#and trying to fight any and all of the guards or like lifting heavy shit for no reason

[shadelesssocket]

enough. show me awkward angsty teenager haytham spending all day practicing his swordsmanship and being a real bitch about it

[mychoombatheroomba]

Proper Introductions

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 2

You're feeling a lot of regret for your performance in the training yard yesterday. For lots of reasons.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

You had almost forgotten what it was to be a fuckup. You had never been a perfect soldier, by any means, but lately you had been feeling like a competent one again. STRATCOM was kicking the living shit out of you, but you had felt like you were finally cresting the mountain, getting it to a manageable level of daily pain. 

Should have known better than to let yourself get too comfortable. Krauser always noticed when any of you got comfortable.

Your shame and the memory of steel against your side weighed on you the rest of the day, through the training and meals and even into your hour of personal time. An hour that you dedicated to running the drills that Krauser had taught you, trying to clear your head before lights out. 

It only partially worked, and the night was too long and too short all at the same time. When you finally got to sleep, you dreamed of snow and blood, and when you woke the next morning, you felt brittle. Breakable. The dog tags around your neck felt heavy, and you fought the urge to take them off. 

It pissed you off something fierce, so as the day’s training began, you pushed yourself hard, turning that shame into gasoline, letting it burn in your chest. Every shot you fired at the range, every extra millisecond it took to disassemble your weapon was another spark to the blaze. It burned and burned, until lunch time came, and you glimpsed another reason to regret your performance yesterday. 

“Looks like Krauser kicked the shit out of Pretty Boy.” One of your fellows, Valeria, snickered. Her eyes were fixed across the tables, her voice loud enough to carry just as far. Those who cared for gossip looked at who she spoke of, and with the heaviness in your gut, you couldn’t help but join them. 

He’d bruised. That ridiculous haircut of his fell on the wrong side of his face to hide the shiner that was forming across the rookie’s cheek, creeping up to just beneath his eye. Right where your fist had connected the day before. Seeing it made you feel, quite simply, like a piece of shit. It wasn’t the first time you’d given someone a mark in training. Wouldn’t be the last. Still, when he felt all those eyes on him and looked up, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d kicked a puppy. He couldn’t have been that much younger than you, but there was just something about those ocean eyes that deepened the pit of regret in your stomach. That only got worse when your own eyes met his. You thought he’d look away quickly. 

Instead, you found yourself surprised as the bruised cadet held your gaze, just the way he had when his guard had been up yesterday, before you’d knocked him to the ground.

“Wasn’t the Major,” Alejandro, another of your peers, corrected Valeria. Then, you felt the energy around the tables shift and you took your eyes off the kid you’d injured and looked instead at the man speaking. “Way I heard it,” he gave you a wolf grin, lifting a cup of water towards you in a toast, “it was our Sergeant, over here.” 

Murmurs swept around you, and you did your best to hide your grimace.

“Beating up babies now, huh?” Someone jabbed. You almost struck back. He put up more of a fight than you ever have was right at the tip of your tongue. A few years ago, you would have hurled the insult with abandon. Pull the pin and toss. Now . . . well, with the shit sleep you had and the general less-than-ideal way you felt, you just went back to eating your meal. If the scop they served could be called that. 

The rest of the recruits had their fun - as much of it as could be had before they realized you weren’t giving them anything to work with. You, in the meantime, just sank back into your own spiral of thoughts. 

You shouldn’t have hit him like that. Krauser was right, you shouldn’t have been tagged in the first place, but you didn’t make things better for yourself with a cheap shot. 

You’d just felt that knife against you and . . . and then you’d fucked up. You’d brought your own shit into the fight, made it someone else’s problem. Let yourself get scared by a fucking practice knife. It was stupid. 

It was stupid, and you wanted to put it behind you.

You finished your food quickly. Wasn’t anything to savor, anyway. Then, you stood, bringing your empty tray with you as you marched towards him. He was sitting by himself, and you were grateful that no one would be directly privy to this conversation. He had stopped looking at you, but your movement drew some quick glances from him. Even in those glimpses, he met you with a sharpness. That only grew as you approached, and more of his attention turned to you. Inquisitorial came to mind, one of those damn SAT words that you remembered, god knows why. He looked like he was trying to figure you out. 

He had grit, you had to give him that. 

Made you wonder what his life was like before this. Made you wonder about a lot of things. Mostly, though, you wondered-

“What’s your name?”

He looked surprised that you were asking. His expression said 'What the hell are you doing?'

You wanted to ask yourself the same thing. 

Instead, you waited that second or two before he answered. 

“Uh, Kennedy.” 

“I know. Krauser said that yesterday. I meant your first name.” 

Another pause, and you saw the gears turning in his head. “. . . Leon.” 

You nodded. Pointed to his cheek. “Sorry about that, Leon. You got me. Shouldn’t have been such a dick about it.” 

The recruit - Leon - blinked. His blue eyes moved away from you for a moment. Considering what to say. Then, he shook his head. “No, it’s . . .” if he said fine, you already knew that it would be a lie. He’d been pissed yesterday when you did it, and you couldn’t blame him. “It’s fine.” 

There it was. Liar. A polite liar. 

“No, it’s not. I was an asshole. Shouldn’t have happened.” 

He looked at you, confused, and you understood it well enough. Then, that sharpness about him turned to something a little brighter. Cautiously optimistic. “You said it, not me.” 

“I did.” Again, you nodded. There. Apology delivered, time for you to move on. 

You made it a step before Leon spoke again. “Thank you. For the apology.” 

Oh, he was not the sort of person you would expect to be here. 

Everyone you had trained with so far had been hardened bastards, most of them old and grizzled vets or arrogant hotshots. They needed the best. People who were going to get the job done. They were here to do a job, same as you. You’d come to expect no great affection. 

Even so, looking back at Leon, you found someone who looked genuinely, truly grateful. It took no special insight to imagine why. The training for the US Strategic Command was not and never would be the hardest thing you’d done in life, but it ground you down. It was a pressure cooker, and everyone felt it every second of every day. Krauser was a good teacher, but he was the sort who would push you to your breaking point. Beat you down so you never forgot when and how you showed a weakness. He had long warned that there would be no mercy in the real world, so he trained you without it. So, you knew that when Leon looked at you like that, it was because any kindness shown here was a rarity.

“Don’t mention it,” you said back. Here, in the midst of training for the worst of scenarios, on this most shitty of days, it felt nice to be not only forgiven, but maybe even appreciated. That little feeling stopped you from leaving so quickly, and you stepped towards the recruit once more. “And also: smaller arm movements.”

“What?”

“In our fight,” you clarified, “that’s how I could tell where you were going to go. You were telegraphing everything.” 

Leon almost smiled. It looked good on him. “Krauser told me the same thing yesterday. After.” 

“Well, he’s right.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Good.” 

The interaction was awkward, and you, for one, never wanted to do it again. Still, that was a better feeling to focus on than the crushing guilt you’d been stuck under all morning. You readily embraced it as you went into afternoon drills, glad you could at least make good on one of your mistakes. 

As for the others . . . well, those were the ones you clung to as you and Valeria circled each other later, knives flashing in the midday sun.

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Chapter Index

[graves4girls]

☆ i want to be with you | peter quill II

✩ summary: you've taken quite a liking to the ship, and don't plan on leaving anytime soon. ✮ word count: 2.4k ⚠︎ warning(s): fem!reader part 2 also will probs keep this characterization of the reader for my future quill fics ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!

You're situated in the common area, handle of your sword in one hand as the other glides the sharpener along the blade when you hear him clamber down the steps, heavy footsteps echoing off the metal interior as he approaches you.

"Getting ready for battle, or what? What's up with the sharpener?"

You roll your eyes, setting down the weapon onto the tabletop in front of you to give him your attention. God knows he'd crumble if you didn't.

"It doesn't hurt to always be prepared…I see you didn't get the memo."

You eye his attire, baggy sweats hanging around his hips and a fitted t-shirt that hugged his muscles perfectly.

"You don't think I look battle ready? I could totally kick ass in this."

"You're not even wearing shoes. And your hair's a mess. They'd laugh at you and blast your ass into another dimension. C'mere."

You reach a hand out as he pads closer, patting down the wild curls that stick up in every direction and combing your fingers through his hair. He hums as you play with the messy strands, letting his eyes wander your face.

"Do you own a comb? Jesus Christ, or at least use some conditioner."

He winces when your fingers get caught in a tangle, and you murmur an apology as you slowly work out the knot of hair. Your fingers gently pull at the strands until they free from each other, running your nails along his scalp to brush back his bangs before pulling away.

"Is it better?"

You shrug. "A little. I can help you comb it out later. And start conditioning. It does wonders."

He smiles as he settles down in the seat beside you.

"Where'd you get this thing, anyways? It's massive." He picks up the heavy blade, cautiously eyeing the sharp edge.

"My mother made it for me. She wanted me to be able to defend myself in case we were ever invaded again. She taught me how to fight, too."

You reach over his arm to nudge his fingers open, pointing to the small engravings in the leather that wrapped around the handle.

"My father carved these into the handle. It was a collaborative effort, really. He was just as keen on keeping me on guard at all times. They were both my number one fans when it came to my combative skills."

You lift your gaze to find him already staring back, and you suddenly feel so close, leaning over him with your arm still draped over his own. You flush a bit at the realization, clearing your throat as you lean back.

"The only use I get out of it is hacking down branches and shit, though. I've never had to use it on anyone. Well…aside from you, I guess. But that doesn't really count."

He grins, setting it down.

"You were this close to drawing blood." He holds his hand up, gesturing with his index and thumb. "I'm surprised it didn't break the skin, with how sharp you keep this thing."

"I'm glad I didn't, because now I have my own personal space chauffeur."

He rolls his eyes, turning away from you as he feigns hurt.

"So that's what it is? You use me for rides? Some friend you are."

You can see the smile that he fights to keep hidden, and you punch his shoulder weakly.

"I mean, you are the greatest pilot in the universe, right? Who else better to fly me around than you? Unless that was only a bluff, of course."

"You're just trying to butter me up and flatter me, now."

You rest your elbow on the table, chin perched in your hand as you watch him.

"Is it working, Mr. Star-Lord?"

"No…maybe a tiny bit."

You grin, letting a hand tug at his bicep to unfold his arms from each other. "I guess you're kinda cool to hang out with, too. But it's mainly the free rides. Don't let your head get any bigger."

He brushes you off with a small grin, snaking a hand onto the table to snatch your bag of snacks from you, digging into the crinkly package as you roll your eyes.

"This is sufficient enough pay, honestly. I could live off of just this shit."

He stuffs his mouth as he speaks, and you nudge his chin to close his mouth, keeping him quiet as a few of the homemade chips fall from his mouth and onto the table. He throws a lopsided grin at you as he chews, handing back your snack.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoy my makeshift chips. You're lucky they’re so easy to make, or else I wouldn't be letting you eat so many."

He mumbles something that sounds like gratitude as he finishes the mouthful of food, picking up the remnants of the havoc wreaked onto your snack and tossing them into his mouth as you shake your head. Your eyes fall to his arm, running over the defined muscle as it flexes and relaxes with his movements.

"You like what you see?"

You startle a bit as you meet his eyes, face heating up as he gives you a smug grin.

"How 'bout this? Huh?"

He flexes his bicep, and you shove him away with a groan.

"Chill out, Star-Nerd. I was spacing out. Get your ego in check."

He lowers his arm as you speak, leaning in tauntingly.

"Excuses, excuses. Just admit you can't resist starin' at these guns."

"You wish, asshole. You keep dicking around like that and you're not getting any more chips."

He drops the grin so fast it's funny, and you stifle a laugh as he apologizes profusely.

"You're such a dork. Here, you can have the rest. I'm feeling nice today."

You watch him shuffle around the small kitchen, muttering to himself as he tends to whatever it was exactly that he was doing, headphones perched over his ears and music far too loud to be safe for his hearing. You slowly pad up to him, tapping a finger on his shoulder opposite you and grinning when he turns to find nothing, whipping around to glare down at you.

"Couldn't resist, sorry. What are you doing? I thought you went to sleep."

You lean against the countertop beside him, nudging one of the earpads from his ear so you were sure he'd hear you. He shrugs a bit, gazing at you as he shifts.

"Couldn't stay asleep. What are you doing out here?"

"No different from you, I suppose. It's freezing on this thing. I'm used to the humid climate on my planet, not the frigid emptiness of space."

He hums quietly, falling silent. You watch him for a while, just taking him in, in all his sleepy, mussed haired glory. You knit your brows together when he starts to sway his hips, biting back a chortle.

"What are you doing?"

He smiles down at you, stepping away from the counter and holding a hand out to you.

"Dancing. C'mon."

You stare at his hand, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I can't dance. Besides, it's much more entertaining just watching you."

He gives a small pout, catching your hand in his own and pulling you to bump against his chest, letting his other hand fall to settle against your waist.

"Everyone can dance. They just need the right teacher, and lucky for you, I happen to be among the best of the best."

"I don't even know what song you're listening to, so how am I supposed to dance?"

He tugs the headphones off to hang around his neck, cranking the volume up until it can't go any higher, and you can faintly hear the slow melody blasting through the small speakers. You roll your eyes, pressing a hand to his chest in an attempt to push away, but he's quick to wrap his arms around your waist securely, keeping you glued to him.

"You're such a nerd."

You watch that stupid grin work its way onto his lips, and he slowly begins to sway you back and forth, big hands firm against your waist. "You're the one who wanted to join me on the ship. Nobody to blame but yourself."

"You should come with a disclaimer. Because I definitely did not sign up for dance sessions in the middle of the kitchen when we're supposed to be asleep."

He draws back to spin you around, and you grumble quietly as he tugs you into his chest once more.

"You like me a lot more than you let on. This is all just a façade, and you know it. You're practically swooning right now."

You can't hide the smile that tugs at your lips, shoving his face away when he leans in to tease you.

"In your dreams, maybe. You're insufferable."

"And yet here you are, following my every move without hesitation. You sure are full of contradictions."

Your face heats up at his words, and you let your hands push half-heartedly at his biceps, a weak attempt at getting him to free you.

"You live to torment me, I swear. I'm regretting ever helping you."

He chuckles quietly, and you swear you almost melt entirely at the way he hugs you closer, flush against his chest as he steps side to side.

"You'd never be able to resist the Star-Lord charm. I would've wooed you regardless."

"You are so unbelievably corny. How is it this is the same man that saved the galaxy, hmm?" You poke a finger lightly against his chest, smoothing your hand over the muscle as his grin widens.

"I'm telling you, it's my charm. I'm just too good. Just admit you're absolutely head over heels."

You stare at him with faux humorlessness, flicking your finger against his forehead and laughing as he recoils, hands retreating to rub at the abused spot as you chortle.

"That was uncalled for. Inciting violence when I'm trying to be a gentleman and dance with my lady."

You raise your eyebrows, a humored smile playing on your lips. "Your lady, huh? I have an inkling to believe you're the one who's head over heels."

He stammers, stumbling over his words at your implication, and you swat at his chest playfully.

"Just messing with you. Don't get all flustered, Star-Lord. What happened to your tough little demeanor?" You throw another small smile before slipping past him. "You've tuckered me out with your dance lesson. C'mon, you need the sleep, too."

You reach to grab his hand, pulling him along to drag him to his bunk. He quietly protests the suggestion as you step into his quarters, pouting once more as you reach to tug the headphones from around his neck, flipping off the device and pushing him down to sit on the edge of the cushion.

"You'll have more than enough time to torture me after getting some sleep. You look exhausted."

You rake your fingers through his mussed hair, and he sighs softly.

"Can…can you stay here until I fall asleep, at least? I find it easier when you're here."

"As long as it gets you to shut up."

He frowns at your words, making a show of flopping onto his side with his back facing you, feigning agitation. You huff out a small laugh, reaching to pull the thin blanket over him, perching yourself on the edge of the bed to let your fingers massage his scalp.

"You comfy?"

He flips over to look at you, nodding with a small smile plastered on his face.

"Very."

