#wip: THE ROAR OF CLEAN THUNDER

[megraen]

I was inspired by @gibson-girlboss to make a government document for my COD MW oc, Dillon. Really happy with how it turned out, had to make some changes to her after completing some research.

[fade-and-loathing-in-thedas]

WIP Wednesday

Okay so I've been sick as all hell (fuck this flu) so to be honest some of this has been written in a little bit of a delirium and will need more edits but I think it's okay to share. Thank you to @oxygenforthewicked and @merrybandofmurderers for the tag! Here's a little snippet from the Wallflower and the Wild Child. We're getting close to the finish lol recruitment is coming next :)

The First Enchanter, seeing the situation was getting out of control, quickly stepped forward. "That is quite enough, Eden." Turning a stern look on the Knight Commander, he said, "I will handle the mages Gregoire, they are after all under my charge." 

Adelene exhaled in relief. Now was her moment to explain. She could tell Irving everything, well almost everything, come clean and explain Jowan's situation. Their situation. They had to help Jowan, not because they didn't respect the rules of the Circle—well, truthfully only she respected the rules—but because they all knew Tranquility to be a fate worse than death. Irving was a mage. He would understand. He must. Yet, the words remained stuck in her throat. Fear constricted them. It felt like a chain around her neck, tightening the more she tried to speak. 

The First Enchanter looked from Eden to Adelene and sighed. "I'm so disappointed in you girls. You could have told me what you knew of this plan, and you didn't.”

“You wouldn't have cared," Jowan accused. "You just bow to the Chantry's every whim."

"Jowan's right," Eden agreed. "You don't care about any of us." She looked so furious as to be hot to the touch. Adelene frowned. Why was she so angry? It didn't make sense. Adelene understood Jowan's anger, he never understood that Irving worked with templars to protect them. But Eden… Eden had always respected Irving. However, right now, her eyes were filled with such hatred and with her hands clenched so very tightly at her side, she looked ready to explode. Adelene couldn't understand what had changed.

"If you had only trusted me, I could have protected you," Irving tried to explain.

"Why would we ever trust you?" Eden sneered. "You're the one who signed off on the order."

"What?" Shock staggered Adelene. The things Eden said... they weren’t true. They couldn't possibly be true. "Irving would never do that. Why are you lying?"

Irving looked at Adelene, his gaze heavy with guilt. Which was absurd; he wouldn't sign off such an order. Would he?

"It's true, my dear."

Adelene couldn’t unhear the words. They lashed like a whip across her thoughts, again and again, tearing her apart. The worst of it was her mentor's pathetic attempts to justify his decision.

"I could not allow a blood mage to undergo the Harrowing. It would have endangered all under my care."

Her shock suddenly flipped to blinding rage. "There is no excuse for your actions," Adelene cried. "You are our advocate, our protector, and you sold us out. You're just as bad as the templars."

"Enough," the Knight Commander roared. His thunderous voice reverberated off the walls and brought about an abrupt silence. But what purpose did words serve them now? It had all been a trap they had no hope of escaping. "As Knight Commander of the Templars I sentence this blood mage to death. And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

"The... the mages’ prison." Lily stammered and tried to back away from the approaching templars. "No... please, no," she pleaded. "Not there!” 

"No! I won't let you touch her," Jowan cried, the desperation and fear in his voice clear to all in the room. Adelene's face drained of colour when she realised what he was about to do.

"Don't," she cried out. The word was ragged and raw, tearing out of her chest with more emotion than she’d ever felt in her life. But it was too late. Blood already poured from his palm. 

Adelene was the first to wake. The rest of them were scattered around the ground, dead or unconscious. She suppressed a shudder as the memory of the nightmarish sights of blood and gore, the smell of scorched flesh, the cries of men reared to the forefront of her mind. Jowan, how could you…

“Wh– what happened?” Eden mumbled.

Relief washed through Adelene—Eden was alive. Hopefully her confusion over what just happened will keep her as such. Adelane doubted the same could be said for her.

“Is everyone all right?" Irving asked. "Where is Gregoir?”

“I knew it… blood magic," the Knight Commander growled, as he climbed up from the floor. "But to overcome so many… I never thought him capable of such power…” 

”But… Jowan said he wasn’t a blood mage,” Eden whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. She looked so lost and confused. Guilt twisted in Adelene's stomach. Jowan was a blood mage, and Adelene had taken great strides to help him hide it from others. Even Eden.

"None of us expected this," Irving said gently, then turned to face the Knight Commander. "Are you all right, Gregoir? 

“As good as can be expected given the circumstances!" The Knight Commander snapped. "If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down!” He thrust his hands into his hair and began to pace. "Where is the girl?"

Lily stepped forward. "Here."

The Knight Commander signalled the only remaining templar. "Get her out of my sight!" Then he turned his ire on Adelene and Eden. "And you two," he snarled. "You helped a blood mage escape!" Disgust laced his every word. "Look at all he's harmed!"

Adelene's face crumpled for a single second, just long enough for her to indulge the feelings of fear. Her lips twisted, her eyes squeezed shut, and her heart skipped a beat. But then she pulled herself together. She would go to her death with bravery and nothing else. Stepping forward she said, "you forced Jowan's hand. What choice did you give him?"

*edit* removed tags cos brain finally clicked on and I realised that y'all either tagged me or already shared lol

[thompsborn]

Happy FFWF! Care to share an excerpt of what you're working on? If not, here's your excuse to ramble about your work!

i’m clearing out old unanswered ffwf asks so that i don’t feel so anxious about getting new ones and idk how long ago u sent this one but i’m gonna answer it now anyway ☺️☺️☺️

—

On the twenty third day following the disappearance of the two Stark siblings, a storm rolls in.

It’s an unusual type of storm, one that leaves meteorologists baffled, having seen no indication of such weather on their radars. Thunder roars in anger, lightning flashes, rain pelts the earth, the cities and the towns and the people, a ruthless force to be reckoned with. A majority of people stay indoors, choosing to wait it out until the end, only a brave few attempting to go about their normal business despite the danger it brings. Puddles form, build, consume the streets until it’s impossible to avoid stepping in them, wind shaking the trees and sending soggy leaves drifting to the ground.

A little girl walks alone, steps, barefoot, in those puddles, gets those soggy leaves stuck and tangled in her hair. She trips over a branch and lands in the mud and doesn’t even cry, stuck in a state of some kind of shock as she ambles in the shadows of the trees, close enough to the road to avoid getting lost yet far enough away to not be seen. Dried blood is caked beneath her nose and crusted along her temple, strands of rain damp hair stuck to what is no longer red, rather a rusty sort of brown. The rain helps to clean some of it away, but it’s been there so long, it might just stay there forever. Her hands shake where they’re tucked beneath her arms, the tattered remains of her pajama pants and a sweatshirt that’s various sizes too big on her doing nothing to preserve body heat or hide the blood stains. She limps, favoring her right leg over her left, but doesn’t seem to be aware of it. Doesn’t seem to be aware of anything.

When the bell above the police department door chimes, no one notices, not at first. During storms like this, it isn’t unusual for people passing by to duck inside real quick, seeking a moment of warmth, giving themselves a minute to open an umbrella and take a break from the biting winds. Behind the desk, Clint Barton lets out some kind of grunt and calls out, “Just a sec,” and doesn’t look away from where he’s filling out the birthday card for his youngest son that he hadn’t had the time to buy sooner. The pen scratches along the paper, a long paragraph filling the empty space beside the adorable teddy bear holding a sign that says SIX YEARS OLD! in big, blocky letters.

After a moment, he signs off the card, draws a little heart and then a funny face that he knows will make his son giggle, and then leans back with a satisfied smile on his face. Outside, lightning strikes, and a few seconds later, thunder roars loudly, sounding more like a distant monster than an act of mother nature.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Clint says, tucking the card into its envelope and sealing it shut with ease. “My kid turns four tomorrow, and I had to wait until I got paid to buy a card and wanted to fill it out while it was quiet.” He leans over, carefully places the envelope next to his phone, both items sitting on the corner of the desk, waiting for him to grab them at the end of his shift. Still wearing that pleased little smile, he sits up straight and looks towards the door, saying, “So, what can I do for—”

He stops, freezes in his seat as his gaze slowly drops, down, down, down. Rain soaked hair, dried blood, and blank, unfocused eyes. Tattered pajama pants, a sweatshirt that’s multiple sizes too big. Pale and shaking and simply just standing there, jaw clenching, unclenching, rain clinging to eyelashes as she blinks once, blinks again, a third time, then parts blue tinted lips and hoarsely asks, “Where’s my mom and dad?”

Clint stands, so sudden that his chair screeches against the floor. “Morgan?”

Morgan Stark stares at him, no recognition flashing through her eyes. “I want my mom and dad.”

this is actually the start of a pretty old wip that i forgot about, but that i’m gonna work on throughout october and hopefully post on halloween, and i’m super hyped about it!!

[summersnowz]

wip - you’re my baby (say it to me)

“Arthur,” she pleads, her voice cracking like the glass of a mirror, the words shards pricking her fingers, “please, you have to understand.”

The tower is warm and quiet, stiflingly so, with a suffocating pressure that squeezes at her throat - the stench of death hangs in the air, only covered by the sweet scent of winter roses. Lyanna wonders if it’s an omen of sorts, though she places no faith in superstitions of any kind, not anymore.

Arthur is stone-faced as she begs, his violet eyes - so hauntingly familiar that it sends an ache through her, that she cannot even bear to look at him when the moment hits her right - stare above her head and though Lyanna loathes to do it, she places one hand on his chest, fisting the fabric as her knuckles turn white.

There’s blood beneath her nails, black and dried; she can feel it on her thighs, feel it flaking and cracking as she walks. She pays it no mind, tightening her grip on what seems to be the two most important people in the world right now -

And for a moment Lyanna wishes that they were, and she lets herself think of a house in The North, with snowy hills and a roaring fire. The air crisp and clean, perfect for a growing boy and his family.

No expectations, she thinks, no crowns of honour or collars of prophecy.

Lyanna Stark is not a beggar, nor a derelict, no, she is a lady and a wolf. Her teeth are as sharp as the sword she wields, as pointed as a needle to stitch with but as her babe squirms in her arms -

(Her babe, her babe her babe hers hers hers. Only hers.)

- Lyanna would get on her knees if it meant keeping him safe.

“Please, Arthur,” Jon - because that is his name, Jon, Jon, Jon, always her Jon - lets out a tiny snore, and Lyanna feels her heart thunder against the bones of her ribcage as Arthur’s eyes drop, almost against his will. He’s a wee little thing, born too early the midwife had said, but he’s hearty and strong.

A proper northerner, she thinks, her eyes flitting from Arthur to her son, my baby.

(He would say it’s dragonsblood, and once, in what seems like summers ago, Lyanna would have smiled and kissed him and agreed, lying her head on his chest to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.

Lyanna is not a summer child anymore.)

Arthur sighs, only a small breath between his lips, she knows, but it is enough. She looks down at Jon, with his dark tufts of hair, and slightly pointed ears, and the love that she feels makes her chest swell ten times its size as her hand relaxes atop of Arthurs chest. Lyanna would rip a man apart limb from limb, blood on her mouth, if it meant keeping her baby safe, her baby.

She can only hope Arthur - honourable, kind, good, Rheagar’s Arthur - will not be one of them.

[s11e17]

wehhh so i'm working on this big spn wip and as some of you may know i abandoned a big one a few years ago (i am working on it again hopefully to finish it finally bc of everyone's nice comments but i don't want to give anybody false hope!!) so these days i only post once i've got the whole thing down. BUT i have no motivation to finish this other one so i'm just going to post this excerpt here for Validation™ lol read on if you want to see sam angst

Sam decides to take a desert route back, hopes for the bitter and blistering heat to burn out the persevering cold in his bones. On a sharp right just before Twin Falls, Sam veers southward towards the Nevada border. He keeps driving down, crosses 80 and waits for a good place to turn eastward.

From up where the eagles can see, Nevada is pockmarked with greenish fissures made of brown-green mountains and wet farmland, like mold biting through a loaf of bread. Sam’s nearly fifty year old Torino rattles down along wire-thin highways with presidential names underwritten by numbers. He wonders if the concession to American tradition came before or after the numerical classification, if Eisenhower’s real name is Route 80 or if it’s the other way around.

At the intersection of 80 and 93, where Eisenhower meets Lincoln, the Nevada State Department of Transportation makes itself known with a building and a tree the size of an anthill compared to the vastness of the desert. To the north, a farm’s sweeping green circles like radar scanners interrupt the sandy white ridges overlooking Nevada’s moldy fissures. Military outposts, all of it, strategic camps set up to surveil the unclaimable desert.

The DIY Enochian anti-possession sigil he inked in just above his hip itches. Sam shifts in his seat.

The sky darkens — or it’s been darkening, already, and Sam’s only just noticing — and Sam glances at his rearview. Dark storm clouds gather behind him, covering up the sun. The thing about flat land like this, open country, is that you can see the storm coming miles away. A column of clouds hails down twenty miles behind him. The lightning makes him flinch, and he looks back to the road, clear ahead of him.

And then, too soon, the storm comes over him. He shouldn’t be out here in this weather — good God, he shouldn’t be in anything metal in this weather, that’s for damn sure. Lightning comes down half a mile ahead of him and Sam pulls over, gets a tarp out of the trunk and huddles down ten yards away, waiting for the sky to strike him.

Rain clatters over him, loud, ungenerous. The thunder’s so goddamn loud he feels it in his bones. He peeks out of his plastic home to look at the sky.

It’s pink behind the clouds, the hidden sun, maybe. The stormclouds tower like gods, greater statues than Sam’s ever seen, than any place he’s ever been. Everything is red. That’s the trick of it, of the desert — there’s nowhere to hide on the bare and raw earth.

Rainwater rushes past his feet. The stream picks up, turns into a brook — and then into a river, barreling under that Torino, cutting a new road. Sam hides from it all, hunched under his tarp.

It's warm, but Sam's cold. That's the worst of it: that the water is warm, or rather that the water is cold on a hot day which is supposed to even out, but he's still freezing. Sam has been cold for so long he isn't even human anymore, a cold-blooded creature so low-down even the dogs won't fight him, 'cause there's nothing left to fight. Not much for anyone to chew off these bones. The water makes him ice. The water cracks down sharp on the plastic, an inch away from his eardrums, the water pours heaven down and makes him shiver, and the water doesn't make him clean.

Sam closes his eyes. It's so loud. Thunder roars and he flinches at the sound of it, the feel of it, opens his eyes and looks at his feet and sees red mudwater sluicing by and thinks, that's my blood. My blood is running across my body which is the sand. Sam's blood pools around his car's tires. His car is waiting to be struck by lightning.

He shivers under his plastic and the rain keeps coming, endlessly. An inevitable brute. The rain is his father. Lightning, and then one-two-three seconds later, thunder. "Fuck off," Sam whispers, teeth chattering together, and his face is wet even though he hasn't moved out from under his cover. What he can see of the sky is more purple than pink. "Fuck you," he says, louder, trying to speak the warmth back into himself, the heat, the fire. Dean's fire. The fire Dean has in him that makes him throw furniture when he's mad, that makes him punch walls and break bottles. The fire Dad stoked in Sam's older brother without an exit sign, the fire Sam used to have. Sam wants that fire back. Can't he have it? Dean doesn't need it, Dean doesn't want it— it's Sam, Sam's the one who needs something, anything in him that's his and his alone, see, he'll even take a hand-me-down.

The clouds die off and the rain stops. The sun comes back. Sam's blood shudders next to his car. Sam carries the tarp on the crown of his head like a businessman holding a newspaper over his head in Manhattan rain. He shakes it off and puts it in the trunk. The car wasn't even struck by lightning. He didn't need to wait outside.

Once he's inside the car, looking out of the windshield at the endless, inevitable, unclaimable desert, it hits him.

Sam is, suddenly, for the first time in many, many years, very angry.

He looks at his hands which are shaking with the residual cold despite the car's heat and he— he storms out of the car and leaves the driver side door open and he kneels down and he grabs handfuls of mud, presses the mud between his fingertips. His whole body is shaking. He's so angry. He's so angry. He didn't deserve that thunderstorm. He didn't deserve— it itches, the Enochian on him, the brand he took as the lesser curse— the sand is gritty in his palm, he's never felt the earth like this— there's no mud in the cage— he's nothing, he's nothing, he's a dog, he's less than a dog, but he's human, isn't he? Isn't he?

"Fuck!" Sam yells at his hands, his voice cracking with disuse. He hasn't yelled in years. He can't even remember it. What does Sam Winchester have to yell about? "Fuck!"

He looks up, straight ahead at the length of mud that stretches in front of him like an ocean. He looks at that horizon.

Sam opens his mouth, and he screams.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“First Lines” | Tag Game

Hey Y’all I have gotten tagged in this a few times— thank you so so much @auroracalisto @mikaelson-emma and, of course, @hellotvshowtrash— I haven’t had much time to read them and form coherant thoughts but expect some soon. 

