#as if these bones are far older than the flesh that surrounds them

[undeadbutch]

some thoughts abt the things i attach to my identity

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

(3) WHAT LOVE DID THEN, LOVE DOES NOW [r.l]

“They wanted each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound.” — ‘these violent delights’, micah nemerever

pairing. rowan laslow x vampire!reader

warnings. swearing, mention of sex + death, spoilers for wednesday s1

summary. a certain someone approaches you and rowan.

word count. 3k

>pt1, pt2, pt3

iii. 

You completely - and I mean totally, wholly, entirely - underestimated Enid Sinclair’s gossiping capabilities.

The both you had expected her to tell a few people, maybe, just get it out there that, “wow, Rowan and [Name], are, like, totally boning, oh, and he’s a vampire now.”

The whole nonchalant gossiping thing. You’ve seen it happen — aw, Bianca’s dating Xavier, oh, wait, they're over; Davina and Sinclair’s older brother were caught after curfew, that’s nice; one of the fangs knocked out a normie on Outreach Day, go them! 

You didn’t know how out of proportion things could get. You were no expert on gossiping - that was Yoko’s thing. 

Maybe it was because she was younger than you. These days, being older than two centuries felt like you were a fucking senior citizen. 

By next morning, several Fangs had knocked on your door asking about you and Rowan. By pure ‘coincidence’, Rowan would walk by the door, or maybe he’d call you back to ‘bed’, and the inquisitive Fangs in question would gasp, quickly say goodbye, and leave.

In actuality, you and Rowan had practiced this after the first fellow Vampire had come by and asked. By some terrible stroke of luck, Weem’s had permitted Rowan to move out of his dorm with Xavier Thorpe and move into your empty one, as your whole reason for turning him had been to stay together forever.

Ugh. Curse Weems and her disgustingly romantic heart. 

When the two of you arrived in your first period (you in Latin, Rowan in Fencing), you had been bombarded with either questions or whispers (you with questions, Rowan surrounded by whispers, which didn’t really bother him. It was like a regular day of being an outcast freak, except now, instead of laughing behind his back, everyone shied away from his gaze.) 

You reconvened at lunch, hiding in your dorm to take a break from everyone’s unabashed staring. Even on your way to Karnstein Hall, people popped up left and right, scrambling from their place across the room to see you two up close — holding hands, of course, as you had to keep up appearances.

“So,” you said, putting down your dorm keys on your bedside table, “How was your morning?”

“Ugh,” Rowan groaned, flopping down onto his bed across from yours — which was still bare, as he’d moved in just the night before — “don’t even ask. I was okay with the whispers, but by third period Seance I had people coming up to me and asking for details.”

You shrugged off your Nevermore zip-up, throwing it onto your bed. “God, I saw Davina eyeing me from across the greenhouse - I thought I was gonna get sirened into spilling secr—“

A sharp knock rapted at your cherry-wood door, interrupting your ranting. The both of you paused, far too tired to deal with any more questions. 

“[Name], Rowan, I know you’re in there.” A familiar voice said, before knocking once more. Immediately, your expression grew alarmed.

It was Wednesday Addams knocking on your door. 

You inched closer to the door, hand hesitantly grasping around the brass knob. From behind you, Rowan looked like he’d rather die again than open the door.

He had told you about his mother’s painting and her psychic abilities - the reason why he had attempted to kill her - and how he still couldn’t trust her. Despite how Rowan knew that psychic powers weren’t the most reliable, and could even make one go crazy - like his mothers had - he still held the utmost trust in her.

Nonetheless, Rowan obliged when you mouthed to him: “Weems is on her case. Any wrong move and she’ll be done for.”

Twisting the knob slowly, you cracked the door open a few inches. “Hi, Wednesday.” You pasted on a bright smile, all teeth and, on purpose, entirely, noticeably, fake.

“I need to talk to Rowan.” She said shortly, black eyes boring into your own. They were completely devoid of emotion, blank and lifeless. If you ever saw her laying on the floor with the same expression, you’d think she was dead. 

“I’m afraid we’re,” You grinned larger, trying to flush some color into your cheeks, “having some quality couple time.”

She furrowed her brows. You lifted a hand onto her shoulder, “You get it, righ—“

Suddenly, Wednesday’s head flew back, and her body stiffened. Her back was arched, arms flailed at her side. Wednesday looked completely out of it, eyes rolling to the back of her head, breathing scattered like she was heaving.

“Wednesday?” You whispered, hands curling around her thin arms. “Wednesday!” You repeated, shaking her rapidly when she didn’t come out of her stupor. 

She looked like she was about to convulse, but instead her body held still for a moment, until it grew limp and fell into your arms. 

You gaped. Then, you looked down the hall, left and right, feeling your nerves practically burn on fire at the thought that someone had seen. 

Thankfully, nobody was loitering in your wing of Karnstein Hall, but you knew Yoko was going to grab her herbology kit soon for her next class. 

Decisively, you dragged Wednesday’s sagging body into your room. Then, you gently placed her body in the middle of the room, and locked your dorm door. 

“What happened? What the the fuck did you do?!” Rowan said, springing up from his bed. His panic was evident as the pitch of his voice climbed higher and higher, nervously hopping over Wednesday’s body and standing next to you. 

“Why the hell is that your first thought?! I didn’t do anything!” You said defensively, throwing your arms up in the air. 

“Then how come she’s - passed out like that. Is she passed out? Did you kill her or—“ Rowan’s voice was quickly growing staccato, and he was running out of breath. 

“I didn’t kill her! What are you even saying?! We were just talking—“

“If you were just talking then why is she on the floor, in the middle of our goddamn room?!” Rowan shouted, heaving. 

You were sure Rowan was about to pass out, when Wednesday suddenly lifted her upper body off the floor. It looked like when elder vampires sprung from their coffins, unlike the younger generation of vampires that shed the need for coffins and got their energy from social interaction. Changing times, you guessed.

Wednesday turned to the both of you, almost mechanically, and you both froze on the spot. Her gaze pierced the two of you. It was calculating, all knowing; like she knew secrets you did not.

She drew in a thin breath between the teeth that, suddenly, looked as sharp as knives. “That night - in the forest. You died.” Wednesday looked at Rowan, her eyes tracing the bite scar on his neck. 

“But it wasn't the monster that killed you,” Wednesday continued. Her eyes drifted, latching onto you next. “It was [Name]. They followed the scent of blood, found you… and turned you.”

Wednesday’s dull, lifeless eyes grew a miniscule sheen. “Am I correct?” She said, pushing herself up from the wood floors and dusting her black pants off. 

You looked at Rowan. He looked at you. You both continued like that for several moments, all the while Wednesday stood watching and waiting. She seemed to have no qualms at all about waiting, like an idle game character. 

Never mind Wednesday Addams’s mannerisms — how in god’s fucking name did she know that? In utmost detail, nonetheless, even down to how Rowan’s attack made itself known to you. 

“How - did you...“ Rowan broke the silence, fumbling over his words. His hands animatedly expressed his shock. 

You pressed two fingers between your eyes. “Who told you this? Who saw this, and who else knows?”

If there was even the slightest chance that this information leaked… the two of you would be done for. The possibility of a homicidal monster being known to parents would effectively close the school - and for how long, you did not know. 

(Although Nevermore had never been home, it was single-handedly the only place you and Rowan had ever known so comfortably. 

For centuries, you wandered throughout Europe - through Romania and back again, in France, Italy, Denmark, Istanbul when it had still been Constantinople; every country in the North-Eastern hemisphere you traversed, unable to sit still, unable to get comfortable, unable to feel okay, until you crossed into the Americas, into Nevermore. It was not home, but at least it promised something similar. 

After Rowan’s mother’s death - no, even before she had passed, his house wasn’t home. His mother’s psychic abilities had ailed her - not physically, which had killed her - but in the head. Rowan’s mother had not been herself for at least a decade before she passed, and when she did die, it was saying goodbye to a stranger, loving a figure who did not love you back, nonetheless raise you. 

His father, even moreso, was estranged. Rowan’s father had cherished his mother more than anything in the entire world; more than the family business, more than their heaps of wealth, more than Rowan himself. 

When she died, in that large, empty, home, the warm part of his father died with her. 

Despite the way he was treated at school, he preferred Nevermore over his house, because at least he was treated with contempt. In the Laslow family estate, Rowan was not treated with anything at all. In that empty house, Rowan felt like a ghost. No one spoke to each other, no one spoke to him, and his father drowned himself in his work. 

Nevermore was for the fleeing. You and Rowan fit those conditions entirely. It welcomed the fearful, the alone, the outcast. It attempted to make something of a home out of you all, and even if it didn’t fill the gap in you and Rowan, it, at the very least, filled some of it. 

So closing the school could not happen.)

“Nobody told me this. I did not see this matter in the way you think. And no-one else knows, excluding you two, and now me.” 

“You lie,” You said. There was no other way she’d get a hold of such intimate details. 

If possible, Wednesday looked slightly offended at the connotation. “I have not lied for the entirety of this conversation.” 

And lie again. You sucked air in through your teeth, taking short and rapid breaths. What right did she have, knocking on your door and passing out, barging into your business, all knowing and spilling your every secret? 

What did she want? 

Something dawned on you, your eyes widening with each passing second. Passing out? All knowing—

Wednesday looked you both in the eye. Her gaze was as transparent as glass, and it looked as though she was prepared to lay all her cards on the table. 

“I suppose, as I’ve found out your secret, I must tell you mine. A quid pro quo, of sorts.” 

“You did not see it in the way we think,” You thought to yourself, piecing together Wednesday’s vaguely knit puzzle of words. 

Wednesday’s hands clasped together. “I get visions. Of the past, or the future.” 

You and Rowan looked at one another once more. That would explain many things, but you both still regarded the Addams’ daughter with a certain distrust. You did so for reasons you could not quite understand, but perhaps it was her eeriness that held such a discomforting air that made you both need more convincing. 

She turned to Rowan, “On Harvest Day, I saw you die. No more, no less. Before you did so, I did not see you try to kill me. Until now, I did not see [Name] save you.”

Rowan’s eyes thinned. “What else have you seen?” He said, distrustingly. 

Wednesday looked similarly distrusting, which was not surprising, as Rowan had tried to kill her. Nonetheless, she answered. “I witnessed a Jericho civilian’s death by cervical fracture before he died.” 

“These visions… you cannot control them?” You said, interrupting Rowan and Wednesday’s impromptu death-staring contest. 

Wednesday blinked. “Touch seems to be a common factor. But no.”

“Are they all knowing? Fixed?” Rowan scrutinized, an unashamed attempt at sleuthing. 

Wednesday, in her limited ability to show much emotion, seemed pensive. “To claim my visions are omniscient would be superbia. However, their accuracy has not yet failed me.”

You bit the skin on your nails. You could feel a drumming in your head, and you could imagine that was what a thrumming heart was like. 

Everything you asked, Wednesday seemed to answer - or perhaps, counter - completely. She left no room for suspicion, completely devoid of holes in her story. 

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay - fine. Yes, I turned Rowan. I - smelt his blood from the festival, followed the trail, and decided the only way I could save him was to turn him.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, acknowledging. “Smart decision on your part. In terms of eye-witness testimonies to the monster, all victims dead meant no accounts.” Wednesday’s gaze then turned to Rowan, whose previously impugning attitude disappeared. 

“I - didn’t see much.” Rowan began, in a meek voice. “As much as you saw, Wednesday. Maybe even less.”

“It does not particularly have to be what the creature looked like. Anything at all that you may remember,” she said, placing her hands in front of her expectantly.

He grimaced. “It… reminded me of a werewolf.” Rowan started, before quickly shaking his head. “But it wasn’t one. No, it was… violent; out of control.” Rowan bit his lip, thin, pointed fangs nipping at the skin so hard he nearly drew blood. “I remember it staring me down - with those huge, crazed eyes. But it - It looked like it… knew what it was doing. Like they - it, was attacking me intentionally.”

Silence filled the room, and it felt like a cold draft blew in, despite zero openings. The environment grew tense, and you looked at Rowan. If possible, he looked paler than before, a certain despair settling into the lines of his soft face. 

A heavy guilt weighed on your shoulders. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk about the monster that almost killed him. In what world would one happily talk about their near-murderer? 

Breaking the silence, Wednesday hummed. “Intelligence, rather than animalistic instinct. Interesting.” 

“I - think it’s best if you go now, Wednesday.” You said, looking at Rowan’s blank stare. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he looked elsewhere. Far away from the now, melting in his memories. 

Wednesday blinked, and looked as if she wanted to say much more, but settled with a curt nod, and exited your dorm room. Before she left, she said, “Try not to let this conversation of ours leave the room. I have reason to believe the monster may very well kill all who know about it.”

After Wednesday left, it was just the two of you in the room. The awkward silence suffocated you both, like a noose constricting around your neck. Any words you wished to say died on your lips, their ghosts coming out as mere sighs. 

“I’m sorry.” You said finally, turning away from Rowan, who now lay still on his bed. He looked akin to a corpse in a casket during an open funeral viewing. 

“What for?” Rowan droned dully, eyes trained on the popcorn ceiling above you. You knew he wasn’t really listening, and he wasn’t really answering. His mind was so far between from his body, his subconscious answering for him. 

“We didn’t have to tell her. We didn’t have to answer. I didn’t mean to force you.”

Rowan didn’t answer, at least not for a long moment. Your simultaneous breathing was all that could be heard; in and out, in and out.

Finally, Rowan let out a breath of air that was tattered, ragged and tired. He sounded worn out; aching. “We had to tell her. She already knew.” He tried to catch his fleeting breath, “And you didn’t force me. I chose to tell her what I saw. What tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” You said, turning to face him. Rowan’s body had turned to face the wall, on his side with his legs pulled up to his chest. “for everything.”

“It’s not your fault.” Rowan whispered, almost inaudibly. 

You inched closer, until you were at the edge of his bed. You kneeled beside him, and in the softest voice you could muster: “I’m sorry for turning you. This - being what I am - isn’t anything good at all. It - isn’t what you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m - it wasn’t my choice to make; I — I turned you into something you’re not. Something terrible.”

Rowan rolled over, meeting you face to face. His light brown eyes glistened with small, shining tears, brows furrowed. “You - saved me. I’m not human anymore but I’m — I’m still alive.” His eyes coursed over your melancholic face, “That’s more than anyone else could do.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, like a broken toy. The guilt of turning a human into something they should never be, twisted your thoughts in all the wrong ways. You felt sick, icky for playing God with someone’s life, for playing God with Rowan’s fundamental being. “I should’ve never—“

“If you never turned me, I’d be dead, alright?” Rowan said gruffly, pushing himself upright from the mattress. He wiped furiously at his wet eyes, “It doesn’t matter if I was human, or not. I would’ve been dead. Gone. Okay? Stop -“ He pressed his shaking hands together, “stop saying you’re sorry.” 

Your lips opened and parted, your throat deathly dry. Words you couldn’t muster clawed at your esophagus, rendering you silent. 

Turning Rowan had been, what you felt, like the greatest sin in your entire, long, lifespan. You thought - that deep down, Rowan hated you for it.

“I’m sorry.” You looked him in the eye, weak on the floor. You could only ever imagine repenting for turning him. It was a taboo act - one you knew saved him, for certain, but had ruined him. 

You had been born ruined; born without the ability to be saved. There was no reason to condemn Rowan like so; to take away the humanity you so desperately wanted. 

Rowan’s eyes crinkled, a sad smile tightening on his lips. He knew he couldn’t change your mind, no matter how much he wanted to. “Don’t be.” 