He nearly purrs as you play with curly blond strands, thumbing over his cheekbone whenever your hand nears his face, feeling the stubble across his cheek. His eyes fall shut, leaning into your touch as his breathing slows.

"How 'bout a goodnight kiss? For good luck." He teases, eyes still closed as he purses his lips playfully.

You think for a moment before dipping your head, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his temple, and he jumps a bit at the unexpected contact.

"Don't get excited. That's all you're getting. Learn to be humble."

You watch him intently, but he keeps his eyes closed, though you don't miss the way he tries to fight the dumb smile that pulls at his lips.

He emerges from his nest hours later, hair ruffled and messy as he yawns, hand scratching at the line of hair that disappears beneath the band of his sweatpants as he pads over to the stool you're situated on. You lift your gaze from the small book pinched between your fingers, clamping a hand over your mouth at the sight, giggling behind your palm.

"What are you laughing at? I just woke up. Cut me some slack."

"No, you –you look cute. Aside from the drool stain."

You pick a napkin from the table to wipe at his face, and he leans into your touch, mind still laced with sleep as he melts into your hand.

"You think I'm cute? I knew you were swooning."

You roll your eyes, nudging his jaw as you pull away. "What did I say? Humble yourself. Your head's already big enough."

He plops down beside you, laying his cheek onto the cool tabletop and staring up at you, reaching a hand out to toy with your fingers. He thumbs over your knuckles, silent as he slowly regains complete consciousness. You let him fidget as your eyes pan across the open book in front of you, humming with a small laugh as you feel him pull at your hand to tangle in his hair. Your nails scrape gently across his scalp, drawing quiet, content murmurs from his lips as he sits beside you.

"So, can we talk about it? I mean, if you want to, of course."

He watches as you close the book, and you tuck a few stray curls behind his ear as you look down at him.

"What do you want me to say?"

He stares for a moment before speaking.

"I don't know. I guess…I just wanna know what this is. Between us, I mean. Because I can't keep acting like this is just friendly. Like, is it more, or am I confused?"

You smile at him, scooting your seat closer.

"I'd like to say it's more, if you want to. I do like you, Peter."

He lifts his head from the table, eyes searching your expression.

"Like, like like me?"

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, nodding. "Yes, like like. I'd be stupid not to."

He stills for a good few moments, drawing his brows together.

"I think that's the first time you've used my first name."

"Yeah? Do you not like it?"

He's quick to shake his head, and you grin at him.

"No, I really like it. You should do it more often."

"I'll remember that."

You watch him, eyes flickering to his lips as he leans in closer.

"Can I kiss you?"

"I'd like you to."

[bloodiedrogue]

GOOD DAYS

SUMMARY: Miguel just wants to understand you better.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Gender Neutral Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,503

WARNINGS: A little bit of miscommunication mixed with some longing. Nothing too serious here.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For my beloved @imgoingtofreakoutnow I hope you enjoy!!

MASTERLIST

-

Miguel’s fully aware of how untouchable you are. Physically, at any given moment you’re an arms reach way, always lingering around him, making sure you know he’s there. Oftentimes, you can be found walking on the heels of his feet, touching his arm when you laugh, rubbing his shoulders when he’s tired.

In every other capacity you’re miles away, a distant body of thoughts that go blank each time he looks at you a little too long. 

He couldn’t understand you if he tried. Even after staring for as long as he has, picking apart your features and the way they often shift. You’re an enigma, he thinks. A paradox of guarded feelings shoved inside the body of an open book. Because of this, he thought it’d be easy to understand you —to slowly get through to you— but not long after putting in the effort he soon began to realize it was the opposite. 

On your good days, you’re avoidant. A joking mess of sarcasm and scoffs that deflects any sort of intimate conversation. Whereas on your bad days, you’re defensive. An impenetrable wall of silence that often has him fighting the urge to lash out. 

When the two of you are together and Miguel asks you questions, when you’re in a good mood, you usually respond with wit. Encasing your words in a humour he doesn’t quite understand. It’s on these days he makes the mistake of thinking he can get through to you. That he can get you to look at him and see how insane you make him feel sometimes. 

Miguel can feel your arms fall against his shoulders with a huff. Your breath hits his ear, causing him to twitch but instead of pulling away you merely rest your chin on top of his head, letting out another breath.

“Can I help you?”

“I got that Sandman from 102,” you tell him, letting your body shift further against his. Despite your size difference, you feel uncharacteristically heavy —tired maybe, he thinks as he cranes his neck back, feeling your head lift. 

“And?”

You peel away, raising your hands into the air to stretch. “He’s got a wicked throw. Tossed me a good distance across the I-95.”

He hears your spine crack a few times. Then, there’s a sigh of relief that escapes, sending your face into a grin that has him swallowing hard and looking back at the screen in front of him. 

You’re in a good mood today. A normal mood. He can expect lingering touches and lots of teasing. A few jokes here and there if he decides to pry, which he knows he ultimately will. That’s just how he is with you. 

“How was your day?”

The way you jump onto the edge of his desk, resting your feet on the arm of his chair with a smug look has him rolling his eyes, trying to suppress the joy that blooms through his chest. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” You poke him with the toe of your boot, raising your brow. “No exciting new developments in the Arachnoid Humanoid Poly-Multiverse?” 

He snorts, taking in the way you openly mock him. The way you poke and prod despite retreating when he ultimately does the same. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. That opening up to you without receiving the same kind of courtesy didn’t make him feel like shit. For a while now he’s pushed himself to be more open for you. To show you that he cares in ways he thinks you’ll like, but lately, he’s begun to second-guess himself. Questioning whether or not you’re even interested in him.

“Aw c’mon, no disrupted canon events? No overpowered anomalies?”

“A few.”

“How many specifically?” you muse, making him wonder why you’re asking. And more importantly, why you’re still around if all you’re here to do is pester him? 

“Is there a reason you’re asking so many questions or are you just here because you’re bored?” 

There’s a part of him that wants to be rude to you the same way he is with everyone else. In the deepest parts of him, he can feel that tactical guard shift towards the surface, threatening to cut him off from whatever it is you’ve pulled him into. Slowly it moves through the base of his chest, sliding across disrupted organs that twitch when he watches your jaw fall in fake offence.

“You know you’re not my only form of entertainment,” you tell him. 

There’s a certain bite behind your words, lingering in the air. At first, it’s funny, so in response, he jokingly scoffs, but then he sits with your words a bit, realizing how jealous it makes him feel. How oddly infuriating the idea of someone else earning your attention has him breathing through his nose.

He has to take a minute and does so by turning his chair to one of the side screens. Then, he pulls up the footage of your mission, watching the way you zip through the air straight into Sandman’s fist. It’s a hard-looking hit. One that has him outwardly wincing as your body’s sent flying across the highway, through the window of a building before taking a moment and jumping back into the fight. 

“Wow, couldn’t even wait until I left to watch the bloopers.”

You click your tongue and Miguel looks back, noticing that, despite the joyful tone of your voice, your face looks heavy. Tired and —if he’s honest— a bit sad as you stare at the screen. 

Immediately it fills him with this new sense of worry. Forcing him to knit his brows and ask if you’re okay. 

When you don’t respond right away he finds himself reaching to grab your wrist, placing his fingers gently around the bone as he pulls himself up to stand. 

“Hey.”

He boxes you in. Between his legs, your knees brush against the inside of his thighs, both of you freezing at the sudden closeness.

You may be touchy. The kind of person who’s always throwing your arms and legs around him but Miguel knows this is different. It’s more intimate. Loving even. 

“I’m fine. Just…tired.” 

“Tired?”

You hum, avoiding his gaze —avoiding his concern in a way that has him releasing more air, trying to get you to let him in.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He’s not surprised by your answer, but it still doesn’t hurt any less. “How come?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” 

He sees your tongue tuck itself into the edge of your cheek as you look away, forcing him to swallow all the fear and doubt he’s ever felt as he raises his hand to your cheek. Gently, it cups the plushest part, pushing your face back to look at his before he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” 

He can feel you nod against him. The motion is small and quick, but regardless it makes him smile because it’s the first time you’ve given him any sort of confirmation. 

“Good, because you know I love you.” 

It’s the kind of declaration that slips out before he can even think to suppress. Without realizing it, his mouth moves around the syllables, accidentally pushing them out; making him quickly inhale and pause because he didn’t want to tell you. At least… not like this. Not when you’re looking at him with wide eyes that tell him all he needs to know. That these feelings he holds deep within his chest each time you’re standing next to him or touching him, are one-sided.

“Wait, you—“

He pulls away, releasing the hold he has, looking at the device on his wrist with desperation, wondering how bad it would be if he just opened up a portal and left. In the end, he knows it wouldn’t save him from the embarrassment. Honestly, it might just make it worse. But at least he’d be away from the awkward tension. 

“Just pretend I didn’t say that, alright?” 

As he turns to walk away, he’s pulled back in by the feeling of desperate hands clawing at his elbow. Hungrily, they pull at the fabric of his suit, making him groan and turn only to be met by the entirety of your body launching into his chest, taking hold of his neck with looping arms that drag him down.

Before he can even register what happens next your lips are on his, sucking the air from his lungs in such a way that he feels like he might faint. Both of your mouths move out of synch, gliding across the other in messy movements that slowly begin to match up. When they do, it feels like he’s whole again. As if this missing piece he’s always longed for has suddenly slotted itself into his lonely edges, making his heart swell and his lips grin, forcing your mouth to do the same as he pulls you in closer, unwilling to let you go. 

-

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[biisexualemma]

killer. frank castle

word count: 1.8k

warnings: fighting, threat, assault

requested: by me

plot: you’re on the hunt for frank, but somehow he keeps finding you

a/n: haven’t written for this fella in a while but hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it ! ugh frank castle is on another level to these boys i swear

masterlist

you scoped out the area below from your position on a rooftop that you frequented. it had the best view of the city, made it good spot for picking out bad guys. you'd found some of your best bad guys up here. on this particular night you were waiting on a certain vigilante that had been pissing a lot of people off in your neighbourhood recently. you'd been tipped off on his whereabouts, but so far it seemed that your intel was a load of crap. you'd been squatting for well over an hour now, your legs were getting tired and so were your eyes, and still no sign of him.

you pulled out your phone to check the time, 1:37am, with a sigh of defeat, you slipped the knife in your hand back into it's holder against your thigh and with a grunt you pushed yourself back up onto your feet. "i'm getting too old for this shit," you mumbled to yourself, stretching your arms over your head to undo the ache you'd developed from sitting so long in such an uncomfortable position.

you pulled open your messages in your phone and sent a quick text to matt, relaying that your stake out had been a bust and that you were heading home for the night. you were sure he was still out at this time of night, he usually was, he never knew when to quit. tucking your phone in your back pocket, you took one last glance over the ledge-- nothing out of the ordinary. you turned to climb back down fire escape, your breath catching in your throat when you felt the cool metal touch your forehead. you flinched when the gun was pressed harder against your head, eyebrows tightening into a frown as you faltered and took a step backwards.

you tried to discreetly reach for the knife strapped to your thigh but the sound of the gun cocking caused you to freeze. "ah--ah," his voice was gruff and dismissive. "don't try that shit-- hands where i can see 'em," you followed his instruction, your frown deepening when you lifted your arms, hands in his sightline. "better," he mumbled the praise. "now, you wanna' tell me why you're looking for me?"

"who said i was looking for you?" you should probably have less of an attitude towards the man holding a gun to your head. "maybe i just like stalking on rooftops like a creep?"

he let out a disgruntled scoff at your sarcasm. sensing no threat from you, he lowered the gun from your forehead, letting you get a full glimpse of his face. sharp jawline, jagged features and a few cuts and bruises littering his skin. his eyes, however, were soft and gentle, the last thing you had expected. after a brief hesitation, you lunged yourself at the man, your hand successfully grabbing your knife and swinging it at him as he fell back, only just missing the blade.

"shoulda' never let that gun slip, punisher," you grumbled, jabbing your blade at him in every direction but every time he managed to slip out of the way, or block your attack. he caught your wrist as you went for the throat, his eyebrow quirking as he glanced down at your pink cheeks and angered stare. the knife barely touched the skin of his throat, his grip on your arm stopping you from causing any real harm to him.

"won't underestimate you again, sorry," he quipped. you grunted, trying to remove your wrist from his hold but he had you in a strong grip and he wasn't budging. "the pretty face threw me off," the corner of his lip turned up slightly when your frown deepened, using all of your strength to yank your arm out of his grip with a groan of annoyance.

your breathing was heavy, you still held the knife in a tight grip in your palm, you didn't dare let your guard down. not after the stories you'd heard about him. you blew a stray piece of hair out of your face, quirking an eyebrow at him. "you think i'm pretty?"

you locked with his eyes, two could play at this game.

he held your stare for long enough before he broke it, shaking his head. "go home, sweetheart."

"why? 'cause that's where a woman belongs?" you tilted your head to the side, egging him on.

he shook his head, jaw tightened as he pulled his eyes away from you and tucked his gun back under his arm. "if you wanna stay here and get your ass beat, i'd be more than happy to give it to you," he teased. "feminism and all, right?"

your teeth gritted together, rolling your eyes away from him. "if anyone's getting their ass beat—"

"is that what that just was?" his eyes held your hard stare for a moment before trailing down to rake over the rest of you. he let out a light scoff, to which you squared your shoulders and folded your arms over your chest. a scowl on your face, you opened your mouth to tell him off when he beat you to it. "you're pretty cute when you're mad, you know sweetheart.”

your eyes widened with fury. "cute?" you repeated, as if maybe you'd misheard the mass murderer you'd been sent to scope out. "i could literally kill you."

he was amused at how easily you could be tormented. usually stoic and unfeeling towards his enemies, frank couldn't help but find you intriguing and kind of amusing. he had no doubt you could hold your own, but you held your swings when attacking him earlier. made him think of you differently. that and you had these big, expressive eyes that showed your every intention whether you meant them to or not.

"hm," his lips turned down into a slight frown, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting at you carefully. "maybe, if you really wanted to," he shrugged. "but you don't," he took a calculated step closer to you, scoping you out for a reaction. "want to, do you?"

your feet stayed firmly in place, eyes darting between his as he stood closer to you now. you weren't one to back down, no matter how intimidating he was trying to seem. you tilted your head back slightly, holding his brown eyes with your own carefully. you wondered how such a brute of a man could have such soft brown eyes. "want me to show you again how much i really want to?"

frank humphed, a small smile lining his lips, causing your eyes to uncontrollably drift down to the curve before immediately darting back upwards. he took a step back again, his hand leaving it's place on his holster. you didn't intend to, but you felt your body uncontrollably move towards his as he moved away. you thought you had disguised it quite well but frank caught it. "cute," he mumbled before backing away from you.

you didn't attempt to follow him.

-

you didn't see him again for a while after that, until a few weeks later. you were walking home after a long night. drinks at josie's had turned into foggy and karen finishing an entire bottle of whiskey and stumbling out of the bar in the early hours of the morning. you had followed behind them fairly sober, with matt beside you stone cold sober.

"y'sure you'll be alright?" matt reached out and touched your forearm, eyebrows knitted slightly.

you nodded with a soft, sleepy smile. "i can handle myself, you know this better than anyone," you gave his hand a squeeze before turning your separate ways home.

"i can still walk you home if you want?" he called out after you'd turned your back on him and began the walk back to your place.

you waved him off, "g'night matt!" you called out, not even looking over your shoulder as you walked the five minutes to your apartment.

you turned the corner leading to your street, only to find a couple of men walking right in your direction. you gulped, head down, moving to cross to the other side of the street like it was the most normal thing in the world, and not deliberate.

"hey!" one of them called faintly, you ignored him, pretending that you didn't know his holler was directed at you. you sped up, fumbling in your pocket to find the keys to your apartment that was in sight just down the street.

all of sudden a hand grabbed your forearm, and another wrapped around your back, forcing you to keep moving forward. your immediate reaction was to pull away, you jolted but his grip was solid. your breathing was heavy, eyebrows furrowed as you struggled, trying to drag your heels.

