#only hinged cannibals allowed

[asleepinawell]

after playing some of sunless sea every time i sail to hunters keep or mutton island in fallen london i'm always mildly bemused by how not overrun by unhinged cannibals they seem

[phantomposting]

More Ghoulish Laughter Au speculations! This au has truly infested my brain. You can find the original prompt here!

TW: CANNIBALISM, STARVATION, ABUSE

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Thinking about it more I think Bruce would definetly deem Danny/Ghoul too big of a risk. He would also probably want Danny to pay for all the lives he had taken since Bruce's strict moral code usually isn't too lenient to those whom take the lives of others.

So I imagine Bruce has Danny put into Arkham to serve his time and hopefully get psychological help in the process so he can hopefully eventually live a normal life after what Joker had made him do. This hinges on Bruce still assuming Danny's cannibalistic tendencies are something the Joker had forced him into psychologically.

He definitely doesn't realize it's a physical issues with his ghost side and not just some well ingrained psychological manipulation. Nobody does really. Danny's the only one truly aware it's a biological problem.

Damian is absolutely pissed his father would abandon his brother like that. Sure it had been a few years since they've really talked or been around eachother but he knows his brother. He would not do such things unless forced. Danyal was always soft that's what initially got him killed in the end.

He was warm and kind and always covered for Damian. He had never been suited to be a killer his guilt was far too great. He had even let Damian take his life the day grandfather had ordered them to fight to the death. Danyal just wasn't that kind of guy and he certainly wasn't strong enough to survive whatever arkham would throw at him fully intact.

Damian understood his father's views and worries but he knew Danyal far better than anyone else in this city, and he knew his brother didn't deserve such abandonment. Not from father or anyone else.

This causes frequent fights between Bruce and Damian aswell as Damian distancing himself a bit from Bruce. Damian is determined to help Danyal with or without the others assistance. So he frequently visits Danyal in arkham trying to uncover the root cause of these cannibalistic developments and help Danyal work pass them. Though he may not be the most qualified for the role he certainly isn't giving up on him as father has.

Yes Danny is in arkham he's convinced himself it's the safest option for everyone. They aren't equipped for his ghost powers tho and he can absolutely easily escape. However he decides to let them try to help him knowing he can't get past this alone.

Arkham is cruel however. They keep a shock collar on him to taze him if he seems to become aggressive. They ignore his pleas that the issue isn't psychological and that he genuinely can't eat regular food. They refuse to give him any human meat. They starve him in the hopes it'll force him to work past whatever mental barrier is not allowing him to eat presenting him with regular food at every meal time.

Danny tries. He tries so hard to just eat it and force himself to be normal. Damian begins to take notice of this. Of how sick it makes him. Of how starved his brother is. Why will nobody listen to him it's clear his pleas are based upon experience. He however cannot successfully convince anyone before there's an incident.

Danny kills and eats a guard. They're all helpless to stop him due to his unknown ghostly abilities. The man cut himself tinkering with something and the world went blank as soon and Danny could smell the blood.

Afterwards seeing the incident Danny panics. He convinces himself he is too much of a danger to even be in arkham. He convinces himself he cannot be helped, and he runs. The farther he goes the less of a risk he is to anyone. He just needs to go somewhere nobody else is.

Damian hears of the incident and hears of the breakout. The bats are on high alert they need to track this kid down before he hurts anyone else. Damian needs to track him down before the bats so he can find some way to help Danyal how to figure out how to reverse whatever had been physically done to him to make him this way. If not him than nobody else will.

So Damian fights against the bats and time to try and locate his brother to help him before anyone else can get hurt.

Wether they actually succeed is again up to the writer if anyone picks this up :3c

[fraugwinska]

Chapter 21 - Breakthrough

Breakthrough (noun) 1. [general] A sudden, dramatic, and important discovery or development

Tags & Warnings: none

"... and Aunt Susan had to swat him with our broom to get him to leave me alone, can you believe it? Some guys won't take a 'No' as an answer, but who'd want to marry a boring dud like Gustav? Much less when there are much more handsome and dapper gentlemen out there?"

Alastor blinked – one eye after the other - smiling politely, but as he listened to the babbling of that gossiping windbag Gladys, he felt more and more annoyed. There weren't many creatures in hell that he would endure the auditive torture of getting his ears chewed off while the wretch basically undressed him with her dead, black eyes for - but Rosie was one of them, and Alastor knew he had monopolized Gem for the last weeks, so a few minutes alone with her was the least he could grant his oldest companion. Still, he knew this was also Rosie’s form of punishment - and what a punishment it was. The women of cannibal town were always persistent enough whenever he came around, but Gladys... well, she took his rumored desirability as a bachelor to a whole new level. Whenever Alastor set foot into Cannibal Town, Gladys would rush out in search for him, like a damn bloodhound. Luckily for him, his shadows provided the means for quick escapes and avoiding any unnecessary encounters, and usually Rosie too would hold her at bay.

But now, he needed his full concentration and discipline to appear nonchalant, only letting out short, appropriate sounds as the scarecrow of a lady continued to chatter, eyeing him down and making suggestive remarks with an obvious wink.

Satan, that woman was really trying too hard.

He knew a good hour must have passed, surely this had to suffice, and he gave a quick cough to interrupt Gladys mid-babbling. "Ah, would you look at the time! Apologies, but I have to retrieve my assistant and return to my hotel."

Gladys wrinkled her nose in discontent. "But Alastor - we barely even talked for... " her boney hands pulled out a pocket watch from her childishly ruffled skirt pocket, "... ten minutes.

Only ten minutes? Huh. Well, that had to do. Alastor wouldn't stay a minute longer in the vicinity of this vulture, even if he'd risk Rosie's annoyance. It would be a cheap price to pay, given the alternative. "Oh, nonsense dear - when in your company, mere minutes can feel like eternity! Ha-ha, but I mustn't hold you off from looking for that catch of a man any longer. Wish that fella good luck from me if you find him!" And, as he turned and hurried to Rosie’s backrooms as quick as decorum allowed, ignoring her angry protests, he murmured to himself "The poor bastard is gonna need it."

As he swept the curtain back and stepped back into the warmth of the parlor, he scanned the room. Empty. Hm. He felt his ears itching, a sign that his patience was running dangerously thin.

"Rosie, my dear? Kitten? Where in the seven circles are you now?"

No answer came, but his erect ears caught something faint - almost like a breeze. Then he heard your voice. Or several? And... was that Rosie? He stepped closer, slowly as his curiosity awoke, towards the only other door leading out of her parlor, the one leading upstairs into Rosie’s private apartment. As he got nearer, he could hear it clearly now. Rosie speaking - encouraging, softly, gentle even... he reached for the doorknob as he felt a shift, a burst of sudden, powerful magick and energy and he smelled, felt and tasted the signature essence of her. Gem. His gem.

Losing any dignity he had, he almost ripped the door from its hinges, storming in and staring wide eyed at the spectacle happening before him. A smile stretched across his face, wide, sharp teeth showing and his pupils taking over his whole eyes, a wave of awe and adoration rippled through his being.

Gem had produced another copy. A yellow one, shining and sparkling like gold coated in iridescent powder. They were staring at each other, her eyes, shifting through the color wheel, fixated on her counterpart, who beamed back at her. He felt the pull again, the need to touch it, feel it, devour it - but as he took a step, Rosie shook her head, holding up a hand and spoke in a calm, but warning tone "Alastor. Wait. Let her try something. Please."

He took a deep, snarling breath, fighting the urge to ignore her. But he halted. Waited.

The room was quiet for a moment, still in a way that almost seemed like the whole of hell held its breath. Then, both of them looked at him. The alive eyes of his darling kitten, and the glittering ones of the copy. The latter started to move, so different than her rosy counterpart did. While the one Alastor had met moved like a snake, slow and seductively, teasing and flowing like a silken scarf caught in a gush of wind - This one moved like a ray of sunshine in a mirror - flittering, quickly and light-footed, almost as if it was bouncing off light itself. Three heads followed her movement, Rosie's face full of enchantment, Gem's full of concentrated tension. And his? What did he look like, he wondered, watching the alter ego coming towards him? The energy moving closer made him unable to think about anything but sheer, possessive delight. And pride. Gem was his, and this version of her was part of her, so he had to possess it too.

The golden copy took a last step towards him, her smile as bright as hells sun. She opened her mouth, and the short hairs on the back of his head stood when he heard her voice - like an echo of the familiar, soft voice of her, getting lost in a crystalline grotto, reflected through stone and water, but clearly audible:

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻. 𝓖𝓮𝓶 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝔀𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓾𝓼, 𝓼𝓸 𝓘 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽: 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓒𝓲𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓮.

He couldn't take the suspense a second longer. His control slipped and his shadows leapt out to take her and bring her to him, into his grasp, not caring for Rosie's warning anymore as his main focus was on this beauty that his Gem had created, and the need to have it consuming him. But as his black appendages so much as touched her, she shattered into shards of gold, and broke into shimmering dust as he heard a laugh like a faint bell that quickly faded into thin air. Alastor cursed silently, the anticipation and eagerness he had felt turning into bittersweet disappointment, and the crackle of energy in the air turning into nothingness. Sabotaged by his own greediness.

He sighed, turning to the tutting sound of Rosie, but instead of the reproachful gaze and frown he expected, she looked smug and quite pleased with herself.

His gem however looked shaken, wide eyed, as if she was unsure if she was allowed to feel accomplished or not and searching his eyes for guidance. That she still was ever so submissive and molding to his whims as the day he met her made his stirring mind calm and his chest tight. "Well, would you look at that. You finally did it, darling." He commented, still holding his smile as steady as he could, his head tilted in amazement as those few words seemed to wash away all the insecurities that had been written all over her face.

"I-I did it." She said, voice small, and he could see the hint of a flush on her cheeks and neck, the sight causing his grin to widen as Rosie pinched her cheeks. "Yes you did, and how marvelous it was, dove! That darling Citrine is lovely, and the others will sure follow suit. Oh! Meeting them will be so exciting!"

Alastor only understood half of what was said. The ghosting jolts of energy still sparked around him as Rosie and his kitten had to fill the unnerving gaps of information about what had happened to get to this point. It irked him that he hadn't been here to see it all unfold, curse that hag Gladys for keeping him away and Rosie for sending him to her in the first place. The snarl growing was instantly erased when her vivid eyes found his, flashing in golds and pinks.

Forget the momentary disappointment, he reminded himself - this was a welcome, exciting development. The copies of her had some sort of sentience - not much unlike his own magick, which filled him with a smug sense of satisfaction. He should've been at least miffed about Rosie interfering in her training and taking a lead, but he couldn't bring himself to be. After all, maybe Gem needed a more gentle and... less possessive approach to foster what Alastor had intended to teach her. And if she could do it once, she could do it again, that he was sure of. The seed had been planted – and despite this little mishap, Alastor would make sure that no one else but HIM would be the one to nurse it to bloom.

Alastor bridged the short distance to the seating area, patting his lovely lynx's head in passing before he decidedly sat down in the one-seater and crossed his legs, leaning back with an expectant look and folded hands.

"So, now that praise has been sufficiently distributed: Would either of you lovely ladies be so kind to bring me up to speed?"

You felt weird. Good or bad weird, you weren't totally decided on.

Seeing your mother again, so vividly you even felt her gentle hands around you as you remembered the last real hug you got from her before you abandoned her and left for the Academy had sparked something in you. Something so powerful you felt like you split in half. And you had, in a way. It wasn't like the last times when those strange you-s appeared. You almost felt as if she was asking you for permission to show herself, vibrating inside you with the want to come out, and you had allowed her. Remained conscious while you had stared at the dark, yellow thing piecing itself together before you.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you. We all are." she had said in your voice. Different, slightly, but so remarkably you still.

"We?" You heard Rosie whisper next to you, but you didn't care to turn and look at her. All your attention was on her.

She chuckled, and held out her hand for you.

"The rest of us. You. I'm only one of many. You can call me Citrine."

Your arm lifted, slowly, as if not under your own control. It felt so surreal, her fingers brushing over yours. She was solid. Real. Not a dream.

"You're beautiful." Words just fell out of your mouth, and her clinking laughter rang through the air.

"Yes, you are." Citrine smiled at you. "Just as mom said - we learned to shine, right?"

It felt so right, and yet, not at all, to hear her talk to you, with your voice, your expressions. Talking about mom. It hurt. And yet, it didn't. It was confusing, but the way she felt so much like a part of you, so connected, it felt... good.

"What..." Your voice was a dry rasp as licked your lips in a nervous attempt to find the right words. "What is happening?"

"You are the one calling the shots, love." Rosie answered. She too was fixated on the shimmering figure, who turned her head to Rosie, a smile on her face. "She's right. You're our conductor, Gem. We are a reflection of you, parts at least."

As if in agreement, the voices in your head hummed in an overstimulating symphony, making your head fuzzy with noise.

‘A reflection.’  Your voice that wasn’t you echoed.

‘We are you.’

‘You are us.’

‘Parts of you.’

‘Light and Darkness...’

You opened your mouth to say something, but there was a bang and a voice that was as familiar as your own. You turned and saw him, and the way the shadows swirled around him, his red eyes fixated on the glittering being you had conjured up. Alastor looked...

‘Hungry.’  A voice whispered, and the others giggled.

‘Desperate.’

‘Fascinated.’

‘Dangerous.’

‘Perfect."

You blinked as Rosie said something you didn't really registered. Citrine was still staring at you, waiting. Waiting for you to tell her what to do. You could feel it, the energy flowing between the two of you, connecting you like a bridge. You wondered...

You concentrated, detaching your thoughts from the still chattering choir inside to visualize your own, stronger and clear through the noise. 'You... can you... go over to him? Talk to him?'

Citrine grins happily at you, almost glowing. 'Of course, I'd love to! What you want me to say?' you heard her answer in your mind, clear as day over the hum of the others.

You thought for a moment. 'Just... tell him who you are?'

Citrine nodded.

Then she was gone. She moved like sunshine, like light dancing on a water surface, and before you knew it, she had skipped over to Alastor. She said something, and you saw his shadows burst out to reach for her and she vanished into a golden sparkle, like dust particles in the sun. It all happened so fast, the moment so overwhelming that you felt like you could've missed it if you blinked.

Alastor was staring at the space where Citrine had been and it made your heart drop that he looked almost offended. Was he mad? Displeased that you did what he intended for you to do without his presence? Did he feel like you disobeyed him? Or worse... that you disappointed him?

"Well, would you look at that. You finally did it, darling."

His words extinguished the flames licking at your insides, and you felt relief and exhilaration rushing through you.

"I-I did it." You stuttered. He was proud, not angry. You hadn't disappointed him.

"Yes, and how marvelous it was, dove! That darling Citrine is lovely, and the others will sure follow suit. Oh! Meeting them will be so exciting!" Rosie clasped her hands together in glee, the corners of her eyes wrinkling and her lips forming an excited, wide grin. You were happy to see her so enthusiastic, but Alastor interrupted the moment with a loud clearing of his throat.

"So, now that praise has been sufficiently distributed: would either of you lovely ladies be so kind to bring me up to speed?"

You sat down, glad that Rosie did all the talking. You were still a bit out of it, trying to process everything that just happened, and it didn't help that the voices in your head were still talking wildly and in such a fast succession that it was hard to pick up a full sentence.

"So... that's about the gist of it. I thought I could help her tap into her powers, since, well..." Rosie gestured between you both, barely hiding the knowing smile tugging at her lips "... your approach might've been too... charged?"

You felt your cheeks flushing slightly at the obvious indication, but Alastor looked unperturbed, save a barely visible tic of his eye.

"Very helpful indeed." he stated, and the cannibal overlord giggled behind her hand as he rolled his eyes and adjusted his monocle in defiance of having to outright thank her.

Rosie hummed and brushed her shoulders against yours with a wink, a silent sign of 'Don't worry about him, we all know the truth.' and you felt yourself relax a bit.

