#next chapter is a Doozy

[catman-draws]

Chapter 5- Page 22

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(Chapter 5 Complete)

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 5 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 4-3 English Translation

Ralph joined them at the hotel that night. “I apologize for the wait,” he said. “The ship is ready to launch at your convenience.”

Owl shot to his feet at once, but Tristan pulled him back down. “It’s too dangerous to set off at night, especially with the island being such an unknown variable. Throwing caution to the wind will only hurt us. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“We have to save Ellie as soon as possible,” Owl argued, impatience coating his every word.

“I understand your frustration, but you ought to keep a level head, Owl.”

“My head’s completely level, thanks to you making me sleep.”

“Sorry, but I can’t take a fire sign’s word for it. Stay calm. The more you rush headlong into things, the more you expose not just yourself but your companions to danger as well,” Tristan advised. “On the battlefield, even with hails of bullets firing past our ears, we must set our eyes unwaveringly on the future, our minds focused solely on what is necessary, and we must make the best choices. Do you follow?”

“... I –”

“Take a deep breath, Owl. I taught you several ways to solve problems with restrictions, did I not? I hammered every single equation under the sun into your head. All you need to do is solve it.” Tristan tapped his cane against the ground twice. Owl started at the noise. “Your heart can burn as hot as it wants, but your head must be as cool and calm as a winter lake. Right here, right now, what is the path you need to take? What do you need to know? What do you need?”

Owl pondered the question. His body sunk into the cushions of the sofa.

“Deep breaths, Owl,” Tristan repeated, tapping his cane again. “Don’t panic. Don’t rush. If you can’t find a solution, think back to the past, to a time when you stood at a crossroads and made the wrong choice.”

“The wrong choice?” Owl echoed.

“Indeed, because that is why you can’t find the answer now. Close your eyes, take a breath, and return to the past.”

“....”

“Deep breaths.”

Owl did as he was told, closing his eyes... and took in a long, deep breath.

 Clemens watched the interaction, surprised at seeing Owl follow instructions so obediently. Their relationship almost seemed to have shifted when Tristan tapped his cane....

“Like he’d flicked a switch,” he breathed.

The sound of the cane rapping against the floor twice must have been a signal of some sort – maybe even a conditioned response – changing their relationship from “father and son” to “teacher and pupil.”

 After taking several deep breaths, Owl’s eyes fluttered open. “You were right, Tristan,” he said. “I should’ve asked more questions sooner. But it felt like it would’ve been too much for me to handle... so I kept putting it off.”

“Were you afraid?” Tristan sounded rather like a psychiatrist pulling the right words out of a patient’s subconscious.

“... Yeah. I was. I was scared... of figuring out just who, or what, Ellie is. I was scared of the truth.” Owl, in turn, grabbed ahold of the answers lurking in his heart and yanked them out into the open.

“And what is the ‘truth,’ Owl?”

“... She –” His voice shook. Every pause dropped like a lead weight. “Ellie is... she might be... something unforgivable.” The poor boy looked like he thought he himself was unforgivable for even thinking about it.

Tristan, on the other hand, simply gave a calm nod. “That’s right. You thought of her like a sister – surely you know. And that’s exactly why you should say it while you’re still thinking clearly.”

The gentleman took a breath, then spoke clearly, without mercy, without hesitation:

“That girl is not human.”

Owl didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

“I felt something off with her from the moment I laid eyes on her,” Tristan continued. “Her ‘soul’ itself seemed to be slightly in flux, as if it wasn’t anchored properly to this plane. But I’d hoped I was just overthinking things, so... I hesitated to tell you.”

“I... see.” That particular bullet through the heart left Owl struggling to breathe. He clenched his fist and carefully inhaled, doing his best to quell the inevitable trembling. “Then what is she...?”

“I can’t be certain just yet,” Tristan admitted. There was a grim cast to his eyes, though, as he went on, “In all likelihood, she’s a tool of some kind created by some alchemist somewhere that was made to look human. She is foreign to this world, created using techniques no one should ever have touched.”

“But is that even possible? Creating life from scratch like that....”

“It’s an abhorrent art, but in theory, yes, it is possible. You should know that as well... although you may not have heard of any successful examples.”

Owl struggled to swallow the bitter pill that was this reality, his teeth nearly drawing blood from how hard they were digging into the soft flesh of his lip. The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. Eventually, though, Tristan’s encouragement let him push past his hesitation and speak. “Mastema said he found ‘great joy’ when he found Ellie,” he said. “We know what he meant; we know what he’s planning. He’s going to use Ellie for something. The question is what.”

“We’re going to figure that out. That’s why we’re taking these steps. The ‘place where angels descended upon the earth, containing their sacred tools’ is Teos Island. Ellie was created to enact something on that island... or at least, that’s what I believe. The power I saw from her the other day stands as proof of that.”

In his mind’s eye, Owl saw the face Ellie had made when she’d desperately rushed to his aid at the McCreech estate. His eyes widened.

“Now’s the time to think, Owl,” Tristan urged. “Think of every hypothesis you can. That’s what this time is for. Think however many steps ahead you can.”

“....”

“Don’t get swept along by your emotions. Stay calm and figure out a way to take her back.”

Tristan stood and tapped his cane three times this time. Clack-clack-clack went the butt against the floor, and with each successive clack Owl’s shoulders loosened, the switch from son to pupil seemingly flipped. His head drooped as he buried his face in his hands – clearly, he didn’t want to be thinking much of anything right about now.

Tristan stood over him like a guardian, patting his shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said. “Ralph, Clemens, and I are all right here with you.” And with that, he left the room.

Owl’s head remained bowed for some time, either unwilling or unable to move. But eventually, another voice spoke up, this one sympathetic. “Please do not be discouraged, Master Owl,” said Ralph, placing a cup of tea before the detective. The floral scent roused Owl enough to lift his head as the butler continued apologetically, “I’d hoped to prepare you a relaxing herbal tea instead, but I was unable to procure any quality herbs at the harbor. This is a simple rose tea from a tin....”

“Ahh....” Owl pinched the wrinkles between his brows with his fingers, smoothing the skin out. “No, this is plenty. Rose is good for brightening the mood and promoting good sleep.” He grabbed the cup and took a sip. Sweetness bloomed on his tongue. “Thank you, Ralph.”

Ralph placed a hand on his chest as Owl placed the cup back in the saucer. “It is my pleasure,” he said. “What would you like for supper? I could prepare some hot sandwiches, though I’m afraid they won’t live up to what Sir Byron can make.”

Owl opened his mouth, prepared to say that anything was fine, really... but a certain maid’s voice echoed in his head telling him in no uncertain terms that vague orders were the most annoying ones. With the heat of her phantom glare on his neck, he paused, his gaze wandering in thought.

“Well, since we’re here in a port town, I’d like some nice white fish, fried, with a lemon butter sauce.” Clemens beat Owl to the punch with a smile. “Doubly so if the bread is lightly toasted and garnished.”

Owl shot a glare at him. “Ralph was asking me.”

“Oh, it’s fine, isn’t it? It’s not like you have any brain power left to think of a menu anyway, right?”

That was cutting, being told so frankly that he himself didn’t know what he wanted to eat. Owl pouted, but he held his tongue.

“Then that’s that,” Clemens said with a smile. “Is that all right with you, Ralph? I was told that we’re free to use the hotel’s kitchen as we please.”

“Yes, of course. I will get started on that right away.” With a pleasant smile, Ralph also left the room.

Owl watched him leave. He slowly slipped down inch by inch on the couch until his posture was completely destroyed. “... He really treats me too nice sometimes,” he mumbled to himself.

“Gaining some self-awareness, are we?” Clemens teased.

Owl glared again. “I was talking to myself, I don’t need your commentary.” He soon softened, though, and added with a crooked frown, “Hearing all that encouragement from all three of you at once would make anyone self-reflect.”

“Well, it was clear to see that you were disturbed.”

“....”

“There’s no need to be so down. That’s youth for you. And it’s the duty of the old and wise to guide such youth.”

“You trying to say I’m still a child?”

“As long as you want to be seen as an adult, then yes, you are a child.”

“Then how’s one supposed to become an adult?”

“When one wants to be a child again.”

Owl groaned. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” Now it just sounded like the priest was contradicting himself.

Clemens chuckled. “What a mess of contradictions,” he agreed. “Not everything in this world can be determined as easily and as neatly as a mathematical formula. No, it’s full of the complex, the messy, the unmanageable, the ridiculous.” He raised his hands to the heavens and shook his head. “And I’m, quite frankly, sick of it. It’s disturbing how many times I’ve thought how I’d like to take my leave of the whole wretched world.”

Owl blinked, shocked. “You thought that?”

“I did. But something pulled me back, so I stopped thinking that way. Apparently this ludicrous world still needs me.”

“That’s....”

“But I’m the one who decides what keeps me here, no one else. If I really am needed, then I see no problem with sampling every pleasure imaginable to the fullest. I thought, as long as I’m here, I may as well have the most fun I can.”

“... Really not something a priest should be saying,” Owl groaned. “Stop talking, I’m begging.”

Clemens nodded along. “It’s already been decided when exactly the curtain will fall on my existence,” he said. “Until then, I live and make merry.”

“The curtain....”

“I protect my friends – they are my one and only truth in this ridiculous world. If I can guard them until the curtain falls, that would be enough for me. Isn’t it truly ironic, how un-Demonic of me that is?”

Clemens was looking for a sympathetic response, but Owl was hard pressed for a reply. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t really know what to say to that,” he admitted. “I guess I’m still a child after all.”

The priest’s eyes fell to catlike slits as he smiled.

■■■■■■■■■■

The next morning, the group boarded Tristan’s steam ship and sailed for Teos Island. The fishermen on the boats around them watched them go, utterly dumbfounded. Some even called out, begging them to stop. But they paid them no mind, forging a path straight for the dreaded isle.

The island was deserted and had been for quite some time, meaning every dock had long since rotted away, any last traces swept off by the waves. Much of the island was walled off by sheer cliff faces, but they circled around and managed to find one tiny beach where they made landfall.

The decayed remains of several homes lay scattered beyond the beach, and past them was a dense grove of trees. The scene before them was heavy, unforgiving – not the sort of place that tolerated the presence of humans.

“Well, now, I think we could have a splendid little picnic here,” commented Clemens, gazing out over the completely overgrown greenery. The thick vegetation welcomed no invasion from outsiders. The priest tucked his long hair into his cassock and sighed.

“Don’t push yourself, Tristan,” called Owl. The gentleman was clearly having some trouble walking on the sand with his cane.

Tristan straightened up and called back, “Don’t you worry about me. I am still a war veteran, you know. This is nothing more than a simple hiking trail compared to the mountains of corpses I had to climb over in my day.” He dug his cane into the earth, producing a small chessboard around his feet. A massive horse sprung from the checkered surface – a knight – which he immediately mounted.

Owl scowled. “Okay, that’s just unfair. And now I feel like an idiot for worrying about you.”

“Oh? Were you perhaps going to try and lend me a hand, Owl?”

“... Who knows?” The detective hiked his bag up higher on his shoulder and strode off toward the grove.

Tristan scratched his head with a disappointed grimace. “Well, that’s an opportunity to connect with my son wasted,” he mumbled to himself. His next words, however, carried his usual composed air as he called, “You’re going the wrong way, Owl.”

Owl halted in his tracks.

For a moment, watching the father and son interact, Clemens forgot his trepidation and laughed. His mirth quickly faded, though, as he asked, “Do you know where Mastema is, Tristan?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” He pulled an old map from his breast pocket and spread it open before him. “But we know he’s not to the east, since that’s the direction Owl was going.” Tristan placed his finger on the map around the beach they were currently at, then dragged it in the opposite direction Owl had tried to go. “There’s a village to the west. Let’s head there.”