[felinecryptid]

hoooooooooo boy, tmagp 4 go-

this time its becoming apparent that there are some themes and clues that tmagp wants us to notice, the sections stand out, begging for attention

like the recurring theme of bones, and blood, and gore in general (it might be too soon to tell exactly what themes are leading to, but they are definitely there)

the violin could fit right in grifter's bone with it's affinity to music and violence

(the music feels aligned to circus over spiral or web

tho there are elements of the web what with the mind control, but i fear all fears possess a certain degree of control, as such

the violence feels more of the slaughter variety rather than the hunt, though you could make a valid argument for flesh as the words 'sacrifice', 'payment' and 'creature with needs and purposes of its own' do stick in mind

once again i do not think that tmagp follows the same format as the smirke's fourteen (or 15) , i merely use them as parallels to better explain what aspects of the episode sticks out to me (and for me refer back later on))

as other listeners have noted, another theme that tmagp in general follows, is 'obsession', rather than tma's 'fear'

i feel this is also paralleling (intentionally or not) the audience's own listening habits and motives

we first consumed the magnus archives for its content of horror

and yet we are back for the magnus protocol like we never left, and perhaps

we never did

the statement's first person pov depicts a truly horrific picture of the slaughter, of the violence that the violin demands

and his descriptions of the mania on the audience's faces too

it's eerily reminiscent of the france's dancing plague

enough about the statement, lets talk about my boy sam and his co-workers, and their workplace in general

there's a protocol surrounding the magnus institute? interesting interesting, very similar to the police division daisy and basira were part of, the unofficial supernatural division

is this like the civil servant version of such?

another thing that is interesting; how is freddy getting these statements incidents? like sam asked, how exactly does a letter from the 18th century end up in the system?

i don't think gwen's answer is satisfactory (and we weren't meant to either), sure someone might be updating the archives website for reasons unknown but rarely in magpod is something a dead end, every little thing is a clue, a small part of the larger picture

so how exactly does a letter from the 18th century is in freddy's system?

perhaps an 'avatar' or the equivalent (such people are suggested to exist in tmagp universe, like the tattooist from daria's statement)

or maybe the fears themselves manifest in phenomena that upload relevant content to freddy

colin my guy, still being iconic and not trusting tech, hats off to you, the only real character in the whole show

never trust any piece of technology older than paper

the video of lena that gwen got in the end? weird? yeah, fuck yes, but how did she even get it? is there any sort of personal communication available on the ancient system? why gwen?

i have so many questions and so many more thoughts, but this is already so long, im gonna write a separate post about tmagp so far, in general

[bits-and-babs]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍 — 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒

-> OCT. 20 : GLOVE KINK

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. Canon setting, mentions of spice, fingering, being walked in on, choking.

WC: 1071

[Kinktober Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

Leto looks bored. The meeting has dragged on far longer than it should have done, it had been scheduled to end at noon. It’s peak temperature on Arakkis, sweat beading on the brows of the portly, older generals that had been called to the long meeting table, the cups in front of them that had once been filled with water now bone dry.

“Spice production is going smoothly,” the man sat in front of Leto states, despite the two of you knowing that wasn’t the case at all. The worms were causing a significant worry, a severe threat to the Spice harvesting and the people of Caladan who had followed Leto here. They weren’t used to such hostile environments, even with their superior training.

“My concern, General,” Leto murmured, his hands clad in leather and tapping the table top with his fingertips, “Is that you refuse to admit to the failings we have so far experienced.”

“Not at all-“ he attempts to state his case, but Leto raises a brow, a silent reminder of who exactly he was speaking to, if the golden eagle on his breast pocket wasn’t evidence enough.

“I must remind you that this isn’t some hobby or an endeavour out of curiosity. The Spice harvesting is crucial to our place here on Arakkis, and it is critical that you ensure that we don’t fall behind in production. Dismissed.” He spoke sharply, catching even you off guard, standing behind his shoulder.

The men shuffle out of the room, grumbling amongst themselves about the verbal thrashing they had received. Leto, as much as it probably annoys him, elects to ignore their childish gripes, looking over his shoulder to you.

“… I fear I am surrounded by incompetents,” he murmurs, rubbing at his temple with his fingertips. Once again your eyes are drawn to the leather of the gloves he wears. You can see the peaks and troughs of his knuckles through the grainy material, can hear the creak of the fabric stretching with each of his movements.

“Leto, with you to lead them they are bound to succeed,” you murmur softly, placing a hand delicately on his shoulder. He looks to you, and you are reminded of the reason you fell in love with him- the way his eyes smile before his lips do.

“You are too kind, my desert rose,” he murmurs, reaching up to take your chin in his palm, brushing the pad of his leather-clad thumb over your bottom lip. It doesn’t matter how hard you attempt to hide it, Leto has an air of omnipresence. His eyes assess your face, a smile playing on his lips as he reads you like a neon light.

“Something is making you hot, my love. And it’s not the heat,” he points out, his free hand patting the flesh of his thighs to wordlessly order you to sit. You do. You wouldn’t ever deny Leto what he wants.

He helps you to straddle his lap, at the head of his meeting table. Looking at you pointedly, he awaits your admittance.

“It’s the gloves,” you admit with a whisper, seeing his brow arch in surprise, “They make you look powerful- more powerful than you already are, my love.”

Leto seems to think to himself, considering your words before slowly, carefully tracing your lips with the tip of his finger. Your heart flutters in your chest, parting your lips slowly for Leto to slowly slip the digit inside. You can taste it, the leather, that pungent earthy taste enveloping your senses as Leto watches on with hooded eyes.

He waits until you wet the leather with your saliva before lifting your skirts with his other hand, slipping the soaked glove between your thighs. You keen, gripping the back of his chair as he catches your clit underneath his fingertip, rolling it slowly, circling it.

“Aha… Leto-“ you whimper, his eyes settled firmly on your face to see every single micro-expression of pleasure, to ensure he is making you feel good.

“My love,” he murmurs softly, watching you grind your hips into his touch, “I would much rather observe you like this at this table than oversee meetings.” His muses make you laugh slightly, only to follow with another needy moan as he draws a wave of pleasure from you with such ease.

“Oh- Please don’t stop,” you beg him, the pitch of your voice rising as he switches the position of his hand, pressing his thumb-pad against your clit in order to slip his index finger inside your aching cunt. You flutter around the intrusion, sinking your hips down to take him as deep as you can.

“So pliant,” he whispers, praising you as he circles your clit while searching for that spot inside you that had your back arching, had your pretty moans bouncing off the stone walls of the Arakeen Palace. It doesn’t take him long to find it, prodding at the sensitive area and causing your thighs to shake violently.

You moan with every heavy exhale, the noises getting louder and louder and no doubt carrying down the hallway, but Leto doesn’t mind. He doesn’t fret that people may find out that he treats you well, that he leaves you satisfied.

“Leto-“ you gasp loudly, “I-“

“I know,” he murmurs, feeling you flutter around his fingers. His free hand comes up now, wrapping around your throat and squeezing deliciously. You hear the strain of the leather against the force of his grip, the catch of the material against your skin and the cut off of your oxygen enough to send you hurtling over the edge.

You sob out his name, cumming violently against his touch. Your legs are shaking, head thrown back in bliss as you ride the waves of the orgasm he draws from you. Leto hushes you softly, not to quiet you but to ease you through the devastating sensation.

You only come down as the sound of a very awkward clearing of the throat from behind you, causing you to jump in surprise.

“Duke Leto. I may be early for our meetin-“

“Ah, Duncan,” Leto speaks, as though it isn’t at all shocking that Duncan Idaho of all people just walked in on such a licentious scene. With his sights on you, that infuriatingly gorgeous eye-smile makes your heart flutter, still straddling his lap with his fingers inside your cunt. “Take a seat.”

END

@in-for-a-pennyx @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @markywithissues @welcometostayingawake @inklore @foxilayde @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Re-Knitting the Fabric of Life

The prisoner had never thought he would be warm again. Never thought he would see the blue skies again. Never see his family again.

Scott Tracy rejoiced in the sight of the sky, blue and vast and endless. He treasured the – too short – visits from his family, their video calls and letters, the hugs and teasing. The tears – his and theirs – as they promised they’d call, write, be back again, soon.

But he couldn’t get warm.

Something of the (cold, draughty) stonework, the (icy, damp) snow seeping through (cracked) walls, the (bitter, biting) winds had gotten through the (thin, raggedy) ‘uniform’ he had been forced to wear. It had gotten through his skin (bruised and bleeding), through his flesh (cut and starved away) and into his very bones (broken and far, far too prominent); and nothing seemed to be able to dislodge it.

He had spent hours in the conservatory, surrounded by a jungle of lush green and flowering plants and humidity, basking in a sunbeam until he turned red and his clothes were sodden with sweat and humidity. Shuffling/walking/jogging/running endless circles around the gardens in the noon sun. He broiled himself alive in the long, hot, steamy showers. Wore layer upon layer of clothes, so many that he could barely move, until the rehab staff took to rationing his available clothes. Hot meals, hotter drinks, gulped down and burning his mouth and throat.

But the ice within him wouldn’t melt.

It felt like something inside him had died. Had been lost – no, not lost, torn out of him by the … people … from that … place. His mind shied away from the memories.

He liberated blankets – thick, warm and soft – from the store rooms, hiding them in his room, near the places he haunted. They were inevitably found and returned to their rightful places, with comforting words, but none of it helped.

Cold was the enemy.

It had taken Mom.

It had nearly taken him.

Scott Tracy was cold, and he couldn’t bear it.

It was a miserable, grey, stormy, rainy day. The kind of weather that had always worn him down – trapped in a house with too much pent-up up energy and four little brothers who felt the same would do that to a guy – but now it just sapped something extra from him.

The cold, the grey, the dampness in the air – it felt too much like … that place. It made him fearful, jumpy, and prone to overreacting to innocent things.

Scott took solace in wandering throughout the complex, taking a kind of defiant joy in every room he could enter and leave, every door he could open. It felt childish, like a toddler who had finally mastered door handles; but at the same time it was a heady kind of exhilaration, a confirmation that he was safe, and free.

By about the fifth circuit, the illusion was starting to come apart: the same rooms, the same doors. He was starting to feel claustrophobic, enclosed, trapped when he entered the rec room. Curled up in the comfortable chairs by the large picture window was a woman, maybe a couple of years older than him.

Scott hadn’t seen her before, but she lacked the stressed air of nervous hyper-vigilance that the other patients exhibited (that he probably had the same look about him was another of those things he was most definitely not thinking of), which meant she was probably staff.

The girl ignored the room, and ignored the view the winds and rain lashing the gardens and ground, and instead focused on a mass of woollen fabric bundled on her lap.

As he wandered closer – he had been here long enough that new was a welcome distraction – he saw that she was knitting. He recognised the hand movements easily enough – Grandma knitted prolifically, and but the size and complexity of the knitted fabric was new to him.

He stood a little way off, watching silently as the needles (needle? it seemed she was using one gigantic flexible needle with short stiff ends) flashed, as she chanted the pattern under her breath in time with the stitches.

“Knit, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and done!” The woman flopped back in the seat, before picking up a small brass coloured device about the size of the stopwatch Gordon had insisted he use to time his laps, and clicking a button.

“Are you timing how quickly you can knit a row?” Scott blurted the question without thinking.

She jumped, apparently unaware of his presence, and Scott hurried stepped back a couple of steps, palms held out to show he wasn’t a danger. “Sorry … I didn’t think … I’ll leave you …”

“It’s all right.” Scott froze partway through his turn to leave. “And no, I wasn’t timing myself.” She held out the device to him. “It’s my row counter.”

Scott hesitated, then carefully stepped closer, examining the offered device. It was obviously very old, tarnished brass with elegant lines forming flowering vines around the face. Four dials, once white, but now yellowed with age, and old style serif font in black displayed a number. Arrayed on the top, two either side of the loop that could hold a chain … or the knitting needles, were four buttons, obviously push button types, from the sound earlier.

“It’s pretty,” he said cautiously. “An heirloom?”

She smiled. “It might have been once. I found it in an antique shop. I believe it was a doorman’s crowd counter, once upon a time.” She smiled at the device lovingly. “It was much too useful to be left on a shelf, and I do like pretty things.”

She glanced up at Scott thoughtfully. “Can I ask, why did you think I was timing how fast I could knit?”

Scott shrugged. “It was all I could think of. It looked like the stopwatch my younger brother makes us use to time his laps in the pool.”

She smiled. “He swims competitively? You brother?”

Scott smiled back. “Obsessively, more like. But yes, he’s just been accepted into the Olympic team.” The smile fell. “I hope I’ll be allowed to go watch him compete. I want to be there for him.”

Scott bit his lip. Gordon nearly hadn’t made the team, the distraction he had caused by being ‘Missing in Action’, then ‘Presumed Killed in Action’, then ‘Prisoner of War’, before finally being found (resurrected rescued) and brought here to recuperate had cost Gordon training sessions, and that had cost him seconds in the pool.

She smiled. “I’m sure you will, and I’ll bet he’ll win, too.” Scott shrugged, noncommittally, still caught on the guilty thought that he might have lost Gordon his dream, as well as his own. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

Scott started. It had been a long time since someone had asked him for anything, even as small as ‘pass the salt’ at the table. “Uh, yeah, sure. What do you need?”

“I need to measure the length of this thing, can you just grab the bottom corner, yeah there …” Scott had pointed to a corner poking out by her leg, and carefully caught it in both hands. “Yep, and take this …” One end of a dressmakers tape was held out, and Scott took it, instinctively lining it up with what he hoped was the edge of the corner. “You’re a natural!” She stood, manoeuvring around the chair, and Scott tentatively stepped back, until they had the fabric stretched out, with the tape measure laid against one edge. “One hundred and seventy-eight centimetres.” A hesitation, “that’s … sixty-seven centimetres to go.”

Scott ran numbers in his head: about twenty-six inches to go and … “Ninety-six inches long?!” He stared at the fabric hung between them. It fell and pooled on the ground along one edge. “What on earth are you making?”

She blinked. “A blanket. Well, a king-sized blanket, to be honest. So, yeah, it’s a bit on the large side.”

Scott stared. “You’re … knitting a king-sized blanket?”

She shrugged. “Why not.”

It was Scott’s turn to blink. “Yeah. Why not.” His attention turned to the blanket in his hands. The wool was warm, and soft against his hand, a soft mauve colour, like you sometimes saw in the clouds at sunset …

He ran his fingers across the fabric, feeling the individual stitches, the tickle of the single fibres coming loose from the wool, the bumps and ridges of the pattern. A memory resurfaced. Grandma fussing over him, as she made him try on a jumper she had knitted: too big, too hot, that itched his exposed skin and he knew would make the kids at school laugh at him …

Grandma didn’t knit him jumpers any more, now she knitted for the local hospital auxiliary. Delicate little baby cardigans, booties and beanies in white and cream …

An extra-determined gust of wind rattled the glass in the window, and Scott jumped, shivering.

The woman stared at him, curious. “You alright?”

Scott laughed. “I’m in here, aren’t I?”

She shrugged. “Weather seems to have you spooked.”

Scott slumped into the chair opposite her. “Can’t get warm. Not since I got here. Everyone keeps telling me my temperature’s fine, but …”

“You still feel cold.”

He nodded, eyeing her, before sighing. “You’re a shrink, right?”

“Occupational therapist.”

Scott’s eyebrows rose. “My brother Virgil is the artist, and I really don’t need any baskets, thanks.” The rest of his body followed his eyebrows.

“How about blankets? Do you need them? Or jumpers?”

Scott froze, half standing. He stared at her. “My dad is rich. I can buy all the blankets and jumpers I want.”

One delicate eyebrow rose. “And I’m sure all that money did you the world of good after you landed.”

Scott collapsed into the chair, the wind knocked out of him. A dim memory, an old woman, ancient and grey as the stone of the walls, stealing rope, and frayed fragments of cloth, teasing them apart and twisting them into a sort of twine, then …

Scott stared. “There was a woman … an old woman,” he said slowly. “Somehow …” he stared at nothing. “She survived … she made twine, used sticks to knit …” he swallowed. “She stayed warm. She lived.”

He stared at the blanket piled up in the woman’s lap. Lost to the memories.

“I can teach you.” The words were softly spoken. Secret. “I can teach you to knit. And no one can ever take that away from you. You can make yourself as many blankets, as many jumpers, as many socks as you want or need.” Scott stared blankly at her.

She shrugged. “Think about it. Let me know if you decide you want to try.” And consulting a piece of paper, picked up the needles, and settled back in the seat.

He spoke without thinking: “Do you have anything in blue?”

It turned out she had rather a lot in blue (apparently, he was predictable), enough different blues to make Virgil envious, from dark midnight blue all the way to the lightest pastel, almost white.

Scott had resorted to touch, finding the softest, most inviting feeling yarn (you work with yarn; wool is on a sheep’s back), and at Sophia’s suggestion, they selected a range of different shades of blue, allowing Scott to change colours and create an ‘ombre effect’ whatever that meant.

Slowly, he came to realise it meant the gradient of the sky, from the light blue of the horizon, to the glorious rich of the desert sky at noon. And it was slowly, for Scott Tracy was not a natural at knitting, and he often threw it down in frustration over dropped stitches, broken patterns, and lost counts. But gradually, he eased from a white-knuckled grip, with yarn biting into the flesh of his fingers, to a looser, easier grip, and yarn sliding through his fingers. Gradually, incrementally, the completed rows of blanket grew onto his lap.

As Scott got better at knitting, he griped more about the problems he could see with his work: the holes where he had dropped stitches, the wonky stitches where he had somehow knitted two at the same time, texture in the wrong place.

Sophia just laughed. By now she had finished her blanket, and had started another project, a lacy summer cardigan in a bright sunshine yellow that made Scott think of Gordon and his heart ache for his absent brother. She held up the fabric for Scott to examine. “What do you see?”