"But I think it's about time we have to return to the hotel, dearest. We still have to report our plentiful successes to the princess, and we're already fashionably late." He pushed himself out of the arm chair, and you hurriedly sprang up at the flick of his wrist motioning you to follow him. Rosie huffed, half-annoyed and half-amused at the sudden rush her oldest friend seemed to be in, and lead you back down the staircase and through the still buzzing shop, throwing an unnerved and approaching Gladys a razor-sharp smile full of condescended pity as the three of you passed her and her friends. Rosie opened the shop doors, the bell over it chiming brightly while she bowed down to hug you goodbye.

"Alright, off you go. But visit more often, do you hear me, mister? That goes for you too, dove - don't leave me waiting to see you so long again, alright? You have my permission to nag his fluffy ears off if he holds you too... busy." Her eyes darted over at the broad man next to the two of you, twinkling with mischief while the tensed grin persisted on his face as he took your arm, leading the both of you to the sidewalk outside.

"What a threat, dear friend - I shall wear earmuffs in the future then." You almost laugh out loud, not expecting the joke, and the twitch of his hand on your arm and the softening lines around his eyes tell you he notices it. Relieved, you feel him relax a bit too, and he sounded more like his usual self when he added "Cross my heart, you'll see us both soon enough…"

Ozul slithered up your leg with a happy fizz while his shadows engulfed you, his sandy warmth making you shiver as Alastor wraps one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. "…at the latest at the Blue Moon Ball. Toodle-oo!" He sing-songed and with a loud crack of thin air being forced to separate, the streets of Cannibal Town and Rosie’s bellowed laughter were left behind and the world went dark and directionless again, with him as your only anchor. Suddenly your ears popped from a sudden pressure shift and you were back in front of the Hazbin Hotel.

You staggered slightly as the dizzy wave of your travel wore off. "I don't know if I'll ever get used to that kind of extraordinary transportation.", you murmured, letting your fingers run over Ozul’s head in a silent thank you as the shade hummed and retreated from your feet once you stood steadily enough.

Alastor grinned, one of his hands running through the loosened strands of hair that had escaped your neatly tied ponytail throughout the day's progress. "It's an acquired form of mobility you'll surely get the hang of one day. If the successes of today are any indicators - you're very capable to master any kind of extraordinary." One of his claws ran down the side of your neck, the other was still holding you pressed against him as if he was reluctant to let go. His voice dropped low and became the unusual kind of smooth that had become so dangerously addicting to you, its deep vibrations sending goosebumps over your arms and the back of your neck. "But I think we should postpone this particular discussion for a later time - our friends are surely waiting and we shall not waste the opportunity to gloat about our accomplishments today."

Your face flushed at the obvious praise and you felt a slight flutter in your chest as he released you, the familiar hand on your lower back returning as he led you to the front doors and opened them for you with such soft eyes you thought they must’ve been an imagination.

The instant change of atmosphere felt tangible as soon as the two of you entered the lobby. While the lobby was abandoned and empty, you saw Angel, his back to you and with slumped shoulders at the bar, with a concerned looking Husk behind it. The cat demon had a rag thrown over his shoulder and a half-empty whiskey bottle and two tumblers in his paws, his brows furrowed as he talked to the spider-demon sitting at his counter.

"Listen, I'm sure yo' can talk to her, or him, or whatever the fuck, about this mess, okay?"

"No! I can't!!!”, Angel whined, “Husky, you know her by now - she'd… she’d want to help, and I can't - I can't let her get involved with..."

"Talk to who about what?" you asked into the hall, ignoring the wave of annoyed static next to you. Husk looked up to see the both of you and sighed, putting the rag down on the counter, while Angel seemed to fold into himself even more, turning away from you even more as you hurried to his side.

"Ah, it's nothing, Rocks. Jus'... work-stuff has been rough today. I better get to bed, it's..."

You grabbed his shoulder as he tried to stand up and get away, and your eyes widened, burning with anger when you saw blue and purple bruises scattered around his neck like inky paint. With nimble fingers, your free hand came up to hover over the marks - hand marks.

"Angel, who did that? What.... what happened?"

"It's nothing!", he insisted, still avoiding to look into your eyes, but in twisting his body to wiggle out of your grasp he revealed his face just enough for you to spot a blooming black eye.

"Nothing?! Angel, that doesn't look like nothing at all! What's going on?"

Husk looked at him, and then at you. His frown grew deeper, and his paw clenched tighter around the whiskey bottle as Alastor joined the bar silently.

"If you don't tell her, I will." Husk said, his voice low and even despite the furious look Angel shot him.

"Keep ya' nose outta my business, whiskers. I said it's nothing. I just - fuck, I jus' wanna drop out of that stupid show. I got too much work stuff goin' on, Rocks. I - I'll explain later, I have to go. We'll talk later."

With a swift move the spider demon finally got free of your grasp, snatched the bottle of booze from the bar top and rushed out of the lobby.

"Explain what?! Angel! Angel, wait!" A hand on your shoulder kept you from running after him. You whipped around to see that it wasn't Alastor but Husk that held you back, his face resigned and tired.

"I wouldn't. That's one conversation he clearly isn't ready to have with yo' now, kid."

Your ears flattened, and the fur of your tail bristled with a mix of frustration and anxiety. The exhilaration of the day was gone, replaced by worry and confusion. Alastor took Angel's empty glass in hand, swirling the remaining brown liquid around as he sat down on the counter.

"Well, luckily you offered so generously to fill us in, Husker."

The cat demon huffed and returned to his place behind the bar, his gaze lingering on you, as he took the glass out of the radio demon's hand and replaced it with a fresh, filled one, before pouring himself a good amount and knocking it back.

"I'd rather just talk to her, but I guess the 'us' is necessary with this one... C’mon, sit down, doll, and let me fix yo’ a drink – yo’ gonna need it."

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.8 - Move.

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none. (yet;) )

WC: 2.5k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

The flower shop should have closed an hour ago, but you linger, waiting for the moment when the streets are entirely empty, save for the two figures standing just outside. Their silhouettes are dark against the streetlights, unmoving as if they're statues waiting to come to life. You know they're watching you, have been watching you since Lisa left, and you can feel the anticipation building within you, your heart pounding in time with the seconds that tick by.

Your hand brushes the duffel bag under the counter. Inside, the axe rests, ready to be drawn, its cold steel offering a promise of the violence to come. But not yet.

There's a thrill in the waiting, in drawing them in, making them believe they have the upper hand. You allow yourself a small, calculated smile as you stand and head toward the door, making sure to keep your eyes on them-unblinking, so they don't vanish like mirages.

You open the door slowly, the creak of the hinges loud in the still ni ght air.

You lean against the doorframe, your smile widening as you catch their attention. "Need anything? Why don't you come in?" you say, your voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that barely conceals the malice beneath.

They exchange a glance, something dark and knowing passing between them before they step inside. Jeff, with his grotesque, carved smile, and Toby, with that unsettling gash on his cheek, walk in as if they belong here, as if this were their domain. You close the door behind them, the soft click of the lock sealing you in together.

The shop is dark, the dim lights casting long shadows across the walls. It's quiet, too quiet, but it's the kind of silence that hums with potential energy, ready to explode at any moment. You walk back to the counter, each step deliberate, your pulse quickening with every inch that brings you closer to the axe hidden just out of sight. You lean casually against the counter, your smile now a thin line of anticipation.

"So what was it?" you ask, voice low and taunting. "Frank? Mary? The cute little couple? Tell me, which one caught your attention?"

Jeff leans back against the wall, his smile widening into something obscene, something that belongs more in a nightmare than reality.

"We've been watching you for a while," he says, his voice a deep, scratchy, gravelly rumble. "You've got a real knack for this sort of thing. But Frank... he was fun."

Toby, standing just a step behind him, stutters slightly as he speaks, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y-you really p-put on a show with that one. K-kinda hot, actually."

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the axe inside the duffel bag, your patience wearing thin. The time for games is over. You slowly unzip the bag, the sound almost lost in the tension-filled silence. But they notice. Jeff's grin only widens, sensing the shift in the air.

"So, you're fans? Admirers? Or just creeps who get off on watching?" you ask, your tone hardening as the playful edge disappears.

Jeff's laugh is rough, almost manic, filling the small space with its grating sound. "Creeps? Fuck yeah, maybe. But we're not the ones leaving corpses with pretty little flowers stuck to them, are we? There's something about a girl with an axe that just... does it for me."

"You've got spirit, b-but let's see if you've got the guts," Toby adds, his eyes raking over you with a twisted sort of admiration. "I like a girl w-who knows how to use an axe."

You've heard enough. Your hand tightens around the axe's handle, and with a swift, powerful motion, you pull it free and swing at Jeff. The blade slices through the air with deadly precision, aimed right for his head. But Jeff moves faster than you expect, dodging the blow with a speed that sends the axe slamming into the wooden wall behind him, splinters flying everywhere.

"Feisty!" Jeff growls, clearly enjoying the thrill of the fight. "You know, I like it when they fight back."

Without hesitation, you yank the axe free, ready to strike again, but they're already on you. Jeff and Toby move like shadows, their movements almost too fast to follow as they slip past your attacks, dodging each swing, each stab, with ease. It's infuriating, the way they toy with you, their grins never wavering.

Your breath comes in sharp bursts, your frustration mounting with every missed strike. You're good—no, you're great-but they're better. Still, you refuse to back down. You grab the sharp scissors from the counter, your grip tightening as you change tactics. When Jeff gets too close, you lash out, the blade slicing through his arm. Blood spatters, but it only seems to excite him more.

"Now we're getting somewhere,"

Jeff laughs, his voice edged with manic glee. "If you wanted to get close, sweetheart, you could've just asked."

Without missing a beat, you grab his wounded arm, yanking him close and driving the scissors into his stomach.

The blade sinks deep, and for a moment, you see the flash of pain in his eyes. But it's fleeting, replaced almost immediately by that maddening grin.

"Is that all you've got?" Jeff rasps, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

You shove him back, watching him stumble, but before you can capitalize on the moment, Toby charges at you, relentless. You barely manage to grab a nearby vase and hurl it at his face. The vase shatters against his cheek, sending shards of glass flying. Toby staggers, momentarily disoriented, but the grin on his face only widens.

"Nice shot," Toby sneers, wiping the blood from his face with a wicked smirk. "B-but you'll have to try harder than that, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, the back door creaks open.

"Y/N? You okay? Sorry, I just forgot my pho-" Lisa's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.

You freeze. The sight of Lisa standing in the doorway, her expression shifting from concern to shock, sends a jolt of something-fear, anger, you're not sure-through you. But it's short-lived. Instinct takes over, you drop the pair of scissors and reach for the axe.

In one swift, brutal motion, you turn and swing the axe. The blade connects with Lisa's forehead, splitting her skull with a sickening crack. Blood sprays, and her body crumples to the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment, the world goes silent.

The weight of what you've just done hits you like a freight train, but you can't afford to dwell on it. There are bigger problems now-two of them, in fact.

With a growl of frustration, you spin back around, adrenaline surging. You throw the axe at Jeff, who's grinning like a madman, but Toby shoves him out of the way just in time. The axe slams into the wall again, and you realize, with cold clarity, that you're outmatched.

Jeff and Toby close in, their movements calculated, confident.

You duck behind the counter, your mind racing. You can't afford to lose control. As you crouch, your hand brushes against the sharp scissors you used earlier. Grabbing them, you prepare yourself, refusing to let fear take over.

Just as Toby reaches over the counter, you spring up, slashing at him. The blade cuts across his cheek, the same one already marred by the vase shards. Blood trickles down, but his grin doesn't waver.

"You're making this fun," Jeff hisses, his voice a mix of pain and exhilaration. "But you're outnumbered, sweetheart."

Jeff moves faster than you can react, swiping the axe from the wall. He wields it with a sinister ease, his manic grin never fading.

You refuse to back down. As he closes in, you slash at him with the scissors, managing to land a deep cut on his other arm. He winces but doesn't stop, his eyes gleaming with twisted enjoyment.

With the odds stacked against you, your mind races for a way out. You grab the nearest object—another heavy flower vase, a much bigger one —and hurl it at Toby's head. The vase shatters on impact, sending him reeling backward, giving you the opening you need, Jeff drops the axe and you grab it.

Before they can recover, you bolt for the back door, your axe still in hand.

You don't look back as you disappear into the night, taking a winding, familiar path home where no one can see you.

The adrenaline pulses through your veins, making your limbs feel both weightless and leaden as you make your way through the shadows. The path is quiet, secluded, and you're thankful for it. By the time you reach your door, you're exhausted, every muscle screaming for rest.

You drop your axe by the door and stumble into your bed, not bothering to remove your shoes. The moment your head hits the pillow, you're out, sleep claiming you almost immediately.

—————————————————————————

When you wake, sunlight is already filtering through the blinds, harsh and unforgiving. Every muscle in your body aches from the fight, but there's a sick satisfaction deep in your chest. You survived.

You reach for the remote, turning on the TV as you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The local news flickers to life, the anchor's monotonous voice droning on until the words "Local Flower Shop Burned Down Overnight" make your heart skip a beat.

The screen shows the smoldering remains of the shop, firefighters still working to put out the last of the flames. You feel a cold chill run down your spine, but it's quickly replaced by a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Jeff and Toby had destroyed the evidence, ensuring that no one would ever know what happened there last night. But it also means one thing: the police are going to be all over this.

You know you have to leave Greenville. The police are already suspicious of you, and with the shop destroyed and Lisa dead, it won't take them long to connect the dots.

You have to disappear, and you have to do it now.

But not without one last act. One final spree to leave your mark on this town forever.

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You look like hell- dark circles under your eyes, your skin now pale and slick with sweat. But there's a fire in your eyes, a hunger that burns hotter than ever.

You can't leave Greenville without one final act of defiance. One last spree that will haunt this town long after you're gone.

You pack your weapons-your axe, a few knives, and whatever else you can find. You know exactly who your targets will be. The people who have wronged you, who have looked down on you, who have made your life hell.

You wait until night.

Your first stop is close to home- a neighbor who has always been a thorn in your side. They're outside, tending to their garden, completely unaware of the danger lurking just behind the fence. You wait, your breath steady, your grip on the axe firm. When the moment is right, you strike. The blade slices through the air, connecting with flesh and bone.

The neighbor's body crumples to the ground, lifeless. You drop a small petal right next to your now deceased neighbor.

You don't linger. You move quickly, efficiently, leaving the body behind as you make your way to your next target—a former employer. You slip into the building unnoticed, your footsteps silent on the tile floor. The boss is working late, just as you'd expected. He doesn't even see you coming. The axe slams into his neck with ease, his body slumping over the desk in front of him. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "This is for everything you ever did to me."

You leave a single flower petal on his desk, a final message to anyone who finds him—a petal from a red spider lily, the symbol of a final goodbye.

Your spree continues, each kill more brutal than the last. A random stranger on the street, caught off guard by the blade of your axe. A police officer, targeted specifically to send a message.

With each kill, you leave behind a calling card—a petal from the red spider lily, each one a cold, silent farewell.

As the night wears on, the bodies pile up. The town is in chaos, sirens blaring in the distance as the police scramble to contain the madness.

But you're always one step ahead, moving through the shadows with lethal precision.

Your final target is someone who has always been just out of reach—a high-ranking official, someone who has the power to ruin lives with a single decision. You've been planning this one for a while, waiting for the perfect moment. And now it has arrived.

You approach his house under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding with anticipation. The windows are dark, the street quiet.

Perfect.

You slip inside, moving through the house like a ghost. Your target is asleep in his bed, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the door. You stand over him for a moment, savoring the power you hold in your hands. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, you bring the axe down.

The blade connects with a sickening thud, blood spraying across the room. Your target doesn't even have time to scream.

You stand there for a moment, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You look down at the body, at the blood pooling around it, and feel a sense of satisfaction settle over you.

