#so being alive and upright today is going to have to be enough

[banishingsigils]

in order to feel like functioning human today when i most definitely am not, i have:

updated insurance info

checked in for my doctor's appointment on wednesday

emailed the meet director for the meet i decided not to do that i'm not competing

emailed to cancel a gym membership and already received confirmation

the only thing i have left is updating my renter's insurance but it's renewing in a week, so i'll do that after it renews. i have to call them, and i know they're currently inundated with hurricane claims and my stuff is so not important or pressing.

[chronicbeans]

Puppeteer Wally Darling x (G/N) Puppet Reader

idk if this will be a series or just a one off so LET'S GOOOOOO (if you want a part two, let me know in the comments of this post.

TW: Obsessive and Possessive Behavior, Kidnapping? (Can you kidnap a puppet? IDK but we're putting that warning just in case), Controlling Behavior

Wally Darling grins widely as he puppeteers the star of the show, (Y/N) (L/N), in a scene within their home. As sad as he is that he cannot voice them, as well, just bringing their personality to life through their motions is enough for him. Voicing his beloved (Y/N) is all up to Sam, their voice actor/actress. Sam, who also happens to be out sick, today. Just like yesterday. And the day before that...

"Aaannddd... CUT! Great job, Wally. You did great! If only Sam were here. Have you heard any word from them?" The director sits back in their chair, staring at the puppeteer on set. Everybody has been asking him about Sam, today. Why are they asking him? Is it because they don't get along?

"No. Sorry. I haven't heard a word. They don't tell me anything." "Alright. Well, you can go take a break, Wally. You've been filming for about... Woah! I must've lost track! You've been filming for NINE hours straight! Isn't your arm tired from being upright for so long?" Wally shakes his head, grinning as wide as a Cheshire. "I can't feel my arm at this point... but I can keep going! I'm always happy to keep going! (Y/N) means so much to me-!"

"Take a break, Wally... And put that puppet back in the storage, will you?" The director looks over to one of the camera people, telling them to turn off the camera, before muttering to themself "He's an amazing puppeteer, but Jesus... He treats that thing like it's alive..."

He quickly runs to his little office, taking (Y/N) with him. Placing the puppet on his desk, he gives his arms a rest as he lies back in his seat. Letting out a long sigh, he looks over to the limp puppet on his desk. Sitting it up and leaning it against a pile of books and folders, he smiles. Surely, the director won't mind if he keeps (Y/N) out of that dingy old box for a little while... As long as they get back in there by the time he leaves, it should be fine.

"I wonder why everybody keeps asking me about Sam, (Y/N)? Do they think I did something to them? Sure, we don't get along, and they clearly don't have as much passion for you as I do! I would never hurt them, though! Do you think I would hurt them?" He looks down to the puppet, smiling. Of course, it doesn't answer. It still feels nice to act like (Y/N) answers and understands. "Thank you for the kind words. It really helps! I love working with you, but the others can be so stressful, sometimes!"

Wally looks away for a moment, checking a few papers on his desk. His schedule seems rather empty for the next week. He had already gotten most of the filming for the episode done today! Only two more scenes require (Y/N). He wishes that there were a few more, to be honest. He prefers working to having nothing to do all day. Maybe he-

"Where... WHERE AM I?!"

Wally's eyes widen, hearing the familiar voice. He looks over to (Y/N), seeing that they have now toppled over onto their side. Their arms flail slightly, as they squeak out "Where am I?! Who? What?! This isn't the neighborhood!"

As much as he wants to squeal with excitement, they are being rather loud. That, alongside the fact that they are voiced, and still sound like, Sam... and people are a bit suspicious of Wally for some reason... He quickly grabs them, placing a hand over their mouth as he quickly says "Be quiet! Someone might hear! I'll explain as much as I can! Just be... Quiet. Here, let me help you back upright."

He picks the puppet up, feeling them squirm a bit in his hands, then sits them back where they were. They raise their arms, which shake as they do so. As they look up to him, he feels his heart swell with joy.

He doesn't know how this has happened... And, frankly... He doesn't care. (Y/N) is talking! (Y/N) is moving! (Y/N) is... (Y/N) is alive! Shaken, yes, but still alive! It's his greatest wish come true! All the work he's put in to bring this character that he loves oh so much to life... Did he have something to do with this? Did his wish for (Y/N) to be able to talk back, move, and live a life in his world make it actually happen?

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that his little puppet is here, in front of him, and able to truly interact with him.

"What's going on...?" Their legs shift slightly, but not much. "Why do my legs feel weird? I can barely move my legs?!" Wally pats their head, saying "Shh... It'll be alright. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what is going on, either. I can tell you where you are, though. First thing's first, though... I'm Wally Darling! I already know who you are, (Y/N). Before you ask, I'll let you know how I know your name."

He goes through everything. The studio, the show, how they are a puppet. To his shock, they already knew they were a puppet, just not exactly what it meant... They didn't know somebody was controlling them in their world. The poor little thing seems so confused! It looks like their head is spinning!

He picks up (Y/N), grinning from ear to ear as he says "Don't worry, (Y/N)! I'll keep you safe! This world is large and dangerous for a puppet like you! I, as your kind puppeteer, will make sure you are safe from harm!" To his shock, (Y/N) only flails, saying "I want to go back to my world! My neighborhood!"

Wally's eyes widen. They want to go back? To leave him? He knows that it is the right thing to do, but he simply cannot have it. As much as he wants to make his lovely little puppet happy... they can just learn to be happy with him! There's no reason why they can't, right?

A simple shake of his head was all it took for them to visibly lose hope. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I care about you too much to let you go back! Think about it... I explained how your world is a show, right? It is like... think of it like a little lie. Would you rather go back to your world, cursed with the knowledge that everything you say and do, see and hear, and all your friends, are just a lie? That it isn't real? Or would you rather stay here, where everything is real?"

(Y/N) shakes their head, again. "I could go back and tell them the truth! I could let them know what is going on! I could-" "Not if I don't let you. I control what you do in that world. If I don't let you tell them, then you can't." "I still want to go home. I want to see my friends, again. I want to go back to Home and take a rest." "You can take a rest at my house!" "I WANT TO GO HOME!" "Be quiet! The others might notice! I might be treating this like it is normal, but if others saw you moving about, they would scream! Stay still-!"

Wally quickly places his hand over their mouth, again, as the director walks in. "What is going on in here?!" Wally chuckles, nervous, as he says "I'm just practicing my (Y/N) impression! You know, since Sam has been out for a while. We don't want to get behind on episodes just because they are gone! Who knows when they will be back?"

The director's eyes trail to the limp puppet in the man's hands. "I thought I told you to put that thing away! Why do you still have it out?" Wally flinches, quickly thinking of an excuse. "Well, I needed to practice not only the voice, but also puppeteering while talking. Since I usually only have to puppeteer, I thought it would help to practice doing both?" The director sighs, nodding.

Then, the best words he has ever heard come out of their mouth happen.

"Just take that puppet home with you, if you want. You clearly have something wrong in the head to be so... ungodly attached to it. You'd probably would keep it in better condition than when we leave them in the storage boxes, anyway."

With that, the director slammed the door to Wally's office shut. The puppet in Wally's arms began to move once more, looking up to Wally with fear. They immediately begin to squirm, trying to get out of his grasp, only for him to hold them still with ease. "Come on, (Y/N)! Let me show you just how much you'll love it here! I'll show you how happy your show makes the children of this world, as well as how much fun this world can be! Anything for you to stay, (Y/N)!"

He grabs a small, cardboard box, then places the struggling puppet inside. Quickly stapling it shut, he then pokes a few little holes into the top. Yes, technically, a puppet cannot breathe, but he still feels bad keeping them in a dark box during transport. Picking up the box, he takes it to his car, saying "Don't worry. The ride will be short. I love relatively close to the studio! Just stay calm, alright?"

"LET ME OUT! WALLY! WALLY! LET ME GO!!!" The box shuffles in the car seat, the puppet inside clearly being in distress as he drives down the road. "WALLY!" (Y/N) peeks out of one of the holes in the box. "I don't know what you are doing, but you are clearly not being a nice neighbor! LET ME GO!" "It's too late. Even if I wanted to, we are already at my house! Come on, let me show you around!" "You could just drive me back-" "LET ME SHOW YOU AROUND!"

He quickly swoops the box into his arms, carrying it into his house as the puppet inside throws itself against the cardboard walls, attempting to escape. He rushes inside, closing the door behind him, before placing the box on his couch. Popping open the lid, (Y/N) pokes their head out, frantically looking around the room.

Their face would've grown pale, if it could've, as they survey the room. Their expression twists, as much as their felt face could allow, into a look of anxiety and fear. Looking around, Wally is slightly confused. What could be wrong with his home? There isn't anything that is obscene or dangerous, as far as he is aware. Then, it hits him.

This place is Wally sized, not (Y/N) sized. The small puppet, who is only around 3 feet tall, give or take, will have a bit of trouble navigating his home. Especially with the fact that they don't seem used to their puppet body. Normally, he would feel bad or sorry, then help accommodate his beloved little puppet. Considering the fact that they clearly want to escape him, however...

This is perfect.

Even more so, because felt hands won't have as much traction and grip on things like doorknobs, windowsills, and the likes. It's going to be harder for them to try to get out without his permission. As much as he hates knowing that he is making (Y/N) unhappy, it truly is for the best!

"Aww... (Y/N), this will only be for a week! Then, I have to go back to work! Maybe... Maybe, when I puppeteer you at work, on set, you'll go back to your world? Just wait. If my theory is true, you'll be back in no time!" The puppet nods, folding their arms. They look away from Wally, clearly upset and full of dismay.

Wally picks up (Y/N), holding them in his arms gently, almost like he is cradling the most precious thing in the world. To him, he is. Nothing could compare to (Y/N)! The effect they have had on the children who watch the show brings him such joy. The way they talk about kindness, acceptance, generosity, and creativity is all that he has wanted to see in life. He has always wanted that kindness, that acceptance, and affection for himself! Now, he can. Now, he can have (Y/N).

His co-workers may call him crazy, saying something is wrong with him... having crushes on fictional characters is childish in their eyes- something an adult shouldn't do. They've been on his back for him talking to the puppet like it could talk back, how he never seems to let it go, and how his little obsession is made stranger, considering that he puppeteers the character. They've always told him that (Y/N) isn't real and to let go. Jokes on them, because now Wally's precious, sweet (Y/N) is real! They're real and they're his.

[moodymisty]

Hiya! Could I request some Magnus / GN! Reader shenanigans? Like the reader is trying to learn a spell (to impress Magnus), does it by "The books are just guidelines anyways", and it works. Then they go to show Magnus and confusion hell breaks loose Blease and thankyou <3<3<3

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Magnus time! I was actually working on something just like this, so this gave me the motivation to really spruce it up and finish it. But I really apologize because when I reread your request I realized I might've gone a bit less silly than you might've wanted. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationship: Magnus the Red/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None apart from this being my first time writing Magnus so please forgive me figuring him out I'm sorry if he feels off

Word Count: 1220

Sorcery is by it's very nature, finicky.

It has no solid answer, no yes or no. It's not as if it's a machine you can turn on or off, or a star you can see is alive or dead. It's an ebb and flow- something you feel.

But how do you feel something you've never felt before?

These tomes are largely nonsensical to you; The scribblings of madmen, words with no translation and sentences backwards.

You'd once again today attempted to make sense of it all, to tempt your better judgement that kept saying it maybe wasn't your most intelligent idea, but nothing has happened yet. So now you sit in bed, flicking through pages of tomes scattered across the blankets; Attempting to perhaps make enough sense of it and not bring anymore embarrassment to yourself than you already have.

In your fussiness you've already given yourself two different paper cuts, licking your wounds both physical and mental. You should probably be sleeping, the stars are out bright, and the wind gently raps against the windows as you study.

Magnus' tower is so ethereal, you look towards the window for a moment and see nothing but the midnight sky illuminating everything underneath it.

After thinking, you look back towards the oversized tome in your lap, lying on your thighs over top of a blanket. You'd picked many of the books not necessarily at random, but attempting to find the most basic of starting places from a collection that puts most others to shame. Magnus has many shelves up here, filled with his personal collection of tomes and scrolls. You sort've wish he was here to help guide you, but at the same time, you wish to surprise him to some degree.