So the rules are you post the opening lines to 20 of your most recent fics— or all the ones you have if you don’t have 20— and it kinda just shows who you are as a writer and it’s just fun!

I decided to include some WIP’s— and expose to everyone who is not @activist-af the sheer amount of fics that I start and then set aside. Please enjoy y’all I got a kick out of compiling this list!

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies, a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies. Right?

(WIP | Persephone’s Symphony | Bucky Barnes)

_

“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter One | Loki)

_

The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Two | Loki)

_

“Please Surtr.”

Her voice rings through his ears on a loop, the most beautiful and agonizing melody that he has surely ever heard. She must be magic- something strong and powerful and like nothing he has ever seen before. There is no other explanation. It had been magic when she appeared to him, literally falling into his lap as if out of thin air. He is the god of tricks but even he cannot do that- he cannot make women that smell like flower petals land in his arms at will. He wishes he could- more than anything he wishes he could pluck her out of his dreams and bring her back to him. But he cannot because that was not a trick. That was something else entirely.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Three | Loki)

_

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Four | Loki)

_

“On the balcony,” Frigga calls back, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders. “We have company!” She adds, seemingly as an after thought— she is too busy pouring wine from a glass feeder into a beautifully ornate cup.

At least, Y/n thinks it is wine. She can smell the fermented berries— sweet and tangy and warming her nose as all wines she has encountered before have— only this wine is a pale violet shade. It is not an opaque rouge, not a barely there chartreuse. Nothing like what she has ever been able to get her hands on by way of bartering or shared celebration. Weddings and births. She takes a seat in one of the golden chairs, trying not to think about how out of her element she truly is. The little details are starting to show though. Not just extravagant pools and marble hallways. Even the food here is luxurious.

(WIP | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Five | Loki)

_

She would have never thought it possible. Never. She’s the type to sit at home and crack open a good book. Maybe make a nice cup of tea. Lately she has been finding hibiscus tea to be a nice way to end the night. That’s besides the point, though. The point is that she is nothing like her older sister Jane. She is a dreamer, not a doer. Not a traveller.

Especially not a traveller of space— of foreign planets.

(WIP | Untitled | Loki)

_

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

(Posted | Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys)

_

“Get away from me, Kai!” Y/n snarls, pushing her way through the grill with a huffing witch on her heels.

She had been eating her meal- staring at her meal more like— and trying to ignore the constant buzz of her phone. He was incessant, texting her non— stop as if it would make it all better. After the thirtieth text she had turned her phone off, preferring to look at her food in silence. No text can erase his voice in her head. She means nothing to me.

“Not going to happen, kitten,” Kai purrs, his hand wrapping around her arm and tugging her to his chest, “you’re not going to ignore me.”

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

_

New Orleans isn’t all that it was cracked up to be she muses to herself as she winds her way through the tombs. They tower over her, shadowing her with the sins of so many people before her. They’re lonely. That’s all she can think, over and over again. They must be so lonely. There can’t possibly be enough people to visit each of them. There aren’t even any people to visit her, let alone thousands of lost souls. She laughs to herself, a cruel sound breaking through the crashing silence. She is a lost soul.

(WIP | Do You Have A Moment? | Kol Mikaelson)

_

A little bit outside the city lines of New Orleans, tucked precariously off highway 109, there stands a roadside market. It isn’t too far, nor is it too close; it’s just right, like the porridge in some half assed, uninspired fairytale. It’s nestled perfectly on the edge of the bayou, drawing in just enough business to keep the two girls running it in business. The jam is sweet, the ham is honeyed, and the women have smiles that look a little bit like rain in a drought: necessary for life but too much water on dry soil is a recipe for disaster. It’s all a little bit too perfect. Too clean cut and wholesome. But this isn’t a fairytale, after all. It’s the story of the girl who got away with it and the girl who helped her do it.

(WIP | Hey Tommy | The Mikaelsons)

_

The Salvatore house has always smelled the same; like oranges and rum. A lot of rum. It is a welcome scent, one that smells almost like home. It will never truly be home, those scents are already reserved in your very essence, but it’s close. You’ll always be happy to walk through their door. Today is no different.

(WIP | Forever and Always | The Mikaelsons)

_

Kol drags a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on the book in front of him. His eyes wander the page, the corner of his mouth lifting when he skims something particularly interesting. You, too, have a book in your hands but, unlike him, your focus is elsewhere. To be exact, your focus is four feet away, basking in the sun on the lap of one shirtless vamp.

(WIP | Best Friend Things / Part Two | Kol Mikaelson)

_

“So, love,” a pair of arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a warm chest, “these are the famous pumpkins?”

A familiar blonde head, the one you woke up to this morning, settles against your shoulder. He must be leaning significantly given the fact that he’s at least a good head taller than you. You break the rain spell you had been working on, laying your wand next to your pumpkin starts. That’s the beauty of magic, you can grow in any season. You turn to face Klaus, a soft smile on your face.

(WIP | Pumpkin / Harry Potter Universe AU | Klaus Mikaelson)

_

The salt clings to her sticky skin, her hair grainy and matted from the surf. Thunder rolls overhead, chasing her through The Cut like. It’s only half past noon but shadows layer the street, casting everything in a dusky gloom. The pavement smells sharp; the rain is coming and fast. She hikes her tote higher on her shoulder and wishes for a moment that she hadn’t dove for as many shells today. She feels like a beached whale with all the dead weight. Business is business, though, and the tourists go crazy for a handmade necklace.

(WIP | Thunderstorm Afternoons | Jj Maybank and John B. Routledge)

_

She shoves her key into the lock of the Smith’s beach house, turning it with an audible click and smiling when she pushes the door open to the smell of warm pizza and oranges. Try as the boys may, Mrs. Smith’s affinity for essential oils will always prevail over the mass amount of cheap pizza they consume on what is— unfortunately— the daily. She hauls her bag higher on her shoulder, closing the door behind her and thanking the heavens she remembered to pack some of the chicken her mother made for dinner on her way out the door. No Domino's tonight, thank you very much.

(WIP | Sleepovers | The Kook Boys)

_

“Y/n, darling, come here,” her mother’s sweet voice trickled over her from the front hall, “I have some people I want you to meet.”

She stepped into the hallway, coloured lights pouring over her. It was Christmas time, her favourite time, and everything was extravagantly decorated. Garland lined the grand staircase, there was a tree in almost every room, and, her favourite, holly strung in every doorway. Her house radiated magic, more so than usual, that is.

(WIP | Hufflepuff Princess | Draco Malfoy)

_

Her feet hit the pavement with careful clicks, her heels— while undeniably killer— a little loud for her taste: a product of her day spent in practice with the other debutante girls. She has to force herself to make her steps light. This isn’t New York, it’s Mystic Falls. Being a southern woman is not a choice; it’s an obligation. A prior commitment she agreed to before she was old enough to truly fathom what it meant. For the most part she loves it— the elegance and refinery, the teatime giggles and flouncing skirts— but the heels? That’s a hard no.

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

_

She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n.

(Posted | The Bet | Rafe Cameron)

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Her bubblegum lip gloss attacks him from all the way across the café, cutting cleanly through the aroma of coffee and donuts and sending his heart racing at the obscenely sweet scent. He should hate it. No, scratch that, he shouldn’t think anything of it at all. It’s not in his nature to enjoy things- or to feel things at all, to be frank- but he can’t help it. The drugstore brand, wildly over-scented balm makes his head fuzzy like nothing else.

(Posted | Bubblegum Princess, Cherry Angel | Kai Parker)

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I don’t really know who to tag because I haven’t been active these last few days so I am tagging people I have not seen do this yet and if you have just ignore me : @elijahs-wife @draconisxcaput @imaginearyparties @dumble-daddy 

[the-wayward-arc]

Wanted to share the first chapter of a 5 chapter commission I'm working on for a friend. (This is a WIP, edits are needed everywhere.)

"I will forge a world that even the twin brothers will be envious of. A world that will know peace and calmness…"

-unknown sector, Rebel controlled world-

"Keep firing! Keep those things off the wall!" A commanding voice yelled as dozens of armored soldiers were firing into the enemy force behind their high walls. Gun turrets fired red beams nonstop at the enemy, some began to overheat and erupt in flames, consuming the gunner. The commander watched as his soldiers fought with all their might. They had rebelled against the tyranny of the Imperium, fighting off those loyal to them in their system and even keeping reinforcements at bay! For a time their armies were strong, being able to keep their sector and planets safe...until they came.

Reports came of a vessel that came out of the warp, it crashed into the nearby planet before any of their ships could intercept it. Assuming it was just a lost vessel that made an emergency jump, a recover force was sent to investigate the wreckage, then the distress calls came in. Various reports of some kind of creatures attacking their various outposts, overrunning them. Slaughtering their defenders and easily overrunning the others. Then more reports of vessels coming out of the warp, crashing on the same planet and more reports of creatures. Cities were being overrun and soon they came...a massive force of…

"IT'S GOT ME!" a soldier shouted, snapping the commander out of his thoughts. He watched as the soldier was shooting frantically, others also shooting while another held onto him and before they knew it, the soldier was thrown over the wall by whatever that had got him. 

“Dammit! You!” he yelled, pointing at another soldier whom was tending to wounded. “Get up on that wall and keep those bastards at bay!” The soldier saluted and ran to join the wall defenders. This was the last stronghold, the final bastion of resistance against the Imperium of Mankind and their corpse Emperor. Thanks to its natural barriers, the only way in or out of the stronghold was the massive gates that were currently being besieged by these “Imperial” forces.

“By the protector, look out!” someone yelled as something exploded, destroying one of the gun turrets. The Soldier shook his head as he looked over the wall, seeing creatures scaling the wall. The bone like faceplates forever burned into his memory as they dug their claws into the structure. He aimed and fired, striking one of the wolf like creatures in the eye and causing it to fall below, where others lay dead, their bodies slowly disintegrating away into a black mist. He looked at the destroyed gun turret and then out across the battlefield, where he could see “Imperial Guardsmen” making their way across the battlefield towards the city. These guardsmen, they were different. They didn’t look like typical guardsmen, no, they were different in many ways. Their armor was vastly different from the others, looking like ancient knights of the Imperial Homeworld of Terra’s ancient past. Some appeared to have what looked like ears or antlers jutting out from atop their helmeted heads. Abhumans? He didn’t know nor cared, it was the fact that these guardsmen were fighting alongside these creatures was worrying. He watched as some were riding atop the wolf like creatures and firing at them from atop their steeds, some hanging onto them as they climbed the walls. 

“Keep firing! Keep th-” the soldier didn’t get to finish as head was blown clean off, his body falling off the wall and down to the ground below. The surviving soldiers shot back, trying to keep the creatures off the wall but they were too late, one made it over. It wasn’t alone as its rider began firing at them, killing a few while the creature slashed others with its claws. It let out a blood curdling howl as more and more were climbing over that section of the wall. Some alone while others with riders. 

“Take the gate controls! We need to allow the main force in!” yelled one of the riders as they fought the defenders back. The commander of the defenders yelled orders as he shot from below, striking one of the attackers from the side. Before he could fire again however, he watched as the wolf like creature covered the injured attacker. It kept him covered as another ran over to tend to his wounds. More and more creatures were making their way over the walls, from the wolf like ones to larger versions of the wolf ones to even other creatures. 

“Beringels coming up!” 

Another creature made it over the wall, a hulking mass of a creature that roared as it grabbed one of the defenders from behind and threw her over the wall. The wall was lost. More and more of the defenders were retreating, some jumping down to the ground below despite the height in an attempt to get away from the creatures and the attackers.

“Open the gates! We have control of the wall!” no sooner did a voice say did the mechanized gates begin to open, they survivors could hear yelling from the otherside as more creatures and Guardsmen began pouring into the courtyard, fighting the defenders with the help of their monsters! The commander fired, killing a few of the attackers as a creature charged at him, its jaws open and claws outstretched as it lunged at him. The commander stayed calm, raising the lasgun up and letting it build up a bit before pulling the trigger and letting loose a plasma bolt that made contact with the face of the creature, killing it instantly. He fired at more of the creatures, rallying his forces to fight off the invaders!

“Don’t let up! Send these bastards to void itself!” he yelled as his forces fought back, some able to bring down one of the large creatures known as a Beringel. Then he noticed something, he watched as one attacker quickly killed some of his men easily with a large sword like weapon only to have it change into a rifle quickly and fired upon the other men. He noticed this attacker was dressed a bit differently than the others, wearing a different kind of armor. While dressed in similar metallic armor, this one had a metal mask on that looked like the face mask of one of the creatures. He fired at the attacker, only to see for a brief moment what looked a bluish field that covered the body of the attacker, easily deflecting the the bolt of plasma. Before he could fire again, a loud thunderous horn was heard, causing all the attackers and creatures to quickly back away towards the opened gates. The surviving defenders looked at them, ready to continue fighting if need be but were confused by the actions of their attackers. But they soon realized why. Why they stopped fighting.

A large growl was heard from outside the gates, the “guardsmen” moved out of the way as something massive made its way inside. A towering monstrous creature slowly walked in, resembling an ancient long dead creature that the commander had seen in old pictures of Terra’s past. Bone like spikes ran down its back, ending on a razor sharp tail, its massive three toed feet caused small cracks to form on the ground with every step. Its snarled at them all, showing off its sharp teeth as its glowing orange eyes scanned around. The rider upon its back simply patted the side of its head and the monster calmed itself. 

“N-no way…”

“It can’t be…

“Oh gods, we are forsaken..”

Various voices reacted to the who was Riding the monster. The commander gulped as he watched the creature lower itself down so that its rider could step down. The Rider towered over the other attackers, cladded in heavy power armor with a cap that waved faintly as the figure walked over to the commander, each step heavy as he did. 

“You fought well.” The figure told him as it walked towards, a soldier tried to attack only to effortlessly knocked away by the armored giant. “Your soldiers are fearless, you should feel proud of that fact.” he continued, his voice calm and deep. It was a voice that demand compliance and obedience. “Your armies proved far more resistance than the Imperium let on, you even gave the Grimm here trouble.” he gestured to the creatures they stayed put. “But here you are, your armies destroyed. Your planets now under the banner of my mother’s kingdom.” he finished as he stood before the commander. The commander had to look up at behemoth of a man. Or well a God-warrior. For standing before him was a Primaris Marine, a super soldier and the pinnacle of Human evolution. His armor was black and red, resembling the creatures of Grimm. His helmet a bone white color with Markings resembling that of the wolf like creatures. The optics of his helmet glowed that frightening orange. “So I ask you this, Will you surrender to a superior force or die trying to fight for a lost cause? The choice is yours.”

The choice was clear to him. His army was on its last leg, this stronghold held the last of them. He looked at them all, some were wounded, barely clinging to their lasguns while others lay dead or wounded. He looked at the Primaris Marine, dropping his plasma pistol and bowed to his knees. “I surrender.” He simply stated. 

“Raise the flags of your queen!” The primaris marine order as the flags of the rebels were cast aside and another flag took its place. The guardsmen saluted the flag by placing their fists up to their chests. 

“Glory to her Majesty, Queen Salem!” they yelled in unison. “Glory to the sons of Salem!”

The Primaris Marine walked away from the commander as the Remnant Guard began to tend to the wounded rebels. The Royal Symbol of Salem fully displayed on his cloak, showing that he was a Son of Salem. 

“My lord, you have an incoming transmission, it is lord Nokris.” a Remnant guard informed him, he looked down at the faunus girl as she held a communication. She placed on the ground as a hologram of another helmeted Primaris Marine formed infront of the Marine. The faunus bowed as Nokris gestured her to leave. 

“Malach, our mother wishes to know the status of your mission and your wellbeing along with the others.” he told Malach.

“Its nice to see you as well brother. The mission is complete, the last of rebels have surrendered and our forces will begin gathering all surviving Grimm soon.” he explained to his “brother.” While not related by blood, they were brothers still by the experiences and hardships they endured. All those in the “Sons of Salem” Primaris marine chapter were brothers, for they all shared a single mother. Salem. “Our other brothers are currently establishing bases for the Imperium’s forces when they arrive. When they do, we shall make our leave back home to Remnant. Let our mother know that her flags fly all over this system and many have bowed to her will.” He concluded as Nokris simply nods.  The transmission cuts off as Malach walks away, his monstrous mount lowers itself to allow him to climb back on. 

“My lord, what should we do about the other holdouts?” another guard asked. Malach looked down at her from his grimm mount and simply laughed. She looked confused at this but composed herself as he spoke. 

“Any who resist my Mother’s will are to be dealt with understand?” she nodded at him. “Exterminate them as you would an insect.” he signal his grimm to walk forward as other Grimm followed closely. The remnant guards watched as Malach rode away; Malach “The Siege Breaker”, the ninth born of Salem.

