#no it is not cannibalism. they are not birds and if they still have traces of bird DNA it is definitely not from chicken or fowl

[deva-arts]

Seraphina, a bit of a bird , a bit of a human . Maybe. But, my question. When she eats eggs, is it technically cannibalism?

Long answer: no. Short answer, no.

#vincenttag #nathanieltag #soniasanderstag #amontag #let amon be croccy as a treat #Oc rambles in the tags tag #everyone but nate and sera is sitting on the floor. it's cozier in a pile i guess. they do this a lot. #nate is the only one interested in this all because he's a big nerd when it comes to people's inner workings #literally and metaphorically! dude loves biology and psychology. what a nerd. what a goof. someone staple a 'kick me' sign on his sweater. #vincent just eats raw things sometimes. for no reason. he thinks it's a way to quote 'learn food better' but then he does this sh*t #vince also thinks it's cool and edgy. it is not. no one is okay with this. just eat your meals cooked and stay in your lane vincent #sera hates the bird comparisons because she's heard so much of it. puns. jokes. gags. nicknames. getting birdseed for christmas. #Made an entire presentation only to confuse her friends further on the bird situation #sonia's three moods are “flirty” “happy” and “Ick” #Amon likes to nap in his other form since he doesn't use it and it gets uncomfy after a while. Woken up for this... He barely rests as is : #To answer the age old question #no it is not cannibalism. they are not birds and if they still have traces of bird DNA it is definitely not from chicken or fowl #birds eat other birds all the time too. from eating eggs to eating their own eggs to eating smaller birds- they're like fish in that sense. #Sera used to order chicken a lot when with her former partners to try and dispel the 'but bird though' thoughts before they manifested #It did not work. #vince has a tendency of ripping all of his shirt sleeves and backs off instead of. y'know. getting them tailored. Sonia sobs every time #sera gave nate a similar 'watch' to hers. when activated it becomes a handy dandy lethal weapon! he has to wear it to sleep 'just in case.' #sera strapped it to his wrist saying 'don't worry. it isn't dangerous. to us.' and he hasn't slept the same since. yay vigilante waifu! #ARK_SYSTEMA #Seraphinatag

[seoafin]

oop i wrote it

cw: sukuna. implied cannibalism.

-

A thumb roughly presses down on your bottom lip. “Open.”

You wordlessly obey, tentatively opening your mouth as Sukuna watches you, all four eyes trained on your face with an intensity that has sweat gathering at your temples.

There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. In this large banquet hall filled to the brim with food (offerings from the terrified villagers he didn’t kill hours earlier on a whim), there is only you and him. Two hands gripping you by the waist, holding you in place on his lap, while another hand on your face commands you to open. The last hand is splayed across your back, the thin layer of the kosode Uraume had forced you into (the clothes you had taken to wearing too undignified, too unsightly for Sukuna’s gaze) barely offering any coverage.

You think it had been on purpose. If Sukuna kills you now, all the better for him. An eyesore like you who had appeared out of nowhere, tumbling out of the sky like a bird whose wings had been plucked, right into the middle of a massacre.

“After all that nonsensical squawking earlier,” he starts, his voice a deep rumble against your frame. “Suddenly so silent?”

He seems to find it funny when you don’t (can’t) respond, chuckling at his own joke when his thumb slips into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue, and forcing your mouth even wider for his open scrutiny. 

You stay silent, mind racing with all potential avenues of choice, whether it’s remark on the lovely weather (it was raining earlier, but you figure the rain would appeal to Sukuna more than the sun, right?) or talk about how funny it was to see Uraume in the kitchen barking out orders to prepare the banquet all around you. There’s no possible way this could all be meant for just one person. You’ve never seen so much fish and meats and vegetables and fruits, and considering you know what a modern day supermarket is, it seems excessive. All this from an already starving village? 

Or you could just keep silent. Which seems to be the best option seeing as his thumb is in your mouth. You wonder, for what seems to be the hundredth time since you’ve landed in an entirely different era, if Sukuna is going to kill you for the perceived slight of drooling all over one of his hands. You'd say he doesn’t seem to particularly mind (in your opinion, anyway. But what do you know.)

You make a noise in your throat, muffled, and Sukuna blinks, as if he had forgotten you were a living breathing person. Two eyes slide to you, meeting your gaze as you compose yourself.

His thumb relents, just enough that you can still feel him hovering. But you can speak. You figure it’s his way of telling you that you can speak without the possible threat of mutilation. Actually scratch that. The threat is always there. Ever present. If you had learned anything, it was that all it took was a simple thought to be acted on, and the lift of a finger. 

“The food!” you exclaim (the best you can), all your anxious pent up energy making you seem eager. “It’ll…” you swallow, “get cold!”

So please just let me leave, you internally beg, to the Buddha, to your annoying kouhai Gojo, or whatever deity is looking down on you and laughing at this entire predicament they’ve placed you in. Please just let me leave.

The hand retreats from your mouth. You don’t dare breathe a sigh of relief, not when three hands are still holding you.

Then to your great surprise, Sukuna smiles, baring teeth, greatly amused, and the stretch of his lips reaches all of his eyes. 

You are equal parts confused and terrified, waiting for the punchline to drop like the axe of a guillotine over your neck. 

“Tell me,” he purrs, two hands bringing you close. Until you can trace every single line of the monstrous inhuman right side of his face and every marking. “Have you ever tasted human flesh?”

Human…flesh…?

You hold your smile the best you can, but Sukuna must be able to smell your apprehension because there’s a glint of sadistic amusement in his eyes. “I…have…not…”

“Uraume is a fine cook,” he replies, turning his head towards the tables of food surrounding you, and your stomach plummets as understanding dawns on you. “To prepare human flesh for consumption is a difficult task, and yet he has not disappointed me once.”

You slowly look to the table closest to you, examining what you had previously assumed to be fowl. It’s charred, the same color as roasted meat, but upon closer inspection the shape resembles…

It looks like…a…limb.

A…human…limb.

You bite your tongue to keep your smile from faltering. He’s watching you now, a sharp eyed predator who has scented blood. If you show anything resembling fear, you know for sure he’ll kill you without a second thought.

He’s going to eat you. That has to be why he brought you here. He’s going to dismember you and then give you to Uraume who will gladly season and roast you like a pig.

You wonder if you should just give up and accept your fate now. You’ll die here, a thousand years into the past, alone, and nobody will have even known what happened to you.

They’ll think you disappeared, that you deserted, and they’ll only be half right.

You can’t let it end like this. You won’t let it end like this. The first thing a jujustu sorcerer learns is that hopes and dreams are dangerous. Regrets even more.

When you die, you won’t regret a single damn thing.

That’s why you can’t die here.

You straighten, forcing yourself to relax despite the anxiety churning in your gut. “Are you going to eat me?” You ask him pleasantly, lips curved.

“You would offer yourself so easily?” You see the unpleasant set of his lips, the dismissive tone of his words, and feel a cold sweat envelope your body. The sheer power of him would have you buckling to your knees had you been standing. You’ve lost his favor, and the only thing awaiting you unless you act now is death.

“I would not,” you say, momentarily glancing down in a demure move. “I would offer you something else though.” A pause. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing yourself closer, meeting his gaze straight on. “I’m sure I can interest you in it.”

#wow heian sukuna rlly opened the floodgates huh LMFAO #let me tell you i did not think i would ever write for sukuna yet here we are #now that i got that out of my system ahahahahahaha #(let's pretend this never happened) #sukuna x reader #m.jjk #sukuna fic

[grislyintentions]

|| Nature ; Nurture ||

Summary: To learn true divinity is to carve devotion upon your very being, etch it into the fabric of your soul and allow the whisperings of love to welcome you into your Aeon's eternal embrace. || Creation of another Emanator + a littol 'kith' Accompanying song: Light Shower (Trypophobia and body horror warning)

TW: Body horror, gore, cannibalism, worship of a false god/sacrilege, perspective of extreme idolisation (cult like devotion)

Rivulets of blood trickle and pool against the Aeon's robes, dirtying them with an unbecoming colour. Filth. To sully any part of the divine feels like an unforgivable sin.

Yet there is only kindness in their eyes when they gaze upon the wretched. A deep sadness for their plight and suffering. It moves one to tears. How gentle they are. Even to the most undeserving of creatures. Even to those who once cursed and condemned the very existence of the Thousand-Handed Merciful Medicus.

The shame of it all burns a thousand times over for their transgressions and they can only weep in the face of true acceptance. If love is not in the tender careful manner in which Yaoshi collects their tears, then surely love does not exist.

If love is not the security and warmth of multiple arms cradling one's broken form, then surely love does not exist.

In the end, after all the hate and the fear and the anger and regret and sorrow and loneliness, only Yaoshi remains. Whispering words of reassurance: they are still here. They have not forgotten. If that is not love, then what is?

Surely, all of that horror was for love. Lips unlike any other rest upon the corners of sun-scorched ones; cooling as the first streams of water filling in all the cracks of the soil and rejuvenating the earth itself. Cold enough to yield a quiet gasp. What reason would one have not to accept the Aeon's gift?

Honey, a hint of sweetness in betwixt the numbing cold creeping inside. An inhuman tongue caressing, soothing, tracing the indent of teeth and cheek. The burning subsides, quenched by Yaoshi's patience, drawn out from the Aeon in wisps of air and incense. Flowers bloom in the darkness, blotting out the unforgiving rage of the burning sun. An invitation to be a part of something beautiful, a gift of healing, presents itself in the expression of giving and receiving.

It is human nature to want. It is human nature to be greedy. Dirty hands clinging onto a frame oddly angled. To clutch and sully everything they touch. And it is in this Aeon's nature to forgive even that. To replace the guilt with relief, licking at the flames and chasing, learning still to better seek out their ailments by angling closer. Molding, angles too sharp shifting beneath the fabric of their skin.

It hurts - of course it does - when lips that previously kissed sharpen and warp into pincers. Clamping down on an errant covetous tongue with a force crushing enough to rend meat into pulp in a singular blow.

A moment of pure, exquisite, blinding, agony.

It hurts. Until it doesn't.

Trembling fingers reached to cover their mouth, exhales shaky and violent. Sticky. Sweet. The taste of pomegranates coat their tongue. Realisation seeps in slowly. Much as the curious sensation of owning a tongue that was not their own. Liberated from the shackles of false gossip and reborn. Given a chance to speak the truth in the name of their Aeon.

The tears they weep do not sting. For their mortal prison is no longer a prison but a garden from which they could nurture and grow the seeds of their devotion.

Thank you. They whisper.

Thank you.

Somewhere in the distance, the birds began to sing.

#charac: yaoshi #sacrilege cw #false god cw

[thevhagarwriter]

Grandma Violence - I.II.

[Dragons, Death and Daemon]

Chapter II - Quiet Water

Birds fled in horror and crabs retreated quickly into the sand as the gigantic beast laying on the sandy shore let out an earthstattering roar. Vhagar couldn’t help but scream, the pain of drowning for a second time, having her mind taken by the shadowy paws of unknown deities and flung back into time and space was too much for her to bear. 

Her head hurt so much, she couldn’t differentiate between up and down and left and right. The salty air stung in her eyes and mouth and the yelling of the frightened birds seemed to burst her eardrums.

She tried to stand up and to run away, but her long claws kept digging into the sand and she stumbled over her wings and tail. 

Sharp pain seared through her head as her left wing slammed against a rock, breaking it under her and making her lose her footing for good as she landed on her back. 

The world was still turning as she slowly blinked, staring at the cloudy sky, slightly unsharp and hazy due to her aged eyes. 

Vhagar took a deep breath, her enormous body rising and falling. And then another and then another and then another.

The pain in her skull faded and her ears cleared - the sensitive, thin scales covering the hidden organs twitching slightly. While her eyes weren’t the best anymore, at least her hearing and sense of smell was as sharp as ever. 

Without turning her head she deduced that she was at the east coast of Westeros. The air smelt colder and brought with it the faint scent of wet wood, human sweat and grilled fish. The west coast was usually warmer and less wind swept, therefore also having less olfactory traces. 

Still she didn’t exactly know where she was or even when she was. 

Vhagar took another deep breath and closed her eyes as she tried to clear her head. She searched at the edges of her mind, looking for the bond she shared with her human. It was like a quiet humming of bees in the back of her skull, humming songs of the humans feelings and impressions. If the human felt especially strongly, the humming turned into an outright scream - an inferno of emotion taking over her own ones, as dragon and human melted into one. 

She furrowed her scaly brows as she concentrated harder, searching like a bloodhound on the hunt. 

Where was Visenya? Her bond had felt like cool water on a day so hot it even bothered a dragon, it felt like small snowflakes landing on her snout and a thunderstorm rolling under her wings. They melted into one, drenched in the other's soul. 

Where was Baelon? His bond had felt like the first meal after a long fight, like the first salmon of the season, a piece of crispy boar burned to perfection or the rare occasion of crushing huge, juicy melons between her jaws. It felt happy, vivacious and drunk on life. 

Where was Laena? Her bond had felt like the sunrise on a spring day, like thousands of colorful flowers blooming on the field, their scent mingling with the singing of birds and the rushing of a melting river. She was like the melody of a nightingale: beautiful, elegant and welcoming. Where was Aemond? His bond had felt like the night sky after rising through the clouds. A vast expanse of darkness, illuminated by thousands of stars. Unknown, strange and dangerous. High above everyone else and shrouded in mystery, but also so familiar.  

Vhagar sighed deeply. Her mind was her own, just her own. And while that would seem ideal for most, she felt terribly lonely. Dragons weren’t solitary animals. If they didn’t bond with another human, they would at least live together with others of their kind and form a flight. Of course there were always outliers, like the Cannibal or Grey Ghost and Vhagar had believed herself to be like them. She preferred her solitude, wandering the lands on her own, hunting her own food, choosing her own sleeping place. Vhagar had always felt very uncomfortable in the dragonpit. She couldn’t properly stretch her wings, her food was always brought to her and the smells and sounds of the gigantic city overwhelmed and confused her. 

Still, sometimes she missed the companionship of those silly, little humans and her silly, little  dragon juniors. They were fun. 

Vhagar snapped out of her thoughts. She had no time to reminisce about her feelings. She had to find out what the seven hells were going on right now. 

The earth shook beneath her and Vhagar groaned in pain as she willed her feet to claw deep into the earth while she stretched her wings parallel to the ground, heaving herself back on her hindlegs. 

It took a moment for the enormous dragon to regain her balance, but when she did she stared straight at the ocean lying before her. She quickly gathered her thoughts; she was currently very big and heavy, her eyesight was beginning to blur, she was at the east coast of Westeros and most importantly, she was currently not bonded to any human. Considering her advanced age - also proven by her now mostly green scales - and unusual nesting place, Vhagar concluded that she was in the time after Baelon’s death and before Laena’s appearance and that she was currently residing in the southern Crownlands or northern Stormlands.

So the gods really sent her back in time? Or she herself did? Vhagar shrugged and her wings whirled up the sand beneath her. Did it really matter? Did she actually care? She was back before the war and this time she would change things. 

She glared at the neverending water crashing against the shore. But not here. She had definitely had enough from bathing in deep waters for a lifetime. 

—

Flying in the courtyard of Eternity had definitely been more comfortable than in the world of the living. Though she had been much smaller, Vhagar had had much more speed, agility and stamina - but the current Vhagar huffed and puffed as her old wings carried her heavy body across forests, rivers and fields. She actively avoided big villages and cities, as she hated the loud and high pitched screaming and crying of humans who weren’t accustomed to her presence. She much preferred the silence and calm of nature. Further and further she flew, to the southwest, to the border between the Stormlands and Dorne. 

Vhagar wasn’t exactly looking forward to being back in the realm of those who killed her sister, but she had to admit that the Dornish desert was ideal for her. 

For once they were warm and dry, not at all like the cold water of the God’s Eye. The area was also very empty and there would be no humans to track her movements or try to annoy her. In the rocky desert she would have the solitude and ressources to carefully plan her next steps without anyone noticing. Of course, even if they did, most humans wouldn’t be able to make any sense of her actions, but Vhagar was a careful dragon. On her shoulders rested the responsibility of her lifetime. She had to fix things, only she would be able to. No one knew what she knew, no one was as strong and powerful as she was. It was all on her now. 

And maybe she would also find the time to scare a few Dornish…

—

It took four days, but Vhagar finally found the perfect hiding spot. No, not hiding spot - base of operation was a much more fitting and refined name. 

Her new nest was a huge cave broken into the red mountains of Dorne, surrounded by steep mountains and deep canyons and therefore protected from human eyes. 

The ground of the cave was filled with soft sand and after Vhagar pushed some annoying boulders to the side and out of the opening, it looked quite spacious and comfortable. 

Not far away was a small mountain spring with cooling freshwater and for food she could hunt the many birds, scorpions and mountain goats. 

If there was one thing that the long search was good for, it was that it gave Vhagar a lot of time to think about her past and her new future. She studied her own wishes, her hopes and dreams,  from there deciding who the greatest threats to them were. 

Vhagar was able to go very far to protect those she loved and even then the next few years would be quite hard on her, testing her resolve, patience and determination. 

The dragon eyed three huge boulders lying outside her cave. After long reflections and thought experiments, Vhagar had deduced three clear cut goals. She was aware that she would have to improvise a lot of things and not achieve everything she hoped to in the way she hoped to, but these three things had to be done under any circumstance. If even one of them failed, this whole opportunity was thrown away and nothing would change at all. 

Carefully, as to not crush the heavy rocks under her sharp wing claws, she rolled the stones next to each other and regarded them. 

Stopping her breathing and focusing her dull eyes to the best of their little abilities, she, graceful as a butterfly and as precise as a falcon, carved a stylistic eye into the stone. It was a bit crooked and some fine cracks had appeared in the stone, but it would do just fine. 

Vhagars first goal was: To bond with Aemond Targaryen under any circumstances and despite any obstacles. If it meant kidnapping him from the Red Keep, if it meant fighting against his siblings’ dragons, if it meant burning the entire city to the ground, there would be nothing separating them. It wasn’t just that she loved that little human as if he was her own hatchling, she knew that he needed her. He needed someone to protect him, give him confidence, strength and power or he would wilt under the hostility that was omnipresent in the royal court. And Vhagar couldn’t let that happen. If Aemond wasn’t able to bloom properly, it would not only be a loss for Vhagar but for the whole realm.

On the next stone she carved a curved triangle, leaving out the bottom line and making it somewhat resemble a wave. She purred in satisfaction, proud for her artistic talent. 

Vhagars second goal was: Helping Laena bond with a different dragon. Like Aemond, Vhagar also loved Laena - but not in the way a she-dragon loved her hatchling, but in the way a dragon loved their rider. Laena was kind, brave and adventurous, but she would unknowingly sabotage her first goal. In her first life, the Velaryon Lady had died quite young and gave Aemond the opportunity to claim Vhagar, but would this happen this time around as well? If Laena would live the long and happy life she rightfully deserved, Vhagar couldn’t bond with Aemond, leaving him in a sad and empty life, which he didn’t deserve. 

Comparing the two, Laena not only needed Vhagars protection and support less than Aemond needed it, she also had - unlike the Targaryen prince - a joyful and quick to like personality that would make it easier for her to bond with a dragon that wasn’t Vhagar. 

The last stone was adorned with the carving of a sword and the boulder had nearly broken in half, as Vhagar struggled to keep her anger under control. The third goal was also another reason she couldn’t bond with Laena again. It would make it just too difficult and confusing for everyone involved. 

Vhagars third goal was: To kill Daemon Targaryen as soon as possible. 

#vhagar #hotd #hotd fanfic #asoiaf #house of the dragon #fanfic #grandma violence

[transhawks]

maybe he ate him and is more hawk than we thought. still think bird feet would have been better tho than a hawk diet.

big news for Tomie is an Ito reference crowd if true, and by crowd, I mean me.

I mean I know this is a joke, but I'm always so curious why Horikoshi decided to depict Hawks's mom in such a creepy, junji ito-ish way and then name her after his most famous prolific work and character. It's always been such an odd reference.

The one thing that gives me pause about the Tomie-Ito connection is that one of the curiouser aspects of Hawks's quirk has always been the regenerative aspect. It seems so strange how fast he recuperates that I wonder if it's more on his mother's quirk than his father's. You also put that's he been shown eating a lot, which seems normal for a person with an extra set of limbs doing something calorie-intensive as flying with telepathy and also birds just have a high metabolism.

So, if this was a horror manga and we followed the logical conclusion, Horikoshi's Tomie can regenerate her flaoting eyeballs - much like Ito's Tomie Kawakami can regenerate herself from the smallest traces of herself. And the way she sustains this sort of regenerative ability is through cannibalism.

I mean, ultimately, this is all a joke and maybe Horikoshi's "hawks is a bird dude who eats smaller birds" is pretty much the pun-line here. Maybe Tomie has to eat fish eyeballs or something to regenerate (eyeballs are a Chinese delicacy and Fukuoka is famously known as the gateway to Japan given that it's closer to China and Korea than it is to Tokyo, which is has historically been the reason why some of Japan's most iconic foods get made there). But, at this point, I don't know what else Horikoshi is trying to do with Hawks. He keeps getting stranger and stranger and if we're plunged into some horrifiic junji ito spiral of finding out there's cannibalism so Hawks can regenerate wings, well, it's absurd, but Keigo's absurd.

#asks

[apexart-journal]

Clare Kambhu in Montevideo, Day 22

COLONIA

I am on an overnight trip to Colonia del Sacramento, a small city about 2 and half hours from Montevideo. Old buildings and streets from Portuguese settlement fill the Barrio Histórico. It’s painfully beautiful. So beautiful it makes me angry! I can’t explain why.

I’m writing this reflection from a lovely cafe overlooking the river. It’s too cute! The large window and garden frame the water. As I stare out, I notice an oily, bird shaped print on the glass, the trace of a bird - window collision. Every feather, the shape of its face, its beak are perfectly visible when the light hits at the right angle. A pang of sorrow for the bird momentarily overcomes me. Come to think of it, bird encounters have been numerous today.