"relax," you recognised the voice, your head shot back where you saw none other than the punisher himself. your frown deepened when you realised. "i'm helping, alright, sweetheart? act natural."

you stared at him with confusion, anger and a little bit of fear still lingering. though, as much as you wanted to hit him for scaring the shit out of you, you couldn't help but feel just a little bit relieved.

"i didn't ask for your help," you spoke through gritted teeth. glancing over your shoulder for a split second you saw the two men that had been following you, slowly receding when they saw you were with frank.

"yeah, well, you didn't need to," he grumbled, his grip still tight as ever on you. "keep walking, alright? are they gone yet?"

you took another discreet glance, noticing that they had in fact turned around and were heading in the other direction now. you let out a huff. "yeah, they're gone."

his grip loosened but he didn't let go entirely, he continued to walk you along the street up to your building.

"this you?" he nodded to the building you'd stopped in front of.

"yeah," you spoke quietly. you didn't know what to make of this. you were supposed to be bringing this guy in for some pretty indescribable crimes, but here he was helping you out. it didn't make any sense. you cleared your throat. "yeah— this is me."

he nodded, his lips stretched into a permanent frown, his eyes hardly meeting yours at all. he tucked his hands in his pockets.

you stood still, frozen in place as you watched him fidget. your eyebrows slowly knitted together the longer your eyes studied him. "how did you know where i was?"

he shook his head, turning partially away from you. "don't walk home by yourself anymore, alright?" he mumbled.

"you didn't answer my question, frank," you called out as he turned to walk away.

"just be more careful."

"i can handle myself," you argued back as he walked away from you.

"yeah, you showed me," he called over his shoulder. "bad shit can still happen."

you were left baffled on your doorstep. was this the same frank castle you had met a few weeks ago?

[wellthebardsdead]

Fools Prayer Pt5

Part 4 here

———

Vivec: head held high but posture relaxed and heart heavy as he’s paraded through the streets of Mournhold to the jeers and shrieks of the crowd gathering to mock him before his execution. His body and mind too tired to run, knowing no matter how far he’ll go he’s condemned regardless. In life his name holds no worth, and in death he’ll ascend to cold harbour as consort to the beast he’d promised himself to long ago. Too weakened to fully ascend to his own plain, too wrapped up in mortal affairs to have ever created one as his fellow tribunes once did. Stranded, hopeless and helpless to the whims of the very people he’d once served, and in doing so, condemned them from his actions as a pawn to mephalas whims.*

Dunmer woman: TRAITOR!!! *hurls a rotten yam at him as others fling rocks, rotten fruit and shit, their anger only growing as he barely shows any reaction and simply continues walking through the plaza until he reaches the gates to the temple where his fate awaits*

Dunmer man: OI! WHORE!!! *throws a half filled bottle striking him hard across the back of his head*

Vivec: *composure cracking like the shattering glass of the bottle against his skull as his eyes flash white and he staggers forward falling to his hands and knees* ngh- *moves to push himself back up*

*CRACK!*

Vivec: *unable to stop the pained scream from escaping his throat as the rough leather of a whip cracks hard against his back, immediately drawing blood* GAAAHHNNnn! *falls forward onto the ash covered stone as another lash strikes him, then another, and another, unable to fight, unable to retaliate, knowing it’d be futile in the end*

Sen Dres: *grinning darkly as he brings the whip down on him again* MOVE! Face your conviction with grace or crawl to the block like a dog!

Archmagister Vilinu Sadras: *trying to grab the whip from him not agreeing with this public display in the slightest* Grandmaster dres please see reason in your act-

Sen Dres: *snaps his gaze to him as his hand reaches for and grabs Vivec’s now short and choppy silver hair* Do you wish to join him?! And mark your entire house as traitors to the temple?! Because I will gladly take your head with his!

Archmaster Redoran: *now beginning to doubt his decision in partaking in this as well but holding his stance firm* Stand down archmagister sadras. *watches as sen dres pulls vivec up by his hair, the living god obeying his every pull with the little dignity he has left* He must die.

Archmagister Vilinu Sadras: *gritting his teeth knowing he’d be risking his houses place in the grand council by denying their wants* no. No I will not go against the hortators orders! *pushes past the guards and runs to the temple to fetch nerevar*

Sen Dres: *huffs* no matter. He’ll be gone by the time he arrives. His word holds no weight without our houses approval. *grips Vivec’s hair tighter threatening to rip it out as he leans over his shoulder* it is a shame to be throwing away a pretty thing like you-

Vivec: *jaw clenching as he turns his gaze back to him* I’d rather relive my marriage to Molag Bal than even for a moment humour the idea of you bedding me.

Sen Dres: *grin turning to a deep scowl as he throws vivec back to the ground and kicks him hard in the abdomen* Youd be lucky for me to even consider bedding you whore! *kicks him again as he gestures to the guards to drag him the rest of the way to the block where his executioner awaits, not with an Axe. But with muatra*

Vivec: *coughs and tries to curl in on himself as the councillors boot makes impact with him, the cheers of the crowd doing nothing to drown out the pain as they all desperately try to push their way into the gates to witness his death* id- *cough* be lucky if you’d have killed me at the gate- *grunts as the guards grab him by his arms and lift him just enough to drag him to the block and hold him against it, making sure all will see his exposed chest as his own spear rips his heart from his body*

Sen Dres: *stands before him and the crowd, smirking down at him with cruel eyes as he revels in the rush of over powering a god* any last words before the end? My ‘lord’?

Vivec: *ear twitching hearing footfalls from the temple steps behind him* last words?… *smiles* I’ll save them for later.

Sen Dres: what-

???: ENOUGH!!!!

Everyone: *falls deathly silent as nerevar steps into view, his golden armour glinting in the morning sun and his handsome face masked with unbridled rage as he rips his cape from himself and kicks one of the guards away from Vivec’s restrained form sending him tumbling down the platform* Unhand him this instant! *snarls at the other guards making them let go and back away, his anger alone being enough to put the fear of the gods into them, and his own ordinators doing the rest as they swarm the temple courtyard and begin pushing the crowds back* Vehk?… *kneels down slowly to the half dunmers side, his gaze softening as he takes in his exposed, filth covered form* Vivec?… *gently lays his cape over him to give him back some shred of modesty*

Vivec: *smile gone from his face, unable to meet his gaze as the immense guilt he’d carried for hundreds of years swells within him* …

Sen Dres: *knowing he’s truely in for it if he doesn’t attempt to save face* Your grace you need not waste your time on this disgusting fiend. He disrespects you even n- *falls back in shock as nerevars armoured hand strikes him hard and violently across the face* h-Hortator- I-

Nerevar: *glaring down at him with malice in his eyes as he reaches for his lance* You dare speak to me after what you’ve done?… you undermined my explicit orders. You conspired against my back with the archmaster- *gestures to archmaster redoran*

Archmaster Redoran: Y-your grace we were only acting in the best interest of our people! You decided to invite him here without the approval of our houses and-

???: The Hortator only needs your agreement in matters involving your houses and their place within the council.

Everyone: *looks back to see Archmagister Vilinu Sadras helping another, dunmer down the staircase. A dunmer older, and far more powerful than all of them, Divayth Fyr*

Divayth Fyr: *sighs as he finally reaches them, tapping his cane impatiently as he stands between them and nerevar with the aid of the younger councillor* and last I checked. All five houses must agree, if their decisions are to override that of our king. *glances at them, then down at vivec as the god barely clings to consciousness, or present reality as his guilt ridden heart sets his mind adrift in his memories* Vilinu. Will you take lord Vivec inside and have his restraints removed so he can be cleaned? Nerevar and I have a few choice words to be explained to the councillors. I believe they need to be refreshed on how, demotion to a lower rank, works.

Sen Dres: d-demotion? I- n-no-no! Please my lords! I’ve forgotten my place!! *crawls to them on his knees, grovelling at nerevars feet, the courtyard now silent beyond his loud pleas*

Nerevar: *kicks him away slightly before looking back at vivec and seeing not the god he’d become, but his mind recalling a scrawny young ruffian he’d taken in during his life as a caravan guard* … *looks back at the Vilinu* Archmagister if you could have him placed in comfortable accomodation too until I can see to him I’d appreciate it. He looks like he needs a rest.

Archmagister Vilinu Sadras: *nods nervously, knowing he’ll get a talking to for letting the other councillors bully him and for not coming to him sooner, but just glad to be avoiding greater punishment* y-yes my lords. *bows before hurrying to Vivec’s side and moving to lift him* my lord I’ve been asked to assist-

Sen Dres: *rubbing his face where nerevar kicked him, desperately trying to reach for him once more* m-my lord please! Mercy! Forgive me I only had our people’s best interest in mind- *looks past his legs to Vivec, his desperation leaping to stupidity yet again* l-lord Vivec! Please! Tell him I only meant well! Please forgive me!! *staggers forward on his knees to beg the god, whom he’d only just moments prior was ready to condemn to death, for mercy*

Vivec: *mind snapping back to the present as his arm lifts from the cape, summoning muatra from the executioners grasp into his own as he slowly floats up onto his feet, showing to them all the restraints never held any power over his magic as they would for an ordinary mer* Stay. *lowers the spear, pointing it at his neck* away from me…

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 28 - The Art of War

Y'all reach the grove. Battle plans ensue.

On AO3.

You can feel the Grove before you round the last bend and actually lay eyes on the damn thing. That heavy, oppressive dread. The goblin bodies have been cleared out, and there don’t appear to be any new ones. Hopefully, it’s been quiet while y’all were gone.

The gate lifts when the tiefling guards recognize y’all (and ain’t it interesting that it’s the very people that bitch wants to kick out who seem to be doing most of the heavy lifting, so to speak). You pass a young couple inside stacking their stuff into a wagon. Once in the cave, the others break off to talk to the trader, and you clock three more tieflings arguing with each other down the way.

Last time, you veered right. You can’t really speak, but you can still snoop. This time, you turn left. An old tiefling cooks at a cauldron. A blacksmith bangs away at a forge (you want to go over and watch so bad; you ain’t seen blacksmithing before).

But before all that, is the clacking and grunting. There, in another shaft of sunlight, a wooden platform. Training dummies stand in a line. Several tiefling whap at them with wooden swords. But it’s the gaggle of kids and the Black man talking to them in a low, easy tone that draws you in.

The kids look scared. One seems to be on the verge of tears. It’s this one the man takes a knee to talk to. Hand on then scrawny shoulder. Head ducked low so he can peer up at the wet face.

You know a pep talk, even if you don’t know the words.

He’s training them to fight. Training all of them to fight. They’re being kicked out with the looming threat of goblins; of course they’re teaching the kids defense.

Jesus.

The man stands. Readjusts the grip the kid has on the practice sword. Guides them to a dummy. A bash at the knees. A jab to the groin. All things within a kid’s reach. All things more likely to incapacitate than kill.

He backs off, lets the kid have another few goes. Claps and his voice carries an exuberant warmth. Enough that the kid swipes their face with a forearm and hacks at the dummy again.

The man turns, surveying the others, and that’s when he spots you. Faint recognition sparks in his eyes—eye, you see as you get closer; the other is artificial. You saw him before, during that goblin fight. Only a flash or two—you were hanging back and mostly trying to stay out of the way.

His eyebrows lift all friendly and he says something.

To which you can only smile and make a vague hand gesture to your ear. “Don’t speak y’all’s language, sorry.”

Though the “sorry” is in Faerunese.

The man nods slowly. Looks behind you and spots your companions—now clear of the trader and making their way over.

You turn back to the one-eyed man as he opens his mouth, and the goddamn worm flails in your skull. You’re distantly aware of shouting behind you, the man slams a hand to his head, and then your knees almost buckle and you stagger over to the fence—

Red skin. Black horn. Eyes liquid gold and the demon woman literally burns as an ax the size of your torso splits down—

Horror and urgency. A monster on the loose. She’ll carve a path of blood and bone up and down the Coast if you can’t find her, stop her—

The whammy passes. You hang, limp, over the fence and pant. Voices call around you. A child. You lift your head to see the man—

Wyll.

—see him comforting the crying kid again. Then footsteps jog up behind you as the rest of the group hightails it over, Astarion’s lilting voice sharp in annoyance.

Fuck, that brain shit is jarring when it isn’t Gale.

Everyone talks around you. Introductions and what the fucks, if you had to guess. Dude got brainwormed, too. You’d sensed concern in him. Where Gale had been shielded and Astarion a hot mess, Wyll had felt…collected. Worried, but channeled, like storm water redirected into an arroyo. All of his emotions serve a purpose.

Part of that worry is for the tieflings.

“Hello,” you say, hoping that passes as a form of “excuse me.” It nabs Gale’s attention, and to him you say, “Talk shadow druid.”

Wyll picks up on that with a frown. Repeats it slower, but shakes his head. More conversation—fucking running out of that potion, goddamnit.

“Go noun talk,” he says. Or that’s the part you pick up on, anyway.

Gale thanks him. Turns to leave.

But this guy has a brainworm, too. He seems a capable fighter, and, unlike everyone else (you included), doesn’t seem like a complete douchebag.

“Wyll,” you say. “You, um. You walk, talk, all of us? Walk, we sleep over there, eat. All of us also?”

Fuck, this is fucking hard. Come with us, you try to say. Join us in activities. Hopefully it made some sort of sense and wasn’t just babbled gibberish.

Astarion scoffs. But Wyll looks to Gale, says something with his head tilted. A “I’m considering, however” gesture.

The thoughts you’d seen. The demon woman. He’s hunting her. Worried about stopping her.

The last thing y’all need is another fight. But. But people working together, gadugi, got your ancestors through ten thousand years and a whole ass genocide, so hey.

“We all,” you say, swirl your finger to gesture to the group. Then make a stabbing motion. “We all, you. Bad fire tiefling.” Stab again.

Take the meaning, Wyll. Please, please have understood that.

He nods again, slowly. Gale meets your eye—the rest of the group bitching, some more quietly than others (Astarion)—and nods as well. Then Wyll is clapping Gale’s forearm, before holding out a hand to you.

Look at you, making friends and allies.

Now, to start a possible coup.

***

The person Wyll sent y’all to talk to is a druid woman whispering to birds. Neat. You let Gale and Wyll do all the talking, while you watch Bird Lady. The second she hears “shadow druid” her face darkens.

Well shit. There’s your answer.

She’s agitated, now. Talking low, looking around. You catch Kahga’s name a couple of times, that Halsin guy as well. You need to communicate. You don’t have the vocabulary to pantomime this.

You tap Gale’s shoulder and temple-tap. The muscles of his jaw clench, but he nods.

Initiating the mind-whammy is, somehow, even more disorienting when you’re the one starting it. The world shifts, and you can see yourself standing there—

Oh my fucking god, you are such a mess, you look half dead and greasy—

Focus, Gale thinks.

You close your eyes. Both sets. How many for Kahga, how many for Halsin?

It is… a whole trip to feel Gale’s brain forming words and speaking them. If your lids weren’t shut, you’d be cross-eyed and drooling right now.

Five or six for Kahga certainly. More every day, Gale translates. Must act soon. Now. Before tide shifts.

Tell her gather Halsin ’s people. Armed—

A spike of alarm through him, but also the others (oh goddamnit, it’s a group chat again fuck) and you feel disgust, disappointment, and amusement.

Scheming, as in derogatory. Has to be Lae’zel.

Winning, you think and picture wolves on an elk. Which seems to slap Shadowheart right out of the group chat. More numbers, no fight, easier victory—

The connection sloughs off. You gasp and blink at the sudden daylight. Sway a moment until your balance kicks back in.

Lae’zel is, indeed, curling her lip. She wants a fight. Wants honor or glory or whatever stupidass thing her people and that fuck off sword value.

But you don’t want a fight. You want to win. And that means setting the pieces so the enemy never has a warning, never has a chance to respond. Because the enemy is bigger than you, stronger, more numerous, more influential. They have more power than you can ever claim, and trying to fight something like that is suicide.

You know how to bide your time, suck it up, and wait for the right moment. How to strike in the dead of night and be gone before anyone even knows you’re missing. Beyond reach before they can lift a finger.

Fairness is for people who can afford to lose.