This is it. The final goodbye.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a single red spider lily petal. You place it on the pillow next to your target's head, a final message to the town you're leaving behind.

You don't look back as you leave the house, the darkness swallowing you whole. You have one final task before you can disappear for good.

You arrive in Tuscaloosa under the cover of darkness, just as you had planned. Two duffel bags propped on your shoulder, one with your axe and a couple knives, and the other with as many clothes you could fit in it.

You have a new place waiting for you, a small, nondescript apartment on the outskirts of town. It isn't much, but it's perfect for laying low. Plus, it’s near the woods. Something you’ve been planning to explore since you rented the apartment. 

As you unpack your things, you can't shake the feeling of satisfaction that lingers in your chest. You've done it.

You've left your mark on Greenville, and now you're free to start over.

But even as you settle into your new life, you can't stop thinking about the thrill of the kill. The way it made you feel alive, invincible. You know it won't be long before the hunger returns, before you're driven to kill again.

But for now, you'll lay low, bide your time, and wait for the perfect moment. And when it comes, you'll be ready.

Tuscaloosa looks like the perfect place to wreak havoc in.

FUCK COLLEGE😡

i don’t like this chapter lol 

Who’s gonna tell her who lives in the woods of Tuscaloosa??? 👀

Once you’re done reading this, go vote on this!! It is VITAL for the story, pinky promise.

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url

[regulus-regent]

Lets talk about saiyan anatomy! I'm gonna focus more on how efficient saiyans are with food and how evolution has allowed them to withstand hostile environments.

While omnivores, a Saiyans diet mostly consist of eating meat and since they are natural born survivalists, it wouldn't be far fetched to see them feeding off of carcasses of their enemies. And in extremely dire circumstances it is entirely possible for them to turn to cannibalism.

A saiyans stomach acids are strong enough to withstand eating many different species as well as consuming bones, hides and exoskeletons, (with strong teeth and jaws, they have a whooping bite strength of 80,000 psi of course this ranges from saiyan to saiyan) they make sure no part of their meal is wasted. Their stomach holds microorganisms that allow a saiyan to safely eat dangerous pathogens found in many meats that would normally get another species sick or killed. They're also known for having antibodies that protect against bacteria and are able to fight off most diseases. So eating raw meat or (to some extent) rotting meat if they are desperate enough, will not affect them. Saiyan mouths are actually pretty clean, their saliva is known to wipe out and clear out any bacteria or chunks of food that might be lodged in their teeth.

The muscles of a saiyan's jaw and throat allow them to eat and swallow huge chunks of food with astonishing rapidity. Because of this, they actually have several moveable joints, such as the intramandibular hinge which allows them to lower their bottom jaw unusually wide. As a result of their massive eating habits, their stomachs are able to to expand easily, enabling an adult saiyan to be able to eat 90 percent of their body weight.

Over the course of time in their travels both, pre and post colonization, harsh environments also played a pivotal part in the evolution of a saiyans biology. The cells on their body allow them a limited regenerative capability. While its nothing close compared to the namekian standards or regeneration, saiyans are able to heal wounds much more quicker than humans, while also giving them the ability to develop thicker skin or increase their musculature when it comes to higher gravity. Their tails have a much higher count of these regenerative cells and are the only known body part of a saiyan to regenerate the limb when its been fully if cut off.

Extra: Because of colonization, King Colds increase in work load and harsh working conditions to keep the saiyans exhausted and under his rule, resulted in a butterfly effect of an increased amount of more stronger, more aggressive generations of saiyans as the years went by under King Colds rule. Broly being the tipping point of said result.

[urlocalwormtoday]

Jrwi RAFT dopple headcannon list

The earlier dopples, some of the first ones after the Navy figured out how to make them genetically stable, are a lot more physically put together and stable than the current ones, mainly because more thought was put into making them.

Most dopples made are of Tritons because they're generally hardier then humans are, and can survive longer while being skinned so more fresh material can be gathered.

Another thing about Tritons over humans is that there's usually very little difference between tritons who live in the same area/water, unlike humans, who very greatly even if they are from the same area. Large physical differences were a big difficulty during the making of the earlier dopples, this would later solve itself with the addition of the mimic DNA, but it was a pretty big roadblock at first.

Dopples take shape very, very quickly, and due to some funky chemicals the Navy has access to, less detailed dopples it can take nothing but a few minutes.

Of course, to make a dopple, you need a bit of the source material. After trials after trials after experiments, the Navy have found that fresh skin works best. The less fresh it is, the more cells decompose which makes for a less stable dopple.

The addition of mimic DNA was a recent discovery/piece added to the puzzle, but it was one that helped research proceed much much faster.

The more mimic DNA a dopple has, the less humanoid they look. Each dopple has a different amount of mimic DNA, considering the Navy are lazy shits and didn't care to spread it out right.

What the mimic genes do is allow for small changes in the exterior appearance, such as eye color, scars, freckles, patterns, and other such miscellaneous things.

A dopples true form usually has sharp teeth, sharp nails, narrow pupils, an extra row of teeth, scales, and rarely a split jaw.

When a dopple is the disguised as the person they are made to mimic, multiple people will feel an eerie sensation, or the sensation of being watched. Think uncanny valley.

Dopples seem to take after mimics in the fact that they are ambush predators, and heavily rely on darkness and the element of surprise.

As said earlier, some dopples have more mimic DNA than others. Those who do have a surplus of mimic DNA and aren't genetically falling apart are usually able to mimic the voices of other people and sometimes even average sounds. A bird, a chair being pushed, door hinges, etc.

Like cats, dopples eyes reflect in the darkness, illuminating the area eerie glow.

Dopples usually take after the intelligence of the person they were made in the image of, so while a dumb brute dopple may be physically dangerous, a cold and calculated one is even more threatening.

Dopples have displayed animalistic behaviors before, and are completely willing to commit cannibalism if unfed.

Most dopples are made with a purpose, and the way they are designed makes it so that purpose is the reason they live. Whoever decides what their life goal is when they are created is what will be their will to live.

Dopples hate bright areas, not only because they rely on shadows for ambush, but also because their eyes are extra sensitive to light.

They can also see in artificial darkness that people with dark vision wouldn't even be able to see in, and can also hear much much farther than the average person.

Dopples have very large appetites. Being constantly disguised does take a toll on your body.

[v0idspeak]

RQ stream notes

So today Rusty Quill streamed! Woo! Alex J. Newall did a creative jam to create an audio drama in... 2 hours? I think? Anyway! I took notes!

The end result was an elevator pitch, synopsis for 6 episodes, and a somewhat fully-produced pilot episode.

It features three main characters (two protagonists and an antagonist) and two entire dogs, in a Noir Western setting.

Enjoy the notes! (Warning: they are long.)

Alex' ground rules -No swearing/anything that'll get him kicked off Twitch -Only original stories -No TMP spoilers or he gets bapped -6-part series with 10min of fully produced audio drama

-Genre - usually do a genre blend (between two different genres) (ex.: romoantic-horror) to allow for more elaborate concepts Genre choice: Noir | Western -Did some brainstorming for keywords in Aesthetics -Quickly going through Wikipedia to research the genres and find points to fill the project guide. Determine how long we have VS what kinds of stories we have time to do -Get a couple characters (3 to be exact) -Elevator pitch -Character bio detail brainstorming -Quick summary of each episode, per season -Cannibalism gave title idea: Eat the Rich (lmao actual cannibal Shia LaBoeuf) -Text between brackets is to the creators' benefit rather than in the actual episode -Pilot needs a Final Complication/hook/cliffhanger in order to get the listener's attention -Alex abuses of speech-to-text (it fights back sometimes) -Writes pilot script -Writes tagline mid-pilot scripting -Once script is over, highlighted parts that are being voice-acted -Started actually voice acting the scene -Silent sound markers (snap fingers - wait a few seconds - snap fingers again. I think this is for denoising purposes) -Occasionally makes voiceacting notes/redoes lines -Moving screams in separate layers. A lot of things he's doing can be done automatically but he's doing it in Audacity manually so we see what's going on. He'll also be taking shortcuts and such that he shouldn't -Silence marker - effect - noise reduction (after getting sound profile for the silence) -(reduce memory load by doing Stereo To Mono while working; do NOT do this for a real podcast ahaha) -Normalize audio -Audacity is a destructive audio program which makes things Difficult (I think Reaper isn't which is neat) -Use fades to hide a cut -One track per scene? -Use scene cuts where a lot is left unsaid -Once dialogue is cut, finds SFX (he has soundbanks - soundbanks good) -Oh No Soundscaping (TM) -And then Music (ft. Upbeat Sax- I mean what?) -Exporting stuff is very frustrating (ft. Alex flappy hands, but angy) -Does artwork during exporting (ft. Alex goat noises) (graphic design is his passion) (he's using Paint) -EQ work! -Exporting -Alex is very good at doing the post-episode monologue

Brainstorm Template: -Key Info *Title (Eat the rich) *Logline (It's dog eat dog in the belly of the new world beast) *Elevator pitch (Grim the gritty outsider with nothing to lose stumbles upon the railway being built none other than Princeton with dangerous labour practices and there's a secret conspiracy that can only be unearther with the help of Elisa Thorne. Mining equipment, illegal land grab at the outskirts of OldNew Manchester *Genre (Western | Noir) *Series format (6x10 episodes)

-Aesthetics *Tone (introspective | outside the law | Death of the wilderness | Gritty | Vigilante | Brooding | Corruption) *FX (Wind, tumbleweed, Narrator/VO, guns, whip snap, gravel, vultures, door hinges, whistling, campfire, horses, wood, saxophone, sound of smoke, train heist) *Music (Slow n low, sax, jazz, saloon piano, blues/harmonica, banjo, cello) *Visuals (dust bowl, urban, smokey, wilderness, night, American, chiaroscuro, trenchcoats, hats)

Project guide -World guide *Noir (No happy endings promised) *Sandbox (calamity james retelling,

-Characters CHARACTER | ROLE | AGE | PRONOUNS performance guide Bio

Elisa Thorne | LAW LADY | 37 | She/her No nonsense brusqye, played by April Bio: Has wife, has cool dog, loves flowers, run away from money,

Grim | GRITTY OUTSIDER | 55 | They/them Mr badger from Wind in the Willows meets An no country for old men Bio: Never sleeps, sharpshooter, Also Has A Bigger Dog, caffeine addiction

Elon Princeton | CAPITALIST | AGE | HE/HIM Just everything that's wrong with the world right now condensed into a person Bio: Menacing knitting, Illegally obtained Emerald mine, father of Elisa's wife, allergic to dogs

Season synposes

S1 - 1 (pilot) (Grim rolls into town as Elon is announcing that they can finally finish the final phase of the railway connecting city with a remote outpost, Eliza attempts arrest due to dog attacking Elon, Grim driven out of town as he is too dangerous to be captured, Grim sneaks back into city because they cannot leave without their coffee. Discover Elon's conspiracy - they are hgiding bodies beneath railway [Elon is a cannibal] [Elon is an actual accountable cannibal accountant lmao] [Picked up in the Emerald Mine Disaster, continued bc he likes it & hates the poor]. Grim gets a pardon if they help take Elon down. Eliza discovers her wife has disappeared) 2 - (Eliza investigates missing wife with poor results, Grim gets involved despite themself and starts using off the book methods to squeeze info from contacts including some ranches from outside of town & implied secrets about Elon, Grim gets results - gunfight - Elisa forced to rescue Grim - forced to get along - respect each other) 3 - (staged train robbery to cover up final shipment of bodies, Grim injured) 4 - reversal (Eliza's wife revealed to have been covering for Elon, Elon takes control of town and Eliza is framed for robbery. Eliza forced out of town.) 5 - knot (Elon covers up recent scandal (illicit affair with newly arrived rancher) w disappearance of [???] Discover bodies) 6 - conclusion/finale (Discover Elon cannibal, Elon eaten by dogs, Eliza's wife Irene chooses Dad over Eliza bc NOIR, Grim leaves, there is no justice)

Pilot script *Scene 1 Grim rolls into town as Elon is announcing that they can finally finish the final phase of the railway connecting city with a remote outpost, -Grim is unimpressed and picks a fight -Eliza attempts to descalate situation despite hating Elon and fails bc Grim is unhelpful & dog is worrying Elon -Grim hears automobile backfiring, assumes they are under fire, gunfighting ensues (gunfighting shoes???) -Grim flees town (Grim driven out of town as he is too dangerous to be captured)

*Scene 2 Grim sneaks back into city because they cannot leave without their coffee. -Via railway into city -Witnesses bodies being laid amongst the sleepers (Discover Elon's conspiracy - they are hgiding bodies beneath railway)

*Scene 3 -Despite Grim's instincts, they decide to warn sheriff Eliza about bodies (Twist because Noir -Alex) -Eliza arrests Grimm (assuming they are lying) until hearing name Elon -Dogs like each other :D -Irene enters with late night surprise dinner for Eliza - immediately hides suspicions and lies to wife about Grim. Grim is shocked but plays along. (This thing writes ITSELF!! -Alex)

[Elon is a cannibal] [Elon is an actual accountable cannibal accountant lmao] [Picked up in the Emerald Mine Disaster, continued bc he likes it & hates the poor].

*Scene 4 (written after scene 5 - lull in action -Grim sitting on Eliza's porch and mulling things over - plays harmonica

Scene 5 -Eliza discovers wife has disappeared and demands Grim's help bc they are an oustsider & closest thing to friend that Eliza has in this messed up city Grim gets a pardon if they help take Elon down. Eliza discovers her wife has disappeared

[HERE, Alex takes more detailed notes and doesn't really pause so I didn't note the dialogue and such. Also Alex's accent is glorious.] [He talked about digging a pit and now everyone in chat is spamming DIG] [The speech to text keeps writing Gunfight Ensues as Gunfighting Shoes.] ["I like Grim. Grim's a fun character." Same, Alex, same.] [Shoutout to Alex doing beatboxing with a weird dog noise while trimming sounds] [plays thunder sound "Ohohoho! I don't care if it's Gothic! My wife has dissapeared KPHHHHHW"] [Alex' frustrated sounds are something to behold. Gremlin noises fr.] [Chat has started singing Hellfire by the Mechanisms] ["I warn everyone, this isn't going to be a thing that is pleasant to listen to"] ["NARRATION!"] [File is huge. There is now a vote in chat, called Chonk? with three options, Chonk, Chonk, and Chonk. The first Chonk won!] [Notetaker's note: I still miss Winston Princeton]

TMP news: "Jonny has pitched to me the most horrific thing ever" [about s3 of TMP?] etc etc (can't share it. WHAT A TEASE >:| /lh)

[luminenwalker]

[6-6-2023]

The changes time has wrought have been a disaster for the human race. From industrial hellholes, to the wastes surrounding our fine city. Remember how we got here, because the way out is a bloody one. //Luminen

Data Day, Day to day: Traffic Warning in the New Dundee district as the 71 hour siege of the 'Free Cincinnati Autonomous region' ends in gunfire and bloodshed. Travelers are warned that Tower has checkpoints on all roads, while many people are attempting to flee and are advised to find alternate routes, NOT to pick up hitchhikers, and to allow for extra time. //Data Daily

Data Day, Day to day: Celerity Chef Gordon Bennet killed by sous-chef in his flag ship restaurant today. Said an observer "He's always shouting at people and getting in their faces, with all the knives back there I'm amazed it took this long". All the details, and advice of where else to eat, tonight with:- //Data Daily

Data day, Day today: Tonight with Data Daily, we talk to Stony Tark, owner of what is set to be the hottest new club in interstate. That's because his new endeavour the Noctis Labyrinthus promises a dark shadowy corner to brood in for every cover, along side distinctive mars themed décor and the 'Deja Thoris' body shot. //Data Daily

Data Day, Day to day: And now the weather "The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." So thats blue skies and no break to the heat in Riverside, and across Cincin. Stay cool out there! //Data Daily

How could I rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men? My men cheer me on as if I was the victor… but Sorrow is the sole winner and I adorn my Midnight Veil in honor of the fallen.//Little Bear

Data Day, Day to day: Drony Mc Droneface, oldest and longest serving of the city's cargo drones arrives in the shipyards today for decommissioning after 50 years of service despite a buy out bid by the Cincin Historical society. We'll be here with the history, and the protests, of this distinguished work horse only on: //Data Daily

Big shipment turned topsy-turvy on Hoppie Street outside Bob's. All lingerie. Come get some. You are welcome. //Caderina

Fun is Infinite when you party under the devils moonlight. //Ms. Translation

Data Day, Day to day: General Lois Cannibal to face trial for war crimes for the Secession Wars battle of Bethesda. "There can be no trial of me, for there would have been no court here without me" Gen. Cannibal told the press. Only tonight on: //Data Daily

Your holding a key, but that lock takes none. What do you do with a lock that blocks? Pick it or shoot it. That doesn't work? Shoot the hinges. Door unbreakable? Break the wall, and the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, no floor. //Jackfuck

So, was out for a walk today, and you know what I found? A spike, left on a long broke water sipping fountain. Very funny. Its all kinda of funky with my RFID reader too… gonna give it to my roommate and tell him its a Xara One. //FFF

Truth Bomb: Bill Culmson is a Tower drone technician, his home is on the corner of Burch and Madison. Now I'll teach you how to make a makeshift riot shield. First you need a thick steel door. Bill has one, it's password is 1941. Next you need… //TB

Whoever has the apartment near the noodle shop that keeps blasting traphop out the window, please play the last two tracks again. My dog seems to enjoy it. //Col. Einhorn

sta-tic sta-tic sta-tic sta-tic… and all I could see was the Abyss in my heart, when I saw a mirror, darkly. The Flint Station is no longer Flint Station. Three Eff is dead, his blood sang all over the floor. Long live the Number Station. Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two…. sta-tic //Countdown, Ace of Spades.

