#bumpy skin located

[incognitopolls]

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Partially from Johns Hopkins:

Macular stains or salmon patches are characterized by pink/red marks that may appear anywhere on the body and usually disappear with age. Common types:

Angel's kisses: Marks located on the forehead, nose, upper lip, and eyelids

Stork bites: Marks on the back of the neck

Hemangiomas are red patches that are often raised or bumpy. They become visible within the first few weeks or months of life and continue to grow rapidly for about 6 to 9 months. Then, they gradually lose this red color and also shrink.

Port-wine stains are flat, pink, red, or purple marks that appear at birth, often on the face, arms, and legs, and continue to grow as the child grows.

Congenital nevi (moles) can be skin-colored, brown, or black, flat or raised and small or large. They can happen anywhere on the body. Moles can also happen in adulthood, but only moles that are present at birth are considered birthmarks. Other nevi that behave like congenital nevi can appear within the first 2 years of life.

Cafe-au-lait spots are usually oval-shaped and light brown or black. Typically these fade with age.

Mongolian spots are blue or blue-gray spots on the lower back or buttocks. They are most common in babies with darker skin, like African-American or Asian babies. They can be mistaken for bruises and they usually fade with age.  

[koegama]

Hanasei

Avg. height: 1.70-2.20m | Avg. weight: 80-150 kg | Hyper-carnivores | Semi-aquatic lifestyle | Lifespan: ~120 years

Hanasei are a semi-aquatic species that originate from lakes, but expanded their settlements into rivers and other large bodies of water. They're a medium-sized biped with a hard keratin helmet where horns sprout from and a tail with large fins. Their skin is slightly damp, and can range from smooth to bumpy, that affects their transpiration and how often they must hydrate. They have both two nostrils located at their helmet and from 2 to 4 gills on both sides of their neck, of which are used for speech in land and breathing underwater, while the nostril's only function is on land respiration. Their necks are strong and well develop, and can expand or contract.

Both hands and feet have webbed fingers to facilitate swimming, but the webbing on the hands can retract for better dexterity when handling utensils. Their amphibious lifestyle left them being only decent at both types of locomotion, but their versatility makes up for it as they can comfortably transition to both environments. They're hyper-carnivores and will eat anything made of animal matter, including bones.

They are the only sexless sophont in Koegama, using Aether as a reproduction tool instead of a biological system.

More physiology dump undercut! Warning, long

Head

The common head structure of a Hanasei is somewhat flat, with a stout snout and large jaws. Proportions and shape vary per individual, and slight deviations from standard models are common. Sometimes, small barbels, whisker-like structures, will grow from their jaw and upper lip area. They give a small boon to the olfactory systems, but otherwise have no major benefits.

Horns

While the protrusions on Hanasei's heads are not anatomically horns but a different keratin appendage, horns are the most common colloquial term. Their main purpose were for fighting and a display of health and fitness to potential partners. Nowadays, most Hanasei have no real use for their horns other than decorative, but individuals may favor different horn styles compared to others.

They don't shed, growing through their infancy and plateauing around 23 to 27 years old. If a horn is broken mid-development, it will continue to grow, resulting in mismatched horns and branched protrusions depending on the type of damage. Once the horns stop growing, the blood and nerve system will shrink and be absorbed, leaving the area with no sensation and regrowth impossible. Cracks and missing pieces being a common sign of age.

Variance

Horns are very vulnerable to Aether tampering, leading to a numerous amount of styles and types to exist. Larger, more elaborate horns can make swimming more difficult, but overall the range is stable and harmless.

The presence of horns and the pair number is not affected, with 2 horns always present.

Eyes & Ears

Hanasei have good night vision, but poor eyesight in general. They can recognize the shapes around them and a few colors, but their daylight and night vision are almost the same otherwise. Their eyes can have different shapes and colors, but the effect is purely visual as their eye sensors work the same regardless of their appearance.

Hanasei don't have visible ears, but a tympanic membrane around their cheek area, which is able to pick up vibrations both in and out of water. They have great hearing, and are more aware of vibrations such as tremors and footsteps. They can voluntarily close their inner ear and stop themselves from picking up sounds, a common method for falling asleep.

Mouth

Hanasei lack teeth, using their upper jaw protrusions to hold and rip food instead. They have a powerful bite, being able to hold down things with immense pressure. Their tongues function like a catapult, with the tip facing the inside of the mouth on a resting position and launched outwards when needed, their saliva being sticky and helping trap prey inside their mouths. With cooking and more efficient methods of getting food, this isn't a common practice anymore, unless one spotted a quick snack. Unlike the other sophonts, Hanasei are still able to eat raw meat and may supplement their normal diet with bugs, fish and other easy to snag creatures in between activities.

They have very powerful and sensitive taste buds, coupled with a taste disc that lets them distinct between minute differences in food. Their mouth, just like most of their organs, tend to take the most prominent color of their Aether.

Respiratory system & Speech

Hanasei has two different systems for breathing. Outside of water, their nostrils are open and air moves through their cavity into their respiratory organs, and their gills are used for channeling sound. Air can be directed to their larynx, which is specialized for manipulating air into sound similar to vocal cords, which is only connected to the gills and not nostrils. This separate system means Hanasei can talk while breathing, and their vocalizations are very impressive, being able to mimic almost any sound they hear with practice. They can alter these sounds with the opening and closing of the larynx openings and changing how open or closed their gills are. To keep their gills from drying, the parts used for respiration often retract or close, but Hanasei in drier climates must moisturize their gills at intervals to prevent internal damage.

Underwater, their nostrils close and their gills stay open. Most of their larynx close, and filter capillaries expand to better capture oxygen diffused in the water. This makes vocalization underwater impossible, and sign language is the most common replacement. Hanasei can have 2, 3 or 4 gills on each side of their neck, and the shape of the gill can be varied, creating "accents" for each Hanasei in their relaxed voice.

They have a good olfactory system, being one of their most reliable senses. They're able to smell the humidity in the air and incoming rains and droughts. Because this uses their nostrils, they're unable to smell anything underwater.

Body

Hanasei size and builds are diverse, with individuals building muscle mass, fat and other outside factors influencing how they look. Their proportions stay consistent, with necks around the same size of their torso, short arms and elongated legs bigger than the torso itself, but deviations aren't uncommon.

Limbs

Hanasei arms start with their shoulders placed at the lower area of their torso, and stop with hands on their hips. Despite the shorter length, they have impressive arm strength and weaker Hanasei are known to rival other species' average. This makes them great at carrying things, and grabbing and holding down prey and foes. Their hands are dexterous when the webbing is retracted, but they lose a lot of maneuverability when extended.

Their legs are long and muscular, granting them an upright walk. They're not very fast, averaging 7 km/h running speed, but they have great endurance and the ability to jump high vertical distances and can pounce forward if crouched. Their muscle system can lock into a crouching stance, a comfortable stance comparable to sitting. Their feet are digitigrade but their fingers are big and wide, with a large base, keeping their body in balance and stable at the cost of mobility and grace.

Tail

Hanasei tails are long, with a vertical caudal fin that often extends beyond the base and helps them swim. This fin can regenerate when damaged, and broken or rotten tissue can lead into an entire chunk or the fin removed to speed recovery and promote an even replacement.

Fins are classified into two types, regular and segmented. Regular fins are connected into one piece, while segmented fins are broken down into various fins of different sizes and shapes, similar to fish fins. No matter the type, their shapes are kept hydrodynamic and tailored for swimming. Sometimes, the size of the base tail will also be shorter or longer than average.

Hanasei swim in two ways: a horizontal wave movement and by kicking their legs. The former is done with the help of their tail fins and is the slower of the two, but costs less energy. Hanasei will often alter the surrounding current with Aether to make this movement faster, with an average of 11 km/h. Leg kicks are less common as long term swimming and rather used for short bursts of speed and distance, and the longer one uses it the more they'll tire and may be unable to swim without resting. The peak swimming speed of Hanasei is around 20 km/h, taking leg kicks into account. As they were ambush and endurance predators, the lack of speed was not an issue for them. Depending on their fin shape, individuals may have different ways of swimming.

Aether

Their natural Aether is Nam Aether. They make use of it to help their swimming and underwater hunting, and to keep themselves damp. They tend to cast Aether from their mouths, as their Aether glands are present on their throat.

In their breeding months, their Aether start producing cells for reproduction and lose their usual abilities. This months-long limitation leads Hanasei to not be involved with using their Aether proactively or learn new skills, preferring to rely on technology to harness and utilize Aether instead.

Reproduction

Egg

To create an egg, two or more Hanasei spit out and mix their Aether together in a body of water. The resulting foam will stick together and in 3 days will develop into an egg, and one healthy Hanasei can produce enough reproductive Aether to make 200 eggs. This can only happen in the breeding period of Hanasei, usually on the 2nd and 8th month of the year. Modern Hanasei societies will instead send their reproductive Aether to the labs of the area, which will store it to create eggs with more efficient mixing machines and incubators.

The Aether inside the egg will segregate itself into larva stem cells and the nutritious yolk. After 12~14 days, the egg will be completely dry and the larva will eclode. The volatility of Aether means many larva never form or form incorrectly, and these eggs are discarded and repurposed or eaten. Only 1 in 50 eggs actually eclode, and this high rate of failure leads Hanasei to not view eggs as their young or a new generation, but more of a vessel that can fail or succeed. They have no qualms with re-purposing eggs in food, experiments or any other procedure.

Larva

Larva, often called notes, are very different from their adult counterparts. They're not considered sapient when they first hatch, but their growth is rapid and by 3 months in, they'll have the intelligence of a one year old toddler and have legs and arm stubs growing, alongside the keratin helmet and an underdeveloped nostril. This growth is fueled by a great appetite, and Hanasei larvae are omnivores and will eat almost anything they can fit in their mouths.

At the 9th month, they'll have most of their limbs developed to their young proportions, but their respiratory system will need an additional 3 months to allow for respiration outside water. Larvae at this stage will take short dips into land to push their muscles and lungs, until they no longer need to return to water to breathe.

Young

Once a larva can leave the water, they're called a young. "Young" encompasses the children and teenager years, lumped together as they no longer share any major physical differences from each other or to adults. The rest of their growth will be in size and intellect, slowing down from the quick pace of their larval years into a more normal 20 or so years to reach maturity. The main exception are horns, which only start growing around their 5th year and can take over a decade to finish growing. Smaller horns may plateau faster.

[artsyaxolotl]

Meet April's Pal of the Month... the Saltwater Lumpfish!

Aptly named for its comically round and bumpy body, the lumpfish is a native of cold northern waters. Instead of scales, it sports leathery skin. While not particularly speedy swimmers, lumpfish have a secret weapon: their pelvic fins act as a powerful suction cup, allowing them to cling tenaciously to rocks even in the roughest currents, where they find ample food.

During winter, these solitary creatures feed in colder waters, but as summer arrives, they migrate to warmer, shallower areas to breed. After the female lays her eggs, the male takes over, diligently guarding the nest until the young hatch.

Globally, Lumpfish are classified as "near threatened". The populations in some locations such as Norway and Iceland are considered healthy and stable, while those in Canada are declining. This is due to overfishing, since lumpfish and their roe are considered a delicacy in some cultures.

Members of the Ko-fi Club will get a 3in sticker and a collectible trading card!

[cripplecharacters]

hi there!! i love this blog and it's helped a lot in my self acceptance pursuit and drive to properly differentiate my characters.

i have an oc with facial scars that are left over from his first design and would like some pointers for redesigning to properly implement this facial difference. he has a scar over the bridge of his nose and one on his lip, both are from accidents related to his story, but i recognize these specific locations (and way to drawing) are overdone and not well implemented.

he does not hide his scars as he has a lot of love for himself, just not a lot of social confidence. so i'd like some help giving him a more realistic facial difference/scarring. thank you in advance! here's a pic of him for reference

Hi!

First of all, I always appreciate a fat, self loving disabled character! Very nice to see. Great drawing too, I love the flowers!

My main advice for making those scars more realistic would be by starting to think how your character moves his face (or moved it while his scars were forming and healing). The thing with scars is that they rarely grow linear, because everything around them moves. And the human face moves a ton.

For a scar on the mouth, it would probably end up following a similar pattern to aging wrinkles. That's how you can think of them here; healing scars are kind of speedrunning the same process. If your character smiles a lot they will form differently than if they frown. If his mouth opens a lot when he talks it will be stretched more than if it doesn't. I know that this is hyperspecific, but it's an interesting thing to consider I think. So, if for example he is someone who smiles a lot and smiles big - his mouth scar would be stretched horizontally on his lips to accommodate that motion, and the whole scar would follow a pattern that's closer to the nostril-corner of the mouth wrinkle rather than a straight line. And if he does the opposite, it will be tighter and more vertical.

In terms of the mouth, it is somewhat possible that he would have problem fully moving his mouth where the scar is formed. Either because of the scar itself or because of the injury affecting some nerves here. It could give him a somewhat lopsided smile (kinda what I have lol) where it's easier to move the half without the scar. But I don't think it would affect his speech or things like that.

For a nose scar, more or less the same stuff applies. If he smiles a lot or wrinkles his nose, the scar will be more stretched, especially on the sides. If he furrows his eyebrows, the scar would be more "wavy" there as well from the motion happening over and over. (Apologies, I don't have the best sight and can't tell if this is the case or not? If the scar is too low for that then ignore this lol.)

Another suggestion here: if he has a scar on his nose, then the rest of the structure felt it as well. If it was done with something sharp; soft and potentially hard tissue would be missing here and there. The area around the scar would be more "tightened", i. e. skin would be tightening around the scar because the tissue that used to be there would be lost or too damaged (or infected. But that's more complicated) to keep. I have scars like this myself, although not on my face. The scar is bumpy and sticks out, but the whole area they're in is depressed when compared to the rest of the skin. In my case this comes with nerve damage (I have no sensation around my scars, nor can I move muscles there voluntarily) but I'm not sure if that's universal.

If it was blunt trauma, his nose would probably have a different shape - presumably asymmetric, maybe bent to the side from the impact. Possibly indented. Depends on where the hit came from, really. But it's unlikely that only the skin would be affected. Potentially even some sort of skull fracture, if we're talking major force.

A few more things; if this is a result of an accident, it's not very common (although can absolutely happen!) that a scar will be this thin and flat (aka a flat-line scar). Those are generally a result of careful surgery. For an accident it's possible that it would be a hypertrophic, keloid, or contracted one as mentioned earlier. I'll say that atrophic scarring would be rather strange here but all other types are fair game. Your choice here, really.

Of course you don't have to implement everything I said here; just treat these as suggestions. As I said a lot of it will depend on other factors, so tailor it to your character!

I hope that this helped a bit!!

Mod Sasza

[fanaroff]

DP X Infection AU: Mosquito Malignance [Malignance] *More art and info beneath the cut.

Recovered Written Fenton Files — Infection Dubbed "Malignance" Estimated Start Date: Two weeks prior Status: Ongoing Threat Level: Cocked Pistol The Doctor known as "Spectra" released a swarm of mosquitoes with tainted or corrupted ectoplasm upon the town of Amity Park, located in Illinois. All known cases of infection have been lethal and incurable insofar. The mosquitoes appear ghostly in nature, even outside of the corrupted ectoplasm, and have been documented intangibly entering a victim's skin rather than biting. Infection is immediate and the removal of tainted areas (such as via amputation) has proven ineffective at stopping the disease. The infection seems to mimic perceived 'ghostly abilities' and have been nicknamed 'ghosts.' It is assumed the disease was created by Dr. Penelope Spectra and her assistant, Bertrand, illegally within their home lab. It is spreading rapidly and no one has been able to approach the lab as Dr. Spectra and her assistant (both in late stages of the infection) are haunting the entrances.

Stage One: Patient will immediately feel weak and lightheaded. There is a chance of fainting. The area of skin the mosquito enters will begin to turn green, bumpy, and rubbery. Rather than any direct pain, pins and needles or 'static' will be felt in all affected areas. Brain fog begins. They are extremely contagious from the start, touching infected areas can spread it.

Stage Two: The green affected areas will spread quicker, making an obvious path towards the heart. A faint glow starts around these areas. Patient begins to loose cognizance, forgetting where they are and what is happening. The tend to focus on one thing and obsess about it. 'Obsessions' have been useful in keeping rowdier patients corralled. Teeth and fingernails have been observed to being lengthening. Intangibility of the affected areas happens on and off. Most have been observed to only have the skin turn intangible. Multiple cases have cropped up where a patient moves an extremity while the skin is intangible and have accidentally separated the skin from their muscle and bones. Several have exhibited red bleeding into their pupils. Patients begin to try and wander about. Some float inches off of the ground. They are still able to somewhat communicate at this stage. Stage Three: Patients loose all sense of self as the infection reaches the heart. There is no longer any ability to communicate with the affected outside of leading them to specific areas and distracted them with their 'Obsessions.' Distortions and decay begin in the extremities. There pupils begin to change size and shape, normally growing larger. Any noises made are guttural and interspersed with static. Mainly aggressive but distractions can keep them content. Some drool corrupted ectoplasm. It is recommended to not interact with any dropped fluids, they are still highly contagious. Any glow begins to brighten, tongue turns green. Stage Four: Patients begin to morph and decay at high speeds. Their bodies are attempting to twist into shapes that have to do, or seem to, with apparent Obsessions. They begin to only scream in what sounds like static at this stage. Green flesh can start to drop off and expose glowing bones. Some have new bones growing through their skin. Pupils have entirely taken up the eye and are red in color with large black irises. Stretching, twisting, and drooping can occur. Patient no longer looks human in appearance. Their skin is almost fully green. Some have the ability to turn invisible and are able to pass intangibly and invisibly into the bunkers of survivors. Stage Five: Patient is fully green, teeth sharp, and fingers into claws. Bone claws have become a common sight. Their eyes are either fully red or fully black in color. Green ectoplasm is constantly leaking from orifices and wounds— The file is cut off here with one last line at the end. "My son has been infected. I must do what I can do find a cure."

I was asked by a friend to try my take at a Danny Phantom Infection Au, since they hadn't seen one in the fandom yet and neither had I. I'm basing mine off of the episode "Doctor's Disorders" when those ghostly mosquitoes cause all of the highschoolers to gain a temporary ghostly illness. Except, in this it's not so temporary and the effects are much, much worse. Most of the show does not happen in this. The 'ghosts' are not the show ghosts but the term used for those in the late stages of the disease and stuck with ghostly figures, powers, obsessions, and a continuous need to spread. They can only be distracted by "obsessions" that the infected begin to ramble about in Stage Two. Danny is infected but his exposure to ectoplasm from a young age keeps him cognizant and docile until his mother is able to create a cure from Vlad Masters, a family friend who turns out to be immune due to an incident in their college years. This 'cure' only works on those exposed who have been exposed to ectoplasm in their lives before the apocalypse. Danny, upon receiving the cure, was able to keep the powers granted to him by his infection and uses this to be able to see where invisible ghosts are as well as stop them from approaching survivors just by being in the vicinity of them. A cure is able to be developed from him for normal people that have not been exposed to ectoplasm before. This only works for those in Stage One. When someone is cured, their hair turns white and their eyes turn the same green as the ectoplasm. These people are called "Halfas." So far, story wise, only three exist.

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 13

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Explicit for references to violence. 18+   Word Count: 7.6k   Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Angst, guilt, possible unwanted pregnancy, lies, nausea/illness, talk of abortion, anxiety, canon typical injuries. Summary: Your return from New York is bumpy to say the least, and things to awry that no one ever could have predicted. Notes: This chapter is short but packed with intensity, which only means one time. I once again cried during the entire edit 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Jack taps on his thigh impatiently as he waits, the jet steadily sinking towards the ground. He had decided to come to the airstrip to collect you, especially since there had been no text from you beyond that simple text last night before you had gone out with the girls. He hadn’t expected you to stay on your phone but he had anticipated a text Goodnight. When it hadn’t come, he stayed awake, only falling asleep when he had checked your location to find you back in the hotel. There’s a feeling he gets when something’s not right, he had it the morning you disappeared. That sinking, curdling feeling in his stomach. The threat of bile in the back of his throat. That same feeling has saved his skin more times than he can count and he wonders why he has it now as the Statesman jet touches down.

The decision to cut the trip short and come back after one day had been easy, thankfully. Sophia was being called in to start a case and you weren’t feeling too jolly anyway, so the three of you had packed it in on the afternoon of the second day and come home. The last thing you expected to find when you stepped out of the plane was Jack waiting on the tarmac in the Bronco, but he’s there in all his glory making the guilt and worry churn inside you with every step you take closer to him.

You don’t look happy to see him, but Jack keeps the easy smile on his face as climbs out of the Bronco and waves to all three of you, his eyes firmly landed on you though.

“Hey.” Swallowing the bile and fear welling up in your throat, you step onto solid ground with a quick farewell to your girls and acknowledge that your plan of heading straight to Ginger’s lab is now sunk.

“Hey.” Jack watches the way that your eyes shift over towards Gabi and Sophia. “I’m not spoilin’ plans am I? The tower called and said the plane was comin’ back tonight so I wanted to make sure you got home.” The unspoken question of why you didn’t tell him you were coming home lingers in the air.

“Of course not. Nothing to spoil.” Lying to him makes you feel like you’re going to choke on each word, but how could you do anything else? How can you tell him what you’re afraid of? It’s impossible - it would ruin everything. So you force a smile and lead the way back to the Bronco on wobbly legs. “I was going to come and surprise you, but you beat me to it.”

“Hopefully it’s a good idea.” Something is wrong. There’s a nervous tremor to your voice and he doesn’t know what would put it there. “Tired from a wild trip?”

“A little.” Mostly you’re tired from your own frayed nerves, but you let him take your suitcase and get into the truck when he holds your door open a moment later. “We were out late and then up early again this morning.”

“So what you really want is a soak in the tub and the bed?” He asks, shooting you a small smirk. It’s been nearly a week since he’s touched you and he wants to desperately.

“Actually? That sounds pretty amazing.” If he thinks you’re tired - which you are, but emotionally - he might not push tonight. And you don’t want to have to deny him because Jack is still Jack and you want that intimacy with him; but you’re terrified of what might be going on with you and you won’t have an answer until you can go see Astrid.

“I’m more than willin’ to throw in a massage.” Jack climbs in beside you and the second his hand hits your thigh, you tense. Making him pause for a moment in shock. You’ve never tensed around him, not even when you were freshly recovering from your injuries.

“I think I’m still a little hungover.” Lying again makes you feel like you could burst out crying on the spot, but you know he felt the way you froze at his touch and you’re about twenty seconds away from just confessing everything. At least you’re honestly queasy - that would come with the hangover but instead it’s fear. Or the baby…who knows.

“Okay.” Jack slowly slides his hand away from your thigh, making it seem as if it’s a part of starting the Bronco and turning around, but he’s perfectly capable of doing that one handed.

The drive home is quiet – silent except for the sound of the engine and the quiet classic rock playing through the radio like usual. They’re the sounds of home, and you should be chattering away at him about your trip or deciding what to have for dinner tonight but you just feel like a lump of anxieties in that front seat with him. It’s not until the house is in view that you open your mouth again. “Sophia got called up. I—I didn’t know if you knew or not.”

“Yeah– uh,” Jack drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m going with her.”

“Wha—” You look over at him in confusion and see the set look of worry on his face. “I didn’t know you’d passed your tests. That’s—that’s great, honey. You’ve been dying to get back in the field.”

“Yeah, I finished them up yesterday.” Jack tells you awkwardly. “Didn’t seem the type of thing to text and we didn’t talk.”

“Right.” That’s your fault, and you swallow the guilt harshly. “Well…congratulations.”

“Figured I’d go out and do a field assessment on Sophia and give her a little back up.” Jack hums, wondering why you are being so stiff. “Promised Tex I’d look after her.”

“She applied for Statesman status.” Talking about friends is good. It doesn’t fuel the fire of fear in your belly the same way. “Champ probably wants your assessment before he signs the final paperwork.”

“Yeah. That’s the plan.” Jack chuckles, “the kid is worryin’ me to death about it.” He tells you. “Talkin’ about how he doesn’t want to be away from his soulmate. ‘Specially since they are talkin’ about trying for a little one. Says he’s eager to father his soulmate’s babies.” If you weren’t acting strange, it could be a segue way in to a conversation about kids for you and him. But he decides to leave it.

“O—oh, I…Soph hasn’t mentioned it.” All the attention during the trip had been on the dresses and on getting you to feel better, which was an impossible task. “Good for them,” you manage to say the words without being sick, which is better than you thought.

“Might be Tex projectin’ a little. Man wants to be a daddy.” He chuckles again and the silence falls between the two of you again as he parks the Bronco in front of the house.

That feeling of dread pulls at your now perpetually upset stomach, tearing you out of your seat and making you run in the front door as fast as humanly possible to make it to the bathroom before you’re sick all over the front walk or living room. You have no doubt that Tex does want to be a father. You had even talked about it with him at different points, from the point of view of an excited friend. Knowing that you might be the one to make it happen instead of Sophia - instead of his soulmate - has you clinging to the toilet bowl as you hear Jack’s boots rumble across the ground floor of the house.

“Sugar?” Jack frowns, hearing the obvious signs of sickness and the dread that threatens to overtake him nearly has him stuck in place. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” The tears in your eyes are easily dismissible with being sick, even as you’re choking back sobs. “Hangover.” Is your weak excuse, hoping he buys it.

Jack is a lot of things but slow ain’t one of them. He distinctly remembers the night your breasts were sore and you’ve been tired and feelin’ poorly. He’s also pretty damn good at math. Stumbling back from the downstairs bathroom, he swallows down the urge to break something or someone. “I– I’ll go run you that bath then.”

“Thanks…” The fact that he didn’t come in is a blessing, but you’re still pretty sure that you heard hurt in his voice. Some piece of shit soulmate you are…

He feels kind of sick himself, turning around and racing upstairs as he tries to rationalize the information he has. It’s hard to, though. You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant and it’s not his. He closes his eyes after he turns on the water to the tub and sighs.

You stay downstairs a while, getting yourself back under control and rinsing out your mouth before you slog up to the master bathroom with the big claw footed bathtub where Jack is sitting looking gray in the face. “Absinthe…” you shrug like it explains everything, even though you didn’t drink at all after the play. “I took the girls to a 30s bar last night…”

“Yeah.” Jack huffs a flat laugh. “I–I gotta go pack. So I’ll leave you to rest.” He pushes off the small little seat that you had told him was for a makeup area and swallows.

“When are you leaving?” Despite not exactly being ready to have a heart-to-heart with him, you so desperately want to just launch yourself into his arms and beg forgiveness. Beg that he not call off the wedding. Promise him that you have a solution. But you’re too frozen.

“I– we were going to leave tomorrow morning, but I’m going to go early.” Jack offers. “Scout the situation.”

“So you’re leaving tonight?” It’s a punch in your already roiling gut, but you nod.

He isn’t. He’s going to go sit in his office and try not to drive himself crazy. But he can’t stay near you and not ask questions. “Yeah.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?” You can’t ask him where he’s going, or why, or anything about the mission, but a general time frame could be helpful. It would let you know how long you have to recover.

“Not sure. Week, maybe more.” Jack shrugs, not looking directly at you. “Sorry, sugar, but I know you won’t even notice I’m gone. You got the restaurant to baby and –” he chokes on his choice of words and coughs to cover it up. “You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss me.”

“That’s not true.” As riddled with fear and anxiety and guilt and everything else as you are, you’re all of those things because you love him. And because you really don’t go a single minute of any day without thinking about him. “Of course I’ll miss you.”

“It’s– it’ll be okay.” It’s more towards himself than you but he manages a small smile. “I promise.”

“Do you at least want me to make dinner?” There’s a scrambling in your thoughts that you can’t account for. He’s slipping away, you can feel it, but you have a plan to fix it. You just need to put it in motion.

“Nah, sugar.” Jack shakes his head, knowing he can’t eat right now. “You aren’t feelin’ good. You relax. I’ll be packed up and out of your hair in a jiffy.”

“Okay.” Something about him is off but you can’t put your finger on it. He just seems jittery. Hopefully it’s just you projecting or your imagination. Jack is already out in the hall by the time you murmur, “I love you,” and you sigh heavily before you start to undress.

In the closet, Jack closes his eyes and tries to remind himself to breathe. He had caused this. He had pushed you away and caused you to date. Because of his unwillingness to admit your connection. It was his fault you are pregnant with a child that isn’t his.

Once you’re in the tub you can hear him moving around in the adjoining closet, packing things and presumably going about his business as normal. The jasmine-scented bath he drew for you is as cozy as it could possibly get, and any other time you would have begged him to join you. There would have been candles and music and glasses of something smooth and heady to drink while you lazily rode him right here in this tub. And the fact that you’re not doing that right now has you staring silently at your silver-painted toenails when you finally hear him in the hallway again.

“Sugar, I’m all packed.” For some reason, he can’t go into the bathroom. Not when you’re vulnerable. He calls out through the closed door. “I’m gunna head out.”

“O–okay.” You know that any other time, you would just pop out of the bath and run into the hallway, but you can’t. You’re rooted to porcelain and fresh tears start falling immediately. “I love you,” you manage, this time loud enough for him to hear.

Jack closes his eyes, leaning against the door frame with his arm braced above his head as his forehead is against the jam. “I love you too, sugar.” He murmurs, the affirmation coming through low but clear. It’s almost ominous, a goodbye. “Be good.” He sighs and pushes away from the door, the bag hooked over his shoulder as he turns and walks away.

The fall of boot steps and the closing of the front door make your volatile stomach drop all over again, and you reach for your phone after wiping your hands on a towel. You need this over with. To Astrid, you type out as vague a message as you can just in case she shows it to Gabi or asks her if anything happened on the trip: “Hey honey! I don’t want to interrupt your night, but would you be able to put aside time for me to stop by the lab in the morning? I’d like to ask your opinion on something. Thanks!”

The text comes back only seconds later. "I've always got time for you. Drop by anytime in the morning and we can have some coffee together."

******

You have to force yourself to wait, the next morning. It was impossible to sleep through the worry and without Jack there, and you blew through an entire novel overnight before showering, putting on clean clothes, and getting yourself out the door to the lab. The door swishes open dramatically but you still knock on the frame, holding two cups from the Statesman cafeteria when you cautiously step inside. Yours is chamomile tea for the seemingly endless nausea, but hers is that quad shot almond milk mocha latte that she loves so much. “Morning,” you murmur quietly when she looks up.

"Hi." Gabi had said that you had been acting strangely, and the slightly wane, waxy set to your face shows that you have been dealing with things. "How are you feeling?" She accepts the cup and takes a sip as she watches you closely.

“Not great.” That’s a fucking understatement, but at least it’s honest. “I need to ask you for a favor, Astrid. Two favors, really. But I need to ask you to keep this entirely between us. Not even Gabi or Jack can ever know.”

Frowning, she pushes her glasses up further on her face, taking this as a more 'business than pleasure' visit. "You have my word and discretion." She promises. "Are you hurt? Did you have a flashback from your visit to New York?"

