which she smirks.

Will huffs and turns back to the window, a smile playing across his lips. As if she even knows what she’s asking. He has to admit that his only reason for agreeing to this interview is for his own amusement. It is always a pleasure to watch Freddie’s misplaced confidence that she has the upper hand. But he hadn’t expected her to go straight for the throat.

“Whatever you wish to tell me,” she encourages.

“I see,” Will prevaricates.

He turns to look at her. She’s made herself comfortable in her chair, dictaphone in hand and note pad on lap. Intending to capture absolutely everything.

She doesn’t have to attempt discretion this time round. Not like the last time she’d been in this office, with her cover story and polite persona, thinking she could easily dupe some fussy shrink into giving up the goods on Will and the Stammets case. As Hannibal had told him after - unethical, even for a tabloid journalist.

Though, in truth, Hannibal’s irritation came mostly from the spanner she’d thrown into their plans. For she had seen the painting, carelessly left poking out of its packing box. That had piqued her interest all the more, turning her from a mere nuisance into a potential threat, and she had hounded Will until he had, so she believed, given up and granted her demand for an interview.

An interview, and some answers as to why Hannibal Lecter owned a clearly timeworn painting of himself together with an unstable FBI profiler who had only recently become his patient.

And so now she sits once again in Hannibal’s office, having been graciously allowed the space for their tête à tête, the cat that got the cream after all.

“Do you mind?” she asks, holding up the recording device and tipping it towards him as if asking for consent. As if she wouldn’t use it anyway, regardless of his agreement.

“You’d need a lot of tape for my story,” Will replies, drily, ignoring her question.

“It’s all digital these days, Mr Graham.” Freddie smiles that snake-like smile of hers, truly believing that she’s the predator in the room. “So, let’s get started.”

Will strolls slowly over and takes the chair opposite her. Hannibal’s chair, usually.

“Where should we start?” she asks, pleasant and patient and completely false. “Perhaps you could tell me a little about yourself.”

“All right then, since you asked. I’m a vampire,” Will says, cocking his head and waiting for her reaction, holding her gaze. It’s clear that she’s trying desperately not to roll her eyes.

“Funny,” she replies with a raised brow. But as his expression remains unchanged, hers sobers and she asks, “You mean this literally, I take it?”

“Absolutely.”

Freddie glares at him.

“Mr Graham, I appreciate your leaning into the crazy angle but if you’re going to waste my time-”

Will sucks in an unneeded breath and lets out a sigh. “You want to know how I met Hannibal.”

“Please,” she replies, firmly.

“How I met him this time, anyway,” Will clarifies and her eyes narrow again.

She settles in to listen to him anyway.

---

Will Graham is something of a legend amongst the students of the FBI Academy, known by all as brilliant, demanding, and intense. Rumour has it that if you have the temerity to ask a spontaneous question during one of his lectures he will eviscerate you with nothing more than a few cutting words and a scowl. And his ruthlessness with a red pen is enough to strike fear into even the most confident and diligent of students — the papers they receive back bear a striking resemblance to the crime scenes he lectures on, stained with red in cruel, ruthless slashes. All this perhaps explains why the halls of the Academy are currently clearing at an exaggerated rate, as students fling themselves out of the path of Professor Graham as he storms down the hallways towards his office. Or perhaps it’s just the look on his face that suggests he might finally have flipped, the way certain cruel rumours say he inevitably would, one day.

It is the unhappy fate of one student to have chosen this moment to visit Professor Graham’s office, a foolish thing in any case, as Will has no office hours scheduled for this day. He is loitering just outside Will’s door, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand, completely unaware of the unhinged professor stalking towards him until they are inches from each other. In fact, the student – name of Miller, Will thinks – only becomes aware of his professor’s presence by his scent, that weird, unsettling mix of alpha and omega that means no one ever knows what designation Graham is, or likes to be in close quarters with him for too long. Miller can never understand why the Professor doesn’t wear scent blockers; at least then he might avoid the hisses of freak that follow everywhere he goes.

Then again, Will Graham is exactly the kind of stubborn asshole who’d enjoy making people feel uncomfortable.

Miller looks up into the blue eyes of his professor and squeaks, an embarrassing noise that he immediately attempts to cover up with a cough.

“What?” Professor Graham growls, actually growls, a rumble of irritation that would rival any alpha in rut.

The boy squeaks again and stares, petrified, at his teacher.

“Intelligent commentary as usual, Miller.”

The kid flees and Will watches him skid down the corridor without a backward glance. He sighs, and scrubs a hand down his face. He’ll make it up to Miller somehow, give him easy credit for something. Will stares into nothingness for a moment longer and then slides into his office and closes the door firmly behind him. That little performance should have ensured no one will bother him for the rest of the day. Possibly the week. Will leans back against the door and finally allows the smile he has been holding back to burst onto his face.

The bone arena of my skull, he thinks, rolling his eyes. His beautiful boy has not changed, then, still as pretentious and as annoyingly brilliant as ever.

Hannibal Lecter.

Will’s grin broadens. His fangs ache.

--- 

Later, he stands in the middle of a field, regarding Hannibal’s field kabuki, and wonders if he should feel offended. Patronised, at least. Apparently Hannibal believes that Will needs some help to see the Shrike and has gifted him some perspective.

Really, Will has no idea how to feel. Hannibal’s art has always been beautiful and this is no exception – shows, in fact, that his boy has progressed far beyond even the skill he had developed under Will’s watchful eye (and doesn’t that come with a dull ache, the knowledge that Hannibal did not spend the years apart pining, but continued to pursue his pleasures with the singular focus that Will had never liked directed at anything but himself). But it also suggests that Hannibal has not learned the lessons Will had hoped he would. Asked him to.

That is… disappointing, in a way Will finds unmooring, forcing him to step away from the scene, pretending overwhelm and upset in order to placate Jack. Childishly, he snaps out some retort about Jack preferring Dr Lecter’s opinions to his own and storms off, shaking his head at the daddy issues he thought he’d long shaken off. Hannibal’s getting to him, as he always knows how. He takes one last backwards look at the tableau, sees the tenderness in it, not for the girl, but for him. Its black tines curve upwards to the sky and the points meet and melt into the sparkling sunlight.

It is a beautiful gift.

--- 

Will smells him before he knocks. Scent-blockers do nothing to mask him, not from Will. He suspects he could freeze Hannibal in ice, or seal him in plastic and still he would find that scent, maddening and delicious. Still, he makes the good doctor wait, taking his time to slide out of the motel bed and stretch his muscles into wakefulness, before flinging open the door. The sunlight blinds him for a second, his eyes still sensitive to it even after all these years, and then there is Hannibal, smile on his face, food inevitably in hand.

“Good morning, Will,” he says, and the bastard has the gall to sound amused. He always did enjoy unsettling Will. “May I come in?”

Will raises an eyebrow. “You need to ask?”

“It’s only polite. You know how I abhor rudeness.”

Will hums, unimpressed. “Where’s Crawford. You didn’t eat him, did you?”

Hannibal smiles, close-mouthed, no teeth. “Agent Crawford is deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today.”

Will sighs, lets his shoulders sag, turns away into the darkness. Hannibal takes this as the invitation it’s meant to be, stepping over the threshold, closing the door gently behind him. The second he does, Will is on him, shoving him against the wall, one hand around his throat, lifting, lifting until his arm is at full stretch. Hannibal’s feet dangle above the floor. He appears wholly unconcerned, looking down at Will with a serene expression and adoration lighting his eyes.

“I told you to stay put until you were summoned,” Will growls.

“And so I did, until I was.”

Will flexes his hand around Hannibal’s neck, feeling it ripple under his grip. “All right, what loophole has your clever little brain come up with this time?”

Hannibal grins, delighted by Will’s disdain. “You did not specify that it must be you who called. Jack Crawford summoned me to help the noble ranks of the FBI, I could not find it in myself to refuse. That he specifically wished me to support a gifted yet troubled profiler by the name of Will Graham was a mere technicality, albeit a happy one.” Hannibal slides his arm up and over Will’s and rests his hand on Will’s cheek. “And it was truly happy, Will.”

It’s an old trick and one Will is hard-pressed to resist. Soft words and soft touches, Hannibal’s always known how to wriggle under his skin.

He tries not to let Hannibal see the effect it still has on him but there’s no hiding the fact that his grip loosens a little. Nor that the smile it pulls from Hannibal makes Will want to kill him, or kiss him. He’s never quite sure.

“I ought to put my teeth in your neck right now,” Will snaps, trying to wind up his anger once more.

Hannibal, though, knows exactly the wrong – or right – response, smiling down at Will as he tells him, “I have missed your mark on me. I wept the day the last one faded.”

Will’s nose twitches for a moment, taking in Hannibal’s scent and finding little of his own evident there. Every instinct tells him to do just as his alpha suggests, but he doesn’t wish to give the petulant child the satisfaction.

“I don’t find you deserving.”

“You will.”

Will lets it go. Hannibal’s right, after all; this was never intended to be a permanent separation, just a few years to remind his boy of his priorities. And he’s been planning their reunion proper since the moment he caught Hannibal’s scent in the halls of the BAU.

Truth be told, he’s been planning it – in the abstract at least – ever since the first Ripper murder dropped, years ago. But he isn’t going to let Hannibal know that, not yet. And he certainly isn’t going to reward his bad behaviour without making him work for it first.

“All right, you can stay. Show me what you brought for breakfast.”

Will drops Hannibal unceremoniously on his feet and Hannibal reaches down to collect the bag he brought with him, unflustered, unfazed, as though nothing had just happened. Will watches as the alpha delicately removes the containers of food he has brought, setting them on the table like the offering they are.

When Hannibal takes a seat, Will does so too. He deigns to offer Hannibal nothing but a cool gaze as this old, familiar scene plays out like it has so many other times.

“Hardly a suitable offering,” Hannibal demurs as Will’s mouth twitches. “Or sufficient.”

The momentary glance between them then is an acknowledgement. Hannibal is aware that Will hasn’t fed in quite some time. A fine shiver passes over Will at the memories of them feasting together, before, in circumstances quite different from this. He feels his control slip ever so slightly at the thought of what Hannibal might have brought, his eyes following his alpha’s elegant hands closely as they set out their meal.

“A little protein scramble; eggs and sausage,” comes the familiar refrain.

“Used up all your creativity on unnecessary theatrics, none left over for the leftovers?” Will asks, forking his share onto a plate, deliberately uncouth, and trying not to drool at the scent. It isn’t exactly his preferred source of nourishment – nor Hannibal’s, to be sure – but Hannibal can do things with even such plain fare that just the memory of his kitchen has, on occasion, caused Will to kick himself for leaving.

“I elevated those parts of her that were worthy of it; the rest I did with what I could.”

“And here I thought you were just catering to my plebeian tastes,” Will says, looking up from under his lashes with a sneer.

“I do not recall your tastes ever being less than exquisite. Save perhaps that time in Constantinople.”

“Matthew,” Will says on a sigh, momentarily submerged in their shared memories. “He had such potential, a shame he had no control over himself.”

“I never liked him,” Hannibal sniffs, flicking out his napkin and setting it on his lap.

“You never liked any of the strays I brought home,” Will counters. “I wonder where he is now.”

“I should have killed him,” Hannibal glowers, and Will can’t help the swell in his chest at the reaction, even as Hannibal settles back into eating as though nothing has been said. Perhaps Will should have let Hannibal kill Matthew, but there is something pleasing still about having denied him. He has to admit to enjoying Hannibal’s still-piquant jealousy over that particular event.

It’s not the time to bask though, so Will decides to move on from this teasing and clears his throat.

“I give lectures on you, you know.” He watches Hannibal’s pupils dilate and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thought you’d like that.”

“I will not deny that I always enjoyed being the focus of your attention. And I think that it would not be inaccurate to say that the opposite was true as well.”

“Yeah, well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Your distraction.”

“My disobedience.”

“Stop. It was never that. Don’t make me out to be some cruel master,” Will snaps, unimpressed by Hannibal’s attempt to play the victim.

“Are you not? You may have preferred to dress us up as equals but the control was always and ultimately yours.”

“Really, alpha?” Will hisses.

“Really, sire.” Hannibal touches a hand to his throat, smooth, unmarred skin a lie and an insult to them both. Will longs to remedy it. He had always been so diligent about maintenance in the past. Instead, he takes another bite of his food, just to watch the way Hannibal watches him.

It seems clear to Will that despite his intentions, there is no avoiding this conversation. Even if he hadn’t intended to have it here and now. Hannibal is here. Now. 

Will swallows his bite and places down his fork with a deliberate click, a movement that Hannibal notes with a raised brow but doesn’t comment on.

“I was three hundred years old when I met you.” Will knows Hannibal doesn’t need reminding. Their meeting is seared into both their minds. Will, an omega of thirty when he had been sired, had been selective for those three hundred years in regards to who he would sire himself. They had been few, and mostly for the sake of power orstrategy, rather than any great desire to keep them with him.

And then there had been Hannibal. A beautiful young nobleman bent on vengeance for his murdered family. They had encountered each other as Hannibal’s search brought him to the final murderer, by then a vampire of Will’s acquaintance.

Will is still unsure, all these centuries later, justwhy he agreed to help the young upstart, other than Hannibal being Hannibal and refusing to take no for an answer. He’s only a little clearer onhow he wound up allowing the alpha to seduce him so thoroughly. Will might have been irritated by the human, albeitgrudgingly impressed by his prowess as a killer and his passion for revenge, but Hannibal was beautiful and wild and utterly self-possessed. It tickled Will’s ego to let him attempt a courtship. He just hadn’t expected it to work.

“We had centuries together, Hannibal. And then you got distracted.” Will spits the word, imbuing it with the betrayal that still burns in his veins.

Hannibal’s eyes narrow for a moment, and Will knows what he’s thinking despite his tense silence. That it wasn’t his decision to separate them. That perhaps if Will had expressed his displeasure instead of exiling Hannibal without discussion, they could have worked things out. That they didn’t have to spend so many years estranged, alone, suffering heats and ruts that would always synchronise regardless of their distance, all for the sake of unfounded jealousy and petty resentment.

The thought makes Will wince, and his glare at Hannibal makes clear that he doesn’t want to hear anything from his mouth on that subject. And so Will brings them back to the point, Hannibal – amazingly, uncharacteristically – taking his scolding without riposte.

“We had a good thing in Florence, and then you got so caught up in playing cat and mouse with Pazzi that you lost focus. You, and your ego, were distracted to the point of endangerment.” Will tries not to growl the words; his ire will do no good.

Hannibal’s jaw clenches at the truth.

“And so you have tortured me with the denial of your presence for decades,” he grits out, finally.

“I wanted you to learn your lesson. I said I would let you return when I was ready to deal with you.”

“Are you ready now, Will?”

“Does it matter?” Will asks, with a poison-sweet smile. “You’ve forced my hand.” He picks up his fork and resumes eating the remnants of Hannibal’s gesture.

Hannibal’s smile returns, despite Will’s harsh words. Pleasure at being back in Will’s company, and being allowed to feed him in this way, apparently outweigh any fears of imminent rejection. In truth it’s enough to inflame Will’s desire for his alpha anew, that feeling of being the only thing in existence that matters. Not that he’s about to allow said alpha to see that. Will swallows and looks at Hannibal with a stern expression.

“What do you want, Hannibal?”

“Only the pleasure of your company,” comes the reply, all pleasant and proper and precision- engineered to piss Will off.

“You’ll spend another thirty years without it if you don’t cut the crap.”

If anything, Hannibal’s smile only broadens at this and Will unexpectedly finds himself hoping for his lips to part, to allow him a glimpse of fang. “Impossible boy,” Will says and it has the desired effect, Hannibal’s lips skinning back to reveal the points of his teeth. Will sighs, and aches for them in his neck, and says nothing.

Instead, Hannibal fills the silence with exactly what Will had expected. “I have but one request.”

“Of course you do.”

“Come to my table, allow me to make you dinner, permit me one conversation. I could live a very long time on one conversation.”

“You can live a very long time regardless.”

“Without you, it is mere existence.”

Will stops, his fork halfway to his mouth, and raises his eyebrows at Hannibal. “That was excessive, even for you.”

“Perhaps. The truth often is.”

Will hums and there is a lull before Hannibal rejoins.

“You know, Will, Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup, the finest china. Only used for special guests.”

Will’s chuckle is genuine and lightens his chest. As does Hannibal’s clear appreciation at having triggered that amusement. Will sits back in his chair with a sigh, smile still lingering. He missed this. Missed having an equal.

“How do you see me?” Will can’t help asking.

“My beginning and my end. My everything.”

Will’s chest aches and he bites back the words that try to claw out of his mouth, the admission he feels the same, that he’s been lost for so long, that Hannibal is the missing part of his soul (assuming he still has one). Instead, Will hums again before replying, cool and apparently unaffected.

“One dinner.” He forks the last of his food into his mouth and speaks as he chews. “To prove yourself to me again.”

Hannibal smiles and nods his agreement.

--- 

Later, sitting in front of the Hobbs’ front door, Will steals a glance at Hannibal and rolls his eyes.

“What are you smiling at?” he asks, not quite conjuring the detached disinterest he’s aiming for.

Hannibal, who might as well be purring with delight, takes a moment to consider, his eyes roving the homestead before them, denying Will the whole of his attention. It needles, just as it’s supposed to, bright little points of irritation biting their way out from under Will’s skin.      

Will huffs, a release of pressure. “I got a criminology degree, you know. A good one, too, could have gone for the doctorate but…” He shrugs, one-shouldered and easy.

“Been there, done that?” Hannibal inquires. Will shoots him a smile, small but fond, acquiescent. “I did know,” Hannibal continues, returning to Will’s earlier remark. “I have even read your monograph. You were always fascinated by the creepy crawlies.”

“Says the man obsessed with cochlear gardens.” Will watches Hannibal let him have that and then, in for a penny, asks, “What did you think of it?”

“Your writing has improved greatly since I last read any of it. You have mastered your old weakness for the run-on sentence.”

“Damned with faint praise,” Will says, waiting Hannibal’s teasing out.

“You know what an imago is?”

“A flying insect.”

Hannibal smiles, soft lines by his mouth that will never grow any harsher. He knows Will knows that is not the answer he was looking for but he will indulge his sire’s intransigence. “An imago is an image of a loved one, buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.”

“An ideal.”

“The concept of an ideal. Reading your book brought me as close to my ideal as I have been these last several decades. Still, it was only a concept, trapped and pinned to the page with its colour fading and its lifeblood drained.”

“Remind me never to ask you for a blurb on anything I publish,” Will says, burying himself under humour while the creak of his voice betrays him. “We should go,” he adds, unprepared to deal with the extent of Hannibal’s wanting him, even as he recognises the same urge building anew inside himself.

“Indeed,” Hannibal answers but neither of them move. “Was there something else?”

“What were you up to in that office?” Will asks, needing some kind of forewarning. He knows Hannibal did something, his antics with the box files deliberately obvious. And his alpha always did have a troublesome habit of setting things in motion out of idle curiosity. Just to see what would happen.

“I suppose we will find that out together,” Hannibal says, infuriatingly.

Will briefly considers punching him in the   but he does have a job to do. He exits the car, stalking off towards the house and leaving Hannibal to follow or not as he may. The sound of the passenger door opening and closing provides the answer to that and Will doesn’t bother to look back, instead steeling himself to deal with Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ no-doubt polite but unconvincing front-door deflections.

Or not.

Will’s head snaps towards the door, beyond which he can hear the sounds of struggle, sense the outflowing of blood. He makes to sprint for the house but manages only a couple of steps before the front door is opening and the shadow of a man is pushing a bloodied, struggling woman into the light. The door slams and Will catches the woman – presumably Mrs Hobbs – in his arms. She is bleeding, bleeding, bleeding and Will’s vision is red, his eyes large and greedy as he goes to his knees under the deadweight of departing life. He pulls in a great breath of copper and fear and feels a fang slice his lip, shudders at the spark of pain, an echo of the agony beneath him. He can taste that pain as he tongues his lip, as he gazes into the woman’s shuttering eyes and he wants more of it. It’s been so long, he’s left it so long…

“Will.”

Hannibal. He shifts the woman so Hannibal can have access too. A life extinguishing in his arms and Hannibal at his side. This is right, this is how it always should be, this is-

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is hushed, gentle but insistent. He places a finger beneath Will’s chin and lifts it until Will’s eyes are forced to lift and look at him. “You have a job to do, mustn’t forget.”

“Don’t you want to…” Will begins, hazy through the cloud of hunger that has enfolded him. He blinks. He knows Hannibal is right, and yet the instinct is almost too strong to resist. Why is it so hard to resist? Will whines, pained and overwhelmed. 

“My love,” Hannibal says, stroking Will’s hair with such easy familiarity that Will cannot help but lean into it. “I have wanted nothing more for so many years but I think you wouldn’t thank me for it when the FBI arrives.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Will hisses.

Hannibal pauses at that, regards Will thoughtfully. “Have you been waiting for me to come and rescue you all this time, sire? From undeserving masters who use you like a dog in the endless pursuit of justice and you with no reason to leave? You who has razed cities to the ground, drained kings of their lifeforce, been a god of blood and terror, have you been hiding, waiting, craving for a reason to live again?”

Will whines again and does not deny it.

“Will.” Hannibal says it on a breath and his hand tightens in Will’s hair. “We have been foolish, haven’t we?”

Will can only nod.

Hannibal is right. He should have swallowed his stupid fucking pride and told Hannibal to stay. Should have kept him by his side at all times, through all ages, ‘til the end of everything. Should have circled the world with him, well-fed and well-loved, and then done it a thousand, thousand more times. Instead, he is shivering and famished on the doorstep of some dismal human killer, wracked with hunger of every imaginable kind, punished by his self-pitying refusal to feed more regularly.And now, despite his great age, the mere presence of his alpha is causing primal instincts to surface. He can feel it rising in Hannibal too,the instinct to come back together, to renew their bond;it’s almost strong enough for Will to beg for them to leave now, to be away from this farce of an existence, no note, no explanation.

