#verse: epilogue

[the-kr8tor]

Epilogue

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CHAPTER 10 <<<

3 years later.

Hobie lounges on the roof of his boat, a thick blanket under him, sunset bearing down on his form painting him in an orange glow, the heat from the sun melting him. Sweat dribbles on his temple, arms in full display, savouring the last days of summer. Waves laps softly at the sides of the boat, rocking him to a sleepy state. He looks content with his arm under his head, eyes closed, hand cold with condensation from his drink.

There's still that missing piece in his heart, longing and waiting. It's practically painless now, a dull ache whenever he sees remnants of you.

Late night calls through bleary eyes and tired muscles help wade him through it. With Letters slowing down, he doesn't seem to mind as long as he knows you're safe and happy wherever you go. But he can't help it whenever his heart seeks you out.

Hobie's finger grazes the pockets of his leather vest laying next to him. it's well worn and loved, cloth having indents and scars, a proof that he lived through it all. His pinky instinctively feels for the polaroid tucked inside, crinkled and folded a hundred times. With a soft smile on his lips when the mental image of it appears in his mind's eye. He Memorized every detail of it, from your tight grip on him to your grin under the dim light of his bedroom.

"Heard you're looking for a roommate"

Hobie opens his eyes lightning quick, elbows sitting him up from his position. He thinks he's still dreaming of you. Frozen, eyes glued to your familiar form yet different from what he's used to, from what he's learned by heart. The pictures you've sent don't do the real thing any justice.

Hands on your suitcases, you drop it theatrically when he rushes towards you. Elated, Hobie jumps off the roof with the same finesse of a cat. Arms outstretched, you giggle when his body reaches yours with a thud. He sweeps you off your feet, clinging, twirling you around.

His arms fit around you just like how you remembered it. Fingers tracing the muscles on his back, you take a big whiff of his scent, leather and citrus with something you don't quite recognize from before, yet it calms you all the same.

The embrace lasts for a hot minute, hands roaming, trying to remember how the other feels. Heartbeats syncing together once again.

Hobie resists the urge to pull away but the heat makes it difficult. Eyes glossy, he pulls away, still holding you as closely as the warmth could let him without suffocating you. He takes you in, taking all the new details to heart. Your eyes crinkling to a smile, the same ones that's currently doing the same to him.

You notice new lines on his young face, tracing it carefully with your thumb, his ring still on your middle finger, dutifully watching over you the entire time you were away.

"Hi, Wallace" you say through happy tears. Eyes shining bright.

"What?–How?...You?" He fumbles with his words. Chuckling, you get the desired reaction from him when you intentionally didn't tell him about you coming back home.

You're back to old habits, teasing him. "There's this thing called a plane, invented years ago I think– oof"

He doesn't let you finish your sarcasm laced sentence, pulling you back to his chest, warm hand behind your head, caressing, reminding him that you're back and not just some mirage from the heat.

You sigh in his hold, cheek right next to his steadying heartbeat, arms wrapped around his torso just like before.

"I'm home" you say softly, eyes tightly closed, breathing calm at his mere touch.

"For a visit?" He hopes.

You look up at him, a grin spreading on your lips, fingers looped around his necklace. "For good"

Cupping your face, calloused hands soft against your skin. You hold his hands right on top of his, kneading and tender.

"Welcome home" Hobie closes the distance, eyes fluttering shut, you don't miss a beat to kiss him back, lips moving with him. The touch you've both yearned for finally satisfied.

"Sorry, for making you wait" you say in between breathless kisses. He kisses you deeper, already missing you from the split second unlinking of lips.

You pick up where you left off, both changed yet it seems like time hasn't passed with every caress and kiss.

Breath hitching, you're more than ready to continue spending your life with him by your side again. You seep back in his marrow, staying there as long as he's willing to have you.

He smiles blissfully, heart finally full again.

A/N: Again, thank you all for the love! If you want more TTN! Hobie feel free to request, I'm more than happy to fulfill it! (I will forever miss this story)

Let me know your thoughts! Ly ❤️

[aslanzounder]

I have to speak my truth.

[the-apocrypha]

Dude, I gotta tell you how much I appreciated your cottagecore update. Honestly, it was just what I needed today. Any time I see an update from you, instantly i'm just ~~~my crops are watered, my skin is clear, my headache is evaporated~~~ Instant balm, Aquaphor for the soul.

I also love how you're blending the lovey aesthetic ~cottage~ material with the -they live in a shack in the woods and nature has a hit out on their lives- material. That's why hurt and comfort go so well together; you really need one for the other to make its fullest impact, and you've got that down pat. Mmmpf, it's the endurance, and the grit, and the perseverance- so inspiring!

(Also, as an additional aside, your style of writing to me is proof that you can be both poetic and characterized and elegant- and succinct. Important stuff for an overly wordy bug like myself.)

I pray for good news about the life of Cat as well, I hold out hope that she survived Eskham, if just to terrorize Dream and Hob more.

Oh my goodness, this message totally made my day. Wow. Thank you so much! I absolutely have my own authors whose writing is also an InstaCure for That Which Ails You, and it's an honor to be that for another person.

The cottagecore setting is actually pretty convenient, as writing goes, because it's historical + magic, which means I can make things exactly as easy or as difficult as I need to depending on what the narrative calls for. We get a little bit of sitting cozily before the fire with your embroidery and your whittling, and we also get bedpans and moldy hay.

I especially appreciate your comment about my writing style, because I honestly feel like I don't have much of one! I am not very poetic, by nature, and most of what I write feels very functional. Brevity it always something that I am striving for, though. A lot of my writing process is typing things out, reading it, and then finding a shorter way to say it.

(Cat is the dark horse of this series, I swear to god, you are one of many demanding for her rescue. A GENTLE REMINDER THAT TRANSFORMATIVE WORKS ARE WELCOME, FOLKS.)

[not-freyja]

WIP Game

tagged by @uniquevoidflowers, thank you Uni! (Starting a new chain cause that was getting long, lol). Name of the game is I tell everyone the names of my WIPs and y'all can ask me about them. Sounds fun!

Legend of Zelda / LU:

This Is An Adjuration: currently updating, original linkverse story with character designs from LU. Slow burn tragedy / platonic love story.

Winds of War: working title, most likely going to change. Wind's Adjuration Epilogue

Fractured: working title, probably going to change. The surviving Colors’ Adjuration Epilogue

[Redacted]'s Adjuration Epilogue, yet unnamed

[Other Redacted]'s Adjuration Epilogue, still no name

[Another redacted Link]'s Adjuration Epilogue, it'll get a name when I nail down the vibes

Emerald: Backstory Ravioli oneshot, unrelated to Adjuration technically, but set in that verse. Like, the context for this art right here.

Vidow oneshots. Like 4 or five of them.

Game Over. Continue? : a choose your own adventure LU Dungeon crawl.

Like three Ravioli PWPs that I might be convinced to post under my handle instead of anonymous author

Star Trek:

The Actual Wrath of Khan: second to last installment in the Doubt the Stars 'verse. Co-written with @straight-outta-hobbiton, and will update when we make our brains sync again. So... *shrugs*

The Oracular Refrain: timeloop ST 2009 fix-it fic.

Call Me When you Get There: also co-written with Hobbit. It's getting a full re-write at some point, maybe by myself if friend doesn't want to go back to it.

Original Fiction:

The Prisoners of Terra

Lost En Route

What's Up with Arleta?

That... is a lot more than I thought it was going to be. Huh. Neat! Okay, now I tag.... (with no pressure!)

@straight-outta-hobbiton @needfantasticstories @hotcheetohatredwastaken @life-in-winter @mika-13 @unexpectedstormy @kisnroses and literally anyone who sees this and wants to play!

[forebodingprophet]

The Valentine's Festival

@b-raypokemontime

By the time they got off the boat, Anastasios was exhausted- mostly from having to deal with a cooped up Hikaze and an overly-excited Celia. Xander had at least been... reasonably well-behaved- at least compared to the other two, but even he'd been jittery.

"I feel like I'm the only one here acting my age," Anastasios muttered as they disembarked.

"You're acting like a stick-in-the-mud, is what you're acting like. My behavior is totally reasonable for a teenager," Hikaze retorted.

"Shut up, you! You're still in trouble for that stunt you pulled in Galar. Arceus, I hope no one recognizes us." Hundreds of people had seen that spectacle, and while travel from Galar to OKI wasn't easy, it was certainly being done for this festival.

"MOM!" The sound of Xander's yell caught Anastasios' attention, and he quickly found the person the fox had spotted.

"Uggghhh... I told her not to come get us," Anastasios muttered under his breath. "Now it's gonna be a whole spectacle."

Hikaze, blantantly ignoring him, also ran towards the figure.

"Nee-sama! Thanks for coming to get us!"

Anastasios trudged up last, holding onto an excited Celia like her arm as a leash and clearly already worn out.

"Can we just get somewhere I can be away from these three? Please?" Anastasios sighed.

[zepskies]

Want to play a game? 😏

Pick a series you've written...

Maybe it's the one you're proudest of.

Maybe it's the most recent one you've written.

Maybe it's one you wish had gotten more love.

And tell me your favorite chapter and why.

Then pass the game on to another writer! (Could be in their inbox, or you could just tag them.)

I'm so curious as to what you're gonna choose! 💕

Your turn, friend! :)

Ooh @waywardxwords thanks for turning the challenge back on me, my friend! 😘

It was hard for me to pick a series, but I think I have to go with Break Me Down (Soldier Boy x Reader).

As for my favorite chapter...

I think I have to go with The Epilogue: All My Living Time.

It's the longest chapter of the entire 19-chapter series, clocking in just shy of 8,000 words. And yet, somehow it's the most popular.

But the reason why it's my favorite is that I really agonized over that chapter. Like really, I must have revised it 30+ times. Even up until I was about to post it I was making tweaks, because it was the culmination of an epic adventure/love story with dear Benjamin and the reader.