Loud tweets from the trees fill the plaza. How lovely:

Birds gather at my feet. I know they just want bread crumbs from my sandwich but still, I’m basically a Disney princess:

Ok, they’re getting a little aggressive:

I stumble upon a creepy taxidermy bird room in a museum otherwise dedicated to the colonial history of the area:

The crashed bird window trace:

Ok, now that the birds have eased me out of my dumbfounded state of awe at the beauty of the city, I’m ready to think more about the history of colonialism in the Americas.

MUNICIPAL MUSEUM

The downstairs of the museum with the bird room recounts a history of the area

This old gun makes me think about the time I saw a nazi pistol. Instruments of genocide.

Each room in the museum tells a succinct history of a different time period with collections of quotidian objects. Grand narratives of “progress” are generally avoided. Through dip pens, cookware, and other instruments of daily life the colonial machine can be sensed - destroying, cannibalizing, and building. Still life painting comes to mind.

LEAVING COLONIA

I realize upon leaving that the reason Colonia’s beauty enraged me was because I knew I would have to leave it the next day. That and a kind of inner conflict/questioning about why I find old cities beautiful to begin with.

#Outbound to Montevideo #Clare Kambhu

[ninnodesu]

“More Than One Use” || Jealous Thomas

AN: I’m finally done with the pollwinning short/smutfic! It was really fun letting you guys choose my next shortfic and if you guys liked doing that, I might do it again! Please do let me know if that's something you would like, because I have a BUNCH of titles! This has NOT been beta read by any betareader! Thank you, @your-local-possum for giving me the idea/inspiration for this one! Reblogs are always appreciated! 

Genre: smut, 18+, fem!reader. Warnings: Bondage, dubcon, like real dubcon, somewhat graphic depiction of violence, mentions of cannibalism, creampie, jealousy, mentions of blood, forced to watch, lowkey forced orgasm? I have no idea and a really bad joke. Please ignore the joke, I had to google bad jokes to find it. This has also NOT been beta read.

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

For you, this was punishment. Punishment for forgetting who you belonged to.

For Thomas, this was proof. A way to claim you as his in front of the man who had shamelessly flirted with you and lured the kind of giggle from your throat that he knew wasn’t fake.

Thomas was going to make sure you’d never forget who you belonged to.

 You sigh as you look out over the barn floor at how much you actually had to clean after today’s brawl with a new group of dinner guests. You always did prefer when Thomas made it quick. Like snapping their necks or literally anything other than shoving his entire chainsaw through a poor person’s chest. Because that always meant more cleaning to do.  A groan crawled from your throat as you went off to fill the bucket of water used for scrubbing the floor. Your mind wanders back to that joke you’d heard by one of the men now waiting to be butchered.

  “Turn that frown upside down, sweetheart.”, the man had said. You played along, knowing your role in the family is to lure victims in.

  “Tell you what…”, you replied, throwing a glance over his shoulder when you saw a huge shadow in the living room window, making you put a hand to the stranger’s chest and push him towards the house. “If you make me laugh, I’ll invite you into my house and you’ll meet my parents.” He raised an eyebrow as it connected in his mind what you implied.  “ Alright… Why are there gates around cemeteries?”, he says while barely keeping it together.  “ I don’t know… Why are there gates around cemeteries?”, you reply, internally laughing at the fact that the family recently did put up a gate at the edge of the property.  “ Because people are dying to get in”.

And you laughed.

 It was such a stupid joke but it’d still hit you straight on your giggle nerve. Something Thomas had not appreciated. You’d ended up fighting about you laughing a joke, him thinking you would leave him for it. His jealousy had really bubbled over then. Him being convinced that you were fully ready to leave him and the family.  There had been yelling, a cup was thrown close to his head by you, and doors slammed behind him. The biggest fight between you two this far in your relationship, and was about a joke.

 As you expected, it took almost three full hours to finish cleaning the floors and walls of the barn clear of blood. Wiping your brow clean of sweat, you groan as you realize you’d just used the same rag you cleaned the walls with, your brow now having a clear streak of blood.  Ah well…, you thought. You’re used to blood by now anyway. Suddenly, you feel a pair of big meaty hands wrap around your waist and hoist you up.

“THOMAS!”, you yelp out as he just throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Thomas! Let me go!”, you punch him hard at his back, kicking your legs wildly and doing everything in your power to get away from his grip.

 One kick connected with him hard in the ribs making him groan slightly at the sudden pain.

“I’m done with you today, Hewitt! We’re done! Fuck you!”, you’re so pissed at him. Still pissed about the fact that he dared to think you were going to leave him. You’ve worked so hard these past years to help him overcome his jealousy, and then he goes and acts like this over a joke. But he doesn’t care about your words, only increasing his grip around your waist and growls at you, his own way of telling you to shut up.

 The basement is cool, bordering on cold and you shiver as Thomas sets you down on the blood-drenched table. You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him as he walks over to one of the supportive beams where all the meat hooks hang. All you can do is watch him as he prepares one of the hooks, as he always does right before hanging cattle up.

Your blood runs cold and your heart rate picks up.

"T-To-...Tommy, what are you doing?", you're only met with dark blue eyes. "Honey, come on.", you laugh nervously as he stalks over to you, his eyes flicker over you for a second, but you're fast enough to catch it. Turning your head, you follow where he was looking. In one of the slightly lit corners, you saw the man who made you giggle earlier, still alive, naked, and ready to be butchered. A hook pierced between his shoulder blades, a big bucket under him to catch the blood being drained from him, blood steadily dripping from slits in his wrists.  Seems Luda Mae was planning on making blood sausage later.

 You turn your head back to look at your giant, who was now standing right in front of you. His hands balled into fists, shoulders heaving with every breath he takes. He’s furious, and his eyes make you cower under the shadow he casts over you. “Th-Thomas?”, you try again, desperate to know what’s going on in his mind.  Your breath gets caught in your throat when he with lightning speed grabs your jaw in a firm grip before he growls at you again. Again telling you to shut up, and all you can do is swallow and do your best to nod at his command. With a heart beating like a panicked bird behind your ribs, thoughts of death start creeping in your mind.  You’ve seen him angry before, of course, just not with anger directed at you. Never has he forcefully brought you down into the basement like cattle and never has he directed the preparation of meat hooks at you.

 As the hand at your jaw disappears, he yanks you off the table, even if you’re standing upright he still towers over you. His shadow imposing, sending chills down your spine. All you can do is look up at him and when you do; you’re transported back to the first time you met him.

How he loomed over you, the only one in your group who didn’t shriek as he approached you even though your friend told you to run. You couldn’t. The first thing that caught you were his eyes, those blue soulful eyes that told you of hurt, of love, and betrayal. Eyes that swam with unspoken emotions, thoughts, and feelings, but also of someone strong and loyal.  The only difference then compared to now being that now those eyes were shrouded in shadow, only a dark silhouette of a brute stood before you. You saw him as the cattle saw him: Like death itself.

 Suddenly, big hands take hold of your wrists and a rope is twisted around them. You hiss as he pulls the rope closed in a tight knot. Your brain together with your heart starts racing a million miles an hour at what he’s planning, and for the first time in years, he’s actually scaring you. It’s when that realization hits that you start feeling tears prick at the corner of your eyes.  Your gentle giant scared you.  The notion that this is the day you die hits you and you scream as he hangs you up on the meathook, the sharp edge cutting open a small slit on your arm as he maneuvers to hang you by the rope tied around your wrists.

 You try talking to him again when he steps back and observes you.

"Hun, p-please, it's me. I-I'm sorry!". Panic sets in as you see how the gears in his head start turning, but all he does is stand there, looking you up and down before he walks behind you.  A shiver runs down your spine as you feel a warm hand slowly glide from your lower back and up around your ribs under your shirt, stopping just under one of your breasts. He tickles you slightly as he drags his thumb just under it, lazily tracing the shape of it. That’s when Thomas remembers why he had forcefully brought you down here. His hand envelops your neck and he can’t help but smirk when he hears you whimper at the contact.

 Thomas actually wasn't all that furious, maybe a little annoyed, but mostly; he was jealous. And he felt an urge and a carnal instinct deep inside him to punish you and to remind you who you belonged to. Remind you that no one could ever make you feel like he could. The hand not wrapped around your throat took a firm grip on the breast he traced earlier and massaged it a way he knew would make you melt.

 Sure enough, his attention to the soft flesh and his rolling of the nipple between two fingers lured a small sigh from your lungs. And when you felt his teeth suddenly graze that one spot on your neck, you moaned.  He knew your body so well.  You tried wiggling away from the hook, however, not wanting to do this in the basement, where the carnage took place and where people got slaughtered. But as you did, the hand around your neck got tighter.

A warning.  And you relaxed. Your eyes snapped towards a groan coming from across the room. The man who had flirted with you was waking up. It seems as though Thomas also heard him because he lifted his head from the spot on your neck he'd been attacking. You took a big gulp of air when the hand around your neck vanished and sobbed quietly as the giant of a man pulled your pants down in one vicious movement.

"Tom-... please don't. Not here."  Any tries to get through to him were met with a growl as he grabbed you around your waist and pulled your back against his chest.  Suddenly, a burning sensation on your neck made you scream. He bit you. Hard.

 His teeth came down hard enough to draw blood. It wasn't until now that you fully understood; Thomas was pissed at you. And now you got your punishment. Your punishment for laughing at that joke, for letting that stranger, that piece of meat, get close enough to you to make that joke. Sure, you’re supposed to lure people into false security, a false sense of home, and a promise of something cold to drink to get them close enough for Tommy to do his job. But apparently, this time your job had been too good.

 Thomas groaned slightly as he heard you whimper as the stinging sensation of his tongue dragging over the bleeding bite marks registered in your brain. He disappeared into his head in the midst of marking you as his.

You’re mine. His inner voice growled as the grip around your waist was hard enough for his dull nails to leave marks.

And I’m going to remind you. The clinking sound of his belt made him grin at the full-body shiver running through you.

If I so have to fuck you until you can’t walk. Another long lick over your neck made you exhale a shuddering breath as his strong arm lifted one of your legs.

 And until you scream my name loud enough to wake the dead.

The fingers on the hand not holding your leg up were pushed into your mouth, making you suck on them. You obeyed, swirling your tongue around them, feeling the coppery taste of blood invade your mouth making you shut your eyes, and doing your best to not gag.  When he felt you’ve wet them enough, the hand disappeared downwards and you tensed as he pushed them into your cunt. Even if this was only supposed to be a punishment for you and a reminder for him, he didn’t have the heart to actually hurt you. He barely prepared you for him and a loud and raspy moan came from his throat as you screamed loud when he forcefully pushed himself into your - wet enough - cunt. It was a stretch, a stretch that you’ve felt so many times, and that you usually loved more than anything.

As he started moving, tears started streaming down your cheeks. But you weren’t fully sure if they were from pleasure, pain, or a mixture of both at this point. Thomas is never this forceful with you. Sure, he can be rough when he wants to be. But he always makes sure you’re fully prepared for him, not today. Today he seemed content in just feeling any kind of wetness actually existing.

 Thomas grunts as he feels you tighten around him at the same time he, once again, bites down on your neck. And the more he thrusts and pounds into you, the more both of you feel the ever-growing wetness and arousal gather inside of you. He growls when you try to reason with him again;

"To-... Tommy… it hurts!"  

When you wiggle your body against the meat hook holding you firmly in place, he moves one hand up to your jaw and makes you look at the man whimpering across the room. His own twisted arousal fully on display at the scene happening in front of him. Every thrust he made into you was hard, deep, and spoke of demands. "I- I'm sorry!", you sob. You were just crying now. You didn't care about the reason anymore. "I didn't mean it, Tommy!", his cock hit you just right and you clenched around him by reflex, causing him to groan.

 You better be sorry. He told himself in his head.

 Releasing your jaw and taking a firm hold of your hips. Angling you and him to help him hit your g-spot and you wailed as he started moving harder against it. The place where the rope dug into your wrists was starting to burn and you knew you’d be red and sore after this. Thomas got lost in his pleasure as he felt that familiar feeling of his climax creeping up on him. Making him forget about "punishing" you, now he needed to feel you cum around his cock, making him snake one hand to your front, quickly finding your clit.

 You moaned as his fingers rubbed you in a way he knew would have you cumming in no time.

There you are. You thought as you recognized your sweet Tommy as he gave attention to the one spot that needed him the most. But what really set you off was hearing him demanding you to do one thing: "Cum.", his member ramming against your g-spot, his finger rubbing quick circles around your clit and that deep and raspy voice had you shaking. Screaming his name and thanking whatever higher power existed that the rest of the family wasn't home as you came, hard enough to see dots dance in your vision. The feeling of your cramping walls around him made Thomas’s movements stutter to a halt as he came in you, letting out a loud moan into your ear while emptying everything he had in you.

Coming down from you high, you remembered your audience.

 The man straight across from the room was still looking at you both, his face red and eyes almost popping out of his skull. Glancing down his body, you saw why as his own member twitched post-climax. And over your shoulder, you felt Thomas tilting his head up, radiating both pride and anger. Pride at how he knew that skinny twig of a man would never have made you feel like he did, and anger because this… piece of meat had orgasmed because he had watched you.

You turned your head towards Tommy and tenderly kissed any part you could reach, mumbling how much you loved him and that no man could ever change your feelings for him before telling him to end the sad existence of the man bleeding out. Thomas playfully growled and nipped at your earlobe making you giggled before he with pure possession whispered;

"You're mine."

#ninno og #thomas hewitt #thomas leatherface hewitt #thomas hewitt fanfiction #tcm: the beginning #smut #pwp #n*sfw #18+ #tcm #tcm fanfiction #More Than One Use #tommy is jellyyyyy #I'm finally done with it

[cannibalcreeps]

First kiss with the hiliker brothers separately

Aww first kisses with the booooois UwU 

4111 word count

 hopefully you guys enjoy it ^ ^  -------- One-Eye: 

Soft. 

He is so soft, his skin, his hair, his hands, his gaze and gosh his lips, those were the most softest part of this adorable man. But also stinky, sweaty and a little slimy that smelt of sour cheese, no matter how gross he was, One-Eye was like velvet, smooth and soft to the touch, very unlike his two brothers that seemed to be so hardy and covered in wrinkles and calluses. 

So it was no surprise to you when you first placed your lips against his, they were amazingly soft, gentle and inexperienced. You hadn’t really meant to kiss him at the start, it truly was an accident that turned into something you have secretly been desiring ever since coming across the three brothers and you were over the moon that the first of the three was One-Eye. The two of you were doing washing duties, usually you did it on your own or Three-Fingers would do the chore, but today One-Eye wanted to help you since there were some extra loads after the four of you took out a school bus filled to the brim with a college football team, which meant cleaning up any of their stinky clothing for the three boys to wear or use. You were arms deep in scrubbing some pants while One-Eye sat patiently beside you, only handing you dirty clothes and taking the wet ones to put into the other basket. He was such a helpful man, beaming all the while you talked about random stories from your past or some trivia you knew about, sure One-Eye didn’t understand but he was hanging on every word that left your pretty mouth. As you continued on rattling about the types of birds that collected items to woo their female counterparts, you wracked your knuckles against the side of the washing bucket and let out a hiss from how sore it felt, due to how raw and soaked up your skin had gotten from the water. You shook your hand and held it against your chest, having an annoyed look on your face, One-eye reaching over to touch your sore hand gently and let out soft murmurs, lifting your hand up to press a small kiss against the redness, making your cheeks just as flushed. “Thank you, you’re so lovely” You whispered to the cannibal, causing him to give you a large, goofy smile at being able to make you feel better. With your hand now better, being as it was not really that bad of a bump, you went to reach down into the water to grab the scrubber, not realizing One-Eye was doing the same to be helpful, you looked his was in surprise exactly the same time he did and bumping your faces together. Though not only did you smack cheeks but your lips had grazed over each other making you both lean back in surprise, shyness hitting you both at what just happened. One-Eye was first to react, letting out a small nervous snorted laugh, as though what just happened was a silly accident, his eye glancing away and then back at your face as though waiting to see how you would react to the incident. You had taken in a small sharp breath as so many thoughts rushed through your brain, but the loudest was screaming ‘Fucking Kiss Him!’ and so you did. You practically attacked the cannibal's face, hands lashing out and grabbing onto his cheeks, his face going from shy nervousness to complete shock at you coming at his face like this, eye going wide and his arms going up as though he was going to protect himself from an attack. Your lips pressed up against his, unmoving as you both were still against each other until you stopped to get a gasp of air. You had not yet kissed any of the boys since they took you, only just five weeks ago this man you were pressing up against almost ran a pole through your skull and now you were staring into his blue eye that looked surprised by your bold action. Sure you had fucked, or more like been fucked, licked, bitten, grabbed at and pushed around by the other two, with One-Eye not yet joining in possibly out of unsureness or shyness, you assumed as you really didn’t know why he didn’t at least attempt to fuck you like his brothers did. But none had ever properly kissed you either, so the fact that this gentle giant was now the first to kiss your lips was heartwarming, in a twisted way. The man reached up slowly to press his fingers against your bottom lip, tracing over the plumpness and across your cheek until he cupped it, his eye staring at your features as he leaned in closer and continued the kiss, going in soft at the start before pushing it into something more deeper and hungrier, as though he was pent up with need and want, hands moving from your face to your waist to drag you against his body. He was so soft, but his gentleness was starting to tighten and hurt, your pleased moans turning into pained gasps as his grip began to bruise your skin. You had to stop him, pushing back against his chest and speaking sternly “No!….no, not so rough ok”. Your tone surprised the man, his aggressive lusting melting back into his submissive, confused self, his head tilted and expression showing he didn’t understand what he did wrong. “Oh….hun, I…. you were just being a bit rough that’s all” you whispered “You just need to be more gentle, ok?” He nodded in agreement as you stroked his chest gently, leaning in to place a small peck on his nose which caused that lovely goofy smile to come again. “Going to be hard to not want to kiss you all the time now” After a few more kisses, this time more gentle and soft again, you two would return back to finishing the washing, not wanting to receive a stern chiding from Three-Fingers for slaking on the chores. --- Saw-Tooth: Itchy, rough and calloused, this man’s touch was always so intense, even just moving you around left small bumps and bruises on your skin. At the start of living with the three brothers Saw-Tooth would handle you like you were some toy, his expression so tense and he always scowled as he shoved and pushed you around whenever he wanted to have you do something, unlike his usually grunts and gestures to his brothers, mostly the reason he manhandled you so much was simply because he enjoyed feeling your softer skin under his damaged, rough hands. The large man had never kissed you, even when he placed himself onto you or touched you in any sexual manner, Saw-Tooth would always turn his head to the side if your faces ever came into close contact, eyes shifting down or to look elsewhere on your body, as though he was not ready for such an intimate act while you both were just letting out your pleasures. The closest he has ever gotten was running his slimy, fat tongue along your neck and up to your cheek, which may as well be a guilty pleasure of yours despite how grossly stinky their breaths were. It was now week 5, a whole month and 1 week had passed since you began your new life with the three boys and things were looking better than they were from week 1. You’ve proven yourself more freedoms, though there was always one of the boys by your side at all times, you were allowed a little bit of privacy when going to the bathroom or having a little nap inside the hut, but outside you were always watched and supervised. The pushing and bullying had gone down a bit, as though the excitement of a new plaything had died down and they were becoming comfortable with a fourth person living amongst them. Saw-Tooth was still forceful and gave you a bit of a stank-eye here and there whenever you did something odd or stupid, even if it amused the other two boys. You were mostly always watched by one of the younger boys, but today was the rare chance of Saw-Tooth watching you and it was purely not his choice. The large brute had gotten two make-shift spears through his thigh and hip thanks to some very determined hikers who fought back, though it was all in vain as all had ended up being slaughtered and stored to be the next few days’ meals. So now Saw-Tooth sat on the large wooden chair on the hut’s porch, a glass of unknown red fluids in one hand and his damaged leg covered in bandages, his eyes watching you craft some new arrows. You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, wondering why he couldn’t just stare into the scenery instead of making your feel scrutinized and judged, even if he was simply just staring it was making it difficult for you to work on the fletching of the arrows you were crafting, with a annoyed mumble you looked back at the staring giant and raised a brow. “Is there something you need or are your eyes just glued staring towards me?” You snarked, a little cheeky grin splattered on your face. The big cannibal let out a short huff and narrowed his eyes, but he kept his gaze on you as he lifted a hand and gestured for you to come over, in which you complied though you stilled let out a few annoyed grumbles that you were being disrupted, but it was better to do as you're told than anger a very wild beast, not that you think Saw-Tooth would ever kill or maim you for simply ignoring him but he sure would leave a large hand mark from where he may grab and pull at you. 