Astarion stares at you until you notice, and looks away, pretending he wasn’t absolutely doing just that.

Gale must present your idea to Bird Lady. She looks grim as fuck as she sends her last birds off. As she turns and surveys the circle of druids around their idol, chanting as magical, green haze fills the air around them.

Her eyes are scared when she looks to you.

Which leaves the tieflings. The terrified kids swinging wooden swords around. The tieflings as a whole clearly don’t know how to fight if Wyll has to teach their children. You think of the skinny one that don’t talk, of the pipsqueak y’all saved from the harpies. If this goes bad, they need to stay out of it, stay hidden and safe.

“Wyll,” you say. “Tieflings also. No this here. Walk over there. All them shh.”

You mime crouching. Put a hand over your mouth, motion under Bird Lady’s bench.

Wyll’s gaze is sharp. His nod swift. He says something to Gale, who turns and nods at you. Well takes off at what could almost pass as a casual stroll, if you hadn’t seen the tight expression on his face.

“Tieflings,” Gale says and a verb. One he demonstrates ducking down. Hopefully it’s “to hide.”

Good. That’s good. Keep the civilians out of this. Keep the kids the fuck away from this.

The door to Kahga stands twenty feet to your left. You itch to slip in there, get things over with (or run for the hills because what the fuck are you playing at here). But you need to give them time. They got to get everybody ready, and you can’t draw attention to yourselves just yet.

So you look over to the man in the foppish had trying to talk to a bear, and let your feet guide you, and clasp your free hand into a tight fist so no one can see how it shakes.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Statistical Outliers

Part 8 of drabble. Short one, between doddles. Val's in this one, but he's pretty tame all things considered.

He didn’t get to spend too much time with the kid after that. He didn’t even need to tell Vel that she shouldn’t have left him alone. Apparently, she thought he was right behind her. See, this is why it’s sometimes a good idea to look up from your phone every once in a while, to make sure you didn’t lose anything you might miss later.

Anyways, the kid ended up with her most of the day, which meant he was more than ready for his tryst with Val later. Oh, and he kept to his promise. It will be a miracle if he can make it out of bed tomorrow. Val’s going to be such a drama queen later, barking Vox around and causing hell for his hand girls. He’ll moan about how it was all Vox’s fault…then he’ll beg him to do it again.

He might’ve unintentionally given Angel the day off. Ironically, it might be the only time he’d want to come back to work, to check on the kid again.

He was lying there in bed now, stuck on the one thing he didn’t get done today. Vel was happy and apologetic in her own way. Val was snoozing beside him, any argument forgotten about back when the handcuffs were still on. His sales were through the roof. His brand was on cloud nine in everyone’s minds.

Hell, he even managed, despite literally doing everything in his power to stop it, to get attached to something that wasn’t involved in his work or his power. Not that he wasn’t attached to Velvette and Valentino, mind you. But in the labyrinth of his schemes, it made sense to get attached to them. They weren’t all just together because they were cuddle buddies or some nonsense like that. They made each other stronger, better. Yeah, he pulls a lot of the heavy lifting for consolidating that power, but it wouldn’t be at his fingertips without them. Certainly not as easily. So, in his head, he accounted for getting attached to them.

He didn’t count on that silly talking hairball.

He serves no purpose. Vox gains nothing from him being around. He knows he’s a momentary distraction, at best. In fact, he might just be a detriment to everything he’s built. He almost caused a Val versus Vel fight. He did cause a Val versus Vox fight. He almost landed Vox with an extended Angel problem. And he most certainly was going to be an issue with Alastor going forward. Why his rival hasn’t come knocking is beyond him. He didn’t think he was stupid enough not to at least guess, even if Angel was sworn to silence.

But, well, he got attached. How stupid is that?

Val stole more of the blanket and turned over, brushing Vox with the tips of his wings.

“Val?”

“Hmm?”

He was a pretty light sleeper all things considered. Must be another moth thing.

“Don’t ever talk to the kid again. That shit was creepy.”

Val made a scoff sound into his pillow.

“Obviously. That’s what I was trying to do.”

“You were trying to sound like a creep?” That didn’t sound any better. He does know that, right? He hopes so.

“Oh, come, Vox. You know there’s nothing fun about kids. They’re stupid and smelly and not mature enough to enjoy anything. Like a bunch of ugly caterpillars. It takes time to turn into this!”

He spread his wings out, almost shoving Vox off the bed.

“Damn it, Val.”

He laughed.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.” He leaned over a bit, transfixed now on Vox’s bright screen in an otherwise dark room. “I was just getting a rise out of Angel, that’s all.”

“…we really need to get him under contract.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t yet. Don’t tell me he…outfoxed you?”

“Don’t ever fucking say that again.”

He practically purred with delight. A hand reached over and started toying with the sides of his screen. Vox knew he was tracing over the parts he bashed in before, probably still wondering how he managed to fix it. He hadn’t told him about the kid’s talents. As far as anyone was concerned, he was a cute face and that’s it. The rest was a selfishly guarded secret.

“Well, I can’t help you there, Voxy. As I said, I don’t do kids.”

They never talked about it, but Vox wonders how that could possibly be true. With Val being, well, Val, there was a distinct zero chance he didn’t have a kid topside. Hell, they might still be walking around. Val could very well be a grandfather. What a terrifying thought.

“He’s seen too much to be scared, and nothing I offered him was tempting enough.” He groaned. “The only thing I can think of is blackmail. Angel’s the only one we’ve got to toy with, and he’d just tell him not to do it.”

“Oh, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I mean it, Val.” Why in the hell did he think Val would have any answers? This was a waste of time.

“So do I. I know kids aren’t my thing, but they’re definitely yours.”

Did…did just say what he thought he said?

“…that sounds like an insult.”

“It’s not. Just something I noticed. I mean, look at Velvette.”

Okay, this conversation was going from bad to worse.

“…what about Velvette?”

“Well, she’s a stubborn, independent young lady. And you like how she handles herself. But I see how you act when she’s being a little young in the head. I mean, I know you say that this whole thing was for those headsets of yours, but I think we both know that they’ve would’ve sold just fine without her. You wanted to make her happy.”

“…you know you almost sound smart. How many brownies did you eat?”

“Make fun all you want. It’s the truth.” He said with the slightest amount of sneer. Val always knew how to get under his skin. “This kid? He’s just something small and pathetic that you’re projecting on.”

“I am not!”

“No? Then it shouldn’t be an issue to be the big bad guy tomorrow.” He folded himself back into the sheets, turning to leave Vox alone again. “I know how evil you really are. If you really wanted to scare the kid, he’d never sleep again.”

With that, it was just Vox and the night once more. While Val wasn’t typically a fountain of knowledge…he was right about this. The gloves had been on this whole time. Even before, when he was angry, he hadn’t really done much more than look and sound mean. He threatened, sure, but that wasn’t the same as actually trying it. He could hold the kid out over the shark tank, that was a classic, very James Bond-y. He could give him a jolt, not enough to disfigure, but enough for pain. He could strap him to a chair and sit him in front of a hypnotic gaze until his head felt like mush.

God, even saying it…thinking it. Worse, what if it still didn’t work? What if the only thing he got from doing this was a pathetic cry? What if he just broke down? What then?

Much as pained him to a degree, he needed to break him. He needed to make that sliver of hope die. He needed him desperate and terrified. But how?

Hold on.

He tapped into the security feed from yesterday, something he had said coming back to mind. He’d spent some time in Hell constantly dying, only just falling out of that cycle. Didn’t he mention something about dogs?

That was simple enough. It wasn’t like he was going to run out of hellhounds that work for him, or even sinners who ended up dogs for one reason or another. He could bring him down to the conference room. There was nothing in there, nowhere to run or hide. Then it would just be an ultimatum.

An invitation popped up on his screen. He was asked to join a game of Asteroids.

The kid was still up, his cameras told him. Sitting by the TV, he must’ve figured out how the game system works.

He had no idea. How could he? He did try to warn him. They weren’t friends.

When Vox entered the load screen via his head, he found a little green triangle ship spinning around his little blue one. He was doing figure eights until Vox finally got up and moved. Soon, the game loaded. Little Martian men started to invade as their tiny ships weaved and dodged though asteroid belts.

Vox was good at video games, especially Asteroids. He got addicted to it at one point. It was a problem, one that saw him purge it from the mainframe up until recently. He knew every trick in the book. Any ordinary day, and he’d be out there doing donuts around the bosses of the game. But his heart wasn’t in it. He kept dying to stupid things: a random blast, a suicidal alien craft, an obvious obstacle.

It was about twenty rounds in when the game got stuck on the pause screen.

A quick look at the lounge, and he found the kid staring at one of the cameras.

“Are you okay?” He asked it.

He had the camera nod.

“Are you lying to me?”

He had the camera nod again.

“Do you want a muffin?”

He snickered, despite himself.

The camera shook for ‘no’.

“Was that a lie too?”

You know what, he could go for a muffin.

Another nod.

“Is Val gonna kill me if I sneak in to bring it to you?”

He looked over at Val. He was unconscious. Sure, they were both undressed but he doesn’t think that’d be a surprise considering how Vel had made a face when the kid had asked where Vox was earlier that night. Also, what was there to see that he hadn’t seen already, even if Val did decide to randomly stand up. This is Hell. Odds are the kid’s seen naked people before. Still, he reached over and grabbed his own underwear, at least.

He shook the camera for ‘no’ once more.

About thirty or so minutes later, the scent of muffin filled the room. The kid was surprisingly quiet. He’d think with how awkward he looked, he’d move just as badly. Yet, had it not been for his infrared cameras and the smell of fresh baked delight, he probably wouldn’t have known he was there. Like a creature coming out from under the bed, a tray rose up from the darkness, muffin placed right in the middle.

He snapped it up. It was still good, still warm and sweet.

Vox flicked one of his absurdly large ears, and he giggled as he pulled it out of range of another attack.

“Hey!” He said in the quietest voice Vox has ever heard. Had his audio receivers not been so tuned, there’s no way he could’ve heard him.

Just as he was about to wave the kid away, Valentino rose from the bed like the goddamn crypt keeper. Vox’s screen accidentally blanked out his face, so he looked part zombie.

“Where’s my goddamn muffin?”

Vox didn’t want to share, but asking Valentino to wait patiently while another muffin is made was not an option. Well, he could always get up and-

“It spontaneously burst into flame.”

I..huh? Did…did he have a fire to put out in the kitchen or what? The kid’s tone was dead serious. Probably the only time he’s ever sounded serious about anything.

A quick glance over though, and he was greeted to a sight he’s never seen before. The kid’s face was pinched in a scowl. He almost looked mad. It was so stupid looking. It was like watching a teddy bear trying to snarl.

“Well, why does he get one?” Val huffed, indignant.

“Probably because the muffins don’t light themselves on fire to get away from him.”

Vox was fucking dying. He couldn’t even eat his muffin. He was laughing too hard. The kid, unceremoniously, walked out. And Val turned around and hit him on the shoulder until he stopped.

“See, this is why I don’t like kids.” Val grumbled, before dropping down back into bed.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

[simpofficial]

I See You

SteddillyxOc

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I was created blind and I was never given a walking stick. I use to often walk into walls and my brother would try to help when papa wasn’t around but he disappeared.

"Can you hear me Seven?" Of course I heard him. Father says my hearing is better than most.

"Yes father."

"And can you smell me?" It's blocked but I can smell him.

"Yes father."

"Good. Now can you feel me?" I can feel both his presence and his voice.

"Yes father." I hear and feel the door being unlocked. Father's smell and presence is more potent now.

"Follow me." I follow him down the hall. "We found your sister." I feel the hesitation in his throat.

"She safe?"

"That's why I've come to you Seven. I think she's hurt. She's been running around for ages in an unknown place. Do you think you could help get her back?"

"Yes father."

"Good." He places his hand on my shoulder. "Make sure to not disappoint. Or you'll spend a week in the sound room."

"Yes father." The sound room hurts my ears to the point where they bleed. I'd do anything to stay away.

Father steps away and I hear a vehicle start. It's been months since I came outside and the air feels nice.

"Let's go Seven." I grab the door of the vehicle and duck down to get inside of it. "When we arrive I want you to be aware. I want no surprises."

"Yes father." I sense his hand lift before I feel it on my shoulder.

"Do you know what must be done if she refuses to return home?"

"No father."

"She comes home by any means necessary. Including your death."

"Yes father."

The ride to our destination is silent after my father's 'pep talk'. Once we arrived the door was opened and I get out of the vehicle.

"How many Seven?" I shut off my ears and feel.

"Four. Three male and Eleven. She hungry and tired. Drained." I smell the air. "Two teens gone. One female. One male." I inhale deeper. "Before, two adults. One female. One male."

"Good job Seven." Im not doing it for you.

"Eleven dehydrated."

"Let's go." I follow behind him as he walks. "Why are you behind me Seven. Lead me to her." I inhale and follow her scent.

"Close."

"Split up. You three with me." Father places his hand on my shoulder. "Let them go first. We don't need your death just yet."

"Yes father." My arms soon grew heavy.

"What is it Seven?"

"Power." It always had this sluggish effect on me. I feel multiple bodies hit the floor. "They're dead." Another body hits the floor. "Eleven passed out. Barely alive." I shook his hand off my shoulder and ran to where she's hurt. I stop right before I could step on her.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Seven." I kneel down and place hand on her head. "Sister we go back home."

"No!" My face scrunches up at the loudness. "She's not going back there!"

"Leave her." The three of them stand up. "Step away from the child."

"No!" They step over Eleven and block me from Father's view. "You want her? You have to kill us first." The guards starts to run up behind them.

"That's right!"

"Eat shit!" That's disgusting. The guards grab the boys and they struggle and protest. I feel father beside me and he takes Eleven away.

"Eleven? Eleven, can you hear me? Eleven?" Her heart is slow but faster than what is was when I arrived.

"Papa?"

"Yes. Yes, it's your papa. I'm here now."

"Let her go! Let her go you bastard!" Eleven starts to whimper and her heart beats faster as father shushes her.

"You're sick. You're sick but I'm going to make you better." She isn't sick. She smells of no sickness, just blood. "I'm going to take you back home, where I can make you well again. Where we can make all of this better, so no one else gets hurt."

"Bad. Bad. Mike. Mike." He must be the overly loud one that continues to fight. "Mike." The electricity starts to flicker under my feet.

"Blood." I turn my head towards a new scent.

"Seven what is that?" When I don't answer he grabs my shoulder roughly and shakes it. "Seven! What is it?!"

"Like me." I can sense the similarity. As something begins to break I stand up. The specimen screeches as it's presence is fully shown.

"Demogorgan." The guards begin to shoot at it and that only made it angry. The children take Eleven and begin to run.

"Sister." I turn my head in her direction as I hear her call for me. "Sister please." The specimen screeches again and I can feel its hunger. "Sister." I run down the hall after her and the boys begin to run again.

The boys lead me to a room with many obstacles in a way. Too many obstacles that I have to use my hands to direct myself. They laid Eleven down as I make my way to them.

"Just hold on a little longer, okay? He's gone. The bad man's gone." Father isn’t dead, why did he lie to her? "We'll be home soon, and my mom she'll get you your own bed. You can eat as many eggos as you want. And we can go to the Snow Ball."

"Promise?" Her voice is weak and trembling.

"Promise."

"So who are you again?" I turn my head in the direction of his voice.

"I Seven. Raised Eleven."

"Why are your eyes that color?" I tilt my head at the other voice.

"What color?"

"You don't know the color of your own eyes?" The first voice scoffed.

"Blind. Sister can't see." The specimen screeches from the hall and soon the gunfire ceases.

"Is it dead?"

"No." I can still feel it. Soon after saying no the specimen bursts into the room.

"Go." Mike repeats the word continuously. Pushing the two boys back.

"Get the wrist rocket!"

"Go!" Mike continues to yell and it begins to hurt my ears.

"Quiet!" The boys stop yelling and the specimen quits growling. "Let pass." I feel Eleven by my side before she grabs my hand. The specimen growls and I return it. "Let pass." I feel it side step. "Leave."

"No! We can't leave Eleven!"

