#the serrated side is supposed to be good for cutting through roots as well

[yrlocalghost]

i think it is fairly common to depict chara’s knife as a kitchen knife of sorts and i frequently do so as well. however, i do think the fact that it is described as a dagger is interesting. it also seems likely that it’s purpose was originally for gardening, considering the “perfect for cutting plants and vines” comment. anyways, this is just to say may i present to you all the hori hori gardening knife

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Take Back The Future (part 1)

Summary: Vivi and Arthur travel back in time to the beginning of Hellbent. Neither of them are okay. (Vivi and Arthur friendship. Time travel fix it. Lots of angst. Hurt Arthur)

(Ah, yeah, its another time travel fic. sorry not sorry)

(Part 2: here)

...

Mystery looms over him even as Vivi is pulled off to the side by a panicking ghostly Lewis. Good. At least Vivi is safe. Vicious jaws curl into a grin, revealing with rows of elongated teeth. Serrated, they glow white against the Kitsune’s blackened fur. Three glowing eyes snap onto him, pinning him with their intensity. Arthur finds himself rooted to the spot, too scared to move. In his mind's eye, he sees those same jaws clamping onto his arm, ripping it free. He feels a phantom sting of pain run down his mechanical limb.

/Well, well, well, if it isn’t my wayward host./

The voice is hauntingly familiar, and Arthur’s mind screams at him to run. Do anything other than stand here! The creature who was once Mystery leans forward so Arthur’s looking right into its central eye. It is coloured a familiar green and seems to be looking into and through him.

/I have to say, this one is a definite upgrade. Nothing personal, just common sense./

There is a flash of movement. Those pointed teeth lock around his neck and upper body, biting into him.

Pain. His vision is inundated with red and green splotches.

Arthur thinks he may have heard Vivi call his name.

Then...

Darkness and…

Arthur jerks, slamming his head against something hard and metal. He flinches back and immediately hits his head on the ground below him. Confused and panicked, he freezes, gawking with incomprehension at the assortment of metallic pipes and metal panelling above him. It looks like the underside of his van but that can’t be right. Slowly, Arthur rolls out from under the vehicle to stare up at a clear night sky. He seems to be lying on the ground next to his van…tired, but no worse for wear.

“Arthur!”

There is the sound of things crashing and tipping over from inside the van followed by the bang of metal doors slamming open. Arthur squints up just in time to see Vivi fling herself out of the van at top speed, skidding to a stop in the middle of the empty highway they’re parked next to. Confused and frantic, her eyes dart around until they meet his.

“You’re alive,” She breaths.  Her face is pale with acute fear.  

Arthur stares at her, equally shaken. “Ye..yeah. I’m…alive?”

He is almost too scared to talk. He is afraid that this a pain-induced hallucination and he’s actually bleeding out on the tarmac outside Kingsman Mechanics. Arthur struggles to sit and Vivi rushes forward to help, grabbing his hand and yanking up him into a forceful hug. Too dazed to say much, he leans into the physical contact. This definitely feels real enough.

“I had a dream,” Vivi mutters, face burying into his shoulder, arms tightening, “We were attacked by this living tree lady with a huge pair of garden shears. I had this weird vision full of snow and ice. It was so cold. There was a woman in blue, holding a katana and…” He feels her shiver or maybe he is the one shivering.

“Mystery was there as well but he wasn’t a dog anymore. ” She pushes away, scanning him again with increased urgency, “You died! I saw it happen…”

Arthur just blinks, too stunned to move, trying to get his brain to start up again.

“Arthur? It was a dream right?”

It’s the panic in her voice that snaps him out of his stupor. He takes a shuddering breath.  He's not sure what Vivi means by 'woman in blue, holding a katana' but he remembers not-a-dog-Mystery and he remembers dying.

“It wasn’t a dream. I remember it as well. Mystery turned into that…thing. Lewis was …I mean the purple fire spirit from the mansion was there…” He starts then stops because Vivi wouldn’t know the significance of Lewis being there and Arthur definitely didn’t want to think about the implications of it for too long. Lewis being there meant that Lewis was dead. He’s not sure he can deal with that revelation right now.

Instead, he asks, “Are you okay?” because he remembers Vivi being injured just before everything had turned from a total disaster into a complete nightmare.

“I was cut here,” She gestures to her side, glancing down, “But I’m fine now. Are you okay? You’re the one who…ah…died.”