Clemens nodded along. Owl pulled a face, displeased. Clemens noticed. “You’re like a reverse compass,” he tried to assure him. “That can be useful, too, in its own way.”

Owl frowned. “I’m always heading where I’m supposed to go,” he insisted. “The place I want to go just keeps moving away from me, that’s all.”

“That’s a new one,” Clemens commented, surprised. It was kind of impressive, hearing someone describe their utter lack of direction that bizarrely.

“No, surprisingly enough, this isn’t a part of Owl we can mock,” Tristan interjected. That threw Clemens for a loop – he’d been so sure the gentleman was going to follow up with one of his usual foolish comments and almost didn’t register what he said as a result. “For whatever reason, him ‘getting lost’ often steers him away from danger.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know if it’s instinct or if he has some innate ability to avoid crises or what, but any path he takes leads to some sort of ‘safe zone,’” Tristan explained. “When he was a boy he would get lost and I’d go looking for him, and the cafe I’d just been having tea at would catch fire, or I’d narrowly avoid getting caught up in some suspicious dealings. I can’t count the number of times he’s saved me doing that.”

“That’s....”

“But now, here, in this place, we have no choice but to press onward into danger, else we’ll never lay eyes on Mastema again.”

“So what you’re saying is, we’ll naturally run into Mastema if we just go in the opposite direction of where Owl wants to go?”

“Correct. It’s more efficient than wandering around aimlessly.”

“I see. You’re pretty impressive, Owl.”

As Clemens’ praise grew more genuine, Owl’s expression grew more bitter. “It’s not something a detective needs or wants!” he snapped. Indeed, it wasn’t very beneficial for a detective wanting to solve cases to always be avoiding trouble, given that “cases” and “trouble” went hand in hand. Even when he wanted to find work, his legs would inevitably carry him away from any goings-on without him even knowing.

“Life rarely goes as you want,” Clemens advised. “The sooner you resign yourself to that, the better.” He clapped Owl on the shoulder. Owl swatted his hand away irritably.

From the head of their little procession, Ralph announced, “Then let us head west.” He pulled a machete from the large bag slung across his back and raised it high, presumably intending to chop through the dense branches. He made for a rather odd sight, this posh butler brandishing a thick blade.

“Let me help, Ralph.” Clemens wasn’t keen on having Ralph do all the work.

“No, please, leave this to me.” But Ralph wasn’t keen on letting anyone help, either. His eyes burned a clear emerald green. His hair started to stand on end like animalistic ears. He turned to the thicket of trees and let out a piercing, menacing howl. The leaves shook. Fearful whimpers soon followed, as from underneath the branches burst a horde of animals fleeing deeper into the trees.

“... Wild dogs? Didn’t realize they were here,” commented Owl.

“I imagine those were the descendants of dogs the people of this island once kept as pets, left to roam freely in their absence,” suggested Ralph. “I will be taking the lead.” He looked... the same gentle butler as always. “It is a butler’s duty to deal with whatever might hinder the master’s way forward.”

The way he stood tall at the head of the pack, he truly was a first-rate butler. Even as he shoved his way through the foliage, his elegant stride wouldn’t be out of place in a palace. But the blade he swung in his hand sliced through the plant life in their way with clean precision, carving a neat path for the others to follow. Every so often his eyes would gleam like a knife and a low growl would emanate deep in his throat, sending another pack of wild dogs fleeing with high-pitched yelps.

“Wolves are considered the lords of forests... I see it now. Good to have one on our side.”

Now they could even press on in formal wear. The group headed onward, deep into the heart of the island.

   ■■■■■■■■■■

   They’d been walking for about an hour when Ralph stopped and pointed. “What is that, do you think?”

The others squinted, but all they could make out was the dimly lit thicket stretching out before their eyes. Ralph’s sharper vision must’ve spotted something they couldn’t. “Is there something there?” asked Owl.

“It looks like a stone... wall, perhaps. Like what one would see around a town.” The butler raised his head to sniff the air. “And I detect a hint of medicine in the air....”

“Medicine? Are you sure it’s not sulfur? We are on a volcanic island.”

“No, this seems slightly different.”

“But there wouldn’t be any chemicals here, would there?”

“What should we do?” asked Clemens. “We could just push ahead blindly, but....”

“... No, we need to gather information about the island. The old inhabitants might have left something behind.”

The four looked at each other and nodded. They knew what they had to do next. They headed single file in the direction Ralph pointed, and soon enough found an abandoned village, half-swallowed by the trees. Just as the butler had said, stone walls surrounded the little hamlet, but over half of them had crumbled, relinquishing themselves to the encroaching trees. Piles of rubble lay where stone houses must have once stood. Not a single dwelling remained standing – wells, stables, sheds with farm tools left inside, everything had rotted away, leaving only their foundations behind.

“It must have been fifty... no, closer to a hundred years since this place was abandoned.” Clemens glanced around the village. “It almost looks like there was a war here, with how damaged everything is.”

“The people who lived here must have been quite devout,” added Tristan, striding across what was once someone’s yard. He was looking at a statue of an angel lying on its side in the grass, its wings spread wide. And that wasn’t the only one – multiple such statues were scattered all across the land. Most of them were in a state of disrepair, but there must’ve been more of them than actual people living on the island. It spoke volumes of how deep their reverence for the angels went.

The documents were spot-on, thought Owl as he gazed upon the decrepit statue at his feet.

“Owl,” Tristan called, grabbing the detective’s attention. He tapped the side of his monocle. “Can you see it?”

“... Yeah.” Owl glanced around. “It’s surprising to see this much left around after all this time. Whoever did it must’ve been powerful.” “It,” in this case, being whatever left his vision full of glittering traces of alchemy, bursting and fading like tiny fireworks before his eyes. Tristan could see it too. “I guess that’s the McCreech’s ancestors for you... and it looks different from Schlain’s alchemy, too.”

“It’s not just the McCreeches. In the past, rumor had it that every major family had a ‘sorcerer’ in their corner. We can safely assume that most of the survivors who escaped the island made successful livings as alchemists, though there also seemed to be some among them who couldn’t resist their cursed blood and subsequently walked paths of destruction.”

“... Huh.” Owl kept his gaze down as he walked along, pondering the history of the deceased islanders. His eyes naturally fell on the crumbled walls of one of the houses. There, inscribed on the stone, was a row of letters. What was that? He leaned down to scrape the moss away, revealing an alchemical sigil. He couldn’t actually decipher it, but he could sense something in it close to the element of earth.

Clemens peered at it as well. “... Is this... a warding spell, perhaps?” Clearly, he had some idea as to what it did.

Tristan made a quick note, looking strangely cheerful. “Goodness me, this really tickles the old spirit of investigation.”

Upon closer inspection, other such sigils were littered all around the village, etched in entryways and on living room floors and above stoves and on bedroom windows. The frankly absurd number of charms and wards were scattered about with seemingly no rhyme or reason, filling the entire village with an absurd amount of alchemy.

Tristan and Clemens began wandering around taking notes on every single one they could find, chatting amongst themselves, leaving Owl by himself. “Hey, teach me how to read them, too!” the detective demanded, his patience snapping.

“That would require a lecture on geopolitics and history that we don’t have time for.”

“I’ll teach you all about it when we get home.”

Their self-important answers left Owl stewing in irritation. With nothing else to do, he glanced around again, and his gaze fell to Ralph. The butler was facing west, his nose in the air. “Do you still smell medicine?” he asked.

“Yes. It seems to be drifting in on the wind....”

“Drifting in? So it’s not coming from here?” Owl had assumed whatever Ralph had smelled came from the village, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

Ralph shook his head and pointed further inland, toward the volcano. “No, the source is in that direction.” He pinched his nose, pale in the face. “It is quite the unpleasant stench.”

“Are you going to wait here, then?”

“No, I will accompany you. I am the Tristan family butler – it is my duty.”

“But we’re probably going to be heading where the smell’s worse. It’ll be rough on you.”

“I do not mind. I exist to protect Master Tristan and carry out his orders. It is my pleasure to be of service.”

Owl paused. “... You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought this, but are you sure you’re not being deceived or anything? You’re so loyal that I worry about you sometimes.”

For a moment, Ralph stared blankly. He soon straightened, though, and placed his hand on his chest. “Do not worry, Master Owl. Even if I am being deceived, I know I will still find it a pleasure.”

 Their investigation of the village didn’t turn up any major clues, so after a while they left to check out the volcano where the smell was coming from. The group proceeded through the trees until they came across a copse of black, thorny shrubs blocking their way forward like a particularly prickly gate. Vines wound around and around in a manner reminiscent of the cocoons that formed around Demons. Ralph tried to slice through these as well... but his blade found little purchase. The black spikes were tough as steel. Whatever they were, they were clearly on a different level than the trees around them.

“... Is this some kind of barrier alchemy?” wondered Owl. “The animals suddenly stopped showing up once we got here, too... is it stopping anyone from getting in?”

“It would seem so.” Ralph rotated his wrist with a nod. His machete had already grown dull and chipped from just a few whacks.

Clemens pointed back the way they came. “Cutting through all these thorns might be more trouble than it’s worth. Should we go around?” he suggested.

“That will not be necessary.” In the blink of an eye, Ralph Demonized his arms below the elbows and lashed out with his long, razor-sharp claws. The thorns fell to the ground without so much as a whisper of sound.

Clemens clapped. “Well done.”

“Let us continue.”

Ralph’s claws made short work of the living barbed wire in their way, carving a path through the thorny wall. Owl watched with undisguised awe. “That’s handy,” he murmured.

 Nick. Clemens. Ralph. All three had once fallen prey to the Black Rose Disease and come out the other side as carriers of the dreaded illness. They each bore the black rose markings somewhere on their bodies as proof of that fact.

But unlike Shawn, unlike Low, they hadn’t completely lost their reason and fully transformed into Demons. They instead displayed the fascinating ability to Demonize themselves at will, putting the Demons living within them to work.

At some point, those with such capabilities, like those three, came to be known as the “Possessed.”

 They could quite easily change their forms, manifesting the Demons within them at will, but only so far as full-body transformations. However, Ralph could also perform a partial Demonization, strangely enough. Changing his face, or his arms, while leaving the rest of himself untouched... how was that even possible...?

 Owl unconsciously stared at Tristan. Tristan noticed his gaze. “Ralph is so handy because he put in more effort than anyone else,” he answered.

“... I didn’t even say anything.”

“Oh, my apologies. You looked like you had some questions about Ralph, so I answered. Was I wrong?”

Owl clicked his tongue. There he went again, acting like he could see right through him. He chose not to comment on that, though, in favor of asking a question aloud this time. “What kind of effort?”

“Training, the likes of which no ordinary person could ever hope to withstand. And yet Ralph was truly the opposite of handy, at first, and quite prone to losing himself in his werewolf form. When his training grew too severe, Hannah would often have to intervene and restrain him.”

Owl fell silent. So Ralph had become the flawless butler he was today, even with such a temperamental Demon as the well-known feral werewolf, entirely through his own efforts. Which also meant that for Hannah to restrain him, she must’ve been even more strict than usual. “I’m surprised he didn’t hate either of you for that. What did you have to say to trick him like that?”

“That’s rather harsh, saying I ‘tricked’ him,” Tristan replied. “He just wanted to be human. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. So he gave it his all so he would never have to. All I did was help him a little with that, and now he’s repaying the favor. I’m quite proud of my butler.”

“I see.” Owl rolled that around in his head for a bit. “So the training he did....”

“Hm?”

“... No, never mind.” Whatever he wanted to ask, he decided to hold his tongue.

“Is this about Nick?”

A crease appeared between Owl’s eyebrows. “Quit reading my mind like that.”

“Apologies.”

“I’m sick of hearing your ‘apologies.’”

