#Fixed Odds Best Prediction

[anonymous1x2tipster]

⭕TODAY GOLDEN FIXED TICKET 24/12/22 ⭕

⭕TODAY GOLDEN FIXED TICKET 24/12/22 ⭕

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[mycryptosuite]

Play This Safe 2 Odds Today 25/06/2023

Play This Safe 2 Odds Today 25/06/2023 Play This Safe 2 Odds Today – We provide daily simulated reality league predictions ranging from; full-time Correct Score tip – Our sure 3 odds daily tips are so accurate you’ll wonder if the matches are fixed. Track Odds Bet Tips for today and you can aswell have a look at our free expert Football betting tips from professional tipsters around the world &…

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2024.07.15

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. on the divine agony of longing by @flimsi [E, 25k]

►Speaking to Draco is like poking a beehive - and Harry is a glutton for punishment. /// In which Harry makes some serious blunders and then tries to fix it. Somehow.

2. Worth It by @youhavemyswordandmybow [E, 21k]

►Draco Malfoy is feeling good these days. He's made it to the heady heights of Senior Auror, he has a great house, and everything has worked out rather well, considering. Yes, his ex-wife is screwing his father, and his son is a little obsessed with the Chosen Idiot but, overall, he would rate it 10/10. Shame that everything is about to get a little crazy. Bloody (sexy) Potter.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong by Anonymous [T, 5k]

►“You can move in with me!” Shit. Apparently there was still a possibility to make a fool out of himself to his crush despite his best efforts at minimizing contact. [...] ★ HD Wireless 2024 | @hd-wireless

2. I made loving you a blood sport (so let's play) by Anonymous [E, 3k]

►They sat in an odd kind of silence, comfortable in its discomfort. In the predictability of its recklessness. The thing between them was as palpable as the thick smoke in the air, consumed with every breath, and likely just as bad for them. ★ HD Wireless 2024 | @hd-wireless

[star-going-supernova]

People have powers connected to their natural talents. Gregory is a natural born hacker; his power allows him to physically enter any kind of machine, no matter how simple or complicated and control them however he wishes. He can even change the programming/coding however he wants. He’s taken odd jobs to clean viruses from computers and fix faulty programming in faulty machines. The night he gets stuck in the Mega Pizzaplex, he knows exactly what to do.

This is the final tumblr generated prompt from the last round, number 66, and the prompt is from Hydrangea_Cherry9 on ao3! So, admittedly, this is probably the most I’ve diverged from a prompt so far because the tech stuff feels like it would fit better with Cassie, and I kinda had a different idea for Gregory. So basically, AU where everyone has one specific magic-esque power that they get as kids. I also took a bit of inspiration from that one post about little everyday magics. 

Child of Chaos

To the bewilderment of his parents, Gregory didn’t seem to have a magic ability. They usually started coming in when a child was five years old, so when he went unchanged, his parents assumed he’d be a late bloomer. By the time he was eight, and far past “late,” they assumed he had a weak or subtle power. Because surely it was impossible for someone to just not have one.

Gregory himself never seemed upset with his abject normality. Not when his dad used his ability—his cooking was always perfect—or his mom used hers—she could predict the weather down to the minute and degree—or his classmates all started showing theirs off in school. 

Like his best friend Cassie, who could slip her mind into whatever electronic device she was touching. Or Hunter, who had an internal clock and timer and stopwatch and alarm. And Lucy knew someone’s mood just from looking them in the eyes, and nothing Barry dropped, no matter how delicate, ever broke.

Gregory never complained or made faces or got frustrated with his friends. He shrugged when people asked about his magic, or lack thereof. He claimed to be totally unbothered by whatever obscure power he had that he’d yet to discover. 

What no one noticed was the glint in his eyes, the twitch of his secret smile. They didn’t recognize his apparent indifference as a mask or his non-answers as lies. He never teased or hinted at the truth, never countered the mocking remarks, never sought to prove them wrong. Because that would give it away.

It would have made sense, had anyone figured it out, that he held his silence so strictly. That he kept his chaos a secret.

When things went wrong, or even just not as expected—that was Gregory’s doing. His little bit of magic. It could be big or small; he was equally capable of making the entire school lose electricity as he was at making any small object go missing at an inconvenient time. 

It was a remarkable power to have in a day and age where most people’s magic affected only themselves or a very small area around them. But Gregory, at eight, decided he’d wanted a snow day instead of a test on Friday, and the skies had dumped four and a half feet of snow in a twenty mile radius around his house overnight. 

So of course his magic was his best kept secret. It wouldn’t do for people to be suspicious of him for every little thing that happened. He’d lose all his fun if adults knew the sort of chaos he caused that couldn’t be traced back to him, so long as his magic was unknown. 

