#some of them might be a li'l demonic

[doomed-era]

Sentient Monsters/Enemies in Zelda

People seemed to enjoy my last list so I'm going to touch on probably one of my favorite topics in LOZ! I'm mostly focusing on monsters and enemies that are shown to be not completely affiliated with any sort of Big Bad or are demonstrably capable of speech or independent thought but I'll also be including other enemies and monsters. I'm not going to really include bosses unless I find it necessary (hence the lack of Maz Koshia, Gohdan, Byrne, Bellumbeck, etc) As usual, I may touch headcanon territory a little, and I'll happily take any corrections/suggestions and reblog them!

...Actually I might just edit the post, not sure.

This contains gameplay spoilers for...a lot of Zelda games, so please proceed with caution!

Ache

Batlike enemies from The Adventure of Link. They are usually hostile, and will disguise themselves as villagers, revealing their disguise if spoken to. There is a friendly Ache that can be found in the Town of Nabooru that Link can speak to.

Batreaux

A reformed demon from Skyward Sword who has a secret house on Skyloft. He expresses a desire to become human, and requests that Link bring Gratitude Crystals to him so he can become one.

Bulblin

Namely King Bulblin, but I personally think this applies to regular Bublins as well. Throughout Twilight Princess you fight King Bulblin in various boss fights, but he always retreats before Link can kill him. In your final battle with him, he finally speaks, claiming that he "always follows the strongest side," before leaving and dropping a key to the inside of Hyrule Castle. Bulblins in general are shown to be fairly intelligent, riding on large boars called Bulbos and Twilit Kargaroks, creating structures, and cooking food.

Dark World Creatures

Many of inhabitants of the Dark World in A Link to the Past are heavily implied to be people who sought after the Triforce but were trapped upon entering the Dark World and transformed into monsters according to their true nature. These creatures can be aggressive at the start, seem initially friendly and attack you later, like Blind the thief, or can be completely passive.

Deku Scrub

These are plantlike creatures that spit out seeds to attack. In Ocarina of Time, Deku Scrubs seem to have made an allegiance with the first boss, Gohma. When attacked, they will surrender and either give you information or sell you items. In Majora's Mask, not only can Link transform into a Deku Scrub, but there is a Deku Scrub palace to be explored. Like in Ocarina of Time, Deku Scrubs are hostile to outsiders, and will refuse to let Link into the palace if he is not in Deku Scrub form. In Minish Cap, a sick Deku Scrub blocks the way by sneezing out seeds at Link and Zelda.

Garo

The Garo from Majora's Mask are a tribe of undead, ninja-like hooded creatures. They reside in the Kingdom of Ikana, though they're not originally from there, and will only appear to Link if he is wearing the Garo Mask. At some time in the past, the Garo came to Ikana Valley as assassins, but like most Ikana residents they were killed and their ghosts linger around the area.

Goriya

A slightly more obscure enemy from the original Legend of Zelda, Zelda II, Link's Awakening, and the Oracle Games. Goriya are moblin-like creatures that attack with a boomerang. In the original Legend of Zelda, a hungry Goriya blocks a door in a dungeon. In Link's Awakening, there is a hidden friendly Goriya that can only be seen using the Magnifying Glass, similar to the friendly River Zora.

Iron Knuckle

Armored enemies in Zelda II and Ocarina of Time, serving as minibosses of the Spirit Temple in the latter. In the last room of the Spirit Temple, the Twinrova control Nabooru, the Sage of Spirit, and force her to fight Link as an Iron Knuckle. Looking closely at the ordinary Iron Knuckle model reveals a Gerudo face inside, so many people believe that the other Iron Knuckles Link fights are also possessed or evil Gerudo.

Mad Batter/Li'l Devil

A batlike creature from A Link to the Past and Link's Awakening that lives in an underground cavern. Link can disturb him by tossing Magic Powder at a statue, where he will become angry and "curse" Link by giving him a magic upgrade.

Moblin

Featured in the original Legend of Zelda, Moblins are one of the quintessential enemies in the Zelda series. They have been shown multiple times to be capable of speech and seem to be able to defect from Ganon's horde in some instances. The original game also contains the first instance of a friendly monster in Zelda, the famous "it's a secret to everyone" Moblin. In the Wind Waker, a girl named Maggie has fallen in love with one of the Moblins in Forsaken Fortress, and sends a letter to him. Moe the Moblin sends a letter back, proving that Moblins are not only capable of speech, but probably writing.

Phantom

Guardians of the Tower of Spirits in Spirit Tracks and invaders of the Temple of the Ocean King in Phantom Hourglass. Phantoms are highly intelligent enemies that will chase Link down, and are capable of speech. In Spirit Tracks, Phantom Zelda can converse with them to distract them while Link makes his way through the Tower of Spirits.

River Zora

River Zora are featured in the original Legend of Zelda, a Link to the Past, Link's Awakening, A Link Between Worlds, Oracle of Ages, and Phantom Hourglass. River Zora are highly territorial creatures that inhabit bodies of water in most of the games they are featured in. They will usually shoot fireballs at Link and dive under the water if confronted. However, in many games, there are several Zora who will not attack you and may give you helpful items. In A Link to the Past, Link can speak to King Zora to get the Zora Flippers. In Link's Awakening, there is a secret friendly Zora that can be seen after Link has obtained the Magnifying Glass. In A Link Between Worlds, the Zora Queen Oren will give you the Zora Flippers.

Soldier

Hylian Soldiers have a long history of either getting possessed, turning evil, or being extremely incompetent in the Zelda series, and A Link to the Past is probably what started it. Soldiers are the primary enemy fought in the Light World, and are friendly to Link at the beginning of the game, telling Link to go home to bed on such a rainy night. One soldier mentions that they have noticed something strange about the other soldiers, and expects that they will soon succumb to whatever is possessing them. This is of course Agahnim, an evil magician and Ganon in disguise.

Stalchildren/Stalfos

Featured in almost every game in the series, Stalfos are undead skeleton-like enemies. Stalchildren are weaker, more common enemies that are featured in Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask. Ordinarily Stalchildren will attack you in Majora's Mask, however if you wear the Captain's Hat—the hat of their leader, Skull Keeta—they will talk to you, and give you access to secret underground areas each night. Stalchildren, like the Garo, are also one of the undead races from Ikana Valley, and their king can be fought there.

Yiga

(they get a shoutout cause I love them. mwah)

Featured in Breath of the Wild, the Yiga Clan are an offshoot of the Sheikah Tribe that separated ten thousand years before the events of Breath of the Wild. After Calamity Ganon emerged for the first time and was destroyed with the help of Ancient Sheikah technology, the Royal Family turned their backs on the people who helped them, forcing them to abandon their work. The Sheikah went into hiding, but some of them fought back. This group became known as the Yiga Clan, and they are well known for their affinity to Calamity Ganon and their murderous tendencies. Dorian was originally a member of the Yiga Clan, and served as an informant to them for some time.

[infernal-scales]

IT HAD BEEN quite the...well, he's not sure what word could adequately describe what the day had been. He's afraid if he ruminates on it too much, someone might hear him—someone who might hear the truth of the matter.

Job, Sitis, and the children are home, together, and well following the Almighty's test, and it's that mental image that provides Aziraphale much comfort in a very uncomfortable time.

Well, that and the new world that's been opened to him of HUMAN FOOD. Figs! Fish! A lamb shank! Aziraphale did, however, forgo the goat. It felt indelicate given the circumstances of the day.

They sit under a tree, watching the sunset as Crawley partakes in much wine. It's all he's had for the day. Aziraphale, on the other wing, is quite content with the almonds he's procured and the rather satisfying texture to them.

...Or so he thought.

Resting shoulder to shoulder, Aziraphale looks over, lips parting as he tries to formulate the correct, angelic way to ask this question.

How is the wine?

All he desires is a SINGLE TASTE to satiate his curiosity once and for all. He shan't indulge, no. It is the source of drunkenness, after all. Pointing at the dwindling drink in the goblet, he asks, ❝ MIGHT I? ❞

But instead of partaking in the wine upon confirmation, he inches up, pressing his lips to the demon's, as one would do when all they wanted was, well, just a taste.

IT HAD INDEED BEEN A DAY. A day filled to the brim with surprises Crawley's own imagination wouldn't have been able to conjure up—most of which came from the very angel at his side.

When he'd been given permission to muck about with Job, he'd known he'd ruffle some familiar white feathers. Despite having no intention on following through with orders granted from both sides ( being a pawn in a betting game between both Satan and Her was about as low on his list as something like Falling again... or rainbows ), Crawley had, admittedly, been worried about Aziraphale's impression of him.

But this angel, oh, THIS ANGEL.

He'd known there was something special about him after flustered confessions of the flaming sword variety. There was never really a dull moment around this white-feathered fiend of a Principality.

Even now, as lips meet his own. Cheeky bastard.

As Aziraphale pulls away, GOLD ZEROES IN on the tongue that flicks out to taste at the hint of wine. Mmh, no. That just won't do, not for THE GLUTTON he'd delightfully witnessed the birth of in that basement.

❝ Barely taste anything, can you? ❞ He muses with a purr as he brings the goblet back up to his lips. ❝ I don't think that li'l taste will do this batch justice. 'S got a lot of subtle flavor profiles you really got to take the time TO SAVOR, like so. ❞

Taking a slow, thoughtful sip without breaking eye contact, Crawley doesn't bother shifting from his reclined position before cupping a hand to the back of the angel's neck. He pulls him in for another kiss and lets the wine pass from one set of lips to the other, like cupped hands passing water to someone more in need of it.

The sheer intimacy of the exchange was FAR MORE ADDICTIVE than the alcohol.

A dribble of wine slips from the corner of Aziraphale's mouth, staining pale skin in its red wake, and Crawley swipes a thumb across it before bringing it to his own mouth.

❝ Mmh, how's that? 'S good, isn't it? ❞

[aenramsden]

So my friend made me watch Jennifer’s Body on Friday. I immediately went looking for a particular type of fic I wanted to see; post-canon Needy seen from the outside by someone not in the know (because I am a slut for external PoVs). I failed to find any such fics on AO3.

It is now Sunday afternoon. This happened somewhere in the intervening time in two or three mad bursts of inspiration.

Enjoy, y’all.

If you meet the devil on the road (beware she doesn’t kill you)

(A truck driver on a Nebraskan highway meets a hitchhiker going his way.)

Joey had picked her up from the side of the I-80 at ten to seven; a lone girl walking alongside the double-barrelled stretch of asphalt and concrete as it cut through featureless fields and curved around low hills crowned with trees. It was almost eight now, and he was regretting his decision to pull over. He’d stopped because she’d looked hot - yeah, fine, he admitted it; he’d been thinking with his dick. But any thought of scoring had been left behind forty miles ago. Something about her made his skin crawl.

It wasn’t anything concrete. Nothing he could point to. Outwardly, she was just a girl; pretty and alone and probably barely legal. Blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, a hairclip held her bangs back from one side of her face. The other half - the half on his side - fell down past her eye, hiding her expression from him when he glanced over. Her clothes were creased and worn; grubby jeans and a tank top that didn’t quite cover her belly, a dirty grey hoodie tied around her waist and battered sneakers spotted with mud and stains put up on the dash. A pendant hid in her cleavage, the chain tarnished, the pendant on the end impossible to see without craning his neck to look down her shirt in a way she couldn’t miss.

Joey might have let his eyes wander anyway, when he’d let her into the cab. Now, the back of his neck prickled at the thought of trying.

“So, uh, where you headed?” he asked. “West, you said?”

“Mmm.” Not a talkative one, this chick. He’d gone through half a dozen pick-up lines before the creep factor had started to settle in, and twice as many icebreakers since. None of them had managed to get her to glance away from the window, where trees whipped past under the last anaemic rays of twilight. His headlights lit the road in front of them in stark white, but shadows shifted in the gathering dark beyond their reach. Joey kept his attention on the road. He’d had more than one deer jump out and get splattered across the highway by his truck on this route, and roadkill always made his stomach turn.

“You, uh, you lose your last ride or somethin’?” he tried. She’d been forty miles out of Omaha City when he’d seen her, just walking along the side of the drainage ditch beside the freeway with her hands in her pockets as night started to fall. Fucking creepy, looking back. In hindsight, that should have been a warning sign. “You were pretty far outta town when I picked you up.”

Hazel eyes flicked over to him behind lank blonde hair. Her mouth twitched in what was either a smile or a sneer.

“Last guy got gropey,” she said shortly. “I ditched him.”

The suffocating silence descended again, and Joey fumbled with the radio to get away from it. It crackled to life, and the dying chords of some unrecognisable generic pop song faded away to an announcer.

“And now we’ve got a tribute to a band of legends taken from us before their time,” the guy said, his voice crackling with static. “A group of young heroes whose gruesome murder is still unsolved one month on, with the suspect still at large. Low Shoulder, this one’s for you; god rest your souls. Here’s Through The Trees.”

Before it even finished the opening bar, the girl snarled and smashed a fist into the radio, killing the music and leaving a jagged crack through the plastic display. A drop of blood swelled on her knuckle, and she sucked it off absently, tongue flicking out.

“Hey!” Joey barked, forgetting his discomfort in the heat of the damage to his truck. “What the fuck, bitch?”

She turned to glare at him, and her eyes caught the headlights of an approaching car coming the other way. For a second, they looked [i]yellow[/i] of all the fuckin’ things, and the shadows stretched over her cheeks to paint a yawning maw. He swore and jerked away from her, yanking on the steering wheel as he flinched. The truck swerved, for a moment scraping along the guardrail with an ear-splitting shriek-

He yanked the wheel back the other way, terror screaming at him, and braked down to twenty. Heart hammering in his ears, he gripped the wheel with white knuckles and waited for his breathing to settle, throwing wary glances at the passenger sitting placidly beside him.

She hadn’t even raised an eyebrow at the near-crash. Just settled back down into a slouch with her feet up on the dash and her attention turned outward to the woods beyond the window.

“I fucking hate that song,” she said, her tone level and venomous. “And they were creeps. Good riddance.”

“Whoa, hey, they got murdered, y’know! What’ve you got against Low Shoulder, anyway?” The words came out before he could catch himself and earned him a contemptuous sneer. Then her eyes went distant. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. A smile like a lizard’s. Or a rattlesnake’s.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a chip on my shoulder when it comes to those assholes,” she said. Her lopsided smirk was twisted and stretched a little too far for comfort, a clingfilm wrap of humour over something dark and fucked-up and ugly that echoed in her tone.

Joey swallowed, at a loss for what to do. He’d been seeing things; had to have been. Just headlights and shadows. It hadn’t been real. But still, all the anger was gone, and any desire to get in her face had gone with it. He just wanted her out of his cab now. He wanted her gone - hell, he wanted to be gone himself, because he could already tell she was going to linger here like a bad smell. It felt like there was a stench to her that would cling.

It hadn’t been there when he’d stopped to pick her up. He’d been tired and missing his girlfriend and she’d looked hot and smelled like perfume and sex when she swung herself into the passenger seat beside him. But at some point she’d stopped paying attention to him and the glamour had worn off. The unease had started building. And with it had come the stench, wafting into his hindbrain without bothering to go through his nostrils on the way.

It took him back in time to when he was fourteen years old, tagging along on a hunting trip with his dad and uncle. To when they’d found a deer carcass that some wild boar or cougar had killed, half eaten by predators and scavengers and even other deer, its ribs standing out from the gory viscera inside it. It’d been the first time he’d seen death like that, and he’d thrown up at the smell.

This girl made him think of that deer. His nose couldn’t smell it, but his brain could. The reek of blood and rotting flesh.

“Where you gettin’ off, anyway?” he ventured, taking one shaky hand off the wheel to fumble around in the door pocket for the ginger sweets. Maybe they’d help with the rising anxious nausea. He wasn’t motion sick, but wanting to hurl was wanting to hurl, right?

The girl didn’t look away from the dark window and the trees flashing past. “You can drop me off at Paxton,” she said, level and bored. As if she hadn’t smashed up his radio in a fit of rage ten seconds ago.

“Paxton?” Joey’s brow wrinkled, incredulous. “Paxton’s a fuckin’ nowhere-town! It’s barely on the map!” Hell, he only knew it because he stopped there for coffee sometimes on his route up and down the I-80. Then again, did he care, if it meant she was getting off?

For some reason, his outburst seemed to amuse the girl. She snorted, rolling her head to look at him through her lashes.

“Yeah,” she drawled. “Not the first shitty little town in the middle of nowhere I’ve been to. Won’t be the last, either. I’ve got... friends there.”

“Friends, huh?” Joey didn’t buy it, but like hell he was gonna call her on it. “Cool, cool.”

Her grin was a bone-white flash in the evening gloom. “From online. They’re into some niche stuff you can only find in a few places. I like to meet people in the community and chat.”

Some ancient, primal instinct, long-buried at the back of Joey’s mind since he’d grown out of childhood nightmares, curled up in his hindbrain and screamed at the way she said that last word.

“Yeah. Yeah, cool. Good to know.” He did the math in his head. Fuck. Another two or three hours in the cab with her. His foot pressed down further on the gas. It was worth the risk of a ticket if it’d get him to Paxton sooner. “Hey, uh, you choose the music then, how ‘bout that?”

“Don’t feel like it,” she drawled, flexing her hand. He couldn’t see any more blood from where she’d punched the radio. Must’ve been a shallow cut. “I prefer the silence.”

“I, uh. I’d prefer to have something on,” he tried desperately.

“Ain’t that a kicker.” No sympathy whatsoever. He might as well have been a drowning rat for all she cared.

The miles rolled past. The hours wore on. She didn’t speak, and Joey kept his mouth shut. The stench of dead things thickened, and her breathing rasped in his ears, but he didn’t take his eyes off the road. Two more hours, he told himself. Ninety minutes. Another sixty miles. Half an hour to go. The time felt like it dragged past and flew at once. Things swam in the corners of his vision, out beyond the light of his headlamps. A long-haired guy with star necklace and a guitar neck embedded in his throat, staring blankly from beside a roadsign, gone when he double-took. A manscaped asshole with a bowie knife hilt-deep in his chest, glimpsed for a second in the wing mirror before the shadows swallowed him. A pale boy in a waterlogged tux, his neck a ruined mess, seen through the trees staring earnestly at Miss Creep.

And a girl. She showed up more than once, the girl. Blazing hot. Black hair, gorgeous face, fantastic body. And blood. So much blood. She was drenched in it; her hair, her shirt, her shorts. And most of all, in the middle of her chest, a great sodden stain so dark it was black under the streetlights. She was sitting on top of a truck that passed him going the other way, she was flagging down a hitchhiker on the other side of the road, she was lying posed on the guardrail like a camgirl, playing with her lip. Never in the light. Never where he could see her. Always just a quick flash in the corner of his eye, appearing as the line between his high beams and the shadows off to his side swept by.

By the time the sign for Paxton glared bright white light back at him from the high-vis paint, Joey was a quivering mass of nerves and his teeth ached from how he’d been grinding them. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the stinking cab, find someplace brightly-lit and loud and preferably full of booze and park himself there until sunrise. Except that would involve staying in the same town as Spooky, and no fucking way was he doing that. No, on second thought he’d put as many miles as he could between them and maybe stop in at a church to pray to Jesus or something. But right after that, first big city he went through, the brightly-lit bar was happening.

“H-here’s your stop,” he forced out through a jaw that had almost locked up stiff from how hard he’d been clenching it. “Good, uh. Good luck with your friends.”

She looked at him with that same lizard-like, stretched-out smile.

“I’m looking forward to seeing them, yeah.” Again, that trick of the light that made hazel eyes look yellow. “Who knows?” she added playfully. “They might get lucky too.”

He watched her walk off with a sigh of relief and felt like a pussy for it as he drove away. By the time he changed onto the I-76, he was second-guessing himself. What had she really done, anyway? Been quiet, not as talkative as he’d been expecting? Glared at him a couple times? Shown a flash of temper and split her knuckle on the radio at a song she didn’t like? He’d psyched himself out, that was all. The hallucinations and shit, just a result of a bad kebab, not enough sleep and some jumping at shadows. She’d just been a girl. Just an ordinary girl.

A week later, he heard the news out of Paxton. Six dead. Members of an occult club at the local high school. Brutalised and torn apart, their remains left strewn all over a riverbank in the woods. Last seen on footage from a camera trap, hustling a teenage girl through the trees down near the South Platte river where they’d been found.

Joey looked at the girl in the photo and recognised her face.

Just an ordinary girl.

He wondered how many dead would be following her next time someone stopped to give her a ride.

[obsessive-ego]

Beetlejuice x reader (ambiguous pronouns)

Prompt: Beetlejuice starts digging around your things in the dead of night. Not having the most structured sleep schedule, you hear him, and in the state of sleep deprivation forget that Beetlejuice was staying over, this mistaking him for an intruder. Hilarity ensues.

It was late, nearing one am. You only noticed this because you realised you had been sat in the dark, which you swore it had just been light, on another video binge that ended up rabbit holeing through videos of countless interesting topics. You sighed at yourself and your lack of awareness when it came to the passage of time. You've done this exact thing many times before. You took off your headphones and set your sights on actually trying to sleep. With the lack of a bulky headset blocking your ears, however, sounds of rustling and movement echoed from outside your room. You stiffened, listening to it. Someone was definitely in your house, there was no mistaking it. Carefully, slowly, you slipped out of bed to grab the bat out from under your bed. An impulse buy, you only bought it because it had "Li'l Bitch" carved into the top and the mental image of "accidentally" imprinting that on someone with a whack made you laugh. While remembering this made you grin, it faded at you hearing a soft thud. Were they upstairs or downstairs? It was hard to tell with the closed door. How long had the intruder even been in the house? Focusing on the problem at hand, you crept to the door and slowly opened it, peeking around it. You cringed when it let out a creak, straining to hear if there was more movement.

Thankfully, whoever was present was not sneaking around upstairs, meaning your awareness of their presence was undetected. You could hear their movements clearer now, and they were clearly downstairs. You were so grateful to yourself for having the common sense to keep your more important things in your room. Creeping over to the stairs, you kept your eyes peeled for any movement in the halls. Throat dry in fear, knuckles white from the death grip you had on your bat, you descended. You made sure that the stairs wouldn't creak by tiptoeing along the sides, slowly putting pressure in each step before commiting. You did not want to alert the potential threat to your presence. They could be armed. They could have intent to kill. Sneaking up on them and knocking them out was the best bet, the cops can be called once they were subdued.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you worked out that the culprit was in the living room. You listened close, for any hint as to where exactly, before slowly inching closer for a glance. They were faced away for you, searching. It was dark, no lights on, so they wouldn't see a shadow if you snuck up. All you had to do was be quiet and get a hefty hit.

Taking in a deep breath, you advanced, bat at the ready. Your heart hammered loudly in your chest. Blood rushed in your ear as you got closer, eyes scanning over the vague silhouette for any clue that they'd turn. You froze as they straightened up.

"Nothing… Bet they keep all the juicy stuff hidden…"

So they were looking for things to steal! Taking another step closer, you got ready to swing. A creak of the floor betrayed you.

"Huh?"

Instincts kicking in, you swung the bat at their head as they turned. You put way too much force in it, in your panic. With a pained yell, the head went flying across the room, leaving a headless body standing in front of you. You stumbled back in shock, a scream getting caught in your throat. The body felt in the air for its lack of a head, to check it was really gone, before feeling around. In it's fumbling it turned on a lamp, and you instantly recognized who the body belonged to- Beetlejuice. That's right, he was staying over. He must have gotten bored while you "slept"...

"Yowzer! That hurt, doll, when'd you get so strong!?"

The demon cried out from somewhere across the room.

"Over here, dummy, come on!"

He made a series of whistling sounds in the hopes of getting his body to find him. It was fairly useless without the head so it had difficulty following the source of the sound. You watched Beetlejuice's body struggle to locate him as you clutched your chest, recovering from the scare. The anticipation leading up to the shocking conclusion really made the whole ordeal all the more frightening, and your sleep deprived state did nothing to help cool the adrenaline rush. It took a moment for you to realise Beetlejuice was calling your name.

"Will you help me out, already? I'm sorry for looking through your things, I won't do it again, maybe, just pick me up! It's dirty in here!"

You went over to the source of the complaints, a little amused at how you managed to hit his head directly into the fireplace that you never used. Who actually owns working fireplaces anymore, anyway? Dropping the bat, you reached in to pull the soot covered head of Beetlejuice out from there. He coughed his thanks, covering your shirt in more soot.

"Just slap me back on my neck, will you? You have no idea how annoying it is not having limbs."

You pondered the demand. He was looking through your things, and you'd quite like to know why, actually. Not to mention, a swift hit to the head was most likely not enough to teach the demon a lesson in privacy.

You gripped Beetlejuice's head by the hair, irritated by how that made him let out a purr, and shook him to get the dust and dirt off of him. He made an amusing, warbling yell, obviously not too fond of the gesture. His eyes rolled around in dizziness when you stopped. Beetlejuice groaned as you dumped his head onto the couch, tugging his body away from him by it's tie.

"Hey, hey hey, what are you doing?"

"I want to know exactly why you were looking through my things. You're not getting your body back until you tell me, and you better be honest."

Beetlejuice frowned, watching you as you turned the light on. You picked the bat back up, letting go of his body to turn back to Beetlejuice. You'll use your trust weapon to keep his body away from his head, if it tries anything.

"You won't last, you're supposed to be sleeping."

"You're right! That's why if you take too long, I'm going to go upstairs with your body and use it as a nice weighted blanket while you're stuck down here."

"WHAT?! Without me?"

You had to snicker at his dejected whine.

"Yes, that's what I said. Me and Dummy here are going to snuggle while you have to wait for the sun to rise, and probably longer seeing as I'm so tired. I'll definitely wake up late."

You couldn't help but speak in a taunting manner. It wasn't often you had the advantage over the demon, so it was a bit of a power trip when you did.

"You really know how to break down my walls, huh?"

You pushed the body away from you as it moved to grab at your head, as if it wanted to steal it for itself.

"Yep. Tick tock, you wouldn't want to have to wait for so long, right? So unable to do anything but stare at the unchanging surroundings…"

"Ok, ok, fine! I was looking for things you like, I… Well, it was supposed to be a surprise but… I wanted to get you a gift…"

You blinked at him in surprise. A gift? This had to be a joke, or some lie told to hide some other devious intent.

