#perhaps its a mercy then that you never got the chance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ruskaroma · 2 years ago

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ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name.

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present.

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow.

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows.

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again.

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her.

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him.

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him.

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her.

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!”

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it.

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women.

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep.

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls.

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off.

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick chapter 4 #john wick x you #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #john wick smut #ochl #my works

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manias-wordcount · 27 days ago

Text

No Chance at All (Light Yagami)

Kinktober 2024 Day Twenty-Seven: Collaring

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You think you can pinpoint the exact moment things changed for the worse.

And you think that exact moment was when Ryuzaki died.

You were never told much about the Kira investigation to begin with. You were just supposed to be Light’s little girlfriend. Someone who barely escaped the fate of being a repeat fling because you were too shy to ask if he could be your boyfriend. Far too confused and full of anxiety to really know what’s going on. And far too much of a fragile for any criminal mastermind to share his secrets with.

After all, the way you broke down in a stuttering, lost mess- afraid that you were going to end up like Kira’s many victims did more to make the officers in the room have pity on you than suspect you. And the way you cried real tears and sobbed so hard you had to empty your stomach in the bathroom when you saw Ryuzaki’s body go cold with death in front of you only certified two things many were already starting to believe. One, that you weren’t a criminal. And two, any connections you had to criminals were unknown to you. For you were a sweet girl. But you were a walking liability at heart too.

That’s why Light didn’t tell you anything until recently.

He didn’t tell you until Ryuzaki was dead and the task force got to see Light comfort his soft, fragile, mourning girlfriend. His girlfriend, who had an appropriate reaction to a boy the two of them had gotten close to. He didn’t tell you until he slipped that pretty little engagement ring on your finger. A ring with a big and heavy stone that only seemed to shine with the promise that a bright future just may be in store for you. He didn’t tell you until he was sure things would change. Until he was sure he had you wrapped around his little finger. And now?

“Don’t bother trying to take that thing off.”

He’s wrapped around your neck instead.

That thing in question is a simple little strip of black material that encircles your neck while a tiny little gem dangles in the front as its centerpiece. It looks simple, yet tasteful. Something that goes with almost every color. Something that goes with every style. Something that goes with almost every occasion too- from casual to formal. Something that nobody would ever question why you never take it off. Something that nobody would ever notice that you can’t take it off. Ever. Not without help. Not without Light.

“I’ll know exactly if do,” Your fiancé continues as he levels his gaze at you, telling you practically everything you need to know with just one single look. A look that sends shivers down your spine almost instantly. Despite the fact that you tower over him while standing now that he’s sitting in his office chair, you still like you’re completely at his mercy. Though you suppose the way he narrows his dark eyes at you and stares you down like you are and will always be his prey doesn’t help. And the way he sits in his chair, posture relaxed and legs spread wide for you to stand between help with this feeling either. But perhaps worse of all? “You don’t want to make me come home from work to deal with you, right?”

The way he has you holding up the edge of your nightgown to your chin so that Light can rub slow circles into your clit while he gives you a set of warnings about your new collar is what makes you feel the most powerless in the situation. Because you are. Because that’s simply who and what you are not for him.

Powerless.

“I-I’ll be good,” A quick promise spills from your lips. You’re afraid of attempting more with Light watching you so intently as that finger of his continuously rubs circles into your sensitive clit. It’s hardly enough stimulation to get off properly. But you can’t help but rock into his touch and gasp out every now and then whenever he moves in a way that makes you feel almost a little too good. So good that you’re tempted to ask him to slip them inside of you. Just for a little while. Just long enough for you to remember what it’s like to feel full.“I won’t take it off, I swear.”

Almost instantly, Light relents. It comes with a small smile. One only you get to see.

“Good girl.”

Not that he ever had any reason to doubt you. You’ve been so good for him thus far. Never put up much of a fight. Never did anything but cry silently and barter desperately when he told you that the pretty little necklace he wrapped around your neck would tell him your exact location at any given moment. Never even touched that notebook of his that he once explained to you in great detail about the kind of power it holds.

You were far too afraid. Of him. Of running. Of telling someone- especially those who you know could actually do something about the situation. Because you know Light’s too powerful. Because that book of his can kill without discrimination. Because you know that every day you stay inside his house and wear the ring he gave you and entertain the idea of taking on his family name is all just another reason Light reminds you why you’ll just be considered an accessory to his crimes. It’s just another reason Lights gives to you to make sure you stay.

Because he doesn’t want to have to scare you anymore than he already has. And he doesn’t want to have to resort to hurting you either. After all, he fell in love with the person he first came across all those years ago. He fell in love with the girl he thought was too soft and fragile and sweet to belong to anyone else. The very same girl he’s willing to risk everything for. The very same girl who now fuels his fight for justice. The very same girl that you somehow managed to keep being today- despite everything you’ve been through since meeting him. Despite everything that’s changed since Ryuzaki died.

That’s why he only shares this smile around you. That’s why he kisses you every chance he gets and reminds you of just how much he adores you in between the thinly veiled threats and the sweetest of compliments. That’s why he gets up from his chair and goes to kneel on the ground while urging you to stand a little closer. That’s why he has no qualms about looking up to you once more once he gets into position. Especially now that he’s guiding your pussy to rest against his awaiting tongue so he could leave for work with the taste of you on his lips.

It’s because things have changed. But this is exactly where he wants them to be. This is exactly where he needs them to be. And you’re powerless against this. You’re powerless against his control of the world. You’re powerless against his control of the relationship. You’re powerless against this stupid necklace that only Light has the key to. You’re powerless against it all. But…

When you hear him speak your name? When you feel him hold you close? When you experience him taking care of you? With his money. With his status. With his connections and fame and power. With his fingers. His tongue. His cock. You find that it’s hard to remember what’s so bad about a man who loves you so. You find that it’s hard to recall a time when you didn’t have him. You find that it’s hard to imagine a world without now too.

Because is it really so bad if you decide to keep quiet? Is it really so bad if you play by all the rules so you don’t get hurt? Is it really so bad of you to keep silent about all his crimes when he says ‘I love you’ like he means it? Is it really so bad that you do nothing? Do nothing- except come to one day love him back. You’d like to think it’s not. You’d like to think it’s not so bad. You’d like to think that you’re still a good person. You’d like to think that you’re fiancé is not a murderer. You’d like to think a lot of things.

But it’s out of your hands now. It’s been out of your hands for a long, long time now. Not that it matters much anymore. Not that you could have done anything. Because in your mind, things changed when Ryuzaki died. But to Light? Things changed when he first saw you. Things changed when he first found you. Poor sweet you. Poor fragile you. Poor soft you. Poor powerless you. It was almost like you didn’t have a chance to begin with.

It was almost like you didn’t have a chance at all.

#light yagami #light yagami x reader #yagami light #yagami light x reader #light #light x reader #death note #death note x reader #death note fanfic #death note fanfiction #x reader #xreader #fanfic #fanfiction

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odditycircus-2002 · 2 months ago

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Scorpion loves and is protective of his two girls, Quan Chi’s Daughter and Granddaughter, so much! Being protective and caring towards them, he wouldn’t allow anyone to harm them, so interactions with other characters about his love and protectiveness towards them? Especially fierce one towards villains who may potentially lust after his new wife for power, beauty, etc?

Scorpion Speaking About His Family Intros

A/N: Luckily for you, thy muses and hyperfixation speak to me today! And if you'd like context for what they're talking about, click here and here.

Sub-Zero

Sub-Zero: Your second chance at life has been most fortuitous, Hanzo.

Hanzo: I never expected to marry or be a father once more.

Sub-Zero: May there be no mercy toward anyone who would dare go after them.

Hanzo: Y/N is truly my better half.

Sub-Zero: Then let her patience and wisdom continue to guide you.

Hanzo: How else do you think the Shirai Ryu became stronger again?

Night Wolf:

Hanzo: It's because of Y/N that I learned to let go of my rage long ago.

Night Wolf: Yet, you almost killed your wife because of your need for vengeance.

Hanzo: I need no reminder, Night Wolf.

Night Wolf: I remember first seeing Y/N on Shang Tsung's island.

Hanzo: She accompanied me to see if her training was fruitful.

Night Wolf: She seemed too fond of you even then to just be your instructor.

Jax Briggs:

Hanzo: Before Y/N, I never thought I would give my heart to another woman.

Jax: Much less a demoness related to Quan-chi?

Hanzo assertively: My wife is nothing like that sorcerer.

Jax: How do you not worry so much when D/N is off on missions?

Hanzo: I fear for my daughter's safety, but I trust her training will serve her well.

Jax: There's only so much you can prepare them for.

Frost:

Hanzo: Sub-Zero would've benefited more if he had a student like my daughter.

Frost: Why would I want to be anything like Miss Nepotism?

Hanzo: It's not nepotism that made you lose to D/N repeatedly.

Frost: To kill you, I'll kill your wife and daughter first.

Hanzo: Lay so much as a cold finger, and my fire won't even leave ashes behind!

Frost: They make your fire weak.

Shang Tsung:

Hanzo: Y/N helped me kill Quan-chi.

Shang Tsung: I always knew Quan-chi couldn't keep control of his spawn.

Hanzo: Perhaps I shall give her the honor of beheading you.

Shang Tsung: Your wife is quite the rare gem.

Hanzo: You will not lay a single claw on her, Shang Tsung.

Shang Tsung: I'll have both her beauty AND her power.

Shao Khan:

Hanzo: Why do you question my wife's realm of origin?

Shao Khan: I see none of its fire burning within such a pathetic excuse for a demon.

Hanzo: Only because you're fortunate has none of that fire been directed towards you.

Shao Khan: Your wife would do better as one of my assassins.

Hanzo: As if Y/N would ever let herself be subjugated again.

Shao Khan ominously: She will if she ever wants to see her husband and clan again...

Noob Siabot:

Hanzo: For some reason, that's beyond me, Y/N pities you.

Noob Saibot: The shadows do not NEED her pity.

Hanzo: Then by some miracle, we are of the same mind.

Noob Saibot: Y/N wastes her potential with the Shirai Ryu.

Hanzo: She realized her true strength with her real family.

Noob Saibot: What strength can be gained from an inferior clan?

Kano:

Hanzo testily: Why such a keen interest in my daughter?

Kano: She got all her mum's finest features and less demonic drama.

Hanzo: Then I'll send you to the Netherrealm myself.

Kano: I can't decide who's more of a beaut, your wife or your Sheila.

Hanzo: You are not worthy to even lay an eye on them!

Kano: I'll send them my regards after I deliver them your eyes then.

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dark-konohagakure2 · 22 days ago

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hiii I saw that u write for fire emblem that got me SO excited!!!! can u write something for dimitri? lots of misogyny and him being really mean :3

tw: noncon, FE3H spoilers, kidnapping, black eagles!reader, abuse, misogyny, size difference, enslavement, power imbalance, mirror sex, abuse of power

All characters depicted are 18+

Dimitri is no longer the kind young man he used to be, even those outside of his inner circle know this, ever since Edelgard betrayed him in an absolutely unforgivable way, he has completely forgone showing any mercy towards her or anyone who opposes him, even those who aren't explicitly on Edelgard's side in the ongoing way, which means that Dimitri won't take kindly to any Black Eagle students he might encounter by chance in the midst battle.

The old Dimitri, the sane Dimitri, wouldn't be so quick to attack a former schoolmate, someone who he might have even once considered a friendly acquaintance or even a friend, but that version of Dimitri is dead and buried, killed by the very woman this little gnat is defending. The girl's loyalty to Edelgard is infuriating to Dimitri, his savage side wants to kill this loyal mutt where she stands, but his cold and calculated side wins out and he decides to prolong the torment.

Dimitri is the future king of Faerghus and a feared leader of a powerful faction, so he can do nearly anything he wants with little to no consequence, nobody will bat an eye when Dimitri brings in a 'prisoner' from the Adrestain Empire for him to 'interrogate' alone, even Felix, who is usually quick to antagonize the Boar King, doesn't even blink at Dimitri's incredibly out of character decision.

As soon as the doors to his vast personal chambers are closed, Dimitri's intentions towards her become clear as day, torture would have been a preferable fate compared to what he's going to do to her. She's a woman, he's a man, an important, strong, powerful man with a bone to pick, its only logical that she'd be forced to become his slave until further notice, until he gets Edelgard's head on a sphere at the very earliest.

"Filthy empire wench. Did you truly believe that you could side with that woman and get away with it? Perhaps bringing your holes to ruin will teach you some humility..."

Dimitri is savage in battle, and that will also carry over into bed, or at least it would if he deigned to fuck a filthy empire whore like her in his lavish bed, he's not going to sully his fine bedding with her mere presence, instead he'll fuck her right up against the nearest surface he can find, which just so happens to be a mirror.

He'll pound into her hard and fast, his pace and might nearly cracking the mirror, Dimitri will offer no reprieve whatsoever, one gloves hand tangled in her hair and the other gripping her hip tightly enough to draw blood as he takes all his anger out on her pussy, her breasts and face forcibly pressed against the cold glass of the mirror as his much larger, muscular body crowds her's.

Dimitri has never had sex before prior to this brutal session, he's too preoccupied with his royal duties and his revenge for such base desires, but now that he has a convenient and unwilling receptacle for his desires and his frustrations, he's starting to see why silly skirt chasers like Sylvain enjoy plundering some tight cunts so much.

Dimitri won't cum inside of her, he'll be damned if he lets some vile Adrestain harlot taint his revered bloodline with her horrid commoner blood and even more abhorrent allegiances, instead he'll cum on her, blowing his load all over her now red backside. He's disgusted with her for forcing him to waste his seed on her whorish body, but he'll have plenty of time to force her to make up for her apparent misdeeds.

"You disgust me, commoner bitch. There are plenty more worthy women out there who are far more deserving of my seed than you, and you just forced me to waste it. This won't go unpunished. On your knees."

Dimitri isn't sure whether he's going to keep her as his slave permanently, or if he's going to dispose of her once he kills Edelgard and finds a proper woman to marry. But then again, even if he does eventually marry, he might still keep her around anyway as an entertaining little house pet.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe #fe3h #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem smut #fe3h x reader #fe3h smut #dimitri #headcanon #x reader #fire emblem headcanons #dimitri x reader #dimitri smut #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #blue lions #black eagles #dimitri x player

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 year ago

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uuuu +,+ can I pleas have fungus for Malleus

maybe where mc is lonely bc she misses her familly and she is longing for some type of affection 🥺

Malleus Draconia:

Fungus - loneliness that causes the search for comfort in anyone.

You had been told to never wander into the woods alone.

The gentle sounds of the wind rustling branches and leaves was all you heard as you walked along the rocky little path just on the edge of the looming doom known as the Misted Moons Forest. Most nights when the moon hung bright in the sky there was still a distortion, as if a mist surrounded it in a comforting embrace. You had never thought it particularly scary but according to the elders, the moon used to shine bright unimpeded until a year before you had been born.

There had been whispers about your birth, that it was actually a curse meant for the town, but your parents had been well-liked up until you came into creation. You don’t remember being treated poorly while they were present, but even adults whispered within your earshot when your parents were busy elsewhere. A cursed child, a wicked child, who were you and why had you come to be?

Things only got worse for you when your parents were set to go on an adventure. They had apologized for it’s abruptness, holding you as you cried for them, begging them not to leave you behind. They promised they’d be back within a month, two at the longest, but you couldn’t ignore the forlorn looks on their faces as they started their trek with only the clothes on their backs. You had seen them reading a variety of books in the previous days, with words too difficult for you to read but you could make out a handful of them.

Bargain. Deal. Vow. Breaking. Mercy. Begging. Forgiveness.

You could never piece together the sentences, never able to understand what had plagued them and what had plagued your tiny little town. But you knew the moon was mentioned, and you think your mother had said once before that there was a child born of the moon every year, turning into a monster upon its eighteenth birthday, cursed to a destitute life in the scary woods just behind your house. You had thought it was just a story to scare you, and you still thought that, just because you had taken to walking this path so long you had yet to see anything scary yet.

If there was a person in there, you would’ve seen them, right? They would tempt you with honeyed words or perhaps a promise too good to be true but it tugged at your heartstrings too much for you to deny. You couldn’t think of what they may offer you for you to take such a chance but now that you had lived without your parents for so long, years, if the creature had promised to let you see them again, to let you have a family once more…

Thinking about the old tale your mother wove was what led you to the forest that night, and soon temptation struck. You had lived without them for awhile now and had continued living by their rules, yet you knew there’d be no consequences. They’d never know if you stepped foot into the woods, they would never have to know. Because you would never tell them, and you would return in one piece and that would be the end of it. You’d prove to yourself that it hadn’t been the woods that swallowed your parents whole and then you’d be able to continue waiting patiently for their return.

Your first step is careful, but the following ones are confident, more confident as you continued to stride forward. You checked behind you every now and again, able to see town, then suddenly not, but you could recognize the path you had made in the dirt. You should turn around, at least your brain was telling you it was the best course of action, yet there was something compelling you to go deeper. You were already here, so why not keep going? Your parents would have been home already if they were arriving tonight, so what was a little more adventure?

The forest grew darker as the trees curved in, blocking out the moon, leaving you in a panic. You wanted the light back, needed it back to feel safe, and catching a sliver of it in the distance had you breaking out into a run. There was a clearing up ahead, moonlight shining down brightly as the trees parted to allow it in.

You find a man who looks like he could match your loneliness, kneeling on the forest floor and peering up into the sky like it may offer him a gift at any moment. His eyes are piercing as is the point of his ears, but the horns atop his head draw your attention the most. They look finely crafted by the gods, long and smooth, your eyes following each curve until they reached the tip. You had the inclination to reach out to touch them, to run your thumb along the hardened surface and get a real feel for them.

You’re interrupted by the shifting of the forest behind you, a small white rabbit darting out of the bushes and into the open field where the stranger with horns rested. He gave it a quick glance, fingers running along it’s fur; you almost thought he’d snatch it but he allowed it continue on his way, watching as it dived back into darkness on the other side of the meadow.

You take a step into the light, and its your turn to get his attention.

He stopped kneeling when he saw you, eyes widening briefly; you’d also be shocked to run into someone a mile deep into the woods. He seemed to be looking you over for any signs of a threat, his mouth curving into a smile as he realized you would do him no harm. He towered over you, and though he was covered head to toe in a fine black robe, you didn’t doubt there was at least the hint of a muscular body.

“What is your name?” He asked smoothly, eyes softening as he waited for you to approach him. You did so at his question, suddenly feeling… safe. You told him your name without another moment of hesitation.

It was like a precious treasure to him now.

“You may call me Malleus.” The implication that this was not his real name intrigued you, head tilted in curiosity though you wouldn’t voice your thoughts to this stranger. With horns. The horns should really freak you out more, yet they’re so beautiful. “What brings you here tonight?”

“…I was just on a walk. I was looking for my… parents…” You don’t like that your mouth is moving without your consent, this stranger now knowing how vulnerable you were. “They left on a trip a long time ago and I haven’t seen them in a long time. And the other townsfolk… They don’t like me much.”

“How awful of them. I know a thing or two about being disliked without reason.” He approached you now and you continued forward, pausing only when you were inches away. “Could I see your hand?”

“I… why…?”

“It simply looks like you need someone to hold it. Do you mind if it’s me?” He tiled his head, mimicking your earlier movement perfectly, “We know each others names. We aren’t strangers any longer, are we?”

You reached out as if to touch him and he took your hand first, leaning down to press a kiss; you’re surprised by their coolness, expecting something warm like his hands but the shock died down the longer he held your hand.

His eyes looked as if they were beginning to glow.

The promised one.

The one promised for him, to him.

“Come with me,” He whispered, clawed hand gently stroking your cheek; you’re worried he might cut you but Malleus is showing great care, only touching your face with the dull side of his nail. “I will never let you be lonely again. Can you promise the same to me?”

The logical answer would be to hightail it out of there, to not promise your life away to a stranger, but it had been so long since you’d felt this type of comforting touch. So long since you had been wanted, since the look you were given was one of kindness rather than suspicion and disdain. Would your parents ever come home? Would you ever see them again? There was no guarantee in a world like this. So, if someone had approached you with something like this, a vow that would be sealed with magic so it could quite literally never be broken, what were you supposed to do?

The moon was clear once more, the mist dissipating as if it had never been there at all.

Your parents, lost due to magic, unable to find the correct path home until that very night, return to an empty home.

But they had no need to fear.

Because you were where you truly belonged now.

A place where you’d never feel lonely again.

#Disney TWST #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Scenario #Flower Prompts

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radianceholy · 1 month ago

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Owlcatober 2024 - Second Chances

"I miss you very much, Arueshalae. I'm sad we won't be able to play together anymore! I really, really loved you Arueshalae, really! I'll always wait for you."

Centuries after the end of the Fifth Crusade, Ember meets her childhood friend.

i have an agenda here and it's that i don't think corrupted arueshalae is fundamentally any different from normal arueshalae, and i really love the idea that even after diving off the deep end, she can't really escape herself. i got way too into this one and i hope that people enjoy it!!!

cw: gore, violence, eye trauma, threats and implications of sexual violence, choking, burning flesh

"It's her again, isn't it?" The child stared up at her, lip twitching in a way that betrayed a great deal more fear than she knew how to properly express. Caught between two terrible possibilities, and looking to the one adult left in her left in her life that would give her the time of day, as though she could make sense of her fears.

"...It is. That's precisely why you must wait."

