#Double beam emergency exit light

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Great Escape

Warnings: allusions to non con/dubcon, kidnapping, drugging and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Here is another wish! This one with Lloyd.

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Steve or Lloyd (dealers choice - I'm feeling indecisive today) would save me from my crazy, stress-filled job and give me more free time to enjoy my hobbies (reading, crocheting, quilting, or baking).

You hit the bar on the door. It doesn’t budge. You look up frantically at the beaming red EXIT sign above. You hit it again, again. You throw your body against the metal barrier, the calm footsteps closing in beneath the rampant puff of your breath.

“Real cute to see ya try, princess, but I’m doing you a goddamn favour,” his voice rolls down the hallways towards you.

You turn, pressing yourself to the door, pushing your elbows back as you continue your struggle to find some give. His shadow is skewed by the emergency lights, the stale office made sinister by the outage. You whimper. Who is this man?

“Aw, you don’t gotta be scared,” he silhouette reaches up with his pistol, scratching his head nonchalantly with the barrel, “but I can’t say it doesn’t fill my balls with joy.”

“Who are you?” You breath, choking on a sob as he struts closer, steps slow but startling. He doesn’t hurry, he knows you have nowhere to go. “Please, I… I didn’t do anything. Don’t hurt me.”

“I told you, kitten, you don’t needa be scared,” he coos, “I’m not gonna hurt you… much.” He snickers, the hall darkening the closer he gets, “I’m gonna do you a real big favour.”

You sink down to your knees. The door isn’t opening. You’re trapped. You put and arm up as you slump against the metal, waiting for the end. This psycho is going to murder you.

“Just don’t move,” he slithers as he stops before you.

He crouches and brings the silencer under your chin forcing it up. You bat your lashes and peer up at him. His face is lost in the dark. He tuts as pushes the barrel firm against you.

“Such a pretty face,” he purrs, “all you gotta do is hold still.”

There is no sudden explosion of gunpowder, no bang, just a prick. You slap your neck and he pulls away, chuckling as he holds up the long syringe. You brace the door with your other arm and whine.

“What was that?” You croak.

“Shhh,” he says, “deep breaths.”

Your muscles slacken, your lungs grow heavy, and your head wobbles. You lean into the door as the strength drains from you, eyelids drooping as the world tilts dangerously. The blackness of your subconscious swallows you up before you collapse.

💉

You come to slowly. Your body is stiff and your head is muddy. Your eyes open bit by bit, taking in the expanse of the strange room. The unfamiliarity fills you with dread. What is this place? How did you get here?

You can’t remember. You groan and touch your head, your hand clumsy, seeming almost detached from the rest of you. It takes all your effort to sit up. You gape at the pink skirt across your lap, the scalloped hem, and the tight cinch of the belt around your waist. You never wore anything like that.

You plant your hand on the cushy mattress beneath you and lean on your arm as you steady yourself. You let your eyes explore. The wooden bedframe, the frilly edge of the sheets poking out from beneath the duvet, the round rug beneath the bed, the matching night table; every piece pristine and exact. Like the replica of a fifties sitcom.

You turn your head. There’s a double-wide dresser with a mirror over it. Your reflection gives you a start. You shift your body to face yourself. You watch as you stand, as if you’re looking at someone else. The pink dress buttons up the bodice, cap sleeves top your shoulders, and a round collar frames your neck. 

You lean forward, hands on the dresser as you gape at yourself. This can’t be. Where are you? Who are you? No more stiff-cut blazer, no tucked blouse, no tailored pants. It’s a twisted joke.

The door opens but you can’t bring yourself to move. You glance at it from the mirror. A man enters but you can only see to his shoulders. He stops just inside the door.

“You’re awake,” he says flatly, “nice to have you back in the land of the living, buttercup.”

The voice sends a shiver through you. You know it. You close your eyes and see the flashing emergency lights, the nearing shadows, feel the cold barrel on your chin. You spin to face the man and look at him head-on.

His hair is slicked back, his sides buzzed, a trim of bristly hair across his lip, a singular flaw in an otherwise handsome face. A stranger, like the woman in the mirror. You grip the edge of the dresser and stare at him.

He laughs and reaches for you. You cower as he caresses your cheek.

“I couldn’t figure out the makeup so you’ll have to do all that,” he says.

“What– what is this?”

He snorts and tilts his head, letting his hand fall down your throat. He inhales as his eyes follow his touch and he plays with your collar.

“Not much of a thanks,” he hooks his finger under the top of your dress and draws you away from the dress. He keeps you close as he watches you placidly, “you’re free, sunshine.”

“What? Free?”

“That corporate wheel was grinding you down,” he intones, “it’s your turn to do the grinding.”

You shake your head. You don’t understand. He sweeps his other arm around you, groping your ass as he pulls you flush to him.

“Keep me happy, and I’ll do the same,” he rocks you with him, “eight hours at a desk or a couple minutes on your knees, I know what I’d choose.”

You blink at him in horror.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have more than enough time to catch up on that book,” he affirms.

“Book?”

He nods towards the bed and you notice the familiar curled corner. The same book you’ve kept on your coffee table for months, the one you never had the time or energy to finish. You gulp and look back at him.

“No more spreadsheets, cupcake,” he winks, “but you’ll damn sure be spreading those legs.”

[halfling-myth-lady]

Alix Kubdel?

Here you go!!!

If you want more about this au, feel free to just send in the name of a character and I’ll give you a ficlet/oneshot about or in the pov of that character.

Warning:the story is told in Achronological order. The order of THIS chapter would be around early to mid season three.

Alix didn’t expect to spend her Sunday fighting her brother.

But alas, Hawkmoth seemed to have the power of picking the worst time for everything, so of course her brother got pissy at some guy calling out his piss poor knowledge of Egyptian culture.

“Thoth, give me time!”her brother yelled.

“He’s a scribe you idiot not Chronos!”she screamed”and he’s not a baboon either!…or at least not most of the time.”

Jalil turned to her, taking his attencion off the poor guy who just corrected him about Nefertiti“You all know nothing of the gods!”

“Well clearly “nothing” is more than you, dimwit!”Alix started to run at this point. it’d be better that Jalil target her over anyone else. Hell, she was fast. maybe she could buy Nath or Marc some time to get over here so they could deal with him.

She scrambled for her phone, hastily dialing Marc.

“Hey! Anciel! Get over here!” She yelled into the speaker.

“What is it K-oh shit”they hung up, leaving alix to outrun her brother.

At least she knew her way around.

For about ten minutes, she ran laps around the museum, up until she reached one of the statue exhibits. Which was a dead end. Dammit.

Hey at least Nath or Marc could probably bust her out of those time bubbles, didn’t ladybug do that-…wait, was that statue hollow?

“I have you here…now you will have no choice but be a sacrifice for my Nefertiti!” Oh shit.

“…isn’t sacrifice an Aztec thing-?”

She was interrupted by the sound of running and a scream.

“Alix, Run!” a particular void eyed rooster yelled as they smashed a vase on the Akuma’s head.

“Look at that!”she remarked.

“Book it!”Rooster bold said as they turned around, lifting an old statue and grabbing it as if to use like some kind of bat.

“Be careful with that!”Alix hid behind a few other statues, making sure she wouldn’t waste too much time running from and to the fight scene“Fluff, Clockwise”

She was engulfed in a blue light as she switched quickly changed to her superhero outfit. As soon as the transformation was finished she started running back.

“Bunnix is on the scene!”she yelled out as soon as she was in view”and ready to kick ass!”

“Good,now please help me!”Roo yelled out, nearly dodging a time bubble.

“On it, Roo!”she said,hitting her brother right in the head.

“Ooh!nice shot!”they remarked as they once again hit him with the statue.

The pharaoh didn’t seem to find this too amusing, however, As he broke out of the two’s reach and started booking it to the exit.

“Damn you!I’m gonna go search for Ladybug!”he yelled.

“Yeah go get your ass kicked somewhere else!”Alix yelled back.

He flipped her off, that ba-oh look a bus dropped on him. She saw that from the wreckage arose a certain last member of their team.

“Hi there!”Nath -or Caprikid- said.

“Cap!”Marc smiled.

“Roo!”Caprikid grinned.

“And me!”Bunnix added.

“Horus, give me flight!”the dipshit said, completely disregarding that Horus is a kingship god.

“Genesis!”

…Oh look. another bus. That ought to shut him up for a few more seconds.

“Hey Roo, Genesis!”Caprikid yelled, handing Rooster bold a Crobar before Alix’s brother emerged once again from the bus, immediately getting his face trampled as Caprikid made his way towards the other two heroes.

“You…”Jalil said”you little…ANUBIS, WAKE MY MUMMIES!”

“ITS OSIRIS YOU DUMBASS!”

A giant beam came out as the Akuma sent the two busses flying, nearly hitting Alix.

“Rude”

He turned around, turning random civilians into mummies.

“Double rude, Jackass!”

“Looks like we’ll need to get up on his level.”Caprikid remarked.

“Hey!”Roo screeched, making the pharaoh turn around before promptly getting hit by a flying crowbar, causing the pendant to shatter on impact, releasing the Akuma.

“…or just some plot armor, I guess”

She walked over to him, poking the now normal Jalil in the chest”I think you broke one of his ribs”

“Cool. Didn’t think I could do that”

She glanced over to the Akuma,which was escaping the scene of the crime.

“Oh, no you don’t!”Nath yelled, making his way to the butterfly before snatching it mid air”we’re waiting here till Chat Noir comes in.”

He jumped down, glancing at the unconscious Jalil.

“Should we get the paramedics?”

“Yeah…”

“Probably”

[more-than-a-princess]

If she were to be honest, Sonia doubted anyone in the restaurant was terribly jealous of them. Not when they had their own appetites, or state of inebriation, to consider. It was one of the best parts of dining so late: most of the global smart set, those who would truly care about seeing the Princess of Novoselic out so late, was already either fast asleep or enjoying the city's nightlife from exclusive areas of various nightclubs or bars. But she wouldn't put a damper on Wylan's enthusiasm. Instead, she wove her fingers between his as they made their way to the exit.

"Would you believe me if I told you that paying in cash was partly for expediency, partly for secrecy?" She asked, her tone teasing as they pushed their way out through the double doors. If she'd paid with card, they would've needed to wait for the reader to be brought over, her card scanned, and signature given. That, in Sonia's opinion, was entirely too much time spent with her hand not clasped within his. Perhaps it was terribly sappy, but she'd spent the better part of the year without his company, yet with his presence still at the forefront of her mind no matter how much she'd tried to forget him.

A foolish endeavor. She was glad she'd failed each and every time she tried to banish him from her thoughts and her heart. Still, she did flinch at the mention of cameras: Wylan had a point, they'd already been terribly reckless on the streets. But it was a matter of principle, not embarrassment to be seen with him.

"It is not that I care about being seen with you," She sighed. Goodness, did all major European cities take after the Novoselic capital with excellent street camera coverage? At least at home, she had access to a map where all of the cameras were: a necessity if she were to avoid them whilst sneaking out. "It is simply that I should like to be the one to tell those close to me about us. I do not think it is right if my family found out due to street camera footage obtained by the press. I think they deserve a clear and concise conversation."

She gave his hand a small squeeze as they began to walk. Considering the disaster that had unfolded after Las Vegas (and the tiny, nearly invisible scar under her right eye she had to prove it), it seemed like the better option. But a daunting one, one that Sonia wasn't eager to face as it already was unfolding in her mind of how her family would respond (poorly, for the most part. Liam and Sam were practically polite in comparison).

Thankfully, the man she loved offered the possibility of distraction. Perhaps, she thought, that was one of the things she adored most about Wylan: the uncanny ability he had to bring a smile to her face even in the most tense of times, their hotel suite reunion notwithstanding. "I do not think it is the worst precedent to set," She beamed as they came to a stop on a corner, waiting for the light to change. Weekend revelers joined them, far too preoccupied with their own company and plans to pay them much mind. "Though I doubt spiriting me away will be a daily activity. My home and the Castle are vast, but there are only so many places we could hide before we are found."

A challenge? Perhaps, simply for the fact Sonia was well aware of how creative Wylan could be. For the meantime though, they had a few precious hours of night left until a new day began. A likely reckoning, something that would take even more fortitude than attending her ex's wedding and being given the surprise of her life after. But as they crossed the street, it occurred to her that they might not even be going the right direction towards wherever Wylan had decided to hide out in Paris.

"I do not mind the walk," She assured him as they approached the Seine. "Though I would imagine my jealousy would only emerge if we had to part now. Besides..."

Her hand left his in order to gently take his arm instead. Even if no one paid them any attention, there was a flirtatious nature to it: the physical closeness, the whispers, an opportunity to see his fun, rebellious side in play. And for once, it likely wouldn't be to exasperate or tease her: at least not in a way she didn't want. "It has been some time since you have snuck me in somewhere. We have time, and how the last excursion ended, to make up for. So, lead the way to the lovely view and mess we shall not be making."

The view? Likely stunning. The mess? Likely unavoidable, if all manner of restraint was cast aside. Both prospects had her heart beating a bit faster as she lightly pressed into his side: having left her coat at the hotel, she'd gotten chilly. And she'd never been so grateful to be so.

“Oy, c’mon now. I just didn’t want to call a bunch of attention to it. Wouldn't that just be so rude and discourteous to everyone here? They would get so jealous.” Of you. Wylan waves off the faux pas that may or may not have transpired with a gesture of the hand before it finds its way to Sonia’s. The conversation carries them and their paid bill off to where they needed to be. Pockets for the money. And the open night street for them. “Oh. Paying in cash. Making this a sneaky expense perhaps?” An offhand comment. “But at this point there’s already been four camer—oh, five cameras if you include that one on the corner that have caught us.” A shrug. “Not that we should care anymore.”

It had been a fantastic day for a wedding, a better evening for a reception, and now a perfect night for extreme revelation sports. Wylan would have to admit. An errant thought of what kind of day their wedding would have for the future being dismissed with a twitch of the head.

It's a trapping for anxiety, thinking so far ahead of where they were now. But that nagging in his brain, the analytical side that allowed him to be such a capable assassin, is offering waves and waves of hindsight. His arduous journey that had ended in a hipshot of a confession, and it would have consequences. But they’re ones I’ll handle with her. Such thought serves as a temporary berm against the tides. It’ll last for now. It’ll last for the evening and carry him to bed. Smiling supportive Sonia.

Wylan smirks, an extra squeeze to the woman’s hand as they stand idle outside on the road, the nightlife continuing to flow around them like a calm stream as the waves of affection wash over him. Excitement and a thrill. Fucking hell this really was something else. A lot different from the first time he tried a relationship. Yes, even factoring in the confession. Boyfriend, she says. Damnit. This is stupid.

And he loves it so much!

“Good point. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t, right? Then why not make the most of the best night of our lives so far.” Giddiness and honesty are in his words, then a roll of the eyes in consideration. “So… you’re thinking we set a precedent by secreting you away for a night whenever I’m in your company. Is that what you’re suggesting? Huh. Huh.” It’s actually considered, regardless of how playful the suggestion from the princess had been. When in Rome? Wrong part of Europe. But the right kind of mindset. Maybe those days in Vegas really had changed her.

“Well in that case~ It’s a bit more walking, and you might get jealous so be warned. I got quite the place for myself when I flew in last night, y’know.” Just from his expression and situational context you know whatever room he grabbed was entirely purpose over pompous. For whatever that counted for in this part of Paris.

“You want me to sneak you in? The little room I had squared away for the night is pretty exclusive. So we’d have to make careful not to make an absolute mess of it. We’ll have a great view though!”

As if either of them wanted to look out windows or anywhere else aside from each other.

[vinayakgarg-blog1]

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[alj4890]

Hello dear! I have an ask I just recently read TRH book 1 what if we get Liams POV when Riley goes into labor and when he has to make that awful decision. What are his thoughts when Riley passes out and there’s no doctor? Maybe we can find out how they got the door open?

I replayed TRH book 1 & 2 recently, so this ask couldn't have come at a better time 😂. I wonder though if anyone else thinks it was odd that Godfrey was put in charge of installing new security at the Palace. I mean, why wasn't Liam and his King's Guards handling that? I don't know, but those chapters of Riley giving birth are some that hurt me, and only because the poor woman is denied an epidural 😂 I would have Godfrey strung up by his thumbs for causing that and allow Olivia to torture him to her heart's content. But enough of my revenge ideas, let's see what I can do with this for you.

