#v//the faith and the fighter (legato bluesummers)

[fatedstrands]

The Hidden Rogues ||@sayonaradumbass||

'Remember. Discretion is super important. My insider will know the moment you say the word.'

That was Vash's last words to Livio before sending him right back to the Eye of Michael. He'd given him directions once he'd entered July, as if he'd been there himself, guided him through everything with written notes in case either forgot.

Down slick streets he was led to a small temple. The architecture was something of a gothic Victorian inspired place of worship, with hints of ancient Greek pieces here and there.

Stepping into the main hall the ceilings stretched into the air, the pews lining the heart, the sides of the temple spattered with pieces of worship for many religions. A prayer mat, a few altars of different pantheons and a confessional towards the back.

'To the confessionals, go behind and turn left. there's a long red curtain. C'mon, don't give me that look! Just trust me bud!'

As the man moved through the temple, the giant stained glass window was quite a sight to see. An angel with a golden halo swaddled in vibrant red fabric perched over a silver cross at his feet with delicate flower framing his form as feathers curled around his half curled form looking asleep.

Behind the red curtain there was the great wooden door Vash had promised. The thick metal handle clicked as it was twisted, door creaking as it opened to reveal the much smaller hidden space. Green smothered within, plants crawling along moss culminating in a wide altar, the back most shelf adorned in hundreds of candles, to the left a small stone fountain and cupboards, the right a plush chase large enough to hold two people laying side by side comfortably.

In the center was a podium of stone, the quiet murmurings of the figure halting. Instantly, the room filled with a familiar static energy that snapped into Livio's frame, halting him from getting too far in without causing any form of pain. The white clad figure slowly stood from his kneeling position, blue locks whispering as he turned to face what had intruded.

"What are you doing here, Double Fang." Gold flashed as they locked on the brutish man, the right hand of the dark brother stood, hair longer than anyone had ever seen it, the man having been hardly seen since Nicholas had died. There was something different about the man that stood there, though it was hard to place.

'No matter who you see, remember the phrase. I promise you it'll be the right person there. Just trust me, Livio.'

[fatedsinners]

[NSFW] You know I gotta hear the reverse from Leggy to Caz >:3c ( @nomans-land-rp )

How interested they are in having sex with them:

Settled in the city he feels the angels reach to him, chuckling. The Sisters had been watching then, their sweet moment beneath the stars. Of course they did, the six always eager to see and hear Legato's life.

The question sparks a hum from his throat, keeping to himself incase another passed him by, focused on responding to the angels directly.

A relationship first of course. We're both broken from our pasts, I cannot imagine it being priority on our list. Though he does pause, studying the thought.

If I were to ever willingly be with another with the intent of love and not a cleansing, it'd be her.

How much they would pay (or have to be paid) to have sex with them: Eyes rolled at the question, huffing.

"Stop talking to Wolfwood and Midvalley. They are horrible influences on you all." The words leave his lips before he reminds himself to reach for their gates.

None either way. It's a mutual thing of love and kindness, of adoration and passion, not something monetary.

If they would rather bottom or top them: This was... A hard question, knowing they both were likely to have issues being the bottom. He chews his lip, shifting against the railing. Could he be that vulnerable?

Assuming she doesn't run for the hills at the sight of my... Pelvic region. I'd be willing to give her the control. After her past, I couldn't ask her to give up control. Though, his youth was an endless sea of sexual abuse, he couldn't take her power from her.

She would decide who did. Only then would I feel comfortable taking control.

How good they think they would be: He didn't have much to go on with this one, he could see her agility, speed, flexibility and the currents she could control.

I can imagine good. She has had experience, if with a mongrel, so she wouldn't be unsure of what to do and where. But I do imagine nervous, shy almost. It'd be nice, peaceful with no need to rush.

If they’d prefer kitchen counter, wall, or shower sex with them: What an odd range of choices. He throws away the idea of the kitchen, food was sacred to him. Though a wall opens up many options for them...

Shower. I usually take baths so I suppose that would count. To guide her against me as he rock in the cleansing waters, coaxing us to a rapture.