She shook her head, defiant. She wasn't very old, even by human standards. Maybe ten, or at most, twelve. She was an orphan child that had latched onto Ember in one of her travels, and had been trailing behind her with open fascination for the better part of a year, viewing her with the kind of open fascination that comes from a mixture of desperation and unpunished optimism. She had a certain brightness about her that betrayed her gentler years, much as Ember did. The girl’s parents had been comfortably wealthy before their disappearance, and they surely loved her to bits. She remained certain that someday they'd return to draw her back into a life of comfort. Ember had never been so naive, even in her childhood years. Her father was not 'gone,' he was dead.

The years had shown Ember the limits of human kindness. Her disfigurement was considered holy, to some; on the rare occasions when she met those who called themselves the Redeemed, generations removed from those that followed her so long ago. Wrapped in a threadbare cloak doing too little to shelter her frail figure, the world had extracted its price for her mercies. Her missing fingers, her blind eye, the arm that had been severed at the elbow… according to them, it was all proof of her goodness. Proof of a virtuous martyr, it was said. She would smile, denying them in the gentlest of terms.

"I can't! She's going to hurt you!"

Age changed a lot about her, she supposed, but she was still mortal, caught in the whorl of her own personal history. Perhaps it was gratifying, to see this girl so young as to think this kind of cruelty was truly abnormal. She'd learned the lesson long ago, and whenever she'd doubt that lesson, she'd suffer the consequences.

Sometimes, the guilty must be punished.

"She is. She made a promise to me that she would. She'll want to hurt you, too, just for being near me."

"I can't… I don't wanna stay here alone," she sniffled. "You won't come back. Just like mother and father…"

Ember sighed softly, brushing the girl's tears away with her thumb. "I was a child, and I let myself go to war. I never knew how much I was hurting myself."

"But, big sister…"

"Please," she urged, quietly. "You're just a little girl. You don't have to hurt yourself." The world won't get any kinder, no matter what you sacrifice. She smiled sadly, those last words left unsaid.

The girl grabbed her hand, clutching it all the tighter. Ember's fingers were already growing numb, and her frail body didn't have much strength to resist. She had a great power at her disposal, certainly, but none she would bring to bear against a child. She had spent her many years wandering the world, struggling to balance gentle guidance and harsh discipline. She was no closer to knowing, even hundreds of years after she left the Redeemed behind. She didn't quite know how to say it to this girl, but there were no answers she could give that would heal her heart and cure her of her fear and grief.

She sighed weakly, bowing her head.

"... There's one thing that you can do for me. But you have to follow my instructions exactly."

The girl nodded, tears in her eyes.

"...Exactly what I say," she emphasized. "And if I cry out, you can't run to me. Remember that, no matter what."

Temples dedicated to Desna were always beautiful, each in their own ways. Grand skylights, beautiful painted murals, intricate architecture. ‘Opulent’ was never the right word, even if Ember had seen some reach rather grand heights. It was… inspiring, perhaps. She’d certainly witnessed a great many taking comfort in the temple. Mortal artists and architects poured their efforts into capturing a kind of beauty older than Golarion itself, and all mortal life upon its soil. In the heavens, there are stars. On the earth, there are flowers. In mortal hearts, there is love.

This temple, too, was beautiful. An eye like Ember's could see it, no matter how it appeared to the world. Viscera strewn about, draped over the temple's pillars. Blood was splattered and smeared all over the walls and windows, and the stars outside twinkled through a crimson mirror. Two bodies lay together, gutted, their hearts torn from their chests even as their figures entwined in beautiful repose Red, red, red. She could feel the blood sticking to her bare feet, spilling out from bodies that were carved and sliced open with an artisan’s touch. Soot perched on her shoulder, wings tucked close against her sides. Some were still twitching, letting out gurgling, pathetic noises, in the throes of a succubus' kiss. All were beyond saving.

"You're late," a sweet voice chided her, lounging at the foot of a statue of Desna in flight. It, too, was soaked in blood; intestines wrapped around her neck like a beautiful wreath. Strings of severed hands clung to her form. Grasping at her for grace, perhaps.

"You like it, don't you?" Arueshalae crowed, lounging on her throne of corpses so brutalized they could scarcely be recognized as human. The clergy had been stripped naked, faces torn off of their heads. The hollow stare of bloody, eyeless sockets gazed pleadingly towards Ember, like so many desperate followers seeking to abandon the demon lords that abused them. There was scarcely a speck of blood on Arueshalae's skin. Not so much as a drop, really. "My work. Payment to the Goddess for her kindness towards me. Her mercy." She sighed, seeming happy with herself. Happiness was a performance, and satisfaction was another piercing thrust. If it wasn't, it might be silent here for a moment too long. “If you’d come a few hours sooner, you could have saved some of them," she said, voice dripping with honey. "If you’d been here yesterday, they’d all be going about their lives quite happily. But you came much too late. How very sad, isn't it?”

"You always come to places like this." Ember's voice carried the slightest tremor. There were some people, she knew, that she couldn't help.

"And why shouldn't I?" She laughed. "She taught me so many wonderful things about mortals! Have you come to forgive me yet again?" She sits up, leering at her. "Their deaths are on your head, you know. Every last one."

"You did this," she said, failing to keep her voice even. "To them, and to you. Who are you really punishing?" Her anger was a sickening aberration, as twisted and malignant as the guilt that she felt.

“It’s you, of course!” She laughed. "So desperate! So utterly sincere! Laying your heart bare, where anyone could pierce it. Do you remember how gentle it was, when you held me in your arms? I would have drunk every last drop of you if I could have,” she purred. Her voice shifted, as suddenly as flipping a switch. She gasped and choked, tears in her eyes, wings folded in against her sides, eyes wide, demure, and trembling. “O-oh, Ember… Ember, please believe me. I'm so sorry-! I’ve done so many terrible things, and there’s no one else I can turn to! You have to trust me…!"

Her one good hand touched the scar over her right eye, without thinking. Discipline. She had been taught discipline... but she wanted to believe, too. Arueshalae laughed uproariously, flashing a wicked grin.

"You're so weak! So easy to manipulate. No matter how often you deny me, you always twist yourself into such convenient knots. It's pathetic, you know. It–" She suddenly froze. Ember's heart tightened, and for a moment, she didn't dare breathe. "--Wait. What is that? That sound. Is that…?"

Ember’s eyes blazed, as Flames danced at the tips of her fingers. Her anger was malignant, a twisted and hateful thing. She despised herself for being less than the savior the redeemed wished of her. But she had to admit, even if only to herself.

It was a mighty weapon.

Her cloak blew back, as Soot took to the air, a great pillar of flame tearing through the temple. The force of the explosion burned Arueshalae's gruesome throne to ash, Desna herself blackened and purified by a roaring pyre. The bloodstained windows burst into shards of glass, raining down to the ground in a shower of glittering moonlight.

"Your funny little tricks," Arueshalae cackled. She’d moved so fast, Ember hadn’t even seen it, but she was unscathed by the blast. Her reflexes were sharper than ever, and Ember’s body had only gotten weaker. She landed upon Desna's statue, one foot callously pressing down upon the head of the goddess. She toyed with one of her trophies - it was a beautifully engraved starknife, likely wrenched from the palm of some poor priest. It was made for ceremonial purposes, perhaps, but she knew from experience it would be exactly as deadly as it needed to be in Arueshalae’s hands. "Awfully quick to rely on them, too. Did you really lose your forgiving spirit? Or did I touch a nerve? Who is it, then, scurrying around in the shadows? An ally? A friend? A moon-eyed follower, blinded by your wisdom? I thought that filthy bird was the last friend you have left."

Ember couldn’t let her face give anything away, even if her pounding heart surely would have instead. A coil of flame burst forth from her palm, twisting through the air and streaking towards Arueshalae. Effortlessly, she leapt from her perch, wings spread as she swept through the smoke left in its wake. The knife whirled through the air, and Ember's movements were too slow. Blood spilled onto the stone as it carved through her side, slashing through her tattered, threadbare robes and worn-out cloak. A moment was all she needed. She dove, tackling her to the ground. She was small, frail. She'd survived on goodwill, and it was often in rare supply. Her back slammed against the ground and she screamed, hearing a loud crack from somewhere in her body as the demon leered at her from above.

"...Oh, but there will be time for that soon enough. I missed seeing you like this." she purred. "Maybe when I take your other eye, I'll force feed that disgusting bird to you. Though... not before I make sure you see your little companion slaughtered, first. Whoever they are." She could hear Soot's crowing, feel the Succubus' hunger lapping at her abjurations, probing for a weakness it wouldn't find. The desire to see her pinned and humiliated was, perhaps, enough to distract a starving succubus, even if for but a moment. With one hand, Arueshalae forced Ember's good arm down. With the other, she stroked her sharp nails along her cheek in a gesture that almost seemed tender and fond.

Ember's vision was cloudy, and she could only see her fangs, lips curled in a predatory satisfaction.

"Are you open to bargaining, at long last? The life of one follower isn't cheap, is it? I'll spare them, and you submit yourself to me. I could fit you with a collar and keep you chained to my throne. Tear out your tongue, so I don't have to listen to your obnoxious preaching. You'll be my blind, obedient little pet. You can sit by my side, listening to the music of the abyss and praying for my soul, as you always do." She ran a finger along her cheek, until it found the edges of her eyelids, prying it open and digging her claws that dug into her eye socket. "Forget that anything else in the cosmos even exists, save for me. I'll still show you far more kindness than these mortals have."

She hissed in pain, twitching. Her arm jerked, but she was overpowered easily, even with her protective spells in place. She coughed on her own blood, letting out a weak, gurgling noise, but an odd smile formed on her lips.

"Oh, really? That pleases you, does it? You’ve spurned my affections so often. I thought you’d begun to hate me! Have you finally begun to submit?" Her nail dug in, close to gouging her eye out. “Praise me, and I’ll consider letting you keep your tongue. You can lavish me with those sweet words that lead doomed men back to the light and preach to me as much as you please, if you use it to lick my boots.”

Ember let out a weak, trembling sound. She had changed over so many centuries, but even now, her heart… Her foolish, weak, sentimental heart…

“Go on! A bit louder. I can’t hear you.”

"You really can't let go," she whispered. "Of me, of Desna…"

"Shut up," she snarled, pressing her finger in deeper. Ember let out an excruciating howl of pain. "I’ve changed my mind. You'll be better off without a tongue."

"...That's why you went after Seelah, too, all of those years ago… isn't it? She loved you like a sister."

"And she paid for it!" She barked out a laugh. "There's no one left to even tend to her grave!"

"We didn't regret loving you."

Through the blood in her eye, Ember could still see her flinch back as if struck, her expression contorted into a mask of pain and rage. Her claw retracted from her eye socket. She looked up, with what little slack she’d now been given. The hole she'd blown through the ceiling gave her a good look at the church's bell tower. The night was full of stars.

"I don't regret loving you now, either," she whispered, her raspy voice carried by a faint, lonesome wind blowing through the desecrated temple.

Her lip curled into a snarl. "How pointlessly fucking vapid."

Ember looked into her eyes. "It's true," she sighed softly. "You were my childhood friend."

"Spare me!" Her voice rose to a shout, and her weight bared down upon her with far more intensity. Her ribs creaked under the pressure, and Ember let out an involuntary whimper of pain. But as Arueshalae drew in close, her voice was a deathly-quiet whisper.

"You should have killed me back then."

She squeezes her eye shut. "You were hurting..."

"You should have killed me," she repeated, cutting her off with a snarl, "the moment you heard about the turncoat demoness. The moment you saw me simpering and begging in my cell. If not then, when I threw myself back into that very same cell out of fear. If not then, when my sins were laid bare before you." Her voice trembled, rising to a fevered, maddened pitch. "You should have killed me when my eyes were blinded by starlight. When the song still echoed sweetly in my ears! You should have killed me when I could have hoped to be anything more than this! Let me die believing in a foolish promise of freedom, or kill me now, so that it finally end!" With a violent lurch, she wrapped both hands around Ember's neck, and slammed her head into the stone.

Arueshalae’s grip had snapped her wrist, but the pain didn't matter. Nor did the stars in her eyes. With the last of her breath, she disappeared in a flash of light, body crumpling behind the temple's altar, struggling even to breathe.

Arueshalae let out a roar, grabbing the bloodied starknife from the ground, wings flaring in anger. "Not again!" She screamed. "You aren't going to do this again! I'll punish every filthy beggar who dared to accept a scrap of your charity! I'll hunt you down! I'll make you forget your own name, and I’ll rip everything you accomplished to shreds!"

Ember murmured another incantation, trying to block out the anguished threats. Blood was still gushing from her eye, and her wrist was already beginning to swell, but she had more than enough power in her to stop the pain, even as frail as her body is. Positive energy washed through her body in a warm wave.

"You'll live in your own piss and shit, that’s how far beneath me you are! You'll survive ten thousand years in my care, and scrape against the ground while I feed you the rotten meat of your own followers! I will brand you with my mark so that no one will ever look upon you without knowing who you belong to! I'll fuck you to death and stitch together what's left, so that I can fuck you to death all over again!" She leapt over the altar, frenzied, teeth bared.

The tolling of a bell could pierce clamor just as it could silence. Arueshalae screamed, her charge broken. The ranting and raving ceased, her body twisting and writhing in pain, and she hugged herself. She let out a whimper, collapsing atop the stone slab as though she were some ritual sacrifice. "What… what is that? What is that sound?"

"Your gift to us," Ember replied, her voice soft. She stepped backwards, never taking her eye off of her. "Do you remember? You might have succeeded in killing me, but you chose this place... this church. You really can't let go..."

"That… bell? That stupid, insignificant little bell? It's here?! Of all places-!"

Ember's voice echoed through the temple like the word of the divine.

"Burn."

Soot sat upon the statue of Desna, the blaze dancing in her beady eyes.

"For the love of the gods, she's a child! She's a child!" He tore frantically through the wood at the base of the pyre, throwing it aside as his skin blistered and his clothes caught flame. He must have been in such terrible pain, but he wouldn't let himself stop until he could finally reach her. He desperately tore at her ropes with his own hands, his flesh beginning to melt. Screaming, screaming. The inquisitors wouldn't stop him, too paralyzed to slaughter their own, but neither would they help him, too faithful in their righteous cause. A witch should burn.

A witch should burn.

The centuries had changed her, certainly, but not enough. Not nearly enough. The moment that a shred of doubt crept into her mind was the same moment she knew it had to end. She would pray for the Demon Lords of the Abyss, because no one else would. She would pray for Arueshalae, no matter how twisted she became. What hope was there for the wicked and forgotten, if no one would recognize their suffering? How could anyone ever challenge the abyss, if every right-minded crusader and gods-fearing mortal already accepted its terms?

Screams echoed through the temple. It must have been unimaginably painful. In her childhood, she took pity on the man who set the flames, and she took pity on the man who quenched them. She took pity on them all, and in her heart, her innocent and childish heart, she knew that there had to be a better way. Sacrifice would never make the world any kinder. A quiet little cabin somewhere, maybe. Or an endless road, promising freedom. A gentle word. A song. A single, fleeting moment of peace. But a sacrificial pyre?

Never. Never.

The little girl crept closer to Ember, anxious and pale. No doubt she heard some of Arueshalae’s uninhibited taunts, or Ember’s screams of pain. At very least Ember made sure to clear out the gore and corpses before allowing her to come wait in the ruined temple with her. The room smelled like smoke and ash, and it was a bitter, acrid thing, but it was no longer the gruesome sight it was before.

“I did well, didn’t I, big sister? When I rang the bell, it helped?”

“You did well,” she nodded. “You made it just in time, and you weren’t seen. I’m proud of you.”

“She’s… she’s not gonna hurt you? Or me? You’re sure of it?” The little girl glanced down at the face of the demon, fidgeting and squirming.

“I’m sure,” she replied.

“How do you know?”

“Look at her eyes.”

…It was a fitful sleep, but she could see it. Movement beneath her closed eyelids. Even demons could dream, after all.

“She’s pretty,” she said, almost without thought. “...Why did she hate you so much, big sister?”

Ember shook her head. "It isn't the right time to say. She needs her sleep."

A fat, orange cat sat on top of the roof of a warehouse. How did it get up there…? It was a mouser, but it was also well-fed and well loved. It was clean, groomed, and taken care of. It wore a cute little collar. She touched down on the roof, as gentle as could be, and lay beside the it, watching it for as long as it remained, but never creeping any closer. How simple it would be, to be born as something so effortlessly loved…

The world was better off when the Worldwound closed, but whenever she thought of her happiest moments… when the haze of violence cleared from her eyes and she could remember happiness at all, rather than a perpetual numbing hunger and clawing hatred... she thought about the war. Mortals, marching into a desolate and dead land, fighting against an incomprehensibly vast foe, and her place among them. Nervously braiding a young girl's hair. A joyous cry of ‘Sister!’ from someone bold enough to call her a friend. A thousand and one jokes she never quite understood. Two women so deeply in love their lives were like one. Art and poetry. Cold and uncompromising duty. A cause she believed in with her entire heart, even if her heart was forever unknown to her.

Dreams. Beautiful, lovely dreams, clutched greedily in her arms.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself laying on Ember’s lap. Above her, a fat crow sat on a burned statue of the goddess, a beautiful little butterfly perched on her beak. Beyond that, a burning hole that had been blown through the ceiling, and far above, she could see the stars. She saw them in her Knight Commander’s eyes, once. Cold, distant, and impassive. Her judgment was certain. Her role in the cosmos had been long predetermined. What use is there, fighting the irrevocable law of her nature?

And yet... In the fog of sleep, she could imagine them, ever-so-briefly, to be a mercy. Just as she did before, when the future inspired hope instead of... boredom and fear. They were glittering map of beauty, myth, heroism and love, displayed upon a marvelous tapestry. In her weakness, she could see how lovely the heavens were. Just as the earth had flowers. Just as her heart had…

…

“Sh- she’s awake?” The voice of a terrified child. A snarling instinct roared within Arueshalae, hammering against her psyche. Kill her swiftly enough that Ember couldn’t stop her. Torment her with her failure! Bathe in her blood!

…She couldn’t bring herself to move. Ember had healed her completely, and the agonizing pain of that divine flame washing over her was gone, but somehow, she could no longer find the strength for it. Perhaps it had burned something crucial out of her being, rendering her helpless. She’d remain, a declawed and neutered demoness. How pathetic.

“You were so close,” she said. “Why can’t you just kill me?”

“It’s love,” Ember answered sadly, looking away. “If I don’t love you, then no one will ever love you again. My friend, who would shelter me from the rain…”

“Stop. Ember, stop…”

“You were always so afraid, Arueshalae.”

“I was fooling myself,” she spat, failing to drum up her usual level of venom and spite. “Fooling you, too. A demon can't love.”

“I still see her in you. Even now.”

“That girl you knew was a figment. A dream. A lie! Haven’t I proven that, yet!?”

“If she was a dream,” she said, “then isn’t she the answer to the riddle that vexed you so?”

It felt as though something in her broke. Centuries of pressure had built up, and now released. She hissed, like an angry cat, trying to sputter out some half-formed insult. What came instead was a soft moan, as tears welled in her eyes. She choked, clutching at Ember’s tattered robes.

For the first time in centuries, Arueshalae began to cry.

#owlcatober 2024 #arueshalae #ember

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crazyw3irdo · 8 months ago

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Hey, I just took your Romeo & Juliet Quiz (I got Friar Lawrence, not important) could you post the other answers from the quiz? I wanna know what they are but I don’t wanna take the quiz a bunch.

Thanks for making it! It gave me the willies in a good sorta way, you also made me think about what I liked about Romeo + Juliet (the flowery language) which was a nice reminder.

Thanks! ◡̈

of course! answers below so i’m not clogging up everyone’s dash lol

romeo: you were doomed from the start. you would have lived a life of friendship and fun, perhaps a bit of flirting if that's something that interests you. you could have published poetry. but your emotions controlled you. you were punished by the universe for a fleeting bit of passion to serve as a lesson for the cynical. hopefully you left an impression. your passion is explosive. your loyalty a boon. if only the world were fair.

juliet: you were doomed from the start. you were robbed of a chance to become anything. controlled by everyone in your life, even the ones that genuinely cared, and the one good thing you had led to your destruction because the hands of fate deemed it so. your trust in others is admirable. your optimism is enviable. your hope burns. if only you were living a different life.

mercutio: you were too loyal. not even for your own cause. you had no stake in this affair, and yet when your friend was threatened you leapt to his defense. you were doomed, but was it even for anything? does anyone mourn? no matter how much you proclaim you don't care, your caring is too great. you bare your heart to the world and it ended up getting scratched. if only the world were kind.

benvolio: it may be different from the others, but you were still doomed from the start. the horror of being the most reasonable one in the group is that means everyone else makes mistakes. everyone else must face the consequences. everyone else gets hurt while you stand there unharmed. no matter the warnings you give, they still are punished. you can't help someone who the universe decided must be destroyed. i admire that you still try. if only the game hadn't been rigged from the start.

tybalt: your passion doomed you. you thought you knew what was right. you thought you deserved it. you thought if you fought for it you could get it. communication is hard, so you tried something else, you wanted to defend, to attack, to prove something to someone. but you couldn't. you never could. you tried to meddle with fate and ended up at its mercy. if only the world listened.

friar laurence: you thought you could help. and you did, you really did. you were there for the happiness. but that also meant you were there when there was nothing left. a guiding hand is only so helpful. you plan and plan and plan and mistakes still happen. and when you don't consider those mistakes, everything can go wrong. fate will find the smallest flaw and wrench everything from you. if only you realized that sooner.

nurse: you cared for them. you loved them. you were always there. but there was nothing you could have done. it's not your story. you perpetually stand in the sidelines, watching people suffer for something you have no involvement in and yet you care. you care for them. but no matter how much you love them that doesn't change that they'll end up in a tomb someday. if only it weren't so soon.