“I see. I’ll be more mindful in the future.” Still, Tristan didn’t show so much as an ounce of shame as he continued, “I heard all about the young man you see like a little brother from Ralph. Are you worried about the Demon in him?”

“....”

“Tell me about him.”

Owl waffled a moment longer, but Tristan’s prodding eventually wore him down. “When Nick Demonizes, he gets a little more vicious than usual,” he admitted. “Not to the point where he goes crazy, just enough where if I get hurt he gets angry a lot quicker. It’s like... like he gets less merciful, or something.”

“Hm.”

“If Nick ever loses control of his Demon, I thought maybe the training Ralph went through could help.” The reason he hadn’t asked at first was because he didn’t want to put Nick through anything bad enough that Hannah would need to restrict him.

Tristan contemplated this for a moment. “If you’re worried about him being able to control his Demon, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he eventually replied.

“It won’t?”

“No. His particular type of Demon is relatively easy to control, but more importantly, any increased ferocity can be chalked up to anger over one of his loved ones getting hurt. I heard from Ralph before that Nick can understand cats, is that right?”

“Yeah, seems like it, anyway.”

“Then it’s possible that his sense of hearing is in a state of perpetual Demonization.”

“Just his hearing?”

“I believe Nick is utilizing his inner Demon more efficiently than any other.”

“Huh?” That threw Owl for a loop.

“There are times when a certain ‘requirement’ crops up for a Possessed tries to Demonize themself. A person ‘ingests’ something or other....” Tristan’s eyes flicked to Clemens for a split second. “And if such a person who ingests something to Demonize themself exists, so too must there exist a person who meets the specific requirements, so to speak.” He pointed to Ralph next.

“Requirements?”

“Correct. It varies from Demon to Demon, but it can be raising one’s body temperature past a certain point, or looking or listening to something specific.... Like how a werewolf transforms during the full moon.”

“Ahh....”

“But Nick doesn’t seem to have anything like that. He can instantly Demonize himself completely at will.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it....” Owl paused. Something was off. “But hold on a second.”

“Hm?”

“I thought Ralph hadn’t seen Nick’s Demonized form before? Where did you hear all that?” The crease in Owl’s brow was only deepening. This was odd. “How’d you learn all that stuff about Nick? You don’t have another spy besides Ralph that I don’t know about, do you?”

“... Well, let’s save that conversation for another time.”

“No, let’s have it now. Tell it to me straight.” Owl met Tristan’s eyes with a challenge burning in his gaze.

Tristan looked away almost casually. “Nick has tamed his Demon better than anyone,” the gentleman said. “It hasn’t been all that long since he became Possessed... but he may be highly compatible with his Demon, or maybe it’s just natural talent. It’s possible he has a deeper relationship with it than anyone we’ve ever seen.”

Owl sucked in a breath. His expression turned hard as stone. Demons were a pathogen, a disease – having a “deep relationship” or “high compatibility” wasn’t anything worth celebrating.

“His power seems to help you with your alchemy,” Tristan continued. “You’ve found a worthy partner.”

Disgust welled up in Owl’s gut. “What do you mean ‘worthy?’” he spat. His voice lowered to a growl, every word dripping with rage. “Yes, his power’s helped me, and yes, there’ve been times where I relied on it, but I’m not happy that he’s infected. I’m going to heal the Possessed. Someday I’m going to disassemble and analyze Nick’s Demon, too. So don’t say that stuff about Demons like I’m supposed to be thrilled about their power. I refuse to accept it, even from you.”

“Ah....” Tristan delicately placed his hand on his cheek. His tongue had definitely slipped. “Right, yes, my mistake. I shouldn’t have spoken of your partner’s illness so positively.... I’m sorry.”

Owl turned and walked ahead, indignation still bubbling under his skin. “Don’t do it again.”

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulders slumped slightly. What a blunder.

“Parenting can be difficult sometimes,” Clemens murmured at his side.

“Without a doubt.... I ought to apologize to you as well, for acting like I could evaluate a Demon’s abilities like that.”

“There’s no need for that. I’m a rather special case who accepted my Demon. And besides, if you take what you just said as coming from an awkward, bumbling sort of father, it’s charming, in its own way.”

“No, this is a failing of mine. I ought to reflect on it.” Tristan rubbed his temple with a pained frown. “I’ve spent so long judging people on whether they have value to me – it’s no wonder my son hates me.”

Clemens chuckled. “I must admit, it’s a rather delightful sight. The boy who was lauded as the ‘Imprisoning Noble,’ he who so frightened his enemies on the battlefield... manipulated by his own son.”

“Now that’s just mean, Clemens.” The priest didn’t truly understand the anguish of being an incompetent parent. Alas, Tristan lamented his shortcomings alone.

Before he could truly get in gear, though, Ralph interrupted from the head of the procession, “I can see a building over there.” He pointed ahead of them. “It... doesn’t appear to be one of the villager’s houses, though?”

The others squinted. All they could see was swaying trees. “You see a building?”

“Yes.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Around the foot of the volcano. Just one building, beyond the forest.”

Owl squinted even harder, trying his best to see what was on the other end of Ralph’s pointing, but... nothing. The butler was the only one with sharp enough eyes to spot it.

“Let’s go.”

But they had no other choice but to press onward.

  Just as Ralph said, they did eventually come across a building among the trees. The brickwork had completely crumbled, and even now it looked as though the entire structure could collapse at any moment. The building seemed almost unnaturally large for such a tiny island.

“... Is this... a church?” Ralph whispered, staring up at the broken stained-glass window.

“Looks like it.” Owl approached the building. Some kind of stone monument was left by the entryway. The black stone... it was most likely diorite, cut and polished into a sheet. Letters like the ones he’d seen at the McCreech household were carved into the surface. He turned to Tristan and Clemens and pointed. “You’re up.”

The pair walked up to the stone monument and peered at it for a moment in silence. “This appears to be a message, or... a prophecy, about the angels’ gospel?”

“A prophecy?”

“The words here seem to be about what angels gave them. ‘We heard a voice from Heaven. It said we were the chosen ones. It said it gave us power because we were chosen. We are the only ones capable of handling such miracles. We craft Heavenly works in their name, and to Heaven we return them. That is how we, the promised folk, open the gates of Heaven....’ Or something like that. The wording is a little odd, so there are bits I don’t quite understand. It reads like a Bible verse.”

“So it would be safe to say this is the main building they used for angel worship?”

“So it would seem.”

Owl peered through an entryway long since relieved of its door. The inside looked to be a regular church, albeit long abandoned. His eyes unconsciously widened at the rough state the place was in. The stained glass was shattered. The pulpit was rotted. Aged angel statues littered the floor. Bugs had chewed away the carpet, leaving the stone floor bare to the elements. The pews, however, had narrowly avoided the same fate, and were enough to let anyone know that the place used to be a church.

But the most bizarre, standout thing was the haphazard charcoal scribbling along the walls and stretching down to the floor. They looked old and faded, but misshapen lines were still clearly visible scattered all over the place.

Owl stepped through the entryway, slowly picking his way through the church. “... It’s hard to see, but is this a transmutation circle?”

“It’s dangerous to go that far inside, Owl,” warned Tristan.

“I’ll be fine. You guys look around outside.”

Owl made a meandering circuit of the church. He glanced up at the excessively high ceiling. Normal churches could have high ceilings, too, of course, but that was because religious rites often required light, so builders would make the ceilings tall and install plenty of windows to get as much natural light as possible. This church of angel worship, too, clearly had a high ceiling to facilitate praying to the heavens. But this church had one major difference from the ones in the city:

“There’s no cross.”

The cross was one of the most recognizable religious symbols, and yet this church didn’t seem to have one anywhere. No, this one had some sort of circular symbol instead, with one particularly large example hanging above the stained-glass window in the back. He’d seen identical symbols hanging on the walls and doors of the abandoned village, too, though those ones were in rough shape, while this one was relatively intact. They all depicted what seemed to be three lilies, perhaps representing the Holy Trinity.

Owl stared up at it. His eyes sharpened. “... I saw this at the McCreeches’ place, too.” A similar pattern had been in the McCreech chapel.

Yet when he tried to access that memory, a different door opened in his mind instead.

“... Huh?”

He felt like he’d seen this somewhere else, too. But where? It wasn’t at the McCreeches’. Was it in the texts he’d read? No, not those, either. No, it was a longer time ago... and as he dug through his memories, his feet approached the window. He could see the volcano through the stained glass, its surface bare and its base devoid of any plant life. The lack of trees could be from a previous eruption, or acidity in the soil, or even gas in the air. Either way, it was a peculiar volcano.

“That’s not east,” he murmured to himself. Churches were usually built oriented to the east to symbolize the light, land restrictions notwithstanding. But not this church. He stared off in the direction of the volcano. “... God’s Furnace... where angels gave out divine revelations.... So they had it face the volcano.”

As he thought, there was a deep connection between the angels the people of Teos worshipped and the volcano. He turned on his heel, preparing to leave, when the tip of his shoe caught on something. With a faint clink, a small metal disc went rolling away across the stones. He went to pick it up, expecting a coin, only to find that it was actually a metal plate.

“A medal?”

It was a devotional medal meant to be worn as a necklace... a religious item, in other words. Most medals like that bore images of holy figures, but the one in Owl’s hand had yet another one of the three lily symbols.

Owl rubbed at the surface with his finger. “It’s pretty rusty,” he murmured.

Tiny flecks of rust flaked off the surface. The metal flashed underneath.

“...?”

And with that flash, the half-open door in Owl’s mind flung wide open.

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

[threestripeslider]

Tired: Rise!Splinter is a neglectful and awful father who doesn’t care about his kids >:(

Wired: Rise!Splinter’s negligence comes from a place of deep trauma that he’s carried with him his whole life – losing his mother, having been betrayed by the love of is life, being imprisoned and forced to fight for his life, used as an experiment and subsequently being mutated and losing his whole identity as a person – and while it certainly doesn’t excuse his behavior, there is no doubt that this man loves his sons fiercely despite his own shortcomings and perhaps it is exactly that love and care that causes him to keep his children at arms length in hopes to spare them his family’s cursed legacy that grooms them into martyrs and are thus destined to die young, a sacrifice for the greater good that Splinter is never willing to make even if it means forfeiting the world to the Shredder. Splinter’s journey of fatherhood began by being completely unprepared as a fresh young single father of four young children that depend on him to survive and there is no surprise he’s hit almost every bump there possibly is when raising a child but never in his life has Splinter ever blamed or resented his children in any way – he is not perfect and he’s aware and he tries to do better all because he loves his kids this fucking much bc despite all the shit he’s been through, those kids made him realize that he can try again. to dismiss him as an awful father is a gross mischaracterization of a deeply traumatized man of color who evidently tried his fucking hardest not to pass on the hurt onto his own children while grappling with his own demons and the crushing destiny of his family’s blood line that took away his mother.

[whumble-beeee]

Yur Gonna Get Murdalated, Rookie

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15.5

Content: adult character perceived as a minor, kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, guns, recreational drug use, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The Law Enforcement Policy Handbook, Chapter X: Superhumans

[Officers of the law have the right to ask any civilian to show their upper right arm to verify whether or not the civilian bears the ‘General Super Brand’. If the civilian does possess such a marking, they are superhuman; the officer has the right to use whatever superhuman training they may possess.��

If the brand indicates that the superhuman is also a ‘Latent Supervillain,’ ‘Supervillain,’ or Test Subject,’ the officer is also compelled to check the superhuman’s upper right shoulder blade for the ‘Hazardous Super Brand,’ colloquially known as ‘The Villain Brand.’ Depending on the contents of the brand, the officer may be required to arrest or otherwise subdue the superhuman. They are advised to use their best judgment to subdue the superhuman or hide and call for backup.]

