lucas writes

Locus and Felix (or Sam and Isaac, really, though Sam would never admit that he thinks of them with real names) have an abortive talk about loyalty, sort of, and Sam has no idea why the hell Isaac might be so upset. Siris (or Mason, really, but see previous parenthetical) is only briefly mentioned.

Set pre-canon.

1.

“...those who love you best, an’ are with you to th’ end...”

There’s a person, a living one, singing. I recognize the song, from ages ago, I could sing along, if I wanted to, but I don’t. Why would you do that, I think, you fuckin’ idiot, you’re drawin’ ‘em right towards you.

The dead aren't deaf after all, no matter how easy that pun is. And even with her eyes rotted off, a shambles can still hear, can still know from where the sound is coming. It can still go through the basic thinking process of “the sound my food makes is in that direction, therefore my food is there, too,” even if in its stupid, rotted brain “noise food makes” means “every little fucking sound ever.”

The singing vanishes, which isn’t surprising. These tunnels are rabbit-warrens dug by humans, sprawling under what was a city, once. Sound carries strangely down here, as though Echo were living always a few steps ahead. I don’t speak, down here, unless I have to, or like to think I don't.

A few moments later, the voice is back whoever they are, they can’t be going very far around, just in circles, maybe, which is easy down here. I can’t hear the exact words, here, just vague sound and what almost sounds like “rise again,” before they go quiet.

Great, one of the cuckoos then, probably. Singing an old song as a new hymn to whatever it is they call the shambles. The blessed, I think, or something, I don’t have to remember what they call it to know that they’re stupid.

I’m carrying a softball bat, which is smaller than a baseball bat sure, but it’s still metal, and it still can destroy the only thing that keeps a shambles walking easily. And softball is just the better sport. I just have to make sure not to get overwhelmed, which will be easy enough. I consider seeking out the person who was singing and just whacking them over the head. Smash the skull so they don’t go to shambles, put them out of whatever misery induced stupidity they’re in. Stop them from drawing all the shambles in this little section of corridors to me. Maybe, if they have something on them, get food, or ammo for Laina. Maybe they even have pills on them. That would be nice.

But no, that would mean finding them, and there is a sound to a skull being hit by a bat. It’s a good sound to hear when the thing I’m hitting is only formerly a person but with a real person it’s not worth the risk. And maybe they’re nice, not an idiot, maybe they’re just lost.

Their voice was broken, even though it’s stupid as fuck for them to be singing, their voice was broken. And I know that song they were singing, and maybe it’s desperate hope and not idiot after-made religion.

It turns out I don’t have to worry too much about finding them. I’m making my way through a tunnel with old, long unelectrified tracks running along part of the floor, seeking an almost entirely blocked from the outside world subway station I originally entered the tunnels through. I hear the singing again.

It cuts off suddenly. I hear laughter and a gunshot.

Sound of rotted flesh collapsing on itself. They’re close.

Running footsteps, and the sound of worn rubber soles halting suddenly on metal and concrete floor. “You’re not rotted,” the person says. They’re bleeding, or possibly were bleeding, but they’re definitely not a shambles- could they be a reborn, stuck down here somehow? They’re holding the gun in one hand- some old lesson from forever ago makes me automatically think don’t hold your finger over the trigger, idiot but I don’t know what kind of gun it is specifically. Handgun, obviously, but beyond that, I don’t know. The bullets will probably fits Laina’s.

If they have a gun, then they have ammo. That’s just how this works. Maybe I can get some.

“No,” I reply, and they grin, broad and horrible. They’re wearing a worryingly stained labcoat- there’s a cut to them, I can recognize it even though it’s not white, even though it’s dry-rust-blood colored. They’re wearing a hat.

“Oh, good,” they say, “did you hear me singing?” they ask, and I nod. “You gonna try and hit me over the head with that?” they say, looking at my bat. “I could shoot you if you did, I have four bullets left.”

“It wouldn’t hurt me long,” I say, and their grin widens. “You only have four bullets?”

“I had more, but the shambles come to singers,” they say. So they know how stupid they're being. Maybe they are a cuckoo after all. “I wonder if I’ll ever get enough to come to me that I’ll be overwhelmed, there’ll be some many that I won’t be able to regen under all those mouths,” they say, their smile suddenly wiped.

“You want me to hit you over the head a few times instead? That might just do the job too,” I say. Talking is so stupid, it might just fulfill this crazy’s wish but they’ve been fucking singing, so I don’t know if me staying quiet would make any sort of difference. And I’ve been talking too, without thinking about it, am I so desperate to hear words?

Strange.

They cackle, the smile still gone. “Oh, so you haven’t experimented so much with it, have you?” they say, “You could bash my brains in and I’d be fine and dandy moments later. It takes mouths to kill the reborn.”

“Mouths?” I ask, almost stupid. I know what they mean, but I still ask it and they shift their grip on the gun. They’re now holding it two handed, apparently solely for the purpose of looking down at it contemplatively.

This is a rewrite of the original Out of Dust, which is incomplete. ---

Pyrrha is dead. Between this traumatic event and Ren, Nora and Jaune's setting out with Ruby to go find Ozpin (or maybe just Salem, who knows), a period of about three months or so is implied to have canonically passed.

This is my (definitely going to be jossed) filling in of that time, where characters recover, and I make my faves sad before I make them happy again.

somewhat updated human/earth!au weiss and blake

Chapter 1/?

OC/OC

Supernatural

He calls himself Ardan and tries very hard to look human, hiding his ears behind his hair and keeping his wings outside of human sight. He can’t do much about the unnatural height but though he’s never encountered violence himself, he’s heard the stories his parents and his family tell, about what humans do to things they can’t explain.