Scott squinted at the worked fabric hanging off the needle. “I see knitting without mistakes,” he grumbled.

She snorted. “Oh, they’re there, I just hide them better than you do. Look again.”

Scott glared, and re-examined the piece. “I give up. What am I supposed to see?”

She laid the piece out flat on the coffee table between them. “Holes from dropped stitches,” she ran a finger along a row of patterned ‘flowers’, the petals formed by larger gaps in the fabric. “Wonky stitches where I knitted two stitches at the same time,” she indicated the space around the flowers, where the stitches did, indeed, lean towards the ‘petals’. “And texture in the wrong place,” she pointed at the ‘vines’ supporting the flowers, where they crossed each other and crawled around the fabric.

Scott scowled. “But they’re meant to be there. It’s the pattern,” he indicated the sheet of paper she had been consulting as she knitted. “Mine is just …” He shook his head dismissively.

Sophia sighed. “You really are hell-bent on missing the point, aren’t you?” She stared at him, “Okay, let’s try it this way: We can agree that your ‘mistakes’ and my ‘pattern’ are the same processes, just in different context, yes?”

Scott nodded. “Yes.”

“So things that are desirable in one situation, aren’t desirable in another?”

Scott nodded. “Yes.” He frowned. “If this is about maladaptive behaviours …”

She shook her head. “No. No, that’s not it. When you knit, and you make a ‘mistake’, you have choices: option one, you can frog the work back to the ‘mistake’ and rework everything ‘correctly’.”

Scott nodded. “Can’t do that in real life, though. No rewind button.”

Sophia nodded. “Yep. Life doesn’t have a rewind button. What is done is done. Which brings us to our next knitting option. You can ignore the ‘mistake’ and just keep going.”

Scott frowned. “And going back to your painfully obvious ‘life as knitting’ metaphor,” he broke off, frown intensifying as Sophia smiled, at his expression she rearranged her expression and gestured for him to continue, miming exaggerated interest in his words. “And going back to innumerous hours spent with the resident shrinks, that is also not an option. I’m not allowed to go ‘oops, well that happened, oh well, what’s for dinner?’.”

She tilted her head. “Why not?”

Scott blinked. “Huh?”

“Why can’t you continue on? ‘Cause, unless I missed a memo, getting you out of here and off living your life is kinda the whole point of you being here.”

Scott frowned. He examined his error-ridden blanket while he thought. He shook his head. “Can I have time to think about it?”

Sophia nodded. “Sure.”

They both went back to their knitting.

It was a week before Scott had an answer. “It’s because the pattern’s too disrupted,” he said.

Sophia raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“The life as knitting metaphor. I can’t just leave and go on with my life because the pattern is too disrupted. There were too many dropped stitches, too many new stitches in the wrong place. The pattern is all wrong. It won’t work anymore.”

He gestured to his blanket. “Like this. I had to reduce the number of stitches on this side,” he pointed to a section of blanket, “and add more to this side,” he indicated the other side. “Otherwise the centre part would be out of place and it would all be unbalanced.”

Sophia nodded. “That’s right.”

He frowned at the disrupted section of knitting, and sighed. “It’s full of holes, and all wonky and ugly. I should have just unravelled it and started again.”

Sophia shrugged. “But life doesn’t have a rewind button. So what can you do?”

Scott frowned. “I made corrections, brought it back into balance …”

A raised eyebrow. “Is it all in balance? You just said it was ugly. What can you do?”

Scott stared at his blanket. The he stared at her cardigan. “The lace pattern. You said my mistakes in the right place make your pattern.” He stared, then shook his head. “How the hell am I supposed to incorporate everything from there into my life to make a pattern?”

Sophia’s hand rested gently on his shoulder. “You’re doing it now, Scott.” He frowned. “When I met you, you were cold, yes?” Scott nodded. “Are you cold now?”

He frowned, went to answer …

… and closed his mouth, as he really listened to his body.

“No …” he said tentatively. “At least, not like I was …” He frowned. “When did I get warm?”

She smiled, leaning back. “You were always warm, physically. It was your mind that was cold. Part of you was still expecting to be there, or to be taken back. You weren’t feeling settled in your environment. So you felt cold, because that was what you had focused on to cope with everything else.”

Scott frowned. “And so by teaching me to knit …”

She smiled. “You had something new to focus on. A new skill, a way to combat the feeling cold.” Her smile turned sad. “Like that old lady, you now have a way to survive, and nobody can take that away from you.”

A short month later, Scott was borne away by his jubilant family, back home. Back to his grandmother’s cooking, his warm bed, and the safety of happy memories, and new laughter.

And tucked away in his bags, in a hidden corner of his room, was a blanket the gradient of the sky. It was wonky, with holes and misshapen patterns, but it was warm, and soft, and his.

And hidden under that, was a collection of yarns, knitting needles, and patterns. Because you never did know when you were going to need a nice, warm blanket. Or jumper. Or socks.

Or when someone you loved needed them.

Notes:

Somehow I found myself ‘justifying’ the fact that I knit to a total stranger. I still don’t know where my answer of “When the apocalypse comes, I’ll still have warm clothes and blankets” came from, but it got me thinking.

After all, adequate clothing is a fundamental human right.

And knitting is good therapy.

And I just loved the idea of Mr Adrenaline-and-AvGas knitting blankets and jumpers and socks.

Not 100% happy with this one, but it got to the point where I had to either delete the file, or post it. I chose post it, cause, well, why the hell not? This is one of those ‘mistakes’ that I can live with!

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[rin-eko]

Chapter Twenty-Six - Chikao Riz

Chapter Warnings/Tags: mentions of pregnancy, murder and death, blood, graphic descriptions of injury, torture

masterpost

Sunlight filtered through the large windows, highlighting the dust particles floating about the still room. Everything was so quiet it was if time itself had stopped. The only sign the world was still moving was seen in the warm glow slowly shadowing across your restful face, spilling into the corners of the room. Every now and then the wind would pick up and send red maple leaves floating past the window, the colour so vibrant against the blue sky.

It reminded Haruchiyo of seeing you in the gardens, sitting on the stone bench and reading beneath the maple trees. You held your hair down as a gust of wind blew past, smiling when you noticed how beautiful the leaves surrounding you were, catching one in your hand to stroke your cold fingers over.

He always felt his heart tug painfully when your eyes met his and you smiled softly, standing beneath the falling leaves to wait for him. He wanted to halt those moments in time, pray that you would always be waiting for him with that soft, adoring smile.

But with the next passing breeze, you faded from the image. Slowly, without any fuss. Your eyes closed. You were still smiling as the wind wrapped around you to carry you away, leaving him behind with a cry trapped in his throat, feet stuck to the ground beneath him as he looked to the sky, where only a flurry of drifting leaves was left on the wind.

Icy tears ran down his cheeks as he walked to where you had sat, picking up the book you were reading. It was the same one Takeomi had gifted him as a child, the same stories in the same handwriting but you had tucked the maple leaf into the pages.

His eyes ran over the text, a tear dripping onto the ink as he wondered what you had seen in the words. Though they had provided escape when he was a child, he knew they were only stories, made up by his imaginative older brother to provide Haruchiyo with some entertainment and lessons when Takeomi couldn’t be by his side.

But he was older, and new words caught his eye. Sentences he had skipped over as a child, eager to read the next action-filled tale. They had never resonated with him, and they were only vaguely familiar, but as he read over them as an adult he felt such a connection to them it was if you were beside him reading the words with him. The emperor felt the same pull in his chest.

It was amongst the letters of the story’s ending paragraphs where Takeomi usually wrote the moral of the story, the boring part Haruchiyo had almost never read.

“Haru.”

…and all we can do in this short life is look for our meaning. We are not built of material things or lust for the flesh. We are not even built on our blood and bones. What carries us is our souls. What makes us who we are, what gives a human life meaning, is the tug we feel in our chest, pulling us toward our purpose. You may envision an invisible string or a great force pushing you forward to where you are supposed to be. But, Haru, there is a simple word for that. Something that runs so deep it will connect you no matter how far apart you are. Something so unshakeable it can withstand the great turbulence of life.

“Haru.”

It’s love, Haru. It carries us wherever we go. It drives us to do what we do. A human may live on love alone and never wish for anything else, because it completes us. More than anything, I wish for you to find a love so fierce and consuming it will sustain you through whatever trials you encounter.

“Haruchiyo.”

So beautiful and delicate you will treasure it above all else.

“Haruchiyo, wake up.”

And allow it to grow and prosper within you, so you can feel the fullness of life, and feel how lucky you are to have found such a thing.

Something tapped his shoulder, and Haruchiyo turned around with the book in hand, seeing only an expansive, empty garden.

Frowning, his eyes went back to the pages.

It is all I wish for my younger brother, because to find true love is to find happiness.

Haru, please be well. Even in times you feel lost, even in hours of pain, your heart will guide you to where you need to be. Don’t fight it. Embrace it fully and feel how happy you can be.

Love,

Takeomi

“Haru!”

Haruchiyo’s eyes shot open, shifting to focus on where his hand was twined with yours. Slowly lifting his head, he met your sleeping face. You were so quiet he could barely hear your breaths.

He rubbed at the ache in his chest, feeling dazed after the dream. He wished you would open your eyes. He missed seeing your face and hearing your voice. Without it, it felt as if a new hole had been ripped in the centre of his heart, coldness seeping through into his flesh.

It was dark outside. Only a small lamp illuminated where your deathly-still body lay. How long had you been like this for? He had lost count of the hours or days he had sat by your side waiting for you to wake up.

Rindou came to stand beside his seated form with a tray in his hands.

“You need to eat.”

He didn’t reply, staring at you and silently willing you to wake up.

“Do you think starving yourself will make her wake up sooner? What good will it do for her if you don’t take care of yourself?”

He didn’t have an appetite. How could he think of eating when your breaths continued to slow and you looked more dead to the world with each passing hour?

“Is there any information?” There was little more he cared about.  

Rindou sighed and placed the tray to the side. “Not yet.”

“Aika did it. Where is she?”

Rindou tensed. “I wouldn’t put it past her… but we need proof.”

“I have told you there is proof.” The injury you had suffered was recognisable. A horizontal slash at the side of your stomach and a rougher, shorter vertical slash leading up to your heart. The blade had been plunged deep into your flesh before being dragged right and upwards in a reverse ‘L’ shape. The skin had been peeled to the side, soft pink flesh visible beneath the flaps.

It was the same way the maid Haruchiyo had bedded after he and Aika had gotten into a fight was murdered. After he had ordered Nobu to conduct an investigation surrounding the situation, he learned it was a common technique the Kagome clan, Aika’s family, used to kill and had been passed down for many generations.

“That isn’t enough to lock her up, Haru.”

He fought the urge to snap, fingers digging into the side of your bed as his jaw tightened. No one was helping, even his most trusted advisors. They were supposed to be the most competent, but there one was refusing the command of his king.

His voice was low and ashen when he spoke. A mixture of quiet devastation and anger.

“I know it was her and the empress will tell you the same when she wakes up. Lock Aika in the dungeons. Now, Rindou.”

“Haru,” Rindou sighed. “You’re being unreasonable. You can’t convict someone without evidence- which we currently have none. No one saw Aika entering or leaving the room and Aika has an alibi. She was with a doctor checking on her baby because she was having stomach pains.”

“She’s good at lying. I know this better than anyone. A man turns to a fool the second he believes a word that slips from her mouth.”

“That may be so, but we still cannot lock her up. Be patient, your majesty. Both Ran and I have disposed of every resource to find whoever did this. It may be an assassination attempt for all we know.”

“How would you feel if it were Lady Cerya laying on her deathbed? Would you be able to wait patiently while you’re sure of the culprit and they’re still free? Answer me honestly, Lord Rindou, or I may just take your precious bride and kill her myself.”

Rindou lapsed into silence, before finally uttering, “No. You’re right. I couldn’t just sit still and wait. My apologies. I should tell you, Haru, I spoke to the doctor on the way here. Her condition is not favourable. You have to prepare for the possibility of her not waking up. He doesn’t know how she isn’t dead already. Her wounds are so terrible and she lost so much blood.”  

An amused chuckle shook the emperor’s shoulders, the terrifying, raspy sound slowly growing louder until Haruchiyo’s head tilted up and Rindou was pinned in place by a wide-eyed, unhinged glare.

“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you, Rindou? You must not enjoy living. She will wake up, and if she doesn’t- just for those cursed words- I will make you swim with the fishes.”

But you would. He wouldn’t even consider the possibility of you fading from the world. You were too precious for your eyes to never open again.

It was strange. A pain different from when Takeomi died, but somehow more terrible. At that time, it had felt as if the world crashed down around him, an unbearable weight pinning him to the earth, choking him until he was forced to do the most depraved of acts to feel the slightest relief.

It was different now. He hadn’t watched your body being lowered into the ground. Hadn’t been told with certainty that you would never wake again or take a step on Senin’s land. Rather, you rested quietly, floating alone in your dreams. Unknowing your life was balanced precariously on the delicate scales of fate.

And Haruchiyo was left clinging to the thin, fraying strings of hope, helpless to when the scales would tip and you would be lost to the world.

Hope was worse. It was unbelievably cruel, and yet, he preferred it the finality that had come with Takeomi’s death.

Even if you stayed sleeping till the second last day of his life, he would carry on with the hope you would wake on the last day. And if you didn’t open your eyes then, he would wish that just for the last minute of his life he got to see your eyes again. It was more than he deserved, but he would take anything you gave him so long as breaths continued to enter your lungs.

…

“Who is he?” Haruchiyo casually observed the man hanging in the palace dungeons. He was younger than Haruchiyo. A mildly handsome man in his early-twenties with dark, jaw-length hair and a lean body. His arms were strung up by chains attached to opposite walls, his body only dressed in thin, dirt-covered pants as he kneeled on the floor.

“Chikao Riz. Age twenty-two. He’s a well-known doctor on the outskirts of the capital.”

Haruchiyo’s brows rose. “So young to be a doctor?”

“Indeed. But he comes high praised for his intelligence and knowledge of rare medicinal ingredients,” Ran explained.

“Medicinal Ingredients? Death hook?”

“I am trying to find this out, but he keeps losing consciousness. He was brought down as suspicious bottles were found in his room and were confirmed to be death hook by Vic, but Chikao refuses to speak.”

Haruchiyo observed the limp, unconscious body. Chikao’s head hung between his arms. Blood ran from his wrists and back in thin crimson trails.

Haruchiyo frowned. “He lives in the palace?”

Ran smiled secretively. “Yes. Interestingly enough, he is Aika’s doctor for her pregnancy. She moved him in to keep an eye on the fetus’ movement, supposedly.”

“That is interesting. Where is Aika?”

“I’ve instructed Nobu to bring her down.”

Haruchiyo smiled darkly. “Good.”  

“Aika,” a weak voice rasped from behind the bars. The two tall men turned to Chikao, whose head had lifted the slightest inch, allowing Haruchiyo to take note of the two distinctive moles beneath his eye.

“Aika…” he whispered again. His bound arms trembled visibly.

“Ah, he’s awake,” Ran grinned. A guard knelt before him, offering black gloves for Ran to slide on. “It’s time for more, anyway.”

“No,” Haruchiyo halted him.

Ran raised an inquisitive, disbelieving brow. “No?”

Fear was a terrible thing. A knot had formed in Haruchiyo’s test, tightening whenever he pictured you laying motionless on that bed. So long as you stayed like that, his fear would not go away. The only distraction would be his anger. He would destroy everyone. Anyone who even thought of hurting you.

The emperor stared down at the miserable, pathetic human tied in the cage. If he had contributed to your deathly state, he would be shown no mercy. He would be begging for death, but it wouldn’t be granted. Not until you opened your eyes again and only then would a swift blade be brought down on his neck.

Haruchiyo grinned, fingers twitching in anticipation as he unlocked the bars to step inside. “It’s my turn.”

Chikao’s head lifted further, dazed eyes slowly focusing on Haruchiyo’s figure. He liked that. The sight of Chikao’s confusion slowly turning to pure fear as he started yanking on the chains and shaking his head vigorously, muttering and sobbing to himself.

Haruchiyo observed the table set with tools, picking up the whip to examine. Dried blood stuck to the thin, braided cowhide, slowly flaking off.

“You used this?” he questioned Ran. “You’ve gotten soft. This is used for punishment, not interrogation. This, however…” he grinned at a glinting needle-point knife. “…will do well.”

“Please,” Chikao whispered.

Your face flashed in his mind, so soft and kind, and then so pale and lifeless. How someone could have the audacity to beg for their life when you were in that state had Haruchiyo gripping the knife with white knuckles, restraining himself from plunging it into the side of the helpless man’s neck.