* * * * * * * *

The night was peaceful. Boring, even. The type of night where you’d wanna just sit back and smoke a cigar in the amber-dusking twilight that spilled through the half-closed blinds of your office. It’s filled to bursting with old bookshelves sworn by the tests of time, a single chair for you to sit in as you work, and a sprawling, book-laden red oak wood desk, surrounded on all sides by stacks and stacks of notes, files, crucial evidence about your latest case. The scent of cigars burns your nose. You’re so close to a breakthrough, you could just about taste it on the tip of your tongue, You would find it, you always did, and you could feel it now, edging ever closer after a tirelessly rewarding and sleepless night.

And yet here Officer Kalis Brooks sat instead, bored out of her skull watching some dinky ass highway that was lucky if a car graced its beaten roads once every twenty minutes. 

If only she were a film noir detective. Truly an unfair life she led.

It was a suspicious sort of fellow she finally spotted slowly making his way down the highway. A scoundrel who wore a bandana over the lower half of his face.

A person with something to hide.

Of course, she pulled him over. Simply her duty as an officer of the law.

She approached the truck and rapped lightly on the driver’s side window, and it rolled down with a gentle whirr. She shined her flashlight into the vehicle, and the view to greet her was almost something of a–

Holy shit.

The driver sat there, lazily gripping the steering wheel, looking like some sort of modernized pseudo-cowboy with a buncha scary lookin’ gadgets. A burn scar ran all the way up the side of his face, down his neck, and reappeared on his arm where his leather jacket rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were dilated, every movement markedly relaxed. Disjointed. Uncanny even. 

He was definitely high. But at least he’d had the forethought to take off that bandana concealing his identity. That was a good thing, right?

Then her jaw nearly dropped when she registered the passenger. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze stiff and unseeing. Very obviously also high on some sort of drug, though Kalis reckoned this high was less than consensual. Not to mention the super-power suppression collar wrapped around his neck. 

He was a super. 

She wasn’t trained to handle cases like this. Was this a super kidnapping in progress?! Something more?

Shit, no time for film noir roleplay bullshit, this is serious.

This is a villain.

Her gaze snapped back to the driver, just as her hand unclipped the gun holstered at her hip.

“Sir, please step out of the car slowly with your hands up. You’re being detained under suspicion of committing an in-progress felony.”

The driver’s gaze immediately shot to his passenger. “Officer, there uh… seems to be a misunderstanding–”

“Step out of the car or I’ll have you arrested for disobeying an officer of the law.”

That got his attention. The driver blew his bangs out of his face with a slow, deep sigh, and equally slowly reached down to open the door. The metallic creak of the door swinging open was almost deafening in the moonlit night. 

“I should mention I have a gun holstered on my belt,” he drawled inattentively, boots crunching the sparse gravel scattered across the shoulder of the highway. His arms stayed firmly raised, thankfully. “A revolver. Left side.” 

“Thank you for informing me,” Officer Brooks said quickly. This man seemed to be an easy-going fella, thankfully, but air around him stank of danger, like the haze of the walking dead. She slipped the ornately decorated gun out of its holster and slapped all the bullets to the roadway with 6 distinctly clean clinks. Then triple-checked that the safety was on. Then a fourth time. The matching knife too, for good measure. 

“I’d like to ask you some questions,” she stated, barely halting her transatlantic accent from slipping through. Stop it with the film noir. “Show me your upper right arm, please.”

He sighed, then nodded, then struggled to push up the leather sleeves of his jacket enough to show her the clear absence of a super brand. 

Good, one less thing to worry about. Not a supervillain.

“Alright then, what’s going on with that boy in the truck, friend?”

“Nothin’ much. That’s Stan. He’s my ward.”

“Your ward?”

“Yuh. I have custody over him. He’s a test subject.”

“Really?” She said, voice full of faux intrigue.

“Really.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Handler, of sorts. A bounty hunter. I work with the police sometimes, actually, we have an arrangement.”

“Oh? An arrangement?” she asked, as if daring him to tell her all the illegal dealings he held in his hidden hand of cards.

He just shrugged.

Ugh, she hated these types.

 “Fine. You have any proof?”

“Think I left my bounty huntin’ papers in my other pants,” he quipped. “Check the kid's villain brand, call in my ID, talk to your boss. Should be proof enough.”

That was absolutely not how that worked. Though she did feel a slight vindication in her chest that she would actually probably arrest this man.

“You have your ID on you?”

“Mhm.” 

He flicked out his ID between forefinger and middle to the officer, seemingly plucking it from thin air before she snatched it out of his hand, noting every piece of identifying information, checking for signs of a fake. Nothing seemed to be out of order… Had he really just handed her his real ID?

“And you said something about the boy having a villain brand?”

The man– Declan Cansano, so said the ID– nodded. Then rolled his damn eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you?” She smiled sarcastically. “Need I make it obvious that you are suspected of kidnapping?” 

“I just have somewhere to be. It’s late. If you’d call in to ask about–”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No ma'am, I'm sayin’ you'd save yourself a lot–”

“Well stop ‘sayin'’ or I'll be ‘sayin’’ that you resisted arrest when I’m writing up your arrest report. This way.” 

She had to keep from grabbing his arm and yanking him as she led him over to her cruiser and deposited him near the passenger side door. Only after ordering him to turn around so she could cuff him behind his back of course.

“Stay here until I come back,” she ordered. “And remember that running from a uniformed officer is a criminal offense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lulled back, almost sing-songy while leaning nonchalantly against the car. “Keep an eye on the kid, he's the type you’d have to worry about.”

Because you kidnapped him? God, she couldn't wait to throw the book at that man. 

Kalis pressed the talk button on the radio clipped to her shoulder. “Officer Brooks reporting, I have a man pulled over here named Declan Cansano, roughly 6 and a half feet tall, blond, possibly… Latino? I have him detained for suspected kidnapping of the boy he has with him, a white brown-haired male, very battered and bruised and likely drugged who looks to be about… sixteen-ish? The man claims the boy is a super with villain status, and that he has jurisdiction over him as a ‘handler’ or ‘bounty hunter’ or something. Can you look him up for me?”

There was a moment of silence, then the radio crackled to life. “Report received, I'll look into a ‘Declan Cansano’ for you real quick. Do you have a name for the white male I can look into as well?”

“Not yet, I’m going to check that out now and get back to you shortly.”

“Wait,” A third voice interupted, familiar in just the right way to make Kalis’ heart flutter in her chest. Officer Frida Galleta. Her mentor, her favorite person on the force, one of the people she trusted most in this world. And… well, it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes as well. “Brooks, did I hear you right? You said last name Cansano?”

Just as fast as it had soared, her heart dropped like a stone in a vacuum. She’d never heard that tone from Frida before. “I– I– Uh... yes. Why?”

“Oh god, I… Brooks, don’t engage with him– Look, I’m gonna call you on your personal cell–”

“Wait, Frida, what do you mean ‘don’t engage with him?’ I have him detained, I can’t not engage with him.”

“Officers, please keep small talk to a minimum over the radio,” Dispatch interrupted. “Officer Brooks, I couldn’t find anything on a ‘Declan Cansano’ anywhere, not the super or villain database, the criminal database, the employee database. But uh… to Officer Galleta’s point, if he said he’s a bounty hunter... Well, let’s just say you might wanna follow up with the chief about that before you make any decisions. They might have some sort of arrangement, so to speak.”

Arrangement…? Like a… Like…

Officer Brooks smelled the stinking injustice of a rat.

“Co–... Come again, dispatch?” she breathed into the radio.

“No!” Officer Galleta’s voice interrupted. “Dispatch, I’l’-I’lll handle this, no need to get the higher-ups involved. Please.” 

Then her phone rang. Officer Galleta’s beautiful profile photo graced her periphery as she pulled out the phone and promptly sent the call straight to voicemail, eyes straight ahead and staring into the pitch-black night. At the car that a captive was waiting for her in.

“Kalis, please answer your phone,” Galleta pleaded.

Officer Brooks silenced her radio, that wretched squeal, and started toward crime scene in the making.

It was a pig-filled world out there. She wouldn’t stand idly by as they made the entire world their mud pit.

Her phone rang again.

A single deep breath to steel her razor-sharp wit, then slammed open the passenger side door, preparing for the occupant to do anything from attacking like a spit-fire to running for the hills to grasping onto her and holding her close as the first friendly face this boy had seen in years.

Somehow, she didn’t expect the boy inside to startle and struggle, legs scrambling and weakly kicking at her to put distance between them. He leaned precariously back on the console of the car, shaking as if he were in hell when it finally froze over, and only then did she realize his hands were restrained behind his back.

Now that she wasn’t looking at him over the angry presence of a kidnapper, she could see clearly now that her first impression of him was so very wrong; He was so much worse off than she could have imagined. Deep-set dark circles under his eyes, so many bruises lining his skin, specks of dried blood flakes dotting his body, cuts caked with disgusting oozing brown, eyes dilated and bloodshot, angry red welts peaking out from under the power-suppressing collar that only could have been from being yanked around or choked, and dried blood-stains that drip-drip-dripped down the front of his oversized white t-shirt.

Her face went ashen at the ghastly scene. What had that man done?

Her phone rang once more. She muted it. It still buzzed in her pocket.

“Hi,” she started slowly. Her voice cracked slightly. “My name is Officer Brooks, or Kalis. I'm here to help you. What's your name?”

He simply returned her a wide-eyed stare. Then glanced over to her cruiser. At the man leaning on it. Then at her badge. Then down to his lap, not a single word uttered.

The phone buzzed with another call.

“It's alright,” she soothed, like a mother beckoning a lost child home. “He can't hurt you right now. I'm here to help you, but I need you to talk to me or else I can't help you. I need to know your name. It’s Stan, right? Stan? That’s what I heard from him.”

He looked up, staring into her as if she wasn't even there again, eyes so wide, so dilated. No words. He frowned, considering for a moment. Then a vindictive determination spread across his features and he moved his gaze right back to his lap.

“Alright, that's uh… that's alright.” She felt like a kindergarten teacher with the way she was talking. Her phone buzzed with yet another call. “Can I… can I at least see the super brand on your back? Can you do that for me, Stan?”

He jolted back. “No.”

More phone buzzing. Adrenaline surged in her chest. “Stan, please. I can't get you back to your family if I can't find out who you are.”

“... fam–... family?...” His eyes widened, pupils somehow blown even wider, unfocused into the middle distance.

“Yes, Stan.” She very carefully reached for the collar of his shirt, ready to pull back at any time. The boy didn’t react. “I just want to get you back to your family.”

Kalis pulled the shirt down just enough to reveal that awful blue of the villain brand. The blue that signified a test subject.

Shit, the bounty hunter had been telling the truth.

The phone buzzed once more. Kalis snatched it out of her pocket. Turning around swiftly so Stan wouldn’t think what was about to happen next was directed at him.

“What do you want?” She hissed. “I’m trying to talk to a kidnapping victim.”

“Oh thank god, you’re alright,” Frida's tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I– Look, Kalis, I know this sounds bad, but I need you to let the bounty hunter go. Now.”

Officer Brooks grit her teeth. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “Why.”

“He’s… look, alright, I’m surprised no one told you before, but the police have a sort of… deal… with certain criminals and organizations. Mr. Cansano is one of them–”

“So you’re a dirty cop, then?” Kalis interrupted, voice strained, chest tight. “And– and you’re trying to bring me down with you, now? Frida, I–...  You should see what he’s done to this captive. I can't let him go.”

"I’m not a dirty cop! Not the way you’re thinking at least, I– just trust me, I can't even say over the phone but I'm on my way and I’ll tell you when I get there, I swear. Please don't do anything, for both our sakes.I know him, he's–”

“You know him?!”

“Yes, he’s–”

“How do you know him?!”

“Kalis. Listen to me.” Her voice turned deathly serious. “He's got ties everywhere. Hell, he does jobs for the police sometimes, they won't protect you if you get in trouble. He might try to kill you, and even if he doesn't and you get him arrested, now you have a target on your back from both the mob AND the corrupt police. If you try to arrest him, you're going to die. Please just leave him alone. Please."

