#snare pole

[owlcomics101]

task force 141 x fox hybrid!Reader head cannons

Warnings: bit of blood, mentions of animal abuse/hunting (I do NOT condone), SFW (I am a minor), wholesome fox cuddles, reader is an Arctic fox hybrid

Context/backstory:

Soap was the one that found you originally. You were caught in a snare. A nose tied around your neck attached to a pole in the ground. Panting and running around in circles aimlessly. Blood drew from your poor already raw and red neck from the tight nose digging into your neck fur. Soap couldn’t just leave you there. He couldn’t leave you to become just another victim to a Man’s trap. Cut to the task force getting ready to leave in the chopper when they see Soap entering with you curled up in his arms. Trembling as you buried yourself as deep as you could into his chest in hopes of hiding away from the cruel world.

Soap:

Soap sometimes spooks you despite him being your savior, he can get very loud from time to time and it often causes you to go run and hide. It always breaks his heart seeing you run away from him. He tries his best to lower and soften his voice for you, but sometimes he forgets. You often only come to him for affection in private because that is when he is the calmest to your liking. You prefer to lay and sit right by Soap’s legs in his bunk. Not because you don’t trust him but…he tends to shift around a lot in his sleep…Soap tends to get a lot of nightmares about you. When he found you in the snare. Your frail and sickly face and body. His nightmares would alway consist of someone chasing your down and skinning you as some sick trophy. Soap would wake up in a cold sweat, always checking to see if you were by his legs or in anyone’s bunk. He would scoop you up and give you kisses as tears filled his eyes thinking of what could’ve happened to you if he’d had never found you. A lot of times he cried himself to sleep thinking about it, but whenever he cried you were there to give him kisses and cuddles.

Ghost:

Ghost took the longest to warm up to you, and you took the longest to warm up to him. His mask always frightened you and it didn’t help that he was always towering over you just to add more intimidation. His mask reminded you of the masked hunters you’d always face in the bitter tundra and all those near death experiences always left you with a bitter snarl when Ghost was in the same room as you. Price would have Ghost start feeding you so you would at least feel comfortable with him being in the same room as you, which worked. You would still watch his every move in case he tried to pull something when he fed you. And you would always check the food to see if it was safe to eat before eating it. One time, when you were busy eating Ghost was watching you out of the corner of your eye. Ghost looked around to check if anyone was around before slowly walking over to you and crouching next to you while you ate. He watched you for an awhile before putting his head out to stroke your head, he hesitated for a moment though. Thinking of how you would react but he had already had his hand on your head. He gently stroke your head while you ate and scratched behind your ears. When you finished eating you hadn’t even realized ghost was there and touching you. You immediately pulled away, tilting your head to the side at him before quickly running out of the room.

Gaz:

Gaz loves taking you for walks! Every time you see him get up your ears immediately perk up thinking he was about to take you on a walk. You couldn’t help but go berserk when he mentions going ‘outside’ or ‘walkies’. Whenever Gaz took you on a walk, you would always walk in front of him. When he manages to get in front of you, you would always race him to be in front. Because in your mind you’re walking him. Not the other way around. Sometimes when you walk by other soldiers or even military dogs you’d always run behind Gaz or want him to pick you up so you’d be out of the dog’s reach. Gaz didn’t mind, you weren’t that much of a hassle to carry. In the colder months, his favorite thing is to watch you go dive head first into the snow. It makes him laugh every time. Though one time…you came back to him with a dead mouse. Plopped it in front of him for him to see your work. You were so proud of yourself. Gaz was….disgusted a bit but still thought it was sweet when you brought stuff to him. (He does throw it away because it stinks up the base)

Price:

Price was your favorite. You always waited for him to come back every mission. Your tail would wag like crazy when you see him downstairs from the window. When you heard him walking close to the door you’d start running around the barracks excitedly as your ‘zoomies’ kick in. Cuddle time is EVERYTIME! It doesn’t matter what Price is doing, you will butt your head into whatever he is doing and made it a point to sit in his lap while he worked. You would snarl or bark at him whenever he tried getting up. And you would not let him wake up early in the mornings. Price didn’t want you at first. Telling Soap you should be at a shelter or back in the wild. Soldiers can’t have pets. Let alone a fox hybrid like you! But he quickly grew a soft spot for you. He made sure you got the best food and spoiled you when he could. Whenever Gaz took you on your walks Price would interrogate Gaz when he was out with you for too long. Even by a second too long. He was the one to always remind Soap to quiet down. Especially when you were sleeping. He’d always give you kisses on the head and hold you whenever he could. Even during briefings or meetings you were always there in his arms or in his lap.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Feel So Numb: Werewolf!Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Ask and you shall receive

Contains: Hella blood and gore, werewolf attack, gunshot wounds

It wasn’t like him to be radio silent, especially for this long. After he had reported over the intercom to Hunnigan about the villagers all being hostile while searching for the president’s daughter, the line went dead from Leon’s end. All Hunnigan reported to you over your own earpiece was that Ashley Graham was possibly taken to some sort of church and now it was your job to find both her and Leon and to report to Hunnigan your findings immediately.

You arrived at the last place your fiance was pin-pointed; On some rural stretch of long-forgotten road. The cobblestone had been neglected, some dug up by winding roots while the rest had been caked in mud and dead leaves. You pulled up behind what used to be a police car. The driver side door had been ripped off its hinges and not a soul was left behind, only a splatter of blood on the inside and a dropped police badge from the local station. 

You eyed the obvious break in the foliage and narrowed your sight before you followed the beaten path knowing that you were walking right into danger. You drew your gun from its holster that had been strapped to your thigh and carefully watched your step. It was starting to grow dark out, the sun finally starting to set beyond the horizon.

You followed along the path until you came to a very run-down cabin where Leon had reported his first hostile villager. You saw his corpse laying across the floor and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at the smell the entire cabin gave off. You wanted to vomit. You swallowed the saliva that had pooled under your tongue and continued on, making your way out of the cabin and down the small flight of stairs littered with bloodied bones. You rounded the corner and stopped in your tracks at the sight of one of the police officers bloodied before you, his corpse had started to rot away.

Leon wasn’t kidding when he said something was horribly wrong.

Following the winding path out of the cabin and back into the woods, you had to step over and avoid more dead bodies until you finally came up to an animal corpse this time. It had been so decayed that no flesh remained, only bones and a little bit of muscle left. It looked to be a wolf and one of its legs had been snared in a rusted bear trap.

Now you had to worry about hidden bear traps and hostile villagers?

You don’t know how long you kept walking in the darkening woods, but you followed right on Leon’s trail until you made it to the village Leon must have been talking about. From what you last heard on the call log between Leon and Hunnigan, she mentioned something about a large windmill and a lake. You peeked around the village, bringing up your flashlight as you looked around. The looming stone church before you towered over everything around, cutting off the light of the drifting sun and casting you in near darkness. As you looked around, you nearly jumped at the sight of a burnt body tied up on a pole. The poor person was charred to a blackened crisp, no identifying features could be made out. Was this the second officer that was supposed to help Leon?

A shrill, faint noise sounded off in the distance, echoing through the woods. It rattled your bones, freezing your blood, making the hair across your body stand up on their ends. You raised your gun in the direction that the noise came from with your eyes wide and flashlight beaming into the dark. It sounded like some sort of fucked up scream; From an animal or a man, you couldn’t make out.

It took you a minute to finally uncurl from your position, quietly cursing to yourself before you trekked on.

“Gotta get the fuck out of here,” you whispered to yourself.

You kept following Leon’s distinct path. What locked doors had been opened, what path was made the most clear, what gate he had to force open with probably a good kick. You walked under a risen metal gate, eyeing it in case it slipped before you spotted an oddly placed crate to your right. There was an out-of-place torch post right next to it, barely any smoke furled out from the top. It had been extinguished recently, maybe an hour or so ago. Peeking up at the torch, you noticed that the embers were an odd purple color.

Where was Leon?

If connection had been cut out maybe less than an hour into his trek inside this fucked up rabbit hole, how far could he have gone? It had only been two days, really, he could be on the opposite side of Europe by now if he wanted to.

The scream echoed once again. It sounded closer this time. Your eyes bore into the wilderness that separated you from whatever the fuck was making that noise. It sounded like a monster crying out in pain.

Your feet carried you forward despite your brain wanting to sit tight and radio in help. A part of you was terrified to take another step into this twisted village while the rest wanted to barge through guns blazing to rescue your fiance and Ashley.

You quickly came upon the lake Hunnigan must have talking about. The water was choppy, the dock creaked eerily, there was no boat at the end of it. To your left was some sort of cobbled house, it had been worn for at least a decade by the looks of it. The door was broken open, the top half having been smashed into, the rotting wood now missing. You stepped inside of the place, gun in front of you with your finger on the trigger as you swept through the entire room, your eyes landing on Leon’s jacket and gun thrown to the ground in front of you.

You holstered your gun and bent down, picking up his jacket only showed that it was tattered. It looked like an animal had tore into it. The seams around the arms were split open, stitches were popped, there were odd lines scratched down the back of his jacket before you looked back down at the gun. Leon’s SG-09R laid splattered in mud, barely visible. You were only able to see in from the faint light of the full moon overhead. You couldn’t help but pick it up, the weight foreign yet familiar. It was empty, bullets absent. What was even more of a shock was that it almost looked like it had been crushed, especially at the wooden embedded handle. The metal was all bent out of shape and the wood was splintered. Whatever got ahold of it has to have been something big and nasty.

You swallowed thickly. Before you could press a finger to your earpiece to radio Hunnigan, you heard a chilling snap of iron close to you followed by a snarl that cut through the night.

You dropped the gun and Leon’s jacket and snatched up your own, barging outside with your finger on the trigger. You followed the sound the noise came from, flashlight clicked on only to see a bear trap ripped in half in front of you. It had been snapped at the hinges. Blood covered the rusted teeth, the pressure plate had been smashed, the chain had been yanked up from the soggy earth.

Whatever was making those horrible noises had just gotten out.

You swallowed thickly, raising your flashlight to follow the trail whatever it was made for you. There were odd marks in the mud and leaves, almost like a giant wolf had tore through the woods.

You heard someone shouting not too far away, gargled Spanish bellowing out before he was horribly cut off with a vicious snarl. You ran towards the noise before you stopped dead in your tracks at what your flashlight illuminated.

It was a monster. A real fucking monster. Not a zombie or some B.O.W. you’ve seen from the B.S.A.A.’s reports. It looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Your heart dropped to your chest as you stumbled back, your gun trembling in your hand. It was big, way bigger than any human you’ve ever seen. It was bulky and hairy and horrible. It was hunched over, tearing into the villager with clawed hands and a maw full of sharp teeth. It was wearing clothes, or whatever remained clinging to its lanky body. They almost looked… familiar?

Black cargo pants torn up way past the knees, a leg holster that was barely hanging on from the strap around its hip, and a shredded black t-shirt just like Leon-

It felt like someone had just pushed you off a cliff and let you plummet into an icy river below. You went into shock, shoulders dropping as the beast before you suddenly locked eyes with you. They were big, furious, slitted pupils drowning in a sea of sapphire blue as he looked at you with a feral hunger that could only be sated by killing.

“Leon?” you called out in disbelief.

No, it couldn’t be! He couldn’t be a werewolf. This was some sick ploy. It had to be.

He dropped the villager and stalked towards you, wolfen ears flattened against his skull, his lips curled back to reveal his bloodied canines, his clawed fingers flexing. He snapped his jaws, saliva and blood flying out as a horrid snarl clicked out from his throat.

You couldn’t let him kill you, but could you put him down?

You hesitated for a moment before you cocked your gun and pulled the trigger.

He woke up to his skull throbbing.

He winced and hissed, a groan emitting from his chest as he brought his hands up to his face. The light burned his eyes wherever it was coming from, the sound of his heart beating in his ears made his temples pound even harder. He felt like he had been ran over, thrown off a building, maybe even getting the shit beat out of him by that freak years ago in Raccoon City.

But it was always like this when he would turn.

His entire body was stiff, muscles screaming as he forced himself to move. He only managed to roll over onto his side before he had to stop. It felt like someone had just stabbed him right in the kidney, a choked shout cutting his breathing off. He braced his head against the dusty stone floor as he panted. He brought a trembling hand up to his hip where he could feel the tender skin as well as two divots in his trim waist. His skin flinched at his own touch, Leon grit his teeth and propped himself up on his other arm and finally opened his eyes.

He was in some kind of cellar, it didn’t look to be well taken care of. There were cobwebs caking the ceilings and the floor was covered in a blanket of dust and dirt. There were kegs in the cellar, some were leaking fortified wine from how long they had been aging.

Leon looked down at his hip to see he was healing. The gunpowder still sweetly caressed his nose from where he had been shot. Looking at his body, he noticed he had been shot in the shoulder he was propping himself up on and one in the calf right above his ankle. He was healing, at least, the skin closed up and slowly stitching itself back together.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself softly.

He quickly noticed that his uninjured leg had been shackled, a rusty iron chain was clamped around his shin, keeping him attached to the stone wall.

What the hell happened, anyway?

He could briefly hear the call of the wild ringing bells in the back of his mind. He could feel the beast inside of him clawing at his guts, baying to be let out again. His memory was fuzzy, no pun intended, as he tried to piece together what all had happened and why he suddenly lost control.

He rubbed at his pounding temples, brushing the sticky hair out of his face when he noticed it. Pulling his hand away, his eyes widened frantically at the sight of dried blood dusting his fingertips and crusting up under his nails. Bile suddenly bubbled wickedly in his stomach as he felt saliva pool in the back of his throat. Did he attack someone? All could remember were those fucking crazed villagers and-

You.

Leon sat straight up, wincing at the pull in his back before he locked his hands around the chain and yanked, trying to release himself. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he almost didn’t hear the cocking of a gun behind him.

Almost.

Leon whipped around, standing and then suddenly freezing. You were standing at the opposite of the small cellar, panting softly with your gun raised with both hands. His eyes zeroed in on the makeshift bandage on your bicep that was still bleeding from the looks of it. He felt dread clawing its icy way up his spine. 

“(Y/n)-”

“Shut up,” you grit your teeth, nudging your gun forward. “What the actual fuck was that, Leon?”

He attacked you. He lost control of himself and attacked you when you were sent here to save his sorry ass. Did he bite too? Did he turn you? There were other bandages around you, one particular one was wrapped around your thigh. The fabric was different than the rest, it almost looked like the scarf Ashley was wearing when Leon saw her last. He could smell her faint perfume.

“Where’s Ashley-?”

“Don’t change the fucking subject; She’s here with me.” You took a step forward and Leon raised his hands in surrender. “Now what the actual fuck was that you turned into?”