You try just one more time, attempting to light a small ember in your palm. You follow every word exactly as the instructions- if you could call them that, and mange to hold it for only a few moments before it flickers away as if blown out by breath.

"Ugh!"

You drop your head, it coming quite close to hitting the pages of the tome.

"What is this?"

Your head suddenly whips upright, seeing Magnus himself standing in the doorway across the room. You don't know how you hadn't heard his footsteps, though you suppose you were far too distracted for your ears to prick to any other sound than what was right next to you.

Entering the room and closing the massive door behind him, Magnus takes in the scenery he's missed while aboard Photep, traveling the stars. After his quick glances he focuses on you cross legged in his bed, surrounded by opened and unopened books.

"Magnus!" He slowly walks closer to the beside, one finger brushes a tome he's clearly familiar with and opening it to a particular page; Glossing over it before he lets it gently fall back shut.

"Now, what are you concocting in that little mind of yours that requires so many spell tomes?"

Magnus watches amused as you close the book in your lap, legs cross underneath it and look at your slightly burned palm.

"I was trying to call fire. But it seems it's a bit harder than I thought." His smile fades a bit softer, watching your expression. The fabric of his robes is weaved with gold string that shines in the soft candle light.

"You seem to have had it, from what I saw."

You can feel his long red hair brush against your arm as he sits beside you, his massive height and weight difference forcing the appropriately massive bed to dip heavily to his side. It almost makes you roll, but you quickly adjust to prevent that. Now in your atmosphere it's a bit easier to look him in the eye, but you still have to crane your next a decent bit.

"I was following the tomes exactly like they said, and the best I can do is a little baby kindling. I'd have trouble even setting a letter alight."

You look up towards him, hands playing with the edges and filigree of the old, worn tome in your lap. Magnus speaks up, his tone curious and a bit surprised.

"Exactly?"

His eye glances down to the front cover of the tome in your hand, and recognizes that one instantly. With one hand, he gently reaches underneath the covers and gently clamps the tome shut, the top of his hand laying against your thighs before he pulls the tome towards his chest.

"Then you are taking it all far too literally." Perhaps the book shouldn't be written so literally then, you rebelliously think. He lays the tome aside, and uses the same hand to gently cup your jaw between his fingers and look up at him.

"it's far more of a feeling that anything, my love. If you keep just following the tomes, you might end up burning something down. Or as you've noticed, burning nothing at all." He lets out a laugh, feeling your cheeks move under his finger tips.

"I never thought you to be so studious in following directions. Perhaps you'd prefer Primarch Guilliman to myself?" You let out a harsh puff of air through your closed lips, making an insulting noise. Your hand grips his wrist and tries to pull it away, but to no avail, and instead you just grip the massive muscles of his arm and scowl.

"Funny."

He smiles wider. How you speak to him so casually now, compared to months ago. Perhaps his teasing makes it easier for you to forget who he is. He doesn't mind it.

A testament to your determination, you'd been able to cast something despite a lack of knowledge; But you could do well in having someone set you on the right path. Afterall, Magnus knows simply treating something with such an ebb and flow as sorcery as rules you can memorize will never bear any fruit.

Magnus can guide you, and truthfully, he would love for nothing more than to.

His sons don't need to be taught. They learn from his actions, and most are more than capable of progressing on their own and honing their own skills. To be able to teach his beloved something that is such a core part of himself, to guide your hand and your mind to touch something greater- he finds himself almost, dare he say excited.

He's rough on his sons, he knows they can take it. That they're built for sorceries and touching the warp. But with you he'll have to be gentle. The thought of it, to sit with you and show you wondrous things that your home planet kept from your eyes, he would start right now if not for one thing.

Magnus lets go of your jaw. He leans down and gently brushes a kiss against your temple, his fire red hair brushing against your skin again.

"Now, as much as I don't wish to part you from your reading, I have returned from Terra at my absolute wits end and desiring some rest." He smiles and vaguely gestures to the mess you've made of his bed during his absence. He can see other little messes throughout his chambers, as well.

"So my love, perhaps you could move your research, off the bed?"

[breakfastteatime]

Today's request is 'Nightmare' for @blueflowertea

Someone trips the derelict Venator’s alarms, and Cal’s no longer on a half-scrapped ship on Bracca. He’s on the Brave, running for his life. The clones are coming. They’re coming, faster, faster, and Master Tapal is there, he’s fighting, but he can’t hold them back and –

“Whoa there, where d’you think you’re going?”

Prauf’s voice is so out of place, Cal can’t begin to answer. He’s on the Brave –

He’s on Bracca –

He’s… he’s…

The clones. The clones are coming and Prauf is here, so it’s Prauf who’s going to die, shot to death trying to defend a useless –

“Cal!”

He is bodily shaken, head whipping back and forth. Cal snaps upright, looking at Prauf who stares back with blatant concern. Cal blinks hard, sweat stinging his eyes. He’s not where he just was, he’s not… but he is on a ship… the alarm… the clones…

“We have to go,” Cal says. “We have to get out!”

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s just…” Prauf tuts and looks over his shoulder. “Someone turn that damn siren off!”

Seconds later the siren chokes off. The sound of work resumes, but Cal’s still looking for the exit, body poised to fight, to run, to –

“Hey.”

Prauf’s voice is low and gentle. Cal looks at him, trying not to lose himself in Prauf’s concern. “I’m okay,” he says. He clears his throat to crush the tears, takes a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Those alarms are the worst, huh?” Prauf says with an awkward chuckle.

“Yeah,” Cal says with an equally awkward laugh. “The worst.”

The rest of the twelve-hour shift passes harmlessly enough, although Cal can’t get warm despite not being in the rain for once. When his day ends, he lugs himself off the ship and plods the lengthy journey back to the station. He nods along as Prauf chats, his friend’s words a woolly nonsense of noise. Cal’s eyes dart across the crowd. He won’t be safe until he’s home with the door locked.  

At the station, they step aboard the train. It’s a quieter carriage, and the faces Cal sees are all familiar ones from his crew. He drops into a seat, slumping. The panic is finally fading. He’s safe. He just needs to get home. Get some sleep. Settle himself as best he can.

How he wishes he could meditate and not –

“Wanna stop off at the Broken Spanner?” Prauf asks. “It’s Taco Taungsday.”

Normally Cal would go. Tacos are about the only thing that have any taste on Bracca. But he can’t. Not today. It’ll be too busy. He won’t be able to keep watch. “Not today. Next week.”

“Yeah, okay, sure thing.”

Cal slumps. The motion of the train, the familiar hum of chatter and propaganda flickering from the busted screens lulls him. He is so tired. So –

The door at the far end of the carriage opens. The clones storm in, weapons firing, riggers flailing and falling and –

“There he is.” A trooper stops ahead of Cal. He knows that armor, knows that voice, sees the end of the blaster and knows his end is coming. “Thought you could get away, huh?” The barrel of the blaster presses against Cal’s forehead. “Traitor.”

Cal jolts back, head cracking against the train wall. He’s gasping for breath. Everyone’s alive. There are no clones. Dream. Just a –

“Nightmare?” Prauf asks.

Cal sits straighter, sharply awake. He runs a hand over his hair and lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The train pulls into their stop before Prauf can say anything, and Cal’s up, calling a quick goodbye over his shoulder before throwing himself into the crowds heading home. He moves through the district, hood pulled over his head to protect him from the driving rain. He reaches his building, risks the ‘lift to his floor, and slides into his apartment, more grateful than he’s ever been to close the door and lock it. He takes off his poncho and hangs it up to dry, grabs his towel and dries off his hair. He kicks off his boots and leaves them out to dry by the small air vent. He switches out of his sodden work clothes into a dry set. The wet set he drapes over his tiny table.

He knows he should get something to eat, and his stomach growls at the thought of tacos, but he’s so tired, down to the very bones of himself, that all he wants is his bed. He doesn’t have the energy to cook, to –

There’s a knock at the door. “Hey, Cal, it’s me.”

Confused, Cal opens the door and finds Prauf on the other side.

Prauf holds up a takeout bag. “You looked like someone in need of tacos.”

“Prauf, you didn’t have to.” Somehow, Cal smiles instead of breaking down into sobs. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, kid.” He slides in, ducking down to fit. “Grab the plates and let’s eat.” Closing the door, Cal does as he’s told, and for the first time since the alarm went off, he finally feels secure.

[bambiraptorx]

Draxum's hands were shaking. Badly, Raph noted, staring at the noticeable tremors in the yokai's hands.

[TW: self-destructive behaviors, eating issues/implied disordered eating]

He'd seen Draxum's hands shake before, back in his own time, when the Hidden City was first discovered by the Kraang and quickly overwhelmed with all the hounds and mechs and zombies they could throw at it, and the Resistance had to declare the ruins unsalvageable, not worth trying to win back.

He'd seen them shake when Casey had returned a month after being declared missing in action (declared dead in all but the use of that word; all M.I.A. meant anymore was that there was no body to bury), not only alive and minimally injured, but hauling a four-month-old baby in a makeshift sling.

He'd seen them shake when he'd woken up from an artificial, anesthesia-induced slumber, a grey, lonely night with no stars, to see the face of the man who'd had to amputate his hand and tell him, "you barely survived as it is, Raphael," a heavy guilt weighing down his shoulders and carving new lines into his face.

He didn't know why they were shaking now. He focused on the vials Draxum held, ingredients for some chemical or other he needed to synthesize, seemingly vibrating as a result of the trembling hands that held them. Was it exhaustion? When did Draxum start working today?

When was the last time he had a meal?

Raph voiced his thoughts.

"I'm not hungry," came the answer, not enough in and of itself to give Raph what he needed to know, if not for everything he knew about the person Draxum was. Is. Would one day be?

"Draxum. That's not what I asked you." Raph reached out hesitantly, ready to withdraw his hand if it was rejected. The scientist didn't respond, at least not immediately, his back to Raph even as his hands still shook.

Something in Draxum's shoulders relaxed--not truly relaxed, so much as lost the tension holding him stiff and upright--and he sighed. "I can't stop now. There's too much I still need to do." His hair lay limp and matted against his back, greasy from lack of washing.

How long had Draxum been doing this? Destroying himself? How long had Raph not noticed it?

"Just a quick break," Raph tried. "Get a small meal in and get back to work after that."

A sharp headshake. "I can't--I can't. If I stop now, I'll lose all momentum--I have so much I need to do tonight--and I've gotten behind over the last few weeks, I can't fall behind my schedule any further, and besides, I haven't earned it yet--"

Suddenly Draxum whirled around, the vials in his hands dangerously close to spilling. "All of yokai-kind is depending on me. I can't let them down. I can't let more lives be lost! Too much is at stake here to simply take a break!"

The picture was familiar, heart-achingly so. It only took a flicker of imagination to superimpose Raph's own brother, to replace Draxum's desperate, bloodshot eyes with Donnie's wide, worried ones. The concerns were practically identical: the certainty-laced fear that rest now would be paid for later in agony and blood.

"What's yokai-kind gonna do if you work yourself to death?" Raph replied, as gently as he could, reaching out for the vials Draxum gripped so tightly. "Whatever you're doing here, who's gonna do it if you can't? Me? You know I'm not a science guy, Drax."

There's so much weight on your shoulders, Dad, Raph thought. Let me help you carry it.

Raph took hold of one of the vials, tugging gently. At first, it seemed as though Draxum wouldn't let go, that he would hold on even tighter, chase Raph out of the room and return to killing himself slowly. But after a few seconds, the scientist's trembling hand loosened, allowing Raph to slide the glass from between his fingers and set it back in the holder. He took the second with no resistance, and did the same.

Raph allowed himself a small smile, a tiny flicker of the ever-present tension between his shoulders melting away. "Okay, Draxum. Let's get you some food, maybe a nap, and see how you're doing after that."

This mad scientist at least, he could help.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 19: Hope [B6]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: Unknown place during a blizzard

Continuation of: Prompt 2. Restless Waiting, 3. Snowballing, 7. Stormy Reunion, 8. Rosemary For Holly & 16. Keep Warm

A/N: So, I'm here again, just a little later in the evening and I'm so glad I decided to write a shorter one for this prompt. I'm honestly stressing to the max and I haven't even started on tomorrows fic so I'm feeling the pressure... Still have another two Christmas celebrations to host as well but only one more before Rickmas2023 is over 😂👍 I'm still so so so in love with this event and I really do love seeing the community come together. I'm very very sorry I'm not fully able to reply to everything atm but as soon as I just have enough time I'll do it - you're words deserve all my attention and a thought-out reply too ❤ ON TO THE STORY OF TODAY!