If they’d fuck, have sex, or make love: This... Was another thing to take his time on. He could imagine having sex, a more primal need to be close, hate fucking in the past perhaps before she gave him a chance to be heard.

Making love. We've had enough fucking and sex in our lives to last the rest of eternity. She deserves someone to love her, in every way possible.

If they were going to make it a threesome, the third person they’d pick: He nearly choked on air, coughing a few times before turning on the sister, seeing all six flocking to the glass, pressed against it with big eyes watching him, hoping for answers even if he found it weird for them to ask.

Who would he consider? It truly was an odd question but he thought about it all the same, if only to humor and enrich their minds.

A flash of fangs glint his gaze, catching the wolf prowling the city as he lit a cigarette on the catwalks. He smiles, a softness to his features.

Nicholas. Kind, loving, sweet and confident, he knows of my past and would treat her right. A passionate man all about acts of service and loving his partners over demanding it himself. It'd be so fun to tag team him with her.

If they think there’s ever a possibility that it would happen:

Once more, he's summoned to the present, turning to the sisters with a sad, torn smile.

I cannot imagine it being something to happen freely, if at all. But i am okay with that. Caz's love, in any capacity they are willing to give, is more than I could ever ask for. I don't need sex to feel loved. Just the smile is enough to tell me I'm on her mind and in her heart.

[fatedstrands]

Amara was relieved when the subject was dropped, guiding the other through the edge of the orchard and into a non descript building. Stepping into a sliding door, he pulled the other into the space before they shut and begun to descend.

"Now, I've warned them to be quiet for you, to contain themselves and will open my Gate for them to go rampant in so their puppy-like energy isn't bombarding you." He speaks casually as the doors open, revealing the lush underground facility, padding in past the grass clinging to metal and into the expansive room.

Inside is a gargantuan tank, six Plants unfurled and swimming around perk up at the approach, swarming the glass with audible little chitters, pawing the barrier before two have to move away, circling once in the enriched environment only to return.

The space they were in was smothered with toys and tools, teeming with life that flowed and moved in the liquid with them. He'd worked hard with them and any data he'd found to give them the best chance at recovery. The two Plants they'd taken on when on the brink of their Final Run still showed signs, with black marring their pale bodies, but they seemed happy, curling around and glowing with lines along their form pulsing a bright blue.

Amara laughs as they near, taking a few steps aside to check a detailed computer screen, amused at the chittering of the beings.

"Remember, Artemis, you need to be gentle." he looks to one of the Plants who seems to huff, turning away pointily to sweep through the water, returning to peer over a sister's shoulder. "Ladies. This is Legato. He's the one I told you of." he looks over to the other, the six Plants cresting around his form by the glass, looking with too large eyes and hands pressing to glass, pleading for him to approach.

"I can make a spool to wear, I just need materials for it. I used to have one but it was... broken." At the same time all the rest of him was broken or perhaps afterward when he was dropped into the desert to die. "If nothing else, I'll be able to move myself better. It won't be comfortable but I could be mobile."

And doing more damage to his body, more then likely. Only for emergencies when he very much needed to move quickly.

"Ah, of course, how could we keep them waiting?" He grasps Amara's hand and allows himself to be carefully leveraged upright again while he gets his cane situated for support. Amara's bullrushing into a new subject has him distracted enough that he drops his expectation of hearing anything of his mirror's powers in favor of going to see the Plants.

At the very least the promise of visiting with them has him distracted to Amara's advantage.

[fatedstrands]