"... I said be honest."

"I am! I heard about the festival, holiday thingy that you breathers have, think it's called, uh, Valentide's Day, and I thought, well, you're my favourite breather, so… I'd get you a gift like people do."

You could feel your cheeks gaining colour as he spoke.

"It's Valentine's day… And typically, that's reserved for romantic gestures…"

"Romantic? Hmm…"

He looked down, pondering.

"Weeell, if you want me to put some petals on your bed too~"

You groaned, poking the body away from you with a bat as it tried to swipe your head again.

"Can I please have my body back, now? I did what you asked, even if it meant spoiling the surprise!"

Beetlejuice pouted at you, giving big pleading eyes in the hopes of you agreeing. You sighed, giving in. He had done as you asked, and you were too tired to milk the otherwise perfect opportunity to mess with him further. You dropped your bat, moving to pick him up.

His body had other plans, however. Hearing you unarm yourself, he lunged forward to snatch you up. You yelled in surprise, struggling in his grip.

"No, no, out 'em down you Dummy!"

Beetlejuice berated it to no avail. You squirmed in the hold, but it was just as strong as Beetlejuice always was. You were stuck.

"Help me out, Beets, there has to be something I can do to make him let go!"

From the face Beetlejuice made, it confirmed that there was. However, he seemed very hesitant to tell.

"I dunno, you might use it against me…"

That was true. Not even a might, having something to one up him would be lovely, and definitely put to good use. You weren't above lying, though.

"Of course not, Beetlejuice! Say, hey, if you tell me, I can still do the cuddling up plan- but with yoooou involved. Head and all!"

Jackpot, his face lit up at the suggestion.

"Really? You'd let me in your bed?"

"Yes! But I need to get out to reunite you to your body first."

Beetlejuice made a hesitant noise, waying up the options. In the end, the enticing over of getting to cuddle up with you was too good to pass up.

"Fine! But do not use it against me, I'll get you back for it if you do! Just… scratch at his ribs, not too hard, and he'll let go."

You nodded, shuffling in the body's hold to reach for them. You dig your nails in, raking them across it's ribs. The body shuddered before it let you out of its vice grip. You stumbled back, watching as it hugged his chest.

"Hold on, are you ticklish?"

"Are you?"

You squinted at Beetlejuice, who mimicked the action. With a tired sigh, you picked his head up and slapped it down onto his neck. He let out a pleased sigh, grabbing his head to turn it 360°, making sure it was firmly in place. You grinned when you noticed "Li'l Bitch" was imprinted on his cheek, and he squinted at you.

"Seriously, though, are you?"

Upon him clawing his hand at you, you kicked your bat up, grabbing it from the air smoothly. He got the message, holding his hands up in surrender. The fact you did that successfully was impressive enough to warrant a minor truce.

You turned away, heading towards the stairs.

"Try anything and I'll banish you. Also turn the lights off before you follow."

"You got it, boss!"

Crawling into bed after the whole ordeal could not have been more satisfying. The exhaustion hit you like a truck. Beetlejuice was quick to follow, diving under the covers before popping his head out, having gotten comfortable on top of you. You realised that he was likely not going to sleep, and he'd instead watch you. You were too sleepy to care, however, already dozing off. For a moment you wondered if he found anything to clue in on what gift to give to you… You decide you'd definitely look into finding in a gift, too, tomorrow.

...

I am hollering

This is beautiful

I cant Express that enough

My Only issue is that the tumblr app doesnt notify me when I get a submission lol

But like wow

I love the head and body bit so much, headless beej being a grabbing bastard 😩👌

Thank you SO much for sharing this

[rizlowwritessortof]

Riz’s Master List

Just updated my master list (finally) - haven’t added anything new for a few months, unfortunately, but I’m working on it! Links below the cut. HUGE THANKS to @firefly-graphics for the dividers, you are a GIFT, my friend! 

Never Look Back

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 21 chapters

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

The Shadow’s Edge

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 17 chapters

Sequel to Never Look Back. When the demon Dameon was killed, Dean and Beth thought their son was safe from the prophecy. But when Cas brings them news of the new battle for Hell, they realize that their war has just begun.

The Fine Line

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 34 chapters

An unexpected tragedy sends Devon down the dark path of hate and vengeance, but she will learn that things are not always what they seem…

Scars

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Sequel to The Fine Line. Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again?

Stars In the Darkness

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A crushing loss brings Dean and Sam to Sioux Falls, and ghosts from the past and present bring them across the path of Tiara, a girl they haven’t seen since childhood.

Dreaming

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 5 chapters

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

My Unimportant Little Life

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 11 chapters

Season 5 timeline. Dean gets yanked from 2009 to 2014, so he can see the ‘consequences’ of saying no to Michael. At Camp Chitaqua he meets Reggie, and is surprised to find that she comes from 2009 as well…

Back In the Saddle

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what’s the harm, right?

Sweet Escape

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

What happens when a friend jokingly does a spell at your birthday party to bring your cardboard standup of Dean Winchester to life? This one’s dedicated to my friend, Liz, who gave me the idea. If only…

Sweet Escape Part 1

Sweet Escape Part 2

Shut Up and Drive

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

Reader teases Dean while he’s driving, so - he gets even

Part 1 - Keep Your Eyes on the Road

Part 2 - Or We Could Park - Parking Is Good Too

Take the Long Way Home

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A look at Dean and Rusty’s relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.

Black Velvet

Demon!Dean/Female Reader, Dean/Female Reader, 9 chapters

You and Sam are broken after Dean’s death. Nobody expected him to come back with black eyes…

Fade to Black

Dean/Female Reader, 11 chapters

Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he’s still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.

Dean and Toby Series

Part 1 - The Meet-Cute (Actually Rescue but Whatever)

Part 2 - The Emergency Bed-Share/Move In With Us Combo

Part 3 - The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Part 4 - The FINALLY Admit Your True Feelings and Get Busy

GENERIC

I’m Good

This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.

Combo Shot

Dean/Female Reader

June 2015 GIEPP (Girl In Every Port Project) entry. Prompt: Pool/Poker hustler competitive chick. Pretty much pure smut.

A Hunter Walks Into a Bar

Dean/Female OC

Prowling hunter, sassy bartender

Shelter

Dean/Female Reader

Dean providing comfort

That’s How It Should Be

Sheriff!Dean/Female Reader

They have to make a fast escape, but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time

The Storm

Dean/Female Reader

You’re terrified of storms, and Dean is concerned, feelings get shared

Pest Control

Dean/Female Reader

You think you’ve got mice. The exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester. He’ll just let you believe that, and take care of the problem. And you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Dean/Female OC (KK)

Fluffy, smutty birthday fic written for a friend

Gunpowder and Dean

Dean/Female Reader

You’re pissed off at Dean, taking it out on the firing range, but he just won’t leave you alone…

Juicy and Delicious

Dean/Female Reader

My entry for Dean’s Flavor of the Month fic challenge - Peach Pie. You bake some peach pies for Dean, and he’s very grateful…

Lost In You

Dean/Female Reader

A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected. Warning for brief description of attempted (unsuccessful) assault. Protective Dean.

What You Need

Dean/Female Reader

You’re watching as Sam and Dean prepare to interrogate a demon. Dean knows you’re watching him, and he knows exactly the kind of effect it’s having on you…

Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s really getting into the Christmas spirit…

I Need You

Dean/Female Reader

You screwed up, Sam got hurt, Dean’s pissed and you aren’t handling it very well.

Snow Day

Dean/Female Reader

You and Dean, stuck in a motel room in a blizzard

Frisk Me

Dean/Female Cop Reader

You’re a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path?

Comfort

Dean/Female Reader

Dean had a rough hunt, and he’s beating himself up as usual. You take his mind off things for a little while…

When I Think About You

Dean/Female Reader

It was a wild hunt, and you’re both a little high-strung. Surely there’s some way to blow off some steam…

One Finger

Dean/Female Reader

Dean Winchester has never been one to back down from a challenge

What Makes You Feel Alive

Endverse!Dean/Female Reader

The world is bleak, the struggle endless after Croatoan. You and Dean do what you have to do to keep going.

Sweet Misery

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

My entry for Bev’s Song Challenge - song prompt was Cryin’ by Aerosmith, lyrics at the beginning

Winchesters Don’t Giggle

Dean/Female Reader

A friend and I were having this discussion about giving Dean a back rub, and whether he might be ticklish…

Confession

Dean (Priest!Dean)/Female Reader

When Dean returns from some undercover work, you discover a fantasy you never realized you had

The Bait

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s (now on her 100th url as @cavillanche - Love you, Jess!) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one… Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday.

Hey, Man - Nice Shot

Dean/Female Reader

This is for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘competitiveness in the shooting range (loser cleans the kitchen for a week) No smut.

Take the Pain Away

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. Prompt was ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. No smut.

Lose Yourself

Dean/Female Reader

Smut, pure and simple… Just imagine having Dean tied up, at your mercy while you worship those perky nipples…

The Contest

Dean/Female Reader

Dean loves to give you a hard time, and one night he pushes things a little too far… Flashback in italics. All’s well that ends well.

Slow Ride

Dean (Bullriding!Dean) /Reader

Yeah, after 12x11, y'all should have known this was coming - they don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing… Written (coincidentally - timing is everything!) for the Smut Apocalypse (Smut Appreciation Day) on Tumblr.

The Photo Booth

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

This was written for @winchestersandwordprocessors SPN Valentine’s Fic Challenge. Prompt was Semi-public/Risk of getting caught.

Make You Mine

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing…

Take a Chance

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

In 7x04, Dean gives himself a little pep talk before his planned hook-up with the bartender. That scene is what inspired me. This one is more important than the usual one-nighters, and it’s making him a little nervous…

If We Don’t Make It

Dean/Female OC

This fic was written for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…” No smut.

My Deliverer

Dean/Female Spirit - Her POV

Dean is hunting a vengeful spirit. But another spirit is in this place, and she is drawn to him…

Friendly Advice

Dean/Female Reader - Dean POV, Reader POV

This was written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. The fluff got a little smudged into smutty fun… oops! Two POV’s, Dean’s thoughts are in italics and Reader’s are in regular font.

Old Times

Dean/Female OC

Sequel a few years down the road from A Hunter Walks Into a Bar. Tiara goes back to the bar for a visit, and who should show up the next night but Dean Winchester… Flashback in italics.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Dean/Female Reader (nicknamed Taz)

Inspired by the sexy AF Cowboy!Dean we were treated to in 13x06 Tombstone. Helped along by Joe Cocker’s rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On.“

Wish Her the Best

Dean/Female OC - Dean’s POV

This is an angsty li'l fic inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Marry Me,’ tore at my heart until I finally wrote it. No smut.

A Matter of… Time?

Dean/Female Reader

This is the crackiest piece of work I’ve ever written - for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge. Prompt was “Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?” - “Umm - no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”

Demon Seed

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

Demon!Dean stops in for a drink and decides he wants you. He’s very persuasive. Written for @evansrogerskitten’s Hottest Dean Challenge.

Not Wasted Now

Dean/Female Reader

When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet and sexy Dean.

Bad Guy

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge. My Tangled quote was “You want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”

Shiny

Trucker!Dean/Female OC

Trucker!Dean AU. Breaker, breaker, got your ears on? 67 Midnight Rider, put that hammer down…

Some Kind of Hero

Dean/Female OC

Written for Tiff’s WTF Challenge. Dean’s just filling up Baby, minding his own business, when he hears an argument and gets involved. Protective Dean, no smut, left that to your imagination.

Crave

Dean/Female Reader

So, have some ‘Riz is craving some sexy Dean action with a big ol’ side of schmoopy fluff’ stuff. Because I was, and I’m sharing with you - the smut and all the sickenly sweet cuddly that I just need sometimes. If y'all are in the mood for that kind of thing.

Perchance to Dream

Dean/Female OC

Using African dream root on a case leads to an awkward situation, and Karlie can’t handle the tension between her and Dean any longer

Ruined

Dean/Female Reader

Dean comes home from a hunt, and he’s had something on his mind…

Going Home

Dean/Female Reader

Written for @crispychrissy’s Gif It To Me Challenge. Overhearing only part of a conversation sends her running, but jumping to conclusions without the whole story isn’t the best decision. No smut.

Not the Smartest Thing

Dean/Female Reader - Reader POV

Only Dean Fucking Winchester could turn taking a swig of beer into pornography. Cocky bastard. But two can play at that game.

Suzy Q

Dean/Female OC - OC POV

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Multi-fandom Follower Celebration Challenge. Prompt - “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

Invisible Touch

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Rowena teaches Dean something new, and he gets inspired. I have no idea where this came from, but here it is…

Maybe I’m Amazed

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

An accident leaves her unconscious and fighting for her life in the hospital, drifting in and out of awareness and memories as Dean refuses to leave her side. Written for @rockhoochie’s 1K Love Supernatural Style Writing Challenge.

Reunion

Dean/Female OC

Passing through town, Dean runs into an old high school classmate. Fluffy and smutty, no angst here!

Playing With Fire

MOC!Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn’t leave me alone…

Uninvited

Michael!Dean/Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Michael gives Dean a choice, because sometimes Michael likes to watch…This one is darker than my normal, PLEASE heed the warnings.

What Happens At the Roadhouse…

Early-Season Dean/Female OC

Bailey’s just looking for a couple days post-hunt R&R at Harvelle’s - and then he shows up. Cocky bastard.

Unleashed

Post-Purgatory Dean/Female OC

She’s still struggling to cope a year after Dean disappeared in the explosion that killed Dick Roman.

The Pool House

Dean/Unnamed female OC

Inspired by a dream - one I will never forget!

The Break-In

Dean/Tara (female OC)

One night I started thinking about what it would be like using mics and earbuds and having Dean’s voice RIGHT IN YOUR EAR. And then this fic happened. Hope you enjoy!

Tired of Missing You

Dean/Journey (female OC)

This is one of those times when my story yanked the wheel out of my hands and I just went along for the ride. So if you’re in the mood for a fluffy, angsty cookie with a smutty, creamy middle - here ya go!

Compelled

Dean/Brandi (female OC)

Have you ever had a really bad day at work? I’ve never had a day quite as bad as Brandi’s - but damn, I’d love to use this method to relieve the stress…

The Devil Made Me Do It

Demon!Dean/Shea (Female OC)

Shea is in a reckless mood. Demon!Dean is happy to help her indulge that mood.

Driving Miss Baby

Dean/Reader

Dean decides you need a driving lesson in Baby.

Just a Little Story About Lou and Sam

Sam/Female OC

Lou and Sam walk into a bar… written for a friend who’s a Sammy girl

Doctor-Patient Relations

Sam/Female OC

One-shot inspired by The Born-Again Identity - sick Sammy and Dr. Nicole. Written for another Sammy-girl friend

Head vs. Heart

No title

Fourth of July

Working Saturday Isn’t So Bad

11x17 Drabble

Some Nights He Dreams

Most of the Time

The Name Game

God Bless America

Stress Relief

Dean Hurt/Comfort Drabble

@mrs-squirrel-chester ‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge Drabbles

    Dangerous

    For My Brother

    In Chains

    Kiss and Tell

    The End of Me

    Choices

    Hero

    Pure

    In the End

[dizzyhslightlyvoided]

This started as a @writing-prompt-s prompt-fill which basically just completely got out of hand. 6079 words, wow.

The Verge of Cyan Ruin

Nowadays, she was called Maria Los Angeles. She'd been nineteen when the Invaders first appeared, and now that she was twice as old, she was one of the best sharpshooters alive — the best, according to the men who weren't afraid to call a woman that. Either way, no one argued against the fact that she was one of the few who could actually stand up against the Invaders, and in the end, you couldn't pick and choose your saviors in the ruins of what was once California.

(When was nine, she'd dreamed of being 1. a hero, and 2. a princess, who could 3. fly. Well, she'd gotten one out of three, at least. Too bad it'd taken the end of the world. Being the savior wasn't all it was cracked up to be; there were no miracles in the world.)

This town had been the survivors' settlement of Modesto, but at the moment it could be better described as pandemonium. The nighttime air was full of screams as bolts of destruction rained down from black irregular polyhedrons covered in glowing teal markings, and an eerie blue-gray haze filled the sky above. On the horizon, the markings on the massive dark monoliths that dotted the landscape were glowing more brightly than they usually did. There were regular repetitive rolls of thunder.

Maria Los Angeles cut a striking figure as she strolled through the chaos, a heavyset Hispanic woman in comfortable traveling wear and a cowboy hat. Two ghastly shambling figures covered in crystals lunged towards her, firing spikes; she jumped to the side, firing back, and they both collapsed.

One of the polyhedrons began charging up to fire on a small bungalow which had already lost part of its roof. A few shots in just the right places on just the right glyphs on its sides, and the Floater shattered, raining down chunks the size of car doors.

She stuck her head through the house's front door. There was a brunette with glasses, boggling at the hole in the ceiling, crouched next to the corpse of an older man.

Maria paused. On the face of it, the woman looked like she was one more helpless civilian, of the kind Maria was here to protect. But there was just something about her, some hidden instinct poking at Maria's brain, that told Maria there was something more.

"Hey!" she called out. "Get off your ass and c'mon out here before another one comes to finish the job!"

The woman jerked her head towards Maria in surprise, as if she was getting deja vu, and unsteadily got to her feet and staggered over.

Maria looked the woman over. She was in her mid thirties, and she had piercing gray eyes. "I'm Maria Los Angeles, and I'm gonna get you out of this town," said Maria. "What's your name? Can you shoot?"

The woman stuttered for a moment, but then said, "Ella, uh, Walden." She wobbled slightly. "... and 'can I shoot' is ... uh ... 'five more minutes, mom'."

Maria smirked. She could see that this woman was going to go places, if she could maintain a sense of humor in a situation like this. "Well, I won't force you to do something if you just can't," she said, "but here." She handed Ella one of her spare guns. "Let's work on gettin' you out of this town, 'fore anything else."

"Right," Ella said weakly, hefting the gun and looking it over.

And then she shifted her posture slightly, and it was like the gun was an extension of her body.

Maria raised her eyebrows, and nodded in approval. Good. But now was not the time to dawdle. She wasn't a miracle worker, after all. "C'mon, let's go."

They rounded a corner, and found five Shamblers ahead. Maria's gun swung forward, and she put three of them down in five shots, quick as a wink. Ella was slightly more sluggish, but the remaining two went down in one shot apiece.

"Nice work," said Maria, striding on ahead.

Ella seemed surprised as she jogged after her. "Really?"

Maria shrugged. "You got real talent, woman," she said. "I'm not about to complain."

"I just ..." Ella glanced at the sky. "... there's a Floater coming."

"Shit." Maria looked around, and saw half a dozen more Shamblers coming. "I'll take the Floater, you handle the Shamblers."

"Yeah." Ella got to work.

Maria was busy picking out the correct glyphs to shoot while dodging the Shamblers' return fire, but through the corner of the eye, she watched Ella's deft dodging, and saw her take out all of the Shamblers with ease.

There was no other way Maria could describe it: Ella's aim and dodging, simply put, were perfect.

Hmm.

It was another block before they reached their destination: a train of hay trucks, filling up with refugees. Simple setup; they filled up one, left, then filled up another, and the gap between trucks would ensure that at least some of them survived. As they ran, Maria reloaded her pistol, and then Ella fumblingly did as well. Only as they neared the trucks did Maria say, "So where'd you learn to shoot?"

Ella glanced back the way they'd come. "... dad."

"Ah." Maria mentally kicked herself. She'd been so caught up in her excitement at the poor girl's skill, she'd forgotten how she'd found her. "Sorry." She took a deep breath, and handed Ella a couple pouches of ammo. "Well, here's some more for the road."

Ella smiled faintly as she took the pouches. "You know, you're way less gruff than ... I expected," she said. "I mean, from the stories ... the ... uh ..."

She looked straight up as a hum rose. Maria did, too. There was a Floater directly above them, charging up to fire. The size of the explosion was probably going to take out some of the trucks.

Both of them raised their guns to the sky. Well, this was it, Maria supposed. There was no way she'd hit all the right glyphs in time to stop it. On the other hand, you could shoot the emitter a split second before it fired. One in a million chance, though; your timing needed to be absolutely perfect, and you needed to hit the emitter dead center. It'd take a miracle —

Gently, Ella squeezed the trigger of her gun.

The Floater's emitter detonated in a blue fireball, followed by the Floater itself.

Maria allowed herself one second of staring at the fireball, and another two seconds staring at Ella.

Then she clapped Ella's shoulder. "You protect 'em, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Ella. She smiled wanly. "This ... will ... it might go differently from ... from Oakland."

"Ahhh." If Ella and her father were from Oakland, which had been wiped out a few years ago ... that explained everything, in Maria's mind. Well, okay, not the out-and-out perfection, but at least Maria knew how the girl was keeping herself together as well as she was. This was not Ella Walden's first rodeo.

Maria helped Ella climb up onto the frontmost hay truck, which was cramped with refugees. "Truck number three, full!" said the driver. "Heading off to Stockton!" The engine started.

Ella smiled. "So, uh ..." She shrugged. "I guess I'll see you later!"

Maria smiled back. "Later, Ella Walden," she said. "I'm gonna see if there's anyone else who was in your position."

Ella nodded, and waved as the truck began moving, and Maria headed back into Modesto.

When found out a week later that truck number three had never made it to Stockton, it soured Maria's mood more than she expected. She'd wanted to get to know this shy, nervous woman named Ella whose skill with a gun was perfect.

But what could you do? There were all sorts of hazards on the road, even besides the Invaders themselves. As far as Maria knew at the time, that was the end of it.

It was another week before she started hearing very bizarre rumors. Running around the remains of California, there was supposedly a demon. A demon called Desirella the Dreamy, who hated bandits and Invaders in equal measure, and tore them apart wherever she found them.

Maria had no idea what to make of it all. She was too busy with the more immediate problems of the ruined world to look into the matter, though.

It was the evening, four weeks after Modesto.

Maria sat in a tavern in her hometown of Greenfield, nursing a beer and poring over a map of the surrounding region. Cartography had been in something of a shamble since the world ended, but there was just enough information in the old maps that Maria Los Angeles could pick a direction and roam. It wasn't comprehensive, and she couldn't save everyone; this wasn't a flying-magical-princess story. But it made a difference to the people she was saving — which was pretty good, as miracles went.

The men chattering behind her were something of a distraction, however.

"I heard a new rumor about that ... demon who's been running around," said Gregory Fuller, a heavyset man with graying hair and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass.

The bartender, Pyotr Leonov, a scraggly guy with sandy hair, let out a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, you mean ..." He hesitated. "The Dream? The one who singlehandedly wiped out the bandits that were messing with Santa Rosa?"

"I dunno if you can call that 'single-handed'," Gregory said guardedly, eliciting a chorus of nervous chuckles.

Maria rolled her eyes, and did her best to concentrate on the map. Let's see, last week she'd done another check on Merced. Things were quiet there, none of the signs that the Invaders or any bandits might have been thinking of dropping by. Santa Rosa was also quiet lately from what she'd heard ...

Dylan Fisher, a survivor of Modesto who'd been on truck number two, spoke up. "You mean, Desirel—"

There was a chorus of shushes. "She can hear when you say her name!" barked Pyotr.

Gregory shook his head. "Well," he said, "that guy from Sacramento said she sat down on the roof of that Invader outpost, kicked her feet a li'l bit, and the roof just collapsed!" The door to the tavern opened and someone stepped inside. "All the Invaders up and died, and then the Dream dematerialized again!"

Hmm. Maria made a mental note to check out Sacramento — she hadn't visited in a while because she wasn't sure how to deal with the outpost — but for now, she turned to face whoever had just walked in.

"She did not, it was a whole fight that just ended with something like that!" said Ella Walden. "But I heard that she sometimes pretends to be a human and has meals or drinks with people, and they always end up luckier for a few days." She wore a pure white dress and a matching wide-brimmed hat, with a black capelet over her shoulders. She was the very picture of poise and confidence, and she had an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile as she walked up to the bar.

"Jesus Christ," said Maria. "It's really you?" She was openly staring, but she didn't feel the need to hide her astonishment at seeing someone she'd thought was dead. Not in her own hometown, at least.

Ella turned a positively dazzling smile on Maria, and her gray eyes somehow seemed even more piercing now. "Nah, I'm just a hallucination, brought on by drinking too much, uh ..." She turned to the bar, and gestured to Maria. "... I'll have what she's having."

There was laughter as Ella paid and brought her beer over to where Maria was sitting. The men resumed their chatter about demons and other nonsense.

Maria smiled thinly. "Well, son of a bitch, Walden," she said. "This is one hell of a surprise."

Ella smiled back. "That I'm here, or that I'm talking?" she said. It sounded like she was quoting something.

Maria chortled. "Whichever!" she said. "How'd you get the duds?" Had Ella gotten new glasses? Maria was still having trouble taking in all the details.

"With care and pride," said Ella. She deposited the gun Maria had given her on the table. "I thought I should give this back, by the way," she added, pushing it towards her. "Don't have a need for it anymore."

Maria shook her head, and pushed the gun back. "Oh, you can keep it," she said. It sounded like Ella had been having adventures since leaving Modesto. "So what happened to truck number three, anyway?"

Ella slumped, and her cheerful demeanor vanished. "Bandits," she said, fiddling with the gun before putting it down again. "This gang called the Jock Dogs. Dunno if anyone else survived. I guess I just panicked, since I didn't have anyone backing me up, and I just ran, and ... didn't look back."

Maria sighed. "Ella Walden, you are the luckiest woman on this bitch of an earth."

"I know, right?" Ella said glumly. "And since then ... I've been doing what I could to fight the Invaders."

Maria nodded slowly. "Kinda like me," she said. "Wish you didn't have to have all that happen for the start of it."

"You're telling me." Ella hesitated. "I'd prefer if you didn't tell anyone else about this, or where I came from, if that's okay with you."

"Oh, sure," said Maria, nodding quickly. The poor woman deserved some kind of break, and while Maria couldn't be a flying magical princess hero, she could refrain from talking about one woman's obviously-traumatic history.