But that wouldn’t bring you back or satisfy him. If you were going to stay resting, all Haruchiyo could do to scratch the itch was punish those who had hurt you. A thousand cuts would mark Chikao’s body before he was done. His flesh would be sliced and ripped the most agonising way until new layers were revealed. Every minute you remained asleep he would break another bone belonging to those who hurt you.

Haruchiyo gripped Chikao’s hair, bringing his face close and smiling at the sight of the doctor’s swollen purple eye.

“Please what? If you want me to stop, you’ll have to tell me what you were doing with death hook poison and what your relationship with Aika is.”

“I’m her doctor,” Chikao cried. “I’m her doctor! Please stop…” he sobbed. “It hurts. It hurts. Stop, please…”

Haruchiyo clicked his tongue. “I think that’s too much of a coincidence. Let’s see if your lips will be so tight once I am done with you. You can take my word for it when I tell you the pain you have been through will be nothing compared to what I will do to you. Do you wish me to continue?”

“I don’t know anything,” he sobbed.

“Okay,” Haruchiyo hummed, slowly pressing the knife into Chikao’s cheek as if about to skin an apple. He gazed up at the man’s face in excitement. “It looks like you and I will be spending lots of time together, then.”

…

Haruchiyo loved the way Aika’s face went pale as soon as she saw Chikao beaten and bloody below the palace.

She had been hissing at Nobu, trying to push out of his grasp as he escorted her to the dungeons, but as soon as she saw the doctor’s tortured state she became utterly still, blood draining from her face.  

“Welcome, Aika. Your grace, what would you like to do?” Ran questioned Haruchiyo, who was peeling his soaked gloves off. The stench of blood had taken over the entire space, strips of skin lying below Chikao’s unconscious body.

“Tie Aika up in the cell across from Chikao. He seems to care about her. Let’s see if he’ll speak once we start interrogating her.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Cut out his tongue- he clearly doesn’t need it if he won’t talk.”

“Wait, you can’t do this! Get off me! What in the name of the gods are you doing? Haruchiyo. Haruchiyo!” she clawed at Nobu’s arms as he dragged her along, forcing her arms above her head and attaching a chain from the dripping ceiling.

“Bring her to her toes,” Haruchiyo ordered, watching the chains raise Aika’s body until she could barely stand.

“What is this? Haruchiyo, don’t do this. I am pregnant with your baby. Stop this.”

Chikao made desperate muffled sounds from behind the cloth tied between his teeth, alerting Haruchiyo to his awakened state. His eyes were blown wide, glassy with fear as he spotted Aika across from him. He yanked the chains furiously, even while blood continued to pour down the right side of his body where Haruchiyo had cut him.  

“Do you know where my wife is, Aika?” Haruchiyo stared at the woman impassively as she struggled, rattling the chains against each other.

“How would I know? I hate that woman. You’ll grow bored with her sooner or later, Haruchiyo. I know you. She doesn’t give you what you need. She doesn’t know the games you enjoy playing. You forget we are the same. I know you, Haruchiyo. Better than anyone else.”

He stared down at her through slitted eyes. Of course, she was right. He knew that. That they were the same. He’d known it since the moment he met her.

Both so empty the only pleasure they could feel was when they played with other people.

But Aika didn’t know all of him. Not the parts you brought out. She had never evoked the same feeling in his chest that you did. Such happiness, of course, but also the deepest sadness for knowing such love was so fleeting in this short life. It was such a pleasure to be able to find something so rare and precious. Sometimes he was so overcome with the feeling, he wanted to push you away. Far away so he would never experience the pain of separation. But then you smiled at him and ran your hands through his hair and everything within him settled. Of course it was worth it. Just one moment with you was worth going through the greatest pains.

Of course that didn’t mean one moment was enough for him. He was far too greedy to be content with that. No matter how brief life was, he wanted to live it together with you. To be endlessly deep in each other for the rest of your days.

So he would never forgive those who dared to take away even a moment of your time together.

“The wound on the empress’ chest is the same pattern as many victims of your criminal family. The same poison used to murder Emperor Kin- which was meant to harm the empress- was also found in your doctor’s room,” Ran walked to grip Chikao’s head, forcing it high. “This man seems to care for you past a doctor-patient relationship, perhaps enough to do your bidding?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Aika growled. Her eyes pleaded with Haruchiyo as they welled with tears. “Please, Haru, I haven’t done anything. You can’t do this to me! What about our child?”

“That is not my child. I don’t want anything to with it, or you. For your crimes, both you and Chikao Riz will be put to death. You can spend your remaining days rotting in here. That is all.” He turned to leave.

“No! Don’t harm her or the baby. Please, your grace. She has done nothing wrong. Please have mercy. Please, I beg of you.”

Haruchiyo’s eyes slid to Chikao. The younger man’s face was tight with a desperation the emperor recognised.

“You are a fool,” Haruchiyo murmured, feeling pity for the man. Not enough to show mercy, as he so begged, but enough to recognise Chikao was much like an insect trapped in a spider’s web.

Haruchiyo and Ran left up the dark steps, the horrid smell slowly disappearing as they stepped into the sunlight. The sound of Aika’s screams faded quickly when the guard shut the heavy door, bowing in respect to his emperor.  

“Poor man. I don’t understand why he is defending her,” Ran sympathised. Haruchiyo thought back to Chikao’s desperation.

“He seems to care greatly for her. Find out why.”

“Yes. What about the baby? It will be killed if Aika is executed.”

“So?”

“It’s your child.”

“Did you not hear what I said down there?” But then he thought of what you would want him to do and quietly cursed, frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking.

“Y/n will not allow Aika to be executed so long as she carries such an innocent child inside her. When she wakes up I will ask what she wants to do. Either way, Aika will be punished. That’s nonnegotiable.”

“Where are you going now?” Ran called to his retreating back.

Weariness wore down the emperor’s shoulders. His head hurt. Fear continued to strike a battering rhythm against his heart. The only place such emotions could be soothed was by your side.

“To be with my bride.”

In the room where you rested, he found Kia by your side, quietly cleaning you with a damp cloth. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she quickly wiped them when she noticed the emperor stepping inside. She bowed her head in greeting.

“Your grace.”

He nodded, going to sit by your side. He immediately took your hand in his own, gazing upon your face. Nothing had changed. You hadn’t moved at all. His heart sank quickly.

“I will finish cleaning her.”

The maid nodded respectfully, though he sensed she wanted to say more as she passed him the cloth and went to leave.

He was just wiping your stomach when she finally spoke up behind him. He had sensed she was still there, hovering, but he hardly had time to concentrate on anyone else.

“Your grace…”

He continued stroking you gently. “What is it?”

She wrung her hands. “I don’t know if I should say, but if it will help my lady’s case I will do anything. I think… I know who tried to hurt Miss on the day of prayers.”

“The culprits are already locked in the dungeons,” he murmured, standing and leaning over to kiss your forehead before straightening.

“Oh. But…”

He sighed, turning to Kia. “What? Speak up.”

“It’s just this afternoon, I overheard a conversation certainly not meant for my ears…”  

Taglist: 

@soushswag @crown5 @angelmitsuri @c4tboyxiao @azusachna @luka-ali @whore-for-eddie @rinrinfoxy @multistan-247 @7inaa @emilymikado @user82014069991​ @blvkeverest @magentaviolette​ @kooromin​ @night-shadowblood-writes2​ @littlemochi​ @xeno-fond

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas22: Day 6: Homecoming

I've just discovered that we're losing power all day tomorrow, so I'm off to make sure everything is charged and ready to go. And we're decorating the tree tonight, so this is a post-and-dash.

Tonight we have a little angsty oneshot I wrote quite a while ago and I wasn't quite happy enough with so it just sitting there.

I hope you enjoy it!

He finds them in Minnesota.

(Was he looking for them? Maybe.)

The house is a sprawling place, the forest surrounds it and they are as they ever were, unchanged.

(He cannot say the same.) 

“Jasper!”

Esme is delighted to see him, and so is Emmett. Carlisle and Rosalie are pleased but subdued. Edward is watching him cautiously. There’s nothing to hear in his mind anymore, Edward doesn’t have to worry.

(He tries to remember what she smelt like; it was a million different things at once - lemons and flowers and cotton and warm blood and…)

He lets Esme hug him, high-fives Emmett but there’s nothing there. No peace or resolution or balm, just this ache of the void that exists in him now. Maybe he thought coming back here would fix things. 

“We’ve missed you,” Rosalie says, reaching out to squeeze his hand and he nods. He feels tired; his head, his bones, his heart. Like he wants to lie down and wait for oblivion. 

“It’s good to see you.” His voice is rough, unused, and the words sound flat. Carlisle and Esme exchange a look that he catches, and then Esme is hustling them back to the house. 

(Carlisle is worried; has never seen Jasper look so brittle and haunted and young, and he is ashamed to admit he wonders how many people had to die for his estranged son’s thirst to make him look such a way.)

Back in the house, in a new living room that is close enough to all the other living rooms the Cullens have owned to be slightly disconcerting, Jasper wonders why he came back at all. 

He hadn’t left on the best terms, strung-out and frustrated. Animal-hunting and school and the human charade - it was far too much to expect. It was too much, it was not enough, and he refused to stay. 

So he left them behind, and he wandered. And he killed a lot of people. 

The Cullens have questions, and he tries to focus. That’s a lot harder these days. 

Where has he been?

(Around.)

Why is he back?

(Where else can he go?)

How is he?

(Still alive. Still walking around with his throat on fire with the weight of every horrific thing he’s ever done weighing him down.)

For a minute, he imagines what it would be life if she were here, too. Human or vampire, it wouldn’t have matter. They would have loved her. It was impossible 

“What is her name?”

He looks over to Edward, sitting at the piano. Edward smiles at him, obviously misunderstanding or not hearing all the intricacies that go with the face in his mind. That she’s more than a collection of images, of memories. That she could come to the Cullens and meet them, could sit in this living room and ask them so many questions and tell them about her life with Jasper and it could have been that easy.

“Alice.”

Hearing her name hurts, the way glass sliding into human flesh does. 

“We’d love to meet her,” Esme says, beaming at him.

“I would have liked that too,” he manages hoarsely and he puts his face in his hands because it’s another day, she’s still dead, and she’s never coming here. She’s never going to be mothered by Esme, and doted on by Carlisle. She’s never going to raid Rosalie’s closet, or be pranked by Emmett, or ask Edward to play music they can dance to. 

“Jasper? What happened?” Carlisle’s voice is kind, gentle, and the older man already knows. Not the details, but the result. 

Sometimes he wishes he’d never left them. That he’d stayed and never met her, but that idea causes a rise of panic. It is what it is, it can’t be changed.

He takes a shuddering breath and begins to talk. 

The words are slow coming and rough. Ugly. Alice was human and now Alice is dead. A mugging gone wrong, and there was so much blood and it was everywhere and when he closed his hands over the wound in a panic, he heard the crunch of her ribcage and realised he’d made a bad thing so much worse. 

And she was so frightened and couldn’t catch her breath and then she was gone, bled out in a dirty alley - no long lingering good-bye, or breathless words of love. The life in her eyes dimmed, her heart went still, and her blood congealed. And she was gone, never coming back. She will not be rising again on the third day, unbreakable and pristine. 

She’s rotting in the ground underneath a stone that says ‘Mary-Alice Brandon’ and all the years she lived. 

She was going to be a dancer. 

She liked brightly coloured drinks and oranges and singing along to the radio when she did the dishes.

She always wore a necklace with a tiny ‘A’ on it, because she hated being called ‘Mary’. 

She put together all his broke bits, all the pieces of him that had been worn away, and stitched him into something that he could live with. Wrapped him up in the warmth of her affection, her hope, and her passion. She’d make him dance with her, spinning and dipping her, and they’d laugh and he’d kiss her gently - it couldn’t go too far, but he loved her so completely. 

(He’s never denied that he’s a monster, a parasite, a blight on humanity, and nothing confirmed that more than when he lapped her blood off his hands. It doesn’t matter that he looked back down at the hole in her chest, at the blood on his pants-shirt-face and the pool on the ground and promptly vomited up venom that was barely pink and he can still taste her on his tongue and it is a hell he has lived with every day since. That she died in his arms and his instinct was to feed on her.) 

Esme pulls him into the tightest hug, and he can feel her grief for him, her regret and sadness and misery that he has lost the one thing he has ever wanted. Her emotions feel very distant, muted, to him these days. It’s not a bad thing.

(He can’t feed on human blood now. It’s impossible, because all he can see is her. All he can taste is her. There’s no appeal now; it just sickens him. So Carlisle will be happy, at least, that he has to feed on animals now. He has no other choice.) 

“You have to tell us all about her, okay?” Esme says, looking devastated. “I bet she was beautiful, Jasper.”

God, she was. 

He took two things from her that night. Her phone and her little ‘A’ necklace. Her phone had all her photos on it, hundreds and hundreds of them with her bright smile and her big eyes. Videos of her dancing, talking, singing. She’s so alive in those videos that it feels impossible she’s gone. 

(There’s even a few pictures of them together, that she took and promised to never show anyone. She used one for her background screen, hugging him tightly around his neck, and he’s staring at her with a smile on his face and a look on his face that he’s found the only thing that will ever matter to him. It’s hard to look at now, knowing that he ended up hastening her death. Maybe she could have been saved, maybe she just needed medical attention. Maybe, maybe, maybe.)

He lets Esme fuss, he can feel her distress. Everyone else is just looking at him, waiting for something. Anything. And there isn’t that anymore. He’s just a void, a blackhole of grief and solitude and that bone-deep exhaustion. 

“You’re home now,” Emmett says. He looks heartbroken, like he’s mourning a sister he never met. Rosalie hasn’t said much, probably has a lot of questions about how and why, but she’s always been good to him. She won’t ask until he’s ready to answer. 

“Home,” he agrees, and it is the closest he’s ever going to get now. Because home was lying next to her on her bed, her head on the edge of her pillow, snuggled as close as she could get to him, whilst he read. Home was holding her on the couch, whilst they watched a movie after she got home at night, as she traced his hands absently. Home was every smile, every giggle, every ounce of hope and love that she emitted in his direction, and it’s all gone now. He’s never getting it back. 

So he’ll stay here. With people he cares about, who will understand that what’s been broken can never be put back together. That they are unchanged, the same people who welcomed him in once, and who have welcomed him back again. 

But he has changed, and there’s no going back. 

[shutuperce]

awaken || 581 words || established byler

________________________________________________

Will is in the other world again. 

It’s not clear at first. Everything is tinted indigo, the summer sun having set over Hawkins. The buzz of crickets, warm air blowing against his skin. Something settles in his stomach, toeing the line between comfort and fear. His spine twitches as there’s the sound of car tires skidding on pavement and he registers his surroundings. Verdant forest, the peaceful rippling of grass. The long road beneath his feet. 

And then he’s moving after the car that’s careening away, and the tightrope walker in his stomach tips over into pure fear. His limbs are heavy, vision blurry - a massive shape lugging itself towards the tiny car and the piercing eyes of the boys in the trunk. One of them is clear - freckled, gangly, all too familiar. When Will - or whatever Will is in this moment - tries to look at the other, there’s a sharp crack of lightning and pain flares throughout his body, falling heavily to his knees as the body of the Mind Flayer crumbles around him. He cries out as the trees crumble to ash around him, and the car falls to a stop, but it’s no longer a car but a pizza van, and an older Mike Wheeler is being lifted into the reddening sky like a marionette doll -

There are hands on his face, cool and thin and comforting, like someone is reaching out across the dimensions to him. Like the crackling of radio wires in the silence of the other world, the same hands on his shoulders on Halloween a million years before. Will snaps up to sitting, swallows breath after breath of blissfully clean, ashless air. It’s not real, not real, the connection to the Upside Down was severed - he knows this, but in the stark panic of the moment it’s easy to forget. 

There’s a lamp on, and Will wants to reach for the light and never let go. Someone is saying his name, over and over again.

The repetition of his name soothes him, lets him blink the spots out of his eyes to let them soften on the slumping shape of Mike Wheeler on the bed in front of him, legs tucked to one side as he rubs a slow circuit from Will’s jaw to his shoulders. Mike Wheeler who is blissfully here, warm against Will’s legs, far older than he was in the dream. There’s no blood leaking from his eyes, only soft dark circles beneath them; he’s in flannel pajama pants and a worn cotton t-shirt, and the scar on his jaw where Vecna’s claw had caught him is white from years of healing. 

“William,” Mike says one last time, and his voice is so gentle that Will wants to sob with relief.