“No.” Sitting down on the other side of her desk, your hands cradle your cup of tea until they get too jittery and you have to set it down in front of you. Astrid is your friend. She’s Jack’s friend. And now you’re asking her to put the longer-running of the two relationships aside. It’s enough to bring fresh tears, which you breathe away steadily. “I think…” Another shaky exhale has you look down at your hands when you can’t look her in the eyes. “I think I might be…pregnant.” You tell her quietly.

"Oh!" At first the sound is happy, until she reads the moment and slumps back in her chair when the wave of melancholy hits. "Ooohhh." She bites her lip, understanding that with the timing of this, you are not happy. How could you be? The probability of knowing you were pregnant with Jack's child are statistically very low. She sets her coffee down and reaches out to touch your hand. "First thing’s first." She murmurs quietly. "If you are, it will be okay." She assures you quietly.

“No. It won’t.” It should be so comforting to have her reach out, but instead you feel like the act of familiarity is a burn. You jerk away awkwardly before slumping forward again. “The last time I had my period was the week before I slept with Tex. That was months ago. There’s…there’s no way it could be Jack’s and I—I—” If you could get through even a sentence without crying it would be a miracle, but even when you practiced it at home it was impossible. “I know there’s a tiny chance. I just…if I am…is there a way to find out whose it is?”

"Yes there is." Astrid nods, her heart breaking for you, with you, over this. "Would you–" she pauses. "It would take only a few hours in the chamber." She tells you quietly. "If you didn't want to–"

“If it’s not Jack’s, I can’t.” Grateful that you’re not the one who had to say it, you still shudder at the reality of the situation. “What are the alternatives, really? Have Tex’s baby? Have your brother’s baby? I—I don’t— I don’t even think I could live with myself, and Jack sure as fuck would not still marry me, soulmate or otherwise.” It all comes tumbling out, the fears and anxieties, and you find yourself scratching viciously at your arms again as your breathing goes shallow – another panic attack bubbling out of your throat at the thought of losing Jack for any reason.

“I don’t think he would go that far.” Astrid tells you quietly. Would Jack be devastated? Oh yes he would. But he’s also a man who accepts mistakes because he’s made plenty of his own. Especially where you are concerned.

“I need to know, Astrid.” As quiet as your voice is, at least it’s determined. “Because I can’t do that to Jack.”

“We can find that out quick enough.” She promises, patting your hand and standing up. “Why don’t you go get undressed and put on a gown.” She offers, motioning towards the table in the corner.

“Thank you.” It feels like walking to your own death sentence as you disappear to change and sit down on the exam table on the far side of the lab. The thing is…you have to know. You have to. And that’s enough to make you sick all over again.

Astrid keeps her emotions in check and moves efficiently as she prepares for the exam. The machine will do most of it. She moves over and touches your shoulder. “Lay back, okay?”

“Okay.” The best you can do is to remind yourself to breathe, but even that is hard right now.

As soon as you lay back, Astrid presses a button on her table and a line of laser light starts scanning over your body. “Hold still.” She urges when you twitch. “It won’t hurt.”

Presumably the laser doesn’t care if you continue to shed a few anxious tears, but you keep the rest of your body still as it travels. Whatever comes next, you just have to promise yourself that you’ll handle it before Jack comes home. That everything will be done by the time Jack comes home.

Ginger’s face doesn’t give anything away as she studies the tablet, punching the screen with her fingers and she looks up. “There’s going to be a needle for a quick blood draw.” She tells you, not wanting you to be upset if you aren’t expecting it.

“Okay.” Whatever she needs to do, that’s what is going to happen. Right now it just matters that you keep breathing.

The needle is small and the amount of blood taken even smaller. Just enough to run the labs and confirm what she can already see. You wince but you don’t say anything and when the machine moves away, she gravitates towards you. “Let’s get you redressed and then we can talk.” She murmurs softly.

“Okay.” The word passes your lips one more time and you lift yourself up from the table to shaky legs. Frankly it’s a miracle you’re as functional as you are, and you step back behind the partition to put your clothes on silently.

She triple checks the test and when you come back around the small partition, there is a small cup of pills waiting for you. “Here.” She offers.

“What are these?” It doesn’t really matter. You’ll take them no matter what. But if she’s giving you pills to end an unwanted pregnancy, you at least want to observe the moment with some seriousness.

“Some vitamins. Your vitamin B and C levels are low. A Valium to help you relax and sleep.”

“H-how long will the blood work take?” Everything at Statesman - and everything in this lab - is state of the art, but that doesn’t mean knowledge is magical or instant. You take the pills that Astrid is holding out to you and brace yourself for however long she might say you have to wait.

“I’ve got the results back.” She assures you softly, smiling at you. “The blood work and the ultrasound tell me that you are not pregnant.”

For a second you just stare at her. You were convinced. You were sure that you had ruined the very best thing in your life. And now that it isn’t true, the relief you feel punches through you like some kind of Eldritch horror. “You’re—” The tears are different this time, still hot and angry when they come down your face in sheets, but now you’re only angry at yourself for ruining the last few days with the people you love. “You’re sure?” You ask, hiccuping between great, bulbous tears.

“Your womb is clear, there’s no evidence of an ectopic pregnancy. Your hCG levels are low, no chance of pregnancy. I ran the test three times to confirm. You are not pregnant.” She promises, turning the screen around so you can see the ultrasound of your stomach and the test results.

“So I was just…sick?” The screen she shows you is like a perversely high tech version of the ultrasound information you remember from going to the doctor with your sister years ago, so you have some vague notion of what you would see if the test was positive. This, though? This is perfectly normal. Like your body has never even heard of the concept of a baby in the first place. The hand that instinctively moves to cover your stomach goes there out of disbelief, and you lay back on the table with a tight sigh.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress and –” Astrid shakes her head and sighs softly, berating herself. “Sometimes with the healing of traumatic injuries, the side effects of the hyperbaric chamber can be….odd.” She explains. “I thought Jack told you.”

“He did.” He had been very careful to warn you, in fact. “But we just thought my side effect was how tired I was that week.”

“Your body is vastly different from Jack's, especially considering his injury was brain trauma.” Ginger rationalizes. “Yours was more physically manifested and it makes sense that your reproductive cycle has been thrown off.”

“Stress and healing.” All you can do is accept it, especially when the alternative is…alarming. After spending 48 hours panicking about the possibilities, are you really…upset that the answer wasn’t a little month-old fetus genetically encoded with Jack’s soft, coffee-colored eyes and adorable single dimple? Honestly? You really might be…

Ginger’s eyes are quizzical, tilting her head at the riot of emotions crossing your face. “Are you– disappointed?”

“I—don’t know,” you admit softly, staring up at the ceiling so that you don’t have to see the concern on her face.

“It has to be confusing.” She pats your shoulder again. “I know that you have been stressed. I don’t want you going in today. Take the day and relax.”

“Doctor’s orders.” Right now you just want to go home and get back in that bath that Jack had drawn for you yesterday. Pretend like last night had never happened and crawl into his arms in bed. But he’s back out in the field and you’re…you’ve never felt more alone than you do right now, which is not how you expected to feel at all. But that isn’t the fault of the woman next to you. “I…thank you, Astrid. I just need to get my head on straight. But…thank you for helping me.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” She doesn’t hesitate to pull you in for what she thinks is a much needed hug. Knowing that you must have felt so scared and alone. No wonder why you had suddenly withdrawn if you had thought you were pregnant. “Anytime.”

“Hopefully not for this reason.” You sigh out, hugging her back fiercely. “Not until it’s happy anticipation and Jack is back here with me.”

“Did Jack know?” She asks curiously. “Is that why he slept in his office last night?”

“He—?” The panic is back without hesitation, choking you and making you feel dizzy. “He told me he was leaving early to—” Oh god. You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined it anyway. “No one knew.”

She winces, cursing herself for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. “I’m sure– they left really early.” She supplies hastily. “Maybe he didn’t want to bother you. Since you weren’t feeling good.”

“Maybe.” That isn’t it, and both of you know it. There isn’t a chance in hell that Jack wouldn’t have just slipped silently out of bed early this morning if things had been normal. This is your fault. You must have been acting stranger than you thought, and he’s an especially perceptive man to begin with.

“They should be back in just a day or so.” Ginger reasons quietly, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to talk to Jack herself before he gets back. “It’s a quick op.”

“But—” You catch yourself and nod. Astrid doesn’t need to know that Jack said it would be a week. That your relationship with your soulmate is crumbling before it ever gets off the ground. Instead you stand up from the table and accept another hug. “Thanks,” you murmur quietly. “Again. For everything.”

“Of course.” She tightens her grip on you and pulls back to give you an encouraging smile. “Go get some rest and everything will be normal when you wake up.”

******

It’s after dark when you wake up again, disheveled in one of Jack’s t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that should probably have been replaced years ago. You’re hungry, which is usually a good sign, so you throw on a cardigan and trudge downstairs in search of food — only to come face-to-face with Diana walking in the front door as quietly as a church mouse. “Di?” Maybe she was coming to check on you? That is perfectly in keeping with her personality, after all. Universal mom friend.

“Hey.” She tries for a smile but it falters, the worry shining through her face is way too obvious to hide. “I need you to sit down, sweetheart.” The slight tremble in her voice makes her words waver.

“What’s wrong?” When your stomach flips this time, you at least know it isn’t from an act of your own stupidity, but it unnerves you all the same. Diana looks pale and you take the last two steps quickly to reach her side. “Di, what happened?”

She guides you over to the couch, aware that you might collapse if you are standing up. Especially since Ginger had indicated you weren’t feeling the best. “Jack is– he’s been hurt.” She tries to break the news gently but there is never a good way to say this. “He’s – they have him stable but it’s serious.”

The first reaction you have, before anything else, is to insist that she’s wrong. Jack is a good agent and he’s with Sophia and there’s no way that could happen. But her face is so serious, lined with anxiety and uncertainty. “Where?” You ask, when you can finally swallow past the fear forming in your gut. “Where is he?”

"He's on a chopper, about an hour out." Diana swallows harshly, trying to tamp down her own fear in order to be here for you.

“How serious is serious?” You’re already up again and walking to the door to slip into a pair of shoes, ready to go wherever you need to be. If the last thing you ever say to Jack was a weak declaration of love through a closed door, you’ll never fucking forgive yourself.

"They've almost lost him twice on the way here." Diana stands and quickly rushes over towards you. "But as soon as Ginger gets him into the chamber, he will be alright."

“What the hell happened?” Your purse is sitting by the door like always, and you grab it without even a second thought. Heart racing, blood pounding, and stomach threatening to revolt is how you went to the lab this morning, and it’s how you’re going again tonight.

"I'm not exactly sure. He was shot. It ruptured his spleen and he had fallen when he was hit so there is internal bleeding." Diana doesn't have much information, but she's willing to tell you what she knows.

“But Ginger can help him.” It’s not a question, as the two of you bolt outside and into Diana’s car. Your mind is racing, but instead of devolving into desperate sadness you feel like you’ve hit some kind of problem-solving mode.

“She’s going to do everything she can.” Diana promises, cranking the engine and throwing the car into reverse. “You know Ginger.”

“He…left early last night, Di.” There’s nothing for you to do while she drives but sit there, and you fidget in your seat. “I was distant when I came home from New York and he slept in his office last night before they shipped out.”

“Did you have a fight?” She could have sworn everything was good between you.

“Not exactly.” It was all just so uncomfortable, and now you’re facing the reality of Jack coming back hurt and you can’t stand it. “Things have been off lately and it’s my fault, but I—I can’t let that be the last time we see each other.”

“Is it because you’re pregnant and the baby isn’t Jack’s?” Diana asks quietly.

“How did—” You stare at her from the passenger seat, jaw almost unhinged, and sigh. Did Jack put your symptoms together just like you did and assume just like you did? “I’m not…just…for the record…I went to Astrid this morning…”

“Jack came by the house last night.” Diana admits quietly, looking over at you. “He wanted to talk to Champ.”

“I haven’t been myself lately, and I was feeling sick,” you begin, feeling like you need to explain yourself. “I added it all up while I was in New York and thought I might be pregnant. He—he must have done the same math. But Astrid said I’m absolutely not, and it must have been the healing from my incident that threw my body out of whack.”

“You don’t need to explain to me, sweetheart.” Diana assures you, giving you a soft smile. “Jack asked Champ – well, he asked him how quickly he accepted Bobby as his own, if it was hard on him.” She bites her lip. “Bobby isn’t Champ’s biological son. He adopted him at birth. I was pregnant when we met.”

“What?” This is definitely new information to you, especially since you had always thought that Bobby looked like the perfect mix of his parents. “I—I mean—I had no idea.”

“It’s not something that many people know.” Diana admits. “Roger admittedly looked similar to Champ. So thankfully there’s never been any questions from strangers. He unfortunately never knew that he was going to be a father before Bobby’s biological dad died. Car accident.”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s a lot of information to take in, but you do your best to wrap your head around it as Diana parks in her designated space outside the main Statesman building and the two of you jump out to go up to the lab. “So…I don’t…Jack wanted to talk to him? About—about accepting Bobby?” It’s such a gut punch on top of all the things you’ve already dealt with over the last few days, to think that Jack was trying to figure out how to support you when you had feared he would call everything off instead.

“Jack admitted that he thought you might be pregnant and that it would be way too soon in your relationship for it to be his child.” Diana had excused herself to make some tea and let the men have their talk, but Jack hadn’t been trying to hide the conversation. “And he didn’t want to lose you over it. Said it was his own damn fault if it was the case and it damn sure wouldn’t be the kid’s fault.”

“I was so sure he’d hate me.” You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried today, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Crying over this makes sense. “That Sophia would hate me, or Tex, or even everyone, for making their lives more complicated…”

“It would be complicated.” She won’t deny that. “But if you had been pregnant, that baby would have just had two sets of parents.”

“But now he’s hurt.” That familiar feeling of panic is right under the surface, but you swallow it down as the elevator shuts to bring you both upstairs. “And the last thing that happened between us was awkwardness. I—he—I didn’t even kiss him goodbye, Di.”

“You’ll kiss him hello.” Diana tells you with a certainty she doesn’t exactly feel but she needs you to believe. “And kiss him every time he leaves the room from now on.”

There’s a fear there that’s too great to acknowledge, but you nod and follow her out of the elevator when it reaches the floor that the lab is on. You can’t bring yourself to ask out loud what the machine might do to him this time. He’d come out of it an admittedly different man last time, and when you were healed by it, it had turned your body around on itself. Who knows what effect it might have on Jack tonight, and that is terrifying to think about.

Diana keeps a tight hold on your hand as the lab doors open and Ginger, along with several of her assistants, rush around to get things ready. The screen overhead is on, displaying the camera from the helicopter medic’s helmet. Jack is laying on a gurney, his shirt and jacket cut from his body and his normally golden skin gray, blood covering his torso.

“Oh god…” Instinctively clutching Diana’s hand tighter, you stay out of the way of the bustling medics but keep your eyes glued to the screen. He looks like he’s been ripped open from the side and you have the heaviest instinct of violence you’ve ever felt in your life. Whoever did this to your soulmate had better hope you never find them. You may not be a trained Statesman agent, but you’re certain in this moment that it wouldn’t matter. You’d tear them limb from limb and turn them into dinner.

“BP dropping!” The medic’s staticky voice comes over the speakers. “There’s another fucking bleed somewhere!”

“Diana…” The grip you have on her hand is unforgiving while you watch the monitor, but she squeezes yours back. “Please tell me that they got the guy that did this to him.”

“Sophia got them.” The camera twists as the medic reaches for something from the bag and you get a view of the other agent, sitting along the wall and looking worried, covered in blood. Jack’s blood.

“Fuck…” Sophia looks terrified as she sits on the other side of the stretcher, and you can’t stop yourself from instinctively reaching out even knowing they can’t see you and it won’t make any difference. That’s your friend and your soulmate in that chopper, and the only thing you can do is stand here. “There has to be something I can do,” you murmur, not knowing if anyone even hears. Not knowing if it’s even true.

“Nothing right now.” She knows how helpless you feel. “Just pray right now. Even if you don’t believe, pray.”

The two of you stay sitting in a corner, watching the feed from the camera on board the helicopter. They manage to stabilize Jack again but don’t seem confident about it, and it’s a full half hour before that camera shows the team landing on the Statesman helipad on the roof of the building so they can bring him inside.

When the team bursts through the doors with Jack, Sophia is hot on their heels. Immediately rushing over to you when she sees you spring to your feet. “I’m so sorry!” She cries. “I– I don’t know what the hell happened. He was perfectly fine one moment and then he was–” she gestures towards the gurney.

“You got the guy, right?” Whatever happened, you can’t rewind and undo it now, so when you look Sophia in the eyes that is the one thing you want to know. “The person who hurt Jack is dead?”

“Yes.” Her jaw clenches and she nods seriously. “He’s dead.”

“Good.” The team of medics is swarming Jack right now and you will not get in their way, so you hug Sophia close for just a few comforting seconds. The tears are mighty at this point - seeing him in person feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest. “Thank you for getting him home.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything less.” Sophia had probably saved his life, if it were told completely. If he had been alone, Jack would have bled to death before the team could have gotten there.

“Thank you.” It’s too much to think about what might have happened if Sophia hadn’t been with him. That’s not something you can swallow right now. You just hug her again instead. “I’m sure you have work to do. I’m going to stay with him.”

She nods reluctantly. “I have to clean up and report to Champ.” She squeezes you tight. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be right here.” Under no circumstances would you go anywhere else. Not while Jack was fighting for his life.

Sophia can understand that. If it were Tex, she would be right there in your shoes. “Tex is headed in to sit with you.”

“Thank you.” There isn’t a whole lot else you can say without tumbling into anxiety, and frankly you’re terrified enough as it is. The comfort of friends sounds like a miracle. She squeezes your hand and turns around to quickly walk through the doors to go up to Champ’s office.

It isn't until Jack is fitted into the biometric pod and Ginger has his vitals stabilized that she lets you come closer, putting two chairs beside him for you and Tex. He had come in with water and snacks, warning you that worry is draining and that he was promising to sit up with you as long as it takes.

Diana stays off to the side with Ginger but she walks over to you and touches your shoulder after the first hour. "I am going back to the restaurant. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of it all."

"Thanks, Di." Honestly you hadn't even looked at a clock since waking up and had no clue what time it was, so it seems a little shocking that the restaurant is even open. All you knew was it was after dark and you had been asleep. It could have been 3 a.m. and you wouldn't have known the difference. "I'm not–I can't leave him."

"Of course you can't." Diana huffs as if the mere idea is offensive. "If anyone has an issue with that, they can deal with me." She knows that none of your staff will argue, they will worry about Jack if they know. However, the civilian staff is normally kept in the dark concerning these matters. "I'll bring some dinner back later." She promises, leaning down and dropping a kiss on your head before leaving.

At a certain point, there isn't a lot you can do besides sit. You're wide awake beside Jack, sitting in silence with Tex as you both watch the monitors around your wounded warrior buzz and beep and flash every few seconds. It's a noisy room for the heavy weight of what's going on, busy despite the fact that no one is scurrying around any longer.

"It's different this time." Tex offers quietly, shuffling in his chair beside you and stretching his long legs in front of him. "He's got somethin' to live for. He fought death the last time and he didn't even have you. He'll pull through."

You huff softly, watching Jack's face as he sleeps in the biometrically-induced coma that is healing his body. "I don't know," you admit, feeling the way your jaw wobbles at the admission. "He's...we...last night was tense before he left."

"Hell, everyone, every relationship has tense days." Tex doesn't know the details, but it can't be that bad. "He knows you love him, he loves you."

"He, um..." The fact is, this concerns the man beside you as much as it concerns anyone else. This is Jack's emotional little brother. Your best friend's soulmate. Your friend. You swallow the guilt and the nerves, and you glance at Tex beside you with trepidation. There was a time barely twelve hours ago that you were resolved for him never to know. Now it feels dishonest to leave anything unsaid. "He thinks I'm pregnant," you murmur, knowing that the only person who could overhear you is Ginger and she's the one who ran the tests. "I'm not. But he thinks I could be..."

"Then he's got everything to live for." Tex lit up for a moment, happy for his friend even if he relaxed slightly when you told him that you're not pregnant. He knows Jack would be disappointed, but he would probably make a joke about being happy to practice some more. He's never seen Jack wanting kids, but it's got to be interesting.

"Not...not really." You glance back at him briefly before refocusing on Jack, deciding that this will be infinitely easier if you're not actually looking at Tex when you say it. "The thing is...because of the timing...he thinks...and even I thought...that it could be...well, yours."

He's silent for a minute. More than a minute, actually. Stunned into silence before he opens his mouth. "But....you're not." He says slowly, clarifying.

"No." The worry in his voice tells you everything it needs to. That if that baby had been real, it would have torn apart the fabric of your friendships just like you thought. "Ginger did the test this morning."

"I'm sorry that you've been going through this." Tex starts and then he hums. "I– did you start thinking you were when you were in New York? Sophia texted me and said she was worried about you."

"Yeah." There's just no way to hide how embarrassed you are, so you just sit there and watch Jack, not letting your eyes waver again. That's your whole life right there on that bed, and you don't know what the hell you'll do if he doesn't wake up. "Yeah, I...I did. Ginger says the pod must have thrown off my system after the kidnapping. It was just a fluke. The symptoms lined up but it was just a coincidence."

He sighs and reaches over to take your hand. It's not meant to be a romantic gesture. Rather, one of comfort. "I want you to know that no matter what, you have people who care about you. We are all a big, dysfunctional family." He jokes quietly. "If you had been, we would have...made it work."

"I wasn't going to keep it," you blurt out, clutching his hand for just the speck of comfort it provides. "I asked Ginger if she could find out. I didn't–" It's so much to hold on to, and you had isolated yourself so much that when it comes out of you it sort of just explodes everywhere. "I couldn't do that to all of you. I couldn't destroy our family and I just kind of panicked and shut down at the dress shop and I could barely even look at Jack when I came home. I couldn't look at him, or kiss him, or barely even talk to him and now he's this and if he doesn't wake up I don't think I could ever forgive myself."

"He's going to wake up." Tex promises you, a slightly desperate undercurrent to his voice. "He has to." His thoughts about you not keeping a baby, he keeps to himself. There's no way he could say what he would do under those circumstances, so he can't judge you.

"He has to." If he doesn't – if you lose the best thing in your life – then anything else around you is just noise. None of it matters.

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[lily-drake]

The Demon's Queen

Chapter Sixteen

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“You remember what you’re supposed to do,” Rajani asked stoically as she stared out the windshield.

“Yes,” Marinette responded, though she was in the trunk of the car with her hands cuffed behind her back.  The earpiece was masked to match her exact skin color so that no one would be able to see it when they brought her in.  She hated it in the humid trunk, the way she couldn’t control her body as the car rode on the bumpy gravel.  The way the shorts and tank top scratched uncomfortably at her skin.  The way the heat and darkness seemed to crush her with only its existence, sweat dripping off her like waves plastering her hair to her face and back.  

But it would only be for a little longer.  The first chance she got she’d be out of here.  She’d escape The League of Assassins grasp, or she’d die.

The car came to a sudden stop and that was Marinette’s cue to close her eyes and go limp as if she were unconscious.  The voices outside were muffled, and she had to hold back a flinch when the click of the trunk echoed around her and the blazing sun hit her directly.

Even though she could now clearly hear them, she still couldn’t understand a word they said.  They spoke in rapid Portuguese, and the only thing she knew was that they were talking about how much she’d cost them.  It made her sick.

Only a few minutes later she was hoisted onto someone’s shoulder, left to simply dangle there as the person moved her to the next location.  Left, 20 paces forward, right, 10 paces forward, left, left, 30 paces forwards, stop.

The dangle of keys echoed in the near silent room, the opposite of when she was first brought in where there were noises and voices echoed at every corner.  

The whir of something heavy sounded behind her before the loud scrape of a door screeched open menacingly.  The quiet cries of children whispered against her ears before she was dumped unceremoniously onto the cold concrete floor where she continued to lay limp.

The man now behind her scoffed, poking at her back with his foot until she was flat in her stomach.  A feeling of dread creeped through her system, but she forced down the shutter of fear, ignoring the feeling of bile climbing up her throat.  Finally the man’s footsteps retreated, and the sound of the door closing and the lock snapping back into place felt like the bells of Heaven.  She waited a few moments longer, counting down from one hundred like she’d been told.

Opening her eyes she was surprised to see just how many kids there were.  Many were in cages scattered all around the floor while some were chained to the wall.  Kids from all nationalities were scattered, all around the room in no specific order.  Some stared blankly at the wall, eyes glazed over and void.  Others kept their eyes closed, tears streaming down their cheeks.  Only a few looked over at her with eyes full of shame, pity, fear, and only a few with hope.

The need to vomit intensifies, but she swallowed it down the best she could.  She was going to save all of these kids before she left, nothing like this would ever happen to any of them again.  Taking a deep breath she whispered, “I’m in position.  I have eyes on all of the kids and am waiting for your signal.”

“Copy.”

Marinette took in the room once more.  Was this going on in Paris and she just hadn’t noticed?  How many of these children were kids that should have been under her protection?  Would she have been able to stop this with her miraculous alone?  

No.

She needed to focus, she couldn’t start spiraling now.  Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a pair of lockpicks from her secret pocket in her shirt and made quick work of her cuffs and slipped them into her hidden pocket.  Ruta had made d* sure that she would be able to get out nearly any restraint and use them as her own weapon.  

On silent feet she made her way to the front of the room where a young child who couldn’t be older than 7 sat in a small kennel with a padlock closed on the front.  The small girl stared at her with wide red-rimmed, hazel eyes.  Her dark brown hair was cut into a ruff pixie cut.  Her clothes were skimpy where she was only wearing short-shorts and a training bra.  Bruises were scattered all around her body and Marinette could see the small child’s ribs peaking out from her tanned skin.

Swallowing back her own sob, Marinette got to work unlocking the cage.  The small click echoed throughout the room and when the girl went to speak Marinette held a finger to her mouth.  The child quickly closed her mouth and nodded.  “I need you to stay in here for just a little longer, when you hear me shout I want you to follow me.  Can you do that?”  She asked the girl, praying she understood as she was speaking in English.  The girl gave another nod, the broken look in her eye being replaced with fiery defiance.  

Marinette quickly moved on to the next child repeating what she said and attempting to mime out her words when the kids didn’t understand her words.  

There were so many though, and she had only gotten a quarter of the way through when Rajani’s voice spoke through her earpiece.  “You almost done Khata?”

“There are more kids than anticipated, I may need an extra hand if available,” she asked as she removed yet another lock from a cage.  There was no noise over the comm, but she could almost feel the disdain they felt for her through it. 

“ETA 5 minutes,” Rajani finally responded.

“Why would the League of Assassins even care for the safety of kids anyways, this feels more like a Justice League scenario.”  Marinette grumbled to herself, narrowing her eyes as she failed to open a lock and had to restart.

“Our Demon’s Head had left an anonymous tip to the JLA.  They thought the prevention of Venom from reaching Star CIty’s shores was more important.”  Hossam answered bitterly, disdain dripping from his words like poison. 

“Yea right, they have hundreds of heroes, I’m sure if he really sent a tip someone would have come.”  She bit back, sighing when the lock finally snapped open.

“Believe what you want Khata, but we only speak the truth.”  Rajani whispered from behind her, causing Marinette to jump and throw a punch at her.  The woman gracefully ducked out of the way with practiced ease.  

“Good reflexes, but your spatial awareness needs to be improved.”  She reported as she looked around the room with narrowed eyes.  Marinette wanted to bite back, but she held her tongue and moved on after telling the child to stay in place until her signal.  

“All of the targets are in position,” Hosaam reported.

“All of the traps are laid,” Azrael confirmed immediately after.

“Nearly done here, only a few more kids left,” Rajani informed.  With her help they only had a fourth of the room left.  “Activate the sleeper gas and slowly mix in the Nitrogen.  We should be out of here by the time the first person falls.” 

“Roger.”

After another 20 minutes all of the cages were unlocked and all the kids cuffed to the walls were free, all anxiously waiting for the promised signal.  The air was electric with anticipation, and the fear of failing any of these kids now that they were so close weighed heavily on Marinette’s shoulders.

“Something’s wrong.”  Hosaam reported, tension thick in his voice.  

Marinette and Rajani looked at the other quickly before Rajani answered back, “Report.”

“More men are arriving, and they’re not buyers.  I think someone sensed that something was wrong and called in more security.  And I heard that the Leader of this whole operation will no longer be present.”

“Al’ama!”  Rajani cursed.  “I sealed every entrance and exit except for our escape route, so that should buy us some time.  Here’s the plan.  Azrael and Hosaam, put on your rebreathers.  I want both of you to start taking out any man or woman inside that you’re able to without causing a mass panic.  I’ll join you on the ground floor.  Khata, you are to take the children to the garage where a semi-truck will be waiting.  Load the kids into it and wait for us there.”  Rajani pulled out a dagger and shoved it into Marinette’s hands along with a spare rebreather.  Placing her own over her face before hopping onto the tops of cages and leaping into the ventilation system.

This was her chance!  But first she needed to get the kids to safety.  Placing two of her fingers in her mouth she let out a loud, high pitched whistle catching everyone’s attention.  “It’s time to follow me!”  She shouted pulling open one of the kids doors.  As soon as the words escaped her mouth the room was in chaos.  The sound of metal doors being thrown open, cages being tossed around, and the cries of children echoed through the room like a twisted orchestra.  She tried to gain the kids attention, to get them to follow her, but she was shorter than many of the kids and was almost lost in the sea of them as they moved.

“Follow me!”  She yelled as loudly as she could, running towards the entrance where Rajani had already unlocked the door.  Following the blueprints she had memorized in her mind she led them all toward the garage which was located only a few halls down from the room they were held in.  But she noticed many of the kids went down different halls and passages, determined to find their own escape.  She needed to get them back, but she needed to get the others to safety first.  

When they reached the truck the back was already open and she watched as many of the kids stared at it with hesitation and/or horror.  “I need all of you to get in.  I promise you that you will be safe!  I won’t let anything happen to you.”  The older kids scoffed at her looking back into the hall behind them and wondering if they too should have found their own way out.  The smaller kids listened to her without hesitation, loading into the large space despite their discomfort.  

“Please, I swear to you that I am only here to help you escape.”  Hesitantly, the others got in as well, going as far back as they could to hide in the shadows.  Once all of the kids that had followed her were all loaded in she looked back at the hall.  Then she looked behind her where the moon was shining just outside.  Fields of overgrown, yellowed grass littered the side road, and the call of the warm winter’s night begged her to run for it.  If she left now, she would be free, she could begin her escape.  The others were busy, they wouldn’t know until it’s too late.

She was about to take a step towards the tantalizing embrace of the outside when a child’s scream echoed through her.  She turned towards the doorway and without thinking she ran back into the corridors of the warehouse.  There were still others she needed to save first.

Turning a corner she saw a large burly man standing in front of a group of children, back to her.  “You filth of the Earth.”  He growled in rough accented English.  There was a gun strapped to his side, but he hadn’t pulled it out yet.  Marinette watched in horror as he picked up one of the girls by her hair, lifting her above the ground as she cried out in anguish.  