Hannibal’s presence there is cause both for his weakness and his strength, as he pulls himself together as best he can.

Hannibal looks down at the body in his arms and for a moment Will’s unbeating heart gives a phantom spark. He can already taste her blood in Hannibal’s mouth. But then Hannibal moves away and takes the body with him, freeing Will from its weight.

“Go and play the hero,” Hannibal tells him, nodding at the front door, “and afterwards we will begin again.”

--- 

Somehow, Will finds himself inside the Hobbs’ front door, bracing himself against the hallway as he gropes for any trace of composure. He has his gun up, his eyes darting to the sides to check for activity, but he knows where he’s going. The stench of fear and panic is sharp in his nostrils and he follows it like the bloodhound rumour would paint him as.

Into the kitchen, then, ducking into the doorway and the sudden feeling of steel through his heart. He staggers, more from shock than pain, and grabs the door jamb for support, slicking it red. The knife is warm inside him, painted with another’s blood, and uncomfortable as Will’s body attempts to reject it. He looks up, into cold blue eyes that sparkle with triumph and then dull into confusion and fear as Will grasps the knife’s hilt and slides it from his body with a little groan of relief.

“Do you see?” he asks the bewildered Garret Jacob Hobbs, letting the blade fall from his shaking fingertips to clatter on the ground, the sound cacophonous in the stricken silence of the kitchen. Even the child lying on the floor has grown quiet, her life leaving her in great gouts; like mother like daughter.

“Monster,” Hobbs rasps, poised between fight and flight.

“Takes one to know one,” Will hisses, then lifts his gun and puts every bullet he has into the pathetic creature before him.

Hobbs is shoved back into the corner by the   of Will’s shots and drops to the floor in a ragged heap, wet noises bubbling up from his throat. Will doesn’t pay him any further attention – he will die in that corner unwatched and unheard – instead folding to his knees beside the girl exsanguinating on the floor. Her breath is shallow but still there and Will clasps his hand around her neck, thinking to stem the flow despite the likely uselessness of the gesture. Her father used the same move on her as he did on her mother – uninspired – a deep cut to the neck, opening the carotid so her blood would be pushed out, fast and forceful, her young, healthy heart speeding her death along. An attempt at mercy, Will supposes, but a pointless one. She will still die in pain and confusion, life snatched from her by a man who should have lived to protect her.

“So easy to take a life, so hard to save one,” Hannibal remarks from the doorway. Will lifts his head, shaking, overwhelmed, suffused with blood and death and desperation. He’s covered in it, not an inch of him spared, and he looks up at Hannibal through glass blooming with crimson. Hannibal looks back at him and, without another word, crouches at the girl’s other side and gently replaces Will’s hand with his own.

“This won’t save her,” he murmurs, as Will’s knees finally give out from him and he slumps into a heap, still trembling and panting for air he doesn’t need. Even now, human instinct is still buried inside him, the urge for survival seeking out every last route, even the pointless ones.

Will shudders as he looks at the girl. A mere child.

A child. And his body burns. 

“Hannibal, fuck, can you smell it?”

“Yes,” comes the reply, Hannibal not looking up from his examination of the damage to the girl’s throat, “you are in heat.”

“The blood, the fucking… there’s so much of it and…” Will trails off, whining.

“And your alpha is here,” Hannibal finishes for him, clinical and matter-of-fact, belying the need Will knows he is feeling.

Will is panting, sweating.

He should have fed. He shouldn’t have let Hannibal so close. He shouldn’t have agreed to help Jack. So many recriminations litter his path to this point, and none of them matter now.

Not with the girl bleeding out before them, and his whole body screaming for Hannibal to take him and knot him for the first time in decades, not when Will can barely focus on anything beyond the three of them.

“What?” Will looks up, tries to focus, realising Hannibal had said something.

“I asked if you want me to save her, Will?”

Will blinks, looks down at the girl, blinks again.

“She could be ours. We could be her fathers.” Hannibal’s words sound encouraging though his tone is matter of fact. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A family? Let me give it to you Will. Let me make this future for us.”

Will winces and clasps his abdomen as a sharp pain strikes. His nostrils are filled with the scent of his would-be daughter’s blood. Could-be daughter. She’s choking on it, her eyes almost unseeing as her life continues draining inexorably from her.

An almost hysterical chuckle breaks from Will’s lips.

“Will she be your Claudia?”

Hannibal’s smile is soft, amused. “And which of us do you see as the scoundrel Lestat?”

Will finds a smile of his own, somehow. “Both. Neither. Can we just be ourselves?”

Hannibal looks like he would very much like to reach over and touch Will but he keeps his hands tight around the girl’s throat. “We certainly can try. But the point still stands. Do you want her, Will?”

“Yes,” the word escapes him like a cry.

Will seizes with longing and arousal as Hannibal’s fangs reveal themselves. He watches as he takes the near lifeless body into his arms and sinks his teeth into her, as Will sank his own into Hannibal so many centuries ago.

The girl convulses slightly as the last of this life flows from her and puts up no resistance as Hannibal nicks his wrist with a fang and streams a little of his blood down her throat. Will considers doing the same but it’s not necessary – Hannibal is his and she is Hannibal’s, the connection will flow through them all, it’s inescapable.

She will be nothing more than a husk now. At least, for a little while. Her new life will come with time and they will find her when it does. Hannibal will be drawn to her essence when she revives and will take her from whatever morgue or grave she has been stowed in.

And then they will be a family.

The thought sends another sharp pain through Will, his womb contracting with need.

“Hannibal.”

The alpha looks up and lets the girl slip from his arms, back into the pool of her own blood.

Will’s body cries out to be taken. So it is damn near excruciating when Hannibal simply raises a brow and tuts.

“You really should take better care of yourself, Will. Had you eaten as you should…”

Hannibal trails off when he hears Will’s desperate snarl.

“Hannibal,” Will growls.

Hannibal flinches, succumbing to the effect of his sire’s heat on him, helpless no matter how righteous he tries to seem.

Jolting into movement, Hannibal pulls Will to him and lifts him in his arms, getting to his feet in one smooth motion as though Will weighs nothing. The scent of Hannibal’s oncoming rut serves only to make Will’s womb clench all the harder, for his slick to run all the freer.

They are dripping with blood.

The little they had been flecked with from Mrs Hobbs, and the splatter on Will from shooting Garrett Jacob Hobbs, was nothing compared to the blood of their daughter. The Hobbs’ daughter once, but now – and forevermore – Will and Hannibal’s.

Will cries out as his body shakes through a painful tremor, instincts driving him to create new life inside him like a good omega, regardless of those organs having been rendered defunct and useless since the day and hour he was made.

“Breed me…” Will growls, trying not to whimper.

To which Hannibal sucks in a sharp breath and replies, “Claim me.”

Will trembles, and grins.

Trailing thick globules of blood, Hannibal carries Will from the kitchen, and towards the stairs. At that, Will can’t help a smirk. With backup doubtless on the way, Will can’t argue with the desire for privacy but Hannibal could have easily removed them to another room on the ground floor of the house. Instead, of course, Hannibal carries him to a bedroom and lays him gently on the soft blankets like a new bride.

Such a careful, caring action, deliciously at odds with the animalistic glean in Hannibal’s eyes that shows exactly how close the alpha is to descending into his rut.

And indeed, any restraint is gone in moments as Hannibal begins to tear at Will’s blood- soaked shirt. When it is shredded enough to fall apart, Hannibal crawls over Will like the predator he is, and lowers his mouth to Will’s right nipple.

Blood has soaked through to skin and Hannibal whines his pleasure as Will’s body contorts with need.

He needs to be naked, he needs Hannibal inside him.

But there is something else in this. Something in Hannibal sucking the blood from his chest, the girl’s blood. Their daughter.

The sight of it solidifies something within Will, a familial bond between the three of them. This will join them together irrevocably. Irredeemably. This is the promise of their future. The promise that he will never separate them again.

“Alpha…” Will gasps and wriggles and finally Hannibal pulls back.

His eyes are wide and feral, pupils dilated,

the expression Hannibal only wears when he’s killing or fucking. No, more than that, the one he only ever wears when he’s with Will, with his mate.

Will trembles at the sight. Has he ever understood what it means to be in love before this moment? How could he have? How could he have felt this and ever pushed Hannibal away?

“Mine,” Hannibal growls, moving back, ripping Will’s pants from him and throwing them away. They hit the wall next to the bed with a wet thunk, leaving a bloody impact stain.

Will tries to reach for Hannibal’s clothes, but it’s too late for that now.

He’s hazy, unfocused on anything but Hannibal’s scent.

But this is nothing compared to Hannibal’s loss of control. His rut is completely upon him now, vicious and unyielding until he knots his mate.

Hannibal pushes Will’s hands away. With motions quicker than even Will can follow, he reaches out and grabs Will’s throat, pulling him close enough to nose at the healed mating scar.

Oh, how Will hates that they heal this way.

It’s not a new regret, he has felt it every time they’ve renewed their claim on each other, but it’s all the more profound this time for how long it has been, how completely time has eradicated the proof of their bond.

Will whimpers as Hannibal pulls back and uses his grip to manipulate Will onto his front. He collapses to the bed when Hannibal releases him, but drags himself quickly onto all fours as he knows he must. As instinct drives him to in order to receive his alpha’s seed.

The sound behind him is unmistakable, Hannibal ripping open his exquisitely- tailored pants with no attempt to otherwise undo them.

“Stay,” he growls, an order and a plea, his hand now gripping the back of Will’s neck, forcing him down as he slides in tight against Will’s ass.

It’s only when the tip of Hannibal’s cock presses against his entrance that Will is aware of exactly how wet he is. Even for a heat, the slide is almost frictionless as Hannibal slips into him for the first time in decades, burying himself to the hilt.

The alpha pauses for a moment, shaking.

And Will wonders what is to come. They have never been so long between matings and now Hannibal has given him a child. Will shudders. Whatever is next, he wants it all.

There is some pain as Hannibal’s grip tightens on his neck, but it’s quickly soothed by the comfort of the alpha blanketing over his back, only the tattered remains of their clothes between them. He fucks Will hard. Harder than Will can remember.

And even with that, it is loving.

Hannibal’s grip loosens and he strokes over Will’s faded mating mark, before leaning in to nuzzle at it. Graze it with his fangs.

“Please, Hannibal.”

“Mine,” Hannibal grunts again and then sinks in his teeth.

Will comes.

He’s not sure if it lasts moments or days as his body drags Hannibal closer, further inside himself. He can feel the press of Hannibal’s knot against him but, beyond that, everything is dreamlike.

He is lost. There is nothing else but Hannibal’s body sliding in and out of his own.

It might last hours, Will can’t tell. He drifts in sensation, basks in their closeness, wishes that eternity could be nothing but this. But then Hannibal cries out as he pushes his knot into Will, and Will’s body locks around it, triggering another climax, this time for both of them.

Hannibal’s teeth are in his neck again, biting deeper.

Deeper.

“Enough, Hannibal,” Will commands in that voice that he so rarely wishes to use. The voice of a master over that which it has sired.

Still Hannibal grips, his tongue moving over flesh a moment longer, and Will wonders for a moment if it will be necessary to use force to settle his alpha. Hannibal’s remarkable discipline does not always extend to his indulgence in Will and they have sometimes come to blows before Hannibal’s control re-establishes itself. Will tenses slightly, in readiness for a fight but then Hannibal is pulling back, releasing. Collapsing.

Hannibal falls to his side and takes Will with him, his hips still pumping.

Both addled with pleasure and relief, Hannibal continues to fill Will with every drop of his seed, until they both black out from the exertion of their continued climaxes.

If time hadn’t lost meaning before, it has now.

Will has no idea how long has passed since they tied.

It’s still light out, but Will can’t be sure if they are even on the same day.

The initial haze of his heat has lifted, sated for now by the mating bite. Still, he will not be truly satisfied until he’s returned it.

Hannibal murmurs and then is awake.

He growls and Will shushes him gently.

He growls again, pushes up against Will and Will pulls away, seed spilling from him in the wake of Hannibal’s softened cock. This only brings another snarl from the rutting alpha, at which Will turns and snaps his fangs.

“Damn greedy boy. Insatiable boy. Behave and I’ll give you what you want.”

Hannibal proves his point by humping his now hard- again cock against Will’s thigh.

As quick as Hannibal had been before, Will pushes the alpha to his back and sinks down on his twitching member.

Hannibal’s growling fades into a howl and he almost doubles over, baring his teeth and snapping at Will.

Will chuckles, and smooths Hannibal’s hair back from his sweat -damp face.

“Oh, Hannibal. Always so beautiful in your rut. I have missed this.”

Hannibal’s lip twitches, his fangs exposed, when Will leans down into a biting kiss. He doesn’t know if the blood he tastes is his own or Hannibal’s as they catch fangs in each other's lips. He doesn’t care to know.

Will begins to rock gently, working Hannibal’s knot up. It swells quickly, and Will is glad that their bodies are reacting with such speed given that they won’t be alone for long. In fact he’s surprised they haven’t already been happened upon. Perhaps it’s a sign that not much time has passed at all.

“Remember this time, dear boy,” Will whispers, hovering above Hannibal’s lips before sliding his mouth down to Hannibal’s neck. “Remember it like the first time. Like every time.”

When Hannibal whimpers, Will sinks in his teeth.

And that’s all the alpha needs to howl once more and resume his impossible task of impregnating his omega. His sire.

Will sighs and lets Hannibal ravish him.

Lets him work through his rut.

For now, at least.

They have so much time ahead of them now.

--- 

“Will!” Jack’s voice is quickly followed by a heavy rapping on the bedroom door.

Will shakes his head, pulling himself from the muggy feeling of a heat temporarily sated by knots and bites. He’d passed out after their last round, straddling Hannibal’s hips, still securely knotted despite having collapsed face first onto the alpha’s chest.

He blinks and turns his head to the door, raises a brow.

“What do you intend to do?” Hannibal asks, casually curious, on his back with his arms crossed above his head. His knot pulses with his words.

Will squirms pleasantly at the sensation but keeps looking in the direction of the disturbance a moment more. Then he turns his head slowly, a sweet smile just for Hannibal bursting across his face.

“I intend to do nothing more than see just how you get us out of this mess. And you will get us out, Hannibal, because immediately after you do, I am taking you to my home, sating your rut, and then never letting you out of my sight again.”

Hannibal grins and calls out, in a professional tone that feels foreign in this intimate setting. 

“Jack, this is Hannibal. I respectfully ask that you don’t come in.”

“Doctor Lecter? What the hell is-”

“I will write a full report for you, but suffice to say, Will was unexpectedly overcome. The adrenaline and shock of the experience, of the deaths downstairs, has driven his body into heat. A perfectly natural, if rare, side effect for an omega in these circumstances.”

Jack murmurs something on the other side of the door that neither of them can quite make out. Likely something about how he understands how delicate omegas can be.

Will raises a brow at Hannibal. Follows it with a scowl.

Before either of them can say anything further, Jack replies again.

“I will have this room restricted until you are ready to leave.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

They can hear retreating footsteps and Will bites back a growl.

“I would be mad at you for pulling that misogynistic bullshit with my boss, if I thought for one moment you believed it. Or that I’d have to work with him much longer. I’m surprised you didn’t just invite him in for us to feast upon.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be so indiscreet. Though it’s not too late-”

“No,” Will growls.

Hannibal hums his agreement, then rocks his hips slightly and makes Will sigh at the feel of his knot still locked firmly within him.

“I will endeavour not to do anything rash. We’ll have to wait until we can steal Abigail away from the morgue. Once she’s fully recovered, we will start anew elsewhere.”

“Not Florence,” Will grumbles, clenching around Hannibal’s knot hard enough to make the alpha draw a sharp breath.

“No, not Florence,” Hannibal agrees, mouthing at the renewed mating mark on Will’s neck.

Will smiles, a happiness descending on him that he has missed all these years. Except now it holds the promise of so much more, all just waiting for the moment Abigail wakes in her bed to see her new fathers sitting beside her, each holding one of her hands. Ready to begin their life as a family.

--- 

“And here we are now,” Will ends, his hands spreading with a flourish.

“That’s it?” Freddie frowns, angry. “You really expect me to buy that?”

Will shrugs. “Up to you, Freddie. The evidence is all there, you just have to interpret it.”

She glares at him, clearly trying to decide just what kind of crazy he really is. Will thinks she’s this close to storming out of the room, off to write an exposé of his bizarre fantasies, when her eyes alight on his chest, which hasn’t risen for a breath for several minutes now. Her gaze widens into a full-blown stare and Will allows himself a smirk as he sees the wheels turning in her mind.

“You… you…” she stammers, before pulling herself together. Will always has admired her gumption. “You smell wrong, nobody could ever tell what you were until Lecter claimed you. And – wait, he did claim you, everybody saw the mark…”

She trails off as Will, smiling indulgently, lowers his shirt collar to reveal the smooth, unmarred flesh he’d allowed to regenerate (much to Hannibal’s heated protests) just for this moment.

Freddie’s pen drops to her lap and rolls off somewhere into the office, forgotten, as she raises a hand to her mouth. She leans forward, on the edge of her seat, as she scans the patch of skin which she had posted pictures of, bloodied and torn, just mere days previously. She looks as if she wants to touch; maybe she would have, if her attention hadn’t just been gripped by something new.

She peers into the darkening room and finally registers the boxes, the packing that has already begun in readiness for a new life, elsewhere. Her eyes snap to his, suddenly frantic. “That’s not the end. It can’t end there. Or, tell me something else, tell me about before, before meeting him this time.”

Will can’t help but smirk at how quickly her smug entitlement has melted into eagerness.

That, and the fact that she believes it all and yet apparently has developed no concerns for her safety.

He smiles at her, almost kind if not for the momentary flash of points behind his lips.

“For you, there is no more to tell. No more stories, Ms Lounds.”

“There has to be more… What people wouldn’t give to have your life! What I wouldn’t give!” Her eyes glow with the burning desire he has seen so many times before, so predictable in this type of human. Only one had ever surprised him… but then, Hannibal hadn’t really ever been human,not even as the young Lithuanian man who had looked into Will’s eyes and told him the bite could wait until he was ready.

“You agreed to this interview for a reason, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” she presses.

Will smirks.

“And what reason would that be?”

“To make me one of you. Another companion. You can see we are all alike, that I was meant to-”

Will cuts her off. “Ms Lounds, I can assure you, we are nothing alike.”

He laughs, a cruel chuckle, watching as she stands from her chair, places her hands on her hips, every bit the entitled brat.

“I’m not leaving here until-”

Will moves so swiftly from his chair to hers that he knows he is nothing more than a blur to her. And the fear in her eyes confirms it.

She shrieks as he looms over her, taking hold of her shoulders with a crushing grip as he growls at her.

“Is that what you want? To be one of the immortals?” he growls, enjoying the fear that grows in her eyes, replacing the passion of moments before. He leans in close and whispers, breath cool against her ear, “You’ll never be more than food to us.” And there it is, the difference between him and Hannibal, and the likes of Freddie Lounds. Her eagerness has been replaced by terror that marks her as fodder, not friend.

Freddie screams and, with a grin, Will lets her go.

He watches her run but he doesn’t need to follow.

He can hear as she comes to a sudden halt just beyond the door. And then he hears Hannibal croon words dripping with charm… and other, deadlier things.

“Ms Lounds, we’ve been remiss. I believe it’s about time my sire and I had you for dinner.”

[focuriousity25-blog]

"One moment, pretty please," requested the new arrival—or perhaps more fittingly, the intruder—as he extricated himself from the heap, seemingly ignoring Hank's question. With deliberate movements, he dusted off his tattered, well-worn coat, each motion shedding a cloud of grime.

Now free of obstruction, Hank and Stephen finally got a clear view of the entity before them. He had the build of a lean gorilla, his body cloaked in inky-black fur, save for a gray underbelly. Adding the already-established horns, eyes, and chiropteran features of the head into the mix, this completed a visage that seemed to be a peculiar amalgamation of ape, goat, cat, and bat. He then raised one of his multi-dexterous feet and started massaging it with clawed toes flexing reflexively, a tension-easing ritual that elicited a moan of pleasure from the creature. The sight prompted Stephen to glance awkwardly at Hank, his expression a silent query of bewilderment.

"A week," the creature said without looking up, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I've literally, and I do mean honest-to-God literally, been running nonstop for a week." He switched his attention to the other foot, a frown creasing his features. "Well, six days, twenty-one hours, forty-three minutes, and ten seconds, but, eh, who’s counting? Trick question, I was. Now..." He abruptly ceased his self-care, extravagantly swooping down to pick up his umbrella, brandishing it like a cane.

"Do I have a name? Why yes, I do. And as much as I would love to share it with the pair of you and likewise learn yours, formal introductions must wait, as the reason for my little marathon is about to cross the threshold of that there time-space corridor." He pointed with the question-mark-shaped handle of his umbrella towards the gateway. As if on cue, another silhouette approached its membrane-like surface, except…this one was larger. MUCH larger.

Confusion and tension flickered across Strange's face. "Who are you, what—?"

"What did I say about not having time?" the creature interrupted sharply. "We have about twenty seconds—no, my mistake, fifteen seconds!"

The silhouette loomed closer.

"Ten seconds..."

The creature's eyes sharpened, ready.

"Three. Two. One..." A slight grin tugged at his lips. "Showtime..."

Emerging from the portal was nothing short of a non-euclidean nightmare, a mass of transparent green muscle and sinew clawing its way through, its protuberances embedding into the sanctum's floor as if it were butter, and it became apparent that what they saw was merely the creature's hand, as it proceeded to pull the rest of its monstrous form through.

When the full monstrosity emerged, its mass of limbs defied any attempt to discern distinctive features, its very appearance a challenge to their vision. Hank's sunglasses beeped and flashed frantically, detecting an impossibly complex molecular structure, far beyond the normal limitations of any universe they had encountered.

Just what kind of dimensional horror had this stranger brought to their world???