The Feral Beast and his Handler ||@nomans-land-rp||

Their Divine had summoned the blue haired male from his preparations for the mission he'd been briefed on. He'd be paired with one of the Gun-Ho Guns for this arduous task. If he had the freedom to choose whom he'd be shackled to for the coming weeks it'd likely be a delight to roam with Zazie once more, perhaps even Double Fang would be an amusement to him with their soft murmurings of prayer and religion between peaceful silences. As his form entered the room, golden rings landed upon the ungodly cross, the warmed skin never paled, eyes never showed the tint of irritation at the man being slow to lease so he could get his orders. Though, he had worked to ensure there was no change in his visage, especially when the God beckoned him forth, a clear sign both were there as intended. Of course he'd be stuck with the mongrel of the group. If His Eminence desired it to be so, he will ensure both parties return alive unless he is informed otherwise. Who was he to question the word of a God? He only prayed that The Light gave him a broader pool of patience to work with as he slipped forward to stand beside the shaggy haired mess of a man. "Ah, you've arrived. Good." The Plant looked between the two, pleased to see the two within the same space, something near mischievous in his eyes as he noted their reactions to one another's presence. "I trust you've, at least, read the briefing Legato." his words are curt when he addresses the Cultist, watching as shoulders broadened and his attention focus on the God, ever ready to prove his worth or die in his attempts. "Of course, Your Eminence. The city has driven their two Plants to dangerous levels. We're there to collect them and bring them here where they can heal. Any in our way is to be eradicated without mercy." he recites the words without pause, hands clasped behind his lower back. "Details of the cities on the way to check in on as well as the state of the city in question was laid out in perfect detail." "Yes, and we have you to thank for that." the praise of the God makes the Apostle straighten a touch, almost preening under it like a flower to sunlight. "See to it you're effective." his words are thrown more towards the man with the cross, eyes narrowed to them both before he waves them off, turning to focus his attentions once more upon the Piano he'd been resting at. The taller dreaded this mission. He didn't fear, no, but the idea of being cramped in a relatively small space with the insufferable smear of humanity that was Nicholas D. Wolfwood was an unsightly curse. The very idea of being anywhere near him made his lip want to curl and his fingers dig nails into palms until the blissful release of crimson calmed his nerves. "Come. Be sure to prepare for a week long journey." fluid was the motion of the male twisting on his heels, leading the way from the room, attentive to the man and ready for his likely argumentative state. His briefing had one line he now understood with a pained clarity; Don't kill your teammate.

[fatedsinners]

[NSFW] Hell, let's throw one in for Leggy and Wolfwood too! ( @nomans-land-rp )

How interested they are in having sex with them:

The moment the angels slip into his mind he welcomes it. Until he makes out their intended words and he nearly flips the car as he chokes on his drink.

What on earth are you asking me?! Were the angels high or something? He wondered why he had to be the one cursed with perverts everywhere, now divinity was tainted too!

But he finds himself thinking anyways. Eyes flicking to the sleeping wolf and hums faintly to himself.

I suppose the idea has crossed my mind from time to time. If he wasn't so infuriating half the time, I might have already done so with him. Hoping for such a thing was like hoping the world was suddenly rot free.

How much they would pay (or have to be paid) to have sex with them: He snickers to himself at the insinuation.

I wouldn't pay the mongrel a single cent. He doesn't deserve it. Though I think a meager ten thousand double dollars would be enough to get me to breed him if it meant saving his life.

Now that was an amusing idea, Nicholas so desperate and needy, begging him to help.

If they would rather bottom or top them: NO ONE tops me. He'd be a good little bitch for me or he'll be snapped in half and left unable to reach a vial. Anger boiled in his blood that the angels even had to ask such a stupid thing.

And yet, his mind drifts, blurring the world around him as he pretends to read, imagining himself beneath the wolf, split open from the other, spine arching as he's slowly taken apart with roughened but frighteningly gentle hands-

He shifts, clearing his throat as he adjusts his sitting position and 'returns to reading'.

How good they think they would be: Legato? He'd be divine. Though his past was horrible for him to suffer through, he knows he could be the perfect lover to anyone he chose, knowing just how to pry apart the human mind and give them all the perfect attentions to their heated bodies.

Wolfwood however, was a novice, likely still a virgin. Gangly limbs, clumsy at times, unco-ordinated at others. Acted like a whore yet grew flustered tragically easy.

He'd be fun to pull apart and rebuild. To show him what love and life really felt like. Tragic and inexperienced, but I enjoy them like that, falling apart with my expertise. Having that kind of power, even if he bottomed, would be like a drug to him.

If they’d prefer kitchen counter, wall, or shower sex with them: Images flickered before his eyes, tossing the kitchen aside with distain and the shower causing him to think of the fact he only took baths.