Marinette could only hear her blood pounding in her ears, the small girl's screams, man’s laughter and mocking jests.  She could only feel the burning in her gut, the roughness of the blade’s hilt digging into her palm, her feet platened and ready to strike.  She could only see red.  

The man began to reach for his pistol, leaving him entirely exposed for an attack, and that’s what she did.  Without another thought she jumped, bringing her knife down into the man’s spine, severing vertebrae until he collapsed, entirely paralyzed from the neck down.  

Marinette stared at the man as he screamed, phantom pain wracking his body as he began to bleed out.  Marinette stared at the limp body, red pooling at her feet and covering her hands.  Horror and sickness warred for control of her body, ripping the air out of her lungs as the metallic scent of blood reached her nose.  The man was still breathing, but for how long?  She hadn’t meant to kill him, but she needed to protect the kids.  

But part of her was relieved.  The kids were safe now.  Never again would he ever be able to harm any of these children again.  Looking up from the body she looked at the kids huddled together, eyes wide in fear, but safe.  Falling back into her old Ladybug mindset she put everything that wasn’t the kids on the back burner.  Nothing except removing them from this situation mattered.  She could fix this later.  She’d call on her lucky charm and fix all of this once she was done and sure that everyone was safe.

Scooping up the child the brute had been hurting—ignoring the red she smeared on the child’s clothes and face—she demanded that the others follow her, and they did without another word.  She quickly deposited them into the truck with the others before going back out to rescue the rest. 

The halls echoed with the screams of men and women, the banging of doors bounced off the walls as the reinforcements tried to find access into the warehouse.  Marintte’s heart reverberated through her body, making the rushing of blood sound like a river to her ears.  She needed to find the rest of the kids!

“There are loose kids running around the area, what is going on Khata,” Azrael growled through the earpiece.  Marinette was surprised she hadn’t heard any gunfire yet, but relieved knowing that even a single blast could set the whole building aflame.

“Rounding up the stragglers now.  Some ran while I was leading them to the escape vehicle.”  The only response she received was a low grunt.  

Turning a sharp corner, Marinette found another group of kids on their knees coughing.  The gas.  They were going to get themselves killed.  “Grab each other's wrists and follow me if you want to get out of here alive,” she ordered, grabbing the wrist of the kid closest to her first.  Once she made sure they were all secure she hefted the kids back onto their legs and ran back to the truck jumping over and ignoring the limp bodies of grown men in their path as she pulled them through the door and pointed toward the truck before going back out.

Marientte’s lungs were burning, but she ignored it.  She still had her mask securely in place, but there was only so much it could filter out after a certain amount of time.

Bang.

Marinette stood stock still, listening.  The sound of footsteps echoed around the building and Marinette knew that reinforcements had finally breached the building.  They didn’t have much time left, they needed to get out of here now if they wanted to make it out alive.

Marinette traversed the halls once more on silent feet, tension lining her shoulders as she peeked over corners, throwing her dagger at any unsuspecting man or woman who stood in her way.

“I found a group of kids and led them to the point.  From the sounds of it we were only missing two more then we can head out.  We’re not leaving any of them behind,” Rajani barked and received affirmatives from the others.  Marinette nearly tripped over herself, she truly hadn’t expected these assassins to care that much over the life of a few kids.  She believed that they would fight purely for their survival or the lives of the many over the few.  But to risk their lives for all of them, it just didn’t seem like a plausible belief to come from these kinds of people.

After another turn Marinette found herself in the middle of the warehouse.  The space was littered with bodies, gun pieces and ammunition littering floor as blood painted it red.  Marinette wished she could make herself feel sick, to at least mourn, but she had seen such similar situations before in Paris that she automatically compartmentalized it in search of the akumatized object the children.  A loud cry could be heard from the floor above and Marinette rushed up the steps, throwing open the doors to a room only to see Hosaam kneeling in front of one of the kids, holding his own gas mask against their faces.

“It’ll be alright.  Follow that woman and I promise that you will be safe.  No one will be able to harm you like this ever again,” he murmured, voice smoothed in a gentle timber.  It was another shock to her system.  She watched as Hosaam picked up one of the kids–the same girl she had rescued first–in his arms while pushing the second towards her.  But she didn’t have time to think about the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs.  

“You two have tails, I can’t hold them all off, so get ready for a fight and make sure none of them open fire.  There’s too much gas in the air,” Azrael reported.

“I’ll be waiting inside the transport for all of you.  As soon as the last two kids are loaded we run,” Rajani confirmed.

“Copy,” Marinette breathed, hosting the weak child onto her back as she peaked out the door toward the railing.  Men had flooded the stair and were blocking any exit on all sides, and if she tried to run for it with a hop of the banister there was a high chance they would shoot and kill everyone.  Looking over at Hosaam she watched as he calmly removed a small device from a hidden pocket in his jacket and rolled towards the group before shutting the door completely.  Marinette couldn’t see what happened next, but the echoing of gunfire echoed off the walls with a sickening bang. 

Marinette felt the entire building shudder and Marinette wondered if this was how she died.  “We must hurry,” Hosaam ushered.  Marinette opened her eyes–when had she closed them–to see that they were completely fine.

“W-what happened?  How are we still alive?!”  Marinette gasped, her heart hammering in her chest.

“I’m what you may know as a meta-human.  I have the ability to create protective shields around those I choose.”  And without another word, Hosaam opened the door and ran out of the room with Marinette following only a few moments later.  The room was now in chaos, bodies scorching with the scent of burning flesh.  It reminded her of her battle with Vatra.  They had the ability to create volcanoes at will and cause whoever got in their way to combust into flames if he made eye contact with them (Marinette hadn’t been able to eat meat for nearly a year after that).

Bang.

The sound reverberates around her followed by the clatter of a gun onto the floor as another man dies.  But it’s not followed by some explosion.  Instead it’s followed by burning so intense that she can’t stop the scream of agony from escaping her lips.  Reality comes crashing down around her.  

She’s not Ladybug, she’s not a magical suit that can protect her from anything and everything, she can’t fix this once it's over.  But even with the burning, she’s still moving with the adrenaline coursing through her system.

“Alqarf!”  She hears from beside her.  Hosaam, was running beside her now, staring at the wound in her side as red flowed out of the wound like a waterfall.

“Agent wounded, prepare for on field surgery,” Hosaam reported stiffly, rounding a corner.  She looked down at the child she was holding, the child that was starting to feel far too heavy with how light they actually were.  Her blood was starting to soak into their clothes as well, but they stayed silent, tucking their head against her shoulder as she ran.

Marinette nearly collapsed when she saw the semi-truck.  Her head felt fuzzy and her body heavy.  Suddenly the weight was taken out of her hands, and her body was floating in the air.  Voices echoed around her, but she couldn’t make anything out.  Something was pushing her down, keeping her in place as burning liquid was poured onto her side.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a bullet wound,” she heard someone say from above her, but she couldn’t tell who.  The world was still blurry.

“How much longer until we get to the rendezvous point?”

“Another 15 minutes.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have released the shield.”

“Next time you know not to make the same mistake again.”

“Thankfu- ‘ust- ‘raze.”  

Marintte had pricked herself with a needle countless times before, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of whatever was poking at and pulling her side.  She was fairly certain that she blacked out from the pain, as the next thing she knew she was waking up in air surrounded by gray metal walls.

When she tried to sit up, she couldn’t stop the hiss that escaped her lips before falling back onto the seats she was laid against.

“Ah yes, the joy of one’s first bullet wound.  I remember mine like it was yesterday.”  Marinette looked over at the far too chipper voice to see Rajani without any face coverings.  She was a rather attractive woman, with caramel skin and close cropped curled black hair.  The only thing mauring her smooth skin being a four inch scar that trails straight down from her eyelid to her cheek.

“That was a close one Khata.  You did better than any of us were expecting though, so there’s that,” she continued casually, her hazel eyes boring into Marinette’s blue.  Marinette didn’t answer, her head still reeling.

Rajani didn’t continue the conversation, instead turning away to sharpen her knives.  The scraping of metal on metal only fed her pounding headache as her mind replayed everything that had happened.

She had killed people.  And she can’t bring them back.  She can’t bring them back.  She’s a murder.  Before she could even process it, she turned her body to the side, vomit spilling from her lips.  Rajani scrunched up her nose, but didn’t comment, just continued her chore.

What had she done?

It felt like only minutes had passed, but it must have been hours as the next thing she knew they had landed back into the mountain base they had first left from.  They were back, and Marinette hadn’t escaped and she hadn’t died.

Holding onto her side, Marinette limped off the plane, surprised when only Hossam stopped as Rajani and Azael continued forward–faces concealed once more.

“Hop on my back Khata, it would not be ideal for your stitches to tear now,” he said stoically.  Mariente looked at him as if he had just grown a second head.  It made no sense to her that he was treating her with any form of respect or human decency when all the three of them had ever been to her was cruel and mocking. It must have been some sort of sick joke.

But he just waited for her, eyes looking off into the distance.  The memory of him showing the child tenderness and compassion.  “Why’d you do it?”

“Why did I do what, Khata?  You can’t expect me to read your mind.”

“Why’d you give the girl your mask?  You could have died. I figured you would value your life more than some random kids.”

Hosaam was silent for a moment, his face impassive as he stared at the snowy mountain top.

“I was trafficked as a child once before.  One day, I was able to gain the advantage and kill my abuser.  It was Maha who had found me on the streets, hiding from the man’s friends.  She offered me power, the ability to make sure no one hurt me again, and to stop those who tried to hurt others the same way.  I took it.”  Finally he turned to look at her, the only thing she was able to make out was his amber eyes.

“We are not monsters here.  We are the shadows that haunt those who create injustice, and nothing more.  Now will you trust me?”  Marinette stared at him, biting her lip as she thought.  With a short sigh–and a sharp pain from her side–she agreed, allowing him to maneuver her so that she was straddling his back, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

When they arrived back at the base she almost expected to see the grounds covered in other ninja training, but it was empty save for Rajani, Azrael, Maha, and the boy.  She most definitely had not been expecting him to rush over to her and Hosaam when they entered the grounds.

“Set her down, now,” he ordered, eyes dark.  Hossam didn’t hesitate, setting Marinette back on her feet before joining the others.  “What happened,” he demanded, noticing the way she kept her weight off her right side.

Marinette bit her tongue not wanting to give anything away to him.  

“Show me where you’re hurt,” he barked, eyes scanning her body almost…worriedly, but that’s ridiculous.  He probably doesn’t actually care, he just wants to make sure his prize isn’t permanently broken.

Slowly Marinette lifted her shirt to show him her stitched up side where the bullet had grazed her.  “As you can see I’m fine.”

Damian glared at the wound, cursing the person who had hurt her.  If they weren’t already dead he would make sure that they paid dearly.  His stomach was boiling with rage and regret.  He had a feeling that something like this would happen if he wasn’t there, and he was right.  He should have listened to his gut, and now she was hurt.  

From the short report he had gotten from two of Maha’s Jackels she did well.  The wound wasn’t her fault, and she had not failed.  No one could look down on her–and thus him–for not being good enough. No one could question his decision at this moment, and for now that’s all that mattered.  But the longer he stared at the wound the more weight he felt in his chest.  

He felt responsible, which was stupid.  He hadn’t been the one to shoot the gun.  He wasn’t the direct reason she was hurt.  But for whatever reason, it weighed like he had all the same.

“Report to Tomoe at once.  Do whatever she prescribes.”  And with that he turned away, retreating back into his rooms.

Marinette watched his retreating back curiously.  While his face had remained impassive the entire encounter, his eyes seemed to be at war.  It made no sense.  She was simply imagining things, after all her head still felt fuzzy from the blood loss.  Sighing, she looked around to see that she was now the only one left on the grounds besides the guards in their respective watchtowers.  

With one last look at the outside world, she headed back into the base and down to where Tomoe was waiting for her in the infirmary.

Next

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[justjams2003]

Indiana Jones Blurb

Okay so this is just s quick little blurb bc I've recently become obsessed with him. Not spell checked or anything. Tell me if y'all would read more Indiana Jones 😜

Time travel! He's the first person to have recorded time travel! And just look! Ancient hundred year old war machines, tactics, languages, things he'd been studying his whole life! Things that he'd spend his much younger days searching for in dusty dry lands, in dark caves or even wet rat filled locations. But now, here it all is, in it's prime out in the open on green grass under blue skies. And the cherry on top, he reached Nasser before those damn Nazi's could.

"Kind Sir, you have saved my people and brought knowledge with that has sped up my research for years. How can I repay you?" Nasser confronts Indiana in his ancient and he answers without a single thought. "Can you give me one more visit through time before I go back?" His old hands shake as he begs. The mathematician examines the clock in his hands. And then nods. "I repay the man who has given me more time, with time. Where to?"

It's a swift, smooth blur, much different than the incredibly bumpy plane ride the first time. And much, much more quiet. The first thing he hears is your voice, begging his own father to stay awake. He remembers this like it was yesterday. He'd just confessed his love to you the first time, believing he would die in the three quests to the holy grail. But as selfish as he was back then, he didn't wait for a reply.

Then, he sees you hunched over his dying father. Covered in dust and your skin the same golden colour he used to be. Now in his old age one of his many regrets was not having you both wear more sunscreen. "Psst! Doll face!" He whispers his nickname for you, and by some force of the universe, you're the only one who raises their head. "I need some fresh air..." You mumble and once again the damn Nazi's let you, knowing you wouldn't run off.

He's hiding by some rocks, but your souls are attracted to the other and you find him almost instantly. You're just like he remembers you. How he wished he spent more time focused on you instead of old gold and pottery. Because that there is always more of, but of you there never will be. "Indy?" Your voice is like sweet melodies to his ears. His past and present collides in one cruel bang as he pulls you as close as he can.

He holds you tight as he can, you're utterly confused. Not only by his presence but also by the sheer force he holds you. As if he's lost you a million times over. "Indy? No...not my Indiana." He laughs at your confusion, trying to drink up every single bit of you. Your smell, your voice, the crinkle between your brows and your warm smile. "Always so clever, doll face." Your nose scrunches up and the crinkle between your brows grows, but before you can say anymore, he interrupts you.

"I don't have much time to explain, but-" You can see tears form in his eyes. His hands are shaking and he still refuses to let you go. "But I need you to break my heart. I need you to leave me and never come back. Please-" his voice cracks, and he shudders, trying to keep himself composed to finish his request. "Please I can't handle the hurt anymore." You can see just how much he is struggling. How much he wants to break down in your arms. And you reply by pulling him tighter. He smells much different. There is no longer that lingering scent of leather and gunpowder. But his warmth is still the same, your body still fits in his the same.

"I'm not there anymore, am I?" All he does is shake his head, you know he wants to cry. "How long has it been? Without me, I mean." He shudders again, grabbing your shirt and clenching it. "Six years. It was-" you stop him, "And you still love me?" Again, he just nods. "Then why do you want to get rid of me?" Now the flood gates open, while you just stand there as his support. "Because if I don't love you, then I won't hurt anymore. Please, please I can't do this anymore. I can't live without you."

You push him off you. "No. No I won't do it, you senile old man. Over my dead body." His eyes hold so much pain, so much fear, you know what he really wants, is to get rid of the pain and have you back. "I won't mess with time. And I won't break the heart of the man I love. Not because he's become a wuss in his old age." This causes him to laugh, he misses that spark so much. "I love you, Indy. Please don't grow cold because of it." Your words strike him, deeper than any bullet, whip or knife. Is this really how he wants to spend his last moments with you?

He laughs again, and pulls you close, placing a kiss on your forehead. "Don't ever change. And keep that reckless boy in check." You laugh, and wrap your arms around him. You still can't make your arms all the way around him. "I will, you know that. And I love you, I hope you know that too."

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Recall - Part 1

A LONG F*CKING DAY

A/N: Howdy, friends! I am SO excited to kick this one off. This story has been in the works for a little over a year, and after spinning it around in my head like a rotisserie chicken, I am VERY pleased to say that it is finally Yee Haw Time. I have posted four short (the longest one is under 3k words) “teasers” leading up to this series, and they should probably be read along with it to get the full effect. They can be found on the series masterlist. This one is definitely going to be a bumpy ride, but I hope if you choose to read along you will find it worth the twists and drops. It is set during the events of Kingsman: Golden Circle, and that’s the last thing I’ll say about that. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: language, violence, gunshot wound, mild smuts, lots of angst, Jack Daniels himself. 

Summary: When Jack is shot on a mission with two Kingsman Agents, he’s treated with Alpha-Gel and rushed immediately back to the lab at Statesman HQ - where you, Ginger’s lead research assistant, wait to assess and reverse the damage. For Ginger and Champ and the other Agents, things like this are all just part of the job. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated. 

It had been a long day. 

No, that’s putting it too damn lightly. You pressed your thumb to the pad near the handle of your front door. The reader scanned your print, a thin blue line of light moving across it to identify the loops and whorls as your unique set. Letting out a sigh as the device beeped, you keyed in the code and heard the lock click as it opened. Today was batshit insane. 

A welcome rush of cool air greeted you as you stepped inside, and you let your heavy eyelids fall shut as you exhaled. You were tired and stretched thin and still in shock from the day’s turn of events. But at least it’s not hot in here. You slipped the shoes from your feet, stepping first on the heel of your left and pulling it free of the ankle boots you wore. Repeating the action with your socked foot on your right heel, you kicked them aside. They tumbled to join the small collection of footwear near the front door of your apartment, the three-tiered rack full of sneakers and sandals and other styles you hardly ever wore. 

Sighing heavily, you hung your keys and ID tag on the peg next to the light switch and flicked it on. The empty room came fully into view then and you gasped. Locking on to the mirror on the far wall, you nearly mistook your own reflection for an intruder. The skin under your exhausted eyes was puffy and swollen, the bottom lids rimmed red from rubbing at them. Your hair was a mess, the bun you’d had it secured in now loose and hanging low at the nape of your neck. Several pieces stuck out all over from the habit you’d formed of scratching your scalp with the end of your pen when the answer to a problem you were trying to solve continued to evade you. Wrinkled, untucked, and worn for going on 36 hours, your clothing only added to your general unkempt appearance, the look of utter deflation that was written all over you. 

Fuck, I look...

Closing your eyes, you released a slow breath through your nose and swallowed the chunky block of emotion threatening to rise into your throat. No wonder Ginger said what she did. You looked like absolute shit, but you were the farthest thing from surprised about that fact given the events of the last day and a half and everything that had gone wrong. Oh, Jack. His face flashed behind your clamped lids then as though you needed the reminder of just how close of a call it had actually been, and you shuddered, glad that you still had a hand on the wall near the light switch to help steady yourself.

He almost… he could’ve…

You didn’t know how to finish that thought, though, because the truth was that technically he had died. There was no almost about it. Luckily, the younger of the two Kingsman Agents Jack had been out with was quick-thinking enough to locate and use Jack’s Alpha-Gel, despite not having received the training that Statesman Agents did on how to do so, and it had been applied rapidly enough to start reversing the damage immediately. But the fact of the matter was that he’d been shot. In the head. At point blank range. And even with the advanced healing technology available at Statesman, there were never any guarantees that an Agent would wake up. 

He will this time, though. And that’s all that matters. 

For now that had to be enough. You reminded yourself that he was out of the worst of it now - that he would live and that if all went well, he’d regain his memory and would be back to the man you knew in a shockingly short amount of time. Ginger had started running the Recall program - something she would only do if all of his vitals were stable - right before all but ordering you out of the lab and back to your apartment. 

“I… I can’t leave him alone like this, Ginger.” There was no need to pretend that your desire to stay by his side had anything to do with research this time. Your study on the effects of the nanites and the way they knit brain cells back together had already been completed and submitted to Champ for review. But more than that, Ginger knew how you felt about Jack. “I’ll just-“ Your eyes scanned the room and landed on one of the empty bays, the cranial device lifted away so that it was essentially just a bed. “I can sleep here and-“ 

“No.” She shook her head, her short hair swaying above the collar of her white coat, her decision firm. The expression she wore was gentle and sympathetic though, as she reached for your shoulders with both hands. “Gonna put my foot down on this one. You’re running on fumes, Maraschino. Between the extra hours you put in when Tequila went down and all of this?” She gestured vaguely at the lab. “You’ve done all you can tonight.” But- She sighed, lightly squeezing your upper arms before dropping her hands to her sides. “I’m sorry. But you need to get some real sleep. And some food and maybe a shower.” 

You nodded, your attention shifting from her eyes and falling behind her, where Jack lay motionless. The sight made your whole chest ache, made your breath shudder. It was bad enough knowing what had happened to him, what he’d suffered physically to put him there. But unlike the last time you observed him undergoing the Recall procedure, this time you knew what his trigger image was. This time you knew exactly what was waiting for him when he woke up - the soul shredding loss of his wife and the son he never got to meet. 

And you knew not because you had gained access to his file through higher clearance. You knew because Jack had told you. 

“He shouldn’t be alone.” Your voice - thin from exhaustion and tremulous with worry - was hardly audible when you spoke, and at first you weren’t sure if you had actually said the words aloud. 

“He won’t be.” Ginger shook her head again, the motion smaller and slower this time. “I’ll stay. I haven’t been here for two straight days like you have. Besides, I have some files from Merlin to go over. I can do that here and keep an eye on Whiskey.” 

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but as long as he wouldn’t be left alone in the cold, dark lab, nothing but his own worst memory to keep him company, you agreed. Not that you had any say in the matter. Ginger hardly ever pulled rank on you, but you knew she was only seconds away from doing it then if you made it necessary. Licking your lips, you swallowed and finally brought your eyes back up to meet hers. 

“If I’m not back, will you call me before you wake him up? I… I want to be there.” 

She gave you a nod and a soft smile. “Of course I will.” 

Glancing down, you turned your wrist to check your watch, where you had set a countdown for the time left on Jack’s program. You had to blink the bleariness from your eyes to read it, the green-blue numbers seeming to shake against the dark screen before they sharpened enough for you to make them out. 

6:38:23 REMAINING

You stared at the seconds, watching the digits change as you let out a breath, and then dropped your arm back to your side. Okay. Moving on autopilot, you bypassed the kitchen and headed straight for the bathroom. Though you hadn’t had a real meal in over twenty four hours, you had absolutely no appetite. I can grab a protein shake on my way back to the lab. It would be easier to stomach than something solid, or at least that’s what you told yourself. I just need a shower. And some sleep. 

At the very least, you knew one of those things was possible.

Avoiding the bathroom mirror so you wouldn’t make eye contact with yourself again, you reached for the faucet and turned the hot water on. Wisps of steam billowed out over the top of the glass enclosure, the air in the room warming as you stripped your clothes off and left them in a heap on the floor. Reaching behind your neck, you undid the clasp on your necklace - the only piece of jewelry you ever wore to work aside from your comm watch - and coiled it in the little white dish on the counter. The shink of the chain and then the plunk of the pearls strung along it as they hit the ceramic were sounds that normally started to set your body at ease, especially when mixed with the rhythmic rainfall of the water. It was routine, something you did every night as you wound down and readied yourself for rest. 

That night, though, you hardly heard them. 

Regardless, you moved on with your process, stepping into the shower and pulling the door shut behind you. For several minutes you simply stood under the spray, eyes closed as the water soaked your scalp and skin, running down your spine and dripping from the ends of your hair to roll over your shoulders and chest. The steam in the air made it slightly easier to breathe than it had been for the past few hours, and you took a few full, deep breaths, bringing your hands up to your head and pushing your palms back over your hair. Fuck. A sob fell from your lips and you didn’t try to keep another from following it. You needed to cry, to let everything out that you’d been holding in since the call came into HQ that there was an Agent down. As a Statesman medical research tech you couldn’t let emotions get in the way of your work, no matter how you felt about the man currently convalescing in Recall bay two. But off the clock you were beholden only to your heart and the way it clenched painfully with worry and fear. 

Oh, fuck, Jack, you have to be okay.  

The thing between the two of you wasn’t exactly new, but it had been becoming more and more serious over the past few months. What had started as harmless - if not a bit shameless - flirting had given way to a mutual interest and attraction that sparked a flame from the very first time he cupped your cheek with his large palm and kissed you. It had grown since then, the two of you sharing your bodies and giving each other small pieces of your stories at a time. 

It had grown enough for you to know that you loved him. But those words had yet to make it from your lips to his ear. In that moment, all you wanted was the chance to tell him, even if he wasn’t ready to hear it yet. 

Finishing your shower, you toweled off and brushed your teeth before dragging yourself out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. Changing into a set of sleep shorts and a loose tee, you finally climbed into your bed and peeled back the sheets to slip between them. The fabric was cool as it fell over your legs, and you let yourself sink into the mattress and pillows. 

But as you lay there in the dark, desperate for a few hours of respite from the emotions and adrenaline, all you could think of was the last time he was there between those sheets with you - and how maybe he was ready to hear those words. You rolled to your side and stared at the empty space beside you, letting your memory take you back to that night.

Eyes still closed, he blew out a breath as your fingers traveled into his hair. “Hot damn, darlin’, that feels incredible.” 

You couldn’t help the smirk that dragged its way across your lips at the change in his voice. Humming, you lowered yourself completely until your chest was pressed to his. “See what happens when you’re not rushing to put your boots back on, cowboy?” 

The boots in question still lay where he’d kicked them off, discarded on the other side of the room along with his jacket and the belt with the hefty silver buckle that you’d relieved him of hours earlier. From there, a trail of leather, denim, corduroy and suede, his clothing and yours, led to the bed where the two of you were tangled. It was longer than he had ever stayed with you, typically needing to rush off to a meeting whether virtual or in person. Once or twice he’d even had to leave quickly on a classified mission. Today though it seemed neither were calling him, and while you tried not to think anything of it, it was hard with the way he was reacting to such an innocent, casual touch. Swiping the tips of your fingers over his temples again, your smirk became a full on grin as you watched the muscles of his throat work down his swallow. 

It could be like this all the time, Jack. 

His large, rough hands slid over your skin, following the contour of your spine. “Seems I’m gonna need to find a better way to juggle my demanding schedule so that we can find ourselves in this particular situation with more frequency.” He took one hand from your body to lift your chin, the other settling at the small of your back, and found your eyes with his. “What’dyou think?” 

You felt your heart stop and laying that close you knew he felt it, too. Not fair. It was all you’d wanted for months now, ever since that one time had turned into many, many more. But you knew where he stood on taking things anywhere past sleeping together. “I fell in love once, darlin’, and I’m still deep down in it.” That’s what he’d told you when you’d first started this thing, and you knew better than to press him on it. You didn’t press yourself on it either, fooling yourself into believing that you wouldn’t love the way his boots looked on your bedroom floor. Or the way his scent clung to your sheets. 

But I do. 

Pushing that from your mind, you recovered and answered him. “I think it’s worth a shot, Whiskey.” 

He had asked you not to call him Jack in bed, and though at first you flinched each time you were forced to use his code name in lieu of his real one, you’d quickly gotten used to the condition. But this time when you did, you saw his eyes narrow, a look you thought was close to disappointment flashing in them before they widened and brightened again. What? Why did- You cut your own thoughts short then as your fingers found a small divot just beyond his hairline, slightly above his ear. Huh? What’s that? 

“Hey… D’you have a scar here?” You ran your fingers through his hair again, spreading the thick dark locks so you could get a closer look at what you’d found. Funny, I never felt that before… don’t think it’s in his chart, either. There was definitely a circular indentation there, though it looked old, completely healed over, and suddenly you were overcome with the notion that you were likely the only living person aside from Jack himself who knew it was there. 

He chuckled through a lazy smile. “You tell me, gorgeous. By now I’ve lost track of ‘em all.” Before you could ask him what he meant by that, he tightened his hold on you and flipped you over so that you were under him. The gasp that the quick reversal made you draw slipped out in a sigh as he settled his weight down on you. “You wanna see if you can find another one?” 

Yes. You wanted to know all that you could about him, because there was so much that he couldn’t share with you. You had worked within the Statesman organization for years before your path crossed his, so you understood the need for all of the closely guarded “company secrets”. As a senior Agent, Whiskey had access to information that would make most people’s heads spin and you knew that. 

Hell half of what I know would make people’s heads spin. 

The point was, you knew enough to know that what you didn’t know about his work- the details of his missions, the meetings- was for the best. It was safer that way, for you, for him, the other Agents, everyone. Your job was to assist Ginger in the lab, helping to ensure that Agents were always receiving the most cutting edge, top of the line treatments and care. Your clearance level was only as high as it needed to be, and you were fine with that. 

What you wanted to know about Jack had nothing to do with what made him a great Agent, and everything to do with the things you knew he could share with you but chose not to. 

I just want to… 

You knew about the woman he’d loved and lost, that she’d been carrying his child when she was taken from him. You knew that the cluster of three aster flowers tattooed over his left pectoral were in memory of the family they never got to be. Your heart shattered when he’d shared that part of his past with you, and ever since he had you could see it in his eyes; a deep sadness that swirled just beneath the surface. He never told you anything more about her, never gave you anything else about the incident and you respected him enough not to ask. You looked up at the man, his face hovering inches from your own, and threaded the fingers that were still buried in his hair around to the back of his head, flexing them to tighten your grasp. He groaned, like you knew he would, and his eyes darkened, erasing the sadness. 

I just want to make it easier for you, Jack. 

“No,” you finally answered him regarding a hunt for more scars on his body, even though you were fairly sure you’d just located another divot at the base of his skull with your pointer finger. “I can think of better ways to spend our time, J-“ 

Fuck. 

He cut you off then, kissing you before you could either finish his name or correct yourself. His hips dropped over yours as his tongue parted your lips, and the sound you made was one of complete shock at how intense his kiss was. You knew he had heard you almost slip. But instead of making him pull away like it had once or twice in the beginning, it seemed to spur him on. 

Interesting…Are you changing the rules on me, Daniels? 

Your thoughts were broken up as he brought his left hand to the side of your face, simultaneously tilting your head for a better angle and dragging the pad of his thumb over the rounded top of your cheek. His right hand traveled slowly up from your waist to your ribs. You responded to his touch by rolling your hips up into his while you pressed his bare back down on top of you. Still kissing him, you smiled against his lips at the tickle of his mustache near the corners of your mouth. Using that as his invitation, he slipped his tongue through your grin and licked a breathy moan out of you.

God, I could kiss him forever. 

He continued to kiss you for a few seconds longer, the movements of his lips slow and intentional, but Jack was the one to pull away first. He didn’t put any distance between your bodies, though, shifting only enough so that he could look at you - and at what he was doing. The hand that was on your ribs moved to where the chain of your necklace lay pooled against the center of your chest. Rolling one of the pearls between his rope-roughened fingers, he pulled away from your lips and gazed down at you with nothing but mischief in his eyes. 

“Wanna see somethin’.” He mumbled, maneuvering the small white orb in his grasp. “Hold still.” 

Pinching the pearl, he brought it over to your left breast, the chain uncoiling over your skin. Carefully, he set the gem on the peak of your nipple, pressing only enough to keep it in place with his pointer finger. “What are you-” Your question never made it out of your mouth though, and your eyes snapped down to your own chest to watch. 