And so it was that, standing in the pizzaplex, knowing there were animatronics hunting him down and a crazy killer out for his blood, Gregory grinned. His philosophy was that if anyone tried to ruin his day, he’d make theirs so much worse. 

Roxy couldn’t stop tripping over her own feet; Monty kept leaping headfirst into arcade machines and photo booths and walls; doors closed in Chica’s face without fail. The STAFF bots bumped into each other, potted plants, and during one memorable moment, caused a massive pileup in the theater hallways that entirely blocked the killer bunny lady from reaching him. 

Gregory had never had so many opportunities to cause chaos, and he was living for it. 

Moon got tangled in his wires, the elevators stopped working for anyone but Gregory, and Sun found himself locked in a closet. The DJ got stuck trying to climb out of his massive passageways, and he was left to watch Gregory cheerfully saunter from the arcade’s back room. 

But nothing was funnier than what his chaos did to his wannabe murderer. Chica ran into the bunny lady and sent them both tumbling down the long staircase in the lobby. Roxy accidentally bit her arm. Monty’s sharp nails snagged in her suit and shredded the front of it. The suit head got twisted and stuck, effectively blinding her. Moon mistook her for Gregory and tackled her. The blade of her knife fell off the handle. The lost and found door got jammed, locking her out as Gregory leisurely escaped via vent. 

Cackling after the latest mishap—she face-planted after a hapless wet floor sign bot trundled into her path—Gregory gleefully returned to Freddy. Even his kindly protector was chuckling. The killer lady, who had to have been pretty fed up with her rotten luck tonight, had yet to get up off the ground and now had a circle of concerned wet floor sign bots gathered around her. 

“It seems everyone is suffering from bad luck tonight,” Freddy commented as they left the atrium. “I have never seen my friends be so clumsy.” 

Gregory snickered, relaxed as ever in Freddy’s chest cavity. “Yeah, it’s like they’ve been cursed.” 

Freddy chuckled. “And thank goodness we have been spared,” he said, in a knowing sort of way. 

Gregory sat up a bit and blinked in surprise—no one had ever figured him out before, but then again, he’d never dealt out chaos quite like this before either. “I—”

“Your secret is safe with me, superstar,” Freddy gently interrupted him. 

After a moment of thought, Gregory slumped again with a rueful smile. He supposed he’d known he wouldn’t be able to hide his magic forever, and he couldn’t think of a better person to be the first to know. Cassie would probably be the second, honestly. 

“You’re not freaked out?” he asked. It wasn’t something he liked to admit to himself, that he was a little bit scared of potential reactions. He didn’t want to be blamed for every little thing, even inconveniences that he genuinely hadn’t caused, or for people to walk on eggshells around him, fearful of retribution. 

“Not at all.” The hatch opened, and Gregory didn’t resist when Freddy gently pulled him out and into his arms. “I do not believe you are the type of person to use such an ability to intentionally cause harm. And if I am being honest…” 

He paused as Roxy burst out of a door up ahead, only for her eyes to go dark with sudden blindness. She stumbled around, waving her arms in front of her. 

“They do deserve to be ‘cursed’ in this case,” Freddy finished, not without humor. 

Gregory laughed, and on cue, as Roxy whirled to face them, her legs locked up and she toppled over with a screech.

[puddleslimewrites]

Ducklings (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2

Prompt: Civillian!Kid(s) keep showing up to Hero's and Villain's fights (more applicable to parts 1 and 2 but this is a contuation of those c:)

Tag List: @black-rose-events

CW: knife

~

"Again," Villain commanded.

Mikey grit his teeth and aimed at the target. He was frustrated, Villain knew, but if these kids were going to run around defying heroes and getting themselves in trouble then Villain would make sure they could at least defend themselves properly.

Marley had a talent for throwing knives but her endurance was low. At present she ran laps around the base while Charlie dug through the weapon pile for something he liked.

Villain called them together once Marley returned from outside. They sighed as the kids sat in a circle around them. Charlie tossed the tazer he'd found up in the air and caught it, then switched hands and did it again. Villain made sure to keep an eye on that out of the corner of their eye.

For a long moment they merely watched the three talk about their training. They were all so lively. It seemed...odd, to have them in a place like this. Villain frowned. "Don't you kids want to go home?"

"Don't got one," Marley grunted. She looked irritated and her shirt was soaked through. Good. Villain was glad to see that she'd at least put in the effort despite all the complaints.

"That warehouse you saved us from was our base," Charlie piped in.

Mikey flipped the knife he was sharpening to check his work. "We were using this one room in the basement that no one ever went in. Got good at sneaking around pretty quick. Charlie's the best at it." He nodded to the youngest in the group, then gestured with the knife.