"Quiet and leave!" They scurry past us and hesitate to pass the specimen.

"Goodbye, Mike." The specimen growls again.

"Quiet." It stops growling. "Leave." Once they leave the specimen growls as I make my way to it. "Hungry?" Instead of a growl there was a whimper. "I feed you, no killing. No hunting. We have a deal?" It whimpers again. "Good." The windows burst causing it to growl. "Hush. Needed way out."

"Sister. Is it good idea?"

"Yes Eleven. Trust me right?" I feel her nod. "Then nothing worry about. Bad men won't find. Let's go."

"You got better." I feel the specimen leave the window first.

"At what?"

"Seeing."

[void-f3lt]

He’s in a Panther’s Cage Now

Six months.

Six Fucking Months.

It has been six months, probably, since he’d last been back on Earth. Him and Loki, his Stupid younger brother, were on a plane together to go see their Father and then the plane got intercepted/fucking abducted??? by actual fucking aliens, people knew that aliens existed but that doesn’t make the entire situation any less fucking stupid! 

A drug in some weird mist knocked everyone out(and probably killed a few) and then he woke up alone, in a cage with guards surrounding it. 

Currently he’s just sitting in said cage cause, seriously these fucker’s are so dumb thinking that watching him from all angles will make it any harder for him to escape. News flash, it won't stop him from trying as he’s tried four times by now, and almost succeeded 2 & 1/2 of those times(the half is cause he killed a fucker then took a take to the bottom of his spine, yes he has not tried since). 

What they should do is is leave him in a box with no gaps that he possibly fit through. 

He doesn't want to deal with the other aliens, half of them probably have animal level of intelligence, in cages around him. And then he takes the thin but still metal food trays, that they give him everyday, bend and snap and sharpen into shanks during the Night Cycle because they either can’t or won’t have a nocturnal Fucker watch him.

They never give him edible food during feeding times anyway, they think he either 1) Don’t need food or 2) Is just being stubborn. He wake ups at those times to glare at the Fuckers and then throw the rat poison in the ‘toilet’ at(in??at?in???) the Night Cycle comes then takes out one of his granola bars and eats that. 

He and his brother used to eat at night because they both have shit sleep schedules, their Mom hated it, his weird habits are his to keep Fucker's. 

Alistair is getting real off track with his thought process tonight but what else is he supposed to do? It’s in the middle of the Night Cycle and nothing ever hap- oh wait, 

never mind something is happening I swear to god if I have to fight another IRL nomu from MHA, I will go for the crowd next time. He can hear a Fucker carrying something… no some large?? alien, with the way they're yelling at another Fucker. 

(He never wished for his translator to be more accurate then now)

“You are such a hujari axten! Just lift the hujari thing for once you DRIDE!!!” Fucker One said. “Look, I told you with the other one. I. Can’t. Touch. It.” Fucker Two responded with exasperation. “The dride is three times lighter than you would think, but still hujari huge and heavy and one the most violent and capable of this species we’ve taken alive!!” Fucker One yelled.

“Oh well I’m oh so sorry, that only me and you are walking around doing quiores right now. If only we could take one of the other guards that are on patrol just to lift this thing to a cell, when it is obviously easy for you to lift… you are just croky’ni lazy and want to go back to sleep, well guess what ya blasted axten SO DO I BUT SOMEONE HAS TO BE WITH YOU JUST IN CASE SOMETHING CROKY’NI HAPPENS YOU AXTEN’VERN!!”

Alistair was kinda shocked that they were just casually arguing while dragging someone to a cell where they will either be killed, experimented on, or put into The Gladiator Ring like him, or even just to sell the poor souls to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t uncommon to see other aliens that just sell others cause, y’know, Money.

Alistair glares at the spot in his cage that can de-electrify and open up, with a new found hate. He doesn't mind the others in the sellroom because they're in their own cages but he absolutely hatessharing his space. While most of the other poor souls are asleep or close to, he must stay awake, his paranoia demands it what if they put.. whoever the hell, in my cage. 

He waits as the arguing gets closer and closer, louder and louder, more annoying by the second because the other Fucker should just help the other other Fucker because it will get the work done faster. 

He’s very glad that he is already used to very low light levels he and Loki both hate having the light on in their rooms, everyone (including themselves) are very confused by how well Loki’s eyesight is. After what felt like way too long they finally make it to his cell. Alistair glares at them, bringing in another poor soul into this shit-hole, how many have they done this too. 

(Oh my god, why do I care) 

He hopes it’s sentient, cause then, he could scare the shit out of it so it leaves him alone. 

Alistair just watches as they open his cage, if this was a good time he would use his new knifes to stab these dumbasses in their dick-equivalent so he could escape. IF it was a good time but Alistair still doesn't know where Loki is being held, doing something like that now would be a death sentence. It seemed they finally stopped yelling at each other, probably trying to restrict the information they might let slip in front of him. 

Both of them looked at each other for a second, having some silent conversation.

In quick succession, Fucker one turns off the electricity, opens the cage, as Fucker two throws the body bag as hard as they can, and when he says as hard as they can, this is a being getting tossed so hard they hit the back of the cell. He hopes that didn't electrify whatever or whoever was in the bag. Then as soon as whatever is in the bag left the guards arms, the cage closes and the electricity gets turned back on. 

It went too fast to try and stop it from happening, the poor bastard might be dead with a hit against the bars like that. The back bars were still electrified so that just added more damage. Alistair wanted to keep glaring at the guards as they walked away but he couldn’t, this Stupidly lowng bitch in a bag may not be dead. He flicks his glare back and forth between the Fucks and bag but ultimately picks the bag. 

Alistair slowly makes his way over to the bag and hears some chuckling from the Fuckers at the door. He doesn't care about them right now, he needs to make sure what ever is in the bag is 1) dead or not 2) if it’s sentient or prey animal so he can make it afraid of him or take his chances with the bars 3) if sentient and not hurt to bad, can they be useful.

He’s getting closer to the bag when he finally notices it’s moving a little bit. He tries to get a little closer again but stops at the sound it made. It sounded like a growl from a demonic lion that is half reformed from being blended in a blender about to claw its way out of hell, might be from the pain, might be because it’s stuck in a bag, or it’s sensing him and telling him to back up. 

Whatever it is (probably) can’t see him so, it shouldn’t end up as badly, he’ll just be even more careful. Moving as slowly as he can, Alistair gets right beside the cursed creature in the bag. It’s moving a bit more and making more, demonic clearing of  throat noises, but he has deducted that it must be waking up and hurt and/or pissed. 

He stares at whatever this thing is, and he really doesn't care if they would find that offensive, they won't know anyway. He runs different ways he could get killed doing this and decides that whatever it is, it would be more upset if it was still stuck in a bag, better to make sure it can get out. Alistair was about to raise his pocketknife to cut through the bag but jumped back as the bag started thrashing back. 

Absolutely not, safety first! He thought as he backtracked to his claimed corner, this thing would probably kill him going by the fact that it sounds like The Horrors and is like fifteen feet long so. Alistair eyes zero in on the bag and is amazed by how much it’s thrashing around in that thing, usually not even aliens with animal level intelligence thrash that much. But eventually it stopped thrashing but still moving.

It’s quite around them besides the huffing breaths, growls and the untranslated probable curse words he can hear from the bag. Everyone is just staring at them now.

Alistair watches to see what it might do, does it have claws or something to cut the ba- Why is it gripping where the knot is? They usually don’t do that! Others in the past, either claw their way out or someone else cuts through the bag, either way no one goes for the knot.

He watches as the top of the bag that is tied off gets pulled into itself a bit. It’s confusing trying to figure out what this thing is doing. Does it think it can somehow bring the knot into the inside of the bag and untie it or? If it somehow, by a sheer miracle, gets it fully through the bag…. What will it do now? 

Alistair watched in silent, honesty amazed, horror as the now untied knot got tossed out and then the bag opened up. “Finally,” was said followed by more probable very creative insults directed at the Fuckers given their faces. He waits slowly breathing in the forgotten breaths for when it will leave the bag, he hasn’t known any sentient race that can do that. 

His eyes track the…. 

Hand? 

I mean it’s furry and has built in claws, but still, HAND???

Slowly exiting the bag first, It has long almost metallic black claws and the hand looks to be short charcoal black but dense fur, from wrist to a little below the elbow the fur seams to be compacted down. The other hand reaches around a little as the opening of the bag opens to let themself better. The guards at the door froze in fear as the creature’s eyes stared down into their souls,  then it pounced.

[kendsleyauthor]

Cordially Invited

Shot in the Dark (Canon)

~700 words

A fun little plot bunny about how Sylvia would be invited to a magical girls' night by Delilah! (And in first-person POV 👀!)

I have vague ideas about the actual girls' night scenes that I don't know when I'll get to, but for now, enjoy Sylv's excitement (and the boys' lack of enthusiasm) over receiving Delilah's invitation 🥰

@marydublinauthor

We were enjoying dinner at the motel room when a glittery pink plume of smoke erupted from the center of the table. All three of us drew back in alarm, certain we were about to be attacked. Jon and Cliff pulled guns, and I had ice at my fingertips.

“What the fuck?” Cliff breathed. 

The smoke faded to reveal a folded piece of yellowed parchment on the table. It was closed with a white wax seal. Glitter lingered in the air, some of it shimmering on my fries.

A heavy moment of silence surrounded us as we tried to make sense of what had happened.

“I don’t feel anything malicious,” I announced after a moment, thoroughly confused.

Jon approached the table cautiously all the same. His frown deepened as he picked up the parchment and turned it over. He lifted his eyes to me. “It’s addressed to you.”

“What?” Sure enough, my name was written in loopy cursive on the other side of the paper. “Open it!” I perched on Jon’s shoulder as he tore the paper around the wax seal. 

“It’s blank,” Cliff said, crowding in beside us to see.

“No, it’s not!” I exclaimed. The page was thoroughly inked with the same elegant text as the outside. “It must be enchanted for my eyes only.” I looked the page up and down in growing puzzlement. This didn’t feel real, yet here it was. 

“What does it say?” Jon asked, his tone guarded as though I’d received a death threat.

I cleared my throat. “You are cordially invited to… girls’ night. Hosted by Delilah Fairchild.” My mouth fell all the way open, my heart thrumming with tentative excitement. There was a stamped illustration in the middle of the page that showed a group of women dancing wildly around a bonfire. 

“You’re kidding,” Cliff said flatly.

I shook my head and started reading off bullet points listed beneath the picture:

Arrive after sundown.

Disclose any allergies or substance aversions ASAP. (i.e. iron, silver, saltwater etc.)

Safe event. All pending duels and active death bounties are null for the duration. (NO fighting—unless it’s sexy.) 

Dress code: Just kidding, wear whatever you want. Or nothing, if you prefer.

Child-free event. NO exceptions.

“Okay, you made half of that up… right?” Jon said slowly.

“I didn’t!” Flitting off his shoulder, I lifted the corner of page and found another underneath. It listed the date of the party—one week from now—and further instructions.

“Delilah’s out of her mind,” Cliff said, rolling his eyes as a he returned to his seat. “As if you’d actually go to this thing.”

I pursed my lips. As though sensing my thoughts, Jon set the invitation on the table and gingerly nudged my arm.

“Sylv…”

“I’m going,” I declared, looking between the hunters. When Cliff opened his mouth to protest, I flew right in front of his face. “Don’t you see? This is… this is like a revel! I haven’t been to one in over a year!”

“Sounds more like a trap than anything,” Jon muttered.

I whirled toward him. “It’s not! The invitation says it’s safe.”

“Well, if the invitation says it’s safe,” Cliff mimicked derisively. He shook his head. “Anyway, Delilah lives across the country. How do you expect to get there?” He raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Cause I’m sure as shit not driving you.

Landing on the table, I pushed aside the first paper and pointed triumphantly at the one underneath. “There’s a rune that’ll get me there. It’s only active during the event. It’ll take me there and back, and Delilah’s supplying the magic for it. She must have put a lot of thought and care into this…”

My grin faded slightly when I looked up to see Jon and Cliff sharing an intense stare, like they were telepathically trying to come up with a way to convince me not to go. 

“I’m going,” I said again. 

And judging by the peeved, though concerned, expressions on their faces, they understood that I wasn’t seeking their permission to begin with.

[rrain-writes]

Rain's LU Febuwhump: Day 7

Suffering in Silence: Hyrule

Warnings: Broken ribs, difficulty breathing, hiding injuries

Art

Hyrule was the healer of the group. The medic. He took care of everyone whenever they got hurt. When ever they needed it. Always.

And yeah, sometimes Hyrule might accidentally forget about some minor injuries. No biggie. As long as his brothers were ok, that was all that mattered.

-

The fight that day wasn’t different to any other one. It was going well at least, until a lucky boko managed catch Hyrule off guard and give him a good wack with its club.

“Hyrule!”

Huh. That was Legend. He was standing in front of where Hyrule lay dazed on the ground, shoving his sword through the boko’s stomach. The monster gave a questioning grunt before disappearing in a dark cloud.

“You right ‘Rulie?” Legend asked.

Hyrule nodded and stood, trying to ignore the world spinning around him.

“Is everyone else ok?”

“A couple scrapes, nothing to bad. You sure your good?”

Hyrule forced a smile. His chest was a bit sore, but he’d check it out later. The others were his number one priority.

A bit a healing magic and some potions later, everyone was back on their feet.

“We’ll set up camp over there.” Someone said. It sounded like they were speaking through water. Was that Time talking?

“‘Rule?” Wild asked?

“Hm?” When had Wild gotten there?

“Your looking a bit pale. Are you ok?”

Hyrule waved him off. “I’m fine. Come on, we’re lagging behind.”

Wild grinned. “Race you.” He said, before taking off towards the rest of the chain.

Well shit.

Hyrule raced after him, gritting his teeth at the gritty sensation in his chest. It burned when he breathed, but he would be fine as soon as they got to camp.

-

He wasn’t fine. Breathing felt like agony, and he hid his coughs as they tried to crawl up his throat.

“Going to the loo!” He chimed, before limping off towards the trees. No one spared him a second glance.

One he was out of sight of the camp, Hyrule eased his shirt up to look at his chest. It was already bruised pretty badly, and felt tender when he touched his fingers to it.

A red potion should heal it fine.

…double shit.

Hyrule had forgotten to bring a red potion with him.

Maybe he could just use his magic to heal himself? It would be a bit different to healing someone else but it would be fine, right?

Nopenopenopegobackreversebackundo.

Ow.

Hyrule sucked in a breath, which in turn made the burning in his chest flare up again. The others would be wondering where he was soon, so he should probably head back to camp.

His injuries decided against that. When he tried to stand, his ribs protested, making sure that he definitely knew they were there. It was harder to breathe now too. If Hyrule had to describe it, it felt like a moblin was sitting on his chest. A very heavy one.

Trying to breathe made the pain spike again. He’d get up in a second. Maybe two. He’d get up…

-

“Hey, has anyone seen where Hyrule went?” Wind asked.

“I think he went to piss.” Legend replied, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword.

Wild looked over, brow furrowed. “Wasn’t that half an hour ago?”

Everyone stopped what they were doing.

“Wind, Sky, Wild. Stay here and make sure no monsters stumble upon the camp. The rest of us will go look for him.”

-

Hyrule opened his eyes blearily.

“Thank the goddess’s we found you.”

“Twi?” He mumbled.

“You absolute idiot! Why were you hiding injuries from us?!”

Ah, that was definitely Legend.

“Come on kid,” Time said, carefully lifting the younger hero. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

“And don’t ever hide injuries like that from us again you ass!”

[the73rdpostscript]

Both @beepbeepsan and @non-un-topo tagged me. Thank you both <33 (This ended up being a really nice way to spend my morning.)

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

So this is very interesting because I don't finish or publish much of my fics under my current pseud these days. It looks like I only have 8 Old Guard fics up right now. So you guys will get to see a little piece of my old Christmas Carol fic. I wrote it in my 20s and I don't think it's as good as the long Christmas Carol fic that's been sitting in my drafts for 8 years. But I'm very fond of it anyway.