Your breaths became more ragged as he dragged and rolled the pearl over your pebbled flesh, the delicate links in the chain brushing over the sensitive bud to make you suck in a gasp. He used the pearl to draw a series of circles both tight and close to your nipple as well as looser ones that extended out to the soft swell of your breast, and then let it go, the chain going slack against your body. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what that would look like for too long.” He brought his eyes up to yours again, that devilish curiosity still present in them. “Better than my wildest dreams.” 

You hummed. “Felt amazing, Whisk-” Throwing your head back suddenly, eyes shut, you sucked in a breath that instantly came back out in a moan as he brought his hand down between your bodies to slide two fingers into you. 

Oh, fuck.  

Curling his fingers, he leaned down and kissed you again. Hard. “Use my name.” But his growl was whisper soft against your lips as he unfurled his thick fingers inside of you, pushing deeper. “Please, darlin’. Wanna hear you say it.” 

You whimpered at the need in his voice as he said the word please, twisting his wrist so that his thumb could plead at your body, too. “Feels good, Jack.” You sighed, heat blooming simultaneously in your chest and lower belly at the moan he let out when he heard you say his name. 

You had been crying without realizing it, salty tracks running down your freshly cleaned cheeks to dampen your pillowcase. Eventually the tears stopped and you felt yourself finally give over to sleep, body feeling heavy and thick as you were pulled under. Stretching your hand out over the sheets beside you, you closed your eyes and let one final thought echo through your mind. 

I love you, Jack. 

–  –  –

The sound that woke you wasn’t the alarm that you had synchronized with the Recall program - it was a message alert. 

What? Did I miss the alarm? Is he-

Blinking rapidly as you inhaled deeply through your nose, you sat up and looked down at your comm watch. Your heart pounded and your head felt fuzzy and it took you more than a few blinks to focus your vision, eyes blurry after crying yourself to sleep. When you did, you saw that the countdown was still ticking away, and while it was close to done, you hadn’t missed anything. 

1:18:03 REMAINING 

Just below it on the display screen, though, another text box popped up just as your phone chimed on your nightstand, signaling a new message. 

GINGER ALE: MARASCHINO - GET BACK TO THE LAB ASAP - SOMETHING IS WRONG. 

No. You felt your throat tighten, trapping your heart inside of it as you read the words. No, no, no. Scrambling to free your legs from the sheets, you swung them down and over the side of the bed. No, Jack. You stood, your shaking hand flying out to turn on the light and blast your room with brightness that your eyes weren’t ready for. You were glad you hadn’t eaten anything when you got home, because the wave of nausea you felt then surely would have made you sick. 

No. He has to be alright. 

Licking your lips, you read Ginger’s message again, trying to calm your panic enough so that you could get yourself dressed and back to the lab as quickly as possible. What does it actually say? There were no codes used - Code White for when a reset didn’t take, Code Blue for when it did but only partially, Code Red for when an Agent was in critical distress. She didn’t… she didn’t use a code though, so… You took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. So it’s… whatever’s wrong, it’s not… 

He wasn’t dying. His reset hadn’t failed. If your countdown was correct - which it was - he wasn’t even awake yet. You allowed yourself to take what relief you could from those facts. But it was fleeting comfort when you realized what Ginger’s lack of code usage actually meant. Whatever the problem was, it was one that had never been encountered before. You would be completely in the dark. 

You reached for your phone, responding to Ginger’s message to say that you were getting dressed and would be back down to the lab as quickly as possible. Crossing the room in three brisk strides, you opened your closet and threw on the first pair of pants - a dark chocolate brown pair - and top - a light beige button up blouse - before heading for the bathroom. Fingers already gathering your hair at the nape of your neck as you moved, you used one hand to twist it into a bun, the other grabbing for the elastic on the counter that you’d taken out of your hair earlier, securing it again.

Arms coming down to your sides, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Good enough. You were about to turn away and make your way out to the front hall, but your eyes, wide and alert despite only getting about four hours of sleep, caught on the gold chain that was coiled in the dish next to the faucet. The memory that had played out before came back in flashes - the way the delicate piece of jewelry looked and felt in Jack’s hands, the way that since that night, whenever he saw you wearing it, he always made it a point to touch one of the pearls. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the chain and clasped it around your neck, tucking the length of it beneath the lapels of your shirt. Alright. Time to go. 

As you leaned against the wall to shove your feet back into your boots and take your ID badge down from the peg, you blew out a breath. It had been a long fucking day. And it still wasn’t over. But all you cared about was the man laying in bay two, and getting back to him in time to help Ginger figure out what the fuck was wrong before the problem got worse. You could sleep later, when he was back on his feet and calling you darlin’ again. When he was healthy and safe and out of the woods. The panel next to your door beeped and the lock engaged with a click as you shut it behind yourself. 

I’m coming, Jack. Hold on, I’m coming. 

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[ohwynne]

TIMING: 22 October , 2023 PARTIES: The Leviathan, Emilio @mortemoppetere, Lil @the-lil-exorcist, Regan @kadavernagh, Teddy @eldritchaccident & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: The Protherian commune base. SUMMARY: The gang goes to kill a demon. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death, sibling death.

Wynne didn’t have a lot of experience with road trips they could compare to this one, but even so they had a feeling this was a bit of a strange one. The people they’d brought together made a strange bunch, and then there was the car itself — some kind of van that one might expect served ice cream. There were cones and ice cream scoops, sure, but the cold substance itself was lacking. In stead, there were just various sizes of jars, tubs and buckets of mayo. For a large chunk of the ride, they had sat on a large bucket of it.

They hadn’t questioned it, as there were more pressing things to question. Like what an exorcist did exactly did, why Regan hadn’t taken off her coat, how Teddy was still alive and if the tension in the front of the car would be resolved when they arrived. Most importantly: whether Wynne was doing something horrible by bringing these people along. Their fear wasn’t quite as overwhelming as it had once been – there seemed to be more room for determination and even rage, now – but it was still there.

They glanced through the back window, the roads behind them growing more and more familiar. Eventually the car slowed and they stretched their legs, standing in the mayo-mobile. Eyes flicked to the Leviathan behind the wheel. They must be there. “Okay. Alright.” Wynne let out a breath of air. In their hand was a strand of paper on which they’d written down the words they were supposed to chant, down the line. Everyone had gotten a similar strand of paper, as well as a rough sketch of the commune with a red dot where the altar stood. “I guess we’re here. And everyone knows what they’re supposed to do, right?” They fiddled with the back door. “I’ll lead us there.” Lead. Maybe that was the strangest thing of all, today. That Wynne was trying to lead.

It had been a long, bumpy road to Moosehead Lake, and Regan was filled with the sickening feeling that there was something about all of this she wasn’t understanding, the only one not on the same wavelength with the others. It was not a new feeling; it had clung to her all her life. But in the cramped, sour-smelling quarters of the mayo mobile, it was an inescapable one. Everyone chanted during the drive. They had become well-practiced but it remained eerie, and Regan had instead spent her time studying the dead bugs pressed against the window. A faun would not care about this chant. At least she was here to talk some sense into them when this failed. 

Regan squirmed under her coat and took inventory of both her supplies and the people she might be using them on for the tenth time. Typical first aid; bandages, sutures, hemostatic agents, dressings of every size and color. Her collection also expanded into shears, a sphygmomanometer, tourniquets, and even epinephrine injections. The others in the van were no less diverse. She trusted Wynne enough to do this for them. But the others? Emilio had helped her with the necklace, Lil had stopped by the morgue asking about her family, and Teddy’s bones were one of the more disturbing things she’d seen in her years as a doctor. But what of Levi? That had to have been who Wynne made a deal with… but he was not fae. So Regan regarded each of them with suspicion, but especially Levi.

When Wynne announced their arrival, Regan jolted to attention. Her hands grew sweaty against the handle of the kit. She noticed and berated herself for it. Nervous was human, and she was better. But maybe it wasn’t nerves… she hesitated for a moment before stumbling out of the van with the others. There was something in the air; it made her skin fizzle like it was under a mass of maggots. She refocused herself on the others, pushing that sensation away. “Yes, I know where I’m needed. Stay with the van with the supplies and be ready for wh– if this fails.” She wanted to say more to Wynne, but it was difficult in front of everyone else. Which was foolish. Why should it be difficult? Regan compromised by letting her eyes soften – a little – as she looked at Wynne. “Stay sharp, Wynne, for you and your brother.” Be careful. “Úsáideann tú do scian féin anois. It means ‘you wield your own knife, now’.” Toward the first few minutes of their journey together, Regan had already decided Lil was the most responsible out of the lot of them, so she turned to her. “No fatalities. Keep everyone alive and get them to me if they’re injured. Watch out for rats.”

Teddy was alive, but the anger Emilio felt towards Levi for endangering them to begin with hadn’t yet faded. It was a strange thing, given how his relationship with Teddy had developed; even now, despite their conversation on the beach, the hunter still found himself doubting that they were friends at all. And still, that anger placed a tension in his shoulders as he sat in front of the van beside Levi, giving curt directions to lead them to where they needed to be.

Had they been going for any other reason, he might have been less cooperative. Emilio wasn’t very good at playing nice when he was angry, and for whatever reason, he was furious with Levi now. Had anyone but Wynne asked him to do this, he might have offered some petty response, might have demanded something impossible and bowed out when it wasn’t provided. Even as it was, he’d spent a great majority of the journey complaining about being in the passenger’s seat instead of the driver’s, insisting that it would have made more sense for him to drive since he knew the way. But this was for Wynne, and for Wynne, he would swallow his pride. Petty complaints were still present, but so were detailed directions that got them to where they needed to be. 

And so were the nerves.

He knew he wasn’t the only one feeling them. Wynne didn’t seem as afraid as they had before, but he could feel the anger radiating from them, the grief. Regan seemed uncertain, Lil nervous. It was hard to get a read on Teddy, because it always was. Emilio kept glancing between the figures in the back seat, eyes darting occasionally to Levi in the front. Whatever they felt, whatever doubts they all had, it wasn’t important now. What was important was Wynne. Their retribution, their prevention. (Their vengeance, he thought, but he wasn’t sure that was what this was about for Wynne. Vengeance drove everything Emilio did, but Wynne was different. He was glad for that.)

He listened to Regan speak as they parked, grunting in quiet agreement with her words. You wield your own knife now. Wynne deserved that much. “Lead the way, kid,” he said to Wynne, offering them a small nod. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Lil didn’t really know many people in the van, and if she was honest she wasn’t quite sure why she had agreed to the plan anyway. Maybe it was because Wynne had asked, and Lil knew damn well that an exorcist was better than no exorcist on something like this. If half of it was true - which to the point it might not be Regan didn’t particularly think that it was a demon and Lil didn’t really have a reason not to trust that - then Lil might not even be enough. Still, there wasn’t time to get someone better here. The only demonologist Lil knew and trusted was missing, and - well she’d rather not call her almost teacher. Chances were Lil would have to make a deal for the help, and honestly she wasn’t really into deals. So she decided to go, sit in a mayonnaise truck with mostly strangers to help out a person that had been nice to her. 

She tried to warn them on everything, figure out details and rituals that might work, but well there wasn’t a whole lot of time for her to be creative and perfect with it. She’d have to hope the others were at least ready for a fall out if it didn’t work. Lil had to be ready to pull it if the ritual wouldn’t work, her hand aching as she remembered -.  Learning from the last time, and before even entering the van she had decided that a slightly open hand wound would make it easier, and having wrapped it up she had declined to comment on what it was instead talking about what it all would look like. She tried to be upbeat, but she was more nervous then she normally was. Still, other than the chanting she had remained mostly quiet letting some of them squabble instead - Emilio in particular seemed very upset that he wasn’t driving. 

As the van pulled into park and without much thought pulled her hair up and went to check that she had everything as the others talked, looking up only when her name was called climbing down from the counter she’d perched herself on. 

“Okay, Doc. I’ll try my best on that one. I’ll at least probably need to be patched up later.  The rats might be tricky though,” Lil said at an attempt of a joke, not saying the quiet part out loud. Sure whatever was there was likely to pick Wynne as their first target, but Lil wouldn’t necessarily be far behind. She was likely one of the squishier people here, although she hadn’t asked. Still, she decided then and there if she had to she’d just grab Wynne and pull them back to the van and come back another day if she had too. 

Tugging at the bandage around her left hand Lil nodded and said softly to Wynne, “ Yeah I’ll start the ritual when it gets to be time - hey If you get scared, just look at one of us okay? You don’t have to look at them for it to work. We got this. No worries.” 

She had a gentle smile on her face to Wynne that turned serious when she looked at the other three going onto the journey, “Like I said before, I’m probably going to be MIA for at least part of this chanting, so you know don’t let me get hit and stumble in the middle of all of this. Move me if you have to, but don’t let the - person who is probably a demon but may not be - manage to cover my mouth,” Lil wanted to say more, saying that they wouldn’t like the consequences of an exorcist failing, but she figured Wynne was already spooked enough. 

The back of the mayomobile wasn't really meant to have passengers while the old beast was in motion. The van chugged along the road bouncing everyone around like physical representations of the nerves that ate at most of their minds. It was kind of hard to actually tell what was actually supposed to go on back here. Scattered boxes with half filled tubs of various types of mayonnaise. Tubes of wafer and sugar cones. Almost reminiscent of an ice cream truck but one step removed. Abstracted. Just like the people inside. From a glance, they could all appear normal. But the details betrayed the strangeness just below. Eyes, much too knowing. Scars of past encounters, each with a completely different context. Each hiding a different story for the one who bore them. Teddy didn't know all of their stories, only that if Wynne trusted each of them enough to bring them along, Ted would trust them too. 

It was a good thing, Teddy thought, that the main task ahead of them was one of linguistics and not physical prowess. They were good at that, confident in it. The exact opposite of how they felt with the massive changes they were still getting used to. Everything from the clothes on their back to the air in their lungs felt heavier. A strange energy buzzed in their chest, they could only guess that it must have had something to do with the outburst of power during the ritual with Levi. Something that surprised both of them. A great feat, considering how hard it was to surprise a being as old as time itself. One that (to Teddy's shock and relief) was trying to show its care and attachment to the kid it took in all those years ago. 

Dark eyes glanced forward. Tinted by the rose colored glasses that Teddy didn't need anymore. (Another peculiarity. Completely human. Whatever that meant.) Emilio sat seething, fidgeting in the way he always did when there was something on his mind that he felt he couldn't say. What he did say was a bunch of nonsense about the demon's driving. Half Spanish rants angrily admonishing the way the driver decided to switch lanes, or how fast or slow it was going. 

Levi was barking right back, between corrections of pronunciation for the chant and addendums to the plan. The back and forth was comforting in a way. Finally something familiar to focus on. From their position in the back, they could comfortably smile while they watched the driver and passenger bicker about meaningless road drama. Watch the others in the back attend to their own anxieties each in their own way. 

Lil, as Teddy had recently learned her name was, was focused. Clearly having the most experience with this kind of thing outside of Levi. It painted her an anxious general. Nervously warning the recruits about the dangers they were to face. Clearly of the "information will keep you alive" variety. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. Teddy liked that. She seemed… roughly about the same age as them or Emilio. Maybe a few years younger, but not as young as Wynne. The fact that she carried herself with this quiet authority, even if it was a front, was impressive. Teddy only hoped they'd all live long enough for them to tell her so. 

Regan, next up in line of how little Teddy knew them, was the pensive type. A seemingly compulsive need to check and recheck her tools. Funny, they thought, or maybe ironic that the person who usually spent her days opening up the dead to find their secrets was likely going to be the one to patch them all up, should shit go sideways. The good doctor was understandably a bit shaken by the results of the x-rays. Something Teddy had to try very hard not to have a little laugh about. The writing on their ribcage (and pretty much everywhere else) was never going to be the thing to kill them. 

Then of course, Wynne. Carrying quite a bit of confidence amongst the worries. It suited them. Teddy wanted more than anything for this to go well. For it to be everything the kid needed, for them to be safe after this. Teddy said they would do anything to help, and they fucking meant it. As the van pulled up, and Wynne spoke, they were ready to follow. Whatever that meant. 

The ritual had been a gamble, but a necessary one. It would not just be the danger that came after this encounter, it was the danger that seemed to surround them in the place they’d chosen as home, and now, well… Leviathan couldn’t ask Teddy to leave. They had formed important bonds with people that were not the greater demon, and as much as it didn’t want to admit it, that was important. That was good. Teddy needed that, they needed people that weren’t quite so detached from the humanity they’d left behind for decades. But it needed to make sure that Teddy would be safe, that something like the mines wouldn’t ever happen again, and so it had. 

It spared a glance toward the rear of the peculiar vehicle at one of the stoplights they came to, ignoring the grumblings of the man sat beside it in favor of offering a small, encouraging smile in Teddy’s direction. Its gaze then quickly danced to Wynne, who it was helping out of some moral obligation to try and redeem itself, maybe, for wanting to sever its connection to Teddy. One last act of selflessness before it ran to let the flames die down. At least it could give Teddy something to be proud of, maybe. 

“Listen, you’ll get to drive back home, sourpuss,” Leviathan chided Emilio as they all climbed out of the van. “So stop behaving like a child about it, will you?” It knew that harassing it for only being shotgun was simply an outlet for a much more serious frustration, but it was one that was,  frankly, resolved. So he could shut up about it already. 

Rounding the side of the van to meet the rest that had piled out of the back, its gaze fell on Lil as she spoke. “Right, well… just make sure you’re targeting the right demon,” it said bluntly, unbothered by the fact that not everyone here knew, or even believed in that sort of thing. They’d see soon enough. Except maybe the one staying behind, but that was inconsequential at this point. “And remember, we’re trying to draw it out, not banish it. If you banish it, you’re going to make it horribly difficult for me to find again.” 

Looking down at the map Wynne had provided, Leviathan fell into step beside them. “How much resistance do you think we’re going to meet? Will they fight or scatter?” 

Regan’s words echoed through them as they stepped out of the van, nodding their head at her before letting their feet hit familiar soil. It was a good sentiment — the idea that they should be something sharp and weaponlike for Iwan, but also themself. To take the blade they’d feared all their life and do something with it in stead. But to think of their brother was hard and so Wynne didn’t linger on the thought. “We’ll be right back.” Eyes flicked to Lil, giving a grateful smile. “Thank you. And if you — or anyone, ever …” They trailed off. “You only have to be here because you want to be.”

It was strange, to stand on the same ground they had once been born on. To return to the place they had barely ever left up until nine or so months ago. Wynne must have left this way then, to the main road — but they weren’t able to remember it in detail. It had been a fearful blur, crashing through those woods knowing that every step they took was what was keeping them alive. That there was no stopping, even if their throat constricted.

They weren’t afraid now. Whenever they tried to find it within them, they found something null and void. At the end of the day, there was just the anger. For their own escaped fate, for the fate that was forced upon their brother and would continue to be given to people like them, time after time after time. 

Wynne looked around the people that moved with them now, and that was their only source of anxiety. It was strange, how these people were coming with them when others – their parents, for one – would never have had their back this way. It was also scary. Iwan had already died because of them — so they weren’t sure what was waiting for them all next.

But they kept walking. It was the same way it was when they’d ran: they had to keep going. The air smelled familiar. They trudged on, attempting to ignore the scents that came with summer ending. 

Eyes flicked up at the sound of the Leviathan’s voice. Wynne thought for a moment. “They’re not … ones to attack outsiders, generally. They usually welcome them, but after Emilio came by, they must be more wary.” Despite all the death that surrounded the Protherian community, they weren’t violent — issues were resolved through other means. And though Llewelyn had taught them how to punch, they’d never needed it until leaving the commune. “Maybe there will be some, but most of them will probably scatter. We— they hunt, so there are weapons that some know how to use. I’m not … sure I can give a conclusive answer.” They pushed their lips together. “I assume they’d want to talk first, but we’re not here to do that.” 

It was no surprise that all of the talk about demons and fighting continued outside of the mayo mobile, and Regan was no less lost than before. All of this fuss over a faun. At least they seemed to know to be careful with their words. Other than that, she didn’t think faun posed much of a threat… but perhaps her opinion of them was skewed by Conor, who… well, actually, he probably would sock someone in the face, but he managed to be delicate all the same.

As the group prepared to depart, Regan hovered by the van, both knowing she would best serve Wynne by being ready here, and… being grateful for it. Something about all of this was sending a surge of incipient dread through her, but she was trying her best to squash it. The gentle pulse of death by her feet was helpful in that regard. Regan gazed down lovingly at the decomposing lump of fur that was once a vole, and then back up to Wynne, the group. “I will be good here. I have business to attend to.” Her fingers itched to reach for the carcass. But she wanted her privacy. Death was for her, not them. Could she send them off? Were they ready? No, they would never be ready. “I’d say don’t do anything foolish, but…” It was, Regan suspected, far too late for that.

Levi was smug and annoying and Emilio was trying not to focus on it lest his temper get the best of him. They were here to go up against one demon, and Emilio would do them no favors by punching the one who was supposedly on their side for the whole ordeal, even if it might make him feel momentarily better. Wynne needed him present, both physically and mentally. He had to do the best he could to provide that for them.

So he focused on the other members of the party instead. He let his mind wander enough to wonder what Dr. Kavanagh thought they were doing there, since she didn’t seem to believe in anything supernatural in spite of her status as (if Emilio’s suspicions weren’t wrong) a banshee. He wondered what Jonas had told his twin about the detective who was looking into their family’s disappearance, wondered if he matched up to what Lil must have thought of him or if she knew too little to have any impression at all. He wondered what Teddy was thinking about, if they were doing any better than they had been the last time he’d seen them. 

But, mostly, he was thinking of Wynne. He wondered if their grief felt anything like his own, if their drive to get rid of the demon that had plagued them their whole life was nobler than his desire to put down every vampire who’d stepped foot in Etla the day his daughter had died. Did they want to burn the whole damn compound to the ground the way he would have in their shoes? Even with less of a connection to the place than they had, part of him still wanted to salt the damn earth it was built on. His fingers twitched, hands clenching into fists as he looked towards the road they would be heading down. He imagined it was the same one Wynne had left when they departed. He tried not to think about how afraid they must have been.

Regan was staying behind, and that was probably for the best. She didn’t strike Emilio as a fighter, and the morality she’d displayed in the past might become… problematic depending on what was necessary here. Already, he was concerned about what protests Lil might have. She was the only unknown factor to him, the only member of their group that he hadn’t spent extensive time with. Levi was an ass, but it would do what it had promised. Teddy’s heart was too goddamn big for their own good, and Emilio was far more worried about them trying to fall on a sword than he was about them protesting any unseemly necessities. Wynne would do what they had to do to avenge their brother and stop what happened to him from happening to anyone else. He wished he knew why Lil had agreed to this, wished he understood a little better what she was prepared to do and how far she was prepared to go. As it was, there was no time for discovery and no room for protest. What they had was what they had.

Which meant all information probably needed to be on the table.

Levi was asking if the compound’s residents would fight back, and Wynne was saying that they were typically peaceful towards outsiders, but… “Might’ve punched a couple of them,” Emilio mumbled, neither regretful nor ashamed. He’d punch them again in a heartbeat. But he recognized that that might make his presence… a little more unwelcome than most, to the Protherians. “Uh, that guy Padrig. And…” He glanced to Wynne, a little sheepish. “Wynne’s dad. They’d recognize me if they saw me, I think. Not sure if that changes anything.”

Lil was used to being an outsider, something that made her comfortable around so many faces she couldn’t quite place. After all, not a lot of people wanted an exorcist to stick around - it was as much of an omen as it was a necessity. So while she saw the stares, she elected to not care too terribly much about them. She was here to help kill a demon and make sure to bring Wynne back alive, and well the rest of it wasn’t of her concern. If they ended up hating her then, well she would be hated by another group of people. She was used to it.

“Bye Doc,” Lil said, waving with her good hand to the medical examiner she’d grown fond of, hoping that she would actually see her again. As she set out though, she didn’t look back slowly, turning her attention to what needed to be done rather than what ifs of things she couldn’t possibly consider. 

Her eyes turned to Levi, who seemed very happy to keep telling Lil that it was a demon. It should have infuriated her to work with it but she had quelled that idea. She was hardly a person that could demand purity in her partnerships and she wasn’t going to be a hypocrite. So instead she sighed and said, “Like I told you, I don’t know your name and could you stop saying you're a demon? - Anyway,  You’ll be fine, and I’m not an idiot. If anything I’m just - putting a shield between you two and us so it can’t escape your attack.” She didn’t point out that even if she wanted to she couldn’t kill the demon. If she did, she was pretty sure the tightrope between exorcist and demonologist would tip - and Lil frankly would rather not. She would rather the Leviathan just forget she actually existed than having to battle an ancient demon.

Catching Wynne’s eye as they considered the possibilities Lil shrugged and said, “That’s fine Wynne. No matter what they do, we can lead them to where they need to go. Bet you it’ll be more simple than we think.” 

At Emilio’s confession, Lil couldn’t help but snort, hiding her laugh behind her good hand as she tried to be serious. It wasn’t her thinking it was silly or stupid, rather she probably would have done the same thing. Still, instead of commenting on it she said, “ See like that. It might work out  if we can get them to realize Emilio is there they might come towards him. How many people can you punch, Bud? In any case there’s a slim chance the demon will recognize I’m an exorcist. ” She honestly didn’t know at this point, she knew Demons were drawn to Jane, but Lil had never experienced that fun quirk. Still, she figured they at least should know. 

“Besides, if the worst case scenario happens, I think between all of us, we can get someone to chase us, yeah?” Lil asked, stretching her arms as she walked. “Well, at least I know I can be annoying enough to get chased.” 

“Oh he can punch sooo many.” Teddy grinned as they trotted forward. Throwing one arm around the grumpy slayer in a way that might have earned them a punch back when the pair had first met. Now there was something between them, and Ted had no idea what, but it sure was something. “Just look at these arms, he’s a punching machine.” Their other arm slipped around Wynne’s shoulders. Giving them just a quick encouraging squeeze before sprinting a few paces ahead. If only so they could catch up with Levi, turn around and start to walk backwards while they talked to the mini crowd behind. 

“If all else fails we can call in the captain of the Mayo-Mobile to swoop in and save the day.” Teddy offered Regan a  very serious salute and then a warm smile. If it got that bad they probably weren’t going to make it out at all. But if there was one thing Teds was still good for, it was keeping things light. Even when they had a storm of self-doubt brewing up inside. Good morale could get you a lot damn farther than you’d ever believe. That and having the be-all end-all sea monster of sea monsters on your side. That helped too. 

Wynne sure picked their avengers well. 

“What do you think pops, am I annoying enough to get chased?” 

“I seem to recall you testing that theory on me when you were… ten?” Leviathan responded slowly, though a small smile did work its way onto the demon’s face. “And as I remember it, the answer was a resounding yes.” It chuckled. Its gaze then slid over to Wynne again, and it nodded. “Sure. I assume you want to let the ones that run escape? It would probably be best.  Once the ritual is underway and Wyvss’Kgorr reveals itself, you will all want to… back up.”

There was the matter of the sacrifice, but that could wait. The first cultist to give them trouble would do just fine, anyway. Though perhaps offering the child a choice would be better… hm. At any rate, it wasn’t time for that yet. 

“Well, if any of them want to go another round with you, I certainly won’t stop them,” it added, looking at Emilio with a smirk. 

They almost stopped in their tracks as Emilio said that, Wynne looking over at the slayer with wide eyes. That was a detail he’d omitted and, in all fairness, a detail they hadn’t asked after. They hadn’t really felt like asking questions after hearing about Iwan. “You … punched Padrig?” He was a respected community member, someone with power, someone Wynne no longer feared. Still, it was easier to worry about the consequences of that act of violence rather than whatever other consequences awaited them. And then their father, well — they’d rather not comment on that. 

Wynne didn’t want to hurt the people at the commune. While they had recently tapped into their anger for their former family and community, it hadn’t turned into something nefarious. They wanted to kill the demon, to maybe chew their parents out, but the quips about punching the people they’d grown up with made them feel somewhat on edge. They were tired of people getting hurt — were they going to contribute to it now, in more ways than one?

They nodded. “We let them escape if they want to. It’s the demon that needs killing. What they do after that …” Wynne trailed off. “Up to them.” But if Siors were to be caught in the fray, they wouldn’t cry.  “Just try to knock them out if they are trouble.”

The walk was shorter than anticipated and Wynne found themself holding their breath a little, peeling away from the small group as they moved further ahead, staring at the lights of what had once been home. What never could have continued to be home, because if they’d stayed, they’d have been bled out and burned. 

They led them past a barn, around a corner and there, revealed, was the start of stretch of estate. The barn held the animals, who must have been locked up by now due to the hour of night. On their right hand was another barn, which held supplies for farming and then, up ahead, was the beginnings of the small community. Residential buildings, varying in size and age. A few parked bicycles. The building where they had school, but where other group sessions were held. Wynne halted, for a moment. “Just up ahead.” 

As they continued walking, two figures popped out of the barn. Collen and Rhys, smelling of manure and milk. They had missed the smell, they realized angrily. The pair both responded with surprise, perhaps even shock, maybe betrayal. They looked at them with an angry determination.

“Wynne? What’s — who are these –?” Collen was first to speak, quickly interjected by Rhys who stormed up to Emilio and jabbed a finger into his chest. 

“That’s the one who —” Something washed over his face, remembering how he had led Emilio to their community. Rhys had paid for it. He jabbed harder, then grabbed Emilio by the collar. “The intruder, the one who got Padrig, you’d better go and tell ‘em, I’ll —” What would he do? Hold them off, when this trouble might as well have started with him? 

“He was pissing me off,” Emilio mumbled, half defensive and half apologetic. If he’d been speaking to anyone but Wynne, the latter emotion wouldn’t have been present at all, but… This was their community. What Padrig had done, he’d done to them. To their brother. It wasn’t up to him to decide what punishments the man was to face for that, wasn’t his duty to deliver a fist to the stranger’s face. But hearing him talk the way he had about Wynne, about Iwan, about all of it… Emilio had never been very good at pushing his anger down. When it bubbled to the surface, it did so with a vengeance he didn’t care to stop.

Teddy’s arm slung itself over his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. He shot a look in their direction, but he didn’t take a swing at them the way he might have a few months ago. If anything, the limb lazily draped around him was a comfort rather than an irritation, a tangible reminder that they hadn’t died in that damn ritual. The look he shot in Levi’s direction was a much darker one, of course. “Wouldn’t need you to stop them. I can handle myself.” Then, to Lil, he added, “Can punch as many as I need to punch. Todos son pendejos. I don’t mind.” Another glance to Wynne, and he was back to apologetic. “But only if we have to.” Even if he’d really, really like to either way.

He trailed along behind the group, doing his best to keep up. Adrenaline numbed some of the pain in his leg, but the limb still wasn’t exactly operational and the walk, while short, was longer than would have been ideal. He knew it was a necessary thing. The ‘getaway car’ they’d procured was good for fitting all of them inside, but it wasn’t exactly subtle. He was pretty sure the horn played some sort of a jingle when it was honked. There was no sneaking it past the gates. He could only assume it was Teddy who’d found it, as it seemed a very Teddy thing to do. The thought filled him with an unfamiliar fondness as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, absently fiddling with a knife inside.