I wanted to "get it right," especially for everyone following along with the story at the time. I felt a kind of pressure lol. 😅

Narratively, there's a lot going on in that chapter. It starts with showing the practical side of a relationship between the reader and a man who's very set in his ways, to put it mildly. There's a Boys team mission that nearly goes very wrong, and the way Ben/reader deal with that (bickering to the max).

And after, there's a very "make or break" them situation that forces Ben and the reader to be completely honest and vulnerable, which isn't easy for either of them, given their pasts and personalities. ❤️‍🩹

Getting Ben to the point where he could be honest about his feelings and fears took 19 chapters, and I hope it made that "confession" moment for each of them all the more satisfying. They're each taking the chance of a lifetime on each other by the Epilogue. 💚

But even after almost 100K of story, I realized that I wasn't done writing this version of Ben and the reader. And thus, the BMD-verse was born. 😂

Sorry for that long-winded explanation (as per usual with me lol), but that's my favorite BMD chapter. 💚

[riotbrrrd]

i was a bit confused about which blog to send this too because it looks like it got reblogged to your final fantasy sideblog and your main at different times. but! you know me, always happy to send prompts! 21 because i think you'll like it, any female character(s), and either 13 or 24, whatever you're feeling. not 100% certain what your current list of main fandoms is so no specific character for that either, although you know all my old xv favs if you're still peripherally into that. (i never really leave a fandom once i join it, but i know not everyone is like that!)

I dug it back from my sideblog because I remembered that the prompts were fun, this is why I guess. I didn't think it would cause problems because it was on my sideblog back in 2018.

Anyway. I wanted to answer all these and post them all at once but I actually don't have time or brain power to be thinking about all that at once. Get the one that actually immediately made me produce something, finally finished three weeks later.

Someone forgot to close the door, Ignis thinks, halfway there, and rolls over to catch complete darkness against the pillow. Not to fall back asleep, no, just to soften the blow – over the last few years he has gotten used to forcing himself awake at the first hint of consciousness, to power through headache and sickness. There is always something else to do, and no bed ever worth sleeping in, and the concept of lazy mornings had lost its appeal long before mornings themselves became a distant memo—

Then, sharply, he remembers.

There is nowhere urgent to be.

He opens his eyes to a line of gold against the grey walls. There is no open door, no buzzing neon lamp abandoned in a hallway, no bunk beds in a moldy, windowless cave in Leide. No stale air shared with five to fifteen hunters and soldiers. 

There is his room, in Cape Caem, where he hasn't come back in years. There is a bed he found just as he left it, now unmade and warm around him. There is a day ahead of him, a real day, where no one will be asking anything of him.

There's sunlight, crossing through, from where the blinds don't quite meet the window, to the other side of the room. They would need fixing later, Ignis thinks, for a moment elated purely at the prospect of adding an item to the todo list that isn't an immediate pit of despair. There is the dust of several months of silence floating in the air above his head. They catch the light with every lazy twist of air, turning orange, pink, white for half a second before another joins the dance. They turn to thin, elongated rays of rainbows when the tears start to fill his eyes. He can't help it. He's seen the dawn rise over the rubble of Insomnia for a month, leaving the world every day in a hazy state of sideration. He knows the power that the sun can have on people who have not seen in in years. But he approached it the same way he approached the forever night – pushing through, pulling people along with him like a dog who can't stop biting down, until words like reconstruction efforts and trade routes and provisional government came out of mouths other than his and without his prompting.

This is where he remembers for the first time what sunlight feels like. Out of the city with nothing but plains and the sea around him. In the silence of a bedroom that has survived by miracle. For the first time in ten years, he watches specks of nothing float in the air and shine, and he realizes what they've done.

Wiping his face with his hand, he extends an arm to grab his glasses on the nightstand, stretches, then gets up to go find Noctis.

[snkts]

The Experiment Pt. 2

@perditos @cyberno

TW: Torture, violence, death... A lot of things.

There were some lines that were not meant to be crossed. Some stains that could not be washed away. Some things you just did not do. And if you did them, there was no coming back. 

That's the position in which Logan found himself. Firstly, he had done the unthinkable. He had hurt a child. Not just any child, either; he had hurt his–

…

His student. He’d hurt his student. And he’d hurt her bad. The context and circumstances surrounding it didn't matter. All that counted was the outcome. And the outcome was that Mikoto had needed stitches. Because of him. He had hurt her. 

Secondly, he was fucking pissed. Pissed at Mikoto for going it alone. She should have known better. Pissed at himself for getting in that situation. He should’ve never let Sabertooth get the upper hand. Should've gutted the bastard the minute he smelled that musky stench. And yeah, he’s pissed at Sabertooth, too - but that's not new. Creed was the worst of the worst, and the bastard didn't even have the courtesy to stay dead about it. He'd be back. And when he showed his face again, they’d settle their business. That would come later. He had other things to take care of now. 

Some people might call this plan reckless or stupid. That’s because it was. Yuriko had said as much - though she’d still agreed to lend a hand. It had been a long conversation, late in the night for him and early in the morning for her. He’d burned a lot of quarters on that payphone. Calling her, calling the airport, calling a cab. He’d stashed his bike in a cave he’d found during his ‘off time’, obscuring the entrance with a boulder. It’d work well enough. It had been relatively smooth sailing after that. Wait at the bar, flag down the cabbie. Cut off any attempt at small talk. He wasn’t in the mood. (Not that he’d be looking for chatter on a good day, either.) And wait. And wait. And wait for the cab to reach its destination. It felt like forever. Toss him some change, swing the bag over his shoulder, and then the tedium of waiting in line at the airport. 

If he’d thought the cab ride was tedious, this was Hell. He’d almost rather be there right now - at least he could get some of this pent up energy out. The standing in line was the worst part. Airports were horrible. Loud, noisy, bright, smelly, crowded… It was bad enough for a normal person. And up ahead stood one of his greatest rivals: 

The metal detector. 

A headache in solid form. Logan narrowed his eyes as he regarded it. Four people ahead of him. Three people. Two. One. And then it was him. He sighed and grabbed the plastic tub off the conveyer. In went wallet, keys, tags, and belt. Then shoes and jacket. Then shirt. 

“Sir, that’s really not nec–”

“Yes it is.” Logan cut the agent off without looking up from his task. The pockets of his jeans were turned out, revealing them to be empty, except for a single piece of identification. “Saves us the run-around.” He held the card out, making sure not to bring his hand too close to the gate - that’d ruin the bit. The security agent frowns curiously and reaches forward. 

“Oh. Oh!” The agent’s eyes widened, and she stepped aside. “Okay, gotcha. Come on through, sir.” Logan nodded and compiled. Of course, the machine started bitching. He rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, just ignore that. You’re good.” The agent looked at the card and nodded. “Can I ask where you served?” 

“Afghanistan.” Logan answered. He watched his container slide through the x-ray, then started collecting his belongings again. Part of him felt bad claiming glory that wasn’t his (if you could even call that ‘glory’), but, hell, he’d served his time on different fields. This answer was just less likely to get him spotted. … Or committed. 

“Oh.” The agent looked up from the card and nodded. “And do you really-?” Logan tugged his shirt over his head and nodded. 

“Right here.” He rapped his knuckles twice against the base of his skull, then shrugged on his jacket. 

“Wow.” The kid blinked widely, then managed a grin and held the card back out. Logan took it back, stuffed it into his wallet, and returned his wallet to his jeans pocket. He had his belt halfway on when he noticed the kid still had their hand out. Logan stared.

“Thanks.” She said, then added after another moment, “For your service.”

“... Sure.” Logan reached over and gave her hand a light squeeze and a single shake. It never stopped being weird to hear that. On went his shoes, his tags. His keys joined his lighter and commlink in his jacket pocket. 

“Gate 6 is on your right.” The kid said. Logan only nodded in response. He navigated the crowds, eyes up, head down, and eventually found an uncomfortable plastic chair to settle into. It creaked, sharp and grating, under his weight, and he grit his teeth. Yeah, he hated airports. The plastic cup of cheap beer he’d bought only did so much to soothe his nerves. No smoking in here, either - not that he had any cigars left. He’d burned through his last one waiting in the bar parking lot and hadn’t bought any more. He didn’t need to smell like smoke for this. That’d just complicate things. … He’d just reek of airport instead. He muffled a growl against the rim of his cup, swallowing down another mouthful. It only burned a little on the way down, but it did help to wash away the lingering taste of ______ . 

Two chairs down, a woman in a blue-and-white polkadot skirt told her kids not to go far. In the seat across from Logan, a man in a business suit spoke into his phone in rapid-fire Mandarin. Something about some loan falling through. Logan swallowed another mouthful. It helped rinse the feeling of ______ from his throat. Someone’s shoes squeaked on the floor. Behind him, the wheels on someone’s suitcase locked by accident and its owner cursed the sudden loss of momentum. Logan finished the cup. The musky scent flooded his nose, blocking out the metallic scent of ______. Maybe he should get another. Overhead, the cheap fluorescents buzzed. Louder and more static-y than the nicer lights at the institute. The engines of the planes roared and rumbled, minute vibrations through the air that pricked at the hair on his arms and back of his neck. And just to the–

His commlink beeped. Loud. Shrill. His head cocked in the direction of the noise. It beeped once. Twice. He reached into his pocket to shut it off before it got to a third. This was about the fifth time they’d called him. He still had yet to answer. He wasn’t sure when he’d eventually pick up. Judging by the frequency at which the contact attempts were coming in, Magneto must have gone back and squealed. 

“Rat bastard.” He grumbled under his breath. That was already turning out to be a headache. Logan just found himself glad that he hadn’t said all that much about what he’d be doing. That was on a need-to-know basis, and the others didn’t need to know. They’d probably try to stop him if they did. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were piling into the Blackbird right now. (What he wouldn’t give to have the Blackbird instead of this terminal.) Opening up any line of communication would only make his job harder. He could guess what kind of questions they asked, and what sort of answers he’d give. 

‘Where are you?’ / None of your damn business. 

‘What are you thinking?’ / That I’m about to eat my weight in pre-bagged peanuts. 