[hippolotamus]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Thanks for the tags @jesuisici33 @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 and anyone who tagged me for Sunday 🥰 It's not quite Tuesday yet, but I'm excited and not sure when I'll be able to post tomorrow.

IDK if anyone else remembers this WIP from... a while ago, but, uh, may I present pole dancer!Buck, with a hint of baby gay!Eddie. This was formed from one too many listens to T Swift's Mirrorball, which came up on the playlist tonight and demanded I work on this. Tomorrow it's back to a WIP I should be working on (she says as if logic is useful here).

From behind the sparkling, glittery curtain, designed to mimic a shimmering night sky, Buck extends one leg toward the stage. The warm, hazy spotlight envelops the exposed skin, from mid-calf to his toes, positioned in a perfect demi point. If only Maddie’s old ballet instructor could see him now. She always fussed that he was all leg and no balance. Take that Mrs. Lahn.   Cheers and whistles from the Saturday night crowd add to the warmth, reaching, caressing, pulling at him. The regulars and newcomers alike know what’s coming, what to expect. Buck has become somewhat of a local celebrity, drawing patrons – and business – away from other clubs on the nights he performs. He knows what they’re waiting for and his body hums with the anticipation of providing it, of pleasing and being worthy of their praise. The emcee finishes Buck’s introduction and the opening beat of his music begins to play. A rhythmic snare drum that momentarily slices through the floaty feeling already encasing him. The disruption lasts only as long as it takes to slip past the curtain and emerge on the stage. A switch flips in his head, reminding him he’s on. Any remaining traces of Buck fall away, left backstage in a heap just like his civilian clothes and makeup case in the dressing room. The only person left now is an alter ego who is fluid, confident, sensual. An unforgettable presence for the next five minutes and forty seven seconds. He’s barely reached the twenty second mark before he notices. Before he connects with dark eyes and a piercing stare. The same one that’s been growing more intense in the weeks since the man first took up residence at a high top table in the last row. Gradually shifting from hesitant but curious to devastatingly certain, as if something slotted into place.  Buck’s vision narrows to that single point of focus even though he should be periodically scanning the crowd. The dancers are never supposed to appear as if they’re playing favorites. Like they aren’t equally enthusiastic about each and every warm-bodied potential tip in the room. Even if they’re personally responsible for a spike in revenue, like Buck and one or two others. He figures he can save his charms for when he’s working the floor. It’ll be easier then to slip on the other mask that makes every lap dance feel exclusive, like he’s not doing the same for anyone else with enough cash.

no pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @911onabc @apothecarose @barbiediaz @buckaroosheart @buddierights @chaosandwolves @elvensorceress @eowon @fionaswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @heartshapedvows @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck @indestructibleheart @jamespearce9-1-1 @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @loserdiaz @messyhairdiaz @monsterrae1 @singlethread @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @statueinthestone @steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @thekristen999 @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @thewolvesof1998 @underwater-ninja-13 @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @wikiangela @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend and anyone else who wants to share 😘

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Abduction

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~3.3k

Summary: You and Boone spend a day out 

A/N: This takes place before Wanda’s retirement. Didn't sleep more than a couple of hours last night, so definitely not proofread. Enjoy

Warnings: Angst, violence, blood, death, injury and dealing with trauma

“Alright, buddy, want to go home?”

When Boone barks at you in agreement you just smile before leading him back to your car. You and Boone had spent most of the day together. Granted, you usually did this on your days off, but today you were away from the compound.

Wanda was working with your entire team of friends on some big thing that you hadn’t asked too much about. All you needed to know was that they would be unavailable for most of the day and night, and you were being assigned a temporary bodyguard for the occasion. This allowed you to not be stuck in the compound all day with nothing to do, and despite not liking it you decided to accept it.

You knew better than to argue, and given that he’d stayed out of your way you were fine with it. After introducing him to Boone to make sure he wouldn’t attack him if he spotted the blonde later, you mostly ignored him. You took Boone all around town to get some shopping done, and after spending way too much time in a bookstore, you took him to dinner. He loved going to his favorite restaurant that had ample outdoor space for you and him to meet other dogs. Tonight, he’d met a golden retriever, goldendoodle, and Boston terrier. Watching him play with his fellow dogs made you realize that you should probably get him a friend.

You were just leaving dinner full and exhausted from a long day when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You slow down slightly so you can grab it without falling down the stairs. You’d parked at the very bottom of the parking deck and had to climb up almost 6 flights to reach street level. When you see that it’s a text message from Wanda checking in, you smile before stopping completely on the next landing to respond. You start typing, but don’t make it very far when you hear the door behind you open.

You try to step aside, figuring you’re in someone’s way, but you’re quickly shoved toward the stairs and Boone’s leash is ripped from your grasp.

“Fuck-!”

You think you’re about to fall down the stairs, but someone grabs you and starts to drag you backwards. You struggle and try to turn around to see who’s attacking you, but you spot Boone first. You hear him barking and then he’s letting out horrible choking noises that has you trying to reach for him.

“Boone! Stop, let him go!”

As you’re being dragged down the stairs, two men are trying to drag Boone through the door they’d burst through. One’s holding a snare pole and he’s using to yank your dog by his neck while the other is holding his leash and trying to assist. Boone’s fighting like hell and attempts to bite the one closest, but once he realizes that’s getting him closer to the door he stops and simply tries to pull away. He’s screaming now, but it sounds strangled and you are halfway down the flight of stairs before you remember you have a knife on you.

“Let him go you fuckers!”

You elbow the person behind you before reaching for your knife and pulling it free. You slam him into the railing before stabbing him in the side, and he lets you go just long enough for you to shove him down the stairs. You don’t bother to check on him because you see Boone disappear through the door as soon as you reach the top step.

You curse loudly before yanking it open and running out to find your dog. Luckily, they hadn’t taken him far, but you register the sight of an empty van running nearby before you run at the one holding Boone’s leash. He’s practically lifting Boone and pushing him toward the waiting van, so he’s caught off guard when you jump on him and stab him in the neck. You ignore the stream of blood that covers you as you hurry to free your dog.

“Boone!”

Your dog starts tugging again, but the man whose companion you just killed gets spooked and drops the pole. Once free, Boone growls and bites down on his leg, but doesn’t manage much else before you reach for him. You always make sure that your dog has his harness pouch stocked before you leave the compound. There’s a loaded gun in there and you manage to take it out with shaky hands before you point it at the man with a scowl.

“Why the hell are you trying to steal my dog?”

When he only manages to keep screaming in pain you shoot him in the chest before turning your attention to Boone.

“Hey, it’s okay, b-breathe buddy.”

You don’t realize you’re crying as you try to calm Boone down. He’s panting hard and trying to stand but you just hold him close to you. You take the snare that’s still around his neck off and throw it aside before attempting to get a good look at him. As expected, he’s still struggling to breathe, and he’s wheezing and hacking by the time a door opens nearby. You jump in surprise and reach for the gun again, but you realize it’s your bodyguard and you relax.

“Holy shit.”

Nick had been trailing behind you all day and he found it difficult to pay attention. You weren’t doing anything particularly interesting, but you stayed out all day with your dog who put him on edge. Despite his fear of getting in trouble, he kept a couple of blocks between you and him, and he’d only just been entering the parking deck when he heard barking. He ran inside and to the stairs only to catch the end of a struggle. Someone fell down the stairs and as he rounded the landing, he hoped to God it wasn’t you. He would certainly die if he’d let anything happen to you.

Once he verified that the man lying on the ground was dead, he heard a gunshot and he saw his life flash before his eyes. He ran up the stairs and threw the door open only to stumble onto a horrifying sight.

You’re sitting on the ground holding your dog practically in your lap as he pants heavily. You’re surrounded by pools of blood and two dead men that you’re ignoring completely. It’s not until he realizes that you’re pointing a gun at him that he throws his hands up.

“Woah, it’s just me! Are you hurt?”

You can’t bring yourself to answer him as you watch your dog breathe raggedly. You continue to cling to him, refusing to let him go as Nick pulls out his phone to call Bucky. He’d been clearly instructed to call him with any issues, and he definitely needs help figuring out how to deal with this one. He’s already thinking about clean up when Bucky answers the phone.

Bucky’s had a long, stressful day and he’s annoyed to have his brief break interrupted by his phone ringing. He’d just laid down a few minutes ago and Wanda said he could take the hour before they all had to get back to work, but once he sees who’s calling him, he realizes his break is over. He quickly answers the phone and listens to the near-frantic blonde tell him about what happened. Rather, he doesn’t know what happened, but three people are dead, and you’re near catatonic and refusing to leave your dog.

Bucky curses under his breath before he jumps out of bed and grabs his clothes and gun.

“I’ll be there in 10.”

Wanda’s drinking another cup of coffee when she gets a call from Steve a few minutes after he’d heard from Bucky. She’s struggling to stay awake, but she still has to finish up today before she can even think about going to sleep. She’s drained and the only thing she really wants to do is go lie down. She wants to sleep beside you and forget about this stressful day, but she has hours until she can even consider that.

She sighs in defeat when her phone rings, and she only humors the idea of not answering for two rings before she sits up and grabs it from her desk. She sees it’s Steve and frowns in confusion before answering.

“Steve, what’s up?”

You’re still clinging to Boone when your backup arrives. He’s doing better at this point and the adrenaline from the entire thing has worn off for both of you, and you’re about to fall asleep. You’re covered in blood that’s luckily not your own, but you try to keep Boone out of it as much as possible. He’s practically lying on top of you as you consider why someone wanted to take your dog and you feel your heart race at how close they’d come. You don’t hear the cars that come squealing to a halt on either side of the van, and you don’t see Nick hurry to greet the drivers. Boone notices but you’re holding him too tightly and he’s too drained to fight against you.

“Y/n.”

You turn at the sound of a familiar voice, and you’re surprised to see Wanda here. She was supposed to be busy all night, but here she is kneeling beside you looking between you and Boone worriedly. You feel guilty for interrupting her work and you want to apologize but you can’t find the words before your wife’s reaching out for you.

You can’t stop yourself from flinching and you hold Boone tighter despite knowing that Wanda would never hurt either of you. You’re just still too wired to relax, and Wanda realizes this quickly as she pulls away before looking over her shoulder at Bucky. He’s talking to Nick and they’re both directing the team he’d brought to get rid of the surprising number of dead men. She saves her many questions about this for later as she focuses on the important things for now.

“Can you and Boone come with me back to the compound? You’ll be safe there, detka I promise.”

You think about this and you take a second to look around you. Realizing that you’re still in the parking deck, you decide it’s probably a good idea to go with Wanda. You nod slowly and try to navigate getting up without letting go of Boone who’s still leaning on you. Wanda just lets you figure it out but once you’re up she’s quick to support you, especially once she sees you sway dangerously. You curse under your breath and then cringe slightly as you try to get Boone to avoid stepping in the puddles of blood.

“Come on, Boone. Go on, get in.”

Wanda’s already set a blanket down in the backseat and you decide to sit with him because you’re filthy and you don’t want to get Wanda’s car dirty. She makes sure you’re all set before closing the door behind you and getting in the driver’s seat. She shoots Bucky a look and he just nods silently promising to handle everything including finding your car.

“Can you tell me what happened, detka?”

The entire car ride home had been silent as you and Boone just sat in the back seat and tried to relax. You’d convinced yourself that he was okay, or rather he wasn’t in any immediate danger. You’d stared at him and listened to him breathe long enough to decide that he was just exhausted and a little sore, you were too honestly.

By the time you arrived back to the compound you realized how sticky your clothes were and how gross you smelled. The combination of blood, sweat and gun powder was making you nauseous and you wanted to shower, but you still didn’t want to let Boone out of your sight.

You will worry about that after you talk to your wife. Wanda left her work to come pick you up, and you’d barely said a word to her. You owe her more than that, and you turn to address her question. You’re standing in the middle of the living room while Wanda sits on the couch in front of you and Boone. You want to sit, you’re so tired, but you’re also dirty and you don’t want to get blood on anything. You sigh and start to head to the bedroom so you can change, and you wave Boone along to come with you. Not that you needed to, he followed you on his own.

“Can I tell you while changing? I feel disgusting.”

Wanda just nods as she follows Boone into the bedroom, watching as you carefully start to shed your clothes and throw them into the laundry. You look through drawers for clean clothes before you head to the bathroom with another sigh. You turn to see Wanda watching you and you wave her in before pointing to the corner of the room.

“We were coming back from dinner and those guys ambushed us.”

Boone moves to sit where you instructed and you turn on the shower before moving to sit on the edge of the tub closer to Wanda. She shuts the door behind her and you motion for her to sit next to you as you wait for the water to heat up.

“They didn’t care about me. They wanted me out of the way so they could take Boone.”

Wanda’s a little surprised by this and she can’t help but show it as she tries to make sense of it. She looks to Boone where he’s lying in the corner watching the two of you carefully. He looks beat and Wanda realizes that he must have had a very close call.

You feel the room heat up from the steam from the shower, but you ignore it for now as you turn back to your wife. Wanda frowns at what you say next and she can’t help but wonder where your bodyguard had been during all of this. She knows that Bucky will talk to him at some point, but she’s going to try not to worry about it.

“They tried to drag him to the van to take him God knows where, but I killed them.”

You shake your head at the thought that hadn’t really registered until now. You had killed three people tonight. You barely even thought about it. All you cared about in the moment was saving Boone and everything else was secondary. You start to panic at the thought of what might happen to you. You honestly don’t feel bad at all, and you know that’s probably not a good thing, but hopefully you won’t go to jail for this.

“I killed them, Wands. I didn’t even think twice. They were just--.”

You trail off as you start to fidget worriedly. You decide that you need to get clean so you can go lie down. You finish undressing and step into the shower before taking a deep breath. You try to relax under the hot water but you still feel your body protest the fact that you’re still standing.

“They were trying to steal Boone. Your baby, Y/n. I would have done the same.”

You know for sure that Wanda would have done the same, but that’s not the point. She realizes this too but she doesn’t know what else to tell you right now. She decides to ask a relevant question that will help you calm down because she can tell from here that you’re still incredibly tense.

“Is he okay, now? Do we need to do anything for him?”

You smile for the first time since leaving dinner tonight, and you turn to your wife as you finish washing off the events of today. You love her even more for asking, and you know she’d do whatever it is you say he needs. Luckily she doesn’t have to this time, and you smile wider as you turn off the shower.

“He’s just exhausted, and a little sore, but he’ll be okay.”

He might be a little clingier for a while. You don’t say this, but Wanda probably can already guess this by the fact that he’s in the bathroom with them. She figures you’ll want to watch him too until they have answers about what happened tonight.