The landscape was more familiar now. Emilio had entered the compound through the front rather than the side Wynne had led them through, and while that had made the first part of the trek unfamiliar, he had a good idea of where they were now. It was later in the day, but he knew there’d still be people milling about. He kept a vigilant eye out, tensing as two figures approached. One was familiar. Emilio clocked him right away, and the expression on Rhys’s face said that he, too, recognized Emilio with ease. 

To be expected, he guessed. His last visit to the compound hadn’t been conspicuous. 

Still, there was some surprise as Rhys marched forward, finger poking into Emilio’s chest. The slayer blinked, looking down as Rhys grabbed him by the collar. Was he really so offended that Emilio had punched a man who would have sacrificed Rhys in a heartbeat if he’d convinced himself it was what the demon might want? Did he believe so thoroughly in this ‘greater good’ that served only those of a higher station than himself? 

“You should let go,” he said lowly, in a dangerous tone. “And leave, probably. Not too late to get out, wey.” 

Lil noticed the mix of tensions, a few of them trying to keep it light and the rest being resolute to keep hard truths at the forefront. In either case, it was hardly her business to keep civility or keep secrets. So she just shook her head, a smile still playing on her face as she continued to what seemed to be the gates at least for awhile. 

The area felt weird, and Lil wasn’t certain how to describe it other than a pressure that sat near her heart. Maybe it’s because she knew vaguely what was happening here, or maybe it was a sense she didn’t want creeping in. It felt rather similar to that day Jane had - shaking her head she decided to let hauntings lie away from herself. Gripping her good hand closed she muscled through her eyes focused more on the trail itself and noting how to get back than anything else. She couldn’t stop the fear, but she didn’t have to give it a voice either.

She was hardly a diplomat, normally confusing people to get them to let her do what she needed them to do,  but Lil  figured she probably should at least get ready, her eyes flickering between the two almost automatically moving closer to Wynne and whoever the others were in a flash.  While she didn’t tense up, and probably appeared rather relaxed, her foot moved back to keep herself balanced incase she had to do something stupid. She hadn’t realized the strangers would go after Emilio instead. He must have made an impression, but she figured one of the others could help. 

 With a bark of a laugh, sounding less like genuine laughter and more as a distraction trying to pull eyes away from Emilio, she said,  “I would listen to him if I were you. I have a feeling you’re going to want to be able to run later when I think your version of an apocalypse happens. Anyway lovely to meet you! I’d back off now. - Wynne, where? We should move.”  Lil wanted to get to the area as quickly as possible, knowing that it might be impossible to set up well but wanting to try as the timer started clicking. 

They were addressing them, these two men with whom Wynne had shared bread and mead, who had made them laugh. Rhys didn’t seem as kind now as he accosted Emilio who seemed ready to add him to his Protherians-I-Punched list. Wynne focused on Collen in stead, approaching him. “They’re right, you should just go. We’re going where we need to regardless. So go, go and get Anna and Gwen and just go, to your house or down south or wherever.” 

They looked over their shoulder at Lil, nodding up ahead. Collen stared at them with something strange in his eyes and they didn’t know what to make of it. Whether it was hatred or anger or just confusion. Wynne opened their mouth to say something before he could, then heard a crack and saw Rhys stumbling away from Emilio and his fists. A sign to leave. 

And so the group hurried further, past the barns and some of the houses. A few tried to stop them, a few tried to threaten them, a few tried to grab Wynne but if it wasn’t them who kicked them away, it seemed there was someone else ready to stop their former community from bringing them home. At some point their small knife appeared in their hand, their determination and anger growing with every step. None of it scared them any more. 

When they reached the center of the commune, a small crowd had gathered. Wynne ignored them to the best of their ability, not wanting to put names to the voices and the faces even if their mind was already doing so. They looked at the altar, where some candles still burned and the smell of the night’s dinner hung in the air. “There,” they said to Leviathan, and perhaps all the others. “That’s where they worship It.” There’s where they would’ve killed me, where they killed Iwan, where we will kill It.

They turned to some of the onlookers, who looked like Wynne had so many times. Wide-eyed, fearful, as if they wanted to say something but weren’t sure how to do it. Some did speak, calling their name, but they knew they were stronger now than they had been. “I’m here to end it. We are. So you can go, or you can watch like you always have.” Padrig was inching closer, so was Beca, so was — no, they refused to look at their mother. “Without interfering. Like always.”

Rhys didn’t back up, in spite of Emilio’s warning. His grip on the detective’s collar only tightened, expression determined, and Emilio wondered if he would have grabbed Wynne like this had he caught them as they left the compound the night before their execution. Padrig had thought, with everything in him, that there was nothing wrong with what the community did. He’d seemed almost proud of his decision to sacrifice Wynne’s brother in their place, like he ought to be rewarded for his ability to think on his feet rather than condemned for his willingness to take a blade to a child’s throat. 

Was there any forgiving people like this, he wondered? Most of them had been raised here, had lived this way all their life. They weren’t malicious, really; they were compliant. But compliance in this compound was something akin to manslaughter. Standing by and doing nothing as people died was just as bad as killing them yourself. Emilio thought of Lucio, of the way he hadn’t wanted the massacre to happen but was responsible for it all the same. Emilio thought of himself, of his daughter’s blood under his fingernails and the bodies in the street. Was there any difference between holding the knife and handing it to someone? Was there any difference in watching the slaughter and turning away? The blood spilled all the same.

Rhys twisted his grip in Emilio’s shirt, yanking him forward a little, and Emilio saw red. He didn’t realize he’d taken a swing until his knuckles were aching and that grip in his shirt was gone. Rhys was stumbling backwards, holding his nose, and Emilio knew himself well enough to know it was broken. Breaking things, after all, was what he was good at.

He felt no remorse as he turned away and followed Wynne in the other direction. He felt no shame as he punched anyone who came close to them, kicked the knees out from under anyone who tried to grab them. Compliance was its own special kind of sin. It wasn’t the kind of thing that deserved to be forgiven. Not with Wynne’s brother rotting somewhere, not with the haunted look that would never again leave their eyes.

The altar looked unassuming. If one didn’t know better, they might think the blood that stained it was that of an animal. A lamb or a goat, something with meat that could be consumed and fur that could be used to warm you in the winter. Not a child, who’d been wide-eyed and afraid and begged for his parents to save him as they watched the knife be driven home. 

Emilio stood behind Wynne as they turned to the crowd, eyes burning with the heat of his glare. His eyes met Padrig’s, and he tilted his chin up slightly, expression just as unashamed as Padrig’s had been as he’d talked about murdering children at this altar. He glanced to Wynne’s mother, angry at the desperation in her features, at the way she would defend this, even now. She’d lost both her children to this altar, in one way or another. How could she possibly want to protect it now? He thought of Flora, of how he would have burned the entire fucking world to the ground to keep her safe, of how he’d do the same to avenge her now. Neither he nor Wynne’s parents had successfully protected their children, but at least Emilio would do something about it. At least he was spending the rest of his life trying to make up for his failure rather than fighting for it to be repeated. 

“If anyone tries to stop us,” he warned lowly, eyes darting over the crowd, “I’ll stop them. I can promise you this. Ask Padrig. He knows.”

Lil had nodded at Wynne, bolting with them as she heard a crack of a fist against a face, knowing enough that time wasn’t going to be on her side with all these eyes on her. She doubted that the people here knew what an exorcist was - she hardly thought even an arrogant demon would make it known to its flock that there were humans that could hurt it. Still, she wanted to blend in the misfit group as long as she could, if only to not slow them down. 

Kicking people back was easier for her now, her hand wrapped up, and while she absolutely wasn’t built like Jane she’d taken after her sister enough that the people who weren’t suspecting it fell back, a wheel imprint now on their shin. Still she felt herself clenching her fists together causing a burn that was keeping her here for the moment instead of her normal distance that always kicked in doing work. She felt alive, and presented something she wasn’t sure how to take. 

Rushing past the others Lil didn’t bother to consider the crowd for anything other than to make sure they couldn’t grab her, dodging under their hands and questions. Instead she considered the altar and the floor, quickly pulling out bags of salt  and chalk quickly from her bag  getting to work hoping that the people were distracted. She saw the glint of her father’s knife and pulled that as well, putting it into her bad hand ignoring the sting. “Someone - put out those candles,” Lil said, getting on her knees hurriedly and carefully starting to draw a circle as wide as she could without getting close to the group of onlookers. She couldn’t complete it yet, but damn did she not think she’d be able to do all of it with the demon in it. She didn’t think of the altar, the blood that was clearly shed here. Where Wynne would have died if they hadn’t run. She didn’t let the anger settle into her bones yet. She’d need it later. 

Lil had never been religious, never had a fervor of a God false or otherwise, and maybe it showed as she was hardly careful knocking into things as she moved stuff out of the way trying to get the biggest circle she could. After all, the closest God she knew was death, and it would come for all of them eventually, you hardly needed to pray for its eyes to settle on you. Whatever this was, it was just arrogance in the form of divinity, something grotesquely more human than ethereal.  “Fuck-  I’m ready." Christ this place is bumpy, ” Lil said, not bothering to stand up, leaving about the foot of the circle clear, meaning that anything could get in at any point of the circle.  

Without the demonic strength inside them Teddy felt like they were at quite a loss. Silently walking alongside everyone else, passively letting the sudden bouts of violence take their courses. They couldn't go toe to toe with the people here, they were still acclimating to their fully human body. The aches and pains were familiar. Everything else was dulled. Muted. Lifting themself out of bed was a chore now. Or at least a workout. How did humans live like this? 

Well, the other humans were doing just fine. Wynne and Lil had set to their tasks, figured out exactly what they were meant to do. Emilio, mostly human with a bit of spice added into the mix with his slayer abilities, was taking on the role of bodyguard. Dr. Kavanaugh sat vigil at the mayomobile. Ready to drive them all to safety or at least to dinner after this was all done.

The meadow vole was only the first in a series of treasures, each holding a special place in Regan’s expansive collection because she found them while assisting someone she cared for. She stuffed a fox mandible into her pocket and craned her neck back to check on the van. It was her sense of duty that kept her close to the mayo mobile instead of letting her legs whisk her into the woods, following the pull of… wait, were there endangered bog lemmings here? No, stay focused, Kavanagh. 

For a second, she thought she’d willed herself into detecting a lemming. But as death’s beckoning twisted from a tug into a force of nature swirling inside of her, she knew what was coming. 

Did Wynne?

And now there was the choice. As Regan’s eyes darkened, she looked frantically toward the van again. Her lungs swelled. Her throat burned. It was close. And rapidly growing too late to try to contain. Around her, a crowd only she could see gathered, one of them marked for death, and – she tried to buck it away, the scream burning in her esophagus. She needed to see, she realized; if Wynne and the others were going to die, she needed to see. She was responsible for the health of those who were here. This was not one to battle. Regan sprinted as far away from the van as she could, arching herself away from it in a feeble attempt to spare the windows, and the scream thundered out. 

The one with wheels in her shoes was crafting a ritual circle on the ground, and Leviathan wasted no time, making sure it was standing within the boundaries to remain trapped with the other demon once it was summoned.

It motioned to Teddy to come closer, placing a hand on their shoulder and giving them a brief smile. “I'll especially need your help, my boy. Make sure your voice can be heard above the rest, I know you’ve a knack for exceptional pronunciation.” And, in a moment of affection in spite of its natural avoidance of emotions, Leviathan braced that hand against its child’s neck and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “We’ve got this.” It didn’t know if it would have time to say goodbye, after. Truthfully, it didn’t know if this altercation would kill the both of them. There was no telling, no predicting. It had never fought another greater demon, after all.

Allowing Teddy the space to step back, Leviathan started the chant. It was easy to ignore the voices of the cultists around them, shouting at them to stop or asking what they were doing—just white noise. It was about to turn to Wynne to ask them for something when a horrible, ear-piercing scream sounded from the direction of the van they’d left behind. It flinched, gaze jumping from one person to the next. It knew what that was and what it foretold, but as with all things, there was room for misinterpretation. It just hoped that the good doctor’s scream had been for someone other than the people that had ridden here together in that accursed vehicle to end this cyclical violence on behalf of a demon that cared not for their wellbeing.

Every person here had a distinct role to play, Teddy wasn't a hundred percent on theirs until their father whispered just the right words. If there was one thing Teddy fuckin Jones could do well, it was speak. They leaned into the touch, soaking it up as much as they could before taking a step back. Finding their spot amongst the circle where they joined everyone else in the chant. They kept the pace. Even, steady. Every word pronounced just-so. 

Dark brown eyes trained themselves on the circle, on the energy that it exuded. They could almost see it. See the way it writhed and twisted as the ritual kicked up. Teddy imagined the strands locking together and forming a net, keeping a barrier between the chaos that was happening, and that which had only scarcely begun. It was hard to say why, but something about that felt right. Even if it wasn't explicitly part of the ritual. They just had to do whatever necessary to keep the chant going. Keep the  chanters safe. 

Then they heard it too, the shrill wail. Might very well have mistaken it for a particularly enthusiastic fox or fishercat if not for the look on Leviathan’s face. Banshees were rare, Teddy didn’t know all that much about them, but they knew that. Knew what the scream meant. Their mind flicked briefly to the discussion before. Where the old demon admitted that it didn’t know if it was going to make it out. A flash of fear lit up their eyes, then settled into resolve. More drive to do this thing right. 

They were quick to follow Lil’s request, glad to have a task as easy as blowing out candles.  They needed things to focus on, lest their mind slip and they answer some of those calls, look at some of these people too long. Wynne wanted to shrink inside themself and disappear under their gazes, which felt angry and fearful and disappointed. You’re a symbol of reassurance, Wynne, your role ensures a future for us all. Old lessons from Padrig echoed in their mind as they did the opposite. When the greater demon (the one on their team) started the chant, Wynne was glad to have another task to focus on. It remained hard to, with all those familiar voices calling out, with the knowledge that their mother was here, that their father might be too. But none of them moved closer. They all just watched. As they always had.

They barely got far with the chant before being interrupted. A scream carried from the direction they’d come from, loud in a way that had them searching their immediate surroundings first. Though they found no one who could have produced the sound, they found something more troubling — a look of concern on the Leviathan’s face. One of the last things they perhaps wanted to see, now. 

Wynne looked around, saw that Teddy was continuing the chant and they tried to pick up again, trying to just form those strange words with their mouth and hope that whatever worry seemed to spread around was not too large. Still, their eyes darted towards Emilio for some kind of reassurance.

The words he was chanting felt clunky and unfamiliar on his tongue. English was still difficult for Emilio, still something he struggled with more than he’d care to admit, and the words he was muttering now were something even more unfamiliar than that. He tried to keep his eyes from darting to each of the other members of their little party in turn, tried to keep himself from marveling at how naturally the syllables seemed to come to Teddy and Lil or how easily Wynne seemed to pick up on it. He tried not to think about how, if this failed, it would probably be his fault.

And then a scream pierced the air, and he was thinking about something else entirely.

His voice fell off, gaze shooting out towards the woods where they’d left Regan. She could have been in trouble, could have been letting out a scream to defend herself or fight something off… but Emilio knew the more likely scenario here. Banshees screamed when someone was going to die, and they had a group of people here stupid enough to think they could take out a fucking demon without consequence. Did one scream mean one death? Or were they all doomed to fall here? 

His eyes darted to Leviathan, who doubtlessly knew what the sound meant, but the demon didn’t look entirely concerned. Was it because it didn’t plan to stick around for the aftermath anyway? There was a flash of fear in Teddy’s expression as they looked to their father, and Emilio shifted. His eyes found Wynne’s, and he was a little surprised to see them looking to him. As if he was the one they ought to turn to for this sort of thing, as if he were the rock they felt safest to lean against. Something stirred in his gut, something old and almost forgotten but never gone completely. He swallowed the feeling, steeling himself.

If someone was going to die here, he thought, he’d do everything he could to make sure it wasn’t someone who didn’t deserve it. Wynne hadn’t escaped this altar just to suffer the same fate as their brother who’d bled out atop it. Teddy hadn’t survived the ritual with Leviathan just to perish to another demon. Lil hadn’t spent months with Jonas searching for her family just to die before she found them. If Regan’s scream meant what Emilio suspected it did, he’d make sure it was earned. Even if that meant falling on the blade himself.

Mind made up, he offered Wynne a small nod of reassurance and went back to his clumsy chanting. They hadn’t died on this altar on the day their community had chosen for them, and they wouldn’t die here today, either. Emilio would make sure of it.

Lil didn’t bother moving from the ground, seeing Wynne move to blow out the candles it would be easier for her to do what she needed from the ground. Unwrapping her hand she looked at the fresh cut and accepted it. Taking her father’s knife she ran it across cringing and trying to hide it from Wynne as she put the knife down on the edge of the circle, her blood now tied to the circle. 

She knew even before coming here it was going to be demanded of her. Exorcism rituals were based on will, purely putting your soul against another's, and a part of that was willing to show that you could die. Every ritual was Lil saying that she accepted the fact that she could die, and with Greater Demons that determination was greater. If she was going to keep the son of a bitch in her ritual needed to reflect her willingness to keep.  It’s why now she gripped her father’s knife, something more akin to rage than she ever felt holding onto her mother’s necklace. She wasn’t sure which one was focusing her, but she didn’t need to know.  “I’m ready, when you all are.”  Watching the Leviathan enter she nodded, starting the chant along with the others. 

Hearing a scream Lil cringed fighting the urge to put her hands over her ears. For a moment there was a panic in her heart, remembering the sea and the water surrounding her before she shook her head and gritted her teeth, hands turning into fists reflexively before the pain of it released it.  She didn’t know what it was, or why it seemed like an omen, but she wasn’t going to fear dying. Not again. Instead she pushed out a sigh as she continued the chant, readying for the moment that she’d have to change to trap the demon. Her right hand poised to fill in the circle. Fear be damned she wasn’t going to let the demon out when it finally came out to show itself. Coward. 

“Wynne,” Leviathan called, gaze focused on the altar as it spoke over its shoulder. The rest of them carried on with the chant, Teddy’s voice loud and clear and leading the chorus of alien words. “We will need a sacrifice. You may pick one of these villagers, or I will choose one at random. Select quickly, and bring them to me. The stench of death offered in its name will help lure Wyvss’Kgorr here.” It cast its gaze to Wynne now, who was undoubtedly trying to figure out what to do and who to choose. Eyebrows raised in a silent request to hurry, it resumed the chanting, glancing up at the sky to see it darkening as a sudden storm began to brew overhead. 

Good. It was working. Leviathan could recall what it felt like to be summoned in this manner, and right about now, Wyvss’Kgorr was probably feeling an irritation at the back of its throat, if it had one.

Inevitably, the Leviathan called their name and showed its hand. There was a prize to pay besides that fear they had given it, something that would weigh on their soul rather than make it lighter. Wynne looked at it, with unblinking and wide eyes and a surge of indignation. Emilio had been right. They should have known — demons were treacherous, and would always want more, but they had hoped, foolishly and stupidly and to no avail at all.

Lips parted to answer, but no words followed, not even the chant they were supposed to be doing. Something constricted in them, a strange kind of disbelief at the position they found themself in. The cries of their former community buzzing in their ears the way the locusts must have when the plagues had ravaged the world. It was the same calculation all of them had always made, wasn’t it? Kill one to save the many. But wasn’t it different? This time it would break the cycle. It had to.

One would die, whether they were to be the one to choose them or not. They could not abandon mission now, tell everyone to turn back — some of them wouldn’t. So Wynne looked, searching for one of the guiltiest faces. Siors, they didn’t see, so their eyes fell on Padrig, whose voice echoed in their mind still. Who had suggested they bring Iwan to the altar in stead. Who’d always told them there was no higher honor than dying for others. 

Let him do it, then. Let him fulfill the duty he had always spoken so highly of, when it was them that was bound to die.

And so Wynne pointed to him, with a mixture of shame and rage. “Padrig,” they spoke, and Emilio would know and with that, maybe all of them would. But they couldn’t move, couldn’t drag him up, they could only let their finger drop and look at the demon whose deal demanded a human sacrifice too even if it had once called it lacking in imagination. Maybe it had lied, then. Or maybe these things were simply inevitable, the way death always seemed to be.

Wynne cast their eyes around and swallowed, before trying to join in on the chant again. 

A sacrifice. There it was — the kicker. Emilio had known, hadn’t he? Things couldn’t be as simple as chanting complicated words in a circle. Wanting something wasn’t enough — you had to spill blood for it to mean something. That was how it always was, how things were meant to go. Wynne had trusted Levi, and Levi had hidden a crucial piece of the puzzle from them. Would they have still come, had they known?

Emilio realized with a start that he would have. He didn’t know when it had become the truth, didn’t know when he’d become the kind of person who would sacrifice a human in order to rid the world of a demon. He didn’t think he’d always been this way. Years ago, maybe even months ago, he would have balked at the notion. He would have insisted on finding some other way. But now? 

Wynne wanted their freedom, and they’d earned that. The men and women who surrounded them, the villagers who had done nothing as children were slaughtered, who had put Wynne’s brother on an altar after Wynne themself had the gall to escape a fate that never should have been theirs to carry… What that they earned? Emilio thought he had a pretty good idea.

Wynne’s index finger found Padrig, and their voice sealed his fate. They made no move to step forward, so Emilio did it for them. He set his jaw, he squared his shoulders. He marched into the crowd and grabbed Padrig by the shirt, and no one moved to stop him. Was it fear or relief that froze them where they stood? Did they want it to be over just as much as Wynne did? They’d watched children die here. Watching a grown man meet a fate he deserved should have been so easy in comparison.

Padrig was protesting, was squirming, was wailing, but Emilio could scarcely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. Iwan must have screamed and thrashed, too. Would Wynne have been just as terrified had it been them on the altar? 

(He faltered for a moment, trying not to think of the terrified child whose blood he could never wash out from beneath his nails. Flora was everywhere to him, but she couldn’t be here. He couldn’t do what he needed to do if she was here.)

He brought Padrig into the circle, tossing him in front of Levi and pretending that his hands weren’t shaking as he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “Do what you need to do,” he said lowly, “and end it.”

Padrig squealed and wriggled like a piglet picked up before it knew to trust grabbing hands. Wynne watched, not afraid but only angry, and repeated the sentiment Padrig and all the others had told them, whenever they’d been upset, “You have to be calm, Padrig, so they know it will be alright. They’re all looking to you now, don’t you want to reassure them that it will be alright?” 

It was proud of Wynne in that moment, turning the words they’d undoubtedly heard all their life upon what it could only assume was one of the men that always spoke them. Void below, humans were stupid. Believing a thing like a greater demon was worth their worship and devotion… it was an old story, but one that was never any less grating. And why? Why did it care? 

Because it liked them. Wynne, Teddy, Emilio. Humans, though some of them had a little extra something. Hell, even the girl that’d drawn the ritual circle, though it didn’t know her well. Even the banshee they’d left behind. It wasn’t just humans, Leviathan realized. It was every creature of this dimension. It liked all of them. So much so that it had become like them in many ways, further distancing itself from the kind of demon that would do this—what Wyvss’Kgorr was doing. What many of them did. 

Its gaze moved from Wynne to Emilio, who had dropped the sniveling man in front of it and told it to get on with it. Padrig, as he was known, looked terrified. His eyes kept jumping between Wynne and the demon that stood in front of him, though he knew not whom he faced. “Please,” he begged, moving like he was going to try and run. Leviathan reached out and grabbed him by the throat, looking again at Emilio. “Thank you,” it breathed as it nodded at him, a silent gesture to remove himself from the circle, quickly. It then turned to Lil, and nodded again. “Seal it.”

Once there would be no escape for Wyvss’Kgorr (or itself), Leviathan looked Padrig in the eyes, its own shifting color to their more natural seafoam green. “I want you to know that you’ve done a great disservice to these people. Wyvss’Kgorr, your gythraul, is not a thing to be worshiped. It is an alien, like me, and you mean nothing to it. None of you ever did. This was a game. Entertainment.” It snapped the man’s neck before scanning the crowd, recognizing the anger and horror in their eyes. The body was dragged forward and dumped at the base of the altar, and Leviathan’s form continued to shift. Claws ripped through fingertips, which the demon used to slice Padrig open from collarbone to groin, spilling his blood upon the altar. It resumed the chant that everyone else had been so diligently performing, this time calling out to Wyvss’Kgorr directly. Challenging it. The demon stepped away again, doubling over on itself as its back split in half to make room for the thing inside to get out. It slithered and hoisted itself free from the host, too massive a beast for so small a package, slicked with viscera. A sea monster, augmented to move with ease upon land. Instead of fins or flippers, it had massive clawed feet. A mouth designed for ripping and tearing, long maw serrated with rows of razor sharp teeth, predatory eyes forward-facing and filled with bloodlust. It howled in the foreign language now, gaze turned up at the stormy sky. 

Wyvss’Kgorr felt it. Heard it. And as it conjured itself a portal to see just what the fuck was going on with the commune of humans it had bent to its will, it was met with a surprise. The expected scene was not so typical, and instead of being met with the sight of its loyal followers, the greater demon was met with enormous jaws that reached into its dimension and bit down on its head. 

It screamed, like metal grating on metal, so intensely loud that it shook the earth. Lkrak’Oaazhir wrenched back, dragging the equally huge monstrosity into their dimension and hooking it with its claws. So it began.

Within moments the fight was raging. Each demon banged against the unseen barrier like it was a physical wall rather than a circle of chalk and salt. Teddy's heart raced with every slam, every bite or claw. It was imperative that they kept the chant going, but it was hard not to gasp or scream out as the giant beasts gnawed and gnashed teeth on scales and chitinous plaques. 

All at once the world was going far too fast and in slow motion. The strange demon reared its massive head and went in for a gargantuan bite right on Leviathan's neck. "NO!" Teddy reacted instinctively, raising their arm as an unfamiliar surge of energy welled up and pushed through them like lightning. A shimmering field of teal blue caught the demon's teeth before they could rend into their father's flesh. A shuddered breath rippled through Ted's chest as they stared in disbelief. What the hell was that? Was that… did they do that?! The teal flash certainly matched the glow their monstrous form used to carry, but… it shouldn't have been possible. 

They were supposed to be just human now…right?

She didn’t say anything seeing the man dragged over, and part of her might have been weary of it; she didn’t get the sense that the man had been a bad one. The exorcist, who often straddled the line of life and death, wasn’t one to stop its procession for most part. She had to believe there was a reason for it. 

Lil braced herself as she saw Levi move to the circle and told her to seal it. So she did the chalk in her hand matching the two ends together, the exorcist did the only demonology she’d ever known. Lowly, to not confuse the others, Lil started on the chant her sister had taught her - sealing the circle into a barrier for the two giant demons who were now fighting. Her blood sealing the circle glowing a light red as she started yet another deadly situation. Another fight. One that this was her only part in.

The ritual  was hard. Lil wasn’t used to hearing all the noises happening, and after a moment she closed her eyes knowing that she couldn’t stutter for a moment or relax her grip on her father’s knife. She could handle most things, but seeing demons fight? She didn’t think she needed that vision in her brain for the rest of her life slowly letting the fear settle there. She’d much rather not know. So if she had to hear it she wouldn’t see it. Still, every slam to her walls she felt, although not in a way she could describe to others. She imagined her soul was being bruised, but it was staying together as long as she was. She would stay together ignoring everything but this barrier until it was over. Whatever over might look like.   

They watched in anger as Padrig was held in place by his throat. Fear remained absent in a way that would make them hollow if there weren’t plenty of other emotions to take its place. And now that there was no space within them to fear their seniors any more, what else was there but anger? What else was there but distaste for the plea that slipped past Padrig’s lips? Wynne poured that anger into the words they spoke, foreign on their tongue but an anchor of sorts. 

It was strange, to not be afraid. It seemed only now that they weren’t, they were realizing how much fear had constricted their body before. Its absence was a presence, Wynne aware they didn’t fear the knowledge that their parents saw them, that all of the people watching them must think something of them. It stripped them from the inhibitions that had ruled their life, the very structure they’d grown up in and now there was nothing more they wanted to do besides destroy that structure. Tear it. 

And though it was a gruesome sight, the neck of their former mentor being snapped, and though something in their gut pulled – not out of fear, but something else, something like guilt and two decades of conditioning coming undone – they remained focused. There was no way but through. (That was something Padrig had said too, once, and now he was dead.) They continued to chant as the Leviathan showed its through form and Padrig was bled out like a lamb. Tongue stumbled over the words, but they were like a verbal circle that kept chasing its own tail, repeated and repeated again. 

There It was, the demon who would have taken their corpse as a gift and devoured it. A cacophony of cracking bones and demonic screaming filled the air and Wynne was staring, unable to look away and forgetting themself, the words halting. There It was. The root of the problem. The base on which the structure of their life had been built, the foundation of the place that surrounded them. There It was, challenged. Caught between invisible walls, fighting an entity as strong – or hopefully stronger – than It. 

There It was, the reason their brother was dead. Wynne remembered their newfound purpose, and continued their chant, voice growing louder and more forceful with every syllable.

The snap of Padrig’s neck breaking seemed to reverberate, crawling into Emilio’s bones, too. He should have felt something. Guilt, maybe. Regret. He’d handed a man over to a demon knowing that it would kill him, had stepped out of the circle to let it happen without looking back at all. He’d done something slayers weren’t meant to do, and he should have felt something for it, even briefly. But the only thing he could manage was a numb satisfaction as he remembered how proud Padrig had been of the children he’d killed, how righteous he’d acted. There were people who didn’t deserve saving, and there were people who did. Padrig might have been the former, but Wynne would always be the latter. And this? This ritual, these demons going to war with one another in a circle held together by an exorcist and a prayer he didn’t understand? This was how they could be saved.

There wasn’t much for Emilio to do outside the circle. His chanting was unsteady and uncertain, the words not fitting quite right with his accent, but he spoke them anyway. It was difficult to watch the violence unfolding within the circle and not take place in it. He was so rarely a spectator to violence; all his life, he’d been an active part of it. The sidelines were an uncomfortable place to be. He situated himself between Teddy and Wynne, ensured he could watch them both out of the corner of his eye while keeping his main focus on the action. 

He sucked a breath when it looked like Wynne’s demon (whose name he couldn’t begin to fit into his mind) was going for Leviathan’s throat, but… something stopped it. Teddy yelled, and something stopped it. A familiar blue that left the slayer’s brow furrowed. He glanced to Teddy from the corner of his eye, but they seemed just as confused. A little more, maybe. Emilio kept his eyes on them a moment longer before turning back to the fight, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach. No time for that now; no time for anything but the battle raging on.

Lkrak’Oaazhir had braced itself for the bite, but none came. Its eyes swiveled in its head, body weight pushing back against Wyvss’Kgorr to pin it against the barrier, a vicious hiss snaking past bared fangs as a violent, crackling energy exploded with the demon’s contact with the barrier. That monstrous gaze met Teddy’s for the briefest of moments, then slowly blinked. Excellent work, it complimented them before snapping its head to the side and sinking its fangs into Wyvss’Kgorr’s neck, mirroring what the demon had attempted to do to it only moments before. 

