#the heavy thump of machinery slamming against the ground

[and-stir-the-stars]

i just think. one of Evan's deaths in Lonely Children au should be Evan crawling to get away and Fredbear curb stomping his head. (don't look at tags if graphic/gorey content upsets you)

[hyperfixated-homo]

Like clockwork

Distantly, Donnie felt his heart beat in time with the ticking.

Aka I haven't written anything in forever. Here's a chase scene for no reason other than I wanted to :) less than 1k words!

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Distantly, Donnie felt his heart beat in time with the ticking. 

The machinery around him whirred and groaned, though he felt that perhaps it was not as loud as he was perceiving it to be. Or maybe it was. Perhaps the noise was truly, actually this deafening. He never knew, how accurate the things he heard were. Sometimes the quietest breathing made his head pound like a drum. Other times he needed to play his techno music at 200% just to feel like a living being. 

His lungs burned. His legs ached. He was a blur of green and purple as he ran through the halls of this big, empty building. His footsteps fell hard and heavy on the metallic floor, clanging loudly with every movement. 

He was sweating so hard some droplets were landing in his eyes, despite the mask. But he didn’t stop. No, he didn’t dare, not now, not ever. Not until he was away from here, not until he was safe. Not until he knew that it couldn’t reach him. 

Some intelligent, rational part of his brain tried to remind him that he would never get far enough. The reasoning was drowned out by the blood in his ears. 

A wall came up in front of him, covered in bronze and copper. He skidded to a near stop in front of it, turning right and darting quickly in that direction. 

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how to get out. He didn’t even know what was behind him. Every twist and turn looked the same, large walls covered in devices that reached far into the sky above him. 

As Donnie turned another corner, he was nearly knocked to the ground by a pendulum, swinging in time with the ticking of his heart. He stumbled, slipped, got up and kept running. The pendulum kept swinging, oddly weightless for how big it was. 

There were no steps behind him. He didn’t hear any breathing, either. He would have been relieved, had it been any other pursuer. He would have slowed down, had he not seen the figure before. 

He would have stopped, had the creature not been so quiet when it came after him. 

He jumped over a fallen cart in the middle of a hallway. Ducked under a doorway, into a big empty room. There were more doors in front of him. More doors behind him. More doors above him. Doors in places he couldn’t reach, doors he couldn’t see even though his mind insisted to him that they were there. 

His head hurt. 

He sprinted right, throwing open a large, steel door and slamming it back shut behind him. 

There was a writhing mass of darkness behind him in the reflection of that door. He refused to look back at it again. 

The hallway he was in was long, longer than most of the other ones. Narrow, too. His arms almost brushed against biting metal every time he swung them. 

His head felt stuffy. Was it hot in here? Could he even feel hot? His body wasn’t quite sure what it was feeling. He felt tired, and pained, but there was no temperature. He tried to ignore how much that made his skin itch, how completely and utterly wrong this all felt. 

The hallway was still going. It didn’t look like he was making any progress. 

The gasping sob he made was almost more painful than breathing. 

He forced himself forwards, even though every step felt like walking on knives. 

It was still behind him. He could feel its presence, a creeping sense of pure despair that was trying so hard to catch up to him. Or maybe it wasn’t trying at all. Donnie couldn’t tell if he was outrunning it because he was faster or because it wanted him to. 

His heart kept beating, in time with the ticking. In time with the walls, with his breaths, with his footsteps. It thumped wildly in his chest, too fast and too slow all at once. 

He was getting closer. He swears he’s getting closer. 

His limbs felt like lead, his head like cotton. His shoulders felt heavy and his shell stiff, even though he knew that there was no metal shell there to protect it. 

The ticking felt louder here, nearing the end of the hallway. It felt foreboding. Like a countdown. 

It was so close. It was so close. 

Donnie went quicker. Skin slapped against metal as he forced himself to fasten the pace. 

He was nearly there. He was almost there. 

He launched into the room at the end of the hallway at breakneck speeds, eyes frantically darting around the room as he searched for… something. His neck near snapped as he caught sight of the bed in the far right of the room. 

He ran. 

The ticking felt even louder now, blaring in his ears, but he forced himself forwards. 

He jumped. 

The noise of the machines kept blaring in his ears, louder, louder, louder. He caught a glimpse of winding, ribbonlike limbs, lacing around his arms, his neck. He felt the almost prick of those ribbon’s sharp ends, pulling at his nerves and setting his heart on fire. 

He landed. 

And then it was quiet.

[egg-emperor]

☠ - angry/violent headcanon please :3

Ohhhh boy, this is one I really like and I'm finally gonna reveal more of the details of it now. Well, you asked for it!

It’s no secret that Eggman's anger gets the best of him very often. Because he has such a short temper and he's constantly stressed out, he's never really too far away from exploding with fury. He's grumpy and can be irritated by others quite easily in general, but he pushes down the most intense feelings for as long as he can. He doesn't want people to think it can get the best of him, so he tries to deal with it privately and hide it from those that would enjoy getting a rise out of him.

He swears he's got his temper under control but he clearly doesn't. Deep down he knows it’s a serious problem and that it’s obvious to everyone. In many cases, he can feel the heat when he's about to erupt but sometimes he surprises himself with his uncontrolled reactions to things. He can at least attempt to hide the amount he's upset to an extent if he’s aware of it and really tries, for the sake of not letting others know how much something might be getting to him. Sometimes he's in denial to himself too.

Everyone notices anyway though, as he gets frustrated the moment someone says or does something he doesn't like. No matter how hard he tries, it inevitably builds up to an overwhelming amount and he needs to release it. After bottling it up, it comes out in the worst ways. There are signs it’s coming, like when he gets increasingly impatient and snappy over the smallest things. But he's always like that to an extent as he orders people around and uses anger to intimidate and make them obey him. So those signs are overlooked and upcoming breakdowns can still be unexpected nonetheless.

Regardless of whether people are expecting it or not, they’re terrified when it happens because of how loud and aggressive he is. Those that underestimate him being the serious threat soon regret it when they see what he’s capable of. They'll finally take his threats seriously when he's growling, shaking, raising his voice, towering over them, and making himself look the biggest, most intimidating he can be so he can have power and dominance over them. He’s boldly confrontational when someone pushes all of his buttons and he’ll make them sorry for messing with him.

We see his tendency to thump things whenever he's pissed off. It happens a lot when he has tantrums, as well as him stomping, complaining, and pouting. While people act like the sight is silly and immature from afar, the truth is they're intimidated and don't want to approach him. They know things can get a lot worse if they bother him further and they don't want to get hit by those strong fists. It would seriously hurt even if he wasn’t trying, simply due to how strong he is and he doesn’t realize how much force he uses.

His tantrums can be bad, but full sudden eruptions of chaotic rage and breakdowns are where he's the most impulsively destructive. Especially if it’s because previously bottled up feelings are finally coming to the surface and he can't hold back anymore. In these cases, he can be as destructive as the way he was when he destroyed the ice wall in Lost World, where he'll throw punches and won't stop until things get broken.

For example, after his worst defeats, a fiery rage burns so hotly inside him that he can't contain it. It can result in him destroying things in a blind rage- smashing glass, tearing things down, breaking robots and other creations apart, battering dents into machinery/computers, throwing things, and more. All while he's yelling at the top of his lungs about how he can't take it when he's denied the world that belongs to him, how it isn't fair that he never gets his way, and how much he hates Sonic- until his throat gets hoarse.

Even if he gets shocks from electricals and cuts and bruises from smashing screens, glass, mirrors, etc- it won't make him stop when he's too heated to think clearly. He feels the impact after when it ends with him having bloody knuckles, sore hands, and aching arms if he was lifting heavy things just to throw. He has various remaining scars on his hands that are a reminder of how he can find it hard to control himself but he doesn't learn from it.

He wastes a lot of expensive resources and tech but he has plenty of money to replace what's broken at least. He doesn't fully treat his injuries so they don't heal well. He has the attitude he had in LW, that his hands are fine. No, they aren't, please have someone else look at them if you won't do it yourself! He fails to see the seriousness because his pain tolerance is high and he doesn't feel it as much as others with the same injuries would. But that doesn't mean he shouldn't bother!

Objects aren't the only things he takes it out on and we've seen it happen in multiple media and canons. He hits robots when mad and when he’s truly had it with them, he destroys them. After chasing down SA-55 at the end of Unleashed, he tore him apart by hand and remade him into Orbot. He directs it towards other people too, snapping at them, becoming aggressive, lashing out without warning. Sometimes it can be misdirected, or they did something that struck his last nerve and brought it all out.