This was a question neither McCoy nor Strange were given any time to contemplate, as a section near the top—presumably its head—opened like a mouth and roared, a shrieking, terrible sound that left their ears ringing. 

And then... it attacked!

As if in direct response to Hank's admittance of presence, the Heart began to pulsate with a vivid red hue instead of green. Before their very eyes, it expanded and twisted, morphing as if it were not made of delicate glass but pliable putty. Each segment of the heart seemed to meld together, merging and flowing with the fluidity and grace of water.

However, a closer inspection would reveal a different reality. The pieces were not merging but instead fracturing into smaller and smaller shards. These fragments, like intricate fractals, were reduced further to slivers, each one weaving and reconfiguring together into a new, altogether different form.

"Hank, get back!" Strange shouted, lunging forward to seize the Blue Beast’s arm, possibly even to cast a protective shield.

But it was already too late. The protective runes were totally inconsequential. Within moments, the heart-shaped object had stretched and reformed itself, transforming into a thin, glowing wall that reached the ceiling and walls. It pulsed steadily, sending veiny lines of energy with each beat.

The universe itself seemed to yearn for a cliché as Strange voiced the obvious hypothesis, "It looks like some sort of gateway!"

A gateway, it seemed, that was specifically attuned so it would open in Hank's presence. But why? What could it mean?

Strange urged Hank to maintain his distance. Although they were no strangers to such phenomena, the unknown nature of the other side of this portal was a cause for caution. They would soon find out.

A silhouette began to form on the membrane-like surface of the gateway, growing clearer as it approached.

This time, Strange was ready. He prepared to cast a spell at the slightest hint of danger, intending to act the moment whatever it was emerged.

At last, the entity burst through the portal, rocketing out like a banshee with its tail ablaze. It dashed past the Sorcerer and the Mutant, crashing into the wall with a force that sent several piled artifacts tumbling down.

"What the...?"

Amid the chaos, the new arrival's head surfaced from the pile of artifacts like a whack-a-mole, revealing features that were unmistakably non-human. Silver horns, yellow-orange eyes, and bat-like characteristics marked this being.

Looking equally bewildered, the creature blinked, realizing it had stopped running. It glanced between Hank and Strange, before chuckling breathlessly and blinking again.

Then, in perfect English with a faint Russian accent, it spoke, "Sheep and gravy, my feet are KILLING me right now!”

[fuhadeza]

I think the fandom pretty much agrees that one of the most important things missing from season five was a moment between glimmer and catra about angella. and, I mean, I agree enough to have written a whole fic about it. but I stop short of calling it bad writing, because I think that’s unfair to the show as a whole. I don’t know if it was a deliberate decision or if there were some constraints on how serious they were allowed to get (or a bit of both), but I think glimmer and catra’s resolution is actually handled very well, in the same general way She-Ra handles most of its character development: through action and symbolism. (see here for an elaboration). so, without further ado:

why glimmer forgave catra, or: we spent four seasons inferring that catra and adora were in love, so let’s give the writers the benefit of the doubt and see what we can infer about catra and glimmer

first, let’s agree on one thing: catra did not kill angella. we can argue all we want about what exactly catra expected opening the portal to do, but “I’m going to kill the queen of bright moon!” is definitely not in the running. instead, let’s think of it this way: catra created a situation which indirectly led to angella’s death. she was an important part in the chain of cause-and-effect, but not the only part. angella made a choice, too. that’s important. 

this isn’t an excuse - what catra did was still very bad! but if you’re glimmer, specifically, I think the distinction matters very much. I don’t think glimmer could forgive someone who literally, directly, explicitly killed her mother.

moving on: let’s consider the season four finale first. what does glimmer see catra do here?

she sees catra at her lowest, and she hesitates. this isn’t the villain glimmer has been fighting - it’s a defeated, broken young woman. and maybe she thinks, for the first time, how did catra get here? what shaped her?

then catra is confused by glimmer’s attempts to stop the Heart. not only that - she actually gets up and follows her, and considering the state catra is in right now, that’s really significant. she’s not just confused, she’s curious.

and then they’re beamed up to prime’s ship and the next thing catra does is save glimmer’s life specifically and etheria generally. and, sure, she does it by ingratiating herself to an intergalactic tyrant, but...

... the next thing that happens is that glimmer has an awful lot of time to think. and I think she realises a few things about catra. she realises that catra must have grown up in an environment where mistakes were something you were punished for, not something you ever tried to make right yourself. she realises that catra’s position in the horde was always precarious, that she was doing exactly what she’s doing with horde prime now - and make no mistake, glimmer isn’t stupid. she sees the way catra acts during dinner. she sees how catra keeps coming back to talk to her. prime may have arbitrarily designated catra a guest and glimmer a prisoner, but I think glimmer gets it. catra’s clinging on every way she can, trying to survive any way she can. her position is no more secure than glimmer’s.

and then we get to Corridors, and glimmer knows that catra isn’t a fundamentally bad person. she saved glimmer’s life once. she kept her company. she brought her cake! and glimmer recognises that the actions are more real than the words: catra is going through the motions, threatening to leave adora to prime, repeating the things she’s been saying to herself ever since adora left... but what she really needs is someone to give her permission to be the kind of person glimmer is, the kind of person who tries to fix her mistakes. and glimmer gives her that, because she think it’s worth a shot: she thinks catra might listen, if someone just says, no matter how many bad decisions you’ve made in a row, it doesn’t make you any less worthy of making a good decision next.

so catra sacrifices herself to save adora (and by extension bow and entrapta, which catra has no reason to know about but which still counts for glimmer!), and in possibly the most on-brand thing she ever does, immediately clarifies that she’s not doing this for glimmer.

but like. come on. the cat doth protest too much. of course she’s doing it for glimmer, too, just a little: for the person who finally inspired her to do something good with her life. and I think glimmer gets that.

so at this point, they’ve formed a strange sort of connection & catra has done the big damn hero move, and it could end there with catra being lost forever. that’s a sort of closure for glimmer.

but I think at some point glimmer asks herself: can I imagine myself in catra’s position? opening that portal?

and I think the answer is absolutely yes.

at the start of the series, catra and glimmer fundamentally want the same thing: the power to protect the people they love. they both have inferiority complexes at various points in the series, and their arcs are both about acquiring more power & struggling with the consequences of that.

the difference, of course, is that glimmer grew up with a robust support system. when she tries to activate the Heart, it truly is with the best intentions. but now she knows catra better. she can try and put herself in catra’s (figurative) shoes. and she can imagine growing up in an environment with almost zero support. she can imagine the only bright spot in her life just up and leaving one day. glimmer saw all of that happen, but now she has insight into what it looked like from the other side. what shadow weaver defecting must have felt like. what it must have been like for shadow weaver to turn up again and torture her with the help of her worst enemy. (seriously, I feel like we don’t talk about that scene nearly enough). and glimmer thinks, if I was capable of ignoring all of my friends & their compassion & their genuine concerns out of a misguided attempt to protect everyone that ended up putting them and the whole world in mortal danger, even with all the advantages of my upbringing - what chance did catra have? of course she jumped at the opportunity to make it all stop, to finally make herself safe. glimmer does it to protect her friends and catra does it to protect herself - but, crucially, glimmer now has proof that, given the opportunity, catra is very capable of choosing to protect other people, too.

and those are the two parts of the puzzle, I think. glimmer understands, at least a little, why catra did the things she did - but that isn’t enough to forgive her. it’s enough to feel sorry for her, maybe, but not to forgive her. what she needs is to see catra confront those actions, recognise them as wrong, and try to make up for them.

and that’s what she gets on prime’s ship.

and she thinks, this is what I told her to do. this is what I’ve always been told: you screw up, you try to fix it. she’s only doing what I would do. and she doesn’t have to forgive catra, because no one can ever be forced to forgive. but glimmer is a compassionate person, an empathetic person, and I think, after all of that? she simply can’t blame catra anymore, because she sees too much of herself in her.

I think there’s a really important moment at the end of Corridors. when glimmer tells adora about catra saving her, she says “she said she wanted to do one good thing in her life”. not “I told her to do one good thing in her life”. glimmer doesn’t take that choice away from catra, because no matter what role glimmer played in it, it was still catra’s choice. that’s the important thing.

I could go on: 5x06 is also excellent for this, because we have catra both relapsing a bit but also reinforcing her commitment to doing things right this time. but by that point, I think glimmer has made her choice. she makes the choice at the end of 5x04, when she agrees with adora that they should rescue catra. everything that follows is really just vindicating her.

and, yeah, you might say “but none of this is in the show!” and it isn’t, at least not explicitly. but it’s there in the way catra and glimmer look at each other at the end of season 4. it’s there in every scene they share on prime’s ship, but especially in the way glimmer tries her best not to drive catra away, because she knows they both need the company. it’s there in the way bow and glimmer open the circle for catra at the end of 5x06. it’s there in the same way catra and adora’s love for each other was there throughout the show.

and maybe I wish catra and glimmer had gotten to (figuratively) kiss, too, to really solidify what the show had been doing implicitly. but I’m content that they didn’t, because I get it. I understand why glimmer forgives catra, and I’m happy to fill in the parts they couldn’t show on-screen myself. and I also understand why other people aren’t, but if you’ve read this far, I hope it helped with that, at least a little! (and also, thank you. this got longer than I expected.)

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 90

The more chapters I post, the weirder that number feels. I swear.

“Have a good night, Grandma Kim,” I smiled from the door and waved as she and Lyric made their way into the stream of foot traffic in the corridor.  Conor had just come home from work, so I had the obligatory two people to keep any eye on me for the night.  Turned out that my mandatory escorts were not only for travelling to and from anywhere - and locking the door to my quarters wasn’t considered enough, either, since “Too many people have permission to just walk in,” as Xiomara pointed out.

When I turned around, both men were already seated at the table, a small and tidy dinner of roast, boiled potatoes, and salad waiting. “No GK?” Conor frowned, pointing at a fourth place setting.

“She said she had to get to another appointment,” I explained.  With a groan, he reached down.  To my surprise, he picked a fifth place setting off the floor.  “Wait, you set a plate for Lyric? You don’t even do that for Mac!”

 Jokingly, he shook a finger at me. “That cat’s a damned menace,” he grumbled. “Besides, we all know Mac eats from whatever and whoever’s plate he wants. He doesn’t need his own.”

 Maverick just smiled at his back as the taller man put the plates and silverware away. “Says the person who always saves an entire serving of everything for the ‘damned menace,’ as you put it.”

“He likes my plate better.” With a wink and playful grin, he sat down and started slicing the roast.

Smiling lightly, Maverick brushed his hair out of his face and turned to me. “Stuff better between you and Tyche?” 

Stabbing a potato, I shrugged before wobbling my hand a bit. “Kind of?  We’re still working through a game of Twenty Thousand Questions, but we aren’t mad at each other anymore.  So there’s that.” 

“You’ve been in a noticeably better mood, at least.”

I scowled as he set some salad on my plate. “I haven’t had five minutes to myself since the incident with Charly.  That’s going to make anyone cranky.”

“You didn’t help when you put that bloke flat on his back, love,” Conor chided gently. “One slice or two?”

Eyeballing how thick he cut them, I thought for a second. “One, for right now? With gravy?”

“What heathen doesn’t put gravy on roast?” was the scoffed answer.

Maverick’s head snapped up, half a slice of meat hanging out of his mouth. “Ee guy ah even eh own eye ussoom gayey.”

“Babe, please cut the rest of that up before you choke…” I begged, looking away.  The military had done horrible things to his table manners, but at least he kept them isolated to ‘private’ meals.  “On the topic of Tyche, we fence twice a week while Arthur scowls at us or Coffee pretends to ignore us and read a book. I ask her questions, and she whallops me when I guess wrong.” 

“And why is your sainted best friend scowling at you?” Conor stabbed half a potato and shoved it in his mouth, staring at my skeptically.

I stabbed my own potato before cutting it carefully in half. “He may prefer saber.”

“Ehrr oaf.”

“Maverick,” I sighed without looking over. “I am begging you…” A snort of laughter forced me to surrender and turn towards him. “You shit.”

He was sticking his tongue out at me, mouth clearly empty. After I stared long enough, he lost his composure and started laughing, squeezing my upper arm with one hand. “I’m sorry, Sophia.  I’ll stop, I swear.”  Briefly managing a serious face, he ran a hand down and then across his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“King’s X,” Conor corrected.

All I could do is roll my eyes. “It’s the same thing…”

“Still tense, huh?”

“A little,” I admitted softly.  I usually would be laughing and joking with them - who could you be gross and ridiculous around, if not your loved ones? - but I just couldn’t right then. “I think being watched all the time is making me feel watched all the time.  Like I always have to have my public face on.”

Conor hummed, rubbing the arm facing him. “Maybe we can think of something to let you have a bit of time to yourself.”

“We could have the sensors monitor you, have one of Miys specifically keeping a watch on that?”

I shook my head. “That’s literally how I met you, remember? Someone destroyed the navigation sensors, and hacked the monitoring ones in order to destroy the replacement parts.  Xiomara will never agree.”

“Damn it,” Maverick swore softly. “We can at least leave the room?”

Dropping my fork, I threw my hands in the air. “And go where? It’s not like you can leave our quarters.”

“She’s right.  And we can’t even go in the bedroom and leave her out here… If we aren’t in the same room with her, we have to be in one closer to the exit.” Conor pointed over his shoulder with a fork before using it to dig into his salad. “Meaning she can be in the bathroom or bedroom alone.”

“At which point I may as well be a prisoner.”   My frustration was vented against my slice of roast, and I absolutely did not cut it more aggressively than strictly necessary.

With a wince, Maverick slowly lowered his hands from where they had been covering his ears. His eyes darted to the knife that was now laying beside my plate, clearly trying to figure out how to take it away from me. “More potatoes?”

Clearly discretion was the better part of valor in his case.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, prodding the lumps of formerly-roast on my plate.

“We’re going to get through this, Sophie, I promise.”  Conor stood, but rather than trying to approach me, he stepped into the kitchen.  When he returned, he had a plate of soft rolls.  Tearing one in half, he started scooping the massacred remains of my dinner onto it before handing it to me. “There. All better.”

I gave him a watery smile as he set it on my plate.  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a grumpy bitch lately,” I whispered.  Glancing up, I could see them exchanging puzzled looks.  “Oh come on, don’t pretend I’ve been an angel. Just last week, you two left me and Tyche here, with strict orders to sort our shit out.”

“If you didn’t get grouchy when things are out of your control, you wouldn’t be Sophia,” Maverick pointed out generously.  “Besides, it’s not like you threw anything.”

“Or broke shit.”

“I still owe you both an apology,” I argued. “Just because I’m out of my comfort zone, that doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to snap and snarl at you two.”

Conor snapped his fingers several times. “Dinner.  At the Undine. You, your sister, Charly… Maybe don’t get drunk this time, but a night out, yeah?  People who would be there anyway, just like we’re usually the ones with you at night. Whatcha say?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think Xio is going to approve that. Both of us in one place, for starters. Plus somewhere that crowded?  Security would be a nightmare.”

“What about camping? Charly keeps mentioning at work that she’s dying to go camping.”

This time, it was Maverick’s turn to be confused. “Where?” he gestured around us. “We’re on a space ship.  Where can we go camping?”

“BioLab2,” came the answer. “It goes into night mode from mid Beta-shift to the start of Alpha. That’s fifteen hours of night time.  We’d have to get special permission, since folks aren’t usually allowed in there at ‘night’, but given the circumstances, I think Grey could be convinced to try it out.  See how the nocturnal species in the lab react to their schedule being interrupted.”

“You seriously want me to go camping?” I asked skeptically.

“Hey, I love to go camping!” He looked comically offended.  Glancing at Maverick, he raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Never been, but I can give it a shot,” was the mild reply.  In the bottom of my field of vision, a hand snaked over and snagged the sort-of stuffed bun from my plate.  I didn’t even stop him, just waited for the inevitable.  Sure enough, less than a minute later, he started sputtering. “Oh, that is disgusting!”

Conor tsked at him, shaking his head. “Love, you saw me put her poor roast on the bap. You knew it had gravy on it.”

“But you put the mushrooms on the bread, too!?”

“I did it for the lady, who likes mushroom gravy.”  Heaving a sigh, he stood up, went back into the kitchen, and returned with a small carafe of something. Prying apart another roll, he gently tucked a slice of roast inside, before pouring the contents of the carafe - plain, brown gravy, as it turned out - both beneath and on top of the meat. “You have to have something or it’s too dry,” he explained, handing it to Maverick, who surrendered mine back into my own custody.

I took a bite of mine, and gave a little hum of delight. It reminded me of being in school and stuffing mashed potatoes with gravy and thin sliced mystery meat into a yeast roll to make the meat edible, only much better.  Gesturing to Maverick’s own sandwich emphatically, I waited.

Unlike his enthusiasm for stolen food, he stared his own bun down suspiciously before taking a very ginger bite.  Chewing carefully for a moment, he furrowed his face in thought before finally making a similarly happy noise and taking a larger bite.  Covering his mouth with one hand, he gave his verdict. “Dis iss guh!”

Conor and I both rolled our eyes, landing on each other’s face. “You’d think the boy never had chipped beef on toast. Or a French dip sammy,” Conor scoffed as he made his own.

It took everything I had not to dissolve into laughter as I watched my beautiful roast dinner be turned into schoolyard sandwiches.  But sometimes, that’s what you need, I reminded myself as I took another bite. Kids have the right idea.

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[anime-apparently]

☘️Hello! Would it be okay to ask for a matchup for Food Wars and Bnha? I'm a straight, virgo girl, introverted and quiet but I really don't mind crowds. I'm often stuck in my own world daydreaming and sometimes have troubles focusing on the relevant. I'm really patient and open-minded though so it's hard to make me angry. Pretty free-spirited and a jokester as well, as said by my friend. On the other hand I tend to be oblivious to people's true intentions and therefore trust easily.

☘️ I love exploring nature, plants, watching anime, animals, reading, cleaning and drawing, plus can speak 4 languages. I'm around 158cm with brown hair, pale skin, blue eyes and glasses. Fairly physically fit since I enjoy jogging from time to time. Thank you!!

I match you with...

Hayama Akira

he didn't really recognize you the first time you two met since you tend to blend in the crowd and not attract any attention towards you

you were sitting at the backyard of Shiomi seminar with a doe on your lap while a deer approached you and bowed

he's a ver confused boi like what did he just see

then you looked up and gave him a sheepish smile "gomen, Hayama-san, for trespassing."

then Jun saw you and invited you in because she thought you and Hayama were friends

you quickly accepted despite the shady exterior of the seminar

you and jun became quick friends and soon enough you started coming over more often

Hayama would shoo you away at first while Jun would scold him for doing that but you didn't hold any grudges and waited patiently until you two became friends

he slowly grows to like you

you and him are often together gardening or cleaning around the seminar

he started noticing you in class and would often pair up with you because he can handle you

you're quiet, patient, and pretty optimistic but one time you two were cooking and you went on your own world

he sighed deeply but he was used to it by now so he knows how to make sure you're focused

how you two got together was because of your daydreaming

you were drawing him while he was playing around with his spices then you stopped and stared, it was silent and Hayama shrugged it off since it normally happens the "hayama-kun, i like you"

a blushy boy but he won't admit it

"i like you too, L/N-chan"

you two acted more couple like from that point on

Jun's your number one shipper so when she found out she's sobbing "Hayama-kun, I knew you had it in you!"

when Hayama knew you were from Polar Stat Dormitory he was shocked but "it makes sense because sometimes you're too loud and crazy."

he's your anchor to the real world, he likes to make sure you don't go hanging around with the wrong people, and if you're in a crowd he likes to hold your hand so you won't go wandering off (effect of daydreaming)

while you make sure he doesn't overwork himself, you make sure he gets to have fun, and you like to pull him away from the seminar to take a walk in the woods

soft moments when you two would just be sat on a couch while reading a book with your head on his lap or the other way around uwu

he's shocked to find out you know four languages, when you taught him, he would likely insult someone in that language and you'd just be laughing at the side

you tend to watch anime with jun and sometimes he's sit through it too (he likes black butler and relates to Agni (but he finds Prince Soma a bit weird because of the name and the somewhat near hair color and the childish attitude that can be compared to Yukihira)

jogging is a must because he claims you need to be out in the sun because you're "too pale"

he really finds your blue eyes intriguing and he thinks you look cute in your glasses

you two are the type of couple to cook together, garden together, read together, and have long walks in nature together

he would fight for you and defend you because he gave you his heart and trust so be careful 'cause he's a precious bean

I match you with...

TAMAKI AMAJIKI

- so after the whole villain incidents, UA decided to have the big three meet class 1-a, right?

- that's where you met him

- the class stared getting noisy so he moved to a silent spot and you were there too

- you strike up a small conversation (literally just hi and introduction of yourself)

- but he would slowly find himself coming often to class 1-a's corridor to see you

- Mirio and Nejire catches on to this so they would invite you often to their table to eat during lunch or breaks

- he would notice you suddenly just staring in space with a wide eyed lost look in your eyes and he finds this immensely adorable

- one time you spaced out and your eyes were directed to him, he literally hid himself under the table to avoid your gaze

- "Areh, where's Tamaki-senpai?"

- mirio is so excited that you can speak four languages (honestly he likes everything about you and is a really good wingman)

- "tamaki, did you know Y/N-chan can speak (foreign language)" "tamaki, look at Y/N's drawing, uwah!!" "tamaki, look, Y/N also likes (fav book)." "tamaki, i heard she likes to watch (fav anime)!"

- poor tamaki always turns red and can't look you in the eye

- you'd be so fascinated with his quirk because of the whole animal thing and he's so shy because he thought you would think of it as weird

- in crowds, you would hold his hand and assure him that it's alright while he blows a fuse because the only girl who had actually touched his hands are nejire

- he finds it endearing that you're quite the jokester and pretty free-spirited

- he'll just catch himself smiling as you bounce down the hallway to get to your class

- you're patient to earn his trust and for him to be comfortable around you

- the first few times you met, you kept your distance and made sure not to make him uncomfortable which made him like you more

- when the dorm system was built, you'll often take morning jogs and most of the time the big three does it too so you'd jog with them

- but one time it was tamaki alone, you striked up the conversation with him

- he's still soft-spoken and a bit figety but he's comfortable with you

- you reach a large sakura tree and there was a black cat udnerneath the tree (it's aizawa-sensei's but who needs to know, right???)