They’d kill you, he’s told, or take you away to cut you to pieces. Or worse, he’s told, because the humans are short-lived and strange but they are clever, and they are the ones who control the world now. The humans are why so many fae must now claim as their domains the concrete corners and sickly asphalt-breathing trees of the cities.

From dust we came, and to dust we must return Some say our aura is in the wind, While others say the dead watch over us. Yet others say they are the Grimm. A hunter's fate is to defend and die, But our deaths cannot be accidents.

---

Something goes wrong during the JNPR vs. BRNZ fight. Jaune dies, of an attack that his aura should have protected him from.

Alan Straka: Age: 23 Gender: Neutral Status: Reborn Bite mark: left shoulder Height: 6′ Eyes: Blue (left), gray (right) Hair: Shaggy, dirty-blonde Other physical traits: Their hands are a little larger than they should be.  Personality: Can be somewhat manic, unknown whether this is legitimate mania or a put-on, a tendency towards situationally inappropriate singing, has basic training on how to use handguns. They don’t use pills, instead just pushing through the pain of regen, and getting good enough at avoiding injury. Roe Moore: Age: 17 Gender: ? Status: Reborn Bite mark: Right wrist. Height: 5′3″ Eyes: Blue (left), brown (right) Hair: short crapped black. Other physical traits: to be added Personality: Nervous, can be paranoid, generally hyper-aware of his surroundings, always convinced a shambles will be coming just around around the corner. Has necessity driven skill with firearms, but is much more proficient with blunt melee weapons. (ie. his softball bat). Definitely pill user. Laina Chekoff: Age: 19 Gender: Female Status: Reborn Bite mark: Back of neck Height: 6′2″ Eyes: Blue (left), green (right) Hair: Short, ginger Other physical traits: Freckles Personality: Very intelligent, as well as very strong, is a former paramedic, is good with dirty fighting (ie. overpowering the other person) has no aversion to being bitten by shambles as she is now completely immune, like any other reborn. Pill user.

Cecelia Murray Age: 52 Gender: Female Status: Free  Bite mark: N/A Height: 4′11″ Eyes: Brown Hair: Black, shaved Other physical traits: Almost completely shaved head Personality: Wicked smart, was a doctor in a former life, one of the longest-around residents of the towns by the draw bridge, keeper of the stash, keeper of rations. 

“For fuck’s sake Blake you’re dating a fuckin’ Asian?” Adam says.

Of course today’s the day he comes back to visit the school. “Yes, fuck off,” Blake says, trying to push past him. He’s standing in the doorway of the school, blocking their way, and he grabs them by the arm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, trapping them in the little foyer space in the entrance to the school, “‘Till you explain why you dumped me just to date the Valkyrie kid’s freaky friend.”

They shove him off, trying again to push through him. “I don’t need to justify my actions to you!” They are nearly growling at this point.

It’s relatively late, so there are very few people, but at this point they just have to hold him back long enough that the noise catches the attention of a teacher. Or, Ren comes along like he’d promised.

Finally, they manage to dig their nails into his arm, scratching him, and he jerks his arm back. “I said, fuck off,” they say, shifting their stance to a more balanced one- his only advantage so far is that he had an element of surprise. They’ve been able to take him before, even though he’s bigger than them.

“I’m just worried about you Blake,” he says, switching tones from hostile to pleading. “I want you to be safe, even if we’re not seeing each other anymore.”

They scoff at him, “I’m safer with them than I ever was with you, asshole,” they say, holding their hands loosely at their sides now, watching him.

“Come on, you know I just don’t want you hurt,” he says, coming closer to them again. “I’m worried about you, now that I can’t protect you.”

Blake punches him in the gut, and he doubles over, howling. “You fucking bitch!” he says, rushing at them. They dodge out of the way, pushing their way outside the school, to give themselves more space.

He swings at them once he’s straightened, and they duck, shoving him backwards, towards the school again. Now he’s the one cornered, and he glares at them. “This isn’t over,” he says. They let him get past them, before reentering the building.

Ren is in the in between space. “Are you alright?” they ask, rushing over to Blake.

Blake shrugs, “I’m okay, just- shows how useful the fucking security thing is, huh?”

Their SO shrugs, “I guess. Nora will break his legs for you, like actually.”

“I know.” They grab Ren’s hand, and grin and them. “You doing okay?”

Jaune does his best to keep mum about the whole poly thing, because he really really loves Pyrrha and doesn’t want to screw this up. And anyway, Weiss is very very unavailable so he doesn’t have to worry about it. Which is a good thing, even though he sometimes catches himself imagining what it’d be like to have two girlfriends, not in a weird, creepy cheaty way but in a two girlfriends who are also each other's girlfriends because triads just make more sense to him. Or so he hopes. It’s probably just male gaze stuff. That makes more sense, probably. Right?

Besides Pyrrha is really, really, really awesome. Not just because she’s an incredible gamer, but just because the two of them can just be, and she’s not repulsed by his radioactive levels of awkward. And it’s great, and not something he’s ever really experienced before.

Nora is a girl, born as one and ever one, there’s no real confusion about it for her. Not that she doesn’t get how weird it’d be to be in the wrong body but she isn’t, and she knows how lucky that makes her. After all, most of those skirts Ren wears were hers once, at least until they start buying their own stuff.

She knows Ren isn’t sure yet so she mostly avoids pronouns and uses their name over, and over, which she doesn’t mind because Ren is a cool name.

Ren goes by he most of the time because it’s easier. It’s not right but it works for now, like a sweater that’s a bit too small, but they’ve stopped growing anyway and the color’s nice. Nora mixes up random pronouns, or just says you or calls them by their name. Ren.

He is easier because he, unlike they, doesn’t get corrected as a grammatical error by well meaning teachers. He gives ideas that they almost match, if you ignore the pink in their hair and the occasional skirt.