Tags/TW’s: Love, Longing, Broken Hearted, Wishing For A Future, Abandoning/Losing Hope, Being Cold, Sacrifices For The Greater Good, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Being Cold, Feeling Abandoned/Lost, Mentions Future Death/Pain, Regret

Word Count: 1.4k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

My muscles strained against the sluggishness, the blizzard seemed to kick up a notch as I managed to sit up. I was cold all the way through. “Where are you?” Severus called, his voice a barely there thunder of worry. “Sev!” I shouted, mustering all my strength. “Belinna!” “I’m here!”

The sound of crunching snow reached me as I got myself up, trying hard not to topple over from the rough winds my weak body could barely withstand. His arms were around me the next second, his body shielding me from the onslaught while keeping me upright with his tight grip. “I knew you’d come,” he said by my ear, the relief in his voice palpable while my fingers grasped at his thick cloak. “I’ll always wish for you,” I said, my face nearly pushed into his neck. “Hold tight,” he said and my fingers tensed before we flew. Black shadows enveloped us and the twisting in my gut had my stomach in an upheaval.

It was over just a minute later. We were in the cover of trees, towering pines reaching as high as I could see. “Are you hurt?” he asked while grabbing my face with his cold hands. “No.” His eyes searched mine for any lie but I spoke the truth. I wasn’t hurt, confused and drained, but not hurt. “We go on foot,” he declared. “On foot?” “No trace.” I simply nodded at his words, happy I’d put on shoes before lying in bed.

Severus grabbed my hand and began walking, tugging me along through the heavy snow while I held on tight and tried to keep my coat cinched around my throat. The cold was starting to bite through all the layers I wore. It wasn’t the same as the English winter, or any other type of cold I’d ever experienced before. It felt feral, menacing nearly.

“Where are we?” I asked over the wind while it slithered in a rush between the tree trunks. “Can't tell you,” he said over his shoulder. “You should not know.” I merely nodded, I knew whatever reason he had for keeping so many secrets it was a good one. Truth be told, I was merely happy feeling his hand around mine, seeing him safe and whole — even if it was in the middle of a blizzard in some forgotten part of the world. He was there, alive and grasping my hand as if he were afraid to lose his grip on me.

We trudged on, Severus picked up the speed the deeper into the forest we went. “Wand out,” he said when he finally slowed down and I gasped for breath while my stiff muscles ached in the cold. “Now,” he demanded further and I reached inside my clothes to get my wand. “Sev?” I asked but he shook his head and squeezed my hand. Good thing I’m left-handed, I thought when I returned the squeeze and tried to keep my fear at bay. He was so stiff, so tense. It had my heart in my throat feeling the tension radiating from him as we inched closer to whatever destination he had in mind.

We entered a clearing and the wind just died off, as if someone closed a door. “We’re here,” he whispered and my eyes scanned the space. There was nothing there. Just a small open space among the tall trees where the weather seemingly couldn’t reach us at all. “Where is here?” I asked, stepping closer to him as something cold slithered up my spine. “The home of… The home I thought could have been my sanctuary after everything was over. But now, it is over, before it has even begun.” “Severus, what do you mean?” “If things had been, different … I would have taken you here, after everything was done…” “You’re scaring me, Sev…”

For, he did. He spoke in a manner I had never heard before that seemed drowned in anguish. He turned toward me, his face softened and turned gentle in the strange light of the clearing while I tried to remain upright. “When the moment comes,” he began as his finger stroked my chin, “you will have this part of me.” “When-, what?” I asked, my voice near frantic as he seemed destitute. “Love,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.” “S-Severus? What are you talking about?” “The plan is already in motion. When the time comes, I must kill Albus, I must become the evil in everyone's view to keep as many as possible safe, alive . There will be no place for me after, dead or alive. With all things in motion, all aspects of the plan, there are too many things that can go wrong and I am certain death will come for me before this war ends. One way or another, I will not be here with you after all is done.”

His words, they hurt so fiercely I could barely breathe while he looked at me with a sorrow and hurt so deep I couldn’t see an end to it. There was no end to his pain. A pain he’d carried all alone, for however long. I wished to take it away, wrap him up in a blanket and shower him with all my love, all my warmth, every ounce of joy I still held on to despite the dark times.

“Are you saying…” “Yes, love. That's what I'm saying.” “But, you can’t-, I mean-, we-, there must be a way!” My voice carried all over the clearing in the absence of other sounds. His soft smile, so gentle looking and sweet, was directed at me at that moment as he pulled me. His arms wrapped me up, I gripped at him while trying to find some sort of strength to hold on to the hope of a future with him I had barely ever even dared to imagine. “Here, you will survive,” he whispered into my hair. “You will live, and life will be yours to cherish.” “I don’t want that without you.” “You never had me, Belinna. I stayed away for as long as I could and then the choice was made for me when he saw you in my mind. I would never have even—” “Don’t. Please, don’t take what little love you’ve offered me.” “As you wish.”

We stood in silence until my snivelling broke the quiet. He was right, I’d never had him, and now I never would. I’d never know him deeply, intimately, lovingly. I’d never have a chance at finding a normal life with him, or even a crazy one. I’d never have what I’d hoped for in secret within the deepest parts of my heart. The hope I’d felt just a few moments ago had gone — vanished, for all eternity.

“When things seem most dark,” Severus said as I tried to soak up every tone of his voice. “Follow your heart. Your heart will lead you right.” “It led me to you, it always will…” “And mine takes me away,” he said while my body tensed up. “To keep you safe.” “Severus,” I began but my body turned heavy. “What-, what’s happening?” I asked, looking up into the most beautiful eyes I would ever see in all my life. “This was all I could grant,” he whispered. “All— What?” “Belinna, know that I love you. I will always love you, from the moment you spilt pumpkin soup over my best frock, it has been you .” “Severus, I-, I love you too. Only you.” I held on as tightly as I could while my knees yielded and the shadow of a little house seemed to flicker behind Severus as my head slumped to the side. The light of a single candle in the window was the last thing I saw before Severus sunk to the ground with me cradled in his arms as my body gave way to the heavy sleep taking over. Hurt, pain, and panic filled my heart and rushed through my body with my blood but I could do nothing.

He kissed me, a soft touch upon my lips that I couldn’t return. “Know that had I known you were an option in the future, I never would have offered my life for another. But you were too late, and I was too hurt…” I wished to scream at him, shout my love for all the world to hear. But I could not. Everything disappeared and I fumbled through the darkness without moving a single muscle only to jolt awake back in the cottage, no sign I had ever gone anywhere at all…

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: REMINDER THAT EVERY RICKMAS2023 FIC HAS A HEA! 😂 Don't come for me after this part of the Snape Serial this Rickmas 🙈

Q: Are you rather too cold or too warm? A: Too cold, easiest Q so far I think. I used to never be too warm, but now, gosh, I hate being too warm 😂

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[Dec:2023]

[questforgalas]

We'll be waiting for you

Summary: Crosshair didn't face the trudge back to the outpost alone

Notes: Welp this popped into my head after today. Enjoy some major brotherly support and major Crosshair feels

WC: 900

Tags: Crosshair, Hunter, Echo, Tech, Wrecker

Warnings: Talks of an avalanche, talks of being buried alive, TBB S2E12 spoilers

Tay's Masterlist

On AO3

Weight. Crushing weight. That’s all he felt. Wrecker was going to pay for falling asleep on top of him again. Crosshair moved his arm to shove his giant of a brother off of him. Or he tried to. His arm felt trapped, wouldn’t move without extreme effort that Crosshair delved deep within himself to find. His limb felt buried. Buried? Oh right. He wasn’t being crushed under Wrecker’s weight. That was snow.

Tech���s voice rattled in Crosshair’s head. “Move your digits. If you can move your toes and fingers, your spinal chord is still intact. At this depth, you will not be crushed, but temperatures are still dropping, so you must move quickly. Punch through the snow.”

Crosshair tested his elbow, seeing how far the snow would let it bend. Giving just enough, he burrowed back to give him momentum. Then he punched. He wasn’t far down, only about a foot based on how far out his hand went. Punch. Both arms were free.

“Ok, Crosshair. Now heave. You’re not far down, you’ll be free shortly,” he heard Echo encouraging him.

He tried. He really did. But the snow was heavy and his energy was on reserves. This was it. All the missions, all the hair-brained ways he and his brothers go out of them, and this is how he’ll go. Buried under snow.

“Heave, Crosshair!” Echo shouted.

He dug deep, clenched his stomach and thighs, gritted his teeth, and lifted. Inch by inch, his back left its snowy bed, and his head broke the surface. Wind whipped at his face, snow pelting his eyes, but his lungs were finally full.

Crosshair looked around, gathered his bearings. It was cold. So cold. But he was alive, and he wasn’t alone.

“Check for the reg. There’s a chance Mayday made it,” Hunter’s gruff voice filled his head.

“Now you’re an avalanche expert?” He was already trudging through the snow to the rock Mayday pushed him away from, but it was instinct to jab at Hunter. “Just get over there,” was the gruff response.

His hands were going numb, the standard gloves doing nothing to protect in this weather. Still, he dug. Only a few inches were gone before he saw the top of Mayday’s head. He was breathing. Faster. Dig faster. Seconds went by before Mayday’s head fully surfaced. A weak cough jolted his body. “Go. I won’t make it”.

“I’m detecting multiple bone fractures, and his body temperature is critically low. He has a 13% chance of making it through the night. Even less so making it back to base,” Tech rattled off.

“You have to try. You can’t leave him out here,” Echo argued back.

“I was not suggesting we leave him. I was simply stating…”

“Both of you shut it. I can’t think with you prattling about,” Crosshair shushed them. But he was with Echo. He wasn’t going to leave Mayday.

Bending low, he placed Mayday’s arm around his shoulder, stabilizing them both. Balanced and upright, Crosshair started trudging. The avalanche settle wasn’t wide, but Crosshair lost the feeling in his toes 10 minutes ago, and it was creeping up his legs. Waist deep in snow, deadweight commander leaning, every step was a mile.

“It’s all in the legs. Just like back on Kamino when I’d carry you on my back between trainins! Come on, Crosshair. This ain’t nothin,” Wrecker’s booming voice cheered him on. A memory flashed through his mind. Young cadets, brothers, in the halls of Kamino. Lithe, gangly body dangling from his brother’s shoulders. It was enough. Another step. And another. Memories kept flashing. He kept trudging. All through the night. All through the day. 4 enhanced brothers with him every step.

The next night approached. “If you do not find shelter, you will perish,” Tech stated.

“You don’t say?” Crosshair sneered. He paused. Looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere. A rock formation to the left offered the best option. Tucking into the nook, Crosshair propped Mayday into his side. Body heat was their chance. However small it was.

“Stay awake,” a gruff voice entered his thoughts. “You’re almost there, Crosshair. Just get through the night.”

“You’d be miserable to deal with right now.”

Hunter sighed. “Not my fault my mutation makes me hate the cold. And I only stole your blanket once. Let it go.”

“One day, I’ll prove the Marauder instance.”

Hunter smirked. “You gotta get back to us first.”

They never left him. His brothers stayed through the night. Keeping him awake. Keeping him alive. The sun started appearing on the horizon. Crosshair found whatever energy remained, and readied himself. “Alright commander. One last push.”

Midday passed, and imperial shuttles flew overhead. The outpost was on just on the ridge. They made it.

His body was numb. His knees were buckling. Every breath was shards of glass.

“We did it,” Crosshair said. But not to Mayday. In his mind, he felt the pat on his shoulder. Saw the knowing smirk on Hunter’s face, never losing faith in his brother.

“Get up there, Crosshair. We’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He hoped they were. He really hoped they were.

[barkspawn]

Omigod I need the ‘I’m dying’ ‘you’re not dying’ bit with Elliot, like he gets a wicked cold or something and goes full drama kid while being taken care of.

Girl you know I got chu

Elliott was sick. He must have gotten a cold from one of the children while reading to them in the library the previous week. Amelia had always been willing to take care of people she loves, but Yoba, the stereotype about men being babies was so true. 

It was the second, and hopefully last, day he was ill. He had been staying with her for a few days since his cabin didn't really stay warm the way that it should in the winter. 