-rebel system, another planet-

“You must be cleansed. This planet must be cleansed.” Remnant guard walked about, tanks strapped to their backs as a tube connected to them led to a flamethrower like weapon. They stood guard as Grimm walked by, a faint orange glow could be seen in the distance. “Cleanse with fire, it can cleanse even the most vile of sins.” a distorted Voices said calmly. The remnant guards looked at who was speaking, his cloak displaying the royal symbol of Queen Salem as he stood in front of a large fire, serpent like Grimm slept around it for warmth. The fire reflected off his orange optics, his helmet was painted in a way to resemble a Manticore. 

“Lord Onyx, an urgent transmission for you.” A Remnant guarded informed the giant as he looked away from the fire. The Remnant guard placed the device in Onyx’s massive hand, a holographic image immediately formed. It was Malach, his younger brother. 

“Malach.” he said as the helmeted face of his brother looked up at him.

“Ah Onyx, I see you’re being well you.” Malached said, his attempt at humor didn’t faze Onyx. 

“What do you want little brother.”

“Our eldest brother wants to know how you’re mission went and mother wishes to know if you are well.” 

“My mission was a success, the young blood,” gesturing to the other Primaris marines that stood nearby, ordering the Remnant guard. They too were giants among men, their armor painted in the same way as Onyx’s and Malachs, save for them not wearing cloaks. No, they wore the royal Symbol of their mother upon their pauldron. They too were the sons of salem. “and the Remnant guard have cleansed this planet of the sins that tainted these people.” Onyx looked towards the orange glow, watching as a massive city burned in the distance, illuminating the surrounding area as if it was day. “Awaken my beast, we leave this cleansed planet.” 

The words awakened a massively sized slumber grimm, it moved towards its master, revealing to all a Manticore Alpha. It dwarfed the other Manticores and even caused some to go into a frenzy as it let out a mighty roar as fire escaped from its mouth. The Remant guarded backed away from it, Onyx however was not fazed by its actions. It lowered its head, giving Onyx a chance to gently pet it before walking to its side and mounting it. Upon doing so, the metallic armor it was wearing hummed to life, a dark purple glow emitted from parts of it as the large flamer weapons on with side of its face hummed to life. 

“Soldiers of The Remnant guard! My fellow brothers, we leave this planet and we return home! We have cleansed it of sin!” this caused the soldiers to yell in victory as the “Sons of Salem” Marines simply looked upon their elder brother. Onyx signaled his forces to begin their trek towards the landing point as thunderhawk gunships flew in the sky to take them aboard their warships that orbited the planet. Onyx, “The Fire lord” third born of Salem.

-rebel system, other rebel planet-

Two Ursa fought over a dead rebels body as Remnant guard scoured over a battlefield, the battle won in their favor. One noticed a rebel trying to crawl away. “There, Lord Ares was correct about some being alive.” The Bull faunus stated as she kicked the rebel down, the barrel of her weapon pressed against the back of his head. He pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as she pulled the trigger. A distant explosion pulled her attention away from the body, looking towards the ruined stronghold where it originated from. 

“Lord Ares and the other Sons are really giving it to them.” her companion stated as A beowolf walked next to her. She placed her hand on top of its head as they got back to their task. Various shots could be heard as hundreds of Remnant guards scoured the battlefield for survivors, the Grimm picking off any as well, for this was their task given to them by Lord Ares. 

-in the stronghold-

“Dammit! What the hell are these things!” A rebel yelled as an Ursa charged at him, only for it to be gunned down by the gatling lasers of the sole remaining mechsuit they had left. They were pushed back by these creatures and their masters, these marines. 

“Sir! We-” the rebel didn’t get to finish as a bolter round literally blew him into pieces, leaving a bloody mess of parts. “Sons of Salem” marines moved up, the giant warriors shrugging off the rounds that the rebels fired as if they were nothing but pebbles. Their Ursa ran up ahead, trying to overcome the defenses only to be gunned down by the mechsuit. The Rebels clung to that hope, that hope they would survive this and counter their attackers but that hope was dashed as the Sons of Salem kept advancing. They were stunned as one slowly walked foward, the others stopping their march as this single marine stepped forward. This Marine was different, he was bigger than the other marines around him. A good two feet taller than the others. Two massive power claws on both hands, the razor sharp talons dripped with blood as the defenders could feel the aura of dread coming from single massive marine. His helmet painted in a way to resemble the Ursa. His cloak flapped in the wind as he stepped foward.

 Then they saw something else that utterly terrified them, walking up from behind the marine was a massive Ursa Alpha. It dwarfed the Ursa Majors around it. Adorned in metallic armor with a single twin barreled gatling laser mounted on its back, the creature growled, awaiting its master’s orders.

“You will all die here,” The massive marine spoke, pointing a claw at them. “You make a mockery of this battle and my warriors by hiding behind your machine and cover. I shall show you what a true warrior looks like!” he roared as he charged, the other marines resuming their fire as they charged ahead. Some wielding their chainswords, chainsaw like swords that roared to life. The rebels fired, fired all they had only for it be in vain as the massive marine stomped his way towards, lunging at the mechsuit and sinking the power claws into it. The power claws sparked with energy as it melted through the armor plating of the suit, eventually skewering the pilot inside. The Rebels were ripped apart, brutally slain by the Sons of Salem and Ursa. it was nothing short of a massacre. 

Within Minutes, dozens of bodies lay strung about as the marines ensured none survived. Salem’s flag was soon placed high above the stronghold, signaling this planet was taken. 

“Lord Ares!” a voiced yelled out, the massive marine turned to see a Remnant guard riding upon a Beowolf ride up to them. “A message from Lord Nokris.” he informed the massive marine as he patted the head of his Ursa Alpha. The Remnant guarded handed the communication device to a marine before riding off. Nokris eventually appeared upon the hologram, looking up at his brother. 

“Ares, i see that your mission was also a success. How rebels survived this final battle.”

“None did, my soldiers are ensuring even the wounded are slain. They have made a mockery of this battle by not fighting head on, but instead hid behind the walls of their fortress!” he yelled as Nokris stared at him. Nokris knew it was fruitless to argue with his brother, even if he was in the wrong. 

“When you are finished there, return home. The Imperium dogs can have the scraps. Mother wishes for her sons and her armies returned home.” Nokris ordered as the communicator shut off. Ares looked up at the sky as a massive shadow blanked the land. His massive warship hovered above, awaiting the return of Ares, “The War titan”, Fourth born of Salem. 

“Let us return home brothers.” he stated as they made way to leave the former fortress, now little more than a giant tomb for its former defenders. 

The Rebels were able to drive off the Imperium for 10 years…. It only took the Sons of Salem and Remnant guard six months to take it back.

-Remnant, Sepia system; Named after one of Salem’s daughters-

“Oh please, do you really think Queen Salem would allow any of the Outsiders near our home planet? You Know Remnant is only for those born in this sector of the Imperium.” A lion faunus stated as she ate her lunch with another girl. Both were dressed in an academy uniform belonging to their academy. The uniform was standard for those who attended The Fall academy, named after its founder, Cinder Fall. 

“Well that’s what I heard!” the other stated as she looked up at the sky from where they sat. A massive “Sons of Salem” Warship flew overhead, casting a massive shadow over the city as it was followed by a few standard Remnant guard warships that were dwarfed in comparison to the Sons of Salem ship. They slowly hovered away, heading towards another direction the girl did not care for. She simply looked at one of the many ships that safeguarded their sector of space. “Its just, what if she does? What if the Imperium tries to instill some governor or something that would have more power than the queen?” 

“As if! Do you really think her sons would allow that?” she looked at her friend as she finished her meal. “The first ten would never allow her to be dethroned or have someone else try to rule over us.”

“Plus we would fight back, an entire system going to war against a false ruler. The Remnant Guard, the Sons of Salem, the first 10 and even us regular people would rather die than let some Outsider dethrone our Queen! Billions upon billions of people and faunus from all across the planets she rules, would fight back to ensure her rule stays.”  The Lion faunus stated proudly. 

“Plus it would be an affront to the first born.” her friend stated, causing the Faunus to look at her. She calmed down when hearing that,

“Yeah, it would be spitting on his sacrifice…” 

“...He who gave his life to ensure our Queen, his “mother”, lived and brought upon our Golden age.”

“Mauve, do you ever wonder what the first Born was like? I heard he was kind and that his eyes were beautiful and calming.” The human girl asked the faunus as she laid back onto the grass.

“I mean, we did learn about him and the others in school or did you forget about that Maze?” Mauve asked her friend, looking at her.

“I know! But there is more to history than what we read in books. For instance, did you know that he led the charge that freed her majesty when she was taken by forces of the four ancient Kingdoms?” Mauved ears perked about when hearing that.

“No, i didn’t!”

“Yep! Learned that from an old Journal that was found recently, belonged to some old Remnant guard. This was only a bit after the Imperium found our sector.” Mauve was surprised by this, why didn’t they teach this in Academy!

“Also there is another tidbit, Salem wasn’t his mother.”

“Well yeah, we all know that while the Sons of Salem are named as such, they aren’t really related to her by blood. I mean, well there is that other thing that connects them to her but still!”

“True, the first ten are kinda her children since she raised them but the first born was still related to her.” Maze informed, Mauve looked confused at her. Yes, the Sons of Salem were not really her sons but she still treated them as such. She mourned for any Son of Salem that died while fighting on far off worlds. Even held month long mournings for anyone of them that died.

“So how was he actually related to her?”

“Well, he was actually a descendant of one of her daughters.”

“What!? You’re lying! All her daughters died when they were killed by that man!” Mauve rebuked, knowing that they were taught that her Majesty’s daughters were killed by the Wizard.

“Its true! My brother, he's one of the guards that guard the inside of the First Born’s Mausoleum, he says there is a plaque near the entrance to his tomb.” Mauve looked away from her friend in disbelief, towards the massive statue that stood tall 900 feet tall, overlooking the City and Salem’s castle. It was that of the first Born, wearing his royal Sons of Salem armor, holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He was the Guardian of the land of darkness and the Kingdom of Salem that resided within it. A massive King Taijitu rests near the base of the statue, one that is said to be one of the largest Grimm in history. Its said that the massive Grimm was the first born’s trusted mount and protector. It slumbers now, only to awaken if the Land of Darkness comes under threat.

“What does it say?”

Maze cleared her throat, “Here lies Jaune “Alexandros” Arc, The First born of Salem and the direct Descendant of her Majesty’s daughter; Her Royal highness, Catalina! The Eldest of Salem’s daughters.”

-Salem’s castle-

Salem looked upon the ancient painting of her deceased family. Her three daughters. Sepia, her youngest daughter. Sangria, her middle child, and Catalina her eldest child. Her beautiful children whom were taken from her by that man! She quelled her anger as she placed her hand on the image of Catalina.

“I’m sorry my sweet child, if i had known… I would have been there for you.” she said sadly as a small tear escaped the corner of her. No longer was her kept in a bun much like before but now freely flowed as it did before in the past. A Crown upon her head and adorned in an outfit similar to her old one though much more majestic looking for the Queen of Remnant sector, dark purple veins raced across her deathly white skin. However, what drew attention away from her unnatural appearance were her eyes. They were no longer black with red irises but had gone back to what their original state before her Grimmification, a gift from her first born. Her light blue eyes looked over at the picture next to her daughters, another wave of sadness washed over her.

“Jaune…” she placed a hand over the picture of dashing young man with golden hair and ocean blue eyes. He was smiling in the picture as he stood next to Salem. His smile, he looked exactly like Catalina, her eldest. His smile was the same as her and so was his personality, the urge to protect their family and those that couldn't defend themselves. But he  was taken. Anger filled her as she looked at where he stood, or where he stood. She had him cut out of the picture long ago. 

Ozma, he had killed Jaune long ago…

-Long Ago-

Salem clutched her side as a black substance escaped from a wound on her stomach. She was immortal but not from the relics, especially from the sword of Destruction. She looked up as a giant of a man stood over her, shield in hand as pieces of his Primaris marine power amor chipped away. Sparks flew about from the exposed machinary under it, his helmet was damaged, exposing a part of the left side of his face. He breathed heavily, his uncovered away blue eye looked at the group of people before him. Hunters. A man stood infront of them, his silver made him stand out from the others as he stepped forward, a cane in hand. Ozpin.

“Move aside young man, we must finish this.” he stated as the group began to move forward. Four of them had a relic in hand as one with Silver eyes stepped next to the man.

“Never, I will not let you harm her!” Jaune stated as he breathed heavily, his power armor was heavily damaged. A pauldron was missing and part of his face was exposed because of the damage done to his helmet. He had taken the brunt force of a relic and he doubted he could take another. An explosion shook the castle but the man with the cane didn’t flinch. A battle raged outside the castle walls.

“You realize what she is don’t you?”  Ozpin yelled out at the warrior before him. “Shes a monster! She’s kil-”

“I don’t care! You will harm her!” Jaune rebuked back, he took a more defensive stance infront of Salem.

“J-Jaune, g-go! Now!” she begged him, not wanting to lose anymore of her family.

“Fine then, I’m sorry but you will perish alongside her then.” Ozpin stated as the four hunters and the silver eyed warrior stood infront of him with the relics. Jaune looked back at Salem as tears fell from her face, she could tell that he was smiling at her. A genuine smile that let her know everything is gonna be alright.

[ad-drew]

The Shaman Society | An Excerpt, Part 13

I’m back again with another excerpt of my WIP! I had taken a step away from this for a while to refresh myself and my perspective on things, and fortunately after coming back to it I’ve found I’m still happy with how it looks. Of course I know there’s still a lot of room for improvement. This time we take a look at another action packed scene where Rei is (seemingly) victorious.

Tagging: @mania-junkie-writes, @seamusings, @haline-penthorn

If you want to be added to my humble tag list, just send me a message and I’ll be happy to do so.

As brought up before, I am always looking for beta readers. If this caught your interest and you’d like to do me the honor of considering to beta read, you can check out this post for more information.

---

Rei rolled through the mud and leaped forward, over the toppled trunk. Swooshing spikes greeted her. Instinct brought her scythe around in time to deflect part of the blow, but the force cracked into her chest all the same. She lifted airborne. A wave of lashing branches and prickling pine rushed around her, as she plummeted through rain-soaked foliage. She hit the ground with a wet plop, air rushing from her lungs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she said, pushing herself upright with breathless wheezing. Sharp throbbing burned through her muscles. “Still hits like a fucking truck.”

“You can’t fight him head on!” said Asami’s echoing voice. “You have to be smarter!”

“Thanks, big help.” Rei clambered to her feet, as a flash of red appeared through the trees. Branches snapped away in the oni’s path.

Fight smarter? How? The only other thing she knew how to do was fire a spirit wave, and Doru would see it coming from a mile away if she tried charging it in the dark. And with all this tree cover, probably wouldn’t even hit him. She could try hit and run tactics; the cover was good for that. Only way she’d get a clean hit in, anyway.

“Look out!”

Rei snapped out of her thoughts in time to see the spiked kanabō crashing through a curtain of branches in front of her. Shit, okay, not the time to think! She darted out of the way, behind another tree. When she was out of sight, she catapulted herself into the trees, bounding from one to another, keeping to the shadows. Lumbering footsteps boomed somewhere below her. As long as he couldn’t find her, he couldn’t attack her.

She leaped to another tree, and another, working her way behind the sound of crunching undergrowth. A flash of red skin and white hair caught her eye below. Steady, now. Quiet… Doru’s back turned to her, and she lunged. A wet veil of pine brushed past her face, as she reeled back her scythe. Blue, fiery energy erupted around the blade. She swung. Charged metal sank into flesh.

Doru stumbled forward, a pained grumble bellowing from his throat. He paused, glancing at the curved scythe blade pierced through the side of his shoulder. His grin returned. “That’s better.”

Rei’s jaw slackened, as she watched to oni clamp his clawed fingers around the blade. She tried to tug her weapon free, but it didn’t budge. Another pull, digging her heels into the mud. Her boots slipped, and she dropped to her ass. Shit.

The oni swung around so fast, the scythe handle wrenched clean out of Rei’s slick grasp. She made a desperate stumble to get out of the way, but fuck if the mud wasn’t sucking her into the damn ground. Broad knuckles hammered into the side of her face, cracking her head to the side with an explosion of sound and colors. Instinct drove her to throw herself upright. She spun wild through the air, half a second before metal spikes crashed into the ground. With a wet squelch, she landed face-first in the mud.

Shit, get up! Rei bit her tongue and heaved herself upright. Thunder pounded through her skull. Keep moving. Gotta keep moving. The world whirled around in circles, but she could still make out the blurred frame of Doru lumbering towards her. Son of a bitch. She couldn’t take another hit like that.

Rei scrambled into the trees. Even dazed, she was faster than him. Had to keep out of his reach, had to keep up the chase. Landing on one of the branches above, she crumpled against the sturdy trunk of a tree. Easier said than done. Only thing keeping her going now was spirit energy and pure adrenaline.

The least she could do was call back her one weapon. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and stretched out a hand. Within several seconds, blue light flashed in her palm, taking the form of her scythe. She closed a fist around the shaft. Alright, time to go back on the attack. Any second now. Soon as her head stopped pounding.