He'll prefer to fight by other means, with mechs/robots/forces first. If he's angered enough he'll turn a fight physical, no matter how small, big, weak, or strong his opponents are. He doesn't make the conscious decision anyway, he just goes for it. The most common ways of attack are to throw punches, grab and slam people against walls/to the ground and strangling/choking them. You think he wouldn’t strangle those Zeti if he had the chance? He's big and strong and so are his hands, so he makes use of them. He's alarmingly quick with it too.

Everyone has to leave him alone and just let him release it. If he's causing damage to objects or himself, they can’t stop him. There's no way to talk him out of it or calm him down in the heat of the moment. If his robots or anyone else interferes, it can lead to him directing it towards them. Everyone knows he's dangerous when angry and they can never be certain that he won’t snap at them. He likely will the moment he's provoked, which is easy to do so when he's already overwhelmed with anger, even if it’s unintentional.

When it's over, he ends up exhausted with a sore throat and bad injuries. It can affect his health overall too, as it isn't healthy for those negative feelings to consume him so intensely. His stache gets ruffled up and sometimes slightly ripped out after pulling at it in frustration too. He won't want to talk to anyone and immediately wants to get some sleep instead. When he wakes up, everyone around him better behave and bring him anything that could cheer him up. That can be a long process though, so they have to try their very best to please him.

[trashwrites]

PAST IS PROLOGUE: CH. 6

Oh Boy It’s Only Getting Worse!

–

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3| Ch.4| Ch5

– 

Past is Prologue, Ch. 6

Outlast; Eventual Miles/Waylon; SFW 

Warnings for: Mental Illness, Anxiety Attacks, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse, Trauma, Light Violence.

-

He was crumpled in a heap and shaking worse than Miles had seen before. There was blood on him, on his face, the sleeves of his shirt, and drooling down his mouth. Miles was touching him before he could stop himself, trying to pivot Waylon towards him so he could try and figure out what was wrong.

Miles’ watched his face distort in the surface of the liquor. Not a lot of detail, but he caught the scar slashed across the bridge of his nose (Chris Walker, throwing him into a pile of broken wood; a miracle he hadn’t just been impaled) and the tight downturn of his mouth.

He shot the whiskey back so he wouldn’t have to see it anymore.

The clock ticked constantly under the TV Waylon had left on (and had he always had a clock?) and no matter how hard he tried not to the sound was all Miles noticed. He grit his teeth and stormed into the bedroom.

The room came unfocused, vision swimming and legs shuffling clumsily over to his bed. It was a comforting loss of control- a controlled loss of control- and for a little while Miles could be outside of his body, detached from the unbearable weight of his thoughts.

Or, that’s what it was supposed to do. The deafening silence rang in his ears. Miles tried to drown it out, literally, with a few more pulls of whiskey but it didn’t seem to be doing anything to quell the queasy, empty feeling in his stomach. He stared at his phone and tried to recognize the abstract letters and numerals that danced in front of him.

None of them looked like the shape that meant “Waylon”, which he thought was probably good. That meant Waylon hadn’t gotten into any trouble. Yet.

It could have also meant that Waylon was in trouble, trouble deep enough that he wouldn’t have had time to grab his phone and ask for help.

Fuck, Miles was tired. It felt deeper than the ache in his body or the gradual drag of the alcohol pulling him back into sleep. It might have been in his bones. Every time his eyes drifted shut, he thought back to Waylon and jolted into semi-alertness once again.

“Stupid prick,” he mumbled.

He left because of me, he thought. Putting words to the feeling was like pulling the shutters on a spotlight to that obvious, gaping emptiness- and the fact that it was Miles’ fault. Which didn’t come as any surprise, because misery was almost always Miles’ fault.

“Don’t come back,” Miles spat at the empty room. “Smarten up, stop fuckin’ creeping around here whimpering at me like a service dog.”

He kicked at the leg of his coffee table and sloshed more liquor into his throat. When his voice came again, it was in a shout.

“Go back to Colorado and seal yourself up in your stupid little hotel tomb until something finally kills you, just like you always wanted!”

 It felt triumphant, cathartic- and completely fucking awful as he berated the walls of his living room. Something about it was indescribably painful, but he was getting too heavy and deadened to really confront that. All that really mattered was that he was angry, really angry, and sad and damned near panicking- and he still didn’t feel the Walrider buzzing between his eyes.

 So it was still a surprise, an almost pleasant one, when something warm and wet burned down his cheeks instead.

 —

Waylon just knew that someone was staring at him from across the room. He knew it because he couldn’t really blame them, as he’d been whispering to himself on and off for the duration of his time there.

The coffee shop- the very same one he’d first met Miles in- was a warm little place, warm in almost every sense of the word. None of that warmth seemed to extend to Waylon, though. He still felt as grey, cold, and miserable as the sky outside.

He looked away from the blue gleam of his tablet and stared into the rich foam of his coffee. There was no telling what the drink was, exactly- he didn’t remember what he’d ordered. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he had ordered anything at all. The barista might have just made him something hot in the absence of any coherent answer.

He’d tipped her generously.

Waylon didn’t want to see the garble of attempted and abandoned e-mails he’d composed to his therapist. When he couldn’t justify studying his drink any longer, he was forced to look at them again and delete them one by one. He took a deep pull from the coffee cup and tried, repeatedly, to make the message come out right, but instead formless, shapeless thoughts poured onto the word processor.

You’re an awful person and everyone will eventually always want you gone. You’re poison you’re poisoning Miles you poisoned your wife you’re RUINED YOU RUINED THEM. Get out, got to go got to go home. There’s no home. Got to go somewhere else.

It had gone on, but Waylon had already deleted it. Getting the emotions out didn’t make him feel any better. He felt, more keenly than before, the blanket of guilt and sorrow draw tighter around him like a miserable cocoon.

And fear. Lord, the way the fear clawed at him. If grief was a smothering sensation, the fear was like wild animal claws scraping at his insides.

He was pinned by that fear and guilt, torn between the options he had laid out in front of him: get on the first train to Denver and forget this had ever happened, or storm back into Miles’ apartment and do what he could to make things right. There was an element of irony to the idea of someone like him trying to convince Miles that he was sick and needed help, but irony didn’t make it any less true.

That was really held Waylon in place, that singular, most important question- was Miles better off without him?

So much of this had already been Waylon’s fault, and every move he made seemed to strangle the both of them tighter, closer, inching moment by moment to some final disaster.

Waylon was exhausted with the effort of trying to hold back his pervasive sorrow. His head, eyes, chest all ached and tears leaked out despite his best efforts to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. The tablecloth blurred as he scrubbed at his eyes, ashamed.

One of the baristas tapped briskly over to him and plucked the coffee cup from its tray. He felt her pause and hover there while he laced his fingers over his red-rimmed eyes.

“You okay there, darlin’?”

Her voice was sweet, cloying, and undeniably feminine. Waylon’s hands slammed to the table as the words hit him.

Darling. Darling. Darling. Bloody footprints dribbled beneath him and eyes stained red peered through the locker slats.

Waylon was out the door before it even registered that his body was moving. He barreled through occasional knots of people, gorge rising in his throat.

Darling. The word played like a skipping record in his head, feeling far away and too close as he felt, rather than heard, all the terrible tones and meanings it could take against Gluskin’s tongue.

Machinery started up somewhere, a distant mechanical whine that startled Waylon so badly that he hurtled to the sidewalk.

Pain lanced through his head, his jaw, his wrists all raw against the concrete. Hands reached out and touched him where he couldn’t see, vision swimming in a view of the ground.

Here, darling. This will help you relax.

That’s when Waylon screamed.

He crawled forward and stumbled back to his feet to shoulder, linebacker style, through the people who had drawn close to help him. Colors streaked into abstract shape as he ran aimlessly; his chest was tight and painful with his heartbeat, shaking so hard it might have been rattling his whole soul.

He certainly hadn’t intended to make it all the way to Miles’ apartment, didn’t realize he was there until his back thumped up against the door and he slid down, gasping for breath. His eyes shut against the light; when he opened them, the hallway was Mount Massive again. Water stains darkened into blood puddles, and a ceiling fan clicked faster and faster into the crackle of a fire licking at a nonexistent chapel.

This was the last place he’d wanted to be. It was the only place he knew anymore.

Dammit, darling.