He gives a curt nod, only then realising that he’s still holding her other hand with his flesh and blood one. He doesn’t let go, giving it a reassuring squeeze instead. The gesture calms them both and Vivi exhales, glancing around again.

“If it wasn’t a dream, then what was it?” She rubs her forehead, “Where are we? What happened to scary nightmare Mystery?”

Arthur winces and shivers, deliberately focusing on his surroundings and not reimagining the nightmare version of Mystery.

“I think we’re on the interstate just out of Tempo. I stopped here to check on the van because it was having some weird electrical issues. You were asleep in the back.”

Vivi’s eyes narrow in contemplation, “So, we didn’t just crash into your Uncle’s workshop then get attacked by a walking tree?”

They both turn to examine the undamaged van.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Perplexed, they both wait, too uncertain to move or try anything.

Unsurprisingly, its Vivi who first shakes off lingering weight of dread which has them rooted to the spot. She steps forward, pulling him with her, yanking the door to the front passenger’s seat open. Mystery is lying cured on the front seat, dozing.

“Mystery?”

The dog shifts, lifting his head, expression befuddled.  Head cocked to one side, Mystery’s body language screams nonchalance. Apparently, Mystery had not shared in his and Vivi’s vision of …the future??? Arthur’s not sure what to make of it.

“You…" Vivi takes a deep breath, "you asshole!”

Mystery almost goes cross-eyed trying to look at the finger Vivi points right between his eyes. Having made brief eye contact with Mystery, Arthur freezes. Almost immediately, he is lost in the deluge of memories he’d been avoiding. He doesn’t even get to appreciate the fact that Vivi is calling her dog an asshole.

“All this time you’ve been hiding the fact that you’re some super awesome fox spirit! What the hell! You better start explaining or so help me….”

Unlike Vivi, whose preferred method for dealing with danger is to get angry and confront it head-on, Arthur’s first reaction is to panic and run. Adrenaline takes his breath away and he stumbles backward, uncoordinated. Several unpleasant memories via for his immediate attention. A lot of things start clicking into place, forming an unpleasant picture. That night he had lost his arm…he had always suspected it had been Mystery…but now he knew. Mystery had been the one take his arm. Arthur’s sure it had something to do with that sickly green energy that had twisted the Mystery in his Future vision. He remembers that horrible voice, winding around his thoughts, pulling at his free will, leaving him empty. It was all somehow linked to Lewis’s …Lewis’s supposed death.

“Don’t you dare pull that ‘I’m just a dog’ routine. I know your hiding something,” Vivi’s sharp tone tapers off, seeming far away now. “Isn’t that right Arthur….Arthur?”

If they had travelled back in time that meant Lewis was about to come barrelling down this very highway in an attempt to kill him.

“Arthur?”

He blinks and Vivi is standing in front of him, holding his hand. He focuses on the physical sensation again. Mystery is watching them both, expression calculating, bordering on surprised.

/This is wrong./ Vivi whips back around to stare at Mystery, eyes wide. /You are both different./

The voice isn’t quite the same as the green nightmare, but it is similar enough that Arthur’s first instinct is to recoil away.

/What happened./

.

(Part 2: here)

[bizarrebaby]

Alraune P.2| Mandalorian/Reader

Pairing: Mandalorian/Mandrake!Reader

Word count: 1.3 k

Warning: Some described gore, implication of human consumption, monster biology

Summary: You and Mando meet some bounty poachers

You awoke with the setting of the afternoon sun, over someone’s shoulder, hands bound tightly with cords, runic letters burnt into them.

You looked back in the direction of the inner swamp, contemplating whether or not you would ask the hunter if you could say goodbye. You decided against it. You could not see his face, but you decided you didn’t want him to be more disgusted with you than he already was.

“Who are you?” you ask, voice still weak with sleep. The hunter says nothing.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Will I ever see this place again?”

He stops in his tracks for a few moments.

“Probably not,” he answers, less than sure, but probably more sure than you’ve ever been about anything.

_______

Three days later, and the hunter has still not spoken to you for more than a minute in total. You were allowed, once out of the swamp, to walk on your own two feet, though you remained bound at the wrists. You had tried chewing at the rope a few times, but it did nothing more than burn your tongue. It had turned out the canyon pass he had travelled through to get to your swamp collapsed, meaning the journey to deliver you would be much longer. And while you were bound, the Mandalorian more or less had to take care of you.