(And fuck it. I'm gonna throw in my old 3:10 to Yuma fic too. Cause even old shit that we don't love deserves to be acknowledged for what it was to us at the time.)

Nothing Here But Love (A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens)

This one time, Bob had insisted on driving alone – taking care of a situation without backup. And now he is stuck in his car.

“Tell our husband,” Betty has begun covering up a pie with foil, “that we’re eating in 15 minutes.”

2. Tonight We're Going Hard (The Old Guard)

Joe is still laughing long after everyone else stops, and his voice is heavy with emotion as he says, "I am your best friend. And I will take all your advice. When we first met, I thought there couldn't-"

Nicky doesn’t get to hear the rest of this particular soliloquy, because Quynh steals his attention by sliding over to stand beside him.

"You have that look in your eye,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice.

3. Fighting Death (and Boredom) (The Old Guard)

Two hours later, Nicky comes home to find Joe curled up on the couch, holding Nile’s hand. On-screen, a giant electric sign comes swinging down from the top of a building and takes out a character with brutal efficiency. 

Joe shouts in alarm as Nile laughs and the credits roll.

4. Floored (The Magnificent Seven 1998)

But let it never be said that Ezra Standish doesn’t know how to hold his ground when faced with a hot and temperamental man. As Chris rounds on him, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him out of his seat - he keeps his face calm and his hands raised.

"You did it, Ezra," Chris hisses, his eyes wild, "You've gotten under my skin. Was that what you needed? Are you satisfied?"

5. Never Let Me Go (The Old Guard)

With visible effort Nicolo’s chest moves, and the swords that have pierced him all seem to shudder and dance at once. They clang in an ungodly chorus as they heave out of his body and tumble to the ground. Blood still coats Nicolo’s shirt, and his groan is inaudible under the sudden chaos of the men around Yusuf now noticing that their last desperate attempt to kill the white devil has failed again. 

6. A River Arrives in the House of the Dead Men (The Prodigious Flowering Rage) (The Old Guard)

Later, Booker sat next to Nicky on the couch and quietly muttered, “He certainly captured what made Goya unique.”

Nicky hummed; unsure what Booker was looking for.

“Will you talk to him?” Booker looked him in the eye as he asked, and Nicky nodded – surprised again by the intensity of Booker’s concern.

7. Yes Of Course (The Old Guard)

“Yes, I think it will sound very similar to her Frank Ocean.”

Joe is far too tired to try and guess who Nicky would be so confident about, but he nods sleepily and reaches up with one hand – blindly grabbing for something he can’t articulate but that he trusts Nicky to understand. With a laugh, Nicky catches his hand and holds it, kissing along the flesh and murmuring endearments.

8. Grief and Ravioli (The Old Guard)

Joe sits down slowly, settling in beside her with his legs crossed and his face placid, listening to her as she lets out the rant that’s been building for days.

9. Ten Ounces (The Old Guard)

“Nicky,” Joe begins.

"Please, Joe," Nicky whispers, suddenly, his hand lifting to press tightly against the beat of Joe's heart. "Go back inside.”

10. Every Step to the Daylight (3:10 to Yuma)

She remains still, her hips swaying a bit as she keeps her knees from locking. Between her and their place at the bar, there are at least six tables filled with men. Between her bullet and Ben Wade there is only Charlie.

This was wild. It was really encouraging to take a look at all my fics after taking a month or two off from writing. I forgot how much I love writing the Old Guard gang and all the ways they interact. And I'm...good at writing sometimes? Remarkable.

I think I'm late to this party, so I'm not totally sure who has or hasn't been tagged yet. I'm going to tag ANYONE who wants to do this.

[dmclemblems]

It's even more embarrassing that Edelgard never wins in Hopes against at least the Alliance (until Claude gets the intelligence debuff of the century) because it's literally the smallest and militarily weakest region of all of Fodlan (and in GW it's simultaneously worrying about Almyra at that). It literally just took Claude with an intact brain to fend off nearly half of Fodlan's territorial landmass, because Edelgard is just THAT incompetent as a leader.

I mean, props to her for actually admitting she had a huge flaw and for finding solutions around it (in the worst way possible lmao) but holy SHIT. I get she wasn't really trained for this sort of thing being the 9th child in line for the throne and all but Hopes really does make her look so incapable of doing anything without others doing the heavy lifting.

Yeah, and I feel like she's at odds a lot with Hubert in Hopes in terms of strategy. She seems to trust him more in Houses, so I'm not sure why they made it seem like she was more impulsive in Hopes? I could chalk it up to saying maybe it's because she's younger ands hasn't been able to adjust to her role as much, but Hopes is full of her doing dumb thing after dumb thing.

I think the Alliance had the benefit of Claude's strategies being listened to, because like I said, I feel like EdeIgard was too impulsive and it caused her to lose in contrast to CF (because even in SB she can't actually win any of her battles ultimately, such as winning the battle but not the war against Claude and needing Claude's help to handle the Kingdom and yet still technically failing to defeat the Kingdom because Claude wasn't there to wipe out the power of the nobles like she would have been).

She definitely does look incapable in Hopes but I'm at least glad that they made results befitting that. For example, in SB she doesn't actually win the war at any point. She can't deal with the Alliance for one, so I'm not sure what made her think she'd be able to take on the Kingdom... but seeing as she couldn't do that either, it's another loss. Even though you fight against Rhea and Thales, she still doesn't actually defeat either of them.

In GW she not only loses to Claude but needs his army to help her (and again, still can't deal with the Kingdom), and basically leaves Claude to take care of the entire Church and not just Rhea. Mind you it's not like she lends him her personal aide like say, Claude does for Dimitri in two chapters of AG plus giving you several of his most trusted allies and helping Dimitri's army in the background. In fact, she also ends up needing to be legitimately saved by the weakest army in Fodlan.

Then in AG the whole Empire goes to shit because she, again for this route, attacks the western front (not sure why she was going after the most heavily defended area in the country in every route instead of looking for a weaker area to gain a foothold first?) with apparently (?) no regard for what Thales might be doing, so he gets a leg up on her and catches her off guard.

On one hand, the routes are definitely consistent with her, but on the other... I'm surprised they actually made her so outwardly incompetent. Then again, I kinda wonder if the point was also in part so that everyone else would come to save her or something, like how Dimitri defends her in AG when Thales shows up, or how Claude decides to save her because lelzies ig. Like, the game does kinda set it up where she's always in a bad position and in two routes could possibly die but has to be saved by her enemies. It makes it seem like everyone loves her, even her enemies, which is kinda dumb.

Not sure what they were trying to do there; if they were trying to make her seem oh so good by having everyone want to save her, or just making it a point to write her as just consistently unable to hold her own in her war.

Also kinda funny to me how she solidly loses to Dimitri in every route, because even in SB she aims to "hunt him down" and defeat him but he still escapes jdghdgs. In GW you literally have to save her from being defeated by him. In AG wah wah.

[shisui-uchiha-anon]

𝕆𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖!

Day Three -Jester-

"Jester what is a jester? Don't invent random shit Uchiha-dono." one of the peasants shouted pointing a dirty finger at one-eyed Uchiha.

"Be quiet you mongrel do you want to hear the story or not?" Shisui bit back while he and the others were sitting by the campfire. It was that time of the year. Ex criminal ex Akatsuki it was exciting to hear some of his horror stories before the change of the seasons and the appearance of ghosts. Before the ghost festival.

"And so here he was in Europe, my distant cousin, some country called Ireland. There they have some strange samurai they are not like my jailer Toshizo." He motioned at his guard dog. The reason more people feel safe by Shisui is the cursed shackle jutsu on his wrists neck and ankles. The brands stop him from using mind tricks aka Sharingan and stop him from fighting at all. If he however try the marks would burn him, hot like flames, the heat, would set his body ablaze and burn through skin tendon, and bone. All that in order to save innocents from this killing machine.

"They call them knights, they have these long fat, heavy swords that some can barely lift. And guess what their armor looks like. Metal heavy they look like tuna trapped in the fucking cans." He was so engrossed with his story that he even started to curse and Matarera showed him gently. He grins poking her nose.

But villagers were no better "Cut the crap Uchiha-dono what is this Jester creature." And Shisui just pointed at the young man as if saying to his love 'And him you won't kick for cursing? So cruel to me my Matarera'

"Calm down I will tell you. These people have these big stone castles and in each, you have a king that rules his own region. He sits on his ass all day, bored and fat. So Jester must crack jokes dance and make a fool of himself to entertain the king."

Shisui shifted and flames danced only to light the side of the face that was smooth and with healthy eye. "This king was hard to entertain. Every Jester failed and opayed with his life. So my cousin took the job to teach him a lesson. He too naturally failed, but when the king wanted to cut off his head. He moved and got pierced through his chest. Instead of dying he trapped the king and the whole court into genjutsu. Crows came out of his mouth eyes, making a wet crunching disgusting sound. Poling out blood his eyes tongue and brains." He crunched a few dry branches to make people who listen to flinch. "He made such a bloody gruesome scene that no one ever wanted to come any close to that castle king or his people. They spread a sinister story that the king is cursed for killing so many Jesters that a witch cursed him and sent her crows to eat his eyes. So now people there are fearful of crows- crows announce misfortune and predict death."

By the time he finished, no one was left by the fire, for people could swear that they saw Shisui grow wings out of his back. Black wings of a crow.

"Finally alone my love. let me spook you with a few well-placed kisses and pecks" She was lucky black wing loved her more than he loved to kill.

(Story inspired by Akatsuki thread that I have with @kcgarashi)

(as per request tagging the creator of this challenge list @lunyraartistry)

[rivka-kopelman]

Delivery Lemur Logbook : 14-A

<view full logbook>

AKA Enjoy What's Left of Your Pathetic Life

New Year's Eve, 3431

sleepy. sleeeeepy.

i think i'm throwing up. This is gross. what's going on

I was injected with.. something not good

Where am i?

My scalp is buzzing. My head is sooo heavy. I'm so tired I can't move. Can't stop the hot vomit running down my chin.

“Did you just,,, barf on me? are you trying to be ironic?”

Then my face really hurt. He punched my face. It feels awful. This is still a dream maybe. I try to tell him I'm going to leave, but all I can do is gargle. Legs are numb. Can't open my eyes. I hear sporadic gunfire in the distance. Wake up. Wake up.

“... Secret Service took back the watchtowers on L-80,” someone reported. “The upper aerodrome and north-68 are still held.”

“Tell Chain-Face and Golf-Ass to get up to L-81 and pour napalm down the lifts. Use it all,,, no point hoarding it now.”

“Yessir.”

Beep-be-beep

“Slurp's crew retook Gloria Street. He says he can press on to the palace if he gets air support.”

“Tell him I said sit and wait,,, don't give him any ships.”

“Right, yessir. It looks like the base at Vi Town was overrun by civilians. Rioters are swarming the ammo dump at camp-11. Gault is telling them where to go.”

“That's annoying,,, cut any fax lines out of Lugdunum we're not using. Make sure Dad knows. What's up with Bolo?”

“Blockade group says they're fucked, sir. Possum Patrol sees how thin we're stretched. Berg made a weak spot and they're nailing it. They're gonna break through.”

“Fuck it then,,, we held till today, that's all we had to do. Tell our guys to run. Conserve ships if they can.”

“...Yes - New transmission. Secret Service are getting into the Gold Dome over the old walkway.”

“Fuckers, okay,,, get over there now. Take Rake Jones and Betty. And call Leaf if you run out of guys.”

“Yessir!”

beep beep-beep ... then dialtone: duuuu

“Bubblegum,,, did you find that stealth pod we pinged an hour ago?”

“No dingus it's a stealth pod, I didn't find it.”

“Go look for it you dumb bitch,,,”

“I'm eating.”

“Eat later, Bubblegum,,, Fuck you, I'll kill you-”

“Man, ice cream cake, fuck you.”

“I'm-”

rrring rrring rrring

“Hang on,,, Hey, what do you need?”

“Hello son. It's time to take care of Madam Gault.” A familiar voice.

“Okay,,,” Beep-boop “Hey Bubblegum. That was Dad. Change of plan,,, We're gonna start Operation Burnt Popcorn. Tell Grass Stain to turn it on in,,,,,,, four minutes.”

*through a mouthful of cake* “Uh-huh, four minutes, oookay.”

duuuu

Cutbarf grabbed me. He found the spot on my face that was bleeding and pressed his thumbnail into it. I'm helpless. The pain is huge, it goes down into my cheekbone, I want to shake and squirm out of his grip but I'm too weak. So the pain goes on and on. Why does he want to hurt me? I'm. I'm just. I want to call out to Lopcorn for help but he's not gonna hear me. That's

so

“Hey dumbass,,, Can't let you out of my sight, so you're coming with me on a little job.” he said. “If you cause problems I'll take out your eyes,,, then I'll go to your mommy & daddy's house in Bobby-Town and cut their heads off and I'll put you all in the septic line. You can swim around in piss and shit and heads until you can't paddle anymore and you drown,,, Okay? Can you walk? Can you stand up?”

I can't. I squeak out a syllable. Cursing, Cutbarf slings me over his shoulder. I'm carried outside at a run, jounced and jostled. This truly hurts like hell.

My captor is dispensing commands over the phone. I open my eyes a crack and see gleaming pink and gold spires linked by innumerable abutments and bridges that twist and curve through hazy oblivion.

So I made it into Lugdunum while I was unconscious, okay

this is where i was trying to go

But i feel only terrible feelings, and i am sickened

- i wish none of this was real

Cutbarf ducks behind a baluster and drops me like a rock. A stampede of tuxedo'd elephants and rhinos rumbles past: The vaunted Secret Service.

I guess the SM is fighting the president's guards for control of the capital.

When they're gone, he carries me up spiral stairs onto a high walkway arching over the vast presidential city. He looks down at a fortified gateway where kids in pink uniforms and war-paint are attacking Gault's elite with flare guns and cutlery.

kshh

“Who's in the air by West-38 gate 20?”

bzzz

“SMVs Hellspit, Bloodtoilet, and Shitman II,” came the grainy reply.

“Bloodtoilet and Hellspit come shoot at the gatehouse but miss,,, let the old lady think we can't get in, or she'll run. Shitman II, fly over their AA and let them hit you, then back off.”

“Yessir!”

bzzz

Cutbarf kicked open air intake duct. In we went.

bzz

“Cutbarf to Noodle-Knife,,, hey.”

“Hey commander what's good”

“You guys chilling by the back door?”

“Yeah man”

“You doing what I told you to do?”

“Yeah. Nobody's going near it. We're all over the palace except there.”

“Hide your ships behind the upper pylon,,, stay out of sight but keep your reactors hot.”

“They'll see us if they scan shortwave.”

“Yes, they will,,, The trap's hidden just badly enough. She won't run.”

“Gotcha. We'll run red hot. Good luck.”

bzzz

Cutbarf comes to an abrupt halt and I puke again. He peers through a grate that casts thin bands of light across his pimply face.

“There's the hag,,,” whispered Cutbarf. He meant President Gault, who was surrounded by a phalanx of giant bodyguards in the room below.

I see the four-minute timer on his watch reach zero and turn red. I hear alarms going off.

“Report!” demanded a shrill voice.

“Radiation spike on Level 82, Madam President!”

“A bomb?”

“Could be – an unusual one. It's small. 1300 zW.”

“What is the z-wattage of the Possum Patrol's artificial hearts?” she demanded.

“Standby... Yes ma'am, that's in the same range as nuclear hearts.”

“They're here! They're here already,” she hissed. “Localize the spike. Immediately.”

“Checking, standby... Palace level. Section D-20.”

“Too close!”

“Get down there! Now!”

Loud commotion. Guns cocking and panicked whispers, running footsteps. It faded away.

“lmao,,,” muttered Cutbarf. It was quiet in the office below for a minute.

kshhh

“False alarm! False alarm! We're at the warehouse in D-20. The insurgents filled it wall-to-wall with microwave ovens and turned them all on at once to trip our radiation safeties.”

“Get back into position as soon as possible, the-”

Cutbarf dropped through the vent into the president's undefended office.

Gault's lips peeled back in a snarl. Her fury made her hideous and frightening. Her voice was very flat.