Amelia was in the kitchen, making some soup as Elliott lounged on the couch. He was going to go mad if he had to continue laying in bed any longer, or so he said. 

"Darling, I'm fairly certain that this is going to be the end of me," Elliott blew his nose into a tissue, having given up the handkerchiefs. His lip curled up in disgust, "I am utterly disgusting and I am certain you are revolted by me. Should I not die from embarrassment, it will be from this ailment."

"You are not dying, Elliott. And I am not disgusted by you, love," she started, ladling some broth into a cup for him to sip, "I just so happen to love you, my dramatic dearest. And when you love people, you take care of them. In sickness-"

She stopped, clearing her throat. That's marriage, Amelia. He's going to think… Well, nevermind. He's too sick to catch on. She walked over to him, holding the mug out to him before sitting beside him to run her fingers through his hair, an action he admitted calmed him greatly. He leaned back against her, upright enough to sip the broth and yet comfortably reclined. He gave up hours ago trying to keep her away in fear of getting her sick. 

He sipped the broth quietly for a few minutes before she touched his forehead, her voice quiet, "your fever seems to be breaking. You're very much alive." 

He hummed in response as he took another sip, "Perhaps I'm not dying then. Certainly not before I thank you for taking care of me," she had moved her arms around him, her arms resting around his torso. She couldn't see, but she could hear the playful tone he failed to hide, "especially not before experiencing you being there for me in health as well."

Thankfully, he couldn't see her blush. She shifted to run her fingers back through his hair again, mumbling, "Shut up. You heard nothing. Your fever is clearly making you delusional."

He gave a small laugh that turned into a fit of coughs, which, of course, turned into a dramatic groan. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, crying out dramatically, "oh no, my love! You can't die on me, not today!"

Elliott rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around hers, "Ha-ha. So very funny," he joked, resting his head back against her shoulder and closing his eyes as she combed her fingers through his hair. It was almost five minutes before she thought he had fallen asleep. She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, very gently. 

"I think I would rather write my own," he hummed, his voice tired. She nearly jumped, almost thinking he was talking in his sleep. Still, she smiled. 

"Your own what, love?"

"Vows, of course," he hummed, his eyes still closed as he spoke, "I've always thought the 'in sickness and in health' was a good idea in thought, but I'd want it to be our own. My own thoughts for you."

Amelia's heart raced a little faster, butterflies exploding once more within her, as they so often did with Elliott. She had daydreamed of him presenting her with the shell or how he'd look at her as he first saw her in her gown. She had assumed it was something that never crossed his mind. After a moment, she hummed, her voice as tired as his, "Yoba help me if you write your own vows. I'll cry and ruin my make-up. I probably couldn't even get out my own vows if I went after you.."

He laughed aloud at that, once more coughing. She frowned, muttering an apology. It sounded so painful… once he seemed to calm down, she smiled into his hair, "if you ever want to.." she paused, not wanting to call it what it would really be, "exchange vows, you're going to have to be sure not die first."

He paused before shaking his head a bit, his fingertips trailing over her arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, "I suppose I'm not dying."

[braveclementine]

Chapter 12

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (Please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

"There is a door in a forest that was not always a forest. 

"The door is no longer a door, not entirely. The structure that held it collapsed some time ago and the door fell along with it and now lies in the ground rather than standing upright. 

"The wood that composed it has rotted. Its hinges have rusted. Someone took its doorknob away.

"The door remembers the time when it was complete. When there was a house with a roof and walls and other doors and people inside. There are leaves and birds and trees now but on people. Not for years and years. 

"So the girl comes as a surprise.

"She is a small girl, too small to be wandering in the woods alone. 

"But she is not lost.

"A girl lost in the woods is a different sort of creature than a girl who walks purposefully through the trees even though she does not know her way. 

"This girl in the woods is not lost. She is exploring. 

"This girl is not scared. She is not unnerved by the darkness of the clawing shadows cast by the trees in the late-afternoon sun. She is not bothered by the thorns and branches that tug at her clothes and scratch at her skin.

"She is young enough to carry fear with her without letting it into her heart. Without being scared. She wears her fear lightly, like a veil, aware that there are dangers but letting the crackling awareness hover around her. It does not sink in, it buzzes in excitement like a swarm of bees. 

"The girl has been told many times not to wander too far into these woods. Warned not to play in them at all and she resents her explorations being dismissed as 'play'. 

"Today she has gone so far into the woods that she wonders if she has started going out of them again toward the other side. She is not. . ." 

I trailed off as Remus started to snore in my arms, the bedtime story putting him fast asleep. Severus hears the sound of my voice stopping and turns away from the desk where he is working. 

I continue to cradle Remus as I walked over to Severus. 

"What'cha doing?" I ask casually, sitting down on the corner of the desk, keeping my voice low as Remus sleeps soundly in my arms, his tiny lips parted in the smallest 'o' I've ever seen. 

"The Dark Lord requests an audience with me." Severus said in a casual voice, but despite his tone, I still feel a cold shudder flow over me. "He has questions about you that he believes I can answer." 

The unsettled feeling in my stomach increased even more. 

"He suspects Godric's Hollow." I choked out, finding my hands were shaking. Severus gently took Remus from my hands, cradling him in one arm, before pulling me onto his lap with his other arm. 

"Of course not." Severus said solidly. "Why should he?" 

"Someone in the village must've seen that you were gone. He's put the times together, it's really that simple." I said, unable to swallow. It felt like there was dry cotton in my mouth. 

"Elizabeth." Severus tilted my face so that I was forced to look into the soft onyx eyes. "I'm an expert liar when it comes to him. What do you think I've been doing my entire service under him? And there's nothing more important to me than you. You will always be safe where I'm concerned, I swear that." 

I studied each of his words in measured concept before nodding. "Okay. I just. . . I'm worried I'll have screwed something up. My plan is only going to work if you stay alive till the exact moment you should die. Anything else. . . " 

"I know." Severus took my hand, kissing the back of it. "Now come, we need to eat." 

He gently put Remus back in his crib, tucking the blue blanket around our son. Dobby had set a tray to the side for us, containing chicken noodle soup for me, and a pork chop dinner for Severus. 

"You know you should be eating your dinners in the Great Hall." I said, blowing on the soup gently to make sure I didn't burn my mouth. "Don't they find it suspicious that you're always up here in your office?" 

"Actually, everyone finds it quite normal." Severus replied, clearly unconcerned about my questions. "I've always been rather remote and quiet. Besides, now that I'm headmaster, I'm not obligated to show up anywhere. Dumbledore. . . Dumbledore always did it because of his personality. If I did it, that would be the suspicious part." 

Content with this answer and realizing the truth of it once he had explained it, I ate. 

"Hey." Severus said softly, pausing as he went to eat his pork chop. "You don't have to worry so much about me, you know. There's no reason to believe that you're with me. I'm clearly a loyal Death Eater and would turn you in, in seconds. Besides, it helps that you were always with the Golden trio for every adventure. I believe that is the assumption the Death Eaters- and everyone else for that matter- believes." 

I nodded. That was probably true. Voldemort himself had seen me down in the Chamber of Secrets with Harry. And Wormtail had probably mentioned it for my third year. Death Eaters had also seen me with Harry at the Battle in the Ministry and also last year when Dumbledore had died. 

"You're right. I just. . . I don't know what I'm going to do if I lose you." I admitted quietly. "I've never exactly had great success with keeping people alive." 

Severus was silent at that and I closed my eyes. "I shouldn't have said that." 

"Hagrid? Is that you?" Severus joked dryly, before putting down his cutlery and pulling me into his arms. I gave a weak laugh. Severus sighed, kissing the side of my head. "Elizabeth. Listen. I'm prepared and that's all we can hope for. Your plan is good, the best one we have so far. But things can still happen. And I want you to know now, that if I do die, it's not your fault. You did your best. And. . . don't dwell over me, okay? Please? I want you to only be happy and I know it's not a reality but that's what I want to imagine. I want to imagine that you're able to move on eventually and quite frankly, Remus and these other babies will need a father. Or a father figure at the very least. We both know that." 

I nodded, turning into him but said nothing. 

"Good." Severus whispered, "Thank you." 

"But you will live." I said strongly, unable to think of any other option. 

"Of course." Severus agreed. 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I woke with a jolt, lying on the bed, wondering what exactly had woken me up. I laid there, trying to recall the last dregs of the dream. Severus deep slow breathing on the other side of me grounded me a little. I could feel the tips of his fingers on my hip, his warm body heat behind me. 

Remus was very quiet and I slowly rose up on the bed to look over at him. He was sucking on his thumb- I really needed to get rid of that habit- and was holding his little panda. I smiled, sinking back down on the bed, running a hand over my stomach. 

I turned into Severus, wondering if we would have a girl or a boy or one of each. I desperately wanted a girl, though I loved Remus. But I couldn't wait to dress her up in cute dresses and put tiny bows in her hair. And I knew Severus would spoil her silly. 

I drifted away for a moment, wondering what she would look like, before an image of a small blond-haired child popped into my head. But why would she be blond? Severus and I were both dark-haire. . . 

"No!" I gasped aloud, sitting up straight in horror. It jolted Severus out of his sleep and I could feel his fingers groping along as they tried to find me, his hand finally resting on my thigh. 

"Elizabeth?" His deep, sleepy baritone voice triggered something wonderful in me, but I pushed it to the side in my overbearing horror. 

It wouldn't be so bad if the children were Lucius'. Lucius was innocent in my eyes, even if he didn't think so himself. But if it was Greyback. . . or Nott. . . or any of the nameless Death Eaters that I didn't know. . . 

What were the chances the babies were Severus'? He had been there first, but was that enough? The others had been there more. And it might not have taken hold the first time with Severus. . . 

"Elizabeth talk to me." Severus' voice was more urgent, less sleepy. "What did you see?" 

"I- nothing. It was a dream." I whispered. "But not a vision, cause it's. . . it's not. . ." 

Severus tightened his grip on my arms, trying to get me to talk to him. 

I shook my head, "It's stupid. It's ridiculous." 

"Elizabeth." He said sternly, commanding me to talk. 

I sighed deeply and said, "What if the babies aren't. . . aren't yours?" 

Severus' hands let go of me and he became very quiet. I couldn't look at him, staring at the wall to the side of me instead. "What if they're Greybacks or- or Notts! Or-" 

Severus pushed me down into the bed, cutting off my worrying with a desperate kiss. "Stop. They're  mine. No matter what, they're mine." 

"No matter. . . you don't care?" I asked incredulously. 

Severus was quiet for a long time. He sighed, hovering above me. "These children are going to be born from you, Elizabeth. They're your children. Which means that no matter what, they're mine too." 

"Even if they have blond hair?" I asked quietly. 

"Even so." Severus answered softly. He paused and then said slowly, almost hesitantly. "If they're Lucius' kids. . . in looks you know. . . he's like a brother Elizabeth. And he was sick and I know that it wasn't him and you know that too. It won't be so bad. . . will it? Are you. . ." 

I looked up at my husband, running my fingers over his face, feeling the curve of his nose. I felt a little calmer, hearing those words. It didn't matter to him, so long as they came from me. They were our kids. 

"Okay." I whispered. "I just. . . I was afraid you wouldn't want them anymore." 

"It's not their fault." Severus murmured softly. "It would be unreasonable." 

I hugged him tightly, resting my chin on his shoulder. "I love you Severus." 

"I love you Elizabeth." Severus whispered softly, kissing the side of my neck. "Now get some rest, okay? You three need it." 

I smiled, curling into his side, loving the way his arms wrapped around me- around us protectively. 

"Sweet dreams darling." Severus whispered softly in my ear, so that I drifted off to the sweetest voice. 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Today she has gone so far into the woods that she wonders if she has started going out of them again toward the other side. She is not concerned about finding her way back. She remembers spaces, they stick in her mind even when they are expansive ones filled with trees and rocks. Once she closed her eyes and spun around to prove to herself that she could pick the right direction when she opened them again and she was only wrong by a little bit and a little bit wrong is mostly right.

"Today she finds rocks that might once have been a wall, clustered in a line. Those that are piled on each other do not reach very high, even in the highest places it would be easy to climb over them, but the grid picks a medium-high spot to tackle instead." 