‘What are you doing?’ / What I have to. 

‘Are you okay?’ / … 

‘Logan?’ / … 

I’m alive. 

That was the inescapable truth that kept him going. He was alive. Despite everything, he was still on his feet. And as long as he was standing, he was fighting. This was just one of those fights he had to handle alone. 

The flight went as smooth as it ever did. The seat was uncomfortable, but he’d gotten a window. That was nice. Even knowing what he was going to do, watching that familiar island come into view helped settle the viciousness in his mind. It was like coming home. 

Nobody was there to greet him when the plane landed, but that was good. That’d draw too much extra attention. Instead, he walked a few blocks until he found a small, hole-in-the-wall tea shop. An old favourite of his, yeah, but one he hadn’t been to in a while. A hot drink and a quick snack saw time pass by. Every so often, Logan would glance at the clock. Nothing obvious, just a flick of his eyes from his mug to the hands. Three… Two… One. He finished his mug, stood, squared his bill, and exchanged parting pleasantries with the old couple who owned the joint. Then out to the street corner to hail a cab. A four-door pulled up to greet him. Right on time. He opened the passenger side and took his seat, buckled in, then let out a heavy exhale. 

“You really never change, do you?” Yuriko asked, shifting the car back into drive. Logan snorted. 

“Yeah, well.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Y’know what they say. Old dogs, new tricks, all that.” He met Yuriko’s eyes in the rear view mirror. 

“Bet I could still make you bark.” She said, and he couldn’t help the chuckle that drew - God, it felt good to laugh again. 

“Bet’cha could.” He grins and his shoulders relax. He turns to enjoy the view out the window, and then– 

“What happened, Logan?” She asked. “You didn't say much over the phone.” The tension came back. 

“It’s nothing.” He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw. So much for the good mood. She huffed her frustration into an exhale. 

“You wouldn’t be doing this if it were ‘nothing’.” Yuriko steered the car around a corner.  Logan kept his eyes on the window. On the people passing by. Civilians, as far as he could tell. Yuriko kept talking. “And,” she continued, “you’re asking me for quite a lot of help with hardly any explanation.” Logan closed his eyes and rumbled out a low growl. She was right. He knew she was right. But he also knew that there was no way he could tell her. Not because she wouldn’t believe him, but because she would. He was already asking her to take a risk being as involved as she was - he couldn’t give her reason to try to do anything else. ‘

“Just got some loose ends to tie up.” He barely glanced at the rear view, but it was enough to see her narrow her eyes. He doesn't bother holding her gaze. She's already seen what she needs to. She pulled the car into a parking spot. 

“And you insist on tying them alone.” The frustration in Yuriko’s voice was dulled by years and years of saying the same thing over and over again. She knew he wouldn't change his mind. He knew she’d ask anyway. 

“It’s-”

“What you have to do.” Yuriko cut him off. Even if her irritation wasn't audible, the smell of it flooded the car. Logan said nothing; he only nodded. She looked away. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Logan exhaled through his nose and undid his seatbelt. He was about to open the door when he felt her hand on his arm. 

“... We put a communicator in your bag.”

“We?” He looked back at her. She nodded her head towards her window. Logan furrowed his brow and shifted to get a better look. Then he scowled. 

“How much does she know?” He asked, settling back in his seat. 

“Only that you were on your way.” Yuriko propped her elbow on the arm rest. “And that it was for work.” 

“Good.” Logan reached for the door handle again. 

“You know I wouldn’t let her step in, anyway. Training or no, she’s a child.” Yuriko said, and he nodded along with it. At least someone in the world was still talking sense. (It was about damn time.) He’s halfway out the door when she speaks again. 

“Just promise me one thing.” He stopped and looked back at her. “If you feel like you’re in over your head, give me a call.” In spite of himself, Logan let out an amused huff, the ghost of a smile tugging at his face. 

“What, and you’ll come pick me up?” He cocked his head to the side, and she returned his smile. 

“Ask nice enough, and I’ll even bring you a juice box.” 

And he laughed. A genuine, earnest laugh. Some of the weight slipped away from his thoughts, melting into the ether. He shook his head, grinning at the dirt before glancing back up at her. 

“Thank you, Yuriko.” 

“If you’re really grateful, thank me by taking Amiko to lunch when you’re done.” She said, fiddling with the keys. “She misses you.” 

“Yeah.” Logan turned, closing the door. “I miss her, too.” Yuriko drove off, and Logan walked up the path to the shrine. As the engine melted into the cacophony of the city, he had to wonder if he was only talking about Amiko. 

It was easy to find where the bag had been stashed. Mostly because of the smell, but hey, she knew him well enough to know where he’d want to look. There it was, snug under one of the bridges that spanned the many fish ponds around the shrine. He slung the strap over his shoulder and slipped away from the gardens. A few more corners and he found an alley to turn into, following the narrower path until he was safely out of sight of anyone but the pigeons. He got the bag half opened, paused, and growled at the first bird to draw near. They scattered. A quick rummage through the bag’s contents showed him that he was well-prepared. Gloves, new boots, a familiar old uniform, some local currency he’d have to pay her back for, and the aforementioned communicator. He took the small device out of the bag and turned it around in his hands. As he was examining it, the commlink in his jacket pinged. 

Again. 

Logan dropped Yuriko’s communicator back in the bag and pulled out the other, watching the X-shaped light blink bright blue in its urgency. They really weren’t getting the picture. And if this went off while he was in the field… 

Logan closed his fist, squeezing until the beeping distorted, fizzled, stopped.

They could take it out of his paycheck. 

He changed quickly, storing his street clothes and belongings back in the bag. He left Yuriko’s communicator and the remains of his commlink there, too. He wouldn’t need them. The bag was left in a specific trash can. One that was inconspicuously empty, and strategically placed. Logan knew that it, and the bag, would be gone before nightfall. They’d be waiting for him elsewhere when he came calling. For the time being, not his problem. He didn’t give a shit about anything but the hunt. 

It was easier getting into Academy City the second time. 

This part of Tokyo was so much quieter at night than the city proper. Probably because of the main demographic - but it made it easier for him. So did the population density. More people meant more buildings. More buildings meant less time at street level. And that, in turn, meant less trouble for him. People didn’t tend to look up. Humans, mutants, whatever, it didn’t matter - they weren’t made to look for airborne predators. Came from the African plains and all. Too busy peering through the grass for lions. Of course, he had reason to believe it would be different here. City full of young supers- Sorry, espers- with who-knew-what kinda powers? Yeah, safe to say the folks here might be a bit more attentive. That meant he had to be more careful. He’d seen some of the security before, in those days he was lingering to hear Mikoto’s decision. (The decision that ultimately led her to __________.) Be smart. Be silent. Stay focused, stay fast. He only stopped when he got the the edge of a roof near the ‘hospital’ he'd been looking for. It was a tall building, concrete and glass, windows wrapping around each floor. A decent amount of visibility. Streetlights in the parking lot. Not a lot of cars there, which was a disappointment (he muffled a growl behind the scarf over his mouth). Though if he considered himself a betting man, there’d be an underground parking lot. Probably where they kept the ambulances. There’d be guards, cameras… It’d be a risk to navigate, but it’d be a cleaner sweep if he went from the ground up. 

And taking out their transportation sounded like a great place to start. 

The cars in the public lot were the hardest to manage. Out in the open, exposed, anyone could see. Good news, it was easy enough to decommission things without setting off any alarms. At least two tires sliced through per car, brake lines severed in three neat sections. Adamantium through rubber and steel like a hot knife through butter. Wait until the coast was clear and on to the next. The goal right now wasn't to be fast so much as it was to observe. Check to see how far out the patrols went - the answer was not very. He only saw one guard by the time he’d been through all the cars, and he wasn't anything to sneeze at. Maybe 200 pounds soaking wet, if Logan was being generous. No smell of gun oil, either, though the burnt metal suggested a taser or something similar. 

That was fine. 

Painfully easy to avoid, and if it did happen to go off, not loud enough to draw attention. It was like they were handing him a door key. How sweet. Logan crouched behind the back of a blue Toyota Aqua and debated the best way to approach the situation. He didn’t want the alarm raised - not yet. He still had to get inside. It’d be no skin off Logan’s back to sneak up on the twerp, but he’d rather be able to stash the body somewhere secluded for-

“Meow.” 

What? 

Logan looked down. A small street cat sat blinking up at him. It meowed again and washed its forepaw. Logan tilted his head, then reached down to scratch the cat’s chin. It leaned into his touch and purred. This worked. He gave the cat one last pat, running his hand from its head down to its tail, then shifted his gaze to the hospital. More specifically, a trash can. The cat trilled, then loped across the parking lot. Logan watched it go. In a fluid motion, the cat bunched up and leapt into the trash can. The can fell with a loud clang. The guard turned with a start. Logan did not move. Simply sat and waited. The guard slowly approached the can, one hand on his hip.  Logan narrowed his eyes. That’s where the taser was. The guard stopped in front of the can. Wait for it. He crouched down. 

Four. 

The cat hopped out of the can and the guard breathed a sigh of relief.

Three. 

“Just a cat,” he said into the radio on his shoulder. The radio crackled, and another voice came through. 

“Figured. Finish up your rounds and come back.” At least one other guard, in regular contact, expecting his return - this would have to be fast. 

Two. 

“Right. See you soon.” The guard said. “Over and out.”

One. The guard stood. The world blurred. The guard turned. He barely had time to finish the motion before his head was yanked up back down with a wet popping SNAP. Logan propped the corpse behind a support beam and patted it down. The taser was clipped to Logan’s belt. The key card in his left pocket was swiped, as well. And the radio. That one would take a bit of tampering - did this guy have a wallet? Yeah, there it was. Logan pulled out a 1000-yen note and tore a strip off the end, folded it, and slipped it between the batteries and the connectors in the back of the radio. That found its way into his belt, as well (along with a few other notes, swiped on the way up. This guy wasn’t gonna need ‘em). 

Time to move. 