You get dressed and now that you’re not so dirty, you pull your wife into a hug that she readily returns. You sigh in exhaustion and relief as you turn your face into your wife’s neck. It’s late and you want to go to bed, but this thought reminds you that Wanda wasn’t supposed to even be here with you. You don’t pull away but you say this as you try to lead your wife back to the bedroom.

“Thank you for being here for us. I’m sorry we interrupted your work.”

Wanda has to stop herself from rolling her eyes at this. She had a lot to do still, but it could wait until tomorrow at this point. You and Boone are far more important than just figuring out which sector of Strucker’s territory she was going to try and infiltrate next. Everyone could use a break, and she wanted to make sure you and Boone were truly okay.

“That doesn’t matter to me right now. I’d rather be here with you two.”

You smile before kissing her in thanks as she leads you to bed. You’re fading fast, and you start to lie down before the covers are even turned down. You yawn and Wanda frowns before she considers what to do next. She watches Boone lie down at the end of the bed and you sit up to try and see him. She can tell you’re still on edge, and she motions for Boone to stand up.

“Boone, come here.”

He comes to stand beside Wanda, but she leaves to grab his bed and set it down next to your side of the bed. She waits until Boone lies down and she watches you relax at the sight of your dog close by.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

You shake your head before shifting so you can get under the covers with another yawn. She watches as you hold out your hand to her with a smile before asking her to join you.

“Can you lie down with me for a while?”

Wanda stays with you for hours after you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not the soundest sleep you’ve ever had, but it could have been worse. You have one arm draped over the side of the bed so you can keep a hand on your dog, and Boone’s since scooted closer to the bed as a result. Wanda knows that it might take a while for the two of you to be able to stand being apart, but as long as you keep him out of bed Wanda’s not going to complain.

She hears someone shifting and she sits up to see Boone standing up with a yawn. He looks over your shoulder at her before he sits again and leans his head against the bed. He’s right next to your arm and he whines quietly before sticking his nose in your face. She’s about to tell him to leave you alone, but you shift in your sleep and end up wrapping an arm around his head and pulling him closer. He licks your face, and you smile before kissing his nose.

“I love you, bud.”

Wanda just smiles but doesn’t say anything as the two of you fall back asleep mere inches from each other. She checks the clock and then her phone before she realizes she has some things to take care of soon. She looks back over to you though and decides a few more minutes with you won’t hurt.

Masterlist

[persnicketypomelo]

Yandere Pinhead

18+ since it's Hellraiser, obsession, mentions of gore, torture

When you had found the wooden cube at the antique store, you thought only of how beautiful it would be by your bedside table. It’s gold detailing caught, no, demanded your attention, and you knew you just had to bring it home with you. It was smooth and polished, as if new, and it seemed too beautiful to simply gather dust. One night when sleep evaded you, you took it in your hands only to find out it was a puzzle, 

You absentmindedly fiddled with the pieces, shifting them about until they clicked satisfyingly into place, unaware of the true repercussions of your simple curiosity. 

Upon the puzzle box’s completion, a sudden chill settled over the room, and before your eyes, your room distorts into…something else. 

Walls push and pull away leaking steam from the forming cracks. The lightbulbs around your room simultaneously burst, startling you out of your drowsiness. 

You could only sit in shock, wondering (or rather hoping) to have had a particularly bad nightmare, and for a moment you believed it. But, no matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut, you couldn’t ignore the sting of the glass exploding and tearing against your flesh, or the hot steam tickling your skin. 

A series of bright bursts of light fill the room, and upon each one, a grizzly monster appears. Garish injuries mar their hairless, lifeless looking flesh. They looked like people, but so horribly mutilated that they had turned into demonic entities, so devoid of their humanity. The horrible strangers in your room was all you needed to propel to your feet and attempt to leave.

Yet as you rushed to the doorknob, a chain snared around your wrist, prying you away from escape. More and more chains wound around your limbs, pulling you away from any possibility of escaping. You squirmed and cried out, but you could just feel that your screams didn’t reach anyone beyond the room.

"The box,” a voice thundered, low and resounding, a leather cloaked man entered into your vision, head terribly plastered with nails. “You opened it. We came.” 

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" you sobbed, twisting your wrists, contorting to ease the bite of the metal chains.

"We are explorers—adventurers in the sensory realms, seeking new heights of pleasure and pain.” The monster or man before you grasped the neatly carved box in his hands.

“You solved the box. You have summoned us; brought us to your world. And now, we will bring you to ours.”

Clinking chains catch your attention, and you glimpse something that makes you want to vomit on the spot. A pole has erected from behind the leader of these monsters, spinning slowly, with chains and hooks crudely mounted upon it. Worst of all, were the many stretched patches of skin, and faces, cut from their heads tacked to the pole like a memo board, frozen mid-scream. You could only meet the gazes of their eyes, as they glanced at you, still seeing. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t want any part of this!” You shrieked, “Please leave me alone!” Your twisting and turning was sure to leave bruises, but that was a small price to pay in exchange to joining the numerous tortured souls they’ve collected.

“Oh, but we want to bring you with us—to show you our world—and with time, you will learn to enjoy our pleasures as well.” 

Tears welled and spilled over your face, both from the marks surely forming around your wrists,  and from the indescribable fright at possible abduction at the hands of grizzled, mangled people. You averted your gaze from the pin-headed man before you, and the gruesome monument of the pain they’ve caused.

“Please,” you begged with a soft voice, “please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to summon you. I’m sorry. You can find someone else who wants this, but please don’t do this to me.”

A cold, dead hand tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to the terrible, black eyes. 

“No tears,” he mocked in his commanding, monotone voice, “it’s a waste of good suffering,”

“What if we prefer you?” A raspy voice spoke, a woman’s, or what once was a woman. Now her throat is torn, pulled apart by strings, “what if we find your suffering to be the most beautiful?”

You could feel the terror rising from your stomach, and it must’ve shown, as another one of the monsters, fleshy with horrid teeth and sunglasses, snickered at you.

“There is no use in trying to bargain with us. It is you who opened the box, and it is your suffering that we want. We will take you to our world to show you our pleasures and you shall show us how wonderfully you will suffer.” the pinhead announces. A portal or rift, too blindingly white to see clearly, opened behind him.

“Your soul is ours to claim, ours to torture, and ours to destroy.” 

Sharp hooks dug into your skin, not only drawing blood, but tugging it, eliciting your pained screams as you are dragged into the rift. And yet, somehow, you knew this was only a sample of the terrible things they will do to you. 

“After all, we have all of eternity to explore the depths of your suffering.”

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 40 - Mirror, Mirror

Astarion goes fishing (and not for fish).

On AO3.

Y’all coulda made it back by nightfall, now that y’all know where you’re going. But both Wyll and Gale agree that arriving after a whole day of hiking is a bad strategy (to the disappointment of Karlach and the disgust of Lae’zel). So y’all stop about an hour away—close enough y’all can be rested when you get there, but not so close a patrol might trip over somebody’s tent.

Gale has a spare canvas, nobody has spare poles or stakes; Karlach solves that problem by sauntering to the edge of the trees and ripping three saplings out of the ground to whittle into poles with that bigass ax.

She drives them into the ground and does not use a hammer.

You ain’t the only one watching this with a little too much interest.

big lady your brain chants.

She carries a regular pack, from which she pulls out a blanket that smells vaguely like vasoline, and a raggedy teddy bear she introduces as Clive. The bear is singed around the edges, and seems nearly shellacked in the not-vasoline stuff on the blanket. Some kinda fire-resistant salve she says.

She’s careful not to touch nobody, or even get too close. You watch this, lips pressed tight, chest hurting for her.

Dinner is, once again, bread and cheese and wine. No fire so close to the tollhouse. Karlach strikes up a conversation with Lae’zel about the best way to twist somebody’s head off, while Shadowheart watches over the rim of her goblet.

Gale, without much to do in the way of a cook fire, plops down outside his tent with a book, several scrolls, and an ink pot to start scratching away. Meanwhile, Wyll volunteers to go on patrol—make sure y’all really are out of fake paladin range—and set up some snares. You can’t tell if he’s upset with y’all’s decision to let Karlach join, or if he don’t like her around, or if it’s some secret third thing that’s got him so tense. He’s seemed like a real good dude—though everybody has shit takes on something.

The sun sinks low and the light goes gray as evening deepens. Lae’zel actually takes a night off from breaking your ass (either distracted by Karlach, or deciding that leaving you like, rested, increases your chances of not fucking anything up tomorrow).

Which leaves you just…hanging out. For the first time, you have the mental and physical energy to stay awake, but you have no phone, no internet, no books or movies or anything to fiddle with. Maybe you could work on that strip of linen Astarion “gifted” you. But then he’d see you doing it and start shit and besides, you got no clue how to sew.

You’re so busy trying to think up a way to be busy, that you notice the man skulk out of his tent. He’s got something shiny in his hand. He’s positioned his tent slightly facing away from the fire, tonight, which leaves it facing your tent more than usual. He’s not, like, hiding, but he’s not out in the open as he holds up what you realize is a mirror.

Huh. Lots of different cultures have vampire lore; you wonder if the mirror thing is accurate. You got nothing better to do, so you find yourself trailing over, coming up behind him.

“Looking at something?” he says. It’s addressed to you, even though he hasn’t glanced over.

“Saw me coming?” you say.

He stares a moment longer, before turning. There’s no sparkle to his eyes, tonight. His lips are a straight line. “The only benefit to a mirror when you have my condition. It doesn’t make up for a lack of reflection, mind you.”

Ah. That part of the lore is true, then. Ouch.

“Sorry to hear that,” you say. “You must miss it.”

And then you want to kick yourself over how stupid that sounds.

“Preening into the looking glass? Petty vanity?” he says all flamboyant. Until he deflates. Until you see what might be a flash of sadness in him. “Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

You didn’t know about the eye color thing. None of the others are anywhere nearby; you wonder if that’s why he’s letting this show. He’s never made so much as a peep that wasn’t joke-flirting, complaining, stabby, or bored.

“What color were they before?” you say. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I—” he starts. Blinks a few times and there’s the barest shiver of, dare you call it, vulnerability in his face. “I don’t know. I can’t…remember.”

He stares out at nothing for a pause. Don’t got the presence of mind to slip the smarmy mask back on. It’s like he…like he just realized that. Doesn’t remember his own eyes.

Then his face shutters. Tight-lipped anger slips down and buries all traces of confused horror. He chucks the mirror to smash on the ground.

You try not to wince even as you take a step back.

“My face is just another dark shape in my past,” he says. Looks away. “Another thing I’ve lost.”

You can forget some details about your own face, sometimes. You don’t generally wear makeup (never learned, and then when you could, that shit is expensive), and your hair mostly sorts itself out when you comb conditioner through it in the shower. So you don’t see your reflection every day (the ladies room at the office don’t have a mirror—used to be a closet until the seventies or eighties when they converted it).

But you know your eyes are dark brown the way you know your own name. It’s just a fact about you. You can’t imagine what it would take to just…lose that.

“How long you been a vampire?” you say.

His gaze flits around a second. “About two hundred years, give or take. Things start to run together a little.”

Two…two hundred years? Under that fuckface? Without ever being able to see himself?

Holy fucking shit.

Holy fucking shit.

And yet, he’s standing here, traveling with all y’all, acting…well, not normal. But he ain’t catatonic. He’s only killed people when y’all were fighting already, and he only tried to bite you the once (without asking). He’s talking to you, and he makes jokes and…

And he said you were his first “thinking creature” blood.

In two hundred fucking years.

The kind of strength it would take to scrape himself together and hold in there…even if it was barely. Even if he wasn’t all there. You’d known that shit for over a decade. But two hundred motherfucking years.

You been staring. He notices, and turns to you. “What?”

The man teases you. Steals from goddamn refugees (he has got to stop that). And he hasn’t seen his face in two centuries. You can maybe afford to make a fool of yourself if the idea blooming in your brain makes a fool outta yourself.

“I can be your mirror,” you say, your neck heating up, trying not to squirm. “You don’t have to. Or I don’t have to. If I made this weird, that is. I can, uh, leave.”

His eyebrows twitch down into a micro frown. He stands there a hot second, sucks in a breath through his nose. His mask is slipping again, and the man underneath…

“I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” he says. “What, well, what you see.”

Slight emphasis on the “you” that you ain’t gonna read too much into.

A long face. Thick brows. A strong, straight nose. Thick lips, pointy chin, and floofy, white hair.

You ain’t never really described somebody in detail. Not like this, and not to their face directly. You ain’t a poet or an artist. This was probably a really bad idea.

“Your face is very, uh, symmetrical,” you say.

He pauses a moment, before drawing back. “Oh darling, you’re terrible at this.”

Fuck you, too!

“Well, I mean, it’s the most noticeable thing aside from the granny hair.”

And now he fucking recoils.

“What? I have the best hair in camp. If this is your idea of a joke—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m kidding,” you say. It’s only kinda a lie. It’s granny hair, no two ways about it. “Your hair is very shiny and it looks real soft. The rest of you” —you wave your hand vaguely around— “looks good.”

“Really?” His usual smirk slips back on and he damn near purrs. Then he lifts his hands and gives a slow, little runway spin. “Anything in particular?”

Jesus lord. Man’s moods turn on a fucking dime and he cannot stop being a prima diva.

You think. What would you want to know about your own face? You got no idea how elves age or how old he was when he got bit. He looks young, in the dim light, but there’s an age to him, a smattering of fine lines at the corners of his eyes that you started noticing on yourself recently. You ain’t gonna mention how gaunt his cheeks are, even if they do make the bones stand out all high fashion or whatever. It ain’t a healthy look (any time anybody mentions native cheekbones, you have to bite back the little historical fact that a lot of those photos was of starving natives, of course their cheekbones stood out like that, their food sources were butchered, burned, or a thousand miles away after a forced march).

You’re gonna ask in the morning if Wyll can bring back what his snares catch before he field-dresses them, and ask Astarion if he wants the blood. Man needs to eat more often. Put some goddamn flesh on them bones (oh god, you sound like your aunties).

“You got these eye creases when you smile,” you say.

But he does not take that as the compliment you mean.

“Excuse me?” he says like you just called his mama ugly. “I’m an eternally young vampire, forever beautiful.”

Forever corpse-y.

“It’s a good thing.”

“It sounds an awful lot, my dear, like you just called me old.”

“You just said you was at least two hundred.”

He gestures down to himself. “Vampire. Come on, darling, you can do better than this sorry excuse.”

And then the man has the audacity to fucking pose. Hand on his hip. Shoulders swaying like some old-timey, rich debutante.

“This whole thing is just you fishing for compliments, huh?” you say.

He looks at you like you’re the weird one. “Well of course it is. Now don’t leave me waiting.”