The words were as real as they had been when Gluskin had said them, rasping and cruel and strangling the breath from him in panicked gasps. Waylon drew his knees to his chest and curled his forearms over his face, so he wouldn’t have to see that pulsing halo of darkness that crept into his vision. Somehow, he could feel an ache where his ankle was- where his ankle had been, he remembered.

Darling-

“Waylon?”

Hands touched him again, on his shoulders and over his own hands, trying to pry them away from his face. Waylon whimpered when he found that he didn’t have the strength the scream.

--

There was a thumping and breathing sound just outside the apartment that had really started to bother Miles. He had a headache and he was surly and sick, just enough to confront the intrusion.

Drinking didn’t usually make him sick like that, but now the liquor twisted in his gut. He had tried to just pour himself some more and drink that feeling away, but for some reason every time he brought it to his mouth he thought of Waylon, slouching out the door with that defeated look on his face, and the illness redoubled.

The sounds from the other side of the door became a strange, jittering whine, and Miles had certainly had enough of that shit.

“Listen man,” Miles drawled as he cracked the door open, “it would be great if you could go jerk off somewhere-“

The words died on his lips as soon as he recognized the shivering mass of Waylon.

“Waylon?”

He was crumpled in a heap and shaking worse than Miles had seen before. There was blood on him, on his face, the sleeves of his shirt, and drooling down his mouth. Miles was touching him before he could stop himself, trying to pivot Waylon towards him so he could try and figure out what was wrong.

Memories pulsed through reality, Waylon overlaid with more blood, in the inmate’s suit, tiny beads of blood gathering on a knife edge, all of these obscuring and merging with the current Waylon, the real Waylon, cowering in the hallway.

Miles’ fingertips buzzed. He dragged a breath in and shook his head, because it was exactly the worst time for the Walrider to be happening to him.

“Waylon!”

He tried helplessly to pull Waylon’s hands away from his eyes, to let the man see him. He only got a low, quavering moan in response.

“I can’t, I can’t do this,” Miles whispered to himself.

He pulled his hands away to smooth back his hair and pace a tight circle in the hallway. That horrible, detached aching was tugging in his chest; he was losing himself.

It was the worst possible time, but anxiety was like a tide pulling him away from his body.

He stooped and held onto Waylon stubbornly, picking the smaller man up as best he could  and staggering through the door. His arms trembled under the uncooperative weight and he kicked the door closed behind them. Waylon had begun to thrash, weakly, but it still threatened to knock Miles off his feet.

He could make out snatches of Waylon’s panicked ramblings; he understood “Please, Eddie, no-“ at which point he tuned the rest of it out. The words had brought another wave of that dreamlike sense that Miles was disappearing from himself, and he was no good to Waylon like that.

“It’s not happening this time,” Miles grunted as Waylon’s fists and knees jammed into him. “I’m not leaving you, compadre, just- just hang tight for me, yeah?”

Waylon was deep in some memory, some old rehearsed terror. Miles was scared to even see it, scared that he might go too deep and never come back.

He fell against the arm of the couch, holding Waylon to himself tightly enough that he wouldn’t catch another stray elbow to the gut. There would definitely be bruises the next day.

“C’mon tough guy, I need you to calm down. It’s me, it’s Miles, you gotta breathe for me.” Miles voice cracked.

He couldn’t tell which one of them was making his hands shake.

Miles drew soothing circles in Waylon’s hair, down between his shoulderblades with unsteady fingers. It was too tense and Miles couldn’t think, couldn’t quite remember the places he could touch that hadn’t been used to hurt Waylon.

It was a minor miracle that Waylon hadn’t passed out with the way he wheezed and gasped. Miles leaned back against the arm of the couch, pulling Waylon against him and skimming his hands along his shoulders and arms.

The contact kept Miles anchored there, even with reality starting to melt at the edges he could just touch Waylon and remember where he was, where he should be. He hummed tunelessly and rocked the both if them in the indulgent, childlike way he remembered his mother doing for him.

“C’mon, hush Waylon. You’re gonna hurt yourself carrying on like that.”

Waylon finally opened his eyes, slowly, like he was waking up. He stared wide-eyed, movements calming to a tremble as his fists grabbed at Miles’ shirt like the garment could keep Waylon moored in real life.

He was surprised that Waylon wasn’t crying. He looked lost, haunted, and honestly a touch feral- but he wasn’t crying. For some reason that bothered Miles, but he couldn’t figure out why he should have felt better to see Waylon cry.

Waylon’s breathing came a little more measured, a little deeper, until Miles was fairly confident that he wasn’t going to black out. They stayed pressed close together while Miles stroked his head like a frightened horse.

He reached up, slowly, and dragged a shuddering palm across Miles’ cheek. It came away wet and dark, like he’d wiped off melting mascara.

“…Why are you crying, Miles?” Waylon said quietly.

Miles touched his own face. It also came away wet and dark, smudging against the similar inkstand that spread slowly up his arm.

“Oh,” Miles said, watching the liquid drip from his fingers with fascination. “I…don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Waylon buried his head in the crook of Miles’ shoulder. Miles obligingly didn’t let him go, the two of them clinging to each other on the couch like shipwrecked sailors on a plank of driftwood.

[fangirl--of-everything]

Everything They’ve Built (Warren Worthington III x Reader) Part 11

word count: 1930

requested: nope

chapter warnings: fighting, a bit of blood, injuries

series warnings: violence, blood, occasional descriptions of gore, swearing, emotionally abused Warren (I will give specific chapter warnings for when each of these things occur in specific chapters)

A/N. we’re getting to the end of it! Tell me what you think. 

tags: @16wiishes, @pietrorunsforme, @caterina-caterina, @valkyrie-and-lokis-daughter

Alright, enjoy :) 

Warren didn't remember much of the fighting. He remembered some of the before. He remembered promising himself that he would stay close to (y/n) and protect her, and that they would fight as a unit. He remembered deciding that once this was over he was going to grab her, and they were going to run, to fly to some remote island and live the rest of their days in hiding while the world went to shit around them. Maybe he'd pay a visit to his father first, make sure the old man knew what had become of his son. And then they'd run. 

He also remembered the exact moment he forgot all of those things: when a small, pointed blue tail disappeared into the pyramid. The last thing he remembered clearly was diving after the blue bastard, and then he blacked out from the rage. 

It was (y/n) who remembered the entire battle. She saw Warren disappear into the pyramid, and she jumped up in pursuit, but there were too many mutants that caused too many problems. The blue beast slammed into her, and the two of them wrestled, (y/n) getting some good hits in. She released a burst of fire from her mouth, almost burning the other mutant’s face off, but something that felt like a speeding truck slammed into her side, sending her flying.

She tried to attack the streaking silver blur, but he was too fast, and she turned her attention instead to the boy shooting lasers out of his eyes. She saw him launch one at Storm, and she threw out her hands, pushing it aside. These blasts of pure energy were harder for her to control, and she was only able to guide them, not control them, but it was enough. 

The boy turned his attention towards her, but she had already lunged for him, and he hit the ground hard. His eyes shot concentrated blasts in every direction, and she had to keep her head low to avoid it, one hand pressed tight against his chin to keep the deadly blasts away from her. But she forgot again about her wings, and she felt the delicate membrane begin to singe as it shifted towards the boy’s face. (Y/n) growled, pulled back, and slammed her fist hard into the boy’s jaw, stunning him. His head slapped back, eyes shutting.

Her hand caught fire, and that fury that was always rolling deep in her belly rose up, sharp and cold and unfeeling, but something held her back. She could see in this boy’s face that he was related to the one they had captured, and the fury in her belly stilled. She couldn’t bring herself to kill him. The fire in her hands burned out.

The blue mutant from the fighting ring appeared, right in front of her, and she didn’t have time to prepare before his tail snaked out, smacking her across the chest. It compromised her balance only slightly, but then the little bastard disappeared, and she was thrown backwards as he grabbed her from behind and tossed her aside. She landed hard on her back, and when she pushed to her feet both the blue mutant and the one with the laser eyes were gone.

She spun around, looking for someone else to fight, her eyes catching the barest flicker of that silver streak as the fast one raced around the battlefield. She was pretty sure she could figure out a way to take him if she had just a second to think about it.

She heard a shout above her head, and she looked up to see Warren soaring overhead, carrying Psylocke. The two of them sped towards a plane that was rising off the ground. Her stomach twisted, and she pushed off the ground, her anger cooling enough for her to remember that she needed to stay close to him, but the burn to her wing seemed to have compromised her ability to fly, and it was slow to heal, so she was grounded. 