Clawed hands gripped the demon by the shoulders, massive weight pushing it down along the barrier until its back met the earth. Jaws bit down harder, black ichor filling Lkrak’Oaazhir’s mouth and dribbling out the sides. A hind leg of the reptilian beast found purchase on Wyvss’Kgorr’s underside, shredding it with quick but deliberate motions. They were otherworldly creatures, yes. Aliens to this world, powerful beyond measure, and infinite. But they still bled, and they could still die. 

Wyvss’Kgorr howled in agony before trying to do the same with its own hands and feet, kicking and trashing and digging into Lkrak’Oaazhir’s thick hide where it could, drawing similarly dark blood. But the sea demon did not relinquish its grip on the creature’s throat, biting harder still and feeling the other demon wheeze in response. And it knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the tide had only turned this quickly because of the chanting the others were doing that was weakening it. Without that… well, the demon didn’t want to think about it.

Back to the brink with you, it pressed into Wyvss’Kgorr’s mind as its fangs sank as deep as they could go. With that, Lkrak’Oaazhir wrenched its head first one way, then the next, holding the other demon’s body down while pulling away from it with its head, until a massive chunk of flesh ripped free. The meat was cast aside and the sea demon went in for a second bite, jaws finding bone this time and snapping through them with an equally violent shake of its head. 

Wyvss’Kgorr went silent and its body went limp as Lkrak’Oaazhir dropped it back to the earth, turning then to the audience of humans that stared at it. It bared blackened teeth in a snarl before settling its body in the grass, waiting patiently for the barrier to be lifted.

Teddy Jones had seen death enough to know when it took the greater demon. Even before the final blow had been made, there was a reaction. An acceptance, in a way. The demon bent to a force far greater than its own, and it ended the only way it was ever going to end. With Leviathan on top, successful, bloodied, but alive. A half-astonished shock still rooted the chanters in place. Still had them fixated on the words that were no longer necessary. The crowd around them erupted in various forms of panic. Some shouts of despair, some relief, some fury, filled the air. But none made a move to advance on the group. 

Finally, Ted was able to breathe, to catch themself before they fell. There was an energy unlike anything they’d ever felt before coursing through them. Unlocked by the first ritual, fueled by the next. The very same that sent that barrier out just in time to protect their father. To give the advantage where it was needed. Was it luck or something bigger? Something new? Teddy didn’t have time to figure that out right then. They needed to get out of there. They needed to tear down the circle so Levi could get out, and pile everyone back in the mayo mobile and get the fuck to safety. Who knew when one of the court of demonic playthings was liable to attempt something monumentally stupid.  

They rushed silently to Lil’s side, champion demon wrangler and circle drawer of the group. “Hey- hey you’re good. We're good.” Dark eyes scanned the rest of the group with just a huge surge of relief and joy just behind the stress. “We’re done here.” They announced, almost surprised at it themself. A smile twitched at the corners of their lips. Teddy rushed back to where they were before. To Emilio and Wynne, where their grin only grew. Delight blossomed, they threw their arms around their newly liberated friend, lifting them and spinning in a moment of impulsive glee. 

“You’re free, kid. What do you wanna do now?”  

Lil didn’t realize when the fighting was done, the sting of her hand and concentration pointed as she kept the barrier up her soul feeling like it was bouncing around in a small box. It felt like she’d been doing it for hours, her arms shaking ever so slightly from the strain that no one could see. It was hard, and while rituals usually made her feel powerful this one just seemed to drain it. Still she kept it, until she heard one of the others in the group say that it was done. 

Opening her eyes, she confirmed it as Teddy came over saying she was done, dropping the knife to the ground and feeling the lines dissipate as she saw what she had hoped was the Leviathan standing there. The ritual dissipated almost immediately and so did all of the energy Lil had.  Glancing over she nodded to Teddy a light thanks, one  she didn’t speak instead moving to her bag to get more bandages and to put the knife away giving her a moment to breathe. She’d have to hope the Doc could wrap her up better as she staggered up from her position, her body heavy and tired. Free hand now wrapping up the cut again and kicking the chalk. 

“You should be free to move. I’m not going to try and find you again so don’t worry about me, kay? ” Lil muttered at Levi before turning to smile at Wynne and give a rather half assed thumbs up with her right hand. “Yeah, let's go rob a bank - kidding. Well, maybe in a few weeks. We should head out before they get any ideas,” Lil said with a laugh as she moved slowly forward, careful not to fall body still weak. 

It was a gruesome sight, but something about it was righteous, was poetically just. As the Leviathan bit down onto its throat, Wynne thought of how the knife had met Jac’s throat and bled him dry. They imagined, despite their attempt not to, their brother being cut open in a similar spot. And though this blood looked completely dissimilar from the blood that had stained the altar before, it was still blood being spilled. 

But this time, it was deserved. This time the sacrifice was worth something. This time it would end, not just for a few years but for all the time to come.

So why did they not feel glorious when it ended? When that goat-like, massive demon became undone and fell limp? They looked at their former people, at the wide and horrified eyes of those they would have died for, in a former life. Wynne stared at them and wondered if they’d hate them now or thank them. Whether they should even care. They found themself trying to find Evan, the one whose head would be next on the chopping block and when their eyes laid on him they felt a surge of righteousness once more. He’d be able to live, the way they were able to as well. They way their brother never could. Would he ever understand, what was evaded for him tonight? He was so young, so frail, so confused — and they knew they’d once looked like that too. 

Lost in their thoughts, overwhelmed by distant numbness and exhaustion, they were surprised as they were lifted off the ground, spun around by Teddy who radiated a happiness they couldn’t feel yet. Wynne looked at them, blinked at Lil with her ridiculous yet amusing suggestion and was surprised to note that their face was wet with tears. Whether they were from grief or relief, they didn’t know. It didn’t matter. They let them flow.

“I just want to go home,” they hiccuped. Home, which wasn’t here any more and hadn’t been in quite some time. Home, away from these staring eyes and people who they had known all their life but didn’t know at all. They glanced at the Leviathan with wide, wet eyes. “Thank you.” Then, a decisive nod. “Let’s go.”

The thing about death, the thing that made it seem so… strange, so jarring, was that it was over in an instant. Dying could take a while, sure — it stretched on for years, sometimes, drained people slow — but death itself was there and gone in a blink. It was one heartbeat that didn’t give way to another, one breath that emptied out lungs that would never be refilled. The dying could drag, the grief might never end. But death? Death was a split second thing, a simple one. Leviathan’s jaws closed around the other demon’s throat, and that was it. That was all there was to it. Death came and went in the time it took Emilio to force one syllable of the unfamiliar words through his teeth.

It still didn’t feel over. His eyes darted to Teddy, who was seeing to the exorcist, to Levi, still monstrous in the circle, to Wynne, their eyes scanning the crowd. The last one earned his full attention. He watched the way they moved, the way the tension in their shoulders didn’t quite release. Death, he knew, was only ever the end for the thing doing the dying. 

He reached up, put a careful arm around Wynne as the grief overtook them. The gesture was an unfamiliar one, not something that had been in his arsenal for long. It was borrowed from Zane on the couch in his living room, from Arden in her car after she’d been afraid he was dead, from Rhett in the forest floor a few miles away from where their family’s corpses lay in new graves. This wasn’t a comfort Emilio had learned when he was Wynne’s age, but it was one he was unpacking now. Uncertain and a little stiff, but genuine all the same.

“Yeah,” he agreed. His eyes darted up to Leviathan’s, gratitude not spoken but communicated with a look all the same. The same look was passed to Lil, who looked half conscious where she stood. Something else was in his eyes as they moved to Teddy, unreadable and unknown even to him. Then, back to Wynne, and his expression softened. “Yeah,” he said again. “Let’s get you home. Come on, kid.”

Rising to its feet again now that the barrier was down, Leviathan let out an exhausted hiss of breath. The confusion in the eyes of those that stared up at it, the ones it had not come here with, who owed it nothing but fear and perhaps anger, felt oppressive. It could offer them some words of wisdom, but truthfully it didn’t much care what they thought, and had no desire to step up onto any kind of soapbox. They were fools, and they would likely remain so to the ends of whatever they decided to make of their lives now. The only thing it would do was turn on the commune and release a threatening growl, as if warding them away from its companions. It watched them scatter for a few moments before returning its attention to the small group, taking a few lumbering steps towards them.

I must leave you here, it spoke privately to them, looking to Wynne. Enjoy your freedom, young one. For Lil, the demon gave a solemn, respectful nod. Then, its head turned to Teddy. And you… It lowered itself and pressed the tip of its bloodied muzzle against the human’s chest, closing those many eyes. I will find you again, as soon as I am able. The request it had made of Emilio some time ago was on the forefront of its mind as it gave the hunter one final glance, and a tear formed in the air beside it, creating a vacuum for a brief second before balancing out. Beyond the rip, an endless ocean. The Leviathan rose back to its full height and sucked in a deep breath, then stuck its head through the rip. The rest of it followed quickly, floating up from the earth as it passed between dimensions, seawater leaking from the fracture in reality as it stitched itself shut again once the demon was through. 

There was a bright flash of light, and then it was gone, leaving only a puddle behind.

Teddy knew this part was coming. The brightness of the victory had overshadowed it right up until the nose of the great beast pressed into their chest. They felt themself sinking. All of that joy and relief just melting away in a moment of harrowed grief. The concrete weights around their ankles, rooting them in position as they shared their last moments for a long time with their father. 

Perhaps last moments ever, a not-so-small part of their brain nagged. The part that still liked to taunt Teddy with all of their shortcomings, and how everyone around would eventually leave because of them. This wasn’t that. Leviathan promised to find them again. They knew it was temporary, it had to be but– But Teddy wasn’t ever great at goodbyes. 

Their head swiveled around. A ringing in their ears drowning them to all noise except the thrum of their heart in their chest. A distraction, they needed a distraction. And they probably weren’t the only one, either. Dark eyes scanned the horizon, and settled on one of the few things not scattering with the rest of the crowd. A small shaggy lamb, tied to a post nearby. As if it was next on the chopping block. Wordlessly, the ex-demon strode over. Started to untie the thing and picked it up in their arms. It wriggled for a moment but settled when it realized the cradling limbs around it meant no harm. 

“This is ours. We’re taking it. Right Wynne?”  Ted’s ears still droned with the sound of distant waves, but holding the shaking creature was grounding. Offering the choice to Wynne was empowering. Or at least they hoped it was. “We can tell Regan this is Levi now.” 

Lil waited, letting the demon leave, hearing her sister’s voice screaming at her to not. Still, she had chosen a long time ago that demons and the like weren’t on her. So instead she turned to Wynne who was crying. Asking to go home. It struck her for a moment, the other’s age coming into sharp focus. It was something that reminded her of her brother, who was now waiting for her to get back. He would have cried too, Lil thought, sharing with Wynne in the relief and sadness of all this. Lil couldn’t though, she didn’t have that capacity so she just slowly waked and said with a short nod, “Yeah, let's get you home. Wynne. The doc’s expecting us and -.”

She paused for a moment realizing that she was going to probably be in trouble without the demon they had brought - even though they seemed to be fine just gone. She’d just have to explain - until Ted seemed to think of it too, bringing a lamb that seemed as shaken as the youth in front of them.  With that she couldn’t help the tired laugh come out at the solution. She didn’t say anything though, leaving the choice between the two. 

Shaking her head the tired exorcist  said softly, “Uh anyone got an arm I can lean on? I can walk but I’m probably going to take a while. Really not cut out for demonology it seems. Feel like I went through a dryer and a hobble is my fastest speed now.” 

Maybe all of the people of the commune were scared, and that explained why they didn’t reach for Wynne now. Besides, their mother had never reached for them even when they’d been her dutiful child, so why would she know? Still, she looked with wide eyes, trying to grasp the gaze of one of the people she’d called family and saw only cowardice. But that gap left by their unwillingness to move forward was filled. By Teddy lifting them up, Emilio embracing them, even Lil’s determined nod. 

This wasn’t a place for them any more. But there was another one. They swallowed, the flow of tears halting as they watched the ocean appear in a rip through time and space, the scent of the sea filling the air. They blinked their own salty water away, rubbing at an eye before leaning into Emilio some more and watching the Leviathan take leave. 

Eyes looked for Teddy, an apology at the ready but instead there they were, rescuing a lamb. A poorly looking one, one that would never qualify for a large ritual — but a small one, sure. They looked at the small thing, wanted to look for Ewan again and tell him he was free now, wanted to tell them all that they could be free now. But they just nodded. “We’re taking it.” Another soul saved. They even let out a wet laugh. “Yes. The resemblance is uncanny.” 

Wynne looked at Lil with a worried look in their eyes, wondering if maybe they’d asked too much from the exorcist. “Yes, come, you can lean on me.” They stuck an arm under the other’s shoulder, taking some of her weight as they considered asking Emilio to just carry Lil. Instead, they started moving, away from those people and the former home, wondering if they’d return again, some day. For now, though, they just wanted home, for the woman she was helping to be aided and to sit in that sour-smelling car.

—

He ached for Teddy, knowing what was coming. This had always been the plan. The ending was written before they started the story at all, carved into the cement and hardened there. Levi was leaving, because Levi was always going to leave. But Teddy wasn’t alone. Emilio met the massive demon’s eye, remembering the promise it had asked of him in their last conversation. The conversation itself hadn’t gone so well — conversations with Emilio rarely did — but the promise remained. He nodded once, determination coloring his features. He’d keep an eye on Teddy, because somebody had to. Because they might deserve better, but they wanted him. 

He glanced up as the idiot in question moved away from the group, distracted by… a lamb? Emilio rolled his eyes. “I’m not carrying it for you,” he said dryly, but Wynne seemed lighter now, so he didn’t say anything more. Whatever made the two of them happy. Whatever they needed. 

Lil came over, leaning against Wynne who Emilio still had an arm around. The detective grabbed Teddy as they walked, keeping a hand on the small of their back and telling himself it was to keep them from acquiring any more lambs on the journey back to the van. Truthfully, he knew it was something more than that. The remaining group, all gathered like this and leaning on one another, made him feel a little stronger, a little more like they’d done something decent. It felt like a victory, when they were like this. Teddy with their lamb, Wynne free of that ax that had been hanging over their head since birth, Lil successful in her brief stint as a demonologist… It felt like they’d won, even with the blood on the altar and the body on the ground. 

Just for a little while, just for the length of time it took them to walk back to the van, Emilio decided to let himself feel it, too. Let it be a victory. Just once. Just for now.

[frostybearpaws]

I wrote something, it's not done, but I feel pretty good about this snippet

I'm trying to focus more on show and don't tell so... tell me how that goes pls <3

The set internal atmosphere of the Wo.Con.S. Heron reminds Rhea of Xaan-Ber when the vibrant grasses dried to stiff brown husks and Hadeena bore down, hot and unforgiving, onto the land below. She passes a few crew gathered together in the hall, mingling before take off. Cheeks pink and foreheads glistening, they pull at their uniform collars and fan themselves with their hands.

They pause to salute her as she passes, fluid, slumping bodies snapping taut as steel. One, a girl, curly redhead with more freckles than skin, looks ready to pass out.

She will have to get Ursa to recalibrate the ship’s temperature regulation. Perhaps sooner than later. Rhea tugs at the suddenly constricting collar of her uniform. Heat moves like fingers through her fur, pressing into her skin and drawing out sweat before the ship’s even left the dock. 

“Commander Youngstar,” One acknowledges. Rhea observes his young faced appearance, baby-fat cheeks and wide eyes that scoop up the stars and planets and holds them tight. Rhea returns the salute with a nod and continues onward. 

Quiet whispers and giggles break out among the group as Rhea turns a corner and crosses a corridor with considerably less traffic.

There is a sudden quiet to the air, even though the rest of the ship bustles back and forth behind her. The overhead lights glare down, reflecting off the newly polished floor. The shimmer ricochets from every surface turning the hallway into the hollowed out isoid shell she found when she was seven. Wet with pond water, the crystalline surface refracted Hadeena’s heated gaze in all directions.

Fractured by the light, Commander Youngstar peers back at her, from the floor, from the walls, from the ceiling with a stern expression. From every angle, sky blue eyes and dusky blossom fur stands, wrapped in her black uniform, square-shouldered and stiff.

Rhea continues towards the elevator stationed at the end of the hall. The doors open automatically and her stride does not slow as she steps aboard and turns to face the hall. “Haron,” Rhea addresses the voice automated system. “Bridge.” 

When the door closes she finally sees herself in the chrome interior. It is also at this moment that she takes notice of an unruly lock of mane which managed to avoid its trim. Sticking up like a zagging lightning bolt, it almost resembles a radio’s bent antenna from Earth’s twentieth century.

“Dammit.” She breathes as she peers at herself. Using the rippling reflection of the elevator’s interior Rhea approximates the lock’s location on her head. When she feels the ghost of coarse fiber against her hand she grumbles, brows knitting together. Rhea runs her hand over her head, the lock flattens then pops back up. Frowning, Rhea runs her fingers through her mane. This time the straggler is hidden.

At least for now.

Her tail flicking, Rhea wrings her hands. 

Then they smooth over her uniform. She looks at the white twine of which she had patched her uniform up. It's bumpy and uneven as she runs her palm over it again and again. Rhea bites her lips and picks at the string, the rough pads of her fingers causing the twine to fray. “No.” She mutters and lets her hands drop to her sides. 

Suddenly, in the reflection, the patchwork looks like the scars she hides on her back and torso.

Rhea pulls on her collar again, attempting to fight the fabric as it tightens around her jugular.

[preciouslandmermaid]

cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x reader) - part 3/3

Note: I’m sorry this took 1 million years. ENJOY!  This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic.

Fic warnings: blood, injuries, canon-typical violence, guns, protective!Ghost, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending, cigarette smoking, angst.

** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used. Reader is AFAB, but no gendered terms are used in this part. 

(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪  

~~~~~~~~~

You gag, spitting blood onto truck bed, your face pressed firmly into the divided ridges. You track the truck turns and estimate your distance from the haven. After the soldiers noticed a guard and Kaja was missing they went into a panic. For a moment, you thought they’d kill you and flee. But the leader of this little rag-tag group of assholes said he wanted to wait. And they listened to him.

Your gamble he was a hot head with something to prove paid off. You hope it’ll buy you enough time to escape before enemy forces discover you. A worst-case scenario is the forces of your home government finding you. They will imprison you for faking your death and abandoning your country. You spit more blood out of your mouth.

If that happens, then Lukas will be alone. Your biggest fear finally realized like some tragic Greek prophecy. They’ve striped you of your equipment, but they didn’t check your shoes.

You press the toe of your left boot against the heel of the right. You wiggle your ankle back and forth until your boot loosens and you can slip your foot out. You squirm, reminiscent of a wild worm, and use your knees to push your boot toward your chest. You curl into a fetal position and bite your teeth onto the hidden stitched pocket on the boot’s tongue near the laces.

The truck drives over a hole and your body lifts, then slams back onto the hard plastic truck bed.  You blink away the stars and your ears clang with a resonating chime. You swallow a wave of acidic nausea and clench your teeth around the razor blade.

It takes several, uncomfortable and straining minutes, before you manage to wrangle the razor blade into your fingers. You start working the blade into the hewn rope. You think of nothing but the loosening tension around your wrists. You cannot afford to lose focus or fall into despair. Your fingers cramp. You blink back tears and keep going.

Beyond the noise of the truck’s engine, you faintly hear a dirt bike gaining speed along the bumpy road. The soldiers arrived in two trucks. There wasn’t a motorbike among them. In rural Noreth, the odds of a civilian driving this late and this fast are slim. Your heart leaps inside your chest. It can’t be…can it?

You tighten yourself into a ball as gunfire ricochets above your head. The truck swerves and it forces your shoulder into the protruding, sloped wheel-well. The pain is dull and throbbing. Your cramped fingers begin to chew through the ropes again with the razor blade. You don’t know if the motorcycle is friendly. You can hope, but you won’t shove all your ducks into a single basket.

You need to escape. The chaffing, burning rope bites at your skin with sharp, gnawing pain. The men are shouting over the gunfire. A bullet sharply pings against the side mirror near the truck cabin.

The sound of crunching metal punches through your eardrums. You gasp, muscles tensing, and expect your body to eject from the truck and into the air.

A second passes. You exhale and realize it was the second truck. It crashed.  

The motorcycle is closer. The truck veers off-road, the terrain bumpy and treacherous, and you wedge yourself into the corner with your feet braced into the side. You twist one of your arms and ignore the protests of your muscles as pain ripples through your skin.

The motorcycle revs, passing the end of the truck, and—if you’re estimating correctly—it pulls up in front of the driver-side door. The two men inside are screaming, firing their guns, and bullets hit the dry earth and ding off metal. Your wrist thankfully wrenches free of the bindings. You gasp in relief. Neural sensation flows back into your limb with prickly, sharp tenderness.

The trucks’ windshield shatters. Someone yells before a wet and punctured sound like a hammer hitting a melon overwhelms the sound. Your eyes roll back to see the truck cabin is covered in dark, dripping viscera.

A dark, hulking shape jumps onto the driver side doorway and yanks the door open. The driver screams—horrified—before he’s tossed from the seat like he weighs no more than a child. You want to believe it’s Ghost. You want to believe you’d know him, even in darkness, yet you cannot gamble Lukas’ safety. You finish untying the rope around your other hand.

The driver who’s hijacked the truck slams the acceleration to an unceremonious and abrupt stop. You catch yourself with both hands before you topple and faceplant onto the truck bed again. The door swings open and the stranger hoists themselves into the flatbed. You lift your razor blade. You’ll carve out their eyes before they take you again. You won’t go down without a fight. His headlamp glows red and casts a devilish, eerie glow as if you are two sinners awaiting retribution.  

“Oh, thank god.” Simon’s rough burr is the sweetest music you’ve ever heard.

“You alright, love?” He lowers himself to kneel in front of you.

“The house? Kaja?” You croak, tasting dried blood on your lips, in your throat, and salt burns your eyes.

He nods. “Safe and secure.”

You bow your head, relieved and sanctified, swallowing the bitter depths of emotion that surge whenever Ghost is in proximity. Oh, you are a fool to believe you stopped loving him. An outrageous, weak fool. In his presence, you want nothing more than to press your lips to his pulse and memorize his heartrate. You want to kiss the palms of his dangerous, calloused hands and offer him every inch of your tattered, tarnished soul. For him, only and always, you are humble and suppliant.

“Let’s have a look at you.” Says Ghost.

“’m alright.”

You need to leave. You need to return home before another patrol arrives. You hope the motorbike isn’t wrecked. Otherwise, you’ll have to drive the truck with a bloodied dashboard. Not that you haven’t driven in worse situations but removing the truck will risk an investigation.

“Fuck off.” His fingertips tenderly touch your jaw, “I saw you at the barn.”

You allow Ghost to lift your face toward the reddish light. You can’t fathom looking into his eyes. So, you glance to the left, then to the right, checking for threats. You are alone in a field. Moonlight spills white ribbons across rows of vegetation and ripples across the fluffy, gray clouds.

“Those were some creative insults you threw at him.” He tilts your face side to side and your bruises pulse beneath his evaluation, “I think some of ‘em have the potential to make Soap blush.”

Your lips twitch and the cut on your lower lip bristles with stiff, crackling pain. He gently touches your lower lip with his thumb. Your eyes flick to his, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at your mouth.

“thought I’d never see that smile again.” He murmurs to himself then shakes his head slowly. “We ought to go before more patrols come this way.”

“Is the bike salvageable?”

“Should be,” he says gruffly, “if we’re lucky.”

~~~~~~~~~

You drive the motorcycle without noticing any of the passing, dark scenery. Ghost keeps one strong, muscled arm around your waist, and he subtly shifts and turns, watching your back while you speed along the dark roads with only a single headlight to guide you. Out of paranoia, you take different roads to confuse the trail. You worry someone might notice the thin, grooved dirt bike tracks next to the larger, deeper imprints.

Your return to your safe haven. A sense of relief turns like a key inside a lock within your chest. You touch Ghosts’ arm before he dismounts from the bike.  

Ghost’s mask shines red from the lamp and drying blood. You stare unflinchingly at him.

In this moment, above all other moments, you feel fearless. You can’t say that you fear losing him. Not really. Because you’ve lost him once already. The pain is manageable. It’s tolerable. And although you don’t want to lose him a second time, you think it is inevitable, and he deserves the whole truth. You can’t claim to love him and not offer him the complete truth.

“I deserted the agency.” You say, “and faked my death in Al-Qunbar.”

Ghost is silently contemplative for a few seconds.

“How’d you manage that if you were in an operative-run infirmary?”

“At my request, Price registered my stay under a Jane Doe and claimed I died after succumbing to complications of my injuries.” You explain, “but before I left, as a gesture of goodwill, I gave him the coordinates to this safe house if he was ever in trouble.”

His shoulders stiffen slightly. You wonder if you’ve struck a nerve telling him that Price knew your location while he remained in the dark.

“I refused to raise Lukas while I was an operative in the field. And I knew…if I wanted to keep his parentage a secret…then the only option for us was to disappear, play dead, and wait until we had a chance for a permanent home.”

You lift your gaze to the house behind Ghost. Fondness swells inside your chest.

“It was almost Noreth until the conflict started.” You say thickly through tears, “Lukas loves to watch things grow. He deserves that, you know? He deserves…” You stop yourself.

In your heart, Lukas deserves the childhood you never received. He deserves warmth, and safety, and fulfilled promises and silly games and how to make friends without also learning how to manipulate them.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “I trust that you won’t reveal our existence to anyone stateside or internationally.”

Ghost responds and his voice is like shrapnel. “Understood.”

Samira embraces you the moment you cross the threshold. You grimace and smother your wince at the back of your throat. You must’ve been hit – somewhere – alongside the bruised or possibly broken ribs that their leader gifted you. She holds you for several seconds and then rests her forehead against yours affectionately.

“You cheat death too much,” she chides. “Eventually, I fear He will get pissed off and come looking for you.”

You tease, “and you worry too much.”

Samira rolls her eyes, then her dark gaze pins Ghost. “You were meant to recover Kaja and return. Kaja says you stole her motorcycle and vanished.”

Ghost shrugs his big, heavy shoulders. Samira shoots him another withering look, but then Soap wheels into the main living area, and she switches into Doctor-Mode. You catch her expression soften when she regards MacTavish.

You ask, “where’s Lukas?”

“Upstairs.”  

Lukas is awake, alert, and bouncing on his feet when you enter his bedroom. The injuries on your face throb with pain and dried blood cakes your clothes and hair. Lukas smiles when he sees you. You drop to your knees and open your arms.

“Hello, my sweet boy.”

“What’s on your face?” Lukas asks, touching your bloodied skin, and your throat tightens. “Boo-boos?”

You nod. Lukas’ expression morphs into grim seriousness. His little brow furrows. “I’ll help you, mommy.” He wiggles out of your grasp and drags a plastic box of band-aids from underneath his bed. He sticks band-aids to your face, your hands, your wrists, and arms. You stifle your tears. He kisses the band-aids.

Lukas exclaims, “All better!”

“All better.” The words are thick and clustered inside your throat. You don’t have the energy to move from the floor. You lie down and pat the spot next to you. Lukas doesn’t question it. He lays next to you, and you card your fingers through his hair. His brown eyes are watchful and sleepy. You hum quietly and stroke his forehead, his nose, and his small shoulders with tender, bloodied hands.

You are a killer. Would Lukas still love you if he knew? You hope so. Your heart and soul is shredded into tiny pieces, and they belong to your son. Although a few tattered pieces belong to Simon, too.

Lukas eventually falls asleep. You pull yourself upright with some difficulty and your body quakes in protest. You glance at your stomach and chest to see your shirt has bled through with wet, fresh blood. A swarm of dots blur in front of your vision. You wince and awkwardly push your hands beneath Lukas to lift him from the floor. A cold, clammy sweat breaks out across your neck and forehead.

Ghost enters your peripheral vision. “I’ve got him.”

He lifts Lukas into his arms and places him carefully onto his bed. Your head swims. You might pass out. You squeeze your eyes closed to stop the room from violently spinning. Your cottony mouth forms a few letters and strings them into a slurred sentence.

“How long were you hiding in the hallway?”

He ignores your question. “Where’s your kit?”

You manage to pull yourself onto your feet. You plant your hand against the wall for balance. You want to call out for Samira, but blood fills your mouth. You sway. Ghost is suddenly there. He grips your arm and your head lolls into his shoulder.

“Your kit.” He repeats sharply.

You swallow the copper-tasting blood and cough, “closet.”

Ghost half-drags, half-pulls you out of Lukas’ room and into yours. You lean against the wall while he opens your closet and pulls the medical bag hiding beneath a pile of clothes. You watch him through heavily lidded, blurry eyes.

He approaches with a pair of scissors and starts to cut away your shirt. The scissors make a crusty ‘schrrrp’ sound as he gnashes them across the blood-soaked fabric. Up close, you can hear his breathing. It’s ragged and low and reminds you of a pissed off horse. You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. The blood loss is making you delirious.

You flutter your eyelashes at him, “if you want me to get undressed, Ghost, you ought to buy me dinner first.” Your shirt falls to tatters on the floor. His fingers prod at your stomach and ribs. You wince, but don’t flinch away.

Ghost hisses. “I’m in no mood.”

“Do you hate me?” You mumble, blood dribbles from the corners of your mouth. You want to meet his gaze, but his focus is on your blood-covered body. You wish he’d look at you. You wish he’d touch you without such clinical coldness. You shut your eyes. You wish for a lot of things…

You mutter, “I wish we never said goodbye.”

“and I wish you would come with us.” You admit while fighting to stay conscious, “I wish you had the chance to know him – to really know him. He’s so good, Simon. He’s good.” Wet, hot tears scald down your cheeks. It’s a miracle that someone so innocent and good could come from someone like you. A goddamn miracle. You hiccup and are unable to stop the tears.

A cold, biting sensation ricochets across your skin. Your knees weaken and you topple forward into him. He smells like gun oil and exhaust fumes. The world is a dark, shifting, and ambiguous shape as Ghost lifts you and deposits you somewhere warm and soft.

You try to pry your eyes open but they’re too heavy.  

“Stay with us,” Ghost murmurs, “stay with me.”

~~~~~~~~~

Ghost inhales slowly and cigarette smoke bites at the back of his throat. It burns. It smolders. His mind is twisted with thoughts of you. You are upstairs, your lips ashen, Samira is by your side and her expression is pinched sour with worry. Dawn bleeds like an open wound across the horizon and all echoes of last night are burned away.

He hates the idea of staying here longer than necessary, but what can he do? He can’t abandon Johnny.

He can’t abandon you.

A fleck of ash drops from the burning ember and whisks away on the breeze.

He can’t abandon his child.

The little boy who felt so fragile, so small and innocent in his arms. The boy who’s got eyes like his only less shadowed, less haunted. Lukas. He overheard Agathi call him ‘little light’. Your moth charm still dangles around your throat. Lux. The call name he gifted you.

Follow the light.

Ghost snubs the cigarette out against the wooden fence post.