- he's amazed at how fast the cat gets comfortable with you

- the rising sun gave you a halo while you pet the cat and like he fell in love more and more with every passing second

- he already loves the way your blue eyes sparkled everytime you would get so energetic, he already loves the way the glasses frame your eyes and make them look more innocent, he already loves the way you would stick the tip of your tongue out when you draw, he already loves the way you would react to a book you're reading, he already loves the way you would be so kind to anyone regardless of who they were, he already loves the way your eyes would turned glazed and wide when you daydreamed, and then here you were like an angel

- it was during white day when he confessed and it was because of nejire mostly, nejire saw the chocolate he made for you and pushed him to confess

- "Y/N-chan, i like you." hands you the chocolate and slowly moves away from class 1-a and then sprints to get to his classroom

- curses himself the entire day for doing that

- "tamaki-senpai, i like you too!"

- he almost had a heart attack because you just suddenly jumped at him the moment you two met at the entrance

- your relationship is mostly a mutual understanding for both of you with you mostly leading him through since you're the less introverted one

- class 1-a and the other two of the big three is your main shipper

- take care of him, he rarely gives his heart and he has already given it to you

A/N: thanks for waiting, i hope you enjoy it!! btw, author-chan's a dumbass because i didn't know it didn't save if you answer here in tumblr (i thought it did because when i exited and then rechecked it was there but when i finished dinner to check back to it, it was gone) so i had to redo most asks, gomen for that

[gangtheway]

42 45 50 gogogo

42. do you prefer gazing wistfully out the window or lying dramatically over the sofa?

i do both simultaneously. but given that im sitting all day at work, i flop on couches like no other. then slep.

45. favorite pajamas?

some kinda sweatpant/pj pant with pockets (not flannel unless its actually cold out) and a tshirt from somewhere that was giving out free tshirts at some point in my life.

shirt n socks optional depending on temperature

50. what’s your dreamhouse? 

i am constantly flip flopping between extravagant mansion with hidden passages and secret rooms/ small house within walking distance to a supermarket where i can just lock myself in, emerging only for supplies on an annual basis.

but see a big house is harder to clean and also im gonna be living alone and at that point the only upside is the acoustics of a big house for dramatic speeches to a dog.

definitely needs a slot for mail and packages. maybe a smart fridge so i stop eating spoiled food. roomba for cleaning up. A/C and heater is a must. black-out curtains bc fuckt he sun.

aaaa i want a library even though i havent read an actual book in YEARS. mostly so i can hide doors behind bookshelves. Oh. I could put a whole fucking maze behind bookshelves just for funsies since this is a dream house. I will build a hidden labyrinth for brooding and also maybe so when i die no one can find my body until a couple of intrepid teens happen upon it years later and go on an adventure.

oh you know what lets put a big ol tv in here somewhere for games. and like 50 really good computers incase i break one. homeless people can come into the computer room and use them. there’s free laptops and phones for them too. they came with the house shhh. there’s a 3d printer.

one room has the entire library of alexandria in it. i saved it by making a time paradox and now its in my house that can be filleld with literally anything. i cant read any of them though bc im dumb. so there’s like a scientist chilling in my house too i guess.

one room opens to space. just as an option. yes there is an endless vacuum behind this door and yes it will kill me instantly but its fuckign SPACE. i can shoot shit through a vacuum tube to go into space too. i shoot all my embarrassing poetry adn art into space and the aliens make a religion about them. im the 7th grade god now.

oh yeah theres a room filled with money. actually its a corridor full of doors that lead into the bank accounts of the rich. like the physical versions of them. i use this corridor to become robin hood and finally find fulfillment in life. i steal all the crown jewels and send them to their countries of origin. OH and also doors into museums. im gonna do crimes of culture. save the cultures. give them their art back. and leave a calling card with just a crude drawing of a dick at the museum. i become known as the cock crusader but SURPRISE i didnt have a cock this whole time its the perfect crime.

theres another room thats a straight up time machine. i go into the past and un-birth hitler. i seduce his mom/dad/grandpappy and then also matchmake them to randos. i proceed to appear at various points in history as a mythical creature. i m the mothman i predict the tragedies now.

i have a room of spiders. i throw my enemies in there. i dont really have any enemies yet. i hope one day i will so i dont waste the spider room.

theres probably a pool somewhere too. it’s filled with the cure for all disease but it doesnt work unless you have less than 1 million dollars of material wealth. i dont make the rules. the pool does.

at least one room is noneuclidean. i dont know how it works either so take it up with god

theres a room with real pokemon. no mr mimes though bc he freak me out. tbh its mostly pikachus bc im basic af with my faves and pikachu herds sound adorable and i will die.

another room is like. a room where you go and talk to people who died. not like a dedicated ouija room. thats in the bomb shelter. no like you sit at a table and their soul just floats on over and theres a hologram and everything.

i have a ton of robots. theyre all vaguely sexy. they make me uncomfortable but i am irresponsible with my power

one room has a megaphone. when you speak into it it doesnt make any noise but instead it beams your voice into the mind of who youre thinking of. i use it to brighten the days of my friends and destroy the psyches of my enemies. still dont have any enemies yet. would it be overkill to do this in addition to the spiders?

there is an attic filled with mannequins. this is my nightmare room. i never go there and i pretend it doesnt exist. when someone wanders in there, their heads follow their movement wordlessly. they dont do anything but its really unnerving and no one likes it.

there is a completely soundproof room that i go into and make whatever noises i want. no one can hear me here. i practice doing accents where no one can hear how bad and ashamed i am. even with no one else listening, i get self-conscious. this room is now the Screaming Room for makign stress noises in.

one room is filled with conversation starter cards and a mirror. i go here and study often. the cards ask me about my childhood traumas and i burn them. the room is now a room for pep-talks. i get self-conscious halfway through the peptalk and walk out, dejected. why is talking so hard.

one room opens into a ranch. it’s where we put all the shelter pets. there are therapy areas for them so they learn love and be loved again. they run in large open areas and are happy and fuzzy and clean and full. it’s staffed by people who know how toactually take care of animals. i go there sometimes to get swarmed by big ol dogs and big ol cats and so many fuzzy babies. then i go to the allergy removal room bc i didnt think that through.

there’s a never-ending food room. i dont know where it comes from or how fully-prepared food just appears like that. world hunger is ended and im still a lazy shit and forget to eat more than a single tortilla. the food doesnt make you sick or unhealthy its just good food that tastes good and feels good and is good. there is maybe an onion corner and i dont acknowledge its existence aside from the occassional glance.

theres a dumb bitch dungeon for the people i have a one-sided hatred for who ruin life for the entire planet. it shoots off into space. they get dissected and analyzed by aliens. the aliens decide to never come to earth bc jfc is this really what yall do. a small price to pay. maybe other aliens might come and be chill. i have a room for the aliens just in case.

theres other houses for people i care about and a few more for those i dont yet know that i care about. no rent. just a place to live and be happy. its filled with friends and happiness and i really want this eldritch abomination of a house now.

im v sleepy OH YEAH AND A RLY BIG CRAFT ROOM

[kannazukisama]

Prompt #3: Lost

Vinis knew the moment he heard his name being called from the linkshell that Takana was lost. 

He would raise a hand to his ear as discreetly as he could, for once thankful for his seating position at the very end of the lacquered table. On one hand, he had to quite literally shout at those on the opposite end of him in order to be heard.. but it also allowed him some breathing room, the men in the room not exactly the kindest when it came to sharing the space at the table when they were drunk off their asses. While the room itself was large, much larger than it needed to be, but where appearances were everything and only how much money you had was the mean for the social order, it was only natural to go all out. There were painted tiles of the Four Lords spread on the ceiling, various scrolls of Hingan cursive script-styled calligraphy drawled out along the walls; even the heri of the tatami mats seemed to be laced with gold. All a show that Vinis hated.

"Vinis. Did you not hear me? Come find me."

It was such a bizarre thing to happen to Takana, and only to him with ..such frequency. After all, he looked like the last person that would get lost so easily. His stature all but commanded the attention of those in the same room as him, his permanently scowling face set on top of his tall height and broad shoulders either causing one to stare up in fear or look away in cowardice.  It didn't help that he was scarred from head to toe, his face most of all with the left side of his face covered in black cloth. Such arrogance and swagger that accompanied him could only be assumed to be a conscious effort, but it was perhaps the fact that it was quite the opposite pissed Vinis off the most. 

Takana was just that oblivious to those underneath him. It was years of egoism and assumption that things would be laid out for him, that no matter what happened, even as something as stupid as getting lost on his way back from wherever he had wandered off to, he would get the  help he needed by either Vinis or whoever was unfortunate enough to cross his path. It drove him mad.

Indeed, Vinis was pissed as he quietly rose and excused himself from his seiza position in the meeting hall, bitterness beginning to blossom in his stomach as he did his best to ignore the pointed looks being shot in his direction. Of course he was going to be blamed for the interruption. After all, he was a foreign guest, as Takana and the higher ranking officers both loved to remind him, and therefore it was a given that he would be treated as the scapegoat in these situations. Not that Vinis particularly cared about the opinions of these damned people; he was more than used to such prejudice within these halls, but to have to go and find his liege again.. Vinis ran a hand down his face as he silently slid the paper door closed behind him and into the hallway, struggling to work through the knot of sickness in the bottom of his stomach.

"I-I coming now. Can you tell me which way you went from the meeting hall?"

"I went towards the marble koi statue."

Vinis looked down the hallway. Neither left nor right had any statue of any goldfish. Kami above, just smite him now. Just get it over with. He was only twenty-one years old but he was so done with everything.

"There.. are no koi statues down either of these hallways, Takana. You seriously don't remember which way you went after you left?" Vinis fought back a sigh as he ended up choosing to go right, his bare feet barely making a sound as he padded his way down the hall. While he was worried he would miss something important in the meeting, he didn't have any urgency to find the missing Hyur any time soon. He tugged his black haori closer to his person, immediately missing the blessed heat. For all their showings and attention to details, these meeting halls were always freezing in the winter.

"Don't take that attitude with me; save it for the turtle-heads. All I know is I went down a couple of hallways and got lost. Hurry up and come get me, I'm freezing."

Another hand dragged down his face as he paused, reaching an intersection. Oh for the love of-

"Can you at least describe to me where you are now?"

"Now? Or when I called you?"

"...Stop walking. Just.. just stand still. Tell me what you see."

"Don't order me around. You forget your place much too often these days."

His tail whipped violently behind him. He was going to lose it.

"Takana-sama," he drawled out sarcastically, the forced formalities only aiding in pissing him off, "I formally request that you stay still and describe to me your surroundings in that I may better aid your poor lost soul." Take that, you overgrown baby.

"..You'll see me in my office after this, cat."

At this point, Vinis honestly couldn't care less. His feet were starting to freeze as he continued his search down the stained-wooden floors, the corridors and paper walls starting to look a bit too similar as he made another turn. He should have brought a piece of paper, or maybe just asked for a map from one of the waitstaff while he had the chance.. but it was too late now. In any case, he was going to freeze to death before he would be able to get scolded by Takana in the first place if he didn't find him soon.

"Please, just- Just tell me what you can see. Please."

A brief silence fell over the linkshell, so Vinis continued walking. He breathed on his hands, rubbing them together. Despite his earlier criticisms, the place was well decorated, though still too gaudy in his opinion. There was beauty in simplicity, those it seemed whomever owned the placed cared not for such philosophies.

"I seem to have found the meeting room."

Vinis stopped in his tracks. He.. what.

"You what."

"I found the room. I'm turning off the linkshell now, as it's rude to keep talking during a meeting. Hurry up and come back, and bring a new bottle of sake with you."

The audible click of the pearl shutting off filled the silence of the hallway, and Vinis wanted to tear the damnable thing from his ear and crush it then and there. Such.. such an insufferable bastard..!! He allowed himself to fall to his knees, hands pulling at his hair as he let out a low rumble of what could only be described as 'despair and anguish.' He was so done. He was going to punch Takana. He was never going to help him again. He was never going to come to another one of these damn meetings. He was.. He was freezing, and the longing for warmth was enough to get him back up, albeit a bit more slouched and tired than he started out as, and he made his way back towards where he assumed the meeting room was.

Or so he thought.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

One of His Best Kittens (7) - Plag Appreciation Week, Day 7: The Ring

Day 1  Day 2  Day 3  Day 4 Day 5  Day 6  |Day 7|  

Warning: Contains spoilers to season 2.

Also on AO3 / fanfiction.net

*** Angst alert is still valid ***

But I ask you to patiently read until the end and it'll be worth it.

Day 7: The Ring

The church was exceptionally quiet given the occasion. Plagg peeked from the side door, next to the altar where he had talked at length to Nino. Now he watched his retreating back. The man was still limping a bit, although weeks after he’d been released from the hospital, he was in much better shape already. He had lost much weight, the black suit he chose to wear that day apparently form fitting before, now hung on him like on a rack.

Nino walked by Gabriel and Adele Agreste, who already took their places in the front row and were eyeing the crowd anxiously. A discreet police escort occupied the second row and secured the side corridor. Young Lahiffe paid Adrien’s parents a little bow and joined Alya at the front of the other row of benches.

The redhead was helping Tom and Sabine into their seats. The Dupain-Chengs were both in tears although it seemed that the baker decided to take “Cry me a river” quite literally. Ever prepared Alya offered him some tissues as he clearly ran out of his own supply.

Plagg spotted the mayor standing nearby. He was nervously rehearsing his speech under the scrutinous inspection of his daughter. Chloe stood out from the crowd like a beacon. Her choice of clothes for the occasion, albeit impeccable in style, could only be described as controversial. She was wearing the most flowery dress Plagg had ever seen. From what her kwami had told him earlier, this was supposed to be her tribute to the brave heroes of Paris, although she confessed in secret that it was mainly to make Pollen happy.

The little cat sighed, trying to ignore the lump residing in his throat. He was the embodiment of bad luck, but deep down he wished he could get as lucky as some of his kwami friends. He felt a tiny arm on his shoulder patting him compassionately. Finally tearing his gaze from the crowds Plagg returned to the side room and closed the door behind him.

‘Does it really have to be now ,’ he asked for a thousandth time although he knew the answer already. He’d been hoping for a sudden change of heart but clearly it was all in vain.

‘I believe this is the best way, Plagg,’ Wayzz patted him sympathetically over the back again. ‘And it’s not only my view on the matter. This is what Master Fu had recommended too, you know.’

‘I wish there was another way,’ the sorrowful kwami replied.

Wayzz fell silent for a moment as if contemplating something, but he finally only shook his head. ‘There isn’t,’ he flew to Plagg and patted him on the shoulder. ‘This is for the best. You and Tikki have done more than enough. It’s time.’

‘It isn’t fair,’ the black kwami grumbled defiantly. He didn’t know why it hurt him so much. ‘Why do I need to leave him?’

‘This moment would come anyway. No miraculous holder ever escaped death, Plagg,’ Wayzz sighed. ‘And no one ever will. Death is the end that awaits them all, sooner or later. It’s nothing new to you.’

‘Nothing new,’ Plagg echoed his friend’s words. He remembered each one of his kittens, and every end. Sometimes he envied them.

‘Each of your Chosens changed the world,’ the green turtle pointed out with a hint of pride in his voice.

‘But this one changed me,’ Plagg murmured under his breath.

‘I’m sorry,’ Wayzz repeated once again. It seemed as if over the past weeks every conversation the little cat had ended with that line. ‘It’s time, Plagg. You had more than enough time to say your goodbyes. You didn’t leave his side since the final battle.’

‘We live through millennia and you really refuse to give me this little moment?’

Wayzz ignored his pleas. He pointed to the ornamental black box on the table. ‘You should do this before the ceremony,’ he admonished the black kwami.

‘Can’t we at least wait until this is over?’

This time the turtle kwami huffed in exasperation. Plagg wasn’t surprised, but he still had to try every trick he could.

‘It has to be done now,’ Wayzz said gravely. ‘This is Adrien’s path. You cannot accompany him in this journey. That’s not what miraculous were made for. These matters don’t concern them. My only advice is – keep it quick, it’ll be less painful.’ With that the green sprite left, phasing through the door and into the church.

A few moments later there was a surreptitious knock on the door. Plagg didn’t bother to reply, he settled for sulking in the corner. He hung his head as soon as he heard the familiar steps entering the room.

‘Hey there, buddy,’ the little cat felt a finger scratching him behind the ears. ‘Would you come out?’

Plagg stayed silent and still. That lump in his throat only got bigger at the caress.

‘Please don’t do that,’ the gentle voice pleaded. It was as resigned as the black sprite felt himself. He finally turned around and looked into sad green eyes.

Adrien gave him a shy smile, a mix of affection and sorrow marring his features. Plagg nuzzled into his hand and his Chosen stroked him gently over the head and back. The kwami settled on his palm and closed his eyes. Adrien brought him to his chest where the little cat could easily listen to the strong and loud rhythm of the man’s heart. The heart he had heard cease beating just a few weeks ago but him and Tikki broke the rules and brought it back, employing miraculous magic for personal purpose. He knew there would be a price to pay and he wouldn’t even blink if he needed to do this a second time. But now reality pressed on with the bill to settle.

‘I don’t want to do this,’ Adrien whispered, still stroking the black kwami.

Plagg set his jaw. Although his heart ached he knew it was all said and done. The gods of creation and destruction granted Adrien a second chance, a new life, and he was going to spend it with Marinette. The last thing Plagg would do now was to burden his charge with that knowledge. Master Nino and Wayzz were very clear about it. This stayed between Tikki and him. As far as the world was concerned, there simply had been a malfunction at the hospital but thankfully Adrien’s health hadn’t suffered. In fact, he had finally regained consciousness and that moment marked the beginning of his convalescence.

‘It’s better this way, kid,’ the black cat said instead. ‘You deserve a life with the person you love and no more magical shit, no matter how entertaining you think it is. Miraculous could interfere with your fate and you’ve earned your chance at happiness.’

‘It’s not fair, Plagg,’ Adrien argued and the kwami sighed inwardly at how much he didn’t want this either. ‘You are my family. You helped us. You saved me. You should get that chance too.’

‘I already did, kid,’ the kwami said, careful to keep any traces of disappointment out of his voice. ‘And I will again. Countless number of times.’ He realized, that for the first time he wasn’t looking forward to it.

‘But not like this,’ Adrien countered. ‘Not when there’s peace and a happy beginning.’

‘That’s not how miraculous works,’ Plagg shook his head. ‘At least I got a happy end, which already is more than I could possibly hope for.’ Now that was a thought that brought a little bit of serenity to his troubled mind. He rubbed his head into Adrien’s chest and purred lightly eliciting a chuckle from his wielder.

‘Here,’ a piece of camembert landed in front of the little cat’s nose. ‘One for the road?’

The kwami wordlessly took the treat from his Chosen’s trembling fingers. Adrien produced a second piece and with a small smile brought it to his own mouth. They chewed in silence.

Plagg wished he could drag this out, but Wayzz was right, it would only be more painful.

‘Come on, kid,’ he nuzzled into Adrien’s right hand one last time and caught the miraculous between his paws. ‘Let’s make that place for your wedding ring.’

His Chosen touched the jewel, his fingers lingering over the cool metal hesitantly.

'Goodbye, Chat Noir.' Plagg paused. That didn't seem right. His kitten was more to him than that.

'Goodbye, Adrien Agreste,' he whispered looking into the green eyes once again.

‘Goodbye, Plagg,’ Adrien replied. He pulled the ring off his finger and reverently placed it in the black box.

***

As Plagg disappeared into the miraculous he closed his eyes and prepared for his well deserved slumber. How long until he wakes up next time when he and Tikki are needed again? A few years? Decades? A century? As sleep claimed him his thoughts ran to his other half, falling into dormancy not far away. He dreamt of her laugh, but also of Marinette’s baked camembert and Adrien’s puns. Of children with dark hair and green eyes. Of freedom behind the bars.

***

The inevitable pull and blinding light brought him back to the world. A new Chosen awaited.

He stared into familiar, if a bit puffed and watery, green eyes and blinked a few times before noticing the miraculous on Adrien’s finger, just above a stylish but modest band of silver with a little ladybug engraved in it. The blond was standing still, watching him warily. Marinette, still in her wedding dress and with a beamy smile on her bright face, was holding Adrien’s other hand within her own palms and Plagg spied on her finger a matching silver wedding ring with engraved paw print.

He heard someone clearing his throat and turned his head only to discover Nino and Wayzz, grinning so smugly, he could hear the skin on their faces creak. The little cat shook his head, not sure if it hadn’t been another dream, when he found himself caught into a red whirlwind.

‘We’re back, Plaggie!’ Tikki squealed right into his ear twirling him around.

‘How?’ was all the black kwami could choke out.

‘In recognition of your achievements,’ Wayzz stated solemnly, which was quite a sight considering the width of his smile, ‘the current Guardian decided to reconsider your plea.’

‘Due to special circumstances,’ Nino continued his thought, ‘but also six testimonies of reliable witnesses-‘

‘What circumstances?’ Plagg.exe finally restarted properly and the black kwami started processing.

‘Your Chosen is best friends with the current Guardian and you happened to assist in saving his life,’ Marinette whispered theatrically, ‘on top of saving the whole city and world from what could have easily become a magical war,’ she winked and smirked cheekily at him. She brushed a stray blue curl behind her ear and he spotted the now black earring sitting there inconspicuously.

‘But the rules…’ Plagg blurted out.

‘I’m the Guardian,’ Nino stated proudly. ‘I make the rules. New times require new solutions. This-‘ he pointed at Adrien’s ring and Marinette’s earrings, ‘is mine.’