It didn’t take a lot of poking around to find the entrance to the underground parking lot. They even put a sign over top, wasn’t that sweet? Made his job easier. A swipe of the keycard and the staff door opened. 

The garage was vast, spacious, with every sound echoing off the support pillars and ceiling. Pros: Not visible from the outside, decent cover. Cons: Noisy as hell, plenty of spots for the prey to hide. Good thing it didn’t know it had anything to hide from, yet. He keeps his footsteps light as he walks. He makes notes of the doors - not many of them, and most look to be interior, but still. Good to know. 

A decent amount of vehicles. Some personal, some ambulances… Some armoured vehicles. That was interesting. Definitely a sign he was in the right place. And there - middle of the area. A guard’s depot. The lights were on, pouring out of the windows and painting the surroundings butter-yellow. Not a lot of movement inside. Logan pauses, tilts his head. He listens. The whir of electronics, the whooshing hum of a fan, the creak of a chair… A myriad of sounds that suggested life, but most likely just one person. The heavy security would be in the lab proper. That’s good. Still treading lightly, Logan pressed his back to the exterior wall of the booth. He reached his hand over and knocked his knuckles against the door in three short raps. A muffled curse from inside, the squeak of cheap wheels rolling. 

“Damnit, Yosuke.” The voice from inside was raspy, but young - a smoker. The door handle turned, the hinges squeaked quietly. “I’m really not in the mood for–”

Snikt. 

The familiar gurgle before the smell of blood took too long. Logan put a hand on the back of the guard’s head and shoved him aside. The slit in the man’s throat painted the concrete, but that was fine. There wasn’t anybody to see it in here. 

The interior of the guard’s booth was plain, unassuming. Logan paused just long enough to slip the piece of yen out of the radio before continuing his survey. The chatter picked up again, calm and staggered - still unseen, that was good. Two cups of coffee on the desk. Both barely warm. Logan ignored the one that smelled like creamer and lowered his mask to enjoy the other one (black, cheap, probably instant grounds, but it was enough). He sipped idly as he looked at the security monitors. Not nearly enough for every floor in this place - tabbing through different cameras on the keyboard told him it was most likely just the first three floors that were so easily seen. Made sense. They wouldn’t want their dirty laundry flapping around for anyone to get a glimpse of. Still, useful for a quick study of the floor plan. Seemed fairly standard. Busy, too - crawling with whitecoats, guards, and those security robots he’d noticed the first time he’d come to the city. 

Stumpy little buggars. 

He finished the coffee and typed a few more commands on the keyboard. That’s one of the few good things about this dump of a city - even the cheap shit here was high-tech. Satisfied that the recording was in process, Logan set the empty mug down and returned to the main area. He glanced down at the corpse by his feet and nudged it with his boot. Tough break.But Logan couldn’t - wouldn’t - be giving the benefit of the doubt to anyone here. Tonight was fangs out. That’s why all of these vehicles had to go, too. Logan works quickly, but more thoroughly than he had outside. Tires slashed, breaks cut, but this time horns and sirens sliced through as well - and, just for good measure, the locks on the back doors of the armoured cars. No sense leaving hiding places in case any stragglers made it down here. He’d pause every so often to check the radio, listen for anyone coming down the stairwells or elevators. So far, nothing. He hadn't made his presence known yet. Last step was the doors. Those were all keycard operated - again, even the cheap shit was nice here - and easy enough to decommission. A simple swipe of the claws through any card reader was all it took.  That oughtta be enough time. Logan turned from the still-sparking control panel and went back to the guard station. He nudged the chair out of the way and hit a few more keys on the keyboard. A flicker of static, and the recorded footage started its first loop. Logan nodded to himself, picked up the cream-tainted coffee, and poured it over the keyboard. There.

Logan paused only once more at the door to the stairwell. The scrap of yen was slid back into the batteries, the mask pulled up, and he glanced over his shoulder. First phase was done. Now onto the fun part. He cracked his knuckles, opened the door, and stepped forward. 

First floor. 

The door shut softly behind him, muffled by his hand. The push bar let out a quiet click. Logan pondered it for a moment, then with a swipe of his claws, removed the bar. He hefted it in his grasp, testing the weight. It would do. Footsteps down the hall. Wolverine turned to face the sound. The scientists rounded the corner. And behind his mask, bar in hand, Weapon X smiles. 

—

Rei Kobayashi had been excited to take this internship. Everyone in her class had been clamouring for the position. It was an increased stipend, credits, and if it went well, a surefire job after graduation. Who wouldn’t want that? And she’d been lucky enough - and her test scores high enough - that she'd gotten the position. Her classmates had been jealous of her. She wondered if they’d be jealous now. 

“It can move limbs that don’t normally receive signals from the central nervous system.” Doctor Suzuki had told her. “Even those whose connection to the brain has been severed.” He turned to the observation window. “Like our friend Daishi, here.” Rei and the other interns peered through the glass. Below, a young boy, maybe nine, with scruffy brown hair was sitting in a wheelchair and talking to a nurse. He wore a hospital gown that seemed out of sorts with the infectious, dimpled smile on his face. 

“You see, Daishi was in a terrible accident. A car wreck, one that severed his spinal cord. Because of that, if we were to rely solely on the technology we already have access to, he would never walk again.” A murmur of sympathy passed through the interns. 

“He’s so young…” Anzu From 3-B said quietly from behind Rei’s right shoulder. 

“How unfortunate.” A girl with dark hair that Rei didn’t know sighed. Rei said nothing, only frowned. 

“Ah, yes, a tragedy, a tragedy.” Dr. Suzuki nodded. “But that’s what we’re hoping to change. With your gifts, and our research, one day, all the children like Daishi will be able to feel the grass under their feet again.” 

It had been a good cause. A worthy cause. This was the sort of thing Rei had studied for. When she got tired, or frustrated, or felt burnt out, she would think of Daishi, and imagine him playing soccer, or dancing, or any of the hundreds of other things that had been taken from him. Animal tests, she had to look away from- But she could handle them if it meant the project continued. Because they were going to help people. She was going to help people. 

She was supposed to help people. 

Oh, God, she was supposed to help people… 

“Ah, Miss Kobayashi.” Dr. Suzuki looked over his shoulder. “There you are.” He stood in one of the labs, in front of a terminal of brightly-lit monitors. The room itself was dim, which made the screens seem even brighter. Most of them were occupied, other researchers in starched-white lab coats typing furiously away without looking up. Rei stopped a few steps past the door and folded her hands, bowing politely. 

“Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Not at all.” Dr. Suzuki shook his head and adjusted his eyeglasses. “We would never start without you.” He stepped to the side and revealed an empty chair. “Please. Take a seat.” And she did. Dr. Suzuki passed her a headset and watched as she typed in her credentials. As the security checks processed, Dr. Suzuki pulled a phone out from his coat pocket. 

“Mister Creed?” He said into the mouthpiece, then after a pause, “You are free to engage.” 

“Finally.” That was said loudly enough that even Rei could pick it up. It was a man’s voice, but that’s all she could pick up. It was weird that they were speaking in English. She’d always gotten good marks in her English studies, so she could understand them. Was this a client? Another research team, perhaps? Were they doing some sort of collaboration? That could be fun. Maybe she could even get some tips on how to approve her accent! 

“Would you run your diagnostics, my dear?” Dr. Suzuki asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

“Oh, uhm, right.” She nodded and let her fingers fly across the keyboard. Data spread across the screen, statistics and checks that all came up perfect. After taking a moment to double-check her findings, Rei looked up to Dr. Suzuki with a hopeful smile. He met her gaze and beamed back. 

“Very well done. All seems to be running smoothly.” He gave her shoulder a fond pat. “Are you ready for your first field test?” 

Field test? Is that what this was? Is that what the English man - Mister Creed - was helping them with? How exciting! … But what kind of– 

The terminal whirred to a new life. The device was active. Multiple windows sprung up on the screen, and Rei hesitated. The readings were- Strange. The visual reader showed green grass and spatters of- Red? The audio was picking up a low, disjointed rumbling. The brainwaves and tactile sensors were both off the charts. What was-? 

“This thing on yet?” A voice cuts through the rumbling in the audio feed. Rei couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the voice from the phone. As if on cue, Dr. Suzuki held the phone up to his ear again. 

“Yes, Mister Creed.  We are fully operational.” He said, then to Rei: “Stand up.”  She knew what that meant. He wasn’t really talking to her. He was talking to it- to them, whoever this was. Numbly, Rei typed in the appropriate command. It was just like when they’d done test runs on lab mice. They had entered commands to guide the mice through mazes and obstacles. Rei had asked, then, why they were controlling the device remotely. Dr. Suzuki had told her it was just temporary. A stepping stone before they’d be able to give full control and sensory input to the primary user. 

The visual feed shifts. There’s still grass, still red, but now there are hands, too. Broad palms and– 

Claws.

Long, sharp, gleaming metal claws protruding from between the knuckles. They pushed against the ground and she caught sight of work boots, jeans, and then the visuals shifted and she was looking up at a man. Or- What looked like a man. Impossibly tall, broad in the shoulders, with gleaming amber eyes and long, messy blond hair. 

The mice had squeaked when they turned on the controls. She had always wondered if that meant it hurt.That was when she realised what that rumbling sound was - growling. Low and deep and angry. 

“Dr. Suzuki…” Her voice is so quiet she barely registers it herself. “Who is this?”

“Not who, my dear. What.” Suzuki pulls away from the phone. “You have the honour of piloting Weapon X - one of North America’s greatest martial creations.” 

“Piloting…?” She felt sick. She stared at the screen. There was a shift in the blond man’s expression, a flash of a snarl, lips curling back to reveal massive daggers of fangs, but he shook his head and took a step forward. 

“Yeah, sure. What he said. But you better take good care of him, cub.” Emphasis on the ‘him’. The tactile output indicates that the blond man - Mister Creed - is touching Weapon X’s jaw. The growling gets louder. The brainwaves spike. “He’s all mine after this.” 

She was going to be sick. 

“C’mon, runt.” Mister Creed says, then leans in until the visual feed can’t pick up his face. “I’ve got plans for you.” 