But the wall.... The thought of pushing the other's buttons so far, prodding him just so that he shoves them into an alley and takes him there in that moment, snarling at his throat how much he hates the psychic and wants to kill him whilst thrusting in where anyone could happen upon them-

Wall. More options for fun. He finds he needs to shift once more in his seat, breaths a little rougher now. Maybe he'd have to rethink that earlier response of topping.

If they’d fuck, have sex, or make love: Fuck.

A simple response, hate fuck more likely to happen. But again, the probing of the angels has his mind slipping away. Imagining Wolfwood beneath him, head thrown back, throat bared and covered in bite marks, in his marks. Lips parted around his name, that near sweet nickname of his hair colour, the soft frantic sounds he'd mewl and whine and whimper out as Legato takes his time.

Making love would be interesting, but I cannot imagine him having patience.

Good cover.

If they were going to make it a threesome, the third person they’d pick: Good god who would he hate even less than the mutt beside him. His mind drifted to Lord Knives, the very idea making him flinch away from nothing, frowning at his book. Knives would kill them both in a heart beat. They are filthy humans after all.

But who he'd hate more would be Vash. That sweet innocent smile, the way he saw good in everyone, the way he laughed or cried, the way he'd risk his life to save anyone, no matter how horrible they were.

He saw everyone deserved a chance. Maybe even Legato himself.

Vash is the closest I can even dream of getting to Lord Knives and his love. A good enough answer.

Even if the idea of those smooth metal fingers trailing his scars, whispering that he was worthy, promising he deserved the life he was given, that he was good deep down, that he deserved to be loved and cherished by even the divine-

He needed a drink, hand reaching back to search his bag for the small flask he'd brought, if only for emergencies.

This counted as one.

If they think there’s ever a possibility that it would happen:

"Tch. As if." The words slip from his lips, breaking the silence of the car before he took a swig from the flask, closing it up and tucking it into the door caddy, relaxing as he looked to his newly flipped page.

I don't think any one could ever find something worthy of redemption in me, let alone loving or wanting to bed with. I'm a monster, a horrid animal that bends to the whims of my Master- until he doesn't -there is nothing there to cherish. If he considered it, he'd be wise to give up the idea before it settles.

I'm not worth the effort it takes to kill me, let alone love me.

[fatedstrands]

\\@cndemand liked for Legato\\

He'd gotten intel on the escaped experiment and thus excused himself to follow the news. Entering the city he'd moved to check on his beloved Strand. Their life was saved by the experiment after a wild bullet had collapsed a lung. The replacement was desperately needed, else the sweet life would have been taken before her time. The apostle stayed with her, tending to her needs as she informed him more of the doctor that saved her life. It was when her eyes turned to something pleading, her words begging for leniency on the man for his good deeds that the mentor eased. He found himself soothing her, making promises he was unsure he could keep. Night was when he'd moved, hunting down the lost asset. Slowly, he'd pushed the other, railing and taunting until the stray was found in a dead end, the only exit blocked by the occultist. "Doctor Coulton." the tone is calm, respectful as gold gleamed in the light of the single moon, watching the other in his trapped corner. "It has been quite some time, has it not?" he opted for soothing, as best as the devoted had learned to be with his Strands.

[fatedsinners]

He's not sure how to feel about all those answers.

"Nick? Really? that's who you think I'd pick?"

Truth be told he has considered him, even if he is mildly annoying.

"Though It'd be making love because you're worthy of more than I could ever hope to give." With that he's hiding in his altar room he's had enough socializing today apparently.

[fatedstrands]

I missed the jackpot by just a number This way of life makes me nauseous The hunger is getting worse You say that the rain will stop eventually Fine hand over your umbrella

I want that I want this I want everything But it's all in vain

All I want is to be happy All I want is an easy life Shred everything to tiny pieces All of it just eradicate it

Even that which beats inside your heart

I'm filling up with lucky Let's go till we rest in peace Who would want to live in a heaven where only the good boys go?

I love you so Hurt me Deprive me Laugh at me My honey

Hard work, future, a beautiful star Hard work, future, a beautiful star Hard work, future, a beautiful star

Think I've forgotten something?

Happy, Lucky How you doing baby?

Why be a good boy? When I can destroy!