She grit her teeth. “So that means he doesn't have any… official paperwork to prove he has authority over the super?”

“I– uh… probably not? They don't work within the law, that's why you need to let him go.”

Well then…

That’s all she needed to hear.

“I’m arresting him.”

“No! No, Khalis, I'm on my way, I'll-I’ll be two minutes, just wait–”

She slammed her phone down and turned back around to Stan, only then realizing that the poor boy probably heard everything she just said–

Nope, he was off in his own little world again.

“Stan?...”

No response.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Stan!”

He startled back to himself, terrified, scrambling to get away from her just like the first time she'd walked up to him.

She didn't have time for this.

“Stan, honey, I'm going to arrest the man who hurt you alright? He won't hurt you anymore. I have to leave now, but one of my friends will be here very soon. She'll help you out, alright? Everything will be alright. Just please stay here. Hopefully I'll see you soon.”

Officer Brooks closed the door of the truck before she could catch a reaction, hoping that ditching Stan to be found by Officer Galleta was the best choice here.

It had to be, it was the only choice.

She steeled herself, resting her hand on her gun once more, and walked back over through the oppressive black night and into the spotlighting brights of her police car. 

To face down the bounty hunter.

“Mr. Cansano, you're–...” 

Then all of her built-up courage suddenly burst. What the hell was–...

She gaped.

Then scoffed.

Really?

“Are–… are you… smoking a blunt right now?”

The bounty hunter’s hand withdrew from his mouth, followed by a puff of dark white smoke. His gaze never once broke from the bright dot of red-yellow ash that oh-so-subtly lit his face. “Yup.”

She just stared at him for a moment. Then shook her head out. Whatever.

“Mr. Cansano, you're under arrest for suspected kidnapping of a super and illegal bounty hunting.” He didn’t so much as blink. “You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest sidelining them. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve spoken them to you?”

He didn’t move in the slightest through her whole spiel. He almost seemed to have paused time around him, actually, a frozen snapshot.

A pause as Kalis stood ready to arrest a few feet away, yet unable to move closer as the air turned sticky with his low chuckle.

A pause because, only then, did Kalis realize that when she last left the man, she'd left him in handcuffs.

The bounty hunter shoved the burning tip of the blunt into the metal siding of her cruiser, instantly extinguishing the bright ember. “You talked to your boss?”

She clutched her gun. “I've been made aware of the situation.”

“Brave one, you are.”

He pushed up out of his lean. She whipped out her gun and aimed it squarely at his chest. “Freeze.”

He stopped, staring at her gun hand, eyes narrowed, hands shooting up to show he wasn’t a threat.

Yeah right.

Police sirens in the distance. Couldn’t be anyone but Frida.

“Put your hands on the car. Slowly.”

He looked her up and down. It was funny, his eyes almost looked red, with the way the headlights shined off his eyes.

“Hands on the car.”

The hunter almost seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he laughed, pulled his bandana up over his face, and took a step forward. 

Her vision tunneled, heart pounding in her ears. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

“Shame,” he drawled. Now he had… a string? A metal string, the type used to cut clay. Held taut between his hands. “I’ll try not to make this hurt, youu seem lie one of the good ones.”

Kalis’s gun hand shook. She should shoot him. She’d never shot anyone before. Shoot him. Shoot him. In the chest, in the leg, somewhere, shoot him, shoot him, you’re going to die shoot him shoot him do it fucking SHOOT HIM–

Her finger squeezed the trigger as he lunged forward, a flash of light, everything bright white and hot and blinding as a loud CRACK split through her eardrums, her very skull. Her gun arm knocked to the side, the gun flew from her hands. Her only chance at defending herself disappeared somewhere into the inky black night.

Suddenly she was staring right into his dark brown eyes that seemed to gleam red. His hands slammed just short on either side of her neck, the wire held gingerly between them pressing into the hard muscle of her larynx.

Just the two of them. 

The crickets, the trees.

The stars, shining above so sweetly.

Her last witnesses.

She was going to die here.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered, a low grumble that reverberated her entire soul. She couldn’t look away from those blood-red eyes. Would her blood be added to that as well?

A deafening screech of tires.

His brow furrowed, gaze stuttering elsewhere. A new set of headlights spotlighted them like startled deer, two omens of death and justice heading straight for them, night turned into a shining white day. 

 Brighter, brighter.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter yelled. Low engine revs turned into deafening roars that wholly swallowed any screams that ripped from Kalis’ or Declan’s throats, right before a hand yanked off her feet, just barely heaved over the hood of the car and tumbling jarringonto the ground next to the man who had apparently saved them both as a giant mass of immoveable flashing red and blue and black and white metal screeched past them as it attempted to grind to a stuttering halt before flying into the ditch that sidelined the highway.

Kalis slammed into the ground.

The world spun around her.

Frida.

Frida.

Ow, FUCK–

What’s–

It was Frida!

She was saved!

Or wait, was Frida trying to kill her now?

Why had the bounty hunter saved her, were they on the same side now?

What was happening?!

The door of the cop car flew open before the car even fully screeched to a halt, and there she stood in all of her gorgeous, life-saving, terrified and anger-filled glory, pointing her gun over the top of her cop car right at the man in the cowboy hat sprawled dazed on the ground next to her.

“DECLAN CANSANO, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

* * * * * * * *

Next

Also linking this rq for anyone who didn't see bc I think I'm hilarious

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @lumpofsand

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees | @whumpwhittler | @thelazywitchphotographer

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[ddeongies]

quiet afternoon crush (ch 9) - anatomy of a hookup

ryeji college au, idiots in love, slow burn, fluff & smut, yeji falls first ryujin falls harder | word count: 41.6k/????

Ryujin draws all the while, barely aware of the charcoal on the page. All she can think about is pressing a kiss to the swell of Yeji's hip, tracing a finger across the corner of her jaw. She remembers how dark Yeji’s eyes were when she didn’t kiss her in her apartment almost three weeks ago. She remembers the sheer athleticism of that goal she scored at the semifinals and the way Yeji had found her in the crowd before being slammed into a group hug by her team. She remembers the quiet certainty with which Yeji had looked at her when they were sitting together in the common room, thighs pressed together, the private intimacy of the moment despite the fact that they were surrounded by her friends. Ryujin realizes that she’s not sure she’ll be able to shake the image of Yeji’s naked body from her mind. Realizes that it’s going to be near impossible to spend time with Yeji without itching to do something. She had been content to play a long game, to see if something could happen between them naturally. But after Snow Ball? After this? She’s not so sure that’ll work.  

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⚽️ Master Post

[acapelladitty]

Thinking about Whole Day Off today 🙈

[ssreeder]

Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar), others to be tagged later - Relationship Characters: Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Aang (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Jet (Avatar), Suki (Avatar), Kyoshi Warriors (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Jee (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar), Bato (Avatar), A bunch of OCs, Long Feng, Joo Dee (Avatar), Azula (Avatar), Mai (Avatar), Ty Lee (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar), General Fong (Avatar) Additional Tags: Violence, Blood and Injury, War, Minor Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Major Character Injury, Amputation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, possible major character death, themes similar to the first two books, Sexism, Racism (like has already been written in first two books), dark themes, Human Trafficking, Slavery, Just a lot of dark war-like themes, there will be a battle, Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Injury Recovery, Healing, Underage Sex, Underage Drinking, Animal Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Warnings each chapter, Hopefully some healing for Zuko finally, no promises, but that’s the goal, Reunions, hopefully a happy ending, Sokka gets some healing too, Non-Consensual Drug Use Series: Part 3 of Leaving It All Behind Summary:

-This is the last book of the series LIAB, please go read the other two books before this, or you will be very confused-

Zuko has been taken by the Earth Kingdom army to who-knows-where, and Sokka is determined to get him back.

But he can’t do it alone.

With Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors by his side, Sokka is headed to Ba Sing Se to find Katara and Aang so they can go rescue his fire bender.

Things aren’t as easy as he had hoped. Corruption, lies, and unknown horrors await them inside the city’s walls. None of this is helping Sokka’s mental well-being.

Hakoda and his men face a problem of their own as Azula approaches with the intentions of making it rain fire.

Sokka and Zuko will both find themselves having to reintegrate back into a life they thought they left behind, with people they hardly remember. It isn’t easy for anyone, especially when they don’t recognize the person standing in front of them.

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 21 - 4:00 AM

prev - chapter 1

"Hosah, what the fuck was that.." Shouting turned to confused muttering as the voice from behind him approached hurriedly, before stopping dead and asking, "What are you doing?"

It was a good thing the shifter hadn't opened the second bottle of beer, as he was intending to do, by the time Teddy got there. Instead of answering him, Hosah turned back, offering him the drink and a seat beside him whilst he was at it.

The pair sat in silence for a little while, neither of them necessarily being uncomfortable despite the obvious tension that practically radiated off of them like steam.

"I looked all over for you, you know. I've never ran that much in my life." Teddy tried to laugh, but he was too out of breath and frustrated to even push out a fake one.

To say it was a beautiful night would be an understatement. Despite it very nearly being November, the weather wasn't too bad at all. The air was still fairly warm, the cold breeze feeling much more like a refreshment than a nip at the tips of the shifter's fingers. He just wished the previous events of the day hadn't spoiled such a night. Hosah leant back on the bench, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment and quickly saying a prayer in his head before turning back to face the fire.

"I'm sorry."

Teddy shrugged, "It's okay. I needed the air."

"Not that. Well, that too, but, for everything. I'm a dickhead." The shifter put his elbows on his knees and began to pull at his hair with his head hanging low, something he'd realised he did a lot when he wasn't particularly feeling his best. "I don't know what to do. How to get better. You were right. I'll... I'll take your help, really this time."

"You don't need my help. You need your therapist's help. How come you've been lying to me about going?" The fact Hosah couldn't tell just what Teddy was thinking or feeling n through his voice alone was something that frightened him.

"... I don't know." Hosah lied, partially. He did know, he just wasn't sure how to phrase it without it sounding too pathetic and self-destructive.

The shifter kept his head forward, straight down in front of him, his palms sweating as he gripped the fabric of his pants, like they'd fall to pieces upon release. Another hand, fairly larger than his own, fell upon his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, before its owner spoke up;

"You don't have to give me a reason, just... What are you thinking? Or, feeling, if that's any easier." Teddy's voice was reassuring, although his addition just confused the shifter even more. "You can be completely transparent with me, I'm not gonna... Judge you, or lecture you, or give you any unsolicited advice. Unless you want me to."

Hosah didn't say anything for a short while, taking to pulling his hair as if that would make him think any harder.

"I don't want my body to change, I don't want my mind to change, I don't want my life to change, I don't want to get better." The silence that followed after his admission was another thing that frightened him.

Teddy sighed, loudly and dramatically, swatting Hosah's hands away from tugging at his hair before grabbing a tuft himself, pulling the shifter's head up from the shaking hands to look back over at him, "It'll be okay. I promise."

The grip Teddy had on the shifter's hair softened as he brushed it back and out of the direction of the wind, until he'd decided to just go for it, bringing his arms around the head and pressing it carefully against his shoulder.

"It's not easy, I understand that, I got a bit too emotional before, I could've been more patient with you, I know. It's gonna be okay though. You might be scared now, but it'll be worth it in time. You just... I wish I could give you all the time in the world. That I could just pause and make everything stop for a bit. I just need you to be honest with me from now on, even if it's just in little ways, I need to know if something is bothering you, you don't have to hide anything. I just wanna be there for you, help you, understand you, anything you need. That's what I wanna do."