You ain’t sure if this entire cluster started as a sham, or if it just naturally devolved into one (he’s very good at the latter). His frustration had seemed genuine, though. He wouldn’t meet your gaze for a time. And you’re picking up on a pattern: obfuscation. He gets all fussy and theatric right around the time you notice (or he notices, maybe) he’s expressing something that ain’t flirt or murder.

You…kinda want to see what he’s trying to hide. What’s actually under that mask you caught a glimpse of.

In any case, it’s funner to play along right now, so you don’t got to think about the bullshit waiting tomorrow.

What would a vain peacock like him want to hear?

“Your eyes,” you say. “They’re real sharp, especially when you’re focused on something. I think people call that ‘piercing.’”

He rolls said eyes. “Acceptable. Finally. Now just tell me I’m beautiful and we can end this travesty.”

And you can’t help yourself. “Well, Karlach is beautiful. You’re fine, though.”

The moment of truth. See if he’ll engage…

He gasps, but through a grin. Literally splays his fingers over his chest. “How dare you. I thought we had something special.”

Warmth flutters through you. You set the game down and he picked it up. He’s returning it. Holy shit, you went and established banter with a maybe-friend. It’s a damn good thing you got so much practice keeping your face blank.

He clucks his tongue. Nudges at you with his hip. “Still. You’re nice, too.”

Well that’s an overstatement. You are plain and plus sized, and it ain’t some false-modesty thing. If you ain’t in some colorful or flowery blouse, you can feel kids staring at the store. More than once you caught a, “Is that a boy or a girl” and a parent frantically shushing.

You’d always thought the boobs would be a giveaway (they ain’t subtle), but hey, baggy clothes.

Sailing too close to the rocky Shore of Truth. Time to veer back into the humor pool. You deadpan. “Oh good. The pretty boy thinks I’m acceptable. Now I won’t have to cry myself to sleep in shame.”

The smallest snort tears out of him. Seems to catch him off guard. But he quickly folds it under his mask and sighs. “I’d better go get some beauty sleep, darling. Seems like I need it if I’m to catch up with the competition.”

“You do that,” you say, letting a tiny grin crack your own stoic mask.

Which he returns.

Which is right when the ground in the middle of camp cracks open and some kinda hell goo burbles up, spinning in a vortex, before it bursts into flame. Out pops a winged demon lady with her tits half out.

***

Notes:

Hell week is done! Still tired, need recovery time to wash the spoons (this is a metaphor). But updates will continue because those get me through the week and there's Stuff coming up (the Sadness Arc). Probably gonna slap new warnings into the summary (which I'll tag on the chapters as they appear). But that won't be this week. Next chapter: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

[kuliak]

Squelchy kicks, more performance features, and fuller-case integration.

There's a dreaded part in the synth expansion cycle where more cables are needed, since you just aren't able to use all the modules. Fast forward a bit and I can bring the drums back in again, with even more added spice.

Something I've been doing, and intend to keep at a bit more, is running my drum mix through Ikarie - envelope follower on the signal inverted into frequency allows that great squelch whenever the kick hits. Snare is Taiko with an additional envelope from Maths, and Crucible covers hat duty.

Three body provides all the melodic voices here. Main osc is modulated by osc 3 with some envelopes from Just Friends, going through Waver, QPAS (4 pole/mono), Melotus, then Erbe-Verb to create the pulsing texture. Another out goes through Magneto, ping-ponging the signal around to really create that space and enforcing the beat.

Osc 1 is going through Sinc Bucina, triggered by T1 or T3 of Pachinko in ratio mode (selected via Vice Virga to create different related phrases), then mixed in with the drums via Jumble Henge to give it a consistent place in the stereo field. Its pitch is set to a ratio of the main osc so it stays harmonically related as everything's moving around.

Main drum sequencing via Constellation, while velocity of the SB triggers is modulated with Maestro. Planar on QPAS cutoff duties to swirl everything around.

[noose-lion]

I really enjoy your tainted soul au how do you think Chuuya would react to seeing the permanent changes for the first time?

You- You do? *bursts into unholy sobbing*

I've been imagining him waking up in a hospital (Yosano's clinic) and immediately lurching out of bed as the memories of what happened come flooding in. He remembers Corruption this time, all agonizing 30 minutes of it. He remembers as his body bent and broke, the pain of blood vessels bursting and rehealing in a seemingly endless cycle. The agony of black flame branding into his skin, of his jaw cracking to make room for larger, sharper teeth. But most of all, he remembers Dazai's broken, bleeding body dragging itself over charred and rubbled ground just to release him from the snare of a god. Then he sees Dazai curled up asleep, a condensed trembling ball, in a chair just to the right of the hospital bed headboard. Dazai stirs, awakened by the sound of the i.v pole clattering to the ground as Chuuya yanks himself free.

"Chuuya?"

And then their both moving, clashing into eachother with a force to rival a storm, and their clinging. Both so sure the other was dead or dying, they hold on to eachother castaways on driftwood, faces buried in the crooks of necks and they tearlessly cry.

That's when Chuuya notices.

There's no strain in his neck, his feet remain flat on the ground, his knees even bend a little. He pulls away from their embrace, meeting Dazai's gaze head on, no tilt to his head what so ever.

They're practically the same height and everything is wrong.

Dazai tenses, realizing what Chuuya's realizing and finicky eyes shoot to ungloved hands. Chuuya's eyes follow.

Oh.

Claws adorn the tips of his fingers, razor sharp with an obsidian shine. Long, dangerous, inhuman.

No. No. No.

Chuuya rushes to the nearby clinic mirror. His reflection stares back; but it's a face that no longer reflects him.

His jaw seems sharper, more defined. As his pupils catch the light, they narrow into slits.

His knees buckle, chest to tight, and he crumbles to the floor.

As Dazai embraces him from the back, arms tight around his shoulders, silent tears leek from his eyes, his traitorous mind repeateding a mantra of

Not human. Not human. Not human.

[apocalypsewriters]

Happy STS. Okay, hear me out. Your story becomes a musical. *grandly presents you with the opportunity to turn this into literally whatever you want* (Who knows all the choreography? Who is pissed? Who somehow escapes singing?) (What scene has the best song? What your story's musical sound like? Does it being a musical make any sense at all?)

Happy STS!!! You had me at musical (I’ve been appreciating your reblogs of musicals. Maybe we could geek out over some at sometime)

Unfortunately, the two wips I have are not fully planned. Fortunately, I did have a vision come to me (that is a theatre kid improv bit)

House of Cards/A Quest of Cards and Calamity would be a series of ballads. I am such a sucker for them. Think the character separation and focus of Cats crossed with the journey of starkid’s Trail to Oregon (am I speaking to anyone here) Everyone gets their moment to shine in an equally focused narrative on a cross country epic quest

This would be a highly orchestral musical. It would pull from smooth lounge music at times, heavy on snare drums and clarinet quartets, the kind of hypnotic stuff that draws the audience to lean in. Each character would have an instrument assigned to them. Elestial is a cello. Ben is a French horn. Maggie is a soprano sax. Cuckoo is a glockenspiel. Alex is a trombone.

I can see the best number being a beautifully intertwined ensemble with the circus. There would be specially set up poles and ribbons a la cirque du soleil for mind blowing choreo. It would lead in and lead out with harmonies that give anyone chills to symbolize the cohesiveness of the family that makes up this company. Cuckoo would get a solo that is ever so slightly offset to demonstrate her longing to belong but inability to slot into place.

[ask-de-writer]

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to CLASSICAL FANTASIES

THE FISHERMAN'S LEG (Part 11 of 20)

A sequel to Dee 1/2 Demon

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

13269 words (work in progress)

© 2023 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

TUMBLR EXEMPTION

Blog holding members of Tumblr.com may freely reblog this story provided that the title, author and copyright information remain intact, unaltered, and are displayed at the head of the story.

Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

New to the story? Read from the beginning HERE.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Tanira came back from the Tribunal before noon. Her steps were dragging and her whole demeanor was downcast. Minara put aside the shop's accounts and her abacus to take Tanira in her arms and let her sob.

Brokenly, she got out, “The Magistrate refused to listen to any idea that Minami should have any share in the house. He stated that Minami's actions regarding the Ice House showed what he might do to our home. He removed the house from joint property, awarding it to me, and has arranged for Minami's eviction, guarded by constables.

Minami is ordered not to come closer to either the house or Fish Market than the width of the street.

“At least he can no longer try to snare me into paying any part of his debits. Magistrate Lim made a civil separation of our assets and debits. The Good Magistrate has removed all of the Fish Market's debits that Minami caused by his bad management and has added them to Minami for payment.

“My husband is most upset! He became so unruly in the Tribunal that he had to be put into a cell!”

While Minara was holding the sobbing woman, who was beginning to settle down, Takahara asked gently, “What of the Sea Lion? I saw Narutsu san going up to the Tribunal.”

“That should have been a bright spot for Minami san. They are taking the next few of days to scrape the hull and replace a few boards that have gone questionable. When they go out again, they do not want him along but will still pay his full share of the catch to him.

“He was outraged instead of grateful! They should be out instead of being lazy on land! He blamed all the bottom fouling and soft boards on Dee san of all people! He would not listen to fisherman Narutsu san saying that it was due to his keeping the Sea LION in the water at the dock for too long and not pulling her out for cleaning and drying like all the other boats do.

“Mimami claimed that only his ridding the boat of Dee's vile iron work had prevented her from sinking the Sea Lion, as she caused the deadly sinking of the Chrysanthemum of the Sea!”

“Magistrat Lim stopped him there! The men that Patsu san rescued were in that morning earlier to complain of their being billed for the saving of their lives.

“He had the story from them. Minami had spoken to them several times of the rich fishery that those girls and a few others were hogging to themselves. It should be safe enough if one but used a pole to feel ahead and go slowly so that they could find their way among the rocks. That was working well and they were taking some good fish with lines and hooks.

“Then the tide changed and suddenly there was a strong current called a tidal bore pushing them swiftly! It rammed them sideways onto a reef of lava rocks and their boat was overset. Three of the men could not swim and the sea took them. The others made their way to a rocky beach on Dry Island.

“To make things as bad as they could be for Patsu san, who found and recovered all three of the drowned men, Minami belittled their rescue, saying that she should have used a large boat that all could ride to safety in comfort rather than being towed in ignominiously clinging to floats. That led them to complain to a Constable. That so angered Patsu san that she filed a bill of costs against them for their ingratitude at having their lives saved.”

Takahara shook her head in bemused amazement. “HE caused all of that? Tricked good fishermen into deadly waters and then befouled their rescue that should have been hailed as heroic? And blames it all on Dee san somehow?”

Tanira san took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she replied, “He is mad. I am sure of it after today in the Tribunal. He blames everything that has happened to him since he was wounded in the War to Unite Corutsu on Dee san and the others of the Shop of repairs. Even where he has been caught in the act of crimes against them, he claims that it is somehow their fault.”

Minara asked solicitously, “Should we close the shop for today, Tanira san? You are most upset.”

Tanira smiled at the genuine caring that she heard and replied, “No, Minara san. I think that work will help to steady me. Besides, I can't imagine that waiting a day will improve our fish!”

While they were setting out several of the small sharks that were now being called sand sharks to be skinned and cleaned, an elderly lady entered the shade of the shop. Her face was a wrinkled map of a smile but her eyes held worry too.

“I have heard already about the terrible row in the Tribunal, yet! I am so sorry for you.

“If you are able, I should like to buy two of those fine crabs and that large sand shark fillet.”

Takahara busily wrapped the lady's purchases and the cheerful tinkle of good cash in the money box concluded the sale.

The day became a busy one. Tanira got quietly thoughtful as she was examining their sales stock. Turning to one of her helpers, she asked, “Takahara san, I am truly grateful for these fine crabs that we are selling but we did not buy any at the dock. Where did they come from?”

“Minara san and I rented one of the Shop of Repairs' small boats last night. We had good fortune and caught seventeen crabs. Miko san only took four as our rental, so these cost you nothing.” She smiled and paused to take a happy customer's cash for a crab and gave Tanira a small hug. “They are yours because we know that you value us and our help.”

Little Ichuru was tugging mightily on skinning tongs to remove the hide from another sand shark. Before Tanira could go to help, Minara gently stopped her. “We made sure that he knew how to prepare one. He wants to do it himself.”

Tanira watched her son as he struggled to pull the skin free of the fish. He had neatly removed the fins and tail, setting them aside. Triumphant, he held up the removed hide, nearly as long as he was tall. He hung it on a stretcher to dry and neatly finished the cleaning and rinsing before taking a sharp knife and neatly cutting fish steaks first. As the fish tapered towards the tail, he changed knives and cut two neat fillets, lifting out the cartilanginous back bone.

Tanira san hugged him, complimenting, “That was a big fish but you did it perfectly! Thank you, Ichuru san. You are a big help here.”

Towards evening closing, they saw Minami accompanied by three constables passing along the far side of the street. He was clearly preparing to yell something but an alert constable tapped him firmly with a cudgel!

“No outburst, Minami san. No unruly behavior at all or you will go back to the cell.”

After a bit, while they were closing up, they saw him again, dragging his things, piled onto a futon and complaining bitterly at the lack of help.