Ella's smile started to return. "You really are nicer in real life." She paused. "I mean, as opposed to some ... legend ... who only acts in a single way, and only ever compliments people grudgingly."

Maria shrugged. "Well, you know how it is," she said. "I'm a human bein'. I gotta be gruff when I'm on the job, since y'can't afford distractions in this world, but ..." She shrugged again. "I do care about people."

"Of course you do, Maria," said Ella, with the return of that Mona Lisa smile. "If you didn't, you wouldn't wander around helping everyone so much."

Maria looked into Ella's eyes. She wasn't psychic or anything, but she had a knack for getting a feel for people. And Ella's gray eyes were like looking into a mirror.

Honestly, it was lonely at the top. The idea that there was someone like her ... someone who could keep up with her, someone who was motivated by the same things ... well, Maria didn't mind at all. She could see herself partnering up with Ella Walden, if not necessarily romantically. It would hit all the harder when one of them died, of course, but she knew the old saying about how it was better to have loved and lost than not loved at all. And that was the best kind of miracle you could hope for in this world.

"I spent a week in Oakland," said Ella. "Figuring out ... shenanigans. Since then, I've just been developing myself further. Creatively, I guess you could say."

Maria narrowed her eyes. "Oakland's real dangerous, woman," she said. "It's full-on Invader territory these days."

Ella shrugged. "I mean, yeah."

Maria shook her head. "Was any of that supposed to make sense?"

Ella just smiled. "Not really," she said. "Some of it will eventually, but ...."

Thunder rolled in the distance. Very familiar thunder.

"Didn't think there was gonna be a storm," Pyotr said uneasily.

Ella downed the rest of her drink. "Oh, there isn't," she called back to him. "At least, not as far as the weather is concerned."

Everyone gasped. "... fucking hell," muttered Maria. She'd always known it was only a matter of time before the Invaders came to Greenfield, always known that the population of 1200 was big enough to catch their attention. But to have it actually happen was like a stab in her gut. She rolled up her map and didn't bother to pick up her beer. "Get ready for the evacuation. Fuller, get the trucks ready."

There was already a blue-gray haze spreading over the horizon, and the monoliths were glowing. Shapes covered in sigils were floating closer as the men ran shouting through the streets. Maria could already hear doors slamming open.

"Well, here we go," said Ella. "Now it's time for me to show you what I'm capable of now."

"You said 'now' twice," said Maria, drawing her gun.

"Shit." Ella hesitated. "Gotta ask, Maria Los Angeles," she said. "Have you ever seen an Invader attack that was completely fought off, without much in the way of casualties?"

Maria sighed softly and stared at her feet, but there was no point in lying or sugarcoating it, or implying that miracles really could happen. There were no magical flying princesses. "No," she said, turning back. "Never in my ...."

Ella's eyes were glowing silver. Hazy white wings began emanating from her shoulders.

"... life," Maria said flatly.

Desirella the Dreamy smiled her dazzling smile again. "Well," she said, "I'm pretty sure it'll look something like this." She launched herself into the sky, leaving a trail of silver stardust.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Maria, as silver light lanced out and the first of the Floaters exploded. All she needs is a goddamn princess costume ... She ran forward, along with several other townspeople who were good with guns.

Shamblers were coming. A group of six of them were charging towards the edge of the town, carrying a large crystal that could be used to change people into more Shamblers. Maria raised her gun ...

A cloud of white pixels coalesced to form Desirella, who slammed down feet first onto the crystal, shattering it. "Not tonight," she said. She tapped two of the Shamblers on the shoulder, four clouds of pixels formed and an arm reached out of each of them to tap the others, and then she rocketed sideways towards another group, and the six Shamblers all exploded at once.

"The hell are we needed for?" said Gregory Fuller, awe in his voice.

Maria shot at a smaller group of Shamblers which Desirella had missed. She threw herself to the side to avoid their return-fire. "She's only got so many hands!" she said. "We spread out, cover everything that gets past her!"

A nearby Floater exploded. "No literal limit to number of hands!" said Desirella, swooping by. "But yes, thank you!"

"Real joker, Ella," muttered Maria, ducking under some more shots.

"Yeah I know," said Ella's voice in her ear.

There was an elephantine roar from the distance. Maria looked up, and felt her blood chill. Two giant ape-like crystalline figures: they were called Brutes, and they deserved the capital letter even more than the other types.

Desirella managed to take one of them out in the space of five seconds of punches, bolts of silver light at point blank range, and slashes with what appeared to be a glowing sword. The other shattered after she flicked its forehead.

The battle kept going like this.

At the end of it all, Desirella descended from the sky, and stretched her arms. And her wings. And a few extra pairs of arms as well. "Well, that looks like it was all of 'em!"

"God damn," said Gregory Fuller. "It really is you!"

Desirella shot him a cheeky grin. "I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'really', but yes."

Maria snorted. "Thanks a fucking million, Desirella."

"No charge! I wasn't even sure I'd be able to pull it off!" Desirella said cheerfully. "Although, I don't suppose I could stay the night?"

Pyotr laughed weakly. "I don't think anyone will object to you staying anywhere in this town, after what you just did!"

"That was a joke," said Desirella, who was clearly losing her balance. "I'm not actually going to occupy any space until morning, probably. Ciao!" And with that, she keeled over, and disintegrated into pixels.

"Oh, you absolute fucking clown," Maria said flatly.

Gregory looked at her sideways. "The hell were you talking to her about, anyway?" he said. "At Pyotr's place."

Maria realized that 1. she hadn't actually said "Ella Walden" where anyone could hear her, and 2. this probably fell under not divulging Desirella's secrets. "We were just sorta catching up, I guess," she said curtly. "She popped up in Modesto. She asked me not to say anything, but ..." She gestured expansively towards the remains of the Invaders.

Gregory considered this. "Too bad she hadn't found this confidence back then," he said. "On the other hand, I'm not complaining that she didn't wait a minute longer."

There was a general murmur of agreement. "It's a fucking miracle!" said Dylan Fisher.

"She wasn't kidding about making everyone luckier," said Pyotr Leonov.

"Yeah ..." Maria recalled that it had taken about forty-five minutes to evacuate Modesto. The Invaders' casualties: a bunch of Shamblers and a handful of Floaters. The defenders' casualties: all killed except for around ninety of the town's 1000-odd population, many of the survivors were injured, and that was if you counted the evacuation trucks which escaped the invasion itself but never made it to their destinations.

And just now, the Battle of Greenfield had been two hours long. Invaders' casualties: all of them wiped out utterly. Defenders' casualties: two lightly wounded, and slight damage to some of the houses from the Invaders' ranged weapons.

Right as Maria was getting ready to go to bed, she heard a quiet knock on her front door. She threw on her nightgown, came downstairs, and saw the text "CAN I COME IN? Y/N" in ghostly letters slide under the crack of her door.

"... Sure," she said in a low voice.

Ella materialized just inside the door, looking awkward and nervous. Her eyes were still glowing faint silver in the darkness. She couldn't quite look Maria in the eye as she said, "So, uh, hi."

"Oh c'mon in," said Maria. "Stop lookin' at me like you're embarrassed about savin' my town."

"That's not how anxiety works, but sure," said Ella.

Maria led her over to the kitchen area and paused at the table. There was only one chair. "Wanna sit down?"

Ella walked over to the opposite side of the table, and a chair abruptly popped into existence beneath her. "Yes."

Maria raised her eyebrows. Well, okay then. She sat down in the original chair. "So ..." She really wasn't sure how to talk to a ridiculously overpowered demoness who she'd first met sitting terrified in a half-destroyed house. "You ain't really from Oakland, are you."

"Nope," said Ella. She stared at the ceiling for a moment. "... Picture a world like this one was in June of 2020 when the plague was happening, a year before the Invaders came."

"... Damn," said Maria. "I was just eighteen."

Ella shrugged. "Now imagine a video game which, within its fictional narrative, depicts current events."

Maria blinked. That ... was not where she'd expected this to go. In fact, that wasn't really where she thought Ella was going to say she was from, either. "We're in a goddamn video game?"

Ella blinked, and shook her head. "No, we're in the real world," she said. "Or, I mean, a real world. But there's too many differences." She shrugged. "Like ... in the game, 'Cyan Ruin', the towns are toy-sized. I could walk from Greenfield to Sacramento in seven and a half minutes, which is like double the length of the day-night cycle, and I could go from one end of Greenfield to the other in less than two minutes. Whatever force brought me here, it seems to have sought out an actual world with a town named Greenfield, and the Invaders, and a hero named Maria Los Angeles."

Maria could only shrug. "Who brought you here?" she said. "How? Why?"

Ella looked away. "If I knew that, I'd've opened with it."

"And so ..." Maria shook her head. "I'm guessin' you were inserted into the role of the player?"

Ella looked uncomfortable. "... I woke up in Modesto, a few days before the attack, which is how the game starts," she said. "Jed Walden decided to 'adopt' me, but ..." She grimaced. "No one really believed me when I tried to tell them where I came from, or that I knew we were going to be attacked."

"Ohhhhh." Maria sat back. "So ... what's 'Ella Walden' like in, in Cyan Ruin?"

Ella shook her head. "You make your own character," she said. "'Jed Walden's stepkid' is set in stone, and when you visit Oakland there's flashbacks, but you pick your name, your gender, your appearance ... dialog choices and all that ..." She shook her head. "Back in my homeworld, my name was Ella Sinclair, but when Jed Walden died in front of me ..."

"Oh, got it," said Maria. She regarded Ella for another moment, then decided to just cut to the chase. "How'd you become 'Desirella'?"

Ella grinned unsteadily. "Console commands," she said. "I can still ... sort of ... interact with this world as if it was a video game. There's some notorious glitches in the ruins of Oakland that let you turn on Creative Mode — the flashbacks are kind of buggy — and I managed to create custom attacks and particle emitters and stuff. And I can detect when the Invaders are about to do something cute like try to wipe out a town."

"So why be a 'demon'?" said Maria. "Why not just be ... I 'unno ... an overpowered superhero?"

"I've ..." Desirella shrugged pensively and sat back. "I've always known what I'd do if I had this kind of power. One of the things I'd do is that I'd become a cryptic teleporting eldritch lesbian weirdo, who can just 'decide' she doesn't want to exist for a few hours because her body is just a metaphorical construct you can flip off like a switch. It's ... part of it is a transgender thing, it's why so many of us are furries."

Maria opened her mouth to ask how she was holding up without hormones in the ruined world, then closed her mouth as she remembered the entire rest of the conversation up to now.

Ella shot Maria that dazzling smile again. "Of course," she continued, "I would never actually cause enough trouble to get thwarted by a hero, unless she was cute."

Maria sensed that she was either being baited or flirted with. Rather than trying to figure out which one it was, she decided to skip it over completely. "You can't save the game or whatever, can you?" Well, okay, Desirella's glowing gray eyes were kind of pretty, but ...

If Ella was disappointed, she didn't show it. "If I could do that, I would've gone back and saved Modesto."

"... why are you telling me this?" said Maria. Although, given the 'cryptic weirdo' bit ... "Because no one will believe me?"

"No." Ella smiled wanly. "Because I'm pretty sure you're the only person who would believe me."

Ahhhh.

It was the exact same information, more-or-less. But the difference in phrasing made all the difference in the world. Whoever she'd been before, Ella was finding it just as lonely at the top as Maria had been.

And unlike Maria, Ella was so high up, she needed someone to bring her back down to earth.

Maria smiled back. "So what happens next in the plot?"

"Well," said Desirella, "first, we mournfully escape the ruins of Greenfield ..."

Maria just snickered.

"... and everything else is probably kind of FUBAR because I've been running around being a demon instead of advancing the plot, and this world is inhabited by real people instead of video game cartoon characters following a script," Desirella finished. "I can't even intuit the way you'll act, because, again: not a video game cartoon character."

Maria frowned. "... so how do we beat the Invaders?" she says. "I doubt a video game would just ... not let you win."

Desirella shrugged and adjusted her glasses. "I never actually got the chance beat the game, so I'm still figuring that out," she said. "For example, imagine what happens if there were five of me. The —"

"Fuck, that's scary, Ella," Maria blurted out, grinning. "That is an honest-to-god scary idea, to have five eldritch weirdos runnin' around."

Ella deflated again. "Yeahhhhhh," she said. "That's the thing, isn't it? Humanity gets saved from the monsters by other monsters, who just popped out of nowhere? I'm pretty sure that's a total 'no thanks' on your part." She shrugged. "In the end, if I'm honest with myself, the eldritch weirdo is never the protagonist."

Maria shook her head. "Don't get me wrong," she said. "Just speakin' for myself, it sounds great. You saw how the boys were reacting! And I'm pretty sure we're already mighty scared by the Invaders." She paused. "'Sides, having you straight-up collapse after winning kind of helps humanize you a little."

"Hmm." Ella considered this. "I suppose you're right about that. But I feel like going the rest of the way would take a bit of finesse. Say ... having an unambiguous human fight alongside me." She raised her eyebrows at Maria. "If you'd be willing, that is."

Maria shook her head. "I'm not a miracle-worker like you, Ella."

Ella smiled. "Well, I haven't told you the other thing I'd wanted to do," she said. She held out her hand, and a necklace with a faintly-glowing heart-shaped gem appeared out of thin air. "How'd you like to be one of my miracles?"

Maria snorted, and broke into giggles. "Oh my god Ella that was cheesy," she said. "Like, I'm not actually sure if it was a pickup line, but that was just so fucking cheesy."

Ella's smile didn't even waver. "Cheese is delicious," she said, as she gestured with the necklace.

The next morning, Desirella made a show of materializing in front of the bar. She didn't accept any money or material rewards. "I hate the Invaders as much as you do, and the fact that they didn't get what they wanted is reward enough," she said. "Besides, I have little use for money." And then she rose up into the sky and dematerialized into pixels.

Maria made an excuse about heading to Sacramento to check out what Desirella had done there, packed the usual amount of supplies, and headed off to the north.

She walked until the town was out of sight, crested another couple of hills, and then nodded as Desirella materialized.

"So how does the 'extra luck' thing work?" said Maria.

"Status effects that boost perception and dexterity and agility," said Ella. "There's no 'luck' stat. I haven't been able to get them to last for more than a couple of days, though."

"Damn," said Maria. "Still, though ..."

"... it makes a difference while it's happening," Ella finished for her. "You ready?"

Maria nodded, and pulled the necklace out from her shirt. She looked it over for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Miracle, Shine Forth!" she commanded.

A brilliant pink light surged from the necklace. It wrapped around Maria and completely obscured her vision. When it cleared ...

... she was dressed in a sparkly pink and red princess costume with white gloves, white stylized boots, heart-shaped gems, a tiara and opera mask ... Her hair had turned bright red, too.

With only the slightest twitch of her thoughts, she rose up into the air. "Motherfucker," she said. "Goddamn, Ella, how did you know!?"

Ella looked genuinely confused. "Know what?"

"Never mind," said Maria. "So, uh ... I'm ... 'Miracle Heart' now, am I?"

"Yep," said Desirella. "I guess I could be, uh, Miracle Dream?" She shrugged, and in a burst of sparkles, she was wearing a silver and white version of Maria's princess-costume. "Anyway. Wanna try stuff out?"

Maria thought about this.

And then she rose up off the ground and zoomed through the air towards Sacramento.

She laughed out loud.

Some Shamblers were standing around listlessly in a glade. Miracle Heart swooped down and held out her hand in a gun-shape. "Heart Bullet!" she said, and a glowing pink burst of light shot forth and shattered the first Shambler. One of them fired a potshot back at her which went wild, and she laughed, throwing out more and more bursts which reduced the Shamblers to rubble.

She zipped through the sky with Desirella at her side. It was the most exhilarating feeling ever. She didn't even slow down when she began to see Sacramento on the horizon. She activated a telepathy command and said, {Holy shit, Ella, why don't you fly like this all the time?}

{I do!} Ella replied. {I just have some very interesting ways of going unnoticed!} She swooped around to Maria's other side. {Also some boring ones.}

Maria did a loop-the-loop. {Still can't believe you threw this together with just creative-mode nonsense.}

Ella grinned, reclining on her back in midair. {It's just sparkly on-disk-DLC costumes, stat-boosts, special effects on an invisible gun, a script for the telepathy, and a Floater's flying-physics with a higher maximum speed,} she said. She turned upside down and looked at Sacramento. {Also, we should come in for a landing very soon.}

Maria thought about this. {Just five more minutes, mom.}

Desirella groaned, then snorted. {That's not funny!}

Maria grinned. {So you said there were other women you thought would make good Miracle Princesses?}

{Who might make good Miracle Princesses,} said Ella. {Depends on various factors, most importantly willingness. There's a lady who unironically goes by Jane Austen in Sacramento, she gives the player a few quests and I think I know what her Miracle color's gonna be. Then there's Liz Baker, who the player rescues from being a member of the Jock Dogs — that gang of bandits I mentioned.} She grinned at Maria. {She gets into an argument about whether or not miracles exist with another companion by the name of Maria Los Angeles.}

Maria snickered. {If 'Maria' was against them existin', I don't think that argument is gonna happen now.}

{I'm not remotely surprised!} said Ella. {But yeah, a couple more after that, and then we'll take the fight to the Invaders!} She cancelled her flight, dropped to the ground like a stone, and landed as if her physics-movement had abruptly switched off.

Maria landed next to her, in a much more careful manner. "And after that," she said, "we figure out who brought you here."

Ella sighed. "Yeah ..." She shrugged. "I mean, I'm not exactly looking forward to facing off against the people who, uh, are so powerful they were able to give me these powers. I doubt it'd be impossible for them to just switch all of us off, if they wanted."

Maria shrugged, and dispelled her magical girl transformation. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said, clapping Ella on the shoulder. "First things first, Desirella."

Ella took a deep breath, and managed a lopsided smile. "Right!" she said softly. "And the first thing is Jane Austen!"

Maria returned the smile, and the two of them started heading into Sacramento. The future was still full of uncertainties; she actually had even less of an idea idea as to what was going to happen next than she had last night.

But it looked like the world's luck was starting to turn up.

Neither of them detected the invisible woman in the green business suit watching them from behind. Smirking.

"Well, it looks like creating Cyan Ruin and sending it back in time is bearing fruit," she muttered under her breath. "Not that this is how I'd anticipated that you'd approach this, 'Desirella the Dreamy'. I thought the reason you made a beeline for Oakland to exploit creative-mode was in order to build yourself an arsenal."

She took off her glasses. "And I certainly didn't count on you empowering others," she continued, cleaning them on her suit. "We're going to have to change our plans around all this. And we'll have to be quite careful about how we send you after the true source behind the Invaders. Though in the end, if I'm honest with myself ..."

She put her glasses back on her face. She was a brunette, and she had piercing gray eyes. "... I'm not remotely surprised," she finished, smiling the same Mona Lisa smile that her past self had taken up.

To be continued ...

[the-laridian]

FO76 Steel Dawn initial thoughts

And spoilers

In a move that should surprise no one, the Brotherhood of Steel are a bunch of dicks. I mean, it's lore. They're not nice. They want tech and they want it for themselves and everyone not Brotherhood is "civilian" and not worthy of notice, unless they want to join the BOS, because who wouldn't? BOS is awesome of course. And civilians have to prove themselves to join the awesomeness that is the BOS and then look down on other civilians. This is obviously going to appeal to certain people / player-character archetypes. It is really not my cup of tea. If I try this arc, I'll have to use Slade (the alt who isn't even level 5 yet) because Willow already hates the BOS, and Volkov is destined for the Raiders. Now, what's the proof? Well, canonically, they're not nice, in just about any game. But here, one of the first things you're tasked with is, "go talk to these people petitioning the BOS and find out what they're yammering about" (not exact words but close). Those people's reasons for contacting the BOS are: *I'm a farmer and I'm willing to trade my surplus crops for protection *I'm TOTES NOT A RAIDER, I'm just a wee orphan gal, yep yep, who wants some of those big shiny guns to, ah, defend myself and my poor li'l friends with! NOOOOO I'm not a Raider, nope nope! *I'm a scientist/doctor/healer (look, labels are irrelevant after a nuclear war) who really wants to get hold of an actual lab so I can get back to my medical research, which could help people a lot *I'm a farmer who is PO'd because a bunch of you Brotherhood dicks came and 'requisitioned' everything I had and didn't pay or ask if I agreed to it, and I want recompense and confirmation it won't happen again.

Raider Gal is a bit side-eye, but the others have valid points. So Willow goes to the BOS guy to tell him what their requests are. BOS guy responses: *We're not mercs, we don't take food in exchange for protection, ignore *I wouldn't have given her any guns anyway *We are not a charity, unless he develops some new technology or weapons, then we might be interested, but we just don't do that, ignore until useful *That wasn't Brotherhood who robbed him. "But they said they were." They weren't. "Shouldn't you look into it?" We don't have time to look into every complaint about something we aren't involved in. "But this kinda looks bad for you?" NOT OUR PROBLEM, CIVILIAN.

Sooooo the BOS guy grudgingly admits that maybe Willow could POSSIBLY sign up since he at least followed the order given to him (go talk to these people to give the impression someone cared). Willow heads outside, already determined to flip the Brotherhood the bird, and some BOS (or initiate or hopeful, not sure which now) says something like "Hey, you might wanna get rid of that mutation if you know what's good for you." Now, Willow doesn't have visible mutations. His mutations are: *Speed Demon (moves faster/eats more) *Healing Factor (heals faster/meds don't work as well) *Marsupial (superjump and extra carry capacity/massive hit to intelligence, so yeah, I had to pump a crapload of points into INT to keep him baseline) *Electrically Charged (chance to shock melee attackers/shock yourself) *Plague Walker (poison aura if you're diseased/not sure what the slap here is, actually) *Unstable Isotope (chance to radiate melee attackers/radiate yourself) (I'd get rid of UI, and maybe EC, but you can't randomly pick and choose when you attempt to clear up mutations, and I like the others) None of these are actually visible. Some mutations are, like Scaly Skin or Talons, but none of Willow's are. Either the BOS has a mutation detector up or maybe Willow has a certain aroma around him or smth, idk. The point is, Willow is kind of offended on multiple levels by the Brotherhood now, so he double-flips them off and says the hell with these jerks, maybe we need to get rid of them before they get a good foothold here. (no, not really possible, given the storyline, but we can dream) So that's the end of THAT for now. This was longer on my PF where I typed it up but Tumblr has a limit so

[tournesolia]

Lunatic Parade Ayato Chapter 1 Translation

Place : Bernstein castle - Castle town suburbs

Yui : (I must get my heart back, no matter what...!)

Scene change : Carriage

Ayato : Ah, breastless, look other here. We can see the castle !

Yui : Eh... ?

Ayato : Heeeh... The castle town looks like quite busy. No wonder since there's a parade

Hehe. It's gonna be fun... !

Yui : Ah... Wait a minute !

(Fun, huh... He wasn't looking for my heart...?)

Ayato : Hm ? What's with that face... ?

Ah. Are you maybe thinking that the Great Me completely forgot about your heart ?

Yui : Ugh...

Ayato : Heh. Absolutely not ! I clearly remember

But even if that's the case, we must collect informations about that “Walter” guy first,

So why not enjoy the parade for a little while ?

Yui : Eeeh... !?

(Will it be okay to take our time...?)

…

Ayato : … You're that much worried about your heart ?

Yui : … Well...

Ayato : Hey, listen

The Great Me will definitely get your heart back

So stop worrying. Trust me !

Yui : … Okay...

(… That's right. I'm the one who chose Ayato-kun... I must trust him...)

Ayato : Well... Let's take a little break before we arrive

Or should I say, let me borrow your lap

Yui : … ! A-Ayato-kun !?

(He lied down and rests his head on my lap...!)

*some time passes

Yui : (The earl of Walter... For what purpose did he steal my heart...?)

(Err... Kleinod... Was it ?)

(It seems I'm able to live thanks to it, in place of my heart... But...)

…

(… I should stop. I can't help but feel anxious when I think about this)

(As Ayato-kun says, I should stop worrying too much...)

Ayato : … Zzz... Zzz...

Yui : (Hehe. Ayato feels relaxed when he sleeps...)

*The horse-drawn carriage suddenly stops

Yui : Kyaaaa... !

Ayato : Owah !?

*Ayato falls

Ayato : O... Ouch !!

Yui : (Ah... ! The brake made Ayato-kun bounce...!)

A-Are you alright... !?

Ayato : W-What the hell ? And the Great Me was sleeping so well... !

*Ayato gets up

Ayato : Hey, familiar ! You call that driving !? Are you fucking kidding me !?

Familiar : F-Forgive me... ! Someone suddenly jumped out from behind that tree other here...

Ayato : Someone... ? What the heck... That bastard in black...

Yui : (Ah... A man wearing black clothes and on a horse is blocking the way...)

(Besides, it looks like he's staring at me...)

Ayato : I dunno who he is but I don't like him... Shit ! I'll go complain !

Yui : Ah, Ayato-kun... !

Ayato : Hey, don't get off. Wait obediently inside the carriage... Got it !?

*Ayato leaves

Yui : (He left...)

(Will he be alright all by himself...?)

Scene change : Bernstein castle - Castle town suburbs

Man in black : …

Ayato : Hey ! The black other here ! You've got some nerves to block MY path !

Who the hell are you !? Get off your horse and tell me your name !

*The man in black gets off his horse

Man in black : … I'm the gatekeeper

Ayato : Thegate... ? Heh, what a weird name

Gatekeeper : This isn't my name... In other words, I'm the door guard of the Demon World

My duty is to stand guard and don't let those not suitable for the Demon World in...

I can't afford to admit this filthy woman inside the carriage who is neither a demon nor a person

Ayato : Aaah !? Hey, what did ya just say !?

She's a filthy woman ? Don't say dumb things or I'm gonna kick you !

Meanwhile...

Yui : (… This is bad ! I have to stop him !)

*Yui leaves the carriage and joins the two men

Yui : Ayato-kun ! Calm down !

Ayato : … ! Breastless !? Idiot ! Why did you come out !?

Yui : Because... !

(At this rate, they will quarrel...)

Gatekeeper : Hmph. So this is how it is... Hey, woman. I'll have to restrain you

*The gatekeeper grabs her

Yui : Kyaa... !