My voice shakes as I pace the room, holding Remus. I'm not even trying to put him to sleep, I'm really trying to distract myself. Severus is with the Dark Lord right now, has been for a few hours. I know that he will come back, but I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of despair. A sickening feeling growing in my stomach that has nothing to do with my pregnancy. 

"On the other side of the wall there are clinging vines that snake over the ground, making it difficult to walk so the girl explores closer to the wall instead. It is a more interesting spot than others she has found in the woods. Were the girl older she might recognize that there was once a structure here but she is not old enough to put the pieces of crumbling rock together in her mind and assemble them into a long-forgotten building. The hinge of the door stays buried beneath years of leaves near her left shoe. A candlestick hides between rocks and the shadows fall in such a way that even this intrepid explorer does not discover it. 

"It is getting dark, though enough of the now golden sun remains to light her way home if she climbs back over the wall and retraces her steps, but she does not. She is distracted by something on the ground. 

"Away from the wall there is another line of stones, set in an almost-circle. A most-of-an-oval shape. A fallen archway that might once have contained a door." 

Remus fusses in my arms. He doesn't want to be in them, he wants to sit on the ground and play with the wooden blocks and the trains. He doesn't want to be up, he wants to be down. But I don't want to let go of him, he's the only thing grounding me and keeping me sane. 

But he whimpers and I know he's on the verge of tears. I sigh, putting him down on the ground by the small trains and wooden blocks. Once he takes a small wooden train into his hand, his fussing stops and he smiles. 

I sink to the ground, my back against the bed, wrapping my arms around myself. I don't want him to see me like this. 

He hits his small fist against the floor, the train wheels rolling a little every time he does so. He's only six months old so he doesn't play with toys in the same way a toddler might. He mostly just bites them or throws them at his feet. 

I smiled a little, laying down on my side, deciding that they best thing for me is to continue the story. 

"The girl picks up a stick and uses it to dig around the leaves in the middle of the arch of stones. The leaves crumble and break and reveal something round and metal. 

"She pushes more of the leaves out of the way with the stick and uncovers a curling ring about the size of her hand, which might have been brass but has tranished in mossy patterns of green and brown. 

"One side is attached to another piece of metal that remains buried. 

"The girl has only ever seen pictures of door knockers but she thinks this might be one even though most of the ones she has seen have lions biting the metal rings and this ring does not, unless the lion is hiding in the dirt. 

"She has always wanted to use a door knocker to knock upon a door and this one is on the ground and not in a picture. 

"This one she can reach.

"She wraps her fingers around it, not caring how dirty they become in the process, and lifts it up. It is heavy. 

"She lets the knocker drop again. The result is a satisfying clang of metal on metal that echoes through the trees. 

"The door is delighted to be knocked upon after so long.

"And the door- though it is mere pieces of what it once was- remembers where it used to lead. It remembers how to open. 

"So now, when a small explorer knocks, the remains of this door to the Starless Sea let her in. 

"The earth crumbles beneath her, pulling her into the ground feetfirst in a cascade of dirt and rocks and leaves." 

I pause in the story now, watching and listening as Remus giggles, having knocked over the block tower with the wooden train that had once been in his hand. The story finishes silently in my head. 

The girl is too surprised to scream.

She is not afraid. She does not understand what is happening so her fear only buzzes excitedly around her as she falls. 

When she lands she is all curiosity and scraped elbows and dirt-covered eyelashes. The lion-less door knocker rests bent and broken by her side. 

The door is destroyed in the fall, too damaged to remember what it once was. 

A tangle of vines and dirt obscures any evidence of what has occurred. 

A hand touches my shoulder. I jump, turning, going to block Remus from whoever is in the room with my body, vividly aware that my mother did the same with Harry. 

It's just Severus, who looks upon me apologetically, his black travelers cloak still tightly fastened around his neck. 

"Severus." I can barely breathe his name out as I fight to get air into my terrified lungs. "You gave me a heart attack." 

"I'm sorry." Severus apologized sincerely, unfastening the cloak and tossing it onto the bed. "I knocked but. . . you didn't answer. And I grew particularly concerned when you didn't answer when I said your name. I half thought you'd fallen asleep." 

"No, I'm sorry." I said, getting to my feet, wrapping my arms around him. "I was lost in thought." 

I was struck by how easily I hadn't noticed his presence. How easily it could've been a Death Eater without me noticing. 

"So um, how did it go with him?" I asked, settling onto the bed. Remus was crawling around now on the floor, heading toward his father. Severus smiled, bending down and scooping Remus into his arms. 

"Hi Buddy." Severus said, tossing Remus into the air a bit, making the little boy giggle and squeal. I smiled a little more. 

Severus settled him back on the floor on a pillow, before sitting down next to me. "Well, first he wanted to know if I knew anyone by the description of the man who was with you in Godric's Hollow. I answered everything rather honestly. Told him you were often admired and it could be a great many boys, Wizard or Muggle." 

"Not very honest then." I teased, unbuttoning his shirt at the first button, leaning in to press a kiss to his collarbone. I had missed him desperately. 

"Hmm." Severus replied, amused. "And then he wanted to know the probability of if you had broken apart from Potter and if perhaps your father knew where you were. Your father, of course, is hidden so they can't find him and I said as much. I also told him that I doubted your father knew anything of your whereabouts because you would have protected him to keep him from being a target." 

Severus hesitated and said, "I wasn't quite sure how to answer the first one. I thought about saying it was unlikely that you had broken away from the others. But if they were ever caught, then I wanted you to have an alibi. So I simply said that you might be moving between Potter and also doing your own thing based on what you could see of the future." 

"Ah, and lastly, he wanted to know why so many people seemed to know that Charity Burbage was dead." Severus grimaced, moving up and away from me at this. I knew that he blamed himself for letting her die, even though he always knew there was nothing that he could do. "I did have to tell him about the mural you'd done of the Professors and what happened when one died." 

He sounded apologetic about this and I shook my head. "No, that's fine. The Carrows would probably suspect the same if they had any brains." 

Severus snorted at that. 

"So we're okay?" I asked tentatively, climbing into his lap so that I could wrap my legs around his waist. He placed his hands on my waist, rocking me a little with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

"We're okay." He whispered before placing his lips against mine. 

I smiled into the kiss and then pulled away softly and whispered, "Remus." 

"Cockblocker." Severus muttered, before playfully dumping me onto the bed and standing up. I giggled, feeling more light-hearted than I had all day. He hung up his clothes and then the three of us settled on the floor and played for the rest of the day. 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAGRID! WE LOVE YOU SO VERY MUCH 🖤🖤🖤

⬅️➡️

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Fourteen!

Skoodge leans himself forward, sitting as upright as he can, and yanks his antennae, slaps his cheeks, and motivationally whispers "Pull yourself together. you're an Invader, for Spork's sake!" to himself. "You're not at the end of your line just yet." Irkens do not have breakdowns. Invaders do not have breakdowns. Especially not in hot wired ships in empty parking lots in the middle of the night. He's going to make it through this, by golly! Tallest as his witness!

… Except…

… His Tallest are dead, aren't they…?

Is there… anything, left for him? Is there no one around to bear witness to him push forward?

With the current state of the Empire…

Is there any reason for him to even try?

He pinches at his neck. Rolling the metal chip underneath his skin between his index and his thumb.

There should be. There is.

The last time Skoodge remembers being happy was…

“I made it! I’m alive!”

Hobo-13.

He slumps back into his seat.

Why? What sense does that make?

He almost died. Again.

All because he was on Zim's team. Why would anyone be happy about that? No one in the known universe would be happy to see Zim, to be near Zim, to have Zim treat him the exact same way he used to back when –

"Oh, that’s. That makes sense."

Zim was treating Skoodge exactly how he did back when they were training to be Invaders.

Using him as bait, pushing and shoving, the teasing and taunting. That typical, smug expression on his face – the only expression that will always belong right there, on him. The one face, expression, that could tie any irken's spooch in knots. Haloed by the starlight.

It felt right.

More right than anything these past decades has.

Lying around in temporary housing units provided during downtime, facing enemies and surpassing them, finishing assignments and receiving praise (if there was any). It was never enough.

Is he too selfish? Too wanting, too demanding?

Skoodge has never been praised for his accomplishments. Not by anyone important. He's not sure he wants to.

All he wants is to go back. Doesn't he?

Training looks so much more appealing, these days.

Exchanging smiles, hiding laughs. Grabbing hands, leading feet.

He curls further into his seat, fingers still firmly pinching his skin. "… You're an idiot. Skoodge." He stares at his boots, at the floor of his ship, and then at nothing at all, soaking in his pure, unadulterated stupidity.

A giggle dislodges from his throat, and as his eyes close and his brows pinch with joy, he feels even more stupid than before.

The laughter dies down, and the ship is blanketed in an eerie quiet. Only the fans of the ship and his own PAK keep it from becoming completely silent.

There should be tears, forming under his eyes, right now. They always do when he thinks about training too hard.

Guess he's tuckered his ducts out from all the crying he did earlier today.

Coward.

Big, stinking, stupid runner. Running around like a headless… something.

Can't even insult right.

It'd be better, if there were someone else doing it. Maybe. Someone to keep him in check. And keep him away from all… this. Nonsense.

Skoodge opens his starmap, looking over nearby galaxies and systems, wracking his meat brain for which planet he's looking for. And when that doesn't work, he wracks his PAK for memory of where the Tallest sent him. Any mention, any name. Anything at all.

He taps the most backwater, out-of-the-way galaxy he can recall being on Irken maps.

There it is.

Does Zim even remember Skoodge?

Would he want to see me if he did?

Skoodge isn't sure what Urth is like…

The sounds of reconstruction and devastation linger, just outside his ship.

With a shaking claw, he taps the map until directions pop up in front of him. He commits every detail to memory, saving the location of Urth's and its galaxy in his PAK.

… but it can't be worse than this 

The engine spurs.

[sage-nebula]

I've written about Tails' backstory before, so now I'm thinking about Sonic's. Unlike Tails, I think that Sonic's parents are still alive. They just don't want anything to do with him.

It's nothing personal, exactly. It's just—you know how some people think that life has given them a checklist they have to follow, like, graduate, get married, have kids? That's what his parents did. They were pretty young still, just barely adults, and they had a kid because that's just what people do. They grow up, fall in love, get married, have kids. That's another milestone checked off, they're making great progress.

Except as often happens in these situations, these two hedgehogs weren't cut out to be parents. Or maybe they could have been decent parents to a normal kid, but Sonic is not and has never been a normal kid.

To say that he was a little hell raiser is an understatement. All kids are energetic and like to get into things, but he was energetic and liked to get into things with super speed, which his parents very decidedly did not have. Who knows how or why their child was born with super speed, certainly not them, but they weren't equipped to handle it. The house was a mess every single day. He was constantly running—literally running, as soon as he could walk or run upright—off. And after a couple years of this, his exhausted and stressed out young parents were like, okay, you know what? If he wants to Get Gone so badly, he can Go. That's fine with them.

So what they did was, they took him to South Island. He was maybe four? And they dropped him off there and were like, go on! Have fun! And Sonic, being four and full of energy after a really boring boat ride, took off immediately. Just sped off into Green Hill Zone. And his parents looked at each other.

"If he's not back in fifteen minutes we're legally allowed to leave, right?" his dad asked.

"I don't think so," his mom said, "but no one's around to see it, so . . ."

So they left. And sometimes they felt guilty about it and wondered what happened to him, especially when news broke of Dr Robotnik attacking the island. But mostly, they were just very relieved to no longer have a kid to worry about.

Of course, Sonic's exploits would make the news over time. Sonic remembered that his name was Sonic, even though he didn't really remember his parents, so his name was the same and they would have recognized him anyway. There aren't many blue hedgehogs the exact age of their abandoned child with super speed, after all. But while they low-fived each other on producing a child that ended up being a world-renowned hero . . . they also had no desire to make contact again. If anything, he's even more of a little hellion now. They have enough common sense to know that trying to parent him would do nothing but cause them an immense amount of stress and financial strain. Also, he's fine! He's a hero! Clearly he has done just fine without them, they have no reason to feel guilty anymore. And if they run into him in Station Square, no they didn't, they're very pointedly looking in the other direction.