Mouth to mouth resurrection. I speak again(what is dead may ever prattle). My storage brain found a newthink home (WILL I JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?!). Sun shines, but it's in-sin-sear and uncold. //FFF & CD

The world is a joke, the past hundred years have been a joke. I hope the people responsible see their ambitions turn to dust, I hope their technology turns on them, I hope their methods of control prosecute them to the fullest extent of buckshot. //Luminen

[k-s-morgan]

I've got to say, while Hannigram is very much unhealthy, I actually can't stand Molly and Will ( in the show at least ) for not being good for each other much more. With Hannigram, besides it being obvious what you're gonna get - no relationship between a serial killer and an FBI agent in denial about enjoying murdee will be sunshine and rainbows - the characters themselves are aware of who the other is and what they are cabable of. With Molly and Will one party is definitely left in the dark about the other. I'm of the firm belief that their relationships would have never started had Will not hidden an entire shade of his being. He has stated he prefers lies of omission. And when said omission is a caged monster, you can see how unfair it'd be to someone like Molly. While badass, she's ultimately a regular person, a woman who was most likely searching for happiness and stability after her first husband. Will was simply not it. He used her and Wally as a means to hide from himself and his feelings for Hannibal. If he really wanted to, he could have prepared a plan that allowed him to stay with them. Will is neither stupid, nor lacking in determination. But the fact is, he was not invested enough. He'd rather die WITH Hannibal than return home, which says a lot.

There's also the fact that Hannigram is better developed and tied to the story's themes, so I'm more invested in seeing where they could end up together, destructive aspects and all, rather than Will and Molly. Still, I can't buy into the concept of a happy marriage between them that some viewers talk about when it appears to be so surface level. That peace hinges on Will never discussing with Molly a ton of stuff that would have changed the entire trajectory of their relationship. The whole situation reminds me too much of a couple in real life, in which one person doesn't actually love the other and has somebody else on the mind. Their marriage is this essentially.

I'm pretty sure this view on their marriage and how Will-centric in tends to be ( in the sense that Molly being screwed over isn't really comsidered ) ties into the static perception people have regarding Will as a character from Season 1 onward. They want to see him happy and cheer that the bad guy is put away, far from him. But don't seem to realise how much of a menace and perpetrator Will has become in other characters' lives since then ( Hobbs, Randall, Chiyoh and her prisoner, Chilton, even Bedelia ). What do you think?

Oh, I agree completely, the relationship between Will and Molly feels very dishonest from Will’s side — and I think that’s the point. As Bryan said, we had to see the second half of S3 and Will with Molly in order to understand why he should go back to Hannibal. This life is simply not for him, not for the real version of him. Hannibal is right when he accuses Will of deliberately picking a “ready-made family.” Will showed his person suit to Molly and shared only official version of events of his life with her. She never knew the real him, and if she had, their marriage would have died before even starting because what woman would let a killer and a cannibal who wanted to run away with a monster near her and her child, who’s already been traumatized? Especially after a year or two of knowing this person?

I’ve had a huge number of conversations on this topic, and from my experience, viewers who claim that Will was perfectly happy with Molly cite one specific moment: them laughing together from Molly’s joke about “balls”. Bryan actually mentioned it too once to illustrate how great Molly is for Will, but the thing is, it’s just not what was shown. Because this pretty shallow and short moment of laughter instantly turns into a situation where Molly mentions Will’s “criminal mind” and Will shuts her off. He lies and he hangs up without returning her “I love you.” This says it all — he can enjoy himself on a superficial level in this marriage, but the moment something a bit more serious comes up, the illusion shatters. Perhaps Will told Molly some half-truths, like about being friends with Hannibal before the betrayal, but ultimately, we can see that she has no idea about Will’s life, his darkness and his struggles with it. She innocently encouraged him to go back, incorrectly thinking that Will is haunted by failing to save lives, and then she joked about his criminal mind, taking it lightly and not realizing how grave and sensitive this topic is for Will. She knows he can think like a killer because he’s gifted, but she doesn’t realize he himself is a killer.

I love how the show presents their relationship because it demonstrates how temporary and insufficient a dream-like normal life is for Will. All we know about him and Molly is that they are married. We don’t know how they met, what made them marry each other so quickly. They then have four short conversations throughout the show, none of which is entirely honest from Will’s side. Molly appeared from nowhere and disappeared into nowhere - she and Will were living a lie, which is why their relationship was presented this way.

Even from the beginning: from what was shown, Jack didn’t enter a sanctuary, he broke into a marriage as lifeless as the winter emptiness around Will when we see him again. As a contrast, in another Red Dragon adaptation, Jack comes when Will is genuinely happy with Molly and Walter. They are spending time together on the beach, they are laughing, they are having fun as a family, they are holding hands. This unity and happiness are absent in the show. Jack comes when Molly and Walter are away fishing, with Will choosing to stay behind even though fishing is his passion. It’s a deliberate choice and it says a lot. Will and Molly share a bed: they are married, so it would be strange not to - but they are fully clothed and sleep strictly on the opposite sides. Will is shown sneaking out to read a letter from Hannibal. They could have shown Molly sleeping on his chest, for example, something to make their bond warmer. Will isn’t a touchy-feely person, but he’s not resistant to touch either, and he could have made an effort for a woman he’s supposed to love.

He could have bothered to hug her or at least *touch* her at least once. Instead, when she hugs him from behind, he doesn’t even move to touch her back. When she nuzzles into him, he turns his head away, even though nuzzling back or kissing her cheek would have felt so much more natural. Even at the hospital, Will just looks at her and then sits in his chair. It’s deliberate - he never reached for her at all, even in this situation. When Molly wakes up, he risks touching one strand of her hair with the very tip of his finger (which is implied and still not shown!), and then he quickly takes his hand away. It’s a vivid contrast to him reaching out and almost groping Hannibal in TWOTL. He could definitely show more emotions to Walter - after losing Abigail, he had to be terrified of losing another child in his life. But instead, he just acts uncomfortable, not at all like a father would.

I think Will could never be truly happy or peaceful when he’s hiding who he is. Darkness is a large part of him, subduing it takes efforts. I’d say he was semi-content with this limbo state, but with how quickly he ran to Hannibal, I think he was getting bored, too. Hannibal also senses it, hence his question, “Don’t you crave change, Will?”

I also love Hugh’s and Mads’ commentary on this.

Hugh: You could say that during the second half [of season three] - I mean, obviously we’re jumping ahead here, but Will comes back to Hannibal. He’s now got this family, and Will, independently and pretty quickly, starts coming to the conclusion that it’s not sustainable for him to have that family. Like, he’s not the guy. He’s not the right person to be able to look after them, to live with them. It’s not compatible with who he really is. And you could argue that Hannibal is just driving him more quickly to come to that realization. So in that sense, it is kind of brutal, tough love. His love is saying, “Know thyself.”

Mads: As Hugh is saying, it’s unavoidable. It’s going to happen sooner or later. Might as well happen sooner, before he’s stuck.

And that’s not even mentioning the Dragon’s attack, the way Will stayed angry for three seconds before acting jealous of Hannibal giving attention to Francis, and how he set up a situation that put Molly and Walter at risk just to get a chance to stage Hannibal’s escape. His priorities are very clear. I do think he cared about them to an extent — he is responsive to people who show warmth to him, but this feeling was superficial. In the end, the only two things Will truly, genuinely cares about are Hannibal and his dogs. I’m not including Abigail here because he loved a dream, not the girl herself.

Will is a deeply selfish character, and I love him for it because I find him fascinating.

[cienie-isengardu]

The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro - Part 5: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Searching for Nakama)

<<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (A)>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (B)>>  <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>>

Crossing the open gate, Zoro and Law kept exchanging their observation. Trafalgar noticed the gate was snapped off the hinges.

to which Zoro replied “good point” and added another detail, the destruction of the road ahead.

Once it became clear something was definitely off about the place and the group may meet unfriendly forces ahead, Zoro with his killer smile advised to be careful. Despite his own words, Zoro, Law and Robin didn’t show any worry, in contrast to Franky and Usopp getting their weapon ready to strike at any moment.

Once again, Zoro and Law talked freely, exchanging observations and explanations while staying close to each other. Both led the group and noticed the upcoming danger before anyone else. They grabbed their swords, ready to fight:

Zoro said he will deal with the enemy and Law did not protest nor try to interfere (even when soon after that Zoro was kinda electrocuted). What seems to be a sign of respect and trust for Roronoa’s fighting skills.

The skirmish with Carrot was stopped by Wanda. The female Mink didn’t have time to explain what is going on, but told them where to find the rest of Straw Hats (chapter 805):

“We don’t have time to take youteia there!! Just follow my instructions!! On the right is Rghttrump Forest! Head there and turn left at the deep dark swamp! From there, you’ll find yourteia crew’s corpse is ahead in Rightflank Forest!”

The mention of the corpse led the group to be shocked and worried (though Law’s expression was again omitted). Here is time to talk a bit about “suffering” of Usopp who were unlucky to stuck in group with three “dark” characters:

Robin with the macabre imagination and talking non stop about potential cannibalism as a fate that could happen to their friends

Law with his deadpan commenting how navy admirals were now after Usopp’s head knowing full well the younger pirate will be scared as hell

Zoro - similar to Robin - has a tendency to like dangerous and terrifying stuff and to smile at the mere idea of fighting deadly opponents but also scares time after time Usopp with his comments or logic (seen especially in Enies Lobby).

Law, Zoro and Robin have this nice but dark similarity which may explain why in their little group, Usopp stood out from the rest. The majority of the team was in fact the stoic, cool-headed and dangerous beings.

Zoro in the end shut down the rising panic by reminding his friends that Sanji was with the missing Straw Hats and he would not allow anything bad to happen. Reassured by that, Robin asked Law about his own nakama, who were supposed to wait on Zou for him.

Law admitted he didn’t think he would ever see his crew again (what should be worrying on itself, but thankfully, Dressrosa was behind them already).

Bebo’s vivre card was untouched, thus Law’s navigator was fine and safe. He explained who Bepo was and that the polar bear left Zou as a kid, so didn’t remember much about this place. Law voted for Bepo as someone he knew for 10 years and that Mink could be trusted. This was one of rare moments in which Law shared information from his past.

Law proposed to head straight to Bepo, to learn what was going on there. Usopp was concerned they would have to pass through a potentially dangerous town but Zoro decided to trust Law’s word about Bepo. After all, it was better than trusting some strange animals.

Law voted for Bepo and Zoro did not question the polar bear’s trustworthiness, even though so far the interaction with the Mink Tribe left a bad impression - an attack out of nowhere and then Wanda talking about the corpse of their nakama.

The poor state of town again raised a question about what happened on Zou. The group examined the deserted buildings and saw devices of tortures. Law pointed out to giant footsteps suggesting either the Mink Country was invaded by monsters or huge animals or some infighting happened not so ago.

↪ Once again, Law and Zoro kept close to each other even though a moment ago everyone was examining the place in a more individual way. The previous group shot had Law standing far away from the rest.

The group came to the conclusion that whatever happened brought the country to swift, dramatic collapse just a week or two ago.

Usopp was overwhelmed by all the revelation. The rest of the group didn’t show any clear sign of worry, even though their friends could be in danger. Not only Straw Hats, but Law’s own crew too. Law and Zoro still were in close range of each other.

Then out of nowhere, a giant wave of (sea) water enough to cause a flood fell from the sky (chapter 806). Robin advised everyone to head for higher ground...

but the next panel showed their current place to be literally flooded. That and the additional bubble speech suggests the group did not manage to run away before water fell on them all.

Manga did not provide an explanation how exactly the group got on higher, safe ground. It was shown only they survived and were more or less okay.

At the same time, everyone was wet - what could be seen very well in anime (episode 755) while in manga especially on Law and Robin. Those two panels imply that the group was not without contact with sea water. As the devil fruit users, Law and Robin were the most vulnerable in such a situation (would Room even work then?, I wonder...).

Because of four pages of break between the first frame and the next (thus the perception of time disturbed), it is impossible to tell for sure if these two needed to be saved from drowning or not. Yet, knowing the caring nature of Straw Hats, it is highly possible others would secure their vulnerable companions even if the situation did not call for such measures. Also, Franky has this protective instinct about Robin’s well being, so he most likely would be saving her in first place - what means Law had either Zoro or Usopp to depend on. Considering A) Zoro’s protective nature toward drowning devil fruit users [Luffy and Chopper especially] and B) how close lately he and Law were, I think Roronoa would be the one dragging Trafalgar to safety.

From the high tower, Usopp spotted Straw Hat… who seemed to be bitten by Carrot.

A nice detail - Zoro (black backpack) and Law (the long sword) again were shown closer to each other than to anyone else.

Trafalgar used his powers to switch places, so the group could meet with Luffy. Looking how ungraciously the Straw Hats were falling, he either did not warn them in advance or the shambles technique had that effect on people, especially used on them for the first time.

In all fairness, I’m not sure if Zoro managed to land well in the manga - anime made him and Robin be the only ones from their crew to avoid the fall. Whatever the case, Zoro did not verbally attack or complain for the way Law transported them all. In a way, Law’s idea of fast transport was as bad as Luffy’s.

Once the group reunited with Luffy, Law was sidetracked into more background character. It was visible especially when Usopp started using Zoro (while pretending to speak as him) to scare off the Minks.

Law’s reaction “disappeared” behind bubble speech, so it is impossible to say what he thought about Usopp’s antics or that Pirate Hunter allowed Usopp to act this way. Still, looking at frame composition - with Zoro as central figure in the foreground - the Straw Hats were on his left side while Law, alone, on right.

Finally Straw Hats met their missing crewmembers and for the first time saw all the Minks, alive and happy to see them. The view of hideout and Minks reaction shocked/surprised all newcomers. When Zoro was asking Wanda about Minks supposed hatred toward humans,  Law again A) was hidden by bubble speech and B) stayed close to Zoro’s right side while keeping distance from other characters.