@gkittylove99 ​ @krsnlove ​ @kingliam2019 ​ @texaskitten30 ​ @yourmajesty09 ​ @mom2000aggie ​ @ofpixelsandscribbles ​ @twinkleallnight ​ @lodberg ​  @amandablink ​ @neotericthemis ​  @mm2305 ​ @sfb123 ​ @iufilms​

Masterlist

The Decision

It was too much to comprehend.

One moment, Liam was confronting the man who killed his mother and the next was nothing but chaos and darkness.

Screams rent the air as flashing red lights revealed steel enforced doors dropping down over the ballroom's doors and windows.

Liam knelt beside his wife when he realized she had been knocked down by a panicking guest.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, gently brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Only my pride." She tried to smile but a painful tightening around her middle struck.

Her eyes widened when she felt a wetness between her legs.

"Liam!" She gripped his arm. "My water broke!"

"What?" He searched through the crowd for their friends. "Now?"

She nodded while breathing through another contraction. "We have to get to the hospital."

"We will." He helped her up. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable while we get a door open."

"Liam!" Riley doubled over. "I don't want to have our baby in a ballroom filled with people."

"Is there a problem?"

The couple stiffened when they heard Isabella's voice. Her husband Bradshaw smiled at them.

"Our guards would be more than happy to help with the door situation," his smile held a hint of smugness, "as long as your child is betrothed to one of our twins."

Olivia arrived at that moment followed by their other friends.

"Are you saying your guards won't help rescue you without a betrothal?"

"We're in no immediate danger." Bradshaw explained.

"In fact, we're quite comfortable waiting for your pitiful little guards to find a way out." Isabelle added. "No need for us to cross international lines and damage delicate feelings with our more than capable personnel."

"Delicate!" Olivia heaved a deep breath. "We don't need your help to get out of this."

"We don't?" Maxwell asked. He let out an oomph when Olivia elbowed him. "I mean, yeah we don't! This isn't the first time we have been faced with a challenge."

"No steel door will ever convince us that their baby should be forced to be with one of your twins." Drake added.

Olivia beamed at him before turning her fury on the visiting monarchs. "I'll have it opened in no time."

"Yeah!" Maxwell cheered. "Go Nevarkis Ingenuity!"

She rolled her eyes while going to examine the metal door that covered the double doors into the ballroom.

"Oh!" Riley eased back down into a chair. She raised her eyes to Liam's. "They're getting stronger."

He gently rubbed her back. "Have you had any pains this evening?"

"It was all in my back. I thought it was from being on my feet most of the night." She took deep breaths to calm down. "But now--"

The flashing red lights and alarm stopped. The couple turned to see a proud Olivia slip a strange looking quartz bladed dagger back into a garter under her dress.

There was a square shaped hole cut within the wall with numerous wires exposed.

"That's going to be difficult to repair." Maxwell muttered.

Liam could not have cared less about the damage. If Olivia wanted to tunnel underground to get them out, then he would gladly rip up the marble tiles himself.

Riley cried out as a strong contraction struck.

"I need a distraction!" She puffed through the pain.

"How about some music?" Hana asked. "I composed a new piece recently."

"Or we could sing." Maxwell offered. "Any song you'd like."

"We could?" Drake shook his head. "Sorry Brooks, but that's not happening."

"You would deny her a song when she's in labor?" Maxwell's jaw dropped.

"I doubt our singing would help her any." Drake replied. "Might even double her pain."

While his friends bickered, Liam found his thoughts drifting back to the secret chamber they had unearthed less than an hour ago. He slipped his hand into his breast pocket to touch the letter he had discovered.

His mother's words about how much joy he had brought her echoed in his heart. He wished she could have lived to see the type of man he had become. He had tried with everything within him to live up to her expectations. Would she have noticed? What would she think of him as king now? What would her opinion have been on this choice he and Riley were given for an arranged marriage for her grandchild? Would she approve of them wanting to give their baby the right to choose his or her own spouse?

He wished he knew. He wished she was here guiding him in not only capturing her killer but in also knowing what to do for his wife and unborn child. He would have given anything to have her wise counsel once more.

"Hana!" Riley yelled to stop the argument between her three friends. "Please play whatever you like." She glared at Drake. "Someone's voice is getting on my nerves."

Hana hurried over to a piano and began to play a soothing song.

"I'm going to check on the door situation." Liam pressed a kiss to Riley's cheek. "I'll be back in just a moment."

"Hurry, please." She pleaded.

"I'll watch over her." Maxwell promised.

"I'll go check on the door with you." Drake added.

Liam made his way through the crowd, pausing here and there to reassure everyone that they would be out soon.

"Give me a boost." Olivia ordered.

Drake squatted down and linked his fingers together.

Olivia slipped her heels off and placed her foot in his grasp.

"One...two..." He heaved her up in the air, "three!"

Olivia steadied herself and quickly studied the mechanism that had allowed the door to drop. A lock had formed thus causing them to be unable to lift it up.

After poking and prodding with one of her stilettoes, she noticed the thin metal holding the lock in place.

"Bring me down." She ordered.

Drake grunted as he brought her back down. "Next time, stand on my shoulders."

"Did you figure out how to get it open?" Liam asked.

"I think I might be able to weaken the lock with heat and one of my daggers. Once we destroy that, we should be able to lift it." She explained.

"Can't we hotwire it?' Drake asked, gesturing toward the exposed wires.

"Not since I had to cut so many to get the alarms to turn off." She remarked. "I wouldn't be surprised if there is some emergency failsafe in place for an enemy's attack on the wiring. It might even drop another door on us."

Liam ran his hands over his face. "Do whatever you can to get us out of here."

"Good." Olivia nodded towards the bar. "Drake, we will start with the brandy to use for fuel."

Liam shook his head at her plan to start a fire of sorts. He hoped she didn't end up hurting herself in the process. Honestly though, he couldn't seem to focus on what he could do to help get the doors open.

"Your majesty! I don't think I can breathe in here another second!" Penelope grasped his arm while hyperventilating. "I don't do well in enclosed spaces."

"When will we get out of here?" Another noble demanded.

Questions began to be thrown at him as the crowd closed in a circle, trapping him directly in the middle.

"Is Olivia trying to burn us up in here?"

"We're going to die!"

"What are the guards doing to save us?"

"Auvernal's guards will have us out in minutes, if your king agrees." Bradshaw yelled out over the crowd. His smile was the final straw to break Liam's barely restrained temper.

"Enough!" Liam roared. "We are not going to die in here. The guards are doing all they can and Olivia is graciously assisting." His eyes zeroed in on Penelope. "Go sit down to try and calm your breathing. You're in the same ballroom you have danced in for years." He then turned to Auvernal's king. "As for your assistance, it isn't needed at this time."

Bradshaw shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal, but his eyes held a deep seeded anger as he looked upon Liam. "If you think your guests wouldn't prefer to get out of here as quickly as they can, then I suppose there is little we can do."

Murmurs rose once more around him. Liam clinched his fists then pushed his way through when he heard Riley call out for him.

Will this night never end?

It was becoming too much for him. The whining of his people, his wife in pain and in need of medical care, his own innate need to chase after Godfrey and make him pay for poisoning his mother...he needed it all to stop for a minute to allow him to think.

"Liam!" Riley had tears falling down her cheeks. "We need to go to the hospital now!"

She gripped his hand as Hana finished the last few notes to her song.

He knelt before her chair. "Olivia has found a way to open the door. We'll soon have you out of here and--"

The sound of metal screeching had everyone turning toward the double doors.

Seeing the steel door go up caused Liam to scoop his wife in his arms and rush toward the exit.

Their friends and guests spilled out after them to only stop short.

Godfrey had installed these same safety measures on every window and exterior door along the first floor.

"Liam?" Riley puffed through another contraction. "What are we going to do?"

"I found a way out of there." Olivia boasted. "I'm certain I can--"

Bradshaw clucked his tongue. "This isn't the same type of door, your grace." He smirked at her. He knocked against the thicker steel door. "My guards could find a way outside to open it, but only if you sign this."

He produced a betrothal contract.

Riley whimpered as she looked at it and then her husband.

"Get. That. Out. Of. My. Face." Liam ordered.

He turned on his heel to take his wife upstairs to their chambers. Once he reached the first step he spoke over his shoulder. "Olivia, we trust you to handle this. Hana, please call Riley's doctor and ask her to meet us here instead of the hospital."

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

The hours dragged on as they waited. Olivia appeared periodically to vent her frustrations with getting the door to open. Drake, Maxwell, and Hana attempted to keep Riley's spirits up as she endured the ever increasing contractions.

Liam felt absolutely useless. He didn't know what to do to help his wife. He didn't know the first thing of helping a woman give birth. What if there was a complication? What about their child? What if he couldn't clear the baby's airways? What if--"

"Liam?"

He focused on Riley, weakly gripping his hand. "Yes, my love? What can I do?"

"I feel...odd."

Maxwell nudged Liam out of the way to check her blood pressure.

"Where did you find a blood pressure kit?" Drake asked.

"I know it's hard to believe, but Bertrand has high blood pressure." Maxwell winked at his friends. "I can't imagine where his source of stress comes from."

Riley tried to smile at his teasing. She could feel whatever it was pulling her under making every movement feel like it she was wading through quicksand.

Maxwell's smile disappeared. He studied Riley's flushed cheeks and stepped back.

"What is it?" Liam whispered as his friend pulled him away from her bed.

"Her blood pressure is really high right now." Maxwell glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know if that's normal for a woman in labor, but I do know that this is when I would be calling an ambulance if it was Bertrand with this reading."

Liam rubbed his hands over his face. This entire night was one nightmare after another.

"Riley?" Hana shook her by the shoulders. "Riley?!"

Liam rushed back to the bed to see his wife passed out. He took a cold rag and wiped her face, hoping it would bring her back to them.

"Riley?" His voice cracked. "Please, wake up." He looked around at their friends. "What should I do?"

"I don't know." Drake draped his arm along Hana's shoulders when she began to softly cry.

"Keep talking to her." Maxwell jogged out the room. "I'll see about the door!"

Liam turned back toward Riley. He placed his hand on her stomach and could feel the tightening of contractions along with the faint movements of their child.

Riley opened her eyes.

Liam gently cupped her cheek.

"What happened?" She asked.

"You blacked out." He explained. "Your blood pressure--"

Maxwell returned with a frustrated Olivia.

"...short of dynamite, I don't know how I'll--" she stilled when she saw the color drain from Riley's face.

"I think it's happening..." Riley became unconscious once more. Her head dropped back on the pillows.

"We have to get that doctor here now." Liam looked up at Hana. "Any word from her?"

"She is right outside." Hana explained. "And so are Auvernal's guards."

Liam took off out of the room. His long, deliberate strides had him at the balcony overlooking the entryway where the Auvernal monarchs stood talking to some of the guests.

His friends had to nearly run to catch up with him.

Bradshaw looked up and curved his lips. "Trouble, King Liam?"

Isabella snickered. "I hope Queen Riley isn't suffering unnecessarily."

Liam launched himself at the smug king when he brought up the severe pain Riley must be in at this moment.

Shouts from his friends, guests, and the King's Guards drowned out him telling Auvernal's monarch to have his guards break down the door.

"No." Bradshaw's easy smile grew into an evil smirk. "I don't see any reason to have my men do anything like that to help a woman who isn't a part of my country nor one who wishes to ally herself with mine."

"You bastard!" Liam jerked his arm back. His fist formed as he prepared to beat this man within an inch of his life for denying his Riley a doctor.

It took Drake, Maxwell, and Bastien to hold him back from starting a war with Auvernal with a single punch. Olivia and Hana got between the two kings while Isabella merely looked on in glee.

"My wife and child are going to die if I don't get that doctor in here now!" Liam shouted. "And you stand there refusing to--"

"Not refusing!" Bradshaw snapped. "I'm trying to help you." He snapped his fingers and was handed the engagement contract by a nearby Auvernal guard. "Sign this and my men will have your doctor in here within five minutes."

Liam felt all the adrenaline that had rushed through his veins when he tried to punch the man leave his body. He felt not only weak but utterly worthless. He couldn't see any way out of this. He couldn't lose his wife. He couldn't lose the child they had eagerly waited for.

He couldn't get the damn door open without the very people he had grown to loathe these past nine months.

"Liam," Olivia whispered, "it's the only option we have now."

"We'll find a way to break it." Maxwell whispered.

"Yeah," Drake patted his shoulder. "Right now, you need to just accept the deal to get Brooks and the baby some help."

Liam glanced over at Hana to get her advice.

Tears filled her eyes. "I--I know this isn't what you want, but we have no choice."

Liam swallowed and snatched the paper from Bradshaw's hand. He signed the cursed document and tossed it in his face.

"There! Now get that doctor in here before it becomes null and void."

Bradshaw quickly gave the orders for his guards outside to break down the door with a battering ram.

In three minutes, Dr. Ramirez was following Liam up to the royal chambers.

She helped rouse Riley and then guided her through the delivery.

Liam watched in awe as his wife produced the most perfect baby girl he had ever seen.

Tears of joy and immense relief trickled down his cheeks as he held his daughter for the first time.

"I think we should name her Eleanor," Riley said, watching him kiss their little one's forehead, "in honor of your mother."

His eyes practically glowed as he looked upon his wife. "Thank you, my love."

She snuggled her head on his shoulder as they both gazed down at their own miracle.

Liam knew he needed to tell Riley what had happened with Auvernal yet he didn't want to ruin this first moment of them as a family.

He silently vowed as he held his daughter that he would somehow find a way to save her from an arranged marriage.

[pinkoptics]

Cherik ‘Fallen Angel’ Fic

Part 2 (of Chapter 1)

Find Part 1 (of Chapter 1) here.

Charles is an angel. He loves Erik. He saves Erik. God takes issue with that. Hilarity and adorableness (with a smidge of angst) ensues. In this part, protective!Erik makes an appearance at the hospital.

*

“I don’t know what his last name is!” Erik growled at the nurse, just barely managing to hold back the ‘fucks’ he wanted to pepper the sentence with. “I wasn’t exactly trying to get all of his info while he was bleeding to death on me.”

Erik released them in his mind— Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’s just doing her job. She’s just doing her job. Don’t strangle her with metal.

“I told you,” Erik gritted his teeth and repeated a variation of the same combination of sentences he had already uttered twice. “I was crossing the street. The car barrelled through the red light. He jumped in and saved my life. I tried to return the favour. His name is Charles. He’s cute. I promised to take him to dinner. That’s all I know and that’s as far as we got before he passed out.”

How was Charles? Was he okay?

It didn’t seem like he could be. It had looked like so much fucking blood. The utterly insane things the man had said (“You should know you’re beautiful. Before I leave this mortal realm, I want you to know that”). Those spectacularly bright blue eyes fading to a frightening dullness. Not that Erik knew anything about anything medical, but none of that had seemed promising. So, not only was this nurse annoying as all fuck, she was stonewalling him. They wouldn’t tell him a goddamned thing because he wasn’t Charles’ next of kin. No one, in fact, knew if he had any next of kin in New York because he didn’t have a wallet, ID or phone on him. This was why the nurse was presently grilling him for information he did. not. have. They hadn’t let him ride in the ambulance, so he’d taken a cab and prayed that the ambulance had made a hell of a lot better time than he had. The only reason they were talking to him at all was because he had been there, had a name, a first name, and that was it.

The swinging doors opened and a woman in scrubs emerged. Erik nearly lunged.

“Are you Erik?”

“Yes.”

“He’s asking for you. I don’t want to let you in at all, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to start anything beyond emergency treatment until he talks to you.”

Asking meant conscious. Living. Thank fuck. The relief was powerful and nearly knocked him on his ass. Later, when he wasn’t teeming with barely contained frustration, and desperately trying to ascertain just how okay Charles was or wasn’t, he might spare a moment to think about how unexpected it was to be so powerfully moved by a stranger (a cute stranger who’d saved his life, granted), but not now.

“How is he?”

“He lost some blood, will need stitches on his arm and he has a few fractured ribs, but he’s stable. He’s going to be fine. After he stops trying to get out of bed to talk to you, we might actually be able to treat those things with something other than bandages.”

If Erik had thought the first wave of relief was powerful, he was not prepared at all for the second.

She sighed deeply and gestured to the double doors from which she had emerged. “This way.”

He followed her a short way down the hall, nearly stepping on her heels each step of the way. She stopped so abruptly before they entered the room that Erik nearly ran straight into her back.

“I should warn you that he’s... well, you’ve both been through a trauma. The mind processes such things in all sorts of ways. If he doesn’t seem... ‘all there’ don’t be overly concerned. Play along, don’t distress him further.”