“You, boy?

“Me.”

“Fine work. Tell Franz I'll see him in hell. And you.”

“lol looking forward to it,” said Cutbarf. He sliced her head off, and looked up at me in the ceiling. “I can't reach,,, help me up.”

I can kind of wiggle around now so I try to reach down but i'm slow and frail and uncoordinated.

He pulled a chair over instead and was able to hop in from that. He slapped me.

“Useless,,, come on. You oughtta be able to walk by now. Go.”

Somehow I start moving. Cutbarf leads me through the tubes back outside.

Bzz

“Got her,” he said into the phone.

“Good. Thank-you, Commander. Now please bring me the Delivery Lemur.”

“On our way.”

Bzz

“Okay Lemur,,, Back to the base,” Cutbarf announced. I flinched when he reached for my arm with his red hand and I fell down. He moved closer and I gasped and scuttled back until I bumped into a wall. He laughed. “Come on. If you think I'm bad, wait till you meet Dad,,, He's the world's worst.”

I have met him.. .

He dialed something on his phone again. “Hey I want my ship.”

A minute later, SMV Barfbag emerged from the mist and took us aboard.

“Department of Defense,” he told the pilot. When the floor started moving I got dizzy and fainted.

My mental clarity was diminished for a time.

I started to come to my senses in an elevator.

Ding ... ding ... ding ... up we go. Or down?

Can't tell .

No idea.

My head hurts but I'm not as impaired as I was.

Cutbarf's got me by the scruff of the neck.

This demon. He killed Lopcorn. And the President.

He's taking me deep into the

Wherever. It's bad. This is very bad I don't want to , uh , uh

- I go away inside, like I do.

tum te tum .

no. wait it's not going to work .. I'm not going to wake up back home . I have no voice and no control. where is he taking me ? I don't want to go.  um.  Is this my last day living?

when this elevator stops moving, my life is over, isn't it? hes taking me down here to kill me. It's . fuck. hes gonna kill me. I'm going to die.

"help me" I gasp.

“No," Cutbarf replied.

Didn't mean you. Miss Menosky can you hear me? please help me. I am in trouble. please help me right now. Please hear me. mocha mocha mocha mo

"yes ~ hi and hello ~ Sorry, I was dreaming! Dreaaaaming ~ Oh! Goodness you're terrified ~ show me what's wrong?"

"This human's bad. He's taking me somewhere, and I'm really really afraid. They're hurting me. I think I'm going to get murdered. can you please do something.”

"Okay!"

Cutbarf hit the floor, limp as an empty bag.

"He wanted to bring you to someone. Oh Deliveremur ~ this boy is very troubled. I'm sorry he put you through all this ~ The normies never showed him any kindness ~ never ever. I'm going to take away his pain."

Cutbarf began to sob like a baby. Snot rolled out of his nose. He curled into a ball. Oh wow .

“He's feeling love for the first time ~ you should pity him, deliveremur,” Mocha thought. “Don't be afraid. His cruelty is all gone.”

Just like that?

The adrenaline in my bloodstream is so thick I'm not able to calm down but she helps me. All the sharp edges of my feelings are bevelled and made soft. Her sweet silly smile is shining in the centre of my heart. The horrible wet black curtains of certain doom are parted and I know my future is warm and full of everything I like. Everything good.

“You're okay ~ Everything will be fine. I've got you.”

“Yes. Thank-you.”

“Everything's okay now.”

“You saved my life. You seriously..” My empty belly is heaving. I cough and spit. “Thank-you. I dunno what I would have done.”

I notice I'm leaning on the wall. I slide down and sit on the floor of the elevator across from Cutbarf. He's sobbing and hugging himself tight, rocking back and forth.

“You always have me, Lemur ~ no problemo!”

“I'm very appreciative. Really, and. I owe you. What's up, what are you doing today?”

“Ummm! I'm up in orbit today ~ I've got the conservatory to myself. Needed some space, ya know ~ but I want to do a new podcast soon. Hey, you should be my..................”

ding

“Huh?”

“if you want ~ come and............”

ding

The warm feeling under my skull is fading. Our mingled mind(s) are peeling apart. It's like forgetting your first language, or losing a limb. “Mocha? What's happening?”

“Lemur ~ Where are.............”

“I can barely feel you. Please, please, please,”

“Lemur? Lemur ~ Hello...................”

“Miss Menosky! Hi hi hi! Hey! Mocha? I can't --”

“It's like ~ You're in a...........................................................”

ding

The elevator doors opened.

I see a dark room. Can't fathom if it's big or small. There's a pillow & blanket fort dead ahead.

I try to get the elevator to take me back up but you need a code.

“What are you waiting for?” someone says.

That's in my ears, not in my mind.

I trip over my own tail as I stumble ahead. The doors close behind me. I duck inside the pillow fort.

A little human is playing a plastic tic-tac-toe game with Franz Welker. He's got two babies snoozing in the pockets of his too-big suit jacket.

“It's good to see you again. Come in, make yourself comfortable. Plum, this is Delivery Lemur,” he said.

The kid gave me a perfunctory wave without taking her eyes off the game.

“Hi,” I say. I sit. It smells like chip crumbs and pee. Plum drops an X on the board. Welker puts his O in the corner so she can make three in a row. Gracefully, the omnipotent warlord lets her win. She tried not to smile, but did.

The sloth bowed his shaggy head. “You win again.”

“Do you surrender?”

“Not today,” he laughed. “Not tomorrow. Let me try it again.”

She pursed her lips so as not to grin too broadly, clearing the board and separating the plastic X&O blocks into neat stacks.

“It's getting late,” said Franz, looking at his watch. “Would anyone like a snack?”

“Yes please,” said Plum.

“Yes please,” I echo.

I mean why not

Franz procured a loaf of bread and two jars containing peanut butter and red jam. He made two sandwiches with meticulous care, using a silicon spatula to spread the pb and j in perfect evenness.

He gave the first sandwich to Plum. She burrowed waist-deep in a pile of cushions and started munching noisily. He tucked a napkin under her chin. She had jam on her face already.

Welker passes me a sandwich. His claws are unkempt, gnarled, yellowed, notched, and dirty. And they're long – even for a sloth. They look disgusting.

“Thanks.”

As it happens, the sandwich is delicious. I eat the crusts only. It's the best, most reliable part. I'm starting to feel less impaired.

I think about Lopcorn. I remember how he looked falling down. Swallowed by that nothingness. No one will ever pull his remains up.

I chew another bite of jammy crust. The sloth's looking at me.

If only he was never born.

I cry as I eat because I won't get to fly around with Lopcorn after I escape.

“Plum, it's more polite to chew with your mouth closed,” Welker said. With a sigh and rolling eyes she obeyed.

I look at Welker's old face and his careless hygiene. I look at his company of well-fed misfits. Plum goes back to chewing with her mouth open and Franz wipes jam off her chin.

There's no reason to keep me alive.

He's affecting perfect harmlessness. I guess when you have the power to do absolutely anything, you don't care about flaunting it in front of Delivery Lemurs.

“You must be missing your companion,” he said. He started shaking his head. “Lopcorn used to live here, you know. I thought he was very special.”

“Me too dude.”

“Ah...” He went quiet for a bit.

Chewing this crust, I start to think about how different I'd feel if my friends were here. What they'd say and do if we were all together.

Under these circumstances, I can't quite imagine it. I'll be getting through this night on my own.

“I'm glad we got to meet again,” Franz said.

“Mmhm.”

“Have carried out the delivery mission I gave you?”

“Sort of. It was a trap, wasn't it?”

He smiled apologetically. “Yes. I am sorry about that. But since you're here, will you tell me what happened between Private Lopcorn and the mutant Rudler Stackland?”

“They had a fight, but nothing came of it. They figured out it, uh, was a trick.”

“So they did. I regret the contrivance. But I do wish I could have seen Mr. Stackland in action.”

“It was gross. And really dangerous.”

“I have a scientific interest in the Zag-IX survivors,” he explained. “What is the nature of R. Stackland's mutation?”

One of his babies stirred. He patted its deformed cranium, crowned with swollen white veins.

“I couldn't really tell.”

Mocha? Mocha? Can you please hear me? I'd like your help again, I really don't want to talk to this guy. Please? Hello? Hello? Aren't you there?

“I see,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We don't need to discuss it tonight. But I would appreciate hearing some more about what happened, in your own time.”

Can't handle his eye contact so I look down. That's even worse somehow, so I look at him again. His broad-set eyes are those of a primeval predator. He's a bottomless ocean of patience. He doesn't care how long it takes for me to fold.  I flinch from the intense discomfort of the whole situation. It's like staring down a dinosaur fossil and you feel its breath.

“I don't want to talk about that, or anything really.”

“Obviously I can't force you,” he said. “I have a difficult job, Delivery Lemur. I'm responsible for protecting everyone. You have no idea of the danger we're in. I wanted to bring the Zag-IX survivors into the Space Military. One mutant can do more than a thousand of my soldiers. Our force has to be as robust as possible.”

“But why? The aliens are a hoax. You made it all up. Once you convinced President Gault, nobody could stop you.”

“Yes,” Franz nodded. “Before you were born, in the Shark War, I carried Jen Gault out of a shell crater under fire. Her squad left her for dead. I found her quite by accident. I got her home. She owed her life to me. I was trusted; That trust represented an opportunity I could not ignore. I knew how high she would rise. After the Floom Expedition, I showed her my brain-scans and said the lesions were marks of alien torture. I told her horror stories about an all-powerful civilization in deep space. What must we do, what must we do...”

“What do you get out of doing this?” I ask. “Building the Space Beams wasted so many resources that all Eight Galaxies fell into poverty.”

“That's not his fault,” snapped Plum. “Everyone thinks Poppy's a bad person but they're wrong. You'll see. And then you'll feel so silly, once you know. The Space Beams are saving us.”

“Right you are, little lady,” said Franz. “Plum is an A+ student, Delivery Lemur. You should listen to her.”

“If there's a good reason, why did you need to make up something like-”

Welker was looking at his watch and his eyes widened a degree. “It is nearly time. You won't want the miss the New Year's countdown. You're free to go. Commander Cutbarf will take you home.”

He typed something on his phone.

Ding

Beyond the cotton-polyester walls of the little fort, I heard the elevator open. 10 seconds passed.

Franz Welker looked over my shoulder.

“Cutbarf? Son?”

There was no answer. Franz threw the flap aside and went out. He saw the prostrate babbling Cutbarf   on the floor, with tears streaming from his eyes.

Welker twitched, staring uncomprehendingly at the boy.

“What's...” he trailed off. When I stood up, Welker retreated a step. He was rigid with dread.

“What did you do?” he rasped.

I think for a second.

Ah yes. It must seem pretty weird to him that a delivery lemur could get in an elevator with Cutbarf and leave him in such a state. Jeez, how the heck can I explain this?

“Just listen,” I say, getting up. A thin metal object falls out of my pocket and clatters to the floor. A shining steel salad fork. The one Rølvag gave me. Oh I still had that.

Welker's eyes fix on it. His posture changes. The tension in his shoulders makes him quiver slightly.

“Plum, grab that before he puts it in your throat!” he barks. She nabs the salad fork and hops up to hide behind Franz.

He spreads his claws like a protective shield over the deformed human infants in his jacket. He's so scared he looks like he's gonna lose his mind. No one ever looked at me like this before.

“What are you?” he asked, his voice paper-thin.

This I know.

“I'm Delivery Lemur (deliveremur).”

“An assassin lemur? Where were you born?”

“I'm a local. Born & raised down in Bobby Town.”

He took a gun off his belt and pointed it between my eyes. “Tell me what you are.”

I pee. Someone save me?

Mocha hear me please?

. .  .

She can't hear me. I'm alone.

“What are you?” Welker demanded again. He's really freaky and 100% insane. Capable of anything. I have no doubt that he'll murder me.

“I'm- I'm- a regular lemur, what do you want?”

“You're not. You can't be a Psy...What did you do to Cutbarf? ”

“I didn't do anything, it wasn't me. It was a podcaster.”

He looked like he was suppressing a panic attack. Welker pulled the veiny babies up to his chest like they were his final shield. He pointed his gun at my heart.

“You can't be here... I can't have you in here...”

He pulled the trigger.

A white blur was in the corner of my eye. A shape appeared before me faster than the echoing pop of the pistol. Displaced air blew apart the pillow fort. Lopcorn caught the bullet. He swept off Welker's hands and feet with an imperceptible motion and slammed him down head-first.

“रRग痛у疼טឈឺיקчть,” Welker bubbled, his four red stumps spraying gore.

Plum ran to him with wide eyes. “Poppy! Poppy!”

I was looking at Lopcorn. He watched the maimed defense minister until he was satisfied that he was no longer a threat, then he gave me the once-over.

“You okay?”

“Are you real?” I asked him.

“Yeah, you?”

“As far as I know.”

He kissed my mouth. I kissed him back as hard as I could, for everything my little life is worth. I really did.

“How are you here?”

“Your friend Stackland was lurking around in one of his stealth pods. Saw me falling and caught me in a web of his fat. I went through Lugdunum from the bottom, as planned.”

“ αίडाμα muកាиរចាប់čeболWьní, त,n” Franz was gasping.

“4+4 Poppy! You can do it! 4+4!” Plum cried, cradling him.

“ж¿ ..o..cho..” the sloth spluttered.

“10+10! Try 10+10, what's that Poppy?”

He shrieked like he was being boiled. “πό想νοςčč伤ččč베다”

Who does that remind me of?

“Try again! Come on now! What's 10+10!”

“Tw..болен벌 twe!” he shook his head back and forth. “Th.. Twenty. Twenty. Plum?”

She hugged him tighter than ever. “Poppy! You're hurt. What do I do?”

“Take Natasha,” he wheezed. Plum extracted one of the infants.

“Run and wake up Milo right away.”

“Yes! Yes sir!”

She scampered off.

“Call whoever you want,” said Lopcorn. “You're done, Mr. Welker. Pa. This is a citizen's arrest.”

“I am surprised that you would saddle yourself with the karma of such a decision. I did not think you would get over your cold feet,” Franz spoke clearly. He had quashed his strange outburst, and gave no visible sign that he was in pain, despite his ghastly injuries. “You've grown. I congratulate you.”

“Thanks. Now you want to tell me it's an act of self-destruction?”

“I have nothing to teach you, Lopcorn. You've gone your own way. You are your own man now. If you were one of us, you'd know: Our victory was sealed six years ago. There's nothing you can accomplish here. You're going to die a meaningless death.”

A hatch opened in the floor and Plum came back in with a big rooster. Baby Natasha was strapped into a little saddle on its back.

“Good morning, my friend,” said Franz.

Plum put on a big pair of earmuffs. She put another pair on Franz and put baby-sized earmuffs on the two babies.

This rooster was of the Jersey Giant breed. He's as haggard and rumpled as one lightning-struck. His comb was tall and bright red. His blank, baggy eyes were rhythmically swelling and contracting.

“Is this Milo?” Lopcorn asked.

“Ba-Kaw!”

The sky came in. Milo's voice knocked half the building off, and the hundred or so floors above us exploded. Then Milo looked right at me and opened his beak. Lopcorn grabbed me and jumped. We sailed a mile through the air and landed in another tower. Right away another soundwave shattered it to tiny bits, every tile and nail and floorboard undone. He jumped with me again.

“Ba-Kaw!”

My eardrums feel like hot potatoes. The entire city block violently disintegrated under us. Huge chunks of Lugdunum are breaking off and falling into the fog. We retreat and retreat.

“Looks like Welker found a mutant for himself after all.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Let's run away.”

“I'm gonna go kill them somehow,” Lopcorn decided. “Run somewhere and hide. I'll find you.”

“Run and hide with me.”

“Not yet,” he said.

“But. We can just get away.”

“I'm-”

The distant echoing cry of a baby was suddenly close. The thing was right there, with its wailing young rider thrashing in the saddle.

“Ba-Kaw!”

Lopcorn tackled me off the roof a millisecond before the whole structure and the six behind it blew up.