While Straw Hats celebrated the reunion with Mink Tribe (and slowly learning what happened to Sanji and the Minks) Law went to see his crew (chapter 807).:

The genuine smile contrasts a lot with the constant frown seen on his face for almost all the time, even with befriended Straw Hats.

At the same time, Zoro got angry at Minks invading his personal space to fawn. This contrast to the drinking scene after Dressrosa, when he didn’t mind throwing his arm around Law’s neck, thus having little to none space between them.

With the next chapters, the focus of the story switched to events happening during the Straw Hats separation (Kaido’s men attacking Zou in search for another samurai, using chemical weapon against Minks and torturing them for days and how Sanji’s group saved the devastated Tribe and what happened to Black Leg). Along the way, Luffy and his crew met two local rulers: King of the Night, cat Nekomamushi and King of the Day, dog Inuarashi.

Next part: Reunion

[salenakingston]

Another bit of backstory. I’ve really been enjoying writing these snippets. Prompt submissions are still open!

Prompt: None

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Death, Corpses/Bodies (minor), Cannibalism (minor)

Timeline of Events: Whitegale Estate (Backstory)

Total Word Count: 4,273 words

“I’m surprised you saw someone so new to the complex.”

“It is rare indeed, but there’s something peculiar about him.”

“Yes, I noticed that too.”

“And your thoughts?”

“He isn’t a greater risk than any of the other agents.”

“This won’t be the only time he appears.”

“I know, but because he is not a threat, or has proven what he is capable of, it is left to simpler decisions for now.”

“If I may interject.”

“Yes?”

“I might be able to help.”

“You have a plan? Why the interest in him?”

“It’s part of my job to assess new agents. Besides, you’ve never seen anyone connected to me before. I’ve noticed some quirks of my own. This plan is not without consequence, but may be an efficient way to learn more about him.”

“Very well. Let’s hear it.”

----

Malceum paced his small room, his mind racing ever since he had returned. He hated that she had been right in her own assessment. He had insisted she allowed him to give her a ‘proper’ physical, checking how her body was currently against everything that was listed in her records. He wondered if it was to prove a point, or for entertainment, that she granted his request. She had been compliant through the entire process, obeying every instruction he offered.

Part of him wondered why she changed her tune so quickly, when she had the confidence to mouth off to him before. How was it that the mention of one woman could make her flip a switch? It didn’t make any sense, just like her own assessment. Everything matched up with her records.

A body that was functioning, but only just enough. Every piece of her seemed to have some kind of problem. The beast seemed to entertain him further, having taken a seat next to her bed so they could discuss some treatment options. Mistake number one was suggesting options of a magic-based nature. Since the moment he’d walked into her room, she never raised his voice to him. Sure, she offered him plenty of sass, but not anything above her acceptive tone. The animal finally began to show its fangs, quite literally. Her tone grew sharp, growling echoed in her voice.

“Absolutely not,” she had said. Why? Even though the surgeon was confident in his skills, he knew based solely on facts that magic could offer more than just his bare hands. Who would want traditional means over something like that? Ok, if she was going to make such a fuss about it, then best not to revisit the subject. Either that or press her another time.

There had to be some kind of solution. That’s what he kept telling himself.

Mistake number two was trying to negotiate a further treatment plan. Anything he tried to prescribe to her was something she had already tried, or was shot down. “I already make use of the oxygen tank whenever I am in here or on down time. Too many drugs will either mess with my senses, or make it so I will have to take an extended leave from my work. Neither I am willing to accept,” she had said then. She was so damn stubborn.

He had half a mind to discharge her from work anyways, but he feared her. And he feared his employer. She didn’t seem like someone who would lash out at him, but her short temper and growing frustration could fester, putting him in the line of fire.

He had to save his own hide, even though he didn’t know why he bothered.

In the end, he cleared her just like the rest of them.

And that left him here, pacing, wondering if he had made the right decision.

His racing mind wasn’t doing the headache he had developed any favors. His lack of sleep was nothing new, but extended sessions always took a toll on him. Whenever he did sleep, nightmares were there to greet him. There was no safe haven for him, not even in a place as protected as the Whitegale Estate.

A knocking at his door guided him back to reality, “Y-Yes?”

He couldn’t see who was on the other side, as he kept his door locked. It was one of the reasons that kept him from getting close to the other personnel he worked with. It kept him from being a danger to those around him, and kept them from seeing the mess of a human being he had become. It was a gentle voice, probably one of the nurses. She had given another knock on the door, probably just to make sure he knew she was still there, “Mr. Whitegale is looking for you.”

Again? So soon? Why? Had Salena blabbed to him about their discussion? One hand moved to his head, the pounding growing worse from the onslaught of questions. He won’t know until he gets there, and he could not keep his employer waiting, “T-Than-nk y-you. I’ll be t-the-ere so-oon.” He could hear her footsteps leaving the door, leaving him alone once more.

Well, as alone as he could ever be. He would never be truly alone.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he was standing still before he found the will to make his way to the door. The halls were empty, and one look outside the window showed why. Night blanketed the sky, the only light coming from the moon and stars. This just made him question more. He couldn’t have been isolating himself for that long. Why would his employer want to see him at such a late hour? Had someone been brought in late? Then why single him out?

And why allow him to come on his own time? No one else had come to bring his attention back towards the summon.

Malceum’s eyes fell on the door standing between him and the man on the other side. He had done his best to get his trembling hands to calm, swallowing down his nervousness. Alexander had not been unfair to him so far, in fact the man had been rather generous. There was no reason to believe that would change now. Hand grasped at the knob, turning, and then he stepped into the office.

Alexander sat behind a paper filled desk, two chairs sitting at the far side of where he was. Their eyes met upon his entrance, door closing behind him. He moved his hands together, doing his best to mask the shaking that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. If it wasn’t out of nervousness, then it had something to do with him.

“Malceum. Thank you for coming. I know this seems rather sudden. I wanted to start with thanking you for taking care of Salena. I know she can be hard to handle, but she means well.”

“N-No pr-robl-lem. I-It’s my j-job-b to t-tak-ke ca-are of th-hos-se y-you s-sen-nd to me.”

“Yes, I am aware, but she updated me on the talk you had.” Of course she had. Why would he have expected otherwise? He couldn’t help the way his eyes lowered at that statement, Alexander noticing the change in expression. If he wasn’t so tired, he was sure the older man would have given a chuckle, “You have nothing to worry about. A lot of this is new for you, and she’s a rather special case. Just give her some time, she’ll grow on you.”

D-Doub-bt it-t.

“Anyways, the reason I called for you is because something has come up.”

“D-Did y-you-ur w-wif-fe see me a-ag-gain?”

“Not this time.” No? Then why him? Was this some kind of medical emergency? He could hear the shuffling sound of more papers, a few laid out in front of him, as if he were looking over some kind of list. He looked up to the surgeon soon after, “I have a mission that I would like for you to go on.”

“Me? A-Are y-yo-ou s-sur-re?”

“I know it’s outside of your job requirements, but you were asked for specifically.” Asked for? What? Who would want him to come along for anything? Was this something that would need someone of his medical skills? The questions wouldn’t stop coming every time the older man spoke. He couldn’t seem to comprehend why anyone would want him. He didn’t even know anybody, as he had purposefully isolated himself.

He couldn’t keep silent, “W-Who a-ask-ked for m-me?”

“I did.”

Both men turned their heads to the leftmost chair sitting in front of the desk. A familiar figure stood up from where it was sitting, moving so that Malceum could see. Her.

Salena Kingston.

Why?

She was dressed, not in a gown like he had seen when they were in her medical room. This time, she wore something that he could only describe as something out of a fantasy book. He could tell the material was made of leather, sticking tightly against her skin? Fur? She was far too complicated for him to make coherent thoughts.

Salena moved her arm against the top of the chair, leaning against it slightly. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed compared to when they were in the medical wing. Did she hate it there? He couldn’t blame her, especially with how many times she seemed to wind up there. Her gaze was fixated on him, causing a small shiver to move down his spine, “I am going out hunting. I wanted to see if you would like to come along.”

“H-Hun-nt-ting?”

“I do it every now and then. Sometimes they are prompted by Alexander, but that is not the case. I thought you might like to get out of the estate for a bit.”

Yes.. but why him? He just couldn’t understand it.

He did. Clever little mutt. She knew there was something wrong with his host. This was an attempt to draw him out. That had to be the only reason. He wouldn’t allow it. The headache seemed to grow worse at that moment, a voice in the back of Malceum’s mind being the only thing that kept him from moving his hands to cradle his head, “Don’t you dare. It’s a trick. I will not have you expose me more than you already have. You’re going to go right back to your room, unless you want me to make you suffer more.”

“I-I d-don’t-t th-hin-nk I wo-oul-ld be th-he b-bes-st ch-hoic-ce for s-som-meth-hing-g l-lik-ke t-this-s.”

“I’d be willing to make a deal with you, Sorrowgrave. All I ask is that you come on this one hunt with me. I know Alexander pays you, as he does everyone else. I can pool part of your earnings to the same place my money goes. I can have small shipments of dreamless sleep potions sent to you with this. You wouldn’t have to rely on me if you want them.”

This bitch. She knows what he wants, and he truly does want this relief. He can’t even remember the last time he slept without having a nightmare. He knew either way he was going to suffer. The hollow wouldn’t ever stop until he agreed to surrender his being. The only way he would continue on was getting any small mercy that he could.

“A-Alr-righ-ht.”

Both Salena and Alexander gave a nod, the older man turning his attention to the wolf, “Do you have a place you’ll be going?”

“Yes.” Strange that she mentioned no specifics. Was it not necessary to tell her employer where she was taking them? Guess not giving the accepting nod from Alexander. She moved past him, one hand moving up. It was that same magic she had used before, bigger this time. The opening was large enough for the two of them to move through it. Her head turned enough to catch him in view, “Follow me. This portal is going to put a strain on your body, but you’ll be fine shortly after we arrive on the other side.”

He nods.

She takes the first step through, followed by him. He could feel the strain she was talking about. When he stepped out, it took everything in him not to buckle down under the weight. When his vision refocused, he could see Salena not too far ahead of him. She didn’t have the same strength he did, find her form against the earth. It looked almost as if the very air around her was pushing her down. He should have guessed that if this magic put a strain on the body, then of course she would have it worse than him. But then why travel by these portals in the first place? What was the point?

While she recovered, his eyes moved around the land. He didn’t travel much, but where they came to looked like no place he’d ever seen before. The grass under them looked washed out, bits of dirt poking through in patches. There were trees, though few given it seemed they were along hills. Even this seemed like it was devoid of life. Near death was a good way to describe it.

Finally he could hear Salena getting up onto her feet. She dropped the portal they had come through, pushing towards the top of the hill. It would be best for him to follow her. Her eyes peered over the top, looking down at the base of their hiding place. He could see a stone tower in the distance, small patrols and camps around it. Both men and women were patrolling. Their clothing was rather strange. It was a mixture of white and red. They looked like how crusaders would have been dressed in human history.

Surely they hadn’t gone back in time somehow.

Malceum had barely noticed that Salena had begun sneaking ahead without him. Wait, what was she doing? Why were they here? Why did it look like she was stalking them?

Wait…

Wait!

He only just seemed to notice the sheen of a blade resting at her side. No, not just one blade, two of them. One of her hands was gripping on. Her eyes narrowed creeping closer. He wanted to yell at her, call her back and demand to know what she was planning to do. There was nothing he could do as red bagan to cloud his vision. Blood spilled from the crusaders, her blade, claws, or even her teeth finding ways to ravage them. This wasn’t hunting, it was slaughter.

OH? Seems she’s a murderer just like you are. I’ve changed my mind. Maybe you should go down there and join her.

No. He couldn’t do this. He could say that this time. He wouldn’t risk drawing himself to the surface with her around. He had to do something other than let her continue.

She had been careful up to this point, picking them off one by one. Blood stained her mouth and clothes. She could see him moving down the hill, not paying too much attention to his surroundings. Eyes narrowed as she noticed a scarlet moving behind him. He must have been spotted. Deal with the threat themselves rather than raise the alarm. He watched as she stomped her foot down, but nothing seemed to happen.

Then a gurgling noise rang out behind him. He turned around to see the crusader… impaled on a spike of thick ice, blood dripping down onto him. His body was shaking again, that feeling of a thrill he was missing out on wracking around in his brain. She moved over to him, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t pay attention. He could see that she looked to the side, voices crying out.

They were calling out one thing.

‘Death Knight.’

What did that mean? He wasn’t whatever that was.

He seemed to come back into focus, seeing that Salena had turned on the growing mass. Was she ready to take them all on by herself? Just how much blood was she willing to spill? Taking a tight grip of her wrist, he began to drag her away. She seemed to give him a surprised look, snarling as her lips turned up. He could see another string of magic leave from her hand, the other reaching for a loose part of his duster. She had taken him into her arms, fleeing to the hills.

They managed to lose their attackers, the trembling in his body stopping as they did. He hated that he could still smell iron in the air. Once she was sure the crusaders were gone, he was set down, a bloody corpse being tossed at his feet. Had her magic grabbed one of them? Just what the hell was she playing at? Just what kind of life had he actually landed in joining up with this lot?

He couldn’t stand it any longer.

“W-Wha-at t-the fuck wa-as th-hat?”

“I told you we were going hunting. You weren’t paying attention to what was going on around you. You gave us away.”

“I-I m-mad-de it cle-ear I wa-as not-t t-the b-bes-st for th-his. Y-You j-jus-st mur-rde-ered t-them-m.”

“They deserve it.”

“W-Who a-are-e you to j-jud-dge t-the-em?”

“Someone who has first hand experience with them. I’m far from the first person who despises them.”

“T-Tha-at’s b-bes-side th-he p-poin-nt!” Why couldn’t she seem to get it through her thick skull?

“Then you would rather I kill someone that doesn’t deserve it?”

What?! Was she serious?

“K-Kil-ll no o-one!”

“I can’t do that.” She… She what?

“W-Wha-at are you t-talk-king a-abo-out? Y-Yes you c-can-n!”

He noticed her eyes narrow down again. There was that shiver again. How was it that both women he interacted with seemed to have eyes that bore down past his skin? He almost felt himself take a step back, “No. I can’t. If I stopped killing, I would drive myself insane.” Had she really killed that much? Was she so much like him that she got a thrill out of it? He hated this. He hated her. He hated that she bribed him into coming along on this.

“I don’t see why you are making a fuss with me. I thought you would need something like this.”

Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes back at her. It didn’t seem to have the same effect that her’s did on him, “Y-You d-don-n’t kn-now me.”

“You’re right Sorrowgrave, I don’t. However, it’s part of my job to keep tabs on the new recruits, and that includes you. You have little ticks. You obviously don’t get enough sleep, someone with a stutter is not too worrisome, but you’re constantly twitching. I know you’re not nervous, otherwise you wouldn’t have stood up to me like you did. You’re acting more like an addict that hasn’t had his fix in a long time.”

“H-How-w w-woul-ld y-you kn-now?”

“Because I was just like you, Sorrowgrave. You will drive yourself crazy if you continue on like this.”

He wasn’t sure if it was humor in a fighter trying to give medical advice to a surgeon, or her lack of logic that made him relax slightly, “Y-You-u’re s-supp-pose-ed to d-dis-scour-rage ad-ddic-cts f-fro-om th-heir-r v-vic-ces.”

“My own vice, unnatural as it is, can not be fixed. I have to hunt. I’m sorry you don’t see it the same way. I thought feeding your’s would be a temporary fix until I could figure out a better solution.”

“W-Why-y do you c-car-re?”

“Everyone can see that something is wrong with you. No one knows to what extent, but they can see the signs.” He could feel her hands reaching for the mask he wore across his mouth. His hands shot up, covering her own to keep her from removing it. She almost seemed to be smirking as he did this, “You see? I stand a good chance of helping you, all you have to do is let me.”