The response was so perfect, it was almost robotic. That was a problem Teddy had to work on, actually. In his few hours of being completely isolated with his thoughts, he'd come to realise that Hosah had more or less been a problem for him to solve rather than a person for him to understand. Ridding him of all his issues was the main goal at hand, which is probably why it was so frustrating to watch the man do and say things that weren't as straightforward and reasonable as they seemed. He'd thought of all the ways to approach the subject, the words he'd use, how Hosah would theoretically respond if all was to go to plan. Planning your interactions out in your head before they happen usually isn't as helpful as it seems, but it was a habit Teddy had been doing subconsciously his entire life, even when he actively tried not to.

As he sat with the shifters head in both of his hands, playing with each strand of hair he could grasp onto in the moment, Teddy wished so desperately that he could just tear right into his brain and look at what went on inside of it. Swapping consciousness and memories with another person was something Teddy often prayed science would evolve to be able to do seamlessly, although he'd probably take the risk of a few scratches and bumps just to experience what someone else's mind was like, even if it was just for a moment, so he could take that knowledge back to his own body and keep it in mind for every interaction he'd further have with the person at hand.

"It's just frustrating when you try cover up what you're actually thinking and feeling with jokes. I want to understand you better, that's all." Teddy brushed his hands through the hair as he spoke, continuing to ramble without letting the shifter get a word in just yet.

He felt a little bit hypocritical lecturing Hosah like this, as if he himself had been all that honest about his own thoughts and feelings about everything either, but he could face the consequences for that later. Right now, what was most important was getting the shifter to understand how desperately he needed his cooperation.

Teddy had always wanted to fix people. It was the entire reason he studied psychology in the first place, the original plan being to become a therapist and give people straightforward solutions for their straightforward problems. During his time in college, however, was when he learnt how not at all straightforward most problems were, especially in regards to one's mental and psychological state. He didn't understand why Hosah didn't eat, it was obvious that the act in itself was self destructive, but he didn't push for an answer to this question, despite how badly he wanted to.

The handfuls of hair Teddy once was able to brush his hands through became less and less in the passing seconds, as did the weight of the shifter leaning against him, until a single hand could cradle his entire body in the spot just his head once sat. Knowing Hosah felt safe enough to shrink at will around him sent an excited rush through Teddy's body every time, one that made him feel incredibly heavy with guilt as he'd end up making the comparison between himself and the likes of Arthur Emily. The last thing Teddy wanted to do was to make the shifter feel like he was taking pleasure in their power dynamic.

"I don't know how else I'm supposed to open up to you, to be vulnerable with you." Hosah finally spoke, struggling against the fabric of the giant's coat until he'd been adjusted to sitting in an open palm in-front of Teddy's face."Just ask me what you want to know and I'll tell you. But you're gonna have to do the same for me."

Teddy thought for a moment as his eyes scanned over the shifters body. He desperately didn't want to admit of his own fear of opening up, of his past experiences defining what Hosah thought of him, he wasn't the person he was when he was a child, in fact, he wasn't the person he was the day before he'd met the shifter. The Teddy that Hosah knew was a perfectly planned, cherry-picked idealised version of himself. He was happy being Teddy, and not Edward.

The giant's gaze lowered back down to his shoes, the same pair Hosah had used to stand on a little over a week ago whilst they danced in the streets. The memory itself brought a soft smile to Teddy's face.

"Okay, deal." Teddy sighed, bringing his other hand forward to graze his fingertips across the surface of the shifter's impossibly small head. As almost perverted as it made him feel, he'd probably never get over how euphoric it felt to hold an entire person in the centre of his palm like this. "My first question, what do you think we should do about that thread of posts?"

-~-

As much as it pained him, Hosah didn't know anyone else quite as knowledgeable on computers as the security guard. The shifter stood by the keyboard as the pair of giants looked back over the posts, his eyes squinting suspiciously at the individual sitting in front of him, Scotty.

"Isn't there a way to see where the computer it was posted from is?" Hosah walked over towards the mouse, where Scotty's hand rested,  staring up at his own reflection in the glare of his glasses as he spoke.

"Mm, usually there would be, but there's no way this guy isn't taking precautions to avoid that. You know what a VPN is? That's like, the bare minimum to protecting your privacy on the internet. I highly doubt that even if we could get an IP, that it'd be accurate." Whenever Scotty was actually speaking seriously about something he was interested in rather than trying to be funny in his weird, semi-offensive way, he wasn't actually so bad to be around. "Besides, this websites whole gist is anonymity, best thing I'd recommend you do is make an account yourself and try get into contact, go undercover and shit. Don't even know if this is the guy yet anyway."

"Right." The gritting of Teddy's teeth could be heard in his voice, the shifter had never seen such a bitter expression on his face.

Hosah looked between the two, Scotty sitting at the desk in front of him, and Teddy standing, leaning over to see from behind the chair. He didn't think there'd ever be a day where the security guard would be wilfully allowed into their apartment, but here he was, right in front of him. The shifter looked over Scotty with wary eyes, hesitantly examining his form with tense shoulders, as if he were prepared to run away, if it were to come to it. He watched for sudden movements, for him to jump out and grab at him, but alas, he was too transfixed on Teddy's internet discovery to really take any notice of him. Teddy himself, however, was taking great notice of him.

Ever since they'd argued a few days back, Teddy had been on edge. He'd find himself holding onto the shifter too tight, grabbing him too suddenly, keeping ahold of him even when he'd ask to be let go. It wasn't on purpose, of course, and he felt guilty for it every time, but lately, he'd found his mind had become so cloudy, that he couldn't quite hear the noise outside of his own thoughts. They were loud, and they were daunting. Ones that told him Hosah would fade into thin air if he'd let go, that he'd run away again, that if he didn't grab the shifter, someone else would, and there'd be no chance of getting him back. Teddy had never thought of himself to be a jealous person, but being so far away from the shifter, watching as Scotty pressed his fingers against his shrunken stature to shoo him away from the mouse so he could continue reading the text post... It was driving him crazy.

He'd found the words repeating over and over again in his head, that the person behind the letters, maybe even the posts, didn't know what they'd do with, who he'd presumed to be, Hosah- just that they wouldn't hold back. Teddy gripped the chair he leant against just a little tighter, his hands itching to reach out and hold the shifter, to never let him go, just incase anything were to happen to him. It wasn't the first time he'd felt so overwhelmingly overprotective, and he still felt the crushing weight of his guilt for his altercation with Jeanne after what he'd told the shifter regarding the state of the bodies. It made his skin crawl. Teddy wouldn't call himself a violent person, per se, at least not anymore,

"Careful." Teddy muttered, mostly to himself, as he watched the shifter stumble back from the push.

Scotty just laughed, an aggravating scoff that tightened the knot in Teddy's brow, "Relax. He's fine- You're fine, aren't you, Hosah?" He didn't even bother to glance over the shifter as he started to speak again, "Anyway, there's still radio silence from the police about getting that gun back to you. I mean, I'm no expert, but it's been like, a month, hasn't it? Can't take that long to check for any DNA traces. And they've just left you defenceless too."

The fact brought a grimace to Teddy's face. Hosah could answer for himself. Not that the, lack of, police's cooperation wasn't concerning too, of course, but Teddy just couldn't focus on that. He wasn't quite sure what to think at all. One thing that did cross his mind, however, was the proposal Hosah had made to him weeks and weeks back. It felt like years ago, and that is should've been around now that they'd be sitting on their porch reminiscing on these times. He wished to be able to give the shifter what he wanted, his cabin by the lake, firewood for the evening, a fish hand-caught to share for dinner, and most importantly, a clear sky at night, where all the stars would be visible. He couldn't believe Hosah was fine, until he himself could give all of that to him. There'd be no one else surrounding them, no one to fear, to worry about, just the two of them.

"Say.." Scotty began, pushing the wooden chair back and making a horrible squeaking, scraping sound against the floor as he did so, "Have you been back to check the apartment lately?"

It was only a matter of time before the security guard had convinced both Hosah and Teddy that they should absolutely go with him to check for any new notes. It wasn't like the shifter was particularly complaining, as he had been itching to return for a while now, his morbid curiosity lingering in the back of his mind, just waiting to get the better of him. Fear wasn't necessarily how he felt towards the situation, in fact, he was rather conflicted on the topic. He couldn't quite word exactly what it was that rushed through him whenever he was reminded of it, of them. Excitement wasn't quite right, it was more of a sort of guilty pleasure sort of thing. Despite the shame, there was a part of him that desperately waited and longed for more to happen, like in the build up before a jump-scare in one of those shitty horror movies similar to the one Teddy endured with him in the theatre, it kept him on his toes, anxious, preparing himself for something more to come, for something to reach out and get him. He'd almost come to accept it by now, that he was just waiting for the end.

"I don't think this is such a good idea." The voice vibrated against Hosah's back as he hung out of the pocket of whom it belonged to. That was one of the better parts about being tiny, all kinds of physical stimulants are amplified by a hundred, and the shifter had always quite enjoyed sensory overloads.

The pair sat in the back seat despite the fact the passenger seat of Scotty's dusty old car was vacant. Frost had began to settle on the windshield the night before, meaning it was far too cold to drive with the windows down, which was a huge shame given the fact that the hanging air freshener was much more intoxicating than pleasantly fresh. It was best to sit as far away from it as possible to avoid any kind of car sickness.

"What other choice do we have?" Scotty said with a smile on his face. The plan was to drive back to his house so he could 'prepare' , whatever that meant, and then they'd head to the complex and check briefly for anything of substance. A quick job, one the security guard would take an hour, that and a half at the absolute maximum. Hosah didn't quite know what he meant by 'we', as this case had absolutely nothing to do with him at all.

Teddy spoke quietly, seemingly being much more focused on the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the car door, "Wouldn't waiting for the police to do a search be.. I don't know, safer? I already feel stupid for going the first time, going back a second just feels like we're pushing our luck."

"Don't.. Don't be a fuckin' pussy, man. Jesus." Scotty's attitude was a perfect confirmation that this was, in fact, a terrible idea.

The drive had been rather pointless after all, as it seemed fate, or maybe the lord, was on Teddy's side after all. The whole city was chockablock. Total gridlock. Scotty turned the radio up to louder than it needed be, grumbling all the while. "God dammit. This fucking city-"

A familiar voice echoed through the static. Ah, the pairs favourite radio personality. Arthur Emily was like a mould. No matter how many times you'd scrape him up, he'd reappear sooner than the last time.

Something held the city on standby, shooting for a new advertisement for some already sold out show. Using shifters that could grow rather than shrink only really went two ways, you either became a model or some other sub-category of celebrity, or you went and you fought for your country. There was no in between. A new experience, completely fool proof, stadiums that would fit almost a million people, all with great views as the performers were as big as buildings. People were honking from every direction as hi-vis wearing work men came by and personally spoke to every driver. Well shit. Talk about divine intervention. Praise the lord, Teddy thought as he stepped out of the car, much to the security guards dislike as he protested loudly. He followed the crowd that stood by the fenced off part of the city.

Weaving through the sea of stagnant cars, Teddy made it up close to whatever was going on. Sure enough, there he was. A giant. A real, actual giant, not like himself around Hosah, who had long been asleep as car rides in pockets usually did to him. He wasn't actually quite sure what he was doing standing there. There wasn't much of anything to really see. Instead of gawking at the giant, who turned every now and then to give out waves and smiles to the growing audience, he thought about Hosah. He thought about how everyone around him was in the same position as the singular person they stared at. That they were in that position every day of their lives, they just didn't care to take notice. Being giant was nothing spectacular, really.

"The fuck are you doing?" Scotty came to rest a hand upon his shoulder to heave for a moment.

Teddy didn't really know the answer himself, "Aren't you supposed to be paying attention to the road?"

"Nah, we're not gonna be moving for a long time. Everyone else has gotten out anyway." He spoke, still out of breath despite it not having been a very far distance to run, "Not much to see, huh."