‘And those six witnesses?’ Plagg’s tail curled into a giant question mark.

‘All reputable, experienced and wise,’ Nino said smugly. ‘I have no doubt as to their testimonies. And they all confirm you are a trustworthy, steadfast and compassionate kwami who deserves a happy beginning.’

‘Don’t tell anyone or my reputation is ruined,’ the little cat muttered under his breath. ‘Wait, you said six witnesses?’ His brain was already computing that particular equation, but it needn’t bother as the rest of the kwami gang peeked from behind the Guardian’s back and waved happily at their friend.

The black sprite eyed all that crowd in front of him suspiciously but they didn’t seem like mocking him. The miraculous was wedged firmly on Adrien’s finger and the blond didn’t look like he would let it go anytime soon. His Chosen’s green eyes were full of happiness and the black sprite could already feel the joy bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t be more happy. Well, almost. Only one thing left.

‘So,’ Plagg drawled in a lazy nasal tone, ‘where’s my cheese?’

* The End *

Thank you for being here with me through out this Week. Thank you for your lovely comments (I’m looking at you @ofekma :) ), likes and reblogs. If you liked this story, check out my other fics. You'll find both fluff and angst there, whichever you prefer.

Next on my update list - the final chapter of Tomorrow's Hopes. It should be out in about a week or two.

[sunlitroom]

Gotham s3e16 - These Dark and Delicate Obsessions

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham.

It's Uncle Frank, who abandoned poor young grieving Jim.  The Court is secret! Jim watched his father die.  One cannot deny love. Bang.  Ed. Does. Not. Love. Oswald.  Splash   Look who’s alive!  Oswald’s got a murder to-do list.  Bruce is in the arctic.  Falcone has always done what the Court asked.  The Court will purge the city.  Chaos, Cleansing. Destruction.  Dogs and cats, living together – mass hysteria.

As always, long post will be long - reaaally long.  There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot may appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)).  There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism.  Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

The Court is meeting in their silly frilly masks. The have a weapon to cleanse the city, but they need a unanimous vote to progress.  They all place feathers on the table in front of them, except Frank, who pauses. Kathryn notices and glances at him, and Frank reluctantly follows suit.  Judgment has been passed. Gotham must fall.

Bruce awakens in his cell. The door opens.  There’s a man framed in the doorway.  Bruce wants to speak with whoever's in charge.  That makes it sound like he’s complaining about a hotel room. The man says that would be me. Bruce asks if the Court is behind this. The man tells him the Court is a tool, nothing more.  Bruce tells him that they won't get away with this – but then realises that the clone will cover his absence.  He protests, though – and tells them that Alfred will figure it out.  The man agrees, but says that, by that that time, they should have accomplished their goals.

Bruce asks what the goals are.  The man says that they need his help, and tells him to eat, since he’ll need his strength.  Maybe keep him in a warm room with an actual bed, then?  He tells him they’ll begin soon, and leaves.

At GCPD, we see Aubrey James on a TV screen.  He’s apparently back in charge.  Jim and Harvey chat.  Jim says the trip to the cabin was ‘fine’  - which is hilarious, since in about two minutes he’ll spill his guts about the actual trauma-fest that it was.  Jim has a very low bar for ‘fine’.

Jim asks about ’Nygma’. Somewhere, Ed grits his teeth and leans down heavier on an iron-on transfer of a question mark.  Harvey says that they’ve not heard from him – he’s simply disappeared.  How you lose the model in the bright green suit and bowler hat is beyond me.

Harvey asks what Jim is looking at.  Jim tells him it’s the record of the drunk driver who killed his father, and spills about the cabin.  Apparently this guy was stabbed in prison early in his sentence.  Jim looked at his medical record too – and found chronic persistent hepatitis.  He’s going to ask Lee what that is when she gets in.  Harvey- though – cuts in, telling him that it’s a non-progressive form of liver inflammation that would prevent you from drinking.  Either this guy can’t have had that – or he wasn’t drunk at the wheel.  Jim says the report must have been faked, and leaves to investigate.

(An aside – I know Gotham moved away from all things procedural, but it’s nice to see them being detectives for once.)

A glasshouse.  Ivy has Oswald in a wheelchair, wrapped in a blanket. She's excited, he's grumpy.  You know when little girls try to wrap cats in blankets and carry them about like dolls?  It looks like that.

Ivy tells Oswald that the fresh air will do him good.  She’s actually being very sweet with him.  Oswald is snarly and short-tempered.  He shakes her off, telling her that he is fine – and a grown man.

(An aside - Which is not only a reminder that Ivy isn’t a grown woman, but striking because Oswald is often presented to us as childish – sulky, spiteful, infantilised by both parents and, recently, very dependent.  Maybe this is a statement of some development for him?)

Ivy giggles, and boops his nose.  And hungry!

Oswald looks round.  What's with you and all the plants?

Ivy tells him the plants are her friends – better friends than people.  Oswald pulls a face.  Some even helped save his life, she continues.

She hands him a glass, which he hurls to the ground.  Ivy is irate.

What is wrong with you?

Oswald needs to build an army to get revenge.  Ivy tells him that no-one is stopping him.  She could help!  Poor Ivy is so happy to just have a friend.  Oswald sighs impatiently, and offering a tight, insincere smile, tells her to deliver a message to Gabe – a moron, but a loyal moron.  And an army only needs one loyal soldier.  He’s just about got that right now with Ivy – but Oswald’s judgment has been hideously off of late – and he can’t quite see it.

Ivy waits.  Oswald looks impatient.  She’s waiting for a please.  Irritated, but with no other options – he acquiesces.  Be nice, Oswald.  You’ll notice Ivy’s nursing you back to health is genuinely unselfish and caring, taking none of your agency away, and not seeking to mess with your head. Something of a novelty for you.

Jim looks at his father’s grave.  It looks very cold -  a lot of the light in this episode is cold and blue.  Uncle Frank approaches.  Jim says his father’s death made to look like an accident – what does Frank want from him? Frank tells Jim about the Court’s weapon to destroy the city.  Jim asks why they would destroy it?  Franks replies that it’s not the whole Court - just high-ranking fanatics.  The Court has done it twice before. It’s no bluff.

Jim asks how to stop it – Frank has no idea, and doesn’t even doesn't know what weapon is.  The Court knows that Frank reached out to Jim, though. As Frank walks away, Jim tells him to be careful

Lee is at Mario's grave. She looks sick and tired.  Jim stares over at her, then approaches. It’s a bit tactless, which he must realise, since he opens with an apology for intruding.  Lee asks who Jim was with – and Jim tells her it was Uncle Frank.  Lee thought they were estranged, but seems pleased – at least, hypothetically pleased, that they’ve reconnected – she betrays very little emotion.

She talks a little. She’s been coming here a lot.  She saw a little old man, all dressed-up, smiling at his wife's grave.  Lee couldn't understand what there was to smile about, but then it occurred to her. They shared a whole life together. Jim apologises again.  Lee looks at him disbelievingly.

How'd you do that - just move on, leaving so much destruction in your wake?

Jim doesn’t protest – that he wrecks everything he touches is – as we know – one of his deepest fears about himself.  He’s not going to argue.  Lee sighs tiredly, and as she walks away, says that she wishes she could do that.

(An aside – given what we know, this maybe seems likely to be Lee’s characteristic when infected with the Tetch virus – wreaking destruction.  It would explain the wrecked GCPD we saw)

Jim’s phone rings.  Harvey says his father’s killer was a ‘career scumbag’….and Falcone paid for the fancy lawyer to get him a plea.

Ivy’s glasshouse, where a gleeful Gabe hugs Oswald tightly.

Everyone thinks you’re dead, Barbara’s running things. Interesting that Butch and Tabitha are not mentioned as equals.

Oswald is impatient – he wants Gabe to build him an army.  Gabe agrees immediately – the guys will come running.  He wanders away little and starts talking enthusiastically on his phone.

Ivy looks dubious.  There’s something off about him.  She doesn’t trust him.

Oswald is dismissive.   Gabe is essentially a human Labrador. Ivy tries to tell him about her perfume. One whiff - and any man gives her anything she asks.  She’ll find out if he’s telling the truth.

Oswald rolls his eyes, not fully understanding what Ivy means by this.  He tells her it’s time that they part ways – he has an army to build, a war to plan, and they really don't know each other that well.

Ivy doesn’t get it. Oswald meanly tells her to ask her plants.  Ivy is genuinely hurt.

You don't trust me – I saved your life.  I thought we were friends

Oswald laughs at her

Friends?

Ivy looks even more hurt.

Oswald blinks.

Oh - you're being serious…

but continues to behave like an ass.

Look – don’t take this wrong way – but you are a bit of a freak.

Ivy storms out, teary-eyed and swinging her arms like the upset and angry little girl she is.

Gabe, meantime, has approached.

Did she tell you not to trust me?

Oswald laughs.  Yeah. His face gets serious though, as he wheels and asks why Gabe asks.  Gabe belts him in the face and smiles.

Smart girl

Back in Bruce's cell of Mortal Kombat training-esque tedium, he hears a sound.  The door opens.  There’s a lot of running down corridors to come back to the same point.  I’m not recapping the whole thing.  It would be more entertaining with Benny Hill music over it.  The mysterious man is in his cell again.  It’s time to begin.  Bruce says the temple is a maze.  The man says everything is a maze, they need to find a space within it.  Bruce says he’ll figure it out.  The man asks how long he’s been blindly wandering round a maze looking for directions.  Bruce tells him,

Speak in cryptic riddles all you want.  I’m not scared of you.

Somewhere, Ed just cried a little.

Jim is at Falcone’s house. Falcone blusters threateningly for a bit about how Jim took his son. (An aside – have all these people forgotten that Jim had literally no option open to him: Mario was infected, and about to kill Lee).

Jim shuts him up.

I took your son - you took my father.  I’d say we were even.

Jim also tells him he knows about the lawyer he paid for.

Still think we have nothing to talk about?

Falcone dismisses his henchmen.

You’ve got a question for me son - go ahead and ask.  

He admits he killed Jim’s father, adding

I respected your father, much more than the son he left behind.

Jim says was a hit though, ordered by the Court of Owls.  Falcone asks what he knows.  Jim says his uncle is a member.  Falcone says he isn’t a member– but they have a mutually beneficial relationship.  Jim baldly comments that he does their bidding.  Falcone doesn’t like that.  Jim wants to know who ordered the hit, and Falcone delivers the information with obvious relish  

Frank Gordon - your uncle

Frank is at home with a bottle of whiskey.  As he enters the living room, Jim appears, and puts a gun to his head.  Jim questions him as Frank pours them drinks. Frank confirms that he ordered the hit, and also tells Jim that Falcone contacted the Court as soon as Jim left – they’re suspicious now.

Jim asks why Frank ordered the hit.  Frank says his father wanted to expose the Court.  Jim cuts in, incredulous,

You had him killed – your own brother.  He points the gun again.

Frank shrugs.

Go on - shoot me, you’d be doing me a favour.

He tells Jim he needs to do what his father wanted, bring down the Court.

Jim eyes him for a moment, and then disagrees.

My father would want justice to be done, so do I

Jim starts to arrest him. Frank is frustrated, Jim’s not been listening

Arrest me and it’s over

He headbutts Jim, hits him with the bottle, and breaks free, telling him that the weapon is arriving at dock 9c – Jim needs to find out what it is.  He tells Jim he needs to make a choice, and leaves.

Ivy's greenhouse.  Oswald sits, tied to the wheelchair, regarding Gabe

I didn't think you had it in you

I know - you never did

Boo-hoo – that’s what about - no gold star for being best thug? If you’re going to kill me, get on with it already.

Gabe’s not planning that though -

We aint's gonna kill you – we’re gonna auction you off to the highest bidder.

Oswald looks panicked. We?

4 other thugs arrive

Ivy watches from behind a tree

Should have just listened to me, but noooooo - nobody listens to Ivy

We hear a sound, and a thug has approached Ivy, putting a gun to her head.  She straightens up and sighs.

GCPD – where a bruised Jim holds ice to his face.

Harvey is taken aback at Jim story.  Jim apologises for involving him, but he doesn’t know who to trust.  (My shippy head tells me that Oswald would have been a go-to for this – it being in that lovely, dangerous grey area where Jim likes to associate with Oswald)

Harvey tells him that he would work the lead, but acknowledges that Jim might want to go after his uncle and – if so – Harvey has his back.  Jim says that it’s important GCPD can’t be involved, or the Court will know. Harvey asks who they know who could help – and then looks unhappy when he guesses the answer.  Jim’s other complicated criminal relationship.

Barbara is holding court as Nazareth’s version of Love Hurts plays in the background.  The magnificent Mad Men fashion analysis of every episode talked about metallic fabrics as being and ostentatious representative of wealth and power.  Barbara’s ensemble is almost entirely gold –money is a marker of success in crime, and Barbara is flaunting her success.  Metals are also cold and hard – which is also representative of Barbara right now.

A man is kneeling before her – but he’s not brought enough money, and Barbara swipes him with a stiletto.

Her phone rings, she answers smugly

Barbara Queen

She grins widely when she realises it’s Jim.

What an unpleasant surprise.  Do I feel a favour coming on?

Much like Oswald – no matter whether it really benefits her, or if she’s still pissed at Jim for their last meeting, she’ll still do what he asks.

Bruce’s cell.  The man tells Bruce he’s been waiting for him for a long time. Bruce just wants to go home.  The man says that they share a destination.  He unrolls what Bruce observes looks like acupuncture needles. They have a freaky mystical glowing symbol on the end.  He tells Bruce they’re keys to unlocking the mind.  When he presses the needle to a vaguely hypnotised Bruce’s head…..

Bruce is in an alley in the city.  The man points out that he wanted to return to Gotham – so here they are.

It dawns on Bruce that he’s back at the scene of his parents' deaths.  He turns slowly, tears in his eyes.

Dad?  Mom?

And is forced to witness their death again.  He comes out of the hallucination/trip/whatever, and scrambles away from the man.

What was that place?

The mean tells him it was memory.  He can experience them as though living them for the first time.  One is always inside one’s own mind - pretending we’re separate is the falsehood.

Bruce asks why he would take him back there.  The man tells him,

You never left there

He says that Bruce will have to leave in order to accept their teaching.  Bruce backs away.

(An aside – if you watched Deep Space Nine – this is essentially Sisko’s first experience with the Prophets, where they keep making him return to the scene of his wife’s death. When he finally loses it – and asks why they keep taking him there, they respond – blandly – it’s not them, it’s him. You exists here.)

A warehouse where Barbara and Tabitha are torturing a man for information, while Barbara brightly comments that torture is fun.  He tells them that Barbara and Tabitha don’t know what ‘they’re’ capable of.  Even Falcone never pried into their business.  Barbara doesn’t like that, and reminds him that she’s running things now, ramming some sort of spike into his chest to underline her point.  

He caves – something came in the crate over in the corner.  We see an Indian Hill stamp on it.  Barbara says that he must have a phone number to let them know when it arrived – and she wants an introduction.  Tabitha seems like she’s amused/impressed by her.

There’s a sound – and a court assassin runs in and wipes the floor with everyone.  Barbara and Tabitha flee – not sure why he doesn’t go after them, they’re going nowhere fast in those heels.  He decapitates the tortured man.

Ivy's greenhouse. Oswald winces at a flash of light – photographs are being taken of him to prove he’s alive.

A bound Ivy sitting beside Oswald shakes her head.  The gangsters fetch cannoli from their car for a snack break.

Ivy comments that Oswald got himself into quite the pickle.  Oswald points out that she’s tied up too.

Our fates are intertwined

Ivy is dismissive. She’ll be fine.  Oswald asks what her plan is.   She lets him dangle for a moment longer, because he was so unpleasant. He asks angrily if she wants him to beg. Ivy loses her temper.

No - I want you to be nice to me!

Nice to you?

Yes – it’s not so much to ask

Oswald swallows his impatience.  He agrees it’s not much to ask, and promises to be nice.

Ivy tells him to watch and learn.  She effortlessly manipulates and hypnotises one of the thugs.  When he confirms that he’ll do anything she asks – she tells him to kill them all.  Oswald stops her at the last minute.  He tells her to ask him to stop, hand him the gun, and untie them.  Ivy’s having great fun, and yells all of these excitedly. Oswald winces.

You don't have to yell

Sorry - I just got so caught up in the moment

Ivy grins as Oswald shoots a thug, and watches, beaming, with hands on hips as Oswald tells Gabe he likes the idea of an auction – maybe he’ll auction parts of Gabe off to himself.

The Court of Owls is meeting to discuss what Falcone told them.  Frank stands in the middle of the circle, being questioned.  He tells Kathryn that Jim only knows what Falcone knows, and that nothing can lead back to the Court.  Kathryn wants to know why Jim is suddenly interested now.  Frank says he doesn’t know – but it’s the last thing he wanted.  Jim won’t stop until one of them is dead.  Kathryn thinks this is unfortunate – Jim would have been a powerful ally, but Frank knows what he has to do now: Jim Gordon must be killed.

Harvey and Jim on the phone. She’s passed on the information about 9c.  Frank must either have been kept in the dark by the Court about the weapon’s arrival, or have lied deliberately.  He also says that the crate had an Indian Hill stamp on it – ‘the freak factory’.

Jim’s phone rings again.  It’s Frank.  He tells Jim to come quickly – that they need to talk.

Back at Ivy's greenhouse, where Oswald is confronting Gabe.

I trusted you Gabe - and how did you repay that loyalty?  Betrayal

Gabe protests.

I was there when your mother was killed, when no one else was - and how did you pay me back? Passing me over

Oswald pauses.  

Valid point.  Maybe we must remember that loyalty must be extended before it can be returned.  You were loyal to me once - I wonder if you could be again.

Gabe kneels dramatically and swears on his mother’s soul

Oswald asks Ivy to check that Gabe’s oath of loyalty is noble and true.  Ivy is baffled.

If what is what now?

Oswald rolls his eyes and asks her to make him smell the perfume.  He does – and when under the influence – will not swear to be loyal and true.

I don’t understand - why can’t he be loyal? (An aside – Oswald’s rather plaintive question echoes Ivy’s earlier – you don’t trust me?)

Gabe expands.  He never was loyal.  He only followed him out of fear, like everyone else.  There a tiny flicker of something from Oswald, but he shrugs it off.  Fear and respect.  He can live with that.  Management 101.

Gabe goes on.  

No one ever respected you.  We all saw you for what you really are - a tiny freak who used to hold an umbrella.  Nothing more

This word ‘freak’ releases something in Oswald.  He repeats it a few times, rage building, before he picks up a fork thing and stabs Gabe to death with it – yelling freak all the while.  Ivy watches – wide-eyed but entertained, and blood sprays all over the glass.

Frank’s apartment. Jim enters.  Frank – holding a gun and a glass – thanks him for coming.  Jim tells him the weapon came from Indian Hill, but Frank has no ideas – the court no longer trusts him.  Jim asked why he called him.  Franks tells him that he’s supposed to kill him. Jim asks where that leaves them. Franks says it’s up to him.  He needs a replacement, and someone else to find out what that weapon is and how to destroy it.  He needs someone to join Court – they still want Jim, but just don’t see how it’s possible.  

Frank does, though.  He tells Jim that a woman named Kathryn will call to ask if he’s dead.  When she does, Jim should pick up, and say that he blames him – that he gave the order and deserves what he got.  He smiles – and we start to see panic on Jim’s face.

You’ve got your father’s strength.  He would have been so proud of you.  

Jim yells - horrified.

No!

After his usual gruff yell – though – there’s a small, pained intake of breath, that sounds like it comes from someone younger, and softer, and more vulnerable.

Bruce waits in his cell. He tries to attack shadowy man, but is easily subdued.  He begins the memory procedure again – and Bruce’s response is reminiscent of Oswald at Arkham.

Please, I'm sorry - just please don't make me go back there!

He’s forced again to watch his parents die.  He attacks the shadowy man after it.  When he comes back to the room – he’s stunned to find that he’s bleeding from the fight in the hallucination.  If the emotion is strong enough, the consequences follow you back to the real world.

Emotional pain blocks Bruce from who he needs him to become, who Gotham needs you to become. Over centuries they’ve tried to stop the plague of crime and violence – but it recurs because people are afraid, and fear breeds hopelessness.  Bruce is sceptical that he cares.  The man claims he does.  Gotham needs something only Bruce can provide – a protector.  Bruce protests.

I can't protect Gotham, not by myself – no one can

If you were to become a symbol against fear, Gotham can be reborn

Ivy’s greenhouse, where Oswald - both sleeves up – is digging Gabe’s grave. Ivy watches – serious-faced.  Oswald sighs.

Ok.  I admit it - might have lost my temper a bit.

Ivy doesn’t mind.

It's ok

Oswald continues. I don't know why I let him get to me - sticks and stones - right?

Ivy considers this, arms crossed

Words always hurt me way more than sticks or stones

Oswald turns, his body language open and honest.

Yeah.   Me too.

It’s a moment of connection between two outsider characters who are often shunned by others, but have a caring and protective side, and want friendship, want family. 

Ivy is curious

Does that mean you’re giving up your plans for revenge?

Oswald is deflated.  He can’t take Nygma and Barbara and the rest on by himself.

Ivy grins.

Who said anything about yourself?  Selina told me some pretty crazy stories about Indian Hill. You wanted an army?  What about an army of freaks?

Ivy’s delighted by her own idea – little-girl glee at turning Gabe’s insult back on him.  Oswald now seems curious, and pleased by the idea.

What kind of freaks?

A grim-faced Jim leaves the family photograph at dad's grave.  

His phone rings.  When he answers, Kathryn comments that she’s not entirely surprised.  Jim brusquely tells her he killed his uncle, and makes no apologies.  When Kathryn tells him she understands, he says that it’s time they meet.  She agrees – and when Jim glances to the left, he sees a black limousine waiting for him.  He walks towards it, the interior deliberately shot to look dark and confining.