"Marley is our hard hitter. Charlie's our spy and special op." He went back to polishing. "And I'm the plan guy, I guess."

"You were our leader!" Charlie corrected.

Mikey grinned and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Sure. But now you're the boss, boss," he said to Villain.

Villain...didn't actually know much about these kids, they realized. They'd noticed the hierarchy of power, as the other two often differed to Mikey, but they really hadn't given much thought to where they'd come from. It's about time they fix that.

Villain stood and gave instructions for them to get back to work. They had business to take care of tonight.

~

Hero's patrol route was easy to predict and even easier to intercept. Villain snatched them mid stride and dragged them into the nearest alley.

"I need information."

Hero raised a brow, expression a mix of skeptical and surprised. "You say that as if I'd be willing to give you anything of the sort."

"Oh, you are," Villain assured. They withrew a folder from within their cloak. Hero eyed it as if it would bite if they reached for it, but accepted it nonetheless. "You've been looking for Other Villain." It wasn't a guess - Villain knew this for a fact. "You won't find them...without help."

Hero looked through the papers, then back up at the villain. "You'd sell out an ally? Just like that?"

"Not for free, no." Villain stepped closer to Hero. "I need information," they said again. They gave Hero another folder - this one much thinner. They allowed Hero to glance through its contents.

"This is-"

The hero was cut off by a knife at their throat.

"You tell anyone else about them and Supervillain will be the least of your worries," Villain hissed in their ear.

There was a tense moment in which neither dared to move. Then, with a soft exhale and the barest inclination of their chin, Hero was set free.

"A bit harsh for your methods," Hero commented gruffly. They felt their neck - the knife had broken skin, but not enough to let the wound bleed freely.

On any other day, Villain would have looked satisfied with the compliment. Today, they put a hand on Hero's shoulder and tapped the folder with the edge of their knife. Villain leaned close again, grip tightening, as a grin split their face, to deliver a final warning.

"Anything. For my kids."

[bunny-hoodlum]

Hey I started reading “Asynchronous With You” AND I LOVE ITTTT😭 I have some questions, u don’t have to answer ‘em

why did Sasuke delete the video of Narihina from Naruto's phone but save it on his? And does Naruto like Hinata like she does?? Also, when is the next update

Thank you so much for the ask!! I'm so glad you love it!! 🥰

So... Sasuke saved the video in case it became necessary to show to Naruto, should the time come when he realizes he has feelings for her. By deleting it from Naruto's phone, Sasuke is protecting Hinata's feelings at the same time, because if Naruto saw it, and where they stand right now as foster-siblings, things might get way too awkward and who knows if Naruto is the one who chooses to pull further away, but after that phone call he had with his bestie, Sasuke predicts that the real creator of all their problems is Naruto and his mistrustful, anxious-avoidant behavior. Sasuke will eventually become certain that Hinata is the most stable in their situation, that she'll never change even if their circumstances do. It's mainly Naruto who needs to grow.

Sasuke's like the ultimate confidante in this fic. Not much of a wingman though, since he isn't one to meddle in their personal biz. But he's gonna do his best for the both of them.

Hinata is definitely Naruto's favorite person, but he's so hyperfixated on their pseudo-siblingship to look at her romantically. Ironically, he seems to have zero interest in romance, putting family and friendship first, while finding time to get laid like it's just a hobby. This is one of the major hurdles Hinata is going to have to overcome, because of how at-odds their values are. 😔

I don't know when I'll be updating it. 🥲 I'm just a taaaaaad bit distracted by my new fics. 🙈 Which are also overdue for updates. 😩 But also, I'm a tad bit stuck with AWY at the moment, despite having a plan for the next part and the part after that, and that, until the winter break mini-arc. 🙈 My last WIP draft for AWY just wasn't working and I haven't figured out how to fix it yet. 🥲 But I've been trying to work on it in the back of my mind. 🤭

Thank you again for the ask! 💕💕💕

[visenyasdragon]

Sea Dragon Queen

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen. Many more to come in future chapters.

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: An AU where Targaryens have braincells <3 they still have their flaws and prejudices, but not to dynasty-ending levels. No Dance, Rhaenyra never marries Laenor because Corlys has the sense to not marry off his clearly gay son. A fix it fic, if you will. I hope you'll enjoy it <3

Content warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Author's note: This is my first fanfiction and non-academic writing I've done since like 2009, so please be kind to me! English is also my second language.

Next chapter

Read on Ao3

Rhaenyra I

112AC

“I intend to marry… the Lady Laena Velaryon” the king said in a quiet, clear voice, “though not a day before her fifteenth nameday”.