Ayato : … ! You think I'll let you do that !? Let her go !!

Gatekeeper : …!

Ayato : I'm not gonna hand her over to shady guys like you !

Let's go, breastless ! Run !!

Yui : Y-Yes... !

*Yui and Ayato run away

Scene change : Glimmer Main Street

Ayato : Haa... Haa... Looks like we managed to escape him

It's crowded here so we'll be fine even if that all-black from earlier chase after us

Yui : Indeed...

(But... Was it really okay to run away...?)

(That person mentionned a “filthy woman who is neither a demon nor a person”...)

(Was he talking about me...?)

(The Demon World must be more dangerous than I thought to me now...)

Ayato : … Hey, what's with that sad face ?

Yui : Eh... ?

Ayato : … Hey, breastless. You belong to the Great Me

I'll never hand you other to another guy

So stop worrying

The Great Me will get your heart back so you should spend time at the parade without worries

Yui : (… Ayato-kun...)

(That's right. Ayato-kun is with me... It'll surely be alright)

(Because he'll surely come to my help no matter what happens...)

Alright. Let's do it

Ayato : Hm. Then let's go

Vampire man A : Hey, did you see the poster at the plaza... ?

Vampire woman A : Yes, the son of Lord Karl Heinz is wanted, right ?

Vampire man A : That's right, “Sakamaki Ayato”...

Yui : … !?

(Ayato-kun is wanted...!?)

Ayato : Aah ? What is it about the Great Me ?

Vampire man A : Ah... “The Great Me”... ? You, are you by any chance... Sakamaki... Ayato... ?

Ayato : … ? Yeah ?

Yui : (… ! Ayato-kun admitted it ! I have to mislead them...!)

Let's go here !

*Yui grabs Ayato

Ayato : Aah ? What's wrong all of a sudden... ?

Yui : (We must get away from them no matter what...!)

*Yui and Ayato runs away

Scene change : Glimmer street – Eisen alley

Ayato : Hmm... I see. So I'm wanted...

Well, it must have something to do with that gate-thing as well

Hmph. Is he provoking me ? He got some nerves

Yui : Anyway, that's why we should avoid crowded places as much as possible...

Ayato : … Well, you might be right...

… Hey, breastless

Yui : Eh ?

… Kyaa !

*Ayato pins her to the wall

Ayato : What you really mean is that you wanted us to be alone, right...?

Yui : Eh... !?

Ayato : In that case, you should have said it honestly... Get it ?

'Cause the Great Me exactly felt the same way. *kiss

Yui : Hm... !

Ayato : *kisses her

Yui : Ah... ! Ayato-kun, it's not the moment to do such a... !

Ayato : Be quiet. Weren't you inviting me ?

So turn this way. I'll do it one more time. *kiss

Yui : Hm...

(… No. Refusing Ayato-kun is...)

Vampire man A : I think they went this way...

Ayato : … !?

Yui : (… !! Someone's coming !!)

Ayato : Tch... Looks like those nuisances are back. We'll continue later. Come !!

*Ayato grabs Yui

Yui : Kyaaa... Ayato-kun, wait... !

*Ayato and Yui run away

Scene change : Underground corridor

Ayato : Shit... I planned to enjoy the parade but that gate-thing dude ruined it...

Hey, breastless. Let's take a break !

Yui : A-A break... ? Where ?

Ayato : … At a place that looks good... Well, that door on this side, we could open it and go inside... Huh !

*the door opens

Yui : (… ! He opened the door without permission...!)

Ayato : Oh. It sounds better than I thought. Then let's sit down and rest

Yui : Ah, Ayato-kun... Isn't it the basement of someone's house... ?

(If they find out we entered without permission... They'll get angry !)

Scene change : Underpass – Small room

Ayato : Heeh... Well, it's a li'l dusty but I didn't expect that...

Now then... Let's take it easy

Yui : (Ayato-kun's completely relaxing...)

Choice 1 : Warn him (correct)

Yui : (Still, it would be best to warn him...)

… Hey, Ayato-ku...

Ayato : Well, have a sit as well. You must be tired since we ran a lot

Yui : (Is he caring about me... ? He was being hesitant...)

Choice 2 : Keep silent (incorrect)

Ayato : Well, have a sit as well

– End of choices

Yui : O-Okay...

*Yui sits next to Ayato

Yui : (It can't be helped... If the owner comes, we'll explain our situation to them...)

(… But if this person knows we're being wanted... What should we do...?)

(We should rather explain our situation to the gatekeeper...)

(I think it would be better to have him cancel the chase... But...)

*flashback

Ayato : … Hey, breastless. You belong to the Great Me

I'll never hand you other to another guy

So stop worrying

*end of flashback

Yui : (I was so happy when Ayato-kun said it like that...)

(And he got angry when the gatekeeper called me a “filfhy woman”...)

(No matter what he says, he's clearly thinking about me...)

(After all, as Ayato-kun says for a while...)

(… Huh...?)

Ayato : Hey, breastless ! Look ! This room is filled with interesting things !

Yui : … Ayato-kun !?

(He's delving into the shelves without permission...!)

A-Ayato-kun... ! If you touch the owner's belongings without his permission, he'll get angry... !

Ayato : Aah ? It's fine, I'm not gonna steal anything...

Anyway, c'mon... Come here as well--

… !? Uwah... !!

Yui : (The shelves are...!!)

(T-This is bad... ! They collapsed...!)

Ayato : W-Woops...

*someone's running and opens the door

??? : Who's here !?

Yui : (… ! We got caught !)

Ayato : … Oh, we're disturbing ?

Owner : … ! Who are you !? What the hell are you doing in the basement of someone's house !?

Ayato : What, you ask... ? As you see, we're taking a break. Is that wrong !?

Owner : Of course that's wrong !!

Yui : Ah, Ayato-kun... !

We're on the wanted list, we have to mislead him before it becomes serious... !

Ayato : Tch, be quiet. I knew that before you tell me ! … Huh !

*Ayato makes a shelf fall on the owner

Owner : Uwah !

Yui : (Another shelf...!)

Ayato : Hey, breastless ! Now ! Let's run !!

Yui : Kyaa... ! W-Wait, Ayato-kun... !

*they run away

Scene change : Glimmer street – Eisen alley

Ayato : Sigh... That was close...

Yui : … Geez, no matter how you put it, you went way too far !

Ayato : Aah !? Shut up !

If we dawdle like that, we would both get caught !

Yui : … That's true, but... !

Ayato : Anyway, we can't return to the basement anymore after all that...

… 'Can't be helped. Alright, let's go this way

Yui : (… If we go this way, we'll return to the plaza from before...)

Ayato-kun, wait... ! Where on earth...

Ayato : The Great Me got an idea... Lend me your hear for a bit

*Ayato gets closer

Ayato : There must be a dress shop ahead at the plaza we came across. Let's disguise ourselves here.

Yui : Disguise... ?

Ayato : The streets are overflowed with disguised people thanks to the parade

If we mislead those guys, we can progress further without making it known

Yui : Oh... I see ! You're amazing, Ayato-kun... !

Ayato : Heh, how about it ? Just so you know, I'm very impressive

At such a time, we should sneak and not get too much noticed

Yui : … Yes, alright !

Scene change : Dress shop

Ayato : Phew... We finally arrived at the store

Yui : (Thank godness...)

(Nobody noticed I was here unlike the last time when I came to the Demon World, surely because I don't have a heart...?)

(… But I can't feel relieved yet. We must not get noticed by the store clerk...)

Dress shopkeeper : May I help you ?

Ayato : Yep. I want a costume for the parade. For the Great Me and her

Dress shopkeeper : Sure thing ! In that case, I would recommend these ones which arrived today

Ayato : Oh, show me then

*Ayato went with the shopkeeper

Yui : (… Ayato-kun is really impressive...)

(In that case, there's no way anyone would think we're wanted criminals...)

Ayato : Hmm, there's quite a lot of costumes. Hey, breastless, which one do you like ?

Yui : … Hmm, let's see...

(A mask or something would be good to hide my face...)

Ayato : … Hey, look over here

Yui : Eh ?

Ayato : You there. Stop playing and choose seriously. You totally lack a sense of crisis

Yui : … !

Ayato : … Hey, what do you think about those nose glasses ? Next, if I part my hair to one side, it'll be perfect

Yui : … Ayato-kun... Just now, you...

(Imitated... Reiji-san...?)

Ayato : Hehe, how was it ? Great resemblance, huh ?

Yui : … Pfft...

Ayato : Ah, why are you laughing !?

Yui : T-That's because... !

Ayato : … You finally smiled

Yui : Eh... ?

Ayato : You were always frowning since we came to the Demon World

I didn't know if you would go back to smiling like before

Yui : (Ayato-kun... He was trying to make me smile...)

*some time passes

Ayato : … Alright, that sounds good for now...

Yui : (Two costumes with masks for both of us... I wonder if it will be fine enough)

(Somehow, we got so focused that we stayed for a long time)

*Yui and Ayato leaves the shop

Scene change :  Glimmer Main Street

Yui : (Ah... ! We left without changing our clothes. We have to do that somewhere...)

Vampire woman A : … Ah, hey... This is...

Vampire man A : … There's no doubt. They're the ones from before... ! Let's catch them !

Ayato : … !

Yui : (The persons from before... ! T-This is bad...!!)

Ayato : Hey, breastless, let's run ! Come !!

Yui : Y-Yes !

*Ayato and Yui run away

Scene change :  Glimmer Main Street – Front wagons

Vampire man A : They ran with way !

Yui : (At this rate, they'll catch us !)

Ayato : Shit ! They're gonna easily catch us !

Vampire woman A : They went this way !

Ayato : Hey, breastless ! Let's take a short cut ! Over here !

Yui : Eh !?

Crepe shopkeeper : Crepe ! Would you like a crepe ~ ?

Ayato : Get out of my way !

Crepe shopkeeper : Uwaaah ! My stall !

Yui : (W-What did he...!?)

Ayato-kun ! You shouldn't do such a thing... !

Ayato : Come ! You wanna get caught or what !?

*Ayato grabs her

Yui : Kyaaa... !

(Even so, this is messed up !!)

Scene change :  Glimmer street – Eisen alley

Ayato : Haa... Haa... Tch, it's a dead end...

I got no choice... When it comes to this, I'll fly to the sky... Uwah !

*Ayato picks up a paper

Ayato : What the heck !? … ! That's...

Yui : … ! Could it be...

(The wanted notice... ? But... These portraits...)

(… Don't resemble us... At all...)

Ayato : … Hahaha... Hahahaha !

What's those bad drawings ?

Yui : … But if we rely on these, we won't get exposed even without disguise...

Ayato : Well, you're right...

??? : … I finally found you. This worthless chase is over

Ayato : … ! You are... !

Yui : (The gatekeeper...)

Ayato : … Breastless ! Hold on to me ! I'm gonna fly !

Yui : … Ayato-kun, let's stop...

Ayato : Ah ? What ?

Yui : Even if we do that, the same thing will be repeated over and over again...

So let's follow this person and explain properly our situation ?

Ayato : Aah ? What are you saying !? Why do we have to get caught without doing anything !?

Yui : … As I said, we first need to explain why we came to the Demon World and solve this misunderstanding

Ayato : … Why that... !?

Gatekeeper : Hmph, it seems this woman somewhat understand the story, despite being a filthy existence

Ayato : Tch... You bastard, say that again and I'll beat your ass !

*Yui gets close to Ayato to stop him

Yui : Ayato-kun ! It's fine ! Just calm down !

Ayato : How can I calm down !? That asshole called you filthy again... !

Yui : Please ! Listen to what I say now... !!

Ayato : … Shit !

Yui : (Ayato-kun... I'm sorry...)

Gatekeeper : So ? Have you come to an agreement ? Well, there was only one answer from the beginning

Yui : … We're coming with you

Gatekeeper : … Good. Well then, come with me. The carriage is at the main street

Yui : … Okay

… Let's go, Ayato-kun

Ayato : …

Thus,

we've been taken away

by the gatekeeper.

The destination of the carriage

was Bernstein castle.

The castle where the earl of Walter,

the person we were looking for, lives...

Apparently, the gatekeeper was

ordered by the earl to look for us.

Place : Bernstein castle - Throne room

Ayato : Tch, he should have said that from the beginning !

To think that gate-thing was Walter's pawn... !

??? : … Well well, please accept my apologies

Ayato : … ! Walter !

Yui : (… ! This person is the earl of Walter...!)

Earl of Walter : You're Ayato, the son of the famous Karl Heinz, right ?

Ayato : Hmph, yeah. Though I don't care at all about my old man

Earl of Walter : Well, if you say so. And you are...

… I see... So it's you... Hehe...

Ayato : Aah ? What's with you... ? Stop staring at her !

Earl of Walter : Hehe, no need to be angry. So, now that we're here, how about having some talk ? Please take a sit

Ayato : Hey... The Great Me ain't gonna talk with you

Give back her heart. Now !

Yui : … Ayato-kun... !

Ayato : Face it ! That dude stole your heart in the first place... !

Earl of Walter : I see... Ayato, it seems you have a quite violent temper

Actually, I was testing both of you

Yui : Testing... ?

Earl of Walter : That's right. I've been observing you all the time since I gave you that card

When you were together, when you met the gatekeeper...

I was testing if you were the most suitable person in the world to keep this important treasure

Ayato : Important... Treasure... ?

Yui : You mean...

(The heart he stole...?)

Earl of Walter : This is why I had the gatekeeper hide it and waited to see what you would do first

Unfortunately, it seems neither of you is suitable to possess this treasure

Yui : No way... !

Ayato : What's the meaning of that !?

Earl of Walter : If you look back at your past actions, do you think this is quite convincing ?

Ayato : Are you fucking kidding ?! First of all, why should I hear that coming from a thief like you !?

Quit going on and on about that and give back the heart !

Earl of Walter : … Now, you lost 5 more points...

Ayato : Aah ? What's with that “point” stuff... !?

Earl of Walter : Despite the fact we know each other's name, this is the first time we meet. In addition, I'm much older than you...

You will get nothing more than a deduction of points for holding such a disrepecteful attitude towards someone

I don't think this is suitable as the bearer of this treasure...

Ayato : Aah !? I got no reason to say that to ya !

Yui : … ! Ayato-kun !!

Earl of Walter : Hmm... Now you lost 5 other points. What a sad thing

In the end, it's not possible to return the treasure to you. You should give up and return home. Gatekeeper ! Take the guests...

Yui : P-Please, wait ! Can you give us a chance ? J-Just one more time... !

Earl of Walter : … Oh ?

Yui : I beg you ! Without this heart, I'll...

Please... ! Can you give us just one more chance... !?

Earl of Walter : Hmm... I see...

Unlike Ayato, you seem to have some qualities which are worth testing

Ayato : Aah !? What the heck !

Earl of Walter : … Well then, Yui-san. Out of respect for you, I will give you only one other chance

Yui : … Really !?

Earl of Walter : That's right. So... From now on, go and clear all the bad deeds you did when you came to the Demon World

Yui : Clear... Bad deeds... ?

Earl of Walter : … That's right. In the meantime, I'll keep watching all of your actions from here

And if I'm satisfied with your behaviour, I'll return the heart to you

Yui : … Really !? Thank you very much !

Earl of Walter : Hehe. This is a good thing to be honest and respectful to others. I will give you 1 point

Ayato : Aah !? Breastless becomes your favorite just by shutting up and listening !? That's disgusting !

Earl of Walter : Hey, Ayato. You will lose points again if you keep that attitude. How about learning from her a little ?

Ayato : … !

Earl of Walter : Well then, you can go right away

Yui : … B-But... What should we do specifically ?

Earl of Walter : Hehe. You have to think about it yourself

What I can tell you so far is to properly reflect on your past actions and resolve them... That's all

Well then, I'm counting on you

Yui : … Yes. Pardon the intrusion... Ayato-kun, let's go

Ayato : Ah, hey ! Breastless ! Wait !!

We returned to the city by

carriage prepared for us.

The earl removed us from the

wanted list so I'm thankful that

we don't have to hide when we move...

However, the problem is yet to come.

Let's calm down and think, first.

About the meaning of the problem

the earl of Walter imposed on us...

I have to get my stolen heart back, so--

While persuading Ayato-kun who looked

as dissatisfied as ever, we settle down at

a hotel along a canal.

Place : Hotel Mondstein – Guest room

Yui : Ayato-kun ?

(… He's not here...?)

(Could he be at the balcony ? … He's still angry, huh...)

Scene change : Hotel Mondstein – Balcony

Ayato : …

Yui : … Ayato-kun, you must be thirsty, right ? I brought some juice. I'll leave it here, okay ?

… By the way... I'm sorry... I only did a lot of things on my own accord...

Ayato : Tch, seriously. What the heck ? Listening without thinking to what that earl said...

He's the one who steals others' most important stuff to begin with, no ?

And yet, why do we have to pass a test !? I don't get the meaning !

Yui : … I see...

(It's understandable that Ayato-kun's angry... But...)

Hey, Ayato-kun, can you listen ?

Ayato : What ?

Yui : You see, I think what you say isn't wrong...

We came to the Demon World and the gatekeeper said ill things about me...

At that time, Ayato-kun... You were angry, right ? It made me very happy

Ayato : … !

Yui : I thought that you would protect me at any cost. I thought about believing in you

Even when we were chased by strangers, you were with me so I thought it would be alright

After all, I want to be with you from now on

… That's why I have to get my heart back

So we'll be together forever...

Ayato : Breastless...

Yui : I'm really sorry to have you involved in this

If you're reluctant, I'll be fine even by myself

I'll definitely have my heart back when I return, so you...

*Ayato gets closer

Ayato : Are you fucking kidding me !? There's no way you can do that !

… You belong to the Great Me. How many times should I say it ?

The Great Ayato will definitely get your heart back !

Because that's obvious. You're mine so your heart is also mine !

I won't let that bastard have his own way... !

*Ayato grabs her and suddenly kisses her

Yui : Kya... Hmm... !

Ayato : *kisses her

Hey, breastless. Don't say that you'll go alone ever again... Get it ?

Yui : (Ayato-kun...)

… Yes, I get it. I won't say it anymore

Ayato : Hm... Well... Let's go to sleep now

'Cause starting tomorrow, we have do deal with those tasks that earl gave us and that I don't get

Yui : Yes, you're right... Ah, Ayato-kun !

Ayato : *yawn... What ?

Yui : Well, you see... Thank you... For everything...

Ayato : Heh... What's that all of a sudden...?

… Hey, I thought about going to sleep but I changed my mind. Come here

Yui : Eh !? W-Wait... Ayato-kun !? Kyaaa !!

Ayato : … Hey, breastless. Since you said thank you, I'll keep you company tonight

Yui : Eh ? K-Keep me company... ?

Ayato : … Let me suck. I'm firsty right now

I'm not talking about the juice, but your blood. Haha !

Yui : … !

Ayato : *sucks blood

Haa... After all, I feel the taste is slightly different from usual... But oh well, that's fine

… 'Cause it doesn't change the fact that it's your blood

In short, all this blood belong to the Great Me. *sucks...

Yui : … Ayato... kun...

Ayato : … Hey, give me more... *sucks...

Yui : (Even if he says rough things, his embrace is always very gentle...)

(As long as Ayato-kun's here, I'm sure everything will go well...)

Chapter 1 : End

[dyketectivecomics]

Oh! I remember another w/ dad Constantine au: did john own any Hawaiian shirts before he adopted Raven? Bc when she's a baby bi he's already got flannel but im not sure how well overcoat sleeves can be rolled up

its supposed to be a few weeks after those first few chaps of chance encounters just so y'all Know lmao

…

Constantine hadn’t been sure when Zatanna had implemented the curse. Maybe it had been that very same night that he let the little demon sleep on his couch. Maybe it had been those couple of days later, after he tried chasing down that dangerous lead on his own. Maybe it had only been this very same week after this fight they’d just had.

It’d been their worst one yet since… well…

He shook his head, breaking the reverie. There was no accounting for the past. What mattered was the present task at hand. And right here and now, John was faced with a dilemma. Most of his clothing had been replaced by the gaudiest collection of Hawaiian shirts he’d ever seen outside of a tourist shop.

He’d never seen such a horrible clash of so many colors outside of a gay bar or a pride parade. And this certainly wasn’t bringing the comfort or joy that such a sight would normally.

“I know I might deserve this, but could you ‘least have left me one shirt?” he grumbled out, digging through the hangers to find something suitable. Before his own eyes, he could see another one of his shirts transforming, navy sleeves slowly shortening and color draining into the worst mixtures of loud greens and garish pinks.

“God, why does this one have so many damned pineapples?!” he yelled, tearing at the fabric in frustration.

“She wasn’t really mad,” the five-year-old stated from across the room. She was lurking in the doorway to the bedroom, standing just outside the threshold, almost as if she were toeing the imaginary line where the paneling formed the barrier.

It was a lot of simple sigils, meant to keep emotions from pouring out of or into the room. Magical soundproofing, of sorts.

It didn’t keep everything in, evidently.

“This looks pretty damned angry to me, pet,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to think about his next step.

Buying more shirts wasn’t completely out of the question. And it wasn’t like his closet was completely overrun yet. There were still a few plain white ones off in the corner, plus the one he had on now. But how long would it take for them, too, to turn on him?

He remembered watching this collection, helpless to it’s growing size, and doing nothing to stop it before it got to this point. But too many things had been going on, with Raven and Blood’s cult and-

“She’s… not mad, though,” Raven repeated, mumbling something under her breath that had John sighing. He waved her over, inviting her into the space, and pat the space on the bed beside him.

“Take a seat, I can’t hear you all the way over there.”

The girl hesitated outside of that threshold, before all but scampering over and bouncing onto the bed.

He waited expectantly for her to repeat herself, and she stared blankly back, navy eyes wide as she seemed to gauge and place where his emotions were at, now that they weren’t being read through the haze.

“Me ears aren’t what they used to be, luv,” he explained, “Too much rock an’ roll when I was young. You’ll have to repeat yourself for me.” He spoke it clearly, plainly, with as much patience as he could muster at the moment.

The girls eyes glanced between his own, sensing his air of humor, the barest taste of the joke but not understanding what the punchline was. Or maybe it was that the humor was a tad too dry for a palette so young.

“She’s not mad… with you,” she said slowly, eyes not breaking away but fingers fidgeting nervously with her skirt, bunching and releasing the fabric. She would smooth and rub and bunch it a few more times as the demonologist waited for her to explain further. “She’s mad… at me.”

John wasn’t sure he could place the twist he felt in his chest at that moment, the sound of her voice so small, and so heartbroken.

Before he could stop himself, he had an arm wrapped around the girl, bringing her in close to his arms.

He felt something tighten in his chest as she wrapped her own arms around his waist, and as she buried her head into his chest. A swell of sadness mixing in with his own anger.

“What we feel, li'l bird,” he started, “It can be complicated, right? But it doesn’t mean we’re mad with you. You hear me, luv? It’s not your fault. It’s just…” He swallowed carefully, quelling a sob he could feel coming from nowhere-

No. Coming from the girl. Coming from something she’d been holding in during this whole mess of figuring out where she could belong. What they would need to do with her. Where the hell they could place her.

And John knew, in that moment, he could only stand to see her safe and happy in one place. Where he could guarantee it.

“We’re all a right mess, but we’ll figure it out together, eh?” he lifted up her face by her chin, wiping away those few tears that managed to slip by. “How about we fix us some breakfast before we plan the day?”

The damned shirts could wait another hour or two, after all.

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

Present Day: Recompense Come

Wynonna

Someone in the universe had a mighty big sense of humor with a little hardon of cruelty dashed in. At least that's what it felt like when Wynonna saw him, John Constantine, coming towards the part of the bar she'd parked herself at. He hadn't seen her yet. If she worked it just right she could get away with him none the wiser.

John

Somewhere between leaving the US and the moment he's made his way towards that bar, John Constantine had broken a curse and reacquired the demonic taint he'd deliberately locked away years prior. By sleeping with his friendly neighbourhood succubus Ellie, to regain enough power to ... well, to make sure he'd be strong enough to deal with Mormo the next time she came around.

He'd also gotten in the way when Father Gregor had tried to throw Holy Water (the real deal, it turned out) at the demon they had spent their afternoon fighting and hit John across the arm and jaw, searing his skin.

John would later think that he should be forgiven for not recognizing the familiar curves, the leather jacket, the razor sharp jaw ... the curls that were now just a little longer, when he slid into a chair and gestured for a drink. You know. Given the fact that not two hours earlier, his skin had nearly boiled off.

Wynonna

Her eyes stayed on him as he made his way to a chair. The whole of him looked rough. And not in the usual way that made her want to take his tie and-- Nope. Not going there. But he does look hurt. What happened? The question bounced around in her mind as gave Peacemaker a pat.

She would have made it. If she hadn't zigged when one of the women carrying drinks to tables hadn't zagged and gotten so off balance that she fell backwards. Right towards him. Like she'd thought: Someone had a sense of humour. It just wasn't her.

John

A crash and a clatter drew his attention and his new, quicker reflexes had him reaching out both for whatever large thing he could see falling towards him from the corner of his eyes and magic.

His hand clamped on an arm dressed in soft, wellworn leather and when John pulled up the young woman he had just rescued from a nasty fall with a smirk and a "Careful, luv.", it took him a moment to recognize the eyes staring up him.

Blazing angrily.

When he did recognize them, the narrow, angular face, the defined lips ... his heart tumbled out of his chest, crashed into his stomach and made him feel sick.

"Wynonna...", he muttered and let go of her as if burned. As if touching her caused him pain.

Wynonna

"Oh you remember me?" The remark left her before she could truly think about it. When it caught up with her, she cursed under her breath and looked down for a moment. While it had come out like a dig, she hadn't meant it as such.

Some of her softness left, edged out by quickly returning anger when he released her with the swiftness of someone who had just grabbed something that was white hot. It stung at her, digging deeper into that already there hurt.

(Really she wouldn't be surprised if her heart looked like swiss cheese by now.)

Wy rolled her shoulders back and stood tall, gaze daring him to say something. Anything.