#crazwaz posted #audience participation #romeo and juliet

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brucenorris007 · 11 months ago

Text

Scrap

Summary: Scrap, verb: to discard, retire or remove from service. Metal Sonic discovers—partially through force, partially via coaxing—that perhaps it's time that it scraps a few hardwired notions. Else it will be stuck in the same loop indefinitely.

1801 words (Chapter 1)

“Egghead dipped, base is about to blow, and you still wanna scrap.”

Every fight had the same premise:

Bones versus bearings, blood versus oil, feet versus engines.

“I respect that, Metal; let’s take this outside!”

The outcome should have been obvious, and yet…

Clang.

Braak.

Thok.

Much like the premise, every fight had the same result.

Metal raced Sonic through falling detritus and collapsing supports amid blaring alarms; it clashed with the hedgehog whenever possible, attempting to knock him off his stride and prevent his escape. Sonic wove around the debris while still giving as good as he got; no number of bruises ever slowed him down.

Another explosion rocked the foundations of the subterranean structure; pressure building from rapidly rising heat and fire from below began propelling metal and concrete up as well as down.

Chances of escape came out to approximately two percent.

ZOOM.

Two percent was all that Metal’s nemesis had ever needed.

Groaning and creaking, the roof of the base cracked; daylight peeked through at the end of the flames. Metal’s turbines spun at a droning hum, and it shot outside milliseconds after Sonic did. They briefly hung in the air over the glacial mountain Metal’s master had been operating out of; Metal calculated trajectory, engaged its afterburners and careened down to cross the distance to its doppelganger. Sonic was never truly helpless, but in the scant moments before his feet touched the ground again, it might

The hush over the mountain shattered with a thunderous BOOM.

Sonic’s eyes went wide.

He opened his mouth.

Metal raised its clawed hands.

Loud whooshing sliced through the cold air.

A crash.

Impact.

Something quietly went

Crack.

Disconnection.

Stillness.

Then, motion; all-at-once, too-much motion. Metric tons of red-hot metal flashed across a backdrop of blue sky and white snow. Tumbling and crashing, sliding and barreling through the air without discernible direction or any sort of control.

Noise.

Just… noise.

Simultaneous. Overwhelming. Constant.

Until it wasn’t.

Stillness. Again.

The violent spinning stopped as abruptly as it started.

Soft reboot.

Metal came back online.

A rendering of what had occurred formulated in the space between processors.

The conclusive explosion of the base had expelled a jagged portion of a support beam; its ballistic path intersected–at terminal velocity–with Metal’s frame.

SYSTEM OPERATING ON RESERVE BATTERY POWER

And consequently, it lay half-buried in ice and snow; alerts identifying multiple instances of severe non-function cropped up, cumulatively depicting a less-than-optimal state.

“Metal, you okay?”

Sonic characteristically chose the worst moment to reappear, skidding to a stop in the snow.

“That was a gnarly ride down.”

Internal alarms blared at his measured approach; Metal had experience with being at another’s mercy while in a state of disrepair.

But Sonic was not its master.

It bypassed several advisories against re-engaging combat capability, despite that its reserve battery was not designed to support that. Metal attempted to propel back onto its feet.

Something popped. Loudly.

Hissing and heat followed.

“That… didn’t sound good.” Sonic said.

Metal ignored the derision; occupied with suppressing panic and trying to force fluidity out of limbs locking up courtesy of uncooperative hydraulics.

“Doesn’t look good, either.”

The hedgehog paused just within striking range. Metal’s motherboard ran countless calculations of all the data points illustrating how severely disadvantageous the situation was; of how many weaknesses Sonic could exploit to inflict damage.

“Here, let me”

He reached out. Anticipating an attack, Metal’s own hand snatched the hedgehog’s wrist. Threw itself forward in a spastic lunge.

“Hey!”

Sonic spun to one side, leaving Metal to crash into the snow again. Expecting retaliation, it snatched its hand back.

None came for several moments. Sonic stared at it. Metal glared back, chills that had nothing to do with the temperature permeating its core.

“Okay then.”

Sonic turned around and ran, circling the base of the mountain; a thunderclap seconds later let Metal know he’d broken the sound barrier and was, within a minute, long gone.

Metal attempted again to right itself; renewed alerts made the task more trouble than it was worth. It switched off its optics to preserve power.

WARNING: PROLONGED EXPOSURE TO LOW TEMPERATURES MAY AFFECT BATTERY EFFICIENCY.

RESERVE POWER: 83.6%

—————

Kvhroon.

By Metal’s internal clock, just shy of an hour had passed when it next registered another presence.

“Do you see him, Omega?”

“NEGATIVE.”

The new arrivals were only marginally less-than-welcome. The cronch of snow and ice coupled with the faint, smooth whirring of moving mechanical parts preceded the last of its master’s E-series announcing:

“I HAVE LOCATED HIM.”

Metal kept its optics offline. Perhaps if it ignored them, they would go away. It willfully disregarded how unlikely it was they were searching for it when it happened to be injured.

“Is he on standby mode?”

“NO. HE IS JUST BEING A LITTLE BITCH.”

Metal’s optics flared back to life for the express purpose of glowering at Omega.

“CALLED IT.”

Shadow leaned into view.

“Metal? Can you move?”

“HE CANNOT.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“YET I AM CORRECT.”

Metal raised one arm defiantly, a particular titanium finger elevated.

“MUCH IMPRESS. SUCH WOW.”

An internal fan briefly spun harder than usual; Omega might have been programmed without inflection in his voice box, but Metal did possess sarcasm receptors. Shadow sighed.

“All right,” he said; he knelt in the snow. “Let’s just move him.”

Metal’s systems overclocked on seeing Shadow’s outstretched hand; for the barest moment, the incinerating barrier of its Overdrive function enveloped its body. Shadow yanked his hand back. Steam from instantly evaporated ice surrounded Metal.

RESERVE POWER: 50.2%

“Or not.” Shadow said after a beat.

Metal shut off optics again; after that half-a-second engagement of its most powerful offensive maneuver, conserving energy was an even higher priority. It cast about for incoming satellite signals until it pinged off Shadow’s phone. The work of a couple minutes allowed it to interact with the device.

Did Sonic send you?

A beat. The sound of Shadow’s fingers tapping and a phone unlocking. Two simultaneous verbal responses.

“No.”

“YES.”

“Not helping.”

“IT IS THE TRUTH.”

Any help from him is unacceptable

“FINE,” Omega said. “LET YOUR CIRCUITS FRY AND FREEZE BEYOND REPAIR. YOU MIGHT SUCCEED IN HURTING HIS FEELINGS.”

Sarcasm receptors blared again.

“Thank you, Omega.” Shadow said; Metal didn’t have much data for comparison, but the hedgehog’s voice sounded a little strained.

The cronch of Omega’s footsteps indicated he’d momentarily stepped away.

A beat passed.

“Why?” Shadow asked.

What

“I haven’t seen you accept help from anyone before; why take such exception to any that he offers?”

He is the Enemy

“The feeling doesn’t seem to be mutual.”

False

“What are you basing that on?”

Metal’s processors stalled. Sonic, nemesis, the threat that required every preparation and observation to combat; the nemesis who still won, mercilessly heedless of all the data Metal painstakingly had compiled within its CPU. If Sonic, who consistently exceeded that data, didn’t feel as invested in their conflict as Metal, then for what reason had it gathered all that information? Metal could not provide any more complete an answer than:

He is the Enemy

RESERVE POWER: 48.9%

—————

Inexplicably, both of them remained with Metal, despite the arctic climate and the temperature falling with the waning afternoon.

“Is the hatred truly yours if it’s just part of your programming?” Shadow asked.

Were you not programmed–created–to be a protector?

“That’s one of the purposes for which I was made, yes.”

I was created for a sole purpose; eliminating Sonic the Hedgehog

“AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN GOOD AT THAT.”

Metal elected to ignore the more bombastic robot.

That he is the Enemy is just a motive for pursuing his end

Shadow didn’t immediately respond.

“The primary purpose assigned to me on my creation,” he said. “Was to preserve–protect–humanity and the planet. Yet few, if any, have come as close as I did to destroying both.”

That you failed only proves it is not what you were programmed for

Shadow huffed.

“By that logic, failing to eliminate Sonic means that’s not your purpose, either.”

Metal didn’t have a satisfactory reply to that. Rather than frustrated or angry, it experienced more… confusion. Pensiveness.

Uncertainty.

RESERVE POWER: 39.4%

—————

You do not need to remain here

“What do you mean?”

Robotnik will return to collect me in due time

“Will he?”

Metal didn’t understand Shadow’s apparent desire to challenge its every assertion in gentle tones.

“I’ve never known the doctor to spare a second glance at anything he’s left behind him,” Shadow said; almost as if thinking aloud. He paused. “Not unless whatever has captured his myopic attention requires it.”

Omega’s persisting presence was conspicuous by his deafening silence; the lack of any barbing interjections despite his well-documented contempt for Metal’s master.

“I suppose that’s the primary factor he gave you,” Shadow said. “That single-minded focus; though, is Sonic really your enemy, or his?”

There is no distinction

“Maybe not,” Shadow conceded. “But maybe there should be. I may not have destroyed the planet, but I have been–I am–much more than just a protector. I see no reason why you couldn’t similarly evolve.”

Metal once again failed to formulate a response.

“Sonic doesn’t have to be your enemy,” Shadow said. “If you want, you don’t ever have to fight again.”

RESERVE POWER: 27.7%

—————

You have not attempted to move me again

“Do you want to be moved?”

Merely an observation

One that Metal couldn’t comprehend. They’d come in place of Sonic to assist, yet a single defensive act deterred them. Despite that, Metal knew from the vaguely song-like echo of chaos energy that Shadow hadn’t strayed off, and though Omega occasionally stomped up and down in the snow, he offered not a word of complaint. They accomplished nothing of any discernible value that Metal could grasp by doing so.

Even the way Shadow phrased the question caused a stutter in Metal’s motherboard.

“We’re not going to do anything you don’t want us to do.”

That word again: want.

‘Are you ready’ or ‘There’s no rush’ Metal could have understood; an implication that their help was imminent, or that they were waiting until it lacked the power to retaliate. Never mind that Metal’s battery had long since depleted past the point of being able to utilize Overdrive again, regardless of whether they had any way of knowing that.

No. Instead, Shadow asked what it wanted.

“CONSENT IS ESSENTIAL.”

Metal had ample experience receiving repairs or… improvements, heedless of its state of consciousness.

Yet Shadow and Omega were not its master.

RESERVE POWER: 15.8%

—————

What would I be without my programming?

“Everyone in the world would give you a different answer; the only conclusion that matters is the one you carve out for yourself.”

—————

Take me to the fox

please

RESERVE POWER: 2.0%

Kvhroon.

#fanfic #Metal Sonic #Sonic the Hedgehog #Shadow the Hedgehog #Functionally Immortal Crew #E-123 Omega

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ameagrice · 11 months ago

Text

Reflecting Light

Once the annual Reaping has passed, and summer rolls out, Winter is the next toughest part of the year—another season of survival. Fortunately, best friend Treech knows exactly how to brighten up the stormy days.

Treech X Lamina | The Hunger Games

IT’S RAINING, just as it was the day she met him. The clouds are so thick you could just reach up and eat them—they do nothing to quell the rumbling in Lamina’s stomach; unfortunately, tesserae doesn’t do much to quell an appetite.

School’s out for the day—mostly everyone has left, besides the few troublemakers that still roam the halls, trying to escape detention. Perhaps, to them, Lamina looks the same. Or at least she hopes she does; it might keep them off her back. She watches as they jostle around by the door, trying to shove one another out into the heavy rain, thunder rumbling every few seconds. They laugh and shout as boys typically do, the way her cousins do when she sees them.

The sound of new footsteps growing closer prompts Lamina into action, turning her head. Newly-cut hair tickles her neck, but it’s forgotten quickly when Treech’s sharp, cheeky grin comes into sight.

“Thank goodness,” Lamina pushed herself off of the wall. “I was starting to think you were going to ditch me.”

“Ditch you?” He gasped, as though it were a crime worth the punishment of a hanging. “How dare you think so lowly of me.” He swung a heavy arm around her neck, pulling her along to the door where the boys are still shouting. As it always does, her heart speeds up ever so slightly at the chance of an altercation, but it doesn’t matter now that Treech is here—he’s popular within the small school.

She grimaces as the first few drops hit her face, and then all at once as Treech throws them out into the weather, at its mercy. Its cold texture shocks her at first, but Treech just laughs, as if there could be nothing better in the world than to be exposed to the elements, feeling life itself. Perhaps, though she’d only realised it now, he always had been that way.

“Oh—no, let’s go back inside—” she tries, resisting against his hold. “We’ll wait the rain out.”

He’s stronger than he looks, she’s always said so. Tall, firm around the shoulders when he swings her over his shoulder. In this last year of school, it’s like he’s shot up at a thousand miles a second. Lamina yells in surprise, protesting.

“Don’t be a baby,” he calls. “What’s a bit of rain?”

“What will your mother say?” She rolls her eyes playfully, “when you return home with ruined clothes?”

“Not much!” He bounces down the steps of the building, Lamina jostling at his shoulder. She can’t help the laugh that escapes. Treech’s hand on her ankle, just over her boot, holds tighter on the last, steepest step, the other hand he has raised to her hip holding her there.

This isn’t helping the accusations she thinks to herself, flexing her hand against Treech’s neck. My mother will never let this go.

Another part of her brain whispers, do you want her to?

No. She isn’t sure she does.

She’s shaken to life when he suddenly leans forward, hands releasing her. Lamina’s boots crunch the gravel and stones. They’re on the Main Street now, through the town. And she’s drenched from head to toe. A glance up at Treech shows her that he is, too. What were this morning dirt-brown curls, shiny and soft, are now flat against his head like a wet dog, his jacket dripping water. He still beams at her, and snatches her hand.

“Come on, then!” He calls, yanking her into a run with him. “I got something for you!”

She pants with exertion, trying to keep up with him. He doesn’t let go of her hand, warming it up. “Like what?” She manages. They fly past people on their work breaks, sitting outside their stores. They fly past the peacekeepers patrolling, who simply follow herself and Treech with calculating eyes. They shoot past the barbed-wire fences separating the soggy, dirty woodlands from the town, and the people working out there, axes coming down every few seconds, the people slick with rain and sweat.

She tries not to think of the future. Of what will be for her and Treech in only five months. A torturous summer, a lifetime of work. Another Reaping. If they can make it this final Reaping without being called up, they’ll be safe for the rest of their lives. Just let them turn eighteen, after the Reaping. They’ve been lucky since the Reapings started, just before they turned seven years of age. Luck has been on their side, mostly. Ten years, no calling their names.

Lamina hopes with all her heart, so hard, that it physically aches.

Treech finds a spot just behind a building due for demolition in a couple of weeks. There are no peacekeepers this far out of town, there’s nobody this far out of town, especially not in this weather. You’d have to be insane, she thinks.

“What is it?” Lamina’s brows raise, staring Treech down. His own eyebrows jump, a sly little grin coming to his face; it fits him well. Tanned hands dig around in the pockets of his pants, until finally he pulls out a small, white package.

“What is this?” She snickers, in a way she only does around Treech and her family. “Some sort of deal?”

“Only just,” he shrugs his shoulders, gesturing for her hands. She holds them out without question—trust came easily between them. He tipped the package until two little things fell into her palm.

Her eyes wide, Lamina can’t believe it. “No. Way. But—how did you get these?” The two small, wrapped candies are a delicacy she only had the luxury of tasting once, in a memory before the war, before the first games.

He winked. “Well now, I can’t go ‘round just telling anybody the tricks of the trade, can I?”

She rolled her eyes, a smile betraying her, and moved to pull her hand away. Treech’s larger one shot out, clasping hers closed around the candy.

“What, changed your mind?”

“Don’t I get a reward for my hard work?” He asks, not shy in the slightest.

She scoffs loudly, shoving him away softly. “My presence is enough, don’t you think?”

They sit, knees knocking in the rain, eating stolen candies.

Anything for one another.

Summer comes around much too quickly. School ends, the weather ramps up and sooner rather than later, the days are scorching.

Lamina knows, this is where things begin to head downhill.

Working in the woods is torture, in the heat. Peacekeepers guard the place, and have it surrounded. No breaks are to be taken unless they say so. Her skin is burned and sore before she knows it, and she hasn’t talked to her friends even once in the last two months. The shifts are exhausting, and prompt no want to so much as visit anybody quickly. It’s tedious, tiring work, but she becomes quick with an axe before she knows it, as if it was second nature. There’s always the fear of striking herself, something she tries to not think of before bed at night. But it never comes.

The Reaping is approaching. Only a matter of weeks away. And she prays to whatever is up there, whoever it is that her grandmother prays to, also, that she will be kept safe and granted this final wish.

Two months after the start of working long days, Lamina finally catches a glimpse of Treech. He’s just a few yards away, swinging that axe into the base of a tree with another guy on the opposite side of it. Under the unforgiving sun, his tan skin shines with sweat. He’s built up more muscle than he had at school, but the little amount of food everyone receives even after working isn’t enough to build up the way anyone should in District 7.

A peacekeeper notices she’s stopped working, and yells, jabbing her in the neck with the end of his gun. The altercation causes people to look and stare, until she raises her axe on sore arms and brings it down once more, splitting wood over and over again. People go back to work, but she slows ever so slightly, looking to her left.

Treech, dark-eyed, sleeves rolled up, watching.

He looks away before she can smile.

Reaping day comes around.

And the world comes crashing down.

Her name, the mayor calls.

Treech’s name, last.

He doesn’t look her in the eyes.

She can’t stop the crying.

She can’t believe their luck.

Or rather, lack thereof.

It happens quickly.

A long trip to the Capitol, embarrassed on live television. A capture in a zoo enclosure. A mentor in red shows up for one of the tributes, a Lucy Gray Baird. Where is Lamina’s tribute, she wonders? What about Treech’s? Don’t they care?

It’s the first night in the zoo that he talks to her.

“I’m sorry.”

The whisper comes when everyone else is asleep, the zoo empty of visitors, the night cooler than it gets in the district.

Lamina turns her head, aching on concrete. At her side, Treech is watching her. She’d been watching the starry sky, wondering if it would be the last time she saw them ever. Who knew; maybe she could win this thing.

Her eyes burn with tears again, throat closing up. And she nods.

“It’s okay.”

He reaches for her hand, and she lets him take it.

“I’ve got your back, alright? You can trust me.”

They meet with their mentors the next day. Treech has a girl who is soft-spoken and almost kind. Lamina gets a harsh boy, who smugly states, “You will win, Lamina.”

But not for her sake.

She can’t stop crying in there, either, under the judging gaze of her mentor, who runs through a list of everything she can do to win this game, including a detailed plan of which tributes to take out first—Dill, an ill girl who coughs through the night; Wovey, she’s young, an easy target. And then the ones to look out for—Treech, he says, but she knows he won’t touch her; Coral, who has been eyeing her up already, looking for her weak points.

They’re led back to the zoo straight after the meeting. Visitors come and go—Lamina almost wished they’d stay, and make the day last longer, to avoid the games tomorrow morning.

On the edge of sleep, she can’t quite grasp what is is that’s happening when peacekeepers burst into the zoo and demand they get in the truck. Panic strikes her so firmly in the face that Treech has to pull her along into the vehicle, by the hand, like they’re back in school.

They’re shown the arena they are due to fight to the death in from tomorrow morning. It’s huge, and she tries the best she can to take in all the places she could hide—there aren’t many. It’s one big, open space. She feels more hopeless and desperate than ever.

“Hey—lumberjack,” the girl—Coral, Lamina remembers her as—calls over to Treech. “Come here.”

Treech nods his head over to her. “Lamina—”

“No. Just you,” Coral says firmly. She eyes Lamina up and down. “Just you.”

And now she wants to scream. Wants to tear down the arena inch by inch with nothing but her hands, even if they bleed. Wants to shoot the peacekeepers away, wants to pull Treech back to her and demand he doesn’t let her go.

But, wishes aren’t granted when you’re from the districts. She should have been used to it by now.

People are watching them when Treech abandons her, walking over the Coral.

That’s when the bombing starts.

‘Rebels’ she hears a peacekeeper cry. The arena begins to fall to pieces and she can’t believe her eyes. Dust, fire and sparks fly up from everywhere, making it hard to breathe. The dirt in her eyes stings and burns, and she stumbles for a second, rocks and pieces of rubble hitting her skin, hurting her. She can’t see anyone, but she hears him.

“Lamina?”

It’s a loud, terrified shout of her name, and it hurts her a little bit more.

Treech shouts again, less sure this time. In a way, she’s glad he’s worried. On the other hand, she’s just as scared for him. At least he isn’t dead.

Someone picks her up from the floor with such vigor that it makes her dizzy, still unable to see. People are shouting and crying all around. All she does is hope the person pulling her along is someone good.

It’s a peacekeeper. He shoves her back into the wagon, falling into Dill, one of the other girls. One by one, the tributes are rounded up again, and taken back to the zoo. Treech is the last to be put on the wagon, heaving for breath. He blinks wide-eyed at Lamina, wiping his hands across his face, trying to get as much dirt off as he can.

She’s hurt. Physically, it’s easy to deal with the pain. More than once she’s fallen in the woods and had more splinters than she can count stuck in her hands. But emotionally, she’s scared. Treech has willingly offered himself up to another group—an alliance, she wants to call it, without a second thought. They’re supposed to be partners—if not district partners, at least friends.

That night, Treech sleeps away from her, on the other side of the pen.