Charles certainly hadn’t been ‘all there’ at the scene of the accident. His bizarre last words kept spinning through Erik’s head at random intervals— you are so loved. On their own, they were strange enough, but the reverence of Charles’ tone had sunk the words into Erik’s bones like a telepath projecting the emotion behind what they were saying. He hadn’t heard the words, he’d felt the words. Even if Charles was a telepath, it didn’t make them make anymore sense. More forthcoming then... he nodded at the doctor.

“You’re here!” Charles beamed at him from his sitting position on the hospital bed, looking much happier than anyone had any right to be in his situation. “And, you look well. Are you well?”

Charles did too, relatively speaking. He was a little pale, a little bruised but nowhere close to as bad as Erik had expected. Though the car had clipped him as he’d tackled Erik out of the way, it seemed to have been a case of looking much worse than it was at the scene. Small miracles.

“I’m fine.” Fine enough, at any rate. Like Charles, he was understandably bruised, and it was probably going to hurt more in the morning, but his suit had taken the harder beating. Between contact with the pavement and Charles’ blood, there would be no saving it, not that that mattered in the slightest. “You’re the one who was bleeding out all over me. How are you?”

Erik was sitting at his bedside now, the doctor presumably hovering in the background for all Erik’s attention was on Charles. The man in question blinked, cocking his head slightly to the side and giving Erik’s question a more thorough consideration than Erik would have thought necessary.

“I really don’t know,” he finally answered. Charles stretched his injured arm out in front of him, now bandaged (if not stitched) and looked at it with a plainly perplexed expression. “I’ve never been hurt before you know. It’s curious... interesting, but I don’t at all recommend it.”

“You were hit by a car.” Erik couldn’t help but be amused. Perplexed Charles was endearing. “Not something that happens to a person every day.”

“Quite.” Charles conceded the point. He went from staring at his arm to deliberately poking his own rib cage, and subsequently wincing. “You’re all very fragile, you know. So much could kill you every single minute of your life and yet so many of you manage to survive until old age. How do you do it? I’ve only just arrived and I’ve already nearly died.”

He turned his focus from his ribs to Erik and genuinely looked as though he were waiting for a response. Erik opened his mouth and then closed it. Despite the doctor’s suggestion to ‘play along’ he didn’t have one. Erik decided to change course.

“The hospital needs your personal information— last name, address, insurance.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy enough. I don’t have a last name. Just Charles. Or an address for that matter. I feel it’s unlikely my former profession came with any benefits.” Charles suddenly laughed. “That’s not true. It absolutely had many benefits, but certainly not State Farm. Besides, I’m no longer working for Him.”

The emphasis on the last word was... odd. Was Erik supposed to know who he was?

“I was... goodness. I was fired I suppose. Fired. That means I’m—I’m unemployed. For the first time in a millennia, I’m... on the pogey!” He laughed a little harder, the edge of hysteria he’d had at the scene worming its way back in. “Wait, no, you don’t say that anymore, do you?”

Pogey?

“Oh you look so confused. I apologize. It’s a Canadian phrase come to think. Or it used to be, a century ago.”

Shit.

Had Charles hit his head? Was this some kind of bizarre amnesia? The doctor hadn’t mentioned either possibility but... Erik side-stepped again.“How about family? Is there someone I can call and let them know you’re here? Maybe they can provide your information?”

The shift in Charles’ expression and demeanour was so abrupt and dramatic that Erik’s gut clenched. The stunning blue eyes that had stared up at him with such naked concern and relief, took on an unmistakable sheen. The wetness made them impossibly bluer, an unnatural colour that was as striking as it was otherworldly. The tears did not fall, yet Erik somehow knew that Charles would cry beautifully if they did. Erik somehow also knew what the response was going to be before he uttered it.

“No. There is no one. Not anymore.”

Erik surprised himself by doing something he would normally never do, under any circumstance, even with someone he knew well, let alone someone he had just met. He reached out and took Charles’ hand, squeezing it gently. His was a pain Erik was all too familiar with.

“It’s all right. We’ll... we’ll figure this out. You’re Charles. You saved my life. You have me. That’s all we need to know right now. Don’t worry about the insurance or anything else.”

Charles stopped staring out into the middle-distance and focused on Erik. “Truly, you don’t owe me anything.”

Erik snorted. “The hell I don’t. Besides, we’ve got to get you healed up. I can’t take you to the diner in this state. We’ve got date, remember? So there you are. Here you think I’m indebted, but really my reasons are purely selfish. You’re hot and I want to date you. Humour me.”

The wetness retreated and that red mouth quirked up into a small smile.

“As long as you’re being self-centred.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.”

Somewhere behind them, someone cleared their throat. Erik turned. Oh, right, the doctor. “As much as I would love to watch the two of you keep flirting, we need to take care of those injuries.”

She was right, so Erik reluctantly stood and even more reluctantly released Charles’ hand.

“I’ll be back later, so stop trying to leave and let them take care of you, all right?”

Charles nodded. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Erik forced himself to turn and exit the room. Only after he’d left it, did he truly exhale. Charles was okay. Charles was okay. Charles was flirting even... well, possibly. They were still on for that date. Erik took a few much needed breaths and strode more determinedly, and much less frantically, back toward the nurses’ desk. He would take care of this.

He would take care of Charles.

*

Thanks for reading 😊. I really hope inspiration continues to strike because I’ve had a lot of fun with this thus far.

On to chapter 2 part 1

[unholyhelbig]

Triple Treble High school AU??

Read on AO3 | Request prompts here

The darkroom wasn’t originally in the blueprints for the high school. It was a small space that was wedged between the back stairwell, something that still smelled so thickly of drain cleaner, and sawdust, that the developer only added a twinge of vinegar to the mix.

Beca had pestered and persisted until the school board agreed to convert the unused storage area into a place for the yearbook committee to soak and hang their film. It could fit about four people at a time and left her blinking away the red light when the bell rang, load and enough to vibrate the whole room.

She leaned against the table that woodshop had constructed, mindful of the surface that could splinter at any moment. She was putting the finishing touches on her book report for Mr. White’s third-period English. She was cutting it close, but the photos from the pep rally the day before still had a good three minutes left of the egg timer.

She twisted the dial and listened to the satisfying click that accompanied it.

Beca had learned a long time ago that it was better to be unseen than seen by the whole world. There were no standards that way, if this batch of photos didn't turn out, or darken fully, that would be okay- because it wasn’t like they had noticed her, other than the small flashes of light, or the click of her Nikon.

She scribbled the finishing touches on her interesting take of “To Kill a Mockingbird” and shoved the crinkled lined paper into her backpack. She hadn’t put much thought into it- having read the novel more than once and never finding it as moving as it was intended to be.

The timer sounded off and her heart caught in her throat. It always did, even though she was the one that set it. She knew it was going to hiss eventually, and her hands moved before her mind could catch up. She peered over the edge of the basin at the photo that developed fully.

Chloe Beale beamed charismatically, her arm around Kaylee Eli, brow glistening with sweat. The logo of the cowboy shining under the lights. Beca was a damn good shot, but Chloe was an even better model. She stared right into the lens like she actually saw Beca- she noticed and posed and smiled with the same type of vigor as always.

The second warning bell sounded off and Beca fished the photo from the solution with her tongs. She shook it once, then twice, before clipping it on the line. She shouldered her bag and then emerged into the hallway, breathing in to clear out the sharp acidic scent from her lungs.

She nearly collided with a warm body, also trying their hardest to get through the hallways and into homeroom in time for the third and final bell to sound. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor, and her shoulder did make contact with something soft, and hot, and she stumbled with an apology before even realizing who it was.

Posters, and buttons scattered across the floor with a deafening clatter, and a pile of books were soon to follow. They were obnoxiously red, white, and blue. And Beca was on her knees, very suddenly, scrambling to pile them into a stack that they had once been.

“I’m so sorry,” She said, her own backpack forgotten.

“Were you in a supply closet?”

Beca glanced up, meeting hard and ripe green. The girl in front of her was a mass of blonde hair and lip gloss. She shoved her bangs back and gave Beca an inquisitive look. The posters were stacked now, and the two raised to a standing position.

“No, I mean, yes.” Beca frowned “It’s not a supply closet anymore, though. It’s a dark room. For photography.”

The girl studied her. She looked vaguely familiar. Those posters did too- Aubrey Posen for Student President. She realized she was still gripping them, reading them. She flushed and handed them over.

“I’m afraid I’ve made you miss the final bell.” She said.

“Don’t worry about it. Have a fantastic day.” Beca replied, even if she didn’t’ mean it. She grabbed her bag from the floor and maneuvered her way around the girl and walked off towards her first class- one that she wouldn't be paying much attention to.

Aubrey glared down at her posters. The word Fantastic was outlined in blue and slanted in a way that screamed desperately. She swallowed back the suddenly queasy feeling in her stomach and pulled her shoulders back. It didn’t’ matter if the candy-cane stripes and the blue lettering were tacky. It would win her the vote.

She felt disheveled, the pink late slip in her pocket burned like dry ice. She hated breaking the rules, and even this, even having the permission to skip the first half of the morning to work on her campaign, made her feel like some kind of common criminal.

Aubrey walked all the way to the gym.

She was meant to set up the ballot tables for the three lunch periods. She hadn’t thought that many people would skip out on the greasy scent of fried chicken and the brothy greens that were slopped next to them to vote for student council. Not many people cared about the election, and sometimes Aubrey questioned her own dedication to the cause of no cause at all.

The gym always smelled thickly of sweat and floor wax. It’s bright lights seemed to be the only thing in the school that ran on an automatic timer. The last moments of morning cheer practice had just concluded, and Aubrey waited dutifully by the double doors for the girls to clear out.

Most of them- she knew cordially. She was nod at them and say hello, and even give them a button to strap to their bags. So they smiled kindly as they exited past her, and wished her luck on today's vote. She figured she needed it.

“Are you nervous?”

“Huh?” Aubrey had started to study the sound system in the corner, but her focus was suddenly on the one remaining cheerleader in the gym. Her voice echoed, and her smile radiated. “Oh, uh, no my opposing candidate is a gerbil so.”

“he’s got a solid campaign.” She replied, walking across the seal in the center of the floor. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to do great. You’ve got my vote.”

Aubrey hadn’t been this close to Chloe Beale. Not in school- they usually avoided one another after Bumper’s Halloween party, two semesters ago. She didn’t remember, much- the fowl taste of beer, the flashing lights, a kid in a skeleton mask, and Chloe Beale’s lips on hers. Cherry, and tart with alcohol.

Her cheeks reddened at the thought, all-encompassing. “Right, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell me that.”

“Oh?”

Chloe took a few steps backward before turning completely and walking towards the double doors. Aubrey struggled to avert her eyes, knew that she had to, but couldn’t find a way to do it. Chloe could feel them on her- swinging her hips intentionally.

She found herself letting out a trembled breath once she exited into the hallway. Her arms were burning, and so were her cheeks. Aubrey M. Posen had always been intimidating; in her fancy blazers and thick reading glasses. Her lips tingled, and she pressed two fingers against them to quell the sensation. The girl probably didn't even remember her on Halloween night, that stupid skeleton kid, drenched in fake blood, and the flashing lights that spurred her drunken stupor.

Chloe pressed her back against the painted brick wall and let the coolness drip through her sweaty t-shirt. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and practice before the day had even begun made her bones ache and her stomach turn.

She was going to be late for class, she knew that before they had even finished listening to coach Morris reminding them (for the third time that morning) about the pep rally on Friday. She peeled herself from the wall, blinking away the light from the trophy cases, before slinking into the locker room. It was empty now, the remaining scent of body spray and lotion clouding her lungs.

Chloe quickly changed and pulled her bag over her shoulder. She didn’t’ have a pink slip, not as she should, but figured that Mrs. Gordon would excuse her this once. She would slide into first-period Chemistry and try her best not to disturb the room more than she had to.

“Miss Beale,” She felt her heart seize, Mrs. Gordon’s eyes on her, lifting from the workbook that she was struggling to flip through. The rest of the room had taken to staring at her too, roaming eyes and giddy for a distraction, no matter how small. “Take the nearest seat.”

It would certainly be easier than working her way around the room, through the bags and the lab stools. She glanced sparingly at the empty seat closest to her. Beca Mitchell lifted both of her eyebrows and shifted the camera bag to the floor, allowing her to take a seat.

“Flip to page seventeen, The building of Electron’s and Neutrons”

Chloe reached for her bag, but before she could Beca shifted the textbook towards the middle of them, letting her scan her eyes over the annotated version of the paragraphs. She had never expected Beca Mitchell, resident outcast and photographer, to go through the nightly reading and actually absorb it.

She smelled thickly of cloves and chemicals. It was earthy but comforting. It almost relaxed Chloe from the morning, brought her down to a familiar buzz after sharing a conversation with Aubrey in the gym. She blinked through her lack of focus and tried to concentrate on something other than how close the alt girl was, and how their knees almost met under the lab table.

Beca reached up and turned the page, Chloe realized she hadn’t read a single line.

[genesisrose74]

𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕! -> 𝕤. 𝕕𝕒𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚

| the piggyback passages series |

Installment 1: in which a late study session at the school library becomes a bit too monotonous for your taste.

Pairing: Daichi x Reader

“Daichi~” comes a tired whine within the corner of Karasuno’s library. The quaint space was still sufficiently filled even by this time of evening, with stars emerging in the night sky shining between smudged window panes. If it weren’t for final exams creeping around the corner, it would have already emptied out by sundown, but worries concerning the following week proved a great motivation to hit the books.

The volleyball captain twists around from his seat to meet your eyes, one arm resting against the cool wooden table on which his notes sat, and a knowing look swimming in his eyes. With a quick scan, he observes your figure splayed across the couch, lounging around on the furniture as if it was your family living room. His tone is inquisitive, but it’s clear he knows the next words that would fall from your mouth. “Hm?”

“It’s late,” you state, propping your head on an elbow. “Whatever knowledge you’ve retained thus far is the best you’ll be acquiring tonight, I’m afraid.”

“You sound awfully devastated at the news,” he notes, heavy doses of sarcasm dripping from each word.

“Oh yes, I’m mortified that there is no longer a reason for my boyfriend to ignore me.”

He scoffs, standing from his chair and cracking his back after a long session of preparing for class exams. “You’re so dramatic.”

You can’t help the grin that stretches across your face. “Yet you date me anyways.”

“Why is that?” His voice is teasing, an easy smile of his own visible from your spot on the furniture, even as he turns to put away his study materials.

“Because I’m the best, clearly.”

The third year chuckles warmly and zips up his bag before turning to you once more. He takes a small step towards the couch you occupy before leaning down to place a quick kiss on your forehead - one that leaves your body unexplainably fuzzy. “You are the best.”

You lift your head slightly to better meet Daichi’s gaze as he straightens up, making grabbing motions with your hands as you stretch your arms out to follow behind his retreating figure.

“Would the best boyfriend mind carrying his favorite person to the car,” you ponder, “to maybe drive said individual home?”

“Oh no!” he gasps with clear exaggeration. “Has someone already hit lazy mode tonight?”

“Mhm.”

“Well that’s no good.”

It’s impossible to hide the squeak of surprise that leaves your lips when you’re hoisted off the couch and brought into the Karasuno captain’s chest. He wraps his arms around your waist with ease, successfully entrapping your figure against his larger frame. Simply from Daichi’s natural body heat alone, you’re quick to warm up in his proximity. Sometimes you questioned how the hell he was always so cozy, but you wouldn’t dare complain.

The third year dips his head down towards your ear, placing a small kiss to your temple. “You’re gonna have to carry my backpack if you want a comfortable journey to the parking lot.”

He can feel you nod against him at the negotiation, and a small chuckle reverberates in his chest at the act. “Good. It’s not that heavy, so don’t worry.”

With a hint of reluctance to part with the fire-like warmth that your boyfriend radiated, you take hold of his (rather light) backpack and sling it around your shoulders. Daichi offers an easy smile before taking your hand in his own, leading you through the library door and into the more secluded school halls. Rays of moonlight filter through the slightly dusty windows in gentle beams, naturally painting the space in a glow that made clear the time of night.

“Alright,” the volleyball captain pipes up, crouching down until his knees stood a foot from the ground, “All aboard.”

Despite the lighthearted scoff that leaves you at his phrasing, you grab hold of his shoulders for balance before hopping onto his back. “Do I need a ticket to be on this train?”