Initially, the smell of carrion followed you. After a couple of days of eating the cooked kills of the hunter, accompanied with some fruits on occasion, you smelled sweet and somewhat smokey. Sometimes, when you were asleep and he’d take his helmet off to eat, the scent would make his head spin. Where before it had been nausea inducing, now there was something enticing to it.

By the end of the week, he drew his enchanted blade, and you didn’t flinch away. He hadn’t intended to scare you, but he expected you to be… startled. He wondered if you’d accepted whatever fate you’d concluded to be yours, or if your species just had woefully bad survival instincts. He cut through the runic binds. Besides testing some of his things with your teeth, you hadn’t given him much trouble. Things would be faster this way.

The Mandalorian, of course, never initiated conversation. He seldom saw the use in talking to bounties, for obvious reasons. But you had a way of confounding him to the point of curiosity with what conversations you attempted.

“Why don’t you take off your helmet? Are you light-sensitive? Physically defective?” You weren’t the most sensitive speaker, but it didn’t seem to come from ill-will. 

“It’s a part of my religion,” he stated simply. Your eyes drifted as your head tilted.

“What’s religion?”

The helmet hid his stunned expression well. It was strange in a way he wasn’t able to articulate. Strange that you knew light sensitivity, physical defects, but not religion. He supposed it was possible that there were still places within the continent that faith had yet to reach, in any form, but still highly unusual.

“It’s…. Well, they’re systems of belief people have.”

“What does yours believe in?”

“Warrior strength. Honor. Family.” He pointed to a pendant on your neck, a symbol in tarnished brass on a simple chain. He’d wondered about it in the back of his mind for days, and figured now was as good as time as any to ask. “What does that mean?”

“Oh. I don’t know,” you chirped “I was thinking of asking you.”

Strange again. You wore a poncho of leaves, all of your other clothing was similarly produced, the necklace being the only thing man-made on you. His better judgement told him to stop the questioning here, but some damnably curious part of him had to know.

“Where did you get it?”

“My… my father. It was his.”

Every answer raised more questions. Vegetables don’t have parents, harsh as that may sound. Had you meant… a gardener? Had you been adopted?

You yawned, wide like a cat, showing your serrated teeth. 

“Sleep? Ok?” You asked. He noticed that it was difficult for you to stay awake more than a few hours after sunset. The helmet tilted just slightly, an affirming nod in your direction. You laid down, little tendrilous roots from your skin growing and pushing into the soft soil beneath you. 

Come sunrise, you’d haul yourself up, leaving the little roots behind, still squirming. Gross.

____

The Mandalorian was coming to realize why the price on an alraune had been so high. There had been other travelers, mostly mages and alchemists, who’d stopped him in your travels. Some offered him a price, some tried to convince him that he didn’t have the knowledge to have you-- that something like you belonged in the hands of a seasoned expert.

Others just tried to kill him for you.

Mandalorians didn’t use magic. They were about as far from magic-using as it got. They were followers of the forge, of physical combat, though this often necessitated ways of warding off magic from opponents. The Mandalorian hadn’t realized what a precious ingredient alraunes were to mages and medicine makers.

The most recent in a long line of poachers fell dead, a talented sorcerer who’d had more than a few tricks up his sleeve. In return for his victory, The Mandalorian received a bleeding gash on his side that had begun to blacken, having been caused by a necrotic spell.

The journey was shaping up to be a lot longer than he’d intended. With the added length came dwindling supplies, including healing salves. And while he had some left, it wasn’t high enough in quality or quantity for this. He laid on his uninjured side in the dirt, weighing his options, and wondering if you’d done the smart thing and run off.

“You are rotting? I can smell it.”

Apparently not.

“Yeah. You can eat me when I’m finished,” he grit out, the pain from the burning decay coming in flashes. When you kneel by his side, he wonders if you’re really going to do it. The Mandalorian muses about leaving you with instructions on how to get to his covert and return his beskar when he feels something warm and slimy drip onto his side. He focuses to find you biting your hand, using your serrated teeth to saw at the dense flesh of your palm. More of the fluid drips from your palm as you squeeze it over his wound like a lemon wedge, the opaque, rosy pink substance leaking into his gash.