~~~~~~~~~

Samira demanded you to take it easy during your recovery. You lost a lot of blood. Your lower two ribs were broken. Your household chores are reduced to washing dishes and prepping food. It drives you a little crazy, if you’re being honest, but at least you don’t suffer alone. Johnny makes for good company. You swap jokes, and play cards, and read together in silence during bed rest.

Agathi and her boys left yesterday morning. Their papers cleared. Their transportation confirmed. The house is quieter without them. And Lukas misses them terribly. You miss them too, but you hope they are safer and happier wherever they are. Their departure means Noreth is stabilizing. It means extraction is nearby. It means you and Lukas will leave soon.

The kitchen buzzes with the sound of the battery-operated camping lamp. You scrub the soapy and cold sponge across a sticky plate. Everyone is asleep. Ghost is in the barn keeping watch as he always does.

He hasn’t spoken to you since you passed out in his arms.

You endeavor to not take it personally. If he hates you for your secrets then he hates you. There is nothing you can change about that. You cannot – and will not –  beg him to go with you. You will not trick, or convince, or manipulate your way into a ‘happy’ outcome. Ghost always saw this haven as temporary. A place for Johnny to recover. Nothing more, nothing less.

He might hold affection for you, he might even care about you or Lukas, but that doesn’t change the reality of your roles.

You are a deserter. You have enemies that would happily tear you apart. You are dangerous. You would burn the world if it meant keeping Lukas safe. And Ghost? He’s a man who doesn’t let anyone see his face. A killer that shares the same soul as you. A solider with enemies. A past and childhood you’ve barely glimpsed into.

You are devoted to your son, to your family, to the hopeful future without bloodshed.

Ghost is devoted to his country, his place within the ranks, his duty as a solider.

The front door swings open. You glance over your shoulder to see Ghost enter. The harsh light of the lamp illuminates his shiny, brown eyes.

Your heart aches. He will do the same thing he’s always done. He will see you, say nothing, and walk toward his shared room with Johnny. You turn away.

“We’ve got to talk, Lux.” He says quietly.

You scrub the sponge harshly and the plate nearly slips from your fingers. “Do we?”

“We do.” His footsteps thump behind you. “Noreth entered peace talks. It’ll be safe to travel soon.”

You nod absentmindedly. Why is he bringing this up now?

You say, “I know.”

Ghost twists the knob to the camping lamp. The buzzing stops. The kitchen falls to complete, silent darkness. Your hands drip with chilly water. Together, in the dark, you are two hearts, four lungs, and timid, unspoken dreams. You hear the barest suggestion of fabric moving and you assume he’s closer to you.

He says, “give me your hands.”

You extend them and his fingers trap your wrists. The pads of your thumbs touch rough, scratchy stubble. Your breath quivers in your throat. You feel his pulse, deep and steady, like waves crashing into the shore.

“Go on then.” He urges.

His hands slide down your forearms and hook loosely at the bend of your elbow. Your index swipes across the scar on his upper lip. It’s familiar. You’ve memorized this scar. You see it in your dreams. You trace the shape of his plush, dry mouth with your fingertip. His hot breath exhaling slowly through his nostrils tickles your skin.

Your heart stammers at the absence of fabric near his cheekbones. You caress his nose along the bridge and tentatively stroke his brow. His fine, thin eyebrows are feathery soft beneath your fingers. You touch a weathered notch between his brows, a wrinkle carved through years of worry and stress and extreme focus. You smile to yourself. His skin is faintly tacky around the eyes from his black-camo paint.

You’ll carry him in the blackened whorls and spirals of your fingerprints.

His hair is short and glides silkily through your fingers. You trace the shell of his ear, his cartilage thin and delicate. You are pulled closer by a magnetic force, by gravity, by fate. You are a planet, and he is a comet blazing through your sky ever-so-often and painting your world in sparkling, white-hot streaks of brilliance.

When you return to his pulse, it thunders beneath your touch, and his jaw flexes under your hands. He has given you an enormous and precious gift. You piece him together like a ceramic mosaic. You aren’t greedy when it comes to Simon. You will take what he can give. And you know he functions much the same.

You say, “my eyes are going to adjust soon.” You lick your lips. “I can shut them if you like.”

“You’re entirely too good-hearted.” He grouses.

His nose skims along yours. The skin-to-skin contact, along with the pleasant rough accent of his voice, makes your toes curl. Stagnant shadows and blotches of darkness move like bruises across your vision. Simon smells like gun oil and smoke and sweat. Lethal. Dangerous. Heavy. It should be abrasive, but it’s an aphrodisiac to you. You tilt your neck back and sigh languidly. You are predators in a dark room. Yet you roll on your bellies for each other, you offer the supple skin of your throats and press knives into each other’s palms. Kill me, kiss me, be done with it.

“Have you forgiven me?”

His large hand envelops your throat, “‘m getting there.” Your heartbeat is in your ears, saliva thickens on your tongue, and your core throbs with acute longing.

“Shall I get on my knees?” You tease knowingly.

His chest vibrates like a strummed guitar string. The tip of his tongue flicks across the seam of your lips. Your lower back bumps into the counter. You open for him. You taste his ragged breath on your tongue. He must’ve shared a smoke with Johnny recently.

Ghost pinches your jaw in his hand, fingers digging into your skin, and he kisses you like its punishment. He kisses you like he’s claiming you (as if you didn’t already belong to him after he dragged you from the ice).

His large hand splays across your back and you feel each individual digit. He wants to meld into you. He wants to fuse your bodies together so nothing - and no one - can rip you apart lest they face the calamitous wrath of a nuclear explosion.

You tug at the root of his hair, pleased, and he grumbles lowly at the back of his throat. Something hot and sharp twists like barbed wire through the spaces of your ribcage.

Ghost says, “you kept secrets in order to protect him.” His breath fans across your wet lips. “I could never hate you for that, Lux.”

He pinches your jaw harder. In the low-light, you see him through your half-lidded eyes. You see the shape of his brow, his nose, his jaw. All of him. Simon Riley. The man you love.

“Never.” He declares before kissing you again. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, wet and suckling, and drool pools at the corners of your lips as you attempt to devour him. You pull his hair, his clothes, your fingers twisting and grasping and yanking. You want to drown. You want to burn. Simon’s affection and attention is all-consuming. It pulls you apart like a natural disaster.

He lifts you effortlessly into his arms and instinctively you wrap your legs around his wide hips. His hands come to rest at the swell of your bottom, and he squeezes you close. Your noses squish together. You feel the tacky, black paint on his skin smearing against your cheeks. You feel your spine hit the wall and he pins you there, all his weight and strength, his breath fills your lungs, his hands burn like a tattoo against your skin.

“Ask me,” he rasps desperately, “to come with you, love.”

“W-what?” The world knocks off its axis.

“Ask me.” He repeats. Your eyes scan his face—his beautiful, weathered, war-torn face—and seek any trace of deception. His brown eyes are framed prettily by his blonde lashes, and they regard you with open, tender affection. His mouth is softly open. His pink tongue glides across his lower lip and it glistens with saliva. He is willing to give it up. His life. His career. For a life with you.

“Simon,” You cradle his face between your hands. Your throat tightens. “If you come with us…you’ll lose everything.”

His big, calloused hand strokes the side of your face, “nothing compares to losing you twice.”

You lean your forehead against his. You can figure out logistics and details later.  Simon could technically find work in a private sector. You could try and arrange to live somewhere cold so he could wear the mask—or at least keep his face hidden. As long as you’re together, you can figure it out.

“Simon Riley…” You begin, your heart beating wildly in your chest, “once MacTavish is secure and returned safely to Price…”