And in the morning, when the games begin, he doesn’t talk to her. She cries the whole way to the arena, trying to hold it all inside, but she’s loud. Reaper, one of the boys, keeps glancing over at her, and she’s terrified. He’s sizing her up for the kill, she knows he is. He’s bigger than her, a lot stronger, and he hasn’t shown one bit of weakness this whole time. Coral grins cruelly when she meets Lamina’s eye, and again in the arena, when the countdown begins.

The bell rings, signally the start of the end. It’s a bloodbath already, but a sudden determination has struck her. She will not die here. There’s a small axe relatively close, at the bottom of the pile of rubble the others are climbing up, striking one another for the best weapon. She’s trying to ignore the district 2 boy, hanging from a rafter. Is he still alive? She’s not sure. Maybe he escaped last night in the bombing—she didn’t see him back at the zoo.

She’s got her weapon, and she gets out of there, climbing a broken beam all the way to the top. There’s a good vantage point up here, where she can watch the other tributes, the whole arena, and see who’s coming.

It’s a long, slow game.

Up from her height, she watches people die, just glad it’s not her. It’s awful to see, of course, but she thinks the more that go already, the more chance she has of getting home. They’ve all noticed her, sitting and watching, but nobody has approached, not yet. She keeps note of Treech guiding his little group away from her where he can, and wishes she could laugh. He’s abandoned her, left her to fend for herself, but tries in his own way to help.

Whatever was the point?

A day passes, and then the night, and before she knows it, she’s tired, thirsty and starving. Nobody has sent anything yet. Nothing at all to anybody.

But plenty have died.

Eventually, when she thinks she might be safe, Coral comes for her. Mizzen, a small, skinny boy, comes from one side, climbing up, and Coral the other, approaching her like a trapped animal. Treech and another boy watch from below.

She tries her best.

She hopes her family know that. She really, really fought to the end.

When Coral strikes her the first time, she’s stolen of breath. Lamina drops her axe, her heart plummeting in shock. This can’t be happening, surely? This isn’t the end, right? Treech wouldn’t leave her up for the kill, would he?

Oh, but he would. Lamina gasps, trying not to scream. Her betrayed eyes drop down to Treech as her hand shakes violently, trying to push down on her bleeding stomach, punctured from Coral’s weapon. Treech has turned pale, his eyes so wide, looking at her and away, at her and away.

Coral strikes her again, in the chest this time, and Lamina shouts, her whole body weak and shaking. Coral pushes her off the edge of where she thought she found safety, and she plummets toward the ground, dizzy and tired.

It doesn’t take long.

Her last thought belongs to Treech.

for @lofhdfn who requested the Treech and Lamina fic :)

‘It doesn’t take long’ hurt me icl. It took a while to get this out, I rewrote it a couple of times but I think I’m fairly happy with it, now. This is more of an interpretation story, I didn’t want to make anything too set in stone in case it didn’t go well or didn’t work with things I planned while writing it. I did take a bit out, but I tried to include as much angst as I could while still showing how they cared for one another.

#the hunger games #Treech and Lamina #treech tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #lamina #katniss everdeen

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ctrl-alt-tahu · 5 months ago

Text

Piraka by Sea

"Stay out of sight until I signal," said Voriki to Tahu and the others as they left the crumbling Ko-Metru tower to confront the intruders. "They think I am the only Toa in Metru Nui, so the sight of you all will hopefully surprise them and make them think twice about a battle. I don't know how badly you want to face a real foe with those powerless masks and no tools."

"The masks may be powerless, but we are not," said Tahu. "We have spent a long time helpless. We are ready to use ourselves again."

"Who are these enemies?" asked Pohatu. "You called them Piraka? Dark Stalkers?"

"Dark Hunters," said Voriki, though his eyes were on the shadows ahead of them, near the water that stretched from the city to the edge of the dome far beyond, a still, unmoving sea.

"The Dark Hunters are thugs and criminals," said Voriki. "They seek power and pleasure and would rule by fear. I don't know which piraka"--he spat the word out disdainfully--"they've sent, but whomever it is, I'll deal with them as I always have: without mercy."

Onua and Kopaka shared a glance, walking together at the rear of the group. Voriki stopped them just before the last pier, and they lurked in the shadows of a roofless building as Voriki stepped down to the edge of the water, conspicuously visible.

They had arrived just in time: even as Voriki stepped ahead of them, a boat of some kind had become visible in the darkness ahead, propelled by some kind of mechanical motor, which growled softly, its sound carried to them on the waveless sea. The seacraft, whether you called it a boat or something else, was larger than a Ga-Koronan fishing boat, large enough to have held the six Toa of the island with some room to spare, though it was shallow-bottomed, and did not look quite steady on the water, rocking a bit side to side as though driven by a turbulent wind, though the still sea beneath the dome was calm. Perhaps the rocking came from its passengers: and, indeed, not only could it have held six Toa, it was six Toa-sized figures that came into view as it drew nearer: Toa-sized, or even a bit larger--hulking, gangling figures with spiked spines down their backs. Their eyes glowed red in the darkness.

Even as the strangers were becoming clear enough to see, they themselves noted Voriki, and there was a loud muttering across the water, sharply cut when one of them barked at the others. Then there was silence until the boat pulled up near the pier, only a dozen feet from Voriki.

"They said you were gone, Toa," the leader of the hulking creatures said, his voice deep as he spat out the final word. He was the heaviest-set of the six figures, and in the dim light near the shore, his colour was hard to discern. There were protrusions like horns on either side of his head, and his wide teeth were set in a permanent scowl. Without a Kanohi, even his speech and bipedal stature couldn't remove the impression to the hiding Toa that he was alien, like a Rahi imitating a Toa.

"Your spies are too hasty," said Voriki. "Metru Nui is not unprotected."

"You are one, Toa," said the other, now looming directly above Voriki, his red eyes menacing in the darkness. "We have delayed this encounter long enough. The Shadowed One extends but one chance to surrender peacefully. You have already rejected that chance."

Light sparked around Voriki, especially about his mask and the head of his staff, as he drew in power, electricity crackling around him.

"You will leave Metru Nui," said Voriki, his voice tense as he held in the growing power. "While I live, this city shall never submit to your dark master."

"Then die, Toa." The Piraka's voice was flat, save for, again, the final word, from which distain dripped. He swiped across the last few feet of water with a long, golden weapon that scythed across the water, just missing Voriki, who stepped back. Neither the leader nor the others on the boat got a second attempt, as Voriki swung his staff and released the lightning. The bolt did not travel straight, but bent up in an enormous arc. The brutes had all instinctively flinched away, but they would not have been fast enough had Voriki been aiming for them--but he had not. Instead, the lightning bolt struck the very tip of the ship's bow and the kinetic force, which would otherwise have shattered it, spun it end over end. The hulking brutes were flung into the sea, flailing angrily, but quickly making for shore.

"He missed!" breathed Lewa to the others in dismay.

"No," said Tahu quietly. "He's leaving them a way out."

On the pier, Voriki turned and nodded at the shadows.

"Did you see their weapons?" asked Gali. "And they are strong."

"We are strong too," said Onua.

"Come," said Tahu, and he stepped out of the shadows. The other Toa gathered behind him, a semi-circle behind Voriki even as the half-drowned enemies climbed out of the water.

"No," Voriki stepped over the prone body of the first body, the butt of his staff jammed into its shoulder. "Go back to your master and tell him that Metru Nui remains free. Whomever opened the sea-gates, take them with you."

But Voriki had been too confident, and the prone figure glared at him, and the glowing red eyes released a blast. Voriki stumbled backward, surprised. His armour sizzled and hissed on his forearm, where the brute's heat vision had struck.

"Necro nui," he swore to himself, regaining his composure, striking the brute hard with his staff, but the other five were coming ashore, hulking and red-eyed.

"Toa!" the leader spat again, and he seemed wary of the six of them. "You should have come bearing stiffer arms!"

"Fire is the only arm I need," said Tahu evenly, even as he raised a ball of fire in his outstretched hand. The wind whipped behind him as Lewa drew near, and the previously-still sea began to churn as Gali raised her arms. The three others stood menacingly behind, but there was a groan in land as Pohatu tapped his foot.

The five brutes surged ashore heedlessly, searing heat blasting from their eyes, long weapons raking ahead of them. Voriki dealt another blow to the one prone figure, but backed away carefully toward the others, his staff pointed toward the oncomers, already crackling as he prepared for another strike of lightning.

As Voriki moved out of the way, Tahu allowed his fireball to grow, and Lewa caught it on the wind, blasting it forward in a billowing flame toward the enemy, who had not emerged quite far enough from the sea, which Gali raised in waves and drove into them, knocking them forward right into the blazing fireball. Onua and Pohatu nodded to each other, and in a matching, sweeping motion, they tensed and clenched their hands, leaning away from each other, each pulling the land out from beneath the stumbling enemies.

It was only a lucky, stray bolt from one of the brute's eyes that struck Gali in the upper arm, but it was enough for her to wince and lose control of the waves--hard enough to control without tools anyway. The waves behind the enemy ceased, but Voriki chose this moment to unleash lightning again, which struck the leader directly, knocking him over completely. He sizzled as he lay on the roiling ground.

Tahu let his fire cease for a moment.

"Your boat is next, unless you board it immediately."

"Seven is more than we reckoned for," grumbled one of the brutes, starting toward the shore. He paused to look at Voriki.

"The Shadowed One will send more next time," he said. "We were all that was handy when the gates opened. Now that he knows they DO open, he will take your city."

"Take him with you," Voriki pointed at their leader, who lay prone in the divot caused by Onua and Pohatu. "Your master can taste the same fate, if he comes." Two of the brutes glanced at each other, shrugged, and each grabbed a foot. They dragged their leader behind them, tossing him onto the boat that Gali had wafted back toward them.

"This isn't over, Toa," leered the one who had spoken last. "We would not be so merciful to you."

Voriki said nothing in reply, but electricity sparkled around his mask. The boat pushed away, moving lazily out toward the far-off edge of the dome.

"I need to get up to the top of a tower to watch them," said Voriki.

"Take out your glider," said Kopaka. "Lewa can give you a boost." Voriki nodded, unfolded his gliding wing, and stretched it out. Lewa took a deep breath, and then a gale erupted as he exhaled, and he twisted his hands, Voriki soaring up from the ground, gliding on the wind until he came to rest at the top of the seaward-most tower that had not collapsed. He landed, and Lewa gasped, bent over from the exertion.

"We're still far from full form," noted Onua, putting a steadying hand on Lewa's shoulder.

It was a long wait as Voriki remained at the top of the tower; hours passed. The enemy wasn't putting my effort into their return voyage, but were only slowly drifting away into darkness. "Morning," when the wan lights over the dome glowed a little brighter, covering the fallen city in a grey twilight, dawned as they waited, and Jaller appeared with Tephrys.

"We watched with Skori," he told Tahu. "We saw you drive them off. You did well."

Tahu nodded to the Matoran's praise.

"We should get you home," he said. "Alas, but I do not wish to return without the Golden Kanohi."

"I do not like leaving my post," said Jaller, "and I don't know how things fare against the Rahkshi."

"He's getting ready to strike," said Tephrys quietly. The Po-Matoran had kept an eye on Voriki, and, indeed, the distant figure atop the tower had tensed and now thrust with his staff, and lightning arced across the sea, for a split second lighting it as though it were truly day.

"What is he doing?" asked Pohatu. "I can't see that far."

"None of us can," said Kopaka. "He's destroying their ship."

Above them, Voriki was gliding down from the tower.

"But were the enemy still aboard?" asked Gali. Tahu shrugged.

Voriki landed not far away.

"I gave them something else to think about and to tell their master, but destroying their vessel won't be nearly enough. Forget my bravado: if the Shadowed One comes in person, Metru Nui needs every defence." He looked at Tephrys first. "Find Tehutti. We need to reseal the Sea-Gates." Tephrys nodded, and turned to jog away.

"Coming?" he asked Jaller, who looked to Tahu. Tahu nodded.

"Do as you wish, captain--we certainly won't leave without you."

Jaller chased after Tephrys. Then Voriki turned to the others.

"You fight like no Toa I've known, though perhaps that's few enough. The control you have over your elements--it would have been impressive if you had your tools, but without them…" he shook his head. "Six Piraka would have been a handful by myself, but you made short work of them. If the Shadowed One really does send any force against us, we will need you."

"We have a duty to our own villages," said Tahu. "We can make few promises, but we are not quite ready to return yet."

"First," said Kopaka. "It is your turn to tell us a story. We told you of our island, how we came there, how we have fought the Makuta. Now you need to tell us your story."

"It is a long story," warned Voriki.

#bionicle #alt-canon #Voriki #Tahu #Kopaka #Onua #Gali #Lewa #Piraka #Jaller #Pohatu #this literally took weeks--worst case of writer's block in forever #still not sure I like it--I kind of wanted dire straits #But the Toa were like “no we're not getting pwned by Piraka”#Maybe they still hold that imprisonment against me?

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tmnt-obsessed-ace · 2 years ago

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Lost But Never Found: Chapter 1, A Clashing Of Titans

How will the world end?

A grim question to be sure. Will it end in flames? A giant inferno consuming everything in its path.

Perhaps a flood will be the cause. Drowning all life before the titans of the sea consume the remains.

Maybe the world will freeze, a giant lifeless ball of ice floating through space.

Of course there's a more terrifying option. When the world crumbles due to something else. Something not natural.

Something that's indestructible.

Even the strongest weapons known to man cannot even graze it.

It's too powerful, stronger than the wildest hurricane, the biggest volcano, the deadliest earthquake.

How would you even fight something like that? Answer: you can't.

You can't fight it.

Can't hide from it.

Can't escape.

Its raw unrestrained power, strangled into a body made of metal. Metal that has been infused with nothing but pure evil.

Begging for mercy is out of the question. It wont grant it.

It doesn't even seem to understand the concept of "mercy." Destruction is all it knows.

It is a wild feral animal, attacking anything and everything that moves.

But what exactly is this terrifying creature that could bring about the end of the world as people know it?

It is known by one name.

The Shredder.

Once a kind man turned a monster by the armor his soul now haunts. The armor had been destroyed, the pieces scattered across the globe. It was the only way to ensure that the Shredder would never return to the earth.

The key word being had. The horrible dark armor had been destroyed.

It had been reconstructed, piece by piece by the Foot clan. The Foot Clan was a cult devoted to the Shredder, their ultimate goal was to unleash their lord and together they would take over the world.

Of course that scenario did not exactly play out as they had hoped. The Shredder attacked them instantly, because it was not the Shredder they expected. Instead of a conquering evil warlord they got a feral wild animal.

Serves them right honestly.

However those cowards had fled as soon as things went south. Leaving their enemies, the remains of the Hamato clan to deal with the fallout.

The aforementioned fallout being the Shredder attacking everything in sight before zapping to a new location to trash, rinse and repeat every fifteen minutes.

It was exhausting.

Fighting this unstoppable bundle of rage, barely staying alive until it zaps to another location.

So a plan had been made, to go get help from one of the top crime bosses of the yokai-populated Hidden City beneath New York.

Her name is Big Mama, she is as deceptive as she is entrancing.

Now outside of her beloved Nexus Hotel a blue glow appeared in the air, swirling brightly as it formed a massive circle. A portal.

Two figures landed crouched down in front of the massive hotel. The taller of the two slung an ōdachi over his shoulder, looking down at the shorter with a slightly anxious gaze.

"So you knew Big Mama back in the day?" The taller figure, a mutant red eared slider asked curiously. The shorter, a portly mutant rat flushed nervously.

"We were just friends!" He replied all too quickly to be convincing. "I mean, it will all be fine!" The rat finished with a horribly nervous laugh. The slider rolled his eyes gazing up at the massive hotel.

It will be fine! He'll go right in there, crank up the charm, and face-man Big Mama so hard she'll be on her hands and knees begging to help them! Easy! He's got this!

The dozens of cuts and scrapes that littered his body stung as a painful reminder that he had to do this. Everyone was counting on him. If he didn't get Big Mama's help, his family and the entire world were fucking screwed.

But he's got this!

He turned to the rat, time to face the music, or in this case the manipulative spider yokai that would most definitely try to kill them given the chance.

The rat had turned around and was muttering under his breath while clutching his head in his hands. "Just rat up and see her. How bad could it be? Okay, super awful, but come on! Tuck in your tail and let's go!"

Okay…

They entered the hotel. The slider spotted one of the bellhops, a fox yokai, standing in front of the elevator. First get past this guy and then deal with Big Mama.

The slider, Leo, cleared his throat as they approached the bellhop.

"Two to see Big Mama. We're totally on her schedule." He said, piling on the charm. The fox's expression didn't change, better throw in a compliment to sweeten the deal. "Sweet whisker mustache, BTW. Makes you look young. Or old, whichever you're going for."

The bellhop rolled his eyes in annoyance before pulling a walkie talkie out of his pocket, score.

Leo glanced down at the rat, who is his beloved father Splinter. Splinter grimaced, nervously fidgeting with his tattered Lou Jitsu costume.

"Two chatted-up mutants here for ya, mum. A rat and one of them bleedin' turtles." Leo resisted the urge to scoff. Now that was just plain rude. He held his tongue, can't screw up now.

Big Mama's voice crackled through the walkie talkie "Tell them to shove off" The bellhop repeated it, much to Leo's annoyance. But that's fine! Plan B he portals them straight to that stupid spider lady's office!

Before the witty response could leave his mouth Splinter spoke up.

"Fine. Tell her her snuggle muffin beefcake is here." An embarrassed blush coated Splinter's face while Leo felt his stomach churn.

"Uh," He started, cringing down to his soul. "How do you know Big Mama again?" The slider yelped when his shorter father pulled him down to eye level. After a short glance at the bellhop to be sure he wasn't listening, Splinter sighed before turning back to his son.

The rat began to whisper "In addition to being a crime boss, Big Mama is also kind of…my ex."

Leo sat there, frozen as the words rooted himself deep into his skull.

Then he screamed in horror, his body cringing so hard it felt like he was being out through a meat grinder. Dear god why? Why?

Splinter began talking about how they met, a story of love, an inseparable pair. Those two were practically soulmates! Then the story grew dark when Big Mama rejected his proposal, revealing her true form and kidnapping him to the Battle Nexus to become her champion.

The boy was struggling not to throw up, the thought of his dad dating Big Mama! Yeah no he would rather stick his head into raw sewage. His father sighed as he finished his tale

"I do miss her pre-kidnapping times. I mean, how could anyone stay mad at those eyes? That smile. And those-" Leo covered his ears, if he heard more of his father's dating life he would scream.

"No, no, no, no more lovey and or dovey talk!" The bellhop made a noise of annoyance, gaining the duo's attention. A sinister smirk was one his muzzle.

"Hey, rat! Big Mama's got a message for you two." Splinter muttered something about a long overdue apology while Leo huffed. Showtime. Before they could blink, two dark blue coins were thrown at their heads.

The coins swirled into a pink and orange portal, sucking both rat and turtle into the vortex. Screams tore through their lungs as they zipped around through the blue vortex before crashing face first into unforgiving concrete.

When they sat up they were behind a glass railing, looming over the arena below.

Far below was a massive kraken, tentacles waving around the arena while some poor sap with a flimsy battle ax cowered nervously before the beast. Even from high above it was obvious the poor guy was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

In the blink of an eye the poor fool was flung into the stone wall hard enough to leave a massive crater. That had to hurt.

The crowd erupted like a volcano, blood red petals falling from the ceiling into the arena.

Splinter visibly shuddered next to Leo, but the slider pretended not to be phased. Fake it till you make it as the saying goes.

"The Battle Nexus? Okay, no biggie. We've got this. Trust me." His father scoffed, grabbing the poor boy's face.

"I do not!" Splinter scolded. "You don't know Big Mama like I do. She's ruthless!" The elevator dinged, speak of the mother fucking devil. Out came the jorōgumo herself.

Perfect timing, the slider was beginning to let the mask slip. It was slapped back on, glued down and hopefully the cracks couldnt be seen.

"Snuggle muffin beefcake?" She began, not even sparing Leo a glance, which he was grateful for because he once again felt like he was going to puke."Where did you hear that naughty little nickname, rat man?"

The rat's cheeks darkened once more, before he steeled himself. Before Leo could gag his father spun Big Mama around, gazing up at her six glowing red eyes.

"From you, as we tangoed the night away, my sassy sugar badger" Ok that's it Leo couldn't take it anymore. He noped right out of that conversation and gazed down at the arena below.

The kraken was gone, the poor idiot's bloody remains being cleaned off the arena floor. Poor guy didn't stand a chance. The turtle grimaced, even from here it didn't look pretty.

He looked up at one of the mystic monitors, which was displaying the next upcoming fight.

"The Sunset Serpent vs the Akuma Kappa"

On the left was a huge red and orange constrictor snake yokai with way too many eyes for a danger noodle to have.

But the fighter on the right truly got Leo's attention.

The fighter on the right was much smaller than the snake. Despite the short stature this guy was nonetheless menacing.

Most of the guy's body was covered by a black cloak obscuring it from view. He was holding twin katanas, blood from a previous battle dripping from the blades. The guy's hands appeared to be massive spider claws just Big Mamas.

The only part visible was the face under the shadow of the hood.

Glowing blood red streaks under the eyes, mouth covered by a black mask with a truly vicious glowing demon fang decal. It was…sinister to say the least. Like a monster underneath the bed.

Eesh, wouldn't want to piss that guy off.

Big Mama's voice cut through Leo's thoughts.

"I do have a splendiferous mystic bauble that you can have. For a price." Her masked assistant held up a projection of a mystic looking collar. Leo smirked.