Happy, Lucky How you doing baby? So sweet

Hard work, future, a beautiful star Hard work, future, a beautiful star Hard work, future, a beautiful star

Oh God it feels so good

[fatedsinners]

🔥🔥

Raise The Heat \\ Accepting {8/8}

The burn pooled in his gut, sparking a vicious need as hands yanked leather and cloth, tugging his waistband down. The bite of the chill wrenched a groan from his throat once the fabric was kicked away from his heels. He whimpered when a hand wrapping almost chastely around the heat between his legs, skin flushing a deep red.

The simple touch eased the pain for but a second, even as it made his knees shake, threatening to crumple beneath him. He folded onto the altar the moment his hand stroked along his shaft, the other bending at the elbow to dig into his hair, tugging to try and contain himself.

The pleasure scorched through him as fingers dipped beneath his cock into his vagina, snatching the natural slick to guide his hand smoothly through the rapturous bliss. He moaned, low and deep into the firm stone, hips rocking into the motions as he keened to himself. The build was sudden, a sharp spike like the lightning of Zeus down his spine only to burst at his hips.

He shouted, a sudden sound as he spilled over the side of the stone, body ragged. Slowly, he came to himself from the sharp high only to whimper as the heat never once released him.

One round was rarely enough for him. He could do this, right?

[fatedstrands]

"They will not burn but get born." Legato speaks both to the human and the Plant, unable to split himself entirely he falls into a state between them both. "Please don't strain yourself. Allow me to open the connection."

He smiles against the glass, opening his Gate entirely for her, welcoming her with ease of a man who'd long since learnt how to bond and connect. Threads inside his brain hum with the power, rippling as they sang in tune with her, the voices of the lost Independents tinting his own mind's notes.

"You're doing so much to protect them... But where do you stand? How can we help you?" The notes of the brothers slip into his own vocals now, three levels ringing out. "We will do anything we can."

As Legato reached out, She reached back. An old reflex from when she'd been connected with her sister's properly, now leeching out to the human's(?) mind. The touch would not be like other Plants. It was cold. Twisted. Writhing like maggots in a corpse's shell, yet still with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.

The static only grew as she watched him.

'Th_y .... 'll n_T bU_n... _et ... bo_n...'

"...." Outside their mental space, this display was being watched carefully. "...Well?"

[fatedstrands]

Legato, what is a regret you wish you could undo?

The question from the being catches him off guard, having welcomed his Strands in for the evening sermon in the city they'd paused in, seeing each out with a warmth reserved only for them. The last to leave lingered, clearly asking from a place of pain themselves. At least, that is how the witch had seen it.

He motions for them to join him at a pew of the church, slowly settling on the smooth polished wood. The words still mulled about in his mind, mingling with memories as he touched his arm, where a small human skull rest, cut to fit perfectly on his limb.

"Well..."

Where did he even begin? What of his many failures would he undo? What would he give anything to fix, even if it cost him everything to do it?

He thought of the child, as illness and injury took their life, their pleas to travel, their begging, the soft voice pleading;

You promised I'd see the world when I was older. Please, never let me cease walking.

It was the hardest final plea he'd taken on, when they'd begged to go with him, how he'd carefully cleaned their skull, carved the front plate off and strengthened it with the aid of the God. How that youth still rests with him every day on his arm, a reminder of mortality and life after death.

Lips parted, as if to speak of this memory only for teeth to sink into his flesh as another struck him with a violent ferocity he doubled over. The pain so cruel, so foul like a beast tearing his stomach open to leave his insides bare to the world to rot away.

It was his own failure, as it always was. He'd been caught in the crossfire of pantheons warring, of Gods versus a Goddess with a violent hatred of all things homo sapien.

He'd thrown the wolf from the target of fire, eyes flashing up as pure energy roared like a dragon to his body. He couldn't move fast enough, the Punisher and it's handler having taken all his momentum, he was stuck, drained from his own fight. His threads writhing in his brain matter as blood slipped from his ears, his nose and stained even his teeth as he bared them.

A moment felt like an eternity, the blackened purple energy charging through the air, he found himself welcoming it. His life was over, but his last act was saving a dear friend, giving a chance to those around to make their move. Lips had curved, a serene smile as heat bloomed ever closer, eyes slipping shut with a soft prayer;

Let my death be the linchpin in this fight.