A cracking shudder tore through the tree, yanking her back on alert. So much for the breather. With a springing leap backwards, Rei tumbled towards the ground. The rapid shift gurgled her insides, but she clamped her jaw tight, and focused. Had to keep it together. She landed in a crouch, watching as the tree toppled sideways. Another series of wooden snaps exploded through the forest, ending in an earth-shaking boom when it hit the ground.

Doru burst through the foliage, swinging his kanabō overhead. Once again, Rei darted out of the way. Another swing, another miss. She met his eyes; he glowered, kept coming. She slinked out of sight into the trees, drawing a howling roar from the oni.

Was he getting frustrated? Impatient? Good. She could use that. Moving deeper into the darkened forest, she called out, “What’s the matter? Can’t catch me? Come on! I’m a novice, got no idea what the fuck I’m doing. Should be easy!”

“You’re nothing!” A red blur crashed out of the brush, prompting Rei to further retreat. “You hide! You run! You disappoint!”

“Story of my life, disappointing people,” she said, peering around the side of a tree. A flash of metal spikes disappeared through a bush. “But I make due. Always have. You think you’re tough? Should try dealing with my principal. Now he’s a real nightmare.”

Another roar, another crashing of trees. “Worthless!”

“Aw, buddy. I know you’re having a rough time, but don’t put yourself down like that. I hear it’s pretty bad for your whole sense of self-worth.”

The sound of splintering wood ruptured through the forest. Rei squinted into the rain for a better look. Doru howled, smashing his club into tree after tree. Branches snapped, bushes flattened. If he kept this up, he’d tear the whole forest apart. He was distracted. Good.

Rei crept forward, keeping to the oni’s blind spot. She pulled back her scythe, keeping it low, buried in undergrowth. Doru was so busy with his tantrum, he didn’t notice the brightening blue glow shining through the trees and bushes. Just kept smashing away, like an upset child whose parents hadn’t bought him the new toy he wanted. Twenty feet away, with a clear shot through the trees, she stopped and focused her power.

Hissing energy pooled into blade, igniting with dancing wisps of almost-fire. Power surged through her body. Her fingers vibrated. That secondary being embraced her once again, fueling her weapon with the might of a miniature sun. Fuck, did it feel good.

“Hey, shitstick!”

Doru paused his club halfway to a fallen log and looked over his shoulder. At the sight of her gleaming soul killer, his brow arched in surprise. “Wha—”

The rest of his voice drowned behind a shrieking wall of pure ki. Rain evaporated in a burst of steam, as the spirit wave scorched across the muddy ground. Doru managed a dumbfounded gape and raised one arm to shield himself, before disappearing within the blistering light. The dark, muscled shape of his silhouette flashed briefly inside the blur, and then was gone.

A cacophonous boom cracked through the trees, sending a rushing sphere of rainwater scattering outward, swallowing a lingering cloud of mist. Bits of charred wood and leaves flickered with tiny dancing flames, before swiftly squelched by the return of steady rainfall. Rei toppled against a tree trunk. She stared, mouth frozen in a half-smirk at the sight of empty, scorched ground. No oni. No Doru.

Giddy, chortling laughter coughed out her mouth. Hopping back to her feet, she raised a fist and screamed, “That’s fucking right! You yōkai don’t mess with me! You got that? I’ll fucking kill every last one of you!”

[hela-of-ren]

Dancing in the Dark: Love Dance

CHAPTAH 3 IS HERE

Warning: More fluffy goodness

Hearing your laughs fill the empty streets as you and Kylo rushed up the entrance of his home—of course, after he was being ever so kind enough to open you door for you before you walked out—the two of you came to a stop at the door. “Thank you.” You smiled, laughs fading away.

“For?” He questioned, fiddling with his keys, keeping his focus set on them.

“For opening the door for me in the rain.” You nodded, Kylo only lifting his head and looking at you.

“Well, it’s no big deal seeing as I’m already soaked.” He snickered as you let out a small laugh.

“Of course, but, I’m serious. Thank you. Big many men are kind enough to do half of the things you have done on a date. Let alone, the first date.” You said with a small sigh, looking down at your hands as Kylo studied you. He only wondered as to how your previous dates were… How they treated you… Who they were…

“It’s being a gentleman, that’s all.” He softly smiled, your eyes trailing back up to meet his. “You’re a beautiful woman… Inside and out. I may not know every detail about you and I may not have known you long enough… but I know you’ve got a wonderful heart on you and it’s a shame others have put it to bad use.”

“Yeah…” You breathed, looking away for a moment.

“But that won’t be me.” Kylo added to his previous words. “I promise you that.”

Swallowing as you put your focus back on to Kylo, giving him what almost seemed like doe eyes, the most innocent expression ever, he leaned forward and left a gentle kiss to your lips. Although no movements, it still made your heart flutter in your chest at the sensation.

Letting it linger, Kylo moved away, opening the door before grabbing your hand. “Come on.” He nudged his head as you blushed, amazed that a first date was going this well for you.

Walking in just behind him, your jaw dropped. It was so much nicer and… spacious than your little apartment. So much room and wall space… so many areas you could dance in. “This is beautiful…” You gawked at the art deco style it had, so symmetrical. So bright. Minimal colors at best. “So much room to dance in…”

Laughing at your words, Kylo shook his head as he walked you to the living room where the fireplace was. “You can always come here if there’s not enough room in your apartment to dance in.” He said, sitting you on the couch.

“Oh… there’s so much room I wouldn’t even know where to start dancing. I’d be all over the place!” You chuckled, teeth chattering as Kylo went to set up the fireplace.

“That’s fine by me.” He shrugged, you smiling. You couldn’t believe how genuine and sweet this man was. It almost felt too good to be true… but you didn’t want to jinx it. “I’d love to see you dance up close.” Kylo spoke over his shoulder as you felt your blush creep back.

“I’d love to…” You softly spoke. “Maybe I can dance with you?”

Standing up to grab a blanket for you, he shook his head. “Dance with me?”

“Mhm!” You nodded eagerly, giving him a grin as he let a small laugh rumble in his throat. “It could be fun…”

Placing the blanket on you, he placed his hands on either side of your knees, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not much of a dancer, so we’ll see about that.”

Looking him in the eye, only for your eyes to trail his face with how close the proximity was, you kissed the top of his nose. “Then, I’ll teach you.”

Taking in a deep breath, Kylo leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “Do you want some tea?”

“Please.” You nodded as he stood up straight, resting his hand on your cheek, brushing his thumb against the skin, he let it fall from your face before he left your sight. The feeling lingered, how his large hand so easily covered half of your face and the soft feeling of his lips against your cheek. It was hard not to go a second without a racing heart.

Eyeing the living room area you sat in, you realized there was hardly any images. If anything, there were more paintings than actual photographs of family or friends. How could someone with such a large house not own a single photo?

You knew it wasn’t your business, maybe he cut ties with his family and had no time for friends with his job… but that didn’t stop you from being curious.

“Here you go, I’m going to get you a change of clothes.” Kylo said as he had come back minutes later, handing you the warm mug that you gladly held onto, letting the heat warm your palms and fingertips.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, the look on your eyes keeping Kylo there for a moment longer than he should have.

“Yeah…” He nodded with a small smile before leaving your sight again.

Blowing and sipping on the tea slowly, you gazed at the fire in front of you. You wanted nothing more than to roll in it from all the trembling your body was going through. Although being in the rain—and kissing in it—felt like a dream come true, you didn’t like the aftermath that was freezing.

Searching his bedroom frantically for anything you could possibly wear, Kylo found an old white v-neck he hadn’t worn in quite some time along with black sweats that hardly fit him from all the muscle he gained.

Laying them on his bed, he quickly changed himself into a black shirt and grey sweats, brushing his fingers through his wet hair.

Reaching for the clothes he was going to lend you, he was just about ready to exit his room, only to stop.

“Socks… socks. Yeah, socks.” He said, pointing his finger before grabbing two pairs, pulling one set on for himself while the other he’d give to you.

Aiming for the bedroom door, he only stopped, once again at the thought of your runny makeup—which wasn’t entirely bad, he hardly noticed anything out of place, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to notice a mess.

“Wipes…” Stuffing the clothes under his arm, he rushed into his bathroom, grabbed the pack of wipes, and walked right back out.

Sitting there, nearly finishing off your tea as the warmth filling your chest made you a bit less shaky, Kylo reappeared. Realizing he had changed, you smiled. He looked so cute and comfortable. “Here you go, you can go change in the bathroom over there.” He pointed, you exchanging your mug for the clothes.

“Thank you.” You bowed your head before walking off, Kylo placing your mug down before he sat on the coach, putting the wipes beside him as he eyed the fire.

Quick enough to change out of your clothes, not wanting to be in them a second longer with how uncomfortable they grew, you giggled at the sight before you. You in the mirror with baggy clothing, the v-neck drooping too low as the pants hung loose. You had to tie them enough for them to fit you well where they wouldn’t so easily slip off.

Pulling the socks on that went mid calf—obvious that they weren’t your size—you grabbed your clothing and the jacket Kylo lent you before walking out. “What do I do with the wet clothes?” You asked as you walked back to him, eyeing the clothes in your arms as you had your heels in one of your hands.

Turning his head at the sound of your voice, his heart skipped a beat. Plenty of women had worn his clothing before… but nothing compared to the sight before him. The clothes hanging loosely, although tied up, looked perfect on you. Seeing you in his clothes made his blood rush to his face. He’d love to see this daily, you. having to wear his clothes because you never had any at his place… or the fact that you just enjoyed wearing them.

He had to stop fantasizing, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. What if this was too good to be true?

“I’ll wash them.” Taking them from your hold, he walked away, you aiming back for the couch and sitting the heels on the floor beside your feet.

Grabbing the blanket once again and placing it on you, more cozied up and warmer than before—although your hair was still soaking—you buried yourself into the couch.

“Seems as if it’s still storming.” Kylo said, hearing thunder roar from outside before he sat back down next to you, eyeing how bundled up you were. “Hopefully it’ll pass soon.”

“Mhm.” You hummed with a nod, Kylo looking at you, now realizing your makeup had been smudged but not enough to make you look like a wreck—which, he was sure you never would look, not with how infatuated he was with you.

Reaching over for a wipe, pulling one out, he faced you again as he gently got a hold of your chin. Looking at him, unsure as to what he was going for, you looked him in the eye, only to feel something wet wip under your eyes.

He was cleaning your makeup away… and you couldn’t help but feel your stomach turn. Not because it felt weird or out of place, but the fact that he’d have to see you without makeup.

Being careful to wipe it all away, gentle enough not to irritate your skin, Kylo’s eyes danced around your bare face. It was even more beautiful without makeup. So beautiful to the point he could feel his heart melt into his stomach as he got lost in a gaze.

Opening your eyes up after shutting them for Kylo to get your eyeliner, you saw the look in his eyes and nearly shivered, the chills running down your spine as goosebumps covered your skin. That look… it was like the look he had given you when he wanted to kiss you, but more. Much more intimate… a lot deeper.

“Oh, I must look awful…” You spoke, shaking your head and gently removing his hand from your chin, but Kylo got a hold of your hand as he shook his head.

“You look… you look like an angel.” He truthfully spoke, voice soft and words gentle.

“I-I…” Blinking, you swallowed. “Are you sure?”

Laughing, he lowered his head for a moment before looking back at you. “Positive, y/n… you’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you…” You blushed, Kylo only sitting you on his lap as he held you close, you draping the blankets over the two of you as you rested against him in a comfortable silence. Only the sound of distant rain and fire cracking filling your ears… enough to put you to sleep in Kylo’s arms.

________________________________

You opened your eyes the next morning to the feeling of...silk?

You lifted your head to see you were now in what you presumed was Kylo’s bed, al black silk sheets and a deep burgundy duvet. It was very him you thought with a smile. You stretched amongst the luxurious sheets, allowing the silk to glide against your skin before falling still with a smile.

The last you remembered was falling asleep in Kylo’s arms, but he must have moved you to the bed at some point. You sincerely hoped he didn’t take the couch or sleep in a chair of any kind. Why would he though? The man probably had a million other rooms to choose from in this colossal house of his.

You sat up and made your way over to the window that led to an outdoor balcony, the view breathtaking in the morning light. Closing your eyes, you allowed the light breeze to caress your skin as the sunlight bathed you in it’s warmth. You sighed in complete contentment, suddenly feeling a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Morning.” Kylo’s deep voice husked into your temple as he pressed a gentle kiss there. “Sleep well?” He breathed into your hair.

“Perfectly, couldn’t help but notice that my personal space heater wasn’t there though.” You giggled and turned in his arms, “You didn’t sleep on the couch right?” He smiled and ducked his head before caging you against the railing with his arms on either side.

“I didn’t want to be too forward or make you uncomfortable,” He brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, “But I did make breakfast if you’re feeling hungry.” You smiled and nodded as he took your lips in a quick kiss, escorting you back inside.

You found yourself staring at a plate of eggs over easy, three strips of bacon, 2 pancakes and a glass of orange juice all neatly arranged next to his own plate.

“You didn’t tell me that on top of being a professional space heater you cooked too?”

“I like to have my secrets and surprises every now and then.”

You smirked and sat down at the table next to him, holding yourself back from downing the food like you normally would. The fluffiness in the pancakes had you closing your eyes in satisfaction.

“This is so good! I can’t tell you the last time someone cooked breakfast for me.”

“Come over more often and I can cook every meal for you.” You sipped your juice and looked at him.

“Is that a proposition I hear?” Kylo stopped eating as if to think and you backtracked, “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I’m pushing anything-”

“No, no...I was trying to figure out a way to ask, but it looks like you beat me to it.” He shifted in his chair to face you directly, “Y/N, I like you. More than I thought I could ever like someone, I know this is only a first date but-” He stopped for a second as if nervous, and you couldn’t help but take his hands in yours, causing him to look at you in surprise before he continued, “I would be honoured if you would go on more dates with me and...and be my girlfriend.” He spoke the last part as if you already were going to say no.

Without warning, he felt your body come into his; your arms wrapped around his neck and face buried in his shoulder as you straddled him.

“Yes, of course my answer is yes!” You whispered in excitement as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He laughed in relief and nuzzled your cheek until you turned your head, his lips finding yours in a warm kiss.

“You realize this means you can’t retract the offer to teach me to dance?” He joked and rained more kisses on your face.

“Of course-” You stopped as you remembered, “Oh shit, dance! I’m gonna be late and Maz is gonna skin me alive and-” Kylo cut you off with another kiss to your lips.

“Y/N love, breathe. I’ll take you there now.” He chuckled and got up with you still attached to him, “Do you need me to take you home for any clothes?” He asked and set you down, cupping your face in his warm hands.

“No don’t worry, I keep a bag at the studio just in case.”

“So resourceful.” He cooed and pressed a kiss to your nose, your heart fluttering in content at the feeling he gave you.

[mouthbites]

doyu wip

doyoung/yuta, 1,2k, pg-13

part of an au i might or might not end up writing (prob not)

7th session

doyoung’s living room is dimly lit, light sources focused to corner lamps with screens. yuta half expects to find a dinner table set for two in there, candles and roses, but of course that’s not what this is. it’s clean, but yuta is starting to think that that’s just doyoung’s way of life in general. he can’t really relate.

“so,” he says, dumping his bag on a chair. “what’s the plan for tonight?” doyoung had sent him brief instructions - take out your piercings and wash your ears - but that was all.

doyoung walks past him, picking at the cushions on the couch. “ear massage.”

yuta lifts his brows. “ear massage?”

“yeah.”

yuta twists his lip. “is this some kinky thing? if you wanted to experiment you could have just said so. i’m up for trying most shit. i just didn’t peg you for the type, given your whole--” he waves his hand in the air aimlessly.

doyoung gives him a Look. “it’s not a kink. have you never seen asmr?”