She bit her lip, watching Warren nervously for a second, but that anger rose again in her belly, slow and cold and deadly, and she turned her attention away from the plane and towards Erik.

She lost herself in her rage, engaging again with the blue mutant, and it wasn’t until she heard the sound of something large and heavy screaming through the air that she looked back up to see the plane plummeting towards the ground. Her heart stopped in her chest as it hit the ground and exploded in a fiery wreck, the heat flashing violently over her skin as it raced across the battlefield. She was running towards it without thinking, searching the sky for a flash of metal, or that ridiculous blond hair, but she saw no trace of it. She saw Psylocke hit the ground and roll, but the bitch didn’t even look at her before she ran in the direction of their master.

(Y/n) ran towards the wreckage, the flames dancing over her scales, and she waved her hand to push them away. She approached the warped, twisted metal, and her body slowed on its own. She knew she was going to find, even if she refused to accept it. And when her eyes landed on Warren, unconscious and smoking in the wreck, warped metal twisted around him, a wicked spike sticking out of his belly, she felt something like a string breaking. 

All the rage that had been curling in her belly vanished, and it became clear how fake it all was. It was clear that their master had been pulling their strings this entire time, turning them against each other. Forcing them to hate each other so that they had no one to turn to but him. Part of her wanted to attack En Sabah Nur, to rip him apart for manipulating and taking advantage of them, but there was no time for that now. He could take over the world for all she cared about him at the moment.

The flames that were licking up the ground curved away, sputtering out, and she kneeled slowly, ignoring the way the scalding metal sizzled against her armour as she moved as close as she could to Warren, her hands hovering over his body. Blood trickled down his face from a gash that severed one of his tattoos. How jealous she was of those not even an hour ago. Now she couldn’t care less about them.

“Warren?” She said his name softly, gently, like she did when he was asleep and she didn’t actually want to wake him up. He lay still. Her chest tightened, and she reached out, laying her fingers gently on his face. He didn’t stir. Panic started to awaken within her, and she felt something stir deep inside her chest.

“Warren?” She shook his shoulder, panic making her movements more frantic, and she scanned his body to see if he was breathing, but the stupid armour wouldn’t let her. She grabbed it with both hands, and tore it apart like it was paper, exposing his bare chest and the blood that was spilling slowly from the piece of metal that had impaled him. 

Tears were falling now, not that she noticed, and she pressed her palm against his chest. She felt his heartbeat stutter against her hand.

Her body went limp, her shoulders slumping. Her head dropped to rest on his chest, and she struggled to breathe, struggled to think as she pressed her ear hard against his chest, listening to the faint, uneven beating of his heart. 

She knew the beating of his heart, and this wasn’t it. She squeezed her eyes shut, and the rest of the world disappeared, until all there was was that uneven thumping against her cheek, and the eternities between them where she was sure there wasn’t going to be another one.

She had never before truly wished to be something that she wasn’t, but right now she was praying that she had taken after her mother and her sister. She remembered how Alina had described healing, how it was like a warmth that rose in her palms and spread outwards in soft ripples, and she felt her own palms heat, but she knew it wasn’t the same. If she pressed her hands against his chest she would only burn him.

She stayed like that for a long time, barely breathing as she listened to the slowing beat of his heart. She almost didn’t realize there were people coming up behind her, but after all her time in the fighting rings she wasn’t able to turn her senses off. She took a deep breath, and pushed herself to her feet, keeping one hand pressed against Warren’s chest, feeling the reassuring, if sporadic, beating of his heart. She might have been surprised to see Erik and Storm standing with them, but right now she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Erik stepped forward, moving slowly with his hands outstretched like he was trying not to startle her. “(Y/n)--”

“Can you save him?”

The X-Men crowding surrounding her looked surprised when she spoke, and Erik looked over his shoulder at Charles, who gave a slow nod.

“Yes,” Erik said slowly, “yes they can save him.”

She nodded quickly, feeling Warren’s heartbeat stutter against her palm. “Do it.”

“(Y/n),” now it was Charles that spoke, in that same slow tone.

“Please. Please help him, he’s all I have.” Charles’s face softened, but she knew how men worked, and she knew they wouldn’t help him unless she could give them something in return. “I have something of yours, but you have to save him first.”

“What are you talking about?” The blue woman asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

“That man from the mansion.” (Y/n) met his younger brother’s gaze as she said it, knowing he would be her best chance. “Alex? He’s still alive.”

The dark haired boy’s face went white, and he clutched at the red-headed girl beside him. Everyone else murmured too, and (y/n) squared her shoulders, knowing she had them. “I’ll tell you where he is, but only if Warren lives. If he dies, you’ll never find Alex.”

Charles opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but just then there was the hum of machinery as another dark plane landed not too far away. Things moved quickly after that. The blue man came forwards, reaching for Warren, and she had to resist the urge to growl. She clenched her jaw and took a step back, taking a deep breath as other people touched him, working to load him onto the plane. The children all filed past her, eyeing her suspiciously, but all the fury that had been powering her for the past year and a half seemed to have burned out, and she was left feeling exhausted and afraid. 

The blue man took hold of her arm, and she did nothing to fight him off, allowing him to pull her towards the plane and sit her down in one of the chairs near the back. Ororo sat on her right, and Warren lay at her feet. She ignored the way they all watched her warily for the entire flight, keeping her eyes locked on Warren, watching his chest rise and fall ever so slightly. She just needed him to keep breathing until these people could heal him. She didn’t care what they did to her after that.

[indulgenceweave]

Prompt #4: For All Our Days

In which Detective Takahashi puts down a violent criminal.

Prompt: Shifting Blame

A late submission for prompt 4, while we’re still in the grace period!

TW: Death, Abuse, and Suicide.

Decades old wooden planks creaked and whined under the weight of heavy footfalls. An old tower in Kugane’s east, once perhaps used as a mill or a clock or even just for storage, long since dilapidated despite overlooking a fairly well-used street. Only two people remained within the building now, in hot pursuit; the prey, a young girl of barely sixteen summers. She carried a rusty old firearm, and wore tattered garment richly stained with blood. Her predator, Kugane’s finest detective.

Rikyo thundered up the staircase to the top-floor attic, hot on the heels of the girl who had accusedly killed her husband, and while the details were sketchy, she had also assaulted another person during her escape- where she happened directly across Rikyo. The pursuit engaged almost instantly, barreling down Kugae’s outer streets.Through two shrines, across a market district, and finally to this very tower.

At some point during the pursuit, Rikyo’s rifle had found its way to her hand. As she peeked her head over the top step, a bullet impacted the nearby bannister and showered Rikyo with shattered shards of wood. With a grunt, Rikyo dropped down low. 

“Listen to me!” She called out. “It doesn’t have to be like this! Put your weapon down!” “No!” The girl cried back. “You’re going to drag me back to the Sekiseigumi! They’ll have my head!”

Rikyo hazarded another glimpse over the top of the stairwell to find the girl fiddling messily with her weapon, completely baffled with its complicated machinery. She clearly didn’t know how to handle, much less reload, the pistol.Quickly recovering, Rikyo scrambled up the remaining stairs to meet the girl on even ground. 

The girl glimpsed up and shrieked in shock at the sight of Rikyo standing there, her weapon levelled against the girl. Tears were streaming down her pale skin from sunken eyes. Discarding her weapon, the steel thumping heavily against the ground, she thrust both palms out towards the detective.

“P-please!” She cried. “Please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to shoot you!” Her voice quivered, echoing throughout the empty tower, and her teary eyes glistened in the moonlight.

“Shut up!” Rikyo barked, eliciting a small whimper from the girl. “What’s your name?”

“E...El…”

“Hurry up!”

“Ella! My name is Ella!”

“Step back very slowly, Ella.” Rikyo demanded, her weapon very still and unmoving. “Against the wall.”

The girl, to her credit, complied, rocking backwards on legs made of anxious jelly to press her back against an aged and cracked window, overseeing the busy street four stories below.

"Did you kill him?" Rikyo hissed, her tone cold and vicious.

"I…" Ella faltered. The very sight of the barrel staring her in the eye was chilling her blood to ice. 

"NOW!" The Detective shouted. Ella was openly weeping now, but the barked order had spurred her on.

"Yes!" She sobbed. " But it was an accident! I swear! I loved him, I didn’t mean for this to happen!"