“It’s all expense-free, sweetheart.”

You nestle your face into the side of Daichi’s neck to stifle a full blown laugh, the knowledge of still being near the library’s doors prompting some respectful caution for those still studying. He gives a playful squeeze to your legs, taking a moment to readjust your placement on his back before starting the trek to the school parking lot — with surprising ease, you might add, considering the additional weight he now carried. He was quite the seasoned volleyball player after all.

In the midst of a mostly quiet walk to the car, with your chin resting comfortably atop the top of his shoulder, your mouth quirks up into a smile.

“Hey, Dai?” comes the partially-sleepy inquiry.

The amused smile on his own face was clearly illustrated through his voice alone. “Yeah?”

“How did I possibly get such a wonderful train ride for no fees at all? That seems like an unfair exchange.”

“I mean, you can tip the conductor if you want.”

He opens up the double doors of the school exit as you giggle at his last suggestion, the cooler air of the evening not a bother in the slightest. “How would the conductor like that payment?”

He laughs, “Any way the passenger sees fit.”

You quirk a brow, titling your head to the side to examine his front-facing gaze. He in turn offers a curious glance to the side, but doesn’t think much of your slight change in positioning until a light kiss is placed against his cheek.

“How about a few installments of those?” you suggest, pursing your lips together to suppress another set of laughter. A triumphant grin does manage to cross your face, however, when Daichi’s expression melts into tender satisfaction. His words hold an abundance of warmth as he helps you find ground on the solid concrete below, leaning an arm on the side of his car while opening the passenger door with the other.

“Those work very well.”

[yellowsugarwords]

I know this is late but how would the e kids celebrate Valentine’s Day with their s/o?

awe this is so sweet!! I hope you enjoy buddy :)

Clementine: Clem always though the premise of Valentine’s was great. “The day itself is stupid.” She’d always say. “You don’t need to give someone gifts for them to always know you care.” So, on Valentine’s, she made a point of showering her partner in double the love of a ‘normal day’. Sweet kisses on the forehead, hand holds and squeezes, and affirmations.

Marlon: Marlon would smile noticing his partner emerging from the school. Excitedly, he trotted up to them. “No chores today.” “What?” Y/N asked, brows raised. Instead, Marlon whisked them away to the attic of the school, decorated with snacks, candles, sodas, and flowers. “It isn’t much, but we’re having a relaxing day today.” He said with a smile. “I hope that’s okay?” Y/N thought it was the sweetest gesture.

Louis: Louis would smile the moment he spotted Y/N exiting the school that morning. He darted to them, snagged their hand, and pulled them back in. “You gotta come with me first!” He’d say. Y/N grunted as they were tugged away. “Good morning to you too?” Louis whisked them into the music room, decorated with lights, candles, and flowers. “I have a song I want to play for you.” He said sweetly, admiring the stars in their eyes as they studied the room. “I figured I’d make the room fit the mood.” Y/N was smitten.

Violet: When Y/N opened their door to leave their bedroom that morning, Violet was leaned against a nearby wall, holding a cluster of dandelions in her hand. Y/N gawked, taking them with rosy cheeks and a bright smile. “What do you want to do today?” Violet asked, sliding forward to kiss their cheek. “We’ll do it all. You just name it, okay?” 

Mitch: Mitch would be waiting outside their bedroom door when they emerged that day. “What are you doing here?” Y/N asked with a smile. Without a further question, he wandered up and placed a sweet kiss on his partner’s lips. “Spending the day with my best friend. Why?” He was feigning innocence and being sweet, and Y/N thought it was adorable. All day, he pampered them with love. Kisses, hand holds, sweet gifts; anything and everything he could think of.

Aasim: Aasim would smile seeing Y/N emerge first thing that morning. They started chores as usual, heading on their hunting trip as they often did. They second they got away from the school, Aasim tugged them to the side. “I wanted to give you this, but I wanted to wait until we were alone.” He pulled a small necklace out of his pocket, one that he made himself. A pretty rock and a tattered string, but Y/N absolutely loved it.

Ruby: Ruby would knock on their door first thing in the morning, scurrying in without warning. “Good morning sweetie! I made you something!” She handed them a hand-knit blanket (a little wonky, but adorable nonetheless) and three flowers. “I know it isn’t much, but I wanted to give you something.” She smiled, giddy and thrilled. Y/N thought it was the sweetest gift ever.

Omar: Omar would smile, scurrying in with a tray of breakfast food. “Good morning, my sweet!” He’d say, plopping the tray down beside them. “I made your favourite. I hope it turned out okay.” He’d press a sweet kiss to their forehead and sit on the end of their bed, his eyes locked on them. “What all would you like to do today?”

Brody: Brody would smile when they emerged from the school that morning, nervously wringing her fingers. She approached them and slipped them a card. “Here. This is for you.” She smiled nervously, her cheeks bright pink. The card listed everything she adored about her partner; every little thing. “I’m not really good at saying it. So, I wrote it down for you.” She looked nervous for their reaction, but the beamed, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 💌☕️♡

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 25

In my defence I didn’t forget about updating here, I just didn’t want to.

First < Previous

---------------

“How do I look?” Marion asks as people fuss around him, not least of all Marinette herself.

“I hoped that would be obvious seeing as I designed this look,” She smirks at him eyes sparkling he can tell since the whites of the Domino mask are removed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the greatest and all that,” He waves her off as a stylist tries to tame his hair to fit the messy look she wanted.

“Well it is true isn’t it?” She teases, someone also trying to follow her with a brush and comb as she flies around the room in a whirl of designing.

"Perhaps," Marion hums, gaze drifting over to the door where he notices a familiar figure, Marinette follows his smile.

“Luka!” Marinette exclaims, wrapping her friend in a hug, “When did you arrive?”

“Last night," Luka smiles, she was glad she got the chance to become his friend again as MDC, not that he knew their secret identity, "This city is so majestic,”

“Gotham at night?” Marion scoffs, turning in his seat, only to get scolded by the stylist, “Are we talking about the same place?”

“CD maybe you just haven't taken the time to really hear the city’s song,” Luka strums a few cords to demonstrate, “You should its melody compliments your own,”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Marion shrugs, sitting forward again, “Do you think you can use it to reach out to the Gotham audience? I really want to connect with them,”

“Will do boss,” Marion sticks his tongue at him, Luka only ever called him that in jest.

Luka gives a playful wave leaving to go sort out the music. He had his own responsibilities as the opening act. Marinette feels someone watching them and dismisses the stylist, congratulating her on a great job. She looks a tad peeved as Marion's hair is largely the same as when she entered, but many employees are used to the twins randomly leaving anyway. The door to their dressing room clicks closed and the presence makes itself known.

“What can we do for you, Batman?” Marinette asks, offering him a seat, although she knows he won’t accept it.

“MDC,” he inclines his head, not showing if he was taken aback by her catching him out, “We have reason to believe the concert will be attacked tonight,”

“Yeah, we thought that might happen,” Marion gets up, stretching, “Just try to keep whoever away from the crowd and we can handle the rest,”

“You don’t seem to understand, after the last attack-”

“Sorry to cut you off,” Wow it was weird acing professional around the same guy they had been tormenting the past few weeks, “But that was an impromptu event this one has been planned out for years,"

Officially not but they had designed the building to help them catch akuma in Paris while keeping an event going, they just applied that design to Gotham.

"If you would like to call in the rest of your coworkers we can show you the defenses we have in place so you can work with them,”

Batman seems surprised. What did he think they were just air-headed celebrities? Well, that wasn’t going to be the only surprise of the day then. Sure enough, he calls everyone in and Marinette’s a little hurt to see he invited everyone but Sparrow and Songbird to join in the fun. She hides this fact leading the ragtag group through the backstage area. Spotting their manager she walks over.

“Could you please clear our schedule we want to give them a personal tour of our security measures,” She asks Kate, to her credit only looking mildly surprised to see the whole Batfam trailing after them.

“I thought you might, I’ve already worked it into your schedule, just make sure you're there in time for the costume checks,” Kate looks down tapping away at her tablet, “Also call your uncle arrived in town last night he’ll want to wish you good luck so watch out for him,”

“We couldn’t do it without you,” Marinette beams, letting her go to attend her other duties.

They must make an odd sight, two superstars guiding a pack of vigilantes like ducklings through the backstage. They go over all the security protocols. Safe rooms that the staff was instructed to go to under certain circumstances. There were carefully lain traps that only a few people could trigger to set off. On the stage itself was a secret compartment Marion could make a quick getaway to get change in, a tunnel leading backstage. The entire backstage was a maze in itself all the staff specially trained to navigate it.

To protect the audience they hadn't packed it nearly as much as they could have so it meant it easier for them to reach the exits. Indeed there were hidden emergency exits that people could escape through if villains blocked the obvious ones, they were set to reveal themselves if that was the case. There were also hidden trapdoors in rows of seats that would glow if people were forced to duck behind the seats. It leads to underground tunnels that would lead them safely away. There were even tunnels connecting to the staff safe rooms so they could come and direct the audience as needed. Marinette had made sure to make the tunnels look inviting ad pleasant so no one would panic at being underground.

Then there were the special (comfy) perches that they showed to the Batfamily, each situated to look over everything and be hidden by the lights. There were wires leading to the stage and audience in case they needed to get down quickly and quietly. They also made a web above that they could run along and run any interference with ariel attacks. They also gave them each a blueprint of the stadium so they could see all the secret tunnels that were perfect for a surprise attack. There were ones leading into the entrance subtle enough someone could be pulled in while walking into the building, for the purposes of catching criminals before they even entered. There was also a trap door that could open underneath, she gave them each a remote control to these, warning them to use them wisely. Each hidden door leads to a room suited for fighting, carefully crafted to give the bats and edge.

It had taken a long time and a lot of money but they had invested, making a safe place they could rent out to other performers so there could be more shows in Gotham conducted safely. She could tell that by the end of the tour even Batman was impressed as they headed back to the stage through the empty audience seating.

“Hey! Superstars!” Jagged's voice booms across the arena, waving from the entrance of the place.

“Uncle Jagged!” Marion jumps over seats to reach him, Marinette a step behind him as they both tackle him into a hug.

“Good to see you too,” Jagged ruffles their hair, Marinette sends a silent apology to the stylist, “This place looks Rockin!”

“You bet just wait till I take the stage,” Marion grins, as they both hug Penny and Fang as well.

“Why wait! Show me what you got,” Jagged sends Marion off, who runs to the technicians asking if they can do an early mic check, everyone scrambles to make it happen.

“So how’re you finding Gotham?” Jagged asks her, walking with a side hug back towards the Batfamily.

“Oh, you know… busy,”

“I’d say the news with Marion? That was wicked!”

“Yes… wicked,” Penny pales at just the memory, and yeah fair enough.

“Yo Batman great to meet you!” Jagged boisterous nature meets Batman’s stoic one but the poor guy barely has a chance to adjust before Jagged’s moving on.

“Yo Red Hood right?” Hood looks a little shocked as Jagged claps a hand on his shoulder, “You saved my nephew, I really owe you one!”

“Oh-that's not- I just,” Marinette shares a smirk with Jagged which would have surely had Marion screaming.

“Yeah, he really looks up to you!” Jagged has him spluttering more, she would show him mercy but they only have so much time before Marion catches on.

“Oh Uncle Jagged I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” Marinette says in a suggestive tone, the stage is still empty of Marion.

“Of course, no I’d say it more that...” Marinette could actually laugh as Red Hood practically vibrates from anticipation, “He likes you,”

I think we just killed  him, Marinette notes as Red Hood internally combusts. Well now wasn't the time to show mercy.

“I’d say that's putting it rather lightly,” Marinette smirks as Red Hood is sent into another spluttering mess, and oh how she wishes he wasn't wearing that helmet.

“Right it’s more like-”

“Stop it both of you,” Penny’s reprimand has them both doubling over with laughter. The Batfamily looking absolutely bewildered. Minus of course, Red Hood who they may have to call an ambulance for soon if he doesn't start breathing.

“What are you two laughing at?” Marion walks to the edge of the stage, someone fusses with a microphone not too far away.

“Nooothhinggggg,” They chime simultaneously, with matching grins.

“Penny?” Marion all but whines, fidgeting nervously.

“They haven’t said anything bad,” She assures him, Marion foolishly relaxes.

“Hey is this the guy that saved your hide?” Jagged asks, having the guts to swing his arm around Red Hood’s shoulders.

“Uncle Jagged,” He hisses at the same time Penny hisses ‘Jagged’.

“You should thank him... sing endless!” Jagged exclaims, and Marinette couldn’t be sure he hasn't been planning this from the start, “You wrote it for him didn’t you?”

“Not for him its not-” Marion makes a bunch of vague gestures, “You know?”

“Not at all,” Jagged grins, dragging Red Hood closer to center stage seats, he plops down Red Hood right in the middle of the stadium. The rest of the Batfam take seats around them. “Sing Endless!”

Marion is scowling but doesn't have much other choice as a stagehand tell him he’s all set. He takes the microphone. Marinette mimes at him to breathe, he rolls his eyes but does anyway. The music starts Marion hitting his cue and with just the first few words she could see the tension drain away.

“And the world starts slowly caving it~”

It was such a gentle song. So many people had told him and still told him that it didn’t fit the violent vigilante. The producers had argued they should just fit it to someone else, someone people liked more. In the end, they had caved to Marion's arguments probably because it wasn't made to be an upbeat pop song so they weren't too attached to the money making aspect. That didn't stop the audience from arguing about it afterwards. Some claimed they just randomly selected the song, or that they shouldn't have done one for him at all.

Marion pointedly told them they were all wrong. And looking at Red Hood now, completely enthralled with Marion's singing she could tell that, yeah it had fit him perfectly all along.

"All the words you said were they true? or just selfish li-es~"

Marinette broke her gaze away from Marion to look at the rest of the Batfamily. Suffice to say they were all enthralled, hopefully they wouldn't be this distracted at the concert tonight. Although she supposed it was a good thing they were doing the mic check now so they could watch now and focus later. Then again she doubted Red Hood would be much use regardless, he was leaning forward in his seat the rest of the world dead to him. To fair Marion wasn't much better. In a crowd he would look around or at least pick a random stop to sing to no one. This time however? this time he was locked on to Red Hood sinign directly to him and he probably didn't even realise.

"Gave all I ever had try to make you laugh try to please you~"

Batman looked uncomfortable at the line. Judjing by the times she had seen them spend together there was a tension between them a past she didn't know. How Marion managed to pick up on that long before they came to Gotham she doesn't know. It was almost like he could see into his soul, a connection there despite never having met, like the pull of a miraculous.

"All I know is gone, now I'm all alone~"

Marion wasn’t testing out the mics. That much was obvious. He was straight up performing. And no he hadn’t written the song for Red Hood persay. But she had watched him every night and day agonize over the right words to use, the tune, the feeling behind it. Scraping up every bit of information he could it was probably more thorough than any police investigation done on Red Hood. It was then she realized, their room covered top to bottom in pictures of him covering the ones she had of Adrien, that Marion had completely and utterly fallen for the guy. No, it wasn't a song for him, it was a love letter for him, to him, about him. It was a picture that painted exactly how Marion saw him.

And she was willing to bet that the only people that didn’t realize it were them, both completely captivated by each other as Marion finished.

“What is it~” He holds the next note until the music fades out into nothingness, “Inside~”

The music stops, Marion opening his eyes, almost seeming startled that there were other people sitting before him. It’s only then he seemed to realize that there was more than just one other person in the arena and spirited off to check with the sound. It was as he turned to walk away Marinette could tell Hood had seen it, the robins newly stitched up the back of his jacket.

[oliviajames1122]

3 Symptoms of a Malfunctioning or Faulty Hazard/Indicator Relay

The hazard and indicator lights on the vast majority of road vehicles are controlled by a relay, also referred to as a flasher.

The relay is an electrical device that controls the lighting by acting as a switch. According on the vehicle's specific needs, they come in a range of shapes, sizes, and designs when current is given to the relay, the circuit within cuts on and off, resulting in the relay clicking sound and the turn signal or danger lights blinking.

While flashers are a basic component in both design and function, they play a significant part in a vehicle's overall driveability and can jeopardise safety if they fail. If you check MOT history of your vehicle and realise a previous MOT failed due to the lights not working, there could be two reasons for this. Either the bulb(s) had blown, or it was a faulty relay. To confirm this go through any previous repair invoices (if available).