When you walked over and were at grabbing range, he reached over and took hold of your arms in a surprisingly gentle way, pulling you towards him so that you straddled his good leg, his hands moving from your arms to rest on your hips instead, thumbs pushing your shirt up to rub at your skin. “I don’t think your legs healed up enough for any rough action” You commented, putting your hands on his chest to keep yourself propped up, watching his expression to see how he would react to you slowly explore his features. He was definitely not a pretty man, he was always so sweaty and hairy, covered in scars, lumps and either drool or blood, it being his own or a victim you'd never know. Your hands would caress up past his neck towards that shaggy, tangled up beard of his, always dirty and filled with fluids or dirt, he smelt as bad as he looked but by now you were getting used to the scent, he would only close his eyes and let out a soft grumble when you pressed you thumb against his jaw and traced the bone structure towards his ear and past up into his messy hair, feeling how oily and tangled it was. He was silently enjoying the gentle caresses and affection, allowing you to run your fingers through his hair and drag your nails along his scalp causing him to let out a more deeper groan at how wonderful it felt. You were smiling to yourself at how much control you were currently having over the usually cruel giant, how he was just melting like butter under your touch. Biting at your bottom lip, you took the chance to run your hands back down towards his mouth, the exposed flesh and teeth from where his upper lip was so deformed it gave the man a forever scowling expression, pressing your thumb against his bottom lip caused Saw-Tooth to open his mouth and trace his tongue along your thumb, his dark eyes now open and stared into your own which made your breath hitch in surprise at how gentle he was being right now, considering every other time you felt like you were almost going to die with how rough he always was. You had to take the chance now, with how relaxed and sweet Saw-Tooth was currently being, you knew you would never get such a rare moment for a very long time. Removing your thumb from his wandering tongue and large bottom lip you placed both hands on the sides of the man’s face, checking his reaction to see if he was going to pick up on what you were planning and throw you off, but there was nothing other than a blank calmed expression.  So with sharp intake of breath you leaned in fast and closed your eyes as you were heading in towards his mouth, the large cannibal’s brows going up in surprise but he did not move away or make a sound as your lip clashes against his exposed teeth and enlarged bottom lip. It was not exactly the softest kiss, his taste was sour and oddly meaty, with how deformed his mouth was you didn’t really expect much action for a kiss, but when Saw-Tooth began to shift your eyes shot open and you were about to get off the man only to be stopped as he wrapped his large arms around your back and pulled you in deeper against his body and mouth, opening it up to drag his tongue along your lips, forcing it past them to get inside. You didn’t struggle against Saw-Tooth, you knew better than that, it was better to comply and welcome his advances, which to be honest was not really that bad of an idea with how sensual and intimate the large cannibal was being for once. His grip was usually so harsh and tight, but at this moment he was being so gentle, you were surprised that he wasn’t squeezing the life out of your body with how his arms enveloped you, his tongue rolling against your own causing you to let out moans, you eyes had once against shut as you soaked in the loving attention. But like all things in this forest, it was short lived.  A sharp, high-pitched laugh snapped you out of your hot and bothered state, almost causing you to bite down on Saw-Tooth's tongue as you pushed back off him and out of his arms in surprise at being caught by a snickering, grinning Three-Fingers and wide-eyed One-Eye. The eldest brother let out a displeased grunt and shot the youngest a frustrated look as he giggled and babbled in a mocking way before pointing to four dead bodies the two of them had just dragged from the forest, this catching Saw-Tooth’s attention enough to slowly get up and help the boys with the fresh meat. You were quite flustered and just as frustrated, letting out small huffs and muttering under your breath about their bad timing, but work was work and you had to return to crafting the rest of those arrows, plus you knew once the large man was finished helping he was going to give you more than just a kiss. --- Three-Fingers: Cruel, cunning and conniving. The youngest Hilliker was an evil little weasel, always skittering around and giggling his manic laugh, he was terrifyingly accurate with his kills and hunts, if you hadn’t been taken in you knew you’d be slaughtered like a pig. But now it was week 5 with living with them, you had proven yourself trustworthy enough to take on hunts and killing people, as well as basic chores to earn your right to belong in their strange mutant family and now you were currently on a walk with the thinly, small cannibal to check on the traps littered around the forest. The first time you went on trap checking with Three-Fingers, he was very pushy and snappy with you at times, though still showed patience as he understood you were new to this type of work and had to learn. Now though, you could handle the traps without being watched over, you were quick and diligent when setting them up and though you didn’t need it, you loved whenever Three-Fingers came over and praised you with shoulder pats and happy chittering noises. The two of you had spent almost four hours going around checking the perimeter of the forest, reaching the area of the large waterfalls, the sky was starting to darken with heavy grey clouds, you were looking up at them as Three-Fingers was tightening a trip wire. “Hey….I think we should start heading back, looks like it’s going to start raining” you piped up, looking over at the youngest Hilliker as he finished off with the trap and made his way over to you, glancing up at the sky as well, baring his teeth slightly as he nodded and let out a few incoherent grumbled words which you assumed was a ‘yeah, let’s go back’ You doubted you both would make it back to the hut in time, the clouds above growing darker and angrier to the point it had pushed both you and Three-Fingers to start running, but nature was not having it and heavy rains started falling from the sky, a crack of lightning following right after. The two of you were soaked like drowned rats and home was still another hour and half walk away, your shoes completely filled with water with mud all over your legs, you knew if you stayed out in the rain any longer you were definitely going to catch a cold. Three-Fingers was looking around frantically, grabbing your hand as he pulled you through the density of the forest, you trusted his sense of direction, but there was still a slight doubtfulness in the back of your mind saying that he got you both lost, thankfully that doubt was squashed out when you saw  the small cannibal had taken you both to a cave, pulling you under the rocky cover. The both of you were quick to start a fire and get your wet clothes off until you both were just in your underwear, which mostly consisted of you wearing a dirty undershirt and some fairly loose, dirty, boxers whilst Three-Fingers had the most nastiest tighty-whities on, or what should be whities as they were no longer white and now stained in multiple colours of brown, yellows and red, despite your attempts to washing their clothing the stains never came out. You were huddled around the fire, hands out to feel the warmth as you shivered, the rain heavier than ever with the lighting cracking across the sky, you were trapped until the storm passed, it wasn’t safe to travel in such a heavy storm in the mountain forest after all. The scrawny cannibal had settled right next to you, watching as you shivered from the cold so he scooted closer and reached one of his arms around you and pulled you in close to cuddle up. He was such a boney, thin and pasty man unlike his more plumper, larger brothers, but that didn’t stop his hugs and cuddles from being just as warm and soft. You leaned in close to Three-Fingers, feeling his oversized deformed fingers wrap around your shoulder and pull you in against his pasty chest which you placed your head against and stared into the fire. Despite the situation, it was almost romantic, sitting by the campfire and holding onto each other, the two of you rarely ever got to have such simple, quiet moments when it was always so hectic at the hut with the brothers and even when you both did get more private alone time it was always short lived, though at least with Three-Fingers, sex was much more gentler than with Saw-Tooth, but it was still just as intense, and just like his brothers, he never really gave you a proper kiss other than running his tongue over your cheek or biting your neck. A large crack from the lightning snapped you from your thoughts, looking out the entrance of the cave at the rain, Three-Fingers chittering softly and running his deformed hand through your hair. “I’m all good, it’s just cold” You said softly, looking up at the cannibal with a sweet smile who responded by leaning in and placing a small peck on your lips which was a surprise for so many reasons and by how the cannibal cackled your reaction must have been priceless. This cheeky bastard thought he could place his very first proper kiss on you so lightly and like it was nothing, oh no he was not getting away with it and you voiced that very loudly to him as you grabbed the sides of his face quickly “Oh no you don’t, we’re doing this now” You laughed, attempting to pull Three-Fingers down to give him a proper kiss, but the man was giving you a bit of a struggle as he bared his teeth in a playful manner and leaning as far back away from you as he could, letting out his signature laugh as you started to wrestle the man  for that good kiss. “Hey! Get your scrawny ass here and let me lay one on you!” You were trying to pin the wriggling Three-Fingers but only being able to land the kisses on his cheek or nose. You finally were able to pin him down long enough to narrow your eyes and go in for one more strike, if you missed this was going to be the last time and it seemed the man knew this too as he stopped struggling and accepted your smooches that you have been so aggressively trying to place on him. Finally being able to place a kiss on the toothy feral cannibal was satisfying, you would finally get to taste and feel him against your lips and to be honest it was not exactly the best but it was the best you’d ever get in your current situation. Just like his brothers, Three-Fingers taste so sourly disgusting, like you were kissing a rotten cheese carcass that had sharp teeth and a perverted tongue that was currently pushing itself into your mouth. He was making the kiss deep, his hands reaching up to tangle through your hair, his long pointed nose pressed up against your cheek. You laid atop of him, heart beating and face flushed, completely ignoring your surroundings for the passionate kiss with the deadly murderer that the both of you hadn’t even realized the storm had passed on. A deep moan lifted from your lips as Three-Fingers hands started to explore your body, his mouth leaving love bites along your jawline and towards your neck, forcing you to sit up more and straddle him. He grabbed the ends of your undershirt and you began to lift your arms up to allow him to take it off only to let out a yelp as something bit your thigh. You looked down to see what in the world was making your leg itch and feel sore only to see that during the passionate kissing you both had rolled onto an ants nest that had now gotten riled up and the ants began attacking by biting you both. You let out another ‘ow!’ as you got bit again and jumped up from the ground, swiping at your legs and helping Three-Fingers to his feet who was doing the same, scowling all the while at the mood being killed by a bunch of insects. “Christ…damn it.....” You hissed, looking around at the ground and then towards the fire by the entrance, noticing that there was no more storm. “well at least the rain stopped.” You pointed out, rubbing at your now sore red bite marks, the ants were harmless but their bites still itched. “Let’s get dressed and head back, rub some creams on these…” Though he was annoyed, Three-Fingers nodded in agreement, his poor bottom had gotten attacked by those little bastards and now itched like crazy, but the thought of you rubbing cream all over it ass cheeks lifted up his spirits. The both of you would put on your now, slightly drier, clothing and kick the fire out. It was a long walk, but you both eventually made it back to the hut and you both couldn’t wait to lay down on the bed and wrapped each other in the warm blankets, right after tending to your little ant bites. 

#bit of a long read this one #took me like 4 days to write this thing up lemme tell you #I've read this over twice no hopefully there is no spelling mistakes but no promises #this was fun to write tho i like writing the boys so soft and cute #Wrong Turn #Wrong Turn fanfic #Wrong Turn x reader #Wrong Turn x s/o #Wrong Turn writing #Wrong Turn fluff #long writing #long fanfic #one-eye x reader #saw-tooth x reader #three-fingers x reader

[nyxicnymph]

Swept Away

A TodoMomo oneshot for Mermay 2021

Shoto Todoroki shifted uncomfortably, feeling cold. He didn't open his eyes, unwilling to take in the damage he was sure was there. He remembered the impact, and the shattering noises of the side of the ship imploding, then an impact on the back of his head, a flash, and nothing more.

He casually wondered if he was dead.

As he drifted, something nagged at the back of his mind. He felt very even in temperature, not something you would normally feel if you were drifting across the surface of the ocean. He also wasn't feeling any splashes from the waves. Thoroughly confused, he opened his eyes.

A woman's face greeted him, her dark eyes gazing into his, her ebony hair drifting around in unidentifiable motions. He gasped in surprise, only to inhale a mouthful of salt water.

Salt water?

"You're awake!" The woman said excitedly, her voice rolling towards him through the water. "Oh, but don't breathe through your mouth, my magic charm only helps you breathe through your nose."

Shoto clamped his mouth shut once he expelled the water from it, and took a good look at the woman before him. She was black haired and fair, wearing a red seaweed top, and a golden belt around the top of her slightly darker red tail. Her fins along her forearms were the same color, and as she swam to grab something, he saw a fin along her back as well.

"You're a siren?" He asked, tentatively, the only possible explanation in his head at the moment.

She turned around and pulled a face. "No. Sirens are half bird predators, with enchanting voices. You wouldn't have woken up if I were a siren. No, I am a mermaid."

"A mermaid," Shoto repeated, his head spinning, no thanks to the throbbing on the back of his skull. He remembered a few lines from even fewer books, but nothing of actual importance. "Mermaids can do magic?" He asked, referring to the magic charm she mentioned before.

The mermaid blushed. "Some can. I learned from the seawitch, Tsuyu. I saw you sinking, and I thought I could help."

Shoto looked at her for a moment, having to brush his hair back before it floated into his eyes. "What's your name? I'd like to thank you properly."

"Oh!" She practically glowed with joy. "Momo Yaoyorozu!"

"Well, Momo Yaoyorozu, I, Shoto Todoroki, would like to thank you for saving my life. I owe you a debt." He attempted to bow to her, but ended up flipping himself over in the water.

Momo giggled as he tried to right himself. "Let me help you." She grabbed one of his hands, and pulled him so he was lateral. With her face inches from his, she told him, "This is the best swimming position. The water flows around you like this. If you intend to change your direction, tilt your body like this." She pushed his upper body around in a few positions.

"That sounds great, but how do I go forward?" He asked in confusion.

She looked at his legs and frowned. "That's a good question. You don't have a tail, so you can't push like I do." She hummed thoughtfully as she looked at his legs. "Hold on to the stalagmite right there, I'm going to test a few things."

Shoto did as she told him, but was unprepared for when she gently grabbed his legs and started moving them. She finished after only a few seconds and swam back up to his face. She then held her hand level with his face, the first two fingers pointing at him. He noted the web between them before she spoke.

"Move your legs like this." She demonstrated an up-and-down motion with her fingers, one going up as the other goes down, and then they reversed.

"Like scissors," he remarked absently.

Momo gazed at him with confusion in her eyes for a moment, not understanding, but then shrugged. "If that's what scissors do, then yes. Like scissors."

Shoto nodded, and kicked. At first, he didn't notice anything, so he kicked harder. He lost his grip on the stalagmite and rammed his head into a kelp-plated boulder. He gently pushed off of it, and rubbed his forehead.

"Now both sides hurt," he mumbled.

Momo shook her head clear. She'd been watching his two-toned hair float aimlessly, but his words hit her as odd. "Both sides?" She asked as she swam up to him.

His eyes met hers, and he nodded. "Front and back."

Momo's eyes widened. "I forgot you were injured! I can't heal things, though. I can only make things." She thought for a minute, tapping one finger against her chin. "Maybe Tsuyu can help." She grabbed his hand. "If you stick with me, you won't get lost. Remember to push! Use your arms if your... err... double tails... aren't enough."

Shoto frowned in confusion. "Double tails? You mean my legs?"

"Yeah, is that what they're called? Use your legs and arms!"

"Momo, I can't use both arms if you're holding my hand," he pointed out bluntly.

Momo felt her face heat up, and released his hand abruptly. "Sorry! I just wasn't sure if you would be able to keep up!"

"Can't you just swim slower?"

Momo let that sink in. "Oh. Yeah! Yes, I can. My apologies!" She turned around and started swimming.

Shoto looked at the hand she had released rather forlornly. He hadn't asked for it to be released, he just was trying to point something out. Then he had to blurt out the "swim slower".

He followed after the mermaid. At least a slower swim would mean more time to get to know her. He was quite intrigued.

He wasn't prepared for the multi-sleep trip.

"Ah, I should have told you that I live quite a ways from Tsuyu. It'll take us about three sleeps before we arrive, at the speed we're going. Here, I'll make you a sand bed." Momo swept her tail across the ocean floor, and placed a clump of seaweed in the middle of the circle she made. "I'm not sure how humans sleep, but we tend to sleep in circles, with our tails curled up. You can rearrange the bed however you like. I'll be over here," she said, pointing to a spot a little ways away. "You may also wish to use the kelp to cover yourself, should a shark come near."

Shoto nodded, and swam towards the kelp, intent on trying to figure out how he was going to lay down. He flinched when Momo suddenly clapped.

"I'll just make a shelter around us! I can't believe I've never done that!" She swam a ways away, then started swimming in a circle around the two sand beds, tracing her finger in the sand. Where her finger touched, a wall of coral started to rise. It flowed together into a dome over their heads. She snapped, and the coral flowed apart in a few spots, creating some doorways and windows.

Shoto watched her in amazement. He'd seen a few mages on land, but none with the skill and competence that she was exhibiting. The detail that the coral grew in at her command was impressive. He could easily tell the door handles from the hinges. He looked at Momo in wonder and awe.

She released the magic, and turned to catch him staring at her, his mouth hanging open just slightly. "Are you okay, Shoto?"

He shook his head, then pushed his hair aside. "You're very accomplished. I've never seen anyone so good at magic, and I've met several mages in my father's business."

Her face warmed, and she swam to float next to him. "You've met magic users above?"

He gazed at the ceiling. "A few. Mostly storm mages, since my father's company trades through a lot of the more dangerous trading routes. He's a fire mage, and I got that, and my mother's ice mage talents, but I don't like to show those off. I'm not talented enough."

"So you're a... mage... too? Fire and ice?" She asked, not sure what those were.

He understood her, though. "I'm not sure if they'll work underwater. Ice might work too well down here. Can you make a waterproof box or something?" He asked her, turning to face her better.

She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "I can try. If you stay there, I'll make it around you. But then I won't be able to make anything until I find something to eat."

Shoto paused. "Then don't. We do need to find something to eat, though."

Momo smiled. "I have a fishnet."

Shoto looked bewildered. "Isn't that cannibalism??? Or something?"

Momo shook her head. "Our tails aren't actually connected to fish. Sometimes there are many similarities, but they aren't the same." She swam outside. "I'll be back soon. Don't go out, you can't read the ocean like we can," she said in an informative tone.

He nodded, and watched her swim away.

Timeskip: Three days later

"We're here!" Momo exclaimed excitedly.

Shoto flagged behind her. "I'm glad."

"Wait, are you okay? Did I push you too hard? Should I have invited Tsuyu to my place instead of dragging you here when you were injured and new to swimming?" Momo fretted.

"No, I enjoyed the trip, Momo. I got to know you, and it was an interesting experience," He said, honestly and earnestly, his dual eyes shining. "It's just the pressure is very intense down here, and I'm not a great swimmer." He cleared his throat. "But I wouldn't trade the experience for anything."

Momo turned red, and turned away from him. "I- That's so nice of you. Let's see if Tsuyu can help you at all."

"You should have sent a message fish," A croak-like voice said from behind them. "And why is there a human here?"

Momo spun around in surprise. "Tsuyu! I can explain!"

Tsuyu raised an eyebrow, her flippers twitching. "I hope so."

After Momo explained everything, Tsuyu took a look at Shoto. "Well, at this point, his injuries are mostly healed up. The problem is, he's a human, under hundreds of thousands of gallons of water. If he wants to return to the surface, it might be even more harmful than just staying here. How did he get here without dying?"

Momo shifted a bit. "He was sinking. He was almost at the bottom when I found him."

Tsuyu looked at her. "Still alive, even though he can't breathe water?"

Momo shrugged. "He was close to death, and I couldn't let him die. That's what the charm around his neck is for. It's kept him alive so far."

Shoto nervously fingered the necklace he had barely noticed. "Can I stay here?" When the ladies both looked at him, he looked at the floor. "I don't want to go back."

Momo looked at him with compassion, her eyes lingering on the scar on his face. Tsuyu looked at him more analytically. "Why?"

Shoto shrugged. "I'd rather prefer if my family thinks I'm never coming back. My father is not a good person, he's already run off the majority of my family in one way or another. I don't want to go back." If he could have cried underwater, he would have.

Momo rushed to him, but wasn't sure how to comfort him. Tsuyu gazed at him for a moment more. Then she spoke.

"Well, then I have a bargain for you." Shoto looked at her, confusion in his eyes. "You can become one of us, though it's a painful process, it's not undoable." When Shoto's eyes gleamed, she continued. "But. Everyone you know on the surface will forget about you. Not just your father, but siblings, your mother, any friends you might have had, everyone who's met you or knows about you." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Your choice. An equal amount of pain for if you choose to return. Your body will be in pain for days as you readjust to the surface pressure, and you will forget about your time here."

Shoto looked at Tsuyu for a minute or two, weighing his options. He looked at Momo, then his hands, then up towards the surface. He whispered, "I'm sorry, Mom."

When he met Tsuyu's eyes again, his were tinged slightly pink. "I'm choosing to stay here."

Tsuyu nodded, pulled a few hairs out of his head, and swam over to an enclosure holding a variety of fish. "Then let's get to it. Momo, I would suggest you go outside for a few minutes. Maybe swim around, or plug your ears."

Momo swallowed and nodded. She gave Shoto a hug, and swam outside.

Shoto turned to face Tsuyu, who dropped the hairs and the fish in a cauldron he hadn't noticed earlier. She threw a few more ingredients into the cauldron, snapped her padded fingers, and extracted a silver fluid from the pot. She placed it in a glass, and brought it over to him.

"Now listen, very carefully, Shoto Todoroki. This potion will do a few things." As he nodded, she continued. "It is going to temporarily mute you, so that you don't hurt yourself screaming. Then it will start the transformation. It should only take about five minutes, but you will probably be unconscious for a while. Once the transformation is complete, your voice will return." She grabbed his shoulder. "Are you still willing to go through with this?"

Shoto nodded, his gray eye looking steely. "I'm ready."

Tsuyu handed the glass to him, and he quaffed it down. He felt it trickling down his throat, and then the burning started. He crumpled over, as well as one can crumple in water, releasing the glass before he gripped it too hard and shattered it.

The feeling was like an intense rash, on his neck, the sides of his arms, his spine, and his legs. But, even if his voice hadn't been muted, he wouldn't have yelled. He went into this knowing what to expect, and he'd been through many painful situations. He closed his eyes and retreated inside himself to wait out the process.

When he opened his eyes again, Momo was waiting for him. He smiled at her, and took off her charm. He handed it back to her, saying. "I believe this belongs to you."

Momo smiled back, and pushed his hand back. "Keep it. I made it for you. Even if you don't need it anymore, keep it to remember me by."

"Why would I need it to remember you? I don't plan to leave you, Momo. You're why I decided to stay," he told her. He flexed his new tail. "Besides, you're the best swimming teacher I know, and I don't know how to use this yet."

Momo covered her face. "Uh, ok! I guess I can help you, and you can stay... With me. B-but! You'll have to get a house with the clan once you've mastered swimming!" She poked his nose. "For... reasons."

Shoto wrapped her in a hug. "Ok, Momo."

Tsuyu watched them embrace, then started drawing dates on the cave wall, trying to guess how long they'd stay "platonic".

The End!

#todomomo #yaomomo #momo yaoyorozu #todoroki #shoto todoroki #shoto x momo #mermay 2021 #todomomo mermay #tsuyu #tsuyu asui #bnha #boku no academia #my hero academia #mha #tw transformation #tw transmutation

[vajranam]

Giving Up On Meat

Song of Advice for Giving Up Meat Eating

by Nyala Pema Dündul

When I think of the suffering that meat eating brings,

I cannot bear the pain and anguish I feel within my heart.

Oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ hrīḥ!

From a state of emptiness and compassion, you guide beings — 

Noble Avalokiteśvara, to you I pay homage.

Without having trained in love and compassion myself,

I ate the flesh of my mothers while lecturing others about cause and effect.

Without realizing the absolute, I wandered along the path of empty words.

I, the parrot-like beggar of White Rock,

Was practicing austerities and ‘extracting the essence’,[1]

When, one day, while meditating on Lord Avalokiteśvara,

According to the union of stages from Self-Liberation Equal to Space,[2]

My own body and everything around me suddenly disappeared

And transformed into a luminous body like that of the Great Compassionate One,

Seemingly floating in space.