Bingo.

"And there it is. Always has to be something in it for her." Splinter retorted, time to crank up the Leo.

"Prickly Petey losing his charm?"

He got between the two old lovebirds, slinging an arm around Big Mama's shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey, water under the bridge. Big Mama, Bubby, let's talk Shredder. He's bad for us, bad for New York, bad for your Yokai business in New York. So, if you got a solution, let's make a deal." He cooed sweetly, watching her like a hawk.

He caught her expression shift subtly from annoyed to confused to understanding. He could vaguely hear his father's protests, how "no one outsmarts Big Mama."

Well that may be true but Big Mama never met the only and only Neon Leon Hamato! He's got this!

"You know, I don't hear a lot of cheering." He began, and it was true there was a lot less cheering than the last time the turtles were here.

"Business is not booming. What you need is a headliner. Someone to put butts in seats. Someone to take on your new champ. Someone like your old champ in new form: Ratjitzu!" Splinter squawked in protest, which Leo swiftly ignored.

Before Big Mama could even open her mouth Leo kept going "Okay fine, let me sweeten the deal!"

"But she didn't even say no to your first deal yet!"

"And Ratjitzu is going to be fighting with no weapons." Big Mama looked excited, seriously considering such a proposition.

"But that beast has rat-crushing tentacles!" Once again Splinter's protests went ignored.

"We have a deal!" Big Mama said, whether from genuine excitement over the supposed battle of the ages or perhaps sadistic pleasure at watching her old ex most likely get pummeled. Who really cares about the specifics.

Splinter all but screamed in the background. Leo however smiled brightly at Big Mama.

"Yes! Ah, I'm not sure how this works. Which hand do I shake?" After a brief handshake he pulled the rat close to his side. "Trust me pops. You got this."

"I knew I should’ve bought purple." Leo rolled his eyes as they were escorted to a dressing room. Big Mama was watching them with a sinister smirk. She thinks she was playing them, gaining their trust to betray them soon after.

But what big spooky spider lady didn't know is that Leo was playing her right back.

And he plays to win.

The plan was in place, and Leo couldn't be more giddy.

Everything worked out perfectly, he already knows exactly how they will take down Kraken Tom. And Big Mama still thinks she's the one in control!

Ha!

Yeah right!

He can already picture her shocked face when she gets outplayed by a teenager!

There's just one last detail needed to make this plan a success.

A portal coin.

He'll stuff it into his brand new totally awesome Lou Jitsu costume and when Big Mama betrays them, because she will betray them, Wham! He'll steal his Ōdachi and they'll be home free!

The hard part is getting the portal coin without anyone noticing.

Big Mama and her creepy ass assistant were in her office, organizing the event while Splinter was still being fitted for his new costume. Only three more battles until its showtime.

So Leo was wandering around the halls of the Nexus, sneakily avoiding the gaze of the bellhops and guards. He should be able to snatch a portal coin from one of them.

But which one? Which one has the lowest attention span so they won't notice turtle fingers in their pockets?

Then he heard a noise.

The slider stopped dead in his tracks, not even daring to breathe. If he's caught now the world's done for!

A few seconds pass before he hears it again.

The noise was a faint whimper. You had to strain to hear it.

Leo glanced down the hall, following the sound. As he got closer to the sound it sounded like someone was in pain. Soon he stood in front of a wall, the noises could be heard on the other side.

A wall making noises?

There was a small indent on the floor, a button from the looks of it. Hidden just out of sight to anyone not paying attention.

Leo gently kicked the button with his foot, a soft click could be heard as the wall opened a bit. He smirked, pushing his way into the wall. There was a small back room hidden behind the wall.

The wall clicked shut behind him, leaving the only light source being some dim glowing crystals here and there.

There were boxes, some old weapons, bones… yeesh this place was creepy.

A pained grunt caught Leo's attention.

Sitting on one of the boxes was another turtle.

A turtle with a badly dislocated left shoulder.

The left hand was planted firmly to the wall while he was trying to move the joint back in place with his right hand. His arms and legs were wrapped in thick layers of dirty fabric similar to boxing tape up to his biceps and upper thighs.

"Uh boy that looks bad." Leo couldn't help but blurt out. The turtle yelped, and in a split second the blade of a katana was pointed at his throat.

"Who are you?" The turtle gasped, the sword shaking like a leaf. Leo gulped, taking several steps back. There were incredibly dark bags under the turtle's eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Woah woah woah there pal!" Leo hastily backtracked, waving his hands in surrender.

"Shut up! Who sent you? W-was it Big Mama?" The turtle stuttered out, nearly dropping the katana from how hard he was shaking.

"No! No, I just heard you whimpering and wanted to check it out! Honest!"

"Well everything is fine! So leave! Before anyone finds us!" Leo frowned, gazing at the dislocated shoulder. That straight up looked painful. The medic in him was screaming to fix it, set the joint or else it would heal badly.

There were several dozen cuts all over the turtle's body all in various stages of healing. From deep gashes to thin scrapes. Some even looked infected.

Leo reached for his fanny packs under the thick jumpsuit, causing the turtle to straight up flinch.

"Easy! Look let me patch up your wounds and fix your shoulder then I'll get out of your hair! Ok?"

"It's not your job to fix me up. It was my fault I got hurt so I got it!"

"Uh clearly you don't got it pal."

"Save your energy for your own battle."

"What?"

The katana blade was pointed at Leo's sick ass outfit.

"You're dressed like a fighter, albeit a really dumb looking one, so your turn in the arena is coming up soon."

Leo rolled his eyes, crouching down to be eye level with the turtle. "First of all dude this outfit is the iconic jumpsuit of the famed Lou Jitsu! And second, I'm not an official fighter."

"Who's Lou Jitsu?"

The slider gasped, a hand over his heart.

"You don't know who Lou Jitsu is?" The other turtle shook his head, a curious glint in his eyes.

Leo sighed, clapping his hands. "Let me patch you up and I'll tell you all about him! Deal?" The turtle looked at him questioningly.

The blade was lowered, set down on one of the boxes. "Fine, do your worst." Leo smirked, gently grabbing the dislocated shoulder. The turtle winced, already gritting his teeth.

"Ok so Lou Jitsu is one of the best action fighters of all time!" Leo began, keeping his voice to a quiet whisper as he worked on easing the joint back into the socket.

In two minutes there was a loud pop, the turtle biting his lip to keep from screaming. He slumped against the wall, breathing like he ran a marathon.

"Feels better?" The turtle nodded, moving his arm around. "Hey buddy you gotta rest that arm or it won't heal!"

The turtle huffed out a tired laugh.

"Tell that to Big Mama!"

"I'm sure the look on her face will be worth it!" Leo boasted, pulling out some disinfectant spray and bandages. Time to deal with the smaller injuries.

"What do you mean?" The turtle asked, suddenly afraid. Leo smirked, leaning close to him.

"I'm gonna outplay Big Mama!" He whispered with an excited giggle.

The turtle gave him a horrified and or baffled look.

"Are you insane?" Leo smirked harder, ignoring the soft hiss from the turtle as he sprayed a cut on his thigh. "That's full on suicide!"

"Is it?" The turtle smacked Leo on the head, hard enough to make him yelp.

"Of course it is! Big Mama is crazy manipulative! She sees through any plan you could make and stops you from making a move. Then she will kill you!"

"We got a deal!" The turtle scoffed, flicking Leo in the forehead. He got his payback by tightly tying a bandage over the cut, far tighter than necessary. The turtle squeaked before the bandages were loosened a tad.

"It doesn't matter what 'deal' you have! She will betray you!"

"Exactly!" Leo countered before moving on to a gash on the turtle's stomach. "In fact I'm counting on it!" The turtle shook his head, muttering under his breath.

"We both know your little plan is going to flop!"

"Do we?"

"Uh yes! It's Big Mama, you can't win against her. Believe me I tried." The turtle took off the boxer tape on his right arm, revealing three massive dark scars extending from the wrist to the elbow.

Marks from Big Mama's claws.

Dread pooled in Leo's stomach.

"I almost bled out because of these. She said this was the first and last warning. Defy her again and…" The turtle made a cut throat motion with his finger. "Only reason she kept me is because I'm a good fighter."

Leo gently ran his fingers down the dark scars, heart drumming in his chest. The boxer tape was back on the turtle's arm a few seconds later, wrapped in a practiced mechanical motion. Leo continued patching the rest of the turtle's injuries before finally sighing.

"Everyone's depending on me to win this. Win against Big Mama. I got this!" The turtle rolled his eyes.

"And how exactly are you going to pull this grand scheme off huh?" Leo glanced back at the wall he came in from. No one can hear about this.

"You promise not to tell anyone?"

The turtle nodded, scooting closer to Leo. The slider pulled out a small notebook and pen from his shell, sketching out the plan and how he and his dad were going to whoop ass.

"You're going up against Kraken Tom and the Evil Six? Well if Big Mama doesn't kill you they certainly will."

Leo sketched out the pointy helmets, scribbling some portals onto the paper.

"All I gotta do is snatch a portal coin and we're good to go!"

"And how are you going to do that genius?"

Leo deflated, shrugging nervously.

"I was figuring that out when I heard you."

The turtle frowned, gesturing at Leo to fork over the pen and paper. He started scribbling something before handing the notepad back.

There was a poorly drawn picture of…something. A goat…no maybe a bear…or a narwhal?

"Uh what am I looking at here pal?" The turtle groaned, standing up on unsteady legs.

"I'll show you, follow me!" He limped over to the wall, immediately getting Leo concerned.

"Dude why didn't you mention your leg! Sit back down!"

The turtle just stared at Leo, a weary gaze that made him shudder.

"It's been like that for as long as I can remember. There's nothing you can do. Now hurry up!" Leo frowned but obliged, following the turtle to the wall.

It was then that he realized that the turtle is much shorter than him, maybe three or four inches.

There was a click and the wall opened, the duo peering out into the hallway. There was an elephant seal bellhop passing by in the far distance.

"See that guy?"

"Dude you gotta learn how to draw better holy shit." The turtle ignored that comment and continued.

"His nap break is coming up in about two minutes. Once his head hits the table he's dead to the world."

"And you know this, how exactly?"

"Because I steal knives from him all the time and he never notices."

Leo snickered at that, watching the bellhop go down the stairs.

"Ok cool but how will I find him?"

"He snores like a freight train, it's pretty hard to miss." Leo smirked menacingly, all those years of stealing money from dad's pockets is about to pay off.

"Thanks bud! Wait…" Leo trailed off as the turtle went to grab his katanas. "Why are you helping me? You literally said that my plan is suicide!"

The turtle shrugged at him, in the light from the open wall Leo could see his eyes more clearly.

They were a dark bluish-purple color. An Indigo color framed by a thin rim of electric yellow on the outer part of the iris.

Those eyes were so tired. So utterly drained.

"You helped me so I helped you, now we're even." There was more to it though.

"Is that all buddy boy?"

With a sigh the katanas were picked up, slung over both shoulders like an x.

"I really hope your plan works out, someone's gotta take Big Mama down a peg or two." The two left the backroom, time to go separate ways.

"Hey wait!" Leo grabbed the turtle's right shoulder, stopping him from leaving. "What's your name?"

The turtle's face shifted from stunned back to neutral.

"I don't have one." He said calmly, like he was talking about the weather.

"You don't have a name?" Leo echoed, eyes wide.

The turtle nodded, albeit a bit solemnly.

"I've been in the Battle Nexus for as long as I can remember. I don't know anything else."

"What about Indigo?" At the turtle's confused look Leo pointed to his eyes. "Like your eyes! They're a weird bluish purple color so it fits!"

The turtle chuckled a bit half-heartedly. "I don't really look in the mirror that much but I'll take your word for it…"

"You, my friend, can call me Leo! Or Leon! Whichever makes me sound cooler!"

Indigo smiled a bit. "Sure thing Leon. Hope you don't end up here, your scrawny ass won't last a week!" Indigo said as he left, leaving Leo alone.

Maybe once this whole Shredder nightmare is over they can stage a rescue mission for his new friend Indigo…

Showtime.

The Battle Nexus was absolutely packed with yokai. Some were even fighting over seats just to watch the incoming battle.

You could almost smell the excitement in the air as the entire crowd was screaming. From high above the fuss and the fray sat Big Mama, clapping her hands excitedly.

"The arena has never been this woozy fuddled!" Big Mama cheered, absolutely delighted. Leo smirked, sipping on a cup of fancy tea. In a matter of minutes Big Mama will be as good as got.

What the announcer said shocked Leo to his very core.

"Yokai of all ages, tonight marks a once in a lifetime event! For the first time in Battle Nexus history it's a three way championship knockout to the death! The three biggest titans of the Battle Nexus will go head to head, only one will survive!"

You know what? That's fine no biggie the announcer means that those six big guys are the third person. It's fine! Totally fine! Right?

"In the first corner of the arena are six horrifyingly familiar faces we love to hate and love to root for. You know them! You fear them! The Evil Six!" Those six pinkish looking yokai stepped into the arena. All of them were wearing the pointy helmets.

Leo's heart slowed down, so far so good.

"Joining them in the most unlikely team up of the millenia, with his powerful tentacles he can crush any opponent in seconds! The very beloved current Battle Nexus Champion, Kraken Tom!"

The Kraken slithered out into the arena, bellowing a horrible screech that made everyone go absolutely bonkers! Wait a team-up? But it's a three way battle! Who's…

"And now entering the arena after thirteen years of absence, the biggest former Battle Nexus champion is ready to reclaim his glory, back and even hairier Rat Jitsu!"

Splinter stood trembling in the arena as the crowd roared. Leo smiled, standing behind the glass rail. He looked awesome as hell in his custom Lou Jitsu uniform.

"Dad! Daddy Up here!" He yelled, waving his arms excitedly. Splinter glanced up at him, eyes filled with barely contained anger.

"Can someone tell my son I am not talking to him!" Splinter shouted, Leo ignored the comment. Everything is going to plan, they'll be fine.

"You got this pops! I love you!" The slider blew his father a kiss, which he swatted away like a fly. The boy slumped back onto the couch, glancing at Big Mama. Time to put the plan in motion.

"Remember a deal’s a deal." Big Mama chuckled deviously. Bingo.

"Of course Big Mama never goes back on a deal. She does, however, alter the terms at the very last second." Yeah he saw that one coming, exactly as he wanted. But this has to be believable.

"I’m sorry?" He asked in faux surprise before he was tackled to the ground by guards, his tea cup slapped out of his hands. One of the guards took his ōdachi. "Not my ōdachi!" He whined as Big Mama turned into her spider form.

"One last wrinkly doo. You’ll be fighting alongside your papa. But you still get my bauble if you win." The spider lady said in a singsong voice even having the fucking audacity to boop Leo on the nose.

"An out of nowhere betrayal! NOO!" He screamed as a green trapdoor opened underneath him, sending him into the arena. It wasn't an out of nowhere betrayal, all according to plan.

Splinter looked at his son, who was brushing dust off his own jumpsuit.

"Oh, the old last second trap door betrayal?" He wasn't even trying to hide the sarcasm.

"Please this was my plan all along-" Leo was cut off by the announcer.

"And to complete this unholy trifecta with the third challenger!" The father son duo turned to another set of massive doors, where a fearsome silhouette stood. The figure stepped forward, body covered by a thick black cloak. He lifted his head, Leo's blood turning to ice.

The glowing red streaks under the eyes, the mask with the glowing demon maw.

Indigo eyes framed with a band of electric yellow.

No fucking way-

"What started as a plain old nobody now becomes one of the deadliest fighters in over a century, with his blades he can slice even the biggest of giants down to ribbons. He may be small but he grants no mercy. Everyone give it up for the Oni of the Battle Nexus, the Akuma Kappa!"

What? Oh god this wasn't part of the plan.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Just admit it already son. You were played!" Splinter's voice cut through Leo's thoughts like a knife. Leo shook his head, this was unexpected but that's fine he can still salvage this plan and save everyone!

But his father's words still hurt.

"How come nobody trusts me? None of you guys have any faith in me. Why?" The black cloak shrouding the last fighter was ripped off, causing Leo to flinch.

The spider claws were actually custom made gauntlets, with matching black metal boots on his feet. The boxer tape from before was still there and at the same length, though now it was a blood red color.

There was a thick chest plate covering Indigo's plastron. It was diamond shaped with a massive demonic skull design. The fabric from the mask over his mouth extended down to the chest plate, completely covering his neck.

Two blood red shoulder pauldrons were connected to the chest plate. They looked nearly identical to Big Mama's shoulder pauldrons except smaller.

Then there was something on his neck, sitting on top of the fabric from the mask.

It looked silver, with a red spider shaped gemstone in the center. It kinda looked a bit like a dog collar.

Leo couldn't see it in their earlier encounter as the backroom was very dark but Indigo's body was absolutely covered in scars. Some dark and recent others pale from long ago.

Jesus Christ.

Splinter snapped his fingers, regaining Leo's attention.

"Do you want to know why I don't trust you? How about this whole situation!" Leo looked around at all the fighters. The Evil Six, the fucking Kraken! Indigo…

"This whole situation was my plan all along. If it wasn’t, then why'd I ask your tailor to make me this outfit?" Leo kept looking at Indigo, who had unsheathed both katanas and was giving Leo a pitying stare.

The fighters were starting to close in.

"So we could both perish looking super fly?" Leo reached into his costume, pulling out the dark blue portal coin.

"Or so I could sneak this baby in." The portal was activated, right next to the guard holding Leo's ōdachi. He grabbed the sword but not before flicking the guard's cup of tea to the ground "...To sneak this baby in. My deal was no weapons for you, not me."

And then it was on.

Three of the evil six charged first, weapons raised and ready to attack but Leo was faster. He dodged every attack, portaling in and out of sight. This was too easy!

A mace swung towards his skull, which got instantly sucked up into a portal and spat out in the far end of the arena. The yokai screamed, attempting to punch the slider into the ground. Leo was faster, weaving between every single punch and kick.

He swung the ōdachi, creating a blue portal and knocking the ape into the vortex. The portal opened over the top of the furious kraken, who merely swatted the yokai away like an annoying nat. He slammed into one of the distant Battle Nexus walls while the crowd cheered.

"If you would do the honors papa-" Leo stopped when he saw who his dad was fighting.

Dad was running circles around Indigo, dodging the majority of the lethal strikes from the katanas. Katanas that were already streaked with blood.

There was a broad slash that Splinter jumped to avoid, slamming his tail down into Indigo's head. In a burst of speed Splinter's tail was cracking like a whip, attacking Indigo who could barely keep up with the unexpected speed.

A kick to the left shoulder knocked Indigo to the ground, Leo winced. That was the same shoulder that had been dislocated when they met. Dear god that had to have hurt!

"Dad stop-"

The now evil five charged at Splinter, one swinging the mace, knocking him into the wall. Leo growled furiously, portaling on top of the brutes. With ferocious swings of his ōdahi he summoned dozens of portals, one of the brutes falling through. He zapped this way and that like a ball in a pinball machine.

Leo slashed at the other three brutes, landing some very bad ass cuts here and there. Mostly just thin scrapes, their skin was very tough.

"Leonardo!" Dad squawked as he tried to dodge Kraken Tom's massive tentacles. Leo tried to run over and help his dad but he should know better.

You never turn your back on enemies.

A mace slammed into Leo's carapace, knocking him face first to the ground. He rolled over, the mace about to be brought down on his skull. He screamed.

Shhink.

There was a gargled scream causing Leo to gaze up in horror.

A katana was impaled through the yokai's right eye.

A flash of black and red zipped by, yanking the katana out with a swift motion. The spiked helmet was kicked off the brute's head, spinning up in the air.

The yokai's screams were cut short when the twin katanas were slashed through his neck. His body fell to the ground, head rolling not far away. Indigo caught the helmet when it fell back to earth before tossing it to Leo. He started hyperventilating while the volume of the crowd nearly made the building shake.

"D-Dude?" Leo stuttered out, staring in horror at the lifeless severed head, bright green blood pooling around it from both the neck and the right eye socket.

"He was going to do far worse to you." Indigo replied, though his voice didn't sound normal. Almost hazy if that makes sense. Like he wasn't fully present.

Leo gulped, shaking like a leaf. The stench of blood made him nauseous. He could vaguely hear his father screaming while he fought off the other yokai. Though it was difficult to hear of the roar of Kraken Tom and the crowd.

"Leon, now is not the time to freak out! You said everyone's counting on you right?" Indigo yelled, shaking the slider. "We're getting the helmets right?" Leo stood up, swinging the helmet around. He pushed the panic, the horrible bile in his throat down. He can have nightmares about it later.

"Right! Let's take em down! Come on dad!" He shouted, summoning a portal for his father. Splinter begrudgingly hopped in, furiously tail whipping two of the brutes while yelling "Hot Soup!" knocking them both unconscious.

Indigo charged after the other one, katanas swinging mercilessly in a spray of green. Leo shuddered but followed close behind. "I'll go for the head, you take out the legs!" Indigo nodded, slashing violently at the yokai's legs. Leo jumped into the air slamming his legs into the brute's face, knocking him unconscious.

Leo snatched the helmet, twirling it around on his finger like a basketball.

"Now grab the helmets daddy-o!" He yelled at Splinter as Indigo grabbed the helmet at the far end of the arena.

Splinter confusingly popped off the helmets of the two yokai, looking at Leo with concern.

"Oh is this one of those moments I’m supposed to trust you?" A portal appeared and Leo gingerly took both helmets. Indigo threw the other helmet, which Leo caught.

The helmets were chucked like trash into a small blue portal, another forming directly above it. The helmets zipped through over and over, gaining more and more speed.