Not that it matters. He barely remembers them. And they aren't wrong that he doesn't need parents; he was happy to explore South Island, and when he went back to where they were and found them and the boat gone, his immediate reaction was, "Cool, now I get to run around some more!" figuring they'd be back at some point. And then they weren't . . . but the flickies and rickies helped him find food, and he was able to find shelter, and the loop-de-loops were REALLY fun to race around on, so . . . it was fine. If anything, now that he didn't have someone always telling him "no" and "stop" and "go sit in Time Out for the tenth time today for breaking yet another thing with your super speed" he was much happier.

So although Sonic wouldn't recognize them either, if he did . . . he would also look in the other direction, not wanting them to see him. Lots of avoided eye contact here. And his parents probably did not have any other children, because what if they turned out like Sonic? They couldn't take that risk, and living the Dual Income, No Kids life suited them much better anyway.

So that's the story. His parents are alive . . . somewhere . . . and they are steadfastly pretending they never had a kid, what, you must have mixed them up with someone else (though their genes together could produce a superhero just saying they know it's true but don't ask them how they know this). And Sonic doesn't remember what happened to his parents, and that's fine by him. Tails is the only family he needs, anyway.

[silvfyre-writings]

Snapshots Pt. 2 (BSD Fanfic)

While I am working on Paperboy, I got motivated to write this, so enjoy this cute short chapter of fluff!!!

And thank you to all that have showed interest in this fic so far, it makes me super happy to see you all enjoying it!

Once a month, Yokohama held a night market at the port, a market filled with delicious foods and plenty of goods that vendors tried to sell to anyone that showed even the slightest amount of interest. The best part was that it wasn’t just limited to things within Japan; people from all over the world came to Yokohama’s night market to sell their wares, meaning that one would be able to experience all sorts of cultures in just three nights if that was what they wanted. The markets were always busy, filled to the brim with people excited to see what was being offered that month, because each month was different—it was rare for the same vendors to appear twice, so it was impossible to predict just who and what would be there.

But that was what made them all the more appealing.

So, of course it made sense for Ranpo, despite the risk of overloading all his senses, to drag Poe to those markets when he noticed his partner starting to withdraw and isolate himself from the world; something that Poe began to do when he needed to take a break, or when his mind started to become his enemy. Usually, when that happened, Ranpo would wrap Poe in a blanket and they’d spend the day on the couch watching movies until the tension seeped out of Poe’s body and the writer drifted off to sleep, sleeping the rest of the day away until he woke up feeling much better than when he’d woken up. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and it didn’t always help, but Ranpo was doing the only thing he knew how to do, and sometimes, that was all he could do.

Which was why, this time, he was determined to try something new.

“Poe-kun.” Ranpo whined, stretching across the bed to poke at the lump that was buried underneath every blanket on the bed. Poe had woken up that morning with absolutely no energy, and any attempt Ranpo had made and trying to coax his partner out of bed, had failed. In the end, Ranpo had just crawled back into bed, more than happy to sleep the rest of the day away, but now the sun was setting, and still, Poe hadn’t left the bed, and Ranpo was over it. “Edgar. Come on, you need to get up.”

The lump shifted slightly. At least he’s still alive under there. “Ranpo-kun, please, I just want to rest today.”

“You’ve rested all day already, and it hasn’t helped, so come on! Up you get.” Ranpo sat on his knees and gripped the blankets, mentally counting down and waiting for that moment when Poe would relax his grip on said blankets. And sure enough, just as his countdown hit zero, Poe’s grip loosened, and Ranpo yanked the blankets away from the man.

“Ranpo!” Poe yelped, and lunged to snatch the blankets back, but Ranpo was faster and pulled them off the bed entirely.

“Don’t Ranpo me.” Ranpo grabbed onto Poe’s wrists and dragged the man upright before he leaned in to brush his lips against Poe’s, gentle and soft, and just enough to make Poe’s eyes flutter behind his hair. Ranpo rested his forehead against Poe’s and spoke quietly. “You know being in bed all day does nothing but make you more miserable, so it’s time to vacate the bed. We’re going out.”

“Out? Where?”

“To the night markets, silly. They’re on this weekend.”

The tiredness that had attached itself to Poe’s entire being that morning was immediately replaced with concern at Ranpo’s words. “The night markets? But Ranpo-kun, they are the busiest markets Yokohama has to offer, you won’t—”

“We’ll go early.” Ranpo interrupted, feeling warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that the first thought on Poe’s mind was concern for how he would handle going to the markets, because Poe was right. The night markets were busy; filled with crowds and sounds, and just overwhelming to Ranpo’s already sensitive senses. It was why he’d never been to them before, despite how big his curiosity was towards them. But, he figured that, with Poe, it’d be a fun little outing for the both of them. “We’ll go early, and leave before the crowds get too large. People forget the markets open up mid-afternoon, because they want the experience of the night market.”

“If you’re sure…” Poe murmured, sounding uncertain, but Ranpo knew he’d already won, so he grinned and tugged until Poe was standing upright.

“I am! So, hurry up and get ready, they start in an hour!”

“R-Ranpo-kun!”

The markets were busy, just like Ranpo had expected, but like he had predicted, going in the afternoon when the sun was still high in the sky, the crowds were thinner, quieter, and much more tolerable. Of course, Ranpo wasn’t stupid enough to just go the busiest market of Yokohama without taking the necessary precautions, because the last thing he wanted to do was send himself into overload when he and Poe were supposed to be having a good time; he had a pair of headphones around his neck, just in case, but he was certain they would be unnecessary.

Besides, the main thing was that Poe was smiling.

Ranpo focused on that instead of the crowd.

He followed behind Poe as the writer stopped at a stall selling some kind of food from America, looking comfortable as he chatted with the vendor in English, a tongue that Ranpo knew not a word of, but always loved to hear fall from his partners lips all the same. It hadn’t taken long for Poe to spot the people selling goods from his homeland, and even less time for him to strike up conversation with them. Ranpo couldn’t help but smile softly at seeing Poe, still shy and hesitant, actually engaging in conversation with someone that wasn’t, well… him.

“Ranpo-kun, here.” Ranpo blinked, surprised to find Poe standing in front of him, placing what looked to be a cookie into his hands. “I apologize for talking for so long.”

“It’s fine.” Ranpo took a bite of the cookie, eyes flying open as chocolate oozed out of the centre, delicious and still warm. “This is good! What is it?”

“It’s just a chocolate filled cookie.” Poe said, biting into his own cookie as he led the way further into the market with Ranpo following close behind him. “I used to have them all the time as a child. It’s nice to eat one again after so long.”

“You never tried to make them yourself?” Ranpo asked around another mouthful. He could see why Poe enjoyed these kinds of cookies, because they were amazing. Truly, he had eaten plenty of cookies before in his life, but these were top tier ones.

Poe shook his head. “I tried once, but I’m not much of a baker, so it didn’t go well.”

Ranpo quickly chewed and swallowed the remainder of his cookie before he grinned up at Poe. “Well lucky for you, I am an excellent baker—”

“Didn’t the oven catch fire the last time you baked?”

“—that was because Dazai knows nothing about baking and set the oven too high, but as I was saying, we can bake some together if you’d like.”

“Sure, that would be nice.” Poe looks down at him with that fond look that never failed to make Ranpo’s heart skip a beat. It was the one thing that gave away just how much he loved the man walking beside him, and he can’t help himself from knocking their arms together; Poe immediately understood what Ranpo was asking, because the writer was just as smart as him, and just as affectionate, and linked their hands together.

Poe’s hand was larger than Ranpo’s, yet gentle and warm from where it pressed against his own. Ranpo loved holding hands with Poe—he couldn’t put it into words, but there was just something about it that he really liked, and he always looked for an excuse to hold Poe’s hands. He was glad that his partner didn’t seem to mind it when Ranpo sometimes came up with a ridiculous excuse. But even Poe would sometimes look for any reason to reach out and intertwine their fingers together, just like he was doing now.

And that was how they spent the rest of the time they were at the market, hand in hand with each other, and only letting go when something caught their eye and they wanted to look at it. But without fail, the moment they were done, they would find each other’s hand and continue to walk.

“It’s getting busier, should we go?” Poe suggested, turning his attention away from a stall that was selling handbound notebooks to look at Ranpo carefully.

Ranpo looked around. He’d noticed the crowds were starting to grow larger, and the sun had dropped low in the sky now, casting a deep orange glow across the market. He was more than ready to go—had been for a while now—but seeing the joyful expression on Poe’s face made him want to delay leaving for as long as possible. “If you still have places you want to look at, we can stay.”

Poe continued to look at Ranpo for a moment before he turned back to the vendor, purchased three of the notebooks, and then came to stand in front of him. Ranpo blinked and stared up at Poe with a curious look, only to have his question answered when Poe reached up to slide the headphones around Ranpo’s neck up to cover his ears.

And the world went quiet.

“Don’t neglect yourself for my sake, Ranpo-kun.” Poe smiled, and placed a kiss on Ranpo’s forehead. “I’m happy when you’re happy, and right now, you are uncomfortable. So let’s go home.”

“Okay.” Ranpo grabbed onto Poe’s hand and allowed his partner to guide them towards the exit. “Did you like the market?”

Poe nodded. “I did. There was a lot of food that I haven’t seen in years, and people were selling quite some interesting stuff. Thank you for bringing me here. I think I truly did need to just get out of the house for a bit.”

And as Poe continued to tell him what he thought about everything he’d seen, Ranpo leaned to rest his head against Poe’s shoulder. Maybe we’ll come back next month then.

[the-bug-jar]

Memories

I wish I could forget the past, but it's still out there. One last piece. Him. Or what used to be him.

The Nanite Event took everything from me. My hometown, my parents, and him. All of it, gone in flames, become something I could no longer recognize. That day was years ago, but sometimes it will return in a nightmare. At first, just being back in that forest, where we were walking as the explosion shook the world, was enough to wake me up. But I've become too dull to it, I guess. I just relive it. No amount of lucid dreaming training was enough to make it stop.

In the forest, it's just us. Me and the dog. He was distinct with his all- white coat. It was something of a miracle I managed to get him, the pure whites go quickly. And a miracle in another way. Friends have always been hard to come by for me, and as it turned out, a pet was something that could help alleviate that loneliness. There were also times where he saw people who were out to hurt me when I wasn't in the sharpest state of mind. Needless to say, getting him was one of the rightest choices I'd ever made.

In the nightmare, we walk the same trail every time, that leads around in a nice circle. It was a nice getaway from the dark thoughts that were already plaguing me. Sometimes, there are problems you can't confide to anyone, they're just not equipped to answer those questions... Of course, this taste of peace didn't get to last.

One minute, the trees above are brimming with the colors of autumn. Reds, oranges and yellows. The next, they're much brighter and deadly. The shockwave from the explosion knocked us off our feet. I struck my head hitting the ground and lost my grip on the dog's leash that I was holding onto him by. I was too disoriented to recall what he did next. My head hurt like hell and my focus was stuck to the canopy that was now on fire. Slowly regathering myself, I took a moment to internally ask what was even happening. An invasion, or an accident? Well, it is an invasion of sorts.

It sinks into my stunned mind that staying in the dirt would get me burnt alive. So, as much as my body protests with sharp pain, I force myself back on my feet. My blurry vision starts to clear and I see the growing flames all around me, but not my dog. Screams echo through the woods in the distance. Screams of people and other things. We're all used to the raucous noises EVOs can make today, but no fiction can prepare someone for hearing them the first time. The noises, the blast, the flames and just an odd sensation in the air I couldn't explain at the time. Everything is so surreal, as if actually a dream, but pinching won't bring me out of this.

I call for the dog, more than once and at the top of my voice. I can't hear or see him. As much as I know that I needed to turn back, to get home before the flames consumed the forest, I can' just leave him. Apart from my parents, who live on the other side of town, he is all I have, really.

Ignoring my hurting joints, I search. Break away from the trail to climb the sloped earth, with the dead leaves crunching beneath me. Oh yes, death is everywhere. I call out my dog's name more. I call out for anybody. We passed a few other people before the explosion. I don't see another person in there, those few weren't anyone I knew... And I won't see them again.

But inching atop one hill, there he is. Well, what the nanites have made of him. There is still his white fur, but these splotches are all over his arms. Arms with claws like sickles. Arms attached to these giant shoulders of metal. Blue metal, accented in a dull gray. More of it encumbers his torso, his legs. Legs, he is standing upright. He was a large dog before, and now he is several times my size. And his eyes... He realizes I'm behind him and spins around. My eyes meet his. Red and bright and on a robotic face surrounded by a white sort of mane.