As I looked around while experiencing luminous awareness,

I saw the inconceivable miseries of the lower realms.

And, in particular, the vast sufferings of the Reviving Hell.

One of its quarters, I saw, was completely filled

With men and women, naked and helpless, before each of whom

Stood throngs of evil-looking servants with heads

Like birds, wild and domesticated animals, and ferocious beasts.

Many of the servants held sharp weapons in their hands,

With which to slice apart and devour the flesh of their victims.

Time and again they cut, and time and again flesh grew back.

Victims did not expire until their karma was fully exhausted,

And habitual tendencies did not diminish, but only increased.

For those who had performed ‘red offerings’ it was even worse.

Loudly, they all screamed in terrible pain and agony.

When I had seen this external manifestation of my own perception,

I wondered what might be done to stop such suffering.

And, in that very instant, in the sky before me,

The Great Compassionate One appeared, and said:

“Ema! My son, who has been close to me throughout many lives,

Listen well now, you who are diligent and determined!

You have gained stability in the generation stage of deity yoga,

And have even developed a few qualities,

But the root of Dharma lies in loving kindness and compassion.

Do you have real love and compassion within yourself?

How could anyone trained in compassion ever eat flesh?

Just look at how eating meat brings such suffering!

The results of our own actions will ripen on us alone;

There is nothing the buddhas of the three times may do.

Eating meat has no virtue whatsoever but entails many faults.

It is the source of 400 forms of disease and 80,000 obstructing forces,

And it naturally brings about the 84,000 afflictive emotions.

Other than as part of the fearless conduct of benefitting all one encounters,

Or as a medicine or sacred substance of the supreme Secret Mantra,

Consumption of flesh involves not the tiniest trace of virtue.

Eating flesh is a sign of being either a māra or rākṣasa demon.

It causes discipline to degenerate and negative emotions to increase.

Without the cause, which is altruistic love and compassion,

You will find it hard to gain the fruit, the essence of awakening.

Meat eaters are not accompanied by the wisdom deities.

They lack blessings, accomplishment, auspiciousness and activity.

The substance of altruism does not develop in eaters of flesh,

Whom gods, nāgas and others regard as demons.

Meat eaters are plagued by gandharvas, rākṣasas, māras,

Yamas, ghosts, spirits, gyalpo, gongpo, and samaya-breaking demons.

The result of eating meat is rebirth in the hells,

Or as a bird, a jackal, a cannibal demon, or the like.

Meat eating thus brings suffering beyond measure.

But by renouncing it, you are freed from all these faults,

And will always be revered by non-human beings,

Who will see you as a pure, authentic brahmin or god.

All the buddhas and bodhisattvas, together with their retinues, throughout the ten directions,

Gurus, yidam deities and ḍākinīs will gather around you like clouds,

And you will be accompanied by male and female bodhisattvas.

Quite naturally, you will possess the cause of loving kindness and compassion,

And swiftly reach the fruit, which is the essence of awakening.

These are just some of the inconceivable virtues to be gained.”

Thus he spoke; and then, once my own perception had returned,

I felt as if I had awakened from a lucid dream.

My body and mind were tormented as if I had swallowed poison,

And I shook with fear and panic.

Just thinking of the terrible sufferings of the Reviving Hell,

I wished only to exchange my happiness for others’ pain.

So utterly overwhelmed was my mind, I wept profusely.

And I felt intense, unbearable compassion.

Then, to take upon myself the sufferings of others,

And to purify their faults and obscurations caused by eating meat,

For every mother sentient being, as infinite in number as space is vast,

I made the following vow, true according to the two levels of reality:

“Aho! Mighty sage Śākyamuni and all buddhas and bodhisattvas throughout the whole of space and time,

Have compassion for this child who knew nothing of cause and effect!

Hosts of gracious root and lineage masters, care for me!

Have compassion for this child who knew nothing of cause and effect!

Supreme yidam deity, mighty Avalokiteśvara, care for me!

Have compassion for this child who knew nothing of cause and effect!

Overwhelmed by ignorance and the two obscurations,

I have often spoken of how all infinite beings have been our parents,

And while living off their flesh, lectured about cause and effect.

I had no idea that the suffering involved was so great!

Often have I heard it said that eating meat with threefold purity[3]

Is sanctioned by the Buddha and does not count as sin.

But this applies only to saints who benefit all they encounter,

Like pure lotus flowers, unstained by negative emotions,

And to practitioners of the profound path of Secret Mantra.

For my part, I have no instruction more profound

Than altruistic love and compassion,

And the infallibility of cause and effect.

To purify all the faults and obscurations of eating flesh

Among all sentient beings, who extend throughout the whole of space,

From this moment on, I completely renounce the eating of flesh.

This is my unfailing commitment, which I shall never forsake.

Even if all the animals upon this earth were to be devoured,

There would still be no satisfaction; hunger would only continue to increase.

Deprived of food or drink for just a few days,

We feel as if we have never tasted even so much as a single morsel or drop before.

Now is the time to escape this demon, hunger.

What, after all, is the cause of this flesh?

It springs only from self-clinging and attachment.

Merely to think of it makes me weary, nauseated.

This utterly unappetizing mound of mess and filth,

Bound up with the thirty-six impure substances,

A body of habitual patterns and aggregates, is the basis for all suffering.

Each animal has its own negative actions,

And whoever eats the flesh of such beings will find it hard to win liberation.

Meat and alcohol are impure substances,

And to offer them does not count as generosity, the Buddha said.

Who, therefore, would eat this food of the afflictions?

Pretas must live for many thousands of human years

Without seeing food or drink, enduring only suffering.

But we human beings gladly drink even ice-cold water,

And have plenty to sustain us besides meat and alcohol.

If we are still not satisfied by such delights,

How could we repay past kindnesses so unfairly?

Throughout the course of countless aeons past

In every world within this universe so vast,[4]

There’s not a single being who has not been our mother.

And the milk we drank from maternal breasts would fill a billion seas.

I abandon all pretence; let the Three Jewels be my witness!

In the past, under the sway of ignorance and habit,

I ate my parents’ flesh and did not remorsefully confess.

Now with pure motivation and the four powers complete,

As in the saying, “I was not, am not, and will not be attached,”

Henceforth, may the thought of eating meat never even cross my mind.

Should I ever fail, let the Three Jewels send their punishment.

May the protectors and guardians constantly keep watch.

Were I now to eat the flesh of my past mothers,

There would be no greater transgressor in all the three realms!

The Buddha said that harming others even slightly impairs one's vows.

So what need is there to mention flesh eating which involves taking life?

In the Parinirvāṇa Sūtra, Laṅkāvatāra and elsewhere, it is said

That eating meat is tantamount to killing.

It is forbidden in both the greater and lesser vehicles,

But is particularly unacceptable for bodhisattvas.

Our Teacher himself, when he appeared as a partridge’s young,

And as a ferocious beast[5] in the wild, would not eat meat.

How then could we, his followers, ever do so?

In accordance with the guidance of the Victorious One,

There were many great masters in India and Tibet who gave up meat.

As all this shows, the faults of meat eating are unimaginably vast.

Not cultivating negativity is itself genuine Dharma.

So may I always comply with the authentic teaching!"

Having seen the boundless faults that come from eating meat,

Even the thought of it is as nauseating as poison.

And so, I, the great beggar with the name of Dündül,

Composed these words of advice to encourage my own renunciation

In the Sky Fortress hermitage of White Rock.

As a result of this virtue, may all sentient beings

Purify all the faults and obscurations that come from eating meat,

So that they may see the thousand buddhas face to face!

| Translated by Adam Pearcey, with many thanks to Ringu Tulku Rinpoche for his clarifications. Original translation 2004. Revised version 2017.

#wisdom #spirituality #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #self care #zen #visualization #tibet

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Hi! If you’re still accepting prompts, would you consir writing more of the GD Bucky and liefling Peter? I absolutely adored that fic. Your writing is some of the best in the fandom ❤️

Thank you!!! God, I’m sorry this took so long. I thought this would be an easy weekend project and then it became a process of over a month. 

This ended up being more of a collection of scenes and I may add more later but for right now I’d like this monster of a piece to be done ^^; 

Length: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, torture, and experimentation, one kinda nasty vomiting scene, suggestion and implications of cannibalism (but it’s never confirmed to be happening, being too sick to eat (don’t know how to tag it other than that). 

. . .

The sound of the metal shoot opening made Peter’s entire body clench in fear. The floor began to slope downwards in time with the screech of metal. Peter only added to the noise as his recently clipped claws tried to find purchase on the smooth wall. It was cramped, he was barely able to move as the shoot was made to shunt dead bodies down, not beings with their sense of fear still intact. 

His scramble was useless as gravity pulled him downward. He slipped down the slide and in a few terrifying seconds he was dropped onto the dirt. The second his legs were under him, he ran. Sticking close to the wall he tried to find a way out. 

The facility held dozens of demons of different creeds and types. All experiments for scientists, their goal unclear to test subjects such as him. All he knew was that this was a pen for one of the most horrifying of all they held captive here. A Greater Demon. They resided just below the Royal bloodline in terms of power and reasons to be feared. Massive and built to be predators, they were imposing to say the least. They are to be feared just on their own. Magic is hardly something they need much of, to the point some wonder if it’s had been bred out of some lines altogether. It didn’t matter though when you’re stuck in a cage with one. 

Being a half-demon, Peter shouldn’t even be alive. Most are culled at birth by their parents to spare them from a life as pets or sexual slavery. The market was massive but Peter wasn’t bred for that. One of the human scientists birthed him. His father, a Lesser Demon who had tried to protect him, and when that failed, attempted to kill him. He’d been too young to know him for the time they had shared. Peter was made to be a lab rat, something to examine under a lens. 

Now at somewhere between sixteen and eighteen cycles, he had outgrown his usefulness. 

Running on all fours, he was slowed by the shattered foot pulled tight to his pelvis. The limb withered by one cruel experiment that had gone too far. It could heal, he could be whole again, but there had been hushed whispers of people beginning to look a little closer at what was done in the labs. Peter was a living mark of their cruelty, the brutality and lengths they would go to in order to make life better for everyone but the demons they shared the earth with. 

He would die. Unwelcome in another demon’s territory, he would be slain. If not for that, he would be because he was prey and a source of food. That was what they had thrown him in to be, at least. 

The concrete walls that extended into the sky above him went in a gentle curve that hinted at the inclosure being massive and rounded. This was at the edge of the compound, outside in the fresh air and the territory of one of the only demons here with any sense of freedom. 

He ran until weakness overtook him. His body burned from the strain and the cold air froze his skin and lungs. With the last bit of his energy he hobbled into the underbrush. The only open space he had seen so far was roughly 15 feet of packed dirt around the perimeter of the cage. The observation towers positioned high atop the walls looked down on him, adding to the vulnerability of being out in the open. His dive into the brush was in the hopes they wouldn’t grow bored and shoot him before the other demon found him. Everyone in the compound knew that dead bodies were what they fed him and Peter was most certainly not dead (yet). He didn’t want them to decide he was better off joining that tradition. 

Packing his small body into the cover, he heaved in oxygen, trying desperately to fill his lungs through the panic and adrenaline running through veins. His first time being outside and he was practically shitting himself. He tried to settle down, put his head on straight and just think. He focused on the grass beneath him. The blades tickled, jammed themselves between his toes and the nooks between his paw pads. The sounds of birds made his ears twitch as he strained to pinpoint where they were under the rustling of the trees. He could smell water somewhere nearby and a trace of the earthy smell of another demon. Still on edge but winding down, Peter stayed put, cataloguing all the new sensations as a way to focus and think. 

He really couldn’t think of what to do. Greater Demons were not known to share, especially not with other Greater Demons. Most only tolerated each other enough to pop out a few babies and never spoke again. Only Lesser Demons had much of a chance of forming a mating bond and even then waltzing into another’s territory was a sure way to get fucking murdered. He didn’t know much beyond that. Every other demon he had been around in his life was a Lesser Demon or an occasional halfling. He didn’t even know what this mystery being might look like. Just that he had to be massive. 

Continuing to move was likely his best bet. If he sat here and stank up the area with his fear he’d be found soon. With his leg tucked against his chest again, he hobbled through the woods. Ears up and alert, he listened while regularly scenting the air. There was always a hint of another, like the very ground was infused with a little bit of the demon. Maybe it was. He had no clue what abilities the other demon would have. He just hoped he didn’t have cloak-

Peter froze, rigid and glued in place. Cloaking abilities. Fuck, fuck! 

He tried to make his glance around look casual, like he was debating where he was going next. The same underlying smell of demon hadn’t changed in intensity once and he had been too blind to realize the reason why. 

The woods were not quite silent but the noise seemed muted. Though, Peter really had no clue what normal woods should sound like. He scanned for anything amiss, an odd looking tree, an off rift in his vision. He couldn’t pick out a single thing but he knew he was being watched. He had to be. There was no way the other demon didn’t know damn well when feeding time was. He must have hung around the shoot but Peter hadn’t seen anything, bolting before thinking to get his bearings. 

What little fur he had began to raise. He stuck out like a sore thumb, muted red skin wasn’t exactly designed to blend in to a green birch forest. Forcing himself to move on like nothing was wrong, he went by gut feeling. Chose a direction away from the concrete walls and the new feeling of being watched. 

After an hour, nothing had happened. 

The only new development was the tired aching in his ankle and wrists. He’d never had to be active for this long. He didn’t really know what the experiments they did on him were for but endurance hadn’t been something they were looking for. 

He needed to rest, badly. His broken leg meant it’s twin was taking on extra weight. The jostling of his movements also didn’t help, making the shards of bone grate uncomfortably by one another. The feeling of being watched was still ever present but he simply could not keep moving. Just dragging himself to the dip amongst the roots of an ancient birch made his sore body throb. Collapsing into the cool hollow was a relief. He curled up, pressing as far back as he could manage and curled up, tail holding his limbs in close. 

Closing his eyes, just for a moment, he basked in the momentary stillness. He’s never experienced the form of quiet nature brings. The lack of machines whirring in other rooms was something he hadn’t thought much of until they were gone. The white noise no longer there but instead replaced with wind and the way the leaves and grass knocked together as it brushed past. 

Maybe the peace of his surroundings was what prepared him for the shadow that was cast over him. 

The slight shift in temperature gave it away, the shadow momentarily cooling his body further before the body heat masked the split second chill. He screwed his eyes shut tight, tucked his face behind the imaginary barrier of his thin tail. Just waited for the pain his life had been defined by to come crashing down, sharp and relentless. 

A sudden rumbling that shook the air and ripped a cry from him, short and scared. The sound persisted. He thought it was a growl, had enough sense to let out a terrified sob as hot breath rolled across his back. When a tongue swiped a tongue down his back, he was sure this was the moment he’d died. 

He was painfully slow to realize what the sound and touch were. 

The purring carried into his bones as his hair and the short fur along his back was groomed. Even understanding the gesture now, he stayed curled, not trusting this to be anything but a way to play with him before brutally crunching his bones into dust. 

The lung, large tongue ran down his spine in long, lazy strokes. The tufts of his fur caught just enough to be separated and cleaned. The coarse texture was surprisingly soothing when it met his skin. The demon behind him had to be large with how big just his tongue was, but he was scared to interrupt the moment that might be the only thing keeping him alive for a few seconds longer. 

Out of sound to make, he simply trembled when the tongue moved away and a massive paw of a hand scooped him out of the hollow, caging him between claws and a sturdy palm but not crushing. He didn’t fight the litany of ‘please’s that fell from his lips, a poor attempt to have his life spared as the Greater Demon began to move. The makeshift prison was warm at least as the light layer of spit cooled along his back. His injured leg remained safely tucked away to avoid being bumped. He prayed that this wasn’t some off game of cat and mouse, though his chances were admittedly slim. 

The shade of the trees turned to an inky black void as he was taken into some sort of den. It seemed to slope into the ground, as if some massive burrow. Eventually light came back, the dancing embers of flames from what he could tell of their flickering brightness. 

With a whimper, he was placed carefully on something soft. The plush fur under him was easily identified as he pressed himself into it, making his already small form, tiny. Peter spared a glance at the other demon and all the air inside of him left. 

By human standards, he was terrifying, but Peter was more demon than man and the blood that took too it boiled at the sight of the being before him. The demon was male, that was undoubtedly correct. The sheath that protected his penis was a dead give away if the size didn’t do it. He was massive, nine? Ten feet? He had a noble face, set and cut in the way only demons could pull off with all their angles and animalistic notes. The long, black hair waved on it’s way down, surprisingly well kept. His horns were large and silvery, looping once over themselves before turning forward into deadly points. The rest of his body was covered in fur, longer than Peter’s but not by much. 

Now having a face, the demon was not as scary. He lacked the ferocity his imagination had assigned the other. Still, he whimpered when a nose was pressed into his belly, wet and slightly chilled. 

Peter was rolled onto his back. Tried and failed to flip down onto his belly as his mangled leg was sniffed. Those eyes, full of fire yet piercing blue in color locked with his.

“Who harmed you?” 

It was not the question he had been expecting. 

“The scientists.” He kept his answer short, tried to pull away from the jaws too close to his limb. One of the oldest demons in the compound had once told him about demons eating broken limbs, choosing to spare the energy it would take to heal it and increase reserves. It was only done in desperation and usually self inflicted but having someone so close to it brought back the memory of the frightening practice. 

The demon bared his teeth. Peter flinched. The teeth went away and to Peter’s surprise, the other demon nuzzled against his side, still watching him. 

“Name?”

“Peter.” Hopefully the addition of a name meant he wasn’t on the menu. 

“Bucky.” 

It took Peter a second to realize that was meant to be a name, a returning of introductions. He repeated it out loud, wrapping his tongue around the word. “Bucky.”

The purr was sudden and deafening. Peter’s whimper in response cooled the noise to a loud but manageable rumble. As it continued the tension in his body eased, soaking up the sound until his own tiny chest vibrated in return. There was still fear, but it eased as he let his nerves settle under the calming atmosphere. 

Peter was just starting to go lax when his broken leg was extended. He howled and jerked but it was slowly straightened as he was hushed softly. It burned and the muscles felt displaced and wrong, like they were filled with burrs and the sticky grasses one of the scientists always complained about getting stuck to his clothes. 

He laid there panting through the pain as his leg was manipulated. It didn’t click as to what was going on until two straight, solid objects sandwiched his mangled leg. He looked down to immediately look away as his swollen, bruised leg was hard enough to look at without it being set into a splint made of large femur bones, their lofty heads cut off so they fit snugly against his skin. 

Keeping quiet is hard, but he managed it. Biting back any sound that tried to pry it’s way out. Bucky was careful at least, doing his best not to bump anything that might cause any additional pain or soreness. It was a small relief. He counted the seconds until it stopped. He was too exhausted to fight anything, hell, if Bucky suddenly did decide to eat him there wasn’t even enough left in him to escape that. 

To his relief, the manipulation of the joints and limb stopped. He rested, panting, on the furs and staining them with the thin sheen of sweat along his spine. Bucky rumbled once again, a sound that was comforting in a bone deep way that left him too soft to be jittery with anxiety. 

“Sleep, you’re safe.” 

And, despite everything that says he should not, that he should leave before he loses whatever entertainment value he seems to have, he falls gently into the void. 

_______

The days… weeks-- that follow are spent nearly in a daze. His leg began to heal as Bucky carved out a place in his heart. 

_______

Waking up each morning to a grooming session was not the way he expected things to go. The first time he shrieked and scared the shit out of them both. The second time he tensed. The third he let out a heaving sigh and only grumbled a complaint when he got a few swipes across his cheek, Bucky simply laughed.

They developed their morning and daily ritual from there. Bucky groomed him, rumbling as he pushed all Peter’s light, fluffy fur forward before smoothing it back out. He lovingly called it “baby fur”. Allegedly because Peter’s was about as soft and as sparse as a newborn. It was only a slightly stinging endearment for a while, gradually growing in affection as he was fawned over by the massive demon. He was kept clean, cleaner than he had ever been. Bucky’s doting keeping dreaded lice and fleas away and but a distant memory sat alongside dirty cages and moldy food. 

Bucky appeared to enjoy every second of Peter he could manage to ream out. He was there from the second Peter was awake and hardly strayed until Peter was safely tucked away in sleep. He only disappeared to find food, something Peter tried not to think about much if he could. 

His leg healed faster than he expected. Stitched itself back into one piece in a matter of a week or so, ushered forward by rest and a belly full of meat he never asked the origin of. He grew restless once he could bear weight on it, skittered up the walls and lashing his tail. He tried not to do it when Bucky was watching, afraid of being seen as a pest and Bucky growing annoyed enough to do something like re-break the new bone. 

Still, the Greater Demon picked up on his little guest’s agitation. He removed the stint and to Peter’s surprise, started nosing him up the ramp that led outside. With a cold nose pressed to his naked back, he was quick to move. Bursting out into the sunshine only to be blinded for a few moments by the white light of the sun. It made him sneeze a few times as his eyes adjusted. The now familiar rumble of Bucky’s laugh had him turning towards the sound, even as his body shook with the force of each sneeze. 

Bucky licked a playful strip through Peter’s hair before starting to walk into the woods, stopping and looking to see if Peter was following. 

Scrambling after, Peter stuck close at first but as they sank deeper into the woods, he couldn’t help but wander nearby. Bucky stopped to watch him, it took Peter longer than it should have to realize that Bucky seemed… tense. 

He was too busy flipping things over and sniffing through the undergrowth. A vole darted by and Peter was transfixed, taking off after it. Dormant hunting skills pushed to the forefront as he managed to snag the soft, fleshy body in his teeth. His teeth dug through the spine, snapped it in two with a crack that startled Peter enough that he dropped it. Embarrassed, he quickly picked it back up in his jaws, turned to show Bucky only to freeze. 

There was something dark in his strange companion’s gaze. He couldn’t for the life of him tell what it was but it didn’t feel like something positive. Peter was about to ask what was going on when a growl, a harsh and feral thing, ripped out of Bucky. 

Peter dropped to his belly, ears back, eyes wide as he trembled. He didn’t know what was going on and he whimpered as Bucky came at him faster than he thought possible. Slamming his eyes shut, he waited for the punishment that was clearly coming. 