Finally, you smear your hand over the gash, then rub your palm in the dirt to dry it. Something that would be terrible for him to do to a cut, but he supposes that for a vegetable, it’s probably fine. Suddenly, his side gets warmer.

No, it’s not just warm-- it fucking burns. 

He growls and clutches his side, curling in on himself in exquisite pain. If your intention was to end his misery, he’d have rather rot to death than this. 

In a few minutes, which are so excruciating they feel like hours, pain begins to subside into a dull, throbbing ache. The Mandalorian is able to pull himself together and sit up to inspect his side. The black has been replaced with an angry pink, severely irritated, but not lethal. The wound itself still weeps little beads of blood in some places when he moves, but for the most part, it’s been clotted with an off-white foam. It’s probably helping him, and he won’t die now, but it looks fucking disgusting.

When he’s able to come back to his senses, he sees you poking around the corpse of the mage. Picking up and dropping his lifeless wrists. You bring his hand to your mouth and--

“Hey!” he shouts, and you drop it, looking up at him with dilated pupils from beneath your mess of hair.

“Don’t eat that. You don’t know where it’s been.”

Taglist:

Pedro Characters: @auty-ren

Alraune: @lellowberry

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Stuck

Legolas x Reader

Lady luck is a bitch.

You’d never been a clumsy elf, nor has anyone ever considered you to be accident prone or anything of the sort, but damn were you unlucky sometimes.

For example, there was this one time when you had been out and about scouting back when you’d still lived in Mirkwood. Nothing could sneak up on you, and you had very fast reflexes, yet Lady Luck simply wasn’t smiling down on you. Instead of making a quick end for the filthy arachnid trespassing on your borders, you managed to get your foot caught in a root. Naturally you toppled over in a very ungraceful heap on the ground, bow laying a good meter away beneath some of the twisting roots of the great Mirkwood trees.

The spider had attacked you in your moment of weakness, and had it not been for the other members of your scouting team, you’d probably be injured if not dead. It was quite a large bugger after all.

Another time you were on your way to practice shooting with Legolas (a friend since the two of you were mere Elflings), when someone passing by with a platter of assorted juices and foods (probably a servant of some noble family) managed to run straight into you and drench you in those vibrant colored beverages. Suffice to say, you were quite interestingly colored when you did finally arrive on the training grounds.

There have been other examples of your extreme lack of luck, not all of them life endangering or silly, and both fortunately and unfortunately, this one was an instance of more embarrassment and slight helplessness than anything else.

You’d been trekking around the designated campsite for the night, searching for any unseen threats or to-be issues, when the ground suddenly gave out from beneath you. You only then realized that you somehow missed the drop of ground in front of you, and ended up rolling down the hillside and bumping your head harshly against a fallen log.

Everything around you momentarily spun and blurred, and you could only hope that you didn’t manage to get yourself a concussion in such a menial part of your day. This here is supposed to be one of the easiest and most safe of tasks, and here you were, finding a way to do something dumb once again.

Slowly as to not further your daze, you rise to your feet. You steady yourself with a hand against a nearby tree, simply taking a moment to breathe and will the haze away. Once you’re sure the disorientation is over with, you run a hand through your hair and check for any blood possibly staining your long elven locks. Lucky you see none, and then you begin your climb back up to the main level of land.

When you reach the top, you give yourself a mental pat on the back. Despite all the obstacles life likes to throw at you, you always find a way to prevail. Only this time, the unknown forces at work decide to give you an even harder time.

You had climbed up a tree to finish your surveillance and were making your way down. You gripped the last branch with your hands and swung down before a telling tug at your hair alerts you to a new, more annoying problem.

Instinctively one of your hands fly up to your hair which has somehow entangled into the low-hanging branch of the tree. Knowing that it isn’t too bad yet, you swing back a bit and try to coax it to release on it’s own, gently smoothing your hand along the branches that encapture your hair.

Only, this seems to make the problem worse, so you try twisting to the left a bit to see if that does the trick, but suddenly the simple tangles become full on knots clinging onto the branches like a tightened rope used for climbing. A noise of annoyance leaves you as you begin to tug at it, hoping that maybe force will do the trick, but the branch is much to thick. Very quickly your clinging arm begins to tire, and you reach up and grasp the branch again, your toes barely reaching the ground as you try to stabilize yourself in order to fix the issue.