Ser Otto did his best to conceal his astonishment. All his efforts thwarted, his daughter’s reputation soiled to no avail. “A wise choice, my king. In these times of peril and uncertainty from the east, a strong alliance with Driftmark is paramount. The Hand is ready to steadfastly support the Crown in all his endeavors.” There he is, ready to ingratiate himself further into my father’s graces despite his defeat, ever the cunning politician, she thought with irritation. Rhaenyra found it difficult not to laugh at just how predictable Ser Otto Hightower was. If only her uncle Daemon were here, to share this moment with her!

At the opposite end of the table, Lord Corlys looked as if he had just won a naval battle, been granted a son, and triumphed in cyvasse all at once. There is scarce a happier man in all of King’s Landing, Rhaenyra thought. She did not yet know whether she felt happy or anxious at the prospect of a stepmother younger than herself, and so soon after her own lady mother’s death. The time for sorting out my feelings will come later, she told herself, making an effort to steady her face. Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, but her friend’s countenance might as well have been a porcelain mask.

“My King, allow me to express my gratitude and happiness for honoring my House with your choice”, the master of ships stated in a glad tone, rising from his seat. “The centuries-old alliance between the last two pillars of Old Valyria will thrive once more. If I may be allowed to make a suggestion… there is not the slightest need for you to defer the wedding, Your Grace. I must confer with my lady wife on this matter, but I believe it is best that the preparations for the union begin at once”.

A gleaming black raven quorked loudly three times while perching on the red sandstone parapet. His piercing, jet-black eyes met Rhaenyra’s, sending an odd feeling down her spine. Grand Maester Mellos chuckled just in the right moment, as was often his way, preventing anybody else from speaking. He was a weathered veteran of a thousand small council sessions, after all. “It is the solemn belief of the Maesters of the Citadel that in order for a marriage to be fruitful, it ought not take place when the bride is too young to bear healthy heirs. The Lady Laena is but a girl of twelve, and I find it most judicious that His Grace elected to delay the wedding for three years.”

Rhaenyra swallowed quietly, trying to hold back her tears. The name of Aemma Arryn seemed to hang in the room and on everyone’s lips, yet none dared speak it. It has only been a few moons since the queen’s passing, and King Viserys’s enduring grief was plain for all to see. He flustered at the maester’s polite words, instantly brought back to the distant, sunny day at the Eyrie when he was but a young man of sixteen, wedded at Queen Alysanne’s instigation to a surpassingly beautiful girl not much older than Laena herself. Rhaenyra felt she could almost read the thoughts in her father’s mind at that moment. He will always love mother best of everyone, she thought. Even more than herself, though it did not wound her. Her late mother was the gentlest creature House Targaryen had yet seen, and she knew all the love and honor in the world would not be enough to match her merits. Despite her younger age, she had made him and molded him into the man he was, for better or for worse, everyone in her family said. She felt a heavy, choking feeling in her chest at the sudden understanding that it was his affection for his dead wife and the child-bride she had been to defer the marriage the realm so desperately needed. Maybe this is his apology to her in a way, Rhaenyra thought. He says, look Aemma, I must do my duty, but I will always love you. I will always honor your memory, in everything that I do.

Ser Otto’s voice broke her out of her reverie.

“As much as I value and respect any maester’s opinion, here is where I must disagree” he protested. Rhaenyra felt as if she could say his next words herself, so little a surprise they were for her. “The realm urgently needs a queen to provide the king with further heirs as soon as possible. Much as young Lady Laena Velaryon surely is, she is of Targaryen blood and will certainly do her duty splendidly. I propose the wedding takes place within a moon’s turn, or else as soon as the preparations can be completed.” Ser Otto finished his speech with the ludicrous confidence of a man who has the matter well at hand. He looked as if he were about to order Alicent’s wedding gown right where he sat. He means for little Laena to die in childbirth not having reached her fourteenth nameday, and for Alicent to take her place instead, Rhaenyra thought angrily.

The king listened to his Hand’s advice with a blank expression. What he said next surprised not only Ser Otto.

“Nevertheless, this is a matter where I resolve to be firm. I respect my future wife too much to bargain with her health and safety. This meeting is at an end.” Viserys rose from his seat at the head of the table, sending the rest of his small council to their feet. In his haste Lord Lyman Beesbury sent his gold-and-onyx council egg scuttering to the floor. “Apologies, my lords” he breathed, trying to recover his symbol of office from beneath the table, but Ser Harrold Westerling was ahead of him, restoring the sphere to its rightful place. The councilmen withdrew from the room one by one. Lord Corlys and King Viserys moved to the latter’s private apartments to discuss the upcoming nuptials and the crown’s response to the trouble in the Stepstones. Alicent meekly followed her visibly discontented father, her gaze firmly set on the floor beneath her. Rhaenyra wanted more than anything to take her into the godswood and talk for hours about the events of the day as they so often did, but she sensed that would have to wait. Her friend walked away sparing not a single glance for her, already engaged in a conversation of sharp, quiet whispers with Ser Otto. She felt a pang of pity towards Alicent. I would give much for her to be daughter to any other man in the realm, she thought. Rhaenyra was the last to depart the small council chamber, her feet unconsciously leading her toward the Dragonpit and Syrax.