To be Continued

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[thedawntreaders]

tcon kids and instruments: what i think they would play / which instrument represents their personality!

a note: i've had 10+ years of classical music training for piano and 6+ years of performing in several ensembles. most of the descriptions given are based off my experiences with hearing these instruments in performance settings and interacting with the people who play them.

peter pevensie

snare drum. this instrument is the backbone of pretty much any orchestral/marching band ensemble; it sets the rhythm and pacing for all pieces. ask any player how they keep track of their part and they'll tell you they pay attention to the snare drum. in that way, the snare drum is a leader. but! never forget that the conductor is the one who calls the shots. you'll find that if the snare drum player decides to not listen to the conductor, they can pretty much alter the course of the song, and often for worse. in summary: peter is the snare drummer who takes charge, and aslan is his conductor.

susan pevensie

harp or lyre. i can imagine that in cair paravel, the soft, yet calculated plucking of strings would reverberate through the halls. it should be noted that susan isn't much of a performer like edmund or jill; rather, she considers this activity of hers as a pastime she dabbles in once in a while. it's peaceful and grounding to her. she does, however, have a piece ready in the event she is asked to present something, such as during a ball. that's when everyone sees how she lives up to her title, gently playing her instrument and filling the air with graceful and serene tones.

edmund pevensie

guitar or lute. edmund is a passionate performer, whether it's devising an act in the courtroom to turn the tides in his favor or plucking out a folk tune in the streets. narnians claim there's magic channeling through his fingertips as he performs, and the grave, quiet man they thought him to be, disappears into the shadows of the forest. the creatures dance, the trees hum, and the colors turn a little more vivid as he twists his tuning pegs. when he picks up the instrument on earth, his parents are convinced he must have been a guitarist in his past life. in a way, it's true.

lucy pevensie

flute. a flute's timbre is airy, light and likely to sport many playful tunes. this instrument is often at the forefront when it comes to melodies played in an ensemble, like a guiding beacon for the rest of the players to follow. in other words, i find it best representative of lucy and her character. not to mention, i can definitely picture mr. tumnus teaching her how to play a version of the flute, like his own which resembles a combination of the aulos/duduk. she carries it with her to the battlefield, lifting up the spirits of her people, and renewing them with energy that is rumored to be enchanted.

eustace scrubb

oboe. this instrument can stick out like a sore thumb in an arrangement. at times it will sound shrill, nasally, and there are many times where the conductor will ask you to back down with the dynamics. it's no wonder why it reminds me of a certain, snarky boy. however, after practicing and polishing, an oboe and its solo can be the defining aspect of a musical piece. eustace never cared for the instrument, only picking it up because there was nothing else left, and it showed. however, after a change of heart, the ensemble takes a turn for the better and he throws on the performance of a lifetime.

jill pole

trumpet. many trumpet players i know possess strong and vibrant personalities. they tend to have a mind of their own, which sometimes clash with the conductor's feedback. what jill finds enticing about the trumpet is that the instrument itself is quite tough to control sound wise. she likes a good challenge. i can imagine her being a prominent jazz player, always confident under the spotlight and improvising for her solos. to the assuming eye, she looks like a woodwind player, mellow and sweet. but come to her performances and she will knock your socks off with clear and striking brass tones.

caspian

piano. piano players are versatile in that they can take command, move people with their pieces, and have competitors at the edge of their seats or remain in the background of an ensemble, always there, but never overpowering. additionally, many ensemble pieces start off with a piano solo before having other instruments join in. these two facts mirrors caspian's lonely venture into the forest before running into the narnians and the uncertainty of his authority around peter. however, he gains confidence with time, just like a pianist who finally gets used to the weight of the keys in a new piano.

[innocentlymacabre]

The streetlights flickered out one by one, starting with the one furthest from Jade. She stopped dead in her tracks as the one directly above her shattered, immersing the whole street in darkness. An eerie, cold chill descended onto Essex Street, making it much colder than it had any right to be, even for late autumn. A pile of leaves, collected at the foot of a tree, rustled and began to whirl around like a tornado. Jade’s head began to spin; she clung on to the nearest streetlight pole to steady herself. She didn’t want to fall to the ground. She knew what was coming, she had experienced it before. She couldn’t let herself be found slumped on the ground in front of him.

Suddenly, the leaves picked up speed and all turned crimson. Dust joined in in the swirl and a draft began to blow. The elements bundled into an eddy of blood red and orange, then exploded, the leaves and dirt flying around in all directions. A man now stood next to the tree. He wore a well-ironed matt red tuxedo and a black shirt underneath. A white tie added an extra splash of colour to his attire. In his right hand he carried a cane that bore a skull for a handle. It was sleek black, save for one scarlet line running down its length that matched the colour of his tux. He rapped it on the ground as he proceeded towards Jade, but didn’t seem to be using it for support.

‘Hello, Jade,’ he said heartily, raising a gloved hand. Jade, however, didn’t shake it. She kept to herself, not wanting anything to do with this fiend.

 ‘Whatever it is, I don’t want any of it.’

‘Ever so cold, Jade. A little niceness won’t kill you, you know.’

‘No, but you might.’ Then, shaking her head, ‘What do you want, Samael?’

‘A favour.’

‘Nope. No more deals with the devil. No more bullshit that I’ll surely lose out on.’

‘That’s why I’m giving you your soul back – so you won’t lose.’ Jade had sold her soul to Samael years ago in exchange for his help in fighting tuberculosis of her lymph nodes. She learnt that she should have just taken her chances on her own the hard way.

‘Why, so you can just take it again? I’ll pass, thanks. Besides, I’m doing just fine without it.’

‘Are you, Jade? Are you really?’ Samael waved his hand through the air, causing yet another cold draft. Jade’s body shivered and doubled over itself, but somehow, she avoided falling to the ground. Slowly, her skin peeled back to reveal a fleshless skeleton, with mere sockets for eyes and no nose.

‘I wouldn’t really call this doing just fine,’ he mocked. ‘You’re scheduled to die, you know. Reaper’s been notified and everything.’ Samael feigned pity and worry. ‘I could delay that though. Give you a few more years.’

‘Again, pass.’ Samael clenched his fist in fury. Jade began to choke, even though he hadn’t made any physical contact. ‘Go ahead, kill me,’ she managed through forced breaths.

‘You never were too bright, Jade,’ he sneered. ‘You’ve been dead for a long while. Your sister, Catherine, though. Well she’s quite the other, isn’t she? I could visit her with the snap of my fingers.’ Samael raised his hand and pushed his middle finger and thumb together.

‘What do I need to do?’ She’d fallen for the devil’s snare once more.

Suddenly, Jade could breathe freely again.

‘Knew you’d come around!’ With that happy remark, Samael set the street right, and gave Jade her human appearance back too. ‘But telling you is much too hard. Let me show you instead.’ Samael conjured a ball of red smoke and sent it hurtling towards Jade’s chest. When it reached her, no physical damage took place, but her mind had become permanently unhinged.

A powerful lust for a strange woman flowed through her, making her feel a passion like no other. She had thick locks and mesmerising green eyes. Her body swayed perfectly in time with the wind, as her chocolate brown hair swept across her face, the sunlight creating a glistening interplay of glowing wisps. Around her neck, she wore a tiny, rusted key that had some words engraved on them. Jade couldn’t quite make out what exactly they were. Her whole world was centred around this person she couldn’t even remember seeing, let alone actually meeting. But then it all came crashing down. Love turned to angst. Passion, to hatred. Jade screamed in pain, but her body stayed still. There was no relief after the pain. Torture, worse than before came bearing down on her. When it was done, all it left was a gaping hole, leaving her with nothing but a feeling of hopelessness and despair. Just before it ended though, the key appeared again – this time, ablaze.

At that moment, Samael called the smoke ball back to him, and touched it to his head, the ball disappearing once again. Jade gasped for fresh air, bending over and grasping the pole for support. It felt as if her guts had been ripped out, poked holes in, then stuffed back in – all within a second.

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘My memories. A few of them. Just the ones I needed you to see for you to understand.’

‘That woman, she meant something to you, didn’t she?’

‘Yes. I suppose you could say that.’

‘But then she left you?’

‘She left me, yes. She left me and took everything from me. Even my ability to grieve for my losses.’ Silence ensued, both unsure of what to say next. But then Jade remembered,

‘And the key? I saw it repeatedly. What does that mean?’

‘Good job, Jade! Good job! You cracked the case.’ Suddenly, Samael was all jumpy. ‘The key is what you have to get. Go to Sammirah and get back my key.’ Jade assumed Sammirah was the woman she had seen.

‘Why can’t you get it yourself?’

‘Let’s just say it’s a little bit out of my reach.’

‘That’s not enough. If you want my help, you’re going to have to tell me everything.’

Evidently aware that he had no other option, Samael began with a grudging, fine.

‘After our dispute, Sammirah took a few of my magical artefacts, the key included, and ran away. When I found out, I went to confront her about it and to take back my things. However, she used their power against me, and came very close to killing me. I barely managed to get out of there alive, but still demanded my property back. Her response was to set up powerful magical barriers all around herself that prevent me from coming within fifty meters of her.’

Jade laughed, ‘So you got your ass handed to you and then got a restraining order. Real smooth.’

‘Shut it.’

‘What’s so special about this key, anyway?’

‘I need it to keep up my end of a deal. If I don’t deliver it, I could be in a lot of trouble.’

‘I’ll never understand how your world works. All this fuss over a small, rusted key?’

‘Not your world, our world. We inhabit two sides of the same world, Jade. Whatever happens in one heavily influences the other.’

‘Yeah, yeah whatever. How do I get to this Sammirah?’

‘Finding her is the easy part. Getting the key from her is the hard bit. You’ll have to be sharp, cunning, agile, and smart to get past that girl.’

‘You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?’

‘No, Jade. I am not. Now, if memory serves, which it does, you obtained certain magic powers when you traded your soul, did you not?’

‘One or two, yeah.’

‘Good. You haven’t neglected them entirely, have you?’

‘No. They’ve helped from time to time. But mostly I’ve kept them suppressed.’

‘Well, it’s time for you to show them the light of day once more. You can’t face Sammirah without magic – that would be suicide.’

Samael began to walk in the opposite direction to which Jade was going, leaving her no choice but to follow. All this trouble over little Katie. That girl had always been a pain in the ass.

‘Now, unlike a lot of us inherently magical beings, Sammirah likes to dwell in this side of the realm, posing as a normal human. She owns a liquor store down the street – ‘

‘The Whisky Garden?’

‘You know it?’

Jade nodded. ‘I’ve been there once or twice. But that was a long time ago. A bottle hasn’t touched these lips in years.’

***

They walked in silence until they rounded the corner to the store.

‘Ah, here it is. I’ll leave you to it, then.’ With that, Samael vanished in a puff of red smoke, leaving Jade standing in front of the store, the neon sign flickering on and off. Some letters were gone entirely. The place seemed shut.

That’s weird, Jade thought. It was open just minutes ago when Jade crossed it, before Samael arrived. ‘Hello? Anyone?’ The door creaked open noisily, and a short, waddling figure came out.

‘What can I get ya?’ She wasn’t anything like the woman in the memories. No slim body, no wonderful curves. Her eyes and hair were the wrong colour too. The key was there, though. Hanging around her neck, on top of her white work shirt. Maybe she used some sort of magic to change her form. A bell ringing snapped Jade out of her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. A present where Katie would get killed if she didn’t complete this job.

‘I’ll take a Bunnahabhain 35-year-old whisky.’ ‘…uh, please,’ she added on hastily. Best try and put her in a good mood for what’s to come. The woman disappeared into the store and Jade followed her in, waiting at the counter. A little while and a lot of noise later, she returned with a bottle in her hand.

‘Here you go,’ she said, reaching over the counter.

‘Yep, this will do brilliantly.’

‘It’s a very fine bottle of malt scotch whisky. Quite expensive too – that’ll be eight hundred.’ Jade forked over the money, making a mental note to get at least a thousand from Samael.

‘Speaking of fine…that’s a really nice necklace you’ve got there.’ The woman raised her hand to it in response, covering it almost protectively.

‘Yes, my uncle gave it to me when I was ten. Told me it was a very valuable family heirloom and that I should look after it.’ What a lying little bitch.

‘Hmm, can you tell me anything about it’s history? These kinds of things are sort of a hobby of mine.’

‘It's supposedly an ancient mystic totem, passed down from generation to generation through my family. Some say the oldest to possess it was part of the Devil's inner circle.’

‘You know, that’s funny. I know this guy – Samael. Some even call him the Devil, although personally I think that gives him too much importance. Anyway, he said that that necklace, specifically the key, is actually his. Sent me in here to get it.’

Suddenly, the door swung shut and the blinds were pulled across. No one did anything though. Neither of them seemed too stunned either.

‘What’s he got on you? Why’re you doing his bidding?’

‘That matters to you how, exactly?’ Jade said, thrusting her arm forward, sending a pulse of pure energy that she had been accumulating since entering the store towards Sammirah, knocking her backwards and giving Jade a precious few seconds on her.

She vaulted over the counter, and was about to deliver a second burst, but her luck ended there. Sammirah sent her flying back, crashing through the window and out onto the street. Sammirah emerged through the rubble, floating dauntingly in the air in front of Jade. The body of the shop owner had been shed, with the one from Samael’s memories taking its place.

‘You know - ’ began Jade, before she had to roll to the side to dodge a blast of fire. The ground where she had been moments ago now bore scorch marks.

‘ - that whole floating in mid-air thing? Doesn’t intimidate me.’ She managed to complete her sentence amidst two more blasts.

Finally, Jade found an opening, and unleashed all the energy she had been building up in one, concentrated stream of the elements. Sammirah went crashing back, causing part of the liquor store to cave in due to the sheer level of brute force of the blast. This time Jade wasn’t about to stop.

No longer needing to concentrate for a long time to build up her power, Jade took this opportunity and hurled ball after flaming ball of fire at Sammirah, striding confidently towards her fallen body.

‘Shame, I thought you would be stronger,’ she chided, now standing directly in front of Sammirah.

‘Oh, I’m just getting started.’ A smile snaked across Sammirah’s face as she smashed her palms together, unleashing a multitude of sound pulses towards Jade, sending her flying back onto the street outside. The pulses paused before retreating with an even greater force, overlapping and flowing back inside Sammirah. Sammirah shot a taunting look at Jade, who got up and made a mad dash towards her, leaping most of the way. When she was upon Sammirah again, ready to burn her face off, Sammirah spoke, ‘Shame, I thought you’d be smarter.’

With that, she released the sound pulses with a force that made the initial blast look like a cheap knock-off, not only flinging Jade back harder than before, but demolishing the shop in the process too. Sammirah rose out of the rubble, floating above it for a minute before proceeding towards Jade, now crippled and lying on the ground in immense pain.

‘Did you really think you could beat me?’ Sammirah dropped to the ground. ‘Did you really think someone as puny, as worthless, as weak, as you, could beat me, a seasoned warrior and hunter?’

Jade smirked in response. Sammirah kicked her in the stomach.

‘And how, pray tell, do you find this funny? You know I’m about to kill you right?’

‘Because…I did…beat you,’ Jade croaked in between feeble gasps for air. She opened her fist to reveal they key, lying comfortably in the palm of her hand. Sammirah’s face filled with fear, confusion, and horror, all flashing by one after the other. She raised her hand to put an end to her, but Jade’s form began to quiver and pulsate.

‘See you around, bitch.’ Jade looked to the sky and gave it a little nod. She then vaporised into thin air, the only proof of her ever having been there being the destruction their fight had caused.

***

Jade reappeared, coughing out blood in her living room, where Samael stood in greeting. He waved his hand and Jade’s pain vanished, her injuries beginning to heal.

‘Nice little trick you got there,’ Jade remarked, now standing upright.

‘Which one – pulling you out of the way of practically assured death, or healing you instantly?’

‘Either. Both.’

Samael gave a little chuckle. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘Where’s the key?’

Jade raised her fist to his outstretched hand and opened it, dropping the key.

‘Well done, Jade. Now, like I said, here’s your soul back.’ Samael pushed his hand through the air, and a tiny, smoky sphere materialised in front of him. It floated slowly and deliberately towards Jade. She wanted to run into it, to reclaim what was hers, but she didn’t. She didn’t know what could happen to her if she messed with the process.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, the ball of smoke came to her, and flew straight into her chest. Jade inhaled sharply and fell to the ground due to the pain searing through her body. Years of lost connection was being made up for as her soul latched onto every part of her body.