Ghost snorts, “I hadn’t forgotten about Johnny.”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Regardless, once that’s done, will you…will you leave with Lukas and I?”

~~~~~~~~~

The briny air fills your lungs and your hands slip along the wet, metal railing of the small boat. Your face is damp from the spray that lifts in foamy, white splashes alongside the boat’s edge. The boat lurches and jolts across each tiny, cresting wave. The sky is beautifully gray like spun dark wool. The clouds stretch in long, languid brush strokes.

A lone seagull calls out before swooping near the water. You turn away from the scenery and twist your body toward your companions.

Lukas is bundled up with a thick scarf and heavy hat and big, navy coat. His gloved fingers form tiny fists near his cheeks. He barely stirs despite the bouncing motion of the boat. Simon has wrapped both arms protectively around his son and holds him close to his warm chest.

His eyes—bereft of the usual shadow of dark paint—lift from Lukas and meet yours. They crinkle softly at the edges. His mouth is hidden by his black balaclava, but you suspect he’s smiling. You tilt toward him and rest your cheek on his damp shoulder. An overwhelming sense of peace blankets over you.

Sunlight breaks free from the clouds and the world glimmers and sparkles like a freshly cut diamond. The light suffuses the air and encases you within a bubble of brilliance. Simon sighs. You peek upward and discover his eyes are closed and his face is angled toward the sunlight. You glide your fingertips across his knuckles and rest your palm over his hand.

Together, you hold your son and each other, and face the bright future with hope in your hearts.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

TAGLIST: @iwantmethgivememeth​  @levisbebe  @solidly-indulgent​  @alastorhazbin​   @crocsclub  @isimpforfictionalppl  ?? @sanfransolomitatm​

@hypernovaxx​

(tag list from earlier parts that im just including lol:  @anonymousmay22 //   @urisu //  @sodbos //  @confuseddipshit ) sorry if i missed anyone who wanted to be tagged LOL)

[ironheartedfae]

Timing: A few days ago Location: Folklore Tourism Feat: @muertarte & @ironheartedfae Warnings: self harm tw, child abuse tw Summary: Metzli sees Ren having a hard time and steps in to help.

Brisk silent steps hurried after the man in the tan jacket. The small fae had been following him for some time now. And he was none the wiser. Impressive considering how fae normally had better senses than most humans. But it was for that very same reason that Ren was following them in the first place. Wicked's Rest was full of strange creatures, and stranger people. This man, Ferdinand Renoir (or as they had spelled it, Furden AnneAnne Renwah) was well connected. The kind of person the family liked to keep tabs on. The kind that would earn them a commendation if they stockpiled enough info for Darya to figure out how to use him. 

Ren couldn't understand it, not exactly. Why they'd picked him out of all the rough dossiers she’d sent. He looked far too prissy and frail to do any real harm. But that also wasn't something for her to decide. She wasn't in Wicked's Rest to think. She was there to report. And today that brought her on board a strange vessel. Part bus, part boat. Something about monsters was scrawled across the side in far too bright of a color. Ren hadn't stopped to read it fully before sneaking on board. 

It was really easy, sneaking up like that. Ren didn’t even have to resort to their natural camouflage. All things considered, if this was some sort of hunting pack it was a terrible operation. With even worse security. Too many people, far too loud and excitable. How were the people supposedly leading this expedition supposed to manage all of these miscreants? Unruly children wailing and running around, climbing on things that clearly read ‘do not touch’. All while their supervisors did nothing to reprimand or even dissuade them. 

If this was the compound– Ahh yes. The same phrase that crept into the fae’s mind at every turn in this god forsaken town. Ren was astounded by just how rude and cavalier the people outside the palisades were. Somehow worse than the ways that Darya had explained them. Though, maybe they were confusing the stories of those in league with the fae, with everyone outside the family. It made them sick. That or the bumpy road down to the shore, either way her stomach was in knots well before they made their first wake. 

“Listen carefully, котёночек.” Darya’s words echoed in Ren’s ears. “You are going to encounter a lot out there. A lot of it will not make sense to you. Just remember-” “Do not trust any of it. I know мамочка.” Ren remembered how often the woman scowled at that phrase. But that day she was allowed it. Allowed a little familiarity as she graduated from trainee to soldier. Terms of endearment were earned, and finally Ren had done enough.

“Knowing and living are not the same thing.” One could almost mistake Darya’s tone for concern.

“Yes. I will not let you down.” 

“Be mindful of your words, don’t make promises you cannot keep, even if you intend to.” A funny thing to say to a fae. Ren had never been able to lie, nor had she learned the ways to twist her words to hide that fact. Promise binds were completely foreign to the young nymph. But that didn’t protect her from others who would take that naivety and exploit it. 

The whole day played over and over in Ren’s mind. Enough to keep her grounded as the ship… car… thing… drove closer and closer to the water. Even before they got out on the ocean the nymph started feeling irritated and antsy. Scratching at their skin as they dodged glances and made their way to a spot where they could watch their quarry. Renoir was deep in the throes of a conversation by the time the tiny spy found them amongst the crowd. Ren could hear every word, and in shorthand write it down. Good. Maybe it wouldn’t be that awful a mission after all. At the very least it wouldn’t be a failure. 

With the ticket purchased and the headphones secured on their head, Metzli begrudgingly set foot onto the strange vessel that Teddy pushed them to visit. They had worked there for some time and wanted the vampire to experience the place they inspired with their own existence as a local cryptid. It was quite humorous, and Metzli didn’t laugh at much.

Though, it was strange that they couldn’t find Teddy anywhere close by. They thought maybe the rascal was taking their time, preparing for an elaborate entrance as they so often loved the attention. Shrugging to themself, Metzli found a seat as far away from people as possible, rocking back and forth as they kept their focus away from the fact that they’d be stuck on a tour, with strangers. 

Looking around to pass the time and keep their mind from spiraling too much, Metzli people watched, scanning over the crowd of tourists. Some looked a little inebriated, others looked bored (mostly children), and some were already on the lookout for cryptids. It was an interesting sight, everyone was focused on a million other things. Like jotting things down and watching a group of people inconspicuously. Oh. Wait. That was strange. 

Metzli tilted their head curiously and kept their eyes trained on a child who appeared to be…working? It was cute, the way children found new ways to entertain themselves. But, there was hardly time to dissect the scene thanks to the announcer—who was not Teddy—made the final call for departure.

The boat… car… thing kept rocking, and with it the nymph’s stomach started churning. Training had never put Ren on the water before. Not in a boat at least. In it, sure. A bug like her needed to know how to survive anything. And there were plenty of fae that live in the water. Darya was sure to add them to the list of potential targets. If there were a colony of Nixies or Nereid infesting this town, it was up to Ren to find a way to their hive. Didn’t matter much at all how. Just that she had to. 

In the same manner, it didn’t matter how uncomfortable Ren was starting to feel. Seconds began to feel like hours, and minutes felt like an eternity. It didn’t matter how each noise from the rambunctious crowd made them shrink ever more into herself. Deeper into the tiny corner, hiding herself behind and beneath a box of buoys so no one could see. Telling herself it was because she needed to be stealthy. Because she needed to remain unseen by her target. It didn’t matter how every new sensation started to feel like an electric prod to the center of her spine. How her breath began to hitch and shudder. How she hadn’t even realized that she hadn’t blinked in a few minutes. Hadn’t looked away from the small spot on the boat’s railing. How the world slid out of focus and that spot became the only thing in the whole universe. A singularity that superseded anything and everything else. 

Worse still, was how her thoughts had turned to the past instead of what was going on. To the electric hum of half-on fluorescent lights. To the way the blood leaked along the tiles, the looming vertigo from standing next to the pit and– 

This was stupid. It was childish. Nothing was wrong, she was just being weak and unfocused and bad. Again. Half convinced it was some manner of physical ailment causing this plague of unsatisfactory behavior Ren began to pick at their skin. Rocking slightly, mimicking the movement of the waters below. When fingernails didn’t seem to work, when the energy inside begged for some manner of release, some manner of egress, the entomid began hitting their knuckles against their legs. Completely unaware of just how hard or how much. 

It didn’t matter. 

She had to stay hidden, stay alert, stay on target and she wasn’t. She had to. Her mind was screaming it. Telling her all the ways she would be punished or excluded or reminded how much of a monster and a failure she was. A spiraling source of anxiety that only served to make things worse. Whatever was happening was making her dumb. Making her blind. Blind enough she didn’t even notice the pair of legs that should have come right into her view. 

It was all too familiar to watch as anxiety weighed on the stranger, and then all but attacked them. The widened eyes, the labored breaths, and the need to go into hiding. It was everything Metzli had experienced. More so in their childhood, but now that their feeling was returning, the old ways they used to handle overstimulation was too. It was a spectrum, Metzli was told. They fell somewhere on it. 

Because of this, they had a harder time processing external stimuli, and yadda yadda yadda. It was a bunch of medical-like jargon they didn’t have the time to translate. Nor did Metzli really want to. There was plenty wrong with them without the added spectrum nonsense. Broken as they were, they didn’t need to tack anything else on. It hurt too much, to be that way. Similar to the pain that was clearly written all over the girl. They couldn’t help themself when they rose from their seat and made their way to her hiding spot. It wasn’t a very good one, but they weren’t really one to judge considering they knew how often rational thought went out the window. 

“Hello.” Metzli spoke as gently as they could, though it was hardly human. More robot-like, as they had heard people describe. “You are sensitive.” They crouched down and removed their headphoneys, promptly placing them onto the girl’s head. There wasn’t much Metzli could do for the swaying of the boat, but sound was something they could remove. They hoped it was enough. 

A muffled sound came from outside the cacophony of the fae's mind, far closer than anything had a right to being. Ren's sight had been blocked by a less than colorful shape that she still could not quite focus on enough to parse. Another mumbled sentence. Then more movement from the shape. It wasn't until Metzli's hand came dangerously close to the nymph's face that instinct kicked in and a different kind of defense mechanism fired up. 

Teeth sank into flesh just as something had been slipped onto her head. A sharp growl rumbled in the girl's chest as they clamped down on Metzli's forearm like a damn pitbull. For a moment she saw Darya where Metzli stood. Felt the heat of the woman's gaze. Felt her heart jolt and shudder like she'd been shocked with an electric prod. Suddenly everything snapped back into intense crystal clear focus. Ren realized quickly just what she was doing and recoiled physically. Jumping back enough that she slammed into the box and wall behind her. 

She had bitten them. Acted like a crazed animal in a cage. The girl flinched, pulled her arms up and in front of her face, there was no way a beating wasn't about to happen. She'd acted like a monster again. Ren tried her hardest to rein in her hyperventilating, trying to pull back the silent tears that had already begun to well up. 

"Tears will not fix your mistakes, insect." Her mentor's voice called through the panic. She was not a mother in those times. Ren was only allowed to call her mother when she'd been a good little fiend. When she acted properly, acted human. 

"Мне жаль, Мне жаль…" The phrase repeated quietly through sobs, expecting any moment for the contact, for the shouting. But it never came. In fact, Ren couldn't hear anything. Not in the way that fear sometimes robbed her of her senses, it was just…quiet. Her arms shifted, moving carefully from in front of her, coming up and gently touching the strange object that sat upon her head. It covered both her ears, and drowned out the rest of the world. 

"Wh- what is this..?"

Teeth in flesh weren’t uncommon for vampires. Hell, that’s pretty much all they knew. Only, it was usually them doing the biting. Not the other way around. “Pinche…!” Metzli recoiled, snapping the ear muff to the feral girl’s ear once they let go abruptly. On instinct, they cocked their arm back to retaliate, but the tears from the kid’s sobs extinguished any fire on the brink of becoming a blaze. Metzli regretted helping for a moment, allowing their soul to speak to them. It’d brought them many injuries, and they were starting to think their soul wanted them to get hurt. Somehow, that seemed just. 

Metzli had listened to Honey speak of balance so often that they were waiting for everything they’d done to have a reaction. For as much pain as they’d wrought, they knew they deserved just as much. More, even. Which was why, with a mixture of familiarity at the sight, they were inclined to let the bite slide. Bring their arm to fall out of offense, and evoke peace at their side. The last thing the child needed was a punishment for protecting herself. Metzli wanted to give her what they never got, create a safe space for her to breathe and realize that it was okay to be overwhelmed. Then show her how to counteract the noise. 

“Headphoneys.” The vampire replied dryly, wiping their hand on their pants and keeping an eye on where the shade was. For a few moments, they counted to ten, trying to keep the noise from reaching themself the same way it did for the girl. “Block sound.” Metzli pointed at their ear and signed no, figuring they might have not been heard. They furrowed their brows together and closed their eyes tightly, hoping no control would be lost in the cacophony of noise surrounding them. Why did nice have to come with sacrifice? Why did they even bother? No one helped them, so why should they help anyone else? Metzli knew the answer. They just didn’t like it. 

It wasn't an instant fix. Few things in this world were. But the headphoneys were on Ren's ears, and the world around her was that much quieter. Stunned into and because of this sudden silence, all they could do was breathe. Trepidation at the front. Each lost huff of air brought her closer to the present, closer to reality. 

Wide eyes took in all there was to see, she focused on the details. The stranger was tall, had dark curly hair, and strong features. They held a strong presence, and an unnatural stillness. Most, if not all, of their skin was covered, and what showed had the faint echoes of scars. Not unlike their own. 

Ren could see all that, could see how the person retracted their arms and stood waiting and watching. She could see it, but not understand. Why had they come over? Why did they put these things on her head? Why did it help? The adrenaline rush provided by the panic was beginning to peter out. Which meant the crash was right behind. 

Ren wanted to escape, but she couldn't move. She wanted desperately to explain herself, to ask the stranger a million questions. But her voice just wouldn't come. Instead she sank back against the wall, making herself as tiny as she could. The shakes and shivers might have been gone, but the aftershocks were often just as loud. 

The helpful stranger deserved something though, some manner of appreciation, as much as she could muster. For pulling her out of the worst of it. Words had failed, so instead she slid out her foot. Let the old dusty boot knock into Metzli's. Once. Twice rapidly. Once again. She didn't really know why that was what she chose to do. But it was the best gesture she could find. 

It was like staring in a mirror. Not in appearance. The stranger was much younger and Caucasian, but the mannerisms and the discomfort were a reflection of their own. Metzli shifted uncomfortably where they sat, no longer able to look at themself. That’s when the tapping began. “Hm?” The vampire sucked in a breath and dared to take another peek, watching as the final tap to their foot was placed. 

Was she trying to thank them? Metzli had gone nonverbal plenty of times, though they didn’t know that’s what it was called. They usually just called it extra quiet time. “Welcome.” The vampire nodded, fiddling with their pocket until they were able to retrieve another gift from Leila. It was a cube she said would help them when they felt like stabbing something, which Metzli really wanted to do at that moment. The hair on their arms were standing on end, nerves reaching an all time high. 

Without another word, the vampire extended their arm, fidget cube in hand as an offer. It’d helped them a few times. They hoped it would help the girl too.

Who was this stranger? Why did they know exactly what to do, why had these simple gestures done so much to pull Ren from her mind? From the hateful spiraling mix of caustic self deprecation and racing thoughts. It was like the girl was a record on loop. Some strange defect causing the needle to skip backwards, playing the same sounds. Over and over and over and over and over and over— and then here comes this person, calm as anything, and just lifts the bar. Stops the music all together. 

It was enough to slow the reel. To stop the hyperventilation and just cause the girl to stare. The world may have still been narrowed, but whoever they were, the stranger was now a part of it too. 

Cautiously, Ren reached out for the strange object the other was extending. A weird cube that had a bunch of knobs and buttons all over it. It almost looked like a die, but instead of numbered pips it had those odd protrusions. She held it, felt the weight of the thing fill her palm. The way one of the things moved when her hand closed around it. 

“What is?” 

Metzli bowed their head and closed their eyes as the cube was taken, showing as much serenity and respect as they could. She looked like she had calmed down a degree, but they wanted to prevent any resurgence of her previous outburst. “Is fidget toy. Keep hand busy when you have stress.” They pointed at one of the sides, the one with what appeared to be a joystick. Their favorite. 

The button rotated and clicked when it was pushed down, causing a satisfying click that always made Metzli’s ears tingle pleasantly. Even then, when they weren’t the one clicking it, they felt calmer with the sound. It seemed like the girl did, too. The sight made Metzli’s shoulders droop with relief, and they thought that was the perfect moment to inquire a little more on the stranger in front of them. 

“I am Metzli. Who are—” HOOOOONK! Metzli jumped at the sound of the boat’s horn, becoming flush with the wall behind them again. A voice droned over the intercom, saying who knows what. Certainly not Metzli. They were too busy trying to calm themself down and make the overwhelming ringing in their ears stop. Everything became a full pause, the sound of the blasting horn the only thing on their mind as they rocked back and forth. 

The blare of the horn managed to even cut through the headphones. Or maybe it was just the way the sound moved through her, even without hearing. Ren knew how jarring and annoying that was because the near constant use of that terrible noise was one of the big parts that had set her on edge in the first place. She jumped up, moving closer to the stranger who had been so helpful to her, so kind. 

Ren didn’t have some fancy solution to offer, but she felt the phantom pain Metzli showed as if she’d heard it full force as well. The tiny fae clasped her hands over the stranger’s ears. Holding tight and firm, being the noise cancelation that the other had granted to her. 

She wished she could do more. For once she wished for more from her fae ancestry. The magic that sylphs could stir, for one. Seemed like it would have been the most prudent at the time. But no, she was cursed to be an exceptionally useless thing, only good for what she’d been trained in. Only good for hurting when all she wanted to do was help. 

Ren’s hands moved with Metzli, allowing the other to rock in the way that she often did. It was strange to say the least, to see someone else coping in the same way. To see something the nymph had perceived as a fault displayed in front of her for what it was. A reaction. That’s all. 

A cocktail of shock and wonder mixed on Metzli’s face when Ren closed the distance between them and placed her hands on their ears. Had the sound not disappeared the moment it happened, the vampire would’ve surely reacted poorly. Instead, their shoulders relaxed, releasing the tension enough to let them release a strangled breath. All those decades of not needing air, and they still choked on it at times like that. 

Metzli gave Ren a grateful nod, brown eyes zig-zagging around her freckled-face. The mirror was so much closer then, and one thing was obvious. They both needed to get out of there, and Metzli was going to find a way out. “You are good child.” They said, bonking their head into hers just before they stood up and locked their eyes on a lifeboat. Would anyone notice? Metzli decided it didn’t matter if they did. The two of them were going to get off the boat one way or another. 

“There. We leave.” Pointing at the secured rafts, Metzli marched toward them and gripped their knife tightly. The blade cut the ropes with ease, and Metzli looked back at the girl, eyes requesting her assistance. 

Kindness begets kindness. It was a simple lesson most people are taught before they even start going to school. The Golden Rule as it were. Very few times in Ren's life had she been treated the way she'd figured others wanted to be. Was it just a skewed definition? Or perhaps a lack of being around the right people. 

Emilio showed Ren kindness. Nora showed Ren kindness. Even the other allgoods, they didn't reject her immediately, not the way the Adelskold youths had. They might even consider her a friend. (A thought that pained Ren so deeply that she simply buried it far far below years of training and conditioning.) All these people had been teachers, unknowingly. Giving Ren the tools she needed for a moment like this. When another kind stranger needed her help. Though, she wasn't sure how much help she'd really offered. 

Their head came closer, and for a split second the frantic fae thought she'd done something wrong. That this was not the right move, or it was far too forward of her, but no. No, the other person just rested their forehead against hers. Ren felt a sudden sense of comfort, fluttering through her chest like a happy hive of honeybees. Unsure of her part to play, she simply let the action happen. Only at the very last moment returning the gesture with some pressure of her own. 

You are good child. 

The headphones didn't block out everything. Just dampened the background noise, made things easier to sift through. And still, if Ren had not been so close, had not been listening so carefully, she would not have believed what she had heard. Compliments were not something freely given by Ren's caretakers. The last time the word good was directed at her like this? When she killed her first other nymph. A leshy. His name had been Jordan. He wasn't much older than she had been. She found that out after. She wasn't supposed to care. At the time she figured it was some defect in her biology. That nasty bond all fae share. Now she wasn't so sure. She was, however, sure she was not good. 

Metzli (though Ren hadn't quite caught the name what with all the sudden shock after) was eyeing something now. They had stood, moved and were slicing through ropes that Ren's eyes followed up and up to where they held down something called a "Life Raft". It seemed to be one of many, and the other seemed to think it would help them leave. 

Complicated feelings on stealing aside (especially after that night, especially when stealing led directly to murder and the subsequent breakdown of Ren's whole psyche) she knew that the other was right. They both needed to get off this ship… car… boat… bus thing. 

"Okay." Twin blades pulled out of seemingly nowhere, twisted open in a quiet flourish, then got to work on the other fasteners. "We leave."

Metzli didn’t know much about boats or rowing, but the technical aspects of them seemed like common sense. Without another moment of hesitation, they pulled the raft away from its home and pushed out over the edge of the boat/car/whatever-the-fuck thing they were on. 

With a splash, the lifeboat settled into the water with a few sways, giving the vampire a few moments to balance themself on the edge before leaping into it. Metzli landed a bit clumsily, still panicked from the overstimulation, but they found their footing and looked back up to their new young friend. “I will catch,” They promised, steadying the raft as best they could while they could hear a commotion beginning to stir on the deck. Metzli figured someone noticed the pair’s escapade, which only meant time was of the essence.  

“Jump,” Metzli urged, arm outstretched and ready. It was a strange scenario to be thrust into, but they’d be damned if they didn’t try to escape for both their sake’s. 

Ren’s head turned. Back to the target, to the deck crowded with people all off staring at something in the water on the opposite side. She couldn’t make out much but a massive dark navy tail with bright teal glowing spots running down the length. Whatever it was, it was big, and a perfect distraction. Ren grappled with the thought of leaving her mission unfinished. Leaving Renoir with the rest, and just finding him later. On solid ground. A better alternative. One that didn’t sink like a stone in her stomach. She’d already proven that she couldn’t handle this ride and all the sights and sounds that came with it. She wasn’t going to be very effective at her job even if she did stay. 

So she turned back to Metzli. Nodded tentatively, though fully intending to make her own descent. The bug was pretty good at landing where she wanted to after all. Many ambushes came from above. From higher points than this. The nymph casually slipped over the side and silently landed without much fanfare. Ren did, however, take the offered hand on her way down. A guide. Not one she needed physically, but… maybe it was there to steady her in a different way. Maybe she could accept that. This stranger who was so much like her, and still so different. Maybe she could learn more from them. 

Between the pair the little raft drifted rapidly far from the Folklore Tourism. Making quick work of the distance that stretched out towards the shore. Funnily enough, once they were off the overcrowded vessel, it was almost peaceful. That, or the sudden relief of being nearly alone again was enough to trick the nymph into thinking so. Hard to say. What Ren did know though, was that she didn’t really need the headphones anymore. 

“It was a kind thing to do. Lending headphoneys. Noble. Sound was… bad for you too.” Ren held them reverently in her hands for a moment before reaching out and putting them in the other’s lap. “I apologize for my actions. This is not how I am usually.” Eyes still cast downward, empty hands now fiddled with themselves rather than the accessory or the oar on her side of the raft. Allowing them just a moment to drift in with the tide. “How can I make this up to you?” 

There wasn’t much to say anymore. What with the escape already being quite the success, but the girl was asking questions. Metzli simply shook their head, taking the headphoneys and placing them back on their head. Even if they had wanted to talk, they didn’t feel like they could. Like the words were stuck in their chest. That was always the worst part about overextending themself. They always lost the inability to communicate, to connect, even artificially. 

Again, Metzli shook their head and pushed one of the oars toward Ren. They jutted their chin, silently commanding for her to take reign and help them. Their hand wrapped around the other, eyes focused on a new objective. Metzli couldn’t help it. They just wanted to get home, and they knew their accomplice did too. Maybe once each of them had recharged, they’d contact her and delve into just how similar they were. Until then, the two had to heave. 

Right. Ren nodded right back, understanding their place. It was time for work. Not apologies. With a surprising amount of strength for her size, the nymph took the oars and began to work. She felt a bit foolish, like breaking the silence was the wrong thing to do. Even though she’d been told all her life how she had to own up to her faults. How she had to come out of her stupid little shell and speak when appropriate. It was quiet time now. That was… well it was better actually. Just doing something as simple as saying a few sentences, however robotic and clinical they may have been, was more draining than the actual physical labor the girl was doing now. 

The open ocean gave way to breakers, then to thankfully less than rough shallows, and then the shore. Rocky, uneven, but solid. Ren jumped out as soon as it wasn’t too deep to stand and began to pull the boat up to the sand. Luckily, this wasn’t some busy beach, just a forgotten little nook, covered by a large cliff overhead, and the plants that hung down like curtains from its heights. A path snaked up and around, providing access to the rest of the town, but for now it was empty. Good. The nymph turned and gave Metzli one quick bow of the head then turned to go. Separate ways until… well until fate decided if they should meet again. 

For once, Ren kind of wished they would. 

[darnedchild]

Universally Monstrous - The Creature from the Black Lagoon

I fully intend to turn this fun-sized ficlet into a full-sized fic one day - as in I have the rest of the story outlined and half of the second chapter already written and I just need to get off my rear and finish it already!

Until then . . .

So here’s another one:

On Ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183736

and below the ‘Keep Reading’ for the linkphobic

 Universally Monstrous - The Creature from the Black Lagoon

   The Molly Malone – Docked at the Port of Tilbury – 1895  

The stink of rotting fish and something worse tainted the air, assaulting Sherlock’s sensitive sense of smell.  He briefly considered pulling out his handkerchief to cover his nose; but decided it wouldn’t do to risk offending the local fishermen.

At least until he had gotten what he’d come for.

His carriage came to a bumpy stop.  Even as he exited, his driver was questioning the closest dock worker for the location of the Molly Malone.  

She was a small vessel in comparison to many of her counterparts moored nearby.  Built to transport cargo rather than passengers.  Older but well kept, indicating the Skipper cared for his ship and crew.  Not the kind of ship a common conman would helm.

Interesting.  

Still, he knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving.  

The Skipper was waiting to welcome him aboard.

 A charlatan eager to show off his wares to an unsuspecting rube?

Sherlock followed the Skipper down into the hold.  In the middle of the otherwise empty space was a large tank full of murky water.  The other man slowed as he approached the tank, stopping well away from the glass enclosure.

There was something roughly the size and shape of a human curled upon itself in a back corner of the tank, although the dim light of the lanterns and the filthy water made it difficult to discern much more.

“There she is.”

The “creature” in the tank stirred at the sound of the Skipper’s voice.  What he first assumed to be arms wrapped around its body began to unfurl with slow, deliberate movements; revealing what could only be described as the forked tail fins of some kind of a marine animal.  

The rest of its body came into view.  The torso was bare of clothing and clearly feminine in nature.  If he were another man, Sherlock might turn his gaze away in an effort to protect her modesty.  Instead, he watched intently as she planted her hands against the floor of the tank and propelled herself across the too-small enclosure to the pane of glass closest to him.  

In contrast to the human appearance of her upper body, her scaled lower half was long enough to coil upon itself and terminated in the forked tail fins he’d glimpsed earlier.

Her hair was long; black or brown, it was difficult to tell as it drifted in the gentle ebb of the water.  Now that she was near, he could see that her facial features were soft.  Watson might call them elfin in one of his fanciful stories.

He stepped closer.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Skipper tense; but the other man remained silent.

Sherlock tilted his head as he continued to catalogue the creature’s appearance.

There were multiple odd folds of skin along the sides of her neck that seemed to subtly flutter in time with the rise and fall of her chest.

Gills? his mind supplied, even though he knew the concept was ludicrous at best.

He realized she had also tilted her head to the side, as if to mimic him.  As a matter of fact, she appeared to be studying him just as intently as he had her.  Her brown eyes were bright and intelligent, even through the dull veil of filthy water.  She held his gaze for an uncomfortably long moment, before her lips titled upward in a hint of a smile.

“What do you think?” the Skipper asked, pride heavy in his voice.

“I think I’m looking at a fake, albeit a well-constructed one.”  The Skipper huffed, but Sherlock ignored him.  Surely the woman in the tank would need to surface soon, or risk betraying the presence of a breathing apparatus of some sort.  His mind raced to calculate how long the average human female could survive without air before losing consciousness.

“She’s as real as you or I.”

Sherlock scoffed, “Impossible.”  Yet, even as he spoke, he began to feel an uncharacteristic shadow of doubt.

She pressed her hand against the glass.  He found himself taking another step closer to the tank with his hand upraised to return the gesture before he caught himself.

Her hand was small.

“Delicate,” Watson’s unwelcome voice intruded upon his thoughts.

But her fingers were tipped in the nails of a predator; short but deadly, as if designed by nature itself to pierce and rend.

His doubts continued to grow.  There was no possible way that the woman before him was anything more than an elaborate prank.  Was there?

“Impossible or merely improbable?” Mycroft asked, as if leading him toward a deduction like a dog on a leash.

“What do you call her?”  Sherlock continued to keep his attention on the tank as he spoke to the Skipper.

“We named her Molly.”

“In honour of the ship and her crew, I presume?”

“Aye.  It seemed fitting at the time.”

Sherlock noted the past tense.  “But not now?”  

He briefly glanced at the Skipper.  The other man looked uneasy, but he kept his mouth shut.

Molly’s earlier smile hardened and grew smug, as if she held some piece of knowledge that Sherlock was not privy to.  Whatever it was, he wanted it.

Clearly, whether she was human or some fabled creature from the watery depths, Molly could understand what they were saying.

“How long have you had her?”

“A few days,” the Skipper was quick to answer.

Too quick.

Sherlock turned to stare the man down.

“A week.”

Sherlock arched his brow.

“A month.”

That seemed plausible. Sherlock was content to let the matter drop for the moment.  Especially with something far more important to unearth.  “What happened to convince you to surrender her?”

The Skipper flexed his hand at his side, curling the fingers into a fist.  “What do you mean?

“Come, come, man.  Surely you realized that putting the creature on display would be far more profitable than selling her to the British government.”  Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he considered the evidence before him.  “The crudely constructed barricade across the top of the tank, with no means to remove the bars should she needs to be released. An unplanned addition constructed in haste.”

He turned to face the Skipper fully.  “You’ve kept a cautious distance…  No, not cautious.  Fearful.  You’re scared of her.”

The Skipper blanched and Sherlock knew he was correct.

“I ask again, what happened?”

“There was an accident.  She grew listless after a few days.  Stayed at the bottom of the tank.  Refused the fish we’d been giving her.  I started to worry.  The whole crew did.  Like you said, she was worth far more to us alive than dead.”  The Skipper closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was going to say next.  

“Nelson thought she might be temped by something fresher, on account of her being used to catching live fish and whatnot for her supper.  The next time we brought up a net, he set a few aside in a bucket and brought them to her.”  The other man refused to look at the creature.   “He said he climbed a stack of crates and leaned over the side to offer the fish, and that’s all he remembers until we found him over there.”   He jerked his head toward an area to the side of the tank.  

“He was screamin’ and bleedin’, soaking wet, clutching his hand to his chest like a wee babe.  He must have lost his balance.  Cut himself on the glass or a jagged bit of metal trying to catch himself when he fell in and severed two of his fingers.”  He finally met Sherlock’s eyes, and the detective knew that the Skipper didn’t actually believe a word he’d just said.  “We… never found them.”

Sherlock looked at the creature and noticed that the upward tilt of her thin lips had parted in a large, predatory grin to reveal a mouthful of dangerously sharp teeth.  There was no doubt in his mind as to where Nelson’s missing digits had gone.  “I’ve seen enough.”

“Aye.  And your verdict?  Will you take her?”

“That’s not my decision to make.  Someone will be in contact with you soon enough, regardless.”

The Skipper looked as if he were about to argue, but a quelling look from Sherlock had him biting his tongue.  “Best let you be on your way, then.”

They’d barely made it two steps toward the door of the hold when a sweet trill filled the room.  Sherlock turned to find that Molly had wrapped her hands around the bars at the top of the tank and pulled herself up until her face was just above the waterline.  She opened her mouth and the sound issued forth once more, rising and falling like a melody.  Her song called to him, and he found himself swaying on his feet.

“That will be enough of that,” the Skipper snarled.  

Molly slowly lowered herself and returned to the far corner to curl up once more.  She kept her eyes trained on him the entire time.

[lucid-dakou]

Excerpt from "Guide to Lowlanders Vol 01" translated from its original Skylean.

Perhaps the most wide spread and prevalent intelligent species on Layridin is the Ploverlor. Ploverlor, or "Plovers" as they are commonly called, are on the shorter end of average height, usually only getting as tall as 5'9" or 6'2" on average. Their skin is smooth and tends to be gray with a white underbelly, and dark grey or black and orange-ish markings. They have two large eyes and blunt snouts. Sprouting from their head is anywhere from one to four horns on average. Hanging from the back of their head is a bulbous "gas bladder" leading to the nickname "sac heads," but this is considered a derogatory term. They have short, stumpy tails, usually concealed by their clothing. The middle finger on their hands ends in what many Plovers refer to as a "grubbin' claw," possibly a hold over from an early ancestor that used it to dig for insect larvae in trees and logs. Ploverlor lack fur or feathers and only seem to grow hair on their heads and nether regions.  The gas bladder on the back of a Ploverlor's head is, perhaps one of their most defining features. This balloon-like structure inflates with a type of natural gas. The gas has no odor but it is thick and hangs low in the air when expelled. With a simple muscle contraction, a Ploverlor can expel a thick cloud from the gill-like vents along the sides of their head creating a natural smoke screen. Very handy when one doesn't want to be seen! Once expelled, it may take several hours to build up the smoke again.

Native to the northern regions of Sullan, two variants of Ploverlor seem to have developed as a result of regional differences. These two are commonly referred to as "Eastlanders" and "Westlanders" based on each group's geographic location of origin. Eastlander Ploverlor originated in the misty valleys and foot hills of the north eastern Sullan island, famous for their top quality garments made from Wooly Jumper fleece. The Westlanders, obviously originated along the western coast of mainland Sullan, where they formed bustling fishing villages and trade hubs. Westlanders have formed a strong relationship with the Kren Merchant's Guild as a result of this. There are also physical difference between the regional Ploverlor as well. Eastlanders tend to have a more bulbous, rounder gas bladder with a bumpy, sometimes even spiked ridge running down the middle of it, as well, their "grubbin' claw" starts at the first digit after the knuckle. Westlander Ploverlor have a more elongated, smoother, gas bladder lined on both sides with a wing-like fin ending in an almost tail-like protrusion and a more pronounced first gill. Additionally, Westlanders' "grubbin' claws" begin at the knuckle and lack any additional articulation.

Ploverlor has spread across the entire civilized world, some even managing to adapt to life on the Sky Dragon! Their innate magical aptitude and high birth rate of magically gifted children is likely a contributing factor to their success as a species...

[l1teraryangel]

In Another Life (Ch. 7)

Ryou’s eyes shot open, a shuddering gasp accompanying the action, and clutched at his heart through the thin shirt he wore. Beneath his ribs and breastbone, the organ pumped, earnest and steadfast, mildly accelerated. Deep breaths calmed the excitement coursing through him, and he carefully swung his legs over the bed he found himself upon.

Immediately, he studied his location, and frustration repressed any remaining cheer. From what he could see, he was sitting in an RV-type trailer on a rather lumpy couch. A tinge of pain in his lower back told him he wasn’t imagining the lumps, either.

Across from him stood the door he’d seen in the nothing: unappealing matte gray, dented, bumpy, and daring to exist contently regardless of his struggles. He grumbled and rubbed his face. “Dear Gods, why are you doing this to me? I want to go home. I’ve been through enough, haven’t I? I…”

‘I killed a man.’

His mental finish shook him. Why couldn’t it be a bad dream, a false memory? Why could he still feel the blood on his skin? Just like before, just like with—

‘No, no, no! Do not lose focus! Figure out where you are, if there’s danger, and find a way to contact Bakura and Touzoku-Ou!’

Set with his instructions, Ryou popped up off the couch and, with a glance around the small space telling him he was alone, went for the exit. He twisted the knob and creaked it open to see, honestly, the last thing he expected: a circus.

Different tents and stands, a petting zoo, and in the center of it all towered a glorious big top. The fabric gleamed metallic gold and voidlike black — an unusual color scheme for a happy-go-lucky circus, Ryou thought, but he liked it all the same. In fact, on second glance, all of the tents used the same color scheme. It made sense for cohesiveness, but Ryou wondered if the circus was not actually intended for children. Didn’t kid-friendly circuses use bright, pastel colors or uber saturated ones at least?

‘But there is a petting zoo, so it must be for kids!’

While his realistic side told him to find someone who could provide information, the part of his brain craving something comforting and joyful drove him to the fence where he hopes to find some adorable goats or piglets or something fluffy.

Yet, when he reached the fence and peeked inside, he saw nothing of the sort. And what he did see irregulated his heartbeat.

Pale as his hair and glowing in the sunlight, an enormous snake basked on a flat rock. Enormous failed to encapsulate the size of the thing, actually. Ryou gulped as he considered how, given the opportunity, the snake could likely devour him. The thickest part of its body had to measure as wide as his shoulders, and from head to tail, it certainly must be nine meters long or more.

Its lidless eyes stared at him, but he wasn’t sure whether it was truly watching or asleep. His answer came from it suddenly shifting its head in his direction. Slowly, the muscles of its body began working in unison to propel it towards the fence. Ryou’s heart hammered in his chest, his feet glued to the ground, as it poked its massive head — bigger than his entire hand or even his foot — over the fence and flicked its tongue at him.

When the beast bumped its head on his sternum, Ryou realized, too late, exactly how close it crept. It repeated the action, like a cat begging for attention, and he ran a shaky hand down its skull and upper spine, praying snakes couldn’t sense fear. 

He always heard people, regardless of their stance on snakes, talk about how the animals lived simple lives with little to no intelligence. But the eyes he gazed into now, the way it tilted its head at him, he doubted such a thing held true for this specimen. There lived a shrewd mind behind its silver eyes. 

“Oh, Ryou, you’re up!”

His heart flipped at the voice. Silently pleading for a positive change from his prior experience, Ryou peered over his shoulder. Sure enough, Touzoku-Ou stood there, beautiful and shirtless, beads of sweat glistening like morning dew on his skin.

“Playing with Diabound? She being a good girl?” He ambled up to the fence and fearlessly stroked the snake’s head. The snake flicked its — her tongue out at him and nuzzled her nose into his wrist. 

He grinned and answered his own question. “Of course she is. I’m not convinced she still views me as her master. Always gives me trouble, but when you’re around, she’s an angel. I think she likes you more.”

His eyes — solid gray, Ryou noted, taken aback by the utter lack of blue or purple — flickered upwards to his. An enamored smile curled the ashen-haired man’s plump lips and curved the scar zagging down his right cheek. Ryou’s mouth dried up right then while staring at the gorgeous man before him.

“Are you feeling better? Still have a headache?”

Pulled back to Earth, Ryou replied, “Um, no, the headache is gone.” And he cursed the tremble in his voice, though not as much as he cursed the trouble he had keeping his eyes upwards.

‘Why is he not wearing a shirt. Why is he not wearing a shirt. Why is he not —’

“You sure you feel better? You’re a little flushed.”

The hand caressing his cheek shattered the resolve. His eyes dropped down, drinking in the pectoral muscles and carved abs. A lump formed in his throat when this new Touzoku-Ou chuckled.

“Oh, I get it. Like what you see?”

“Why are you not wearing a shirt?”

‘That wasn’t what I meant to say. Well… fuck it.’ Ryou mentally shrugged, although embarrassment hung over his head. Blood rushed and stained his cheeks crimson when Touzoku-Ou laughed again. 

The man leaned forward and kissed Ryou, not a drop of hesitation to slow him down. “Maybe I was hoping you and Bakura would enjoy the show.”

Blinking away his dirtier thoughts, Ryou managed to squeak out, “W-Where is Bakura?”

“Hm, think he’s setting up the tomb maze with Kek. And by that, I mean they are arguing so loud I can hear them outside of the damn thing.” He waved the image off, amused but more interested in pushing his and Ryou’s bodies together on Diabound’s fence. Ryou recalled how the last Touzoku-Ou boxed him in before, but at least this one seemed to be doing so out of endearment and mutual lust.

Satisfied with their new positioning, the man continued, “Boss wants everything ready for tomorrow night. Don’t worry.” He winked and snuck a kiss. “I already told him he’s a jackass for not giving us the day off.”

“Mmhm…”

Despite his best efforts, Ryou struggled to remember what information he meant to ask for or what else he needed to do. Touzoku-Ou’s body combined with a familiar level of warmth and affection shut out all other thoughts.

Touzoku-Ou’s grin morphed into a cocky smirk. “Ry, you should lay back down. You’re obviously still struggling, and I think you might be catching a fever.” His fingers hooked into Ryou’s pants and boxers, brushing unabashedly along Ryou’s bare hip bone. “I do hate to see you so out of it, beautiful. Maybe you need some TLC to clear your head?”

“I, uh,” Ryou mumbled, subconsciously flattening his palm on the thirst-inducing body before him. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from whatever you were working on…”

Thoughts bounced around his head, taunting him. A clearer thought shoved them all back and danced beneath a spotlight, front and center. ‘Is this cheating? I can’t… I can’t risk doing something that might hurt my Bakura and Touzoku-Ou.’

“My beloved, most precious gem,” Touzoku-Ou purred, lips teasing Ryou’s jawline. “Nothing in this god-forsaken circus is worth more of my attention than you.”

A quiet hiss paused the spell cast by their increasing arousal. Shoulders shaking with laughter, Touzoku-Ou pushed away the snout poking through the gap between Ryou’s arm and ribs.

“Sorry, girl, but I told you Ryou was my new number one. You’re number two, right over Bakura, if that makes you feel any better?”

Diabound offered a snort-like hiss in response, drawing an honest-to-goodness giggle from Ryou. Two muscular arms hugged his waist, and he couldn’t resist shifting away the bangs hiding a perfectly smoochable forehead. Pecking his target tenderly, Ryou ducked under the arms holding him in place and pressed his lips to the other’s ear.

“We should get back to work.”

A defeated sigh slipped from Touzoku-Ou’s lips. “Always a hard worker, huh, Ry? Here I was thinking my seduction was working so well.”

“It was,” Ryou assured him and pecked him again, this time on his defined cheekbone. “But I’d feel guilty if everyone but us was working.”

His lover’s lookalike scoffed and planted his cheek on Ryou’s shoulder, puppy dog eyes turned to one hundred, while teasingly circling his fingertips under the pale boy’s ticklish ribcage. Ryou gasped, worming away from the attack, but Touzoku-Ou followed after, an evil grin replacing his pitiful expression.

“What’s wrong, Ry? Why are you running?”

“I’m not running.” Even as he spoke, Ryou dodged an outreached hand inching towards his midsection. “S-Stop that.”

“You gonna make me? You’re not so mean that you’d spoil my fun two times in a row.”

Another dodge scrupulously executed, Ryou darted several feet behind Touzoku-Ou, brown eyes locked on his approaching silhouette. The man stalked forward, meticulous in every step, his lips fixed in that adorable, taunting smile.

“You are running, then?”

Ryou pouted his lips, but his eyes sparkled. “You’re not leaving me much choice.”

“That’s true. I’m such a bastard.” He winked, and Ryou’s heart somersaulted, desire tempting him to fall back into the man’s arms. “If you’re gonna run, better start now. I’ll give you… Five seconds headstart.”

Opening his mouth to protest, Ryou stopped himself as Touzoku-Ou raised his hand, pointer finger extended. Rather than test both Touzoku-Ou’s sincerity and his own ability to resist further seduction, Ryou took off between the circus attractions.

‘This is… fun. It feels right. Like I’m back home with my boys.’ Ryou serpentined his way around the tents, breaking line of sight with Touzoku-Ou before nestling behind a stack of what he assumed to be unpacked merchandise. His timing lined up since Touzoku-Ou’s boisterous laugh sounded maybe ten feet away.

“Ryou~” He called, and Ryou slapped a hand over his nose and mouth. “You can run and hide all you want, but I’ll find you, beautiful. And I will tickle you into submission.”

Biting back a laugh at the dramatic announcement, Ryou peeked around the crates, a mischievous smile crinkling his eyes. This was so much better than fighting for his life, than playing some stupid murder game.

‘...Shit. I gotta stop thinking about that realm,’ He scolded himself. ‘Don’t start crying, it’ll just confuse the local Touzoku-Ou and Bakura. You did what you had to, so push it from your mind.’

Easier said than done, he knew, but he tried his best. So lost in thought, Ryou failed to notice another body sneaking into his hiding place until said person snuggled into his side and placed an audible smooch on his cheek. While he nearly jumped out of his skin, Ryou deftly identified the familiar face of his lookalike.

“Bakura! You scared me!”

Chuckling, Bakura bumped their shoulders together. “So, handsome, who’s fucking with who? Need me to beat up a certain meathead?”

“No, uh, that’s not… Touzoku-Ou was tickling me,” Ryou explained, and Bakura snorted, nonplussed. “And I guess we’re kinda playing hide-and-go-seek right now. Or tag, but I’m not gonna try and outrun him.”

“As smart as you are beautiful,” Bakura praised and swept a salacious hand down Ryou’s thigh, a devious glint in his eyes as said man’s breath caught. “Mm, you know what else hiding spots are good for, Ry?”

Promptly averting his gaze, Ryou changed the subject, shivers tickling down his spine. “Weren’t you helping Kek with something?”

A nip at his lobe — gentle and quick, like it should be — heated his face. “What’s wrong, babe? Is this what you were doing to Touzoku-Ou? That why he’s chasing after you? I might have to team up with him if you’re goin’ to be so cold.”

Gulping and scooting an inch farther into the crates, Ryou replied, “I’m not… I mean… I think he just felt like tickling me?”

Bakura’s lips pulled into a frown. “Are you okay? You’re not acting like yourself.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you mad about something? If one of us upset you…”

“N-No!” His hands shot out to cup Bakura’s face, taking the other by surprise. “You two are wonderful! Please don’t think I’m angry or anything!”

Hand pressed against the back of Ryou’s, Bakura’s silver lashes curtained his carmine eyes, and a jolt of electricity surged down Ryou’s spine. An amorous kiss caressed his wrist, yet their eyes never parted. Without hurry, Bakura’s tongue dragged along the blue veins webbing Ryou’s skin, moving languidly towards the tips of his slender fingers.

“B-Bakura, I…”

‘I shouldn’t. It isn’t right, even if they’re similar. They aren’t the same… They’re not, but Ra…’

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I… I don’t, no.”

“Should we get Touzoku-Ou?”

“...Yes, please.”

 ***

 A new morning dawned, leaving Ryou puzzling over how long he would remain in this world. He didn’t mind the comfortable, animosity-free realm. If there were a choice, he might prefer to stay. But he missed the Malik and Yugi he knew, and guilt wilted his mirth the more he thought about how they must be suffering currently.

Shaking the images of their pain away, Ryou left the guest room he shared with no one, not bothering to close the door behind him or throw on fresh clothes. His mind trickled over to the two men kept in his other self’s room, guarded only by Yugi and, now, Atem. He heard the fight break out, recognized the sounds of a one-sided pummeling. Kek and Malik had rushed out of the room, knuckles bloody and expressions a mix of anger and sadness. Ryou puzzled on what they said to leave the two blondes such a mess.

Despite his loathing for the serial killers, Ryou felt responsible for them since they were, after all, from his world. The chaos they created here disrupted what seemed to be such an otherwise enjoyable realm, thus it sickened him to see it ruined by his personal villains. He wanted to sneak it while they slept and slice their throats from ear to ear. He wanted to see the shock and horror on their faces as life drained from their eyes.

And every time that image poked his mind, every time it filled him with a smidgeon of glee, he cursed them for turning him into a monster.

When he entered the room, Yugi and Atem laid curled up on a couch together. Though he knew this Atem revered Yugi, it still boggled his mind to see them so comfortable, so in love. His eyes lingered on their slumbering forms, a longing tugging at his heartstrings when his mind involuntarily wondered if, given the chance, he could ever find a love like that for himself. 

Yugi and Malik in his world were his friends, true, but sometimes he thought of them as more. Maybe they could be, once the rats plaguing their lives were exterminated. Who else could understand the pain they each had been through if not one another? 

Once, after the trial, Yugi broached the subject of going on a date with some girl. The three of them were so broken and inexperienced with true relationships, however, so they ended up laughing the idea off. Besides, if the bastards broke out of prison like they promised, anyone they dated would be a target. Better to be lonely aside from their platonic love for each other than to sign someone’s death certificate.

“Something on your mind, Ryou-bunny?”

His blood boiled, a grimace snatching away his dreamy expression. “Don’t fucking call me that, Bakura.”

“Oh? I thought you loved your nickname, rabbit.” Bakura leered from within the protective circle.

Beside him, also wide-awake, Touzoku-Ou snorted. “He thinks he’s too good for our shows of affection now that he has those pussy lookalikes. Hate to break it to you, little mouse, but you’re nothing but a lame substitute for their pet. The second he’s back, you’re getting sent home with us.”

Bakura’s tone shifted, aggression chilling his words. “Maybe you should start begging for forgiveness now.”

Ryou chuckled and trailed his gaze from the sleeping lovebirds to the bastards sealed behind a barrier. He smirked at them through their invisible cage. “You’re seriously threatening me looking like that? And here I thought you two were tough, but you got the absolute shit kicked out of you.” Their scowls incentivized him to dig further. “For what it’s worth, the black eyes and bruises suit you.”

“Talk your big game while you can, little mouse,” Touzoku-Ou returned coolly. “We’ll see how confident you are once it’s just the three of us.”

“You think you’ll survive that long? From what I heard last night, seems like you're trying to dig your graves here.”

Leaping to his feet, Bakura pushed into the barrier as far as he could. Sparks of magic flew around him, warning of his proximity, but he ignored them in favor of fixing Ryou with a vehement glare.

He bared his teeth as threats and insults poured from his mouth. “You’re nothing without these bastards and their magic tricks, so wipe that fucking look off your face. When I get my hands on you—”

“You’ll what? Kill me? Torture me? Maybe cut off some limbs?” Ryou turned his back, interest in the conversation evaporating. “I’ve heard it before. Get some new material.”

He felt the eyes on him, the heat and hatred with which they stared, so it alarmed him when Touzoku-Ou and Bakura began laughing. As much as he wanted to ignore them, he couldn’t help glimpsing over his shoulder. They smirked, deranged and wicked, right at him, unsurprised by his reaction.

“Little mouse~” Touzoku-Ou crooned, soft and deep. “This confidence, this… ego? You wear it well, but really, be honest. It’s a mask. You’re terrified of being sent home with us, having to face us on your own. Wouldn’t it be smarter to get back in our good graces now? Before you're stranded with no protection, no other us to fawn over you.”

Bristling, Ryou spun around and marched towards the barrier, unwavering in his confidence. “Shut up. Don’t call them that. They aren’t you. I don’t care what they look like. You couldn’t be more different. You’re monsters. They’re not.”

A new voice, identical to one of the killers he faced, joined in the conversation with a chuckle. “I don’t know if I would go that far. I’ve done some pretty monstrous things.”

Ryou swung his head, flushed at the sight of this realm’s Bakura in the doorway. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Ha, yeah, that’s what happens when you’re the King of Thieves. Or part of him, I guess.” Leisurely strolling over the couch where Atem and Yugi slept, Bakura reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of cheap-looking plastic.

Dumbstruck, Ryou questioned, “Is that… a safety alarm?”

“Yup.” 

Offering no other explanation, Bakura stabbed his thumb into the button and unleashed a shrill scream. Ryou winced, and the other Bakura and Touzoku-Ou squinted disapprovingly.

On the couch, Atem and Yugi instantly returned to the world of the living, the latter being thrown to the floor by the flailing body beneath him. Bakura switched off the alarm, a self-satisfied smirk in place.

“What the hell, Bakura?!” Yugi exclaimed while floundering to his feet.

“Rise and shine, Pharaoh and Pharaoh Lite. Get the fuck out of here with that cuddling bullshit.”

Atem groaned, slinging his head back over the arm of the coach. “You are so childish. Just because you aren’t having a good morning…”

“Hey, if I’m gonna be miserable, everyone’s gonna be miserable.” Bakura poked at his ear, rubbing the inside with his pinky. “But for real. Your shift is over, and I don’t want you in here with me. Fuck off.”

The two men gathered themselves, still shooting hateful looks at Bakura, but they complied with his less-than-friendly request. Yugi waved briefly at Ryou, mouthing a morning greeting, before following behind Atem.

Ryou giggled in spite of the unpleasant sound which now echoed in his ears. “That’s one way to wake people up, I guess.”

“They’re just lucky I didn’t have an airhorn,” Bakura replied, shrugging without care, though he definitely seemed chipper. “Of all the things I’ve tried to pull on Mr. King, a rude awakening is the least offensive.” He glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. “Where the fuck is Touzoku-Ou? He said he was getting up.”

“You didn’t use the alarm on him?”

“Believe me, it’s tempting. But I’d rather not look like the sorry bastard over there.” His gesture towards his alternate self got him a warning growl. “What even happened? I thought the point of sending me and TK out was to prevent these two being beaten half to death?”

Again, Ryou giggled, dark delight firing up his eyes. “You’d have to ask Kek and Malik.”

“Ah. Say no more. Vicious vipers, those two.”

“My Malik isn’t vicious.”

Plopping down on the couch, Bakura chortled. “That’s weird to think about. This Malik has always been a spitfire. I mean, he did kill his own father.”

Caught off-guard, Ryou blinked dumbly. “What.”

“Oh, forgot we glossed over that detail. It’s a long story. We’re all complicated here.”

Abandoning his fellow other-realmers, Ryou seated himself comfortably beside Bakura. “Well, why don’t you fill me in on some of it while we wait for Touzoku-Ou?”

Like earlier, he felt the glares burning into the side of his head. Unlike earlier, he ignored them in favor of the Bakura who smiled at him, a friendly and playful shine reflected in his eyes.

“If you’re really up for it, I’ll tell you. Might give you nightmares, though, kid.”

“We’ll see about that, hot shot. Give me your worst.”

--- --- --- --- ---

AO3 Link: In Another Life - Chapter 9 - LiteraryAngel - Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

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