"You killed him!" Rikyo stormed a number of steps closer. "It doesn’t matter if you loved him or not!"

“No, no, no, no!” Ella glanced left and right. Her options were numbered. 

“Do you understand the penalty for murder?”

“Wait, please don’t-”

The crack of Rikyo’s rifle drowned out the young girls’ plea for mercy. The round struck true, a fatal shot, shattering the window behind her. Her terrified expression was frozen in place as she staggered back from the force of the shot knocking her. The back of her legs hit the oddly low windowsill, the now open broken glass doing nothing to prevent the girl from tumbling over the edge.

Rikyo had turned away before the sound of the impact came, followed closely by the screams.

“And that’s what happened.” Rikyo concluded quietly. “Your daughter admitted to the murder of her husband. I carried out the appropriate justice, as laid out by Hingashi Law. She lamented her crime, but this is no excuse. The law is hard, but it is the law.”

The cold, hard-faced man sitting before her slammed his fist down on the table. “You’re a monster.” He growled, his tone rapidly rising to the anguished shouts of a mourning father. “A kami-damned fiend! You didn’t even listen to my daughter! It was an accident! Her marriage- her husbands’ estate, it could all have been saved! Get out! Get out of my home before I do to you what you did to her!”

Rikyo didn’t need to be told twice. She turned sharply on her heels, throwing the door open to storm out onto the street. Kokoro, caught off-guard by the sudden demand to leave and Rikyo’s just as sudden departure, jogged briskly to catch up.

“It’s not like you to lie to the deceased’s relatives.” She observed. If Rikyo had heard her, there was no indication. All Kokoro could do was match her pace. “I examined Ella’s body- there was no bullet wound. what happened? Really?”

Rikyo kept her mouth shut tight, her attention a million malms away. She couldn’t tell anybody about that night. Not after the promise she’d made to Ella.

“Please, Detective… I can’t go back there. Not to his family and not to mine. I have nothing left. No one. Please… promise me…”

The promise to keep the truth hidden.

That Ella had killed her husband on purpose.

That her husband was a horrid, wretched man.

That Ella was abused, struck, degraded and ignored.

That their marriage had been arranged by Ella’s family. From one abusive family to another.

That it was ultimately for financial gain and aught else.

That Ella could not face her family, knowing what she’d done. She’d ruined them. They would hate her, and she would face an even worse fate than she’d already been suffering.

That this promise was the last thing she’d said before she’d thrown herself through that window, Rikyo only watching in horror, completely unable to stop her.

 @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for entry!

[disrepairhouse]

Chapter 29 - Deals Made

Itara looked around the pitch-black lab when she heard the door slide open due to the power outage, but wondered if she should even try to leave.  What she’d told Zero hadn’t been a lie: Her legs were too badly injured to move on her own and (since she had the time to focus on it) the rest of her body didn’t feel much better.  She honestly didn’t think she could go anywhere on her own, even if she wanted to.  The door was sitting wide open, the area was drowned in darkness, and Zero and Robotnik were both distracted by whatever intruder had showed up.  If ever there was a moment for an escape, this was it… and yet, she still couldn’t.

She scowled down at her still-glowing legs and the burns smoldering around them, only just then realizing the stasis tube had been lowering her temperature to deal with them; now that it was off, she could feel the prickle of the burn under her fur.  She’d been furious enough at the crystals before, a power she was familiar with and knew she could control once before.  This new power- this new curse- she knew nothing about.  It had only activated twice now and both times, both times, it had resulted in disaster.  She’d hurt Mira and Kelly before and she nearly killed herself this time.  She wanted nothing to do with these manifested flames.  She barely wanted anything to do with the crystals anymore and the flames could get dowsed for all she cared.

As the gravity of such a thought sunk in she took a moment to calm down and looked around the room, her eyes adjusting to the dark easily enough.  If ever there was a time to escape, this was it.  As much pain as it would likely cause her, she couldn’t waste the opportunity. She had to move.

With a final, deep breath in, she forced her legs over the edge of the tube.  The glass crackled threateningly when she moved over it, but she pushed forward. The burns were the least of her worries, she realized, as every inch of her body not covered in protective crystals cried out at the movement.  But it wasn’t until she put pressure on her arms in an attempt to push herself up, as one of them collapsed and caused a stabbing pain, that the break made itself distinctly apparent.  She yelped in a combination of shock and pain and quickly shifted her position to take the pressure off the broken arm, readjusting to wrap the other around it. It hadn’t been wrapped up or splinted in anyway so she hadn’t expected it to be quite so bad -and she suspected the stasis tube might have kept the worst of the pain minimized- but between everything shutting down and her movements, every injury she’d sustained in the crash came screaming to her attention.

Not that she was a stranger to pain.  She’d dealt with worse, which was likely why she was still trying to shift her way out of the stasis tube, but having nothing to wrap it with made movement noticeably more difficult.  When she finally managed to thump her way to the floor, the jolt caused another sharp stabbing in her throbbing arm and she nearly tore through her bottom lip to keep quiet.  Deep breath in and release.  She had to find some form of support for her arm if she was going to get anywhere. After a quick glance around only to not find anything of use in the lab, she looked down at her charred and torn uniform.  She’d lost her shoes at some point, the flames surrounding her legs burnt her socks away long ago and even the bottom of her skirt was bordered by a jet-black crispness. But her ribbon was still somehow intact.

She reached up with her good arm, pulled the necktie out from its hoops, tied the ends as best she could with one hand and her teeth, then slipped it over her head and maneuvered her broken arm into it.  It was short, far shorter than was needed, but it was the best she could do at the time.  It would have to work.  She just needed something to keep her arm from constantly moving as she pushed herself back up to her feet.  Okay. Progress.  She still had a way to go, considering she didn’t even know where to go, but progress was progress.  Her legs burned and the pressure from standing felt like thousands of needles were prickling all up and down them, but she could deal with that.

She hobbled forward from the tube behind her that she had been using as a support and nearly tumbled right back to the ground. If the chair Zero was sitting in hadn’t been in front of her, all her efforts to keep her arm from moving would have been wasted when she slammed it into the floor.  It rolled and nearly tripped her when she grabbed for it but she managed to keep herself on her feet.  Somehow.  A heavy sigh filled the quiet room as she pep-talked herself back into standing up straight again, keeping hold of the chair in the meantime.

As she mentally talked herself back to her feet, however, a brief glow of red flashed in the distance before disappearing again. Itara only barely caught it, being more distracted with talking herself down and had just assumed it to be one of Robontik’s bots roaming around to get the lights back on.  If anything, it prompted her to get moving again, knowing he would likely turn the power on soon and she needed to at least be out that door before he did.  However, as soon as she straightened up and moved to take as step away from the chair, the red glow appeared again, this time much closer and accompanied by bright, red and black swirling eyes filling her view.

A shriek echoed around the hall, followed by a shrill laughter, and the thud of the hedgehog falling back again, the chair toppling with her.  It took Itara several minutes to return to her senses, but as soon as she did, fury filled the gaze locked on the doll, “KIPPER!”

The doll materialized, his laughter continuing to fill the darkness, sending a shiver up even Itara’s spine, but he calmed before long and grinned down, “That never gets old.  Look at you, you’re in awful shape, little hedgie.  What’d ya do to yourself this time?”

Itara took a moment to calm her breathing but shook her head.  As mad as she wanted to be at Kipper for scaring her, more than anything she was just relieved to see him again.  Instead of yelling, like the doll expected, she reached up and wrapped him up in her good arm, hugging him tightly, “Kipper… I’m so happy to see you.”

“…Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy,” the doll winced, though didn’t bother to move away, as usual.  He’d gotten used to her clinging long ago.

“We don’t have time for this, though,” she frowned, releasing him again, “I need your help.  There’s no telling how soon the power will come back on, I need to get out of here before it does.”  Kipper looked the disheveled, broken hedgehog over with no shortage of skepticism, prompting her to continue, “Can you still-?”  However, before she could even finish the sentence, the base zapped and hummed, causing the hedgehog’s eyes to widen.  With a great clamor of noise, the base’s power zapped back to life, machines beeping, lights humming, doors slamming shut again.  Unfortunately, that included the door leading to Itara’s escape, dropping her head as she sighed heavily..

“You were saying?”

Itara shook her head, letting her eyes adjust to the too-well-lit room before looking up again, considerably more downtrodden than she had been a moment ago.  However, the doll’s grin never changed as he floated casually around the room, ‘examining’ the machinery and stopping at the computer’s console.  Itara watched him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing.