When it was done, the pain subsided instantly, and Jade could stand up again.

‘Get back to living, Jade. The world needs you.’

Jade breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I had almost forgotten how good having a soul felt. Also, you owe me a thousand bucks.’

‘For what?’

‘For the money I had to give your deranged ex for a bottle of brilliant whisky I didn’t even get to drink.’ Samael sighed.

‘Fine.’ He nodded, then told her to check her pockets. Sure enough, there was a ten hundred-dollar notes in there. The two hundred extra was the least he could do, thought Jade.

‘Until next time, Jade.’ With that, he vanished into a puff of red smoke.

There better not be a next time…

Streetlights Shattering on Essex Street

22.03.18

my writing // read Frozen Summer, a speculative horror book

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[kadavernagh]

Talons and Skulls || Regan & Kaden

TIMING: Current (prior to dash convo) LOCATION: At the Medical Examiner's office PARTIES: Regan and Kaden (Featuring old friend Janice the janitor) SUMMARY: There's a hungry ker stalking the morgue, and Regan called animal control to come deal with it. She didn't expect a disgruntled French officer, Kaden, to make a mess of things -- and himself -- in the process.

The vulture had been there for hours, and the whole time, Regan had been there watching it. From atop the morgue, it stayed still as a statue. And all day, it had been dive bombing everyone coming in or out, desperately trying to get into the building. Scratching up Marcy had been the last straw. Though she had a certain appreciation for scavengers, this one was not welcome and not getting near her decedents. If she got close enough to grab it, she could – no, not here. She wouldn’t do that in this place. And besides, the bird was too swift and too strong for her to grab and subdue just like that. What species was it, anyway? Regan frowned, taking in its serrated maw and weird, scraggly lizard tail. Non-native, probably.

She knew she needed help. Sighing, she dialed what was surely a popular number in this town. “Hello, is this Animal Control? This is Dr. Kavanagh down at the morgue. Yes, the medical examiner. Listen, do you have– no, no this is important.” She pressed her hand to her forehead, wondering how she could explain this without sounding insane or, worse, incompetent. “There’s this vulture. Trying to get into the morgue. Yes, I know it can’t– it’s attacking people who are entering. What’s it look like? It’s a beautiful building, big sign on the front that says– oh, you mean the vulture. Um, it has wings, a naked head, and sharp talons. I’ll be here, thank you.”

She already felt sorry for whatever poor rookie they were sending, and could only hope they came prepared for those claws.

Kaden sat in the car, pinching his nose between his brow. He had pulled into the parking lot of the morgue a minute or so earlier but he didn’t want to get out of his truck right away. The report that came over the radio played back in his mind again. A large vulture attacking people at the morgue. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been to hope that for once, it was an actual vulture. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy, he could see the problem from here and it sure as shit wasn’t a vulture. 

He could see it looming on the rooftops from the van. He also saw someone in a lab coat waiting in the parking lot and approaching him, likely impatient. “Animal control,” he said as he swung the door open and headed to the back of the truck to pull out his weapons. “You called about a vulture?” The cry coming from the monster on the roof was far from anything natural, nothing close to what a vulture sounded like. Kaden put his hand over his brow to shield his face from the sun as he tried to get a better look at it. Fucking ker if he ever saw one. Yeah, it was time for the rifle. No way could he even put up a front trying to snare-pole that.

Regan watched the bird from a safe distance until she saw a car pull into the lot, helpfully labeled as Wicked’s Rest’s Animal Control. She had been careful not to come close enough to incur the vulture’s wrath, but watching it sit there and pluck blood and tissue from its claws only made her more eager to take care of this problem. But not angry. No, she couldn’t be angry. Regan turned to the vehicle, watching as a uniformed man stepped out of the car. He had only been here for a few seconds and already looked exhausted. He also sounded very French. “Yes, that was me.” She considered extending a hand, then thought better of it. “Dr. Kavanagh, Medical Examiner. And birdwatcher, now.” She eyed him, scanning for anything he had on hand that might be able to subdue the animal. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe one of those long nets to fish debris out of swimming pools.

“Are you familiar? What species do you think it is?” She knew of turkey vultures – there were plenty of them around here – but this bird had none of that familiarity. She’d also never had a turkey vulture look at her… quite like this. The bird’s pinprick pupils bore right into Regan’s, then Animal Control’s, as if issuing a challenge. Come get me if you can. 

“Officer Langley,” Kaden offered. He wasn’t sure who he expected to meet him once he got there but he wouldn’t have guessed it would be Dr. Kavanagh. Mostly because he assumed it would be someone who worked the front desk or an intern or someone, but also because it didn’t look like she saw a whole lot of sunlight. This must be unusual for her. “Yeah, I’m familiar alright,” he said, catching another glance at the winged beast clinging to the rooftop. “It’s a type of vulture,” he said without a moment’s pause. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to come up with alternative explanations for the supernatural. Hell, that was part of his training. “Likes to eat dead things. Guess that’s why it’s here.” 

He pulled the gun out of the back and made sure it was loaded, shoving a few extra rounds into the pouch looped around his belt and hanging off his hip. He grabbed the pistol, too, just in case. Before he turned back to face the doctor, he rummaged around until he felt the knots and rope all strung together. “Here,” he said, handing the net to the medical examiner. “If you plan to stick around, I could use the extra hands.” At the very least it would be helpful if she got it closer to the doorway. 

Kaden backed up and aimed his gaze towards the roof again, scoping out any potential angles to get at the monster. “Putain,” he said under his breath. He sighed as he slung his rifle across his back and grabbed the snare-pole (though that one was mostly for show). “The sun’s directly behind this piece of–” He cleared his throat and corrected himself. “Behind the bird, I mean. No way I can get a clean shot on it. We’re going to have to lure it down.” 

“Nice to meet you, officer.” And it was true – it would be nice to meet anyone who could get rid of this vulture. And Kaden seemed like a weathered expert. He recognized the species and came prepared, something Regan always appreciated. She figured she could simply step back and watch the ordeal, but when a net was pushed toward her, she frowned down at it. “I guess this is better than being armed with nothing at all,” she admitted. But the net felt strangely oversized in her hands; she grappled with it for a moment before her fingers tightened around the knots. As with all things, she would learn to wield it, if it was required of her.

“What did you just say?” Regan blinked at him, backing up toward the door to have that base covered. That was the bird’s favorite spot. Even now, its keen eyes were staring down, just waiting for someone else to step out so it could have an opportunity to stuff its way inside the building or divebomb someone deeply unlucky. “Now doesn’t seem like an ideal time to get poutine. Maybe once this has been taken care of. It’s an awfully fatty food, though – hardly something I would recommend in terms of–” 

Of course, the door opened. “Wait!” Regan shouted, the glass pane of the door wobbling in response. Oh, feces. But it was unheeded. From the other side, Janice the janitor paused for a second at Regan’s sharp voice, then swung the door open with a deeply concerned look on his face. Didn’t Marcy tell everyone not to leave the morgue? Did she forget the janitor? The bird shrieked and stretched its great wings. Before Regan could even fully process what was inevitably about to happen, the vulture went careening toward Janice, talons-first. It was so frenzied, so ravenous, that a puff of feathers shed from its wings as it tore through the air. Janice screamed as his view was quickly obscured by the brutal bird, and just barely ducked out of the way in time for only his hat to be clawed off his head. 

“What?” Kaden had no idea why she was asking about food right now. And poutine of all things. Was she Canadian or something? Didn’t make any sense but he didn’t have time to dwell on that as the door to the morgue swung open. “Putain de merde,” he grumbled again. That was not the kind of bait he was looking for. 

The doctor yelled before he could say anything and it felt like pins digging into his ear drums. Kaden winced and had to fight back the urge to let his hands fly to his ears. Merde, he was better than this, trained better. A simple shout shouldn’t have been enough to set off his hearing, as sensitive as it was. It was enough to distract him, though. Enough to keep him from leaping at the door before the man walked out and enough to make him fumble with his weapon as the monster flew down, talons ready to strike. 

The guy was fucking lucky that all the ker got was his hat. It could have easily crushed his skull. But now the beast was close. Kaden aimed the rifle and took a few quick shots at the monster. The creature’s screeching was nearly drowned out by the sounds of glass wall shattering behind it. “Shit.” He hadn’t considered the structure of the building before, he just shot first. It seemed the thing was at least injured, blood pouring from one of its wings but it also had a new way towards its prey. “Run!” Kaden shouted at the janitor who hadn’t gotten the hell out of there yet.

Regan didn’t flinch at the gunshots that rang out. A one, two, three that penetrated the air, the second bullet making the vulture plummet downward. The third got only the glass. That elicited a wince. Usually she was the one breaking it, and almost always because dumb, human emotion seeped in where it no longer belonged or fit. “Don’t worry about the glass. It doesn’t matter. It’s replaceable.” And as the vulture shrieked again, picking itself up and shedding blood as it spread its injured wing, she cared even less about the state of the window.

“Get out of here!” Regan shouted at Janice just as Kaden had, gesturing emphatically toward the cars parked on the lot. Janice’s eyes widened and he stood, stammering. He was not hired for his intelligence. Actually, Regan wasn’t sure why or when he was hired. It was way before her time. He was a decent enough janitor and left her well enough alone for her to appreciate him. “Go.” She repeated, gesturing again. With that, he nodded and bolted toward his car. Oh, so he was the Honda with the CLNUP vanity plate. That made sense.

“There shouldn’t be any other surprises,” Regan said, sprinting back toward Kaden and the writhing bird, who seemed to be none the worse for wear. Though, observing its clumsy soaring, maybe it was slowing down after all. “Marcy is still in there, and she told everyone in the lobby to stay put, I guess she just forgot – it doesn’t matter. Shoot it!” She held the net up lamely in her hands, though the bird was so far out of reach. “I don’t care if it lives or not. I just want it gone.” Although… “But if you do kill it, I want to keep it. It’s not migratory, is it? So try to shoot it somewhere that doesn’t damage the plumage too much.” It would already be a task cleaning up the existing bullet wound. “Um, if you can. Please.”

The janitor had enough sense to run. Good. One less thing to worry about. The ker flicked its wings, blood splattering all around as they did. It wasn’t ready to give up on a good meal. It crouched down, leaned into its heels and was about to lunge after the janitor. Shit. Kaden couldn’t let that happen, letting off another few rounds. One hit its side and the monster screamed, turning its focus to the hunter now instead.

Good. That’s what Kaden wanted. 

The creature rocked back and pounced towards him, razor-sharp talons open wide and directed right to his chest. Fuck. Kaden threw himself out of the way and into shards of glass shattered on the concrete. He was thankful for his tough skin, there were only a few pieces that had sliced him open. Didn’t do much to stop the stinging, though. And it didn’t do much to stop the ker’s talons from ripping through his jeans and into his leg. Kaden grit his teeth and did his best not to scream out in pain. He grabbed a handful of shattered glass and threw it at the monster – enough to make it loosen its grip on his leg. 

“I’m trying!” he shouted back at her as he scrambled to stand, fumbling for the rifle. The fuck did she think he was doing, anyway? Trying to make the building insurance rates go up? Putain. 

He got his grip around the barrel but there wasn’t time to aim. Kaden twisted and slammed the end of the barrel into the beast, aiming for the wound in its side. It cried out and shirked away, turning towards the morgue. Putain de merde, it was going to go inside the building.

“Wait!” Regan yelled again, all too loud, as Kaden took a plunge and collected sprinkles of glass in his skin as he hit the ground like a lint roller. She was used to broken glass becoming a mainstay of her life, but others weren’t, and on the rare occasion she exposed others to these accidents, they often ended up stuck like pin cushions. She was already planning on getting him fixed up after, but the bird’s talons took a quick swipe at his leg and that made it a damn certainty. Regan grimaced against the obvious pain Kaden was in, and a scream rattled in her lungs, encouraging her to free it. It could help. It could spare more injury, could save a life. But she wasn’t ready to resort to that yet, and could only hope she was making the right decision.

As Kaden fumbled with the firearm, Regan tried to approach without the bird being alerted to her presence, net readied and taut between her hands. She wasn’t even sure she could successfully throw it over the vulture if she managed to get close enough, but she had to try. This wasn’t going well at all. 

The round was fired first, and the bird called out in an undulating shriek as it tore into the air as quickly as it could and whirred straight toward the morgue. It couldn’t get inside, not without the door open, unless it was prepared to crash right through the –

If Regan thought she would be responsible for most of the broken glass today, she had another thing coming. The bird collided with the huge glass window that overhung the main door, and several panes and cracks shattered on impact, crashing to the ground in a million slivers. Regan’s mouth fell open. But the vulture, at least, wasn’t inside. The force of the impact seemed to really stun it, and it fell to the ground again squirming around in pain. “Can you get it now?” Regan called to Kaden, finding her words. “I – you can damage the plumage. It’s fine. Whatever. Your leg is less fine.” She swallowed thickly against her other concern. “And I don’t know if everyone inside is okay. That was a lot of glass.”

Damage the plumage? Putain de merde, was she actually concerned about damaging the goddamn plumage? If he had time, Kaden would have looked at her with stunned disbelief, but there wasn’t any to spare. The hunter pulled himself up, steadied his upper body as best as he could, and aimed the shotgun. He kept his gaze straight down the barrel. It was easy to let himself get flustered in these sorts of situations, his instinct was to act fast rather than act smart. But years of training had rewritten Kaden’s instincts and instead of allowing the pressure of time to force his hand, he breathed deep, letting time slow down as he lined up the shot. The monster was limping and clawing its way towards the morgue, determined to get at the corpses waiting to be its meal.  

Kaden inhaled, looked down the barrel and aimed at the creature’s chest. It was bobbing up and down, but the hunter exhaled and let the gun settle into place, still, and he waited. Waited. The ker bobbed down. Waited. The ker began to rise back up and—

Bang. 

The bullet tore straight through the monster’s heart, its last cry ringing out as it crumbled to the ground, twitching and writhing before going still and silent. Kaden pushed himself up from the floor, doing what he could to avoid the glass shattered around him. He approached the beast and gave it a nudge with the toe of his boot. Its limp limb flopped up and crashed right back down to the ground. Seemed dead enough. But Kaden wasn’t one for taking chances. 

Bang.

One more shot right through its skull. Better safe than sorry. “Should be good now,” he said, turning back to Dr. Kavanagh. He gave the scene a quick glance. Shattered windows. Glass everywhere. A monster corpse slumped on the ground. And blood splattered all over the place. “Uh, sorry about the mess.”