In that mane is the leash.

There on my knees, I stop and stare. I'm petrified and completely clueless of what to do, even with the fires. It didn't make sense, nothing is making any sense. I don't understand what he is or how it's even possible and it puts my mind in a gridlock. He doesn't say a word, doesn't make a sound. All he does was take a single step forward, and that's enough to snap me out of it. I have no idea what he is going to do next, and my instincts urge I shouldn't stick around to find out. I listen to them and back up, tumbling down the hill. Adrenaline kicks in and I'm bolting out the woods as best as my limping legs can carry me... Usually, that's where the nightmare stops before I wake up in sweat.

He probably didn't follow me. I never looked back, not until I was out of the forest and back on the sidewalks, but I was in no shape to outrun him. The fires never came too close to injure me, or cut off my route, but by the time I was back in town, that was one of the lesser of my worries. There were other monsters prowling the streets. Other people and animals who turned in the initial blast... But that's a whole story I still can't bring myself to tell. Not even now that Rex Salazar has cured the world and therapy for the Nanite Event is almost free these days.

Between that day and the worldwide cure, though, I knew the dog was still out there. Somehow, he found his way to that EVO land, Abysus. He was working for Van Kleiss, that man with the dark hair and golden arm who tried to threaten some world leaders at a conference, but failed. Honestly, I was more fixated on my dog, who was still out there and somehow talking, as seen in interviews on the news for that mess. What a menacing voice he has. Well, is he really mine anymore?

The knowing just made me even worse. I was still writhing over what I lost in the past, and seeing him didn't help. I tried to learn what I could about him online, but nothing. All I could do was try to keep him out of my swirling thoughts. Other thoughts were already lingering, like my missing parents. They disappeared during the explosion without a trace, and with all the other missing people during that time, their cases fell into neglect. I have my suspicions on what happened to them, and where they might have been taken to be 'dealt with', but... I don't want to believe it. I don't think I even want to know. Is that okay?

My condition was improving towards the end of the EVO era, as I came to call it. I was having that nightmare less and less. When I did learn all the EVOs had been cured, even those said to be incurable, it was like a weight slipped off my shoulders. I probably wouldn't see my dog again, but knowing he wasn't that thing, assuming he even still lived, brought some sort of closure to my pain. Pain from my past that was blown into pieces beyond repair. All I can do I sweep up the shards and start anew.

But no, it's never easy.

It was quiet evening in my dark apartment. I was on the couch, just browsing video feeds. Most of them were just dumb, but something stupid to laugh at was what I needed. And I was laughing, until a video about something in Hong Kong came on autoplay... And there he was. Not as a dog, but still an EVO. Lurking the nighttime streets with another of those Abysus EVOs, some green lizard thing with a club for a hand. Nobody knew what they were doing, apart from causing property damage. But that didn't concern me. What did was that somehow, he was still EVO. Somehow, he was still walking in that horrible form, a walking reminder of those days. That surreal feeling from the day in the burning forest came back and I went blank for a minute.

Then, I had one thing on my mind. Keep up on him the best I can. Book a flight to Hong Kong. Find some of those special weapons that are flooding the markets in that city. Find him. End this, no matter what needs to happen... And here I stand in this dim, dirty public bathroom, in some part of Hong Kong I didn't bother to check the map for. I've just been wandering the streets, really, on the offchance I actually run into him. But I doubt he wants to be on streets full of people, with whatever he's up to...

His name was Skoll. Such a stupid name, I know, but I liked it. They call him Biowulf now. Which are you more, Biowulf? Do you remember what you were before? Do you remember me? Or did the transformation blot out those days? Will I really have to put you down? As much as I think I'm ready to do that, after a bit more planning and preparation, could I actually bring myself to? Does it really have to be this way? Probably, but I have to wonder.

Does he wonder? Does he even know his old name? Does he even know my name anymore? Tristan Sunderland. The surname is a longshot but my first name, I feel like there's a chance. This plan, I don't really care if it's dangerous or not. I just want to close the book, so to say. Burn it, if I have to. I want to move on, but he stands in the way. I will find you, Biowulf. Skoll. And this time, I won't run.

[robobrainrot]

The Knack

Chapter 4: Rory Magellan

Notes: its a Knockout-Centric Fic with a human OC. Breakdown is alive and well. Optimus is alive and well. Set in the Prime Universe: Post Predacons Rising, Pre-RID15

Updates Weekly/Wednesdays

[Prev chapter] [Jump to chapter 1]

Once they were out of the densely populated area, Knockout wasted no time burning rubber. He needed to put some real distance between them and the scene. He could call Ratchet for a groundbridge out, but that would be admitting that he completely failed the “in disguise” part of Optimus’s golden rule.

His human passenger was not thrilled about his driving style. They had their feet up on the seat with their arms wrapped tightly around their knees. On a couple particularly tight turns, Knockout felt their shoulder hit his side door. Hard. They might have started crying at some point but it was hard for him to tell.

Humans were so weird.

Finally, Knockout slowed down outside an abandoned storage facility outside of the city. Fowler had given the group a map of various government facilities that were no longer in use in case they ever needed to hide. He assured them that they wouldn’t be bothered there, and the areas were kept free of outsiders.

He pinged the door with his code, and sure enough, the bay doors opened for him. The Aston Martin pulled into the facility and opened his passenger door as soon as the doors were closed.

Kylan stayed sitting.

“I cannot transform if you are in here.” Knockout commented after a solid minute of silence. That was a lie but he didn’t feel like throwing the human onto the ground. They’d had enough of that for today.

They gripped onto the seat belt against their chest. “That’s okay… I- uh- you’re… what are you?”

He sighed, blowing air at them through the vents. If he was being honest, it was a relief to know they didn’t actually understand what he was. They were some weirdo that talked to cars.

“I am a Cybertronian. Racer-Medic-Model and so much more.”

“Who made you?”

“Ha!” He laughed, “You think humans could make anything like me?” then he remembered that M.E.C.H. did in fact make a copy of Optimus Prime. He reset his vocalizer. “No one. I’m not from this dirtball of a planet.”

“Oh,” they replied, as if that cleared up anything. “So… you’re an alien then?”

“That’s right, Sherlock.” He drove in a slow circle with the passenger door still open. With the exception of drive-in theaters, he never liked staying in one place for long in vehicle mode. “If it makes it easier for your tiny squishy brain, you can think of me as a robot.”

They thought about that for a minute. “Can I think of you as a person?”

Knockout wiggled his wheels as a nod, then realized he just jostled his passenger. “Yes. You can. Can I think of you as a person?”

The artist snorted. “Yea… Yea, you can.”

After a few more lazy circles, they finally released their death grip on his seatbelt. Kylan’s breathing slowed as they relaxed. Knockout released the buckle for them. The Cybertronian rolled to a gentle stop as the human moved to be properly sitting in the seat.

“Do you have a name?”

“Knockout.” He replied.

“‘Knockout?’” They laughed back incredulously. “Really? Like boxing?”

“Yes. Knockout. Like an attractive bot. I didn’t make fun of your name.” He rolled his optics internally. “‘Kylan’ doesn’t mean anything. It’s not even a word in your own language.”

“My name isn’t…” They bolted upright in their seat. “WAIT- YOU’RE MARTIN?! Ah-uh- @AstonMartin892? I knew your car- or- you looked familiar.”

“Pump the breaks and back up, human.” Knockout changed the UI on his dashboard display to show their social media page. “Your name? It says Ky Limited… it says ‘Kylan.’”

They poked the display. “That’s my screenname. I use it as an alias online. My real name is Rory. Rory Magellan.” The artist leaned back against the headrest. “So, if you need something to write on my tombstone, I’m Rory Magellan.”

He sighed, blowing air at them again. “I’m not going to kill you, ‘Roar-EE.’ I couldn’t just leave you there after… that. I will take you home– safely– after we talk.” He jiggled his side door. “Face to face, preferably.”

Rory intentionally ignored his gesture. “Can I ask why you’re here on Earth? Are there other aliens here too?”

“It’s a long story, kid.” He shifted into park. “Big war, Big mistakes. It’s… over now. We won, but we lost a lot. There’s a handful of us taking solace on Earth while our planet is being rebuilt.”

Rory rubbed their hand on the dashboard in a placating motion.

“Don’t do that. You’re getting human oils on me.” He groaned.

They snapped their hands away. Awkwardly, Rory folded their hands in their lap. After a moment of silence, they sheepishly said, “I’m surprised you can feel that.”

“You are perspiring and sticky.” He replied indignantly. “Now that you’ve got your wits about you again,” Knockout jerked the seat back as far as it would go while being upright. “Remove yourself from my cabin.”

With that, Rory finally got out of the car. They took a few steps back to watch as he converted. Car parts unfurled and shifted into a humanoid form. It was like watching the world’s most complicated Rubix cube. With a flourish, the alien finished his transformation into his giant robot form.

All and all, Rory stood at Knockout’s knee height. The lighting in the facility was dim at best, so his glowing red eye lights were extra pronounced. They took a few more steps back so they wouldn’t hurt their neck looking straight up at him.

They had to admit, he did live up to his name. He was beautiful, in an alien sort of way.

The Cybertronian knelt down on one knee like he had watched the Autobots do when talking to their human companions. It was supposed to make him less threatening, or something. He was still above their eye level, but it was less drastic now.

“Woah…” They breathed as they looked over him.

“Yeah. I know.” Knockout preened, wiggling his shoulder pauldrons.

Rory gestures vaguely to him. “I meant to ask: What pronouns do you use? Do alien-robots have genders or is it just kind of… whatever?”

“‘He-Him-His’ is fine. Cybertronians,” he stressed his correction, “typically default to masculine terms but not always. We had different words for it back home… but in English, ‘he’ is most accurate.”

“Ah.” They nodded. “I’m fine with any pronouns but usually they/them.” Rory curtsied overdramatically. “It’s nice to meet the real you, Mr. Knockout.”

He smiled. Even though he could still see color through the ambient glow of his eyes, he thought they looked silly illuminated by red. Knockout nodded his head as a bow, so he wouldn’t bump into them. “I will admit, I have been looking forward to meeting ‘the artist’ as well.”

Rory fiddled with their beaded necklace between their fingers. “Do… you want another sketch? Or I could do something more refined, if you want. You probably saved my life today so… I owe you.”

Knockout raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know humans dealt in favors… Hm…” He leaned his face down to be much closer to theirs. Their eyes widened. He smirked deviously, just to mess with them. Once a Decepticon, always a Decepticon. “I’m sure we could work something out.”

Rory quickly took several steps backwards. “Oh man. You’re…” they were going to say unsettling but caught themself. At certain angles, he really was alien. It fell into the uncanny valley zone for them. His proportions were just slightly off. They finished their thought; “huge.”

“Does that scare you, human?”

“It’ll take some getting used to.” They replied. They reached up to touch his helm, but Knockout pulled his face out of reach. Apparently, this was a look-but-don’t-touch experience. Rory put their hands on their backpack straps to signal they wouldn’t try again. “Assuming I can see you again? Y’know, after this.”

“Well, if you’re going to be my personal artist, I hope so.” He folded his servos under his chin and batted his optics at them. “In exchange for ‘saving your life,’ as you put it.”

Rory blinked up at him. “Do you want me to do your car form or, uhm, this?”

“Would you consider both?” He cooed.

“Are you kidding? I’d more than consider it… but when you say ‘personal artist,’ do you mean commission or are you going to kidnap me?”

He shrugged. “Neither. I’m not paying you if you’ve already offered them as a gift. Admitively, I don’t know much about human media, or how you create what you do. I don’t know how long this arrangement will last... I’ve seen pictures and movies.”

“Oh.” They nodded. “That’s fair. I assumed you didn’t have money.” Rory slipped off their backpack and started digging through it. They laid a few things out on the ground before turning back to look up at him. “Well, I guess now’s as good-a-time as ever for an alien art lesson. I’ll show you some work samples, then you can choose the style you want… and we’ll go from there. Deal?”

The Cybertronian wasn’t about to tell them that he did, infact, have money. And a lot of it. His racing escapades were quite lucrative. The only expense he had that the human government didn’t cover was his extensive collection of car detailing supplies.

Knockout smiled, then took their tiny hand between two digits. He shook it as gently as he could, but it still seemed to rattle the little human. “You have yourself a deal, Rory Magellan.”