How long have you been blindly wandering around in a maze, looking for direction?

I’ve often said that although other characters have become more prominent over time – the three main characters we come in with are Jim, Bruce and Oswald.   They now find themselves on unfamiliar ground, forced to take new paths that they would not otherwise have chosen.  

In many ways, they've been wandering for a while - even before they were forcibly thrown into new situations.  Jim might be back at GCPD, but his life is a mess of unresolved issues and trauma. He's lost Barnes as a mentor, and his relationship with Lee seems destroyed.  The relationship with Vale ended as badly as it could.  He's soldiering on, but all is not exactly well. When he got home at the end of the episode before the hiatus, he headed straight for a whiskey bottle.  Bruce is still training for something - but there's a lack of direction and focus there.  His investigations into the Court seemed to be at an impasse, and he's been discontented for weeks after fighting with Selina.  Oswald's had nothing but trauma since Gertrud was kidnapped, and a crisis of self after Strange's interference, but more recently we've seen him struggling with a complete lack of confidence in himself - totally dependent and easily manipulated.

The journeys they begin now are driven by necessity – they did not ask to be placed in these situations - but offer the opportunity to shed aspects of their identities which have become restrictive:

Jim has the opportunity to put his father to rest by carrying out the mission that got him killed. This also affords him the chance, unconsciously, to shed the burden others place on him - the constant unfavourable comparison to his idealised dead father.   It's also possible that he'll discover some truths that allow him to take his father down from that pedestal anyway.  Oswald learned that the image he had sought to cultivate was a farce. People might have obeyed him, but they still thought he was a freak.  All that work, all that loss - and he's still the weird kid in the playground.  Ivy - on the other hand - never really tried to hide her oddness, even when she frightened people, although we did learn that - like Oswald - Ivy has been hurt by being excluded and mocked, and it’s still a sore spot for her.  The kinship she offers, through her own honest friendship, and the idea of a freak army, is something new for Oswald.  Bruce is given the chance to protect the city, to save it - something he's instinctively wanted to do, but never quite known how. But to do that, he'll have to move forward from the event that defines him, his parents' death.

Another parallel -  Bruce, Jim and Oswald are in the odd situation of having witnessed the death of a parent twice over.  Oswald watched Gertrud die, then Elijah, and was forced to watch Gertrud’s death over and over as part of Strange’s ‘therapy’.  Bruce saw his mother and father die – and now has to watch it repeatedly as part of his ‘training’.  Finding out the truth about his father’s death is like Jim losing him again – first by accident, now by intent.  He also watches Frank – his should-have-been father-figure die right in front of him, something that will doubtless play in his mind

Sundries

As @millicentcordelia points out, Barbara’s seemingly effortless takeover of the entire underworld – aided only by a woman with a whip and a man they all know as a repeated second fiddle - strains credulity.  Actions need consequences, and plans must have risks in order to have dramatic tension­.  We’ll hopefully see more of that in the form of internal division in their team.  Also – Barbara is due for a fall.  Answering the phone ‘Barbara Queen’ is like asking the universe to knock you on your ass.

Harvey continues to be an indefatigable ally.

Lee seems tired and empty.

Week 2 of no Victor.

Thoughts?

[letzoespoilyou]

Pieces - an atomwave re write of that scene from Doom world.

This is for you @furiousflamewolf thanks for the ask, I hope you enjoy it and it does your idea justice!

Pieces

 Mick’s world was breaking apart, he could feel the pieces of it shatter just like the site that had occurred before him. There was never going to be enough things to smash nothing would fall into as many pieces and nothing was going to be able to bring those pieces back together again. It had happened so suddenly one moment he had felt hope that grinning idiot had stepped forward in all that chaos, without his suit or anything to protect himself just so he could say he trusted Mick. Ray had just stood there with his innocent smile and that look of trust and friendship had been focused soul on Mick. Mick new he didn’t deserve to be looked at like that, he’d messed up, he’d made a mistake but of course Ray Palmer would still have his back, would still want to help he see the person he was deep down and forgive his flaws.

Ray had said he’d trust Mick and his word had been open and honest,

“I don’t care what the others think Mick, I still believe in you. Partners right?”

Damn it Haircut! Mick thought at the time why me, what did I do to gain your respect, your friendship and made you think I was worth saving from myself. Len from their timeline had changed in a way he saw more to Mick too and had gone and sacrificed himself so Mick could continue to evolve with the Legends and in particular one Ray Palmer, smug git always knew too much and was far too observant! He should have known that this Len would also have the same observation skills.

Ray had stood up for Mick and clearly had him in his thoughts, if even in alternate timeline Ray took it upon himself to look after Axel, and Mick knew that Ray would forgive him, welcome him back and be annoying positive and supportive. Mick felt that warmth in his chest that was very much related to being around Ray, yep he had feelings for the nerdy genius and he was tired of running from them. Nope Mick had very much fallen for Ray and who wouldn’t when he looked at you the way he did now, Mick so used to wallowing in darkness now had a literal ray of sunshine focused on him and damn was he going to disappoint Ray now. He’d thrown the spear over and made his choice, he knew where he wanted to be, he knew who cared about him and after this was over he was going to tell Ray how he felt.

Mick felt relieved and that damn stupid feeling of hope as he watched Ray start the incantation. Everything was going to work out and then in a blink it all shattered. One minute Ray was there joy, triumph and hope but then just cold, a frozen version of himself, expression dead and Mick felt the pain cutting deep. This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t real and for the first time in his adult life Mick Rory felt the sting of tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he looked at the man he was planning on telling he loved him stare blankly at him. Mick then felt the familiar burn of anger and all his hatred was directed at Snart. This Snart was not what Mick had wanted and needed no Mick had changed, Len had met Barry and the Legends he had changed first but Mick now got it, no this was still the cold hearted bastard that didn’t value the people around him. Snart walked up casually to Ray and Mick wanted to scream at him, then the cold man turned to Mick looked at him knowingly saying “You must have loved him to pieces” before tapping Rays frozen form and it shattered into pieces.

Mick cursed, this Snart had clearly noticed the way Mick’s eyes had lingered too long on the “janitor” of star labs of course he had worked out that Mick felt more for this particular member of the Legends team after all the first place Mick had gone when he punched Snart out was to find Ray. Mick hadn’t realised how obvious his feelings had become, he had been careless and Ray had payed the price. The smug smile on Snarts face said it all, the look had said “this is what happens when men like you think they’re in love”. Mick tried hard not to agree but he’d had given himself false hope, the first person after Len that had showed him kindness and companionship, that had come to him for advice and comfort, that had saved his life and treated him like a man and what had that got Ray, killed.

Mick’s heart shattered to pieces right along with Rays body and he just froze, collapsing in on himself. He vaguely remembers the team pulling him along with them but he was going numb. It couldn’t have happened, Ray couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t have lost his friend his, well now he was never going to be able to tell Ray and see where this was going. No, Haircut would have had a way out of this he was an expert at surviving near death experiences. Mick should have fought harder, he should have made the Legends leave him behind so he could kill Snart. Yea it was probably suicide but he’d at least take that bastard down for destroying one of the few pure and good things in Micks life. If Ray wasn’t around really what was the point of him surviving now anyway, he’d lost another person he cared about, if the world, if fate hated him so much then let him go out fighting, if he could avenging Ray then he’d at least achieve something.

Mick felt himself shake with anger, he closed his eyes and the vision of Ray going cold and still came into focus, Ray’s body shattering to pieces and those cold dead words “You loved him to pieces” finally broke Mick as he let out a scream filled with pain, anger and defeat!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 Mick shot up in bed he’d been sweating and his eyes stung where unshed tears had been burning away. Every night the same dream, every night he watched as Ray shattered and Mick could do nothing. Every time he woke up he remembered that it was his fault and that his feelings for Ray had got him killed. But Mick couldn’t take the nightmares, the mission had finished they had gone back and re written the events that led up to the creation of that alternate reality. Ray hadn’t died at the hands of Snart, he was in fact alive and well probably sleeping soundly in his room. But Mick couldn’t shake the guilt couldn’t let the notion that if he gets close to Ray he’d get the man killed. But he also couldn’t shake the raw pain that was losing him, he couldn’t turn off the feelings. He was torn between protecting Ray for himself and just going and telling Ray.

If Mick remembers Ray’s death did Ray remember, if so then the man would be putting on a happy face and not facing it? Would Ray remember the pain of being frozen to death, no Mick had to make sure he was ok. Mick had these feelings and he owed Ray for having his back he was going to make damn sure that Ray wasn’t hurting alone.

He pulled on a new less sweat drenched pair of pyjama bottoms and headed down the wave riders corridors to Ray’s room. He knocked and heard a muffled just a minute from inside as the door slide open. Mick could tell Ray was sitting up in bed and the light from outside revealed that the man had been woken suddenly to. His brow was sweaty and his eyes read, he was breathing in short breaths and holding himself, yep Ray too had woken from a nightmare. The door slide shut behind him and the room went into darkness apart from the soft glow of a light near the bed. Mick made his way over and sat next to Ray.

“You ok Mick” Ray said and of course Ray would be worried about him. Mick lifted a hand to Rays chin as the man was staring intently down, he lifted Rays chin up so he could look into those eyes. Ray tried to smile putting himself together to hide any pain he could be feeling. Mick noticed he shivered and that Ray’s skin was cold to touch.

“Your cold, haircut” Mick said and Ray let out a breath.

“Must be some left over feeling, I dream it every night getting frozen and I wake and feel the cold, just sit for a bit and wait to warm up. I’ll be fine Mick it’s not like it actually happened it was an alternate timeline hopefully the memories will fade”.

Mick hated this and maybe his next move would be rejected but they both needed some comfort right now. Mick pulled Ray against him and hugged him tightly. There was a noise of shock from Ray before Ray let out a breath relief and brought his hand to rest on Micks waist. Mick could feel that Ray’s body was cold and shivered slightly at the contact.

“Sorry I’m cold” Ray whispered into the crook of Micks neck.

“Don’t worry I’ll warm you up” Mick said almost kicking himself mentally for that but there was no going back now.

“Is that a proposition Mick?” Ray said with more of his usual optimism and warmth.

“You tell me Haircut, do you want it to be?” Mick replied trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

Ray pulled back and looked at Mick really looked at him and Mick used every ounce of will to not just jump the man then. Ray had a light blush forming on his cheeks and a dopey smile like he was the cat that finally got the damn canary.

“Well…” Ray began and Mick could tell it was going to be one of his rambles.

“Shut up Haircut” Mick said before going in to claim the kiss he’d been thinking about since after the Russian Gulag. This kiss was heated and definitely long needed and wanted by both men. Firm hands held onto each other as they worked there lips together all that wasted time and want being communicated through the desperate drag of their mouths against each other. They broke apart panting and Mick knew that this was no mistake, staying away from Ray would only torture both of them and there was no way Mick wasn’t doing that again as he stared at Rays slightly kiss bruised lips.

“So partners again?” Ray said hopefully and Mick couldn’t help smile at the idiot.

“Yeah Haircut, gonna make sure you never wake up cold again” Mick replied.

“Why Mick that was almost romantic” Ray said with amusement and joy.

“Less talking, more kissing” Mick growled going in for another kiss and pushing Ray back down onto the mattress.

That night Mick slept and no longer dreamt of shattered bodies and Ray falling into cold pieces, if the memory came back he only had to look at the happy idiot curled up against him to know both of them were together whole and happy.

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded Land: Chapter 14 (Pt2)

Blazing through the long forgotten underground tunnels of Niagara, the subway train zooms along the rusted tracks; Clara feeling the wind in her hair from the platform in the back. Before heading inside, she takes a look back towards the departing tunnels; her thoughts pondering upon this mysterious Dandy would assist in her illegal crossing into the Canadian country. Even if her steed had not abandoned her, climbing over a wall of that armed fortitude would prove to be quite a strenuous task; one that's even more so as of now. The only feasible option that wound make any kind of sense would be the sewer systems; all the traps they’ve set up through the labyrinth like tunnels and these very subway tracks suggests that they have a mostly solid idea of the layout. They probably have a route on standby for whenever they need to make little trips up north. Just gotta get a few jobs done for these weirdo’s and her way into the land of maple leaves will be secure as their syrup. Sweet, delectable syrup dripping upon the fluffy pancakes of the scientist daring journey. And only then will breakfast and her quest for Arthur truly begin.

Those thoughts secure in her head, she heads into the subway train. The first sight she comes upon once inside is the psychotic punk girl who slugged her in the jaw from earlier, staring the scientist down with a devious grin stretching across her face. “We-e-ell, look at the little whore who stumbled into our neck of the woods.” After that sarcastic greeting, Clara backs away from Shoa’s piercing gaze, her back pressing against the glass of the back door. “What the- W-what are you doing here!?” “I’m here acting as head of these operations, sweetheart. You want permission to wipe your ass, your gonna haveta get it from me.” “You’re my boss?” “And the boss the other motherfuckers sitting on this train. And speaking of seats, get your ass on one of them before I shove my boot into yours.” Upon that order does the scientist scuttle around the punk, making haste to whatever seat was nearby.

Resting her lab coated ass upon the torn leather of the subway seats, she takes another glance of the ski mask that the Dandy had bestowed upon her; taking a gander of its canine like design. Scanning to the side of the cabin, she bared witness to her neighbors and teammates donning similar apparel. Puffy birds, fancy fish, screaming monkey and cats from all over the globe, this cart was looking a lot like a wool knitted zoo, except with no one in charge knowing the definitions of hygienic upkeep.

With a deep breath passing through, she garbs the dog mask over her head, adjusting her glasses from within the wool. From underneath the mask, the sound of snickering reaches her ears. A glance to the side showing Shoa letting out a light chuckle. “What’s so funny?” the scientist wonders aloud. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking how good of a fit that mask is. Now everyone’s gonna see ya the way I do.” “And where might your mask be? Everyone in here’s got a helmet cap on but you.” “Bitch, I don’t need one of those masks to cover my mug cause I ain’t some candy ass chicken like all y’all.” Turning away from the scientist, the punk heads towards the front of the cart as she finishes her statement. “I want my face to be something that those Canadians fear. The sudden terror overwhelming their fragile psyches as they see me rush in with my blood soaked machete. Can’t get enough of that. Their fear is my cocaine.”

Once Shoa stood at the end of the cart, the punk turns towards her crew, who await for her word as they sit upon the sides of the train. “Alright. Heads up, you worthless excuses for soldiers! This ain’t a mission for fucking pansies. We going on a bombing run here, people! Once we get in there, it won’t long before those Canadian bastards show up and scramble the place. If they don’t gun yer ass down first, their gonna haul ya to somewhere to torture you.” “Torture!?” one of them blurts. “Ooh yeah! They ain’t gonna hesitate to try any method their sick little minds can think of on you. And none of that weak shit like waterboarding or pulling teeth, nah. We talking about the kind of horribly depraving stuff, like being force to listen to a screaming monkey trying to play the violin for hours on end while strapped to the end of a wheel, or having to sit through 48 straight hours of elephants give births with your eyes taped open.” “Ew!” Clara exclaim. “Oh that ain’t even the worst of it; they got plenty more in store for ya. Like making you undergo countless inhuman experiments; injecting you with bizarre and almost alien chemicals. Or starving you for days on end and forcing you to have an eagles eye view of their cafeteria, making you watch as dozens of soldiers stuff themselves with delicious dishes the likes of which you sons of bitch can only dream of.” “Jeez” “Yep, and guess who the bad bitch here is who’s been through all of it? So if those maple leaved bastards wind up catching ya...Well, may god help you.” The passengers lining the seats look to one another, their masks covering their expressions. Thankful that they are, as none of them could bare witness to the scientists stare of trepidation. Didn’t think that these Canadians would be avid fans of strange and unusual punishment. But given what she’s seen of them so far, it’d be a scientific breakthrough to predict anything they do.

“Anyway, if you don’t wind up getting shot or snagged, your gonna be racing your way through the power plant in teams of uh...” In her hesitance, she counts the number of passengers on board, continuing her briefing with: “3. Two to shoot the guns and one to carry the bomb. You be taking our homemade explosives to the power plants multiple cores. If things go as planed, then the multiple booms will chain together and whole place will go up in smoke. Boom, poof, just like forth of July.” “Ain’t that holiday a myth?” “Now If some of you guys get to a core and start to arm one of them, contact everyone else via radio. At that point, the rest of you will have 30 minutes to plant the rest and get the hell outta there. Don’t matter what happens, just make sure our bombs get armed. Saving yer sorry asses will be on your own time. I ain’t no kindergarten teacher. I ain’t gonna sugarcoat this shit, some of you might not make it to see tomorrow. Hoping some of you do more than others.” Upon saying that, the punks eyes drift towards the scientist, a grin stretching across her face. Clara scoots away from Shoa’s glare as far as she can, her canine like mask covering the quiet groan that escapes her.

Parting her gaze from Clara, Shoa continues with her briefing by adding: “Once this baby makes its stop, were gonna be heading up out in the open. Climbing out of these shitty tunnels, there’s gonna be a van parked nearby that’ll drive us to the plant, packed with all the fireworks we need to get this light show going. When we get close enough, were gonna sneak our way towards the back and work our way from there. I say it’d be about 10 minutes or so before we reach our stop, so take that time to do whatever you want. Say your prayers, have your last thoughts, cry like little bitches, jerk off, I don’t give a shit. Just be ready to run like your racing through the Minnesota battlefront once this baby comes to a halt.

Upon that does the team await for their stop, Clara wondering why exactly Shoa beamed her that merciless glare from earlier. Seriously, just what the hell is this lady’s deal? Haven’t even been with these guys for less than a day and already this bitch is just nonstop with the hostility. Wonder what exactly went through her head that made her want to serve the scientist a hearty foot long sock to the face surprise packed with insults and threats. Guess it ain’t exactly a surprise that someone whose been through all the weird tortures she’s just described wouldn’t be of right mind, but what makes her want to bear her fangs at the scientist. First impressions? Looks? Madness? Or maybe she just the overly possessive type. The first time she saw Clara was with her mysterious honey boo, so maybe that’s what’s got her hostility flaring on all sides. Either way, might wanna try and get on this mad cow’s good side, else she might wind up with a whole platter of ass kicking shoved down her throat.

And just like that do those ten minutes go by, the train coming to a grinding stop upon the rusted tracks. One by one do the crew rush out of the cart, their punk leader giving them a slap on the ass as they roll out. “C’mon, ladies and gents. I wanna see some passion out there. Lets move it.” Clara being that last to exit, the punk delivers a particularly hard slap to her lab coated ass, the smack making her let out a swift yelp. With their leader swiftly taking the front, they’re lead over the subway toll dividing the lobby from the tracks; the scientist nearly trips upon the rustic steel back. Regaining her balance, she rushes back towards the crew starting to ascend a set of concrete stairs.

Near the end of the steps, a plank barricade threatens to halt their ascent, the sunlight leaking out from the gaps of the wood. Approaching the blockade, the punk kisses her knuckle before she tucks in her fist and readies to swing. With but a single strike, Shoa quite literally punches her way through the wooden barrier; planks of wood flying through the air as they exit from the concrete tunnels.

Rushing through the crack and abandoned streets, Clara takes in the fresh open air once more. So glad to be out of those musty tunnels. Rather take the industrial air of the city over the scent of rust and feces any day. The waning twilight also proves to be a fresh change of scenery, the sunset beaming out from the brunt down homes and decaying buildings. She’s not able to enjoy the great outdoors for long however as her and the rest of the crew are lead down an alleyway. Down the brick corridor do all of them come to a black van, free from a brand name or license plate. Kind of makes sense to have an unmarked vehicle, what with the traffic patrols around here and such. Even so, looks a little familiar. Wonder why? Before she has time to dwell on such familiarity, she’s pulled into the back with the rest of her teammates. The scientist squeezes her figure between her crew mates and the firearms. From her seat, she finds the rest of the crew fairing no better in space, stuck between themselves, the guns, and these strange purple squares as big as briefcases. Once the doors behind them were shut, the van drives out from the alley and into the busy streets of Niagara.

As the van swerves and weaves throughout traffic, the crew stuck in the back are tossed about alongside the supplies; one of the square devices smacking themselves upon the scientist faces in the chaos. Shoa holds onto the handle resting atop the window as she grips the passenger seat; the driver beside her rapidly spinning the wheel in his efforts to avoid an accident.

Soon, the ride begins to smooth out, a sigh escaping from the punk in the passenger seat. “Dammit Pete! Easy with the wheel! Don’t want the cargo to go off before we even get there.” “Sorry boss.” After mouthing off the driver, Shoa turns her gaze towards her team in the back; the crew buried among themselves and the firearms. “As for the rest of you. Get yer asses up off the floor, cause we’ll be at the power plant sooner than you think.” Pulling themselves out from the pile of guns and purple, the words of their impatient captain reach their ears. “Now, raise your hand if know how to handle a gun.” Upon that request do over half of the people in the back hold their hands up high, Clara nearly joining them to volunteer. Her arm halfway up however, the scientist begins to realize that she has very little in terms of experience and begins to lower her palm back down. Sure, she’s wielded the occasional pistol and rifle every now and again; but not enough have any expertise on the art of firearms. This physicist ain’t no marksmen She won’t be making anybody shit their pants anytime soon.

The punk swiftly takes count of the number of hands up, finishing her count with: “Right then, the pansies that didn't raise their hands are on bomb duty.” Declaring that, she reaches out for one of the purple squares littering the pile of guns with but a single hand. “While the two guns with ya will be covering your cowardly asses, you’ll be hauling these homemade bad boys through the halls of the plant, making sure they don’t get shot or go off early. If ya manage that, it’ll be on you to arm these puppies once you stick em to the cores. And like I said before, once one of you rig them to blow, get in touch with everyone and warm em. At that point, you’ll get 30 minutes to book it outta there before the place turns into a maelstrom of flaming metal and sparking lights.” “W-what do these cores look like?” someone wonders aloud. “Oh, you’ll know when you see,em. Trust me.”