Are you aware that, according to an online MOT history checker, one of the most prevalent reasons for a MOT test failure is the lights? The bulbs in your cars high and low beams, left/right indicators, hazards, and other lights may need to be replaced.

A faulty or malfunctioning flasher relay usually causes a few indications that warn the motorist to a possible problem. A few signs are as follows:

1.      Hazards or indicator lights don't work - The most typical indication of a defective or faulty flasher relay is the absence of hazards or indicator lights. When the indicator lever or hazard light button is pressed, the relay can break or have internal issues, causing the lights to malfunction or not respond at all. While this is unlikely to affect engine performance, it will leave the vehicle without working hazard lights and, more crucially, indicators, which can be dangerous. This is why you should check MOT status and have the problem fixed to avoid a failure. This could also be something simple as a blown bulb.

2.      Hazards or indicator lights remain on - Hazards or indicator lights that remain on are another sign of a malfunctioning flasher relay. When the hazards or indicators are engaged, if the relay has an internal short circuit, the hazards or indicators may stay on instead of flashing. While the lights may continue to light, they will no longer be able to signal a turn or warn other motorists of an emergency incident. Electrical faults can generate similar symptoms, so getting your car correctly examined by a car mechanic is essential.

3.      Additional lights aren't functioning - Along with your hazards; you could notice that other lights, such as headlights, daytime running lights, and even brake lights, aren't working. Other lights may be wired via or with the relay on some cars, causing a problem if the flasher relay fails. If you look online for 'check my MOT history' and discover that your car previously failed the MOT test due to the lights not working, the relay or something as simple as a burnt-out bulb might be to blame.

While faults with the indicator/hazard relay usually do not impede the vehicle's ability to drive, they might present issues that threaten visibility and safety. While flasher relays are not sophisticated components, because to the very convoluted structure of electrical systems, they can be difficult to diagnose. Whether you suspect a problem with your vehicle's relay or not sure if a bulb has blown out, get it diagnosed by a skilled technician to see if the relay needs to be replaced.

How can you know whether an indicator light is turned on?

The simplest way to test the indicators is to turn on the hazard lights. After turning on the hazard lights exit the car and double-check that all six lights are working. Your car has two in the front and back, as well as one on each side (front wings). Remember, you don't have to start the engine to answer this question, simply switch on the ignition.

[realjessicareyes]

february 13, saturday. ravi’s party. the warehouse. @ponderosus​

Lost in the dark pulse of music and the reflective lights of disco balls, a million panes of glass casting color upon the crowd, the walls, the ceiling, Jessica is happy. She has spent so much of the night dancing that faces and movements blur in her mind in the best way: laughter and warm touches and flirtatious words coalescing in a drunken blur. Clearest in Jessica’s mind as she makes her way into the women’s lounge on the arm of a statuesque redhead who recognized her from a press launch last year, are from moments ago: dancing with Wren, who is dressed in a beaded vintage dress that Jess recognizes from her forays into Ravi’s massive closet; beaming gratefully at them as they pull her away from overly touchy men; then winking at them with mischief when she sees their gaze stray towards Rafael’s indefatigable assistant Sebastian. “Alright, I know when I’m not wanted,” she remembers saying, her wink overly large and exaggerated as she makes a little half-twirl to exit, stage left, trilling, “Have fuuun!”

As expected, the lounge is full of women touching up their makeup, and after emerging from the cubicle, she offers her cheek for air kisses and compliments: “You look stunning, Marlène! Don’t tell me you cut your hair just for this?!” “Oh, this? It’s Elie—he’s a genius.” And when one of them pulls out a bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold from god-knows-where—what are they, teenagers, carrying their own contraband everywhere?—Jess bursts into lavish giggles, taking it from them to take a swig: inelegant, yes, but what happens in the ladies’ room stays in the ladies’ room—or at least emerges as a way cuter story than it actually was.

Jessica can’t quite remember what comes next, stories and gossip blending into one another. But when she is finally alone, she finds that she can’t stop grinning. With less graceful movements than she’d like, she hoists herself up onto the sink, dress riding up to expose warm skin, and runs a hand through her tousled hair while she pulls out her iPhone, types out an impulsive wish you were here xx, makes to send it—

The muffled sounds of gunfire make their way through the closed double doors of the lounge, sending a cold chill down Jessica’s spine. What the fuck? A part of her hopes it’s a DJ’s ill-advised choice to play MIA’s Paper Planes in the middle of an otherwise fire set, but the adrenaline shooting through her body, the blood rushing through her ears, the instincts of a Power, say otherwise. “Shit,” she whispers, pushing herself off the sink; her legs nearly buckle beneath her as she stands, sending panic through her system—she’s been drinking, but she isn’t that drunk—but she leans against the wall as she fumbles for her Lady Dior pouch and the revolver in it, makes to delete her last message and replace it with, kitty did you hear t

The door swings open. “Kitty,” Jessica says urgently, her drug-addled state making her believe that her cousin has received a message she hasn’t even gotten to send. “What’s happening outside?” But as she glances up from her phone, she freezes, her blood running cold.

Not Kitty. Not Marlène. And definitely not a friend.

Fuck.

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles | Chapter 6

A Weed in Autumn Part One

In which our Immortal Idiots reunite in more ways than one.

The time had come for the Darkling to make his move on the Ravkan throne.

A dozen years ago he had been on the cusp of enacting his plans when his long fabled Sun Summoner presented herself to him. With a quaint little glow in her palms and the secret of her existence shared between them, he fostered new aspirations.

A whirlwind romance. A joint coup. Eternal Sovereigns.

Together they would liberate their people from oppression, slavery and slaughter.

Together they would ride into the Fold, manipulate it’s borders and neutralize the threat of their enemies.

Together they would reunite with their countrymen and women in the West.

Together they would return home to the Little Palace, fostering the next generation with authority and care.

Together they would write treaties and forge alliances.

Together they would bring Ravka into a shining new age of prosperity.

They would serve for millennia. They two would preserve their home country—a safe haven for all Grisha, so long as they reigned.

Visions of Alina, seated in his lap as he lounged on the throne, had heated his midnight hours for a time.

It was a barren dream now.

Unpublished work with third-act problems and a stubborn lead.

Once-cherished ideas now sat abandoned in a journal and stored in the hidden pockets of his private library.

The time had come to prepare something new. The Darkling knew of the private meetings conducted by the Tsar and the Tsesarevich behind closed doors. They were fools to believe he would not uncover such treachery.

The Darkling dealt in treachery long before their foolish line ever came into existence.

In earnest, he began new designs. Plotted key points, dates, events to leverage and, after thorough deliberation, invited Ivan and Fedyor into the process. Second Army spies collected intel ushered from every point of Ravka on both sides of the Fold.

New dreams and better fitting plans emerged to fit the circumstances. The coup was underway. It was now a matter of time.

The months following their reunion were some of the happiest in Aleksander’s memory. Their visits occurred multiple times a week and varied between degrees of urgent desire, meandering conversations and simply lounging in the peace restored from using their connection.

A sweet little humming vibration put his unease at bay for a little while.

Aleksander no longer pressed her for details, satisfied enough that he at least kept his own secrets in return.

He hungered for the day when he could tug on their tether from the dias of the throne room, crowned in the jewels of Ravka. He would extend an invitation to her to join him at a formal court gathering and soak in her shock.

Though it was unlike him to vibrate restlessly in anticipation of anything, this daydream was too enticing to fight it.

Several cold centuries of loneliness might have hardened him into stone—an everlasting and virtually unchanging being—but even stone had a melting point under the right conditions.

The one thing not eased by their supernatural visits was the urgency his body felt to be with her in person. The yearning doubled each time he saw her and he would inevitably pull her body to his, demanding she succumb to his request for a true meeting.

Early on, she was resilient to his commands. Over time her resolve was gradually ground into a brittle patience.

He continued pressing, praying for the snap. One night in autumn, she relented.

“Five days. Three weeks from tonight, I will meet you at the edge of the Fold just south of Adena.” Alina placed a tender kiss on his lips, holding his face between her palms. “Five days, that is all I have. But they are yours.”

Aleksander was speechless.

He kissed her in return and then once again in a bruising way that furrowed his brow and produced a groan from his very soul.

Before they parted, he repeated, “Three weeks exactly from tonight. Five days together. Leave it to me to arrange everything for us.”

He pressed a kiss into each of her palms.

The horse shuffled a few steps, apparently ill-at-ease being so close to the Fold. Aleksander laid a gentling hand to it’s mane. He squinted into the dense shadow before him, determined to see the little light bobbing inside.

Anticipation wrung his guts and he could only be thankful Ivan and Fedyor were not present to witness his darting eyes or gaping mouth—the humiliating lurch of his body when he sensed the slightest movement within the Fold.

Alina and he had decided to meet under the cover of night for obvious reasons. Anyone seen casually entering or exiting the Fold would not go unnoticed.

Although, Aleksander insisted this meeting take place before dawn, unwilling to compromise the loss of a whole day. She had blushed and agreed.

The ride from Os Alta to Kribirsk took almost a full week as it required traveling with troops and carting along the newest generation of Sandskiff.

The pilot run was to take place in a couple weeks time. Fortunately, this provided cover to be away from the Little Palace for the month which was preferable given how close he was to enacting his designs on the throne.

Ivan and Fedyor knew little about the current assignment. Fedyor was to remain in Kribirsk overseeing the troops during the General’s unexplained absence.

Ivan was to head on to the dacha which would be the home for him and Alina for the next five days.

The location, an Os Altan nobleman’s dacha in the country, sat between Adena and Kribirsk. This had been the most difficult piece of the arrangement to secure. However, an obscene amount of money and a plausible cover story carried him through and the situation would be quite refined, all told.

Aleksander would have no less. Five days with the center of his very soul would not be spent in anything less than luxury.

Every meal would be catered, every bath drawn for them and every distraction dealt with by more capable hands. This time was going to be sacred and shared between they two alone. No distractions. Of this, he was determined.

A bed, a home—things both he and Alina had lived without during different times in their lives—were not to be in question.

At his core, Aleksander felt an intoxicating desire to care for her. To show her how well he could care for her body, her and her Light.

Sex in the real world was easily arranged for and exchanged on whim. He intended to ruin her to her very core with the way he would care for her being.

The way he would sate her being would be outright. Irrefutable. She would have no way to go back after these days.

The General considered leaving Ivan at the front and taking Fedyor along to oversee the dacha staff for the week. Upon further thought, however, he considered it preferable to stomach the occasional side-eye from Ivan over the blushing delight which would be sure to issue from Fedyor if given half a second alone with Alina.

In the quiet and in the dark, Aleksander assured himself once more of this plan. It was right and it was good. This was no mere woman to woo.

This was the Sun personified.

This was the Light which mitigated his existence.

If he could not properly honor her gift, he deserved to be struck out of the world at her hand.

He felt her nearing him before his other senses caught up.

Something was coloring inside his lines. It filled him up as she closed in.

A flicker of light cut through the shadow. Or rather, the shadow moved around it, parting in reverence for the light.

Aleksander maintained some twenty steps of distance from where she would exit the Fold.

Hooves clopped over packed earth.

A white mare emerged from black curtain, the rider atop it dressed in black.

From his distance, he watched Alina stroke the mane of her horse. Watched her hair slide around her shoulders as she looked in each direction for him.

Aleksander swallowed.

He climbed to his horse and trotted in her direction. When she caught sight of him, seated tall and proud on his black steed, she beamed.

“Hello.” She said, softly in the dark.

“Hello.” He returned her a small smile.

Lifting his reins, he indicated their direction. He did not feel capable of speaking somehow.

She nodded, still smiling and trotted her horse alongside.

The journey was silent. Birdsong filled in the background, rising in volume as they neared the dacha. The night would be coming to a close soon.

Though the silence persisted between them; neither was moved to end it. He managed to keep his smile soft for her and she, for once, took her direction from him.

As they reached the gardens, Aleksander dismounted his horse and waited for her mare to come to a halt. He tethered both their reins together and reached for her, lifting her small body in his hands and setting her on the ground.

They stood together, his black eyes rested on hers. His hands cupped her waist while hers pressed on his chest. He kissed her forehead with reverence, then her cheeks. She blushed under his attention.

Together they walked to the door.

Everything was set up as directed.

Wisps of steam rolled over the surface of the water in the large bath off the bedroom and Aleksander looked at Alina with a question in his eyes.

He thought he heard the ghost of a laugh in her throat. She smiled and began to undress. After a moment, he followed suit.

Curiosity colored her features and she stared, utterly unabashed, at his naked body. He straightened his back, pausing to allow her to look her fill before stepping into the water.

The heat of the water licked up his legs. A chill broke out over his skin at the sudden rise in temperature and Aleksander turned back toward her, extending a hand.

She preened a moment under his questing gaze.

It was pleasing to get to watch as he became aroused for her. Her eyes swept below his waist to his swelling cock and then back up to his eyes.

The shyness of the smile on his face should have been astonishing—she was sure he had never before in all his centuries held this expression on his face.

However, outright astonishment would have broken the fragile quiet. Alina stored the memory away for herself for later and joined him in the heat.

Under his unwavering gaze, Alina assumed his consent and picked up the soap from beside the bath. With tender strokes, she began to bathe him, working the soap into a lather over his skin.

The smallness of her hands was something he relished, breath stuttering as she passed them over his chest, brushing his nipples and wrapping up his throat. His eyes fell closed a moment.

She looked drugged, lost in her work. Watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed under her palm. The ends of his long hair dampened against the skin of his broad shoulders.

Tracing the lines and crevices of the muscles on his shoulders and then down his arms. Her face acquired a dewy glow from the rising steam.

Aleksander forced his hands to stay at his side, determined to observe her only. To let her explore as she wished.

When she reached his waist, her eyes lifted to his again. The way she looked at him tested his resolve. Alina stared into his dark eyes even as her hands lowered into the water.

The soap lost it’s lather in an instant as she rubbed it along his thighs, pausing then to grip at the thick muscles.

They both watched her hands reach for his cock, erect and swaying under the surface.

Her small hands relinquished the soap as she wrapped him up in her palms and fingers. Her breath hitched and she rubbed the slippery residue all over him, twisting her hand a little at the top and reaching for his balls underneath.

Her wet skin on his wet skin, sliding easily with the assistance of the soap. The sense of power she felt was heady, holding him in both hands, feeling him throb under her grip. Feeling him grow larger.

Her mouth opened unconsciously as she watched her hands holding him, still stroking him in that slow, smooth slide.

“‘Lina…” he groaned and she stopped, smiling in innocence at him and brought her hands back to his thighs. She rubbed over his thighs in comfort, persuading him to calm what she aroused.

Aleksander took a couple deep steadying breaths before he opened his eyes. His hand lifted and caressed her throat, holding her little neck in the entirety of his grasp.

Her lids closed slowly and she tipped her head back to allow him access as his large thumb smoothed over her pulse.

She was nothing more than a small deer with her neck caught in the mouth of wolf. She waited for the wolf’s sentence. A grunt issued from his throat and he let go, his palm brushing down her body.

With calloused hands, he picked up the abandoned soap from the floor of the tub. Smearing it in his grip so the lather returned and he began to bathe her, mapping her curves.

He massaged his fingers into every divot around her collar and ribs, her navel and hips.

He spread the lather to the tops of her breasts, around the sides and back up the center of each. His fingers dragged over her nipples and she hummed, the drugged look making another appearing across her face.

He thought to kiss her again, almost closing the distance before the thought could fully form.

Aleksander pulled back.

He was determined to let them ease into this week slowly. Determined to infuse devotion into every movement this first day instead of letting the pure need take over. It would eventually.

The need was Inevitable.

However, this was a time for care and attentive patience. Alina was a star on earth, bright and celestial and wild. She was a star who was owed proper worship and Aleksander was the only being in the universe capable to treasure the responsibility. To see it through in it’s entirety.

And yet, as he brought his hands under the surface of the water, he could not stop himself from leaning into her mouth. His teeth gently tugged on her lip as he enveloped each of her inner thighs into his large hands below the surface, spreading her legs until they met the tub walls.

When his teeth let go of her lip, he kissed the swollen little thing, pink and protruding under his gaze. She whimpered for him, making him smile.

Thighs still in his grip, his thumbs rubbed along the inner path where her legs joined her hips and her skin was fine and sensitive.

With another soft kiss to her mouth, his thumbs parted the lips between her legs. Under the surface he felt her wet slick even as the water tried to sweep it away with every fond stroke of his thumbs.

“Aleksander…” her eyes were closed and his thumb ran slow circles over the prize. Her sweet, swollen clit, supple and sensitive under his touch.