But Fate was a cruel Mistress to the living.

Arms found his form, ready for the end of life, cradling him close as feathers wrapped around his kneeling shape, cocooning him and protecting him from the sudden burst of plasma from beyond. Eyes snapped open, head jolting up to lock teal with gold, confusion turning to horror as he watched blond rapidly bleed black.

Thank you. For showing me that no matter what happens... Humanity has hope.

Words stained his soul, marred his flesh with vibrant cursive and warm geraniums across his heart, gouging his pulse as the memory consumed him now, the world falling away from his awareness.

He remembered the way he'd cried out, begging the other to stop, that he wasn't worth the Angel's life. The vivid memory brushed his cheek, wiping the bloodied tears that had formed, falling as he watched the Divine give everything for him.

Never change, Legato.

Angel burned away and when the energy finally ceased, the wretched scream of the horrid Goddess was nothing on the agonizing silence that soft smile left as his body turned to ash right around the human. It held nothing on the emptiness in his mind that formed as the other's consciousness faded.

It was nothing on the agony in his very soul.

Nor the burn of something powerful threading through his veins, blue lights burning over his plant scars he'd carved into flesh, only to turn a vibrant purple, the shapes morphing into something different, something new.

It held nothing to the rage as he stood, despite the blood, despite the agony of overexertion, despite it all, he stood against the Goddess, with kin alike strewn around in weakened but equally enraged states, converging with a violence unseen.

He came to the present once more, lights burning under his clothes, hidden barely by their weave, hands shaking as tears plipped against the ground whilst his gaze had been cast down between his ankles.

"I lost a... Dear friend because of my own weakness... If I could undo one thing... It'd be letting Him stand in the way of my own demise."

Without you... Where will we go? Where will we turn?

His head snaps up as he feels the faintest brush along his forehead, like a tender kiss of the angel.

To the stars and forward, Legato. Always forward.

That same serene smile found his lips, eyes falling shut in the moment as he let the Strand leave on their own terms.

"I suppose I never truly lost Him... For He will always light our way."

Eyes looked upon the statue, the angel depicted before him as he does in every Strand operated Temple. Memorialized in his sacrifice for the hope of Humanity and Plant alike;

Vash the Stampede.

[fatedsinners]

Dearly Devoted ||@wolfsmuses||

Continued from Here

The carnal sounds of wanton need from the Divine had locked his feet on the ground, the writhing energy of the other's Gate rattling the threads of angelic metal in his brain until his very sense of self ebbed on the edges. Coupled with the cloying scent of the Plants seductive nectar had the preacher ready to submit his body to the divine to toy with.

Gold had long since flickered to the other's form, the simple ripple of his name from the lips of the Divine pulling every ounce of focus solely on the suffering form. He shifted in the doorway, slipping entirely into the room before quietly guiding the lock into place.

He'd seen small studies, theories in the remnants he's dredged from the lost ships, whispers of such an event taking place. He knew not the trigger, nor the agony the other must have been in for however long this has been plaguing His Holy form. When eyes flashed upon his frame he suddenly understood;

He was to be a sacrifice for the other's desperate moment.

The question had his white jacket slipping from his frame as the devoted took careful, slow steps towards the now beast of the Light. He let the fabric fall carelessly behind him, kneeling just shy of the other's reach, lips curling sweetly just as the day they had met, arms held out, palms open.

"My life is eternally yours, my body but a tool for you to use as you see fit. For as long as I breathe, Master Knives. I am yours."

[fatedsinners]

🔥🔥 Keep going Legato

Raise The Heat \\ Accepting {6/8}

The burn which had bloomed slowly like a flower in the sun now ignited against his skin. He snapped the broadcast off, teeth gritting as a hand slipped to the front of his pants, palming the hard line of his cock only to hiss at the burn.

Limbs were forced to stand, abandoning tome and jacket in the booth he slips from the padded door into the chilled altar room. Despite the unforgiving cold of the marbled room his skin burns with the heat of a thousand fires. The threat of it growing worse fries his sentience as legs carry him instinctively to the altar.