Instead he lets his face collapse in his hands, trying to erase the prickling feeling of other people’s flesh and bones making up his body. Mike tucks up closer to him, and Will can feel his arms move to encircle his shaking shoulders. There’s a small puff of breath, and Mike presses a soft kiss to Will’s knee, letting his lips brush against the flannel and then bringing his nose to rest there. Will’s hands snake up to the soft line of Mike’s shoulders and neck, just holding him.

They stay like that for a long, long time. 

Until Will’s breathing slows to match the other boy’s, until a soft and dreamless sleep tugs him away in his boyfriend’s arms. 

[morphlingunderscore]

Dream A Little Dream [With] Me

Warnings: Slightly graphic (but unrealistic) description of injury. Choking.

"What exactly is your game here, Lawrence?"

The world bends and warps around her words, like a thin film being distorted by heat. The two demons sit far apart, separated by a matte black desk and a gorge cut straight into the mantle. The smell is unbearable, cloying sweetness dancing with the tar bubbling up from the wound in the floor. 

The two demons sit far apart, disconnected. But the world bends and warps around her words, and the younger demon cannot resist the pull. 

He flinches. Tar coats the back of his throat, and marigold blooms in his lungs. 

He should not need to breathe. 

He should be safe. 

He should be far enough away. 

But he is not. He is not. He is not.

He flinches, and he chokes, petals dripping jet black from his mouth and crystalizing into obsidian dewdrops, scattering around him like the shed tears of a monster, unfathomably large, and yet, heartbreakingly small. 

"You can't even say?" The older demon scoffs, acidic smoke billowing from that canyon between them. Clinging, clinging, clinging, staining his suit, his body, his filthy, rotting bones. His claws break skin, and the same smoke echoes forth. "...You don't know, do you?" 

Her words are candy sweet, drenched in pity. She shakes her head, stands from her chair. Remains unfazed as her desk is swallowed by that growing canyon, bubbling with viscous hate, hungrier by the second. 

Remains unfazed when it begins to swallow her, too. 

"You don't know because you've already shown your hand," she continues softly, sweetly, sinking slowly into the molten tar. Her hand reaches out, caresses his face, gentle as anything. "And you're terrified that they'll realize it's all you've got."

For the first time, the younger demon raises his heavy head. His lips, stained black like ichor, twitch around a weak snarl. Smoke slips between his sharp teeth. 

His claws dig into the older demon's wrist, sinking butter-smooth through flesh and sinew. 

She does not flinch.

"They–" 

He coughs, voice hoarser than hell. Tar-coated marigolds splatter on the older demon's deathly pale face. 

She does not flinch. 

"They like playing with me," he grits out, gnashing far too many teeth. The older demon is nearly submerged, now, arm straining to remain in his tearing, iron grip. "T-They don't care what cards I got."

She smiles. It is achingly, painfully sweet. A terrible impression of a doting mother, pasted onto the face of a demon who never wanted to be. 

His claws snap through her radius first, and then her ulna. Her hand falls limp and lifeless in his lap, laid to rest in a pile of river-smooth obsidian and marigolds, like something precious, something holy. 

Blasphemous.

She does not flinch.

"But you won't be fun forever," she croons, tilting her head to the sky. The tar pulls at her taut skin, peeling her eyes open and wide. "And when they get bored of playing, Lawrence, who will you run back to?"

The younger demon watches emptily, eyes dulled and blackened, as the older is consumed in her entirety. The hand in his lap, once a mockery of the divine, rots away into a foul-smelling puddle of ichor. 

The demon, still sat in his chair, surrounded by obsidian tears and once-beautiful flowers, drops his head once more. 

Quiet submission. 

Exhausted acceptance. 

A neck bared to the waiting blade of the guillotine. 

"...You."

Lydia Deetz gasps awake.

[moonchild-things]

Chapter Six: The Eden Club

Summary: Living in Detroit, the capital of androids, constantly reminds Natalie Tyler of the accident that changed her life for the worst. Her world is overturned after deciding to adventure out of her apartment and back into the cruel world. When androids start to peacefully protest for their rights, she is asked to work with a RK800 prototype android that goes by the name Connor.  

Word Count: 5359

Blog Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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DATE

NOV 6TH, 2038

TIME

PM 08:17:04

NATALIE GRUNTED SLIGHTLY AS THE CAR CAME to an abrupt stop. She nearly fell off the backseat and onto the floor at the sudden movement but was able to save herself before she face planted. She sat up quickly to find that they had finally arrived at the android gentlemen’s club. The neon signs and police lights illuminated the dark surroundings as raindrops fell from the cloudy sky. 

“Aw… Feels like somebody’s playing with a drill inside my skull…” Hank moaned as he rested his hands on his temples to hopefully deter the headache that he was going to have to suffer from. “You sure this is the place?” He asked his two partners as he glanced at the neon pink illuminated building.

Connor nodded his head, “it’s the address in the report.”

“Right…” Hank sighed as he tried to collect himself, “okay… Let’s get going.” He started to exit the car but accidentally hit his head on the roof as he tried to get out. “Jesus…” he weakly called out as Natalie snorted in amusement which earned her a glare from the hungover man.

The detective, android and engineer all hopped out of the car. Natalie was certain that if she were completely human, she would have felt the cold rain drops pelting her skin and chilling her to the bone. Then she would have clung to her sweatshirt more in order to stay warm. However, there wasn’t much flesh and blood left apart of her body to cause her to become cold. Natalie closed the door to the car as she came to stand in front of the Eden Club and eyed the building in distaste. She never once thought in her life that she would ever end up in a place like this. Sure, she knew what it is and its purpose and even had a few friends try to force her to places like this, but she honestly didn’t like them. 

The trio walked through the entrance of the club, “Sexiest androids in town…” Hank commented as he read the screens that lined the entrance hall. “Now I know why you insisted on coming here!” He jested towards the only android apart of the group.

“Yes, because the dead body had nothing to do with why were here!” Natalie sarcastically commented as she followed after the older man. She felt completely uncomfortable as soon as a few androids were in sight. She grew even more uncomfortable, if it was possible, once she set eyes on the few androids who were dancing on poles. Yes, she knew that they were androids and that they were programmed to act this way. However, they looked far too much like a human for her to not think that it was inappropriate for her to look at them. Plus, now she was technically part android as well… if anything they were more her people than a human was. 

She thought it was so weird to see all of these androids held in tubes ready to be bought… and used. Especially now that they knew some of them were starting to gain consciousness and their own thoughts. She most certainly wouldn’t want to be an android that gained deviency while being stuck in a place like this. Not at all. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like for one to go through that.

“You're not gonna take my license, are you?” The owner of the club moaned as he spoke with Ben. Hank walked over to them to hear with the man had to say while Connor observed their surroundings and Natalie stood rigidly and obviously uncomfortably besides him. “I mean, ha, I had nothing to do with this!”

The older detective sighed, “The investigation's ongoing, sir, I can't tell you anything for the moment.” He finally turned to the newcomers. He nodded his head at Natalie politely, “Ms. Tyler,” she returned the gesture. “Hey, Hank!” “Hey, Ben.” Hank greeted, “how's it goin'?” Ben pointed to one of the private rooms, “it's that room there.” He then sighed and grimaced slightly, “oh, uh, by the way... Gavin's in there too.” “Oh, great!” Hank huffed, “a dead body and an asshole, just what I needed…”

Natalie rolled her eyes. She most certainly remembered Detective Reed and was just as upset about having to see him again like Hank. It was obviously expected. Last time she ever spoke to the douchebag, and the first time, he tried to punch Connor and ultimately insulted her for being a ‘android sympathiser’. It’s quite understandable why Natalie was irritated about having to see the man again.

Hank shook his head as he moved to stand near the door. Natalie walked over with him and looked over her shoulder at the only android in their trio. “Connor,” She called over to him which halted his observing of an android. If she didn’t know any better, it almost looked like he had become flustered at being caught. Though she brushed it off. “Come on.”

The door to the private room slide open and the trio walked through. They finally got a glimpse at the crime scene. A man laid on the bed in the middle of the room covered by a blanket while a female android laid on a heap in the corner. Two other people stood in the room as well. One was an african-american officer while the other… was Detective Gavin Reed. Oh joy, Natalie thought sarcastically. 

Once the doors opened, said douchebag turned to see who entered. A large smirk was plastered on his face once he saw who it was. “Lieutenant Anderson, his plastic pet and the pet’s girlfriend…” Natalie glowered at him but kept her mouth shut. “The fuck are you three doin’ here?”

Connor started to explain their appearance, “we’ve been assigned all cases involving androids.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gavin asked sarcastically. “Well, you’re wasting your time. Just some pervert who, uh, got more action than he could handle.” He started to laugh at what he thought was a funny joke. Yet no one else joined him in laughing. Natalie just stared at him lamely with her arms still crossed over her chest.

“If that was the case, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be here.” Natalie stated lamely while staring at Gavin with an expression void of any emotion. Gavin glared at her with narrowed eyes that were so obviously filled with malice.

“We’ll have a look anyway, if you don’t mind.” Hank dismissed.

Gavin just scoffed, “come on, let’s go…” he said to his partner as he started to make his way out of the room. “Its, uh, starting to stink of booze in here…” He said while walking past Hank. 

Natalie shook her head at his words. “Just get out, Detective.”

Gavin once again glared at her and scoffed, “you heard the lady.” His words were obviously mocking as he walked past her as well with an undertone of bitterness in his voice. As he turned he bumped shoulders with Connor. 

Natalie rolled her eyes, “he’s really mature, isn’t he.”

The other officer stood in front of Hank, “night Lieutenant, Miss.” He bid the two farewell before exiting the room as well.

They then started their investigating. Hank moved over to the body in order to take a look at it, Connor went straight over to the android and Natalie walked over to the shelves that were decorated in alcohol. As Natalie looked at the deceased's belongings and Hank looked at the body, Connor examined the android. He first started with a diagnosis on the female android and found that the SELECTOR #5402 and BIOCOMPONENT #6970 were both critically damaged. Once he found that out he moved to analyze the blue blood that had trickled out of the androids nose. 

“Whoa! Hey! Hey! Hey!” Hank called as he noticed Connor place his finger that was covered in the blood into his mouth. “Argh, Connor, you’re so disgusting… Think I’m gonna puke again…” He looked over at Natalie who now rested against one of the walls with her arms crossed, almost in an insecure manner. “You gotta teach him not to do that.”

Natalie’s eyebrows furrowed, “what? No I don’t. It’s his job to analyze anything and everything he deems necessary, yeah it seems weird for him to… taste the blood but technically he doesn’t have taste buds like us so…” She trailed off with a shrug of her shoulders in hopes that Hank got what she was trying to say.

The lieutenant just shook his head,  “it’s still disgusting.”

Natalie shook her head while picking up a few of the man’s belongings and looked through them, “Driver's license says: Michael Graham…” She started while pulling out a few cards. “A credit card, cash in the wallet... Picture of his wife and two daughters... I wouldn't want to make that call…”

As Natalie and Hank conversed, Connor was able to find that the blue blood belonged to a MODEL WR400 with the serial number #429 671 942. The android stood up and moved over to the corpse in order to examine it just like he did the damaged android. First, he identified the man:

‘DECEASED

GRAHAM, MICHAEL

Height: 6’ 2” - Weight: 192.4 lbs

Estimated time of death: 06:24 pm’

He then examined the man’s heart:

‘CARDIAC ARREST

No sign of cardiac event 

Heart attack not cause of death’

Lastly, Connor moved to analyze the man’s neck:

‘SEVERE BRUISING

Signs of strangulation

Cause of death: asphyxiation’

With the information that Connor got from the body, he was able to construct a simulation to depict what actually happened to the man. It appeared that the man was most certainly strangled by the android. He turned to his partners, “he didn’t die of a heart attack, he was strangled.”

Hank nodded his head, “Yeah, I saw the bruising on the neck. Doesn't prove anything though. Could've been rough play…”

Natalie shook her head, “rough enough to kill him.”

“We're missing something here…” Connor said. Hank paused for a moment before a thought struck him. “Think you can read the android's memory? Maybe you can see what happened…”

“Good idea, Hank.” Natalie smiled 

Connor kneeled down beside the deactivated android and picked up her hand while his artificial skin retracted to reveal his exoskeleton. The connection didn’t work, however. It seemed that the android was too badly damaged. “The only way to access its memory is to reactivate it.”

“Think you can do it?” Hank asked as he stood behind Connor and next to Natalie. 

Said woman squared her shoulders and smiled widely, “I certainly can!” She jumped at the opportunity to finally do something than stand around and observe. She knelt down besides Connor and leaned over the android. “She’s badly damaged…” She placed her hand over the android’s stomach which exposed the androids white exoskeleton. Natalie continued her explanation, “when I reactivate her, it’ll only be for a minute, maybe less…” She set to work with opening up the exoskeleton and started to fiddle with some wires. “Let’s hope it’s long enough to learn something.” Finally, Natalie pulled out a large blue wire and glanced at Connor and nodded her head in a sign that said ‘get ready’. Connor returned the gesture before Natalie reconnected the wire.

As soon as she did, the android gasped awake and frantically started to scramble away from the two who hovered over her. Her breath was heavy and laboured as it was obvious she was terrified. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s alright.” Natalie started out softly as she approached the android slowly. She was afraid that if she made any sudden movements to startle her, the android would try to run off which wouldn’t help them at all. They only had at least a minute before she died… for good. They need to get answers. The android stared at Natalie for a moment and noticed the softness in her words and the reassurance that shined in her eyes. She still kept herself quite far away though, obviously still scared out of her mind. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”

The Traci android looked around the room quickly before her eyes landed on the corpse on the bed. “Is he… is he dead?..”

“Tell us what happened.” Natalie said again though this time her words were a tad bit more rushed. 

The Traci looked over to her and gulped, “he started… hitting me… again… and again.” Her words were slightly broken as the emotion seeped into her voice. If they weren’t on such a time crunch, Natalie would have tried to soothe the android further. However, because they only had seconds, so she couldn’t so that.

“Did you kill him?” Connor imputed from behind Natalie.

The Traci shook her head, “no… no, it wasn't me…”

“Was there anyone else in the room? Maybe another android?” Natalie asked as she started to create her own hypothesis.

The android nodded her head ‘yes’, “He wanted to play with two girls... That's what he said, there were two of us…”

“What model was the other android? Did it look like you?” Natalie didn’t get an answer for her question for the android had shutdown once again. The blank stare of the Traci android bore into Natalie’s own wide, hazel eyes. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily through her nose, “she’s gone.”

She and Connor stood up and turned to Hank, “So, there was another android... This happened over an hour ago, it's probably long gone…”

Connor shook his head, “no... It couldn't go outside dressed like that unnoticed…” He pointed to the android who was dressed in just a bra and underwear. There was obviously no way someone would just over look anyone, android or human, dressed like that. “It might still be here.”

“Think you could find a deviant among all the other androids in this place?”

“Deviants aren't easily detected.”

“Ah, shit... There's gotta be some other way…” 

Natalie perked up as a thought popped into her head, “eyewitness? If she walked out of the room someone must have seen her.” 

Hank nodded his head appreciatively towards her, “I'm gonna go ask the manager a few questions about what he saw. You let me know if you two think of anything.”

The trio exited the private room and went to perform their own tasks. Hank moved over to the manager and started to question him while Connor and Natalie looked around for anything useful. 

“Did you know the victim?” Hank asked the manager.

“No,” the man shook his head with a shaky voice, “I mean he came in maybe two or three times… I mean these guys they don't really talk very much, you know… They come in, do their business and then go on their way…”

“You ever had any trouble with androids before?”

“No way!” He paused as Hank raised an eyebrow. “Well... Once... We lost a model 2-3 months back, bah... same model... Just vanished, we never found out what happened.”

“You probably don't have any CCTV in here, huh?”

“No way... I mean... This is what people appreciate about Eden Club...discretion. They can come and go without a trace.”

“Sure, sure…” Hank nodded his head in understanding yet slight distaste, “eh, business is booming, right?”

The manager smirked and chuckled slightly, “yeah, can't complain... Good thing about androids is they're up for whatever you want, you won't get any diseases and, uh...they won't tell anyone... So, why not go wild?”

“Huh, yeah…” Hank said, “yeah, the more I learn about people, more I love my dog.”

As Hank spoke with the manager, Connor approached one of the androids who stood in a tube across the hall from the crime scene. He stared at her for a moment before coming to a conclusion that most likely would help their investigation. He moved over to the side to the panel and placed his hand on it in order to purchase it. However, he was unable to do it considering he didn’t have any fingerprints. “No fingerprint detected. Please try again.” The automated voice said.