The following days and weeks upended Rhaenyra’s world upside down. One by one, reluctantly, as if the king feared her dragon-temper, the startling news reached her, by way of Septa Marlow and Ser Criston Cole and Annara and other servants whose names she did not know, anybody but her father. She was to be fostered at Driftmark and henceforth divide her time equally between the court and High Tide; Alicent was not permitted by the Hand to go with her as her companion; Laenor Velaryon was to serve as the king’s squire and second cupbearer when she was not present; her uncle Daemon was to lead the Royal Fleet alongside Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys into the Stepstones as soon as the troops and supplies for war were prepared. On top of that, when the war was done, it was decided Rhaenyra and Laena were to go on a royal progress throughout the realm, from the Arbor to Winterfell, the two queens to be. It was as if the gods themselves were unsure whether the death of Queen Aemma did not send Rhaenyra a strong enough message that her childhood was at an end. Now was the time to enter the dangerous world of politics and diplomacy, one that Rhaenyra only knew by proxy.

“Perhaps it will be better for you”, said Alicent softly one warm spring afternoon, as they were luxuriating in their favorite spot beneath the weirwood tree, “You will get out of this place, all of these intrigues, whereas I am stuck here as long as my father can keep his chain of Handship. You will see High Tide and the world beyond King’s Landing. And the people will receive an opportunity to see their future queen. I’m sure they will come to love you in no time.”

“Just as you have?” asked Rhaenyra teasingly, planting a soft kiss upon her friend’s cheek. Her skin immediately took on a very pretty pink color. ”I do not mind the travel. In fact, I think it will do Syrax good to stretch her legs and work for her next meal, she has grown rather spoiled as of late. What I do mind is that none of this is my choice. It was not even discussed by the small council at any length. Septa Marlow said that it was all decided by my father and Lord Corlys after the betrothal was agreed upon.”

“And if you were given a choice, you’re certain you wouldn’t have chosen exactly this? You’ve always spoken about wanting to see the wonders across the narrow sea. Well, think of it as the next best thing. You’ll see the wonders across the Blackwater Rush”. They both laughed. For all her love of romance and books, Alicent had a charming way of making Rhaenyra laugh in the most unexpected moments.

“What good can those wonders do to me if I don't have my dear Alicent next to me to tell me their histories? Do you remember when we were walking through the Kingswood a few years ago, during this royal hunt or other, and you corrected our septas repeatedly about the history of the forest? Something about an Andal warlord who vanquished a First Man king there millenia ago? The poor woman got it completely confused with the Faith Militant uprising. How red her face was!”

“Well, septas are not exactly educated to be solemn historians, their duty was foremost to look after us and safeguard our reputation. And you really were very rude and impertinent that day. Septas work very hard, you know” Alicent said with a sweet smile, but Rhaenyra could see that she was flattered to be complimented on her knowledge and intelligence, but her impeccable Hightower breeding would not allow her to disparage sworn members of the Faith. “Besides, I’m sure you will have plenty of people around you to relay you the histories of the various castles and towns you’ll be visiting. Multiple times, even.”

Rhaenyra sighed with irritation. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll be very entertained while various men who’d never met me before will try to charm their way into wedding me. Those men won’t fawn over me. They only want my name and my Valyrian blood for their offspring!” She threw away the three blades of fresh grass she’s been braiding with annoyance.

“Well, I think it’s rather romantic,” Alicent said dreamily, looking into the far distance. She looked her most beautiful in such moments. “It is rare for girls in this realm to get a choice between two suitors, no less two score of them. To have one’s favor sought during tourneys, name made immortal in songs sung by countless bards, to be able to choose the bravest and comeliest of the knights in the lists, to be made the lady of his hearth and home…”

“Yes, yes,” Rhaenyra said impatiently. “I am very lucky to be able to make my choice. You’ve made your point very clear. I am very lucky to live the life I do, with an indulgent father and a kingdom for an inheritance. I know.”

Alicent smiled both sweetly and slyly, now assured she drove her point home and made her beloved friend understand her unusual privilege. “But?”