“hm,” yuta says. “is that the one where girls lick rubber ears and stuff? i may have come across it.”

doyoung flops down into one end of the couch. “it’s not sexual. most of it, anyway.” he looks at yuta, still standing in the middle of the floor. “let’s just try it, okay? we can do something else if it weirds you out.”

yuta shrugs and moves to sit down next to him. “okay. so how do we do this?”

doyoung shift in his spot, folding one leg under the other so he’s facing yuta. he puts a pillow in his lap and pats it. “lie down.”

yuta flips around and stretches out on the couch, feet propped on the armrest. he makes himself comfortable with his head in doyoung’s lap. “and now?”

a grin passes on doyoung’s mouth. “hold your horses.” he puts his hands to rest on either side of yuta’s head, but doesn’t touch him. “relax. close your eyes, if you want to.”

yuta does as he’s told, letting his limbs go slack against the cushions, his eyes closing half-way. he’s getting the hang of this, by now. the room is a soft blur through his eyelashes, the white ceiling and wall taken an earthy cream tone. it’s quiet, just the regular humming of the streets and the city.

he manages to zone out so well that he almost forgets what is supposed to happen - whatever is supposed to happen - and all but startles out of his trance when feeling doyoung’s fingertips on his cheeks. the touch is light and soft, a hint of nails, and you’d think he should be used to the ticklish sensation by now but it still makes him want to slap doyoung’s hands away and rake his own nails over his skin.

he doesn’t, though. he lets the fingers sit there, just resting against his cheeks for a moment, and then they slowly move up, backwards. brush over strands of his hair, over his sideburns, and then - yuta finds himself anticipating a bit, somewhere deep inside - light over the shallows of his ears.

doyoung doesn’t ask him if it feels okay. supposedly he trusts yuta to protest any breach of comfort zone at this point.

he just pauses, hands hovering, then brushes yuta’s hair out of the way. the air hits the skin of yuta’s ears, and he’s surprised that he noticed the slight change in temperature. it feels, stupidly, a bit like having a body part stripped. he lies there, eyes closed, feeling exposed like a blushing virgin, waiting for it - whatever it is - to start.

two fingertips start by his sideburns and run slowly around the rim of his ears, down to the pierced lobes, and back to his cheekbones. there they turn, and go back the same way.

the next round is a bit closer, skimming over the rise of his conch, stopping at his tragus before returning.

next, slipping under his lobe and running flat on the backside, over the bendy wing and the hard cartilage of the shell.

another pause, and yuta wonders what will happen next, if doyoung will promptly stick his pinkies in yuta’s ears, which frankly feels like the natural progression of things. suddenly, he finds himself not wanting that. the idea feels strangely intimate, like an intrusion. a penetration. but yuta is nothing if not open-minded. he stays still, prepared to object if things get too weird.

instead, doyoung puts his palms on yuta’s cheeks and slides them flat, fingers and all, back over his ears, and yuta almost startles again because the sound is louder than he ever expected; a rumbling roar, like a roll of thunder right above, a heavy wave crashing on a beach, a vast spaceship preparing for takeoff.

he opens his eyes, looking upwards, finding doyoung peering down at him with a curious smile.

“the fuck,” yuta says.

doyoung laughs, very quietly. “you want some oil?” he asks.

“oil?”

“for the massage.”

“sure,” yuta says. “i guess.”

doyoung reaches for something on the side table behind him. there’s the sound of a cap being opened. yuta watches doyoung’s fingers from the corner of his eye, smearing something over the tips.

“close your eyes,” doyoung reminds him.

yuta does.

he never figured ears something needing massaging, but he finds himself not minding it either. doyoung’s fingers run slick over his ears, the crests and crevices, tapping over the helix, tracing the lines and details, rubbing gently at the wings and the lobes - producing sounds tangible deep inside of him, as if something is poking around inside his brain. small tingles run over his scalp and the back of his neck, fading off down his shoulders and spine. on occasion a pointer dips into the hollow of the conch, but never going deeper.

in between, he runs his dry knuckles over yuta’s cheekbones and forehead, tugs gently at strands of his hair. occasionally he uses his palms again, long strokes from the base of his wrist to the tips of his fingers.

“how’s this?” he murmurs, and covers yuta’s ears with his palms, pressing down a little. his fingers rest along his cheeks, warm, protective. a bit of vacuum forms between them, sucking at yuta’s ear canals, but he’s focused on the soundscape - a weird, underwater static; a deep humming of nothingness mixed with the internals of his own body, blood coursing through his veins, a hint of a pulse, his breaths coming in and out of him.

“huh,” yuta grunts, vaguely aware of his limbs reduced to the approximate consistency of jelly.

in the end the strokes grow lighter, drawing away, ending on his cheeks just like they started. then the hands are gone and yuta makes himself open his eyes.

“so?” doyoung asks, grinning down at him. “how’s that?”

“well,” yuta says. “not bad.” he pulls himself up into sitting, feeling sluggish and a tad hungover. “actually. it was really nice.”

he doesn’t miss the flash of satisfaction on doyoung’s face.

“let’s take a break,” doyoung says, standing up. “then it’s my turn.”

.

[megraen]

WIP POLL GAME

Rules: Make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner received.

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @incognito-insomniac

Tagging: @cassietrn @miss-jennifer-cormier @ladykatie512 @glitchinginthegarden @voidika

[the-bees-patella]

WIP - Hannibal/Will; First Time

I’m feeling a bit stuck and malcontent and restless and it’s a little discouraging so I thought I might share something I’m working on. Please let me know what you think! If you like my work you can check out my ao3 here. 

We open with Will trying to figure out a Cesius thermostat. 

He pushes the “down” button til it hits 27 degrees. Sounds about right. Actually, sounds like he’s going to lose something important to frostbite, but, you live and you learn.

Or, he thinks, at least you live, as he feels the hot shadow behind him. A large hand, weathered with hurt and health, pushes his own aside gently to push the button until the little display reads 23. “Is that better?”

Hannibal’s voice is worse than thunder; thunder, at least, gives you the courtesy of the frenzied warning of lightning. All Will gets is the gentle updraft of an intake of breath against the side of his face, the expansion of Hannibal’s ribcage against his back, swelling like the tide. Thinking of the soft sacs of his lungs and the ocean together only makes Will think of the flat groan of the endless horizon, of the buoyancy of miracles that pushed them ashore. Why hadn’t they drowned? Of all options Hannibal always picks life, but Will is highly aware that he had not elected to live. Self-defense—could have called it in himself: They’d trawl the oceans for their bodies, Jack would come to his closed-empty-casket funeral, and Molly could go to bed telling Wally that he’d died trying to keep them safe.

But he had been rejected. Death had denied him a third time. Was he not ripe enough for decay, not soft enough for earth? The way they had just floated, like debris, curled around driftwood and each other—consciousness pencil-shaving thin. Shivering so hard he could barely see, retching, infected, cursed with breathing and blessed with life. He had been remade in the rocks under the bluff, and now, months later, he’s fiddling with buttons with Hannibal in their little apartment because, well, it’s a little too warm. Human but with creature comforts; a creature wearing a human skin. He’d been under the illusion that death was going to give him a clean slate. Now they stand here, after death, after killing, in the muggy heat. The steam from hell’s fires reaching him in purgatory.

“Yeah. It’s better.” It’s not. He’s well-acquainted with this feeling: that talking is just a hobby. A thing to do while his heart-rate picks up and his skin quivers with the air between them.

Hannibal’s hand curling over his wrist like arrest. A laugh travels up in his chest like a long sigh. He’s governed, guided so his back is against the wall, and now, isn’t that a familiar place—and Hannibal, relentlessly himself, angling their bodies together like books on a shelf. Heat presses. Short, shallow breaths—gleaning comfort from the oxygen he can draw in. Sweat. Stalling. He licks his lips—a stupid reflex, like blinking—he needs both eyes open to track his predator, his prey. Hannibal is so close Will might be living on his exhale alone. His mind is blank like the swooping moment of falling. Just static. Gone fishing.

He casts a line and gets nothing back. And then—finally, they hit the water, and thoughts come roaring back, acute in their noise, when Hannibal kisses him. 

The soft firm wet of his lips. The brush of his nose. The way he pushes along Will’s skin to slide their palms together, sticky fingers in the serious warm, and it fills Will’s belly with a keen sweetness that will not abate. They’re holding hands. Somewhere in between eating and breathing and screaming and swimming he’d forgotten that they might hold hands. They part but Will knows he can’t afford to open his eyes. A drop of sweat rolls down his cheek, his neck. He breathes out his own exhale, and Hannibal presses his wet open mouth against Will’s throat where the sweat is beading. Hannibal’s mouth is like how he takes, like he tastes things—Will imagines that sea-salt drop at the back of the cavern of his mouth, wrung out into basic elements. He can’t stop breathing. Hannibal pulls back, a mile in kiss-space, a few inches in real space. He smiles, a crooked, crinkled-corner at the eyes, whole, full-faced affair. Will is suddenly and distressingly obsessed with the tilt of Hannibal’s teeth.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks.

“It is what I dreamed,” Hannibal says.

Will dreamed of empty sockets and dead girls, so there’s not a lot he can say to that.

“Show me.”

[solivar]

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one where Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate art student, Jesse McCree is an NPS ranger, both are more than they seem, weird stuff is going down in the New Mexican desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

Now with 100% more teenaged Jesse McCree, genius polymath.

The sky simply did not look right -- had not, in fact, looked right since that morning, when the sun rose red above the eastern hills, hanging there like a baleful crimson eye glaring doom at the desert and everything living in it. The cloudwrack overhead swallowed it up shortly thereafter, vast, dark lenticulars piled miles into the sky and as far as the eye could see, curling around themselves like some massive, living thing looking for a place to set down its feet. When they parted enough to permit a glimpse of anything but themselves, the arch of heaven was the dangerously pale and sickly yellow that, in summer, was a precursor for heavy weather, hail and flooding rain, lightning and damaging winds, sometimes tornadoes. Now, at the tail end of October, almost November, that color sky and the savage, stifling heat the pressed down on the world beneath those clouds was unseasonal at best, unnatural at worst.

Nathaniel McCree, returning from battening down the animal enclosures, wished quietly that the storm, whatever kind it might be, would break. The waiting was always the worst part and this kind of waiting was particularly bad: every nerve alive and twitching, every sense physical and numinous straining to perceive something, anything. It put him far out of sorts.

A low rumble of thunder riding a hot gust of wind, the first to stir the ground level air since dawn, followed him up onto the ranch house’s back porch, set the wind-chimes hanging from the eaves to either side of the steps ringing with spirit-calling music. Also not a good sign: the chimes wouldn’t call in such a way if there was no need for them to do so. From inside, he heard a chair dragging across the kitchen floor and Yanaba came to the back screen door, stepped outside to join him. “Anything?”

“Nothing lurking around the barns, no.” A second gust, stronger than the first, rolled over them, strong enough to lift his wife’s heavy iron-and-pepper braid off her shoulder, and a louder, closer roll of thunder. “Readings settle down yet?”

“Not a bit.” She held the door open for him and he stepped inside, sliding the internal locks to keep the screen door in place but not yet closing the inner door.

The pieces of her rifle were still spread out across the kitchen table, along with her cleaning kit, a trio of 3D printers chugging away on the kitchen counters to produce her specialized ammunition. A fan of holoscreens, hanging just high enough not to be disrupted by her movements, displaying the current data provided by their web of sensor modules, a sphere of more than three hundred square miles of New Mexico, Arizona, and the multiple borders physical and more-than-physical they shared. The local telluric currents fluctuated violently across their surface, as unsettled as the ocean driven before a hurricane, the storm-surge passing through them and bleeding into the natural world in pulses that were slowly becoming more regular, more closely spaced together.

“Nothing’s opened up yet, but it’s only a matter of time now.” Yana remarked, evenly, as she slid the pieces of her weapon back together.

“So I see.” Nate fetched them both a cup of coffee and sat to help load her magazines once the rounds cooled and hardened enough to allow it, to watch the monitors and wait for whatever was coming to arrive.

When the storm finally broke, it did so with shocking speed and violence. The wind, gusting hotly against the shutters and the sides of the house, rose to a screaming sledgehammer as hot as the exhalations of a blast furnace, carrying with it sand and grit and something that might have been smoke and it took their combined strength to wrestle the inside door shut and bolt it in place against the force of it. Lightning, thus far not much in evidence despite the thunder, arced from cloud to cloud and fell in curtains rather than bolts, hanging suspended between earth and sky, visibly pulsing as they raked across the desert. Thunder literally shook the ground, rattled the windows in their casements and the bones in their bodies as they took cover under the kitchen table, the border wards embedded in the yard fence coming to life in an effort at blunting the storm’s ferocity. Wardfire danced with lightning and wind and the both broke around the house at least enough to keep the photovoltaic roof intact and feeding the power that let their monitors scream dire warning tones of imminent doom from overhead. Yanaba poked her head up and grabbed one.

“It’s close, whatever it is,” She muttered and reached up again, this time for her rifle.

“So I see.” The etheric patterns had coalesced from chaotic cross-sea waves into a single stable vortex that, even as they watched, imploded, sending a secondary shockwave rippling through the world beyond the world.

Outside, the storm itself visibly shuddered, the wind curling in on itself, voice dropping from a roar, the rotation of the clouds stuttering and slowing away from tornadic intensity. A torrential downpour followed, washing the dust and the heat and the taste of lightning out of the air, drumming on the roof and cutting fresh courses through the hard-packed dirt of the yard.

“You think something came through?” Yanaba asked, as she tossed him his ballistic vest and shrugged into her own.

“Only one way to be sure of that, darlin’,” Nate replied, and went to retrieve his medical kit.

The hoverjeep was, predictably, not having any of it so they loaded their gear into the back of the gas-drinker: emergency medical kit, detection and mitigation equipment, the larger of her several weapons, extra ammunition. Yanaba made him strap on his own freshly cleaned and loaded by her hands sidearm before she’d let him get in the vehicle and slid behind the wheel herself, because of the two of them her night vision was better and it was rapidly getting dark. The navigation system was at least not inclined to be pestiferous, interfacing smoothly with the house’s monitors and accepting the guidance data as they pulled out. “Last solid contact was about twenty miles north of here, in the hills near Nakaibito. We can take the 491 almost all the way there.”

The drive into the hills was entertainingly fraught, enlivened by heavy bands of rain lashing out of the entirely natural if unseasonable storms that followed hard on the northerly’s heels and broadside, straight-line winds nearly strong enough to blow them off the road. It grew even more so once they left the 491 for surface roads that hadn’t seen a lick of maintenance since hover technology took the lead in transportation and which were prone to being washed half-away by flash flooding and blocked by downed tree limbs and, ultimately, a pair of fallen trees that forced them to leave their vehicle a mile from their presumed destination and hike the rest of the way in.

Yanaba took point, as was her custom, her rifle slung for the moment in favor of a machete to cut through the leg-attacking ground cover and a hiking stick to brush aside things that didn’t need to be cut. Nate carried their handheld tracking and motion detection monitors, set to ignore their own movements, his own hiking stick that doubled as a heavy shock baton in a crunch, and a neatly organized pack of medical supplies. Even with the lightning arcing overhead, their lights and vision-enhancing gear, it was dark and the hike punishingly hard, the ground underfoot a sandy, boggy mire, the rain only barely starting to slack.

The motion detector sang its little rising-falling alarm tone. “Movement up ahead, ten yards. We’re almost there, darlin’ so --”

Underbrush rustled, far closer than ten yards away and with the passage of something much more solid than falling rain, and Yanaba traded her machete for a machine pistol, flipping on some extra light as she did so. Yellow-green eyes flickered in the darkness and a muzzle covered in wet silver-gray fur, a long, slender body vanishing among the junipers and ground cover in the blink of an eye.

“Whatever that was, it didn’t register on the motion detector but it did cause an etheric ripple.” Nate observed, mildly, and moved to his wife’s shoulder.

“So not actually a coyote, then.” The safety on her gun clicked firmly off. “Stay close.”

They set off in the direction the not-coyote had vanished, the sound of water roaring down a no-longer-dry arroyo rising loud enough to drown out the rain beating on the thirsty ground and the thunder still echoing among the canyons. Another sound joined it, as they came within a short stone’s throw of their destination: high and thin, a wordless wail of cold and tired and hungry.

Yanaba froze and he had to check his stride to avoid walking into her. “You heard that, right?”

“Yes, I did. Came from over thataway.” He showed her the motion detector, where a single pulsing contact glittered like a star they were probably going to have to shoot.

They proceeded carefully, Nate automatically moving to flanking position, Yanaba snapping her tactical visor into place to aid targeting in the somewhat less than optimal firing conditions. A second cry rose, closer, and it was by virtue of his place behind and off to the side that he saw its source before she did -- a huddled bundle on the edge of the arroyo, inches from the rushing water gnawing steadily away at the muddy bank. “Darlin’, it’s over here.”

The bundle shivered slightly, and he turned a targeting beam directly on it: a ratty towel, either dark to begin with or darkened with blood and mud and wet, wrapped around something small, moving weakly. A third cry, even thinner and more tired than the first too, rose from up, along with an audible gurgle and cough. Nate crossed to it and knelt, lifted the edge of the towel and dropped it back, hurriedly pulling down his own visor and activating its physical and psychic defense structures; they helped wash the afterimages of what he just saw out of his brain before they could take hold. “Leave your visor on, defense mode active. It’s...I’m not sure what it is, but it’s tiny.”

“Nate, what are you --” Yanaba came through the brush at his back and froze as he opened the towel completely, exposing the thing it was wrapped around to merciless light and enhanced vision gear.

“It’s a baby.” Nate finally managed, after a moment of stunned silence. “Umbilicus is still attached -- still some blood in it, even. Fresh out of the wrapper. How the --”

“Nathaniel McCree, step away from that thing now.” Yanaba’s voice was low and tight.

He shrugged out of his backpack. “Just a minute, darlin’. Gotta find something to wrap --”

“Nate.” Her voice somehow managed to tighten another notch. “Get back.”

He glanced over his shoulder and found the muzzle of her rifle leveled with the bundle, her mouth an expressionless line beneath her visor. “Yanaba -- it’s a baby.” He checked again. “He’s a baby. Can’t be more than a few hours old. Whatever happened -- however he came to be here -- he didn’t do it himself. He’s not the threat here.”