"I don't get it." Teddy brought a hand up to his chest pocket, hovering hesitantly around it as to not wake the shifter, despite the fact he was quite the deep sleeper. "I mean, we do this every day. It's just... Perspective."

Scotty hummed, taking off his glasses to look up at the spectacle himself, "You know what I don't get? Shutting down the whole fucking city for this bullshit. They never heard of green screens? I mean, come on. Some gayass band's got a shifter, who gives a shit?"

"Thank you, Scotty, I think.. I'm gonna try walk back up to the office."

"That's like- three miles away, Edward??"

Teddy didn't really listen as he pushed his way back and out of the crowd, "I'll see you soon."

He hoped he wouldn't.

Teddy walked his way backwards in the direction they drove from. The line of cars all waiting to get to where they needed to be wrapped around the labyrinth of perfect squares that was the city layout. He wasn't sure what he was doing, what he was thinking, what was even going on, he just needed to get away. Away from Hosah's old apartment, away from the crowd, away from the prospect of something being there, waiting for them. Frankly, he was terrified. He couldn't take Hosah back there.

"Hey... cmon, wake up." He whispered, nudging the bottom of his pocket, waiting for movement. He needed everything to stop, for Hosah, for the world to come to a halt for a month or two. The shifter really didn't ask for much, not for anything at all, but Teddy still needed to give it to him, if he specifically wanted it or not.

Teddy had an idea. He needed to speak to someone. Not Jules, not yet. There was only one person who he knew for a fact would know how to go about it all.

He needed to get both himself, and especially Hosah, off of the case.

The shifter rustled in his pocket, "Mm, Where are we..? God- stop, stop letting me fall asleep here. My back, shit."

"I know, I know." Teddy instinctively went to pet the shifter through the fabric, before ultimately deciding that was probably too weird, even for him. "... Hey, I'm gonna... Let's go back to the office. Talk to Jeanne about that thing- about making an account and talking to the guy through that, the inside job."

"What. Jeanne doesn't know shit about the internet." Hosah hauled himself up so his upper half dangled out of the pocket.

"Not like that. Just, his opinion. We'd probably get into some kind of trouble if we didn't consult anyone about it before hand."

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Teddy managed to speed-walk a mile to the nearest subway station in ten minutes, give or take. He didn't stop to listen to whatever Hosah was trying to talk to him about, he just needed to get them off the case.

He knew Hosah was strong, he was capable, he could do it all and more all at once, but he couldn't let him. There was something inherently terrifying about knowing someone wouldn't stop at anything to reach, to hurt someone you loved, but what scared Teddy even more was the fact that there was something right in front of him that actively destroyed Hosah from the inside out.

As the shifter sat, essentially talking to himself out of the fabric of his coat, Teddy was reminded of the farm. He was ten years old, and there was nothing better to do than tend to the cats. Hosah reminded him a lot of that time, of how hard he tried to save every single one of them. His grandparents didn’t care what the animals got up to, as long as there were no mice, whether a few kittens survived or died wasn’t their problem. It was around then when Teddy stopped sleeping all together. He’d sneak out of the house and run all the way to the barn with a milk replacer he’d come to perfect. Condensed milk, water, plain yogurt, and egg yolks, heated up to around a hundred Fahrenheit. There was always one specific kitten that always came to mind when he reminisced on these days, one that refused to drink, Teddy tried all he could just to get her to accept the help, she wouldn’t survive the night without it. It confused him so much that he ran all the way back to the farmhouse to get his sister, and only then did the kitten actually cooperate.

He wondered if that would be all it’d take to nurse Hosah back to peak health. Maybe, it wasn’t the help the shifter didn’t want specifically, it was just the help from him, from Teddy. Jeanne would know what to do.

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part V

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 3,703

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part five of seven. Takes place sometime around/between/during seasons one and two.

The series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden; @vi-er

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

—————————————————————————————————

The Spider turned him round about and went into his den

For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;

So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly

And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly

It’s been a long few days. You’ve switched to the opening shift so your afternoons and evenings are free, and you stayed up until midnight two days in a row getting all of your coursework done for the next two weeks. You know you’re going to need as much time as you can get if you want to accomplish this. 

And thus the stalking began. You now know where Leland lives, which is fitting because he knows where you live, too. You also know that he attends church rather frequently, though you can’t for the life of you imagine why. There’s no way in hell he’s a religious person, not with the things he’s said to you. There’s something else going on, and you decide you’re going to find out what.

You’re waiting outside for him to leave, if only so you can be certain that he’s not about to walk in while you try and glean his real motives. You’ll wait as long as it takes, your favorite coffee in hand. It’s warm outside, but it’s evening, and there’s a nice wind that’s breezing pass you every now and then, winding between the buildings and bringing the scents of pizza, hot dogs, sewage, and people. The scents of New York.

Ah! You see him. Leland steps out of the church and pauses for a moment. You can’t see his facial expression from here, but you’d bet almost anything that it’s a smirk or a sneer. He shakes his head in what appears to be glee from a distance as he goes down the stairs and makes a right at the sidewalk. You watch him disappear into the city and count to twenty before you leap up from your bench and rush to the church. You take the steps two at a time in your haste—you want to make sure he doesn’t double back and find you here. The sooner you’re inside, with those ornate doors closed behind you, the better.

You are now in the sanctuary of the church. It’s big and ostentatious, but there’s something about it that reassures you. You can be safe here. Leland can’t get you here.

It’s not true, of course, but it’s nice to feel the illusion of safety, even if you keep your eyes and ears alert as you walk down the aisle way to the front altar. Your eyes make note of anything interesting, which…is simultaneously a lot and very little. The interior of the church is beautiful, but there’s absolutely nothing here that screams Leland Townsend at you, nor is there anything that seems worthy of his attention.

So why the hell does he keep coming here?

You sit in a pew and prop your elbows up on the wooden pew ahead of you as you purse your lips in thought. What does Leland want? you wonder. There’s no way he’s here for God. So then…what?

“Can I help you?” a deep voice asks from your left.

You jump in your seat, your pulse racing. It’s not Leland’s voice, which is comforting, but the fact that he’s got you so paranoid is infuriating. You twist to see the speaker. It’s a tall man with dark skin and a bit of a beard. He doesn’t have on a clergy outfit—just a navy zippered sweater (that looks extremely cozy) over a nice button-up and jeans. He does wear a cross rosary, though, and his entire demeanor radiates peace.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a small smile. 

You immediately like him. “It’s fine,” you reply with a flippant wave of your hands. “That’s what I get for watching too many scary movies, I guess.”

He chuckles and indicates the pew you’re sitting in. “May I?”

You nod, and he takes a seat next to you, though you notice there’s room between you. Another green flag—he’s not trying to get all up in your business; he’s keeping a respectful distance. “Are you a priest here?”

He gives a casual shrug. “I’m working on it.”

“Ah.” You look away from him, back to the front of the church. You’re not sure what to say, so you say the first thing that pops into your head. “It’s peaceful here.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You turn back to him as he extends a hand. “My name is David Acosta.”

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N),” you reply as you accept his hand. He gives it a firm shake, a friendly one, before releasing your hand. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Are you new?”

You shake your head with a snort. “Not really. I was, uh, just looking for someone, I guess.” Would David know who Leland is? He’s not a priest, but he seems to be knowledgeable about this place. He noticed I’m not familiar, which means he must recognize familiar faces, right? 

David shrugs. “Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help. I work here,” he adds by way of explanation.

You decide to chance it. “Uhhh, Leland Townsend?”

David stills, and his eyes narrow, though it’s not so much accusatory as it is curious. “Why are you looking for Leland Townsend?” he asks, not unkindly, but there’s an edge there.

You turn so that your whole body is facing him, your legs half on the pew, half dangling off. “You know him?”

David gives you a slow nod, his lips pressed together into a thin line. The edge has spread to his eyes, but to his credit, he’s still looking at you with warmth. “You could say that,” he murmurs. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my therapist,” you grumble, and David’s eyes narrow even further. Now he’s giving you a suspicious look. “Or at least, he insists that he is.”

“You feel otherwise?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I fucking hate the guy,” you hiss. Your eyes widen as you realize what you just said. “Oh, wait! Sorry. Probably shouldn’t say ‘fucking’ in church. Oh, shit, I did it again!” You put your hand to your mouth. “Sorry. He just—I just—he’s so awful,” you finally grit out. “He won’t leave me alone and I’ve been trying to figure out why and so I followed him here and waited for him to leave and—,” 

David holds up a hand to stop you, the hardness in his gaze gone. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else,” he says in a low voice. You watch him rise and motion for you to follow him, which you do. 

You hadn’t meant to blurt all of that out, but you’re just so fucking done with the situation, and judging by the way David is reacting to the mention of Leland’s name, he knows full well who your stupid therapist is and how shitty of a guy he is. 

He leads you to a more private conference room. You take a seat at the long table in the center while David closes the doors. When he’s done, he sits down across from you and gives you a look of concern. “I’d like to know exactly what you know about Leland Townsend, if you don’t mind telling me,” he says. “How do you know him?”

You suck in a deep breath before launching into the whole shitstorm that’s been your life over the last few weeks. You try to censor yourself, not wanting to curse in front of a priest-in-training, but a few choice words slip out, more often when you arrive at the end of your tale. You’re too wrapped up in your anger to think about the words you’re using, and honestly? David doesn’t seem to care.

“And he threatened Betty again, and I’m just so fucking done with it, so I said, ‘Ya know what? Fuck it!’ And started following him everywhere because it’s not fair that he knows everything about me when I know nothing about him, and he keeps coming here—which makes no fucking sense ‘cause I seriously doubt that asshole is religious at all—so I came here to see if I could figure anything else out, but I don’t even know where the hell to start. All I know is that I’m done with it. I want him and his stupid pretty blue eyes out of my life.” You’re breathing heavily. Your chest rises up and down as you gulp in air, your heartbeat racing in your ears, but there’s something relieving about sharing all of this with someone else, even if he’s all but a complete stranger. A weight has been taken off. It’s not all the way gone, no, but it feels bearable now. You’re no longer alone.

David has listened patiently the whole time, asking a prodding question here or there to help you find more details, but otherwise, he’s sat there, his hands folded, his chin resting on top of his hands. When you’re done, he gives you a warm smile, and that smile breaks you. You feel a few hot tears slip out and swipe at them. “Sorry,” you mutter as your cheeks heat up. “Don’t mean to cry.”

There’s no judgement in his face, only understanding. “It’s okay. Leland has an ability to get under people’s skin, and you’re not the only one.” You sniffle. “You won’t be the last, either. But…” he hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should be telling you this.

“What?”

“You are the first person I’ve heard of who’s tried to get away from him. From what I know, most of his patients seem to…” he drifts off again.

You can fill in the blanks yourself. “Buy into his bullshit about human darkness and violence and stuff?”

David laughs. “Yeah.”

You chuckle. Something about that feels reassuring. “Well, maybe that’s why he keeps harassing me and threatening me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you?”

You raise an eyebrow as David leans back. “Why don’t I what?”

“Why don’t you buy into his…methods?” he clarifies.

You think for a moment. You don’t really have an answer, other than you’re not an idiot and you’re not power hungry. Sure, it’s fun to torment Betty’s boys, and you’ve gone on a power trip or two with your own exes, but you don’t want to do it all the time. You love the thrill of discovering what scares a person, but you have other things you enjoy, too, like your creative writing. “I dunno,” you admit sheepishly. “I just…don’t.”

David gives you a gentle smile as he pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. “Is it alright if I make a phone call?”

It’s sweet of him to ask you for permission, even though he doesn’t need to. It’s so different from how Leland treats you, all sneers and aggression and slamming you against walls and blood—oops, now you’re picturing him with the blood again and this is not the time or place for that.