None of your daggers are serrated in any way, and there is no way you’re going to cut your hair off, so you simply stand there on your toes and wait. Eventually the others will begin to worry for your sudden disappearance, and you can only pray that it is Aragorn who comes across you. Otherwise, this will most definitely be quite embarrassing because Gimli will certainly tease you and is much to short to help, and Legolas… you don’t even want to consider the mortification you will feel if he is the one to find you. Aragorn might tease a bit or maybe laugh, but you have no emotional bond with him (at least not like that) and he is more business than some of the others.

Of course, like stated before Lady Luck doesn’t quite like you, so when someone does eventually stumble across you it’s the exact Ellon that you’d been praying it not to be. You’d heard his voice first, calling out your name with tell tale worry ringing in his calls, and for a split second you considered not saying anything. Though, your conscience won out, for you simply cannot put him through such panic when you have means to stop it.

Eventually you call back, yelling his name and saying “Over here!” To alert him to your whereabouts. It works, and mere moments later you hear the sound of feet running towards your location.

“Y/N!” The relief in his voice is clear, and it only makes you feel more ashamed for considering silence.

When he finally comes into viewing distance his eyes take in your state quickly, scanning for any wounds or dishevelment, and then his eyes land on your poor hair.

The embarrassment is instant and obvious, with warm embarrassment climbing up your neck and spreading to your now warm face. Your fingers grip more tightly at the branch which threatens to spring upward and take your hair with it at any second, and you shift on your toes as it raises ever so slightly. You’re barely holding on at this point.

“H-Help!” You manage to squeak out despite your humiliation.

Legolas’ reaction is instant as he carefully makes his way over, grasping the branch and pulling it down more to relieve the pressure pulling on your head. His other hand flies to his side and he pulls out some sort of blade, and he immediately cuts the branch from it’s tree.

You aren’t quite sure how long you’d been standing there, but the relief is instant and you sink down to your knees with the branch still entangled in your, normally, graceful and beautiful elven locks.

A moment of complete silence goes by, it seems like the two of you are simply trying to process what just happened, before you release a puff of short laughter. “Well this is extremely embarrassing.”

You reach both your hands up and try to start working the debris from your hair, but your efforts provide no relief.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, kneeling down besides you. He grasps your hands in his delicately and pulls them down to rest in your lap.

“I’m fine, Legolas. I’ve wounded nothing other than my dignity… and maybe my head.”

Legolas nods once, squeezing your hands in his own before releasing them in favor of grasping your chin to tilt your head down, left, right, and back up. “I see no signs of blood or breaks of the skin, only a head full of bark and tangles.” Humor laces in his tone as he lets go of your chin, reaching up to begin working on the mess that is your hair.

You don’t say anything in reply. Instead you tilt your head downwards and slouch your shoulders to give him better access to the trouble area.

He hums his approval at the change in position but halts nonetheless. “This is going to be rather time consuming, and with your current posture you will tire and become sore quickly…” His observations are quite sharp, as per usual, because you can already feel your back protesting against the slouching.

A few moments of nothing pass by before he changes from sitting on his knees to having his legs out in front of him, spread apart, and he leans back against the tree that had previously held you captive. He then looks at you expectantly.

It takes a second for you to catch up with his intentions, and you, albeit hesitantly, slowly lower yourself in between his legs in a seated position when you do. You can feel your cheeks warm with color at the more intimate nature of everything. It’s enough to make your heart race.

Without delay he sets to work with skilled and deft fingers, unweaving and loosening tangles while pulling out twigs, leaves, and other things from your hair as he goes. Very soon you begin to feel the pressure and weight of unwelcome object disappearing from your hair, and the relief of it all is almost instant. Your left hand comes up to rest on his knee as you shift slightly to move a rock poking into your thigh, and once you’re comfortable again you leave your hand there and allow your eyes to close.

The feeling of his fingers running through your hair and massaging your scalp is an experience that can only be described as ethereal and absolutely wonderful. A soft sigh of appreciation unconsciously escapes you, and a chill runs down your spine when his finger tips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck. His fingers begin to run through your debris free hair to smooth out the tangles, and though they occasionally get caught in a particularly stubborn grove of knotted hair, you still never feel an ounce of pain. He’s more than careful of damaging and tugging on your hair.