“That is an infant naayéé, Nate. It’s only innocent now, because it can’t bite you in half yet.” The tightness was giving way to exasperation. “Step away. I promise I won’t let it suffer.”

“He. Not it. He.” Very deliberately he opened his pack and very deliberately removed an emergency support bubble which he very deliberately inflated and began running the internal readiness diagnostics and very deliberately removed the little bundle of squirm and too many limbs and a head that wasn’t shaped quite right from his ratty old towel and placed him in said bubble, which immediately began scanning to determine his medical intervention needs. “And he’s human enough that I’m getting readings here and indicators that he’s suffering from exposure and dehydration and borderline hypothermia. So it’s possible that he’s been out here since he was born.”

“The mother probably abandoned it when she saw what it was.” Yanaba said, after a long, uncomfortably silent moment broken only by the emergency support bubble’s assorted diagnostic tones. She lowered her weapon and flipped on the safety. “It’s a monster, Nate.”

“A baby monster.” He looked up from the diagnostic panel. “You see any tracks coming in?”

Yanaba snorted. “In this mess? Fuck no, are you kidding?”

“Not even coyote tracks.” Nate replied, and initiated the processes that would provide hydration and nutrients and bring the little bundle of squirm back to a safe and healthy core body temperature.

Yanaba was silent for a moment. Then, ungrudgingly, “It did lead us here. Not that that doesn’t mean that someone or something isn’t elaborately fucking with us.”

“Point.” He tucked the towel into a biohazard bag and vacuum sealed it. “That’s something we can figure out once we get back to civilization, don’t you think?” He tried it and, to his surprise, the bubble’s internal antigrav units were willing to work; it lifted off the ground to easy physical guidance range.

“Nate…” She sighed. “Don’t get attached. All I ask. Please.”

“I’ll try, darlin’.” He reached out for her hand, and she gave it to him. “I think we should call him Jesse. He looks like a Jesse.”

He was pretty glad her other hand was too full of rifle to hit him.

*

Hanzo attempted to arrange is face into an expression that wasn’t unadulterated horror and felt himself failing completely. “You -- your parents --”

“Yeah.” The ranger’s smile was small and sad and the pain behind it lodged in Hanzo’s throat; he found himself unable to swallow or speak past it. “My mother, at least, and I can’t really say I blame her -- I’ve seen the pictures of what I looked like back then. Screamin’ and runnin’ is probably the least of what I’d do.”

“That...that is not funny, Jesse.” Hanzo’s voice sounded strangled in his own ears.

“C’mon now, darlin’ -- it’s a little funny.” Another small, sad smile.

“No.” He wished, at that moment, that he had more limbs of his own to hold him with. “What happened -- well, I know what happened, your grandmother must have --”

“Nana McCree was pretty hardcore, I’ll admit. Came from a long and illustrious line of monster-hunters on her mama’s side of the family and, bein’ the only daughter of her parents, took the responsibilities pretty seriously. She and Pop Pop tried to have kids of their own, but it never took, so she ended up training two of her nieces to continue the family business. We...don’t really get along that well.” The smile vanished so completely it was like it had never been. “By the time they found me, Nana was past child-bearing -- past sixty, both of them, even though they were pretty spry and still doing the work of helping patrol and protect their chunk of the desert around where they lived. They owned a little ranch outside Gallup, which is a ways to the west of here, near the Arizona border. But, no matter how spry they were, nobody was going to believe Nana gave birth to me, so grandparents it was. They also knew pretty quick that they were going to need some help, so they called a couple old friends before the week was out…”

*

Gabe and Jack arrived under cover of darkness within a couple days of the call, rolling in on a moonless midnight driving a vehicle with all its transponder signals carefully spoofed and using a pair of their more load-bearing alternate identities to travel under. Nate appreciated both the speed and the discretion, if not being woken up by Gabriel ghosting through a crack in the defenses and poking him in the ribs barely an hour after he laid his head on the pillow.

“Boo.” Gabe had more eyes open than should be allowed by law and was wearing his widest, fangiest grin, which was a version of him only his husband really enjoyed waking up to. “How’s it hanging, old man? Jack and I understand that you’ve got gremlin issues.”

“You made good time.” Nate glanced over his shoulder at Yanaba, sleeping undisturbed, and decided to leave it that way -- it was technically his duty rotation, after all. “Where’s your man?”

“Waiting out on the porch with our gear.” Gabe stepped back and Nate rolled out of bed, slipping into his robe and slippers and padding downstairs to open the door.

As promised, Jack was waiting surrounded by duffle bags and equipment cases, his visor and implants engaged to give him a reasonable approximation of vision, back to the door and gazing out over the yard and the surrounding outbuildings. He turned as the door opened, and grinned that tight-lipped grin of his, and let himself be pulled into an embrace. “Good to see you, too, Nate. Gimme a hand with this?”

“Surely.” They schlepped all the gear into a corner of the sitting room, got them settled there for the nonce, and Nate fetched coffee for himself and Jack, who appeared to need it at least as much as he did. “Thank you for coming -- I know it was short notice but Yana and I could really use an extra couple hands and brains right now.”

“We got that impression from all the screaming, yeah.” Gabriel replied, and waved off an offer of something stronger.

Jack drank deeply and then set his cup aside. “So...what happened?”

Nate took a deep breath and told them. They started exchanging speaking glances about halfway through his recitation and by the time he was done, Jack was regarding him with naked concern. “Why didn’t Yanaba just shoot it?”

“Nate wouldn’t let me.” Yanaba answered that question for herself, padding down the stairs in her own nightclothes and stepping into a hug from Gabriel. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can figure out how to feed it.”

“It hasn’t eaten in a week?” Gabriel asked, a faint hint of alarm in his tone.

“He’s sleepin’ in a support bubble -- it’s keeping him hydrated and feedin’ him liquid nutrients but that’s not makin’ in him very happy.” Nate replied tiredly. “Mostly he’s like any other infant and spends most of his time sleepin’ and eatin’ and makin’ diapers but when he’s awake? Y’all will know it.”

It was almost on cue. From upstairs there came a high, thin, shivery wail, a sound that crossed a multitude of borders, and the wards built into the walls and foundation and the fence outside came to life in order to contain its force. Gabriel’s whole shape shimmered for a moment in response, swirling shadows and dark owl wings and too many eyes, before it stabilized back into something mostly human. He took the stairs two at a time as he went up and left the rest of them scrambling in his wake, a not uncommon occurence, and by the time they caught up he was leaning over the support bubble, hands pressed flat and spread across the plassteel hood, gazing down at its contents. The contents were kicking and flailing assorted limbs but not crying any more, which was a welcome thing after so many days.

“Be careful.” Yanaba said sharply as Gabriel reached down and unlocked the hood, sliding it back.

“Always am.” Gabriel cooed, the tone clearly meant for the bundle of squirm. “Hey, bebé, look at you. Look at all those toes -- that’s a lot of toes. So many toes. We’re going to have to do something about that but for now…?”

He reached down and picked the bundle of squirm -- whom Nate was trying very hard not to call Jesse in Yanaba’s hearing -- and cuddled him against his chest. There wasn’t a onesie on Earth meant to accommodate that shape, not even a sleep sack, but they’d managed to jury-rig an effective diaper and procured a soft lambswool blanket to wrap him in. He kicked a little against Gabe’s chest, and an appendage that was far too bonelessly flexible and weirdly jointed to be properly described as a hand wrapped itself around his fingers as he stroked the baby’s face gently and dragged them into his mouth.

“Wow, that’s a lot of teeth, too.” Gabe pressed a kiss to the baby’s approximation of a forehead. “A lot of teeth. What do you need so many sharp teeth for, bebé?”

“Traditionally, the naayéé consume human flesh and blood.” Yanaba deadpanned. “And from a fairly early age at that.”

“Well, that’s not going to work, now is it?” Gabriel nuzzled the little critter again and made no move to pull his fingers away from teeth that were, while tiny, multitudinous, needle-sharp, and entirely capable of reaching the bones of the unwary; Nate had spent some time with his hand under a biotic field emitter as testimony to that fact. “You don’t need to eat people, you know? There’s lots of other nice things to eat. You can have those teeth later if you need them but for now can we try something else, little one? Come on, I know you can do it. Let me see you --”

A fruity little giggle rose out of the bundle in Gabriel’s arms, a sound so perfectly sweet and pure and human that even Yanaba peeked in when he carried the bundle over to them. He still had too many limbs and that head with its enormous sealed-shut eyes and weird shape was still the sort of thing that would induce nightmares in the unprepared but now, instead of a mouthful of meat-eater teeth, it had rosy gums and drool and lips stretched into a wide, sweet smile.

“He’s probably going to need something more substantial than just formula.” Gabriel said, and let him have his fingers to gnaw on again.

“We’ve got goat milk that hasn’t become cheese yet.” Yanaba suggested, and looked astonished at herself.

“If you’ve got any fresh red meat to puree for enrichment, that might be a good idea, too. He’s pretty hungry.” Gabriel looked up, a little smile settled on his face. “What’re you calling him?”

“We’re not,” said Yanaba at the same moment Nate said, “Jesse.”

“Jesse. Jessito. Yeah, I can see that.” Gabriel cooed again and was rewarded with another sweet monster-baby giggle. “He even looks like a Jesse. Jack, I think we’re going to have to stay awhile.”

“Yeah, I saw that one coming.” Jack gave Yanaba a look comprised of equal parts resignation and amusement. “I think we’re outnumbered and outflanked here, Yana.”

“Obviously.” Yanaba sighed, and went downstairs to liquify a steak.

*

“Gabe was convinced from the start that at least one of my parents was human, because he got my teeth to go away that night just by askin’ nicely.” Jesse was steadfastly refusing to meet his eyes. “It took him the best part of three months to get me into a totally human shape and he’s been kinda smug about that ever since because the smart money said it wasn’t possible at all. Most of the old-time naayéé weren’t real human-lookin’ no matter who their mothers were, with a few exceptions, and they were...really pretty special exceptions. But Gabe’s nothin’ if not stubborn and he wasn’t willing to give up on the point, because it probably would have become a matter of life and death eventually.”

“Your grandmother,” Hanzo said, his mouth dry, the question not quite willing to form on his tongue. “She wouldn’t have...”

“Nana? Nah. For all her telling Pop Pop not to get attached, she took hold pretty hard herself. Used to say that I grew on her like saddle mold.” An amused little snort. “The rest of the local family wasn’t so keen, particularly when it became clear I was human on the outside only and that was pretty early.”

“That isn’t true.” Hanzo said, and silently willed him to meet his eyes, a signal he clearly did not receive.

“True enough for government work.” Dryly. “It became clear because I killed things without even trying hard. Or meaning to.”

Hanzo opened his mouth and closed it again without any of the possible sounds trying to crowd their way up his throat making it past his lips. Jesse, mercifully, didn’t notice.

“It was little things at first -- bugs, mostly. Scorpions are pests, y’know, and finding them all shriveled up just meant they could be swept out instead of squished. Spiders. I hated spiders when I was little. I think I might’a had a bit of a complex about things with too many legs. I’d just...look at ‘em hard and they’d keel over. I was too little to make the logical connection and it happened too fast for anyone else to see it for the longest time.” His eyes dropped closed. “One day when I was five, almost ready to go to school, one of the goats I was playin’ King of the Hill with butted me off the side of a rock with a bit more enthusiasm than usual and...it hurt. Skinned knee, bloodied lip, I was scared and mad and it came pourin’ out of me and before I could stop it everything for a hundred feet around me just...died. Everything -- the goats, the plants in the field, birds fell out of the sky. Gabe came running when he heard me screaming and caught it with both barrels -- he’s not particularly killable but I still hurt him badly enough that it took him the best part of two days to reform. Nana tranqed me from range and they bound me up in wards until they could figure out what it was and how to control it.” A tiny, humorless smile. “That was mostly Jack and Nana -- control and precision were the gifts they gave me.”

“You were so young -- you must have been so frightened.” At five, he had been aware of the interest Uncle Toshiro had in him, but was still too young to fully appreciate what it meant beyond the specialness of it.

“More scared that I was going to hurt someone else.” His voice was rough and when he opened his eyes there was a hint of moisture around their rims that had not been there before. “I told Nana and Pop Pop I didn’t want to go to school and they agreed that it was probably a good idea for me to stay away from other kids until I was old enough to keep my emotions under control.” A pause. “Y’know, this is the furthest I’ve ever gotten with this conversation? Normally by the time I get to the whole baby monster cured by my terrifying smoke Dad bit, it’s all over.”

Which confirmed at least one suspicion. Hanzo’s heart ached and he said, quietly, “We don’t have to continue if you don’t want to -- I can see how much this pains you.”

“It’s almost a good kinda hurt, darlin’.” One of the ranger’s hands found his and squeezed tightly. “Of course, the rest of the family found out. And there was a blow-up between Nana and the eldest of her nieces, Maritza, who lived on the Rez and was one of the local hunter-protectors. A bunch of hard words were said and they never did reconcile, which was a problem in the long run.” Finally, finally, those dark eyes turned to him. “Gabe and Jack stayed with us until I was ten, which was longer than they’d stayed in any one place for years, and probably about two years longer than was technically safe for any of us.”

“How did they know each other? Your grandparents and Gabe and Jack?” The question came out before he could stop it.

“They served together in an international unit under the auspices of the United Nations. Ana and Rein and a handful of others, too. Technically it was an all-volunteer outfit, it’s just that all the volunteers had particularly refined and unusual skill sets that allowed them to meet the parameters of their mission -- which was, actually, keepin’ things from Beyond out of this world or, if they managed to wiggle their way in, evictin’ them again with extreme prejudice.” Again, the smile that crossed his face had little in the way of humor in it. “Gabe and Jack got into their current condition in the line of duty and, while it took a long time, the DoD finally got around to acknowledging that fact, which is why they get to stay here unmolested now. For a while that wasn’t true, and they had to keep movin’ in order to stay ahead of the people assigned to determine exactly how hard to kill they really were. Lingerin’ as long as they did, even in the geographical ass-end of nowhere, was a huge risk for them t’take and I’ve never --” He stopped, swallowed hard, continued on. “I’ve never quite felt that I deserved it. Gabe hates that, but it’s true.”

*

Two days after his tenth birthday, Jesse sat on top of the ranch house roof and watched the men he called Papi and Jack drive away -- waited, point in fact, until there was nothing left to see of their vehicle, even with the running lights on, and there was no real reason left to stay. When he climbed back down, he dug out the wards that they made for him and which he hadn’t needed at all for going on two years and put them back on. Nate was proud of the maturity and self-knowledge that took, and also worried enough that, when he went into town for the next few weeks, he made sure there were enough chores available to keep Jesse busy. Fortunately, none of the MiBs who’d been sniffing around came to the ranch while he wasn’t home and, a few weeks later, they faded away entirely, chasing other leads.

When Jesse turned eleven, he also started to grow. He’d always been on the lean and lanky side, all knees and elbows and feet just big enough to trip over if he wasn’t being careful, but now, seemingly overnight, he shot up ten inches and outgrew almost all his clothes, his shoes, and his bed. He took a positively unholy joy in being taller than Yanaba for the first time ever, a fact about which she grumbled and smiled about, because it was something that made him demonstrably happy, a thing he’d had in short supply for quite some time. The spring between eleven and twelve, he decided he’d like to try going to school in town again and so they enrolled him and requested that his records be transferred over from the online academy where he’d studied his academics thus far.

By twelve, he was starting to fill out in across the shoulders and chest, a good two inches taller than Nate, and more alone than he’d ever been, for all that he was now going into town every day and spending most of it with kids his own age. Maritza’s children lived in there with her ex and they had been warned, in general terms, not to mix with their not-cousin because he wasn’t right -- a warning they helpfully shared with the peers they’d known all their lives, and the precise dimensions of the not-right-ness grew in the telling as it passed among them. Jesse put his head down and held his tongue and put the wards back on and concentrated on his studies: he was the sort of student every teacher loved, the kind that didn’t have to be nagged to do the reading or turn in his homework on time, and while he was never going to love math for its own sake, he at least tolerated it for its relationship to science (which he enjoyed) and music (which he was good at and enjoyed). The librarian was his best friend that year, feeding his appetite for books, for worlds he could escape into that were at least different than the one he presently occupied, and he made her a lovely thank you card that he handed back with the last of them at the end of the year. After that, he saw no reason to return, not so dedicated to the idea of having friends that he was willing to suffer the slings and arrows of adolescent cruelty to search them out. Loneliness was a grief he was used to, after all, and he could learn just as well at his terminal in the study.