“But I wish things were… I don’t know, different! I wish I was permitted to see uncle Daemon again. I wish I didn’t have to think about my suitor’s castle size or the number of his armies when choosing a husband. I wish I didn’t have to tour every corner of the realm to make the lords of the realm accept me as their future ruler. My father certainly never did. He’s never been further west than Stonebridge, he told me himself. He was made the future king by the great council and that was the end of it. Why can’t it be the same for me?!”

“Because you are a woman and King Viserys is a man,” Alicent said calmly.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra agreed bitterly. “Because I am a woman and he is a man”.

[inkblot22]

It Leeches Under The Skin

So I promise I am not obsessed with anything, but I definitely am going to be a bit more self-indulgent with this miniseries. Also I spent several hours staring at pictures of abandoned pools so that was kind of cool.

I'm going to try something new and put the target audience here. This part is aimed at gender neutral readers (they/them pronouns wooo,) and can be read as afab or amab, as there is no smut whatsoever in this section. I'll see if I can keep the body ambiguous enough for later parts, but it may come at a cost to writing quality as my skills are lacking.

TW for mentions of gambling, contracts with Azul (selling your soul to the devil), human hunting, if you squint, blood, biting, verbal abuse, reader is bad at swimming, Floyd and Jade because they freak me out and I know I'm not the only one. If you squint, there may be some primal play, but like I said there is no smut.

It was a little odd. Entirely predictable, but also a little odd. Their best friend and roommate seldom thought his plots and plans through all the way, and of course they bore the brunt of the collateral.

Well. It’s well-deserved, they supposed. Expect trouble and you’ll get it, after all. They only wished it wouldn’t cost this much.

“Prefect? Are you listening?” Azul’s kind voice broke through their thoughts, but it was so easy to lapse back into the comfort of their mind.

What did he do this time? Oh, yes. Grim just gambled away all their savings and won nothing in return. The Lounge already had the seedy vibes of a speakeasy, why wouldn’t they also have a gambling table? Regardless, he’d racked up enough debt and was unable to pay it back, so the Leech twins had paid them a visit, perhaps hoping that they’d have some stash of money somewhere to pay.

They would, had it not been what Grim used to gamble. They sighed and stared at the cup of tea in front of them.

“Prefect, I thought you enjoyed tea. If you don’t like that blend, we can get you another one.” Azul said, “You seem lost in your thoughts. I hope all is well?”

“Not really. I’m about to sell my soul to the devil.”

“I’m hardly the devil. Besides, the main stipulation of this contract is simply that you let Floyd take you swimming tomorrow night.”

They didn’t trust that at all. They snatched the contract from Azul, and sure enough, in big, bold letters, they read the requirement of going swimming. 

“There’s a problem.” They said, scanning over the rest of the contract and not finding anything particularly bad within, “Two problems.”

“What would those be?”

“Well, I want you to guarantee Grim’s safety,” They passed the contract back to Azul. “Also I can’t swim.”

“That’s not a problem, prefect.” Azul spread his hands in a relaxed, placating gesture, “I have potions and other implements to help with that. It’s a non-issue.”

“Alright, then. And what’s the thing about hanging out with Floyd later on as well?”

“It’s only a clause, don’t worry. If he gets bored, then it won’t matter.”

They had to narrow their eyes at that one, kind of unsure about this. Still, the chances of him growing bored was about a 50% chance,

“Okay… Fix that part about Grim and I’ll sign it.”

Azul’s writing was quick but not one bit less neat. They signed the contract and Jade placed it in the safe, then poked his head out of the Lounge’s office.

Floyd strolled in, holding Grim. His face broke into a big grin when he saw them sitting there.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” He unceremoniously dropped Grim and got in their face, smiling even wider, “Why are you gettin’ so sweaty? I can smell you all the way from over here!”

“You’re…” They turned their head away, grimacing, “You’re really close, actually.”

“Hee hee… I know.”

“Are we gonna pretend that he didn’t just drop me or what?” Grim bristled and walked over, climbing onto the couch and taking a seat, “You guys are so rude!”

“Sorry, Grimmy-wimmy-two-toes.” They cooed at him, squishing his cheeks and giggling as he swatted them away, “Did you break anything other than your pride?”

Floyd stood, picking up the prefect's untouched tea and sniffing it, “Ugh.”

“Well, since this meeting is over, I trust you’ll be in the natatorium at eight tomorrow?”

“Eight? Is it going to go past curfew?” The prefect asked.

“Yes. I am sure this is also not an issue.” Azul’s eyes glanced at Grim and they swallowed, narrowing their eyes and frowning.

“Yeah… no problem.”