“Y-You w-won-n’t let-t me do th-he s-sam-me.”

“You did help me though. Your stitching is far better than my own, and I have no doubt you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. I’m one of Alexander’s best for a reason, but that means a greater risk. I’ll need someone like you.”

He hated this. He just wanted to go back to the estate. He wasn’t supposed to bond with anyone. They were a weakness, or even a target. The hollow made it clear he already had an interest in her, and this was certainly not helping. If he had control of his host, Malceum had no doubt he would be jittering with joy.

Was it worth trusting her though?

No one had ever shown him this sort of backwards kindness. She offered him mercy, and now here he was in her position, spitting it back in her face. Why?

Why did it have to be like this?

In his mental crisis, he had barely noticed that Salena was trying to remove his mask again. He honestly wasn’t sure why he felt his hands go lax, allowing her to do so. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on first glance, but a spike in his headache made his lips curl up. Nothing but sharp teeth, just like her own. Her hands moved up again, forcing his mouth open. It was almost as if she could tell this was unnatural.

There was nothing special about him. He was as human as they come. Someone else had forced him to do this to himself.

And he didn’t take kindly to the impromptu investigation of his host. The pain in his head grew worse. It was as if the hollow was unwinding himself in his host’s mind, sticking thousands of wires through his brain. Mouth shut down along the beast’s arm, head pulling back to tear at the flesh.

Her head moved down, staring at him. There was that flicker she had seen before. Her arm raised in his grip, not allowing the shade or hair to block her view, “Caught you.”

Shit.

Why was she so still? Why wasn’t she bothered? He was a freak. He was trying to peel her own flesh away from her body. Why wasn’t she trying to stop him? Why didn’t she kill him like she was doing just a few moments ago? Why couldn’t he just let go? Let me go!

And he listened. Teeth removed themselves, his form staggering away from her. All she was trying to do was help him, and he had bitten her. She stepped closer to him, her hands moving to grip his arms. She lowered themselves down to the grass. He could hear her speaking, but couldn’t bring his eyes up to meet her own, “Sorrowgrave, let me help you. Feed the demon as it were, and let’s go back.”

She knew about him, but not what he was. How was it that she was on point? His eyes moved over to the body she dragged along with them. That trembling came back, and his stomach suddenly felt so empty. He scooted closer to the body, teeth sinking in. He could feel a hand moving along his back as he ate, hating himself every moment that passed.

Another portal opened, the familiar halls of the estate greeting them.

Again she fell to the floor, but this time he moved over to help her up.

Their bloody hands met one another.

They seemed to be standing in front of a door, one he had seen briefly in passing. He could see the halls leading to the medical wing from where they were standing. Wait… why were they here instead of heading to his room? He found his gaze up at her, a small portal at her side. Like before, she reached in, pulling out a familiar green vial. No. Don’t.

He will just break it again.

“I promised you I would get you a steady shipment of these, and I plan to keep that deal. You came with me. Start with this one for now.”

He reached out to take it from her, knowing what the outcome would be. If he didn’t try to take it, he would take over and do it for him. As his hand drew closer, she took a firm grip of his wrist. What the hell was she doing now? Her mouth lowered to the top of the vial, popping the opening with her teeth. The hand gripping his wrist moved up, forcing his mouth open again, the other hand pouring the liquid down his throat.

She knew. She knew what he would do, and acted accordingly. If he wasn’t suddenly feeling so tired, he would have thanked her.

He could vaguely feel her taking him into his arms. She adjusted him so she could open the door they were standing near. It was a furnished room, one that he couldn’t see very well with the darkness of night. One thing he could make out was a bed, one that he was being lowered into. This wasn’t his bed… so where were they? He would have to ask her when he woke. His mind began to fade, growing blank for the first time in years.

She watched him drift, finding her hand moving through his gray hairs before turning to leave. He’s had it rough, so sleeping in her bed would probably do him some good rather than the sub quality of the ones the medical personnel use. She quietly shut the door behind her, moving down the hall to a very familiar room.

The new door swung open, Alexander still sitting at his desk. Shutting the door behind her, she took a seat in front of him, “We have much to discuss.”

[shardminds]

wild animal (livin’ like a fine young cannibal)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rating: t (maybe light m) wc: 2200 and some change

An abandoned warehouse wouldn't be Emma's first choice for a date location. Killian finds a way to convince her otherwise.

work has been stressing me out and i have a million and one things to work on (i’m looking at you csss part 3!) but this crawled its way out of my brain, massively enabled by @darkcolinodonorgasm​ and further encouraged by @artistic-writer​ (who made this beautiful cover! isn’t it great? i’ve never had a fic cover before! i’m still emotional about it). thank you, ladies! this is essentially the blood rave scene from blade only with less violence and more kissing. 

tagging: @thisonesatellite​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​@itsfabianadocarmo​ @killianjonesownsmyheart1​ and, if you wanna be added or removed from this list, just gimme a shout!

available on ao3 ♠

He’d told her to dress, as he so bluntly phrased it, good enough to eat. She’d tried her best to adhere to the code, pairing her favourite leather mini skirt and a thin camisole with fuck-me heels and fishnets. She’d foregone a jacket, knowing that Killian would lend her his if the chill became too much. The way his leather hangs off her, arms just slightly too long but still soft and worn, is one of the pros of having a boyfriend impervious to the cold. Regardless, the main appeal of her outfit isn’t practicality, it’s the fact that at least three of the souvenirs Killian has blessed her with are proudly on show—one at the juncture of her neck, another on her inner wrist, and another just peeking from beneath the hem of her skirt. They catch in the streetlights, glowing temporarily in the luminescence as her Uber trails the city streets, en route to the address he’d texted. There are others, countless others, along her ribs, her breasts, her thighs, faint scars she’d asked him for, a curse on his breath every time she did.

Emma never thought she’d be into it, the territorial possession that comes with having a vampire for a lover, that is. In the past, she rebuffed it, not willing to be taken as anyone’s property, human or otherwise. She’d told Killian the same, at first, unafraid of the fangs he flashed with each smirk. He respected her wishes, kept his distance, with the promise of forever in his eyes and one night on his lips. Over time, something about him drew her in, no glamour or coercion, just… something else, a kind of other that intrigued her, in the depth of his eyes and that knowing smile.

Then again, she’s always had a thing for older guys.

Three arduous weeks later, she’d fucked him in the bathroom stall of a club she can’t remember the name of and delighted in the awestruck look on his face as she sank to her knees before him.

It’s a fond memory.

And it was never just one night.

The warehouse is shady at best, murderous at worst, and Killian greets her at the entrance. Everything about him is appealing, from the artful dishevelment of his hair and the dark silk of his shirt, right down to the snug fit of his jeans and that same promise in his eyes. Eternity looks fucking amazing on him, and he knows. At this point, he could wear nothing but a bedsheet and he’d still be the most attractive being she’s ever seen—in fact, she might prefer that. Maybe later, if they make it home.

“I see you took the dress code to heart, love.” He drawls, his eternal smirk present, pulling her in by the waist for a searing kiss. Searing is an understatement, really. Each time he brings her in like this, close enough that she can taste his hunger—iron and ash—masked by the sweetness of rum just before their lips touch, she can feel parts of herself float away. The tensions and stresses from her day dissipate against his mouth, lost in each breath between them. Killian is a fantastic kisser and, as her tongue catches on the point of a fang, she knows that he knows it.

“Hello to you too.” Fighting off breathlessness, Emma pulls away. They won’t make it to whatever it is he has planned if they keep kissing like that. The urge to call another Uber back home already far too prevalent in her mind. It would be so easy, like every other time, just falling into bed with him.

He laughs, keeping his hand at her waist but allowing space between them. “I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning,” She adds, a smile playing at her lips. Instead of pulling away and taking his hand like she usually does, Emma decides against taking him up on the offer of space. “I’ve been wondering about your date night plan all day.”

“It’s... unconventional, to say the least.”

She shrugs, lacing their fingers together. “So are we.”

“Right you are, lass.” Killian’s smile takes her by surprise. It’s not his usual, cocky, self-assured grin. It’s pride, admiration and something warmer that settles in her stomach when she catches it. She pushes it aside, saving it for later as Killian meets her for another brief kiss. “Shall we?”

The warehouse itself is empty, a cavernous space with a creaking steel frame and concrete floors. Each step she takes causes an echo; each breath leaves a puff of condensation in the frigid air. Killian doesn’t seem swayed by this and walks them both across the expanse to a giant metal door, taking the rusted lever in hand and twisting it open with minimal exertion. It groans, hinges protesting as it creeps open, to reveal the cacophony of noise behind it. Thudding bass and warped vocals swelling and falling in time to the heavy beat. Upon entry, they’re met with writhing bodies, lost in the rhythm, crammed into what was once probably an industrial standard cold store. Despite everything, they make way for Killian to enter.

Suddenly, Emma feels decidedly overdressed.

“A rave?” She has to shout to make herself heard, although, come to think of it, Killian probably has no trouble hearing her at all, regardless of the party going on around them. “I never expected this to be your kind of thing.”

He winks then, before pulling her against him, his chest to her back. Emma’s breath catches in her throat, a moan prepared to escape at a second’s notice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Swan.”

Like that, pressed together so close she can feel every breath he takes, she allows herself to get lost, the white noise numbing her senses to their basest needs. Him. Each time she pushes back, he rocks forward, eliciting the most delicious feelings from deep within. It’s intoxicating, being with him. Not the blood, nor the sex. Just being. Waking up to his touch, falling asleep to his breathing, making coffee, getting breakfast, talking, dancing—the small things. It’s always the small things. He treats her with veneration, a kind of reverence that no one else has, and—as much as she wishes she could deny it, that she could walk away from all this and still be the same old Emma—he’s changed her so irreversibly, she’s not sure what her life would be without him in it.

They’re being watched—no, she’s being watched. Eyes follow them—her as she moves, letting the music take her wherever it will. It courses through her like a second heartbeat, and the voyeurism of it all, familiar and unfamiliar faces flitting back to them—her as Killian trail’s his hands all over, his lips fused to her neck—it’s a heady mix. Whatever he’s got planned, whatever happens next, Emma knows that she’ll be sore in the morning. In the best way, of course. Freshly fucked and freshly drained.

The music never seems to change, the pulse of it thrumming beneath her skin until she can feel the drop coming, inching closer until it reaches its peak. Her stomach falls along with it. He whispers in her ear, but she can’t make sense of his words, falling deaf in favour of the music around them. The caress of his lips on her lobe has her arching back, pressing her ass against him in a tease. She can feel how ready he is, solid against her as she grinds back into him.

The guttural snarl, she can feel, reverberating through his chest on a silenced down beat. His hands go to her wrists, grasping them and tracing his fingertips up her thighs and over her stomach, devilishly slow, one catching over her nipple as he passes over her chest, continuing higher and higher until they’re held above her head, high in the air, alongside everyone else’s on the dancefloor. The music builds and builds and builds, heavy and palpable between them, cementing everyone together in one single goal: to dance. Killian presses a kiss to her ear, tongue darting out to tease as the music pauses for a second in the build-up to yet another drop.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Then the world goes red and she screams.

Cheers erupt from around them as blood pours from the ceiling, sprinkling over the patrons below like a downpour after a drought. The crowd synchronise, palms to the sky, heads tilted back, mouths wide open and jumping along to the discordant thumping as they get their fill of the life source they’re being drowned in. It tastes like iron and chemicals, tacky and cool to the touch, nothing like what Killian had described when he tasted her. He’d compared her to fine wine, to love and sex and everything he missed of being human. Her hands, still held in the air by his grasp, are lined with rivulets of red, each one making its path wherever gravity may take it. The taboo of it has her shivering. Pulling her wrists free and turning to look upon his face, she places her palms on his chest.

It’s chaos.

He’s smiling. A wicked smile, white teeth and dark eyes. He could kill her right now. The recognition of that immediate danger only makes it so much better when he steps closer, eradicating the distance between them.

Fuck.

She wants him, needs him, and when he leans to lick a stripe up her cheek to catch the dripping ichor there, she moans, losing herself to the sensation. He’s a monster and she can’t get enough. In all her life, she’d never anticipated that she’d enjoy such publicly lewd displays of affection but, as Killian laps at the pool of blood gathered above her clavicle, she could not give less of a shit about the hundreds of prying eyes in the room. It’s euphoric, feeling him hard against her as he feeds, taking his fill from the blood trailing over her skin. The familiar lick of her arousal curls low in her belly, demanding to be felt.

She can't stand it—the absence of his lips against hers, tracing over every piece of exposed flesh except the place she wants him most, the chill it brings, the pleasure it ignites within her. There's nothing quite like it. It’s infuriating, maddening, and it reduces her to nothing more than a whimpering mess as his tongue makes its way back up her neck and along her jaw. He comes to a halt there, pausing and pulling back to take her in. He’s fucked, hair soaked through in the initial pandemonium of the bloodbath, eyes glossy and intense but not as dark as they had been earlier, his ocean blue peering through—it only goes to prove the effect he sustenance he’d laved from her flesh is having. He’s covered in blood, completely drenched with it and he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Even like this, surrounded by creatures of nightmare and legend, she can’t help but crave him. With lips parted, he leans in to give her what she desires.

“I fucking love you.” It’s a whisper against her lips, punctuated with fangs tugging on the plump skin there and—well, Emma can’t help herself. It’s not the first time he’s said it and it won’t be the last. Killian Jones has walked the earth for three centuries. He kisses with purpose, fucks with passion and loves unconditionally and Emma Swan, with almost three decades under her belt, can’t find the words to say it back. Not yet. Instead, she throws her arms around his neck, finding his lips with a kiss as the blood rain falls around them and the tantalizing beat drives the crowd.

The kiss is wild; deep, needy and feral in its urgency. It’s fangs and moans and tongues and teeth. It’s messy, the cloying copper taste of blood still lingering between them. It’s perfect.

Before Emma can even think to protest, Killian’s hoisting her up, lifting until her legs are securely wrapped around his waist. Tonight was not the night to wear a skirt but Emma can’t bring herself to regret it. She can already feel it riding up, threatening to expose her ass to the crowd. It’s a blessing she’d opted to wear underwear at all, especially knowing that Killian has a habit of tearing them off in his haste to get to her core. The sharp scratch of his fangs against her bottom lip snaps them both out of their lustful haze for just long enough for Emma to know without words what it is he wants. His gaze, hungry as ever, flits to her chest.

Her shirt’s gone in seconds, torn off by her own impatient hands and his dexterous ones. It comes away in two pieces, thrown aside without a care, revealing the black lace of her bra beneath. It had cost her thirty dollars but, sat at his waist, skin tinted red with the sanguine rainfall, Emma can't bring herself to care. The caress of sharp fangs against the swell of her breast, edging her closer and closer to madness yet grounding her at the same time, tethering her to him, is almost too much. She needs the bite just as much as he does. The call of it strikes deep in her bones, screaming for him. She used to be ashamed of it, fearing just how much she enjoys his deadly kiss, but those memories are all but dust now. In their place, only want.

When he takes one look at her, right before his enamelled canines pierce her skin, she's lost to him.

[mobius-prime]

147. Sonic the Hedgehog #82

Night of Chaos!

Writer: Bollers Pencils: Ribeiro Colors: Gagliardo

Those of you who've played the first Sonic Adventure will know exactly what's coming up and how it plays out. Sonic is hopping from rooftop to rooftop at night in Station Square when he spots police cars zooming around a corner and decides to follow them to see what's up. Of course, it's Chaos, against whom the cops' weapons are useless, as they so helpfully shout at us. The dialogue here is almost word for word taken from the English translation of the game, with the occasional thought bubble to expand Sonic's mental take on things. Luckily, the extraordinarily cheesy dialogue from the game fits in perfectly with Archie Sonic's already incredibly-cheesy-to-begin-with personality.