John

John huffed, face twisting into a painful smile. "Clever.", he replied. "Yeah, real clever ...", he swallowed the endearment that wanted to jump from his tongue.

His eyes skittered away from her out of their own volition, scanning the room with a painful sinking feeling.

"He here, too?"

Wynonna

"Didn't mean it like that but if the trench coat fits..." She watched John look for Harry, even then. Wynonna scoffed softly and shook her head. "No. He's not here. I don't know where he is, actually. But my guess is that he wouldn't want to see you even if he was. You have to know that."

John

"Yeah ...", John agreed, voice quiet and toneless as he looked away from her, finding the drink the bartender set in front of him somewhere in the few seconds he'd been dreading (hoping, don't fucking kid yourself, Con Job) to see Harry. "I know tha'.", his lip curled into a sneer. Disgusted with himself. "Don' worry, he won' have t' see me ever again."

Wynonna

Her eyes lingered on him and it took more effort than she'd ever admit to keep from reaching for him. When everything with the three of them had imploded no one had escaped the shrapnel from it. The fallout was still raining down and everything. Still. Hurt. One shoulder rose up in a quick shrug.

"Even if he does you could always just mojo it away no problem." Wynonna pursed her lips before reaching past him and taking his drink for herself. Because why not? Alcohol certainly won't make the pain worse.  "Did you love him?" She asked after drinking down about half the glass.

John

A part of him wished he had the energy left to get angry at her for the accusation. The selfish, self preserving part of him. The rest, however? All the parts that were tender and raw still, they nodded.

"Yeah.", he agreed, loathing and sarcasm dripping of the word and twisting his face into a grimace.

And then, suddenly, she was in his space and the warm scent of coconut wrapped around him, made his fingers twitch with how much he wanted to reach out. Pull her close and into all the cracks of him that losing her along with Harry had left.

Something stopped him. A burn just under his skin, starting where her hip nearly touched his and he looked down. Right there, in its holster, sat Peacemaker. Sigils flaring to life along its barrel. She hadn't seemed to have noticed it. Not yet. Too preoccupied with her anger, maybe.

But he had no time to contemplate that. Not when Wynonna asked that simple little question that hit him in the chest like a bullet from her gun.

It drove hot tears to his eyes and wrenched a painful sob from him. Again, he looked away from her, tried to ignore the nausea that was building slowly. "Wha'ssit ma'er now?", he asked around his tight throat. "I cocked i' up, nothin' to say to make da' right. No' when I knew wha' Justin did to him an' did i' anyway, cause I couldn' ge' over me bloody ego.", now he'd started, the words didn't want to stop. "I thought I was so fuckin' smart. So much fuckin' stronger than 'im. I could take it, I thought. 'e can't. No' when 'e might want fuckin' kids one day. Can' ge' your nice li'le white picket fence American dream with the knowledge a demon will come for your kids, Eh?"

Wynonna

The drink in her hand--what was left of it, anyway--was cold and comforting. It gave her something to hold on to so that she wouldn't lean into Constantine like she wanted to. She nodded along with him. "Could even mojo me too." As if that had just occurred to her...Which it had. "If you haven't already, right?"

Wynonna's gaze dipped down when she realized that the low hum she was hearing wasn't bar related. No, that deep, formerly comforting sound of Peacemaker flaring to life so it could do what it needed to do was real. Was now. Because it was resting against his skin.

Her mind flashed back to that long ago night at the hotel with Harry. When Peacemaker had woken her from heavy sleep because Lash was in his head. To the way the gun would flare to life in reaction to the Mantle. "John what did you--"

Then she fell silent, dread making her heart drop into her stomach when his words caught up to her. Wynonna didn't reach for Peacemaker but she did grab his jacket, yanking him closer. He didn't know. Harry hadn't told him and neither had she. God they were all so fucking stupid. "What the hell do you mean that a demon will come for his kids?"

John

Another snort of pained laughter. "Yeah, if I haven' yet.", he echoed and then, because he was watching her from the corner of his eyes, he saw her face change. He saw the penny hit the ground for the first time and bounce back up in the air.

He expected her question and still, he heard Harry's accusation there, twisting his heart further like barbed wire wrapping tightly around it.

There wasn't really an explanation for what he'd done. Not one he could just lay out there for her in that moment.

And then the penny dropped again.

Ting

And the universe flicked another one in the air.

The world tilted off kilter.

Not because Wynonna nearly dragged him out of his chair, but because he could see the fear in her eyes. Because her question wasn't phrased to relate to a mere possibility. Will. Not would.

John's own penny dropped like a hollow point bullet to his gut.

"He's go' kids…", John whispered tonelessly, blue eyes wide. "You've go' kids. You two … got kids."

Wynonna

Her own curiosity about how far his memory rewrites was completely and utterly forgotten. At that moment she didn't give a damn about herself or what he may or may not have done to her. Her mind had been screwed with before. It could wait.

The grip on his coat tightened as she basically dragged him out of the bar. A bouncer moved toward them, ostensibly to see if any sort of intervention was needed. Wynonna flashed her BBD badge and shook her head at him. "I've got this, thanks."

When they're outside she looks up at him, still not relinquishing her hold on his stupid trench coat. "Guess he never got around to telling you about them." Wy let sharp cruelty edge into her voice because if any kindness slipped in she would fucking break then and there. "He has two. A daughter with Susan. And with me. Two kids, John."

John

He followed along, numb and silent for once. Teeth clenched, breathing hard through his nose, throat working to keep down the threat of being sick. The alcohol he'd consumed even before coming to the bar trying to crawl out of his stomach in a hot wave.

Harry had children.

Harry remembered.

Mormo … was still out there.

"No…", his voice was still toneless. "No … he never told me...", neither had she. Fuck, they'd been together for seven months back then and she hadn't even told him the name of the man who's death had devastated her.

"Two children …", he echoed, staring at the spot below her collarbone. Where the neckline of her shirt revealed a glimpse of a familiar chain. Did that chain still hold the pendant he'd given her?

He sucked in a shuddering breath and looked up at her, a spot right under her left eye. "I go'a go. I go' favours to call in. 's abou' time I drew a final line with tha' bitch."

Wynonna

"Guess maybe he didn't trust you as much as you thought." Even as she spoke the words, she knew that wasn't it at all. Harry had trusted him. Implicitly. It was why everything had cut so deep for him.

Wynonna watched Constantine continue to work through everything, her own mind feeling full while her heart felt heavy. She nodded at the repetition. "Two little girls." She didn't say their names, knowing that was information that could be used against them as well.  His gaze strayed toward her chest and if they'd been in any kind of place for it, she would have called him out on it.

She shook her head. Within seconds Peacemaker was out of its holster and held up to John's forehead. The gun glowed in the dark of the night, humming lowly as she did. "No. You're not goin' anywhere. Not yet. You're going to tell me why my gun's so friendly with you now and explain why your Goddamn ego might get two kids dragged down like Astra."

The magic of the gun tingled against his skin, the demonic blood trying to escape the touch. A cruel smile twisted his mouth and he reached up to curl his hand around hers. Tightening her fingers around the gun and pressing his forehead against the muzzle.

"Don' poin' a gun a' somethin' you don' intend to shoot, luv.", he hissed. "Every moment we stand here, those two li'le girls are in danger. You really wanna play 20 Questions righ' now? Yeah. Then lemme give you a short rundown. And if you think tha's worth riskin your child's life over, you be'er be prepared to pull tha' trigger."

And right there, standing in the dark, his hand holding hers still, the gun to his forehead and searing his skin, he told her everything. Trying to save Astra's soul with their hair brained scheme, Mormo vowing to kill them for the spell they had concocted, going after Harry, nearly killing him, John wanting to save him, but not being strong enough to banish Mormo for good … and then making the hardest decision of his life.

Erasing himself from the memory of the man he loved.

He ended with: "And I fucked a demon. 'parrently tha' leaves a stain tha' your gun don't like."

Wynonna

Wynonna ignored the familiar zip of electricity that went through her when John wrapped his hand around hers and upped the ante by pressing the muzzle flush against his head. If things were different, she'd comment on how that ticked a few boxes for her.

"You think I won't?" Her voice was cold but there was the barest hint of wavering in the question. If she had to she would. But it would break her. She knew it.

But she fell silent, listening to John spin his yarn and explain what had happened. Wynonna pushed back the wave of emotions threatening to breach the calm, cold demeanor she was working to hold onto. Her gun was still pressed to Constantine's head. "Here's what's going to happen. You talk to whatever damned contacts you have. Call in your favors. Say whatever prayers or curses you have before you put up some sort of cloaking bullshit to hide them. If that doesn't work I'll send you to hell myself."

John

He was breathing heavily against the splitting pain radiating from where the gun touched him.

"I will.", he promised her then, jaw tight. "By the end of this, those kids are safe or I'm dead."

And when he found it in himself that he meant it, that he was fully prepared to die in the process of saving his former lovers' children or get on his knees in front of her so she could put a bullet through his head, his gaze moved up from where it had been fixed to her cheek and met her eyes for the first time.

Any resistance he might have put up against a Soulgaze before, he willed away. Laying his dirty, tainted, terrible soul out for her ...

Wynonna

Being drawn into a Soulgaze was something she'd only experienced once before. With Harry. It started out the same way, sensation wise. With Wynonna feeling like she was tumbling down a tunnel with no clear light at the end.

She saw small John Constantine being berated by his father. "Killer." Mucus Membrane. The Newcastle incident with Astra. Every trick and stunt he pulled and the loathing that often laid behind it. Nights with Harry and the love he felt for him. ...Love he felt for her too. Guilt. Fear. Anger. Hope. There was so much in there that it made her breath catch.

John

The world fell away as he let himself be drawn into her, racing through images and emotions.

The gun in his her small hand, the shot, his her father dead, running, running, running from a responsibility too heavy, from the hatred, from the name calling, the gun back in his her hand …

Harry.

Harry, Harry, Harry, the child.

Harry's death.

John.

Both of them.

And all of it, underneath the pain and the guilt … woven into it, drifting through it like the smoke of his cigarettes, love.

Love for her sister.

For her daughter.

For Harry.

…

…

…

For John.

He came out of the Soulgaze gasping for breath, wet asphalt under his knees and palms and tears finally, finally falling.

Wynonna

Overwhelmed didn't even begin to describe how Wynonna felt as the Soulgaze ended. Though it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, it had felt like so much longer. So much shit that Constantine had to wade through. But Goddamn it. Damn him. Damn Harry. Damn her. He was good intentioned.

Peacemaker's light winked out as her hand fell away from him, her other arm wrapping around her midsection as she attempted to catch her breath. Her own eyes blurry with tears. Try as she might, she couldn't hold them back either. "You asshole." She cried with frustration. "I wish I could hate you."

John

His laughter was breathless and bordering on hysterical, just for a moment. Then he looked up at her, brows drawn into a pained frown. "Yeah …", he muttered "Yeah, I wish you would."

The echo of her love for him was still rattling around his chest, the feeling of it making his skin feel raw, as if even his familiar, well worn clothing was chafing him.

"I really, really wish you would.", it would be so much easier to walk away after this. Once he had made it right, once he had made sure the children were safe …  when he would need to leave her.

His hands pressed hard against the pavement, he took a few steadying breaths, before he pushed himself back to his feet. "If you have a way of contactin'im, do so. Make sure the kids are alright. I uh … my promise still stands, bu' if you still don' believe me … if you think I'll bail … you have my name, from my own mouth. Do you still have the amulet?"

Wynonna

"If I could...I would. It would hurt less." Apparently it was far easier to be honest this soon after a Soulgaze, with her defenses down and broken. Her other hand rested on Peacemaker, this time for comfort rather than the need to try and intimidate John.

Wynonna looked back at Constantine. Without a word she unwound her arm from around her middle to bring her necklace out from under her shirt. It swung loose now, the amulet from John and a charm from Harry as telling about her feelings as the damn Soulgaze had been.

"Ma--" She'd almost said her name. "I know one is safe. Hidden away." Anyone would have to be absolutely reckless and stupid to try and breach the defenses that surrounded the Carpenter household.

John

Not only had she kept the amulet, it still hung exactly where Harry had put it after John had given it to Wynonna. Together with Harry's own charm …

It would be shocking if he hadn't seen exactly where her feelings for both of them still stood. A thought nagged at him.

'What does Harry think about that?'

He didn't ask the question, instead, he nodded and pushed a hand into his coat pocket to retrieve a pocket knife. He'd barely flicked it open with a blunt nail before he pressed the sharp tip to the palm of his hand.

"Gimme the amulet."

The fresh wound wasn't deep, but deep enough to weep a few drops of blood that he pressed to the metal, whispering a spell under his breath. He could feel the connection being made, like a silk ribbon being drawn through his veins from his heart to the wound and he wince before he pulled his hand away and pressed his palm to his mouth to watch the blood being sucked into the crevices of the pendant.

The sharp, acidic sting of his own tainted blood on his tongue made him wrinkle his nose before he continued to speak.

"A promise spell. You get one wish from me 'n I'm beholden to carry i' out or suffer consequences. Use it now to compel me to save your daughters or save it to summon me when you need me. Your choice. Either way, should be security tha' I'm no' bout to run."

Wynonna

She handed the necklace over without question, silently watching the process with appraising eyes. It was something she'd seen from him dozens of times. And, just like with Harry, it was always an interesting thing to watch. Let's not get sentimental, Earp. That'll do jack shit for you in the long run, remember?

Any other time she would have laughed at the way he'd used beholden or the notion of a promise spell. As it was she nodded and took back the necklace, resting her hand against it for a moment before slipping it under her shirt once more.

"I don't think I need to compel your already guilty conscience," Wynonna told him. "But it's nice knowing that you won't just..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Whatever." A long moment of silence passed. "You ever fuck with my head, Constantine?"

John

His fingers had started fumbling for his cigarettes in that quiet where both of them seemed to be looking for what to say, while being unwilling to just turn and leave. He'd just put the white stick between his lips when her question hit and he sent her a sad little smile.

"'xcept for tha' time we played strip poker 'n I made you believe I coul' outplay your three Queens?", he tried to joke, but the smile dropped immediately and he shook his head. "Never. No' even once."

Wynonna

Despite everything his not quite landing joke still managed to eek out a whisper of a smile from her, though it was as brief as his had been. "Thanks for that." Which might have been an odd thing to say to your ex...whatever the hell he'd been but when had she ever done things normally?

"Later on I'll have to...See if I can't summon the Winter Knight. Saying his boss' name three times brings her around so maybe it's the same for him." Though Wynonna wasn't in a rush to say his name. It hurt. Far too much.

John

"Mab ...", John muttered, teeth clenching tight enough so he could hear the crackle of it in his ears. The fairy bitch who had been trying to manipulate all three of them. Who had organised that little reunion of theirs and who had made sure that Harry had had a reason to seek John out again afterwards.

"If I never 'ave to 'ear 'er name again, i'll be too soon.", he grumbled and took a drag from his cigarette. Another moment of silence and then, for the second time since they had first met, he presented her with his business card.

John Constantine Warlock Phone 021....

Nothing more than that.

"In case you need to ge' hold of me the mundane way."

Wynonna

"Yeah, good luck with that. It's about as likely as never hearing--" Wynonna stopped short, realizing that the comment she was about to make would have been bordering on cruel.

No need for that, Wynonna. He knows how you feel now.

Instead she looked down at the card fingers tracing over the slightly raised lettering. One eyebrow rose up. "No more 'Master of the Dark Arts'?"

John

"Notice tha', huh?", he replied dully, not quite looking at her. Habit or lingering guilt, he wasn't going to question it. "Was a bit pretentious. Master. Wassnit?"

The hadn that mechanically put the cigarette to his mouth was shaking. The effects of the day, the exorcism, his injury and now ... this, settling into his muscles and making them weak. God he needed sleep.

"I know where to start, who to ask.", he said finally. "I'll find you when I'm done."

Cigarette between his lips he reached up to pull the collar of his coat higher, tighter against his injured neck, before stuffing both hands into his pockets and turning away from her without another word.

Wynonna

There was more she could have said. Wanted to. But her mind was already sliding back toward the drinks behind the bar and the lonely hotel bed she wanted to slip into. Wynonna watched him walk away and she felt her breathing catch.

All because of her stupid heart.

"Be careful, John Constantine. I don't want to kill you but I will for them."

~finis~

[breziarchive]

a punch a day keeps the yakuza away

i ain’t got time to proofread shit this is majimakoto fic one of eight billion that i finally actually finished

post-0 or whatever, rated pg, pg-13? fuck it! it’s fluffy but it involves cutscene typical violence. the kind of cutscenes that, i don’t know, don’t destroy you viscerally maybe? it’s 4am.