We landed in a crowded intersection where Secret Service rhinos were brawling with the soldiers. They noticed us but before they could even awkwardly pause, Milo erased the street and everything in it with a single breath.

Lopcorn took me under his arm and we ricocheted through the twisted girders and toppled walls. I'm not tough enough for this kind of thing.

“Hey! Slow down!”

Lopcorn doesn't react to my voice. Blood is streaming out of his ears. He looks over when I start waving my arms.

“Oh. I'm deaf,” he said. A statement of fact.

He's been in front of me for all of this, taking the clangor face-first.

“You need a doctor, come on, we'll find somebody.”

“Can't hear you.”

I realize he's woozy and off balance. Then Milo caught up.

“Ba-”

The cracks in the road were distended by a mesh of red veins that uncoiled in the shape of a gum-line, sprouting yellow teeth. Milo was eaten by a giant mouth. There came a muffled “Ba-kaw!”

The jaws were sundered and a tide of blood washed us away. The steaming gore congealed instantly into a trillion long-nailed fingers that drove at Milo from all directions.

“Ba-kaw! Ba-kaw!”

The shockwaves of his voice atomized everything. The broken fingers bubbled and oozed and morphed back into the human figure of Rudler Stackland.

“Ah, hi guys, what is with this chicken?”

“Whaat?” cried Lopcorn.

“He's gone deaf,” I explain.

“Oh... That's not good,” Stackland muttered, wincing. “I don't know how to fight a guy like this. He has mutated vocal cords, that's certain.”

“What do we do?” I ask Lopcorn.

“Whaat? Are you talking about killing the rooster?” he yells.

I nod. “We need a plan! Plan!”

“Rip his head off,” Lopcorn told Stackland. “Just keep trying until we get it.”

“That's – That's the strategy?”

“Can't hear you! I'm going to attack! Help or don't!”

He was off like a shot. Stackland grew a hundred legs and sprang after him.

“Ba-kaw! Ba-kaw! Ba-kaw!”

Even their combined effort was no good. Milo's deadly voice repulsed them over and over.

The air is dust and death and chaos. The whole city was being destroyed. Many had fled but no organized evacuation had begun. A writhing ball of fingers and toes and hair rolled bolder-like through the endless avenues snaking between the old gold skyscrapers. Stackland picked up tremendous velocity (it is dizzying to watch) and aimed his rush at the rooster. He couldn't connect. Milo opened his beak and his cry knocked down buildings like dominos and scattered bloody chunks of Stackland for miles around.

While Milo looked left, Lopcorn appeared at his right like a little cannonball. But it was too easy for Milo to simply turn his head; Lop retreated before the "Ba-Kaw!" carved another canyon through the cityscape. Milo waddled jauntily through the wreckage. Twinkling glass shards fell like snow around him from two buildings that had collapsed against each other, stuck like an A-frame. The sight is awe-inspiring.

Stackland's stomach unleashed a fuming fountain of gastric acid but it was was blown back. He gushed high curtains of blood to obscure Milo's sight, then he charged in from one side and Lopcorn from the other. It was enough to make him swivel and shout twice, but they still couldn't touch him. Milo stepped right up to Stackland and said ba-kaw and burst him. A grotesque profusion of guts and globs and sinew were sprinkled all over the the plaza. Lopcorn ran rings around him, changing directions suddenly and leaping and diving at random. It would only take an instant to close the distance and kill him, but there was no safe way to approach.

I'm so useless sitting up here. Can I figure something out... Is there some classic weakness that all roosters have? I don't know much about roosters.

There must be something, I'll look it up.

As soon as I connect to the internet, all I see is shelter-in-place alerts: the Bolo blockade has been breached, and Possum Patrol has entered the system.

The Space Military is in complete disarray. Tens of thousands of Possum Patrol modems are connecting to Cloudout's federal wifi-sphere and they're spamming every website and fax provider with a text file. I might as well see what it says.

hear the truth, tell the truth

hear the truth, tell the truth

know it,

know it,

tell everybody

hark! we are peaceful

This is the yarn of Forefather Grak:

this is the darkest archive of misery and torment in the whole history of the world

franz was made to eat it. and eat it he did

we possums were there , we've told and retold it . we were there

this is the truth

aboard the Callier long ago

with the preachers and the scholars and the stern stalwart leader, enlightened Franz with his dreams and principals, Franz the veteran and scientist and artist and friend to all. We agreed he was the one who should stand to the fore and meet the aliens

at the end of the  thirteen year journey to the Floom, there was no kaleidoscopic citadel of higher intelligence, no hive or mind nor hivemind. there was a dim little bubble of dark matter that spun clockwise

and Psy Brigade, who were aboard, were bored , and they simmered and they ground their teeth, because they were really all Drifters who pedalled pleasure and pain;

they ate the memories of the traumatized, if they could pay

always carrying the hurt, always holding it, always feeling it.

They are really wretches

the Callier mission seemed a simpler payday so off they go

but 13 years was too long to wait. and to reach a pointless destination: it was too wretched.

psy brigade mutinied and they killed the crew

slowly they did it

they poured out their bank of madness and suffering

The Catfish Pope, a gentle fellow, reached his escape pod thanks to the sacrifice of our kin

on the bridge,

I, Grak, Boss of the Possums, tried to protect Franz but they broke my will

Franz fought them the hardest

so they saved him for last

while i was going mad I saw him crawling

they made a river of pain from brain to brain to brain. Curse them forever!

It was their long-awaited unburdening

they made him their final reservoir

Hark! Drifters can only forget things by making someone else remember it.

they put their full hoard in his mind, and 36 lifetimes was the sum

he didn't die. His spirit held. I, Grak, saw him moving. he shook like a leaf and wriggled like an insect. inch by inch he was crawling

he was going to the helm

he kept his wet eyes on it, forward and forward, forward, onward

as he bore the unbearable grief and horror and insanity, for life after life, every tragedy, every moment of it

he slithered for an hour or a thousand years across the bridge and reached the control panel

he vented the oxygen from the crew quarters and killed them all

then he steered the Callier into the dark matter

there are no aliens in the flume

[the end]

That's weird! Mr. Welker went through something so messed up?

I can't imagine what kind of suffering could drive someone to choose emptiness and pawn their memories. How does it feel to experience 36 lifetimes of that?

It reminds me of Drywowl, who was so traumatized by drifters that she lost her sense of self. She cried like a faucet all day long. Nothing would calm her down, but she liked watching us play board games. Something about the dice or the straight lines or the silly simplicity.

But Drywowl's fine now – Miss Menosky fixed her up in a second. If only she had been on the Callier.

A tremor knocks me off my feet and out of my reverie. I find myself in the midst of the corpses and the groaning near-dead and, slumped bleeders caked with the grey powder of broken concrete or white plaster. The crackling din of the battle and Milo's haunting cock-crows split the ears. Geese and goats and salamanders and all sorts run to and fro, trying to escape both upwards and down, or tucking themselves into hiding spots. They dig through the rubble for buried friends. Then they hear the rooster again, and they're too close this time, and they explosively die.

I call out to her. I shut my eyes and try to go away, to recede. I think her name, I think it over and over and over.

“deliveremur ~ what's going on? are you safe there?”

I'm surrounded by dead bodies i'm trying not to look at them.

She has me and she takes care of me now

~Shhhhh

i'm relieved and i'm okay. I am loved

Miss Menosky! I can feel her/you. What happened in the elevator? How did we get disconnected?

It was so strange ~ it was like your mind was being blotted out and I couldn't find you. All folks everywhere are in such a panic today! I was ~ getting very very concerned!

I though, can you do me an emergency favor ?

yes ~ yes?

There's a rooster here destroying the city. Can you get in his head and make him fall asleep like you did with Cutbarf?

...What rooster? I'm not feeling any rooster around you.

Use my eyes and you'll see it. I'm a mile or two away. Hes down in the square.

That ~ is ~ very ~ strange. I see what you're seeing ~ but I can't feel it! Is that rooster a living thing? With a brain?

he must be, right?

I glimpsed the human on Milo's back and sensed/shared Mocha's revelation. it's deformed.

those pale, thickened cranial veins.

That little baby has sindla syndrome ~ I'm allergic, all psys are. I can't go in the rooster's mind with that sick girl right there ~ she's like a black cloud around him.

How perfectly inconvenient. What are the odds of that?

The battle was not going well. Stackland was trying to amalgamate enough little pieces of himself to form a viable body but Milo spread him like paste thinner and thinner until he covered the city like a spilled smoothie. Lop looks like a buzzing fly, a petty annoyance to the invincible rooster.

Jeez can we really not win with the greatest psy plus Lop and Stackland?

Mocha thinks Aren't you forgetting someone? She means me.

Yes. I must save everybody.

Okay.... what's the logical thing?

I think and think. how to stop a rooster. or just his voice. how to stop the sound. maybe if we were underwater... but that would take a whole ocean. hmm. Sonic vibrations cant go through antimatter, but I don't have any.

Vibration, resonation...

What if I could get a second mutant rooster and get them to say ba-kaw backwards? It would make an inverted sound-wave, like noise cancelling headphones. And then punch him right in the face!

ah that wont work.. what can I do, I've got nothing to work with. I got lots of floss. can we defeat Milo with dental floss?

Can we? Nah that's the stupidest thing yet, it's not like he's

oh we can totally win with floss.

I text lopcorn my idea.

he hides to type an answer and there's a lull in the cacophony.

[lol that would take like a thousand miles of floss]

[I have &30,000,000R worth of floss right on my phone]

[you do. this is the stupidest thing I ever heard but okay. text stackland.]

A moment later he hops up to my perch. I give him my phone. He nods and he's off again.

Though spread as thin as varnish across half of Lugdunum, Stackland's body is still functional. He starts to foam, excreting bubbly saliva.

Lopcorn comes in low, zigzagging through the froth. Milo sees him. Lop gets near, fakes left and right and (dropping something) left again then jumps up. Milo screams at the air but Lop sailed over him.

“Ba-Kaw!”

This one's bad. The city has taken so many of these that a whole quarter of the superstructure is shaken loose. Lugdunum starts to tilt.

A tiny hand, pink and boneless, sprouts from Stackland's paste on Milo's left and feebly reaches for him. Milo blasts it – Lop dives in from the opposite side. Milo steps back and twists his neck, locking his eyes on the incoming hare and blows him away. Again, Stackland musters a tiny attack from the left, just a single finger – mercilessly answered with a full-power sonic-boom. Keenly he anticipates Lopcorn's accompanying attack and repositions himself, but it didn't come. Lop was long gone.

Milo had stepped backwards, into the zigzag trail Lopcorn had made through the spit bubbles.

A dental floss snare tightened around his foot.

Two miles away, Lopcorn held the other end of the trap: my phone. He ran circles around Milo who screamed and screamed, but Lop was out of range. He looped him twice and thrice. The rooster's legs were caught. He tried to shimmy out, keeping his eyes locked on Lopcorn.

Since all the buildings had been flattened, he had a clear field. I've never seen Lop run this hard. Poor guy's been fighting all night. Around and around and around – He's wrapping Milo up like a mummy, spooling out my whole investment.

“Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw!”

Milo's desperate blitz is apocalyptic. But he can't hit Lopcorn. Struggling against his bonds, he starts to lose balance. Finally, he tries to get his beak under the floss to gnaw himself out.

With the threat of reprisal on pause, Lopcorn pulled the line taut and dashed faster than ever. The rooster was bound from hackle to spur. He rolled and bucked wildly.

“Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw Ba-Kaw!”

He hooked his lower jaw in the tight strands and chomped and tugged and screamed.

Lopcorn circled closer and closer.

Milo twisted and shook with visible distress. Baby Natasha was lurching uncontrollably in the saddle and her earmuffs fell off.

“Ba-Kaw!”

The floss snapped – he freed himself. Natasha's head exploded. Lopcorn had launched himself straight at Milo and couldn't change course. The monster took a deep breath. He opened his baneful throat.

Mocha, right now!

Milo sat down placidly. Lopcorn's kick got him in the sternum, fatally caving it in and splattering him. Nothing was left but a dark smear and a puff of feathers.

Ahh it was probably not necessary to kill him. With just an extra minute I could have explained about...

Lopcorn came and got me.

“That was pure luck. He must have run out of steam at the last second.”

Back at street level, I knocked on Stackland like he was a door (what else can I do) and a little ear formed in the gory ooze.

“Hey, it's Delivery Lemur (deliveremur). Are you okay?”

A mouth forms next to the ear.

“I'll be fine... I need... a bit...”

“Okay. Yeah have a lie-down. Nice work with all the spit. And all the other stuff.”

“..thanks..”

Lopcorn leaned down over the little ear.

“Nice fight. You did good.”

Stackland made a thumb and gave a thumbs-up.

We went back to the half-wrecked department of defense. Franz had not been moved. Plum was tending to his four stumps. She squealed when she saw us.

“Poppy, they're back.”

The sloth looked up at the sky rather than at us. He wheezed hoarsely in and out for a tedious moment before he spoke.

“Oh, you're monstrous. You killed him,” he groaned, turning away in revulsion. “Milo had an important role in the new world. The next few years are going to be much more difficult. I wish you hadn't killed him. That was monstrous of you.”

“What did you do?” demanded Plum. She rose, her eyes streaming. She started pummelling Lopcorn ineffectually. He ignored her.

“Your demon chicken blew out my eardrums, so I didn't hear anything you just said,” he said. “And I wouldn't listen if I could.”

“Yes, yes. Come here, Plum. Stop that please.” He held his stumps up in token of surrender.

Plum gave Lopcorn one more jab and a mean look, and sat back by Welker's side in a huff. His blaring max-volume phone showed Berg Lazerson and Anna Siong broadcasting from the president's office. The live overlay showed Possum Patrol ships overrunning the Cloudout armada and dismantling the Space Beams. Lopcorn broke the phone under his foot as he hoisted the mangled handless footless sloth.

“We're gonna find a judge for you to confess to, then I'm giving you to Berg,” he announced, and started walking toward the center of the city. Plum followed with a sullen frown, carrying the other baby. “You can explain to the world why you blockaded Bolo, and made doomsday weapons, and unleashed a mutant on Lugdunum. None of it worked, by the way. Whatever pointless secrets you were trying to protect about the psys on the Callier are all out in the open.”

I want to talk to him about that. I'll interject, uh...

“I will make a thorough confession. The need for secrecy has passed,” Welker said. “You can lock me up, or behead me. Everything I've done has been to preserve our civilization from torture and extermination. I saved the world.”

If not from aliens, then...

“You means the psys?” I ask. “I think I understand now. Mr. Welker, I know someone who can fix you. I know you were tortured by Drifters and you're suffering constantly.”

“Delivermur?” Lopcorn prompted. “What are you two talking about?”

I hold up a finger. “Just a sec. Mr. Welker, you're wrong about the psys if you think they want to hurt us. They're really nice.”

“Your opinion is meaningless. You're fortunate, lemur, or whatever you are. You have never been felt pain. True suffering will never touch you. You are so fortunate that you will never understand.”

Maybe so; I'm still trying to compute what he meant about saving the world. I have to think for a moment.

“What was in the dark matter anomaly? Were you firing the Space Beams at for six years?”

“A wormhole.”

His watch beeped [11:59 PM] and started a countdown.

“A – huh? A wormhole to where?”

“Its terminus is just outside Galaxy 2.”

Galaxy 2...? That explains the 'impossible' timeline of the Callier's return.

Lopcorn stops walking

“All that continuous shooting...?”

“Yes. Perfectly measured, and angled, and timed,” Welker said. “In a few seconds seconds, the gravitic drift of the Sheol nebula will reveal the far side of the wormhole, and what I've done will be apparent, but it's too late to stop it and too late to flee. At the same instant, six years worth of bombardment will reach the local side of the wormhole and strike every inhabited planet in the Psy Sanctuary.”

“But wait, just wait,” I say. “You don't need to get revenge, I know someone who can take your pain away. I swear. It's no problem. It'll be like it never happened. You can be yourself again.”

It was midnight.

Beedeebeebeep-Beedeebeebeep-Beedeebeebeep-Beedeebeebeep

<Part 2>