You’re in church. You will not be thinking about the attractive psychopath that’s constantly terrorizing you. You will not think about the gleam in his eyes as he rips you to pieces with his words, slices you apart in the hopes that you’ll lash out at him.

You will definitely not think about the dreams you’ve been having with him lately. The dreams where you two are fighting for dominance in the kitchen, you with a knife, him laughing every time you swipe at him. The dreams that end in blood and clothes on the floor, in bites and snarls and moans.

You are in church, for fuck’s sake. 

So why the fuck are you still thinking about it? Your cheeks are flushed, and you exhale in a pant. David has left the room, presumably to make his phone call, so at least he’s not here to witness you. 

You glance around the room in an attempt to distract yourself from thoughts of Leland. There’s a massive window that takes up the whole wall at the opposite end of the room from the door, a crucifix dangling on the wall, and another set of wooden doors behind you. Above you, the room raises to a point—very church-like. Ornate lanterns dangle down, lit up with soft warm glows. You smile at them before rising to go to the window. It’s still daylight, but the sun will be setting soon. You can see people walking down the street in front of the church—a woman with her dog, a man getting out of a car on his phone, a woman pushing a stroller with a toddler sitting in it, both of them licking ice cream cones. You smile at the sight and think that maybe you’ll get yourself an ice cream when this is over. You deserve a sweet treat of some sort, at least. 

And maybe more canned margaritas. You can’t go wrong with more margaritas.

A dark shadow catches your eye at the end of the street. It’s a dark figure stepping into an alley, but before it steps out of your line of sight, it turns and you swear it’s looking towards you. Then it’s gone, and you rub your eyes. 

“I need more sleep,” you mutter to yourself.

You linger at the window for a while longer, allowing your people-watching to distract you. By the time David returns, though, you’re back in your chair. He grins at you. “I have someone I think you should meet,” he tells you as he pulls out his own chair and sits in it.

You cock your head at him, curious. 

“Her name is Kristen, and she’s had several…incidents with Leland as well. But, like you, she’s managed to come out unscathed, and I think that she can help you deal with him.”

You feel your own face split into a grin. “Alrighty then,” you say, “let’s meet her.”

Less than a half-hour later, Kristen is sitting in front of you alongside David. You instantly like her, but in a different way than you do David. Whereas he feels safe and comfortable, Kristen feels like she’s strong, someone who doesn’t take shit from people. She gives you kind smiles as she asks you questions about your interactions with Leland, and you hold nothing back, not even Samantha’s suicide, a detail you hadn’t shared with David.

Neither of them offer any judgement on you for what you’ve done, and it’s nice, even though you still feel no guilt over it. It’s like sharing this secret part of yourself is lifting Leland’s hand from you, and you suddenly realize that he’s been using that knowledge to keep you under his thrall. By sharing it openly with these two strangers (can you really call them strangers, though?), you’re loosening the noose he’s tightened around you. 

Your spirit lifts a little higher. You can beat him. You can outsmart him.

And then, there’s the cherry on top.

“Leland Townsend is not his real name,” Kristen explains. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, not unlike the light you’ve seen in Leland’s every now and then.

“What’s his real name, then?” you ask. “I’ve tried digging into him and found literally nothing.”

There’s a wry smile on her face as she spills Leland’s darkest secrets—who he really is. The entire time, you’re paying rapt attention, memorizing everything that comes out of her mouth. She tells you the sad tale of Jake Perry, the awkward boy from Des Moines, Iowa who has had two failed marriages and is pretending to make pacts with demons to reinvent himself. You could kiss her in thanks with how much material she gives you on him, and honestly, you’re considering it because it’s just so good. This is what you’ve been missing, the puzzle pieces that will allow you to kick him to the curb once and for all. 

Kristen escorts you out of the church when all is said and done. “Are you okay?” she asks, giving you a concerned look.

You look up at the sky, pink and purple clouds rolling in with the night. “I am now,” you reply as you inhale deeply.

“Are you sure?”

You look at Kristen. “Why?”

She gives you a small smile. “Because I know what it’s like to have him in your head, (Y/N).”

You put your hands in your pockets. “Did he ever come to your house?”

She nods. “Yes. Once. He came out of it with stitches and hasn’t come back since.”

Your admiration for her grows. “That’s badass.” You frown as you remember that he seems to like that kind of thing. “But I’m pretty sure he’s into that.”

Kristen makes a face. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is,” she agrees. “But he’s never shown up there again.”

“Are you saying I just need to stab him and kick him out?”

She laughs at that. “No, no. Not at all. But…” she glances behind you at the towering church, “if you feel threatened...” she trails off as she returns her gaze to you. “You know what? I want you to call me if he shows up again.” She hands you her phone. “Please.”

You take the phone from her and put your number in. You also add your address. Kristen doesn’t seem like the type of person to abuse this information in any way—and it does make you feel better knowing that you have a warrior on your side. When she receives her phone back, she sends you a message with her name so you have her number, which you promptly save. 

The two of you descend down the steps together. “Kristen?” you ask before she gets in her car. 

She looks at you, her short hair tossing in the breeze. “Yeah?”

“Am I—should I be worried about him?” You hate how small your voice suddenly is, how fragile. You’d vowed to not let him make you feel this way, but now that you have people helping you, people who understand, you’re finally allowing yourself to feel a little scared. Leland scares you, dammit. He’s unpredictable in so many ways, he’s aggressive, and you’re all alone in your little rental place. 

Kristen tilts her head at you, her eyes soft with—pity? concern? You’re not quite sure what. Then she walks back up to you and puts her hand on your shoulder. She gives it a gentle squeeze, and the sensation almost brings tears to your eyes again.

David had mentioned that she was the mother of four little girls. Maybe she was just going into mom-mode. Or maybe she senses that you need someone else to talk to about this, someone who understands.

Whatever the case, you accept her reassurance.

“He’s just a sad, pathetic old man who likes to make himself feel big by threatening people. He’s all talk and no bark,” she tells you.

You wish you could believe her. “He’s hurt me, though,” you reply, your voice still sounding small, insignificant, puny.

“Hit him back harder,” she replies. “Kick him in the dick, get away from him, and call me the second you see him lurking around your house again. I’ll come over and we’ll deal with him together.”

You hate that your eyes are still watering, but God, this feels so good. Kristen pulls back and fixes her dark eyes on you. “Do you want to come over to my place tonight? I can drive you to your house and you can pack up some stuff.”

You’re so, so close to saying yes. You’re lonely without Betty, who won’t be back for a few more weeks. But at the same time, you don’t want Leland to take your home from you. You’ll lock the doors, barricade them, and sleep with a steak knife under your pillow, but dammit, you’re not letting him scare you out of your home.

“No,” you say, and at least now your voice is stronger. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.” You give Kristen a weak smile.

It’s clear that she doesn’t believe you, but she gives you a nod. “Let me take you home, at the very least,” she offers, and you accept. 

Waving goodbye to her when she drops you off is hard, but you genuinely appreciate that she comes in to inspect your place with you and make sure Leland isn’t lurking around. She doesn’t judge your mess of homework that’s been scattered across the kitchen table, nor does she comment on the amount of canned booze that litters your trash can. If anything, the sight makes her chuckle and tell you that she drinks the same thing, which gives you a little more hope. If she can chase Leland away and she drinks canned margaritas, then dammit, so can you!

When she leaves, you do exactly as you said you would. You lock every door and window and barricade them. You’re not taking any chances that Leland will break in tonight, even if he can’t possibly have any reason to do so. When you’re done, you grab a can from the fridge and sit on the couch. You pull up your favorite music streaming channel and put the playlist on shuffle. Almost immediately, ‘Vigilante’ by Taylor Swift starts. Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man…

You listen to to the words, let them soak into your brain along with everything Kristen and David have told you tonight. By the time the song ends, you’re ready—ready to set a trap to snare the fly known as Jake Perry. After all, don’t get sad, get even is a fantastic motto to have.

Then he came out to his door again and merrily did sing,

“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing!

Your robes are green and purple—there’s a crest upon your head,

Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!”

Part Six

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

ABYS has finally hit this verrry important milestone!

The 100,000th word I wrote for this fic was 'brother' which is very fitting

Cheers and I hope I get this next chapter out soon!

[z-eusie]

for the good of all, chapter 6: strike true.

Gaia threatened to raise the giants once more. The Olympians, in their panic, have been preparing for a secondary gigantomachy. But when a new threat lurks on the horizon, the Olympians are faced with a difficult choice; trust in their enemies, or risk the destruction of the world as they know it? Chapter Summary: Olympus dissolves into more chaos, and the battle grows more desperate.

trigger warnings: lots of violence and gore. POV: aphrodite, hermes, hades, & athena.

[dialux]

run, godspeed

Sansa reaches out and runs a hand through his red curls, soft and forgiving, and she nods. “The King’s work will be done,” she whispers into his ear, and then she grips him tighter and kisses him on the forehead, hard and stamping: a wolf’s kiss. [Joffrey decides to teach Sansa Stark a lesson in gratitude. Sansa learns something else altogether.]

READ THE SECOND CHAPTER ON AO3!

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

me: oh alright the roommates series has been updated don’t mind if i yes

me: omg simon has to leave???

me: awwww they said ily—and they’re fucking again go off

me: damn he’s gone :( girl get outta the house stop being a hermit

me: alright nothing can possibly go wrong—

“…when a black SUV caught your attention.”

me:

It’s always a black SUV

[entomolog-t]

For the story shadows we cast, (its one of my favorite g/t stories of ever read) what's the little dudes name? I forgot, my sincerest apologies.

AHH! I'm so so flattered you like it! I have so much planned for their story! Once I get a little farther in Bite Me I plan to start posting The Shadow we Cast weekly 🫡

The lil dude's name is Sal💖

[alrightbuckaroo]

Dialogue Day

Thanks so much for the tag, @carlos-in-glasses! I love this idea so much <3

I've decided to share some of my favorite dialogue from my most recent chapter of my ongoing published fic, come and take a walk on the wild side. A story in which TK's dating a rich prick and Carlos, unknowingly, starts to show TK that he deserves better.

------

TK is silent for a second. “You don’t need to apologize; I’m the one who took it wrong.” TK mumbles, feeling embarrassed.

“No,” Carlos says the word like it’s a declaration; not to be argued with. “I said something that hurt you. Even if I didn’t mean it, that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Your feelings are valid, TK. Don’t let anyone tell you they aren’t.”

TK looks at Carlos like he had been waiting for someone to say that to him his whole life. Carlos stares back, giving TK the room to speak. TK nods weakly, “Okay.” He moves the words around his mouth before saying them.

“I don’t know, it’s just sometimes, I can’t tell if it’s his dad he hates, or if it’s the idea of loving me.” TK laughs before picking up a cold fry. He douses it in ketchup before eating it. “It doesn’t help that I love the idea of being loved so much.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Carlos interjects. “wanting to be loved. It’s all about where you find it, that’s the hard part.”

“You’re telling me.” TK rolls his eyes before eating another fry douses in ketchup. Carlos chuckles to himself, before pointing next to his mouth. “You’ve got a little, yeah.”

TK grabs a napkin and begins to blot at his face, hoping to clear it of any ketchup. Carlos watches him miss, “No, it’s, here just let me.” Carlos grabs a napkin and leans over the table. He wipes at the ketchup, smiling at TK. TK smiles back; and for a brief moment, he wants to do something so demonstrably stupid.

------

no pressure tagging: @reyesstrand, @strandnreyes, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @basilsunrise, @three-drink-amy, @chaotictarlos, @heartstringsduet, @sanjuwrites, @lightningboltreader and anyone else who wants to join in (tag me back, i want to read!)

[triptychgardener]

YOU. YOURE THE ONE THATS GOT ME STUCK IN A SPIRALING HOLE OF EARLY JUNE AND I CANT GET OUT OH MY GOD ITS SO GOOD

Heeheehee got another one >:3c