Palms lay flat upon the surface, spine curving as he hunches down, breaths ragged with a hunger he hadn't felt before.

"By the mercy of Lazarus, what is this ailment." he finds his words sharpened with ragged breaths as he grips the side of the altar, soon ripping his vest off to free more skin to the chill.

[fatedstrands]

Two weeks had passed, with the apostle gone from view, claimed to be 'away on business'. No one knew where he went after his missions, only that he often was missing for a blissful time. Which left Wolfwood without the blue haired man to give him his mission brief. Instead receiving them from Conrad. It was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission, nothing dangerous, just inspect the Plants of the city and report back. But of course, Lady Fate has a different plan. It had started with the cries of pleading women, of children begging for their mothers only to delve into a gunfight. A gang of traffickers had slid into town with their only goal being the school near the edge. Thirty men made light work of the wolf, if only for manpower and using the children as shields once they noted the hesitance. Grubby hands grabbed a pale skinned child who pried back, trying to break free as large tears stained the muddied face. "F-father Summers... Please..." his voice was small, broken as he's pulled close to the pig faced leader's sick grin, slurred words purring about the price the kid would fetch them. Others are grabbed as the soldier lay wounded beneath the weight of his Cross, under the weight of his weakness. The child is lifted, ready to be thrown into the van as the first victim- And that's when a familiar cacophony of shattering marrow rings out in the air. Soon followed by the harrowing cry of the leader now crumpling to the ground. From beyond his body, nothing showed, but any whom had felt that agony knew the misshapen formation of hand and knee. Steps near the wolf, the child's eyes lighting up as he scrambles away from the man. "You came!" he staggered, sunkissed hands darting from the corner of the broken's vision, snatching the youth behind their frame. There's silence, a fear struck into the eyes of the attackers before it drove them to a frenzied madness. Guns raised, ready to open fire only for bones to snap and bullets finding home in kin over innocents. Screams of horror and agony rose and suddenly stopped with a finality that were not of their own doing. Familiar heels tapped into view, stalking towards the damned on the ground, several writhing mutely in agony. "Marline. Take the children into the building. I wish them not to see this." the voice was powerful, a dark hatred hidden beneath the calm commanding tone followed swiftly by a woman calling for the children to rush to her, crowded away. The moment they were gone, the devout stalked closer still, bodies deforming the closer he got, one form scrambling from frightened will to the front of the vehicle until a hand snatches a throat, slamming him into the side furthest from the school. Something deep and cold is hissed only to the man in his grasp, a violence that resonated in the very air like a blackened aura of death. Soon, the vehicle peeled free, leaving the mangled corpses behind. A simple signal from a hand had figures rushing in, carding the ruined away. Finally, the boots turned to the saint, moving ever closer to the dimming vision before the form knelt. Hands guided the wolf to his back, the touch frighteningly tender in his dying state as the now revealed gold and bronze eyes looked on with a softness unseen. "Now is not your time." a crack resonated like a haunting repetition of weeks gone by, hands guiding the wounded pup to part his lips. "It will do no good for the young to see you like this." those words, murmured with such peace, the sweet sustenance of a glass vial found home in the dying frame. "Come back to us, little Wolf." it's a gentle plea rather than a command, a thumb idly brushing over the blood stained jaw as the man cradled the broken as he healed. "Breathe for me, Nicholas."

It had been a while since Wolfwood had been thrown - like a rag doll. He'd never get used to it. Every time he was broken, it felt like the first time… and like it would be the last time. He was prone to panic when darkness settled along the corners of his vision, always worried that he was living out the last few seconds of a life wasted; that he'd never be anything more or experience another good thing again.

Pain is almost a mercy as it distracts. It gives him something tangible to suffer through, instead of letting him sink into the EXISTENTIAL TERROR OF NOT BEING. 'Stay awake, feel it.' He tells himself as some organ on the inside ruptures, as his poor back collides against the unforgiving wall of a pew. A disc has slipped. 'Feel it,' he tells himself.

Nick still hollers; still cries sometimes… He screams as his hand is smashed under Legato's heel. he's not seasoned enough to be stoic when his extremities are mashed into a soup of broken bones and severed nerves. "Auuh!! GOD! I-!" His good hand snaps to Legato's ankle. As if its grip could stop Blue from twisting, as though he had any power to change the slow delivery of damage.