When all he heard was the nearly deafening growling without the tear of his own flesh, he dared to peak. The furry expanse of one of Bucky’s hind legs was all he could see. Glancing up he saw the other demon’s belly. Craning his head over his shoulder, he finally processed what was going on. 

Turning to face forward, now bristling for a new reason, Peter saw a few scientists in armored suits. Bucky wasn’t going for them but they had clearly stopped coming towards the pair. Peter strained to hear, just barely picking up the English gargle he had grown up around. 

“... He’s not normally so aggressive.” 

“... --thought he ate the halfling. Why is it still alive?” 

“I wonder if he adopted it?” 

“No, this looks like mating behavior.” 

“Seriously?” 

They continued to chitter amongst themselves. Bucky softening his growl to a dangerous rumble but never faltering in his stance. They couldn’t hurt Peter without hurting Bucky in this position, Bucky had lowered himself just enough that his fur was brushing over Peter’s skin. It was a protective move, one that Peter mimicked by staying low in the tall grass around them. He made a quiet noise when Bucky settled entirely on top of him. He was still propped on his own legs but had the smaller demon tucked beneath him like a mother hen, keeping him warm against the cold ground. 

Peter jumped (eliciting a startled, sharp growl from Bucky) when a voice broke out amongst the rest, one he recognized. Crawling forward just enough to see, he relaxed as Dr. Rogers came into view, the white star on his armor giving him away if his voice hadn’t already managed to do so. 

“What are you all doing? Stop harassing him and work on cleaning up and taking readings.” Dr. Rogers sounded angry, never one to be happy about the demons he oversaw being treated like toys, he was the only scientist Peter would ever be happy to see. 

“But Dr. Rogers, look, the demon has something.”

Dr. Rogers looked over, taking the smallest of steps back when he caught the glimpse of Peter’s little horns peaking out above the grass.  

“Who is that?” 

The scientists shuffled nervously and the air shifted the way it only did when the tank of a man got truly pissed. 

 “What did you do.” The rage so biting that it couldn’t be read as anything but a statement. 

One unlucky man broke the silence, knowing it was better to take the beating now than a worse one later. “It’s the halfling Dr. Potts birthed.”

“Peter? I was told he died, in fact, I was told he passed away under peaceful circumstances.” Oh they’d done it now. There would be some serious hell to pay once they were all safely away from the enclosure and they all knew it. For now though, the doctor decided to turn his attention back on the pair 50 feet away from them. He crouched, helmet obscuring his features as he dug around in his hip pouch. The smell of something sweet hit Peter’s nose, enough for him to perk up and put his head hovering above the grass. Dr. Rogers crept forward slowly and stayed low to the ground, non-threatening as he held out a square of chocolate. Peter couldn’t resist, Dr. Rogers hadn’t ever hurt him, surely he wouldn’t start now with the offering of a sweet treat. 

The other scientists made noises of alarm as Peter moved forward. Peter assumed it was about him until he felt Bucky grabbing him by the scruff. He whined, tried to wiggle his way out of the grip, so focused on his treat that the fact he was being held in Bucky’s jaws failed to register in his mind. 

He managed to pout as Bucky turned and forced him to stay behind by wrapping Peter up in his tail. The scientists mutter amongst themselves, awe evident in their voice. Peter ignored it until a little line slipped through. 

“Dr. Rogers, have you ever seen a Greater take a halfling mate? The sheer size difference alone would surely be enough to prevent such a thing! A breeding would kill something so small!” 

Tense, Peter tried not to think about what they were saying. They keep saying the word “mate” like Bucky is interested in such a thing with him. There is no way… Right? Bucky is kind and caring but… No… No, it makes sense. Why else would Bucky let him live? 

“Well, we can’t exactly remove him… I guess we’ll just have to let them mate.” He’d never heard Dr. Rogers sound unsure and it made his skin prickle in alarm. Peter looked at the back of Bucky’s head and hoped the other wasn’t going to seriously try to get any body part inside of him. Even a finger seemed too big. 

“Alright, enough staring. I have a feeling he’s going to take a swipe at us if we don’t get to work. Just keep a wide berth and do your task.” 

“I really can’t believe you expect us to tend to the enclosure. You spoil it, Dr. Rogers.” 

“I think some basic hygiene and proper care is a pretty low bar to put as spoiling. He is my subject to oversee and unlike some, I’m not here to go on a power trip and brutalize him for existing. Now get to work. You’re on feces collection and clean up.” 

Peter tuned out the groans and complaints as he watched Bucky. Vigilant in his duty of guarding Peter, not so much as twitching or fidgeting in place. Carefully, Peter placed a tiny pawed hand at the base of Bucky’s spine. It was enough to get his attention as that massive head turned to look down at him, somehow managing to make Peter feel focused on without feeling smaller than he already was. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky slipped into the tongue of demons, one they had spoken since the start but was startling on Peter’s ears after hearing English after days without it’s constant chatter. 

“Yes… Is what they say true?” 

“... I don’t understand them. I have no idea what was said.” Bucky looked momentarily bothered but mostly intrigued, cocking his head as they stared at one another. 

“Ah… Nevermind then, they just said a few odd things about the trees.” It was a clear lie and Peter looked away as it came out of him but Bucky was kind enough to not push it. 

“Let’s get back then. I don’t want any of them near you.” Bucky picks up Peter’s earlier catch, the creature so small it must have seemed less than a mortal to Bucky. Still, Peter’s chest bubbled pleasantly at the sight, something unfamiliar that he put away to study at a later date as Bucky guided him with his tail through the forest and back to their home.

_____

Eating slowly becomes a hard task as they creep into winter. It hadn’t taken terribly long after trying different meats to find out that most of what Bucky had brought him was thankfully game that was periodically released into the enclosure. Still, Peter’s stomach was used to a wider range, potato scraps, pellets, stale breads, over-ripe fruit, and the occasional unwanted vegetable were all parts of his diet. Meat was a rarity and after weeks of nothing but it, his stomach began to revolt. Bucky offered him berries, some rooted vegetables, and the occasional green, and while it helped, meat was still the easiest to come by. Neither of them truly worried about it until Peter couldn’t keep it down. 

. .

They had just finished eating, some sort of small mammal that Bucky had torn apart so fast Peter had no clue what it had once been. Carefully sliced into easy pieces, Bucky placed the meat across a clean, flat stone to protect it from dirt. Bucky often ate before getting back, something Peter didn’t ask him about out of fear that it might be worse to know. So, the meal was all his. The first bite went down fine, the hunger that always nibbled at him in the late afternoon taking precedence over anything the rest of his body might have to say. It wasn’t until a fourth of the way through that the meal began to stick and slide down his throat in a way that made his skin prickle. Half way through and he was choking down the meat and gave up two thirds through. Urged to lay down, he curled up on the edge of their nest of furs. Bucky let him rest, gave the food time to mellow and ate the leftovers so they wouldn’t rot out in the open air. 

Peter dozes until nausea hits him hard and fast. He wiggled far enough to be off the pelts just as a solid, slimy mass of flesh spills from his mouth with a wet spalt. It had been squashed into a pellet somehow and gleamed with acid. Peter was swept up and back into bed, tucked in and filled with sips of water before Bucky made the disgusting show of failed digestion disappear. 

They had assumed that it was just a one-time situation, a fluke. It wasn’t until nothing but the barest of stubby greens that his stomach held fast to any food. He dropped weight, curled up and sickly as the Greater Demon fussed over every detail trying to keep every speck of fat he could manage on his tiny mate’s bones. It was miserable, an utterly grueling experience that left them both worn down. The cold months already tended to lead to more sleepy hours but it became a norm for them to hide out. Honestly, that might have been what saved them. 

The scientists, concerned by the disappearing act, somehow managed to figure out the situation. How was beyond Peter’s ability at the time. All he knows is that one day a scientist managed to pull Peter from the cave and the pricks of little needles and some sludge being forced into him. It was a terrible, awful experience that they managed to repeat a few times. Even looking back, he had no clue how Bucky was kept at bay. He sat at Peter’s bedside religiously during those days. He always told himself he would ask one day, but eventually, it became a forgotten memory, one that faded into the background. 

#winterspider #peter parker x bucky barnes #cera asks #siliqua writes #marvel #demons au #Anonymous

[radiojamming]

[WARNING: In-depth discussion of human remains along with relevant images, some of which may be disturbing.]

In the electric hustle of the mid-1980s, there weren’t many eyes turned toward the loneliest corners of the Canadian Arctic. It was a forward-momentum period, caught up the 20th century’s mach-speed technological progress and cultural change. In all of this movement, it took something quietly monumental to turn heads toward the past and look, quite literally, into its eyes. The world looked into three 140-year-old graves in permafrost, and found three sets of eyes wearily looking back.

Their names were John Torrington, John Hartnell, and William Braine. In Victorian society, they would have faded into the backdrop of the social tapestry. One was a working-class petty officer, another a former shoemaker that had recently joined the Navy, and the third a private in the Royal Marines. In their world, they were perfectly ordinary—but it was their deaths that made them extraordinary. In time, they would be called the Beechey Island or Franklin Expedition mummies, and would become instrumental in helping to solve one of the greatest mysteries in exploration history.

In this first Mummy Monday, we’ll explore the lives and deaths of the Beechey Island trio, as well as their forensic results, cultural impact, and a further look into their unique process of mummification.

The Franklin Expedition

In international news, the Franklin Expedition has been something of a hot topic as of late. New artifacts, incredible discoveries, and potential vacation routes; not to mention a critically-acclaimed television series in 2018! Its impact is present in multiple facets, but it can be hard to gain a full scope of what it was and why it matters.

The quickest, dirtiest summary is this: in 1845, the British Admiralty sent two well-fitted bomb vessels—HMS Erebus and HMS Terror—into the Arctic to ply the waters for the fabled Northwest Passage. It got very, very cold to the point that the land was inescapable and all 129 men aboard succumbed to any number of horrible fates—disease, starvation, exposure, and possibly even more violent ends. Say what you will about ominous-sounding names for these ships and risking fate, but the results were horrifying across the board. Scottish explorer John Rae even made discoveries of cannibalism among the wreckage of what was to be the most promising of Her Majesty’s exploration attempts, much to the public’s disgust, chagrin, and fascination. 

There is, of course, so much more to the story than just a few quick notes about the horrors nature can inflict and the question of imperialistic hubris. One peek into the fae realm of Franklin-related academia is a little bit mind-boggling, and there have been plenty of glorious attempts to parse it all out. The sources range from contemporary to theoretical, and as much as people agree or disagree, the siren call of Frankliniana can be hard to resist.

So where the hell do you start?

For the sake of Mummy Monday, we’re starting where most of Franklin’s rescue attempts did:

Beechey Island.

Beechey Island

It’s a forbidding corner of the Canadian Arctic, even today. Nestled at the foot of Devon Island in the Wellington Channel of modern-day Nunavut, it can appear either unremarkable or dread-inspiring, depending on the day and the weather. Its nearest inhabited neighbor is the town of Resolute, although its name in Inuktitut gives a better sense of the landscape: Qausuittuq or ‘the place with no dawn’. 

Most explorers tracing the steps of Franklin stop in Resolute to charter passage to Beechey Island. Although there are animals living near the area (different species of sea bird and the iconic polar bear), the tourism sector of Beechey Island is profoundly dedicated to the quiet contemplation of the remains of Franklin’s first winter camp. Scattered across the stones are broken pieces of wood and rusted rings of old Goldner’s cans. To this day, it’s possible to see the ongoing decay of history in the shadow of memorials left behind by past searchers. 

And then there are the graves.

The original headboards are now stored at the Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre in Yellowknife. Weather-resistant replacements still bear the same messages as the originals, each recalling the names, statuses, and death dates of three of Franklin’s men. Two graves, from Erebus, have ominous-sounding Bible verses tacked on to the epitaphs. 

There is a fourth grave belonging to Thomas Morgan, an able-bodied seaman (AB) from the HMS North Star who died during a search for Franklin in 1854. Morgan is entombed alongside his Erebus and Terror predecessors, but he has not yet been exhumed.

And yeah, exhumations. That’s what we’re here for on Mummy Monday, after all!

In 1984, Dr. Owen Beattie of the University of Alberta led a crew of researchers and scientists to this lonely point in the Arctic Circle. At the time, he was entertaining the possibility of lead poisoning being a factor in the ultimate fate of the Expedition. Part of this consideration came from the bajillion cans littered across the extensive trail, each soldered shut with clumps of lead that Beattie believed leached into the food the men were eating. Beattie had good reason to pursue this theory! His belief was that the acidic nature of some of the canned food would have caused a breakdown in the lead solder, causing the food to become contaminated. Even without this theory, he wouldn’t have been off the mark at all. Later discoveries contemporary to the Expedition found other cans manufactured and sealed by Stephen Goldner to have gone completely rancid. That, outside of the lead-poisoning theory, certainly wouldn’t have helped matters. Another explanation pointed to the lead piping installed in the ships themselves. Would water passing through these pipes have poisoned the men in the process of drinking or breathing? What about lead-based paints, often needing to be applied throughout the year in new coats, and condensation to follow on steam-powered and heated ships? What about the nature of being a person in the Victorian era in the first place? You were probably about as leaden as a musket ball.

So Beattie made his trek north, intending to exhume John Torrington and crossing his fingers on the possibility of exhuming John Hartnell. People knew these men had died young, even by Victorian standards. Torrington was 20 years old, Hartnell 25, and William Braine 32. Torrington and Hartnell died within three days of one another at the beginning of January, 1846. Braine died only a few months later in April. If Beattie’s theory was correct, then lead may have played a part in why these men were dropping like flies after only a few months on the Expedition. 

As detailed in his book, Frozen in Time, great pains were taken to get permits and carefully exhume John Torrington. It was far from easy. Beattie and his team had to dig, pick, and melt their way through around six feet of gravel and cement-hard permafrost. They had entertained the possibility that permafrost might have preserved the bodies; they had no idea how right they were.

After uncovering one black coffin, edged in decorative white tape and bearing brass handles (one was still in the ‘up’ position), they carefully melted through layers of ice until one researcher reached a piece of blue wool cloth. As gently as possible, he tugged aside the cloth and revealed the frozen face of John Torrington.

Petty Officer and Lead Stoker John Torrington seemed to wearily peer back at the researchers. And he was, in fact, peering. Torrington’s body had been almost perfectly preserved, including his eyes, other soft tissue, and cartilage. His striking appearance startled the researchers, understandably. They had been expecting some degree of preservation, but not this. 

He was only 5′4″ (163 cm) and weighed just under 88 lbs (40 kg). Dressed simply in clothing that showed exactly how underweight he was at the time of his death, something about his appearance struck some emotional chord with the team. In Frozen in Time, Beattie quietly makes the comment that Torrington looked, “just unconscious” and “anything but grotesque”. 

“The expression on his thin face, with its pouting mouth and half-closed eyes gazing through delicate, light-brown eyelashes, was peaceful. His nose and forehead, in contrast to the natural skin colour of the rest of his face, were darkened by contact with the blue-wool coffin covering. This shadowed the face, accentuating the softness of its appearance. The tragedy of Torrington’s young death was as apparent to the researchers as it must have been to his shipmates 138 years before.” (pp. 171-172)

His jaw was bound shut with a polka-dot kerchief (think Jacob Marley) and his limbs were tied together using cotton wrapping. Researchers made note of his hands, which showed some of the greatest degree of his preservation.

What was even more incredible was the full degree of flexibility his body retained. Beattie and a team member lifted Torrington from his coffin for his full autopsy, and as they did so, Torrington’s head rolled onto Beattie’s left shoulder. Beattie also noted how light and limp Torrington was more or less like lifting an unconscious child.

Samples were taken of Torrington’s hair, nails, organs, and brain. The fact that these samples could be taken at all was incredible, especially in their state of preservation. After this was done, Torrington was reburied with the utmost respect and the expectation that the grave itself would refreeze from encroaching water. Not only would Torrington be preserved physically, but his photos were about to preserve his memory in ways no one could really expect.

But, of course, he was just one of three.

John Hartnell and the ‘Face of Death’

Researchers literally brushed the surface of Hartnell’s grave in 1984 as time constraints prevented them from doing a full exhumation. They had enough time to do an initial dig and uncover part of him, which was enough to sate their curiosity for the moment. Undoubtedly, they still thought of Torrington’s repose and his more delicate features.

They weren’t really prepared for, uh...

Probably the most pissed-off mummy known to man. At least, that’s what he looked like. One researcher, Walt Kowal, might have summed it up best when he remarked, “This guy is spooky. The quintessential pirate. This guy is frightening.” (p. 184)

He wasn’t entirely wrong. Something about John Hartnell’s face seemed angry, and it didn’t help matters that his right eye was missing. As the water drained away, John Hartnell grimaced where Torrington had just seemed to passively observe. In time, the entire figure of AB John Hartnell emerged.

Dark-haired and hazel-eyed, Hartnell appeared to be something of Torrington’s opposite. Both men had the distinct features of mummification-in-ice, such as the receded and pursed lips from the water and the half-open eyes. That was where the similarities ended, however. Hartnell was bundled up in a blanket and shroud with his head resting on a pillow, where Torrington laid on a bed of sawdust (often mistaken in pictures as his hair). Pains had been taken to make Hartnell look presentable; his hair was combed and cut, his nails trimmed, and his body dressed in three shirts and a hat (no pants, though). 

The question remained almost tangible: why were these men so different?

As the researchers reburied the remains and returned to Alberta to pore over lab results, so to am I going to take a step back and look at their lives in detail.

The Men Behind the Mummies

There’s not much I can say about Torrington that hasn’t been beautifully covered in magnificent detail by my Torrington research counterpart, @entwinedmoon​. Her Torrington research series absolutely floored me with its depth and clear passion for the subject! Literally everything about his life, death, and afterlife is covered in there, so I can’t recommend it enough. And I absolutely agree with the sentiment that tracking Torrington down is like cryptid-hunting. Oof. 

What I can say in a pale shadow of entwinedmoon’s work is that John Shaw Torrington was born around 1825 in the city of Manchester, making him around 19 or 20 at the time of his death. He hadn’t served in the Navy prior to being assigned as a petty officer on HMS Terror, but his lung tissue showed that he’d definitely been exposed to the amount of smoke expected of both a lead stoker and a Manchester resident (given its Victorian reputation as a pollution-belching beast of a city). Exact details of his life are hard to follow, making him something of a shadowy figure for being so front-facing after his death. Examination of his hands showed that at the time of his death, he probably hadn’t done much work between his illness and the fact the ships were frozen in and thus not really needing someone to work their locomotive engines.

And he’d been sick. Really sick.

In the end, it was a combination of tuberculosis and pneumonia that sent John Torrington to his premature grave. He’d been, as discussed, incredibly underweight, but had been well enough to pass a health check in Greenland when some of his comrades had been sent back to England for similar health issues. The when of his illness isn’t known, but it had lingered long enough to thoroughly emaciate him. Had he been sick prior to leaving England and just covered it up? Possibly. Had he been sick but had a flare-up at some point after the health check? Also completely possible. 

In short, after his autopsy it became clear that everything about Torrington’s body was at active war against his life. He’d been small in build and had lungs so scarred with smoke and illness that lung tissue adhered to his chest wall. This wasn’t a man destined to live very long.

As opposed to his neighbor.

A personal aside, John Hartnell is my favorite. I’ve spent years researching his life, his family, and every detail I can hunt down about him, and it’s taking a lot not to just fly right into overshare mode. I can say that Hartnell’s mummy wears a lot of reminders of his life, along with the life of another one of the Expedition’s non-mummified members.

John Hartnell was born in 1820 in Gillingham, Kent. He was the oldest of five siblings and after the death of his father in 1832, immediately went to work as an apprentice shoemaker. Yeah, not a Navy man or a dockyard worker like his father. He signed his name on a form dedicating his time and effort under one Henry Sarge and went to work crafting footwear. A necrotic right wrist bone tells a story of repetitive movements and damage. Growth arrest lines in his ankle bones say that the 5′11″ (180 cm) Hartnell had actually had his growth stunted around the onset of puberty, possibly owing to malnutrition. However, letters from his mother Sarah and brother Charles paint the image of a close-knit family avid to support one another.

So close-knit, in fact, that John was one of two Hartnells on Erebus. His brother, Thomas, was two years younger than him and accompanied John as an AB. Their names appear beside one another in the muster books (possibly including a cousin, John Strickland) and John was buried in one of Thomas’ shirts, with the initials embroidered on a shirttail. 

Although no known letters exist from John or Thomas Hartnell, the grave contents alone paint a remarkable picture of family ties in extraordinary conditions. 

A new question arose, however. Torrington may have been marked by fate with his illness, but Hartnell had been healthy even past the health check in Greenland. What had happened to him? 

For that, we need to go back to Beechey Island in the summer of 1986.

‘Son of a bitch! He’s been autopsied!’

Beattie and his team returned to Beechey Island in June, 1986 with a renewed sense of purpose and, of all things, an x-ray machine. It was set to be the first time such a machine would operate above the Arctic Circle and the team was both eager to try and dreading the worst case scenarios. Results from Torrington encouraged them, as the lab gave the news that Torrington’s hair had showed lead levels far above average, further pointing toward the lead-poisoning theory. Now the researchers were prepared to see if the same held true of John Hartnell and William Braine.

Unfortunately, very little is known of Royal Marine William Braine, aside from the fact that he was a private from Somerset. He’d been married prior to his departure, and seemed to come from a large, poor family. Economic reasons may have led him to join the Royal Marines, and he’d had no choice in where he was set to be assigned. Just as with the rest of the Marines in the Expedition, they were to serve in the Arctic regardless of their choices, and at a regular pay rate as opposed to the regular crew’s double pay. Aside from this, Braine’s life is well-obscured by history at the moment, so I won’t go into his results as much as Hartnell’s which can be correlated with his personal history.

The team re-exhumed John Hartnell after a good deal of difficulty, as shown in this incredible NOVA documentary aired in 1988. In the two years since the last exhumation, very little had changed in Hartnell’s appearance. The main difference was that his remaining eye appeared more sunken, but clearly the ice had done its job in preserving him.

This time, the team cut away his toque and revealed, of all things, a full head of hair.