Natalie walked over to Connor with a smirk, “gotten bored, Connor?” She started to tease, “you decided to enjoy your time here with the ‘sexiest androids in town’.”

Connor shook his head, “I have an idea, Natalie. Do you mind renting out this android.”

The woman’s eyes were blown wide as she had to stop herself from coughing out in surprise. “Whoa, Connor! I know I’m supposed to be looking after you, but I don’t think that includes-”

Connor cut her off quickly as his circuits started to heat up. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I can probe the androids memory and see if it saw anything. Like the android leaving the room after it killed our victim.”

“Oh,” Natalie said nervously, “yeah, that makes more sense.” She then shook her head once she was able to get over her shock. “I would like to help, but I don’t have fingerprints anymore, remember.” She took a quick glance around their surroundings to make sure that no one was watching them before raising her hands as the artificial skin retracted to show two white hands that matched Connor’s when he did the same. “If you want to rent an android, we’re gonna need Hank do to it.”

Connor nodded his head as he marched over to the lieutenant. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. Can you come here a second?”

Hank turned away from the manager, “found something?”

“Maybe,” Connor lead Hank back over to the android where Natalie stood with her hands on her hips. “Can you rent this Traci?”

The Lieutenant blanched, shocked, “For fuck's sake, Connor, we got better things to do…” he made a move to walk away before Connor continued on.

“Please, Lieutenant! Just trust me.”

Hank grunted and walked over to the panel and started to rent the android. “Hello. A 30 minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase.” The automated voice said as Hank looked over to Connor and Natalie. He glared slightly at Natalie who raised her hands in surrender. Though it looked like she really wanted to laugh out loud.

“This is not gonna look good on my expense account…”

He continued on with his purchase anyway, “purchase confirmed. Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”

“Yeah, you're welcome,” Hank muttered as the Traci android stepped out of her confinements.

“Delighted to meet you.” Her seductive, silky voice said as she started to walk towards a private room to lead her client to. “Follow me, I'll take you to your room.”

Hank only glanced at her blankly before turning back to his partners, “okay, now what?” He and Natalie watched as Connor stood in front of the android and grabbed her arm with his now exposed exoskeleton. “Holy shit, Connor... What the hell are you doin'?”

He didn’t get an answer when Connor started before only a second later he let go of the android. “It saw something.”

Hank’s eyebrows furrowed as he had no idea what Connor was really doing. “What are you talkin' about? Saw, what?”

Natalie piped up, “the deviant leave the room…” 

Connor nodded his head, “a blue-haired Traci.” Then a thought dawned on him, “club policy is to wipe the androids' memory every two hours. We only have a few minutes if we wanna find another witness!”

As Connor walked away to start looking for another witness, Hank pointed at the Traci who still looked at him lustfully waiting for him. “Hey, what am I supposed to do with this one?”

“Tell it you changed your mind!” Natalie suggested as she swiftly followed Connor.

Hank considered the idea and turned to that android. “Uhh... Sorry, honey, changed my mind! Nothing personal, you're... a lovely girl... I just, uh... You know... I'm with them and... I mean, not with them like that... I'm not that... That's not what I... You, um... Wow... I just…” Hank sighed in defeat before following after his two partners.

That pushed them all into searching mode. Connor asked Hank to rent multiple androids in order for him to probe their memories. He followed a trail of the Traci android walking towards the entrance before turning back around into the club. The Traci then entered The Red Room then into the blue room before hiding in a room. They bolted into what they thought would be the deviant’s hiding spot only to find that it wasn’t there. They exited it and were slowly losing hope in finding it.

As Connor and Hank walked over to a few other androids to probe their memory, Natalie took notice of a janitorial android cleaning a few feet away. She glanced around herself to find that Connor and Hank were already preoccupied with another Traci android. She took a deep breath and approached the android quickly. The skin on her hand once again melted away as she grabbed the androids shoulder.

For her, it felt quite weird to be watching an event from someone else's perspective. This was obviously something that she never thought she would experience in her life. Though it proved to be quite useful for what she was looking for. She watched from the androids perspective as the blue-haired Traci sauntered past the janitorial android and into a room labeled with red text: ‘PRIVATE STAFF ONLY’.

Natalie gasped once she allowed herself to be dragged back out of the android's memory and into reality. It took her a moment to try and collect herself as Connor and Hank approached her. “We couldn’t find anything useful.” Hank commented as he didn’t notice her flustered appearance at first.

“The trail seems to end here,” Connor explained, puzzled.

Natalie shook her head, “no, no. It doesn't end here.” The other two finally noticed her shocked and nervous behavior. They watched they way she played with her fingers and shifted from one foot to the other.

“You alright, girly?” Hank asked her with skeptical eyes.

She nodded her head and gulped slightly, “yeah, I’m fine. But I think I know where the Traci went.” The two of them had their eyebrows furrowed as Natalie led them to the staff door.

“Fucking-A. This is crazy…” Hank sighed out as the door opened and Connor and Natalie started to walk down the white hallway. He followed after them and eyed the back of the brunette’s head. He wasn’t sure how she knew it, and he felt like he should. If they were to work together on an investigation concerning deviants, they shouldn't hide things from each other. There is always the possibility of their secrets hurting each other if they didn’t disclose it with anyone else.

He brushed it off though when they made it to another door, “wait! I'll take it from here.” The two others nodded their heads and allowed him to step in front of them with his gun raised. He pushed the door open roughly and surveyed the warehouse to find nothing. “Shit…” He breathed out in defeat, “we're too late…”

“She could still be here, Lieutenant.” Natalie commented as she started to walk around the room in search of any clues. They looked around the room that had multiple androids either waiting for repairs, to be trashed or to be put back to work.

“Christ, look at them… They get used till they break, then they get tossed out…”

Natalie nodded her head as she approached the back brick wall of the building. On the wall, written crudely and quickly was the familiar letters, ‘RA9’. Why were there so many references to RA9 in places where deviants are found? Also, why was there some sort of tingling feeling in the back of her mind every time she saw the words.? What the hell was really going on!

“People are fucking insane…” Hank started to complain as he lazily paced the room, “they don't want relationships anymore, everybody just gets an android… They cook what you want, they screw when you want, you don't have to worry about how they feel…” He sighed before finally resting against one of the beams with his arms crossed. “Next thing you know, we're gonna be extinct, because everybody would rather buy a piece of plastic than love another human being… Beats me…”

As Hank ranted loudly, Connor examined a bit of blue blood that was on the ground. He followed the small trail to the back of the warehouse where a group of androids stood silent and still. He examined them closely and noticed… that one of the androids LED had changed from a pale blue to yellow. It was the blue-haired Traci, there was no doubt about it. Before Connor could truly do anything to get to the deviant, another android jumped out of the line and attacked him.

She pushed him up against one of the metal beams and held him there. Hank ran over, “DON'T MOVE!” He pulled out his gun and raised it to the deviant only to have the blue-hair Traci jump on top of him and begin wrestling with him like the other was with Connor.

Natalie rushed over to Hank to help him out. Connor is an android. He should be able to hold his own against the other android though there was no guarantee that Hank could do the same. So she thought it was more important to help the human.

As Connor tussled with the other female android and stopped her from stabbing him with a screwdriver, Natalie pulled the Blue-haired Traci off of Hank. Traci then rounded on her and threw kicks and punches at Natalie who was easily able to block them and retaliate with her own.

The Traci did however get the better of her slightly when she pushed Natalie onto the table in the middle of the room. Natalie pushed the Traci away and tried to get back up only to find a screwdriver lodged in her shoulder. The blue-haired Traci starred in slight shock and fear after she stabbed the woman but decided to forget about it and get back to the other Traci.

Hank ran over to Natalie who grunted slightly, “jesus christ…” He trailed off when he was able to see that she was wounded.

She brushed him off, “go after them!” Her injury wasn’t severe and didn’t not hit any major biocomponents or any of the remaining human parts that she had. She’d most likely only have to repair her exoskeleton when she got back home at the most, maybe even get some blue blood to replace the amount that she was going to lose.

Hank watched in astonishment as Natalie jumped back up to her feet and pulled the screwdriver out of her shoulder without even flinching. He was going to protest about her getting up and to put pressure on her wound when he saw the blue tint on the screwdriver and her clothes. There should be red there, not blue… 

Hank put the revelation to the side for just a moment and rushed out of the warehouse. Hank ran out and tried to stop the androids by grabbing one of their hands as soon as he was close enough. Though the two androids merely pushed him quite hard into the wall where he lost his grip on his gun. “QUICK! THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!”

Connor sprinted after them as they tried to climb over the chain-linked fence. He successfully pulled the blue-haired Traci down and pushed her to the ground. The other Traci pulled him away which allowed the other to get free. They fought a tad bit more which included the red-haired Traci grabbing a metal pole and trying to use it as a bat. Though Connor was able to hold his own against the two of them quite well. 

Natalie eventually came out and threw the blue-haired Traci off of Connor as she pinned him to the wall. She punched and pushed her a few times which caused the Traci to stare at her surprised. She thought for certain that the woman was a human! Though now that she noticed the blue blood seeping through her shirt and on her hands after Natalie pulled the screwdriver from her shoulder, Traci felt somewhat remorseful for hurting her. She pushed that aside when she then remembered that she and the male android were trying to stop her and the other Traci from getting away.

The red-haired Traci pushed Connor away and caused him to topple into Natalie and the blue-haired Traci onto the ground. The red-haired Traci returned to them all with a trashcan and hit them with it which allowed the blue-haired Traci to get away from them.

Connor scrabbled to try and get up when he noticed Hank’s gun laying on the ground. He grabbed it and raised it to shoot at the red-haired Traci… but something stopped him. He didn’t know what did… there was obviously a strong pull in his software telling him to pull the trigger… but… something even stronger didn’t let that programming get through.

Just as Connor came to the conclusion that he would spare the android, she kicked him in the chest and sent him to the ground. Natalie ran over to his side and pulled him back up. She placed a hand on his forearm as the blue-haired Traci came to stand in front of them.

“When that man broke the other Traci… I knew I was next…” She started. “I was so scared… I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't… And so I put my hands around his throat, and I squeezed… until he stopped moving… I didn't mean to kill him… I just wanted to stay alive...get back to the one I love.” The red-haired Traci then came up behind her and laced their hands together. Natalie’s heart ached at the display. “I wanted her to hold me in her arms again... make me forget about the humans…” Just as she said that, Hank walked over to them and listened to her speak. “Their smell of sweat and their dirty words…”

“Come on,” her lover said, “let's go.”

The trio then watched as the lovers climbed over the fence and ran off into the night. Connor glanced over at Hank who stared back at him in slight confusion yet appreciation. “It's probably better this way…” Hank commented while looking at Connor before glancing at Natalie quickly and turning around to go back into the warehouse.

Natalie sighed deeply through her nose and shook her head. She had a feeling that Hank noticed her injury and most likely felt uneasy about the situation. She kept the fact that she was a cyborg, part android, from a man who obviously held a strong dislike for androids. There was no doubt in her mind that Hank most likely hated her with a passion now.

“You’re hurt, Natalie.” Connor commented as he gently turned her to face him so he could get a closer look at her shoulder.

She chuckled dryly, “I seem to do that a lot, huh? Get hurt.”

Connor’s hand became stark white as he reached for her shoulder. She didn’t flinch at his touch because she obviously couldn’t feel her body like she could before. “I don’t think that any biocomponents would have been damaged…”

Natalie shook her head, “no, no biocomponents are damaged. I-I am losin’ a little bit of blue blood, but that’s an easy fix.”

Concern manifested in Connor’s mind as he nodded his head slowly, “okay.” Concern… an emotion that androids aren’t meant to feel… The two of them made their way back into the building to search for Hank so they could leave. Natalie wasn’t looking forward to the awkward and stiff car ride. If she tried, she could probably get Ethan to pick her up or even walk back home on her own. Though she had a feeling that she should face Hank instead of running away.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge August 2022 Day 3

Sentimental / Feral ( @daily-writing-challenge​ @serararku​ )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Theme: Rúnahild - Urseid

They call it a Grrangr. A gathering of Nunhs to plan a course of action that no single tribe can perform themselves– a moot to decide the future of the Miqo’te living in Thanalan. There were only six nunhs in attendance but several hundred surrounded the secluded clearing on the side of the mountain facing westward, so they could watch the bountiful sun slip beneath the horizon for his brief slumber… a great place for meditation, if they were here for less pressing matters.

“We cannot defeat them.” T’ketchu of the Condor Tribe spoke first to break the chorus of whispers behind him. “The walls of Ul’dah are too high and too thick. Their armies are well fed and armored. Defying them can only mean death for our people. It’s as simple as that.”

A patronizing snort on his left caught his attention, and up rose J’mindi the Gnarled. “Only a fool would strike a hulking giant across the nose. There are other ways of dealing with the halfling city… ones that are far more… subtle.”

“You mean poison.” R’yaach the White Maw crossed his arms over his wide chest before spitting into the dirt. “Am I surrounded by cravens? What glory is there in such cowardice?!”

S’vahli the Hrothblood rubbed at the bridge of his nose as soon as the uproar started; they couldn’t go five whole minutes before they started hurling insults at each other. He did his best to drown out their incessant howling, focusing on the flickering bonfire and the dancing shadows. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes to block out the noise but it was no use; every passing moment of their uproar was filling him with anxious dread, his body physically reacting in ways he couldn't afford right now.

Yelling turned to screaming. Metal tubes and iron clamps. Needles, needles, needles. Round eared monsters with three eyes staring, watching, observing. Pain unmatched. Glass prison. Knives sever the flesh. Syringes pumping poison. Fear and rage and hatred. Kill to be free. Kill to be silent. Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL! KILL! KILL! KI-!

A tiny hand gripped his shoulder and the nightmare receded back to the corner of his mind. S'vahli turned to meet S'era's soothing gaze… two sparkling eyes deep and blue enough to drown in. Only now did he realize he was trembling and sweating. He half-expected her to scold him for his strange behavior, but she didn't; all she did was hold his shoulder and steal his attention until the trembling stopped. "I should tell her." He thought, even as shame washed over him. "She deserves to know what they did to me." But no sooner did he open his mouth to speak did the shouting match between the other nunhs suddenly fall silent.

Tap, tap, tap!

Everyone dropped to their knees and bowed. Everyone.

A woman whose flesh turned into bone with even the slightest injury stirred for the first time in forty summers. A large crown of bleached goat horns and antlers sat slanted on her head, adorned with heavy chains of gold and amber. Paralyzed from head to toe, her face was permanently facing the north star, so she could gaze upon the cosmos and commune with both Azeyma and Menphina. Wiser than all, and far older than anyone could possibly fathom, she was the greatest treasure and best kept secret the Seekers of the Sun tribes had. Miraan the Eldest has her life prolonged by mystical and divine power, and despite how delicate and helpless she has become, it was in all likelihood a certainty she would outlive everyone here.

"This mountain… is holy… our ways… are ancient." Her voice was barely a whisper, but every word carried the weight of the world. "To spill blood… in this place… without first… declaring a… Urru'thun… is sacrilege. It is… known."

"It is known." They all repeated, settling down… for now.

"S’era… Firstborn Daughter… of Rarku the… Red…” She paused to catch her breath– every inhale sounded like splintering wood. “Tell them… your plan.”

She stiffened at the sound of her name; not once has she met Miraan the Eldest, but she not only knew her name, but also her title? Slowly she glanced over and met S’vahli’s gaze, before rising to her feet and straightening out her back and shoulders. “You are all right to fear reprisal from Ul’dah and the other free cities. Even with our combined strength we could not outlast them in an all-out war. We have the numbers, this is true… but they have powerful magick, and the Warrior of Light on their side. Facing them in open field would be suicide.” A few nunhs nodded in agreement as subtle whispers echoed in the crowd sitting before her. “They know they could crush us if they willed it… but it would also cause unrest and chaos within their walls by the Miqo’te living there. They cannot attack us directly until we deal the first blow, so instead they mean to drive away our hunting game and starve us out.”

R’yaach the White Maw spat into the dirt again. “Cowards and traitors.”

“Be that as it may…” S’era continued, shooting him a furtive glance. “I have a solution that can resolve this conflict peacefully. Or at the very least… get them off our backs and out of our lands.” That certainly caught their interest, but only a stark few seemed to care for what she had to say. “Our answer lies in the Shelled Men. Along the coast deep in Amal’jaa territory lies an incomplete castrum that was serving as an armory before their armies were scattered. If Ul’dah will not listen to the Miqo’te through reason, we will make them listen with a display of force. Tribes gathering near their towns with magitek weapons are sure to get their attention.”

“Your plan is to threaten them? They will slaughter everyone involved and tighten their grip on the rest of our necks!” Cried out a tribewife from the crowd, a babe to her breast. “Suicide!” Cried another from the opposite direction. “Madness!”