“Do as he says.” Suzuki commands. His hands find Rei’s shoulders and there is nothing fond about them now. The grip tightens when she hesitates. “Go ahead, my dear. This is the culmination of all of your hard work - don’t you want to see what you made?” 

No. 

She types the command anyway. It feels almost like she is the one being piloted. It doesn’t feel like she’s doing any of these things herself. Her fingers type the relevant commands and Weapon X moves behind Mister Creed. Its- His- movements are jerkier, stiffer, than the mice. The brain activity stays spiked. Mister Creed leads them through the trees and Weapon X follows as programmed. Rei keeps her hands in her lap, gripping the hems of her lab coat so tightly her fingers go numb. There’s an aircraft of some sort waiting for them. Mister Creed climbs on first. Then he turns and offers his hand to Weapon X. It’s such a fond gesture in the middle of a nightmare that it makes Rei’s head spin. Weapon X takes his hand and climbs into the aircraft. Mister Creed shows his fangs again, though this expression is much more pleasant. He looks… Happy. 

How can anyone be happy at a time like this? 

Mister Creed pulls Weapon X the rest of the way up and kisses it-him. The brain activity monitor screams. Rei recoils in her seat. Suzuki sighs and speaks into the phone again. 

“Mister Creed.” He sounds tired. “Need I remind you that our interns are rather young? Please try to stay focused.” Mister Creed pulled away with a sound no human should be able to make. 

“What?” He grunted, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. “You wanted data. That's data.” He rolls his eyes at the phone and then shoots a smirk towards Weapon X. “But fine, whatever. We can behave ourselves for now, right, babe?” 

Rei shrinks back in the seat and shudders. He didn't look happy anymore. He looked hungry. She knew he wasn’t looking at her - that he couldn’t see her, only the face of the person- God, it was a person- she was… Piloting, but it still felt as though if she made one wrong move, he would reach through the screen and devour her whole. She bunched her lab coat in her hands and tore her eyes from the visual output to check the other readings. It was harder to type commands when her hands were shaking. 

She could still feel the bile rising in her throat. 

She swallows and keeps her head tucked, letting Suzuki tell her what commands to input. She didn’t want to look and see what they all meant. She didn’t want to know. She could still hear Mister Creed talking through the headset, and Suzuki replying to him through the phone behind her. She was trying very hard not to process the words. Every few moments, the tactile output would light up again. Mister Creed kept touching Weapon X’s back, shoulders, hand, the back of his head… Idle touches, small, thoughtless, but there. Weapon X’s growling had mostly subsided to quiet snarls of- Pain? Fury? She wasn’t sure, but each touch sparked another louder rumble, an alert that the subject was straining against the implant. He didn’t want this. Neither did she. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want this, she didn’t she didn’t she didn’t–

“Welcome home, Logan.” Mister Creed says, and she tears her eyes back to the visual output. Logan. He had a name. Not a designation. Not an experiment number. A name. His name is Logan. His name is Logan, and she is doing this to him. Mister Creed leads Weap- Logan, leads Logan, along a mountain trail. It’s snowy, and the tactile output tells her that it’s very cold. She wonders if Logan was dressed warmly. She doesn’t think that he was. Mister Creed and Logan come to a door, and after fiddling with a keypad, Mister Creed gets the door open. 

“Hope you like what I’ve done with the place. We’re gonna be here for a while.” Rei wants to know why. Why will they be there a while? Why is this home? Why is this happening? She wonders if Logan is thinking the same questions. Neither of them can ask. Mister Creed slings his arm around Logan’s shoulders. Suzuki tightens his hold on Rei’s. The visual feed goes through a series of tunnels. Mister Creed brings Logan through the labyrinth to a room that looks half-destroyed. Rubble scattered on the floor, destroyed computer terminals, a semi-circle of tables around the far wall covered in trash. It was too dark to make out what it was. Rei barely glanced at it anyways. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to be here. She didn't want this. 

“Sit.” Mister Creed pointed at the wall. Rei inputted the command and clenched her jaw. Mister Creed took Logan's hand again, and for a moment seemed to study it. Examining the fingers, rubbing his thumb along the knuckles. And then the audio output plays the sound of chains rattling and the tactile output indicates a cold pressure around the wrist and the visual feed jerks. Mister Creed steps back with a startled growl and Suzuki slams his palm on the terminal hard enough that Rei jumps. 

“Keep an eye on your configurations, my dear.” Suzuki said. Rei peeked up at him through her bangs. She met his eyes and she had never seen him look so severe. She quickly looked away. 

“Y-yes, doctor.” She tries to ignore the way her voice shakes. There’s a cacophony of snarls from the audio output, and she looks up to see Logan’s claws flash. Mister Creed pulls back not quite fast enough and three wicked gouges split his face. Blood drops thick into his sideburns, down his chin, and his eyes flare wildly. It’s a blur when he moves and she thinks for a moment that the visual feed is glitching until the audio recognizes a wet THUD and the tactile output skyrockets. The visual feed distorts and blurs and it sounds less like two men and more like one of those nature documentaries she watched when she was first studying biology. Animals fighting for food or survival or territory. She knew what Logan was fighting for. She didn't want to know which of the three Mister Creed thought he was getting out of this. 

The visual feed came back into focus as Mister Creed sat back on his heels, breathing heavily and hair a mess. There was still dark red smeared across his features, but the injuries Logan had left him with- looked more like papercuts, now. She blinked and they were gone. She was barely aware of the whimper in the back of her throat. 

“Adamantium chains, Logan.” Mister Creed was saying, wiping the back of his hand against his face. “You don't wanna know what I had to do to get my hands on these. … It's worth it, though, if I get to see you like this.” He grins again and drags his tongue along the red stains on his skin. Rei cringes and closes her eyes. 

“I sincerely apologize, Mister Creed.” Suzuki says into the phone. He sounds like he's underwater. “We will rectify his behaviour right away - and I assure you, there will be no more accidents.” And then to Rei, he hissed, “Fix it.”

“No.” Mister Creed says, and when Rei peeks one eye open, he has the phone to his ear. “In fact, can you ease up the leash a bit more? I want him talking for this.” When Rei hesitated, Suzuki brushed her hands out of the way and made the adjustment himself. The change is immediate. 

“What the HELL did you do to me?!” A new voice - Logan’s voice - demands. “Creed, you sick bastard, what did you DO?!” Mister Creed doesn't answer. He only smiles. 

“There you are.” He says, and Rei isn't sure if his tone is adoring or starving or some scary place in between. He stands back and strolls over to the tables, casual, so casual. Logan swears loudly, chains rattling as he struggles. Creed only gives him a passing glance. “Some way to treat the guy doing you a favour, runt.” He picks something off the table and Rei slaps her palm over her mouth. Pliers. He puts them down and holds up some bolt cutters instead, turning them around in the dim light. He puts those down too. “See, my new employers need your help with one of their experiments who got away. One that you helped smuggle out. That Railgun of yours.”

Railgun…? 

“Stupid brat's apparently pretty important.” 

The Railgun - that was Miss Mikasa, from Tokiwadai, right-? 

“Shut up!” Logan snaps, words half swallowed by a primal growl. Creed scoffs. 

“Relax, would you? It's a win for everyone who matters. They get what they want, I get what I want, and you…” Creed turns back to face Logan. He has something else in his hand, but Rei can't make out what it is. “Get what you want.” He crouches in front of Logan, leaning out of the way of what likely would’ve been a jaw-snapping kick. “Once I remind you what that is.” He holds up the mystery object and hits a button. A red, blinking light glows on and off, on and off. Creed holds eye contact and Rei cowers. 

“Take one.” Creed tosses the recorder to the side and hooked, savage claws extend from his fingertips.

“Now, my beautiful little wolf: Howl for me.” 

Rei doesn't even realize she’d run to the trash can until her breakfast is staring her in the face. She squeezes her eyes shut as she retches again. But even her own body can't drown out the screams echoing through the headset.

Those screams sounded a lot like the ones she heard now. She heard Logan, not a weapon, not a person, a wounded animal, caught in a bear trap, every time the room got too quiet. For a moment, she thought those noises were just more ghosts. She shut her eyes and dug the heels of her palms into her temples. Stop it, stop it, stop it stop it stop it– 

It didn't stop. 

And it didn't sound like Logan. There were too many voices and it

Was

Right 

Down

The

Hall. 

Rei froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Every muscle locked. The sounds were getting closer. The drop of ice-cold sweat down her neck felt too loud, too loud, too loud

(He can hear you.)

She knows that. She saw the readings. If that’s who she thinks it is she knows, knows, knows that he can hear her, can smell her, can taste the terror that rolls off her in waves. 

(He knows where you are)

He will find her. He will find her and she cannot stop him. She watched him move MADE him move and he is faster and stronger than anything she has ever seen before. And he is here and he is hunting.

He is hunting her.

(He deserves to find you.)

She did this. She did this to him and he knows. He knows and he wants revenge and why wouldn’t he? After everything he went through at her hands– She creeps towards the door, vision focused and blurring all that once, pulse pounding in her ears and breath coming in frantic gasps and the door handle is so far and so close all at once. Her hand shakes as she pulls the door open. She peers out slowly, carefully, eyes wide and searching and BANG. Two security bots fly through the air. They collide with the far wall so hard they explode and she shrieks and slams the door shut and backs away. Her hands are over her mouth and her cheeks are dripping tears and she is going to die. She cannot breathe and cannot stop shaking and she is going to die. He is coming for her and she cannot stop him and she is going to die and she deserves this, doesn’t she? For everything she did? She did this to him and he’s going to rip her apart like he almost did to Miss Mikasa and she is going to die and she is going to deserve it and she didn’t get to feed her cat one last time and she is going to die and she hopes Kana and Azumi forgive her for missing their tea date tomorrow and she is going to die she is going to die she is going to die- 

The door is ripped off its hinges like tissue paper and she barely has time to register the silhouette before she falls back with a scream and her eyes are closed and

Nothing happens. 