The guns and bombs being passed out like party favors, a question can’t help but slip through Clara’s lips “And might I ask what you might be doing in all this?” “Who, me? While the rest of you scramble to the core, trying to not get yer asses shot down, I’m gonna be holding the Canadian forces back to try and give you people time to work your magic.” “All by yourself?” “Yep, like to see those armored assholes try and land a shot on me. Now, as much of a bad bitch I am, I ain’t perfect. Couple of those sneaky bastards might slip past me. So be on your guard. Never know when one of them might pop out of a hallway and shove their rifles down yer throat.”

Out from the front window of the van, the site of an odd building comes into view. “Is that...” “Yep, feast your eyes, bitches. A genuine Canadian power plant.” Right upon the first sight, this particular facility makes itself distinct from the neighboring buildings; sporting a new, more sleek design in comparison to the rustic and patched ones surrounding it. Kind of seeing a pattern here.

Driving past the parking lot of the plant, the van cruise its way into a dark alleyway not too far away. Once deep enough down the alley; the van is quickly driven between the gap; Clara and the rest of the crew pouring out of the back as soon as they come to a stop. Hoping out from the passengers seat, Shoa swiftly jumps to the front; demanding the entire team to: “Alright boys, its almost showtime. Get your shit together and follow me.” Upon her orders does the whole team tails their punk captain down the alley, Clara struggling to keep up as she heaves one of the bombs in her arms. Figure these things would be pretty light given how Shoa handled one of them like an empty pizza box earlier. But nope! Turns out these hefty explosives weigh on par with a cement block. Probably could bludgeon someones head in with one swing of it.

Their stealthy endeavors soon come to a stop, Clara bumping into the masked gunner in front of her upon the sudden halt. The gun turns back towards the scientist, Clara slightly backing away with a nervous chuckle escaping from her mask. Peeking out behind the gunmen, she finds the crew having stopped in front of an opening shining forth a bright orange light. Must lead out into the streets. Makes sense to stop then. No doubt that seeing a bunch of weirdo’s dressed in animal masks carrying around guns and bizarre purple boxes down an alley would raise some panicking concerns and rifle barrels there way.

“Shit. Didn’t think it be this busy.” Turning away from the blinding light, the punk leaders looks to her crew “Alright, assholes. Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna bolt through this opening in groups of three. When I give the word, y’all gonna run like the last runner on home, ya hear?” Upon those orders do the crew ready to rush past the twilight opening, Clara hoisting her heavy load for a better grip. Might be kind of a pain to rush on through with such a hefty burden, especially such a light weight build as hers. But maybe if she manages to take advantage of the bombs weight, she can fling herself towards the other side. A long shot, but one that might just work.

Peeking out the corner, Shao raises her hand in front of her crew, the men and women behind her anticipating for her order. Her hand pointing to the other side, a group of three zooms past, their shadows plastering upon the sun kissed wall. Once those three make it back into the shadow, the punk commands another three to zip by. 3 by 3 do the crew rush through the light, Clara edging closer and closer to her punk leader. Finally all that was left was her and Shoa, their figures mere inches from the waning sunset. “Alright, bitch. Your up.” Hearing this, the scientist begins to swing the bomb in place, the punk beside her worried at what she might be up to. “Uh, the hell are you doing?” Before that question could be asked, Shoa sees the scientist throws herself with the bomb towards the other side. Both of them are flung into the air the bright sunset beating down upon their side. Right when she nears the edge of the shadows, Clara lands upon the concrete with a hard thump. “God dammit!” Darting forward, the punk grabs hold of the scientist as she zooms past and quite literally drags her into the darkness.

Once Clara is cloaked in the darkness, she rises from the concrete; the first site she bares witness two being Shoa’s glare. “Just what the hell is wrong with you!? Did swimming in all that sewer water rot your brains!? Your lucky these things are impact resistant, else our ashes would be scattered through this whole alley by now!” “I-I thought I could fly past by throwing myself with its weight.” Inches from Clara’s canine snout, the punk gives only a single bit of advice: “How about next time you get one of your bright idea’s, trying to not do it with something that can blow up in our faces.”

The team continuing onward, the scientist peeks out of the open alleyway; beyond the sunset, she finds the passersby have not noticed her or her plunder. Okay Clara, could have managed all that a little bit better. But at least no one out in the streets held witness to your blunder. And that’s really the only thing that matters, right?

Moving past the dividing light, the crew sneaks towards the back of the plant, Clara taking a much tighter grip of her bomb. When finally near the back, all of them run into a slight snag in their plans: a lone staff member, taking a smoke break beside the door. Seeing the man lounging upon the sleek wall of the plant, Shoa quietly curses. “Dammit! Why now of all times does this jackass think it’d be a good time to smoke his joint? Fucking weasel might lock the door and rat us out if we try and jump in now.” In the punks anger, Clara scoots to her side and gives her own opinion on the matter with: “Relax. I’m sure it won’t be too much longer before he heads back inside. Let’s just wait him out.” “Screw that shit. Who know long that’ll take before were busted. Besides...” From her backside, the punk unsheathes her machetes; the scent of rusty blood escaping from the scabbard. “Can’t stand the thought of waiting.”

Its after that statement that Shoa jumps out from the cover of darkness, lunging towards the lounging employee. Finding the punk swiftly on the approach, the worker rushes for the door, his smoke dropping out of his mouth in his hurry. Right when the mans palm was resting on the handle, his jugular is sliced open; cherry red blood spilling upon the concrete as he falls.

That potential witness having been dispatched, she calls for her crew with a hand signal to approach. Her team gathering, the punk gives to them one final warning before they move. “Alright, hope everyone here’s ready for a marathon, cause once we break through those doors, y’all ain’t stopping til you get to those cores. Got it?” With that out of the way, the crew take their positions facing the back door. As the team prepare to barge in the plant, Clara can not help but stare down upon the corpse of the executed employee. Poor bastard never could’ve guessed that this would be his last day upon this mortal coil. Probably could have avoided his gruesome fate all together if he wasn’t so dependent on his nicotine. Wrong place at wrong time, I suppose. Kind of brings up old memories of that time in Louisville; seeing countless corpses of resistance teammates, guards, and civilians. Wonder how Barely is doing?

From inside the power plant, dozens of other employees venture through the halls decorated with bright displays and blinking machinery; some of them taking note of the plants statues and regulating power. The catwalks lining the halls carry other workers as they roam the facility, watching the glass windows to their side. One particularly upset worker furiously bangs on the back door; barking beyond the steel with: “Jerry, when the hell are you gonna come back in!? I’m done covering your shift so you can get your daily smoke. I swear, I’m gonna take that joint of yours and shove it up your-” Before her empty threat could finish, the back door swings wide open; its hard steel striking the employee down. From earshot of the slam do all the nearby workers gaze in its direction, witnessing a band of animal masked guns forcing their way in. Finding their barrels aimed in their direction, all the employee’s start to scatter away from the intruding bunch, their panicked screams echoing through the halls alongside their running footsteps. Sad to say that some them fail to flee from the guns, as they’re quickly shot at from behind.

The machine decorated halls having been cleaned out of living employee’s, Shoa and her crew move in; the punk quickly briefing her orders before departing. “Alright, ladies. Only got one shot to do this. Move out!” Upon that order does the crew split into groups of three, one with a box accompanied by two guns. Clara starting to sprint through the corridors, she takes a look back towards the corpse left behind; worry beginning to root itself into her consciousness.

As the scientist is escorted through the halls with the bomb in her arms, she can’t help but bare witness to the two guns aiding in her escort open fire on whatever stood in their path. One worker attempts to approach with a screwdriver in hand, ready to end their assault right then and there. But her attack proves utterly fruitless against the teams firepower and the foolishly brave employee is decorated with bullet wounds. Another attempts to call for help as they run across the catwalk, warning everyone about the trios approach as he passes through. “No you don’t.” one of the guns utters; aiming his barrel towards the passing employee. His warning don’t reach far as one of the guns aims above and silences his panicking once and for all. Jeez, these guys are merciless. The word overkill might be best applied here. Guy wasn’t even trying to fight back. At least the resistance back in Louisville gave the unarmed a chance to flee before unloading their clips.

Ahead, the trio witness some of the workers retreating into the rooms upon the sides of the hallway; the doors shutting behind them with a loud bang. Rather then halt in their sprint through the halls to peek inside and gun them all down, the armed escorts simply ignore the hiding employee’s and continue on ahead. Wonder why they didn’t just gun them all down too? Was it mercy? Waste too much time? Not worth the led? Questions that swirl in the scientist mind as they continue to sprint down the halls.

Venturing further down the corridors, the echo of a manly shout causes Clara and the guns to halt in their tracks. “Halt!” With that demand do the lights in the hall dim, the guns aiming around for the origin of the call. Looking above, Clara draws the attention of the guns in front of her with: “Up there.” Their gaze rising towards the catwalk, all three of them spot a light shining down upon a costumed figure holding a massive wrench hoisted above his shoulder; a long tail coming out from his behind. “Your terrorizing assault on this plant will advance no further. For you now face the industrial might of… The Might Monkey wrench!” Upon the cry of his name does the man hold his wrench high; a brilliant gleam emanating from behind his massive build. The blinding light forces all who face him to shield their eyes from the glow.

“I know what questions dwell within your head, the thoughts that your minds wonder towards. “Who is he? Why is he dressed like that? Why in the world does he need a wrench that massive?” I bet your just dying to find out, aren’t you?” Her gaze still shielded from the illuminating glow, all the canine masked scientist could utter was: “Ahh...Not reall-” “Very well, before I enact the justice you people deserve, I shall reveal the heart breaking tale of my origin.”

“As a young man growing up in a small radioactive town in the state of Minnesota, I have always had a passion for the tools of construction. As I worked to repair one of the radioactive siphons of our humble village, my toolbox had took the plunge within the highly nuclear waste. My heart had been struck with an intense fear, my favorite tools I had treasured ever since by papa gave to me before passing away when I was a wee baby boy of age 6, gone; melted by the cruel chemical compound of the radioactive waste. But as my hopes and dreams were melting before my eyes, a miraculous site played before me. My wrench, having grown in size upon the radiation, jumped out from the deadly green sludge and towards its master. Overjoyed by my tools survival, I stretched my arms and awaited to embrace its handle once more. Holding its steel, I felt an overwhelming sensation flow through my body. At first I thought it was the love for my precious tool return, but no. Instead, it showed itself to be a powerful transformation surging through my entire being. My muscles grew tenfold, strong enough to lift a hauling truck with ease. Out from my back sprouted a tail, one that reached as far as my head.

Using my newfound strength to aid the people of my town, I quickly gained the attention of our Canadian neighbors. Approaching me, they offered to take me to one of their facilities where they were researching super human abilities. At first I declined, mentioning how I could help my people with the gift I had been bestowed with. But then, they revealed to me a deal that I could not refuse. Salvation, for the entirety of my village. A one way ticket out from the hellish remains of the ruins. Agreeing to their demands, my friends and family had been flown to better parts of the north, free from the hardships of hunger and thirst; all while I had been whisked away to train under the maple leaved army. For years, I had spent being experimented and trained under their command, honing by body and perfecting my skills with my trusty giant wrench.

To that day, I have sworn my loyalty and allegiance to the Canadian forces and have vowed to protect and serve their citizens from the likes of dastardly villains such as your-” Right when the might monkey wrench was nearing the finish of his grand tale, dozens of led bullets pierce their way through his chest. The countless shots cause him to descend from the catwalk, the costumed figures tossing his wrench as he drops. The masked monkey wrench falls upon the tile floor, a splatter of blood spurting out of his body upon impact. In his stupor, he attempts to reach out for Clara and the guns, uttering his final words. “I-I won’t let-” Just as his overly winded origin story has led to his ironic demise, so too does his trusty wrench; the blunt end of the tool crushing his head in fell swoop. Watching as his reaching arm drops upon the floor, Clara and the guns look to each other. Even with their faces masked, it was pretty obvious to one another what was going through their minds right now.

Just what the hell was all that about!? Poppin out of nowhere and babbling on and on about his giant wrench or something. That whole spiel and a half just for the guy to be nothing but costumed weirdo obviously compensating for something. Sounds like something a condescending jackass would make up to pad out a story’s length.

Anyway, the trio continue down the corridor; sidestepping away from the masked monkey wrenches beheaded corpse before picking the pace back up. Best to just talk about the weird shit later; there’s still a job to be done.

Upon turning the corner, the guns almost immediately back away; a sudden ray nearly blowing their heads off. In their abrupt retreat, they cause Clara to tumble on the hard tile floor. Hissing on her sudden knockback, the scientist rubs her back as she rises back up, barking to her escorts: “Ah! What was that about!” “We got ourselves a problem.” “Huh?” Fancying a peek out into the hall, she finds a lone Canadian soldier, pointing its rifle down the machine decorated corridor. The guard takes aim towards the corner; a barrage of beams burst out from the rifles barrels. Clara and the guns retreat back to cover right before their head could be fried by the rays. “Great. Of all the teams that this asshole had to ambush, ours had to be the winning number, didn’t it?” the other gun complains.

From the corner, one of the scientists escorts unloads his clip down the choke point; taking cover whenever a laser is fired his way. “How’s ya doing down there?” “No good. Bullets just bounce right off his monster.” Curious if the masked man’s words rang true, Clara fancies a look down the corridor. Just as the man claims; no matter how much led his unloaded on its shiny metal; the shots simply bounce of the soldiers thick titanium armor plating. Finding the seemingly unstoppable soldier slowly encroaching towards the corner, the scientist looks towards the Canadians surroundings in hopes of stopping its assault.

Need to find a leverage against that armored monster, fast. Gotta be something around here that can be taken advantage off. To that end, she peek to the catwalk overhead, noticing a piece of the metal walkway showing to be loose from the others. Below be one of the massive panels used to check power statues; a small gap showing itself between it and the wall. Taking note of all this, a strategy swiftly begins to form in the scientist head.

Wishing to test her hypothesis; she sets the bomb down and grabs hold of one of her guns firearms. “Mind if I borrow this, thanks.” the scientist swiftly says before swiping the weapon from his grasp. “H-hey! Wait a sec!” Peeking behind the corner alongside the other gun, she unloads a whole clips upon the loose catwalk, her aim being less then on point. But with several wayward shots does she manage to break the metal off its screws. Before she could see the results of her endeavors play out, Clara is jerked back into cover before her head could be sniped off. Once behind the wall, the masked gun takes his firearms back from the scientist grasp. “Gimme that! What the hell’s wrong with you!? You trying to waste our ammo!?” “I did not waste a thing, okay. Look up to the catwalk.” As the scientist had suggested, both guns peek out towards the catwalk ahead, seeing the metal walkway slide off its hinges. From above, the piece of the metal slams down upon the machine below, knocking it off balance and sending it tumbling down towards the guard below. Seeing the machine to the side threatening to slam down, the soldier attempts to rush out of its descent. The guard however, fails to evade in time and the panel comes crashing down upon him in a crash of sparking metal. “Holy shit!” one of the guns exclaims. The guard attempts to lift the heavy panel off its person; reaching out for the trio around the corner. However, the overwhelming shock from the busted machine soon thwarts his efforts, the heavy steel coming down upon the soldier once more.

As Clara returns her grasp towards the purple boxed bomb, the guns approach the wreckage; nearing one of the soldiers arms sticking out from the broken machine. Poking the outward arm with the end of the barrel, one of the gun’s wonder aloud: “You think it’s dead?” “Has to be. Never seen anybody live through a crash that bad.” Walking past them with the bomb in her arms, the scientist asks for her escorts to: “C’mon. Who knows how much time we’ve burnt.” Keeping their eyes upon the wreck before they turn the corner, the two guns follow Clara down the corridor; a flow of electricity emitting out from the Canadian guards arm.

As they run through a room full of what seemed to be turbines, the radio on one of the guns side goes off. From the radio’s speakers, one of the teams warns the others with: “Come in, all teams in the plant. We have armed the bomb to the core and is counting down as we speak. All of you have less then 30 minutes to plant the rest and get out while you can. So move yer asses!” Once the radio goes silent, all three of them pick up the pace; blazing through the turbine room as fast as their legs could carry.

Against the clock, the trio race through the halls of the plant as dozens of plant employee’s rush past. A worker to their front flings a mallet towards the trio in an effort to halt their hasty progress. The hammer careening towards the scientist, Clara jumps out of the flying tools way; tightly gripping the bomb in her dodge. Not making the same mistake twice here. This bad boys ain’t gonna be having an explosive reunion with the ground anytime soon. In retaliation, the guns fire a couple rounds in the pitchers direction, the mans yellow vest now sporting spots of red.

Finally, all of them rush into a massive room baring a glass orb in its middle. The glass rests atop a tall transparent pillar; thousands of pink electrical volts swimming through the entire translucent structure. The casing before them sparks a familiar dread within the scientist, recognizing the towering structure in similar vein to the green core back in New Boro’s. The haunting image of those mutated refugees trapped behind those glass cages will forever burned into her very mind.

The whistle of one of the guns reaching her ears, snaps Clara out of her reminiscent trance. “Damn. This thing is gigantic.” “Yeah. How you wanna bet this oversized glass sculpture’s the core?” “It’d be a pretty safe bet to make.” Turning towards the scientist, one of the guns asks her if: “You’ve seen something like this before?” “Something like it, yeah.” “Well, go on then. Stick the bomb to it. Don’t know how long we got before this place goes up in smoke.” Just as the gunmen had order, Clara begins to approach the glowing pink tower.

Nearing the base of the bright pink core, Clara readies to put the bomb in place. Attempting to stick the explosive onto the glass, she finds the purple box to simply slide to the floor. Looking at its reflective yellow back, the scientist wonders how to make the bomb actually stick. One of the guns manages to get her attention, telling her to: “Ya gotta remove the plastic foil first.” “Hurry, dammit! Before we’re all blown straight to-” Right upon the guns urgency, a worker pounces out from the corridor with a screw driver in hand. Before his partner could open fire upon the approaching employee, the worker jumps him, jamming the sharp end of his tool into the guns eye socket. Witnessing the guns blood stain his mask as he screams out in the chaos, Clara quickly turn back towards the pipe and peels the plastic foil right off the back. The gunshots reaching her ears, Clara sticks the bomb on the transparent tube.

Gazing to the front of the homemade explosive, one enigma rattles the scientists mind. How in ever loving hell do you work this thing? That punk ass bitch never gave a lick of an explanation on how to actually arm these bad boys. Only thing to come out of her mouth was: “Duh, just get to the core and stick these boxes on.” Ah well, can’t be that hard. Only three and buttons and an LED screen on here. One of them’s gotta arm it.

Cautiously, Clara’s finger makes its way to the blue button first. Not really much of an expert on bomb design, but blue seems like a good color to start with. Pressing the indigo button causes an alarm to blare from the box; the chaotic screaming and gunshots combining with it quickly overwhelming the scientists hearing. Desperate to silents the box’s wails, Clara mashes the same button repeatedly until the loud blaring ceases. Alright, not as graceful as a start as you wished it would be. But hey, that’s what trail and error is all about, right? Hopefully, the green button next to the blue one will be the right one to start with.

And to her delight, the green button causes the LED screen to light up, alongside letting out an announcement in spliced together voice clips. “This bomb is- rigged to blow- boom goes the dynamite- Press the next button- to send this baby rollin- Punch this cow, man...” Okay…one step down at least. Lets hope the next step don’t result in their bodies being served extra crispy with a side of ketchup.

Maybe the red button next?...Nah, best not. Red isn’t particularly a promising color. How about the blue button again? Pressing that button causes a set of numbers to display on screen, the LED displaying 30 minutes. Yes! Only one button left and this bomb will be set to blow.

A wayward bullet grazing past the front of her face serves as a very effective reminder to hurry. Facing the explosive, she quickly cuts the bullshit and presses the only button left to push. The crimson button pressed, the numbers immediately start to countdown. Right. Got this puppy set to make fireworks outta this core. Just need to scram before the show takes an early start.

Turning towards the exits, she bares witness to the aftermath of the fight that took place from behind; the corpses of the gunmen and the worker bleeding out on the floor. “Are you alright?” the scientist wonders as she approaches the remaining gun. “Yeah...You set the bomb?” “Yeah...” “Good. Let’s go.” With that said, Clara and the gun begin to head away from the Core, butnot without the masked gunmen taking a glimpse back towards the body of his partner. “See ya, Ted. Hope they have tons of macaroni and cheese wherever your heading.” His final words to his comrade spent, the gun starts to follow after the scientist.

In their race through the wrecked corridors of the plant, they catch sight of the many corpses set along the halls. As morbid a scene it is, it at least helps the duo retrace their steps towards the exit. Seems like this escape might actually go as smooth as Angelo’s silk. Damn bear spider for up and leaving me out in the middle of the city like that. Don’t need her hairy thorax to get across that stupid wall anyway. But alas, their attempted departure soon runs into an unexpected snag.

In their trace back towards the exit they barged into, they soon run come across the downed machine that Clara had knocked over earlier; the Canadian soldier still under the broken panel. Right after they hop over the sparking wreckage, the heavy machinery suddenly rockets off the floor. Both the scientist and the gun look back, witnessing the armored guard rising from its supposed stupor as electricity flows through its titanium plating. After punching the broken panel right off its back, the soldier takes aim down the corridor towards the two. Coming to the intersection ahead, a single demand is all that he as time to let out. “Split up!” Just as ordered, Clara and the masked gunman go their separate ways in attempts to lose the reawakened Canadian; evading the soldiers searing rays. Looking back, the scientist finds the armored guard to be in pursuit of the gun. Though relieved to be out of immediate danger, she knew that this encounter had left her completely defenseless. The rest of the trip out of this soon to be molten crater might turn into a rough one, that much is certain.