“You know, this is a decent-sized base,” the doll grinned, resting on the computer desk across the room, little padded ‘hands’ pressing against the keyboard as he leaned back.  “Be a shame if Mama Bear got caught before he could find the right room.”

Itara’s flattened ears perked, whipping back to life as her eyes widened in shock again, “R-RK is here?!”

“Might be.”

“So… the intruder was…”

“That other robot sure looked like quite the foe, hope the two of them can handle him and Robotnik.”

“…Metal… too?”

Kipper said nothing more as Itara went into thought, furrowing her brows before looking up at the computer he was sitting on.  It was still in the reboot process but was almost started up again.  With a slight nod to herself, she pushed herself back to her feet, using the toppled chair and pulling it up, as well.  She hobbled herself and the chair back to the desk, climbed up as quickly as she could while avoiding melting the chair and pulled the keyboard over, shooing Kipper off it.  “If RK and Metal are here, then it’s likely Metal was the one to cause the power outage. But that means his systems will be vulnerable for a period afterwards, especially shorting a base this size.  He won’t be able to do it twice.”

Once the computer was started up, she pulled the base systems up, although she had to clear through a number of warnings first, but got access to the base layout and the camera feeds before long.  Luckily, she’d overheard Robotnik telling Zero where they were so she had no problem narrowing the search down, finding the hanger the four had met on easily enough.  But she didn’t like what she saw as soon as she did.  Robotnik and Zero were standing outside a large power cube, Robotnik yelling angrily about something or another while Zero stood in silence, studying the two figures inside.  She pulled the camera up full screen and turned the audio on, catching the tail-end of the apparent rant.

“…But I suppose I’ll find out soon enough… when I access your memory files and wipe them again.”

“Tch.  All this over a stupid comb,” Metal laughed harshly, though there was no real humor behind it.

“This goes beyond the comb, Metal Sonic!  You two have hidden from me long enough!  I ought to just decommission both of you, rebuild you from the ground up with stronger loyalty chips to make sure we don’t have a repeat.”

Itara gave small whimper, turning the sound back off again and pulling the base’s layout up again.  “Kipper, we have to help.  If we can get to the main power grid, I think I can shut it down completely.  But I’m going to need your help getting there.” She looked up at the doll floating idly beside her, the look of disinterest blatant on his face.

“And why should I?”

“Kipper, please. We can’t let Robotnik capture them again.  You can still possess my body, right?  I can’t get anywhere on my own, but you can get us there, can’t you?  I’ll give you control if you get me to the main power control.”

The doll glanced over, studying her blankly, before grinning, “And what’s in it for me?”

“Kipper, we don’t have time for this…”

“You’re right, you don’t have time, but I’m not helping unless I get something out of it.  So, if you wanna save your Mama Bear, you better come up with one real good reason for me to use up so much energy.  There aren’t exactly a lot of people dying this time around, after all, and unlike you Demi-Gods, my power gets low.”

Her brows furrowed, frustrated by the delay and trying to come up with something to offer him.  The threat of Robotnik knowing about his existence, as well as hers, through the robots’ memories was easy enough for him to ignore, he could vanish and leave.  Robotnik likely wouldn’t waste time tracking him with everything going on at the moment. The only thing she knew the doll was after was more power.  Something she… technically had plenty of.

Sighing, she eyed him sharply, “What if I gave you half of mine?”  The disinterested doll turned to fully face her, the wide, fanged grin spreading far across his face.  “It’s… not like I can even use mine effectively, anyway.  If you get me down to the power core… I’ll… give you half my power.”  Her expression went flat as she added, “it’s what you’ve been after the entire time, anyway, isn’t it?”

The look of amusement briefly dropped from the doll’s face before quickly returning to its usual calm grin, “You knew.”

“Of course I knew,” she sighed, turning back to the computer to pull up the feeds for the route they would need to take to reach the power core, “You just couldn’t without me knowing, and potentially upsetting Solaris was too big a risk, right?  You think there aren’t timelines out there where you tried, anyway?”  She turned back with a dead stare closely resembling the mouthless creature of a time long forgotten, “It goes exactly how you fear, by the way.”  Her expression lightened ever so slightly as she pointed to the map, “Get me here, and you can take half, no repercussions.  Unless Solaris, himself, decides to take them back, but that’ll be your problem by that point, not mine.”

The doll studied her carefully for a long minute, debating the offer and her promises, but the amused grin returned to his face before long, stretching further than she’d ever seen it as his little padded paw -long, sharp claws jutting out from it- reached out, “And here I thought you’d lost that amusing stare long ago.  You got yourself a deal, little shadow.”

Itara’s face twisted in disgust at the reminder of the black hedgehog, but reached her good hand out to take his paw.  She stopped short, however, and cast him a dark glare, “on one condition.”  Kipper frowned but prompted her to continue, “You can’t use it against us.  Me, RK, or Metal.  Your pranks are one thing, but don’t use that kind of power against any of us. Also, I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to control it, either.  If it destroys you, that’s your own fault.”  The doll only laughed, nodding in agreement as he took the hedgehog’s crystallized hand, claws wrapping around the tiny wrist before turning to a white mist and disappearing inside her.

The small hedgehog body jerked at the sudden clash of two souls inside it, the pupils disappearing and the whites turning to a deep magenta.  Crystals spread up through its spines and along its arms while the glow around its legs brightened and then simmered again.  When pupils appeared in its eyes again, they were jet black and swirling, looking up at the computer screen, studying the maps carefully before floating down off the chair, its legs never quite touching the ground.  After a short conversation between the two souls inside, the smoldering glow surrounding the body’s legs shifted and, with an obvious struggle by the controlling soul, swapped position with the crystals on the arms. It stretched the glowing, unbroken arm out, studied the now crystallized, strangely-shaped legs, and finally disappeared into a black mist in the floor.

 Metal scowled once his attempt to laser the floor beneath them to escape failed, looking between the grid and RK, figuring he was likely going through his own processes to find an exit.  Robotnik was watching them closely, grinning with amusement, but had sent the other robot off to do something else.  It was just the three of them, for the first time in years, but there was no comfort in the familiarity.  He knew the mission was risky, but he hadn’t expected to be tricked so easily.  More than anything, he hadn’t expected Robotnik to be prepared for their arrival. It suggested more than he cared to admit, though apparently RK came to the same conclusion as he looked up at the sneering Doctor.

“You knew we were coming.”  There was no question about it.

“I had a fair idea, yes,” Robotnik responded, leaning back and crossing his arms, the grin never leaving his face, “thanks to a strange anomaly that showed up in front of me.  I never would have guessed my rogue robots were in the hands of a small child.”

“What have you done with her?”

“Oh nothing… yet.  You should be asking what she did to me!  The crystals were one thing, but I never expected something so small to cause so much destruction.  Tell me, Robot Knuckles,” he leaned forward again, “Just how long have you been working for her?”

“We work for no one,” Metal growled, glaring up at Robotnik, though the claim seemed to interest him.

“Is that so?  Then why did you risk capture to come rescue a mobian?  You were built to destroy the mobians, not protect them.  Well, no matter now.  I’ll have you deactivated and reprogrammed soon enough, and with that anomaly’s extraordinary power in my hands not even Sonic will be able to stop me!”  Robotnik broke out into laughter while the robots returned to their escape plans, however it all came to a halting stop as the lights around the base flickered wildly again.  RK looked to Metal, who only shrugged, it wasn’t him this time, obviously, but Robotnik glared down at the consoles in his hovercraft.  “Oh, what now?!  Zero!  What’s happening?!”  A low buzz came from the comm unit, but no response from the other robot.  “Zero!”

Instead of a response, a loud screeching static screamed out from the comm, causing Robotnik to jump in place, scrambling to turn it off while the robots only looked on in confusion.  They were picking up a strange reading on their own radars but it wasn’t causing the same level of interference as it was on the hovercraft. The lights continued to flicker and buzz, but the grid around them remained solid and intact, much to their dismay.  Just as Robotnik finally got the static to shut off, an empty holographic screen popped up, displaying nothing but further static.

“This old junk.  This is why I never use old models,” Robotnik grumbled, hitting a number of buttons to try and shut it off, getting no response from his creation. RK, on the other hand, watched the static with a certain suspicion, questioning the likely cause.  He had a feeling it wasn’t just a malfunction.