[elshells]

Agent Ace Chapter 8 || SOPHIA -1-

Rating: Teen + Word Count: 1,834 Content Warnings: None apply. Summary: After giving in to Mulciber's threat, Sophia meets a familiar face that is just as eager to escape the vigilantes as she is.

↤ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

⬗

June 23 Unknown Time Unknown Location

Mulciber was back the next day with a pep in his step. Sophia eyed him with suspicion as he stopped in the middle of the room and looked down at her.

"We gave you a chair for a reason, Agent Colbo!" he said in exasperation. "Why must you insist on sitting on the floor and being ungrateful?"

The chair in question was back in its place under the window, where Sophia had once again tried and failed to scale the wall. Mulciber marched over, set the chair back upright, and dragged it back to the table with a horrible, deafening screech.

"Don't patronize me," Sophia grumbled. "What made you so cheerful?"

"If anyone should be cheerful, it should be you," Mulciber replied. "After all, you have company."

"Oh? The boss finally dropped by to say hello?"

"My boss has no interest in meeting you. Now, stand up!"

Mulciber grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. Sophia struggled to pull free from his grip, but he didn't budge. The old man was stronger than he looked.

"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" Sophia asked as he shoved her down into the chair. "Or why you brought me here? Or what you did to—"

"Hush." Mulciber told her as he pulled a bundle of ropes from the pocket of his apron. "You're clever enough. I'm sure you've worked out some excellent theories."

He pinned her arms to the back of the chair and began to bind her wrists together. Sophia winced as the ropes chafed against her skin.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"Have patience," he said.

"Right, patience." Sophia grunted as he tightened the knot around her wrists. "How about I leave you to rot in a moldy cell for days, without a single explanation, and you can tell me how much patience you have left."

Mulciber shoved a foul-tasting cloth into her mouth. Sophia gagged in surprise and shot him a furious glare.

"Behave yourself," he warned her as the door to the cell opened. "The visitors have arrived."

Two vigilantes entered the cell, both dressed in black with featureless silver masks concealing their faces. One was tall and burly, holding a long rope with a wicked-looking hook tied at one end. The other was shorter and clutched a tablet to their chest. Sophia could see their nervous expression through the eye holes of their mask as they walked ahead, eyeing the hook skittishly.

"Ah, my Prophets!" Mulciber spread his arms wide. "Right on time!"

Prophets? Something pinged in the back of Sophia's brain. Why did that sound familiar?

The shorter vigilante met Sophia's gaze and stiffened. "Who's that?"

His voice was muffled, and, to Sophia's surprise, he sounded young—no older than a teenager.

Mulciber ignored the question. "Look at you! That mask suits you well, my friend. I knew it would. How are you feeling today?"

"F-fine, sir." The vigilante said anxiously. "Uh, Apollo said you wanted to see me. Have I done something wrong?"

"No, no, quite the opposite." Mucliber clapped his hand on his shoulder and led him over to the table. "I have an introduction to make."

He made a gesture toward Sophia. "This is Agent Sophia Colbo, an esteemed enforcer of the Watch who's been hot on our trail. Agent, meet our newest recruit. Our newest Prophet."

With a dramatic flourish, Mulciber ripped the mask off of the vigilante's face. He let out a gasp, blinking rapidly in shock. Sophia gawked back, recognizing him in an instant.

Max Ahn. Alive, well, and apparently, a vigilante.

"Well, you kept asking where the boy wound up," Mulciber said smugly. "Now you know!"

Max was silent. He kept his head down, avoiding everyone's eye and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Despite his obvious discomfort, however, he appeared to be unharmed—even well-groomed, as if the vigilantes held him in high regard.

"Mmph!" Sophia attempted to speak through the gag, but Mulciber held his hand up to silence her.

"Take a seat," he said. Max obeyed, sitting across from Sophia at the table. "I assume you've been briefed on your assignment?"

Max nodded. "Yes. But, I don't understand. What's Harley got to do with this?"

Sophia's breath caught in her throat. Harley? Oh, no.

"Some... events have recently transpired, and now e must keep an eye on your friend," Mulciber explained. "As a Prophet, that job falls to you. Luckily for us, the Watch is doing what the Watch does best. Which is...?"

"Um, watching?"

"Exactly!" Mulciber grinned. "Thus, your first job is simple. Remember, the mission's success hinges on us having the correct location. And of course, feel free to correspond with Agent Colbo here, if you wish. She will have some helpful insight on our target for you."

"Yes, sir." Max mumbled.

"Is there any miscommunication between us?"

"No, sir."

"Then I leave this up to you."

Max set the tablet down on the table, took a deep breath, and tapped the screen. A faint blue glow emitted from the device, casting shadows over his face. He squinted long and hard at the screen, concentration etched on his face.

"Uh..." He scratched his head. "I can't read it."

"No use lying to us, kid," the vigilante growled, swinging his hook back and forth like a pendulum. "We know damn well you can read."

Max flinched. "N-No, not like that. I mean, uh... I'm farsighted. I can't see the screen."

The vigilante caught the hook in one hand and went deadly still. The color drained out of Max's face.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Mulciber shooed the vigilante toward the door. "Put that thing down and go get the boy his glasses. We don't want him to suffer from eye strain!"

The vigilante turned on his heel and stormed out of the cell. Mulciber chuckled to himself.

"Not to worry, Prophet," he said, stepping back into the doorway. "While you wait, take this time to bond with the agent. And remember, you made a promise. Do not disappoint us."

The door slammed shut behind Mulciber, sending a metallic reverberation through the cell. Max sighed and buried his head in his arms. Sophia watched him, befuddled. It was obvious that he didn't want to help the vigilantes, so why was he one of them?

Luckily, Max was the only person here who might be willing to give her answers.

A minute later, Max sat back up. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses, polishing the lenses on his sleeve.

Sophia perked up and cleared her throat. Max looked up with a start as he slipped the glasses over his face. For the first time, Sophia was able to get a good look at his face, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed any facade of health.

"What?" he asked, sizing up Sophia as if she were a ticking bomb. "Y-You're kinda freaking me out. The way you're looking at me, I mean. But I guess there's nothing else to look at, is there?"

Sophia didn't attempt to respond to that. Max sighed again, sitting forward and propping his elbows up on the table.

"Mulciber said you asked about me," he said. "Did the Watch send you to look for me?"

Sophia tilted her head, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah. The gag." Max stood up and walked around the table. He yanked the cloth down around Sophia's neck. She coughed, spitting stray fibers out of her mouth.

"Thanks," she panted.

"No problem."

"Max Ahn?"

He nodded, eyes wide. "Uh, yeah."

"The Watch assigned me to your case," she told him. "You've been missing for a month."

He frowned. "Damn. A whole month?"

"I followed a lead, and it brought me here." She paused, furrowing her brow. "Rather, some vigilantes ganged up on me, and that's what brought me here. It's been a few days, I think. So, how did you get into this situation?"

Max grimaced. "Hey, I didn't want this."

"I know." She nodded towards him. "You wouldn't have asked that vigilante to find your glasses if you weren't trying to bide time. But what was with the mask?"

Max lowered his head. "There was this Guardian they brought in. Th-they tortured him in front of me, and I couldn't just stand there and watch. They would have killed him. I had to say yes."

Jet. Sophia felt a pang. "They made you bargain for his life? Did you know him?"

He shook his head. "They promised me they'd let him go if I agreed to help them. So, I did. I still don't know if it was the right thing to do."

Sophia couldn't bring herself to share her unease with him. Her previous conversation with Mulciber didn't leave her with the confidence that the vigilantes would keep their word. At least, not without some sort of catch.

But she had to believe that she could still save Jet.

"You did what you thought you had to do," she said. "If they lay a finger on him, then that's on them for going back on their word, not you. And if we can get out of here, we might be able to get backup from the Watch before they try anything. Untie my hands, will you?"

She waited patiently as Max fumbled with the ropes. When they finally fell loose, she stood up and kicked the chair back against the wall.

One more time.

"Here's the plan," Sophia said, pointing up to the ceiling. "See that window? That's our way out, but I'm too hurt to climb up there myself. Wanna give it a try?"

Max nodded, though somewhat hesitantly, and stepped up onto the seat of the chair. It let out a whining creak under weight, but continued to stand as he grabbed hold of ledge and pulled himself up and over. He looked down at Sophia, perched precariously on the ledge like a cat.

She smiled back approvingly. "Nice work! Think you can help me up there?"

"Uh, yeah," Max replied uncertainly as he peered out the window. "But we might have a problem."

Sophia's grin wavered. "What's the matter?"

Bang!

Sophia spun around, pinning her back to the wall. The masked vigilante stood in the open doorway.

"That was quick." His voice dripped with derision as he entered the cell. "And I thought that you were supposed to be smart."

"Max, run!" Sophia hissed. "I'll hold him off."

The vigilante let out a laugh, raising his hook so it caught the light with a sinister flash. "Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this. Show me what you've got, Ace."

⬗

NEXT CHAPTER ↦

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[imfullofworms]

Excerpt #3 - A Ballad for the Bloody Wolf

TW: References to suicide

I needed to end me. A particularly tall pine looked wide enough to climb and so I started, working the small branches as leverage to push higher. About halfway up I stopped climbing and looked – halfway up being more than enough to place me above the roof of the forest. Cloudless was the sky and full the moon hanging low in it. The camp below looked small, Izzy's caravan and two fine horses even smaller. This was enough, so long as I landed on my head. If I leapt, or was brave enough to, there was a gathering of jagged rocks that could deal a swift- “I’ve been there,” Karl’s voice floated upwards. He was lying by the edge of the still-smoking fire and I could see the glint of his eyes underneath the rim of his hat. “Twice, actually.” “I can’t make it stop, Karl.” “No,” he replied nonchalantly. “It won’t be easy for a while, but you’ll get there. I did.” “I don’t think I can, I don’t think I can get there.” “And neither did I at the time.” He was standing now, correcting his hat onto his crown. “The first time I tried to kill myself was the hardest and I chickened out; put the gun away and vowed never again. The second was easier, almost too easy, but Izzy, she kept me upright long enough for me to change my mind.” “She, she saved you too?” “She did,” he pointed to her, still sleeping. “Why?” He pondered on that for a time. “Because she cared about me, I guess. Because she couldn’t bare the thought of me giving up so easy.” “Do, do you regret it?” “Regret doing it? No... if I hadn’t I’d never be the man I am today. Do I regret not doing it? Sometimes, yeah. It doesn’t ever leave you.” He kicked something at his boot away. “Though if I had done it I’d never have met you. Those are the kind’a things that keep you ticking, keep you moving forward.” “Promise me, Karl. Promise me it’ll go away, that it’ll get easier.” “I promise it’ll get easier, if you let it,” he shrugged up at me. “I can’t promise that it’ll ever go away.” “What happens if I come down?” He smiled or seemed to be. “You’ll keep on living. Living, Elke, if only to spite them, that you were the one that got away. That you were the one strong enough to live to see another day dawn. That you were the one they couldn’t have.” “And if I fall?” “Then that’s that,” he cleaned one hand off his other. “You’ll be dead, I’ll be sad and Izzy’ll have saved you for nothing. But... you’ll be free of that night, for good.” Free; the way he’d said it, like a seat at the hearth of a well-stocked fire. Freedom, from it all, and easy. It would be easy to let go. Easy, like taking a breath was more than a week ago. Easy; that was me all over; that suited me, but that would be exactly what they would want and for too long I’d been giving them that – as a maid, as a servant, as an offering to be used as meat. “Karl?” “Yes, Elke?” I grabbed the trunk with both hands and pressed myself against it. “I’m coming down.” “Right, right,” the relief was apparent in his raised voice. “Just, well, just start working slowly, alright?” My left foot slipped on a clump of damp moss and sent the rest of me tumbling and spinning through every branch. Izzy intervened at the last moment, taking me into a bundle of blankets. “I could see that coming a mile away,” she whispered, rocking me. I sobbed, I wailed, I screamed into her bosom, letting the frustration, anger, hate, rage and sudden burst of fear flow through me like water through a spout. “Oh scream, Daughter,” she grinned. “You scream, you howl, you let them hear your call. Let all know that you are alive, that you have lived and that you have fangs once more.” Karl howled then, howling at the gibbous moon and I turned from Izzy and howled with him – sobbing, crying. Roaring. Screaming, shrieking, screeching. Howling.