You then feel him gathering some sections of your hair to braid up into your usual hair style and, once again, you hum your appreciation and gently squeeze his knee. When you do this his ministrations on your hair subside and it seems that everything around you goes completely still.

You can hear his quiet breathing behind you and feel the way his fingers stray from your hair to glide up and down along the smooth skin of your neck. Afraid to break whatever spell has come over him, you remain as still as a statue and let your eyes fall shut once more as you simply enjoy the feeling of his feather light touches.

Ever so slowly do his fingers begin to move down further until they skim along your sides, thank heavens you aren’t all that ticklish, and trace patterns along your waist down to your hips. There’s a rustle from behind you and you can suddenly feel his breath fanning out across your neck. It’s like time has slowed in that moment as you anticipate his next moves. His lips graze the skin of your neck once, as if testing the waters, before he presses a full on kiss there.

Your senses are practically on fire, his mouth leaving a trail of burning flesh in it’s wake as he peppers small kisses along the expanse of your nape. His hands grasp your sides and he pulls you back so you’re pressed flush against his chest.

It feels as if your whole body is tingling, your nerves alight and instincts screaming at you to turn and kiss the daylights out of him. But still you remain in place and relax against him, relishing in the feeling of the hard planes of his chest and sculpted arms hugged around your waist.

“Legolas…?” You finally whisper after a minute or two passes.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but you feel his arms around your midsection tighten slightly. “I hope I haven’t scared you away…” He replies just as quietly after tightening his hold on you. “I suppose I’ve let my self-control slip.”

Instead of replying, you instead opt to turn in his arms. His hold loosens and he lets his hands rest on your hips while you kneel between his legs and look up at him with a blush on your cheeks.

“I suppose you have.”

He doesn’t reply, but your next actions require no verbal confirmation.

Your right hand comes up to rest on his cheek, your thumb smoothing out across his soft skin while you search his eyes with your own. His lovely blue eyes that somehow always manage to capture your attention, deep enough to get lost in yet light enough to find solace with.

And then your eyes slide shut, as do his, and you lean forward until your lips finally meet. It’s a feeling like no other. A feeling that wraps you up and warms you from the inside out, filling you with love and excitement while also taming your negative emotions like doubt and uncertainty.

Your left hand, the one not caressing his face, moves up to entangle in his hair as you press him further against the tree, and you press your chest against his more firmly.

Eventually though, the need to breathe breaks you apart, and, not wanting to look at him with such an ashamed face, you press your forehead against his shoulder and let your hands drop to press against this chest. You can feel his heart hammering against his chest when you do, and it brings a small smile to your face.

“It seems I’ve been worried over nothing.” A new voice registers from somewhere behind you. Immediately you tense up, recognizing the voice of Aragorn, and the blush from before returns tenfold.

Legolas is no better, you presume, since you can feel his skin warming and back straightening up.

“Aragorn, my friend, I didn’t realize you were there.” He states rather awkwardly after clearing his throat.

“Clearly.” Comes his dry reply.

You say nothing, hoping that perhaps the ground will open up and swallow you hole, but of course that doesn’t happen.

“Do I offer any comfort in saying that this area is all clear?” You ask quietly, not removing your forehead from Legolas’ shoulder.

Aragorn laughs, and you relax at the sound right away.

“If that’s so, then I’ll leave you be. Dinner will be soon, though, and the hobbits don’t much like waiting.”

Legolas nods above you, and with that you hear the distinct crunching of leaves signifying Aragorn’s swift exit.

“Well that was positively mortifying.” You say once you’re sure he’s out of earshot, lifting your head to look up at the Ellon whom you’re still pressed up against.

“More so than being attacked by a tree?” He inquires with a humored quirk in his brow.

You nod your head once. “I presume no one will be looking for us anymore.” You state offhandedly, reaching up to play with his hair bashfully as you look off to the side.

“No, I suppose they will not.”

Your gaze flickers back to his face which now adorns a fond smile.

“Then…” You trail off, tugging gently at the ends of his hair.