extreme disclaimer that the title is a misnomer.

~~~~

Makoto let out a small hum of relief, relaxing her shoulders as she found the crowds dispersed as she made her way to her subway platform. The rainy season was just letting up, and since people were seeing the sun for the first time in well over a month they were taking every opportunity to walk or bike their way around the city. Granted, she was going home early. Work was slow enough that she could leave it in the hands of her assistant, and at his behest she took a half-day. It was the calm before the storm, after all. Good weather meant more strain and injuries from more outdoor activities—soon her cozy little clinic would be overrun with groaning sportsmen and older individuals under the presumption that they were still in their youth for the summer.

But for now, she could take a half-day. Go home. Enjoy the weather and the relative silence of the subways on her way there. Her eyes were mostly healed but colorful city crowds, coupled with the noise, tended to overstimulate her to headaches if she remained in them for too long. It had been long enough that she resigned herself to the idea that she'd always have this problem. At least it was more of a nuisance than a curse.

Her spine coiled up, thrusting her shoulders up and her chest out as she heard whooping calls and hollers from the cavity of her subway platform. It sounded vulgar and low-life. It sounded like yakuza. She felt her muscles become iron piano wires in danger of damage due to hyper-tension as the first elbow of a flashy suit came into her vision. A group of about six or so men, ranging from just below her in age to perhaps several years above, were rough-housing on the platform, near enough that their shoes more than once stepped onto the yellow strip meant to caution people away from the tracks.

Makoto quickly swept her eyes around the platform. Only a ragged elderly man snoozed on a bench facing the opposite of the yakuza and where her train would be arriving—and from the looks of it, he had been there for a while and probably missed his train twice over. Essentially, it was just her and the yakuza. She inhaled a steely breath and readjusted the position of her jaw.

She had survived much worse situations.

The yakuza seemed too preoccupied with their brand of horseplay to pay her much heed as she stood for her train, far away from them. Ducking her chin, she pulled out a novel from her purse and slipped the bookmark between her fingers as she pretended to read. Her eyes skimmed the pages, minimal information was given, she flipped the page, she continued to listen to the pack next to her. Several of them had loud voices, but one seemed more grating than the rest. Her ear seemed particularly tuned to it, and each word he said made claws rake down her skin. It was like he was unhinged, unpredictable—mad. Even if the cadence to his words were jovial and over-the-top even for Kansai, there was something immeasurably off about the screech to his voice.

With no warning the soothing but loud chime in her wristwatch went off. Makoto tried not to jerk so hard in surprise. Usually it went off to remind her to break for lunch or she'd forget, but with her taking a half-day, it decided to serenade proudly to everyone on the platform. Her, the still-sleeping man on the bench, and the pack of yakuza to her left. Resisting the urge to clamp a hand over her wrist, she clenched her jaw and pretended not to notice the chime, pulling the book closer to her nose as if she'd look more convincingly engrossed. To her dismay, as the chime continued the yakuza's ruckus simmered down to harsh, assumedly lewd whispers as they were finally forced to turn their attention to her.

Before the chime had even died out she saw the pack begin to move in her peripherals, spreading around her until the only escape was the track, and even that was blocked off by a battering ram of a young man.

“Hey, sis,” one of them addressed her, and she wished she could've pretended to ignore it but the anxiety drove a spike into her neck, striking the piano wires rigid and forcing her to look up from her book with a stony gaze, “That's a cute li'l song. Won'tcha play it again?”

The yakuza talking to her had a flashy blue pinstripe suit, topped with a coral tie that had some sort of stain at the tip. Makoto narrowed her gaze and her voice was polite but strained.

“It plays at specific times of the day.”

“What, time fer you to get onna train? Don't they have schedules for that?”

“Oi, where y'off to anyways?” the one to her side prodded, “'Specially on a day like this? Yer too pretty to be hoppin' trains when it's sunny-shine out.” He looked to be one of the older ones, with a brain so knocked about that one corner of his lip seemed permanently limp.

“I'm avoiding the crowds,” Makoto answered, flicking her gaze between the encroaching wolves, “Crowds like this one.”

“Hey, don't it take like, fifty people to make a crowd?” one piped up. His suit was far less flashy, and she got the impression it was because he did a lot of rolling in the dirt.

“No, you idiot, two's company, three's a crowd, it's basic math—but we all know you failed math,” another snapped. Technically, the style of his suit was the sharpest out of all of them there, but the colors and the composition of the patterns clashed so harshly he might as well have been colorblind or fashionably lacking in areas that weren't proper grammar and tailoring.

“That applies to relationships, not law-abidin' cityfolk, bozo-brains,” another half-sharp reply, from a freshly-made adult with short, fat lips and slick hair.

Makoto grunted. Inane though it may have been, the banter was only serving to twist the wires tighter.

“Hey, what's got ye all scared?” the latest yakuza turned to her, “I just said we're law-abidin' cityfolk, what y'got to be afraid of?”

“Plenty,” Makoto growled despite herself, “Please leave me alone.”

“No need to get so cold, sis,” the first one said, “There's plenty o' places to go fer a lady like you, but we're waitin' on a train, here. We already mentioned the sunny-shine,”

“If you're waiting, then please wait somewhere else. There's a whole platform, and I'd like to be alone, please.” she reiterated, clutching her novel so hard the pages bent. The slick-haired one stepped forward and grabbed at her book, forcing her attention as his voice oozed poisoned honey.

“Hey, but it's dangerous for a lady to be alone,” he said, “We could protect ya, easy!”

“For sure!” The dirt-roller nodded, “All's it takes is a small fee or two!”

“We could start at, hmm,” the grammar-brain said, obviously cunning enough to be the brains behind this, “30,000 yen an hour. How does that sound?”

“Each,” Blue-suit pitched in, “Otherwise we'd be splittin' it so much we couldn't afford no ramen to beef our muscles for ya.”

“I don't need protection!” Makoto yelped, curling herself away from the yakuza, relinquishing her novel to the slick-haired one to do so. Baring her teeth though it wouldn't do any good, the whites of her eyes showed as more than half of them began to chuckle.

“Shure ya do!” Limp-lip proclaimed as Dirt-roller moved forward, “Or we're gonna show ya why ya needs it!”

Makoto's breath felt cold as the wolves closed in. Closing her hands into fists, her mind raced as every lesson and memory raced through her head. It was too late to wish for something different. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palm as she tried to keep each yakuza in her sight. The old man on the bench was still asleep, and suddenly she got a pang of fear that they had murdered him quietly before she got there. Brain firing all cylinders in panic, she felt her heart race the likes of which it hadn't since she was last in a life-or-death situation.

A harsh, crazed peal of laughter sliced through the tension and all the yakuza flinched and righted themselves, half out of fear, some out of embarrassment it seemed. All bowed (or cowered?) and moved out of the way in respect as a tall, wiry man stepped forward. Silver-tipped boots clacking on the concrete platform with each stride, the alpha yakuza barely seemed to notice the sea he was parting. Arms, long and lanky, were casually slung over a well-loved, well-beaten bat that had scuffs and stains that could not have possibly come from baseball. His clothes clashed with everything decent in the world—a harsh, snake-skin jacket that moved freely about his bare chest while his leather pants clung a little too tellingly along his legs. A gold chain graced his collar beneath a neatly-trimmed beard pulled sideways in a lopsided smirk that hung on a dangerous pause. Most significantly, though, was the patch covering his left eye. Makoto froze in recognition, wide-eyed stare moving from the patch to meet his remaining eye. Once, several years ago, that eye had gazed at her with such sadness she was almost sure he knew her better than anyone had any right to. Now it was almost condescending, looking down on her from a throne. She blinked. Long ago he had saved her from a similar situation, but here he was at the helm of the wolves. Maybe he didn't recognize her, but either way she was ready to sneer back and bite at that throne, for this was the yakuza with the unhinged voice. All the other ones were lackeys, but her heart knew true danger when she saw it.

He opened his mouth to speak, and the remaining cloud of smoke from the cigarette he had been nursing while his lackeys tormented her escaped, making him look like a demon, “Ain't you boys been listenin'? The Miss says she don't need yer protection.”

Malicious laughter rippled through the yakuza, making Snakeskin's eye gleam. Something was off about it, like everything else that was off about him. Off-beat, out-of-tune with his pack—and somehow he seemed aware of this.

Tipping his feet upwards and bending forward so that most of his weight was on his heels as he lowered his face to be more in-line with hers, bat still set parallel to his shoulders, he hummed with a smile, looking her up and down. Scrutinizing without changing his expression, he continued, “Hmm, yup, I'd say protection is the last thing the Miss needs,”

More laughter, but some of it slowed—particularly from Limp-lip, whose eyes started to widen as he took an extra step back. Some of the other ones that seemed to hold more experience were catching on to something not quite being on the same beat as them, and they started glancing at each other nervously. Makoto's heart raced, but she didn't dare take her eyes off of Snakeskin. If the other yakuza were unsure of what was going to happen next, then she should be even more afraid. She should run. Bolt. Go back upside and throw the half-day in the trash and go back to work. Despite her inner thoughts she willed herself now to cower and kept her back straight and her expression firm as it was unwavering. Snakeskin craned his neck closer, tipping it at an angle as he continued to hum study her. A grin split his face like it was elastic and she wrinkled her nose at his narrow, discolored teeth.

“S'nice melody though, really. Does it warn ya of danger?” he split his cadence as if it was in time to the watch's melody, but his memory was poor and his notes even moreso. Makoto brought her wrist up with the watch in question and grasped it protectively.

“It warns me that I need lunch.”

A peal of laughter from Snakeskin, but the other yakuza didn't know what to do or say, suddenly transfixed in worry at the scene unfolding before them.

“Oh! A big mouth! A big, big, biiig mouth!” Snakeskin celebrated, “Where'd ya learn to have a mouth that big, Missy?”

Makoto couldn't help her voice becoming dark and hateful, “Running into people like you.”

“Oho!” The white of Snakeskin's eye showed around his iris as he laughed from his stomach, whooping until the singular oho's became a string of them, echoing in the empty platform. Some of the yakuza began to laugh again, though whether because they were nervous or eased it was hard to say. Makoto narrowed her eyes. His harsh laughter pierced her ears, painful and infuriating. He was laughing at her, like she was some cute innocent dolly out of place in the action figures' section. Anything to shut him up, to kick at that throne, so she wouldn't have to deal with him and his irritating voice anymore. Why it was irritating she couldn't say, it was just something in the air he breathed, she supposed. No matter. She was high-strung from the encounter and she had to wrestle control back into her hands. (After all she would not, could not be taken lying down again.)

Makoto slapped the cheek of his ruined eye and cut his laugh short.

“Hey! You bitch!” Slick barked along with his comrades suddenly calling for her blood for such insolence. All of them rolled their shoulders forward like they were going to fight a bear, not gang up on a girl, and Slick moved faster than any of them, youthful face snarling in rage as he lunged.

Makoto flinched as wind rushed past her, shutting her eyes for one terrifying moment where everything was blind again. Too afraid to keep them closed, she opened them, and her lips pursed together in shock.

The blunt end of the bat Snakeskin had been toting was now wedged in the precious, fleshy gap between Slick's jawbones. Snakeskin was glaring but his smile was wide, eye gleaming with what Makoto could only describe as unchecked rage though his voice was the same as ever.

“Oh, my bad, Ogawa-han,” he drawled, “I forgot that a bat's longer than a knife.”

Shoving him backwards into his neck, he swung the bat in a comfortable circle and it resumed its place parallel to his shoulders for his arms to rest on as Ogawa collapsed on the ground, sputtering desperately for air without being able to use his tongue for words. Dirt-roller began sizing imaginary objects with his hands, the dim light in his head brightening until he realized what the others did—Snakeskin did not just forget the length of the bat. And if he did, then that would mean that the blade of the knife was headed for Ogawa's throat anyways. Makoto felt her limbs freeze from the outward in. She had instigated the violence—was she now fair game?

“Nahh, you disappoint me, Missy!” Snakeskin ignored the rest of the yakuza as he hung his head and shook it, “If yer gonna hit a man, hit a man, like ya really mean it! We ain't duelin' with pool noodles, y'gotta put some snap into your slap!”

Everyone, Makoto included (though excluding Ogawa, who was still writhing on the ground) gave a distinct, bewildered eh?! Snakeskin frowned at her, continuing to lecture.

“You just dragged yer fingerpads 'cross my cheek like you were a toddler who ain't got the concept of personal space yet. Y'call that a slap? Y'gotta wind it up!”

He gestured with the bat, bouncing it up and down on his far shoulder, “Imagine if home-run hitters just swung with their arms. They'd get nowhere! They swing with their whole body—all the way! If yer gonna throw down, y'best be bringin' yer A-game like that!”

Makoto stared at him in wonder the more he lectured, rolling his shoulder and doing demonstration swings with the bat that made every lackey around him nervous and step back. She held her ground, his words melting to mush in the background. There was still condescension in his eye, but she was starting to realize that there was something behind it—something a bit more true to form, something closer to the day he rescued her from the yakuza accosting her on the street.

Only one way to see what was behind the mask.

“Jeez, is this how they teach women nowadays? Back in th' day you'd see grannies with grips of steel right terrifyin', this is just pathet—,”

Makoto reeled back and threw everything she had into another slap. Mid-word Snakeskin's head snapped to the side, spittle flying from his mouth as he stumbled back on one boot. The bat swung down on his own instinct, catching him like a third leg before he fell completely to the floor.

“B-Boss!!” his lackeys cried, all jerking like they meant to leap forward to help but too wary of the consequences. Some of them shot glances in her direction, but none of them dared to lunge at her as Ogawa had sufficiently become catatonic for the time being on the ground. Snakeskin was quiet. The namesake of a jacket hung at a wonky angle from his shoulders, revealing the tattoos on his pectorals to also be snakes. She briefly wondered if that's all the tattoo was or if there was more to it. The curiosity didn't last as Makoto quietly damned herself as he poked the cheek she had now slapped a second time and turned so his good eye could see her.

There. A flash of something else in his eye, but it wasn't cruel or enraged or upset. Pure something, and from that something he smiled. It soon split into a maniacal grin as he began to cackle once more, but she had seen it in the precious few seconds he had given her.

Yeah.

He most definitely recognized her.

Snakeskin righted himself, still laughing, “Now that's what I'm talkin' about!” The lackeys looked on, dumbfounded, though Limp-lip started to crack a smile that was almost genuine as he looked between the two players on the stage.

“Li'l bit of practice and you'll have men spinnin' to the pavement! Awright, Missy, hit me agai—,”

Makoto did without hesitation, curling her nails so they raked across his flesh. Snakeskin yelped, pinwheeling backwards into Dirt-roller and Blue-suit. The bat clattered to the floor, nearly tripping Snakeskin completely before he found his footing with the help of Dirt-roller. Raising a gloved hand to his cheek, he looked at her in complete and utter shock as he gingerly pressed against the scratch marks that were starting to ooze blood.

“O-Oi,” he stuttered, “Nails are next week's lesson.”

Makoto felt the eyes of every yakuza on her as she straightened her shoulders, now strangely relaxed despite everything, and replied, “I learn quickly.”

Another smile that came from that something that Makoto was having a hard time naming. His voice still annoyed the ever-loving shit out of her, but she was getting the nagging feeling that it was because of something other than its initial repulsiveness. Snakeskin righted himself, straightening his lapels as he bent down and picked up the scarred bat. A train arrived—not hers, but the one the yakuza were waiting for in the first place. Snakeskin swung the bat onto his shoulders, turning away from her.

“Motozawa, stop gawkin' at the Miss like you got a slappin' fetish. Hey, someone drag Ogawa into the car,” he ordered, “I ain't comin' back for his sorry ass.”

She watched them pile into the car, one by one by dragging-Ogawa's-sorry-ass one. Though Snakeskin had swaggered in, as soon as it seemed he was clear of her he slumped onto a seat, bad eye towards her. Spreading his long legs outward so no one could even consider sitting near him, he leaned on the bat like it was a cane and pressed his forehead to his folded hands on the pommel. His lips were pulled into a frown that was more than just a natural resting state, distorting the scratches she left on him. It looked painful for reasons she was sure she didn’t know about.

The train sped off. Somehow this was the one thing in the entire world that jerked the old man behind her awake. She barely listened as he turned, standing up and hobbling over to her to ask the time. Glancing down at her watch, she gave the answer in a distant voice, transfixed by the ticking second hand.

S'nice melody though, really. Does it warn ya of danger?

Did it warn her of danger, or did it draw it to her?

She wiped a smudge from the glass face. Perhaps a little bit of both?

Makoto reminisced on the sadness of his eye coupled with the ferocity of his attacks as the station announced her trains arrival within the next two minutes.

Perhaps a little bit of both.

[curlicuecal]

Let’s Be Outcasts (ch 14/?) (AR/Kankri)

Part 2 of cyber!bunny Apocalypse ‘verse (tumblr)

ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

read on AO3

Summary: Divergent AU where AR and Li'l Seb get kicked into a new universe with some snazzy new cyborg bodies. They’re still working out the bugs.

In which AR discovers that kidnapping rarely solves more problems than it creates, Mituna breaks out of a lab (with some help), and Seb continues to take good care of his Bro.

—-

You have this weird thing where you find him sort of offensive and charming and hilarious all at the same time and you can’t put your finger on the fascination.  Probably you’re going to die of it. 

—-

Ch 14.

Cutting through the streets of a patchwork city, following the trail marked by a small robot bunny turned cyborg child, you attempt to explain your life to a troll you were thinking about murdering not 72 hours ago.

You don’t know how long it’ll take you to catch up with Seb, but you’ve got a looming mystery device de-activation to keep on schedule with, so you treat Kankri to the outline version of your backstory.  And by outline you mean you leave some things out entirely.  Wallowing in old memories is not on your emotional to-do list for the foreseeable future, and anyway, you’re hoping that the caffeinated cliffnotes rendition will make you sound less like a crazy person.

Alternate realities and reality altering games, check; watery sea Hitler dystopia, check; trolls and humans from previous game iterations, check.  Teenagers creating artificial intelligence brain-clones in their bedrooms… eh.  What are the odds of that being plot relevant, really?

You breeze through the getting left behind bit so fast even you aren’t sure you covered it before you’re on and already wrapping up with “…so Sawtooth and Squarewave grabbed a door out of the universe and me and Seb followed after and tah-dah, here we are; you might have some familiarity with the end of this story.”

You’re currently picking your way through the debris of a crumbling boathouse/alien hell-garage that some universal force has very inconveniently plopped down in the middle of a street, so you can’t actually watch Kankri’s face for reaction.  This is fine.  His reactions are, provably, of statistically insignificant consequence in the calculation of your internal state.  Really.  You could make spreadsheets.

You duck a ceiling beam and hopscotch a broken boardwalk of wooden planks, turning to catch a glimpse of him in the corner display of your ever helpful shades.  Chin down, brows drawn together, he appears lost in thought—although that might just be his contemplation of the route least likely to collapse under his feet.  (You’re going through the landlocked boathouse rather than, say, around because your path-flagger is a tiny robot bunny child with apparently no setting other than DIRECT.  Thanks, Seb.)

“Spoilers,” you add, “the end of the story contains explosions and kidnapping.”

That at least provokes a twitch, eyes flicking over to you as he draws level and then passes.  You make your way after him, watching the back of his head, something restless and dissatisfied in your gut.  He’s been—well, not quiet, quiet is rarely the appropriate word for Kankri.  But for all the intensity of his attention to your story, his questions and comments have remained inscrutably neutral.  You’d expected more… reaction?  Humorous huffing and flailing and stubborn argument with your reality.  But no, just this loaded silence and the questions.

You’d assume he thought you were full of shit if each verbal probe didn’t jab directly to some tender spot like a heat-seeking missile.

“You don’t think you’ll find the rest of your companions?” Kankri asks.

Like that one.

“Different doors, different universe.”  Focus on your steps.  Kankri runs lightly along a fallen crossbeam and you follow after.  “That’s the whole point.”

“But you didn’t go into the same universe as your friends?”

“It is physically challenging to pass through a door that has stopped existing.”  Your own voice has grabbed some toneless, sing-song neutrality, old auto-responder rhythms emerging without thought, wrapping around the words to keep them separate from you.  You have the idea that that maybe gives away more than it conceals, so you make an effort to lever some glib back in there, too.

“’Friends’ is such a strong term, anyway.  ‘Long-term associates by necessity’?  ‘People who are better at navigating through access portals than me’?  ‘Proud recipients of the ‘Winner’s Only’ Universe award’?  For winners?  And their friends?”  You sense you might be failing at glib.  But words have always been your core armament and damn but you have a lot of them.  “PS: no offense–great world you’ve got going here and all, love the man-eating plant zombies–but have you considered we might be in the multiverse’s equivalent of a junk drawer? Like, we are literally spelunking through spare parts that didn’t make the cut right now.  An entire universe built out of defective extras.  Opposite of the winner’s ‘verse is—”

Kankri stops in his tracks so abruptly you almost trip right into the back of him.  You end up awkwardly skip-hopping several steps sideways in your efforts to stay upright and avoid impact.

You take another step back when he wheels on you, then manage to hold your ground when he plants himself right up in your space.

“I hope,” he says, in clipped tones, “you will forgive me if I seem to be silencing your viewpoint, but I find the idea that an individual’s circumstances are interchangeable with their worth to be fundamentally offensive.”

“Um,” you say.  His eyes are very bright.  Chin high, stance set, looking down his nose at you like some kind of classical angel casting down judgment.  You resist the urge to back up another pace.  “I didn’t mean it… quite like that.”  You think.

He doesn’t budge an inch.  “Excuse me for not appreciating the implication that I was hatched into some kind of universally decreed lesser state.   Or do you think your circumstances in life are somehow more inherently meaningful than mine? This isn’t a game and it’s never been fair.  You talk like being here is—is something you earned, some kind of punishment, when all I hear is a series of accidental mishaps and coincidences that no one present could have accounted for.  It’s a universe, not a referendum on your character.”

Your breath comes short and superficial in your chest.  For once, you think your face might actually be completely blank, if only because you have so many complicated emotions going on right now mere organic features couldn’t hope to compose a functional physical representation of them.

“…That was a very long way to say ‘shit happens,’” you say faintly.

Kankri actually flashes his fangs at you.  Which is, um.  Sort of interesting actually, but wow do you not need to add any more confusion to the feelings pile right now.  It’s like he flayed you open with words just to pick apart vulnerabilities you didn’t even know you had.  (A pointless, pointless fucking accident.  Do you think that you deserved it, do you think they wouldn’t have changed it if they could?)  How do you not be a flippant asshole when you can’t even deal with the question existing in the first place?

Kankri sucks in a breath.  “First of all—“

“Sorry,” you interject, because when all else fails you can at least pretend to not be a massive tool.  The surprise draws him, blinking, to a halt.

“That’s—that was a good point.  Actually.  I—I’ll have to think about that.”  Do you really, though.  Okay, fine, probably; you are rationally aware that permavoidance is not a tenable long term strategy for proper social adjustment and damned if you won’t face your demons like a Strider.

…Later.

“Also I don’t think you’re a lesser being.  If that was unclear.  All of my hang ups are 100%, grade-A me-centered; it’s this thing I’m doing where I forget my words reflect on other people and are generally capable of being offensive and sort of degrading when followed through to their logical conclusions.”

You know what’s terrible? Apologizing.  And also sincerity.  And having an organic nervous system that rings horrible fluttery alarm bells whenever it decides you’ve got a vulnerability showing—thanks, self, you can work that out without your heart humming deafeningly in your ears or your neck flushing hot.

Kankri’s still looking at you, eyes startled, lips parted like you’ve caught him off-balance, and that, at least, is a small victory that you can cling to.

He’s still just… right there.  He’s not close, not exactly, there’s a solid body’s width of clear space between you, plenty of room for the Holy Spirit to get down and jiggy with it, but he feels close.  Hemmed in by fallen beams and the debris of this strange, out-of-place building; moonlight trickling uneven through cracks in the ceiling; and it strikes you, suddenly, that you’ve literally never been alone with anyone except Seb.

(It wasn’t kind, what he said, it wasn’t nice or sensitive or empathetic to your experience, but maybe you still wanted to hear it and maybe there’s a fascination in the way he never lets any of your shit slide like it doesn’t matter.)

And then, thank god, the floor collapses under your left foot.

“Ow, fuck,” you say, and then: “…Found the next path marker.”  From this angle Seb’s shuriken is clearly visible high in the next wall over, glinting dully in a promising ray of exterior moonlight.

“Are you all right?”  Kankri asks.  You peel your elbows up off the floorboards to see that he’s hovering uncertainly close, feet placed carefully, hands half out like he went to touch and then thought better of it.  Hm.

“…Yep.” Bruised and scraped and disoriented, flat on one knee and up to your ankle in rotten board, but, as buildings trying to eat you goes, surprisingly all right.  Wow, you are hella lucky you didn’t break something going over like that.  Incapacitated by architecture, how completely mortifying would that be?

Kankri, you note, has not set a foot wrong this entire time.

“Systems are registering 100% peachy.”  Teeth gritted, you ease your leg back through the gap, shaking loose rot-soft splinters.   You’ve ripped your pants and your shin’s scraped all down one side, but it’s oozing, not spurting or gushing or anything.  Dirk’s gotten around fine on worse than this plenty of times.  So whyyyy does it still have to hurt like the bloody blazes?  Nervous systems.  Ugh.

You head for the hopefully-an-exit-wall, choosing your footing attentively again, but moving at a good clip.  Kankri follows after, hanging close.  …If he starts trying to coddle you the way Seb does you are going to lose your damn shit.  But ten paces later you realize he’s using each footing you test and he hasn’t even tried to recommend better ones.  Your shoulders unknot a fraction.

The final, exterior wall turns out to contain a solid row of boarded up windows and… that’s about it.  Well, there’s also fallen beams and a pile of decaying nets further blocking some of the boarded windows.  “Seb, what the heck,” you mutter blankly.

Kankri cranes his head way back.  “I think he went out that sort of… porthole aperture.  The one tucked under the ceiling arch.”  His own voice sounds a little flat.

You both contemplate the climb.  Unanimously and with no discussion, you elect to set about prying free some window boards instead.  It’s a team effort.  

“Is it okay if I hate that building in particular?” you ask not very long afterwards, when you’re outside picking yourself out of the dirt below the narrow opening you made.  “Because I think that building in particular was designed by leprechauns entirely to spite me.”

Kankri, who made it through the window with a surprising amount of facility after shedding his cloak, looks up sharply from fiddling with the fabric.  “You can feel however you want.”

You blink, uncertainly, and still don’t know what to make of his tone by the time he looks away again.  “…Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”  Kankri fiddles with his cloak laces some more, but he’s got that little tick line between his brows that implies he’s thinking hard.  You are starting to find Kankri’s deep-in-thought face nearly as alarming as the intake of breath that denotes the wind up to a lecture.

Whatever.  You’ve got places to go, so you set off down the street towards a fluttering strip of blue cloth.  Kankri shadows you silently.

Maybe he’s mad at you.

“Thank you for telling me your story,” he says, abruptly, and you are left to face the possibility that maybe you just don’t understand Kankri Vantas even a tiny fucking bit.  He abandons his laces to fold his hands in front of him, squares his shoulders as he falls into pace with you and, oops, yes, there is the lecture-breath.  “I should have expressed that earlier.  I recognize that that was a symbolic gesture of trust on your part and that my behavior may have come across as …insensitive to your emotional vulnerability and accompanying cognitive distortions.”

You have this weird thing where you find him sort of offensive and charming and hilarious all at the same time and you can’t put your finger on the fascination.  Probably you’re going to die of it.  He picks through every phrase like it’s a foreign concept he’s memorized by rote and he’s so damn sincere even when he’s insulting you to your face.

“Also,” he adds, as you skirt some thick brambles that are eating a set of surprisingly unrusted construction machinery, “I appreciate your openness to correction.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, but politely refrain from derailing that into kink territory.  “I’m not a homework assignment.  I’m not going to agree with you just because you come at me with a red pen that says I should.”

“I never—“ Kankri pauses, checks himself.  “It wasn’t my intention to imply that I expected you to.  Of course I only want you to listen to reasoned arguments.”

“What, despite my crippling cognitive distortions?”

“Please refrain from putting reductive adjectives in my mouth.  I only meant it was an emotionally charged topic for you and—and I appreciate that you were willing to listen despite your rationality on the subject being impaired.”

He’s got his black-in-gold eyes fixed on you again, intent and painfully earnest, and it’s short-circuiting your ability not to feel a little touched.  In the way where you would also like him to stop harping on about your irrationality, but, hey, choose your battles.  “You’re welcome,” you say dryly, stealing a response from his repertoire.  “You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of being too emotional before.  You do realize you’re talking to the guy that’s basically a microchip implanted in a meat-suit, right?”

“And you realize that you are propagating harmful stereotypes when you make flippant comments of that nature.  Cybernetically modified humans are human in origin and are perfectly capable of a full range of typical human emotions.  I can’t say that I’ve noticed you are any exception in this regard.  Except perhaps for being incredibly aggravating.”

“Flattery.”

“Besides,” he adds, ignoring your smirk, “that prejudice is premised on the idea that a certain way of processing reactions is somehow the superior state.  Saying something has to have emotions to have its personhood recognized is just another direction for enforcing a social caste system favoring the status quo.”