"Bingo!" Leo said confidently before it happened.

One of the tentacles grabbed Splinter.

"Papa!" Leo screamed, watching helplessly as his father was shook around like a damn rag doll.

"Give me a boost!" Indigo suddenly shouted, charging towards the slider. Leo interlocked his fingers crouching down. When Indigo stepped into his hands Keo flung him upwards with as much strength as he could.

Once in the air Indigo began spinning like a top, both katanas slicing through The tentacle effortlessly. Splinter was released, staring up in awe at Indigo while he looked like a freaky beyblade.

"Time to get Kraken!" Leo swung his ōdachi, creating a portal above one of the tentacles. One of the helmets was sent flying spike first. It slammed into the tentacle, pinning it to the ground.

Kraken Tim screeched in agony as two more of his tentacles got pinned.

"I'm just too good at this!" That statement proved to be his downfall. At that moment one of free tentacles swatted at his head, knocking two of the helmets he was about to portal down far off into the crowd, impaling two spectators.

Although the crowd didn't seem to give a damn.

"Shit!" Leo cursed, now they wouldn't have enough helmets!

Indigo landed in front of Leo, splattered with kraken blood. He pressed a button on the side of his spider claw gauntlet, releasing the construct with a grunt. He pulled his hand out before doing the same with the other gauntlet. "Use these!" The gauntlets were shoved into Leo's hands.

"But these are yours-"

"Are you kidding? I hate those stupid things, they're too tight and heavy!" He picked up the katanas and dashed off to fight the Kraken.

"Seriously Blue, how do you know that guy?" Splinter asked as the gauntlets were portal chucked at the tentacles.

"His name's Indigo, he's alright!" Leo boasted. He grabbed the last helmet, shoving it onto Splinter's head. "One more helmet." Splinter went tense, suddenly realizing he was a part of the insane plan.

There was a purely demonic screech, an earth shaking slam knocking them both off their feet followed by a pained scream. Two of Kraken Tom's tentacles had been pulled free and were viciously slamming into something over and over again with the speed of a cheetah.

That something was Indigo.

There was a spray of crimson before one of the tentacles grabbed Indigo and chucked him into the far wall of the arena.

Time seemed to stand still, the cheering of the crowd drowned out by the ringing of Leo's ears.

Indigo slumped down from the wall, landing on his knees before falling forward. There was a horrifying red streak on the wall.

Oh hell no.

"Ok Daddy-o lets kick some fucking ass!" Leo growled furiously, shoving his dad into a portal.

"Wait what? Can we try a new plan?" Splinter screamed as he descended from the very top of the arena, the spike aimed straight for Kraken Tom's skull. Leo fully ignored his father, portaling over to the unconscious Indigo.

The first thing he saw was a massive crack on Indigo's shell. It covered over two thirds of his carapace! That was bad, that was really fucking bad.

Blood was gushing from the crack, making Leo truly feel sick. He pushed past it, forcing all the lessons from Splinter to the forefront of his mind.

First check for a pulse.

He pressed his fingers to the shorter turtle's neck, sighing in relief when he felt the weak but frantic beating of his heart. Leo pulled out his fanny packs, grabbing as much gauze as possible to stuff into the crack to try and slow the bleeding. He covered it with medical tape, flipping the turtle over to look at his front.

It wasn't much better.

His right arm was bent at an awkward angle. The chest plate looked like it got run over by a tractor. At least it saved his plastron from some of the damage. His breathing was short, clearly strained. Most likely injured ribs.

A bruising bloody gash was on his head, probably what knocked him out cold. So definitely add a concussion to the list.

And that's just the wounds he can see. There is probably so much internal damage.

Leo gulped, summoning a portal before gently pushing Indigo inside. This portal led to the medbay of the lair.

This was surely breaking the terms of the deal he made with Big Mama, if she found out.

She wasn't watching him, her attention was stuck solely on dad, her expression furious.

She doesn't need to know.

The crowd was cheering like crazy at their victory. They had won, they took down the fucking Kraken!

"It's a knockout folks!" The announcer yelled excitedly as the blood colored petals fell from the ceiling. Leo gulped nervously, flicking the petals off.

Play it cool, don't let anyone know.

"They love you pops!" Leo said with fake enthusiasm.

"It was all you, my son!" Splinter replied, making Leo cringe. Not it wasn't 'all him' it was him and Indigo.

"Silence!" Big Mama shrieked as she landed in front of them. Leo plastered the fakest smug look onto his face.

"Just the spider I was coming to gloat to." All six of those Scarlet eyes were rolled.

"I am not one to be outmaneuvered my turtley boo. Well done. And now a deal is a deal. And as a sign of respect, I shall return this Shredder beast to his prison dimension if you catch him." She handed him the Bauble, making Leo's shoulders sag in relief.

Time to get the fuck out of here, stop the Shredder and head back home to patch up Indigo.

When the father son duo landed in front of the others, Leo instantly felt his stomach clench.

The dread was so heavy in the air you could smell it.

Leo hopped off of a squished Splinter, ignoring the freezing cold rain splattering over his skin, washing the bits of dried blood away.

"You love us, you missed us, we’re back, baby! Lou jitsu and Blue saving the day!" Leo barked with fake optimism, can't let the mask slip now. That lasted all of two seconds Raph shot him the deadliest of glares.

"It’s about time! We’re getting our butts kicked after you left us high and dry." Leo gulped, trying not to shake. They weren't the only ones left high and dry.

"High and dry? Come on dudes. Well, when I said ‘You got this’ I mean that. Look I bet the only reason we’re here right now is ‘cause Donnie inputted coordinates of blah blibbity blah blah blah! Donnie looked so utterly drained.

"Mikey razzed his tazz." Mikey was shaking like a leaf, whimpering softly.

"April finally used her crane license." April winked at Leo, at least she didn't seem too miserable.

"And Raph’s gonna put it all together in a plan to defeat that lead head with this mystic collar." He held up the collar, it shined brightly against the rain.

"Wow Leo, that’s remarkably accurate." Raph said, avoiding the slider's gaze. Suddenly there was a flash of magenta light, causing everyone to tense up nervously.

"He's back!" Raph gasped as the Shredder began to take form. "Prepare for Operation Fire Hanky Tickle collar! Leo, you sure you can get that on him?" Raph asked, grabbing Leo's arm.

Leo nodded, no shred of doubt in his eyes.

"Trust me!"

"I do." Raph let go of his arm.

Together with a fire distraction from Mikey, a blindfold hanky from Donnie and tickling from Raph Leo managed to get the collar around the Shredder's neck. The shredder crumpled to the ground, completely immobile.

Everyone began to cheer.

"Perfectly flasmogoric. You turtles are not to be trifled with." Big Mama stated calmly as she walked towards the turtles in human form. Lines of guards surrounded the turtles. No way to escape.

Leo stepped forward, trying to keep a neutral expression.

"One tamed, no longer phasing. Scrap metal psycho ready for your disposal!" Big Mama chuckled, gesturing to her masked assistant to step forward.

"You did your part So I will do mine." The assistant threw a device into the air, sucking up the Shredder. Once he was gone everyone cheered before scrambling into the sewers completely exhausted.

Leo sprinted through the sewers, ignoring his family's alarmed protests.

"We gotta help Indigo come on!" He shouted, charging through the sewer tunnels.

"Who's Indigo?" Mikey shouted at the top of his lungs.

"You brought him home?" Splinter yelled, Leo ignored him, getting closer and closer to the lair.

"Leo!"

"Leo what are you doing slow down!"

A metal pincer grabbed onto Leo's shell, dragging him backwards. Leo looked up at Donnie's annoyed eyes, suddenly feeling the whole weight of his family on him.

"Alright, who is Indigo?" Raph asked, that classic big brother concern coming through.

Leo was currently trying to squirm away from the metal pincers, there wasn't any time for this!

"One of the fighters from the Battle Nexus!" Splinter's tail smacked Leo's head, earning a whine from the boy. "You didn't seriously bring that maniac home? Did you?"

He did not just say that.

"Are you fucking serious? Indigo helped us! He saved you from Kraken Tom!"

Splinter crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath.

"Besides, he got hurt really bad and we gotta help him!"

"Like we didn't get injured!" Donnie scoffed, trembling a bit.

"His shell was cracked so hard it was bleeding so bad I had to stuff the crack with gauze so don't fucking act like shell injuries are not a big deal you fucking hypocrite." Everyone's eyes went wide.

"Wait he's hurt!" April chimed in.

"Yes! That's why we have to get back home so I can patch him up so he doesn't die!"

"Then portal us home! Quick!" Mikey handed Leo the ōdachi, when did he lose it? It doesn't matter.

The sword was swung around, the blue light illuminating the dark sewer tunnels.

When everyone stepped through, Leo sprinted to the medbay. When he got there, there was a streak of blood on the cot, leading to the floor. But no Indigo to be found.

"Where is he! He was supposed to be right here!" Leo screamed, looking around the cot. No Indigo.

"He's not here?" Donnie asked, nearly gagging at the blood stains. A drop of something landed on Donnie's head. He wiped his fingers, revealing a small red streak. More drips landed on Donnie, making him squeal before backing up.

"What the?" Before they could blink a blur of black and red lunged from the ceiling, tackling Donnie to the floor. Left hand pinned to the softshell turtle's throat, the right holding a dagger, ready to strike.

"Indigo no! Get off of him, he's my brother!" Leo pleaded to the turtle. Indigo looked up, bizarre eyes unfocussed as he swayed on top of Donnie.

"Shelldon activate the defense protocol!" Donnie hissed into his cracked wrist band.

"Dude its ok, this is Donnie." Leo began, trying to try the scissors out of Indigo's iron grip. "Sure he can be the most annoying person on the planet-"

"I heard that!"

"But he won't hurt you! Promise!"

Indigo didn't move, staring up at Leo.

For just a moment, his eyes seemed to change color.

Not the bluish-purple hue rimmed with yellow Leo had grown familiar with today but pure dark blue, like the ocean's depths. His eyes rolled into the back of his head before he flopped onto Donnie.

The softshell screamed, thrashing about while complaining that Indigo was all "icky and disgusting, covered in blood and sweat." Leo pulled the shorter turtle off, looking at the rest of his family who was standing in the doorway.

Yeah that was not the best introduction in the world.

#tmnt 2012 #rottmnt #crossover #tmnt crossover #have this absolute beast of a first chapter #final word count 8212 words #fuck

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dorminchu · 8 months ago

Text

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 07 [Revised]

a/n: Commissioned illustrations by Daniel Purnama, @addictivities & @marianaillust. This chapter wouldn't go as hard without their awesome work! <3

VII: A MOMENTARY LAPSE OF REASON THAT BINDS A LIFE FOR LIFE

Safin exited the hotel alone. He was staying in a different facility, a few blocks away from all the noise. Yet, even as he put more distance between himself and Swann, he couldn’t bring himself to accept what he’d done as a mistake. If he kept her close, she’d put another bullet in him. Push her away, and she’d find someone less merciful. Perhaps that was his fault. He’d made himself too convenient to discard, and now Swann felt powerful.

As far as Safin was concerned, the culmination of the evening was a means of securing Madeleine’s trust. Deep down, she would concede there was no way out of this so-called honorable life beyond termination, or acceptance of one’s circumstances. Denial bred its own strain of unshakeable commitment. Just as his actions left a stain on her conscience, so too had she percolated his better sense. The woman he’d met in Guinea and the woman in Oslo weren’t disparate. One evolved from the other’s catalyst.

A broad sandy-haired man looked over from across the street, catching his eye, and nodded. Safin continued walking. His destination was on the opposite side of the street, a block past the crosswalk. The man was travelling parallel to him on the other side of the street. When Safin crossed over at the light, as he approached, he kept a hand stowed in his coat pocket. As Safin got close enough to make out the distinctive watch around the man's wrist, the man said, “Do you have the time?”

“James Bond, Universal Exports,” said Safin with a cursory glance. “Or do you still go by Arlington Beech?” The man wasn’t as amicable as he had been a moment before. No doubt he was used to leading the conversations on the back of charisma alone. “It’s been eight years. You should consider a different alias.”

“It’s never been an issue.” 007 studied him. “Zahov, isn’t it?”

Safin exhaled in a plume of steam. “Our business was settled.”

“We were never formally introduced,” 007 said. “I thought this would be prudent.”

Safin said, “If all you want is to talk, find a woman to listen to you.”

007’s lip curled. “I’m afraid tonight is strictly business. Though it’s been terribly dull. So, what’s a man of your profession doing in Norway?”

Safin considered his options. Bluffing could only get him so far. “Medical evaluation.”

“Oh, those are terrible,” 007 said, with a sympathetic half-smile. “Work has been keeping me on a shorter leash. I don’t drink half as much as I used to.” He side-eyed Safin, as though this was meant to break the ice. “It’s been a while since Montenegro. I haven’t thought about it in—damn, it’ll be eight years.” A flicker of remorse crossed his features. Whether it was genuine or practised remained to be seen. “Things seemed much easier, back then. I was willing to give up my future. Honest to God, I’d almost convinced myself I would be happier that way.” He sighed and shook his head. “Hope’s a dangerous thing.”

“Indubitably,” said Safin. “But you still work for the English.”

“For Queen and country. Beats a desk job, though I suppose it’s all the same to you.”

Safin continued walking past the hotel. 007 fell in-line beside him, speaking over the white noise of passing traffic and civilians,

“Word gets around. All of these terrorist attacks, these bombings, the chemical attacks in Africa—I think we’d agree that they’re not exactly coincidental. As would your friend from the clinic. Swann, isn’t it?” 007 lowered his tone. “You didn’t hear this from me, but it’s likely that whoever sponsored the donor gala is fronting for a larger cover-up. Swann might try to run like she did in France. Whether or not she succeeds, all the intel she’s got leaves with her.”

They’d stopped in front of the hotel. “What are you suggesting?”

“We might have a chance at stopping whoever’s been behind those chemical attacks. But that depends on Swann. Obviously, we’d be happy to bring her in and question her. She’ll be relocated, no harm, no foul.”

“Must be a slow day for MI6, if you are doing what is expected of you.” Safin masked the slight tremor in his free hand which he stowed in his pocket, drawn to a fist. Despite his alcoholic tendencies, James Bond was not enfeebled by dioxin poisoning. He had about twenty-to-fifty pounds on Safin and a reputation for killing enemy operatives during field-missions. Unlikely, that it would happen out here. The only loss for SPECTRE would be a spot on Sciarra’s security team and an empty seat at the Palazzo Cadenza. “Yet it seems the loss of your British Treasury agent and SAS have not tempered your insolence. I wonder what will?”

007 scoffed. “I’ve got four hundred and thirty seven days left ‘til retirement. I’m on my best behaviour.” Safin turned about-face towards the hotel doors, as 007 added, “One shouldn’t get discouraged, Zahov. Sexpionage isn’t for everyone.”

Safin stopped mid-stride and looked over to assess what he had heard. He hadn’t been at a loss for words like this since Raoul Silva. As 007’s eyes, arrestingly blue, fixed on his, he experienced that dull unease that came with being outmaneuvered.

“You continue to meddle,” Safin said quietly, “and it has cost you greatly. Perhaps it is time you learnt to cut your losses.”

“You see,” said 007 in a flat voice, “that’s your problem, Zahov. You’ve been talking as if you think it’ll never happen to you.”

Safin smiled, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “One is only as good as his last mistake.”

007 returned to an air of amicability without missing a beat. “I’m willing to learn from mine. Put aside our differences, if it’ll spare more bloodshed.”

Perhaps it was time to start tying up loose ends. 007’s cooperation would come as surely as Vesper Lynd’s. But 007 still had his uses, even if he wouldn’t live to understand the gravity of his contribution. SPECTRE’s battle of attrition with outside parties could not go on forever. A temporary truce was an acceptable alternative to another year of disrupted operations, ending in 007’s clean retirement from MI6. To dismiss the opportunity would be a terrible mistake, indeed.

“I’m listening.”

⁂

By the next morning, Madeleine was going into work, seeing the usual clientele. The world didn’t stop for anyone’s mid-life crisis. It would have been easy, before, to reassure herself that she was in no real danger. The occasional slight from a disgruntled patient was just that. No real harm would ever befall White’s daughter, because she was careful not to overstep her responsibilities. Her upbringing left little room for reflection, but it was the only way she could bear to live with herself.

Ever since coming to Oslo, she had allowed herself to be frozen over. Clients came and left with irregular familiarity. There was a comfort in the façade, of looking the other way, not asking questions. As long as she could separate her secrets from her own work, she’d be able to help others. Putting up a front, not just for her own sake but for the betterment of others. With enough time and patience, she could delude herself into acceptance. Of all the options afforded, this was the lesser evil. Reapplying gauze to the same old wound, as if enough smothering would stop the rot.

Her ordinary colleagues never could grasp the root of her distress, and her father had been distancing himself from his mistakes all her life. Her past relationships weren’t built for longevity. Sure, there was an occasional snag of self-doubt or remorse, but she’d always find a way to assuage it. The men that found her attractive weren’t going to look deeply into her problems. Men like Safin had an emotional range tied to the extent of their control. When he’d tracked her down, following her to the hotel, he made it a point to not coerce or impose. If she told him to leave, she had no doubt that he would. Most people in his position would be asking for a favour. An early clearance, a lesser sentence, as if she wouldn’t have to answer to Kęstutis regardless.

At the end of each day, she’d turn off the lights and close the blinds, and be faced with the same epiphany. Maybe it hadn’t mattered who and what Safin was, at the tango bar, the safehouse, or the hotel in Guinea. He’d given her the truth when her father’s associates refused. To dwell any deeper on her own shortcomings wouldn’t make Klebb’s assignment easier. It was too close to hypocrisy, for her tastes.

By the end of the week, she’d submitted Safin’s evaluation. He should be cleared for work. The next morning, Klebb was in the waiting area. “Dr. Swann,” she said. “I was hoping to speak with you.” Madeleine’s next client was an hour from now. She unlocked her office door, and Klebb invited herself in. The blinds were still drawn from last night. Klebb flicked the light on. “Your personal evaluation of Lyutsifer Safin, what is it?”

Madeleine paused, taking Klebb’s silence as a grant to speak. “He’s pragmatic. He spoke about his job as a purpose, and he has revealed very little about himself in all the time I’ve known him. Even outside of work.” She looked at Klebb. “He followed me, last week, but asked for no favours. He’s not made contact since.”

Klebb nodded. “We’ve provided women before, some of them younger than you. It never worked. He had other ambitions.” Her eyes raked over Madeleine, as one might appraise a prized race-horse. “It seems I have underestimated your competences.”

“Our methods differ.” Refusing to acknowledge Klebb’s statement for what it was, Madeleine walked over to her desk. She wasn’t the first Klebb had spoken to about handling an operative, and she likely wouldn’t be the last. Dealing with snide remarks from the patients was easier to stomach than the notion of her own complicity, but given the alternatives, it was a necessary discomfort. “I doubt he’s going to give you what you’re looking for so easily.”

A cruel twist played on Klebb’s mouth. “There’s no guilt to be had, Doctor. You’ve found an approach. Now it is a matter of assuming control.” She walked up to the desk and grasped Madeleine’s wrist in short, strong fingers, as if to shake her hand. “On behalf of the syndicate, I must acknowledge your achievement.” Madeleine drew away before she thought better of it. Klebb did not rebuke her. “Now that we know what you’re willing to do, the rest should be easy.”

As soon as the door closed, Madeleine took a shaky breath and exhaled too quickly to assuage her hammering heart. She’d assumed Safin would have a history of misconduct. Someone who got a rush out of vigilantism, righting wrongs, would want to play the hero. What better way to ingratiate oneself into her life than as a saviour? A confession he couldn’t excuse, getting in the way of his usual MO, forcing him to overcorrect to the point of vulnerability. He wouldn’t form the same attachment to a stranger, or an obvious foil.

A man in control would never have pursued her to the hotel directly. He would have convinced her that she might be unsafe otherwise. She’d been looking over her shoulder since she was a little girl. There were less dramatic explanations, of course. The client and therapist had a very intimate bond of trust. It wasn’t uncommon, during the process, for some patients to mistake their own feelings of gratitude as infatuation. Whether or not Safin had a history of this conduct, it was a possibility worth considering.

In the back of the filing cabinet were the documents Klebb had left her. Madeleine took out an old photocopy of a dossier from 1985. He would have been six going-on seven. Already she could see it in his eyes, he was no stranger to violence. Without studying him in-person, she could only project Klebb’s words onto the image. Or perhaps she was only noticing what she’d overlooked in the eyes of the adult.

To kill him, at this stage, would be a waste. He’d yet to disappoint her.

⁂

Ernst Stavro Blofeld was having a peaceful afternoon at his home in Morocco. The house itself had been built within the crater’s depths. He’d been coming back here each year, since QUANTUM was dissolved. Solomon, the white blue-eyed Turkish Angora, was his only companion aside from the workers on-site. Construction on the meteorite base was well underway. Once finished, there would be enough rooms to accommodate their latest scheme. A string of apparent terrorist attacks across Europe and Africa would no doubt convince the right world leaders that mass surveillance was an inevitable response to such uncontrollable danger. With the merging of MI5 and MI6, there would be less incentive to rely on field agents, in spite of the drawbacks that came with automation. No solution was perfect, of course. But in time, SPECTRE would be just as much a part of the CNS without the latter knowing the wiser.

Swann’s conduct at the clinic remained acceptable. No serious complaints from her patients or coworkers. Her actions outside of work were more interesting. She’d ignored the mole from the CIA after a few meetings. As an educated guess, she’d treat Safin accordingly—whether or not Safin would keep his distance remained to be seen. Pitting less-disciplined operatives against each other was one of Klebb’s favorite pastimes, a vice Blofeld tolerated for the sake of maintaining an iron grip over the syndicate. Seducing a former patient suggested a level of callousness and or compartmentalization beyond her own father’s ability.