The fight plays out much like how the boss fight in the game does, with Chaos hopping from light pole to light pole and eventually melting back into a puddle of water and going down the drain, with Robotnik laughing at Sonic's efforts from above to defeat "Chaos, the god of destruction." Good thing the Freedom Fighters were here in the city to defend it from this thing, huh? Since it's so isolated, if they'd had no help, Station Square would have kind of been screwed against Chaos from the start.

Door to the Past

Writer: Bollers Pencils: Ribeiro Colors: Gagliardo

This story is where the adaption takes a sharp departure from the game. Knuckles, still wandering the ruins, suddenly finds a ball of light approaching him, and as it touches his forehead, he is swept into a vision by an echidna who introduces herself as Tikal, but definitely does not look like the Tikal we know (for some reason, throughout the arc, her appearance and even the spelling of her name is wildly inconsistent). Unlike in the game, where it takes the entire cast multiple days to coordinate with one another and decipher the strange visions they've all been receiving, Tikal just lays it all out on the table to Knuckles immediately.

Of course, the Mysterious Cat Country was named as such because, well, there were cats already living there, cats who weren't inclined to share their space. The Knuckles clan, the warrior caste for whom Knuckles is named (it has nothing to do with his pointy mutant knuckles, no, not at all) chose to stay and fight, while the scientists departed back for Albion. Tikal, the young daughter of their warchief "Pachamac" (a misspelling, they corrected it to Pachacamac in future issues), chanced upon the Mystic Ruins , meeting the peaceful chao who protected the "seven emeralds" (it's not elaborated on what kind of emeralds these were, since in this universe, the Master Emerald didn't exist yet, and there are more than seven Chaos Emeralds in the world), along with the mutated chao made of water called… Chao. Yeah, I guess he started being called Chaos later or something? Tikal quickly befriended the chao, understanding that they were peaceful and didn’t want to be disturbed by conflict, but in the midst of their war with the native cats, the members of her clan tried to invade the chao's land to seize the power of the seven emeralds for themselves, despite Tikal's pleas.

While Knuckles chases after the ball of light, we move over to Eggman, whose robots have all returned with various frogs for inspection. At first, like in the game, he's pissed that none of them have the right frog, but then gets to Gamma and becomes pleased as he sees the correct frog (though, again, how he knew that the piece of Chaos got into that one specific frog completely eludes me). After extracting the missing piece from Froggy…

…Chaos is whole once more, which means that this story took place before the first one. Man, why do all these issues have the various stories out of order like this? I mean, I guess they wanted to keep the general order of Sonic story first, then Knuckles, then the backup at the end, but still. While Eggman sends Chaos off to wreak some havoc, we head back to the Mysterious Cat Country, where the cat queen continues to try to interrogate her captives, certain they're planning an attack on her people. Instead of reassuring her that they are not, in fact, trying to invade her land, Vector decides to just start mouthing off for no reason.

First of all, "crap" is not a swear word. Second of all, that's cannibalism. And third of all, Locke has arrived to demand the release of the Chaotix and Julie-Su, or else he's willing to restart the war that he claims the cats started all those years ago! Wait, Locke, what the hell? The cats hardly started the war - if anything, it was the echidnas arriving and trying to colonize an already-inhabited land that started the war. But then again, we already knew the echidnas were pompous colonialists who only care about themselves.

Double-Crossed Circuits

Writer: Bollers Pencils: Ribeiro Colors: Gagliardo

In keeping with the theme of not putting these stories in any logical order, this story takes place both before, during, and after the previous one. It's also narrated very bizarrely, with most dialogue avoided and replaced instead with textboxes that simply inform us, in second person no less, what's going on at any given time. This isn't the first time Karl has opted for this style of storytelling, but I maintain that it just doesn't work as well as simply showing what's happening, and clashes especially hard with comics as a form of media, given that they're all about showing instead of telling.

Anyway, it's time to properly meet E-102 Gamma! It was built by Eggman along with several other similar robots also named after Greek letters, and trained for battle against robotic copies of Eggman's various enemies, including, of course, Sonic. Gamma completes the obstacle course with ease, and is then sent out with its fellows on the quest to get! that! frog!

Of course, we know it returned with the correct one, and Eggman, angry at the rest of the robots for failing, disintegrates them all before Gamma's eyes. He then orders Gamma, who is feeling the beginnings of emotion at witnessing its fellow robots' "deaths," to go to the prison block and get the bird from Amy, who's been imprisoned there since her capture last issue.

You see what I mean about this weird style of narration? I mean, I guess you could say Karl is trying to avoid just lifting all the dialogue wholesale from the game, but this is objectively worse, as well as being weirdly confusing to anyone who isn't already familiar with the original scene. Anyway, Gamma straight up rips the door off its hinges to allow Amy and the bird to escape, and then walks away, with the narration informing us that Gamma is now sentient due to this decision. Uh… okay then, I guess? Next up we have a Super Special, which contains the bulk of the adaption, so strap in for that.

[wearemystic]

Diner Tales [2]

Meet ‘n Greet (1 / 2)

Character(s): Reader, Mystic, Male OC

Rating: M

Warning(s): Cannibalism-by-Proxy, descriptions of car crash

The first thing that you should know about yourself is that you are, at your very core, a good person. It’s great thing, really. If a little old lady needs help across a busy street (not that you have as many in the borough where you live as they do in San Francisco), you’re usually the first to volunteer your arm. You can’t stand injustice, and you support organizations that provide help to minorities that need the assistance. You tip your waiters well and make polite conversation with retail workers. You don’t break laws and always pull to the side of the road when an ambulance comes down the road.

So, yeah, you’re a generally decent human being.

It is only logical that when you hear the unmistakable sound of a truck flipping and metal screaming across the blacktop you leave your home to investigate. You want to make sure that the driver is okay. After all, it is New Years. Driving while drunk on this night of all nights is probably not a great start of the year for whoever is behind the wheel.

Thank Christ that this phone doubles as a flashlight.

Cockle burs stick to the legs of your pajama pants as you pick your way across the field. You’ll have a hell of a time picking them all off of yourself later on. It’s chilly tonight, and you wish that you’d thought to wear a sweater.

You can hear your neighbors whooping in the distance as they watch the parades on their TVs. Shivering, you tap the screen of your phone, revealing that is it 11:51 PM.

Almost a new year, you think wistfully. And what a way to start it.

Tendrils of fog curl around your bare ankles. Should’ve worn socks. Might get a tick, or something. You pick up your pace — maybe, just maybe, you can get to the the wrecked car and check on the driver and call someone for help and still be able to see the ball drop at midnight.

You reach the overturned vehicle shortly after, only to find that it’s not a commercial car at all, but a nondescript white van with the Life Foundation logo emblazoned on the side. Eyes narrowed, you circle the van warily, taking in the crumpled hood and the smoke floating out of the ruined engine.  The back doors of the vehicle hand open at odd angles, revealing… shelves? Shattered glass crunches beneath your feet. It looks like a portable laboratory on the inside of the van.

What the hell is going on? You go back to the driver’s side window, clearing away the broken window as best as you can without cutting yourself on the glass. You can see that the man’s legs are crushed. His breathing is uneven — maybe he’s got some broken ribs?

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” You snap your fingers by the man’s ear repeatedly, trying to get his attention. The blood dripping down the side of his head can’t be a good sign, but you vaguely remember reading somewhere that you shouldn’t move an injured person from a totaled car (or was it that you shouldn’t move someone who’s wiped out on a motorcycle?). He groans, and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“G-get out of here,” he chokes, sending blood dribbling down his chin. “Run—”

The grass beside you rustles, and the sound sends shivers down your spine. “Wha—?”

Something brushes against your ankle and you shriek. You fumble your phone and it falls out of your hands, sending shadows dancing as it bounces off of your foot and once more once it hits the ground. In between the shadows you can see — you can feel — something darker than the night on your flesh. It’s warmer than the evening air, and you whine as you sense it sinking into your clammy skin.

It feels wrong.

The man in the car is screaming, you’re screaming, everything is too loud, too much too fast and you’re pretty sure you are going to have a heart attack. You can feel whatever the thing is slide along your veins, along muscles and bones and blood, melding together with you like it was meant to be. The majority of the thing comes to rest in your chest and neck, and you scratch at your skin like you can pull it out with only your blunted nails. “Get out get out get out!”

ours.

The voice in your head sounds like water on burning coals, hissing and spitting and crackling in your ears. What the fuck. What the fuck?!

You look at your trembling hands, watching in horror as your veins turn purple-black in the dappled moonlight. “Oh god, oh god, oh god. ” You turn to face the driver; he’s watching you like you’re a dangerous animal, a predator.

he is prey.

“Help me,” you beg.

The man leans away from you, revulsion etched into the lines of his face, “Stay away!”

“Help me.” Your voice roughens and goes gravelly, and ooze comes out of your pores, wrapping around you and blocking your line of sight completely. You open your mouth in a silent scream as you feel yourself lose complete control over your own body.

ours. our body.

It's all in your head now, and you can feel the creature — what else could it be but some sentient being? — twist your — their —

— our —

— fingers, clenching and unclenching them in an attempt to relax them. You watch in awe — and more than a little terror — as your hand grips the edge of the door's window and rips it from the hinges. The metal crumples like paper in your hand. The van rocks precariously. The air is filled with the eye-stinging scent of ammonia. He pissed himself, then.

"pathetic," a voice that is both yours and not says, and a hand shoots out and wraps around the man's neck. He sobs, pushing at your arm with his right arm — his left dangles by his side uselessly. "you are weak."

"Please, no," he begs. Fat, salty tears drip down his face. Your mouth opens and a tongue unlike any other you've seen slithers out from behind your teeth, long and lithe like a snake. It is simultaneously fascinating and horrific; you watch it slide over the side of his face, and you tastesaltsweatFEAR on his skin. A shiver ripples down your spine again, but this time it is one of hunger, not fear. You are hungry.

we hunger. we must feed.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god this can't be real.

it is very real. i am very real.

What are you?

i am mystic.

Your mouth opens of its own accord — of Mystic's accord — and the driver begins to shriek again, only to have all sound cut off as your teeth sink into his neck. You gag internally.

Blood — hot fresh delicious — flows down your throat, and it feels like something inside of your body slides into place. Mystic devours the rest of the man, taking particular pleasure in breaking the man’s — the corpse’s — bones in half and sucking the marrow out before popping the bone into your shared mouth with a crunch.

Fucking gross, dude. Can’t you just, like, I don’t know, eat the bone without fuckin’ breaking them?

“it doesn’t taste as good,” Mystic hums, licking chunky storm-red viscera from your clawed fingers.

That’s disgusting.

“you liked it. i felt us. you liked seeing his blood all over our hands.”

That doesn’t make it right! Oh god, I’m going to hurl. You glance at the side of the van, then back at it again. Though warped, you can see your reflection in it — six white eyes blink at you from the metal. Mystic bares its — their? his? her? — teeth at you in a mocking smile. Holy shit. Am I — are we stuck like this? I have a job, I can’t go to work like this!

“we are not always like this,” Mystic says, and you watch as the creature melts back into your skin, leaving you, the real you, standing alone in the field.

we can be like this, too.

“Okay, okay, this is fucking weird,” you mumble, gripping your hair with shaky hands. You can feel Mystic curl around the column of your spine. “I — we — just ate a person. Jesus Christ, if I tell someone, they’ll have me arrested or put on death row.”

Mystic howls in your head as you imagine how the lethal injection needle would feel like sliding underneath your skin.

no. we will not allow it.

"Like hell you won't allow it," you cry indignantly, throwing your hands in the air. "We ate a person. A living, breathing person with a family, probably, and now he's — gah!" You stop speaking as Mystic materializes as a tendril grown from your shoulder and bites the tender meat of your neck. "Stop that!"

"no, you stop. you are our host. we are bonded. we will keep you alive."

"For fuck's sake, bonded? What does that even mean?"

"i am yours, and you are mine," Mystic snarls. The words send a thrill through your nervous system, little sparks of lightning that set your endorphin levels rising. "they can try to take us apart, but i will kill them first."

[sleepylop]

One Night on Floor Seven: A Hallway Opera

Well, well… welcome to the hallway carpet! Hope you can learn to put up with the smell of curdled soymilk and sour-fragranced aerosol. Personally, I’d like to believe that unrelenting decay is what gives floor seven its character. A delightfully all-consuming “decay,” which extends past just mold caked with chemical lavender. Here, you’ll find five residual units, installed as an afterthought for the sake of filling out surplus space. (A cluster of tumorous apartments, if you will.) That being said, I’d like to introduce our cast—or, better yet, I’ll open the stage and allow them to introduce themselves.

Enjoy the show!

1. Friday, April 19th, 9:42 PM:

Tonight, he’s sat near the top of the stairwell, broadcasting his thoughts on the status of neo-Pagan reptilians and their rapid encroachment on social values:

“I am warning you all so early on, with what we all know is coming, but are too chemically possessed to acknowledge! Our creator died long ago, but a God greater than him has stepped up to rule us; and, he is testing our integrity each and every day! Still, we’re—” He lets out a feral, yet impassioned belch, before continuing, “—we… we’re failing! We’re failing his tests, and we are willingly submitting to witchcraft, and the demonic reptiles who wield it against us! We must come together through a shared blood offering, and repent for our stupidity! Blood! We must give him our blood! Evil will drown in our blood!”

He’s preaching to what seems to be an empty hallway, relying only on the possibility that his voice will slip its way into the surrounding units. For him, walls with the thickness of battered cardboard are a fantastic asset for his ministry.

Each slurred syllable is coated with a residue of cheap cider, as is the inner thighs of his sweatpants. “His” legal name is unknown. His apartment door sits just three feet to his left, and the dilapidated “worship space” he now rents out can be found just two blocks up the street.

He’s also been asked, on a series of occasions, for clarification on exactly what higher power he’s touting as humankind’s omnipresent foster parent. He has yet to give an explanation more concise than simply, “Well, I invite you to join me, for this week’s Sunday evening worship! Together, one day, we will have the honour to bleed for our beautiful, beautiful king. Join us in the only true path to holy redemption! You will soon understand all, I promise you that.”

It’s been just short of two months, and the residents of floor seven have come to a silent consensus: Do not engage with the righteous-ass preacher in room 703, lest you be roped into joining his non-denominational suicide cult. Do not speak or further enable him. Just walk past, again and again. And, most importantly, keep an eye out for any bold-faced, blood-centric news headlines.

Surely enough, morbid curiosity has become the collective vice of floor seven.

2. Friday, April 19th, 11:08 PM:

At the edge of the staircase, right where the carpet is beginning to peel away from water-corroded wood, the preacher has fallen asleep. Oh shit, his snores sound fucked. Possibly, maybe, suggestive of sleep apnea… maybe?

At least, this assessment of symptoms is what twists its way into Evie’s thoughts, via what is beginning to feel like a paranoid reflex. Having just reached the peak of the seven-flight climb, especially, her attention is already shrouded by fog and gorging itself on any thought that’s not this is where I tumble to my death, I’ve lost all feeling in my calves and I’m forgetting how to climb stairs.

The lone elevator is out of service, just as it has been for the past four years or so.

Ahead of Evie, the wallpaper is beginning to distort, her tired eyes directing a show of yellowed roses rearranging and twisting into one-another. Her room, 705, lies directly ahead, the front door bulging in synch with the walls.

It has been a miserable day. Like, an exceptionally shitty day. Far too often, as much as she cares for her own future as a registered nurse, Evie finds herself considering the legitimacy of the suicide cult. Sometimes, school and a lifetime of anxious baggage don’t mesh remarkably well.