“WE ARE STARVING!” S’era shouted at the top of her lungs to get them to shut up. “Your children… our children are going hungry! There isn’t enough meat to survive through the winter! We can’t rely on raiding merchant wagons for food! If any of you fools have a better idea then let’s hear it!”

I’vazu Stone Tongue rose first, clutching his walking stick and grunting from the still-fresh wounds on his stomach from defending his breeding rights against a Tia just yesterday. “The halflings will not take threats idly. We should instead barter… learn what they want and offer a trade!”

“COWARD!” Another shouted, causing the wounded man to flinch. He turned red in the face as he spun around to face the direction of that accusation.

“Who said that?! Speak up and face my wrath-aaugh…!” He clenched his teeth in pain and his legs almost buckled; this was going nowhere fast.

Miraan the Eldest opened her eyes. Pale blue pearls that glimmered like the stars in the night sky– gazing into them was like gazing into the cosmos, the realm of the very gods. “They are… outsiders. They have… no respect… for the land. Look at… Mor Dhona… as proof of… their greed. We Miqo’te… have given them… enough. It… is known.”

“It is known.” They all repeated again, some less enthusiastically than others.

“She is right.” S’era added. “Anything we have that they value will be picked off our corpses once we start dropping from starvation. Or perhaps they want us to kill each other off competing for food? If we do not stand united, we will die divided. This is the plan. You will follow the Zu Tribe to prosperity or you will be left behind to rot.”

“Who made you the leader of our people?” E’zohl the Howler finally spoke up, unable to remain silent any longer. “The Zu Tribe angers Ul’dah the most. Why not throw yourself at their stone tents and rid us all of your reckless stupidity!”

S’era barely looked in his direction, but pointed her finger directly at him all the same. “We are among the few brave enough to stand up to them. I don’t see the Eft Tribe doing much of anything these days. Terrified of creatures half your size?”

“Bite your tongue and drown on your blood!” E’zohl snapped, earning her undivided attention. “You are no nunh! You are no elder either! You are just a tribewife pretending to be some self-appointed savior! You are no warrior! Go back to your hut and spread your legs, as is your duty!”

“I’ll take your tongue for that!” S’vahli shot up to his feet, but S’era raised a hand to calm him down.

“When the time comes for us to march on the shelled men’s sanctum, you will answer the call.” She declared with a threatening calmness. “Or the Zu will destroy you.”

“You forget your place!” E’zohl rose to stand, his warriors rising behind him; S’era’s warrior sisters returned the gesture, and now two tribes were at each other’s throats once more. “The Eft Tribe will see you bloated in the sand before we march to our deaths! This I vow!”

“You vow?!” Eyes flaring, teeth clenched, ears pinned down, and tail bristling, S’era shouted back, “THEN I DECLARE URRU’THUN ON THE EFT TRIBE! SEND OUT YOUR GREATEST CHAMPION, E’ZOHL, I KNOW YOU ARE FAR TOO MUCH A COWARD TO FACE ME YOURSELF!”

[panicofgods]

CreNaya

WompWomp posting older stuff that I hadn't shared. There's a lot about this that I don't like, I hate every bit of dialogue I have ever written, and it was written with a word limit so a lot isn't as fleshed out as I'd like. BUT I like the story I'm setting up and the world I'm putting together and maybe one day I'll write more about the research team on this strange new world. I'm going to stop blathering becuse otherwise I'll talk myself out of posting this again ~~~~~~~

The sky above CreNaya shone with uncountable stars and the ghostly light of the two large moons that hovered close to the planet. Mayia took another shot of the ground shuttle with the small, telescoping camera as it lifted with a hum back into the cloudless sky. She assumed it would head back to the station that orbited in a looping figure eight about the moons before it picked them up in the morning. Pausing, she dug in the pocket of the uniform she had been provided that still enveloped her small build, for a hair tie and pulled her dark hair in to a bun and out of her face.

Across the glade of grey-brown leaves they had landed in, Katarina, one of the senior science officers on this expedition to a new earth-like planet, knelt picking leaves and laughing like a schoolgirl.

“May! Come look at this!” She plucked another leaf and a swirl of glittering dust rose and dissipated into the atmosphere. May looked at her watch: 22% oxygen.

“Mayyyyyy!” Kat looked up at her, long magnifying goggles balanced on the end of her nose, “This is such a wonderful discovery! It acts like pollen, but on a cellular level looks much closer to spores or fungi…” She trailed off, suddenly distracted by something crawling on her hand. 

May walked closer and saw a large millipede-like creature had started winding its way around Kat’s hand. The scientist laughed again, and May took another picture. Kat was breathtaking like this. The scientist’s long red curls were tied behind her head, and her freckles seemed a negative photo of the stars. She turned her sparkling green eyes on the camera, somehow grinning wider.

“What?” she asked as she unwound the strange bug and sealed it in one of the many…. many… large plastic boxes that surrounded her.

They were respectively the fourth and fifth humans to set foot on the planet after an initial crew had come down to make sure the area was safe. The orbiting station, named KDM after the women behind the first successful launch of a man into space, was the first ship to come so far from the Milky Way. Even at faster-than-light travel they had been in stasis for two months to get there. They had been deposited on the planet’s surface to take stock of the local biology, if it could be called that, and would be picked up via the trackers they carried in 12 hours.

Kat snapped the lid onto the box and grinned up at May, “Take this too the cruiser, would you?” May grinned at the woman and picked up the box.  She paused too take a closer look at the strange creature. The millipede had almost seemed to fall asleep, or at least curl up, and oozed a pit of clear liquid from its chitinous shell. A military vehicle striped of everything save the engine, sat nearby, and May deposited the first of many boxes there.

May remembered when they had just come out of stasis and the walls all felt far too close together. The cruiser had looked so big and shiny. An older model known for its reliability on unhospitable terrain, it had been stripped of all defining characteristics that may have told her what it was. Now, it was just a frame with seats and padding. A shinny white spider of bone and metal curled and sleeping in a dark corner of a metal cage. Now, on the surface of the planet, it was dwarfed by the trees that stretched for the sky. The dark and slightly wet bark and the dangling vines that dripped sap to the ground, coating the strange plant life with a sticky, glistening mucus speckled with spores and dust the became caught in it.

She placed the box gently in the back. The strange bug glistened more, and she made a mental note to take a sample of the fluid later.

Kat made an excited squeak, “May! I caught a new specimen! Look at the wings!”

May looked across the clearing. Kat was surrounded by hundreds of blue and purple bugs. Their wings, translucent and glittering in the fading light, cast strange shifting shadows around the glade and across the dark arms of the trees. A terrible though occurred to May. The old horror movies she had loved so much as a kid came back to her in a rush. The image of those beautiful bugs burrowing into Kat’s eyes and into her brain. Laying eyes in her friend’s corpse.

“Kat…” She started, moving towards them. Kat laughed as one landed on her face. May started to run. As she drew near, the creatures suddenly moved as one and shot upward.

As if thinking as one unit. They came together, catching the light and turning the bruise colored shadows a more vibrant blue and purple. Their flight seemed to pulse and twitch, then spread into a long glittering stream. An ocean current suspended above them by invisible lines into the darkening sky. Kat stood up and they marveled at the twinkling of the thousands of glassy wings in the sunlight.

“They… they feed on the spores from the plants,” Kat murmured, “I can’t wait to see what’s in those spores. What this ecosystem feeds on.” May nodded and looked at her friend. Kat stared up into the glittering mass, her eyes wide and her jaw loose. Her hair was disheveled and stuck up at angles. May took a step back and pulled out her camera. From this angle, May was cast in the shifting light from the bugs, like she was deep under water, yet still lit by the sun. Like she shone in the darkness of this strange world.

An hour later, Kat called it a day and they started moving the remaining boxes to the cruiser. May noted that the centipede, whom Kat had named Squiggles, had secreted a surprisingly large amount of the strange, clear mucus. It coated the base of the box with a thick layer. She wondered if it was a form of terraforming, as the box was dry but the whole planet seemed to be constantly damp.

Kat called to her, and May quickly forgot about the secreting bug as she moved to answer her.

When CreNaya was first discovered, it was an instant celebrity among the astrological science communities. Its water rich atmosphere drew attention, but the discovery of running water on its surface kick started the rush to reach it and discover what it could hold. Kat and May had met on the research team trying to speculate as to what the planet may look like when the moons were discovers. Twin moons that dragged the tides in and out all over the planet in 57 day seasons. Currently, it was the season on this half of the planet. In a few weeks, the whole forest would be under water, and the other side would be dry. Most rivers and streams were places where strong under currents fed by something in the planet’s crust sped and ripped the temporary sea floor apart.

Kat drove like a maniac down one of these creek beds.  It reminded May of the day they met. Kat had picked her up from the station when she got into Santiago from Tokyo and May had expected every turn on the busy streets to be her last. Kat had tripped over herself apologizing when she realized May’s discomfort later and had insisted on taking her out to dinner as reparations.

Now, May clamped her hand down on the handle by her head and tried not to scream as her friend hit a rock and the car shuddered as it became momentarily airborne. Kat whooped as they crashed back to the bed, jarring May’s teeth and causing something to clatter to the floor of the cab behind them.

“What about the specimens?” May shouted as the engine complained about the harsh treatment.

Kat seemed to regain some control then, although she didn’t let up on the accelerator as they tore through the forest. The site they were supposed to spend the night was only about three miles ahead, and May was happy they would make it there in one piece. Although, the grin that Kat had worn while hurtling towards their deaths was, dare she say, cute.

The reprieve from terror was short lived as something in the engine audibly popped. A shrill hissing noise rang out, followed by a screech and suddenly the car started to slow. Kat cursed and moved to pump the breaks. Nothing.  The two women looked at each other. They were still easily going 45 miles per hour down the creek bed. Kat grinned and May grit her teeth.

May gave credit where credit was due; Kat was a good off-road disaster driver. As jarring as it was to have the car slam into the sides of the creek bed, and as loud and scary as the sound of metal protesting the scrapping of rocks and debris was, they did slow down rather quickly. Granted, the grin on Kat’s face the whole time, albeit a lively and beautiful look, was almost as scary.

Her legs shook as may dragged herself out of the car and she gripped the door for support. May made up her mind that if she was going to vomit she should do it out of sight of Kat as she heard the hood pop open.

“Holy shit.”

May whipped around. The vertigo made her head spin. Kat stared into the engine compartment wide eyed with her jaw hanging open.

“May… May! Look! Look at this!” Kat’s face was lit up with a curious mix of excitement and awe, and May stumbled around quickly to look.

In the engine compartment, a thin, clear slime coated everything. Most of the metal components looked fine, but the plastic and rubber ones were half dissolved and ruined. The oil and coolant tanks were slowly melting away, and the exposed belts were long gone. Squiggles lay curled in the slowly dissolving coolant tank. Its pincers twitched sporadically and it repeatedly gushed more of that clear slime, which mixed with the remaining coolant and seemed to momentarily repell the off-color fluid.

With shaking hands, May pulled out her camera and snapped pictures of the damage as Kat reached in barehanded and grabbed the creature. Squiggles hissed weakly, Kat cooed softly in response and for a second, May watched her beautiful face fall. Then, Kat grimaced and knit her brows together in a look of determination.

“Water, do we have water?” Kat looked up at her, “I need water, now.”

“Yes,” May breathed and ran stumbling for the back of the car. Thankfully, the crash had done little to the rear of the vehicle and she yanked the doors open. Inside, she saw Squiggles box. The bottom had completely dissolved. Later, she would note that other specimens had eaten away at the inside of their containers as well, though not nearly to the same extent. For the moment though, her only concern was getting Kat one of the gallon jugs of water they had been sent with.

She slammed the door and almost fell in her haste to get back to Kat. The red head barely seemed to notice how frazzled May looked as she unscrewed the cap of the jug and poured the contents down on the hissing creature.

Squiggles seemed to calm instantly, and May watched the change reverberate into Kat. Slowly, Squiggles started to unravel, and the hissing turned into more of a clicking purr. Soon, it lay limp in Kat’s hand as the water dripped to a stop. The two women looked on as it slowly, carefully, wound its way down Kat’s arm. It came to her jacket, a brown cotton affair, wrapped securely about her lower arm, and stopped.

“Fascinating,” Kat murmured, holing her arm to her face, “This may be a sort of defense mechanism!” May smiled despite her frayed nerves as the woman started to rant excitedly, “That must have been traumatic, and now it’s found a safe place, it’s hiding to heal!” She pointed carefully to the creature’s exoskeleton, “It even appears to have dug its armor into the fabric!” She looked at May, “Take a picture? I’d love to study this behavior more, but I’d hate to traumatize poor Squiggles…” She ran a finger lightly over the creature.

It did not stir and May snapped a photo. It was a good photo. The light of the setting sun coming through the trees illuminated Kat’s flushed face and highlighted the darker reds in her hair. Her face was turned down, and she looked so lovingly at the creature wrapped around her arm. Even in the photo, her eye’s shinned with a caring light. May sighed and smiled at the oblivious scientist. Kat was so full of love for all life. All kinds of life.

An hour later, the sun was almost down, and Kat and May sat on top of the car. May stared up into the trees and waited for the emergency team to come get them.

When Kat had told the team still up on KDM the news, grasping May’s wrist and speaking into the watch, there were loud words of excitement, but also a large dose of fear. Now that they knew the lifeforms could chew through plastic so quickly, there was worry for should one get free on the station. As soon as the pair got back, they and everything on them would need to be scrubbed clean in a metal room. May was not excited for that prospect.

Kat had then spent time digging through the car and releasing the other creatures. Some had already eaten through the boxes and had to be saved from the floor of the vehicle, but most were merely getting close to escape.

Above them, the twin moons were barely visible through the drooping, drippy canopy and strange set of stars winked down at them. May imagined she could almost see the red and blue flashing of the emergency shuttle in the atmosphere.

Kat let out a huff, “This changes everything,” She turned and looked excitedly at May, “we thought there was no way to break down the mess in the Milky Way any faster, but these creatures,” Kat’s face lit up, and although she stared into the darkening sky, May was sure Kat’s mind was lightyears away, “We can study them! Find out what they do to break down plastics and we can use that!” The rosy smile, so sweet and genuine warmed May to her core.

Kat’s face fell a bit and she grasped May’s hand, “You took pictures, right?” With each word, Kat leaned towards her, “We have to release everything, but with pictures and my notes we could start cataloging them tonight!”

May smiled back at her, trying to match the blinding energy and enthusiasm of that look. The burning excitement that seemed to buzz inside Kat was usually just embers. Now, it burned brighter than Solis ever had. She nodded and Kat somehow became brighter.

“Oh that’s wonderful!” Kat enthused, “We’ll get so much done!” her eyes fell a bit and a hand went to her messy hair, “Um, it’s going to be a late night, I wouldn’t want to… impose,”

May melted a bit, “You wouldn’t b…”

“Would you like to go for coffee after?” Kat slapped a hand over her own mouth, “Oh! I’m so sorry, me and my big mouth, please continue, I’m sorry.”

May laughed and found herself taking the other woman’s face in her hands, “It’s fine! You’re excited, this is exciting!” She blushed, “I’d love to help you catalog specimens and get coffee after.” Kat beamed at her. She did not stop holding May’s hand.

The two turned towards the sky, now dark. In the darkness around them, spots of light came from the ground and trees, like a reflection of the sky above. A small flashing light was now visible. Soon, they would be returned to KDM and the work would begin. Kat leaned against May. Everything would change.

But first, coffee.

[google-searchhistory-official]

The vampire sits in thought which she had tried to avoid desperately by starving herself of blood for a few hundred centuries. Where does her mind linger? Why is her self imposed torture not enough? Why is she mad... No... Why is she sad at something she should be angry over.

She is restless, that is the curse of her immortality yes but not the result of it. Her long withered heart still beats in a rhythm of a song long forgotten, of lyrics she burned and scribbled over, of memories best left forgotten.

Her name is Misty, the human turned vampire at the end of existence. She is the oldest monster of this new world, but only its god and devil know that about her. She is older than them, and they both give her mercy and grieve a past she cannot return to. That is now, she's sad about then.

Then, she was a human, with a soft heart and eternal kindness for the broken. She was lonesome, a life in the solitude of a cabin surrounded by nature. She was scared, that first night a monster (or was he a demon then?) sullied the nearby stream with the scent of oncoming death.

She was ecstatic when saving him and her world now grew to include the supernatural and inexplicable. She was confused, when her heart became infatuated with the monster who acted more human than creature and had greater intellect than she thought possible of him. She grieved at his story of woe with which he seemingly held no emotions for. She cried when she understood that he thought himself deserving of eternal torment.