His hands press against your cheeks hurriedly as he pulls you forward and presses his lips against yours once more

[fancymuffinparty]

Kill Your Darlings

Rating: T-M; for graphic violent content

Pairing: Platonic Levi and Mikasa

Summary:  X-Men/Mutant AU. Mutants Levi and Mikasa cross paths, both seeking to escape dark forces.  (wolverine!Levi, x-23!Mikasa)

Word Count: 1682

A/N:  (Also posted on Archive of Our Own!) Originally intended for this to be a drabble of less than 500 words but I just had to expand on it a little more! Got carried away with the violence, but *shrugs*, ain’t like we’re not used to this kind of stuff. If you’ve seen Logan, you won’t be shocked like at all lol. I’ve seen Logan too many times already and it inspired me to write this piece featuring my faves; Humanity’s Strongest Pair. Hope you enjoy this random-as-hell crossover/x-men fusion one-shot!

“She’s like you… very much like you…”

The first time he sees her, she has just ripped a man’s head off, dual claws protruding from her fists.

He’s amazed that so much rage is embodied deep within such a small girl, her stature appearing deceptively fragile yet far more powerful than what meets the eye.

Only a few feet away, Levi watches in awe as he’s held back, subdued by metal restraints. The girl hastily pries a few bullets from her torso. A few have strayed onto her forearm, which she sucks out of her regenerative skin, blood now smearing around the corners of her mouth.

She’s… healing…

Like he can.

Suddenly, another adversary charges straight for her, nearly tackling her to the dirt-laden ground. She narrowly escapes his attack by dashing out of his reach and retaliates by thrusting her arms forward, the blades at her knuckles piercing into the man’s chest.

Levi propels himself back into the fight. In fitful rage, he releases his own claws and liberates himself from the restraints. There’s three claws on each hand in contrast to the girl’s twin blades. He swings both fists diagonally at the opposing men on each side, slicing their arms clean off. Blood flies in all directions, spurting from the lacerations, splattering onto his clothes and on the ground.

An enemy behind him attempts to subjugate his erratic evasion with electrifying chains, only to be eviscerated seconds later when they fail to inflict any damage on the raging mutant. Levi instantly heals from its shocking mechanism and lands a few serrated blows into the enemy’s midsection, guts spilling out.

Finished taking down his captors, Levi heeds the high-pitched shrieking emerging from the young girl. The desperate cry for help bellows from deep inside her lungs as she’s abruptly caught in a choke-hold, struggling against two men.

She resorts to ejecting the blades in her feet to counter the attack. She bluntly kicks forward, stabbing the man in his abdomen. His grip on her loosens as he falls to his knees, clutching at the wound in agony.

The young girl sets her sights to the second man, executing an aerial kick aimed directly for the jugular. Deep hues of crimson paint the ground when the claw in her foot connects with its target. His attempted defense is no match for her electric speed and agility, as quickly evidenced by the severed artery of his neck.

They’re still in this fight. Levi leaves his blades drawn, knowing full-well it’s never this easy.

Just as he’s predicted, more men come to encircle them.

Levi finds himself back to back with the young mutant, small incoherent growls succeeding the heaves of her chest.

Surrounded, they brace themselves for what’s to come.

He hadn’t meant to form this rather unconventional alliance with her, but Levi knows that if he wants to make it out alive, he’ll need all the help he can get. He’s been in similar situations plenty of times before, where he’d been forced to rely on his mutant powers and abilities to defend himself, but this time he knows the roots of it are much darker.

He knows why these men are after them. These men were sent by a sinister corporation; operating as a genetic research project to create weapons through the experimentation of mutant DNA. They essentially want to recall their property, for purposes that are all but for the good of mankind.

He’s been nicknamed the “Kuzuri,” but his name is Levi.

“X-23” is what they call her, but her name is Mikasa.

The merciless sun overhead beats down on them, its blinding array and blistering heat burning into exposed skin. One of the men fidgets, startling a foolhardy Mikasa on high alert. She swiftly reacts by leaping forward, pouncing on the man in a barbaric act of hatred-fueled aggression; the way a predator moves on its prey. She catapults her small frame ahead to the next man, hacking away in rapid succession until all that’s left are entrails and the shredded remains of his corpse.

Levi advances in strategic motions, reading his opponent’s moves like an open book. Striking one man in the eye with his left claws, and disemboweling another man with the claws sheathed in his right hand, he rotates his body around to confront the remaining foes. He keeps at it, utilizing his heightened reflexes and combat skills to put an end to this, not wanting to drag this out any longer than it needs to be.

Piling body upon body, Levi and Mikasa recommence their teamwork, taking on hostiles simultaneously. As Levi becomes occupied with one particularly malicious assailant, Mikasa hurls herself from Levi’s back, using it as a means to launch herself directly onto an additional enemy sporting a mask and protective gear unique to the guards working at the facility she was raised in.