Wagering that she has about 17 minutes left on the clock, Clara races through the hall with but one question on her mind. Which way is the exit in this place? All these hallways look the damn same, it’s hard to tell where the hell you are. It don’t help that the exit signs have been shot off the ceiling in the chaos. Jeez, racing against the clock is bad enough, now she’s gotta out run the timer in what’s basically a confusing maze. Ya know what, no. Now’s not the time for negative thinking. Gotta stay positive in this. She’ll find her way outta this maze in time, no matter what her nemesis, chaos theory dares to throw at her.

Right upon that thought, she turns the corner to find a whole squadron of Canadian soldiers running down the hall in her direction. On that site, she turns at the step and bolts down the other way; a barrage of lasers passing her side as she flees. Clara begins to question why she even bothers at this point.

Seeing her turn the corner, the battalion of soldier pursue the masked scientist with their rifles at the ready. Upon the turn are they dumbfounded to find their target nowhere in site, seemingly having vanished entirely from the halls. No matter where they look, the armored army fails to find a single sign of her. In reality however, the scientist had hide herself above the catwalk; crouching near the corner to conceal as much of her body as possible. The constant metal steps of the troops in her ears, she coils her body into the corner as deep as she can, hoping that they would not catch a glimpse of her lab coat.

In their search, one of them looks towards a ladder ascending up to the catwalk, noticing droplets of sweat dripping out from the gaps of the metal. The soldier tempts to investigate the drips above, when a loud bang coming from behind makes the guard halt in its tracks. Looking towards their backs, the battalion find an incoming punk brandishing a machete swiftly approaching; her crazed eyes locking upon the troops as they see her near. Quickly taking aim, the squad fires down the hall in hopes of halting her charge; Shoa leaping high over their laser shots. In her descend down, she lands upon one of the soldiers helms, her overwhelming crash knocking the soldiers metal ass to the tile and crushing its head in a single bloody stomp. Upon landing does she toss her machete towards another soldier to her front, the blade piercing through the guards thick armor plating. Dashing forwards with an upsetting laugh, she grabs hold of her machetes handle and kicks the corpse towards the opposing army. The battalion knocked over like a set of pin, struggle to quickly rise as their foe approaches.

One of them manages to get up before the others, taking their aim towards the punk. However, the soldiers efforts prove to be too late as Shoa gets right up in the guards face and grasps at his arms. Pulling upon the guards limbs, she rips them right off as effortlessly as pulling wet cardboard. Right when she tore the arms off, the punk smacks their owner with them in a sprinkle of titanium shards and crimson. As the soldier before her fell to the wayside, Shoa witnessed several of its comrades aim their sites upon her. Upon firing their rifles, a barrage of rays streak their way towards her direction; a smile stretching across the punks face. With nothing but her trusty blade, she deflects the lasers towards the ceiling above; the roof cracking upon the blasts. Almost immediately, the roof collapses; the rubble landing upon the opposing army before her. Buried under the chunks of roof and light fixtures, nothing stopped Shoa from advancing her rampage against the Canadian forces; the punk continuing to run down the halls with a war cry.

Having witness this slaughter firsthand, Clara’s body can’t help but shake in pure terror. Just one of those soldiers were enough to stop her and her escorts dead in their tracks, a foe that she had to calculate around in order to bypass. But her punk leader didn’t even have to think at all to mow a dozen of them down with nothing but her own strength and a machete. Thinking back to what she said back on the train ride about her time in their torturous clutches, she wonders what kind of experimentation they made her undergone to become such an unstoppable force; one that possesses a grudge against the scientist no less. The very thought makes her want to run as far away from such a monster as possible.

Except...it’s likely that tailing the merciless punk might led to the exit in time; Clara knowing that she doesn’t have much other options under her belt by this point. Rising from the metal platform with a weary sigh, the scientist begins to follow the punks footsteps in hope of making her swift escape.

Above the catwalk does she pursue the punk at a safe distance, careful not to alert Shoa in her dash through the hall. Doesn’t take a nuclear physicist to understand why you shouldn’t let a woman like that realize your chasing them. Gonna need to exercise extreme caution if she doesn’t wanna wind up with a machete stuck in her stomach.

Before the punk turns the corner, she takes a look towards her back upon the sound of metal steps reaching her ears. Behind her, she finds nothing but the corpses of workers and soldiers along the sides, their blood spilling upon the cracks of the tile. Seeing nobody on her tail, she continues ahead down the corridor.

From behind the corner, quietly heavy breaths escape from the scientist lungs. Nervous sweat soaking through her canine like ski mask, Clara peeks behind the corner to find Shoa having left. After that terrifying close call, she reluctantly continues her pursuit of the punk in hopes of finding an escape. Estimating to have around 13 minutes left, she picks up the pace.

In her race along the side of the corridor, she soon comes to the end of the catwalk; not hesitating a single moment to jump off the metal path. Landing upon the tile floor, she looks ahead to find yet another split path in the hall; a groan leaving past her lips. The scientist takes a look in both opposing directions, wondering which one her punk leader might have taken. Thinking that she might have better luck hearing Shoa’s rampage, she listens down both halls for any sign of her incessant rampage. To that end, her ears catch the noise of muffled screaming and constant banging metal from the left. Has to be the way that maniac went. Who else can possibly make that kinda chaotic symphony of madness and agony? Following the shrieks and screams, the scientist rushes down the left corridor in hopes of finding an escape.

The constant sound of panic and terror growing louder, she start to slow herself down to a stealthy pace nearing the corner. Don’t want to just pop out in the middle of a fight while that mad cow is raging against a battalion of unlucky soldiers. Could easily wind up taking a fist to the face with that kind of recklessness.

Stopping at the corner, she peeks out towards the hall, prepared to duck back in case a wayward beam decide to get intimate with her head. To surprise however, she finds the corridor devoid of any life; nothing but knocked over equipment and more corpses. Coming out from the corner, she wonders what else could be making such a panicking racket. If it ain’t a blood bath taking place, what else could it be?

Its through the hall that she comes across a window that let her peer in to find a very pitiable site. The break room, filled with cowering and screaming employee’s worked up in a panic. Some were whimpering in the corner, praying for somebody to save them from their gruesome end. Others could be found trying to break through the glass with whatever they could lift. One of them could be seen trying to pry the grid off the air vent with nothing but their bare hands. Another was tempting to bang upon the door left at the side of the window, a heavy filing cabinet left barricading them within. Even from the other side of the glass, she could hear their please and prayers, their screams and sobs, their cries and cursing. Upon the discovery of these horrible scene are her suspicion finally confirmed. These workers are just regular citizens. Ordinary, American citizens trying to make a simple living working at this Canadian power plant. A lot of them didn’t even fight back, but were mowed down all the same.

The realization drawing sympathy from the scientist and with less than 10 minutes left on the clock, she begins to push the heavy cabinet in an attempt to rescue the trapped employee’s. Though no matter how hard she pushed, she couldn’t nudge the box even an inch. Good god, this thing is only made of aluminum; how the hell does it weigh so much? Just how many classified documents do these guys stuffed in here? Opening one of the drawers let out an inhuman scream of madness and mayhem out into the air. It would only get a second to shout before Clara swiftly shuts the drawer. Alright, seem lightening its load ain’t much of an option. Gonna need to find someway to destroy it. Quickly scanning her surroundings, the scientist manages to find the corpse of a soldier with a laser rifle left in its grasps. Just what the doctor ordered.

Lapping up the advance firearms out from the cadavers hands, she aims towards the filing cabinet. Pulling the guns trigger however lets only sparks fly out from the end of the barrel. Well that’s just perfect. Finally get some hands on one of these beasts and it winds up broken. Still, probably could pry some use outta this piece of junk. Maybe could wedge it under the cabinet and knock it down to the floor. The question being what to wedge it between?

Another look around showed not much else besides broken machines and chunks of rubble. Can’t really lift any of that with her lack of muscle growth. But still, the scientist proceed to grasp a chunk of machinery with but her arms, dragging its steel across the tile floor towards the cabinet. Once next to the aluminum box, she lifts the cabinet just enough to wedge the broken gun under it. Pushing the rifle down between it and the broken panel, she slowly begins to pry the cabinet off the floor and out of the doors way. Wishing to bust the workers out as swiftly as possible, Clara throws her entire weight down upon the gun, lifting the cabinet a ways off the floor. Before the box could completely topple over however, the sudden weight shift snaps the firearms in half. Surprised by the rifles unexpected snap, she soon finds the cabinet tempting to fall back into place. Acting fast, Clara tackles the descending filing cabinet, throwing her entire body upon the aluminum box.

Once the cabinet has been knocked over, the door to the break room swings open; one employee bursting out from the inside with heavy breaths passing through his mouth. “Guys!...I got it open! We’re free!” he screams out. Another worker soon rushes out, claiming to the others that: “I know where the exit is, come on!” Eager for their escape, the dozens of other employee’s spill out into the halls like a pack of loose mice and follow the lady’s lead. Unbeknownst to them, their true savior rises from behind the door, watching as the mob rushes through the blood soaked halls. If what that woman said held any truth, then it might be in the scientist best interest to tail her as well. Though she knows better than to just follow right at their backs. If any of them have caught on to whats happening by this point, then the mere site of Clara would send all of them scattering. Beyond the cabinet does the scientist begin to pursue the escaping crowd, peeking out from behind the corner once she reaches the turn. Seeing all the employees turn the right corner, she continues to give close chase.

As Clara keeps to the workers back, she begins to take note of the halls they travel through. The bloody bodies littering the tiled floor look oddly familiar, not just cause she’s seen countless others before. The position of the corpses and their wounds, the bullet holes decorating the walls, the sparking panels and machinery; something about the scenes just inflicted her with a fierce beat down of deja vu to her brains.

Before she could finish her thought, the sudden echo of gunfire pierce through the scientist ears. She pays no mind to the sudden sound of bullets however as she peeks out from behind the corner; finding the very door her and the others burst into. Rushing towards the exit, relief soon begins to settle in her mind, knowing that she still has about 5 minutes left to make her escape out from this hellish nightmare.

Upon making it out of the plant, that relief is soon erased; horror soon creeping in to take its place upon the terrifying picture set before her. The dead bodies of the workers that Clara had rescued, piled together in a blood soaked mess right at the door. Beyond the mound of flesh stood Shoa and half of her crew, their firearms smoking out from the barrel. “Nice job there, boys. Couldn’t risk any of them tailing us. Better fate for them as any. The damn traitors.” Right after handing out praise to her team does she notice the scientist standing behind the bloody mess. “We-ell, what do we have here? Honestly surprised your lab coated ass made it out without a scratch. Kudo’s.” Though hearing her praise clearly, she fails to give even a single hint of a response, her site still locked onto the crew. “Alright people. Let’s shove and fuck off on out here. Only got a couple minute before this place blows its payload like a worn out widower. Let’s move!” Her order given, the punk and her crew abscond from the back of the plant down the alley they arrived. Breaking out from her trance, the scientist follows soon after.

Dashing through the alley, they dare not bother sneaking through the opening gap leading to the streets, the nightly vial of darkness giving them all the perfect cover from the public eye. In their swift rush, all of them pile into the back of the van, Shoa hoping into the passengers seat as she screams: “Pete, punch this bitch outta here!” Upon her command does the driver slam on the gas; the unmarked van dashing out into the streets; a pair of Canadian chasers soon on their tale.

As the van speeds and swerves through the roads with the Canadian forces in pursuit, Clara and the rest of the crew hang onto whatever the can to keep from being tossed around in the back. Once the ride had smoothed out, their punk leader takes a look back towards the team, admitting out loud. “Hey, science bi- uh, chick. Ted told me about what you did back in the plant. How you manage to take out an armored soldier with just a couple bullets. Gotta admit that not a lot of people can take down those maple leaved motherfuckers single handedly.” Hearing the rest of Shoa’s honest sounding praise, Clara takes off her canine like mask. “I might have been a bit too rough on ya when we first met. Seeing you alongside my Dandy baby just riled me up is all. I...Sorry about all things I said.” Almost everyone in the van gasps upon hearing her words; gazing upon both her and the scientist. “Did she say what I think she did?” “An apology?” “I’ve never heard those words come out of her unless it was a threat.” “Truly a once in a lifetime moment.” “Even more of a rare sight then finding a leprechaun riding a dragon unicorn fairy.” These constant mutterings soon deflate the punks smile, demanding that they: “All of y’all shut yer damn holes! Else each of you is gonna wind up being sorry.” Finally, the bombs in the plant behind them comes to an explosive climax, the fiery boom consuming it and all that surrounded it in a wave of flames and ash. The van soon makes a sharp turn around the corner to evade the blazing wave, everyone inside jerked by the tight right. “Ah! Come on, Pete! Quit jerking the wheel. Gonna make us all fly out the way your driven.” “Sorry, boss. The van hasn’t been turning right ever since it crashed its side into the wall this morning.”

Although Shoa’s honest apology does reach, it is the furthest thing on the scientists minds, having realized the situation that she’s found herself in. Clara had not joined the ranks of a rag tag brigade of humble resistance fighters. Nay, the scientist had aligned herself to a merciless and bloodthirsty terrorist cell.

[storytelleratheart]

Dark Heresy Part One: Of Raids and a Maid

So imagine you’re Throne Agent Vincentus, you’re given the job to organise a raid on a Nobleman’s estate on the Imperial World of Scintilla, that’s easy enough, the Inquisition does this sort of thing all the time. You commandeer the local Armed Forces with a wave of your Inquisitorial Badge, you have aircraft, dozens and dozens of men at your fingertips, hundreds or thousands if you want them, tanks and artillery too if you think it’s absolutely necessary. That’s all well and good.

Noble Estates are basically lavish mini fortresses, they have private armies who are often individually better equipped than the local army, although they lack the might of your newly acquired aircraft and tanks, they do have some big walls and automated defences to hide behind.

It’s going to be bloody, but the outcome is inevitable, they don’t know you’re coming. No one expects the Inquisition.

But then there’s a strange twist of fate and your boss throws some untried Inquisitorial agents- acolytes in your lap and tells you they’re here to do the most important job of all, face down the nobleman and bring him to justice if he has anything heretical on his person or possession.

Now you have a problem. You were going to send in a couple of squads of veterans, inserted by the Imperial Navy’s finest and most ubiquitous VTOL craft called ‘Valkyries’. Now you have to send in an untested rabble, you don’t know what kind of training they’ve been given, they don’t know each other and they certainly don’t work as a team.

Although it could have been worse you suppose… Two of them in particular have some real combat experience, the Arbitrator Dwayne is a bit odd, but he’s built like he’s been carved out of chiselled stone, and Red was a guardswoman who performed well enough to get the Inquisitions attention.

But the other two, they’re savages. Jebediah makes no effort to hide his feral world ways, he wears only a loin cloth and an armoured poncho which constantly gets blown around by the wind to reveal… his loin cloth also being blown around giving you full view of something you’d wished you’d never seen. Also he makes no secret of the fact he uses this thing called ‘voodoo’ which must be heretical (and thereby illegal) in so many ways, carries around human knucklebones and most certainly EATS PEOPLE. What the fuck?! Where did they even find this guy? From what swamp was he dragged out of?

And that other girl, Malice? She’s not much better, sure this blonde is pretty in a waifish way, but that’s not exactly a useful trait in this line of work. She’s taken some effort to disguise the stink of a swamp dwelling feral worlder, using some kind of ‘handywoman/plumber’ disguise that isn’t all that believable… she still carries a spear and a fucking chainsword around after all.

But your boss is adamant, these guys are the tip of the spear. So you have to send them in.

Hopefully the more useful looking ones survive and the others don’t.

So with a sigh you attach them to the mission and try not to look into the eyes of the officers you’ve requisitioned and mumble something about this mess up ‘coming down from the top’.

 So the mission starts off with a resounding series of explosions, aircraft strafe the compound, dodging ground fire and responding with much greater effect.

There are no parachutes on this planet, the locals use the more technologically advanced grav-chute, however no one thought to ask if the acolytes (particularly the feral worlders) knew how to use them or not.

So untrained, they leap from their transport as soon as they are given the green light.

Unsurprisingly they tumble and flail a little as they fall. Fortunately they manage to fall in the general direction of their target, the compounds chapel.

Malice manages to right herself and gracefully swan dives through an ancient stained glass window depicting the Emperor and his holy saints before landing like a cat in the middle of the chapel, which is closer in size to a modest cathedral.

The rest of them tumble ungracefully to the floor in a great heap.

Go team.

The chapel was guarded by a bunch of nondescript guys in the uniforms of the noble family’s personal guard. So naturally a fight breaks out and despite being the only one on her feet, Malice fails to accomplish anything with either her spear, chainsword or that rifle that no one ever seems to notice her carrying.

Red, after clambering to her feet manages to massacre most of the guards with her sword and pistol while everyone else looks on in bewilderment.

With the chapel in bloody ruin our heroes decide to press on to their objective. Problem is the only exit to the chapel leads to a corridor that, thanks to their air support’s successful bombing campaign is now thoroughly on fire.

Taking deep breaths and the odd prayer the group dive through the flames and eventually come out safely on the other side.

There they find a servant trying to drag a wardrobe out of the fire. Dwayne being the master interrogator he is, decides to inquire as to why the man is trying to save the wardrobe out of everything else that could potentially catch fire in the immediate area, and what was inside it.

The man responds ‘Sally.’

Dwayne found this answer unsatisfying, decided the man was impeding an investigation and using his status as an Arbitrator, donned his role of judge, jury and executioner, skipped the first two and executed the man on the spot with a shotgun blast to the face.

Heroic I know.

Upon opening the wardrobe the party discovers a young maid named Sally, who they promptly drag along with them for basically no reason. I mean why not? Dwayne gave her a gun, she’ll be fine, might even prove useful!

Another ragged bunch of Household guards try to bar their way as the party makes its way towards a large dome like structure in the compound, believed to be home to the nobleman’s private menagerie, and the last place he was sighted heading towards in all the confusion.

The Household guards barely last long enough to be worth mentioning and the party arrives at the menagerie dome. Inside the dome, nothing is on fire and it all looks like they have suddenly teleported to Jebediah’s home planet, thick jungle all around, filled with funky plants that look well and truly alien.

And not too far up on a small hill, the overweight nobleman they’re hunting down. It’s at this moment the whole party find undeniable proof that he’s a heretic. One of his arms has clearly been tainted by something… inhuman, it’s enormous and unlike the rest of his bloated body, it’s corded with thick bands of unnatural muscle, it also has this unnerving iridescent colour to it and looks strangely avian in appearance. The nobleman spots the party immediately, reaches out with this monstrosity of a hand and hurls a blast of unnatural fire towards them. That’s heresy!

So here’s where things stand according to standard procedure: at best, he’s a rogue mutant psyker and needs to be executed for heresy. Or he’s done something unthinkable, made a pact with a daemon. And he needs to be executed for heresy. Either way, the only alternative at this point to killing him is to retreat to orbit and ‘nuke the whole planet’. The Inquisition does not like half measures after all.

But this brave, foolhardy party who have no concept of what a daemon is (besides perhaps Jebediah, as daemons plague the realm which is also the source of his powers), so they engage the target with gusto.

Thanks to the advice of the feral worlders, the party avoid running straight into the jaws of any man eating plants in the menagerie, but still run afoul of two slavering beasts that look like a mad scientists somewhat successful attempt to cross a hyena with a crocodile.

Malice guns one of the beasts down and finally feels like she’s contributing to the party; Red, Dwayne and surprisingly Sally take down the other one as Jebediah exchanges volleys of psychic energies with the nobleman and his heretical arm.

With the two beasts down everyone turns around to gang up on the nobleman, who despite his magic arm turns out to just be a fat rich man with no real training, and wasn’t wearing any armour. He goes down surprisingly easy, although his magical fire does scald Jebediah’s flesh a little bit more than the witch doctor would like.

The team calls in to let Vincentus know the job is done, rather than be impressed, Vincentus is disappointed it took them this long to kill one fat man in a zoo. Vincentus gives them the task of sifting through the nobleman’s belongings while Vincentus himself takes a shuttle to the surface of the planet to recover the remains of the nobleman with the ‘heretical arm’ as Dwayne put it.

By now the Household guard have been dispatched, the legions of servants are being rounded up for questioning (bar Sally, who follows the party around like a puppy with a serious case of PTSD), so the party has free reign to go and pilfer the nobleman’s things for any clues as to where he got his horrifying arm.

In the noble’s personal stash they find a couple of very expensive things, like a gun no one knows how to use with one bullet, a suit of armour made from potentially heretical animal hides and a very nice sword.

Strangely the party only takes the sword as right this moment, Red decides she wants to fight with a blade in both hands and vows to learn the art of duel wielding swords. In all likelihood if they had taken everything they may have gotten in trouble with their boss, or Dwayne who insisted they should disturb the crime scene as little as possible as if a murder had taken place in the drawing room (perhaps it did, but there’s no law against noblemen killing people in the 41st millennium, unless it is a murder of heretical nature of course).

Instead the party takes some time to go through the nobleman’s journals in case he, like every NPC from a Bethesda game decided to write every nefarious thing he had ever done down in a journal literally anyone could have found.

Considering this is an RPG it’s not that surprising he did do just that. Although he may have been supposed to confess his crimes when the party faced him down… he ended up losing his head in quite a literal fashion instead of being restrained.

Malice, being unable to read, unsurprisingly found little more than the odd drawing in the journals. But only told her team mates she couldn’t read after they were done searching through the evidence, so who knows what heretical plots could have been prevented with the knowledge in the tomes she sifted through…

Regardless the party now had a new destination, the fat nobleman had stated in some of his more recent journals that he had visited this place called the Haematite Cathedral, on a nearby planet. So naturally the party brings this evidence in for Vincentus to look through and tell him all they’ve learned.

Vincentus, presumably unhappy that they all made it through the raid without anything more than a light scalding, organises for them to go to the planet upon which the Haematite Cathedral was built before even reading a single bit of evidence he was presented with. He’ll go over it later, when he’s not surrounded by the stink of Feral Worlder.

Looks like it’s time for a road trip!

 https://storytelleratheart.tumblr.com/post/158383891355/i-said-i-would-do-this-so-i-will (Dramatis Persona)

Part One: Of Raids and Maids (You are Here)