She was bewildered, he offered her a rose first. She was enamored to him from then on. She saw a life with him, of solitude and healing. She was happy, she saw a life for them and their newborn Ariel whom had none of his monstrous traits and proved to her deep down he was human. She was content.

...

...

She was content. But she became resentful, the monster was taken from her. She was horrified, the monster accepted the punishment of torture before death. She was vengeful, but metal would not yield to her flesh. She was killed, eaten by ants and bones left to bleach.

She was a hivemind, forgetting for the first but not the last, her daughter and the monster. She had millions of her own kin to tend to now. She was complacent, the work of an ant matriarch is lazy.

She was burned, others labeled her monster and deemed it necessary. She was ash, feeding into a tree. She forgot again what she nearly remembered before bark and root took priority. She was old, no other tree could last so long. She was struck down by lightning, and she remembered.

She remembered and wept as the universe around her withered away. All that was left was her, and in the last throes of a dying god, she was given form again. Too weak was the deity to make her a demigod, but still she could be immortal. And so was was to then, and then is to now.

And now, that monster still lived. Nothing of him changed, nothing except he refuses to talk about her child. He is no longer a monster, he was always a monster, was always a demon, his now newly a god, but as much as she has come to loathe him since the beginning of this new time, she still knows he was also always human. She wants desperately to hate, to despise, to abhor his very existence.

She can feel nothing but sorrow and dampened love for a time forever ago lost. She can pretend to hate him for all eternity. She cannot lose him, for he is the only thing that reminds her of then. She cannot love him, for he is too far removed from every thing, time, and place. She can only despise him for who he pretends to be, not who she knows he is.

She is Misty Evergreen, the Vampire Lord of Tears, former Monster Queen of Ants. Her daughter was Ariel Evergreen, human save for toughened skin and an innate skill in magic. She once was wed to the God of Nothing, him with the last name Grimm. They never divorced, but neither are now married.

Misty Evergreen, whose withered heart holds a dead universe. Misty Evergreen, whose existence is eternal because she dared show a monster kindness. Misty Evergreen, mother of a child wiped from reality. Misty Evergreen, whom both god and the devil have wept for. Misty Evergreen, whom still holds kindness for every creature and hates to drink blood to fulfill her needs as a vampire.

She is mad at herself that she cannot feel anger towards the one who deserves her ire the most. She is sad he cannot bring up his own daughter. She is confused why him and everyone related still exist. She is angry they get to live but her daughter does not. She is hopeful that her questions will be answered. She is scared that they won't. She is terrified that they will.

She sits in thought through her starvation until it drives her mad. She can no longer think, she attacks and draws blood. This blood is vile, it tastes of death, it is far from lively, it is hers. Her heart, while it beats slow, still can push her own decayed life just enough to make new blood that dies upon creation.

It's barely enough to keep her sane, to keep her from bloodlust. In an act of kindness, that damned god gave her the last torment of the afterlife. Any other with less qualms over the sanctity of life would indulge in this gift. She cannot. She refuses to be anything but the mother she remembers she was for Ariel. She refuses to give up on the lessons she taught her child. She refuses to believe her dead.

She is Misty Evergreen, the human who refuses to turn into a monster.

[icarian-jpg]

eighteen in twenty-four hours

I was a highly anticipated child. That anticipation had a climax and then it was over. It’s been over, actually, for a long time. Do you know when you’re a senior in university, cussing your 19-year-old self out for pretending to understand Calculus II just to be done with it (it never made sense to you and now you need it to graduate)? I believe certain things that happen at the beginning of any life will have a permanent residence in that life. My life has been…climaxes. Climaxes that are rich of everything you could imagine, five minute long climaxes…then, nothing.

At least, what I remember are climaxes. Otherwise, I have scraps of bread on a paper plate. The mania that haunts my bones in the process and the depression that cuts the electric gates of my body and burns down the lush gardens of my existence in the aftermath. As much as they allege to be part of them, the people around me have had zero thumbprints on the processes and aftermaths of any important thing that has ever happened to me. I watch the wolves tear my flesh and the runaways burn it all by myself. I don’t deny the pushes, though. 90% of the steps I’ve marched on Earth were not self-initiated. One’d already guess I have two left feet. That doesn’t change much, though. I scream too much to the world around me, but it’s never enough. I keep my sullen, chaotic, meteor-shower days (re: all of my days) a secret; because I know a letter on my tongue is a court meeting, and I’ve been down that road, if not once, a million times before.

Saying “Ow,” makes my cheeks red and my palms clammy. I don’t even have to be surrounded by people. Being in pain embarrasses me. I let the salt of my tears burn my optic nerve and trail back to wherever they came from—anything, but feel them on the blue slides under my eyes. I crack my knuckles and I bite my nails away and I pick on a wound for months. I’m usually the first to embrace humanity in situations that require it; yet I deny myself my own humanity. I sing patience like an anthem to my mother but I run so fast I choke my heart out. I let people take their time after me, but I discard them once I feel the pole of the magnet switch. Even I don’t know why I do this sometimes.

The knot in my heart loosens after a good situation. I find my resentment burning away as I feel the energy shift, even if it was temporary. I’m kinder than I seem, and even that…is fading out. It is overrated at this point, but Richard Papen got it head-on with the ‘yearning for the picturesque’ thing. It’s killing me. I love it more than I’ve loved anything, though, at the same time.

Am I built to go on? I was twenty-one at fifteen and now I’m way older than that and I’m almost eighteen, but am I ready, really? I can’t look in the mirror, my face is ageing, my eyes are asymmetrical because I’d choose comfort over anything, especially when I sleep, my glasses are misaligned, too; a horridly coincidental combination of my irregular ears and a box that fell on my face while I was packing to move apartments a month ago. My sister said ‘You’re so mature for someone your age, it’s fucking annoying.’ and…I don’t know how to feel about that. Is she telling the truth? Or is she only condemning me, because fourteen year olds usually do that (I’d know), for selfish reasons?

My peers, fellows who were also born in ‘05, did the childhood monologue before they turned eighteen. I don’t know if I should do that, because frankly, it’s been way too long since I’d felt like a child. I do now, actually, but I’m not a child. Ask my mother, she’d know.

I don’t know with which foot I should enter eighteen. I don’t know what to do to celebrate, or mourn. Really, I’ve no fucking idea. I do know where I’m going, and it’s this: far, far away from here.

[ladysimrrr]

A woman who was a part of everything

As the mist falls back,

And the moon peeks out of a swirl of clouds.

I howl with a grief I have carried with me.

I howl, because I feel the grief of a woman far older than myself.

The smoke binds me down to the dirt, a terrible stench surrounds me.

I choke as I fall back; helpless.

My eyes take in the vast sky, stars taunting me from above.

Somewhere in the haze, I feel myself slip into a rage.

The rage of a woman scorned; a madness unknown to mankind.

The smoke retreats itself from my frame and the stench seems far away.

I stand with a new purpose.

And as the wolves of the forest surround me, I release my hair from it’s braid.

The wolves heard my howls.

They know my pain, I was a part of them.

They bow; their heads bent low; in unison.

And soon I find myself running with them.

The moonlight above, nothing could ever stop us.

To be made of flesh and bone was humility, but in that moment I felt infinite.

As I ran, stretching away into a wild mess, feet in a rapid rhythm.

A smile formed on my lips, ‘’ This is where you belong’’, my spirit whispered.

This time, there was nothing to suffocate me; holding me back.

This time  I was ready to be a part of everything.

Each flower, flame, crevice and stream would remember me.

Because I was the woman who was a part of everything.

The moon in the night sky, whispers his little song for me.

And the rays of sunlight shed their glory in my name.

Each leaf is ingrained with the fingertips.

Each morning, the mist softens the forest ground and calls for me to lie down.

Each night the lakes in the forest sway alone, hoping I was dancing with them.

Droplets of water hang onto blades of grass, holding onto memories of me.

And the spirits of those who know what it feels to be alone, cry for me, in their own little crevices.

The Autumn leaves flutter down in the hopes that they fall into my open palm and each drop of rain settles inside the sea, waiting for me to submerge myself in them.

I am no God.

But a mere woman; A woman who is a part of everything.

[urlkssknt]

loving can be easy

warnings!! nsfw!! mature content

dad!johnny x wife!reader

the sun shone brightly, casting a warmth that was almost unbearable with its rays. johnny sat at the table that was accompanied with a large umbrella, trying to stay hidden from the blazing sun, much to his dismay, from spending the past week in the sun, a golden glow had accompanied his skin. to compliment his new tan, his wife dressed him up in a white silk button up and black trousers. the sleeves of the shirt were short, just long enough to tease the muscle he was hiding underneath. mentally, johnny thanked jaehyun for forcing him to attend a gym, the time spent there feeling all gross and sweaty paid off when johnny caught his wife ogling him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. sat by the older man's side, with a book also in his hands, was his son jacob. he had grown tired from playing with his baby sister with the sun blaring down on them and went to seek peace and refuge, in the form of his dad. they had both sat in silence, enjoying the quiet and calm atmosphere.

as the two boys were reading, a little further from them, out of earshot but still in eyesight, was y/n and chunhwa. intentionally, y/n had matched the colour of her dress to her husband's shirt. her soft white dress stopped at her knees and gave a perfect view of her collar bones and slender neck, free of any markings. y/n held her daughter's hand as they both tried to find the prettiest flowers to make a bouquet from. so far they had been successful.

"i'm tired," the four year old groaned as her skin felt sticky with sweat. y/n chuckled before lifting her daughter into her arms.

"let's go back to daddy and jake, hmm?" y/n watched as chunhwa rested her small head against her shoulder. the hot weather had taken a toll on both of the kids. sweetly, y/n caressed her daughter's back.

within a few minutes they had reached the cobblestone path that lead them to the table that johnny and jake were occupying. the sight of her older brother caused chunhwa to stir, wanting to be put down so she could run to him. in her childish eyes, there was no one more perfect than her older brother. chunhwa ran to him as fast as her small little legs could.

"don't run!" jacob said with a scowl, the action didn't go unnoticed by his dad, before scooting in his chair to make room for his sister. jacob began to speak softer at the feeling of johnny’s intense stares, "you could have fell." chunhwa didn't mind getting told off by her brother because it meant he was paying attention to her, just like her dad would pay attention to her mum.

although, there were four chairs spread around the circular table, johnny found himself gesturing for his wife to sit with him. he tucked his chair out slightly, scraping against the gravel on the floor, and held his hands out for her to join him on his lap. johnny always had to have his wife within his arms whenever she was near, she was like an enigma.

"did you find any nice flowers?" johnny asked as he rested his arms around y/n's waist, bringing her close to him as he possibly could. y/n nodded as she chose a single pink flower, from the bunch that were collected, and rested it on johnny’s ear. as sweet as sickeningly possible, johnny smiled at his wife before pressing a chaste kiss to the side of her head.

as soon as the sun began to set, the family of four moved indoors, where the air conditioning was blasting and they were collecting all the items of the second home. johnny had originally planned to buy the cottage they were residing in as a birthday gift for y/n but somehow his father beat him to it and offered it as a wedding gift, claiming that it was all his mother's idea.

despite the heat, the two children were able to fall asleep peacefully in their individual bedrooms, even though it took everything out of y/n to get chunhwa used to sleeping in her own bed. having zero energy left, y/n sighed as she collapsed onto the bed, johnny snorting from beside her. "get your cute ass up, we have bags to pack." he said from his seat on the floor, surrounded by clothes.

"john, i'm so tired," y/n rolled over on the bed to get closer to her husband's side, "can we not just do this tomorrow morning?" with one glance at her exhausted expression, johnny sighed as he left the clothing articles on the floor and joined y/n on the bed. he slipped an arm under her head as the other rested against her waist, rubbing small circles on her hip. y/n let out a content hum as she began to close her eyes.

johnny couldn't suppress the desire to hold her face, his warm hand leaving her hip and caressing her cheeks with his thumb. it had been so long since they had a moment where it was solely just the two of them; no work, no kids, nothing.

“you better not complain in the morning,” johnny began to pepper his wife’s face with kisses, showering her with attention. y/n's eyes fluttered open as she was about to say something to defend herself. however, her husband saw it was an opportunity to kiss her senseless. his hand moved down to cup her jaw as he slowly but deeply kissed her, making her loose all senses. y/n's fingers crushed the silk material of his shirt as she grasped onto his chest.

"the kid's are asleep," she breathed as johnny had pulled back for a moment. only for him to shift their positions, y/n was no longer on her side but lead on her back, staring up at him with full blown eyes. she fought to let out a groan as he unbuttoned his shirt off of him, only to expose his bare torso to her. within the next few seconds, johnny clambered over her again, lips attached with hers, hands trailing down her body leaving a hot burning trail in it's midst. he had nestled himself sweetly between her thighs, a position that they hadn't been in a long time. his lips began to trail down south, teeth grazing against her neck, biting at her skin every so often, before softly kissing her clothed stomach. "how about we make baby number three, hmm?" the idea of her stomach swelling with his child, had increasingly become too much for him to handle. johnny looked up at his wife, the dark look of lust dancing in his eyes. "i'll fuck you on this bed till you become pregnant with my baby," the whispers of his lewd words in y/n's ears left her biting her lip to conceal her moans, it didn't help that johnny’s wandering hands were dipped under her dress, so close to where she needed him most. he could see from her heaving chest and the desire burning in her eyes, that she needed this as badly as he did.

“come on mommy, don’t you want me to fill you up?” johnny’s fingers slipped past her soaked underwear, pressing just the tips of his fingers against her clit. the other hand squeezed the flesh of her soft breast, perfectly accommodating to the size of his palm. y/n whimpered at the sensations, red heat flushing her cheeks. “of course you do,” johnny scoffed at his wife’s face, so desperate for him, “you’re such a slut for me that you already gave me two kids.”

"i swear to god johnny seo, if you don't touch me you won't be having anymore kids," the demanding tone of y/n's voice didn't sit well with johnny’s fat ego and she knew it wouldn't, it would only rile him up. johnny aggressively smashed his lips against hers as a way to shut his wife up. there was no longer any sense of sweetness, just pure desire. he let out a small groan at the feeling of fingers brushing against his bulge, as y/n hurriedly began to unbuckle his designer belt and push his slacks down. a harsh curse was muttered under johnny’s breath as y/n groped his length.

the pair rid themselves of all articles of clothing, leaving them bare in each other’s presence and wandering hands. johnny’s lips found his partner’s once again, kissing with such intensity that he stole all her oxygen. y/n moans were swallowed by johnny as he quickly eased himself into her warm cunt. no matter how often they indulged in each other, the tightness of y/n’s cunt never differed, even after birthing his children.

slowly, johnny began to rock his hips into y/n’s, not being able to stay still in her warmth for long. “you won’t leave this bed till your pregnant, do you understand?” his demand was met with the sound of his wife moaning in agreement under him. johnny smirked, his face full of pride. he had barely touched y/n yet she was already drunk off his ministrations.

johnny knew his wife’s body like the back of his hand. he knew where to tickle to make y/n a giggling mess. he knew where the scar, from when she fell over trying to chase after him, was on her knee. he also knew where to touch to give his wife the most pleasurable orgasm, that would leave her senseless.

one hand fisted into the bedsheets to hold himself whilst johnny’s other hand rubbed small circles against y/n’s sensitive and swollen clit, her walls clenched in response to the overbearing pleasure.

“right there john,” y/n managed to mewl out, she was too afraid that if she said anything more her children might wake up. the last thing either of them wanted was for one of their kids to walk in on them.

johnny lowered himself till he was near y/n’s ear, “ah, did mommy forget what to call me?” despite her disgust at the title, johnny knew that his wife loved it, he could practically feel the effect it had on her and her throbbing walls.

“d-daddy...” y/n threw her head back at the feeling of her husband kissing along her chest, eager to leave marks in the form of multiple blooming bruises. y/n gasped at the feeling of johnny’s lips around her breast, he lightly tugged at her nipple, eliciting a cry from his wife.

the bedroom was quiet, y/n and johnny trying their best to keep their volume at a minimal level. johnny let out a guttural groan when he felt his wife’s cunt spasming around his dick. he was so close. his thrusts became sloppier before completely stilling as his cum filled the walls of flesh. exhaustion slowly began to overcome the man, soft hot breath falling between his wife’s neck.

“i hope we have another boy,” johnny’s voice was low. having no more strength, his body draped over y/n’s, crushing her under him so the poor woman couldn’t leave him, not that she ever would. y/n raked the dark locks of her husband’s soft hair between her fingers. a soft smile falling on her face when she noticed johnny leaning into her touch ever so slightly.

“what do you think about twins?”