Only for him, he wanted her to promise.

She moaned. It was a broken, little gasp.

Her eyes were closed but her mouth lifted to be kissed again. Unable to resist the request he met her lips with his own. His tongue brushed hers and carefully stroked into her mouth while his thumb continued coiling around her clit. Painstakingly slow and gentle.

Alina lost control of her jaw, panting.

When he felt her head slipping against his, her forehead falling to his jaw, he abruptly lifted his free hand from the surface and grasped her around the throat again, directing and holding her mouth to his.

Alina whimpered again into his mouth and he felt every inch the brutal wolf to her submissive doe. He could keep his action reverent and still be himself—evidently, she enjoyed the ways he took control.

When she cried into his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut in response. The painful pleasure of her orgasm echoed to him across their connection and he was unable to dismiss the emotion easily.

A tempering rub to her thigh and he removed his hands, gliding them up her arms and kissing her once more, imbued with tenderness.

He parted with a deep steadying breath for himself and reached for the pitcher. Scooping the water inside and tipping it back over her shoulder, he began to rinse her. Though the suds down her torso were mostly gone now.

The water cleaved pathways through the white lather and past to her navel. Aleksander watched the shapes change across her skin as he erased them entirely, eyes lingering on the way the water pooled in her collar bone and skated into drips clinging to her rosey nipples.

Lifting her chin with a gentle finger, he poured water over her hair, careful to keep it from falling back into her eyes. She moaned again at the renewed warmth.

Alina took the pitcher from him, repeating the rinse on his body.

His long hair was let loose after a tug to the leather strip and she ran fingers along his scalp as she washed it.

She towered over him, kneeling to reach around the back of his head and Aleksander could not help the way his mouth reached for her breast, offered so freely just an inch from his face.

He laved her peak with his tongue, lifting the water from her skin as if he was drawing the juice from an overripe plum.

The pitcher slipped into the water behind him, apparently cast aside, while her arms wrapped around his head, holding him to her. Her ribs fit between the span of his large hands and he guided her body where he wanted it.

Aleksander suckled the water from one breast and repeated on the other. She moaned into his wet hair.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body into his. Bare, wet skin pressing against bare, wet skin. Softened by the water. A moment of calm before they were done.

Aleksander lifted her out of the tub, setting her back on the mat and joining her with a towel. He dripped onto the floor as he dried her.

His chest thrummed with a building anticipation.

It was not dissimilar to what he felt on the last night he saw her all those years ago. Something inside of him knew he was about to join with her. Knew they two were about to exist in the exact same space for a few precious minutes.

Judging by the look on her face, she felt it too.

He took the towel from her and set it aside, lacing their hands as he led her into the bedroom.

When he sat on the edge of the bed, she took up her rightful place between his legs.

Aleksander met her eyes, never looking away as he pressed a kiss to her sternum. His hands lingered over her hips, drawing her into his lap. Her legs fold around his hips as her soft bum rested on his knees.

Alina kissed him then.

It was a surprise at first but as they both sunk into the act, it felt as planned as the existence of either of them. As the balance of the universe. Light and Dark meeting and touching as they always would; pressed together.

He pulled her hand from his shoulder and down to his cock and emitted an involuntary groan into her mouth when she stroked his head.

Alina picked up his hand for her use, pressing his fingers into her mouth where she coated them. His brow furrowed in unrequited pleasure as he watched her guide his slick fingers down to her core where she rubbed herself with his fingers.

An untempered growl sounded from the back of his throat and he tipped her forward with his knees, her body falling toward his cock.

She yelped in surprise and then smiled; a challenging look alight on her face.

Aleksander held her stare with his and shifted the head of his cock into her slippery cunt, Thrusting together in tandem until she enveloped his cock from tip to base.

“Fuck.” He grunted.

“Saints, Sasha.” She said simultaneously.

Aleksander’s hands stroked her sides absently, enjoying the warm little cage around his cock more than he had anything in his long, long life.

She began to move first, unhurried and attentive, clutching at him with her inner muscles on every upstroke.

Whenever he bottomed out, his grip on her hips tightened and he rolled her against him. Joint moans rumbled between them.

His forehead fell to her breasts and he placed an open mouthed kiss to her valley. Lips wrapped around her nipples and he lapped at the buds with agonizing tenderness.

Her arms cradled his head to her body and she rested her cheek to his hair as she had done before. Her cries melded into whimpers at the aching sweetness of his ministrations.

He was not cruel to her. Not this first time. He did not toy with her. She did not tease him.

As their mutual pleasure built, so did the humming of their chests.

It went unacknowledged at first, the urge to reach the edge of the cliff became a runaway train and nothing else mattered.

Alina rocked over him and wailed into the sunrise as she reached that euphoric edge and dawn arrived at last, sunlight breaching the horizon and painting the room in an orange glow.

Aleksander pulled her mouth to his, latching on as he rocked into her depths and holding her moans on his tongue until he finally burst deep inside her. It felt as if he burst once and then again and again after.

His nose nuzzled against hers and they rested there, occupying a single space in the universe as one, his cock still pulsing as he filled her.

Wave after wave of energy passed through them and the light of dawn pressed an insistent pinky-red into their eyelids.

Only, it was not the dawn’s rays at all. Light was expanded from between their chests. Power stretching and concentrating into a single strand.

Heat lightning entwined in black tendrils of shadow.

Their eyes met, a combination of fear and awe.

With a hesitant hand, Aleksander grasped it.

Unbridled power charged through him and he was transported into nothing.

Dark and Light surrounded him in lingering wisps and vibrant currents and only when he realized he was alone there did he let go of the strand.

Alina had not moved from her place in his lap. The strand dissolved into nothing between them.

His eyes were wide and fearful and she looked on him, calm and understanding set in her gaze.

Her hands soothed him, stroking over his hair and brushing it behind his shoulders.

“You have seen what I knew must be at the very center of us.” She whispered.

Aleksander opened his mouth to speak, though no words came. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“The Making at the Heart of the World.”

Some Three Weeks Later

The General stretched from his seat at the desk. The new Sandskiff would leave on it’s maiden voyage through the Fold in the morning. David assured him the way it was built would make it the swiftest model yet.

Truthfully, the General had lost much interest in these voyages anymore. The existence of a Sun Summoner, for one thing had made the need for a Sandskiff practically moot. It was just a matter of time now.

Aside from that, there was still the matter of an imminent coup which kept him preoccupied.

The first steps of which would be initiated in a week’s time with the autumn equinox and the impending Summit of Allies. The General need only accomplish this mission and return to Os Alta.

His reappearance, along with those of visiting dignitaries and noble people would create the ideal chaotic cover required to assassinate a Tsar and his heir.

As if that were not enough to occupy his mind, vivid, feverous flashes of his week with Alina would appear and incapacitate him.

Being with her had made him feel insatiable in the after.

It was as if her body trained his to need something more than water and he could not stop thirsting for her skin against his anymore.

When they parted she told him she would not be able to be in touch for at least three weeks.

Not by tether, not by anything.

The panic it set off in him at the thought was unsettling, though he found he was more forgiving of himself on this side of their discovery.

Could he be helped if the first elements in existence which crashed into each other to form their very world seemed lived inside of them both?

Could he help that they came with the unfortunate side effect of reducing him into a feral wolf for a woman? Possessive and endlessly ravenous?

This was beyond Small Science. This was beyond love. This was cosmic and Inevitable.

He would not chastise himself for feeling any longer.

The General had just managed to fall asleep when the unmistakable sound of frantic hooves approached the camp.

He was already pulling on his kefta when Ivan entered the tent, Fedyor on his heels.

“Urgent news from Os Alta, moy soverennyi.”

The General took the letter, ripping the seal and reading words which stilled the earth around him.

The Tsar has been assassinated. The Tsesarevich will pass within the week. You are to return to Os Alta with your army within a fortnight.

The words, written in the careful cursive of the Apparat’s hand, seared into his mind and shook him to his core.

Aleksander’s eyes were wild with disbelief as he thrust the letter at his Heartrenders.

With complete disregard for the company in his tent, Aleksander reached for the tether and pulled.

Alina did not answer. He felt her there, somewhere across the Fold and far away.

He pulled again, desperate and needy to see her. He knew she could feel his panic. Knew that she would have to feel it between them.

She did not answer.

The only response available in their shared connection, underneath her desire and her devotion to him, was an undeniable tinge of guilt.

[newstfionline]

Monday, September 20, 2021

Biden’s Entire Presidential Agenda Rests on Expansive Spending Bill (NYT) Biden’s entire presidential agenda is riding on the reconciliation bill being crafted in Congress right now. No president has ever packed as much of his agenda, domestic and foreign, into a single piece of legislation as President Biden has with the $3.5 trillion spending plan that Democrats are trying to wrangle through Congress over the next six weeks,” Tankersley writes. “It is almost as if President Franklin D. Roosevelt had stuffed his entire New Deal into one piece of legislation, or if President Lyndon B. Johnson had done the same with his Great Society, instead of pushing through individual components over several years. If he succeeds, Biden’s far-reaching attempt could result in a presidency-defining victory that delivers on a decades-long campaign by Democrats to expand the federal government to combat social problems and spread the gains of a growing economy to workers. If he fails, he could end up with nothing. As Democrats are increasingly seeing, the sheer weight of Mr. Biden’s progressive push could cause it to collapse, leaving the party empty-handed, with the president’s top priorities going unfulfilled. … If Mr. Biden’s party cannot find consensus on those issues and the bill dies, the president will have little immediate recourse to advance almost any of those priorities.

Child care in the US is a ‘broken market,’ Treasury report finds (Yahoo Money) A Treasury Department report this week characterized the U.S. child care system as “unworkable” as Democrats push reform that experts say is an “overdue and critical investment.” The average American family with at least one child under age 5 uses 13% of their income to pay for child care, according to the report, nearly double the 7% that the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services considers affordable. Additionally, less than 20% of the children eligible for the Child Care and Development Fund—a federal assistance program for low-income families—are getting that funding. “Child care is a textbook example of a broken market, and one reason is that when you pay for it, the price does not account for all the positive things it confers on our society,” Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen said in a statement on Wednesday. “When we underinvest in child care, we forgo that; we give up a happier, healthier, more prosperous labor force in the future.”

Inspiration4 Astronauts Beam After Return From 3-Day Journey to Orbit (NYT) After three days in orbit, a physician assistant, a community college professor, a data engineer and the billionaire who financed their trip arrived back on Earth, heralding a new era of space travel with a dramatic and successful Saturday evening landing in the Atlantic Ocean. The mission, which is known as Inspiration4, splashed down off the Florida coast at 7:06 p.m. on Saturday. Each step of the return unfolded on schedule, without problems. Within an hour, all four crew members walked out of the spacecraft, one at a time, each beaming with excitement as recovery crews assisted them.

Haitians on Texas border undeterred by US plan to expel them (AP) Haitian migrants seeking to escape poverty, hunger and a feeling of hopelessness in their home country said they will not be deterred by U.S. plans to speedily send them back, as thousands of people remained encamped on the Texas border Saturday after crossing from Mexico. Scores of people waded back and forth across the Rio Grande on Saturday afternoon, re-entering Mexico to purchase water, food and diapers in Ciudad Acuña before returning to the Texas encampment under and near a bridge in the border city of Del Rio. Junior Jean, a 32-year-old man from Haiti, watched as people cautiously carried cases of water or bags of food through the knee-high river water. Jean said he lived on the streets in Chile the past four years, resigned to searching for food in garbage cans. “We are all looking for a better life,” he said.

Three Weeks After Hurricane Ida, Parts of Southeast Louisiana Are Still Dark (NYT) For Tiffany Brown, the drive home from New Orleans begins as usual: She can see the lights on in the city’s central business district and people gathering in bars and restaurants. But as she drives west along Interstate 10, signs of Hurricane Ida’s destruction emerge. Trees with missing limbs fill the swamp on either side of the highway. With each passing mile, more blue tarps appear on rooftops, and more electric poles lay fallen by the road, some snapped in half. By the time Ms. Brown gets to her exit in Destrehan 30 minutes later, the lights illuminating the highway have disappeared, and another night of total darkness has fallen on her suburban subdivision. For Ms. Brown, who works as an office manager at a pediatric clinic, life at work can feel nearly normal. But at home, with no electricity, it is anything but. “I keep hoping every day that I’m going to go home and it’ll be on,” she said. Three weeks have passed since Hurricane Ida knocked down electric wires, poles and transmission towers serving more than one million people in southeast Louisiana. In New Orleans, power was almost entirely restored by Sept. 10, and businesses and schools have reopened. But outside the city, more than 100,000 customers were without lights through Sept. 13. As of Friday evening there were still about 38,000 customers without power, and many people remained displaced from damaged homes.

Favela centennial shows Brazil communities’ endurance (AP) Dozens of children lined up at a community center in Sao Paulo for a slice of creamy, blue cake. None was celebrating a birthday; their poor neighborhood, the favela of Paraisopolis, was commemorating 100 years of existence. “People started coming (to the city) for construction jobs and settled in,” community leader Gilson Rodrigues said. “There was no planning, not even streets. People started growing crops. It was all disorganized. Authorities didn’t do much, so we learned to organize ourselves.” The favela’s centennial, which was marked on Thursday, underscores the permanence of its roots and of other communities like it, even as Brazilians in wealthier parts of town often view them as temporary and precarious. Favelas struggle to shed that stigma as they defy simple definition, not least because they evolved over decades. Paraisopolis is Sao Paulo’s second-biggest favela, home to 43,000 people, according to the most-recent census, in 2010. Recent, unofficial counts put its population around 100,000.

The barbecue king: British royals praise Philip’s deft touch (AP) When Prince Philip died nearly six months ago at 99, the tributes poured in from far and wide, praising him for his supportive role at the side of Queen Elizabeth II over her near 70-year reign. Now, it has emerged that Philip had another crucial role within the royal family. He was the family’s barbecue king—perhaps testament to his Greek heritage. “He adored barbecuing and he turned that into an interesting art form,” his oldest son Prince Charles said in a BBC tribute program that will be broadcast on Wednesday. “And if I ever tried to do it he ... I could never get the fire to light or something ghastly, so (he’d say): ‘Go away!’” In excerpts of ‘Prince Philip: The Royal Family Remembers’ released late Saturday, members of the royal family spoke admiringly of the late Duke of Edinburgh’s barbecuing skills. “Every barbecue that I’ve ever been on, the Duke of Edinburgh has been there cooking,” said Prince William, Philip’s oldest grandson. “He’s definitely a dab hand at the barbecue ... I can safely say there’s never been a case of food poisoning in the family that’s attributed to the Duke of Edinburgh.” The program, which was filmed before and after Philip’s death on April 9, was originally conceived to mark his 100th birthday in June.

Relations between France and the U.S. have sunk to their lowest level in decades. (NYT) The U.S. and Australia went to extraordinary lengths to keep Paris in the dark as they secretly negotiated a plan to build nuclear submarines, scuttling a defense contract worth at least $60 billion. President Emmanuel Macron of France was so enraged that he recalled the country’s ambassadors to both nations. Australia approached the new administration soon after President Biden’s inauguration. The conventionally powered French subs, the Australians feared, would be obsolete by the time they were delivered. The Biden administration, bent on containing China, saw the deal as a way to cement ties with a Pacific ally. But the unlikely winner is Britain, who played an early role in brokering the alliance. For its prime minister, Boris Johnson, who will meet this coming week with Biden at the White House and speak at the U.N., it is his first tangible victory in a campaign to make post-Brexit Britain a player on the global stage.

Hong Kong’s first ‘patriots-only’ election kicks off (Reuters) Fewer than 5,000 Hong Kong people from mostly pro-establishment circles began voting on Sunday for candidates to an election committee, vetted as loyal to Beijing, who will pick the city’s next China-backed leader and some of its legislature. Pro-democracy candidates are nearly absent from Hong Kong’s first election since Beijing overhauled the city’s electoral system to ensure that “only patriots” rule China’s freest city. The election committee will select 40 seats in the revamped Legislative Council in December, and choose a chief executive in March. Changes to the political system are the latest in a string of moves—including a national security law that punishes anything Beijing deems as subversion, secession, terrorism or collusion with foreign forces—that have placed the international financial hub on an authoritarian path. Most prominent democratic activists and politicians are now in jail or have fled abroad.