She felt it – the moment the bullet did its work and the vulture’s heart stopped beating, and it became another one of her dead. Her flesh prickled and for a moment, it was like she felt everything the bird no longer could, a rush of life exploding under her skin and inside her skull. Regan sighed, content, and she couldn’t say whether it was because of how pleasant the company suddenly felt – the dead vulture, that is – or because the threat was handled. As the gunshot echoed in her ears, only the inert remains of the bird held her attention. “You got it.” She said, acknowledging a job well done.

Regan scanned the warzone of glass covering the parking lot and let out a whistle that only caused another chunk of fractured glass to pop out of its window frame. She’d done worse. Saol Eile nearly kicked her out several times in those early months, not always offering a great amount of understanding or compassion toward her for not knowing any semblance of control. And besides, most of this was because of the bird, not Kaden himself. “It can be cleaned up, and the glass replaced. People are harder to replace. I mean, not in terms of hiring. That’s easy. But – you know, if they were killed by a hungry vulture.” She approached the remains, waiving all caution due to her confidence in its deceased status, and itched to examine it. She didn’t hold back. Greedily, Regan extended one of the bird’s massive wings, admiring each glistening dark feather, only some of which were tarred with fresh blood. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there before reality sank back in, and she remembered Kaden was there, too.

“Anyway, can you help me get it inside? I would like to keep it, unless you have any objections. Oh, but – you can have your choice of parts, of course. You have my thanks. And more importantly, I need to have a look at your leg. How much does it hurt?” She looked down, frowning at the blood that was getting soaked into the denim of his pants. Actually, it looked like it might have been worse than she thought. Maybe he shouldn’t be carrying much of anything right now. “Um, or we could do that out here. If you can’t walk.” 

“Yeah, thanks. I know,” Kaden replied as he stepped away from the corpse to try and gather himself. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to do, but he wasn’t expecting that. She descended on the dead body and was immediately examining it. His eyes narrowed as he watched her studying the ker. Something about it unsettled him, but he couldn’t put a finger on what. She had to know by now that this was clearly not a vulture, and yet, it didn’t seem like that elicited any fear in her. Did that mean she knew about the existence of the supernatural in some capacity? Or did it mean that she was just that unfamiliar with the anatomy of birds? 

Her offer to have his pick of parts definitely didn’t do anything to ease his mind there. “I can help you get it inside, sure.” He didn’t know why she wanted it and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. The thought struck him that she was involved in medicine, a doctor. Meaning this would be giving a doctor a supernatural creature to study. Which was completely against his hunter’s codes. Putain. What the hell was he going to do now? Well… He supposed if she was already aware of the supernatural, it wasn’t so bad. “Just, uh, keep it to yourself. If you can.” Kaden didn’t have a reason to offer her and he hoped she didn’t ask. “Parts are all yours, though. I’m good.” Wait. His brows furrowed for a moment, trying to remember if there were any parts worth keeping or selling to a spellkeeper. Merde, he didn’t know. Didn’t care right then. 

The hunter limped over to the carcass and started to pick it up to carry it inside. “I got it, it’s fine,” he said, voice tight with the strain of holding the monster. There was also some pain mixed in there, but he was choosing to ignore that. “Lead the way. We can patch this up inside.” This wasn’t the worst injury he’d walked through by a long shot. It hurt, sure, but it wasn’t like he had to clear a whole acre to get to civilization this time. He’d be fine.

“Of course I’ll keep it to myself.” Regan’s brow tensed at the strange request. Did he think she was going to share the remains with others? She only offered to share with him because he was present and the one who struck the bird down. No – this vulture was too interesting to share with others. It was still unclear what species it was, and there were aspects to its anatomy that struck Regan as unlike any bird she’d ever seen decompose before.  

As the two of them shuffled past the broken glass and into the morgue, Regan couldn’t help but notice that Kaden’s hair complemented the bird’s remains – when the sun and wind caught it just right, his hair almost resembled a dead rabbit, fur twirling in the wind. He probably wouldn’t give that to her in addition to the vulture. 

Marcy’s concerned shout brought her back into focus. “We’re fine. Th– good job keeping almost everyone inside.” Regan waved to Marcy, who was now only staring at the huge vulture carcass draped over practically the entire top half of Kaden’s body. “Well, except for Janus. Did he– never mind. Later.” The janitor was okay, and that was what mattered. “You can set the remains here.” She motioned to one of the tables in the lobby, “Slowly, carefully. You’re limping, you know.” Everything would be cleaned up anyway, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to bring the bird back to the cabin to return it to nature or learn more about it here at the morgue first. “Are you okay to follow me? It won’t be far.” She walked Kaden over to the door and carded herself in. Everything she needed was in her office. As much as she didn’t enjoy the thought of having others in there, she enjoyed the thought of using the autopsy suite for this even less. So down the hall, Regan washed her hands and then carded herself in again, holding the door open for Kaden to urge him in.

Her beetles didn’t know her from anyone else, but it always seemed like they clicked a hello from their enclosure in the corner. They were probably hungry. Perhaps she’d give them some of the vulture to clean off. “My office,” she explained, probably unnecessarily, as she pulled a well-worn first aid kit from one of her desk drawers. “Remove your pants.”

Putain de merde, Kaden couldn’t believe he was walking a fucking ker corpse into the morgue past a gaggle full of people. And he couldn’t even speed up, not with his leg the way it was. He was ready to keep limping along towards wherever it was that the dead bodies were kept and nearly kept walking when she motioned to drop the carcass in the lobby. “Here? You want to leave it out here?” He expected that they’d take it to somewhere more private than the goddamn table in the middle of the morgue where anyone walking by could just see it. “And I’m fine, I got it. Just– here? Really?” It didn’t seem like she was going to pause to give him any answer other than ‘yes,’ so he sighed and lowered the damn ker onto the table in the fucking lobby. He couldn’t tell if the grimace on his face was from the pain or just his distaste at the idea of leaving a monster in a spot that felt way too public. “You better find a better spot for it soon,” he said as he limped after her, gritting his teeth every time he had to flex the calf muscles on his injured leg. 

Stepping into her office, Kaden assumed he would simply sit on one of the chairs or something and start rolling up his pants. 

Guess not.

“Remove my what?” he repeated, eyes going wide. Was this going somewhere he hadn’t anticipated? Were there signs that he missed? Kaden was pretty sure he hadn’t misjudged things, but then again, there she was, asking him to undress. He thought she was supposed to be helping clean up his wou– Oh. Right. On his leg. Which was under his pants. Which were probably in the way of her doing whatever it was she needed to do. “You sure I can’t just lift them up? I mean you can probably get to the wound through that nice hole the talons made in them.” Kaden sighed and had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. Either way, he had plenty of other gear to take off first before he could even consider removing his damn pants. He laid the weapons on the floor, as well as the snare pole. Then came the knives and pistol strapped to his belt and upper leg. It was going to take a bit. 

“Your pants, officer.” Regan raised a cool eyebrow. “You’ll recall that you were injured on your leg. If you can roll them up and provide me access to the entire wound, be my guest. Aren’t you glad I brought you down here for this, now?” She watched as knife after knife and gun after net and pole after gloves were set on the floor. How much did he carry with him? Well, you could never be prepared enough. And she figured he encountered the unexpected fairly frequently. As Kaden busied himself with that, Regan snapped open her kit and started getting everything ready. Gloves. Needle. Thread. Disinfectant. She hadn’t had a live one in a while. This was almost exciting.

“Ready when you are.” She frowned down at the injury – it was messy, leaving trails of blood dripping down his shin. It obscured the edges of the wound, and would need to be cleaned off before anything. “Hm. But first, I trust that you can wash the injury. The sink is right there.” She nudged toward the bathroom that was just past her beetles and a couple of cleaned animal skulls – an otter and a rabbit. 

Kaden tried not to roll his eyes but he couldn’t help it. Even though he knew it probably wasn’t going to work out, he bent down and tried to roll the hem up on his pants. The fabric was soaked in blood and stuck to his shin and rolling it only made it worse. His skin felt every bit of friction from the fiber scraping against him. He tried to keep going out of sheer stubborn determination, wincing the whole time, eyes almost fully shut, but he only got about three quarters of the way there before he had to admit defeat. All he could do was grumble curse words to himself while he undid his damn pants and kicked off his shoes. 

He was about to settle in the seat next to her and get as comfortable as he could manage in such a vulnerable situation when she asked him to go clean the wound. “Could have said that before I got undressed, you know,” he muttered as he headed to the bathroom. Cleaning out in the fucking sink was a challenge. It was tough to maneuver his leg up to the faucet and even harder to stand the stinging once the water was turned on. More curse words were his only comfort at the moment. When he’d done all he could stand, he pulled his leg out of the sink and hobbled back towards the medical examiner. He couldn’t say he did a good job but there was less blood there at least. If she wanted better, she should have done it herself. “Happy now?” 

“I could have. But then you would have tried to clean it while dressed, which defeats the point.” Regan wasn’t used to having patients be adversarial with her. At least not for the last few months. Some of the others in Saol Eile were quick to argue with her, but the dead never did. She could handle it. As she assessed Kaden’s leg, now able to see the wound much more clearly, she nodded. “No, never. But this is decent enough, and you can sit down now. And while you’re at it, I’ll remind you that I’m trying to save you a trip to the hospital, and you would have mentioned far more poutine if I had tried to convince you to let me clean it off.” 

With Kaden’s leg stretched in front of her, she resolved to make this quick. Unfortunately, it was quite the grisly wound. It bordered on something he should go to the hospital for, but she felt confident she could take this one here. She steadied her careful hand and got to work. “Some people prefer having something else to focus on while they’re getting sutures. Feel free to look at the shelf behind me. Just don’t wiggle.” On it were some of her favorite bones – including a few European species she’d managed to salvage from her Saol Eile collection before being whisked away. Nearly done. “If there are any signs of infection later on, I do want you to see a doctor. One at the hospital. Do you understand?”

Kaden grumbled as he took a seat, stretching his leg out for her to stitch up. This shit always hurt, but he was pretty used to the song and dance. Granted, the song and dance usually had less steps when he patched himself up but it wasn’t like he could argue with her when she mentioned that this would help him avoid the hospital. Hospitals were definitely worse than a medical examiner treating the wound in her office. “It’s putain, not poutine,” he said through his tensed throat. He didn’t want to let out any loud sounds of pain or discomfort if he could avoid it and he was well practiced on how to keep the screams that threatened to escape from passing through his vocal chords. His mother had always found it annoying when her children cried as she was trying to dress their wounds. 

He leaned back in the chair after letting out a long exhale that had wanted to be a cry of pain. She had a good point about distracting himself. Normally looking up he’d at least get the sky, maybe some tree branches. This was just ceiling tiles. Not exactly riveting. His eyes scanned the room and landed on the various bones and skeletons across the way. “That’s a lot of bones you got th–” A wince cut off his words. Deep breaths. Kaden squinted, trying to determine what he could about the creatures that used to have flesh covering those bones. “Rabbit, over there, pretty sure. Is that a …shrew? Maybe. And a– ahhh!” Damnit, he was caught off guard. He swallowed back the rest of his pain. When he thought it was safe again, he continued. “And that’s a coyote?” He leaned a little closer, narrowing his eyes. “No, fox. Are you done yet?” Kaden looked down and it seemed like she was done or something close to it and he let out a deep sigh of relief. “Got it, doc. This isn’t my first time getting sutures. I know how it works.” They were rarely this even and practiced, though, he had to admit. 

“Putain, then.” Regan said, stretching out the ai sound. “Are you going to explain what it means?” Though some nagging part of her thought it might be best if he didn’t. It had the taste of an expletive. Rabbit. Shrew? Fox. For a moment, she felt exposed, someone seeing more than they were truly invited to. Looking at skulls did not mean identifying them, asking about them; most people didn’t have a good enough grasp on animal anatomy to do that. But of course, animal control. It became easier by the time he got to the fox, like something to be cautiously shared instead of kept from him. She didn’t experience that very often. Regan stayed silent during his guessing and then finally replied. “It’s a fox, yes. A gray fox that I found out in the woods my first week here.” She could anticipate his question. “Already dead, mind you. No signs of trauma. I suspect disease or rat poison.” She hesitated, trying to put aside the feeling that something inside of her had been split open and exposed. So he could identify a few skulls she had. He knew nothing. This wasn’t some superhuman feat and it didn’t mean he even liked them. “You did well.” She finally said, unclear whether she meant with the skulls or with the sutures.

Considering his legs were riddled with shiny scars and shallow pits, she doubted that was a lie; he probably had had sutures before, and many times. “Yes, I’m done now. You were able to stay quite still.” She snipped off the suture and deposited everything on top of her desk for later cleaning. Regan rose from the seat and motioned to Kaden that he could put his pants back on if he wished. He probably had to if he was going to leave. “Anything else you want me to look at before you go?”

Ah. Right. Of course she wanted to know what it meant. Kaden could feel his cheeks grow warmer and he reached back to rub the nape of his neck. “Uh, well, it’s sort of the equivalent of saying ‘fuck’ in English but, uh, the direct translation is whore. Not used like that, though. Language oddities, all that.” Sure he could swear like a sailor but having to explain it always felt like being called out in class by a teacher somehow.

Before he could ask, she answered his question and the tension he was holding in his chest dropped. Already dead. Good. He didn’t want to have to deal with the alternative scenario. “Rat poison?” His mouth pulled into a thin line. There was no reason a fox had to die like that at the hands of humans. “Do you happen to remember where you found it? It might be worth investigating. I don’t love the idea of more animals dying due to some idiots.” It was a long shot if she’d found it in the woods when she first got there that they could even find the spot again, let alone that it would lead to anything, but he had to try. 

With a nod, the hunter stood and picked up his pants and started putting himself back together. He shook his head at her question. “Nah, I think, if there’s anything else you want to look at before I go, that’s up to you,” he teased, adding a wink. If he had to stand there and be vulnerable and exposed in her office, he had to at least turn the tables one time. 

“Ah. Imperfect translation. I understand.” Though Regan still didn’t approve. But there were many words and phrases she kept finding herself stuck on – things she’d picked up in Saol Eile that just didn’t translate into English at all. It was also a shock learning that the Gaelic she’d been forced into learning was a little different than the Gaelic spoken elsewhere. “I’m still trying to translate some of what was said back – before I lived here.” She didn’t even want to mention Ireland and invite that line of questioning. 

There was something sweet about how genuine Kaden’s concern was over the dead fox. Nothing to be done about it now, no way to help it, but he seemed to be looking for justice. There was very little of that to be had. “I remember exactly where I found all of them, every single one in my collection. If you’d like me to show you, I will. I don’t know that you’ll find anything there – except, perhaps, some other dead foxes.” Actually, that prospect excited her a little bit. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a terrible idea. “Once your leg heals. It’s a ways into the woods, a couple hours north of Gatlin, and you’ll need to rest up before attempting that hike.” She frowned, knowing he probably intended to show up to work tomorrow like usual anyway. All of these rugged-type men were exactly the same. Stupid enough to worsen their injuries because they’re impatient and have something to prove.