She can’t breathe but nothing happens. She peeks one eye open. Those terrible, horrible, vengeful claws are a micrometre away from her face. And then they pull back. She looks up and blinks until her vision clears enough, and the monster is staring at her, yellow eyes gleaming in the low light and accented by the blood spattered across his person and God, she had gotten so familiar with the way blood looked. She whimpers and the monster tilts its head. She wants to beg, to apologise, to scream, but she cannot find her voice. The monster takes a step back and speaks first.

“Go home, kid.” The monster says in flawless Japanese. She blinks and swallows.

“W-wh–”

“Go home.” He says again. “Third floor fire exit. It’s the only way out that’s not blocked. Your friends are already there.” She blinks again. Hears the words but doesn’t process them. The monster turns to leave and she hiccups a sob. 

“Wait-” She doesn’t even know what she’s saying. “Why are-? I- I did– Because of me- I- I didn’t–” 

The monster stops mid-step, lets his head tilt back until he’s looking at the ceiling, and sighs. He turns around and moves towards her again and she shrinks back.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He says. He takes his gloves off, and they make a wet squelch when they hit the ground. She cringes. He crouches down, and wipes his hands - still spattered with red in spite of the gloves - on his hips. “What’s your name?”

What? She swallows a second time. 

“Ah… R-Rei. Kobayashi Rei.” She stammers. Her voice is so small. The monster nods.

“Alright, Rei. You know my name already.” He says. He knows. He knows it was her, so why-? He holds his hands out, palms up. She shivers a few moments longer, then slowly, carefully, reaches out to take his hands. He squeezes - firm, but not painful. Another moment and she returns the gesture. 

“I hurt you.” She hiccups. He nods once.

“Yeah.” He says. 

“So why-?”

“Because I’m not stupid. You’re in over your head.” The man says. “Do you remember what I told you, about where to go?” Rei shook her head. “The fire exit on the third floor. Can you find that?” Rei nodded, and the monster nodded back. “Good. Now, I need you to listen. You’re gonna see a lot of shit out there, but you’re going to ignore that. Keep your eyes forward and keep moving until you’re outside. You’re not going to try and help any of those people, because you can’t. You’re just going to get outside and find your friends. And none of you are going to call Antiskill or Judgement until I’m gone, right? Nobody else needs to get hurt.” Rei sniffles and nods again. The monster squeezes her hands a little harder, then lets go. “Good girl.” He stands and she still can’t understand why he hasn’t hurt her. Why he’s being so gentle. She put him through hell, she watched him get eviscerated time and time again, she turned him on Miss Mikasa and yet–

“Please.” She says weakly. “I want- I need to, uh, I–” She fumbles around in her pockets and pulls out her access card, holding it out with shaking hands. “You, um, you, you might need–” He takes the card and she collapses back down. “And, uh, your gloves-”

“Leave ‘em.” He shrugs. “They’re ruined anyway.” He does slip the access card into a pouch on his belt, at least. Rei hiccups one last time and shakily climbs to her feet. The monster doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t leave, either. 

“You really wanna help me, kid?” He asks. She nods. Please. Please let her atone for what she did, even a little, even if it’s this. He nods again, probs his hand on his hip, and walks back over to her. “Right. Here’s what you can do for me - you’re going to be questioned about what happened here. And when they ask you who did it, or what I said to you, I just want you to tell them two words. Can you do that for me, Rei?” 

She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“What words?” 

She can’t see his mouth behind the mask, but she can hear the wickedness in his voice. 

“Hail Hydra.” And he turns and walks out the door, and this time, she does not stop him. She takes a few unsteady steps forward and pokes her head out of the room again. She can hear yelling, shouting. The men that rush around the corner, past the ruined bots, are from the higher-ups’ personal security details. Logan does not break his stride. Rei blinks, and he is on the other end of the hallway, and the guards collapse in a mangled heap. A mist of red falls over them like rain. Rei squeezes her eyes shut. Logan turns the corner and vanishes. 

The monster makes her way to the third floor. 

—

There’s a sick satisfaction in watching them try to fight back. In watching them struggle. In turning the tables. Some of them tried to run - the whitecoats, mostly. Of course they were the cowards. Some things were universal. 

Ah, there’s one now. 

This one is older (weaker) and an easy catch. His age, the fact that he’s so high up, and the nameplate on his jacket - the one stating he’s a director - make him just the person Logan needs to get by that retina scanner on the far wall. Perfect. The old man scurries. Logan braces his feet and pounces. Claws out and the spine severs without a sound. He grabs the head before the body hits the floor and in a single motion slams the death mask into the wall. The door beeps and opens. The guards are waiting, guns ready. Logan tosses the head. 

“Tsukamaete.” 

The gunshots ring down the hall. The echoes fade and Logan rolls his shoulders, letting the few spots where he’d been nicked heal over before he continues. There’s one door left at the end of the hall - the last place to check. He can hear voices. Frantic, fast, familiar. The same voice he’d heard on the phone with Creed, time after time after time. Nowhere left to run. 

So he gets to play. 

He lets his footsteps fall heavily, audibly. He didn’t need to worry about stealth, now. There was nobody to get in his way. Nobody between him and the rapid thump-thump-thump of his prey’s heartbeat, thirty feet away, twenty five, twenty, fifteen… Red stains follow behind him in a straight, resolute trail. From his footsteps, his teeth, dripping off his arms. He digs his claws into the wall, scoring lines through the plaster as he walks. The voice gets more frantic. Logan reaches the door and gives it a kick - not hard enough to break it down, but enough to rattle it. The voice inside yells. Logan kicks again, harder. 

“Stop it-!” 

Logan’s claws slice an X through the door. This time, when he kicks, the door shatters. His snarl echoes through the lab. The sole occupant of the room cowers. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” He screams, his voice wrecked and cracking. Behind his glasses, his eyes are wild and rolling, pupils contracted to pinpricks. Logan only growls in response. One step forward. The scientist - Suzuki, his nameplate says - scrabbles backwards. “They made me do it!” He pleads. Logan flexes his hands. Another step. Behind his mask, he parts his lips. The fear-scent is so thick he can taste it, bitter and triumphant and intoxicating. Suzuki lets out the sort of squeal Logan would expect from a gutted rabbit and pulls a handgun from his coat.

Cute. 

Logan doesn’t bother avoiding the shots. They won’t do anything. Another step. The first misses wild. The second hits him in the forehead. His head snaps against the impact. Another step. The third clips his ear. Another step. The fourth is another miss. Another step. The scientist starts blubbering like a baby. Another step. Logan flicks his wrist and slices the gun into thirds. 

“Please.” The man grips the table with one hand and holds his other up, a pitiful shield. Logan growls again, low and savage. “I-I was following orders, I- I can give you anything! Money, or information, or- Or the girl who controlled you, I can–” Logan impales his claws through the man’s shoulders. Suzuki screams and it is glorious. Logan leans in close, close enough that he can feel the frantic breaths on his skin.

“Shut up.” He says. He pulls his claws free and Suzuki drops, sliding off the desk to land on the floor. Logan turns away from him. There’s a port on the side of the terminal, and Logan studies it for a moment before producing the card Rei had handed him. It fit perfectly. The terminal hummed to life. Suzuki whimpered behind him. Logan let himself explore the information on the screen. There were many files, all under vague codenames. Logan scrolls through them idly. Project: Level Six Shift. Project: Doppelganger. Name after useless name. Suzuki slid along the floor behind him, crawling to the door. No, no, not this one… Suzuki rolled onto his back. 

Oh, there it is. 

Project: Central Control. 

It only took a quick scroll through to see what that was. … God, there were so many files. Recordings, notes, test logs… Logan scowled. Suzuki reached into his pocket. Logan didn’t want to read through all of this. Didn’t want to relive it. It’d take too long, anyway. He knew he was on limited time - even if the kids hadn’t called the authorities, someone had. Instead, he starts typing the command to erase the project. Suzuki looks at the detonator in his hand, breathes a hysterical, vindictive laugh SNAP. 

Logan’s boot comes down hard on his wrist. 

After a moment of stunned silence, Suzuki screams. His hand dangles uselessly from the shattered bone. Logan crouches and picks up the detonator, setting it on the desk. 

“Not happening.” He says, reaching down to grab Suzuki by the front of the shirt. “You don’t get the easy way out. When you die, everyone’s gonna see how pathetic your corpse is.” 

“You-” Suzuki claws at Logan’s hand with his one functional arm. “You’re a beast-! An 

animal, we were doing the world a favour-!”

Logan tightens his grip until the words cut off, baring his teeth in a snarl.

“Save it, bub.” He spits. “I’ve heard it all before.” More times than he’d care to count. Behind him, the terminal beeps. He angles his ear towards it, and then drives his claws into the processor without taking his eyes off Suzuki. Sparks shoot up, then fizzle, then die. 

“C’mon.” Logan says, throwing Suzuki over his shoulder. The pained grunt was almost enough to bring a smile to his face. “I got one more experiment for you. Tonight, doc, you’re testing to see if the gravity still works.” 

Logan wasn’t sure what ended up being more satisfying. Throwing Suzuki off the roof, or the crunch as he slammed into one of the cars in the parking lot. He stared over the edge of the roof, eyes reflecting bright gold, and watched as the headlights flashed on and off in time with the alarm. 

That’d get some attention for sure. 

And then he turns and leaves. 

If the authorities got there fast enough, they might be able to save the note paper stuffed into Suzuki’s pocket before it became illegible. 

Weapon X and the Railgun are ours. - HH

Yeah.He was definitely getting in trouble for this.

[ejunkiet]

back at the beginning

in light of the return to the imperium next month... the idea that david was the imperial bodyguard will not leave me alone. a love story. part one.

redacted asmr: imperium!david/angel, rated teen, canon-level violence

He’s imagined how their lips would feel like more than once over these last few months.

-

Imperium verse. David and Angel, and their first kiss.

READ ON AO3 IN FULL

--

back at the beginning

It had started simply enough.