The Remote-Control Killing Machine (Politico/NYT) For 14 years, Israel wanted to kill Iran’s top nuclear scientist. Then they came up with a way to do it while using a trained sniper who was more than 1,000 miles away—and fired remotely. It was also the debut test of a high-tech, computerized sharpshooter kitted out with artificial intelligence and multiple-camera eyes, operated via satellite and capable of firing 600 rounds a minute. The souped-up, remote-controlled machine gun now joins the combat drone in the arsenal of high-tech weapons for remote targeted killing. But unlike a drone, the robotic machine gun draws no attention in the sky, where a drone could be shot down, and can be situated anywhere, qualities likely to reshape the worlds of security and espionage.

Israeli army arrests last 2 of 6 Palestinian prison escapees (AP) Israeli forces on Sunday arrested the last two of six Palestinian prisoners who escaped a maximum-security Israeli prison two weeks ago, closing an intense, embarrassing episode that exposed deep security flaws in Israel and turned the fugitives into Palestinian heroes. The Israeli military said the two men surrendered in Jenin, their hometown in the occupied West Bank, after they were surrounded at a hideout that had been located with the help of “accurate intelligence.” The prisoners all managed to tunnel out of a maximum-security prison in northern Israel on Sept. 6. The bold escape dominated newscasts for days and sparked heavy criticism of Israel’s prison service. According to various reports, the men dug a hole in the floor of their shared cell undetected over several months and managed to slip past a sleeping prison guard after emerging through a hole outside the facility. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip have celebrated the escape and held demonstrations in support of the prisoners. Taking part in attacks against the Israeli military or even civilians is a source of pride for many Palestinians, who view it as legitimate resistance to military occupation.

Jaw-dropping moments in WSJ's bombshell Facebook investigation (CNN Business) This week the Wall Street Journal released a series of scathing articles about Facebook, citing leaked internal documents that detail in remarkably frank terms how the company is not only well aware of its platforms’ negative effects on users but also how it has repeatedly failed to address them. Here are some of the more jaw-dropping moments from the Journal’s series. In the Journal’s report on Instagram’s impact on teens, it cites Facebook’s own researchers’ slide deck, stating the app harms mental health. “We make body image issues worse for one in three teen girls,” said one slide from 2019, according to the WSJ. Another reads: “Teens blame Instagram for increases in the rate of anxiety and depression ... This reaction was unprompted and consistent across all groups.” In 2018, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg said a change in Facebook’s algorithm was intended to improve interactions among friends and family and reduce the amount of professionally produced content in their feeds. But according to the documents published by the Journal, staffers warned the change was having the opposite effect: Facebook was becoming an angrier place. A team of data scientists put it bluntly: “Misinformation, toxicity and violent content are inordinately prevalent among reshares,” they said, according to the Journal’s report.

[buckleyirondad]

No. 14. Is Something Burning? “Fire”

When a night out goes drastically wrong, Pepper realizes that she and Michelle lead a similar life.

AO3 Link

Pepper adored Peter.

She had since the day she met him.

She constantly thanked him, silently, and sometimes, to his face, for being a part of their lives.

Even when he was gone, for those five years, his impact, lived on.

They wouldn’t have Morgan, if Peter hadn’t taught Tony, at the right moment, that he could step out of Howard’s shadow and be a good dad.

Having Peter back, made everything fall together, perfectly, for the first time.

Hand-in-hand, with Peter, came Michelle.

Peter’s everything, his partner in crime, and somebody for him, to effortlessly tease Tony with.

Pepper loved her too, and the influence she had on Peter, she seemed to be helping him overcome hurdles that no one else could.

A double date sounded far fetch, at first, but Michelle proposed it, and Pepper finalized it.

They made quite a team.

An old theater was showing a highlight of Charlie Chaplin’s movies.

All four of them liked old movies, which made for the perfect night out, where superheroing duties took a backbench.

Pepper skipped through the foyer, leaving Tony at the desk, to check in their coats “Hey.” She laid her hands on Peter and Michelle’s shoulders, “If I were you two, I would have asked to sit far far away from us.”

Michelle snorted a laugh, “Why?”

Peter frowned, tilting his head, to his shoulder, “Is this about the Charlie Chaplin look-alike competition?”

Michelle grinned, ear-to-ear, “The what now?”

Pepper waved her hand dismissively, “My husband claims that he won a Charlie Chaplin lookalike competition.”

Tony appeared beside her, “I didn’t claim anything,” He chipped in, “It’s true.”

“Oh, my God,” Peter inclined his head, pressing his hands together, gesturing them towards Tony, “You literally wouldn’t shut up about it last night, it’s why I volunteered to carry Morgan to bed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped, he made an act of raising his hand, to his chest, “I’m offended, kid.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Also, I looked it up last night, and there were zero results.”

“Nobody knew it was me,” Tony raised his shoulder in half-shrug, “I used a pseudonym.”

Pepper pulled on his arm, “Oh, look, we can sit down now.”

They all started walking into the theater, in an orderly fashion.

Tony leaned forward, “I’m gonna find the photos later.”

Peter turned, keeping his arm linked with Michelle’s, “So, Friday—"

“Friday has nothing,” Tony sang, “Like, I said, nobody knew it was me.”

Pepper shook her head, with a laugh, “We get it.”

“Should we get—” Michelle and Peter spoke in unison, “—Popcorn?”

They acted normal because it happened all the time.

They were the definition of cute, Pepper was sure.

Tony leaned in, whispering in her ear, “How adorable.”

She gently nudged his foot, with hers, “Leave them alone.”

Tony clapped his hands together, “I’ll pick us up some popcorn, you lot can go and find our seats.” He shuffled away, quick on his feet.

Pepper took a seat, on their aisle, leaving the space between her and Peter free, for Tony. She buried her hand in her pocket, to check if May had messaged her with any questions about Morgan.

All she'd been sent was a selfie of the pair watching Finding Nemo.

She sent back a couple of heart emojis.

Peter and Michelle’s gentle chuckles caught Pepper’s attention. The duo were holding hands, muttering among themselves, desperately trying to conceal their laughter; Peter was red in the face, and whatever they were discussing, had brought tears to Michelle’s eyes.

Pepper smiled, they were truly infectious, and she couldn’t get enough of them.

Michelle had become a vital part of their everyday lives, rather fast, but Pepper would have it no other way.

She saw the way they looked at one another, the longing stares, and the soft smiles.

They’d fallen hard.

Something, Pepper once did, twice a day, with Tony.

It took them a while, to make it work, but it did.

Pepper saw herself, in Michelle, which was good, on some days, but heart-breaking on others.

Peter and Tony’s lives weren’t exactly normal or easy. 

Pepper kept Michelle as close as possible because she understood the hardship of being hopelessly in love, with someone who laid down their lives, for the greater good, every other month.

They were on the same page.

Tony tiptoed over, holding two buckets of popcorn, “Here we go.”

Peter and Michelle sang, through a laugh, “Thank you.”

When the movies started playing, the audience went silent, but Pepper still caught the pair sharing little anecdotes, trying not to burst into hysterics.

An hour in, Michelle sat up, looking around.

Tony spoke, in a hushed tone, “What’s up?”

She turned, “I’m trying to work out where the toilets are.”

Tony pointed, “By the entrance, on your left.”

“Thanks, Stark,” She kissed Peter’s cheek and hopped up, “I’ll be back.”

Tony leaned over, whispering something in Peter’s ear, the kid’s cheeks turned a new shade of red.

He jokingly slapped Tony’s arm away, “Shut up.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, “Stop messing with him.”

Tony held out his hands, with a shrug, “May said I can.”

Pepper looked past him, to Peter, “Don’t worry, honey. He’s got no leg to stand on.” She chuckled, “I’ve got plenty of embarrassing date night stories.”

Tony sighed, head in his hands, “Pep…”

She winked, “I’ll tell you later.”

Peter laughed quietly, hanging his head.

A few minutes passed, and Pepper allowed herself to be drawn back into the movie.

She didn’t notice something was up until Tony’s tone switched.

“Kiddo, you okay?”

She spun her head, fast.

Peter was sat up straight, his eyes wide, and his leg mindlessly bouncing.

She raised her voice, “Sweetheart?”

Before Peter could answer, the piercing sound of a fire alarm filled the room, and the movie was stopped.

The lights came on, and an usher shouted, “Everybody make your way to the fire exits, as fast as you possibly can. Thank you.”

Everybody shot to their feet.

Tony tapped his watch, “Friday, report?”

“A fire has started, in the attic, and is spreading quickly.”

The usher yelled again, this time, more panicked, “Quickly, please.”

“MJ—” Peter shot up, looking around, “Can you see her?”

“The toilets are right next to the exit, buddy,” Tony reassured him, “She’s probably already outside.”

“I’m not sure—"

Somebody screamed, “Get out now!”

“That escalated—" Tony reached back, grabbing Pepper’s hand while gripping tight onto Peter’s shoulder, he pushed, making sure Peter didn’t freeze.

Pepper knew, for a fact, that Tony made contrasting promises.

It was an issue, with him.

He made one, to Peter, that basically meant that if it ever came down to it, Tony would have to save May, Ned, or Michelle, before Peter.

The other was one he made to Michelle, promising that he’d pull Peter, out of a fight he couldn’t win, even if Michelle’s life was on the line.

Tony could never win.

Peter kept shouting, over the chaos, “MJ!”

A crowd swarmed, at the exit.

Somehow, they were pushed to the front of it.

Peter held up his arms, screaming, at the top of his lungs, “Stop!” He waved his hands, signaling nearby people, “Stop moving!”

The urgency, in his voice, seemed to resonate with everyone.

A support beam, from the ceiling above them, collapsed, crashing to the floor.

Tony pulled on Peter’s shoulder, “Holy shit.”

The crowd moved again, leaping over it, as smoke started to envelop them.

A lady, in her forties, tripped, landing among the stampede.

“Hey,” Peter helped her onto her feet, “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” She rushed, into the bustle, that was moving outside.

Pepper lost sight of everything while moving from the building to the street. 

The sounds of sirens were already echoing, in the distance.

She shouted, squeezing Tony’s hand, “Tony, you got Peter?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, “I’ve got him.”

The crowd began to separate, giving Pepper room to see.

Peter was leaning up, to look across the herd, “MJ?!” He yelled, “MJ?”

Nothing.

Peter turned, eyes filled with tears, “She’s not here.”

Tony’s face fell, “Pete-“

Peter rested a hand on his chest, “I know she’s not..." 

“Kid—"

“I gotta—” He pulled his hand free, and before any more words were spoken, he sprinted back, into the burning building.

Tony shrieked, “Peter!” He spun to meet Pepper’s gaze, “What do—”

There was a deafening creak from inside.

Pepper’s lower lip trembled, “Oh, God—"

“Hey!”

Tony snapped his head back, a momentary look of relief, on his face, “Jones—”

Michelle charged, out from the side alley, “Hey, I’m—”

“MJ!” Pepper wrapped an arm around her, “We were so—” It dawned on her, she shot a look to Tony, “If you’re here, then Peter—”

Tony titled his head to his shoulder, a silent apology, as he let go of her hand and charged inside.

Michelle yelped, “Oh—”

Pepper held her tight, muttering under her breath, “Come on, come on—”

Another spine-chilling thud, came from inside, as the building fell apart.

“I—” Michelle cried, “He—”

Pepper whispered, “It’s okay…”

A figure emerged through the entrance.

It was Tony.

His face was covered, in patches of soot, and his hair, full of ash.

Dangled over his shoulder, was Peter.

Pepper’s stomach leaped into her throat, as she tightened her hand around Michelle’s hand.

She breathed a sigh of relief, when Tony smiled, with a nod.

Michelle pulled free, rushing over, “Peter!”

Tony lowered Peter onto his knees, rubbing circles against the teen’s back, “There you go.”

Peter coughed, “I need to find—MJ is—”

Michelle knelt, pressing a hand, to his cheek, “Right here, loser.”

He wheezed a laugh, “MJ—"

She leaned up, kissing his curls, “You’re an idiot.”

No, he’s your idiot.

He smiled, “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah,” She tugged him into a hug, nestling her head, on his shoulder.

Tony moved over, locking an arm around Pepper, “Hey.”

She pulled him close, “Hey.”

Pepper knew it wasn’t normal, to be so accepting of these situations, but after fighting aliens, it was a walk in the park.

Michelle helped Peter to his feet.

Peter rubbed a hand, over his cheek, “That was fun.”

Michelle barked a laugh, pressing her head against his bicep, “Same time next week?”

Tony inhaled a cackle, “I’m thinking takeaway?”

Pepper nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”

Tony motioned aside, “We should get going.” He took out his phone, “Everybody is probably freaking out already.”

Pepper looked up.

Peter was whispering in Michelle’s ear again, and they were giggling to themselves like nothing had changed.

Say what you want about young love, Pepper knew that Peter and Michelle were the real deal.

[practicingmedicine]

Practicing Medicine: Chapter One

(+)1

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and Sheriff McBain had just been shot.

There weren’t no lights, no sirens. No outward signs of urgency anywhere, save for the frantic telephone call I’d received just seconds ago and my own bounding heart rate.

It didn’t take me long to pull on my pants or step into my boots. Even with my shaking body, I moved with a sense of purpose, each action a step in a subconscious routine.

Buckle up my pants, lace my boots, grab my glasses, disconnect my Pip-Boy from the outlet, clip that bad-mama on and get it running…

The black screen turned a vibrant green color as I clicked the power button, lighting up my dark room. These were the words on the screen:

PIP-OS(R) v1.0.3

COPYRIGHT 2075 ROBCO(R)

LOADER V1. 1

EXEC VERSION 41.10

32K RAM SYSTEM

16811 BYTES FREE

HOLLOWTAPE LOADED: “THE-SCIENCE-OF-UNCERTAINTY”

INITIALISING….

SUCCESS!

> STATUS

Battery Level: 100%

Wireless Signal: (?)

Operating Temperature: 90F

> HEALTH

BP: 150/120

SPO2: 100%

Temp: 98.5F

RR: 25

HR: 160

> TIME

Day: 25 September 2279

Time: 08:01

> CLIMATE

Current Temperature: 78F

Atmospheric Pressure: 753 mm

Background Radiation: 0.231 RAD

---

I couldn’t read much, so I wasn’t sure exactly what each of them meant, but I got the gist- I knew exactly what I needed to know. I threw open my door and strode into the hallway, grabbing my father’s white coat off of a hook along the way. I slipped it on over my shoulders as I strode up to the front door, where my faded orange doctor’s-bag lay on its side. Before I threw the strap over my shoulder, I made sure to quickly button my coat and pull my green tie tight around my shirt collar, because my father told me that a doctor should always look his best. I hefted my bag up with one hand and pushed the door open with the other.

The morning sun was bright in my eyes. It was hot outside, about 97 Fahrenheit if my pip-boy was telling me the truth. Not that it mattered- I was used to the heat, and my patient was inside the air-conditioned Bison Steve’s Hotel. I didn’t give it much space in my head.

I started to sprint, skirting the corner of my neighbor’s house and running out into the main square, heavy bag swinging wildly in my aching right hand. As much as I wanted to have time to process all this, to stride up all slow and confident like father had taught me, I didn’t have the time. It could be a matter of seconds deciding whether or not the Sheriff survived.

I was starting to feel kind of dizzy, like you do when you’re fixing to vomit. The Hotel was just up ahead now. The big “Bison Steve’s” sign flickered eerily as I walked up to the double wooden doors, which I pulled on at least three times before I remembered that they were push doors. A rush of cool air washed over my skin as I stepped into the building, and tried to regain my composure. I cleared my throat.

“Alright- Alright y’all, listen up: My name is Isaac Saller, and I am a medic! ” I shouted. There was silence. “‘I’m empty holstered, so please don’t shoot!”

That may have been a bad idea, in retrospect, but it was all that I had planned for an active-shooter type deal. I didn’t deal well with confrontation.

The front hall and the reception desk were abandoned, but the lights were on. I stepped through the next set of propped-open doors and into a dark hallway, where a pretty blonde woman was cowering, holding onto a wall-mounted telephone. Her red face glistened with sweat.

That would be Mrs. McBain.

“Oh my god, Isaac! Come here, quickly- I think my husband is dying!” I power-walked to catch up with her, then tried to keep up a comparable walking pace. Which was kind of hard, given my height; I was still, “between hay and grass ,” my father would have said.

“Could you tell me what happened?” I asked. The words felt so strange to say out loud. I’d practiced what I’d do in a real emergency, but now that it was actually happening, I couldn’t believe that I was actually falling into my routine, just like I did for everything else. Must not have seen any other option.