As Kaden rose clumsily to his feet and collected his array of weapons and tools, Regan watched, considering the question. The wink – and insinuation – made her freeze, the first aid kit dropping out of her fingers and onto her desk with a too-loud slap. She cleared her throat. “I am a physician and this was strictly, um, medical. In nature.” Her eyes darted to the shelves of skulls, as if one of them could save her from needing to provide a response. They were silent. Convenient. She fiddled with the kit, righting it, and looking anywhere but at the newly-pantsed officer. “Nothing, um – nothing more today. That will be all. Th– you’re welcome. Remember, take it easy. Don’t overdo it with your leg. Stay, um–” She ducked below her desk, wedging the kit away in the drawer, but also using it as an excuse to hide out of sight. “--hydrated. And eat well. Brush your teeth three times a day. Also, see a doctor if the wound starts to smell strange or–” The shoes were gone. She took a breath and poked her head up from underneath her desk. 

Alone again. And she had a vulture to necropsy.

[heedra]

Exalted Secret Santa Journal: 2022!

That time of year rolls around again! For your perusal this year: three funny women.

DAIA SHAN, Serenity Caste Sidereal Visual Refs: Best ref Image Gallery

Intro: Once just a troublesome junior bureaucrat in the halls of Yu-Shan, Daia truly gained infamy upon her selection to accompany a strike team of Exalted heroes on a mission into the depths of the worldbody of the Yozi Oramus, and her subsequent escape and return from that impossible prison, nearly a thousand years later. The experience left her profoundly changed; even now, the spite of Oramus hangs like a mantle around Daia, ensuring that the waking world she fought so hard to return to will never feel like anything more than a dream. And then, of course, there is the matter of the power she took from the Sevenfold Peacock willingly… and how that power might be changing her still. Visual Details: Daia is a somewhat petite woman, belying an athletic build. She is ethnically from the Blessed Isle, with dark grey hair that she prefers to wear up, usually in a bun or a knot. Her face, which she tries but fails to keep free of stress and worry lines, is usually found bearing a smirk or an expression of dangerous faux-politeness. Her eyes bear the iconic starry blue of the Serenity caste, but are also shot through with bands of a strange prismatic iridescence. She bears a large pair of bull horns atop her head, a mutation received during her time inside the Worldbody. The nature of the power bequeathed to her by Oramus is such, though, that her very nature is beginning to blur around the edges, and it is not unusual for her day-to-day appearance to fluctuate strangely as mutations come and go like glitches- please feel welcome to have fun with this if you want! She is a bit of a fashionista, favoring blues, dramatic and sharp femme looks (she avoids ruffles and prefers sleeker outfits), and jewelry of all sorts (a lot of it). She rarely wears the same exact outfit twice, so do not feel obligated to stick to the reference- you can get creative! She wears makeup, preferring cool colors and a sharp but understated application.

Daia’s most important accessory is her cursed longfang, the Sevenfold Peacock’s Tailfeather. Forged from starmetal, orichalcum, and a crystalline shard of Oramic essence, the weapon contains knowledge of every martial arts technique known by every user to have ever wielded it, and seems to hunger for more to the point where its obsession has bled over into Daia herself. Even more potently, it bears deep within its core the secret to a martial art concocted by the Dragon of Not himself, whose charms grant the power to ignore the limits of impossibility at the cost of making the wielder more and more alien to the waking world. It is a temptation that Daia has drunk deep of, despite all signs pointing to that being a very bad idea. Daia sees the spear as a trophy stolen from her greatest nemesis, but it’s very possible the Yozi himself sees it as a clever snare for hubristic Sidereals. The blade of the weapon is prismatic crystal that resembles a jagged bird’s beak, the pole is jet black starmetal shot through with an orichalcum starmap of constellations, and the orichalcum pommel is fashioned to look like seven golden peacock feathers woven together into a sphere. Personality Details:

While her exaltation may brand Daia a chosen of the Maidens, the elder Sid is a loose cannon, an agent of Heaven in only the most general of terms. She is mercurial, theatrical, fond of causing petty chaos, and utterly disinterested in the politics of the Bureau, unless there is way for her to stir up drama. She has tendency to get ahead of herself with her schemes, and the vast majority of her ‘downfalls’ can be traced back to her own hubris. Beneath all that, she is an extremely lonely woman who feels adrift in a world that no longer feels real to her. She’s a terrible flirt, a huge showoff, and has a weak spot for dangerous women. She’s Creation’s wildest and worst gay aunt.

Side Note: Daia is partially deaf, due to an old and potent supernatural injury. She employs the use of what magic/technology she can to aid her, but relies as well on sign language and interpreters. She’s very used to it at this point. ------------------------------------------------------- I BITE THE FEET OF KINGS, Full Moon Lunar

Visual Refs: This sketch is missing her antennae but is otherwise my favorite i've done of her Image Gallery rough sketch of possible warform

Intro: Once content to be a potter in the city of Lathe, until social exile cast her out into the winds of fate to her eventual exaltation, the drifter known loosely as I Bite the Feet of Kings has several deep seated reasons to distrust the intentions of other people. She spends most of her time in the shapes of various other social animals, living with them among their herds, packs, and hives, finding her company with the things of the field and forest. When she does deign to return to her human form, it is usually to sew chaos and discord. She despises the haughty and the powerful above all, and loves to be a thorn in their side wherever she travels, whether through trickery and gossip, through direct humiliation, or through trouble delivered in animal form; a plague of locusts here, a swarm of ants there. Besides this troublemaking, though, she tends to stay aloof from the world of man; she has better company to choose from, after all. Those that do find themselves in the rare position to socialize with her find her a wry, bitter cynic, blunt and hard to start conversations with unless she is gleefully undermining whatever point they are trying to make or ranting at length about how much better ants are than people. Visual Details: Bite is a tough, wiry woman of unremarkable height, with dusty, tanned skin and hair shaved close to her scalp in a prematurely-grey fuzz. Her forehead often bears a nubby pair of ant antennae; these aren't her tell, just a mutation she keeps around in human form by preference. She bears marks of past injury from having endured a long-term stint with Hansen's disease; blindness in her left eye, a collapsed nose bridge, and several missing digits (most of her index and middle finger on her left hand, her index and the tip of her thumb on the right, and a few toes). These are just normal aspects of her appearance, please avoid playing them up for in a way that treats them as lurid. She generally conceals her moonsilver tattoos, but when visible they evoke the joints and carapace of an insect. I have never settled on an exact reference for them, so feel free to get creative with them if you want to.

Clothingwise, Bite prefers earth tones, baggy pants and 'athletic' tops, and clothes that are comfortable to travel in. She generally goes barefoot. Her signature accessories are a wide-brimmed sunhat, a mandible-carved walking staff that she also uses in combat, and an enormous artifact clay gourd that she carries around, Gaara-style, which is home to her hive of leafcutter ants. She frequently retreats within the gourd, in ant form, when she needs to get away from other people for a while or take shelter. It also doubles as a weapon of its own, as she can deploy her ant comrades as a battlegroup when the need arises.

Her signature animal shape is a soldier-caste leafcutter ant, and her true tell is her blind left eye and the swelling around it. In her Hybrid form, her physique stays much the same, but terrible mandibles sprout from her jaw, jutting out past her lips, a second, insectoid pair of arms sprout from her torso, and her skin becomes patched with sections of red-brown carapace. Her antennae grow to their full size. In her Deadly Beastman form, she bursts forth fully insectile and covered in spiky red carapace, with a huge soldier-ant head, wicked curved mandibles, and powerful but sleek jointed limbs with strange proportions. Her warform isn't the hugest around, but it doesn't have to be to look completely terrifying. I have never nailed down exact designs for these, but feel welcome to play around in this space if that's something that sounds fun. Besides her core forms, her most frequently used animal shape is that of a little basenji-esque pariah dog. Other notable shapes include raiton, goose, meerkat, and river dolphin. All of her animal shapes belong to social or eusocial species. Personality Details: Bite tends to walk with a laid back, confident swagger, and rarely smiles unless it's to piss someone else off. She's often seen chewing on something; sunflower seeds, candied sweets, stalks of grass, or betel nut are common contenders. While she's quick to pick fights, she rarely does so to kill; preferring to humble or humiliate foes instead. She's a Laughing Monster Stylist, focused on dodging her opponents' blows and frustrating them with jabs, jibes and misdirection.

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SACHI

Visual Refs: extremely good face ref courtesy of my friend @ gyrium on tumblr! image gallery

Bio: Sachi was rescued at age 4 from the clutches of the monstrous death-witch, the Dowager of the Irreverent Vulgate in Unrent Veils, by a band of renegade deathknights, one of whom- a Dusk called Avenging Phoenix- would later, after becoming a Solar, become her adoptive father. Now grown up, she has also exalted, much to her dad's anxiety. A sorceror and passionate researcher of supernatural and spiritual ecology, Sachi hopes to create the first-ever comprehensive bestiary of Creation's spirit denizens. However, thanks in part to her father's tutelage, she's also very adept at hunting, binding, and destroying such creatures, if they pose a threat. Despite her magical expertise, she's kind of a meathead, with a passion for getting herself into trouble at a moment's notice. Visual Details: Sachi is tall and gangly, with a long face, and her skin is a light, warm bark-brown, dotted with loads of freckles. She has long, forest-green hair that she likes to wear in a variety of braids, ponytails, and buns; she always ties it back somehow, though, as she can't stand it getting in her face. An angler fish lure pokes out right above her forehead- a consequence of an accidental dunk in wyld-tainted waters while on an adventure. Its bulb seems to change color from time to time, though she's just as perplexed as to why as anyone else is. She tends to wear gear that can handle the wear and tear of the great outdoors, but also really enjoys bright embroidery, cozy, quilted layers, and skirts. She'll also always be the first one to wear something goofy just for the novelty of it. She tends to carry around a journal, a set of writing tools, and a bag of sorcerous bits and bobs with her, as well as her weapon, an artifact orichalcum powerbow (feel free to play around with it's design if you draw it; it had no evocations and was a pretty straightforward weapon). She is prone to taking new familiars whenever the opportunity arises, so it's not unusual to see her chilling with a demon or walking around with some kind of weird animal under one arm. Personality Details: Sachi is extremely friendly, highly enthusiastic, and prone to speaking and acting impulsively. She laughs loudly and deeply, swears like a sailor, smiles easily, and is the worst friend to ever have around if you need someone to talk you out of doing something stupid (and always the first to accept wild dares herself). Being kidnapped and raised underground by a Deathlord in her very early years has left her with some buried trauma, which generally manifests in abandonment and self worth issues she has to work through, and she clings tightly to the friends and loved ones she has. Despite her gung-ho attitude, she is a little intimidated with Solarhood and of the paths it may set her on; dark memories of past lives rumble their way to the surface, and the Dowager lurks out in the Noss Fens yet…she generally doubles down on hiding this anxiety beneath her cheerful outer persona.

[kuliak]

Plucked pings.

Another quicker one - marbles drives the patch with all three outputs affecting QPAS. T2 pings the filter while 1 and 3 ping Floom LPGs going into !! inputs on the filter. Filter freq sequenced with X2. BP 4 pole goes into erbe verb, multed into the final mix and electus. Just friends mix out goes through Data Bender micro mode for rhythmic glitches, and simple kick and snare for ABD and Taiko. Filter core spread is controlled by Planar.

[faytelumos]

Fishing Fiasco

cw: use of alcohol

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She probably should have realized when she'd had a fourth beer, gathered up all of her fishing equipment, gone to the deepest pier on the beach, and sat down in a folding chair in the middle of the night, that she was asking to get her ass kicked by a giant fish. But she cast her line after nearly forgetting to set the spool, leaned back, and continued to kiss the bottle.

Really, she could probably justify it by the extreme amount of emotional fatigue she was experiencing. Not that she believed in that sort of thing. But some people did. So it was maybe a good enough excuse some of the time.

Either way, it was probably her own damned fault. The line went taut, and she grabbed the reel and started tugging it in, like any other catch. First of the night, and it hadn't even taken that long. It didn't feel like a heavy fish, and she calmly set aside her drink and put both feet on the pier to better brace.

The line went slack for half a second, and just as she was reaching to take up the slack, whatever was on the other end heaved.

She fell from the chair, glass clattering to the wood as she scrambled to get back to her feet, but never once did she let go of the pole.

At least she had good fishing instincts.

She managed to get her feet under her just in time to brace wide-stanced against the final posts in the pier, but even then she nearly toppled ass-over-teakettle into the water. Whatever was on the line now, it was big. She pulled the pole hard, but she was starting to wonder if the thing on the other side was too strong for it. She slackened the line to reel, but it was so fast she barely got any in before she had to pull again.

"C'mon, you slippery bitch," she growled, using her legs to get the damned thing in. The pole felt like it was straining, and it was by God's grace she hadn't lost her balance yet, leaning back hard enough to touch the wood.

Which is why, when the line went dead, she fell right on her ass.

And looking out over the water, with the line still moving at the end of the pole, her "good instincts" should have told her to run.

The thing burst out of the water with a high-pitched scream, and she screamed back, dropping the pole and clawing to get away and up the pier. It fell on her, claws raking her arm and catching her ankle, and she fell again, snared. She turned, looking into the dark eyes of some kind of woman as it (she?!) opened a mouth of needled teeth and turned to her leg.

The fisher screamed in shock and kicked the fish-woman-monster in the face. It let go of her leg and she clamored upright, running over the dock with the horrific screaming and scrabbling and scrambling sound following her. She screamed again, just in case it helped, and then there was a sound like the folding chair joining in the fight.

The fisher turned around, panting as the chair crumpled and tumbled, a four-foot fish tail waving in the air with the raspy, angry screeching as the chair and fish went overboard. The splash in the water below was decidedly unimpressive, and then the entire dock was silent.

The fisher stared, chest heaving, heart pounding, hands shaking. Whatever the fuck that was, it hadn't been willing to end up in her cooler. She glanced down at the spilled bottle on the wood, dripping into the water below.

Yeah. That was probably for the best.

The fishing pole was still there, on the far end of the pier, knocked to the side, teetering on the edge. It was a miracle it hadn't been dropped into the water, but at least the line seemed to have finally snapped. With weak legs, she crept over to retrieve the sole survivor of her late-night endeavor.

She hadn't made it halfway when the thing breached a second time, landing on the pier like it had done so a million times, blood on its face, and hissed.

She was so stunned by the prominent cheekbones, red hair, and shimmering scales that she didn't even run at first.

But as soon as it started hand-running at her, she turned and took off like a shot, and she didn't stop until she got home and slammed the door.

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