Just as she raises her foot to proceed onward toward freedom, Evie feels a cold hand latch onto her ankle. And, before she’s able to come to a conscious halt, she hurdles toward the off-green carpet. Evie’s fall forward is then ceremoniously punctuated by her right knee jabbing into floor, sending a shockwave of pain down her calf. Her backpack presses its weight down onto her, prompting Evie to lose her balance and roll off to the side, twisting her captive ankle in the process. Well, if only I had fallen backwards, to my sudden, wonderful death.

Evie jerks her head around to see, as she had expected, the liquified form of the preacher brandishing her leg, his pale hand squeezing at her ankle. Before Evie can determine the most effective explanatives for the situation, the preacher mumbles, “G’evening, miss. I almost didn’t see you passing by. Can I talk to you ‘bout something, while you’re here?”

Evie doesn’t respond. Instead, she yanks her ankle away from the preacher, making a deliberate effort to at least dislocate his wrist in the process. This effort seems to have failed, as while Evie scrambles to her feet, the preacher continues to slur, “I noticed that you’ve been living what looks like, um, a homosexual lifestyle. I’d like to discuss that with you, maybe, just a bit?”

Growing rapidly more jaded toward the absurd universe that is floor seven, Evie keeps her mouth shut—which, is truly a test of will. God fucking damn, is this guy even a real person? Or is this just the start of my inevitable breakdown?

As Evie makes the short dash to her front door, she hears the preacher continue to babble from the floor. “It’s just, I wanted to have a little discussion, y’know? Homosexuality isn’t, uh, innately bad, I guess, but sometimes it is the product of psychic population control, and I just wanted to let you know, so that our New World Order is never able to—”

The sound of Evie’s door creaking on its rusted hinges is directly followed by a thunderous slam. The preacher’s words catch in his throat, seeming to choke him in the process.

No, really, he’s suddenly gagging on air. He’s beginning to go blue in the face.

Neither he nor Evie notice: Her wallet is now buried in the carpet, just a foot from where the preacher’s head hovers barely over the ground.

Left with no opportunities for further harassment, he dozes back to sleep, cuddling his empty bottle of cider into his chest.

3. Saturday, April 20th, 12:31 AM:

A grey-haired man, dressed in loafers and a faded tie-dye shirt, is approaching room 702. He’s certainly not a resident of floor seven, but he has a very important appointment.

He notices the familiar shape of the preacher curled into a tight lump, snores echoing throughout the narrow hallway. Still, the sight is unsettling, even for a frequent visitor. Something about this strange situation will never, ever sit right with him.

In his peripheral vision, as the visitor raps softly onto the door of room 702, he notices a metallic glint, nestling against his foot. Is that… oh, a lost wallet? Jesus, it looks like the kind of wallet a little girl would strap to her matching purse. Do any kids even live on this floor?

Shrugging to himself, the visitor kneels down, scooping up the glitter-dusted wallet. It fits oh-so snuggly into the palm of his hand. Maybe Mistress Delia will know who this little thing belongs to.

After a moment more spent on standby, the door eases open.

Snores continue to cannibalize the airspace.

4. Saturday, April 20th, 2:06 AM:

A lopsided smile softening his face, the visitor steps back into the hallway of floor seven. He shuts the door softly behind himself. A half-formed bruise is visible on the meat of his bicep.

He swivels around on his heels, readjusting to the sound of snoring and the smell of asbestos and rot. And, before he can even will himself to take a step deeper into reality, the visitor is hit with a second resounding noise: A hollow tapping, rising from the nearby stairwell.

Then, within seconds of the visitor’s panicked acknowledgement, a new man reaches the crest of floor seven. A batlike man, dressed in an elaborate mixture of dark, free-flowing fabric and romantic embroidery. His face and hands are deeply wrinkled, and his platform boots only emphasize his height—which, towers well over the visitor. White roots are beginning to tease his otherwise purple-black hair, which has been tied back into a tight ponytail.

With a relaxed smile and a custard voice, he addresses the visitor. “Oh, hey, have I seen you around here before? I feel like I’ve seen you comin’ in and out, before.” He follows this up with a string of deep breaths, still recovering from his upward journey. Clearly, the fabric wings are entirely nonfunctional.

Feeling heat rise to the surface of his face, the visitor shrugs. “Yeah, you may have,” he says, staring over the other man’s shoulder, eyes losing focus. “I’ve been around here a few times, before.”

With a curt nod, the retirement-bound vampire begins to stretch his right arm across his chest, his silver jewelry chiming faintly. “Cool, cool. Anyway, don’t mean to hold you up. I’m Oscar, by the way; feel free to say hi, next time, alright?”

“I… I can remember that, okay,” the visitor replies, his voice barely audible over the violent snoring, which has practically become ambient noise. “Do you live here?” he asks, after a beat of hesitation.

Oscar hums. “Indeed, I do. I was just gettin’ back a bit later than usual. Had an interesting night,” he says, then hums again, softly.

“Where are you coming from?” the visitor asks, before any social phobias can drag him back down to hell. He’s still baking in his own endorphins, as he often is after some therapeutic-grade flogging. Mistress Delia may be a professional domme, but she places spectacular concentration on the emotional relief of her clients.

“Well, since you ask, I just got done with ‘goth night,’” Oscar says, air quotes included, paired with a dramatic eye roll. Which, is made exceptionally dramatic, thanks to his purple lenses. “The last goth club ‘round here closed years back, which continues to suck profound ass, but occasionally I hear about a ‘goth night’ happenin’, usually at some club downtown. This one had been… not brilliant. Mainly just played a grating loop of 2000s industrial. And, major points off for all the Marilyn Manson tracks. Do people still think the dude’s music is ‘goth’? Really?” Oscar yawns, as if the freshly branded memory is enough to further exhaust him.

Still, the visitor responds with a nervous smile. “That’s, um, interesting. I… didn’t know about any of that.” He pauses. Snoring takes over again, for a moment. “Anyway, I should be going, now. It was nice meeting you.”

With that, the visitor makes a beeline for the stairwell. As he weaves around Oscar, the elder goth offers a quick, “Nice meeting you too, man. Hope good ol’ Delia is treatin’ you right.”

And, finally, the visitor is no longer a visitor of floor seven. Or, of anywhere, currently.

Oscar retreats to room 701, boots tapping in rhythm with the preacher’s sour attempts at breathing.

5. Saturday, April 20th, 4:38 AM:

Later that morning, after a violently disoriented and hungover preacher returns to his own apartment, the door to room 704 opens for the first time.

Out comes Sal.

Sal’s a normal guy. He works in accounting. He’s gluten-free and recently took on a side gig in multilevel marketing. He calls his mom every night, just before 8 PM.

Sal just wants to catch the bus.

Sal’s been searching for a new apartment.

Wish Sal luck.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Protection: Part 9

“Is the guard George Wallace already off my property?” Tom barks into his phone, the hand he’s using to drive white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Harrison taps his fingers anxiously on his thigh, eyes darting from his friend’s eyes to the steering wheel.

“Yes, sir,” his head of security stutters. “Why, sir? He said you sent him to pick your parents up from the airport—”

Tom hangs up angrily and slams his hand on the dash, not caring when his phone skids to a stop in front of Harrison, who picks it up and pockets it. “Idiot!” He’s going to kill every one of the guards that had been working his gate for not checking thoroughly enough—could they not have seen his girl in the car with the guard?

“Mate, it’s okay,” Harrison tries to calm his boss. “All our cars have trackers. He can’t get far.”

“He knows perfectly well it’s got a tracker,” Tom growls. “He’s going to ditch it as soon as possible.” Without any other outlet, he lashes out at his best friend: “Why didn’t you insist on taking her to the kitchen? If she was acting weird, you should have stuck with her!”

“I was trying to make sure the guard didn’t shoot either of us!” Harrison protests. “I’m a distraction for Y/N if she wanted to escape, everyone knows keeping track of yourself in a hostage situation is hard enough without worrying about someone else—”

“Yeah, think about it that way instead of thinking that you abandoned her while she was getting kidnapped because you were scared of getting shot,” the mobster boss growls. God, he should have talked with you a minute longer, should have tried harder for forgiveness, and then maybe all of this wouldn’t be happening. One more second of you and you’d be safe. One more second.

“That’s not fair.”

“This life isn’t fair, Harrison! You’re the second most privileged person in England because of the life you lead, and you have the audacity to complain? You don’t see me complaining.”

“Oh, so only the least privileged person in the world is allowed to complain?” Haz snaps back, folding his arms. “And you complain all the time about Y/N and how she doesn’t even notice you, how she’s literally too perfect, how she’s a distraction. You’re just being angry and a hypocrite.”

What Tom doesn’t talk about is the anxiety churning in his stomach at why Wallace took you. He used to work for you and your father, so he might be taking you out of concern for your wellbeing, or he’s still working for the Y/L/N family.

Not that Tom’s any better. He’s just a wealthier jailer.

Tom clenches his jaw and shoves those thoughts out of his mind. He wants you gone, he wants you out, and this is the easiest way to do it. Besides, your living relatives have a claim on you until you get married or turn sixty, as per the Y/L/N family rules—or at least they would, if Tom didn’t have the contract signed by your father.

He can feel his breakfast rising up his throat. If he gets there too late, you’ll either know everything or be dead.

He doesn’t know which he’d prefer.

Harrison calls another security man to activate cameras to watch the car and takes a deep breath. There goes one favor. Normally Tom would be angry about using favors for such a trivial task, but this isn’t really a trivial task. This is Y/N Y/L/N. “We’re gaining on them,” Harrison says, now focusing intently on the location the tracker is transmitting on one of his many phones. “Nearly there.”

Tom grits his teeth and jerks the steering wheel to the right, vaguely registering the car’s wheels skidding on the semi-wet concrete.

“Don’t stop,” Harrison orders. “We’re going to cut them off.” He starts to clamber into the backseat behind Tom. “We’ll hit on the passenger side, so we should make it out okay. Hopefully Wallace dies upon impact—hopefully for him, anyways… Wait, they’re slowing down now.”

“Do you know why?” Tom growls.

Harrison puts the phone connected to the security guard’s phone on speakerphone. “What’s going on in the car?” he barks.

“I can’t quite see—”

“Try harder.” Tom orders. Or else doesn’t need to be spoken.

“I can see they’re… wrestling? And now the girl’s got a knife and he’s got a knife.”

“Is he pointing it at her?” Harrison asks, exchanging glances with Tom. Y/N’s tough. She can take a bullet anywhere except the fatal areas. A bullet in her head will be an instant kill and if he hits any vital organs, she’d have minutes.

“No, sir,” the guard responds. “They’re just talking. Now he’s driving faster. The girl has blood on her right pant leg, and she’s sitting on the left side of the car.”

Tom’s jaw clenches even tighter. Loving someone is 1% love, 99% shit feelings, especially when the one he loves is a master assassin with a price on her head, and he hates it. Why couldn’t he have gotten attached to the girls that want him? Why did he have to fall in love with the one girl that gets into more trouble than any of his men combined?

“You know she can handle herself,” Harrison tries in vain to soothe him.

Tom rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Not if she gets shot somewhere fatal.”

“That won’t happen,” Haz says confidently, and tries to believe it. “At least when we hit the car there’s less of a chance she gets hurt.”

“This is probably going to sound ridiculously unbelievable when I tell you this,” he sighs and then waits a long time to say anything else.

As quietly as you can, you peer over his shoulder, holding your breath so he isn’t alerted to what you’re doing. You’re trying to grab your dagger. You can’t see it, but you can see the light glinting off it, which lets you know it’s in his lap somewhere.

Which is really going to be awkward when you grab it.

“I’ve seen a lot more than you’re giving me credit for,” you say dryly, craning your neck in a vain attempt to see your target so you don’t grab the poor man in less desirable areas. “I’ve seen boys sleep with their stepmothers, men shoot their daughters—first hand— and people sacrifice others to whatever weird gods they believe in. I’ve seen cannibalism. Trust me, whatever’s going on here, I’ve seen worse.” Been through worse. “Can I get in the passenger seat? It’s cramped back here.”

Wallace cranes his neck to look at you before nodding. You start to clamber over the seat, eyes on the lookout for a glint of metal, and when you see it, your hand strikes out like a rattlesnake before you retract just as quickly, gripping the metal so hard it’s going to leave marks on your skin. A sharp sting of pain makes you gasp, not having prepared for it, and you look down quickly. You’d grabbed the blade part of the knife, not the hilt, and it had left a long but extremely shallow cut on your palm. You wipe your hand on your pants, relieved with the cut doesn’t bleed more. It just stings, like a long papercut.

“Give that back,” Wallace says quickly, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel as he grips it tighter. He looks you in the eyes with the mirror, his eyes scared and angry. He slows the car down slightly, making sure no one is behind you two, and you hear the gun cocking before he drapes his hand on the passenger seat’s headrest, giving you an up-close-and-personal view of what’ll happen if you try anything.

“You have your protection, I have mine,” you say simply, gesturing with the knife at the gun.

“Won’t stab you. Pinky promise.”

He frowns at that, a little concerned and a whole lot confused, because ‘adults’ think that they’re too old for pinky promises. No one is too old for pinky promises. Especially not you, because you get to cut someone’s pinky off if they break their promise. Wallace knows not to argue with you, though, and he sighs frustratedly before speeding back up. You slide across the back seat behind him so if he decides to try and shoot you, he has a harder shot.

“One more second,” Haz murmurs and braces himself. Tom turns the corner sharply, eyes narrowed with determination, the engine of the car roaring. Harrison can just make out the guard’s eyes widening with panic for a split second before he’s out of view.

“The girl moved to the right side!” the guard reports through the phone.

Tom and Harrison both panic, Tom jerking the wheel to the left. With a horrific screeching and crunching of metal and Harrison getting whiplash, the car whips all the way around, hitting Wallace’s car in the process. He can only hope he hit the front of the car instead of the back, and that you realized what was going on and scrambled to the right side of the backseat, maybe even got out of the car.

Harrison clutches whatever he can as the car pitches back and forth before finally settling. Immediately, he leaps out of the car, cocking his gun and approaching the crushed stolen car. The left side of it is entirely crushed in from the force of Tom’s angry driving and the glass shattered.

Tom scrambles to that side, frantically trying to wrench the car door off its hinges and ignoring the metal and glass that scratches at his palms.

Harrison swears softly when he sees the guard’s bleeding form. A large shard of glass is embedded deeply in his temple and he’s bleeding vigorously. If he’s not dead yet, he will be in seconds.

You glare up at Tom when he pulls the last twisted piece of metal off of you. You have a cut on your cheek that’s shedding blood, you’d bitten through your lip because of the force of the crash, and your arm got pulled out of its socket, but apart from that you’re fine.

“You couldn’t have thought of a less violent way to help me?” you mutter.

Tom lets out a breath of relief and sits heavily on the ground, pulling you to him so he can hold you as tightly as possible. “Did he say anything?” he asks, anxiety suddenly churning in his stomach.

“Hmm?” You wipe your cheek, surprised when it comes away red. You hadn’t noticed it getting cut. “What do you mean?”

“Did he say why he took you?”

You shrug listlessly, slouching against the boy you’ve kinda-sorta fallen in love with. “I guess he knew you guys kidnapped me and wanted to save me. He used to work for my dad. He said you were going to do something to me…” You trail off. “You’re not going to make me do some suicide mission or something, right?”

You don’t know. The writhing snakes in his stomach settle for a moment before Tom scoffs, lying. “That would be stupid,” he says, squeezing tighter, and recoils away when you let out a hiss of pain.

“Dislocated my shoulder,” you hiss, flexing your hand. You want to touch it but that would just make the pain worse.

Tom offers, “I can put it back for you if you want.”

You nod and shuffle around until your shoulder is in front of him.

“Three… two… one.”

Later, when Harrison is driving the two of you home and Tom’s holding you in the backseat, he studies the curve of your cheeks and the way your eyelashes flutter against them, the way your skin glows in the streetlights’ gleam.

He really does love you. He might even tell you.

@littlemarvelqueen @musical-whovian @lemirabitur @childofcrystals @bubbles1642