A job, one of the best opportunities to come by the pack in a long time. Private security for the Imperial Prince. Or rather, as he’d come to find out, the Imperial prince’s mate.

A special case, as the prince had emphasized, his dark eyes as sharp as the line of his mouth.

“Discretion will be required.”

David had heard enough rumors of the families that have led the Imperium to know what that means, even as the thought sits uneasily in his gut. A secret relationship. Wolves weren’t in the habit of hiding their connections; but then again, it wasn’t as if it was much of an option within a wolf pack. With their enhanced senses, there was little that wasn’t shared with the whole.

The introductions had been short and to the point, which David preferred. The contracts had already been signed, this was just a formality.

They’re different than he expected. Softer. There’s a hard edge to the Imperial lineage, passed on from mother to son; a cold, glittering steel in the prince’s gaze, his voice. In contrast, his mate is tempered silver, soft and glittering. The prince himself never strays far from their side, a dark shadow in the wings, his gaze sharp and perceptive.

“This is David Shaw. He will lead the new security detail.”

Their eyes on him are bright with unbridled curiosity as they glance over him in turn, taking in his height, the broadness of his shoulders and the muscle there, lingering on the edge of the tattoo slipping out from under his shirt sleeve.

They’re unempowered, which is surprising considering their partner - although maybe partner wasn’t the right word, not with the careful distance they keep between each other, especially in public.

Consort, he learns, is their title, although they don’t wear it easily.

You can call me what you like, they’d remarked later, when he’d stumbled on the word, and so he settles on their family name, or Ser, when the company around them demands it.

Later, after he’s gotten to know them a little better, it becomes Troublemaker.

It fits them much better than anything else.

They like to tease him. They’re too smart for their own good, fast with a quick comeback, a witty remark that’s steeped in enough innuendo to make anyone - let alone him - blush.

It’s a game they play with him, a battle of wills - and he likes it.

He likes the way their lips curl into that infuriatingly attractive smirk when he enters the room, the banter they exchange when he accompanies them through town. It’s just subtle enough that it could be passed as a slip of the tongue, if it wasn’t for the fact that he knows them by now, and they know exactly what they’re doing.

(Their lips curled into a grin, eyes dark as they watched him, pupils wide. Aren’t you the big bad wolf?)

The flirtations are innocent enough, and the conversation is good. They actually see him, the way his pack members see him, except - more.

With them, he wasn’t the alpha of the pack, with all the deference that came with it. He wasn’t a shifter, or ‘half-breed’, limited in his capacity for magic, treated as a second class citizen under the imperial rule.

With them, he was just - David.

When they kiss him for the first time, it feels natural, like coming together. Like becoming whole.

It’s a mistake, but he doesn’t regret it.

–

The first time it happens is during an attack on the royal apartments.

A quiet war has been waging for years between the rebels and the Imperial rule, but it’s only lately that those attacks have turned personal, targeting members of the family in strategic, carefully planned strikes.

The latest attacks have been led by a handful of unsanctioned vampires, which means the Monarchs are finally taking an interest in the governing of the nation again, a dangerous idea that could spark a war.

But right now, David couldn’t give a shit about politics.

A member of his pack - Christian, as of course it was - had been caught unawares, granting an opening for the Freeborns to gain access to the apartments. The rest of his team have been tasked with tracking them down, while David focused on his charge - and keeping them safe.

For once, his troublemaker isn’t living up to their name, their expression serious as they make their way through the halls beside him, eyes wide and dark in the failing light. They’re dressed in little more than a silk robe, pale silk embroidered with the dark insignia of the Imperial house, their bare feet padding quietly across the tile floors as they make their way through the halls.

If they can make it to the back exit, the secret passages that will grant them a safe passage out of here, then he can join the hunt himself. It’s been too long since he’s used his teeth like this.

It's not long before the fight finds them, however.

When the attack happens, it happens fast - but David is faster.

He shifts in a blink of an eye - fur, claws, teeth - snapping at the dark blur that streaks towards them, forcing them to retreat as he pushes himself to his full height.

He’s intimidating like this, he knows; it’s an image he cultivates, his dark coat blending in with the shadows, his lips rolling back until he can show the full extent of his fangs.

The vampire hisses, scrambling backwards, his own paltry fangs bared, eyes pitch black. He’s in the middle of a frenzy, blood staining his chin and throat, and that means there will be a body waiting for them in the halls later.

He can feel the way his troublemaker shrinks back at the sight, and they’ve probably guessed the same thing.

A low snarl rips from his lips as he positions himself in front of his charge, watching the way the freeblood’s wounds stitch together - preternaturally fast, faster than they should be able to. Very well fed, then. Probably more than one victim. He won’t have another.

The seconds tick by, dragging in the silence that’s fallen between them, but David is patient. He can wait for the bloodsucker to make his move.

It doesn’t take long. With another blood-soaked hiss, the vampire lunges toward them.

But instead of coming straight for him, he leaps to the side, using the momentum from the wall to push past David’s guard, reaching for his charge - and like fuck is David going to let him take them from him.

His teeth connect, clenching down around the arm and wrenching even as the vamp hisses again and swipes at his flank. His nails are like claws as they make contact, streaking down his side, and he can smell the stink of the blood before he can feel the pain.

The initial strike is superficial, but then he swipes again, nails pushing deeper, fingers pressing in until they almost reach bone - and this, this David can feel every second of.

Still, he has claws of his own, and using every ounce of his strength, he rips the bloodsuckers arm at the joint, tossing the disintegrating flesh onto the ground as he spits out the taste of its blood.

It’s enough to make the bloodsucker pull back, his expression twisting as he takes stock of the damage. He’s not the only one; David can feel his blood soaking his fur, even as his magic steals the pain, and he sees the way the vamp’s gaze catches on it, as if unable to look away.

He’s still caught in the bloodlust, David realises, and that means he’s a newblood, freshly weaned from his maker.

It’s easy, then, to take advantage of his distraction and secure his maw around the bloodsucker’s throat and tear it out.

It’s messy. It always is, even as the body dissolves into dust, rotten flesh melting away until only gleaming white bone remains.

Then, and only then, does David let himself collapse, his claws and teeth and fur melting away until all he’s left in is his skin.

The fact that he’s shredded his livery, the red and black uniform he’d been required to wear during his posting here, and is now naked should concern him more than it does.

But fuck, he is tired.

“David- no. Nonono.”

Small hands press against his chest, applying pressure through the thin material of the hoodie they'd been wearing onto the gashes he can feel along his sides. He can feel his magic working, ripples of heat and energy flowing through his veins, stemming the blood and knitting torn skin.

But they don’t know that. “T-Troublemaker.”

They draw back with a sharp gasp, cheeks flushed and blotchy as they catch his gaze. “D-David?”

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He means it. As if to confirm his words, the bleeding stops, although the gash itself is still a brilliant, livid colour.

There are tears in their eyes, leaving wet tracks down their cheeks even as they swipe at them angrily with the back of their hand.

“Thank fuck.”

He huffs a laugh as they glare at him, dewy-eyed and frantic. He can hear the thundering pace of their heart inside their chest, before they lean down and press their mouth to his.

The kiss is chaste, but desperate, their breath shuddering against his cheek. Their lips are slightly chapped but soft, moulding to his as their hand finds his cheek.

He’s imagined how their lips would feel against his more than once these last few months.

He doesn’t have time to react before they pull away, eyes wide and dark as they flicker between his own. The first words to blurt from their lips is an apology.

“I’m- I’m sorry.”

He can’t help the way his eyes are drawn back to their mouth, watching as their tongue swipes across them, before he’s pulling them back in to meet his mouth again, tasting them for himself.

Close like this, he can feel the way their breath leaves them, their body tensing before relaxing, slowly. They’re soft and warm against him. They always ran so fucking hot.

It’s when they moan, a soft noise that he can barely hear over the racing of his heart that he comes back to himself.

Remembers where they are, who they are.

He watches that settle in as they draw back breathless, their pupils blown wide, skin hot, a flush riding high on their cheeks. Their fingers slip back down to his collarbone as they take him in, lingering on the arch of his nose, the curve of his mouth, before flicking back up to meet his gaze.

There’s a mutual understanding there, a mutual need.

But it can never happen again.

The thought twists in his chest, edged and sharp, but he shoves it down as they lean back on their heels, hands dropping from his chest.

The hiss of his earpiece distracts him from the awkward silence that's fallen between them, and he lifts his hand to activate the mic. It takes him a moment to find his voice.

“Ash. Report.”

A crackle of static, before his voice comes through. “Building secure. We counted three.”

“Four. One got past the perimeter.” Asher curses sharply, and David knows that his reaction will be threefold when he learns who was behind the breach, if he hadn’t guessed already. “I handled it.”

“The asset?” In the corner of his eye, he can see the way their lips twist at the title, the hard line of their mouth as they glance away. Their hands are fidgeting in their lap, picking at their nail beds, and this close to a shift, he can sense the way their emotions are whirling inside of them - want, anxiety, fear.

Fuck. It isn’t directed at him, but he can guess the cause.

Later, he will blame it on the blood loss that is making his head spin when he reaches out to take their hand, squeezing until some of that unease settles. “They’re fine. They’re with me.”

They return his grip, a softness in their gaze as it flickers between his. Then their eyes narrow, a flicker of determination entering them as they lean forward and speak directly into his earpiece.

“Your alpha’s hurt. I’ve done what I can, but you should send for back up.”

Another curse. I’ve got your location. I’m sending Miguel.

David can’t fault them for their concern, so he doesn’t. He settles for a flat look, which earns him a wet laugh, their grip on his hand tightening.

They don’t let go until Miguel arrives.