One man abruptly unloads a machine gun amid all the chaos, shooting wildly at the raven-haired duo. Horrified to discover the bullets are useless on the pair of now healing mutants, he stumbles back and hysterically shouts expletives in despair.

He continues to shoot anyway, the shrieks gutting out from Mikasa and the grunts of pain from Levi sending the crazed shooter into a world of terror.

After enduring an excruciating barrage of bullets, Levi eventually reaches the man, seizing him by the midsection with his blades. He relishes in the dying man’s groans before putting him out of his misery, decapitating the trigger-happy bastard with a heavy-fisted hook.

There’s still a few hostiles left over, and Levi is hell-bent on eliminating them all. He pursues the matter fiercely, initiating hand to hand combat with one particularly skilled assailant. Mikasa jolts forward, sent into berserk rage after taking damage from a flying knife.

She somersaults into the air, ultimately landing atop her opponent’s shoulders, coiling her legs around them roughly. After drilling both claws into his skull, she back-flips off his shoulders, watching as he falls into a pool of his own blood.

The number of foes has drastically reduced and Levi finally prepares to confront the last man standing, with Mikasa positioning herself at his side.

Staring menacingly at the ultimate rival, Levi doesn’t bother wiping the blood off his blades before tearing away, like scissors cutting into paper. Mikasa only stands by and watches, unfazed by all the gore and bloodshed that’s surely obliterated her innocence.

The man forges a defensive maneuver, seeking to evade Levi’s wrath and ward off his attacks through a series of hastily implemented punches and kicks. Levi rapidly executes an unexpected uppercut, ramming his claws up the man’s jaw, finishing him off with a merciless slash to his vulnerable cranium. Blood spurts sporadically like ribbons and flows out of the wound like an engorged fountain.

It’s over.

All is quiet… all is still for what feels like an eternity.

Severed limbs and pools of blood are all that remain, the silence in the air plagued with nothing more than death and freshly torn flesh. The gravity of the situation has yet to behoove either of them, both still trying to catch their breath, relieved that it’s all over. Levi knows that the facility will send more men after them. They won’t give up until the elusive pair of mutants have been captured; until their property has been retrieved.

But he refuses to worry about that… for now.

In the meantime, there are far more pressing matters he must attend to.

This… kid being one of them.

He’s unsure what to make of her initially. From outward appearances, if one were to dismiss the blood stains all over her clothes, she seems to be an ordinary girl. An unshakable feeling overwhelms him when he comes to realize he knows exactly what she is. Who she is. She’s an exact replica of him, except of the female sort.

What are they supposed to do now? Where can they go?

One could say it was fate that brought them together, as though destiny had intervened to bring forth the promise of an attainable freedom from the hellish nightmare they’ve endured since their conception.

They are the last of the Ackermans, rare mutants, remnants of a time when heroes with special abilities walked the earth. The last of a dying breed.

Levi prides himself in living by one basic principle; to only look out for himself. He could just leave her, walk away, and pretend they never met. The same happened to him when he was her age. His uncle, the only guardian he’s ever had his whole life, left him after teaching him how to utilize his powers and fend for himself.

Being a lone wolf and drifting from place to place is all he knows, something he’s grown accustomed to.

But in spite of himself, he stops and pauses.

He curses into the thick air, telling himself he should just go, that she’s not his problem, that he doesn’t give a fuck what happens to her.

Except, the look on her face mirrors that of the one he imagines was etched on his own all those years ago when he was abandoned.

Like a neglected cub, she’s looking for guidance and shelter; from her own kind.

He lets out a sharp breath, nodding at her.

“Come on then.”

The command prompts her to trail behind him, her claws retracting back into her swollen, bruised fists.

She follows him without question.

Levi is aware they’ll be on the run for a while. They’ll constantly be looking over their shoulder, sleeping with one eye open, fighting when backed into a corner.

But at least now he has… purpose.

Gone are his miserable days of wandering around aimlessly, as if waiting to die and finally meet an unceremonious end. He used to believe immortality was a curse, that death was a merciful escape from this cruel world.

Levi has a reason to fight on. If not for himself, then for her. To ensure the survival of his newfound next of kin.

The wolf must protect his cub.