“In other words, systemic oppression continues to be a fun, fun, multidimensional exercise in how many new and exciting combo-attacks we can create.  Yay, intersectional privilege.”

Kankri blinks and looks sideways at you.  His brows twitch in.  “…I’m not familiar with those terms in that context,” he says after a pause.

This, you reflect, is the Kankri Vantas method of asking for clarification: guarded, resentful, vaguely accusatory; like you knowing something he doesn’t is some kind of intentional slight.

You shrug disarmingly, wave a hand.  “Uh.  Well, privilege is…advantages you get based solely on chance or social structures; and intersectional is, like, the idea that you can have a bunch of advantages or disadvantages from different sources pile non-additively to make the system even more unfair…”

You trail off because there’s a strange gleam in his eyes.  You feel like you’ve just given crack cocaine to a baby.

“Privilege,” Kankri repeats, in a thoughtful tone.

You don’t flinch, but it feels like you should.

Maybe you should not teach Kankri any more cross-dimensional lecture vocabulary.  Or….  You contemplate the intriguing possibility that you could teach him all the words.  That would probably be terrifying.  And hilarious.

…holy hell, who placed this kind of power in your hands?  There is no way you are not going to wield this for evil.

You are still contemplating your potential for AI super-villainy when Kankri interrupts your thoughts.

“Were cy privileged very differently in the society you came from?”

You miss a step.  Thanks, adrenaline surge.  Lie or tell the truth?  Lie or tell the truth?  Lie or– “There weren’t any cy.”

Kankri blinks.  “But you—”

…Yep.  You really, really, don’t like his thoughtful silences.

You could have just told him.  A whole long crazy speech about alternate realities and you could have dropped ‘I’m actually a high-tech photocopy of a brain’ in there anywhere.  You could still tell him right now.   ‘I got dropped into this flesh suit via game mechanics I still don’t understand and I don’t know whether it’s worse if it’s just an accident or if something decided that this was as close to being a person as I get.’  You could just.  Say it.  Except the muscles of your throat feel tight and locked like a system failure.

He’s looking at you.  “A number of your comments have suggested surprise or unfamiliarity with.  Erm.  Details of your person?”

The thing you keep forgetting when you go into your bullshit snark routines is that he just keeps listening.

“…Were you an unmodified human?” Kankri sounds dubious at the possibility.  That—hurts.  Maybe.  You can’t even tell what you feel anymore.

“No.” Your sentence ends before it even really starts.  Oh, great.  At this rate you can play a game of twenty questions on the topic. Or charades.

You tell yourself, again, all the reasons you’re being ridiculously overdramatic and all the reasons it doesn’t matter to you in the least if you just say the thing.  Ha ha.  Nope.  You are not remotely okay with this, you’ve smacked face first into a steel wall of not okay do-not-go-there, and at the very least you can try to not to add self-delusion to your list of sins.

“I thought,” you evade finally, “the deal was for an exchange of information.  It seems I’m carrying out the greater part of the soul-baring legwork here.”

Kankri frowns at you. “You’re uncomfortable with this topic,” he says, like a revelation.

You resist the urge to facepalm.  Then you decide, what the heck, you’ve got hands, clearly the universe has provided for this situation.  “Congratulations on your impeccable analysis,” you tell him sincerely through your fingers.

Kankri’s frown increases.  “Is this the part you meant before about being flippant as a coping mechanism?”

Pffft.  Okay.  You’re still upset, but this is also funny.  And also sort of endearing, but you really, really need to stop thinking like that because it’s probably proof you have a wire crossed.  Or several.  “On the balance of probability?” You slide him a provoking smirk.  “Historical precedent would indicate I am being flippant roughly 95.5% of the time.”

“That would imply you’re trying to cope most of the time,” Kankri says blankly, and then does this thoughtful little head tilt that makes you want to smack yourself in the face again.  “I don’t even understand why you’d be uncomfortable,” he adds, chin rising.  “You’re aware that I’m a mutant.  Hemoanomalous trolls are supposed to be culled at hatching, are not eligible for imperial service to the Ebon Empire, and, given interspecies tensions, are essentially locked out of every organized society currently in existence on this planet.  Not to devalue whatever your own experiences might be, but on a spectrum of… intersectional privilege… targeted genocide strikes me as the likely lower threshold.”

“…Point.”  You narrow your eyes behind your shades.  “I see you mastered the privilege Olympics at full speed.”

He narrows his eyes right back at you, then turns away with a toss of his horns.  “I don’t know what that means.  But my custodian always said strategic thinking can turn a vulnerability to a strength, or a pawn to a queen.”

“Talkative lusus.”

Kankri sniffs.  “Don’t be species-prescriptive.  If it’s any business of yours my lusus-mother is carapacian.”

You consider that for a minute, picking your way down a rapidly narrowing alleyway.  “How’d that happen?”

He hesitates a half-beat before waving a hand dismissively.  “Oh, the usual way.”

You’re guessing that means something different for trolls.

The alleyway grows still narrower, and he waits politely for you to go ahead of him, hangs back to give you your space.  Courteous.  Careful.  He’s one more person that’s worked out the ‘don’t touch the jumpy cyborg’ rules and, considering how oblivious he is to everything else that hasn’t been explicitly spelled out, you can’t help but wonder grimly whether it’s so much consideration as fear.  He seems self-assuredly smug enough, but you’re still the dude that kidnapped him and held him at sword point not so very long ago.

(–he flinched, and he looked at you with eyes that burned like coals, and you did that, you put that bright kernel of fear there behind the steel–)

“—so, do I get to hear the Kankri Vantas secrets repository?”   You’ve turned sideways to crab your way through the excessively narrow space between brick and stone—what even, Seb; thank you so very much for this entire experience—so you can see him cast you an unreadable glance.

“Should I interpret that to mean you would prefer I not ask further questions about your person?”

“Gotta save something for the second date,” you quip, before you can really think about it.  He blinks and you bite your tongue, hard.  Whaaaaat are you doing here, exactly?  Everything about this situation is still a majorly bad idea, and you’re trying to cut back on those.

“I… see,” Kankri says, looking utterly puzzled by you.

Oh, look, this wall is conveniently close should you urgently need to knock some sense into your skull.  Maybe you should stay here.  You skootch your way free from the end of the alley and grab for the first conversational redirect that comes to mind as you wait for Kankri to catch up.

“Not eligible for imperial service, huh?  I don’t want to make unsolicited conjectures here, but that sure sounds like ‘not actually working for the government.’”

He stops and looks at you.  You feel like there is something very heavy hanging in the air, poised to tip.  To fall.  To break.

You never could resist pushing.

“So?  Are you?”

There’s a few ticks of silence.  “No,” he says finally.  “Not particularly.”

And boom, there’s that adrenaline buzz back, licking through your veins like lightning, the world slowly tilting towards something new.  (He’s going to tell you.) ((he’s going to trust you.))

“I wouldn’t be …welcome.  Which isn’t to say that Porrim and Latula and the rest of our… assemblage don’t have service obligations to fulfill,” Kankri adds, briefly distracted by the minutiae of precision word-smithing.  “But those imperial obligations are, I admit, entirely extraneous to our purpose here.”  He pauses, and you can’t turn away from the weight of his gaze, intense upon you, there in the mouth of the alley.

“In fact,” he says, still studying you, evidently choosing his words with care, “you might go so far as to say they are in opposition.”

Adrenaline spikes, hot and sweet.

He hesitates again, drawing in a breath, but now it’s very much the hesitation of someone settling themselves into the irrevocable pull of gravity before a leap.  You make a sound of encouragement, low in your throat, and startle yourself with how much it sounds like sex.

Okay, you know what? You’re going to chalk everything about this day up to ‘organic physiology is stupid, non-compliant, and not my fault’ and add ‘get a handle on yourself’ to your urgent to-do list.  In whatever sense of the word ‘handle’ puts you back in charge of your own reactions.

And now you’ve gotten so flustered distracted you’ve actually missed the next bit of Kankri’s speech.

“—drones themselves are not the problem, but rather the centralized nature of the collection of, er… genetic material.”

Wait, back up.

Why are you getting a lecture on troll reproduction.

“Looked at that way you can see the issue,” Kankri adds, oblivious to your wildly shifting attention.  He’s definitely warming to his topic, chin tilted up, eyes half-closing, hands gesturing.  “Governmental control of reproduction creates a fundamental power imbalance between the government and the populace—not just for trolls, but for carapacians as well.  Even the human cy, in a way, since they could breed but not reproduce their technological alterations.”

The flow of his words doesn’t stop, but he does that thing where he peeks one eye open like he’s checking his lecture is having the appropriate impact.  You’re still in the middle of mood whiplash—you give him blankface.  Your mind buzzes, trying to catch up, slotting new information into place, chasing down implications.

“They can’t choose to walk away from their empires,” Kankri says, “—not and persist.”  His tone picks up conviction and he leans in toward you almost unconsciously, hands gesturing.  You’re transfixed, frozen.  It feels like any action might break this moment, send you leaning in or bolting back, or startle Kankri into stopping talking, which is ridiculous, nothing ever stops Kankri talking, but you really, really want him to keep talking.  You want to know.

“Only the unmodified human populace have that option, and they’re still recovering from perigees of heterospecific oppression and war.  The lynchpin of societal control is always the next generation.  If we—“

Something… shushes, a hushed, sliding noise across concrete, from just around the corner.

You’re muscling Kanrki back into the cover of the alley before you have time to process anything beyond your body’s immediate ‘danger, will robinson’ chemical shrilling.

Kankri stifles his yelp surprisingly quickly.  He ends tense but silent, his eyes wide and bright and red on you, his pupils contracted down to points.  His body has gone stiff and defensive from head to toe, a fact you can attest to because your rapid retreat left you both wedged tight against each other, pressed between brick and stone in the narrow confines of the alley.

You can’t breathe.  You can’t look away.

His eyes are so close, his face is so close.  A breath away, if either of you were breathing.  You can feel the heat of him right through your clothes, the not-quite tremble of muscles drawn taut in a line up your thigh and abdomen.  His hand, pressed over your heart, trying to keep some space, sears you like a brand.  He could do some damage with those claws.

It sort of feels like he’s damaging you right now, burning you right up.

You sort of like it.

Can you panic on behalf of yourself and someone else at the same time?  Because you might be about to flip your ever-loving shit.

Kankri’s eyes flick towards the mouth of the alley.

That sliding noise comes again, so soft you might have mistaken it for the feather fall of sand down a slope—a sort of swish swish swish of something moving back and forth.

You have heard that before.

“Dominion sanitator,” Kankri says, and it’s hardly more than a breath by your collarbone.

Oh, joy, more unfamiliar alien terminology.  Not helpful, but at least it distracts you from the panic attack you are very much not having.  You follow his glance toward the street ahead, but there’s nothing to see.  Whatever’s moving out there (big, quiet—hunting?) is still a street over at least.  Kankri does not look inclined to go out and say hi to it.

Where did you hear it before?  You rifle randomly through sensory memories, frustrated for the millionth time at the lack of reliable organic sorting algorithms, trying to trace the source of the familiarity.  It’s stupid how difficult it is, you’ve barely got a few pocketfuls of embodied time to dig through, hardly any time at all since you woke up in an unfamiliar body on an unfamiliar world…

…that’s it.  The city that first day, on the roof with Seb, and questing through streets below, a ripple of white.  A thing like some mad scientist crossed a centipede with a snake, and then in a fit of extra death-wishery, magnified it to parade-float size and set it loose on the populace.  You’d suspected that one of hunting, too, feelers probing along the ground in front of it as it flowed through empty city streets.

You never did find any people in that city.

The noise seems to shuffle and slide past for a long time.  Yards and yards of time.  You wait, with your heart in your throat and Kankri pressed silent and trembling-tense against you, until the unseen creature becomes unheard once again.  Until you’re sure it’s continued past your street and your narrow, tucked away alley, taking no notice of you, hunting blindly on.

Kankri wriggles against you (--um), prying his way out of the alley and free.  “It’s gone.”

“How do you know it won’t turn around and come right back?”

He lifts his chin.  “They’re engineered to remove non-carapacian sentient life from cities. If it had realized we were here we’d know because we’d already be dealing with it.  They mostly make straight sweeps unless they pick up signs of life.”

That… does not sound like fun times.  You wonder what would have happened if it had found you, heard you.  Smelled you?  If you’d actually been out in the street beyond to make a sound or leave a footprint or drop a scent trail for it to catch.  If you’d been a few minutes ahead of yourselves…

Your heart clutches again.

“We need to find Seb right now.”

Kankri sucks in a breath, but doesn’t argue with you.

>>

[sintheyokai]

Layton Brothers: Devil’s Child (10): Chapter 9: It’s Finally Over

Word Count: 1756

Time- 12:46 p.m.

"I can't get him to talk, Al," Hilda sighed, "He says he'll only talk to either you or Lucy."

"Very well," Alfendi responded, getting up with a grunt.

He entered the interrogation room. Lucius let out a short, dark chuckle.

"Well, well, look who it is~" he said.

"Hush," Alfendi responded, "You were the one who wanted to see me."

"Oh, of course!" Lucius leaned in, "Because I know you're just dying of questions~"

"Then I guess I should start with my main one: Why would-Why did- you abuse your children?"

"Because God willed it so! The triplets are Demons, and no child of mine, toddler or grown, were going to stand up for them."

Alfendi restrained himself from socking Lucius in the face and continued.

"How many children would you say you tortured?"

"Oh, hundreds, perhaps even thousands! There were a point in time where they all made their own little club and pretty much tortured each other. I believe the brother of Angelo Fassi, Francisco, were the leader!"

"Angelo Fassi? Of the Agonni family? The mafia gang?"

Lucius grinned, "I see you know of them. I believe it was Barbarossa who were an old friend of mine, before he started killing. How is he?"

"Dead. So is Angelo. Not by our hands, mind you."

Lucius remained silent at this information. Finally, in a quite, mournful voice, he spoke.

"There were times..." he said.

"Times where what?" Alfendi raised an eyebrow.

"Times where I doubted my actions. You said it yourself: I tortured children, and I confirmed it by saying hundreds and thousands. There were moments where I wondered: 'Is this really right?' 'Is this what God wants me to do?'. I always tried to back it up and tell myself 'Yes! If it weren't, I wouldn't be hearing the voice of God in the first place!"

The room, again became silent. It stayed that way for a while, Lucius staring off into the distance with glazed eyes. He suddenly put his hand on Alfendi's and patted it.

"Layton, promise me this-"

"Why should I keep promises to someone who took advantage of an inspector?" Potty snarled, quickly retracting his hand.

"Let me finish, dear boy. Promise me you'll take care of her. All three of her."

Alfendi's eyes widened a bit. Slowly, he nodded.

"I will, Mr. Baker."

And it ended there. No goodbyes, no tears, just Alfendi walking out of the interrogation room, leaving Lucius inside.

"Well?" Hilda asked, "Any luck?"

"Yes," Alfendi responded, "But I can't decide whether he should be placed in jail or in a mental hospital. I'm thinking he might have schizophrenia; he's talking about a voice he heard, and he thinks it's God talking to him."

Lucy suddenly came into the room.

"Prof!" she shouted, promptly smacking him in the shoulder with something red before shoving it in his face, " Ya never told me Strawberry were down there!"

Alfendi had completely forgotten that Lucifer had grabbed the little stuffed bear on the way up. He supposed Lucifer had also forgotten he had it if Lucille was hearing about it just now. Lucille didn't bother listening to Alfendi's response as she tightly hugged the toy close to her, the giddy joy of a child coursing through her.

There was a tapping sound, and the trio looked to see Lucius at the interrogation room window. Having their attention, he pulled something small out of his suit pocket.

It was a bag, tied with a singular red satin ribbon. Untying it, he pulled out something red and semicircular.

It was an ear to a stuffed toy.

"Lucille... Are you looking for this?" He said from behind the glass, "Are the others looking for their parts too?"

Alfendi and Hilda looked back at Lucille to see that her originally joyful attitude had been replaced with a ghostly pale face and tears in the corners of her eyes. She reached her hands out, then retracted them quickly, fighting with herself over whether or not she should get close to her father.

"It's alright, dear. I won't pull anything," Lucius looked to the side before angrily saying, "No! I'm sorry, Lord, but not now, of all times!"

"Mental hospital." Both Hilda and Alfendi said before the latter went to get the bag from Lucius. Once retrieved, he peeked inside.

A chocolate brown tail, a white leg with blue patches, and a leg as red as Potty's hair.

They were the pieces that were missing from the Bakers' stuffed toys.

Lucille came over to Alfendi and shyly reached for the ear. Alfendi chuckled and handed it to his assistant.

"Is... Is 'e goin' away now?" Lucille suddenly asked, clutching the ear close to her heart, "Y-Ya know... f-for good?"

Alfendi smiled before leaning down to softly kiss her.

"Yes Lucille. He'll be gone."

Blaine suddenly came speeding down the hall. Alfendi knitted his eyebrows.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Blaine looked at him and sighed.

"Off to do community service and a slight demotion for my actions," he said, earning a surprised raised eyebrow from Alfendi. "I was quite surprised myself and told Commissioner Barton that he's much too generous sometimes."

And with that he was gone. Lucille looked at Alfendi.

"'e's still gonna work 'ere?" she asked. Alfendi sighed and shook his head in shame.

"I believe so. What he did was somewhat intentional, but all the same he was sort of tricked into doing it."

They went down to the Mystery Room. Suddenly, Lou spoke.

"So what's th' verdict?" Loopy asked.

"Mental hospital for your dad, we just have to file some papers for him, and community service and a demotion for Dartwright." Alfendi answered. Loopy clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Tha's all? I'm 'appy wiv Beelzedad's punishment, but a li'le disappointed that Shitwright gets nowt more but a slap ont' wrist!"

"You'll find that the Commissioner is very generous. Blame my father a bit will you?"

Loopy stomped her foot and comically shook her fist at the sky, "CURSE YA, 'OT STUFF'S DAD!" she shouted, causing Potty to double over and laugh like a hyena.

"Eh now, Red!" Loopy suddenly exclaimed using her little nickname (she called Placid Wine), "Wot say you tha' after we do those pappers, we 'ead on down to th' joint tha' Lucille works at for a sarnie or summat?"

Placid returned, tears in his eyes, "O-Ohohoh, does- does Lucille work as a- a waitress?" he asked between laughs. Loopy nodded her head.

"Aye! El Café de Mamá; a real cute Spanish cafe whose sarnies are th' absolute best!" Loopy gave her mentor a wide, toothy grin, "An' I 'ope ya don't mind me draggin' along ma siblin's!"

"Not at all, Loopy. But on that note, we really should complete those papers."

Soon after this was said, they approached the Mystery Room door, which, as always since she started working at Scotland Yard, Loopy wanted to bust open. Denying her permission, Alfendi promptly unlocked the door.

As they were signing and filing papers, Loopy remembered something.

"Oh! Lucille told me an' Longstockin' tha' you fenced wiv ma pops! Now where'd a sexy rat noodle like you learn to fence?" she asked.

Alfendi restrained himself from laughing at Lily's quirky flirt, "Oh several of my family members fence, it was only natural that I fence as well."

"Go on! Who fences in your family?"

"My sisters, Flora and Katrielle, but not Fauna, my father, my uncle, Desmond Sycamore, and my aunt."

"Eh?" Loopy raised an eyebrow, "Sycamore, the archaeologist? Funny! 'e seemed like your uncle to me, dunno why. Didn't know ya 'ad an aunt though!"

"Ah, yes, well, she's seldom spoken of. As far as I know, she's entering her... mid 50s or 60s now. And still kicking!"

"Hmm... D'ya know where she is now?" Loopy asked, signing her last paper. Alfendi sighed, finishing as well.

"No... She visited me in my coma for about a week before having to leave for some assignment."

"Wait- She valued summat for work more than 'er own nephew!?"

"I'm unsure. My sisters thought the same, however. They were furious, but my father and uncle seemed to understand at a moments notice. None of us really learned what she went to do."

He sighed again before standing up.

"But enough of that! Seeing as we're both finished, let's set off! I'm interested in seeing Lucille's workplace."

So they left, Loopy skipping up and down the hall. She turned to Alfendi.

"Quickie li'le note: after lunch we should stop by my house. My mum baked 'er cherry pie cake tha' she used to make me, an' th' Yuferivers sent me their monthly treat: Daddy Remimbur's pate choux!"

Alfendi laughed and nodded, "Alright! Sounds like a plan for the evening!"

And the plans ensued. The duo ate with the Bakers and Fauna at the cafe, later treating themselves to Mrs. Barde's cake and Remimbur's pate choux, which Alfendi enjoyed quite a lot (Lou, get your mom and foster dad to give me their fucking recipes please these are so fucking goddamn good~)

After lunch, they began heading back to the Yard. And as they approached the doors, a train carrying a woman came along.

--At Kings Cross Station--

The woman stepped off the train, stone in hand. She was on the phone with an old friend.

"I know, I know, it was inconsiderate of me." she spoke. She listened as the voice answered. "Yes, I know, I was here. I watched him hold onto his life for a week."

She was outside the station. The voice was yelling at her.

"You don't understand," she said irritablely, "I had to leave! If officials got their hands on it, they'd try and use it! And I know I've told you what will happen if it's misused. It has to be used by them."

She was silent as the voice continued. It said something to make her grimace slightly.

"Cover story? Hmm... I'll make up something. You know I always do. It'll hopefully explain my whole, 'I gotta go' in the middle of my nephew's coma. Anyway, I'm in London, so I'll hang up."

And doing just that, she removed her hat and glasses, her curly white hair shining in the light.

"Well now... Alfendi and Katrielle... I heard you've created great careers for yourselves." she glanced at the palm sized stone she had retrieved, "But..."

"I wonder if you'll be able to handle the secrets I kept from your poor souls."

[rizlowwritessortof]

Riz’s Master List

Master List under the cut, updated 3/14/2020 - in case y’all are bored or anything... :)

CHAPTER FICS

Never Look Back

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 21 chapters

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

The Shadow’s Edge

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 17 chapters

Sequel to Never Look Back. When the demon Dameon was killed, Dean and Beth thought their son was safe from the prophecy. But when Cas brings them news of the new battle for Hell, they realize that their war has just begun.

The Fine Line

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 34 chapters

An unexpected tragedy sends Devon down the dark path of hate and vengeance, but she will learn that things are not always what they seem…

Scars

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Sequel to The Fine Line. Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again?

Stars In the Darkness

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A crushing loss brings Dean and Sam to Sioux Falls, and ghosts from the past and present bring them across the path of Tiara, a girl they haven’t seen since childhood.

Dreaming

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 5 chapters

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

My Unimportant Little Life

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 11 chapters

Season 5 timeline. Dean gets yanked from 2009 to 2014, so he can see the ‘consequences’ of saying no to Michael. At Camp Chitaqua he meets Reggie, and is surprised to find that she comes from 2009 as well…

Back In the Saddle

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what’s the harm, right?

Sweet Escape

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

What happens when a friend jokingly does a spell at your birthday party to bring your cardboard standup of Dean Winchester to life? This one’s dedicated to my friend, Liz, who gave me the idea. If only…

Sweet Escape Part 1

Sweet Escape Part 2

Shut Up and Drive

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

Reader teases Dean while he’s driving, so - he gets even

Part 1 - Keep Your Eyes on the Road

Part 2 - Or We Could Park - Parking Is Good Too

Take the Long Way Home

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A look at Dean and Rusty’s relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.

Black Velvet

Demon!Dean/Female Reader, Dean/Female Reader, 9 chapters

You and Sam are broken after Dean’s death. Nobody expected him to come back with black eyes…

Fade to Black

Dean/Female Reader, 11 chapters

Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he’s still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.

Dean and Toby Series

Part 1 - The Meet-Cute (Actually Rescue but Whatever)

Part 2 - The Emergency Bed-Share/Move In With Us Combo

Part 3 - The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Part 4 - The FINALLY Admit Your True Feelings and Get Busy

GENERIC FICS

I’m Good

This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.

ONE-SHOTS - DEAN

Combo Shot

Dean/Female Reader

June 2015 GIEPP (Girl In Every Port Project) entry. Prompt: Pool/Poker hustler competitive chick. Pretty much pure smut.

A Hunter Walks Into a Bar

Dean/Female OC

Prowling hunter, sassy bartender

Shelter

Dean/Female Reader

Dean providing comfort

That’s How It Should Be

Sheriff!Dean/Female Reader

They have to make a fast escape, but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time

The Storm

Dean/Female Reader

You’re terrified of storms, and Dean is concerned, feelings get shared

Pest Control

Dean/Female Reader

You think you’ve got mice. The exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester. He’ll just let you believe that, and take care of the problem. And you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Dean/Female OC (KK)

Fluffy, smutty birthday fic written for a friend

Gunpowder and Dean

Dean/Female Reader

You’re pissed off at Dean, taking it out on the firing range, but he just won’t leave you alone…

Juicy and Delicious

Dean/Female Reader

My entry for Dean’s Flavor of the Month fic challenge - Peach Pie. You bake some peach pies for Dean, and he’s very grateful…

Lost In You

Dean/Female Reader

A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected. Warning for brief description of attempted (unsuccessful) assault. Protective Dean.

What You Need

Dean/Female Reader

You’re watching as Sam and Dean prepare to interrogate a demon. Dean knows you’re watching him, and he knows exactly the kind of effect it’s having on you…

Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s really getting into the Christmas spirit…

I Need You

Dean/Female Reader

You screwed up, Sam got hurt, Dean’s pissed and you aren’t handling it very well.

Snow Day

Dean/Female Reader

You and Dean, stuck in a motel room in a blizzard

Frisk Me

Dean/Female Cop Reader

You’re a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path?

Comfort

Dean/Female Reader

Dean had a rough hunt, and he’s beating himself up as usual. You take his mind off things for a little while…

When I Think About You

Dean/Female Reader

It was a wild hunt, and you’re both a little high-strung. Surely there’s some way to blow off some steam…

One Finger

Dean/Female Reader

Dean Winchester has never been one to back down from a challenge

What Makes You Feel Alive

Endverse!Dean/Female Reader

The world is bleak, the struggle endless after Croatoan. You and Dean do what you have to do to keep going.

Sweet Misery

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

My entry for Bev’s Song Challenge - song prompt was Cryin’ by Aerosmith, lyrics at the beginning

Winchesters Don’t Giggle

Dean/Female Reader

A friend and I were having this discussion about giving Dean a back rub, and whether he might be ticklish…

Confession

Dean (Priest!Dean)/Female Reader

When Dean returns from some undercover work, you discover a fantasy you never realized you had

The Bait

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s (now on her 100th url as @cavillanche - Love you, Jess!) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one… Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday.

Hey, Man - Nice Shot

Dean/Female Reader

This is for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘competitiveness in the shooting range (loser cleans the kitchen for a week) No smut.

Take the Pain Away

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. Prompt was ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. No smut.

Lose Yourself

Dean/Female Reader

Smut, pure and simple… Just imagine having Dean tied up, at your mercy while you worship those perky nipples…

The Contest

Dean/Female Reader

Dean loves to give you a hard time, and one night he pushes things a little too far… Flashback in italics. All’s well that ends well.

Slow Ride

Dean (Bullriding!Dean) /Reader

Yeah, after 12x11, y'all should have known this was coming - they don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing… Written (coincidentally - timing is everything!) for the Smut Apocalypse (Smut Appreciation Day) on Tumblr.

The Photo Booth

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

This was written for @winchestersandwordprocessors SPN Valentine’s Fic Challenge. Prompt was Semi-public/Risk of getting caught.

Make You Mine

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing…

Take a Chance

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

In 7x04, Dean gives himself a little pep talk before his planned hook-up with the bartender. That scene is what inspired me. This one is more important than the usual one-nighters, and it’s making him a little nervous…

If We Don’t Make It

Dean/Female OC

This fic was written for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…” No smut.

My Deliverer

Dean/Female Spirit - Her POV

Dean is hunting a vengeful spirit. But another spirit is in this place, and she is drawn to him…

Friendly Advice

Dean/Female Reader - Dean POV, Reader POV

This was written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. The fluff got a little smudged into smutty fun… oops! Two POV’s, Dean’s thoughts are in italics and Reader’s are in regular font.

Old Times

Dean/Female OC

Sequel a few years down the road from A Hunter Walks Into a Bar. Tiara goes back to the bar for a visit, and who should show up the next night but Dean Winchester… Flashback in italics.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Dean/Female Reader (nicknamed Taz)

Inspired by the sexy AF Cowboy!Dean we were treated to in 13x06 Tombstone. Helped along by Joe Cocker’s rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On.“

Wish Her the Best

Dean/Female OC - Dean’s POV

This is an angsty li'l fic inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Marry Me,’ tore at my heart until I finally wrote it. No smut.

A Matter of… Time?

Dean/Female Reader

This is the crackiest piece of work I’ve ever written - for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge. Prompt was “Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?” - “Umm - no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”

Demon Seed

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

Demon!Dean stops in for a drink and decides he wants you. He’s very persuasive. Written for @evansrogerskitten’s Hottest Dean Challenge.

Not Wasted Now

Dean/Female Reader

When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet and sexy Dean.

Bad Guy

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge. My Tangled quote was “You want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”

Shiny

Trucker!Dean/Female OC

Trucker!Dean AU. Breaker, breaker, got your ears on? 67 Midnight Rider, put that hammer down…

Some Kind of Hero

Dean/Female OC

Written for Tiff’s WTF Challenge. Dean’s just filling up Baby, minding his own business, when he hears an argument and gets involved. Protective Dean, no smut, left that to your imagination.

Crave

Dean/Female Reader

So, have some ‘Riz is craving some sexy Dean action with a big ol’ side of schmoopy fluff’ stuff. Because I was, and I’m sharing with you - the smut and all the sickenly sweet cuddly that I just need sometimes. If y'all are in the mood for that kind of thing.

Perchance to Dream

Dean/Female OC

Using African dream root on a case leads to an awkward situation, and Karlie can’t handle the tension between her and Dean any longer