As if to prove the point, as the lights zapped out entirely, a distorted orange and white face appeared against the static, eyes swirling black and red and a burning red gem glowing just above the torn, stained round ears.  Two long rows of blood-stained fangs spread out in a wild grin as its clawed arms moved up to reach out towards the screen. A high-pitched screech echoed out through the darkness, though whether it came from the screen or Robotnik, neither of the robots could actually tell. The robust man attempted to scramble away from the doll threatening to escape the screen, though only succeeded in knocking the hovercraft around, nearly throwing him from it.

RK, on the other hand, wasn’t sure whether he was relieved to see the doll or not, as he hadn’t since they left.  He had no idea Kipper was planning to come with them and, in fact, seemed to suggest otherwise with his flippant disregard for the travel plans. Then again, that was just how the doll seemed to work, he did as he pleased and RK often wondered if he even knew what he was doing until he did it.

The ghost doll let out a vicious laugh and settled back against the screen again, though his grin hardly changed as the video changed to a feed of a location in the base.  It was empty at first, only showing a power unit of some kind, before zooming in -on its own- on a small burgundy hedgehog hobbling towards the massive power grid.  Before Robotnik could calm down enough to realize what was happening, the doll spoke, his voice shrill and glitched, “Guess who!”  Robotnik only stared in terrified confusion, but the robots honed in on the display, studying it carefully until they recognized the lightly glowing figure.  “Run fast, Mama Bear.”

“What?  What’s happening?  What is that?!  Zero! Zero where are you?!”

The hedgehog on the screen, seeming to get a signal from something off screen, looked up at the camera with glowing green and magenta eyes and waved with her smoldering, unbroken arm.  She then reached over and pressed that hand against the outer layer of the power core, the thick iron turning white hot and melting rapidly around it.  The base snapped and crackled in response, giving Robotnik all the answers he needed, as the feed disappeared with the power failure, bringing the power grid around the bots down with it.  Robotnik panicked, still trying to raise Zero on the comm unit, though still got no response. Metal and RK grinned to one another, though before they took off turned their attention back to the panicking Doctor.

“N-Now, you… let’s just… can’t we talk about this?”

Metal scoffed but RK said nothing as he darted over, cleaving through the hovercraft and sending Robotnik rolling out as it crashed in a heap several feet away.  Metal’s arm sparked back up, moving threateningly towards Robotnik, but RK stopped him and motioned towards the doors.  Metal scowled at him resentfully for a moment, but followed soon enough as they pulled up a layout of the base to find the room Itara had been in.

They got as far as the lab she’d been in before Zero showed up again, sword in hand, ready to fight.  RK growled at the interruption, knowing the likelihood of the generators blowing with that kind of damage was all too likely, but calmed after a short conversation with Metal.  It didn’t take both of them to retrieve Itara and he doubted even Zero could catch Metal at full speed.  He just had to create an opening for him to get past that sword.  Stepping out in front, he pointed his claws out towards the other bot, “let’s finish that first fight, shall we?”

“Happily,” Zero grinned in response, both moving back into an attacking position.  Metal took a step back to give RK the space he needed in the narrow hallway, mapping out the fastest route to the tiny child as he waited for his opening. Neither RK or Zero wasted any time getting right to the point and as soon as RK had the other pinned down -brief as it was- Metal had his opening and was gone.  All he needed was half a second of the sword arm being out of commission and half a second was all he got.  As he raced down the hallways, the sounds of battle disappeared behind him.

Luckily there were few active robots in his path to slow him down, most relying on the now inactive power grid, and Metal reached the locked double doors to the core before long.  He questioned how the little girl even got through it in the first place, as he had to pry them open to get through, himself, but figured the doll likely had something to do with it.  However, as soon as he entered the smoldering room, he was glad he got there as quickly as he did.  Sending a quick update to RK about the state of the base, he called out for the tiny child, hearing her exhausted response before long.

Following her shockingly weak voice, he found her leaning up against a far wall struggling to stay awake.  “I have a long list of bones to pick with you, child,” he stated, walking over and kneeling beside her, looking over her as she shook herself awake. “But I suppose it should wait until we’re safe.  Come on.” He reached out to pick her up, but she shook her head.

“B-Be careful of my… arms,” she stammered, motioning towards the smoldering limbs lying to her sides.  “I don’t… I don’t wanna melt… you, too.”

“Hm.  Can you cross them, then?”

“M-Maybe.”  She reached over with the unbroken one to move the other against her stomach, cringing when it ate away at the remnants of her uniform that it touched.  But she got her arms against her stomach and kept a tight hold on the broken one, which had also burnt through her makeshift wrap.

Metal watched her carefully as she did so, waiting until he had her up in his arms and planning an escape route before asking, “what happened to your arms?”

“I don’t… know.  But one is b-broken,” she was struggling to stay awake but every time she nodded off and her arm slipped, it woke her right back up.  They needed to get out as quickly as possible for a number of reasons, and prompted Metal to hold the remainder of his questions for later. For now he adjusted her so she wouldn’t move much before taking off in a run again.  He informed RK that he had Itara and was headed for an exit, giving him a rendezvous point once he finished fighting Zero.  Once he got a response, Metal took off out of the base at the highest speed possible in the enclosed space.  If necessary, he would take Itara to a safe location and return to assist RK, but first was securing the small child.  Kipper, however, didn’t reappear.

[ladyreneeboulanger92]

I Will Try- Chp 1

Kylo/Ben X Rey

Warnings: Injuries

Fluff, angst, smut...

Also on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13116915 

Rey struggled under the weight as Ben's knees wobbled and he sagged into her draping an arm over her shoulders to steady himself. The wound in his side was pouring blood at an alarming rate and his face was already beginning to pale as she practically dragged him. "Hmph..." Rey grunted hauling them both onto the nearest abandoned transport.

Letting out a groan, Ben slammed the switch to close the hatch before releasing Rey to pilot and letting himself slump to the floor. She didn't spare a glance back as she hurried to the cockpit and flew them out of there way to fast to be safe. When they reached the rebel ship it was rough landing and she left it running as she grabbed Ben under the arms to haul him upright.

"Ok Ben, you've got to help me out here." Rey ground out as she failed to get him standing. Even though he was fighting to just stay conscious at this point, he somehow managed to get his feet under him and push up with her help. They staggered out and were met by at least a dozen rebels with their blasters raised.

At the sight of danger, Ben grew more alert raising a hand to stop them if need be but Rey caught his wrist and pushed it back down gently. "It's alright." she whispered through the bond as she caught sight of Finn barreling through the hangar doors with the General right behind him. Pushing forward she called out to them, "He's injured." Finn looked confused but hurried to help and the rebels lowered their weapons slightly.

Leia rushed over and quickly called for medics to assist. No one hesitated at the General's command though the nurses all flinched when Ben jerked as they lifted him onto a stretcher. He was quickly taken to the med-bay where they began treating his extensive wounds.

By now he'd lost consciousness from the blood loss. The medical staff was less wary now and moved in practiced synchronization as they stripped his shirt and hooked him up to beeping machinery, Rey stood by with her hands limp at her sides. Blood smeared her fingertips as she watched intently for the rise and fall of his breathing. At the sight of his bared wounds she exhaled sharply.

"Rey, are you hurt?" Leia gently prodded as she came to stand by her and took in the blood soaked through her clothes and matted on her skin. Rey didn't look away from him as she replied weakly, "No, I'm fine. It's all his blood." She felt fingers intertwine with her own as Leia took a deep breath and asked almost too quietly, "You brought back my Ben?" Rey knew she was asking if it'd be Kylo Ren who woke up or her son.

That is, if he woke up. She nodded and squeezed her hand back as a nurse moved aside revealing the deep gash in his side that had been gushing blood, "He was protecting me." Rey trembled but steeled her voice, "He's going to be ok." It was as much to reassure herself as it was for his mother.

After several hours the haggard medical staff deemed him stable enough to be moved to a recovery room to rest. Finn intercepted Rey as she followed Ben's unconscious form being hauled away and tried to convince her to get some rest herself but she refused. Seeing the resolve in her expression he relented and watched as her eyes followed then her feet after.

Eventually she fell asleep curled up at the end of his bunk listening to his deep even breathing and awoke as the mattress shifted slightly. Starting a bit, Rey sat up and was met by a curious stare. Dark eyes settled on her own and spoke through the bond, "Are you alright?" She nodded gently and eased back as he tried to sit up on his elbows letting out a hiss of pain.