“Well, the boys- Beagle and my husband, right, they were doing firing drills! But then the shooting stopped and my husband started airing his lungs, just shouting something awful. And when I ran in to see what happened, I saw that Beagle had shot him in the leg!”

And, there was the story. I let out a sigh of relief; here I was worried that I might be dealing with some crazy psychopath! Though, the more I let myself think on it, an idiot like Beagle with a gun started to seem just as dangerous.

“Does he still got the gun?” I asked, approaching one of the four doors to what had to be the firing range. The familiar scent of gunpowder stung my nose as I cracked open the rightmost door, and peered into the massive, open room. I didn’t see nobody, but then again, my vision was so awful that my patient could’ve been right in front of me. Mrs. McBain brushed through the doors.

“No, I made him put it down!” I nodded and entered the room.

As I stepped through the doorway, another smell drifted in after the first- a sharp, metallic smell that hung in the air like some sort of leaking gas. Subtle, and not quite so intimately familiar, but I recognized it right away; the acrid smell of blood rubbed on skin.

“Hey Doc, come on in--the Sheriff is lying over here,” said Deputy Beagle, waving his iron about. I flinched.

“Holster that!” I shouted back, “I’m not going to do anything until-“

“Beagle! You put that thing down right now or I’ll shoot you myself!” Shouted Mrs. McBain. Beagle made a dramatic sigh.

“Fine. But, you know it was an accident, and it ain’t like I’m gonna do it again.” He tossed the gun aside. The cocked, loaded, cold-steel weapon hit the ground hammer-first.

The ensuing, “BANG!” was, no kidding, the second loudest thing I’d ever heard.

“Goddammit!” Beagle shouted, and Mrs. McBain screamed and dropped to a crouch. I just sat, stunned, staring at the gun and trying to think again. It was like my mind was a Television set, and someone had just thrown a brick through the screen; An all-encompassing static crept over my senses.

“Isaac? Isaac, are you alright sweetie ?” asked Mrs. McBain, over the loud ringing in my ears. I nodded.

“I’m okay ,” I lied. I kept nodding.  “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay…”

“You sure don’t look okay,” said Beagle. He was too close to me, way too close. I took a deep breath and pushed him back a little bit.

“I’m good! Where’s the Sheriff?!” I looked around warily. My eardrums were still bubbling, but I was starting to be able to hear myself think again. I had apparently dropped my medical bag on the floor, but it hadn’t opened up or spilled.

“Jesus kid, can you not turn your head on your neck? Over there, sitting against the support beam!” snapped Beagle, motioning towards the wounded Sheriff with his whole upper body. I felt like yelling back but I didn’t. I just gave him a quick nod and stumbled over to the fallen Sheriff.  

The bright red pool beneath Sheriff McBain’s thigh had already begun to clot into ketchup-like clumps. As I got closer, I could hear him muttering to himself, though I couldn’t understand what about. I dropped to a crouch beside him, opened my bag and rooted through it til I found myself a pair of gloves. I had to work to get them on with how sweaty my hands were.

“Hello, Sheriff! Can you understand me?” I asked. He smiled up at me.

“Hey! You’re Isaac, the um, the Gambling-Place owner’s son. Uh, Casino! Yeah…” He trailed off. In my head, I started going over my ABCs, because apparently my mind was too overwhelmed to do anything but stick to its beaten-path routines.

He could speak, so his Airway was patent. I didn’t have time to properly test his Breathing, but it sounded fast and a little shallow. That was par for the course, which left me with the real problem, his Circulation- that’d be the bleeding.

“Alright, Sheriff, I’m going to take your pants off. Tell me if it hurts much,” I said, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. They got snagged up on his shoes, so I started pulling harder. He just laughed as I pulled them off.

“Actually, I don’t feel much of anything in this leg! Just like I got punched, and now it’s burnin’, sorta.”

That was good. It meant that the bone probably hadn’t been fractured, and I wouldn’t need any med-x. I always kept an emergency syringe of the stuff, but I was reluctant to actually use it on anyone.

Once I’d gotten his pants off, I touched his leg. It was cold and wet. I’d assumed shock, based on the bigass blood pool, but I could be dramatic like that; This was solid confirmation. I was going to have to work fast!

As I searched around in my bag for a tourniquet with one hand, I held up the Sheriff’s leg up with my other, so that I could see the wound in the dimly lit firing range. The hole wasn’t big. At least, not the entry- just a red, penny-sized oval near the base of his thigh, surrounded by bruised skin and seeping out blood. Like a bloody little volcano.

The exit wound, on the other hand, was massive . A jagged hole right under his ass with flaps of skin hanging loose around it, spitting out a torrential amount of bright red blood with each beat of his bounding heart. Based on the color of the blood and the way that it was coming out, I knew that the bullet had nicked or severed his femoral artery. I also knew that I probably couldn’t repair that with forceps and bandages alone. The best thing I could do would be to stem the bleeding, and get a stimpack as quick as possible.

Of course, that presented a little bit of a problem: See, stimpacks are awful expensive, so carrying them around wasn’t always an option for a man like myself. As of now, I didn’t actually have any of them-things in my jump-bag. Some places ‘round here had one in a box on the wall, but I didn’t see none in here, and I’d have noticed one in the hall if there’d been one. I cursed under my breath.

“Go and get me a stimpack!” I ordered. I had finally found where I kept my tourniquets without actually looking into the bag, though if I had any sort of presence of mind, I would have been embarrassed at how long it had taken me. I pulled his shoe off, and slipped the tourniquet on over his leg.

“I’ll fetch one from the kitchen!” replied Mrs. McBain, and I nodded to let her know I’d heard. Now that I had a stimpack on the way, all I had to do was keep the Sheriff from kickin it until I could apply the damn thing.

Easier said than done.

“Why are you squeezing me? You taking my blood numbers or something?” The Sheriff asked, as I pulled the premade tourniquet tight and started cranking on it. I tried to smile.

“I’m not taking your blood pressure, sir, I’m putting on a tourniquet. It’ll hurt, but you’ll bleed a lot less.” When I couldn’t tighten it anymore, I took out another tourniquet, and fastened it right above the first one, against the base of his thigh. It was a good thing that the Sheriff was thin, or I’d be having some issues about now.

“What are you doing? He could lose his leg that way!” shouted Beagle. When I kept on tightening the second tourniquet, he hit me in the back of the head- not so much to hurt me as to get a reaction out of me. I didn’t give him one. “Hey, are you blind and deaf? I’m talking to you!”

“Stop it Beagle! Isaac is a good… he’s a good kid,” insisted the Sheriff, his voice growing weak. I finished cranking the tourniquet, and touched the Sheriff’s ashen forehead. He looked like he’d stuck his head in a drinking fountain, with how much he was sweating...

“Could you try and talk with me, Sheriff? I’m gonna try some more stuff, try to keep you from going into decompensated shock.”

The Sheriff looked confused. He squinted up at me with teary eyes.

“Shock? You mean, the reason why it don’t hurt? I’m pretty sure I’m already in shock, but I ain’t- I ain’t shocked, you know. Like, I know what’s happened. I got my mind about me ,” he grumbled, tapping his head conspiratorially. I removed a few packets of gauze from my bag and tore them open.

“No, I mean when your organs stop working cause your blood-pressure drops and they ain’t getting enough blood!” Finally, I finished packing the exit wound tight with gauze. I started putting pressure on it.

“Oh. Huh. Well, you doctors ought to stop having so many words that mean- that mean all different things,” the Sheriff replied, his breath passing his lips so quietly that I was worried he might have fallen unconscious. I stopped moving.

“Sheriff?” I asked. When he didn’t respond, I reached into my coat with my free hand, and pulled out a small metal tinderbox full of a reddish powder. I waved it under his nose.

“Wake up, Sheriff!” I shouted. He started coughing and looking around wildly.

“Ah, Jesus Christ, what the hell is that smell?” I slipped the box back in my coat.

“N-H-Four, sir! It’s supposed to keep you awake!”

Of course, it wasn’t doing a very good job at it! Before I was even done speaking, the sheriff had puked all over himself and slumped forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.

“Keep them eyes open Sheriff! Stay with me here!” His eyes fluttered.

“You know, I like your voice! It’s like, you talk like a teacher, but then you got your daddy’s cowboy-thing going on, so it’s sort of funny…” he muttered. His head hung limp on his neck. I let him drop to his side, and focused on applying pressure to the wound again.

“Um, Isaac?” I looked over my shoulder. Deputy Beagle was standing above me again, clasping his hands together. I wasn’t so good at reading emotions, but I’d seen enough pre-vomit patients to know that he was feeling sick. He had spoken so quietly, which was strange considering how loud he’d been before. “Isaac, Is he gonna die? I thought that getting shot in the leg didn’t kill people. Why’s he acting like that?” I sighed.

“I sure hope not. But, there’s a big red-pipe in your leg, and if it gets hit, you bleed a lot. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do if I don’t get a stimpack soon!”

As if on cue, Mrs. McBain came rushing into the room, her dress all bunched up and full of miscellaneous medical supplies. Among the heaps of things I didn’t need, I could see a stimpack poking up.

“Isaac! I brought a bunch of things, I don’t know what’ll help and what won’t, but-”

Suddenly, Mrs. McBain stumbled, and her makeshift pouch came unfurled as she threw out one hand to catch herself.

Aw shit! I dropped everything and ran towards Mrs. McBain, interposing myself between the unsecured, falling medical supplies and the floor. Packaged Band-Aids, bottles of pills and ointments, a pair of scissors- it all went tumbling over me and I didn’t care, until suddenly I saw the fragile old stimpack teetering on the edge. By now, Mrs. McBain was trying to recover, but she was only making matters worse. The supplies were spilling out both sides now, and she was getting dangerously close to just dumping it all on top of me.

The stimpack. That was the focus. I shot out my hand to try to grab it, but I only succeeded in tipping it off it’s balance point, causing it to tumble back into the pouch.

I sat up, and all the supplies that had landed on me spilled back onto the floor.

“Don’t-“ I started, but she had already slipped and let go of the other side of the pouch. I cried out as it all went spilling on the ground.

“The stimpack!” I looked down, and found that through some unchecked reflex, I had caught it on my outstretched thigh. I blinked.

“Huh,” I said, and snatched the needle off my leg. I rushed back over to the Sheriff, who was unconscious and drooling. Beagle was sitting beside him, pressing hard on the entrance with his bloodstained hands and muttering to himself.

“Kurt, you can’t die- I’m, I’m just a deputy, if you die I’ll have to handle this whole town myself, and you know I can’t do that! Please, please don’t you die, please-“ I took a knee beside Beagle and his brother, stimpack in hand. Beagle was crying.

“Am I- am I doing this right?” He asked. I nodded.

“You are doing just stupendously! Just keep doing that!” I replied. I lifted up the sheriff’s leg, tore out all the gauze and probed around with the needle for a minute, until I’d found the deflated husk of his split femoral artery among all of the slick yellow fat and ground-beef looking shit in his leg. I didn’t have much light to work with and it was pretty well buried beneath the gory chaos of the exit, but I knew it when I saw it- despite the tourniquet, the top end was still spritzing out bright red blood with each passing heartbeat. I took my forceps out of my bag, which already had some fishing-line and a hook wrapped around them, and got to suturing the split ends together. The artery kept on pulsing out blood around the edges as I passed my hook and line through it’s thick middle layer.

‘Moment of truth, Isaac,’ I thought, as I squared off my suture. I picked up the stimpack again, prepped the needle with my shaking hands. I took a deep breath.

In the dim light of the firing range, I stuck the pipe.

The freezing cold from the reaction chilled my gloved fingers halfway to the bone. Had it worked? Would it hold? I had no idea. It wasn’t squirting blood no more, so I snipped off the end of the suture and pulled all the fishing line out, then started suturing up his ragged exit-wound, so that the ends of the skin were facing upwards. I didn’t even bother squaring off the end before running a stimpack along the seam. Once his thigh had sewed up along an ugly white line, I pulled all the fishing string out, because otherwise I was just asking for it to get infected. I still had a little stimpack-juice left, so I moved Beagle aside and shot the rest of it into the tiny-little entry wound, to sort out any of the leftover internal damage.

More time passed in silence. I knew it wouldn’t matter, but I loosened and removed the tourniquets to feel like I was doing something. My ears were ringing, blood was soaking into my pants like syrup, but I barely noticed- all that mattered now was if he was going to live, or if he was going to die. I was just going to have to have faith now.

“Is it working?” asked Mrs. McBain. I checked the Sheriff’s pulses, noticed that some warmth had returned to his skin...

Pulse is already stronger , and I can actually get a femoral. I sighed with relief. “It’s working. Pressure’s up.” A few more seconds passed. “I doubt he stopped perfusing to his brain for long, so his head should be fine, if you’re worried about that. He’s gonna need a ton of fluid, though, and he might need some more help with that leg-“ I started, but then Mrs. McBain wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. Once I was over the initial shock, I hugged her back.

“Thanks,” I murmured. Mrs. McBain laughed.

“You saved my husband, Isaac! You saved his life!”

I nodded and tried to free myself from the asphyxiating hug. Unfortunately, Mrs. McBain was a teensy bit stronger than me. “I don’t even know how to thank you. Do you want caps? We- well, you know we aren’t rich, but we have a tin of caps hidden away under the floorboards!” Still struggling in vain to free myself, I shook my head.

“No- no, Mrs. McBain, I don’t want no caps! I just need you to work with me here for these next couple weeks to get your husband healthy again. I mean, he just caught a bullet, he’s gonna need some help getting back to normal...” I was lying about the caps. I would have loved caps, considering how much I was hurting for supplies. But I also wanted to establish that I didn’t charge for my services, and Mrs. McBain had a way of inadvertently spreading that sort of information.

“Oh, but I can’t just let you go back to work like that- look at you, you’re all filthy!” she said, finally releasing me from the hug. I stumbled back and fell onto my rear. “Why don’t you come over to our house- You can get those clothes washed, and I’ll get you some lunch. And a shower too, what would Penny say if she saw you like this?”

Well, I couldn’t disagree with her on that count. Just hugging Mrs. Mcbain, I’d gotten spots of blood all over her dress. Momma had already had to warn me about tracking blood in the house before...

“Alright,” I said. The ringing in my ears was tolerable now. I was starting to be able to think straight again, even if I was still shaking and sweating like hell. I noticed that Beagle had offered me his hand.

“Um- yes!” I said, pulling off my glove and allowing him to haul me up to my feet. He held on real tight to my hand and looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t parse.

“I owe you one, Isaac. I know that this is my fault, and that I’m not always nice to you, but I- I really do appreciate this. I don’t know what I’d have done without my brother.” I tried out a smile. Beagle smiled back at me, and it almost made me forget how much of a prick he’d been when I was a kid. Almost.

“Water under the bridge, Beagle,” I replied. I thought about winking, but I once made a girl run away from me when I tried to wink at her, so I held off.

“Isaac, sweetie-“ I turned around. Mrs. McBain was standing in the doorway. “The door’s unlocked, why don’t you come back to the house first? We can lay my husband down while you wash up.”

I considered. The sheriff seemed stable enough for that proposal, but no one else seemed to quite understand the extent of what he’d just suffered, or the long road that lay ahead for him. I mean, hell, he’d had his leg blown open, lost a third of his blood, and then had a stimpack injected right into a central artery! There were some things I wanted to take care of before I attended to myself.

“I like that idea, but can I borrow one of you to help me finish sorting out Beagle first?” I asked. Mrs. McBain looked at Beagle.

“Beagle, seeing as how you’re the one who shot him…” she started. Beagle put his hands above his head.

“I’ll handle it, ma’am. What should I do?” I raised my hand.

“We’re gonna try to get him on a mattress, if we can. Start him on some Saline and get him drinking water when he wakes up, the stimpack and his body will sorta work together to replace all that blood he lost. He’s going to be in a lot of pain, so we’ll have to give him morphine when he wakes up. I’ve got powder and IV’s with me,” I said, trying my best to cover all my bases without over-explaining. Mrs. McBain started to walk away.

“Alright! You two do what you have to, I'll be getting the house ready for him.” she said, and disappeared through the doorway. I looked at Beagle.

“He didn’t hurt his back none, right?” I asked. Beagle shook his head. “Good. I’m gonna grab his legs then, you grab his arms- let’s get him on one of them cots over there, then move him from there.”

He nodded. We grabbed a hold of the Sheriff’s limbs.

“Alright. Three, two, one-”

[+]