Brian Spenceley, a physics professor at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay, stood in as a photographer during this exhumation. What made his presence remarkable was the fact that he was John and Thomas Hartnell’s great-great nephew. It’s somewhat eerie to see him in the NOVA documentary, juxtaposed with images of Hartnell that are clear enough to show some family resemblances. 

Like Torrington, Hartnell was removed from his coffin for a full autopsy. Unlike Torrington, Hartnell was subjected to x-rays which required removal of his clothing. And very much unlike Hartnell, removal of his clothing revealed another detail that, at risk of sounding clickbait-y, shocked the researchers.

He’d already been autopsied.

Hartnell bore the scars and stitches of an upside-down Y-incision that terminated at his hips rather than his shoulders. It correlated with some initial results of his x-ray which showed a scrambling of organ material, some in places where it shouldn’t have been (his liver in his shoulder, for instance). 

According to Beattie, John Hartnell had been autopsied while still on Erebus, presumably under the hands of assistant surgeon and naturalist Harry D.S. Goodsir. The autopsy appeared hurried, with Hartnell’s chest plate being replaced upside-down as well. Beattie estimated that the entire procedure lasted no more than a half hour. However it had gone, someone had quickly cut out his organs, examined some (such as his heart) in detail at the point of a scalpel, and then shoved the organs back in without a care as to where they went. There are plenty of explanations for the time constraints, including the cold, the threat of disease, and the possible pressure of doing an autopsy under the scrutiny of superstitious sailors and a distraught younger brother. All in all, it gave the team a remarkable chance to observe a Victorian autopsy as they did their own.

As with Torrington, the team took samples of organ, bone, nail, and hair for later analysis. Hartnell’s appearance pointed yet another accusing finger at tuberculosis, but not with the lung damage as sustained in Torrington’s body. It was possible there was something else at work with Hartnell. 

Also, a polar bear interfered, leading to one of the best forensic case notes I’ve ever seen.

Once autopsies and x-rays were concluded (the x-ray machine worked fine, provided it was being warmed by a fish tank water heater), Hartnell was wrapped in a linen shroud with his clothes placed in a bag to be buried with him. With Spenceley present at the reburial and the thought that Thomas Hartnell had been at the graveside 140 years prior, the whole situation carried an extra emotional weight. As Spenceley recalled, at the end he felt as though he was burying someone he knew. 

Once the grave was replaced as accurately as possible following archaeological diagrams and photographs, the time came to exhume the third mummy, William Braine.

And he didn’t look quite right.

Whereas Torrington and Hartnell had retained something of a lively appearance (loosely, at least), Braine looked well and truly dead. He had clearly decomposed to some degree before the preservation qualities of the permafrost could take effect. His eyes were sunken into his head, his skin wax-like, skull prominent, and body slightly twisted in the coffin. One arm was tucked under his body to make him fit into what seemed to be an ill-fitting coffin that, unlike the other two, was not fitted to his measurements. Even the lid had been shoved down until it pressed against his nose and deformed it slightly. And even worse, the skin of one arm showed rat bites. Obviously, it had taken a good while for poor Braine to actually be buried. Like I said, he was 32 at the time of his death. His body sure doesn’t make him look 32.

His x-rays were far more conclusive in the cause of his death, but less so in the case of his burial. Braine’s spine had been literally twisted by tuberculosis.

It clearly had more time to wrack his body. He weighed about as much as Torrington had but stood at 6′0″ (181 cm). A theory arose that Braine had possibly died in a sledge group, causing his companions to haul his body back to shore. He had probably been kept in the hold for some time, in accordance with the bite marks and level of decomposition. 

Sadly, as said, little is known of Braine’s life. He was illiterate, having made an X mark in the muster records. No letters have been found addressed to him or from any of his siblings. While one cursory biography was written by a possible descendant, not much research has been done to solve the mystery of his life (yet).

Braine was thereafter reburied, and this chapter of the Beechey Island’s saga was nearly done. And yet, the exhumations only provided more questions than answers.

Heavy Metal

Lead. Pb. Atomic number 82. 

Zinc. Zn. Atomic number 30.

Neither are innocuous, and both bore some of the blame for what killed the men of the Franklin Expedition. The question is to what degree is the blame well-placed?

Dr. Owen Beattie set about to find out. Sample results from Hartnell and Braine came back from the lab with more bad news on the lead front. Both bodies showed high levels, furthermore damning the solder and piping. However, both Hartnell and Braine showed markedly less lead in their systems than Torrington. 

Results left the cozy realm of academia and out into the great, wide international world. As will be discussed, the photographs of the mummies alone had caused something of a media frenzy, inspiring a new cultural Franklin-themed wave of music, art, and literature. But the lead-poisoning theory rang some discordant bell in the public’s imagination and became less of a theory and more of an accepted fact. Most decided that Franklin’s men had been killed by the lowest bidder of the Admiralty’s victualing department.

Those naughty, naughty Goldner’s tinned foods.

It would be some years before this theory was questioned. In fact, by all appearances, it was Hartnell who seemed to question it the most. After all, the lead content of his body had gone down after leaving England. And how did we know that?

His nails told us so. And that wasn’t the only information they decided to divulge. Because of these findings, scientists could figure out when his sickness began nearly down to the day. Not only that, but they also discovered that John Hartnell had a very severe zinc deficiency.

‘Hartnell’s time machine’ as it was nicknamed became an incredible source for vital clues to the mysteries posed by the Beechey Island trio. The spike at the end of the chart shows the point that Hartnell’s body began to break down and essentially devour itself for one last effort at keeping itself alive. What this revealed was that Hartnell’s illness was practically a flash in the pan; he’d only really been sick for about a month and a half before his death. How did such a dramatic downturn occur?

So far, it seems like a combination of bad genes and that little demon of a zinc deficiency. John Hartnell’s autopsy reports revealed a whole slew of issues from a sprained ankle to a compacted vertebral disc (which would have been painful). It was clear he had lived a hard and active life, with the wear and tear showing on his very bones. The zinc deficiency’s symptoms would have manifested as weight loss, fatigue, poor wound healing, night blindness, and an increased risk of infection. The last symptom in that last may point the most damning finger at what finally killed John Hartnell. If he had a zinc deficiency as severely as it appears, his immune system would have been compromised and he wouldn’t have been able to fight off infection as well as some of his comrades.

Not only that, but lining up historical hints adds another sinister factor to the list.

In 1853, an exhumation attempt was carried out on his grave under the auspices of Sir Edward Augustus Inglefield of the HMS Isobel and his physician, Dr. Peter Sutherland (the group that put the pickax through his arm). One letter refers to the body as:

“perfectly preserved by the intense cold, exhibited no trace of scurvy or other malignant disease, but was manifestly that of a person who had died of consumption, a malady to which it was further known that the deceased was prone.” (Sir Roderick Murchinson, Royal Geographic Society, 1853)

Again: “known that the deceased was prone.” Someone apparently knew or believed that John Hartnell had previously been consumptive. Not only that, but plying a Maidstone newspaper brought up another point:

John Hartnell’s father, also named Thomas, died from a ‘lingering illness’. While there are multiple possibilities as to what this illness was, it lines up nicely with both the historical record and the clues in Hartnell’s body. It’s possible he was ill with tuberculosis prior, had his immune system compromised by his zinc deficiency, and had his previous illness exacerbated by Arctic conditions. 

And all this was learned from one mummy.

While this doesn’t solve the deaths of every member of the Franklin Expedition, the findings at Beechey Island provided incredible insight into their lives and deaths, and may have opened a door into further understanding. 

‘God have mercy on the frozen man’

The forensic results of the exhumations were astounding in themselves, but the cultural impact can’t be understated. The world was taken by the images of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine. Torrington in particular had his image splashed across magazines and newspapers, becoming the quintessential poster boy of the Expedition. He haunted no lack of dreams (mine included, circa age 7) with his gaunt face and hazy, half-lidded eyes. One might say something about a man straddling the precipice of life and death, as it isn’t often that the dead look at you.

As said, the trio inspired a small but noticeable culture wave, with just a few key and oft-cited examples provided below:

Iron Maiden’s ‘Stranger in a Strange Land’ 

James Taylor’s ‘Frozen Man’

Margaret Atwood’s short story ‘The Age of Lead’

Also, this particularly recognizable scene from AMC’s The Terror!

Paintings, sculptures, tattoos, poems, short stories, cosplay, dolls, and on and on! You could even argue that the discoveries on Beechey Island reignited new interest in the Franklin Expedition, creating a wave of discovery which eventually culminated in the discovery of the shipwrecks of Erebus in 2014 and Terror in 2016. Suddenly, the men of the Expedition were real, as tangible as you or me. People saw their faces, realized that these men were reaching across from the Victorian era into the 20th century. Sure, now they’re mostly condemned to Listverse-type categories of scariest mummies, but they’ve certainly drummed up emotional reactions in their time.

The Process

Now that we’ve covered the who, what, and when, it’s down to the how. How is a body preserved so well in ice and permafrost? The answer, my dear, is as simple as this picture.

It’s refrigeration on a natural level! Just as a refrigerator or freezer slows or completely stops bacteria from causing decay in food items (freeze your meats, my dudes!), permafrost and ice extends the same courtesy to anything buried in them. Of course, the conditions have to be specific! Other bodies found of the Expedition haven’t had even close to the same amount of preservation as the Beechey Island mummies. Wind, animals, and other natural processes have left a trail of skeletons rather than mummies. Clearly, something about depth of burial and level of protection is important as well.

Other ice mummies set to be covered include Ötzi the Iceman, and the Qilakitsoq mummies of Greenland. While there’s some variation as to their causes (glacial freezing and cold, dry air, respectively), the process is essentially the same. Cold stops naughty bacteria! The deep freeze kept the Beechey Island mummies from complete and utter decay, like freezing beef in an ice cube. Granted, if the mummies were ever exposed to warmer-than-freezing air for a pronounced length of time, they would eventually decay. 

Conclusion

The Beechey Island mummies are an invaluable information source for questions about the final, mysterious fate of the men of the Franklin Expedition. Their bodies have provided incredible clues and beautiful insight into their lives as well as the lives of men like them. Not only that, but their cultural impact inspired a new wave of interest and the thought that the border between life and death is a surprisingly fragile one. While their initial appearance may be frightening or shocking to some, it’s important to remember that these were young men thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Their memory and impact is still felt to this day (which I hope makes them happy, wherever they are!). 

If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions on this inaugural Mummy Monday, feel free to hit me up through my askbox or DMs! It’s a lot of fun for me and I’m totally open to any and all comments about how I’m doing! And the next Mummy Monday installment will be about the Qilakitsoq mummies!

Thanks for reading!

#mummy monday #tw death #tw mummies #mummies #mummification #franklin expedition #long post #this is very hartnell-centric and i can't find it in me to apologize #also it's still monday where i live so HAH take that DEADLINES

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 402: Biting Cold

Jaune drew his bow and lined up the target when Nora pressed up against him. "Isn't that like super awkward?" Nora asked, and Jaune glared at her. Seeing her not get the message he then glared at Ren. Ren covered Nora's mouth and pulled her away. Jaune then heard Ruby make some noise, like a squelched yelp, and turned his eyes to glare at her. She quickly covered her mouth. Jaune breathed in and out and then half in before lining up the shot again. He loosed, and struck down the deer. He then ran towards it with his knife drawn if he needed to finish it off, but it was dead. He then turned to glare at his team, putting away his knife.

"Because," Nora quickly stated, "you're a deer, and it's a deer, and isn't that awkward?!"

"One, I'm not a deer," Jaune stated, "I'm a man, a Faunus. Even still I'm not some white-tail, I am a caribou."

"But that's LIKE a deer." Nora stated.

"Nature doesn't care about that!" He then glared deeply at Nora, "Eagles eat other birds all the time."

Nora than gasped, "I eat chicken!"

"There's no way I'm going to eat dog!" Ruby exclaimed.

"That is a different issue." Jaune stated as he stepped on his longbow to unstring it.

* * *

Jaune carried the dead deer on his shoulders as they approached their campsite.

"I'm a cannibal!" Nora woefully cried.

"I'm NOT!" Ruby proudly stated.

"None of us are cannibals." Jaune said.

"Says the cannibal." Ruby chided. Jaune turned and Ruby bumped into him. When she recovered she looked up at him and he made a biting motion towards her. She cowered for a moment. "Wait, I'm a wolf!" she replied and gave playbites to Jaune's left arm. He pulled his arm away and then wrapped it around her, pulling her into a hug.

"Deer actually have a powerful bite." Jaune replied.

"Pfft." Ruby uttered.

"I thought you were a caribou." Nora stated.

"I'm not afraid to hug you, too." Jaune said to her, "I've got two arms."

"And then who would carry the deer?" Ren asked.

Jaune looked back when he heard something, and it was Ruby's tail wagging so hard he was afraid she was going to hurt it, and he let go of her. He then pet her on the head before turning back on the path to the campsite.

* * *

Ruby, Nora, and Ren sat around as Jaune skinned the deer.

"Sooo?," Nora asked, "why do we need to pay for food, can't Jaune just catch everything for us?"

"Most game is too lean to properly feed us." Ren stated.

"And," Jaune said without looking up, "I can't be expected to always catch something."

"Pfft." Nora said to him.

"I'll PFFFT you." Jaune replied.

"Big talk!.." Nora shouted, before Jaune cut her off.

"For a cannibal!" Jaune replied, and Nora started crying.

"I'm a cannibal!" Nora exclaimed.

"No, we're not!" Jaune shouted.

"We are not." Ren added.

"Wait?" Ruby asked, "Ren's a Faunus, too, right?"

"Indeed?" Ren asked.

"Soooo?" Ruby asked.

"Viper." Ren stated, "Pit Viper, to be precise."

"And... that means?.." Ruby asked.

"I can, see, of a sort - heat left by warmer animals."

"Liiike?" Ruby asked.

"Mammals of all sorts." Ren stated. He then pointed to the tiny pits on his face. "These allow me to sense light emitted from heat."

"Light?" Ruby asked, "I'm glowing."

"In a sense." Ren stated, "Though few animals can see it."

"How are wolves supposed to hunt if we're glowing?!" Ruby asked.

"Again," Ren said with a smile, "few creatures can see it."

"Meaning Ren is super special!" Nora added.

"In... a sense... I suppose..." Ren added, "Though all Faunus are special in their own way, along with every Human."

"pffft." Nora exclaimed. Ren glared at her and she calmed down.

* * *

The chauffeuse opened the door and helped Weiss to her feet. "I'll take that." she tried to say as she reached for Weiss' left hip, and Weiss clutched the hilt of her rapier, using her other hand to protect it. The women bowed her head forward, "I am so terribly sorry, Ms. Schnee, but your father..." she voiced, and Weiss sighed. The chauffeuse reached forward once again and Weiss caught her hand.

"I'm terribly sorry," Weiss voiced, "but I insist on holding on to my rapier."

"You're father insists that you will not need it." the chauffeuse nervously voiced.

"I," Weiss said to her, "will give you a choice." and the chauffeuse nervously looked up at her before quickly looking back down, "Lie to my father, or let me argue with Father on your behalf." The chauffeuse, head still down, nervously looked about. "What is your name?" Weiss asked.

"I beg your pardon, but Wilhelmina..." she voiced.

"Full name?" Weiss asked, and Wilhelmina looked her in the eyes with a shocked look before looking back down.

"Wilhelmina Whittmoore." she nervously voiced.

"I will make sure Father well knows it was my own decision to keep my rapier."

"Yes, Ms." Wilhelmina replied. Weiss stepped away and Wilhelmina closed the door.

* * *

"Klein?" Weiss asked.

"Weiss?" he quietly asked.

"I have... some things... to say to Father."

"I will inform him right away." Klein stated, and bowed.

* * *

Klein opened the door and stepped to the side, bowing. Weiss walked in, and Klein closed the door. "Father." she bitingly said to him.

"Weiss?" Jacques said with faux eagerness, and stood up from his desk, "It's so good to see you... home..."

"You know well enough how much I enjoy time," Weiss spitefully said to him, "with our family."

"It's not safe..." Jacques tried to say.

"I know it's not safe," Weiss said to him, "but you still INSISTED I come home."

"You saw what happened, didn't you?" Jacques asked, "The whole world blames Atlas for it."

"No, they do not. Weiss said, "At least not until Atlas withdraws from the rest of the world in the aftermath, leaving no one to answer the questions."

"Are you somehow claiming that you would be fine in Vale?!" Jacques exclaimed, "After what happened?"

"My.," Weiss voiced, and momentarily paused, "colleagues, are among the finest Huntsmen and Huntresses on Remnant." Weiss replied.

"Yes, your COLLEAGUES" Jacques said to her, "Two of which are jays from Patch, while the rest do not seem to have any history at all... aside from Ms. Nikos." Jacques said, and developed a wicked smile. Weiss wondered if that was truly how she had looked... how she thought. Was that truly how she acted when she first saw Pyrrha. "You did wonderfully in fostering a friendship with her."

Weiss held her hand over her mouth to cover a sharp intake of air. That was, indeed, how she had acted, "Wait?" Weiss asked, "I understand what happened with Blake, Nora, and Ren, but... Jaune?.."

"Oh!?" her father angrily exclaimed, "You didn't know?! I haven't been able to find any trace of them at all."

"Family?.." Weiss asked, and Jacques nodded.

"Outside of Vale." Jacques bitingly stated, "Dirt farmers. You associated with dirt farmers?!"

"You've never seen him in action." Weiss stated.

"Oh, but I did!" her father replied, "All of Remnant saw that sorry excuse for a team, other than Ms. Nikos, afterall."

"I honestly did not think you cared about such things..." Weiss voiced.

"I don't care about your childhood fantasy of playing the heroine at all." Jacques said to her, "But I do care about whom you associate with. Which, again, wonderful job on the young Ms. Nikos."

"Wait?" Weiss questioned him, "Did you not find - the school - Jaune came from?"

"And if I cannot," Jacques said to her, "I doubt that school of yours could find them, either. What do you think will happen when he's discovered?!" Jacques asked, "And everyone he knows gets pulled down with him?!" Weiss quietly looked down. "It's lucky I was able to get you out when I did."

"Luck?" Weiss asked, "Is that what you thought it was?"

"What would you call it?" Jacques asked.

"We both know what I would call it, Father." Weiss said to him, and turned back towards the door. Her skin was now a deep, dark blue.

"Yes, yes." Jacques replied, "Go back to your room to sulk. Just be sure to go straight to your room, we don't want too many servants to see you like that. Though, I certainly pay them enough to look the other way."

Weiss quietly walked to the door and opened it up. "Oh," she said without looking back, "while I was while away my days here, I am still a Huntress." she said, with her left hand on her rapier's hilt.

"Still playing with that toy?" Jacques asked. Weiss stepped forward and closed the door behind her. She fell back into it, tears pouring down her cheeks and onto the ground.

"Let's get you settled in." Klein said, and she looked at him, wiping the tears away. When she focused, she saw him carrying a covered silver tray.

"Is that?.." Weiss asked, eyes starting to dry up.

"I know how much you enjoy them." Klein said other. She let out a weak smile, and some of her dark blue flush was being replaced with light. She wiped her eyes and did her best to stand upright, like a fine, upstanding Atlasian lady.

#rwby #firen lhain #faunus au #pollinated knight

[psychosistr]

Green-Eyed Monsters- Chapter 4

Summary: Dominic tries to keep his distance from his partner and their target to avoid compromising the mission, but some information from Maravilla reveals that there’s more to the heiress than meets the eye. Can he intervene and save Steelbeak before it’s too late?

Notes: There are some trigger-warnings for the chapter including manipulative behavior, mentions of murder and potential cannibalism, and drugging. Each instance is brief, but please proceed with caution if those things bother you!

-First Chapter-

Eight times.

Dominic had been leaning against the same spot on the wall long enough to watch his partner place a hand on a woman who was essentially a complete stranger eight times. Five of the aforementioned incidents had involved Steelbeak placing a hand on Emelia Malton’s back. The other three had involved a hand on one of the billionaire’s long legs. (Not that he’d been counting, though. No, of course not- he was just observing to make sure his partner wasn’t in any danger. That’s all.) Nearly all of them were immediately followed by the woman in question laughing at something that was said while one of her own hands found somewhere new to touch him- his hand, his shoulder, his chest, his forearm, his thigh, his upper arm, the tip of his beak, and his cheek, in that exact order.

Watching them made the loon’s skin crawl and set off warning bells that hadn’t stopped the entire time he’d been watching them converse while downing two drinks each. Something about the way that woman was so eager to touch the fowl seemed wrong- like she was feeling up a prime cut of meat. What upset the red-eyed bird even more was how the other man seemed completely oblivious to it, apparently either too intoxicated or too enamored to notice…and at this point Dominic wasn’t sure which reason would set him off more…

“Looks like the green-eyed monster has set her sights on another one.” Oh, great- the voice of the one other person in the room that he did NOT want to hear right now.

Red eyes tore themselves away from the pair seated at the bar across the room to begrudgingly acknowledge the jaybird’s presence. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but I’m not-”

To his surprise, though, Maravilla’s eyes were looking in the exact same direction his own had been for the longest time. “I’m surprised she’s taking so long with him…then again, there are a lot of people here…” She took a sip of the wine she’d brought with her before shrugging. “Oh well…it won’t be too much longer: The green-eyed monster hates going hungry, after all.”

Red eyes narrowed suspiciously, their owner thoroughly confused by the double-agent’s words. “What exactly are you talking about…?”

“Emelia, of course.” The lady in red responded as if the answer should have been obvious. “I have to admit, I wasn’t certain which one of us she’d go for, but I think I’ll let this one slide given her..history.” Another sip from her now half-emptied glass. “Still, Steelbeak’s putting on quite the performance- it’s almost as if he doesn’t know how much danger he’s in right now.”

Okay, now Dominic’s confusion (and other feelings) were being pushed aside by a far more powerful one: Protective fury. “What danger?” His tone and the look in his eyes were both equally serious- demanding answers and promising punishment if this demand was not heeded properly.