In the winter between thirteen and fourteen, Nate began to feel his age -- not that he hadn’t been feeling it before but those long, dark months were colder and wetter than most and his joints let him know about it at length. Jesse effortlessly picked up his slack, for which he was eternally grateful, rising early to tend the animals and put on the coffee, walking miles of fence to check and maintain the integrity of the physical and numinous barriers, moving his terminal into the living room so he could run errands in the house and do his schoolwork at the same time. Yanaba fussed over him to excess, which he tolerated to the best of his abilities, and so did the boy, which gave them time together on a daily basis that they used to improve his emergency medical skills, to work on the little handicrafts that they both favored when they were too tired to think, to read their way through each others’ lists of favorite novels. They were, in fact, halfway through Lonesome Dove, one of Nate’s all-time favorites, the afternoon he started to feel a touch dyspeptic and then a little nauseous, and then a lot tired. The last thing he saw, as the world started going light around him, was Jesse reaching for him, and the look on his face.

Nate’s will stipulated cremation, which was duly accomplished, and his ashes brought home in a ceramic urn glazed the deep blue of the night sky over the desert mixed with tiny flecks of silver. For the first month after, Jesse and Yanaba drifted around the ranch like ghosts themselves, doing what needed to be done mostly on autopilot, numb and gray with grief. Toward the middle of the second, they began bumping into each others’ edges again, became aware of one another, and came back together to do more than just function. Just you and me now became the fulcrum around which their lives turned and they made the effort to keep it that way, sitting together in front of the fireplace to do homework assignments and read novels, to watch a new old movie on the holotank, to do the 3D design work for Jesse’s own custom ammunition, built around his strengths and the nature of the power running in his veins. They both knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d be taking up Yanaba’s half of the household’s self-chosen duties, no matter how little Maritza liked it, because there were things abroad in the desert by night and day that would answer to no ordinary bullets.

Yanaba caught a cold at the tail end of spring that nagged her relentlessly all through the summer. It settled in to stay as summer faded into autumn, sapping her strength to the dregs, forcing her to spend more time abed in the mornings than she liked, and finally whole days abed, feverish and too weak to stand. She didn’t want him to call an ambulance, or to go to the hospital, didn’t want to leave him alone on the ranch, not because she didn’t trust him but because she feared what would happen to him if she did. Jesse tended to her with all the skill he’d been taught over the years but there was one thing he lacked: a true healer’s touch that could have chased what troubled her away when even the biotic emitters did nothing but help her hold ground. And that he did not have, and never would, because healing was not his gift. In late October, just after his fourteenth birthday, as his grandmother lay sleeping the feverish, restless sleep of an invalid, he did the one thing he had dreaded more than anything else and called Maritza, to beg for her help. She and her eldest sons, the not-cousins who’d been a year or two ahead of him in school, arrived four hours later and an ambulance from town shortly thereafter. Before she left, as they were loading her onto the litter, she took him by the hand and made him swear his vows to her and sealed the promise he gave with her own. Maritza went with the ambulance, in her own hoverjeep; the not-cousins stayed behind, and after dinner Jesse retreated to his room, ill at ease and not entirely sure why.

He woke, sometime in the dark hours after midnight, to the sound of voices drifting up from downstairs -- quiet but clearly audible, because if the house’s heating system did anything, it carried sound.

“Everything’s ready?” That was Maritza, low and soft and somehow more dangerous for it.

“Yeah.” The Eldest of the not-cousins. “Aunt Yanaba had a lot of the things we needed already in her kit. No real need to go searching for them.”

“That’s because she knew that this would need to be done eventually and prepared to do it.” Crisply, cool, and the calm certainty of it turned the blood to ice in his veins, chased the last traces of sleep from his mind. “What is it, Chase?”

“Mom...are you sure about this? I mean -- if this was what he wanted, if this was his fault, why’d he call for help? All he had to do was wait.” The Younger of the not-cousins, who’d be almost nice to him at dinner and offered to help with the dishes and clearly wanted to talk to him but got glared off by his big brother. “If he were...hurting people it’d be one thing but he’s --”

“Naayéé, Chase. A monster in human shape like that thing Yanaba called his father.” Her voice cooled and hardened and Jesse was already dressed and pulling on his hiking boots, dragging the bug-out bags that Gabe insisted he have packed and ready to go out of the back of his closet. “That’s all he is and all he can ever really be, no matter what he might look like -- if anything, they helped make him worse because now it’s hidden instead of written on his flesh like it should be. Do you want to wait for him to show it before something’s done about him?”

Silence. Jesse eased his window open, put the first bag on the back porch roof and reached for the second.

“No. No, but --”

“No buts. We can’t hesitate in this -- not the way Yanaba did. She died thinking this thing loved her --”

The sound of pain that came out of him was completely involuntary, choked off as quickly as he could, and it was already too late.

“What was that?”

“Not sure -- he’s been upstairs since just after dinner. Sleeping the last time I checked. You want me to…?”

“Yes. Chase, stay here.”

Footsteps on the stairs but Jesse was already sliding off the porch roof after his bags, whispering the charm that Gabe taught him that would call the shadows, make him physically indistinct, mask his trail from even the most determined prying magic or skilled tracking. He thought Chase caught a glimpse of him as he vaulted the yard fence but, if he did, he held his tongue and stayed where he was; it was a small enough thing to be grateful for but Jesse never forgot it and repaid it as best he was able when circumstances allowed. That night, however, he thought of nothing but the best route to take across the desert and into the hills, as far from what remained of his not-really-family as he could before the sun rose.

*

[megraen]

FANFICTION STATUS 5/9/23

Planning in Progress

Chapter 01 - Completed, but not Posted Chapter 02 - Completed, but not Posted Chapter 03 - Drafted

Chapter 01 - In Progress Chapter 02 - Drafted Chapter 03 - Drafted Chapter 04 - Drafted Chapter 05 - Drafted

Chapter 10 - Completed and Posted

Chapter 04 - Drafted

Planning in Progress

Chapter 01 - Completed, but not Posted Chapter 02 - Drafted

Planning in Progress

Planning in Progress

Chapter 01 - In Progress

Chapter 11 - Completed and Posted Chapter 12 - Drafted

Chapter 12 - In Progress Chapter 13 - Drafted Chapter 14 - Drafted Chapter 15 - Drafted

@socially-awkward-skeleton @photo1030 @ladykatie512 @glitchinginthegarden @miss-jennifer-cormier @tomiesdiet @peaches-n-screem @voidika @cassietrn @arrthurpendragon

[solivar]

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one where Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate art student, Jesse McCree is an NPS ranger, both are more than they seem, weird stuff is going down in the New Mexican desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

Now with 100% more best dad!Gabe, ickle naayee!Jesse, and -- hey! Is that an Overwatch origin story? IT IS!

The sky simply did not look right -- had not, in fact, looked right since that morning, when the sun rose red above the eastern hills, hanging there like a baleful crimson eye glaring doom at the desert and everything living in it. The cloudwrack overhead swallowed it up shortly thereafter, vast, dark lenticulars piled miles into the sky and as far as the eye could see, curling around themselves like some massive, living thing looking for a place to set down its feet. When they parted enough to permit a glimpse of anything but themselves, the arch of heaven was the dangerously pale and sickly yellow that, in summer, was a precursor for heavy weather, hail and flooding rain, lightning and damaging winds, sometimes tornadoes. Now, at the tail end of October, almost November, that color sky and the savage, stifling heat the pressed down on the world beneath those clouds was unseasonal at best, unnatural at worst.

Nathaniel McCree, returning from battening down the animal enclosures, wished quietly that the storm, whatever kind it might be, would break. The waiting was always the worst part and this kind of waiting was particularly bad: every nerve alive and twitching, every sense physical and numinous straining to perceive something, anything. It put him far out of sorts.

A low rumble of thunder riding a hot gust of wind, the first to stir the ground level air since dawn, followed him up onto the ranch house’s back porch, set the wind-chimes hanging from the eaves to either side of the steps ringing with spirit-calling music. Also not a good sign: the chimes wouldn’t call in such a way if there was no need for them to do so. From inside, he heard a chair dragging across the kitchen floor and Yanaba came to the back screen door, stepped outside to join him. “Anything?”

“Nothing lurking around the barns, no.” A second gust, stronger than the first, rolled over them, strong enough to lift his wife’s heavy iron-and-pepper braid off her shoulder, and a louder, closer roll of thunder. “Readings settle down yet?”

“Not a bit.” She held the door open for him and he stepped inside, sliding the internal locks to keep the screen door in place but not yet closing the inner door.

The pieces of her rifle were still spread out across the kitchen table, along with her cleaning kit, a trio of 3D printers chugging away on the kitchen counters to produce her specialized ammunition. A fan of holoscreens, hanging just high enough not to be disrupted by her movements, displaying the current data provided by their web of sensor modules, a sphere of more than three hundred square miles of New Mexico, Arizona, and the multiple borders physical and more-than-physical they shared. The local telluric currents fluctuated violently across their surface, as unsettled as the ocean driven before a hurricane, the storm-surge passing through them and bleeding into the natural world in pulses that were slowly becoming more regular, more closely spaced together.

“Nothing’s opened up yet, but it’s only a matter of time now.” Yana remarked, evenly, as she slid the pieces of her weapon back together.

“So I see.” Nate fetched them both a cup of coffee and sat to help load her magazines once the rounds cooled and hardened enough to allow it, to watch the monitors and wait for whatever was coming to arrive.

When the storm finally broke, it did so with shocking speed and violence. The wind, gusting hotly against the shutters and the sides of the house, rose to a screaming sledgehammer as hot as the exhalations of a blast furnace, carrying with it sand and grit and something that might have been smoke and it took their combined strength to wrestle the inside door shut and bolt it in place against the force of it. Lightning, thus far not much in evidence despite the thunder, arced from cloud to cloud and fell in curtains rather than bolts, hanging suspended between earth and sky, visibly pulsing as they raked across the desert. Thunder literally shook the ground, rattled the windows in their casements and the bones in their bodies as they took cover under the kitchen table, the border wards embedded in the yard fence coming to life in an effort at blunting the storm’s ferocity. Wardfire danced with lightning and wind and the both broke around the house at least enough to keep the photovoltaic roof intact and feeding the power that let their monitors scream dire warning tones of imminent doom from overhead. Yanaba poked her head up and grabbed one.

“It’s close, whatever it is,” She muttered and reached up again, this time for her rifle.

“So I see.” The etheric patterns had coalesced from chaotic cross-sea waves into a single stable vortex that, even as they watched, imploded, sending a secondary shockwave rippling through the world beyond the world.

Outside, the storm itself visibly shuddered, the wind curling in on itself, voice dropping from a roar, the rotation of the clouds stuttering and slowing away from tornadic intensity. A torrential downpour followed, washing the dust and the heat and the taste of lightning out of the air, drumming on the roof and cutting fresh courses through the hard-packed dirt of the yard.

“You think something came through?” Yanaba asked, as she tossed him his ballistic vest and shrugged into her own.

“Only one way to be sure of that, darlin’,” Nate replied, and went to retrieve his medical kit.

The hoverjeep was, predictably, not having any of it so they loaded their gear into the back of the gas-drinker: emergency medical kit, detection and mitigation equipment, the larger of her several weapons, extra ammunition. Yanaba made him strap on his own freshly cleaned and loaded by her hands sidearm before she’d let him get in the vehicle and slid behind the wheel herself, because of the two of them her night vision was better and it was rapidly getting dark. The navigation system was at least not inclined to be pestiferous, interfacing smoothly with the house’s monitors and accepting the guidance data as they pulled out. “Last solid contact was about twenty miles north of here, in the hills near Nakaibito. We can take the 491 almost all the way there.”

The drive into the hills was entertainingly fraught, enlivened by heavy bands of rain lashing out of the entirely natural if unseasonable storms that followed hard on the northerly’s heels and broadside, straight-line winds nearly strong enough to blow them off the road. It grew even more so once they left the 491 for surface roads that hadn’t seen a lick of maintenance since hover technology took the lead in transportation and which were prone to being washed half-away by flash flooding and blocked by downed tree limbs and, ultimately, a pair of fallen trees that forced them to leave their vehicle a mile from their presumed destination and hike the rest of the way in.

Yanaba took point, as was her custom, her rifle slung for the moment in favor of a machete to cut through the leg-attacking ground cover and a hiking stick to brush aside things that didn’t need to be cut. Nate carried their handheld tracking and motion detection monitors, set to ignore their own movements, his own hiking stick that doubled as a heavy shock baton in a crunch, and a neatly organized pack of medical supplies. Even with the lightning arcing overhead, their lights and vision-enhancing gear, it was dark and the hike punishingly hard, the ground underfoot a sandy, boggy mire, the rain only barely starting to slack.

The motion detector sang its little rising-falling alarm tone. “Movement up ahead, ten yards. We’re almost there, darlin’ so --”

Underbrush rustled, far closer than ten yards away and with the passage of something much more solid than falling rain, and Yanaba traded her machete for a machine pistol, flipping on some extra light as she did so. Yellow-green eyes flickered in the darkness and a muzzle covered in wet silver-gray fur, a long, slender body vanishing among the junipers and ground cover in the blink of an eye.

“Whatever that was, it didn’t register on the motion detector but it did cause an etheric ripple.” Nate observed, mildly, and moved to his wife’s shoulder.

“So not actually a coyote, then.” The safety on her gun clicked firmly off. “Stay close.”

They set off in the direction the not-coyote had vanished, the sound of water roaring down a no-longer-dry arroyo rising loud enough to drown out the rain beating on the thirsty ground and the thunder still echoing among the canyons. Another sound joined it, as they came within a short stone’s throw of their destination: high and thin, a wordless wail of cold and tired and hungry.

Yanaba froze and he had to check his stride to avoid walking into her. “You heard that, right?”

“Yes, I did. Came from over thataway.” He showed her the motion detector, where a single pulsing contact glittered like a star they were probably going to have to shoot.

They proceeded carefully, Nate automatically moving to flanking position, Yanaba snapping her tactical visor into place to aid targeting in the somewhat less than optimal firing conditions. A second cry rose, closer, and it was by virtue of his place behind and off to the side that he saw its source before she did -- a huddled bundle on the edge of the arroyo, inches from the rushing water gnawing steadily away at the muddy bank. “Darlin’, it’s over here.”

The bundle shivered slightly, and he turned a targeting beam directly on it: a ratty towel, either dark to begin with or darkened with blood and mud and wet, wrapped around something small, moving weakly. A third cry, even thinner and more tired than the first too, rose from up, along with an audible gurgle and cough. Nate crossed to it and knelt, lifted the edge of the towel and dropped it back, hurriedly pulling down his own visor and activating its physical and psychic defense structures; they helped wash the afterimages of what he just saw out of his brain before they could take hold. “Leave your visor on, defense mode active. It’s...I’m not sure what it is, but it’s tiny.”

“Nate, what are you --” Yanaba came through the brush at his back and froze as he opened the towel completely, exposing the thing it was wrapped around to merciless light and enhanced vision gear.

“It’s a baby.” Nate finally managed, after a moment of stunned silence. “Umbilicus is still attached -- still some blood in it, even. Fresh out of the wrapper. How the --”

“Nathaniel McCree, step away from that thing now.” Yanaba’s voice was low and tight.

He shrugged out of his backpack. “Just a minute, darlin’. Gotta find something to wrap --”

“Nate.” Her voice somehow managed to tighten another notch. “Get back.”

He glanced over his shoulder and found the muzzle of her rifle leveled with the bundle, her mouth an expressionless line beneath her visor. “Yanaba -- it’s a baby.” He checked again. “He’s a baby. Can’t be more than a few hours old. Whatever happened -- however he came to be here -- he didn’t do it himself. He’s not the threat here.”

“That is an infant naayéé, Nate. It’s only innocent now, because it can’t bite you in half yet.” The tightness was giving way to exasperation. “Step away. I promise I won’t let it suffer.”

“He. Not it. He.” Very deliberately he opened his pack and very deliberately removed an emergency support bubble which he very deliberately inflated and began running the internal readiness diagnostics and very deliberately removed the little bundle of squirm and too many limbs and a head that wasn’t shaped quite right from his ratty old towel and placed him in said bubble, which immediately began scanning to determine his medical intervention needs. “And he’s human enough that I’m getting readings here and indicators that he’s suffering from exposure and dehydration and borderline hypothermia. So it’s possible that he’s been out here since he was born.”

“The mother probably abandoned it when she saw what it was.” Yanaba said, after a long, uncomfortably silent moment broken only by the emergency support bubble’s assorted diagnostic tones. She lowered her weapon and flipped on the safety. “It’s a monster, Nate.”

“A baby monster.” He looked up from the diagnostic panel. “You see any tracks coming in?”

Yanaba snorted. “In this mess? Fuck no, are you kidding?”

“Not even coyote tracks.” Nate replied, and initiated the processes that would provide hydration and nutrients and bring the little bundle of squirm back to a safe and healthy core body temperature.

Yanaba was silent for a moment. Then, ungrudgingly, “It did lead us here. Not that that doesn’t mean that someone or something isn’t elaborately fucking with us.”

“Point.” He tucked the towel into a biohazard bag and vacuum sealed it. “That’s something we can figure out once we get back to civilization, don’t you think?” He tried it and, to his surprise, the bubble’s internal antigrav units were willing to work; it lifted off the ground to easy physical guidance range.

“Nate…” She sighed. “Don’t get attached. All I ask. Please.”