Wolfwood is wilting into the seat when his system is threaded. He communicates a weak moan because he expects to be pulled apart; to be needled through until the darkness comes. But the pain he receives only comes from being pre-broken. His body is inconveniently puppet-ed. He feels himself sit up, feels his neck crane. His jaw trembles open. Below its hypnotism, Wolfwood's chest jumps. His throat rolls with a frightened swallow as his tongue and teeth are placed on display.

Oh, Christ. What's this gonna be? What is he going to lose today? Or is it going to be worse than all that? Maybe it's not what he'll lose, but a nightmare he'll gain. Maybe he's going to get his mouth fu-

Legato shocks him with an offering of sacred blue serum. Wolfwood wants it so bad that he is immediately demoted to a beggar. He'd say 'please' if he was in control of his vocal cords. Instead, His breast leaps with something like hyperventilation. Or arousal. His good hand opens and closes absently. He knows that dose is going to free him from pain and fear.

He gulps it down like a baby bird when Legato delivers. Wolfwood gasped between swallows and morns a lost stream that spills from the corner of his mouth. His eyes pin themselves to Legato as he drinks. They are the only part of him that does not convey despair. Somehow, they are steady. Anchored perhaps, by confusion. They follow Legato. They ponder him frantically when the empty vile is pocketed and they try to understand the return to an alter of self-harm. They can't, but they try…

[fatedstrands]

The devotee's head tips up, looking around from his meditation with a soft tilt to his skull. He swore he just heard his name.

[fatedstrands]

Don't Turn Away Now ||@phytonomy||

Long since has it been that Dependents were tended to by humanity, centuries before they'd landed upon this wretched planet from the Great Fall. The Calamity that the utmost devout knew was the doing of a God's desperation. Books had been poured over, scraps of data pulled and wrenched from dozens of ships, compiled and preserved. Within the data chips, detailed schematics for the machines used to protect the Plants alongside biological studies and theories. Together, with the knowledge and his access to many resources unbeknownst to the greater world, the zealous had forged devices to pass unto the hands of his Sisters of Fate. Only the most trusted of kin to tend to the divine, handed all information from both humanity prior to the Fall, what they'd managed to learn since, and his own markings from the word of God Himself. For without trained hands, those of Light will fade, by the hubris of the deranged and unenlightened, or by the simple lack of understanding of the ardent Strands. So when a Plant writhed as her gate bloomed, pulsing a cry to all whom could hear in their care, hands had been called. The dutiful stood to watch as bodies rushed into the Plant room to transfer the bulb as it slowly peeled on the edges. Gold watched as geared up people guided the being to an isolation chamber to be tended to. He relaxed upon hearing the cry of Angels fade to murmurs of thanks, relief flooding his veins as the metal within brain matter eased temporarily. 'We will start work immediately to tend to the Angel. Your help would be invaluable.' the words from the male Strand who watched him from across the large tank snapped the vicar from his trance. "I will be there shortly. Trust in Sascha's guidance." he removed his hand from the intercom button, turning on his heels to leave the observation room. He had to be fast in circling the large head of the facility to reach them, though he trusted his Strands to ensure the Plant was comforted in the meantime, leveling himself into a steady but quickened pace. "You heard him, Michael." within the isolation room the woman slipped from the secondary chamber, the Plant they'd helped tucked into the standard canisters, isolating her from stressors as she fully unfurled. "Go to the Remnant Canisters on the left. We'll need to stabilize her within this space and take a reading. We need to know if it's just her or a contaminant in the tank." the woman, within her thirties, spoke with the same level of calm and assurance as the right hand of God. "Right. He'd fixed the Gate Scanner then?" Michael, a burly man with bronzed locks moved to a case, clicking it open to reveal a surprisingly small machine, head tilting. "He made it smaller?" "Less intrusive." Sascha informed, moving to test the tank liquid and adjusted the levels to soothe a pained being, smiling as she pressed a hand to the glass, soon mirrored by the Plant within. "It's alright. We're here for you."