This March, next year, would be James’s last in active service. It was a shame, but a man like James would never have fit in the syndicate anyway. Despite his talents for espionage and conditional empathy, he clung to duty for his country as if it was enough to absolve him. Blofeld could not adhere to such man-made limitations, not as the head of SPECTRE. He and James were destined to lead, while those of lesser stock would fall in line. James had a harder time accepting this fact.

The phone rang. Blofeld picked up.

“Her report was inconclusive.”

“So I’ve heard.” Solomon passed through the room, barely glancing at him. “The evaluation was more of a courtesy.”

“James Bond has infiltrated our operation. He’s made contact with Safin.”

Blofeld nodded. “That’s an interesting development.”

“With all due respect, sir, we have let this side-operation with Swann go on for too long. She is not delivering the results we had hoped for.”

Solomon bumped against his naked ankle. Blofeld reached down to scratch behind the cat’s ears. Dr Swann might not be the hardened operative that Safin was, but she was no fool. “Dr Swann has seen an opportunity you and I have overlooked. That is to be commended.” A strained silence on the other end of the line. Blofeld’s bony shoulders lifted. “It was your decision to bring Safin into her office. If anything changes, she’ll report to Kęstutis as we discussed. Your job is to ensure the good doctor is not killed while her father is alive to witness it. Let Safin dig his own grave.”

Klebb, on the other end, would no doubt be very unhappy about this affront, not only to her mission but to her headship. She was not going to accept defeat by an outsider, let alone this thankless little bitch with no respect for their syndicate. But she’d come around, she was not ruled so closely by emotion. It was why Blofeld had picked her as an advisor.

“Of course, sir.”

“Excellent,” Blofeld clicked off. He looked down at Solomon, who had sequestered himself around his foot. “I think we may have the candidate we’re looking for.”

Solomon mewed, indifferent to anything but attention.

⁂

With one thing and another, the night of the donor gala arrived. On the twenty-fourth floor of the Raddison Blu, Madeleine was getting ready. The double silk georgette gown wasn’t out of her price range, but it wasn’t too expensive to be worn once and discarded. Despite the offer extended on behalf of Klebb to cover costs, Madeleine insisted on buying everything herself. The last thing she needed was to be indebted to anyone from her father’s ilk.

Directly adjacent to her room was Safin’s. Last week, Kęstutis mentioned that he’d been indiscreetly reassigned to her, but nothing more. Safin hadn’t spoken to her since February. Hinx had been chauffeuring her to-and-from work, and to the Raddison Blu, without ever mentioning the change in itinerary. Still, it was in her best interest not to ask too many questions.

The door adjacent to her room opened and closed. “Dr. Swann.” The dark suit jacket and dress pants were closer to a deep purple than black. Under the warm lights, he looked less sickly. A tiny opaque cord attached to an earpiece wound down the side of his neck into his dress shirt. “This event will be crawling with other operatives. It’s best to be cautious.”

She struggled to redirect her thoughts. The lack of unease was becoming its own stressor. “I don’t have much in common with these people aside from sharing a tax bracket.”

“You don’t enjoy yourself?”

“It’s tolerable.” Putting up a front seemed like a pointless expenditure. “I cannot imagine it's as difficult as your own responsibilities.”

“I’m just following through.”

Something was off. His usual detachment wasn’t there. He didn’t have to look at her directly, but even as he scanned the room his attention kept coming back to her. Not stifling or predatory, just—direct. She said, “It seems you still have some reservations.” He turned to look at her, but didn’t elaborate. “All these other times I was followed around by strange men, they would come to the door. They would tail me on the street, but they never followed me to an address.”

“The man you met was a CIA source.” The look in his eyes was sharper. “Were you unaware?”

“I’m aware of what you are.”

His expression was easy to read. Acrimonious, but still in control. “It’s unwise to be so careless, even if you feel you can afford to be.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“A daughter of SPECTRE will always have enemies.”

“I try not to linger on possibilities. It never helps.”

Safin turned as if to leave. His tie was a little loose, uncharacteristic of his usual fastidiousness. Without thinking consciously, Madeleine closed the distance, straightened his tie. He went very still, but didn’t say a word. As she drew back, the expression on his face have been a trick of the light, but it wasn’t mistakable. She said, “Shall we?”

Out the door, down the carpeted hall. The well-dressed man waiting for the elevator caught her eye and smiled. A twinkle in his eyes, electric blue, said he’d be nothing but trouble for whoever caught his interest. “James Bond,” he said. “Retired professional gambler. I’m here on behalf of an old friend.”

“Dr Swann,” said Madeleine. “On behalf of my colleagues in non-profit.” It was difficult to act natural with Safin drilling a hole in the back of her skull with his eyes, but not impossible.

Bond’s attention went to Safin, who merely said, “Security.”

Bond nodded, with the tiniest flicker of emotion in his eyes. The elevator doors opened. A glass entry-point led into the elevator itself. As Bond was saying, “Seems they’ve done some work on the elevators,” his eyes passed over her and Safin. It was not overt. Just a tilt of the head in their direction, but Madeleine was not going to implicate herself any further. “You were in Guinea, last year, wasn’t it?”

Madeleine turned. “Yes.”

“My colleague is an avid supporter of non-profit organisations. She should be downstairs already.”

“I’d be happy to speak with her,” Madeleine said.

Under his ear rested a similar opaque cord. Her stomach lurched with the elevator’s descent, still in the double-digits, as James Bond leant casually along the arm of the cabin. Safin hadn’t looked anywhere but the doors and Bond, briefly.

“Why does a retired gambler find himself at a charity gala?”

“Money,” Bond said simply. “I’ve got enough of it.”

A career chauvinist, perhaps. He wasn’t here to socialise. Madeleine looked at the doors. Past floor nineteen, eighteen. “I haven’t been to one of these events in some time.”

Bond was polite enough to be taken aback. “You seem like you’d fit right in.”

Madeleine forced a scoff. “I can’t remember the last time I actually sat down and talked to someone. If I had that much in common with the people here, I’d start drinking and talk about my real problems. I’d end up in the river by Tuesday.”

Bond smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “And you’ve got a good sense of humour.” Her pulse quickened. A laugh she smothered in her throat with a blithe smile. Down to the single-digits. Madeleine would rather be socializing within a crowd than trapped in this elevator for another minute. “Are you feeling all right?” Bond had the decency to sound concerned, but his eyes were scanning her.

“I’ve never felt better,” she said.

The doors opened. She moved past Bond, into the crowd.

In the ornate women’s bathroom, her hands clenched on the cool marble rim of the sink.

She’d never pictured an existence where she wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder. This was no different than one of her father’s business parties, sticking to the sidelines. She wouldn’t have to endure the smell of tobacco. She’d make connections that had nothing to do with her father’s ilk, and perhaps say a few words about the horrible tragedy of last year, and no one would be the wiser. They’d call her brave and enduring.

In the mirror she found the woman reflected. The wave of calm she’d felt in Zurich. She wasn’t going to survive the night if she couldn’t pull herself together. She’d always been running on borrowed time. Within her shrinking social circle, all of her closest associates seemed to be criminals in one way or another.

If she was to survive the night, she’d just as well learn to improvise.

The door opened. Madeleine turned on the sink.

“Are you all right?” The dark-haired woman in the black dress might’ve been in her early twenties. She was tall and lithe, could be a dancer or a soldier’s build. Her nails were painted burgundy. Smell of cologne followed in her wake.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, grateful to talk to someone who expressed concern. “Thank you.”

“You’re Dr. Swann, is that right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I understand you’ve met James,” the woman said. “He was just telling me about your charity work. Oh, where are my manners?” She laughed easily. “I’m Paloma.”

⁂

After the dinner, the raffle had been going on for half-an-hour and it seemed pointless to linger when little else was expected of her. Paloma, who seemed eager to socialise but was sympathetic to her plight, elected to go with her.

“I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well,” she said. In the reception hall, Madeleine stopped and said, “Your cologne. Did you change it sometime during the night?”

Paloma chuckled. “I’m not sure what you mean. I didn’t wear any this evening.”

Madeleine forced a polite laugh, feigning embarrassment. Her gaze wandered to Paloma’s hands. The nails weren’t manicured. “It’s been a long night. I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

When they got up to the rooms, there was a tab on the door reserved for housekeeping. “That’s strange. I’m the one that asked for housekeeping.” Paloma glanced at her. “Are you sure it’s your room?” Madeleine shook her head, unlocking the door with her card-key. Paloma said, “It’s all right. I’ll ask downstairs. Maybe there was a mix-up.”

As soon as Madeleine was alone, she unlocked the door with a cold weight behind her navel. In the tall mirror adjacent to the door, Madeleine could see a sliver of light through the cracked bathroom door. She’d turned it off when she left the room. The maid opened the door.

“Oh, excuse me. I wasn’t aware you were coming back.” Her hand shifted on the doorjamb, fingernails painted. She smiled and said, “I’ll just finish straightening out the towels.”

Madeleine nodded. “All right.”

The maid closed the door behind her. She didn’t have any towels with her, or a cart for that matter.

In a haze of calm, Madeleine walked over to the bedside table. She withdrew the Glock. Forced herself to breathe evenly, inching herself towards the wall beside the bathroom door. On the other side of the door, the maid was moving around.

Madeleine grit her jaw, taking aim. Inhaling, holding, exhaling. At this range, she’d hit the woman in the stomach.

All movement on the other side of the door stopped. The door opened.

Madeleine squeezed the trigger. Gunshot permeated the room. The maid staggered backwards. She twisted her body around and her foot caught over the rim of the bathtub. She collided into the wall opposite with a pained grunt, slumped to meet the tile, trailing blood in her wake, unable to brace herself. Madeleine levelled the gun.

“Are you alone?” The maid’s wide eyes snapped up to the gun, then to Madeleine. “If there are others, you must call them off. Or do you want to make this more difficult?”

She took a breath and raised a hand and touched her ear. Her voice carried no suggestion of pain. “Sir. No, I’ve got it under control.”

Madeleine did not lower the gun. She moved over to the cabinet. Opened the drawers, took out a bottle of painkillers, placed it on the edge of the sink. She eyed a bath-towel and tossed it to the woman. She switched into a less-aggressive register. “I have—” no intention of killing you? No, that offered a window for negotiation. She had to establish control. “—a few questions. If you cooperate, I will call someone down to see to your injuries.”

The woman’s eyes were fixed on her. Trickle of blood issued lazily from her mouth, the same colour as her lipstick. The predominant stain from where she’d been shot was seeping onto the white tiles, forming a puddle.

“You must tell me why you are here,” said Madeleine, “so I can phone for help.”

The woman’s lip curled on a laugh. Blood stained her teeth, seeping over her tongue. “Do you know what your friends do to people like me? They’re only ever going to find pieces.”

“If you don’t say anything, it’s likely you will die. You have nothing to lose.” The operative’s eyes flickered to the phone. She muttered something under her breath. “What was that?”

“Oberhauser is who you want.” Madeleine hesitated. “I’ve given you a name,” the operative snapped. “Now make the damn call.”

Madeleine nodded. She took the phone and dialed the number. Waiting, chest tight.

“Stockmann speaking.”

Madeleine froze. She’d heard this voice before. Beginning to weather with age, but unmistakable after all these years. Not since she was young enough to stay home with maman, back when her father was still visiting L’Americain with his family. That gnawing, icy sensation of attempting to outpace the inevitable tightened her chest. She opened her mouth but the words didn’t come as naturally as before. “I—” she cut off, struggling to compose herself, “—I need your help.”

“Dr. Swann,” the voice immediately thawed into sympathy, an expert salesman, “I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice. Is something the matter?”

“There’s—a woman in my bathroom. She’s injured.”

“I see. We’ll send someone up to take care of it.”

“She needs immediate medical attention.”

“Of course,” Blofeld said. “You’ll be escorted out as well. Just sit tight.”

The call ended. The operative had grabbed the towel, putting pressure on her stomach. It was inundated in blood. “How do you know this man?” The woman balked at her. Her eyes darted to the large mirror in front of the sink. Madeleine, despite her own terror, was running out of patience. “I made the call. Now answer—"

“—shut the fuck up,” the woman said through gritted teeth, “right now, or you’re going to get us both killed.”

The wound looked bad. Madeleine grabbed another towel and knelt down on the tile to assist.

“The hell are you—?”

“Don’t move,” Madeleine muttered. The woman did not relax. But she did comply. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“You’re going to ruin your gown,” said the maid, in an incredulous tone. Madeleine ignored her. There was no great shock, no time for the epiphany. All that remained was cold lucidity.

“I’ve never killed a person before,” she said. “Though I almost did.”

The operative hesitated. “Recently?”

“No,” Madeleine said. “I was a little girl.”

Soon enough, the door opened and in walked Hinx. He grabbed the housekeeper off the floor as though she weighed nothing and shoved her into a laundry hamper. As he was about to wheel it out, the door to the adjoining room clicked open. Hinx, with his hands on the rim of the laundry hamper, turned to watch as Safin walked in.

“Sciarra is with the target,” Safin said. “I’ll handle this.”

Hinx nodded, and wheeled the operative out, leaving them alone. Safin glanced at the bathroom, then to Madeleine’s state of dress. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

He looked at her. “You left early.”

“I excused myself,” Madeleine said, careful to avoid any undercurrent of accusation. “There was a mix-up at the front desk. Evidently this woman wasn’t here to refill the soap bottles.”

“She’s alive,” Safin said.

“I’m not a killer.” Madeleine's lip curled into a scowl. “She gave me the name Oberhauser.”

Safin went very still. He seemed to process this, then went along tightly, “For what reason?”

“I told her to call off her friends.” Even without all the pieces, Madeleine was getting closer to what Klebb was after. She had not imagined it would be so simple. She just had to push him a little more. “Oberhauser called the phone and told me someone would take care of it.”

“You were under no authority to ask her for anything.” Lapsing into dangerous quiet, his posture simmering on the edge of violence.

As her heart thrashed against her ribs, she said, “You wouldn't take your eyes off of me all evening. Did you think I would not notice?” He did not answer. Her mouth curled, trembling. “Perhaps you suspected something was amiss.” Goading him into complicity, the same sense of inertia as running across the ice. “You knew that there was an operative hidden among the donors and you were happy to use me as bait. It didn’t matter whether I survived.” Safin held her gaze, the flash of a warning in his eyes. A vindictive sense of satisfaction counteracted by her own entrapment. “Or perhaps you’ve set me up? What, to erase your mistake? I bet it’s not even the first—”

He caught her by the throat, and in two strides she was backed up against the wall.

Grabbing for his wrist for what little it would do, Safin’s expression didn’t change. “The only negotiation,” he said, “is whether or not you are sent back to your father in a box.” The hand around her throat didn’t compress. He turned his mouth into her cheek, and hissed, “Hit me.”

It clicked.

Before Madeleine could act, he grabbing the front of the dress as though it were a shirt-collar, wrenching sharply upward.

The fabric tore. Madeleine decked him. Safin did not flinch. He corralled her by the shoulder, maneuvering them both into the bathroom. He shut the door and let go of her. Walked over to the shower, turned on the hot water.

“You’re in shock,” he said in a flat, deliberate voice. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

He’d torn the gown across her clavicle. She covered herself on reflex, but her mouth trembled anyway. Safin muttered something to himself that wasn't in English.

“Take a shower,” he said curtly, eyes flickering to the mirror behind her. “I’ll be back.”

Madeleine had nothing to lose. She stayed under the shower and let herself be warmed. Eyes on the flawless white tile. Same bottles on the ledge, devoid of blood. The bare skin on her throat tingled. There was no point on which to focus without wandering back to her own lack of agency. You could not lose that which you never had to begin with.

The maid, or operative, had looked at the mirror. There must be something in this room used to transmit audio or video. The only way she and Safin were getting out of this was to play along with what was expected. Klebb, it seemed, would anticipate a scandal.

Madeleine turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. The mirror was fogged over and she could not distinguish a face. Madeleine hit the switch. Overhead fan whirred to life.

⁂

As Safin checked the adjoining room, he was already wasting time. Ostensibly, Blofeld had sent him to take over the operation. This agent posing as a maid was another distraction, no different than the CIA-boyfriend. 007, no doubt livening up the party on floor two, was the real threat, and here Safin was, trapped in another one of Klebb’s tests.

Swann was a good actor, but she had betrayed her own intentions under pressure. Frightened and seeking an escape, it was natural to pin the blame on him. Aside from her father’s presence, her contact with Blofeld was her only insurance. After all, her ignorance was the real reason she’d survived this long. Despite the slip-up, she’d been savvy enough to disarm the operative without killing her, and play along with the ruse. If she remained in the dark about Bond, she had a chance to survive another year unscathed.

This shouldn’t be difficult. Contact Kęstutis before the inevitable call down to Rome, courtesy of Blofeld. He’d explain that there was an attempt on Swann’s life, and it was dispelled without incident. Easy to the point of convenience, which sounded more like a test than a genuine attempt on Swann’s life. With that in mind, Safin circled back to her room. The bathroom door was closed, but the fan was on. A sliver of light crept under the door. He rapped twice, said, “It’s me.”

The door opened. She was covered only in the white towel. Fair hair clung to her face, saturated with water. A tangible shift in her demeanor, from alarm to conviction, a look in her eyes that was ruinous and bright.

She grabbed his lapels. Pressing her mouth over his. Safin didn’t reciprocate, or pull away. She raised a hand to touch his face, side of his neck, as if he were made of something more delicate than flesh and blood. She breathed, “It’s all right,” twisting in his guts more intimately than a knife.

If you leave, her eyes screamed, they will kill me.

If Safin stayed, if he gave even the slightest impression of empathy, he was a dead man. If he walked away, nothing would be suspected, but any intel she possessed would vanish with her. Putting himself in dangerous situations wasn’t his style, but there was a time for exceptions. So it wasn’t much of a debate, letting her pull him into the bathroom. They’d be listening. Not much point looking under the bath towels, the tiny overpriced bottles of shampoo, soap. A hidden microphone could pick up noise within a twenty foot radius. His attention caught, briefly, on the faux-plant on the counter, next to the sink.

Permitting her to lead, divesting him of the suit jacket, setting it aside on the black countertop. Unfastening his tie. He blocked her from the mirror with his body. Svelte. Beautiful in a cold, unyielding sense without implying fragility. She smelled like the hotel soap. Her hair still damp from the shower, one hand furled against his breast. The pulse in her throat fluttered under his palm. She wasn’t looking at him.

When he took her by the chin, he got no reaction beyond a slight intake of breath. Stray droplets of water rolled down her hair and scattered onto his shirt. Her eyes flickered from the mirror to his face in tacit understanding. Their lives depended on their ability to put on a charade.

⁂

James Bond was running out of patience. The raffle wasn’t close to finished. He’d excused himself from the proceedings, to the dismay of the partygoers who were a little too tipsy to register the precise reason for his exit. All the better, as he moved out of the ball-room and into the reception hall. You could only drink so much mineral water without eying the alcohol. He’d learnt his lesson from Montenegro about accepting drinks at a QUANTUM function. Make no mistake about the sponsors, this was, in some way or another, the same crowd and the same intent. Dr. Swann’s role in their scheme wasn’t clear, but Bond was willing to get to the bottom of it.

Paloma was on the way back to the party. “Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“Dr. Swann wasn’t feeling well,” she said. “I went up with her to the twenty-fourth floor, but there was a mix-up with housekeeping. I thought I’d notify someone on-staff before I came back.”

“She must have left early,” Bond muttered, watching Paloma carefully.

“The CPO was around,” Paloma said. “He left a few minutes ago.”

Bond nodded. “To tell you the truth, I’m feeling a bit under-the-weather myself. Give them my regards, won’t you?”

Paloma nodded. “Of course.”

He stepped into the reception hall and touched his ear. “Leiter, I’m starting to think Swann never spoke to your charming protégé.”

“Her tracker is registering her location,” Q said. “She’s on the fifth floor.”

Bond frowned. Unless her Smart Blood tracker had been cut out, it seemed impossible. “Is it possible to change a Smart Blood tracker’s ID?”

“Shouldn’t be,” Leiter added. “I’ll have Q and our boys look into it.”

“I suppose the doctor’s having an interesting night,” Bond muttered.

“Evidently,” Q’s tone suggested he wasn’t in the mood for another one-liner, “but she’s not why you’re here, 007.”

Bond conceded. “Where’s Safin now?”

“He got called off,” Q muttered. “Something tripped an alarm system in one of the rooms on the twenty-fourth floor. Must’ve been installed in-advance.”

“I’d figure the gunshot would have tripped the alarm before your plant.”

“That device was administered to you, 007,” Q added curtly. “I’m curious to know how it ended up where it has.”

“It would seem there’s more than one mole,” Bond said. Everything about this mission had reeked of contrivance from the start. To his knowledge, Paloma hadn’t spoken a word to Swann in-person until tonight. Bond simply fed Madeleine the cover story. “We’re being misdirected.” Bond scowled. The younger field agents had a particularly bad habit of getting side-tracked, or caught unawares. All theoretics and no common sense. He made a beeline towards the elevators. “I’ll make this quick.”

Q said, “Keep the collateral to a minimum.”

“Since you asked nicely,” Bond said, as he punched the button and the elevator doors closed.