“Hm?” Maravilla blinked and looked away from the lighter couple at the bar to stare at the man beside her with a baffled expression. “Wait…you two didn’t know?” A purple fingertip came up to tap the base of her beak in a thoughtful gesture. “Ohhh, no wonder he took the first two drinks…I just thought he had a way to neutralize it or something…”

The loon’s glare did not subside one bit; quite the opposite, in fact. “I am in NO mood for games right now. Tell me what you know, or FOWL and SHUSH are going to be down one agent.” The way his hand rested over his concealed weaponry made it clear that his threat was far from empty.

Unfortunately, this only seemed to excite the double agent in an unsettling way. “Ooh, don’t tempt me~” At a warning scowl, she let out a quiet giggle and held her free hand out in a pacifying gesture to, hopefully, still the loon’s hand. “Okay, okay, I’ll talk, no need to be so forceful~” The playful demeanor soon fell away as the femme fatale finally gave the sharp shooter his desired information. “It seems that SHUSH had better intel than FOWL this time. It’s been rumored for quite some time now that Emelia Malton has been abducting people from the events that she attends or hosts. At least one person has vanished without a trace from every event she’s attended for the past ten years. Apparently, she approaches people at these events after seeing them with someone else- a date, a spouse, or even a complete stranger- no matter what their relationship is to the missing person, they all reported that Emelia only talked to the other one after they’d shown some significant form of interaction together such as a dance or a long conversation. It’s almost as if she’s jealous of someone else receiving the attention that should be hers. Some say that jealousy even went towards her own family and she staged their deaths so she could have all of the wealth and social-spotlight to herself. This has earned her a fitting nickname within the upper-crust who spread these rumors: ‘The green-eyed monster’.”

“If so many people know about this, then why hasn’t she been caught yet?” Dominic asked skeptically.

Maravilla’s response was simple and straightforward: “She’s rich.”

“That’s it?” His skepticism had not been quelled.

Slender shoulders gave an impartial shrug. “That’s all it takes nowadays- if you’re rich and famous enough, you can get away with just about anything. Having a bank account with well-over fifteen digits is practically a ‘get out of jail free’ card.” As much as he wanted to argue against that, the loon knew that, sadly, that was pretty true given some of FOWL’s contacts within the business world. “The only way to take down someone with that kind of power is with indisputable, bullet-proof evidence of what she’s done.” Her hand briefly inclined her glass back towards the bar where her fellow SHUSH agent was still keeping a watchful eye on the pair. “That’s why we’re here: To get our hands on her private files and footage from her security system so she can be publicly exposed for what she’s done. Once her business partners, bourgeoisie affiliates, and politically inclined ‘friends’ are forced to distance themselves from and denounce her to save their own skins, arresting her will be much easier.”

That was certainly a lot of information to take in. “It’s still hard to believe a woman with her level of social-notoriety wouldn’t have been outed by now. There’d have to be police investigations to deal with, witnesses to take care of, bodies to get rid of- even with a vast fortune and a military-grade security detail, that’s A LOT to hide.” The loon stated skeptically, glancing back at the woman in question as she, once again, placed a hand on the rooster’s arm while speaking to him and leaning in FAR too close for propriety’s sake.

Maravilla followed his gaze, taking note of the way the two had steadily grown closer in proximity since she’d last looked. “Police can be bribed. Witnesses can be discredited when someone ‘more reputable’ vouches for someone’s whereabouts. As for the bodies..well…we have no SOLID proof for this, but…” The wine glass was brought back to her beak, the calmness of her tone and the way she sipped from it providing a shocking contrast to her next words. “We think she’s been eating them.”

Red eyes widened as the aquatic avian did a double take to stare at the purplish jay in disbelief. “She’s WHAT?!” A shushing gesture from the double agent and a few inquisitive glances from nearby party-goers was enough to make Dominic lower his voice back to a more reasonable level, but nowhere near enough to cool the protective-fury driven fire that had been lit within him. “You knew she was a murderous man-eater, and you didn’t bother WARNING him?” Oh, if looks could kill, then the feminine fowl would be dead where she stood several times over.

Unfortunately, Maravilla seemed immune to the loon’s attempts at mentally murdering her. Though she certainly wasn’t unaware of it, judging by the amused look in her eyes as she “tried” to look surprised and “innocent”. “I just assumed you two already knew. After all, why else would you leave your ‘partner’ all on his own with a woman who can’t keep her hands to herself?”

Dominic made a mental promise to shoot the infuriating woman the first chance he got, barely restraining himself from doing so for the sake of not blowing his cover. “He’s just trying to get her alone so he can take her earrings. He can handle it on his own.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, but I think the ‘Green-eyed Monster’ is tired of waiting for her dinner.” A purple hand gestured with the nearly empty glass towards the bar- more specifically, to the bartender making the next round of drinks.

Keen red eyes watched the bartender’s hands carefully as the man finished mixing everything together for a margarita. Everything seemed normal…until Dominic noticed the blister-pack of pills being slid back into the bartender’s pocket and the worrying amount of powder that was quickly mixed into the drink while the unsuspecting recipient was distracted by whatever conversation he’d been having with the lovely lady now only a few centimeters short of sitting in his lap. Panic struck the aquatic avian like a freezing knife to the heart at the sight of just how many pills were missing from the pack and the thought of how little attention he’d paid to the lighter fowl’s previous cocktails; he had no idea how much Steelbeak had already ingested of the unnamed medicine or what its effects on him would be.

Black webbed feet moved as quickly as they could across the tiled floor without running. He couldn’t risk blowing their cover or alerting the guards at this point, though Dominic was extremely close to doing so and throwing caution to the wind when he saw his partner pick up the laced beverage and bring it to his beak. Darn it all, why did he have to be such a heavy drinker?! The fool had already downed half of the malicious mixed drink by the time the loon had reached the bar.

“We need to leave.” Were the first words to leave his mouth as soon as he got there, giving his partner a serious look that he hoped would get through to him how urgent their situation was.

Steelbeak looked at him while leaning heavily against the bar and the foxy woman beside him. “Wha..?” The shorter bird silently cursed himself and his carelessness when he noticed the truly intoxicated look in the taller one’s eyes. The look only further cemented his worry- Steelbeak was NOT a lightweight, a few simple drinks shouldn’t have been anywhere near enough to get him this inebriated. “Leave? Wha’re ya talkin’ ‘bout, red eyes? Party jus’ got FUN.” He was even slurring his words together. Just how strong WAS that stuff?

Dominic tried once again to give his intoxicated partner the best stern look he could muster without tipping off the heiress that he was onto her schemes. “We have that ‘meeting’ in the morning, remember? If we don’t leave now, we’ll be in big trouble later.” He hoped that some small part of his partner’s mind was still awake enough to pick up on his tone of voice and take a hint.

Apparently, he hoped for too much.

“Whaaaaa..? Meetin’…what the heck’re ya talkin’ ‘bout, Dee?” An off-white feathered hand tried waving the loon away as if he were a fly buzzing too close to him. “Go if ya wanna, I’mma hang ‘round for a while an’ have some FUN for a change~”

Emelia smiled, the look in her sparkling green eyes far too self-satisfied for the red-eyed fowl’s liking. “If fun’s what you’re looking for, then I know a place we could go for some…private entertainment~”

Steelbeak looked back at the fox with an overly excited grin that made Dominic’s guts twist with more than just anger. “Sounds good t’ me, sweetheart~” He followed the vulpine vixen’s lead when she stood up and took his hand in an attempt to lead him away from the bar (and his partner).

With a stern frown on his dark beak and a tone of voice that made many a man twice his size cower and obey, Dominic grabbed onto the end of a dark sleeve on the rooster’s other wrist and held on firmly. “Steelbeak, we really need to go. Now.”

It seemed for a single, fleeting moment that the loon’s words were cutting through whatever fog had surrounded the larger fowl’s mind…until that infuriating man-eater decided to open her mouth again.

“I just want to have a little fun, is all- and you clearly do, too.” The white fox all but draped herself along the confused man’s side, one finger trailing along the buttons of his suit tantalizingly. “I’m sure you can tag along….after all, he’s not the boss of you, right?”

“Yeah..” Steelbeak’s expression soured slightly and he repeated himself more firmly. “Yeah! You ain’t the boss of me!” He snatched his arm back out of his stunned partner’s grip, using his newly freed hand to point at the loon’s chest while still remaining at least an inch or two away to avoid bumping into him as the taller fowl swayed slightly on his feet. “You’re always tellin’ me what t’ do! Well, I don’t care what YOU wanna do, I’M gonna go enjoy myself! Go walk home for all I care, partner!” The last word he said before turning away and letting himself be led towards his doom was so…so cold…as if that word was a source of uncontested hatred and bitterness for him…

Once the shock and sting of his partner’s rejection faded away, Dominic was left with nothing but a cold, hollow feeling in his chest. That feeling soon gave way to frustration and bitterness.

Fine, he thought, if that’s how Steelbeak really felt, then Dominic had half a mind to just let him-

Movement.

Eyes trained from years of sharpshooting picked up the faint trace of movement from his retreating partner’s back: His free hand (the one that Dominic had been holding back earlier) was curled behind his back, the angle it was at hiding the movement from anyone on his other side by utilizing his large tail feathers as cover. The hand was closed in a partial fist, with only his first two fingers sticking out so the pair of digits could do a quick hooking motion towards himself.

Red eyes blinked in surprise at the universally recognizable gesture. Perhaps his partner wasn’t as foolish as he thought…

_____________________________________________________________

Across the room, a certain purplish jay returned to her taller companion after witnessing the altercation between the two FOWL agents. They wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this- they had to act fast. “I’m going after them.”

Xaviera looked at the shorter woman with a frown that tried to be stern, but simply came off as worried. “Mari, be-”

“Careful. I know.” Maravilla smiled up at the statuesque avian reassuringly. “Don’t worry, mi cielo, I’ll be just fine. After all,” A purple hand took back the hair-comb she’d left in the vulture's care earlier, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary on the other’s palm before gathering up her wavy tresses and securing them properly into their original style. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she gave the lighter fowl a playful wink. “I’ve got you by my side~”

The easily flustered woman tried (unsuccessfully) to fight back the crimson flush that covered her face and spread half-way down her neck as she stood up. “W-What’s-” Quickly clearing her throat to try regaining her composure (and try to hide the embarrassing chirp that found its way into her voice), she looked down at her comrade with a more serious expression. “What’s the plan?”

“Steelbeak’s partner is following him and Emelia back to her room. If our intel’s right, the security will get the signal to clear the hallways leading there for exactly five minutes to avoid rousing her ‘victim’s’ suspicions. I’ll follow along and help him incapacitate Emelia, ensuring their trust so I can look through her files freely while they collect the diamonds they’re after. With any luck, I’ll be able to get everything downloaded before the guards return. If not, well..” The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile that was clearly restrained, but full of excitement. “I’ll have you waiting by the window to help me escape if things get…dangerous~”

“Please don’t jump out of a closed window, Mari- I don’t want to spend the night pulling glass out of your arm…again…” The poor vulture only had so much patience to give, but somehow the jaybird always seemed to drag a little more out of her despite her own protests.

“Fine, no closed windows.” The devious dame’s tone did not go unnoticed, but, before her cohort had a chance to call her out on it, she was already speed-walking towards the room’s exit with impressive ease for someone wearing such high heels. “See you outside, mi cielo! And don’t forget about our dance~!”

“Mari…” Xaviera was left to sigh and shake her head, black-feathered fingers coming up to twist and fidget with a lock of her long hair anxiously. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days…I’m just not sure if it’ll be a good or bad one yet...” When she felt the light but sharp feeling of her roots trying to remain in place, the tall avian quickly released her hair before it was unintentionally plucked from her already sparsely-covered head- she knew from experience that if she didn’t, she’d be the one getting a loving-lecture about taking care of herself.

With a firmer shake of her head, the lady in green walked briskly towards the door leading outside- they had work to do and bad guys to stop, after all.

<--Previous Chapter Next Chapter-->

End Notes: For the record- Maravilla is a pathological liar and master manipulator, so whether her story about Emelia eating people is true or not is completely up to your own interpretation >x3

#darkwing duck #dwd #steelbeak #Dominic Domino #steeldomino #xaviera #double agent maravilla #darkwing duck oc #dwd oc #not my oc #and #my OC #trigger warning #emotional manipulation #mental manipulation #cannibal tw #non-consensual drug use #green-eyed monsters

[until-the-sun-rises]

Virgil’s Promise

AU Intro Post

AU Creators: @a-valorous-choice and @ironwoman359

Summary: Virgil, his mother, and his little brother Thomas have been living in the woods since a virus outbreak wiped out most of the population, including Virgil’s father. Life can be bleak, but they make the most of what they have. However, when Virgil’s world is turned upside down again, will he have what it takes to keep his little brother safe?

Content Warnings: Apocalypse AU, angst, character death, death of a parent, guns, knives, violence, mentions of blood, zombies (called terminals in universe), mentions of eating people (in a zombie sense, not a cannibal sense), crying, grief, sympathetic deceit, sympathetic remus, cursing, bittersweet ending. PLEASE let us know if you need anything else tagged, and stay safe! There are moments of comfort sprinkled throughout but this is mostly an angst piece with, again, a bittersweet ending. Do what you need to do to protect yourselves <3

Word Count: 5,464

Read on AO3 Here

Author’s Notes: Here it is, the first installment of the AU! I had such a fantastic time writing this, I’m really really proud of it, and can’t wait to hear what you guys think! Looking ahead, you can expect more introduction fics like this for our other main players, then we’ll get into other details of the main plotline! In the meantime, asks are open if you’d like to scream at us about the AU, we’d love to scream back! Love you guys, thanks so much for the support! -Taylor ☕️

--- --- ---

“Mom, I found more berries!” 

Virgil looked up to see his eight-year-old brother holding out a handful of dark purple berries with a wide grin stretched across his face. 

“Thomas, put those down!” their mother Emma cried, rushing over to Thomas’s side. “Those are pokeweed berries, honey, you can’t eat those. They’ll make you very very sick if you eat them, okay?” 

“Oh...okay. Sorry.” 

Thomas’s lip wobbled a little, and Emma smiled, smoothing back Thomas’s hair. 

“It’s okay, sweetie, you didn’t know. They’re very pretty berries, aren’t they?” 

“Uh huh,” Thomas agreed, nodding. “That’s why I thought they were fine to eat.”

“There’s lots of things in the woods that look pretty, but not all of them are safe, okay? Pokeweed berries are never fine to eat, they make you really sick. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Good boy.” Emma smiled, and pointed over his shoulder. “Now, see those white flowers behind you?”

“Uh huh.” 

“Those are Queen Anne’s lace flowers. And their roots are actually wild carrots! Why don’t you go over and dig some up for us, okay?” 

Thomas nodded eagerly and skipped over to the patch of flowers. Emma sighed in relief, and sat back on her heels, smiling fondly as she watched her son. 

“I thought pokeweed was okay sometimes?” Virgil asked, coming up behind her, causing her to jump a little. 

“Virgil! You startled me, who taught you to move so quietly?” 

Virgil grinned. 

“You did. When you insisted you take me paintballing for my sixteenth birthday.” 

“Fair’s fair,” Emma laughed. “What did you ask me just now?”

“Pokeweed,” Virgil repeated. “I thought you could eat it sometimes?”

“Ah, I see,” she said. “Well, that’s true, but never the berries, or the roots. You can eat the leaves sometimes, but only if the plant is young. If you see the berries start to form, even if they’re still green, you shouldn’t even try. And you should boil the leaves first too. If you’re not careful, you could get vomiting or diarrhea...and that’s something we want to avoid when we’re fighting for our lives, isn’t it?” 

She said it in an upbeat tone, but the sombering nature of their reality couldn’t help but settle over Virgil’s shoulders anyway. He tugged the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands, gripping the soft fabric tightly. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Emma said softly, and Virgil shrugged. 

“S’not your fault. The whole world is kinda upsetting right now.” 

It had been three months since the outbreak, three months since Virgil’s father had died and he’d been on the run with his mom and brother, trying to stay alive. Fortunately, Emma was an avid camper and lover of the outdoors, so the three of them had been able to avoid towns for the most part. Sure, staying away from civilization meant that they were living off of mostly foraged plants and birds eggs, and it’d been ages since Virgil had taken a real shower, but those were small prices to pay for being able to mostly avoid the terminals. Thy tended to be in larger groups closer to towns and cities, so sticking to the country meant fewer encounters with the deadly infected creatures. 

People, Virgil thought grimly. They may be like monsters now, but they used to be people.

“I know it is, sweetheart,” his mother said, pulling him from his thoughts. “And it’s not fair, how fast you’ve had to grow up now.” Emma sighed, looking over to where Thomas was eagerly digging up roots for their supper. “You should be enjoying your summer, deciding on a college or a career...not this.”

Virgil shrugged. 

“I didn’t really know what I wanted to do anyway.”

“I know that,” Emma said, giving him a sad smile. “But you had time to figure it out, to explore the world and decide what kind of man you’re going to become. Now that’s a luxury you don’t have anymore.”

Virgil looked down at his shoes, swallowing nervously. It wasn’t like his mom to be so openly melancholy; if anything, since they’d gone on the run she’d become even more upbeat and cheerful than usual. He had a feeling that she was trying to keep a brave face up for him and Thomas, but just because he knew it was partly an act didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate it. Some days he could almost pretend that this whole thing was just an extended summer camping trip, and then they’d go home and their dad would greet them at the door and they’d tell him all about it while sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. 

That illusion shattered every time they came across a terminal. 

“Virgil, listen to me,” Emma said, and there was an urgency to her voice that made Virgil look up. “Right now, the only thing we can be certain of, the only thing we can rely on, is each other. It’s my job to look out for the both of you, and it’s your job to look out for Thomas. Protecting him has to be the top priority, alright?” 

“Yeah,” Virgil nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I know, Mom. I...I won’t let anything happen to him.” 

“Oh, honey, come here,” she said, and Virgil let her wrap her arms around him. 

He felt exceptionally small in his mother’s embrace, but not the bad kind of small where he felt powerless and afraid. He felt safe, protected, shielded from all the horrors of the world. Her grip tightened, and Virgil realized with a start that she was trembling.

“Mom?” 

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. “You’re so strong, and so brave. Thomas is lucky to have you for a big brother.” 

Virgil didn’t feel strong most days, and he certainly didn’t feel brave. Most of the time he just felt scared; strength and bravery were attributes he’d be more likely to apply to his mother than himself. But the way she held onto him now, as though he’d disappear if she let go for one second made him realize that she was also scared. Scared for herself, but scared for him, too, and for Thomas; scared that she couldn’t keep them safe in this new world full of dangers. 

Virgil may not have had much faith in himself, but he had faith in his mother. And she was putting her faith into him, and he’d be damned if he let her down. 

“I won’t let anything happen to him, Mom,” he repeated, hugging her back tightly. “I promise.” 

--- --- --- 

Virgil’s heart was pounding so heavily he was sure it was going to burst out of his chest. Wouldn’t that just be his luck, he’d escape being eaten by terminals only to fall over dead from a heart attack. His lungs were on fire, and his legs threatened to buckle underneath him more and more with every step. But then Thomas whimpered in his ear, burying his face deeper into Virgil’s neck, and Virgil took a deep breath. He adjusted his grip on Thomas’s legs and pressed forward, his mother’s instructions echoing in his ears and urging him onward. 

The old cabin had seemed deserted enough, with no trace of the previous inhabitants anywhere, so they’d gotten a little too relaxed as they searched the building for supplies. But it turned out the area wasn’t as deserted as they thought, and the sound of his little brother screaming had brought Virgil barreling out of the bathroom and into the main room to see three terminals bearing down on his family. Virgil’s mother was gripping a tire iron like a baseball bat and standing between Thomas and the advancing creatures.

“Virgil,” she’d said in a low voice. “Take Thomas and get out of here, now.”  

Virgil hadn’t wanted to leave her, but the look in her eyes had left no room for argument, so he’d scooped his brother up piggyback style and fled towards the back door, wincing as he heard his mother let out a primal roar, followed by a sickening *thwack*.  

Virgil didn’t stop running until he stumbled back into the clearing where they’d made camp, collapsing to his knees and letting Thomas climb off his back. Every muscle in his body ached, and for a moment he just stayed on the ground, gasping as he fought to get his breath back. 

“Virgil?” Thomas asked, voice wobbling, and Virgil looked up to meet his brother’s tear-filled eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Virgil gasped, managing to give his brother a small smile. “I’m...I’m okay...just...just catching my breath.”

“Is Mom okay?” 

Virgil opened his mouth, then closed it again. Part of him wanted to lie, to promise that their mother would be just fine and would come and get them when the scary monsters were all gone. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and he met his brother’s gaze with a grim expression. 

“I...I don’t know, Thomas.”

Thomas fell silent, and for a moment neither of them moved, Virgil still gulping down breaths of air, trying to get his wind back. Then, so suddenly that it made Virgil jump, Thomas crawled forward and nestled himself into Virgil’s lap, wrapping his arms around his middle and laying his head on Virgil’s chest. 

“Your heart is beating really fast,” he said, and Virgil nodded, wrapping his arms around Thomas and drawing him closer. 

“Yeah, it is, buddy,” he said quietly. 

“You should count your breaths like Mom says to do. Okay?”

“Okay, yeah. That’s a good idea,” Virgil said, grateful for something that could distract them both. “How about we do it together? Remind me how it starts again?” 

Thomas scrunched up his nose as he thought. 

“You breathe in for four counts, right?”

“That’s right, good job. Let’s do that together, okay? In, two, three, four…” 

Virgil led them through the rest of the breathing exercise over and over again until Thomas drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the stress of the day. Virgil wanted nothing more than to join him in a nap, but he couldn’t sleep now, he had to stay up and keep watch, to see if their mother...or anything else, would approach the camp. 

He waited for what felt like hours, every sense straining for any sign that somebody was coming. Finally, just as the sun was starting to dip in the sky, he caught sight of someone slowly walking towards the campsite. His heart leapt as he recognized his mother’s silhouette, short but strong with hair pulled up into a high ponytail. 

“Thomas?” he murmured, giving his brother a small shake. “Wake up, Mom’s here.” 

“Hmm?” Thomas asked blearily, still half asleep. 