~*~

After classes, Jade dropped off what appeared to be an overnight bag, including a terrible swimsuit. It sort of looked like a chitinous layer, a silvery brownish color with panels sewn together like the plates of a crustacean. Not a very funny joke, honestly. There was no clause in the contract that they could remember that required them to wear this, but they also couldn’t remember, so they put it on anyways and rifled through the rest of the bag. There were painkillers, a pair of water wings, a few potions that they would not be imbibing, a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, travel soap that smelled like Floyd's cologne (yuck), and a few pairs of underwear. How he had gotten their sizes correct was something they chose not to ponder for long.

The walk to the natatorium was sort of slow. Maybe it was just their reluctance to go through on this, the concern of what the night would hold fresh in the forefront of their mind. 

It wasn’t that they disliked Floyd by any means. They honestly thought he was okay, and other than the incidents before Azul overblotted, they hadn’t really had to consider him a threat of any kind. There was that primal part of their brain, long suppressed through years and years of being the apex species in their world, that sometimes whispered that they needed to get away from him when he looked at them a certain way, or made a certain noise or movement… Little things that unsettled them but were easily ignored. 

The natatorium was unlocked. They stopped in the locker room and took off their overclothes, leaving them in the swimsuit and the pair of cheap flip-flops they’d gotten off of Ace. The flip-flops were too big on them, but he assured them that he could just get a new pair whenever. It was nice of him.

The pool room was silent and dark. The water was uncovered and completely still, but they couldn’t see Floyd anywhere. They took a seat on the edge of the pool, dipping their legs in the water and blowing up the water wings. They kicked their legs and waited.

Something shot out of the water, grabbing them by the shoulders and pulling them down in the water. They didn’t even have time to scream before their head went under and whatever it was released them.

The water wings ensured that they popped back up on the surface, gasping for air and shaking. They struggled to paddle to the edge of the pool but something grabbed their ankle and pulled them back underwater.

Clawing at the air uselessly, the prefect went back under, no sound other than a cut off scream escaping them this time. When they popped back up, head and arms above water, they heard snakey-sounding laughter. Their head whipped around, panicked, before they saw him.

Floyd was leaning against the pool wall, grinning in his true form with his head slightly tilted. All they could see of him was his silhouette, highlighted by the moonlight shining through the large windows of the natatorium, and his glowing eyes, one gold and one silver. He kept laughing as they slowly paddled to the other side of the pool and hugged the wall, turning to shoot him a glare.

“You’re really bad at tag, Shrimpy.” He said before they could say anything.

“Tag?”

“Yup. We were playing tag. It’s boring to be 'it' all the time, you know.”

“Floyd, I can barely even see you. How-”

“If we turn on the lights, we’ll get caught. It’s more fun this way, too.”

“But I can’t be 'it' if it’s dark. I can’t see you.”

He shrugged and slipped into the water, the only visible part of him becoming those glowing eyes, “That’s too bad, Shrimpy. Better start swimming.”

They were so bad at swimming, legs paddling in futility as they tried to get to the deep end of the pool. The water was black as ink under them, feeling endless. They felt a motion below them and disgust crawled up their throat as they paddled faster. It was slow moving, they waved their arms through the water and spat up the saltwater that got in their mouth. 

If it was, in fact, Floyd circling underneath them, he was simply toying with them now. The motion they felt went still as they got to the other side and they paused to catch their breath. 

The room was silent under their heavy breathing. They looked around and felt the sweat bead on their neck and shoulders, under their arms and at their hairline as they wondered when he would catch up or pull them under. Nothing of the sort happened.

They kept paddling towards the edge of the pool so they could lean on the wall instead of feeling so unsteady with these waterwings on. As they splashed slowly towards the wall, they relaxed infinitesimally.

An arm shot up in front of them, webbed hand grabbing their face as a sharp, spiking pain lanced around their shoulder. They screamed as they were pulled under, the breath they were expelling turning into nothing but bubbles.

They could hear giggling, sort of like the sound of pebbles sifting underwater, and he let them go again. Their head popped above water and they gasped for air, touching their shoulder and wincing as the saltwater tickled the wound there. Their fingers came back smeared with a dark substance and they began paddling faster, climbing out of the pool as soon as they could.

“Man, you got the water all dirty. It smells like blood now.” Floyd’s voice startled them and they looked around.

They couldn’t see him, not from wherever he was. Their lips quivered and voice shook as they spoke.

“You… you bit me.”

“Uh, duh, Shrimpy. Why do humans gotta have such thin skin anyways? It makes it harder to do fun stuff.”

“What the hell are you even saying? You can’t run around biting people!”

“I don’t,” He said, plainly. They could almost make out his silhouette in the water, or at least see the ripples as he moved towards them, “Well, since you wanna be lame and complain about a little bite, guess we gotta get out of the pool now.” 