[adelaidedrubman]

real memoir readers get it

[funkylilomen]

oh ig now i can mention that Apollyon's blog name is a bible reference :]

Genesis 4:9 —

"Then the Lord said to Cain, "Where is your brother Able?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Am I my brother's keeper?"

if you know the story of Cain and Able, you'll know why i chose this

[wildlcck]

JAVIER (@coyotlindo): THREAT- sender holds a weapon up to receiver as a threat x

━━━🥀━━━

❛ now, is that any kinda way to greet an old friend? ❜ speaking terse; snarling more than smiling. thinking about the chances of reaching for her gun or blade before meeting her maker. then, thinking against it. she's got this mouth for a weapon: but it's got her into trouble far more times than it's gotten her out of it. still- it's all she's got for now ❛ been a while, ain't it? hell, i almost didn't recognise you! yer a popular fella all right, javier. there's all kinds a' folk bin wantin' to speak with ya an' see you- alive, or, well... not so alive. it's funny, 'cause, t' me, you're just a little fish. i want me a far bigger catch. like ol' dutch, for starters. you two still keepin' in touch? if you could be a good boy and take me to 'im, i just might have a word with those folks. convince 'em to let you go. or, give ya a head start, at least- for old times' sake. i'm nothin' if not persuasive. ❜ escuella's not just the loyal type, but the smart kind. quick- perceptive. fearless. which makes him a whole lot more useless (and dangerous) to her. she never did have all that much of a poker face. still, she's carrying on with this bluff of hers, regardless. ❛ you're as loyal as they come, ain't you? i always liked that about you. bein' an' stayin' loyal... it's really somethin' in a world fulla dirty, greedy, cheatin' no-good bastards. but, bein' blind loyal? well, that's just the worst kind, ain't it? the dumbest kind. don't you worry yer head about dutch- he's big enough t' look out for himself. hell, that man ain't loyal to nothin' or nobody but himself. you gotta think about you now, javier. you gotta think for yourself... 'cause it's every man for themselves now. ❜

[sonxofxgondor]

@ofthevanyar asked: *a bouquet of red roses for Boromir for Valentines!*

Happy (Late) Valentine's Day!

Amarie did not need to try. Even the simplest of efforts able to melt her husband, the gift of roses so red and the overall mood was enough against old Boromir. A day celebrated many years over by then, never once was any one moment less special than the next. Celebrations of love so cherished; the entire home that was shared by the Steward family was decorated for the occasion. Heart decor pinned from wall to wall, streamers and beads of white and pink hung between the windowpanes. Chocolates served by the cook upon the table in the dining hall; gold and silver bobbles glistening in the sunlight, the centerpiece that was fashioned to the image of swans intertwined, glasslike statues.

Dressed in the finest of his velvet tunics, burgundy to match the celebrations, boots as black as the outline that marked his love letter to Amarie, still within his hand, Boromir admired both the handywork of the family's committed staff and the thoughtfulness of his wife. Bent his head down lower to the vase which held the roses, breathed in deep the sweet scent of them, hummed in bliss. Fingers gentle around the note he still carried for her, a small box in his pocket, golden satin, at the sound of her footsteps did he turn. Faced Amarie with smile, wrinkles around his eyes, along the edge of his mouth. Gray just begun to gather around brown locks, by the temples on either side.

"These are beautiful, my love! As I have always said, you have a sharp mind for nature. Their smell is... divine. Second best to you, of course. You spoil me, my sweet! However did you find such perfect roses? I was sure that all of the shops had sold out of them. I couldn't find a single seller who had them in stock today! Neither roses nor any other flower! And what a large bouquet you have given to me, Amarie. Do tell, was there a reason for its size? I would like to think that each pretty rose here represents every one of our pretty daughters. Our own proof of love, yes?"

Boromir smiled, handed off the letter and then grasped for the box in his pant pocket, dropped to bent knee and showed. "I've gotten you something, too. I promise, I will give you time to read the letter, but first, beloved, let me speak. Not as Steward but as your husband, your lover. Material goods do not matter, and I know that, but I could not have helped but noticed the state of your wedding band. Over the years, it has seen much. Helped to raise our daughters, helped this kingdom. But upon your hand, it has been worn down by the cruelty of time. You deserve the finest things in life, Amarie. And no, I would never ask for you to remove your marriage ring from your finger, but in the spirit of the holiday that is upon us, I ask that, maybe, you could consider another to sit alongside it?"

Opening the golden lid, nestled on a cushion of plush sat a band of platinum, modest sized stones detailed across that ranged in color, an almost rainbow of luxury. "For you, my darling! Each stone to this band represents our children, their month of birth. Between the stones, I had the jeweler engrave our family emblem, the mark of your house. On the innermost side, of where the band will meet your skin... well, I'll let you read my note to find out just what is said there. That, and so much more. I love you, Amarie. I love you above all else. Within this world and the next, my heart will always be yours. My heart, my mind, my body; I could never want another. I love you! May I slip this ring onto your finger? We must make sure that it fits!"

[thethirteenthcrow]

two years and almost eight months ago i made a decision that would drastially alter what i'd been doing till then. it's the biggest fic i've ever written. it's a slow transition from shyan to formula one (mawis). it's a big writer's block. it's hating what i wrote. it's perseverance. it's nearly fucking finished.

[multimuse-rp32]

@powerfulplantwitch [Starter call]

Hunter looked at the snow in silence, a few months had passed after Belos was defeated, now he was in the Bonesborough town park "…"

Hunter sighed sleepily and looked down at his hands before looking at the children playing in the park.

[muttakutagawa]

can you share about your shibusawa kids :D

yes!!!

(sorry this took so long to get out, my computer broke so its slow typing big text posts on mobile so please forgive any typos)

they're still in development at the moment as i try to build my nextgen but heres something of an overview of them so far to give you a bit of a general idea :]

some background: i like to ship shibusawa in a monstercule (monster polycule) of him, bram, lovecraft, adam, and sigma so the four kids i talk about here have additional siblings from those as well

they also each have some reptile i equate them within my mind that i use to characterize them

Tatsumi Shibusawa-Lovecraft

Tatsumi is th oldest of the family, and has the least conventional origin in comparison to not only his siblings but all my fankids (yes, even chimeraverse, even if those aren't actually technically shipkids).

He's technically closer to a singularity than anything else, first appearing as an egg shaped bundle of excess energy in the aftermath of Dead Apple. He wasn't really concious or anything during this, just a bunch of barely contained highly unstable energy swirling around. The egg was initially gathered by the ADA but was turned over to the Special Division for Unusual Powers so it could be more safely stored and observed. I don't want to spoil the entire story since I plan on writing/drawing it, so to cut to the end, the energy stored in the "egg" wasn't stable enough to actually form a living body and Shibusawa couldn't provide any more than what he already had. It required contact with another extreme source of energy, which ended up being the cosmic power Lovecraft is constantly using to maintain a human form himself. (I will say there were a couple other circumstances that could've provided Tatsumi with his stabalized human form, Lovecraft was just the one who actually made physical contact with the "egg" to actually trigger it)

His ability, Revolt of the Body doesn't actually do much, primarily because it's not much of an ability and functions more like Great Old One. It's main point of use is just shapeshifting and letting Tatsumi be able to do that without becoming unstable again. But... perhaps it does have other capabilities yet to be seen...

Tatsumi is fairly laid back but is also frequently bored and gets sleepy if his interest isn't held. He seeks out a lot of novelty to keep himself entertained (and yes as a result he is easily taken in by video games for those dopamine hits. Please don't let him near a casino.) He's rather sluggish in most aspects but when excited can cause a lot of accidental damage by forgetting how strong he is. He has a penchant for theatre and art and can be found skulking around galleries or performance halls people watching or waiting for plays or dances to begin.

He's designed to evoke a python or anaconda 🐍

References: Tatsumi Hijikata and his solo work Hijikata Tatsumi and Japanese People: Revolt of the Body

Mina Shibusawa-Stoker

Mina is the middle child of the Stoker triplets (including her older brother Jonathan and younger sister Lucy aka Lulu).

Her ability, White Wyrm Lair lets her hypnotize others. The ability takes the form of a crystalline looking serpent that inflicts a setting bite, its venom making the victim extremely susceptible to suggestion. Mina can choose to activate the latent venom at whatever point she chooses, provided the ability hasn't been deactivated in the time passed.

She's got a lot of confidence and can be a bit of a trickster, using her charms for her own amusement. She's also very into luxury and likes to lounge around. She's honestly got knife cat energy, which I love for her.

Her reptile is a komodo dragon 🐉

References: Mina Harker (character in Bram Stoker’s Dracula), Bram Stoker novel The Lair of the White Worm

Yukio Shibusawa

Yukio's one of the two "middle children" of the group (along with Slava, who isn't discussed here since they aren't a Shibusawa kid).

He's fairly laid back, or at least appears that way in terms of his introspective nature. He gets on well with most people and tries to be accommodating but can end up as a pushover in his attempts to people please conflicting against his own wants.

While he doesn't have an actual ability, he does eventually gain access to The Book. That plays a lot into his character and arch so I don't actually want to say too much about it here to avoid spoilers, sorry about that.

While it wasnt initially intended, for some reason he reminds me most of a snapping turtle 🐢

References: Yukio Mishima, assorted work by Mishima (Confessions of a Mask, The Frolic of the Beasts, The Sea of Fertility tetralogy (Spring Snow, Runaway Horses, The Temple of Dawn, and The Decay of the Angel))

Epsilon Shibusawa

Epsilon is the baby of the family!

Because they're so young I don't have too much to say unfortunately.

They don't have an ability of their own but did end up inheriting access to Draconia's fog. They're very clingy to their family and don't like to be far from them or in new places around new people. They're generally very anxious and withdrawn, but they enjoy listening to stories and solving puzzles, which helps feed their curiosity.

While designed with the inspiration of a hognose snake, they also take some aspects from crocodilians 🐊

References: the greek letter Epsilon, Tatsuhiko Shibusawa’s The Song of the Eradication and The Rib of Epicurus

Bonus "Fun" Fact!:

The reason all of them have dragonic hybrid physiology is as a result of being fused with energy from Draconia. Tatsumi is of course his own special case in regards to that being a literal singularity and Revolt Of The Body making it possible for him to shift just how human vs monster he appears.

The others are permanent, with their horns growning from the spot in their skulls where Shibusawa embedded shards of Draconia gems into them, thus making them hybrids just like him.