“Mom is…” Virgil trailed off as he looked back towards where their mom was walking. 

Something was wrong. 

Oh no...oh god, no, not this, please not this…

“What about Mom?” Thomas asked again rubbing at his eyes. 

Oh god, I can’t do this, I can’t deal with this, please…

Virgil’s grip tightened on Thomas, and he scrambled to his feet, backing away while keeping his eyes trained forward. 

“Virgil, what’s–” 

“Thomas, listen,” Virgil said urgently, setting his little brother down. “I need you to hug this tree here and close your eyes, okay? Whatever you do, whatever you hear, don’t open them until I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Virgil, is Mom–” 

“Do you understand?” Virgil asked desperately, and after a beat, Thomas nodded. “Good,” Virgil breathed, pressing his forehead against Thomas’s for a moment and taking a deep breath. “Close your eyes now,” he whispered, and he stood back up, turning back towards his mom. 

No. That’s not Mom. Not anymore. 

The woman that was lumbering towards him moved her limbs in broken, jerky motions, as though she was a poorly controlled marionette. Her eyes were bloodshot and empty, and saliva drooled out of her open mouth. A low moan escaped her lips as she came closer, and Virgil’s heart tightened in his chest. He’d seen terminals before, knew how they worked and how to kill them. But this...this was different. 

This was his mother, and now she was a monster. 

Virgil scrambled towards the log at the edge of their campsite where they’d stashed their supplies. There wasn’t much there, just one change of clothes, a few handfuls of food, the last of their bandages, and...there. His mom’s .22 rifle. 

“We only have one bullet left, Virgil. So until we can find some more ammo, we’re not going to hunt or travel with this anymore, okay? We’ll keep it here in case there’s an emergency.”

Virgil’s hands shook as he pulled out the gun and checked to see that their last bullet was properly loaded. He’d never cared much for shooting, but after they’d made a run for the woods, his mom had insisted he learn to use it, teaching him how to hunt rabbits, possums, and other small animals that she’d then showed him how to clean and skin before cooking. 

He’d never shot a terminal before. 

Realistically, one of three things would happen. One, Virgil’s mother would attack them and he and Thomas would die, leaving their mother to feast on their remains. Two, Virgil’s mother would attack them and he and Thomas would turn terminal themselves, which basically boiled down to being brain dead while your body shuffled around in search of food. Or three...

Virgil raised the rifle up, tucking the butt to his shoulder and blinked away the tears that were forming in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then he squeezed the trigger. 

The gunshot echoed through the forest, and though Virgil’s ears were instantly ringing, he could still hear the sound of Thomas’s scream from behind him. Everything seemed to slow down as Emma’s body dropped to the floor of their campsite, instantly going still. A blur flew past Virgil, and he just barely dropped the rifle in time to catch Thomas as he rushed towards their mother.

Thomas struggled desperately against Virgl’s grip, sobbing as he tried to get free and run towards her. Virgil just held him tighter, ignoring his own tears as he pulled Thomas away. 

“Thomas,” he choked out as Thomas kicked and struggled. “T-thomas, no, it’s not safe...th-they can still turn you when they’re dead if you’re not careful…”

Thomas just kept kicking and sobbing, and Virgil could do nothing but hold him back, even as his own tears fell. Eventually, Thomas went limp against him again, though his little body still quivered with sobs, making Virgil’s heart ache even more. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball with his baby brother and sleep, sleep until all the anguish bled away and left him empty. 

But a steely voice inside him insisted that no, he couldn’t do that. The terminals were drawn to loud noises, and the gunshot was sure to attract more of the creatures to this spot. They needed to move, and quickly, if they wanted to avoid any more confrontations with the creatures, and with only his hunting knife left to defend themselves with, Virgil would rather avoid running into more of the terminals. 

“Thomas,” he said, drawing away to look his brother in the eyes. “Thomas, look at me.” 

Thomas looked up, his eyes puffy and red with tears trailing down his cheeks, and Virgil had to resist pulling him close for another hug. There would be time for grief later. 

“I need you to go to the log and gather up all our things, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

“M-mo...M-mom–” Thomas choked out, and Virgil cupped the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together. 

“I know, Thomas, I know,” he said, more tears pooling in his eyes. “I am so, so sorry, but it’s not safe for us here. More of them will be coming, and Mom would want us to get far, far away so that we can be safe. Okay?” 

Thomas sniffled, but nodded, and Virgil smiled at him through his tears. 

“There’s a brave boy. Now go gather up our things, we need to move.” 

Thomas stumbled over to the log, and Virgil took a deep breath before turning towards his mother’s body in the clearing. His stomach churned as he approached, and he swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. It wasn’t pretty, but he knew what he had to do. 

Virgil pointedly kept his gaze away from his mother’s  face and carefully knelt down, sliding the straps of her knapsack off her shoulders. He took care not to touch anywhere near her now foam filled mouth, remembering what the news reports had said about the creatures when the outbreak had first occurred...back when they were still running news reports. 

The virus is transmitted via bodily fluids; even if the infected subject is deceased, their corpse may still infect others if their blood or saliva comes into contact with open wounds.

Virgil tugged the bag out from under her, stepping away as she fell back against the ground. A quick rifle through its contents revealed most of the supplies that they’d gathered from the cabin, and his heart twisted again in his chest. By the looks of things, she’d managed to fight off the three terminals from the cabin and had stayed herself long enough to gather up their supplies and head back towards their camp. She probably hadn’t even realized she’d been infected until it was too late. 

Virgil took one last look at his mother’s body, and paused as he saw a glint of gold around her neck. He looked over his shoulder to where Thomas was packing up their bag, then bent down and quickly pulled a heart-shaped locket from around his mother’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, allowing himself one brief look at her face. “I’ll look after him, Mom, I promise.” 

He slipped the locket into his pocket, then turned and walked over to Thomas. 

“Hey, buddy. Got everything?” 

Thomas looked up at him and nodded solemnly. 

“Good. It’s time for us to leave then, okay?” 

Thomas looked over at their mother one last time, then back up at Virgil. 

“Can you carry me?” he asked. 

Virgil could already feel exhaustion creeping over him, and his limbs still ached from their earlier escape, but right now? There was no way he could say no to his little brother. 

“Sure, buddy. I’ll need you to carry the backpack though, okay?” 

Thomas nodded, and after Virgil had helped slide it over his shoulders, Thomas climbed up and linked his arms around Virgil’s neck. Virgil gripped Thomas’s legs and stood up with a grunt, taking a moment to readjust his hold now that he was standing. 

“Ready?” he asked, and he felt Thomas turn his head to look behind them again. His chest ached, and he reached up and gave Thomas’s hands a squeeze. 

“Yeah,” Thomas said eventually, laying his cheek against Virgil’s back. 

“Okay,” Virgil murmured, grabbing hold of Thomas’s legs again and stepping away from their campsite, one thought repeating over and over again in his mind as he walked. 

I’ll keep you safe, Thomas. I promise.

--- --- ---

Keeping an eight-year-old alive and safe in the woods during the apocalypse turned out to be harder than Virgil had anticipated, and it wasn’t long before he was completely desperate. He’d tried to replicate the traps his mother had set, and tried to fish using makeshift spears or reels, but he was either doing something wrong or had horrible luck, because the traps remained empty, and he was unable to catch more than one or two tiny fish per attempt. It wasn’t long before their meager food supplies ran out, and eating roots and leaves could only satisfy a growing boy for so long. Virgil was out of options. 

So he found himself here, gripping Thomas’s hand and standing on the outskirts of a small town at the edge of the woods. 

For most of their time living wild with their mother, they’d avoided towns. Areas that were once populated may have meant more supplies, but they also meant more chances of running into terminals, and Emma had wanted to avoid that at all costs, choosing instead to rely on her history of camping rough with her family as a child for survival. 

But Virgil simply wasn’t good enough to scrounge up enough to feed the two of them from the forest alone, so here they were. 

“Okay, buddy, remember what we’re looking for?” he asked, looking down at Thomas. 

“Canned food, clean clothes, blankets, and medicine,” Thomas rattled off, and Virgil smiled. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Now, anything you find, you bring to me first to check the expiration date first, okay? We don’t want you eating something and getting sick.”

“I can read the dates myself, you know,” Thomas muttered, kicking at the pavement. “I’m not a baby.” 

“Right, of course,” Virgil agreed with a smirk. “You’re not a baby, you’re just a pipsqueak.” 

He reached down to ruffle Thomas’s hair, but his brother ducked away. 

“I am not!” he huffed, glaring up at Virgil, and Virgil held his hands up in surrender. 

“Okay, okay, whatever you say. Just let me look at the food before eating it anyhow, okay?” 

“Fine,” Thomas grumbled, and Virgil held back a sigh. 

The two of them had been on their own for just about three weeks now, and while some days were perfectly fine, other days there was an unmistakable tension between the two. It was worse when they were hungry, and with nothing but flower roots to eat for the past three days, it was fair to say they were pretty hungry now. 

“Thomas?” Virgil said, kneeling down so that he was eye level with his brother. “Can you look at me?” 

Thomas glanced over at him, and Virgil offered up a small smile. 

“I’m sorry if I seem too...overbearing. You know why that is, don’t you?” 

Thomas shrugged, and Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s because I want to make sure that nothing bad happens to you. I know I’m not always the best big brother to have, but all we’ve got is each other now. So if I...make some mistakes along the way, just know it’s because I want to keep you safe, okay?” 

Virgil was expecting Thomas to nod and move on, so he grunted in surprise when instead Thomas threw his arms around Virgil’s neck in a suffocating hug. 

“Okay,” he whispered, and Virgil didn’t care that he could barely breathe, he hugged his brother back just as tightly. “You were wrong about something though,” Thomas added, his breath tickling Virgil’s ear as he spoke. 

“Oh? What’s that, buddy?”

“You’re the very best big brother to have,” Thomas mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder, and suddenly Virgil was blinking back tears. 

“Thanks, Thomas,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling Thomas closer. 

He was about to let go when suddenly Thomas gasped, his whole body tensing up. Virgil’s eyes flew open in an instant and he stood up on instinct, gathering Thomas into his arms as he did so. There, barely a hundred feet away ambling into the street from behind one of the houses, were two terminals. It didn’t seem like they’d noticed the two brothers just yet, but searching the houses on this street had just become last on Virgil’s list of things to try that day. 

“Don’t make a sound,” he breathed in Thomas’s ear as he slowly stepped away. 

He tried to turn back the way they’d come, but froze as he saw three more staggering towards them from that direction. He spun around, his eyes scanning the street, and his heart slowly sank into his stomach. There was no way out of this neighborhood that wasn’t blocked off by private fencing or didn’t involve going past the growing number terminals. 

Well. 

Not for him anyway. 

“Thomas?” he said quietly. “Listen very carefully, okay?” 

Thomas nodded, his cheek brushing against Virgil’s, and Virgil held his breath for seven seconds. 

“I’m going to put you down,” he said slowly. “Then when I tell you, you're going to run straight down the street back the way we came, do you understand?” 

“Virgil?” Thomas asked, and Virgil pried him off his neck, setting him on the ground and staring at him intently. 

“Do you understand?” he asked, and Thomas’s wide eyes filled with tears, but he nodded. “Good,” Virgil whispered, squeezing Thomas’s hand. 

The terminals were ambling closer now, and he straightened up. He allowed himself one more squeeze of Thomas’s hand, then he let go and opened his mouth to scream. 

All of a sudden there was a *thwap!* sound that came from between the houses, and then the terminal closest to Virgil and Thomas had an arrowhead sticking out between its eyes. The creature fell forward and Virgil froze, too stunned to move. 

“Woo hooooooo!” a voice yelled from the direction the arrow had flown from, and the terminals turned towards the new source of sound. “Perfect headshot!” 

“Virgil?” Thomas asked, and Virgil dropped to the ground again, gathering his arms around Thomas and pulling him close. 

Another arrow flew into a nearby terminal’s chest, accompanied by more cheers, then a wild looking man in a dirty green t-shirt with a white streak in his hair burst out onto the street, a machete gripped in his hand. 

Virgil barely had time to wonder where on earth that maniac had gotten a machete before he was charging the terminals with it, squealing with delight every time his blade connected with a creature’s neck or head. It wasn’t long before every last one of them was no more than a bleeding corpse on the ground. 

“Coast is clear!” he called over his shoulder, wiping his blade off on his already filthy pants. “Oh, no...wait,” he added as his gaze found Virgil and Thomas crouching beside a house. “Looks like we’ve got a live one, Dee!”

Another man emerged from across the road, a yellow beanie on his head and a bow and quiver strapped to his back, though Virgil’s eyes were first drawn to the large burn scar covering the right side of his face. 

He approached calmly, ignoring the way Virgil scrambled to his feet and shoved Thomas behind him. He stared at the two of them for a moment, at Virgil’s narrowed eyes and Thomas’s hand clutching at Virgil’s leg before turning to his companion. 

“Remus, put your blade away, you’re scaring them.” 

The wild man, Remus, apparently, rolled his eyes but slid the machete into a sheath on his back and gave the pair of brothers a toothy grin. 

“Whoopsy! Wouldn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you, as long as you’re not a terminal or about to turn terminal or about to steal our stuff or hurt our friends or just be a dick in general!” 

“Forgive Remus, that’s just how he greets new people,” the man with the burn said, rolling his eyes in a fond sort of way. “He really does mean no harm...as long as you don’t fall into any of the aforementioned categories.” He raised an eyebrow at the pair. “Do you fall into any of those categories?” 

“We’re not thieves, if that’s what you mean,” Virgil growled, and the man raised his hands. 

“No need for the hostility, how about a ‘thank you for saving me and my…’” he raised a questioning eyebrow at Thomas, and after another moment of silence, Virgil mumbled,

“Brother. I’m Virgil, and this is my brother.”

“I see,” the man said, then he surprised Virgil by squatting down so he was at Thomas’s eye level. 

“What’s your name, little man?” 

Thomas looked up at Virgil, who placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small nod. 

“Thomas,” he whispered, and the man smiled. 

“Thomas? That’s a wonderful name. How old are you?” 

“Eight,” Thomas said, then he puffed out his chest a little. “Almost nine.” 

“Almost nine, my my! So grown up!” he smiled, then glanced up at Virgil. “And what about big brother?” he asked, standing up.

Virgil frowned, and pulled Thomas a little closer to his side. 

“What’s it to you?” he growled, and the man quirked an eyebrow. 

“Just wondering if big brother is grown up enough to take care of an almost nine-year-old all by himself.” 

Virgil should have found the question insulting, but oddly enough, meeting the stranger’s eyes, Virgil didn’t sense any malice from him. 

“I’m eighteen,” he admitted quietly, and the man nodded. 

“Got anyone else in your party?” he asked, and Virgil clenched his fist at his side. 

“No,” he said, forcing himself to keep his eyes dry. “Wouldn’t be trying to scavenge alone with an eight-year-old if I did.” 

“Almost nine!” Thomas insisted, tugging on Virgil’s pants, and Virgil allowed a small smile to pull at his lips. 

“Okay buddy, almost nine,” he said quietly. 

“Right,” the man said, a smile flitting across his face as he looked down at Thomas. “Well, if scavenging alone on the streets with an almost-nine-year-old is getting a bit much to handle...I may have somewhere you two could stay for awhile.” 

“You’re offering them a space at Eden?” Remus asked behind them, shaking his head. “Wade’s not gonna like that much, Dee.” 

“Fuck Wade,” the burned man grumbled. “If he doesn’t like it, he can leave and they can take his bed. They’re just kids, Remus.” 

“Hey, I didn’t say I had a problem with it,” Remus said shrugging. “And I’ll take any opportunity to fuck Wade. Not the fun kind of fucking, mind you, the violent kind.” 

“Virgil, they said a bad word,” Thomas whispered, tugging on Virgil’s pants again, and Virgil didn’t know whether to attempt scolding the strangers or to laugh. 

“Seriously, though,” the man called Dee said, turning back to Virgil. “We have a place out in the woods. Nice and secluded, hardly any terminals around, and plenty of people to fight them off in case a few do show up. We don’t have much, but we can offer you a warm bed and a roof over your head.” 

It sounded tempting, Virgil had to admit. He could barely remember what it felt like to sleep under a roof, let alone in a bed, but he was skeptical. 

“What’s the catch?” he asked. “What do you have to gain by taking two strangers in?”

Dee shrugged. 

“We’re not a charity, if that’s what you mean. You’ll be expected to pull your weight around the place. But if you’re up for that, then you’re welcome to join.” 

Virgil thought it over, but it didn’t take him long to come to a decision, really. He couldn’t ensure Thomas would be safe and fed every day if he stayed on his own. If there was even a chance that what these men were saying was true, Virgil would have to take it. He leaned forward, fixing Dee with a glare.

“Anything happens to him and I’ll kill you, you got that?” he asked in a low enough voice that Thomas didn’t hear. 

Dee grinned, not unkindly. 

“Got it.” 

“Okay.” Virgil took a deep breath, then looked down at Thomas. “What do you say buddy, do you want to go somewhere safe with these, uh, gentlemen?”

Thomas seemed to consider it, staring up at Remus and Dee, then his stomach growled audibly. 

“You have food?” he asked, and Dee chuckled. 

“Yes little man, we have lots of food.”

“I wanna go then,” Thomas said, and Virgil smiled. 

“Okay then,” he said, holding out a hand to Dee, who shook it. “We’re in.” 

“Yay, new friends!” Remus said cheerily, bouncing on his heels. “This is gonna be fun, it’s been way too long since anyone interesting joined the camp, it’s no fun having only stinky Wade to share patrols with…” 

Remus continued rambling on, about what exactly Virgil wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really care. He looked down at Thomas’s hand in his, then up at Dee who was watching the two of them with an unreadable expression, though it morphed into a smile when he saw Thomas looking up at him. 

“Thank you,” Virgil mouthed at Dee, and the man nodded back. 

Virgil couldn’t say exactly what he was getting himself into with these two, but he hoped that whatever it was, it would mean he could keep his promise. He slipped his free hand into his pocket, fingering his mother’s locket. 

I’ll keep him safe, Mom. No matter what.

--- --- ---

Until the Sun Rises Taglist:

@the-permanent-fixture @maybe-i-like-the-misery @paint-in-flames @antisocialdragonenby @certified-demon @nonasidesstuff @idiot-annonymous @weird-spooky-broody-dude @ao-koshka @viana-dascolli @snail-giggles

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #sanders sides apocalypse au #sanders sides au #ts fanfic #until the sun rises #story #blood #character death #minor character death #violence #apocalypse au #zombies #zombie au

[derry-rain]

edward little x thomas jopson, 600 words

In an effort to get me writing again, I put a bunch of Tragically Hip songs on shuffle and randomly got some lyric prompts for The Terror pairings. .

Song: Nautical Disaster

Relationship: Edward Little/Thomas Jopson 

Title:  As faint a sound in my memory

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of cannibalism, general grimness

Edward’s hands are not shaking as he cards them gently through Thomas’ hair; it breaks, falls off in his fingers. Thomas does not wake. He closes his eyes a moment, and just listens to the raspy rise and fall of his breath. He doesn’t dare touch Thomas’ skin now, can’t bear the thought of causing this man, this man of all men, any more pain. He wants to lean down, to kiss him and whisper apologies that Thomas will not be able to hear into his ear. Instead, he rises on steady legs, adjusts his coat and steps outside the tent.

“Let’s go,” he hears himself say. The gathered men part, allow him to take his place at the head of the party.

He doesn’t look back as they march away.

His skin feels tight, hot, wrong. His throat is parched, and he knows it is not just the lack of water. He swallows hard. It is not a sob.

Wait.

They are half a mile from the camp and there is nothing but sky and land and sky and land around them. His feet protest with every step.

Stop.

They are a mile from the camp. They are two miles from the camp. How far are they away? They have been walking for so long into the nowhere. Beside him, he hears ragged breaths and little else. There is no conversation anymore.

The sun is too hot, too bright. Even shielding his eyes doesn’t seem to stop them watering, and the salt as it dries leaves tight crystal tracks down his skin. When the men demand a rest, Edward sits heavily on the floor and scrubs one arm against his face. The dirt-encrusting his coat scratches his skin and he’s almost grateful for the pain.

Edward.

One of the men doesn’t stand again. They strip him of any useful items and leave him where he is, his clothing covering his face from the birds. Edward Little has never been a praying man, and he does not pray now. He stares at the body before pulling the fabric over him and for a moment he thinks of watchful grey eyes and a slow, sardonic smile.

Please.

Another man falls at another camp. Though the man was slight before he was starved, Edward all but chokes with the effort as he pulls the body away from the camp. He is stopped by another thin hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t you think,” the man says, his voice low and thin with exhaustion and the weight of of what he is about to say next. “Don’t you think he would have wanted us to live?”

Edward’s fingers tighten to claws in the cloth of the shirt he is holding. He takes a breath, looks straight ahead into absolutely nothing. His arms sag.

“They all did,” he says.

The body he surrenders without any further protest.

Edward.

His hands shake and he sinks to his knees on the hard, unforgiving ground. He doesn’t cry, just waits to fall apart. He cannot kiss Thomas now, but he curls into himself and whispers apologies into the air and prays and prays until he is sure that there is no soul left inside the shell that he is.

Edward.

“Edward.”

A hand on his face, another on his chest. Edward blinks, once twice, and stares upward into familiar grey-green eyes. His breath catches. Dead. He thinks, dead and gone and dead and –

Thomas kisses him. “Ned, you were having a nightmare.”

Edward brings his arms up, traces Thomas’ hairline with a soft, gentle reverence. His eyes prick with tears. There are still shadows on Thomas’ face, shadows that he knows they all have, that will never leave them now. He struggles to sit up in bed – in their­ bed – he reminds himself and looks past Thomas, counts the squares in the wooden panels, lists the items of clothing neatly folded over the chair. Slowly his breathing returns to normal.

“Not a nightmare,” he says, helplessly. “Thomas…”

Thomas kisses him again.

I know, love.

#the terror #edward little #thomas jopson #joplittle #tv: the cold never bothered me anyway #my: stuff and thangs #i had this dream where i relished the fray #and the screaming filled my head all day #terror hip bingo