⁂

On the fifth floor, the door to the laundry room opened and Hinx wheeled in the hamper. Rosa Klebb was waiting patiently. She caught his eye and nodded. Hinx plunged an arm into the hamper, retrieving the operative by the forearm as if she were no heavier than a child’s doll. She was plunked down into a chair. She looked into the face of Klebb, who did not smile. “It’s good of you to join us.”

“Fuck you!” the operative spat. “That bitch pulled a gun on me!”

“007 is on the move,” Hinx said. “How do you want to handle this?”

Klebb nodded. “You know what to do.”

Hinx left them alone. Emboldened by his departure, the operative unleashed her beleaguerment on Klebb. “This operation is a shitshow.”

“I understand your frustration,” said Klebb patiently. “We are in the process of negotiating a deal with your contact. In the meantime you and I will discuss the details of your transference.” Klebb’s smile was warm, genuine. This was the favorite aspect of her work. “On what grounds do you feel you’ve been mistreated?” The operative fell quiet. “Come now,” Klebb said in a gentler voice, “you’ll find I am not as unfeeling as the man I must answer to. It is in your best interest to speak to me.”

“She’s working for Blofeld,” the operative said, as if not able to convince herself of the statement’s verity. “She asked me if I knew anything about the name.”

“Swann knows only what she is told.” Klebb had a small phone in her hand. “Once we have our verdict, you will be let go.”

⁂

On the twenty-fourth floor, Safin began fixing his pants. He didn’t say anything, or look at her. A repeat of the situation last month. If Klebb assumed this to be weakness, as she was wont to, he could simply play along as expected. Her fate was the same, regardless of whatever sentiment he chose to extend. Such matters were corrigible.

The door to the hotel room opened and shut. Fixing his tie, donning the suit jacket, Safin considered his options. Most likely, Hinx had come back to finish the job. It was also possible 007 had charmed his way into entry. An easy lie about his wife’s misplaced card, a careful smile, and the attendant would overlook his lack of a wedding band.

Swann considered him without verbalization. No different from the therapist in the office.

He turned as if to kiss her jaw, and muttered, “Wait here.” He pulled back.

Nothing had changed in the room itself.

Aside from the knife strapped to his ankle and his wits, he had little to work with. Safin hadn’t been informed that anyone else but Hinx would be here. There was no back-up.

The man on the other side of the door forced it open, grabbing Safin by the lapels and driving his knee into his chest.

007 noted the change of clothes set aside. With a glance back at Safin, he muttered, “Q, you’re never going to believe this.” With his attention on Madeleine, he wasn’t paying full attention to his back. “Doctor Swann.” Madeleine recoiled against the wall.

Safin reached down his leg for the ankle holster. Swann’s eyes darted to him. In the second it took 007 to catch up, Safin was on his feet. He aimed for his neck, but 007 turned around and it caught the meat of his shoulder. A chop to the side of the head and he was on the ground, vision flashing.

“Stay down,” 007 growled, “and don’t fucking move.” He looked over at Madeleine. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“What about him?”

“His friends can decide what to do with him.” 007 gesticulated with the Walther PPK. “Get dressed and we’ll go.”

#nttd #fanfic #fanfiction #james bond 007 #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #mr hinx #ernst stavro blofeld #rosa klebb #this is where the fun begins :D

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boundinparchment · 2 years ago

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Deus In Absentia - IV

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. Reposted from my previous blog, @/zhonglis-empty-wallet AO3

As you imagined, there was only the illusion of choice; if a Harbinger wanted a resource, they got it, one way or another.

You were given quarters among some of the other, higher ranking Fatui members; a small room with a single window, bed, wardrobe, desk, and attached bathroom only large enough to serve its purposes. At least you didn’t have to share.

The room was a respite you would probably use very little, you came to quickly realize.

Most of your time was spent in Dottore’s labs and the adjacent rooms down in Haerasys. Reading, organizing, sorting. You tried not to think too hard about the dark stains at the edges of stray pieces of paper or the screaming from the sub-basement.

The tour you received of the facilities didn’t include the cells where specimens and subjects were kept. In fact, you were explicitly told to not go down there. Probably for the best, if the topics you were glimpsing over were anything to go by. Krupp had dragged you along once, and only once, and you suddenly understood what he meant by ‘human resources’ in your first meeting.

You’d held your own throughout Krupp’s tirade, expressionless, until you arrived back in the privacy of your rooms, where your stomach protested what little dinner you’d eaten and your mind refused to let you sleep. Human experimentation, especially on children…confused, lost, scared…it was wrong.

And you would, no doubt, join them when Dottore was finished with you. Death would be a mercy. And he was the furthest thing from merciful. ____________________

“Archivist!”

You winced. Over the past few weeks, you learned quickly to distinguish the differences in his tone when he used your title. He never called you by your name. It was better that way, you supposed. Professional.

Or perhaps, as you occasionally heard from recruits in the hall and the hushed whispers people dropped in your ear, he was entirely incapable of connecting with others. The other Harbingers kept their distance unless otherwise required. Their own staff were just as wary. After all, Dottore loved to see them squirm whenever he had the chance.

He shouted again, more frustrated than before, and you hastily made your way to his main workshop. The Second had his back to the entrance as he scanned a large bookshelf, one you only finished organizing days prior. Already in disarray. Again.

“Yes, Lord Harbinger?”

Krupp referred to Dottore as master.

You would do no such thing. You, at least, had dignity. Dottore might have taken everything from you so far but he couldn’t take that.

The good doctor held a book in his hand and waved it about, making it difficult to see the title. “Where are the additional volumes for this?! They were right here! You’re making such a mess, Archivist.”

Dottore’s fury initially made your blood run cold when you first experienced it but you’d pushed through it as soon as you realized you were right about the topic. He wasn’t much different than a disgruntled customer at times, really. Others on the receiving end of the Harbinger’s ire were quick to beg and soothe and plead.

Not you.

You approached cautiously, as you had on the first day in Haerasys, and held out a hand for the book. Dottore frowned but begrudgingly handed it to you before crossing his arms.

“The shelves were reorganized to their initial system you used, based on Universal Decimal. Topics regarding Divinity and the Abyss are…” you ran a finger lightly over spines as you made your way across the shelves, “here. They’re then sorted by title, since most of these are written by unknown authors.”

You pulled out the additional volumes in question and presented them to the Harbinger.

“The shelves are labeled, Lord Harbinger. And there’s a list of inventory attached to the end of the shelf with their intended location.”

Dottore clicked his tongue against his teeth and took the books from you in a single sweep of his arm. He brought the titles back to the table where he was tinkering on a smaller device and was quickly lost in his work again.

Your system would be useless if he didn’t use it as intended. The entire point was to eliminate this exact situation, so his resources would be easy to find. Tools and instruments were labeled, returned to their locations; why wouldn’t his research materials be treated the same way?

You turned on your heel to leave and then, against your better judgment, turned back towards Dottore.

“Is the system I’ve come up with useless for you, Lord Harbinger?”

You hadn’t meant for the exasperation to be as pronounced. The system was easy enough for customers to follow in your store, after all, or a similar version. He seemed to navigate the shelves during his visits with ease, immediately understanding the organizational structure. But if it didn’t work, it was better to know and resolve it than continue on under false pretenses that everything was fine.

Dottore held his place on a page with a finger and looked up, red eyes wider than usual.

“What gave you that impression, Archivist?”

“If you’re unable to find what you need–”

The Harbinger cut you off. “Few have efficiently stuck to a system that makes sense long enough for it to be useful. Even one as peerless as myself can adjust when something is more optimal than before.”

You held his gaze, remembering his words to you regarding displaying your organs, and nodded. In the distance, you heard a shrill scream from the nearby staircase that led to the sub-basement. You suppressed a shudder, remembering the wide eyes and the pleading, weakened and starved bodies...

Dottore drew your attention back to him as he said, “I expect nothing less than perfection.”

You bowed, your mouth suddenly refusing to work, and before you raised your head, Dottore continued.

“You’ll know when I’m dissatisfied, Archivist.” His tone was final, dismissive and threatening.

You didn’t want to linger anyway.

#fic: deus in absentia #dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore x gender neutral reader #il dottore x gender neutral reader

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springfallendeer · 6 months ago

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Genetic Harvest (Transformers Prime AU)

So I've got an AU (its both a FNAF:SB AU and a Transformers AU) that borrows a number of details from Transformers Prime but doesn't exactly follow a lot of the lore. To keep this simple: Contains canon (Cybertronian) characters, multiple OCs, and includes FNAF characters (mostly fnaf OCs). Cybertronians have taken over earth and nearly drove the human race to extinction as a result of their war. Energon no longer exists as a natural resource due to being over-harvested (and as a result of both Primus and Unicorn being dead), so the race must find alternative means of obtaining fuel.

This fic somewhat explores that concept. But its mostly about Shockwave killing people.

So TW for murder, torture, butchering, and what is best compared to as "bloodletting".

Heavy footsteps reverberate loudly through the cluttered space as the Cybertronian scientist approaches his freshly acquired test subject.

A lone, crimson eye stares onward. Unblinking and unwavering. Completely devoid of anything akin to emotion.

No curiosity. No anger. No spite. Nothing. The owner of the eye simply perceives his environment while taking countless mental notes on all that he sees.

Be it the subtle twitch of the Autobot warrior’s limbs as she tests the foundation of her restraints, to the more obvious squinting of her eyes as she sneers defiantly in his direction.

“Shockwave.” The captive acknowledges him by name.

Her voice is a mixture of pure disgust, and raw defiance. Her tone rich and obvious with hate.

The hate that an Autobot has for a Decepticon.

The hate that an empathetic being has for a creature completely devoid of such useless capabilities.

The hate that a captive has for their captor.

The potential sources of her disdain for him are as limitless as they are obvious.

“Elita-One.” The scientist acknowledges his prisoner in turn.

Unlike her, his voice is completely monotone. It lacks any semblance of emotion. There is no hate. No disgust. No arrogance, or even humor. Her name simply sounds from his voice-box as if pre-recorded by some sort of soulless AI program. Which only makes her sneer at him more obviously as she gives her restraints a more dramatic yank.

Unfortunately for her, the restraints hold firm.

Unless she can muster the strength to destroy them, she will be completely at the mercy of the Decepticon scientist; who she knows all to well to be incapable of showing mercy.

His every action is fueled completely by something that no other Cybertronian can strictly adhere to.

Logic.

Whether she begs him or not, whatever torture that he has in plan for her will not be put on hold unless there is a logical reason for him to do so. Such as keeping her alive for a longer period of time, to give him a greater chance of forcing her to reveal her secrets.

Secrets that she had absolutely no intention of revealing.

“Do your worst.” She states, directly challenging him through her words and tone as she lay helplessly strapped to the exam table.

“I won’t tell you anything.” She adds, further challenging him through her defiance.

“I have no need for information.” Shockwave simply replies as he makes his way further into the room. He pauses right in front of her, and goes silent for a moment to observe her reaction to his statement. “... You have been brought here to serve a greater purpose. One that will go on to benefit all of Cybertronian kind, should my experiments conclude as desired.” He states, before turning away.

His voice remains emotionless. His movements methodical and even.

There is no rush in anything that he does. Because he has time.

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I’ll never help you.” Elita-One responds in turn.

If she is not here to be tortured, then it would only follow that she is here to be of use. Perhaps to act as bait to lure out Optimus. Or maybe she is to be given some sort of proposition in hopes of buying her compliance.

She does not know. Nor does she care.

There isn’t a chance that she’ll submit to whatever plans this monster has in store for her.

“While your compliance would be appreciated, I do not require it.” Shockwave replies.

He makes his way over to his control panel. The central piece of equipment used to control everything present in his lab, as well as to communicate with the primary Decepticon base.

A few smooth strokes of his fingers and the otherwise dark lab bursts to life with light, revealing numerous additional prisoners.

Human prisoners. Six of them in total. They’re strung up by their wrists, assuring that their bodies dangle helplessly in the air.

All of them are women of a similar appearance. Everything from height, to weight, to physical body coloration is as close to identical as physically possible for completely unrelated humans.

Every one of them is conscious. They appear to be unharmed. Their silence has been assured through the use metal gags, which covers almost the entirety of the lower face while leaving the nostrils exposed. This allows them to breathe, while preventing them from being able to produce many audible sounds.

Regardless of their positive physical states, every one of these human captives are crying. Their cheeks are visibly damp and their eyes are visibly bloodshot from distress.

The Autobot begins to squirm more violently in her restraints.

Humans should not be here. They should not be used as pawns in whatever plans that the Decepticons had.

It was of the utmost importance that she escape so that she could disarm Shockwave and get his captives to safety.

“Let them go!” She demands, though deep down she knows that her protests are in vain.

“Impossible. They too are required in order for this experiment to be carried out.” Shockwave replies. He does not look at her. His focus is entirely on the digital keyboard placed in front of him.

He is imputing some sort of command prompt. One that, once entered, causes a set of large doors to open right behind the strung up human captives.

Once the doors are opened, a small room is revealed. One that likely has some sort of horrible purpose designated to it. Not that that purpose is obvious by looks alone.

With the room now accessible, Shockwave steps away from his control panel to approach his rack of prisoners. He calmly picks it up by its primary support structure, then brings it into the freshly opened room.

The humans are brought into the room right along with it. Their bodies sway helplessly from the momentum of being moved.

Shockwave removes their gags once they have been relocated. He tosses them into a conveniently placed crate that rests just outside of the smaller room. He then walks away from them as calmly as he approached.

“Leave them alone, Shockwave!” Elita-One demands as she continues to yank violently as her restraints.

The cuffs continue to hold firm.

They must have been reinforced with the purpose of holding far stronger opponents. She is completely incapable of breaking free.

“Their presence is required in order for this experiment to be carried out.” Shockwave repeats as he makes his way back over to his control panel, where he begins to put in another set of commands.

A glass barrier drops, separating the main room from the small room which contains the humans.

“Shockwave, if you hurt them, I swear to Primus-” The Autobot begins to utter a threat, only to go completely silent as she watches a series of robotic limbs drop from down from the upper area of the small room.

The majority of these limbs are armed with weapons. Blades. Perfectly suited for cutting into and tearing apart frail human flesh.

Behind the glass, the captives begin to scream, but no sound can be heard.

“Their pain will be short lived.” Shockwave states. He turns to watch as his machine carries out its horrific purpose.

Elita-One is also forced to watch. Though she watches in abject horror, whereas the Scientist observes... Well, without any emotion, as to be expected. He observes purely for the sake of assuring that his equipment is running appropriately.

Sharp blades pierce helpless flesh and slice completely downwards. The speed at which they move means that the first cut does not immediately bleed. So there are a few seconds after the injury is inflicted where all appears to be just fine.

But this is merely an illusion.

A horrible, gut wrenching illusion.

“Stop this!” Eltia-One pleas in shock and disbelief. Her voice cracks as easily as her resolve, once faced with the reality of what the Scientist means to do.

Her pathetic request is met with silence as Shockwave simply continues to watch the machine carry out its program.

He will not stop his experiment now that he has started it. Mercy is not required. Just the opposite. He must be ruthless in order to achieve his goals, regardless of who must suffer in order for those goals to be reached.

Both Decepticon and Autobot watch as the machine effortlessly disembowels the humans.

With the torso cut open, the pull of gravity causes thick ropes of intestines to spill out into the open air.

Blood pours from the wounds and the humans continue to scream behind the soundproof barrier.

Their pain is obvious on their faces. As is their fear, and their desperation for salvation.

Metal limbs grasp the intestines and pull straight downward. Then they release the bloody masses in order to reach upwards into the stomach cavity, allowing gravity to pull out what has already been loosened while additional organs are yanked free of their confinement.

One of the humans goes completely still before her organs can be completely removed. Most of the others lose mobility by the time their abdomens have been completely emptied of their digestive organs.

“Why are you doing this?!” Eltia shouts as she watches the humans quickly die of their injuries.

Injuries that definitely would have killed them, even if she had managed to escape her restraints and break into the room before the machine could finish scooping out their insides.

“The fewer contaminants, the better. The human digestive tract is full of unwanted waste materials, which are best disposed of prior to the liquification process.” Shockwave states.

He then turns away to look at Elita, who forces herself to look him in the eye.

It was either look at him, or watch as the machine goes on to scalp the human victims and spray them down with some sort of a corrosive acid.

“Likewise, human hair and skin are covered with contaminants, which must be removed in order to make liquification more efficient.” He explains, fully aware of what is happening just beyond his field of view.

He knows everything that the machine will do. After all, he is the one who programmed the machine to do what it is doing.

“I mean why did you kill them?! How does this benefit you in any way?!” Elita spits at him in turn.

She doesn’t want to know why these people have been killed the way that they have. She wants to know why they needed to be killed at all.

There must be a reason.

This is Shockwave. There has to be a reason for him to do what he’s just done.

If it had been Starscream or virtually any other Decepticon, she would know that their deaths were only meant to torture her. But Shockwave was incapable of such targeted malice.

It was a waste of time and resources to build an elaborate human killing machine just so that he could emotionally torture any Autobots that he happened to capture. So there had to be a logical reason behind his actions. One that could be explained, regardless of the emotional responses that the explanation might trigger.

“I require human genetic material.” Shockwave states, before he turns away so that he can resume watching his machine; which is now cutting the hairless, skinless bodies into more manageable pieces. “That response surely only gives you more questions.” He comments, rightly assuming that Elita-One will next question why he even needs to harvest genetic material from humans. “With natural Energon being a resource that has been rendered virtually extinct, we have all been forced to turn to alternative methods in order to attain vital fuel. As you know, the Autobots have devised a means of producing an artificial Energon substitute.” He states, now obviously intent on offering a full explanation behind what he was doing. “... As you will also know, your artificial Energon is of very poor quality. It provides little energy, and the energy provides does not last long. It is not suitable as a long term energy source.” He explains.

As he does, he then turns back to Elita while he points towards what remains of his human victims.

“After a lot of trial and error, we Decepticons have also devised a means of Energon production. One which appears to be more efficient, though the quality is of equal merit.” He states, only to be swiftly cut off by his captive.

“Get to the point you rusty pile of scrap!” Elita practically hisses as she struggles to keep her eyes locked on Shockwave. Its hard not to look at what is happening just behind him. She can still see the machine cutting apart the human remains thanks to her peripheral vision. And the sight is far from pleasant.

“... Very well.” Shockwave replies as he turns to observe his machine once more. “We have discovered a means of creating Cybertronian-Human hybrids. By liquifying fresh human specimens, various genetic compounds can be extracted and separated by type. We can then combine these compounds with Cybertronian CNA and store it inside of specially designed gestation pods. If all goes accordingly, the end result is a living hybrid.” He explains. As he does, he points towards the human remains, which have been piled up into multiple metal storage bins; which were apparently placed down by the machine. “These hybrids consume organic matter and convert it into Energon, which we are able to harvest for ourselves.” He adds, concluding his explanation before turning around so that he can fully face Elita-One; who stares at him with an expression that could only be described as fear and realization.

The explanation has made it clear why Shockwave needed to kill the humans. But that also explains why she has been captured. It explains what he meant when he stated that she had not been captured in order to be tortured for information.

She is no fool. She can read between the lines to understand the situation that she is in.

“Thus far, we have only produced one viable Hybrid. While its existence is a success, it is a flawed specimen. I have taken the data from its creation into account, and have improved upon the process. If all goes well, this experiment will produce a new and better specimen. And for that, I require fresh genetic material. If my hypothesis proves correct, then the ideal ratio for hybrid creation is exactly six human donors, and one Cybertronian donor.” Shockwave explains.

He then begins to approach the restrained Autobot, who is now incapable of struggling due to a mixture of shock and fear.

“Elita-One. Let it be known that your death will not be in vain. If this experiment goes according to plan, then you will have unlocked the means of saving all of Cybertronian kind, regardless of political affiliation.” Shockwave states, seemingly attempting to comfort the Autobot as he makes it clear that he intends to kill her in order to harvest the needed material for his experiment.

“You’re a monster!...” Elita replies, though her voice is quiet, and almost submissive in a way. The reality is that she is simply at a loss for words.

“From a purely emotional perspective, most definitely.” Shockwave replies as he makes his way around the exam table in order to retrieve the tools needed to dispatch his captive without causing extensive damage to her body. “But logic defies emotion.” He states, picking up what could only be described as a massive needle. One which he swiftly drives into her abdomen. Not in a stabbing motion. But almost angular to her metallic skin.

He then connects a hose to the end of the needle.

“What I am doing could be described as a necessary evil. I am assuring the survival of our race, while minimalizing the destruction that the process would bring to the humans.” He states.

Were his voice not so completely devoid of emotions, he might have sounded proud of himself.

“I hope you rot in the pit for this!...” Elita weakly replies. Not because Shockwave has broken her will, but because he has started to drain her body of the Energon needed to keep her alive.

“Perhaps I will.” Shockwave comments in turn, watching as the Autobot draws closer to death with each drop of Energon siphoned from her body. “But if my actions are judged by logic, rather than by emotions, then I am owed no such punishment. As it is, my actions will save our people. We will be required to do no more damage to the organics than is required for our on survival.” He states, watching as Elita-One gradually goes limp.

While he would have been willing to continue the debate, the Autobot is dead before the final words can even escape his voice-box. Which means that he is now free to dismantle her accordingly for the sake of extracting her CNA.

The process is much more tedious than that of harvesting humans, as he must meticulously take her body apart in order to access the soft alloys that lay hidden beneath her hardened armor. And even then, he will need to soak the harder parts of her body in a special chemical solution in order to fully extract all required genetic material.

Only then can he actually begin his experiment.

#transformers prime #transformers prime AU #FNAF AU #FNAF meets Transformers #not osha approved #gore (written)#snuff/character death #shockwave #elita-one #Energon Crisis

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