"Don't make it worse." Rey scolded coming closer and pushing gently against his shoulder to press him back down. The motion unintentionally left her leaning over his prone form. She stared down as he looked up and his expression glazed over a bit. Ben lifted a hand to her waist and whispered, "You didn't leave me...", almost reverently, as if he were in disbelief.

A moment passed where they simply looked at one another and then Rey moved to climb off the bed, "I'll let you rest." He caught her wrist gently and his voice was low, colored with fear and maybe hope as he asked, "Stay?" Rey took a steadying breath before nodding again and settling back beside him. Curling into his side, she tried to be careful to avoid his injuries.

Ben laid his head back then and closed his eyes. Rey splayed a hand over his chest to feel his heart thumping against her palm and watched as his breathing evened out. Her own eyes grew heavy with the warmth of his body against hers and the rhythm of his pulse steady as she thought, 'I'm going to have some explaining to do.'

[imthescapman-blog]

Session 3: 2/2/2017

We were down one player, as Meg, Tiny’s player, was away, but we had a spectator in J.D., who was new to D&D and RPGs in general, and we let him take up Tiny’s character sheet to fill in.

Chapter 1: Life’s Bazaar, continued

We began tonight’s session with a roll for initiative, and Hugo was the only player to act in the surprise round. From outside of the room, the party saw Hugo enter, and then saw two blades pierce his torso, one from the skulk he was smirking at, and another from the skulk he didn’t notice, hiding behind him. The party sprang into action and saved Hugo before he could bleed to death. Ris healed the bard with his Lay on Hands ability, and soon after, the skulks were soundly defeated.

There were two tunnels leading out of this room, but the party didn’t want to explore those just yet, pondering the possibility that these tunnels were dug by newcomers and weren’t part of the original architecture.

Returning to the room full of masks, the group triggered the rhyme welcoming them to Jzadirune once again. The group took a moment to inspect the area a bit more thoroughly, now that the obvious doors had been found, and a secret door was found on the northern end of the room. The group entered this hallway and found another secret door at the end of the hallway. This secret door was also on the other side of another pit trap.

The group took a moment to observe the trap and tried, but failed, to find a way to disarm it. The party did notice that the pit was triggered from weight, and Ris, who weighed the least, volunteered to test it out. He tied a rope to himself and walked across. The pit remained closed. Hugo tried next, assuming the pit was perhaps broken, but his weight triggered the trap. The group could hear gears grinding and clanking in the walls. The group rolled initiative, and Hugo narrowly escaped the pit before the lid slammed shut and the grinding machinery under the floor reached a crescendo of noise.

Wary of the mysterious noises, the group bypassed the pit and entered the secret door on the other side. They now entered a room that held, in addition to the great gear doors, a set of heavy iron double doors. As the group discussed how best to proceed, they could hear noise on the other side of the door, a heavy sliding noise and an occasional thump against the door. Unable to unlock the heavy doors right now, the party turned around and left the mystery of what lay within behind them.

The party now decided to investigate the remaining hallway that led away from the western side of the mask room. They followed along this hallway until it met with another corridor that ran north to south, a multitude of gear-shaped doors along its walls. The group journeyed north and found yet another secret door, which opened to reveal a ransacked alchemist’s lab. Debris littered the floor, including easily recognizable alchemist’s supplies, a bundle of cloth, and a rod with a gnomish rune at its end. A fan was installed on the ceiling to circulate air, but it lay still right now, a belt connected to it running through the wall to the north.

Hugo moved in to investigate further. With a surprising suddenness, the bundle of cloth on the ground launched itself at the bard’s face. Unable to react quickly enough, Hugo fell victim to the cloth’s crushing, suffocating embrace. The group rushed to assist, but were hesitant to strike with their weapons. In its initial attack, the cloth had crushed the life out of Hugo. Any further damage would certainly kill their companion, so they endeavored to forcibly unwrap Hugo, Fogo on one side and Ris on another. The two warriors did well in their struggle and pulled the creature from Hugo, stretching the cloth between them. Others tried to slice into the cloth, but it was strangely resilient and resistant to their weapons. The party didn’t give up, though, and they could eventually inflict enough damage to the cloth to render it ‘dead’ and inert.

After awakening, Hugo confessed to a probing within his mind, coming from the cloth. Glad that the threat had passed, the group inspected the debris and found that, sure enough, the rod was one of the keys needed to get through some of the Jzadirune doors. They also found a few alchemist’s fires and enough supplies to equal alchemist’s tools and brewer’s tools. Another secret door was revealed in this chamber, and it led to an open corridor that ran from east to west. In a few niches carved into the wall, the party could spot inert generators that once turned the fan behind them and belts that ran to other rooms for suspected similar function.

To the east was something very notable, however, as the party saw what appeared to be a makeshift wall built from wooden planks and destroyed furniture. The group stood near it and offered opinions on the wall’s function. Hearing this discussion, the room’s occupant slithered over to investigate. The party heard the same creature that was on the other side of the iron doors they encountered previously. Curiosity got the better of them, and they looked for a hole to peek through. Upon finding one, they spied a thick, green hide covering a serpentine creature of some kind. Tiny decided to taunt the creature, yelling through the hole that the group was peeking through. The creature started making an excited warbling screech as it explored the wall, looking for where the noise was coming through.

A green tentacle with a hooked growth of chitin on its end found the peekhole, curled up, and gave a mighty pull as the creature screeched its excitement. Parts of the wall began to fall, creating an opening large enough for the creature to strike through, albeit at a disadvantage. Tiny stood closest to the wall, so was first to get painfully slashed up by the creature’s bladed tentacles. It tried to draw her close for a bite with its dangerous beak, but she managed to slip from its grip before it could do so. The group attacked the creature through the wall, suffering the same disadvantage to attack as the creature did. The party eventually damaged the creature enough to drive it off, and it crawled away to tend its wounds and put out the fire that had started on it from a thrown alchemist’s fire. Hugo used this pause to grant inspiration to Fogo. The party broke through the rest of the wall and pursued, Fogo finding it hiding in the darkness around a corner, its flesh camouflaging to match its surroundings. Fogo spotted the creature easily, though, and with a mighty swing from his greatsword, sliced the creature into an unconscious and dying state. Hugo attributed the victory to his granted inspiration and posed with a boot planted on the dead creature’s corpse.

After taking a minute to catch their breath, the party found that the creature (a grick), was trapped in an immense chamber with twin balconies elevated off the ground and a heavy wooden gear suspended from the ceiling by chains. The faint noise of finely tuned clockwork resounded through the air all throughout the chamber. The area looked defensible, so the party rebuilt the damaged wall as best they could and bed down to rest for the night. Upon resting, the party leveled up to second level.

We took a short break so that the group could level up their characters, roll hit points, and so on, and then we continued. Back in the hallway that they had originally come from, the party found a gear door that they could open with one of their new keys (They found a “U” key in the room with the cloth monster, and a “Z” key in the room with the grick). Opening a door revealed an empty room, but Amria located a secret door to the south, and the party entered, a little jumpy after their recent encounters. The room had three chests with carved animal faces laying on the floor. The first chest had a badger carved in, and Tiny poked at it with one of Ris’ javelins to make sure it wouldn’t come alive and try to eat anyone. When it didn’t animate, she opened the lid and was disappointed to find it empty. The next chest had a fox carved into it, and Tiny repeated the process and was met with identical results: the chest was empty. The final chest had a rabbit’s head carved into its lid, and contained only a simple gray sack. As Tiny poked at it, Fogo swatted her away and picked up the sack.

The party cringed as Fogo shook the sack around, then reached in, feeling a few small, fuzzy spheres within. He wrapped his hand around one of the objects and pulled it from the sack and was amazed as it grew and grew into an elk large enough to push all party members into the surrounding walls. Fogo had found a Gray Bag of Tricks, the party’s first magical item.

This was our stopping point for the evening, and we will resume next week.

The Grick

I thought the grick would be a tougher encounter for 1st level characters. In the original incarnation of Shackled City, that room held a grell, which is a floating brain with tentacles and a beak. The grell is dangerous because of its maneuverability and its capability to paralyze opponents. It is also a CR of 3, which awards 700 experience points. The threshold for an encounter considered deadly in 5e is 500 xp. The grick is a CR of 2 and should have been classified as hard. The grick has a decent damage output and is tough. The PCs didn’t have magical weapons, so all physical damage was halved. The warlock was more effective than the others, granted, but I didn’t expect the fight to be as one-sided as it turned out to be.