“I’ll try, darlin’.” He reached out for her hand, and she gave it to him. “I think we should call him Jesse. He looks like a Jesse.”

He was pretty glad her other hand was too full of rifle to hit him.

*

Hanzo attempted to arrange is face into an expression that wasn’t unadulterated horror and felt himself failing completely. “You -- your parents --”

“Yeah.” The ranger’s smile was small and sad and the pain behind it lodged in Hanzo’s throat; he found himself unable to swallow or speak past it. “My mother, at least, and I can’t really say I blame her -- I’ve seen the pictures of what I looked like back then. Screamin’ and runnin’ is probably the least of what I’d do.”

“That...that is not funny, Jesse.” Hanzo’s voice sounded strangled in his own ears.

“C’mon now, darlin’ -- it’s a little funny.” Another small, sad smile.

“No.” He wished, at that moment, that he had more limbs of his own to hold him with. “What happened -- well, I know what happened, your grandmother must have --”

“Nana McCree was pretty hardcore, I’ll admit. Came from a long and illustrious line of monster-hunters on her mama’s side of the family and, bein’ the only daughter of her parents, took the responsibilities pretty seriously. She and Pop Pop tried to have kids of their own, but it never took, so she ended up training two of her nieces to continue the family business. We...don’t really get along that well.” The smile vanished so completely it was like it had never been. “By the time they found me, Nana was past child-bearing -- past sixty, both of them, even though they were pretty spry and still doing the work of helping patrol and protect their chunk of the desert around where they lived. They owned a little ranch outside Gallup, which is a ways to the west of here, near the Arizona border. But, no matter how spry they were, nobody was going to believe Nana gave birth to me, so grandparents it was. They also knew pretty quick that they were going to need some help, so they called a couple old friends before the week was out…”

*

Gabe and Jack arrived under cover of darkness within a couple days of the call, rolling in on a moonless midnight driving a vehicle with all its transponder signals carefully spoofed and using a pair of their more load-bearing alternate identities to travel under. Nate appreciated both the speed and the discretion, if not being woken up by Gabriel ghosting through a crack in the defenses and poking him in the ribs barely an hour after he laid his head on the pillow.

“Boo.” Gabe had more eyes open than should be allowed by law and was wearing his widest, fangiest grin, which was a version of him only his husband really enjoyed waking up to. “How’s it hanging, old man? Jack and I understand that you’ve got gremlin issues.”

“You made good time.” Nate glanced over his shoulder at Yanaba, sleeping undisturbed, and decided to leave it that way -- it was technically his duty rotation, after all. “Where’s your man?”

“Waiting out on the porch with our gear.” Gabe stepped back and Nate rolled out of bed, slipping into his robe and slippers and padding downstairs to open the door.

As promised, Jack was waiting surrounded by duffle bags and equipment cases, his visor and implants engaged to give him a reasonable approximation of vision, back to the door and gazing out over the yard and the surrounding outbuildings. He turned as the door opened, and grinned that tight-lipped grin of his, and let himself be pulled into an embrace. “Good to see you, too, Nate. Gimme a hand with this?”

“Surely.” They schlepped all the gear into a corner of the sitting room, got them settled there for the nonce, and Nate fetched coffee for himself and Jack, who appeared to need it at least as much as he did. “Thank you for coming -- I know it was short notice but Yana and I could really use an extra couple hands and brains right now.”

“We got that impression from all the screaming, yeah.” Gabriel replied, and waved off an offer of something stronger.

Jack drank deeply and then set his cup aside. “So...what happened?”

Nate took a deep breath and told them. They started exchanging speaking glances about halfway through his recitation and by the time he was done, Jack was regarding him with naked concern. “Why didn’t Yanaba just shoot it?”

“Nate wouldn’t let me.” Yanaba answered that question for herself, padding down the stairs in her own nightclothes and stepping into a hug from Gabriel. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can figure out how to feed it.”

“It hasn’t eaten in a week?” Gabriel asked, a faint hint of alarm in his tone.

“He’s sleepin’ in a support bubble -- it’s keeping him hydrated and feedin’ him liquid nutrients but that’s not makin’ in him very happy.” Nate replied tiredly. “Mostly he’s like any other infant and spends most of his time sleepin’ and eatin’ and makin’ diapers but when he’s awake? Y’all will know it.”

It was almost on cue. From upstairs there came a high, thin, shivery wail, a sound that crossed a multitude of borders, and the wards built into the walls and foundation and the fence outside came to life in order to contain its force. Gabriel’s whole shape shimmered for a moment in response, swirling shadows and dark owl wings and too many eyes, before it stabilized back into something mostly human. He took the stairs two at a time as he went up and left the rest of them scrambling in his wake, a not uncommon occurence, and by the time they caught up he was leaning over the support bubble, hands pressed flat and spread across the plassteel hood, gazing down at its contents. The contents were kicking and flailing assorted limbs but not crying any more, which was a welcome thing after so many days.

“Be careful.” Yanaba said sharply as Gabriel reached down and unlocked the hood, sliding it back.

“Always am.” Gabriel cooed, the tone clearly meant for the bundle of squirm. “Hey, bebé, look at you. Look at all those toes -- that’s a lot of toes. So many toes. We’re going to have to do something about that but for now…?”

He reached down and picked the bundle of squirm -- whom Nate was trying very hard not to call Jesse in Yanaba’s hearing -- and cuddled him against his chest. There wasn’t a onesie on Earth meant to accommodate that shape, not even a sleep sack, but they’d managed to jury-rig an effective diaper and procured a soft lambswool blanket to wrap him in. He kicked a little against Gabe’s chest, and an appendage that was far too bonelessly flexible and weirdly jointed to be properly described as a hand wrapped itself around his fingers as he stroked the baby’s face gently and dragged them into his mouth.

“Wow, that’s a lot of teeth, too.” Gabe pressed a kiss to the baby’s approximation of a forehead. “A lot of teeth. What do you need so many sharp teeth for, bebé?”

“Traditionally, the naayéé consume human flesh and blood.” Yanaba deadpanned. “And from a fairly early age at that.”

“Well, that’s not going to work, now is it?” Gabriel nuzzled the little critter again and made no move to pull his fingers away from teeth that were, while tiny, multitudinous, needle-sharp, and entirely capable of reaching the bones of the unwary; Nate had spent some time with his hand under a biotic field emitter as testimony to that fact. “You don’t need to eat people, you know? There’s lots of other nice things to eat. You can have those teeth later if you need them but for now can we try something else, little one? Come on, I know you can do it. Let me see you --”

A fruity little giggle rose out of the bundle in Gabriel’s arms, a sound so perfectly sweet and pure and human that even Yanaba peeked in when he carried the bundle over to them. He still had too many limbs and that head with its enormous sealed-shut eyes and weird shape was still the sort of thing that would induce nightmares in the unprepared but now, instead of a mouthful of meat-eater teeth, it had rosy gums and drool and lips stretched into a wide, sweet smile.

“He’s probably going to need something more substantial than just formula.” Gabriel said, and let him have his fingers to gnaw on again.

“We’ve got goat milk that hasn’t become cheese yet.” Yanaba suggested, and looked astonished at herself.

“If you’ve got any fresh red meat to puree for enrichment, that might be a good idea, too. He’s pretty hungry.” Gabriel looked up, a little smile settled on his face. “What’re you calling him?”

“We’re not,” said Yanaba at the same moment Nate said, “Jesse.”

“Jesse. Jessito. Yeah, I can see that.” Gabriel cooed again and was rewarded with another sweet monster-baby giggle. “He even looks like a Jesse. Jack, I think we’re going to have to stay awhile.”

“Yeah, I saw that one coming.” Jack gave Yanaba a look comprised of equal parts resignation and amusement. “I think we’re outnumbered and outflanked here, Yana.”

“Obviously.” Yanaba sighed, and went downstairs to liquify a steak.

*

“Gabe was convinced from the start that at least one of my parents was human, because he got my teeth to go away that night just by askin’ nicely.” Jesse was steadfastly refusing to meet his eyes. “It took him the best part of three months to get me into a totally human shape and he’s been kinda smug about that ever since because the smart money said it wasn’t possible at all. Most of the old-time naayéé weren’t real human-lookin’ no matter who their mothers were, with a few exceptions, and they were...really pretty special exceptions. But Gabe’s nothin’ if not stubborn and he wasn’t willing to give up on the point, because it probably would have become a matter of life and death eventually.”

“Your grandmother,” Hanzo said, his mouth dry, the question not quite willing to form on his tongue. “She wouldn’t have...”

“Nana? Nah. For all her telling Pop Pop not to get attached, she took hold pretty hard herself. Used to say that I grew on her like saddle mold.” An amused little snort. “The rest of the local family wasn’t so keen, particularly when it became clear I was human on the outside only and that was pretty early.”

“That isn’t true.” Hanzo said, and silently willed him to meet his eyes, a signal he clearly did not receive.

“True enough for government work.” Dryly. “It became clear because I killed things without even trying hard. Or meaning to.”

Hanzo opened his mouth and closed it again without any of the possible sounds trying to crowd their way up his throat making it past his lips. Jesse, mercifully, didn’t notice.

“It was little things at first -- bugs, mostly. Scorpions are pests, y’know, and finding them all shriveled up just meant they could be swept out instead of squished. Spiders. I hated spiders when I was little. I think I might’a had a bit of a complex about things with too many legs. I’d just...look at ‘em hard and they’d keel over. I was too little to make the logical connection and it happened too fast for anyone else to see it for the longest time.” His eyes dropped closed. “One day when I was five, almost ready to go to school, one of the goats I was playin’ King of the Hill with butted me off the side of a rock with a bit more enthusiasm than usual and...it hurt. Skinned knee, bloodied lip, I was scared and mad and it came pourin’ out of me and before I could stop it everything for a hundred feet around me just...died. Everything -- the goats, the plants in the field, birds fell out of the sky. Gabe came running when he heard me screaming and caught it with both barrels -- he’s not particularly killable but I still hurt him badly enough that it took him the best part of two days to reform. Nana tranqed me from range and they bound me up in wards until they could figure out what it was and how to control it.” A tiny, humorless smile. “That was mostly Jack and Nana -- control and precision were the gifts they gave me.”

“You were so young -- you must have been so frightened.” At five, he had been aware of the interest Uncle Toshiro had in him, but was still too young to fully appreciate what it meant beyond the specialness of it.

“More scared that I was going to hurt someone else.” His voice was rough and when he opened his eyes there was a hint of moisture around their rims that had not been there before. “I told Nana and Pop Pop I didn’t want to go to school and they agreed that it was probably a good idea for me to stay away from other kids until I was old enough to keep my emotions under control.” A pause. “Y’know, this is the furthest I’ve ever gotten with this conversation? Normally by the time I get to the whole baby monster cured by my terrifying smoke Dad bit, it’s all over.”

Which confirmed at least one suspicion. Hanzo’s heart ached and he said, quietly, “We don’t have to continue if you don’t want to -- I can see how much this pains you.”

“It’s almost a good kinda hurt, darlin’.” One of the ranger’s hands found his and squeezed tightly. “Of course, the rest of the family found out. And there was a blow-up between Nana and the eldest of her nieces, Maritza, who lived on the Rez and was one of the local hunter-protectors. A bunch of hard words were said and they never did reconcile, which was a problem in the long run.” Finally, finally, those dark eyes turned to him. “Gabe and Jack stayed with us until I was ten, which was longer than they’d stayed in any one place for years, and probably about two years longer than was technically safe for any of us.”

“How did they know each other? Your grandparents and Gabe and Jack?” The question came out before he could stop it.

“They served together in an international unit under the auspices of the United Nations. Ana and Rein and a handful of others, too. Technically it was an all-volunteer outfit, it’s just that all the volunteers had particularly refined and unusual skill sets that allowed them to meet the parameters of their mission -- which was, actually, keepin’ things from Beyond out of this world or, if they managed to wiggle their way in, evictin’ them again with extreme prejudice.” Again, the smile that crossed his face had little in the way of humor in it. “Gabe and Jack got into their current condition in the line of duty and, while it took a long time, the DoD finally got around to acknowledging that fact, which is why they get to stay here unmolested now. For a while that wasn’t true, and they had to keep movin’ in order to stay ahead of the people assigned to determine exactly how hard to kill they really were. Lingerin’ as long as they did, even in the geographical ass-end of nowhere, was a huge risk for them t’take and I’ve never --” He stopped, swallowed hard, continued on. “I’ve never quite felt that I’ve deserved it. Gabe hates that, but it’s true.”

*

[solivar]

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one in which Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate art student, Jesse McCree is an NPS ranger, both are more than they seem, weird stuff is going down in the New Mexican desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

In which Nana and Pop-Pop McCree make themselves known.

The sky simply did not look right -- had not, in fact, looked right since that morning, when the sun rose red above the eastern hills, hanging there like a baleful crimson eye glaring doom at the desert and everything living in it. The cloudwrack overhead swallowed it up shortly thereafter, vast, dark lenticulars piled miles into the sky and as far as the eye could see, curling around themselves like some massive, living thing looking for a place to set down its feet. When they parted enough to permit a glimpse of anything but themselves, the arch of heaven was the dangerously pale and sickly yellow that, in summer, was a precursor for heavy weather, hail and flooding rain, lightning and damaging winds, sometimes tornadoes. Now, at the tail end of October, almost November, that color sky and the savage, stifling heat the pressed down on the world beneath those clouds was unseasonal at best, unnatural at worst.

Nathaniel McCree, returning from battening down the animal enclosures, wished quietly that the storm, whatever kind it might be, would break. The waiting was always the worst part and this kind of waiting was particularly bad: every nerve alive and twitching, every sense physical and numinous straining to perceive something, anything. It put him far out of sorts.

A low rumble of thunder riding a hot gust of wind, the first to stir the ground level air since dawn, followed him up onto the ranch house’s back porch, set the wind-chimes hanging from the eaves to either side of the steps ringing with spirit-calling music. Also not a good sign: the chimes wouldn’t call in such a way if there was no need for them to do so. From inside, he heard a chair dragging across the kitchen floor and Yanaba came to the back screen door, stepped outside to join him. “Anything?”

“Nothing lurking around the barns, no.” A second gust, stronger than the first, rolled over them, strong enough to lift his wife’s heavy iron-and-pepper braid off her shoulder, and a louder, closer roll of thunder. “Readings settle down yet?”

“Not a bit.” She held the door open for him and he stepped inside, sliding the internal locks to keep the screen door in place but not yet closing the inner door.

The pieces of her rifle were still spread out across the kitchen table, along with her cleaning kit, a trio of 3D printers chugging away on the kitchen counters to produce her specialized ammunition. A fan of holoscreens, hanging just high enough not to be disrupted by her movements, displaying the current data provided by their web of sensor modules, a sphere of more than three hundred square miles of New Mexico, Arizona, and the multiple borders physical and more-than-physical they shared. The local telluric currents fluctuated violently across their surface, as unsettled as the ocean driven before a hurricane, the storm-surge passing through them and bleeding into the natural world in pulses that were slowly becoming more regular, more closely spaced together.

“Nothing’s opened up yet, but it’s only a matter of time now.” Yana remarked, evenly, as she slid the pieces of her weapon back together.

“So I see.” Nate fetched them both a cup of coffee and sat to help load her magazines once the rounds cooled and hardened enough to allow it, to watch the monitors and wait for whatever was coming to arrive.

When the storm finally broke, it did so with shocking speed and violence. The wind, gusting hotly against the shutters and the sides of the house, rose to a screaming sledgehammer as hot as the exhalations of a blast furnace, carrying with it sand and grit and something that might have been smoke and it took their combined strength to wrestle the inside door shut and bolt it in place against the force of it. Lightning, thus far not much in evidence despite the thunder, arced from cloud to cloud and fell in curtains rather than bolts, hanging suspended between earth and sky, visibly pulsing as they raked across the desert. Thunder literally shook the ground, rattled the windows in their casements and the bones in their bodies as they took cover under the kitchen table, the border wards embedded in the yard fence coming to life in an effort at blunting the storm’s ferocity. Wardfire danced with lightning and wind and the both broke around the house at least enough to keep the photovoltaic roof intact and feeding the power that let their monitors scream dire warning tones of imminent doom from overhead. Yanaba poked her head up and grabbed one.

“It’s close, whatever it is,” She muttered and reached up again, this time for her rifle.

“So I see.” The etheric patterns had coalesced from chaotic cross-sea waves into a single stable vortex that, even as they watched, imploded, sending a secondary shockwave rippling through the world beyond the world.

Outside, the storm itself visibly shuddered, the wind curling in on itself, voice dropping from a roar, the rotation of the clouds stuttering and slowing away from tornadic intensity. A torrential downpour followed, washing the dust and the heat and the taste of lightning out of the air, drumming on the roof and cutting fresh courses through the hard-packed dirt of the yard.

“You think something came through?” Yanaba asked, as she tossed him his ballistic vest and shrugged into her own.

“Only one way to be sure of that, darlin’,” Nate replied, and went to retrieve his medical kit.