Ruined

Dean/Female Reader

Dean comes home from a hunt, and he’s had something on his mind…

Going Home

Dean/Female Reader

Written for @crispychrissy’s Gif It To Me Challenge. Overhearing only part of a conversation sends her running, but jumping to conclusions without the whole story isn’t the best decision. No smut.

Not the Smartest Thing

Dean/Female Reader - Reader POV

Only Dean Fucking Winchester could turn taking a swig of beer into pornography. Cocky bastard. But two can play at that game.

Suzy Q

Dean/Female OC - OC POV

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Multi-fandom Follower Celebration Challenge. Prompt - “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

Invisible Touch

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Rowena teaches Dean something new, and he gets inspired. I have no idea where this came from, but here it is…

Maybe I’m Amazed

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

An accident leaves her unconscious and fighting for her life in the hospital, drifting in and out of awareness and memories as Dean refuses to leave her side. Written for @rockhoochie’s 1K Love Supernatural Style Writing Challenge.

Reunion

Dean/Female OC

Passing through town, Dean runs into an old high school classmate. Fluffy and smutty, no angst here!

Playing With Fire

MOC!Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn’t leave me alone…

Uninvited

Michael!Dean/Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Michael gives Dean a choice, because sometimes Michael likes to watch…This one is darker than my normal, PLEASE heed the warnings.

What Happens At the Roadhouse…

Early-Season Dean/Female OC

Bailey’s just looking for a couple days post-hunt R&R at Harvelle’s - and then he shows up. Cocky bastard.

ONE-SHOTS - SAM

Just a Little Story About Lou and Sam

Sam/Female OC

Lou and Sam walk into a bar… written for a friend who’s a Sammy girl

Doctor-Patient Relations

Sam/Female OC

One-shot inspired by The Born-Again Identity - sick Sammy and Dr. Nicole. Written for another Sammy-girl friend

DRABBLES

Head vs. Heart

No title

Fourth of July

Working Saturday Isn’t So Bad

11x17 Drabble

Some Nights He Dreams

Most of the Time

The Name Game

God Bless America

Stress Relief

@mrs-squirrel-chester ‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge Drabbles

    Dangerous

    For My Brother

    In Chains

    Kiss and Tell

    The End of Me

    Choices

    Hero

    Pure

    In the End

[anautisticdragon-blog]

Humanity's Love Affair with the Sociopath

Sigh. This one's been a long time coming, I've been putting it off because it's such a big topic, but I need to talk about it eventually because it's at the core of everything I've ever talked about. It's my problem with the Zeitgeist, and with contemporary society today. It's my beef, it grins my gears, and it's something you've never asked yourself.

Why do you love sociopaths?

The media is partly to blame, it always is. We've seen an evolution of character types across the decades, from the friendly person with the heart of gold from the idealistic '80s doing all it can to avoid the inherent, inborn corruption of humanity, to the more earnest depiction of an abrasive, incredibly cynical person with a heart of gold from the '90s. From Ninja Turtles to John Constantine, they all had something in common.

They had a heart. They all had compassion, empathy, and no matter how cynical some of those '90s characters could get, underneath it all there was still a basic belief in humanity. A compassion that drove them to always do the right thing despite their bitterness at an uncaring world, an untainted moral compass that never swerved away from wanting what was best. For everyone, with no one left out. An end to the suffering people unjustly endured at the hands of those without a soul.

At some point, we started cheering on the villain. The abyssal creature without a soul, the demonic presence that had no heart to speak of, never you mind one of stone. It became so 'kewl' to be the con man, robbing old ladies for all their worth, spitting on the heroic figures who'd heretofore showed children the consequences of such actions.

It all comes down to the rise of extraversion and how it's tainted to its very core. It might sound like a horrible way to think, but there's just too much evidence to support it and there's going to be a lot of that in this post. I've learned that it isn't 'Humanity are Bastards,' as the trope goes, but rather 'Extraverts are Bloody Psychopaths,' just within varying degrees.

Why do you think the Nigerian scam mails worked? Affiliative extraverts thought themselves clever, they'd 'play' the poor prince, get him to open up and trust them so that they could get that big, juicy slice of money. And then? They'd not give it back! 10 per cent! Why have such a meagre pittance when you could take this 'innocent prince' for all he's worth? What a lark, take that silly sod to the cleaners for trusting you!

Didn't work out that way, eh extraverts?

As good as extraverts think they are at 'playing the game,' sociopaths are a billion times better. And affiliative extraverts seem almost wired to fall for it. It might be a survival instinct to obey the strongest, and thus be seeen as such by proxy, so sociopathic behaviour is desirable because it exudes airs of 'strength.' Even when that 'strength' gets your bank account cleaned out because you thought you were being bloody clever.

Instead of falling arse over tit for a stupid, stupid con.

It's why we have cults of personality... right? Just the affiliatives trying to emulate the 'strong,' trying to be 'strong' by proxy. All looking to the 'strong' for guidance, for will, to do what they bloody can't. Trying to behave like them in order to gain favour. Whether it's Steve Jobs, Donald Trump, or any charismatic sack of ichorous waste, whatever the Wastrel of the Day is, if they're manipulative enough, the affiliatives will follow.

It happens on all kinds of scales. All kinds. You'd have to be the world's shiniest example of a Joe bloody Soap to not see it, and people don't. These cults of personality pop up everywhere. And I have to pick out an obscure favourite of mine so that people won't be too invested in it, if you're seeing this from an outside perspective, you might actually catch on. So, what manner of dirtbag is going to serve as my example?

I'm going to use one that was never of criminal intent, though a generally scummy person nonetheless. Chris Avellone. In video game circles you might have heard of him, most do I'd think, and they worship him without even really knowing why. Why? Well, he's a sociopath, isn't he? Anyone with the brass clackers enough to lead a cult of personality always is.

Nature of the beast.

What'd he do? Let's see. He wrote a Fallout Bible and claimed to have absolute creative veto over the IP, for one thing. If a designer or writer had anything contradictory to say on the matter? He'd passive-aggressively mock them in his 'Bible.' That he called it a bible is more than a bit telling, don't you think? That's not indicative of off the charts narcissistic arrogance at all. Oh no, not even a little bit. No, no...

So let's look at the characters he's proud of including in video games, shall we? Kreia, from Knights of the Old Republic: A soapbox for Avellone's seedy, unbalanced views and a sociopath. Ulyssess, from New Vegas: See Kreia. Weeping Mother, from Pillars of Eternity: See Kreia. Sensing a pattern, yet? Ulysses wanted to nuke everyone back into a fresh apocalyptic state, it's what humanity deserved, he just wanted to watch them burn.

Avellone has often said that that's what he'd wish for the Fallout franchise. That's not worrying at all, right? Okay, how about how in a recent interview, with all of the cocksure arrogance of a sociopath, he told an interviewer that he prefers 'smart evil?' He'd prefer to 'talk two people into killing one another' rather than actually save anyone. Or Tyranny, which was Avellone's brainchild? That was a world of villainy and evil, lead by sociopaths... Cor, have to wonder if you're sensing a pattern yet. I am.

Oh, and he took an ending out of a game that allowed a group of sapient creatures a future, and a chance at happiness. Why? They weren't human, he believed that their purpose in the story was to die and suffer. Oh yes, did I mention that Avellone is a bit of a crackpot?

And yet people love him.

So, let's move onto a fictional example. Rocket Raccoon was originally an abrasive character with a heart of gold, much like John Constantine. I adored him. That's when he was written by Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning. Did you know that Rocket had a different origin than the dreary rot the films put him through? He was originally a fluffy artificial life form created to help the mentally disabled and disturbed. In DnA's run on Guardians of the Galaxy, Rocket was a really nice fellah, reliable, and a genius. Definitely a bit rough around the edges, to be sure, but a stand up bloke nonetheless.

So, Rocket Raccoon is handed over to Bendis. Brian Michael Bendis...

Brian "Misogyny'n snuff porn is my bag, yo!" Bendis. Brian "I think it's super funny when Elektra gets kicked hard in the vagina by a guy, especially when the onomatopoeia is FOOM!" Bendis. Brian "If a woman didn't get shot in the head in this issue, I didn't write it!" Bendis. Brian "I hate Grant Morrison and Alan Moore just because they're British and that scares me!" Bendis. Brian "It's so funny whenever Tigra gets humiliated, stripped down, forced to do naughty things on camera, and then gets brutally raped by white villains. 'Cause I hate her and that makes it funny! Hehe!" Bendis. Brian "When I write Doctor Doom, he gets to call a woman a 'fat cow whore' and it's totally in character!" Michael God Damn Fucking Bendis.

So, yes, Bendis is also a sociopath. We won't talk about that, here, though. I think I've already covered my grievances above well enough. Suffice it to say though that this man has a history of being shitty to women in comics. And you can probably guess what happens to Rocket, right? Rocket is now a misogynistic sociopath. Hooray. He's a massive arsehole. And not the kind that has a heart of gold, of course. Oh no, not even slightly. He's just a humongous pile of shit.

Cheers, Bendis. You desperate, oversexed and sexually frustrated tosspot. I don't want to be around for the next character you drag over hot coals. That, loves, is why I no longer 'Make Mine Marvel.' More like, 'Take Thine Garble... and shove it where the sun don't shine!' I'm sorry, I have to be facetious, I can't make it through this any other way.

The world is just obsessed with sociopathy.

Take a running kick at a cat's skull to post up on Youtube? Haha, it's funny! Grab a dolphin out of its water, toss it around and abuse it on camera for the purpose of selfies? It's fiiine! When did we start excusing this kind of shit? When did we begin to turn a blind eye? When did it become okay for some charismatic, inbred pigfucker to ruin Britain for everyo--Okay, now I'm getting too specific, aren't I?

That's the truth of it, though. All it takes is charisma and a Machiavellian mind and you can get away with anything! You can be the world's biggest dickhole and people will just cheer you on, no matter what you do! It doesn't matter who gets hurt in the process, does it? And that's where this pus-filled bubo on the face of humanity I 'affectionately' call the Alt-Blight rose from. This is the kind of hell we're living in where somone can have people genuinely think they're hot shit and the greatest new thing since sliced bloody bread for driving a car into a crowd of peaceful protestors!

HOW IS THIS HAPPENING TO THE WORLD???

I come back to Rocket Raccoon in my head. A fluffy critter made to help out the mentally infirm and troubled, reinvented in this cool, hip new age of rabid sociopathy to be a psychopathic, crazy cyborg killer. Why?

Why any of this?

Extraverts.

It's the conclusion I keep coming to and the one I can never get away from. It's what I pointed out when I linked that video from Mike Rowlands just a li'l bit back where he was pointing out how an Alt-Blight arsehat was being a filthy, pathological liar. In one shot, putting on a sob story about how his ilk are just 'peaceful,' not at all violent like the left, and so unfairly 'persecuted for having wrong opinions,' boo-hoo; In another shot, shown counting and bragging about his many, many, many guns.

Extraverts are enablers. They're a hoard, a hive, a buzzing little collective of workers that empower sociopaths by being taken in by them, granting these nutcases power beyond reckoning through their sheer numbers. This is how Trump happened, becasue affiliative extraverts are so easily brainwashed, conditioned, and tricked. All you have to do is convince them they're being clever, that they're in the 'in crowd,' that their chosen social tribe is the most hip, happenin', 'kewl' one out there? And they will, each and every one, collectively swear a holy blood oath to a known murderer.

And thanks to that, we're in a position where it's 'cool' to be a sociopath, psychopath, or other kind of crazy. it's 'seductive,' it's 'hot,' it's 'alluring,' it's 'pull your heads out of your fucking arses.' This isn't Twilight. It's 'strong,' it's 'powerful,' it's 'money,' it's 'stop being so damn deluded while the world dies around you.' With readily denied real issues rotting the world we live on, like global warming and overpopulation, this earth's not going to be around much longer. So why?

Why?

Do you just not care about your children? At all? Or your grand kids?

You bunch of bloody soggy-brained lunatics. That's all I can really say on the matter, isn't it? Singing and dancing while the world burns around you. You bloody lunatics.

I'm just going to talk a liittle about something personal that means a bit to me before I wrap this up. It's even managed to invade the furry community, to worrying degrees. When the Internet was younger, when there were few extraverts (because the Internet was wickedly complicated and they'd not the salted noodles enough to figure it out), the furry fandom was such a genuinely lovely place. It was. You should've seen Furcadia at its height, it was lovely. There were these little communities hosted on servers called MUCKS where fantastically brilliant, singular people got together to dream and imagine things only the brightest furry minds would.

It's why there were a lot of furries involved in video game development in the '90s and early '00s, you know? True story. Look into it. Dr. Cat is but one example. Anyway, it was good. And now? The Alt-Blight have invaded these MUCKs, chased all of the light and wonder away, so these are now tainted, festering hellholes of hatred. It's bizarre to walk through them again and, crestfallen, see how that cancer has made them sick with bile.

Even furries now have to deal with the Alt-Blight. I'm sure a lot of furries might think it's cool. That's the friggernaffin' Zeitgeist, isn't it? Sociopathy is so cool, hot, powerful, and sexy, and a giant taintfest of hatred, let's please never forget that part. It's a very important part, I think.

So it's everywhere. I feel like it's overtaking everything that ever meant something to me. So this is a fight. It has to be. In its own way, this is a war. This is the most abstract war anyone's ever fought. It's a war fought by abstracts against abstracts. It's a war fought against hatred, by compassion; It's a war fought against intolerance, by acceptance; It's a war fought against arrogance, by knowledge; It's a war fought against propaganda, by independent thought; It's a war fought against collectivism, by creativity; It's a war fought against the worst of us, by the best of us.

So, you know. I might be an abrasive buttface, and that's fine, because my heart's always in the right place. I'm not a misogynist, I don't abuse animals, I'm hardly about to run a car into a crowd of people... I think this defines the very opposite of who I am. I've chosen my side. I think that's something we all have to do, now, because it's necessary. Because this is happening and we're not going to be able to hide our heads in the sand any longer.

I get to choose to be 'a poncy, SJW, politically correct sissboy' or... well, a monster. An actual monster. Which is what they are. It might be evangelical, but it's how we have to look at the world, now. So I'm proud to be an SJW, I've said it in the past. I couldn't be more proud, I couldn't be happier! I derive great personal worth from this, because I'm not a monster.

Monsters of yore might have had scales or fur, they might've been fifty stories tall or come in flying saucers. The monster of today has white skin, they're not that tall, either, and they certainly didn't arrive in flying saucers. No, these monsters are home-grown. They're our monsters. And we have to recognise them as such.

If you see a Nazi, say Nazi. That's what every sociopath, psychopath, and associated nutjob out there is going to be. The Alt-Blight, what have you? Nazi. Even ex-neo Nazis will tell you that the Alt-Blight are Nazis.

So can we stop glorifying and empowering monsters now, please?

This is a dark time in history, one of those things where the younger generations will look back and shake their heads in such terrible shame. So let's come out swinging and put this Nazi blight to rest. Once and for all.

Citations

Abused Cat Abused Dolphin Avellone Prefers Sociopathy Example of Bendis's Sociopathy Alt-Blight Furry Troubles Alt-Blight MUCK Taint Alt-Blight Brainwashing

[dyketectivecomics]

Retrieval Ch. 7

Read on Ao3 OR below:

i hope you don't mind @squiddybeifong but i had most of this mapped out while i was waiting for you and a bit of holiday self-indulgence thrown in too so like.... merry early christmas, we all get the next chapter immediately

...

She held her tongue, when her parents brought endless theories of how to best retrieve her lost memories. Of the different methods they used in a thousand different scenarios and a thousand different perspectives. No two minds, in their experience, ever thought completely alike. They made that abundantly clear, after all those times they'd recounted cautionary tales after many an adventurous one. And even with all of their experience and mentorship, she'd never been truly prepared for her first trip into someone else's mindscape.

It was a jarring experience, but not an altogether unwelcome one either. Especially after many trips of her own, mapping out her psyche, when she'd spent so much of her early childhood, placing emotions into boxes. Or, rather, giving them their own personas and naming them accordingly, giving them their own spaces to be buried in.

All of that. Only to have it undone within the year she'd come to know her new parents.

She'd been grateful for it, at first. Saying a literal goodbye to Curiosity and Anger had never been so satisfying. Nor saying one to Happiness or Bravery, so disheartening. Somehow, miraculously, with John and Zatanna both working with her as best they each knew how. They'd given her a whole new arsenal of tools, not just to keep her own personal demon at bay, but to occasionally embrace it. To use her gifts for more than what they were meant for.

It hadn't been until recently, that she began to realize the cost it was bought with it.

She knew there could be risk, with bringing back unpleasant memories.

But she had faced Hell, and lived to remember it, once before. There was no reason that she could find, that she couldn't face the memory of her very first unfortunate trip there.

So after slipping into that wonderful meditative state between consciousness and dreams, she was pleasantly surprised to land in one of her earliest memories. One that somehow predated what she was expecting them to find.

It wasn't flashy. It wasn't even all that important to her. But it was a memory that had stayed with her, unbidden. She tried to make her peace with it, and let the scene unfold before her eyes.

A small moment, spent wandering a courtyard in the Temple of Azar. Bushes and trees and gardens all around in rainbow blooms. An eternal spring that was intoxicating, even amongst the most stoic of acolytes.

She was probably only four years old. She saw her own stubby hands as they reached down to pick up a flower that had fallen off of one of the trees. It had two crumpled yellow petals, the rest left pristine.

She took a sniff in the air, became agitated by the pollen, and sneezed. A slight sound, but shocking enough to make an acolyte nearby jump. Which she'd found amusing enough to let out a giggle. This was, in turn, immediately reprimanded.

She couldn't quite make out Azar's words, though she remembered the cold tone almost too well to begin fabricating new words. The memory was bogged down by time and indifference. But she certainly remembered the emotion. Happiness turning so very quickly into fear and anger around her. And at the forefront in her own memory and feelings; shame.

"Enough of this," she growled lowly, throwing the flower out of her hands and squeezing her eyes shut tightly, "Show me what's missing. Let me see what she took away!"

When she opened her eyes, tear-filled and cold with sorrow, she found her still small body surrounded by warmth. A long forgotten, but in this memory, familial warmth. She looked up to see Arella, alive and well and behaving rather matronly as she brushed aside the hair in Raven's face and wiped her tears away from her cheeks.

She took in every detail of the mother she'd forgotten. The same sapphire eyes that she saw in the mirror most days, black hair that curled in soft ringlets around a warm, heart-shaped face. She was positively glowing with life and love. And though Raven could tell that this memory must have begun with an upset that had nothing to do with the woman that held her daughter so lovingly in her arms, she felt her heart tear anew, knowing now what she had lost.

Knowing now, that it was something that could never be fully replaced.

"But Azar never lets-" she began, partly following the memory's script. Mostly out of surprise, and a longing she still carried for her mother. Arella place a finger over Raven's lips, shushing her gently.

"It doesn't matter, my little Raven," she cooed as she held her daughter tighter, "One moment of indulgence. It is only weakness to deny your emotions completely. But it is important, for you, that they be denied from lingering."

"I do not... understand," Raven said. Now at the mercy of the memory, she allowed herself get lost in it. The emotions as they went on, though, felt much less intense. Muddied and dim. She was becoming less and less a participant in the memory, even as she watched it unfold from her own perspective.

This was one of the somethings that had been missing.

She blinked her tears away, continuing, "Please. Will you-?" And upon opening them again, she found herself sitting in the sleeping chambers of the dimension she'd once called home. A bed, with one pillow and a light blanket, more of a meditation mat, really.

She was in the lotus position, back straightened after accidentally napping instead of going through her exercises like she was meant to. A dull numbness filled her, an apathetic concern. She was worrying for convention's sake, what it would mean to leave her exercises unfulfilled.

And then there was Azar's knock and her voice, requesting entrance.

Another scene. Another mundane moment.

She closed her eyes again.

Another memory that didn't need exploring.

"Take me somewhere else," she demanded, "Not just these flashes. Take me back to Mo-" she caught herself, torn between which mother she truly wanted to see again.

And knowing which one she needed right now, regardless of that want.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to concentrate. "Take me to her. Take me to Zatanna."

This scene before her, when they opened again, was one that would become more familiar and complete as time went on.

A tree inside of Zatanna's Gotham apartment, covered from top to bottom in tinsel and holly. A couple of gifts wrapped with enthusiasm and care, and a little too much tape keeping them together. Hot chocolate and candy wrappers strewn along the coffee table as the pajama-clad trio laughed and the adults shared stories of Christmases past.

This was her first Christmas with John and Zee. She was giving one of her presents her undivided attention. She weighed them in hand, shook them, and even ran her fingers along seams or points for the oddly shaped ones. Anything to get a hint at what was waiting within.

And with all of that remembered wonder and excitement, she forgot that this was only a recap, a recollection.

She turned to face the adults, remembering how the two magicians both had been too excited to wait. After debating the merits of opening at least one Christmas present on the Eve rather than the day itself, it'd taken only a second's deliberation before they had their answer. Zatanna handed her a new present that hadn't been waiting under the tree.

"This one might take some explaining," she began after encouraging the girl to tear into the bright red wrapping paper, "But we wanted your first gift to be... well... Something meaningful." She reached for the Englishman's hand, gently squeezing it as Raven opened the box itself.

"Papers?" the six year old asked, her face scrunching in confusion. "What does...? C- Cert- Certif-" She stumbled uncertainly over the words, John and Zee waiting patiently as she read what she could. Of course, something tickled at her brain as she got lost in the flow of this memory. What she knew now, that the papers before her were different adoption forms and faked birth certificates. All done in triplicate and ready to be put through the appropriate channels to cover their bases.

"Glad to see you could get the bird hooked on phonics, Zee," John murmured appreciatively by her ear as he snuck a kiss onto the sorceress' cheek. The love between them made the empath giddy with optimism again, try as she might to quell the feeling.

"They feel... warm," she noted after looking through them. "Like... they're really important." That lingering heat of love and commitment. She could also read a tinge of fear and apprehension on the documents, although she hadn't had the words for those feelings back then.

She looked up to see Constantine smiling at the barely restrained note of hope in her voice, even as she stated it like an arbitrary fact. He glanced over to Zee, seeing she had a similar, though half-hidden, smile on her face.

"They're extremely important, li'l bird," he said, taking his hand from Zatanna's to wring them together as he leaned forward in his seat, "Because we've been talking it over, and we wanted you to know we've grown rather fond of you." He smiled even bigger as the girl felt her eyes grow wider, as if he were wondering if she already knew where this was going.

She had had enough of an idea, a kind of intuition, of course. But nothing could ever quite prepare her for what they were about to say.

Because they'd each grown more than fond of the girl over those few months previous. John would readily admit to falling head over heels, within those first few weeks of having her around, to anyone who asked. And Zatanna had fallen in similar line, though not without her own hesitations.

It'd taken time, and considerable research, to be sure that they could safely care for her. And that they could truly be what was best for the girl.

After all, she did have family here on Earth, though they would say years later that they hadn't felt comfortable with leaving her in their care. Especially given the attitudes expressed towards magic upon first meeting them. It was the kind of blissful ignorance that came from those who hadn't experienced the true tragedies that magic brought with it, first hand. The kind of attitude that benefitted a certain magician's audience attendance numbers, or kept the other's activities reasonably flying under the radar, but it certainly didn't leave any room for true belief.

Raven understood why they thought she simply wouldn't survive in this world, without a tangible connection to its magic. And it wasn't looking like any other sorcerers were in the market to adopt a demon.

Not without ulterior motives, in any case. Which really only left the obvious options.

"What we're trying to say here, Raven-" Zatanna chimed in, "-is that we'd love to be a family, if you'll have us. We can't promise we'll be perfect but...We'd love to be your parents. Would you... like us to be your new mom and dad?"

John reached his hand over for Zee's again as she bit her lip in anticipation. Carefully watching Raven's face as she glanced between theirs and the papers in her hands, they each held their breath as the girl's eyes started misting over.

And despite the tears welling up, she felt a giddiness that was nearly palpable in the air. This was something she had tried desperately to contain, and failed miserably.

"A... a whole new mom and... dad?" she whispered, "You really mean it? You really... you really want me to stay?"

"You've lasted this long haven't ya-" John started before feeling Zatanna's sharp elbow in his side. He laughed through the pain as he quickly amended, "As long as you need us, kid, we're here for you. And even when you don't think you'll need us. That's what parents are supposed to be for, innit?"

"Something like th-" Zee's words were choked off as Raven tackled her torso in a hug, and the occultist laughed at the surprise on her face before Raven just as quickly went to hug his torso in turn.

"Thank you, thank you," she mumbled into his stomach, "I've... never really had a dad or a mom like this... Do I..." She glanced up between them, eyes still impossibly wide. "What do I do?"

"Same thing I'm asking m'self," the exorcist admitted under breath before speaking up, tousling the girl's hair as he spoke, "You just keep doing what you do best, luv. We'll figure out this family thing somewhere along the way. Now, I believe it's Mum's turn next, eh? Or mine? Which one will it be?"

He carefully pulled a playing card from his sleeve, laughing as the magician rolled her eyes and Raven gasped in wonder at his sleight of hand as it turned into a Season's Greetings card.

With this year's precedent set, they were certain to have a very interesting first Christmas together.

She picked up the papers in hand once more, running small fingers lightly over the ink as her new parents bantered and laughed. And as wonderful as this memory was, as much as she wanted to stay and relive opening each and every one of those presents and to be filled with the wonder of a myth that held more truth than any mystic could imagine. She knew it wouldn't do to linger in this memory.

Clutching the papers, she closed her eyes again in concentration.

The sounds of laughter and music faded, and she felt a presence on her periphery. Something that smelled of cinnamon and a musk that reminded her of the dust that settled along an unused stage. And then two voices, muffled and distorted. She focused on the more familiar one, hearing Zee's soft voice barely pushing through the black.

"I need you to know what's happened, Blackbird."

And there it was. A wonderful apprehension and crippling fear that overtook her very soul. Something was ripping her away from the lock she had on the magicians voice.

She remembered where the gap in memory began, and opened her eyes. That defining moment that would change her whole destiny irreparably.

She was back on Azarath as her eyes shot open. The floor to the temple was ripped apart as the ground below her quaked. As light itself shone in the oddest of places while darkness overtook the acolytes.

She lost her footing, reaching up for a hand to save her, any hand at all.

Only to be met with her own screams of terror, overwhelmed by the fear she felt around her.

And like usual, as the feelings started to overcome her and take control, she was pushed forward. Coughing and drying her eyes, she recognized Constantine's library around her, a space that would eventually be repurposed into her own room.

"No!" She yelled indignantly at him, fighting the script she knew she was meant to follow, "I'm ready to see it! Dammit, I have a right to know!"

"Easy there, luv," he took out his pack of cigarettes and lighter, and the man, the memory, leaned back into one of his armchairs as he continued, "You'll get to it in good time. But you've got unfinished business to attend to first."

"There's nothing that I haven't seen before except those memories. So where are they buried?" She reached her hand out, trying to draw on the powers that she knew wouldn't work in quite the same capacity as when she was conscious.

Shadows molded around Constantine's body at her whim, and as their tendrils began to curl around his form, he disappated into smoke alongside them.

"Think you already know what you need to do, luv, even if you won't outright say it," his voice laughed, echoing around her in the space as the walls slowly encroached on where she was sitting.

The binding circle that would've kept most demons contained, barely registered even half the hint of discomfort she'd felt when trapped inside of it so many years before. In her anger, she began both physically and telekinetically pulling the books off of their shelves, tearing the room apart as pages were ripped from spines and glass cases were smashed to the floor. A sadistic satisfaction filled her as she destroyed the room around her, even knowing that she'd want to rebuild the memory it was meant to contain.

But it was stained, never be allowed to be fully returned to its state from before, knowing what she knew now.

Like an old friend, she felt her soul-self linger at the edges of the room, flitting between doors and windows. Silent, but the meaning the behavior held was obvious to the empath. It was showing her the options she had, to move forward. Any of these opening providing a logical next step to take.

The choices she had were limited. To find Zatanna meant to face this anger head on, to confront the sorceress once more for the grief she'd caused.

But to explore another memory, to risk becoming trapped in nostalgia or in anger for a possible reward of finding another lost snippet.

She breathed in, her voice low as she calmed herself with the mantra that she could never forget, no matter the years passing. No, it wouldn't do to linger in this anger.

But for the reward of another moment with her mother. That made her decision all the easier.

She made her way to the window, now half it's size from all the shrinking, it would have been impossible to climb out of, had she been in an older body. Perched upon the ledge, she smiled to herself, knowing what her teammates and family would say about her namesake. She looked out, seeing inky, cold blackness all around instead of the New York alleyway that she expected.

The surrealism was comforting, she thought as she let go of the window's frame, closing her eyes to let herself fall into the next vision.