He hefted himself up onto the lip of the pool and popped the cork on something. They could hear him swallowing and then they could see his teal scales change into pale skin. He frowned at them and that primal part of their brain whispered that they should run.

They swallowed and stood up, frowning and clutching their shoulder, “I… I’m gonna go find a first aid kit.”

They turned on their heel and Floyd pulled them back by the seat of their swimsuit.

“You’re kinda stupid,” He mused, “You were gonna walk into the pool again. Do you wanna keep swimming?”

“No!” They yanked away and waved their foot in front of them, ensuring that the floor was solid, “I already told you that I can’t see, Floyd.”

He giggled again as you entered the locker room and gathered your clothes.

You hoped he was bored, but it was an asinine and frivolous wish.

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[robynroost]

Okay so I've done some write-ups for various fandoms in the past, and having been in the Stardew Valley for a little while now (I'm soo LATE to the game but I'm glad I get to experience it!) I thought why not a Shane fiction seeing as he is my absolute favourite character! Really be addicted to this man istg ;-; anyway, I'm not sure what write ups are like here, but I wanna share! Hope y'all like it! It's short and sweet, not great either, but I enjoyed writing it all the same ^^

The Long Walk Home

(Fic based on Shane's 8 heart event during the storm)

Pairing - Shane x Farmer (Female Y/n!)

Warnings - Mentions of sui*ide, depression, anxiety etc. Hospitals, alcoholism...

Description - After spending your evening speaking with Emily about your previous encounter with Shane at Marnie's ranch (previous heart event) an early storm roles in as you leave, taking the long walk back to your little farmhouse. It isn't until your foot bumps into something odd that you realise not everything is as it seems in Cindersap Forest...

Thunder rolled overhead. What had previously been predicted for the end of the Summer season had come early: a torrential downpour of fat, heavy luke-warm raindrops and the whip-cracking sound of clouds crashing into eachother at such an outstanding velocity that the sky tore in two with the claws of lightning bolts.

You had been perched upon a stool inside the cozy Stardrop Saloon of Pelican Town, head buried into your muddied arms with your right hand clutching onto a half-empty glass of water after a long day in the fields. Work hadn't intended to be so difficult, albeit the thought of what had happened the day previously had you wracking your brains with guilt and worry for the past several hours - even as you attempted to sleep.

"I'm sure Shane will be fine." Emily sat opposite you, her hand working a cloth inside one of the Saloon glasses as she continued, her expression attempting to be cheerful with a splash of hope, "I've known him ever since he moved here with little Jas. He's always been to himself, always here drinking..."

Your head snapped upright with a frown, "That's the point. He's always drinking, and he's always to himself..." You wavered your hand in a gesture that could only explain your worry further, "I mean- who has actually spent the time to ask him how he's really feeling?"

Emily replied with a shrug and a frown, "Nobody really gets much else out of him than the snarky replies, so nobody really bothers." She buried her hand deeper into the glass as she spoke, your eyes watching closely as the squeaking became louder,  "I do tend to get more of a friendlier conversation mind you, but that's about it, poor guy..."

"Guess I'm just worried about him is all, he does seem like a lovely person. I've spent enough time with him at the dock to see that." You murmured with a shrug.

Another splitting crash of thunder had the walls of the Saloon shake. You narrowed your eyes upward towards the celling as if you expected the entire thing to collapse under the sheer malice of such a storm. Emily too shared your concerned expression and took a step back, tipping her head a few times towards the door, "You best be off if you want to get home in one piece."

"Yeah too right," you agreed whilst scooping yourself up and fixing your boots into place, "Thanks for the chat though. I'll go see how Shane's doing tomorrow. Gonna be passing that way back home actually, I fancy a walk."

With a wave and a bow of farewell you were on your way, arms crossed to shield yourself from the debris that the wind had managed to strip from the trees as you made your way back through Cindersap Forest. The rain had practically flooded you by the time you'd taken five steps out of the Saloon, but you welcomed it. Summer had been unusually hot this year, and you and your crops needed the much needed water to moisten your dry skin.

Now with such dark, thick clouds overhead, you struggled to see a good few feet ahead of you, and the jet stream of rain didn't seem to help either.

Of course I forgot my flashlight... how could I possibly-

Clank!

That wasn't thunder...?

There it was again. That same clanking noise that sounded awfully familiar to "Beer cans...?"

There now resting cold and wet in your hand was an empty beer can after you had bent down to investigate. It had to be the same brand of alcohol as the cans you had seen in Shane's room yesterday. That's when a heavy gust of wind disturbed the forest floor and with that the sound of various other cans echoed down the pathway leading towards the edge of the forest, close to the cliffside.

Curiosity always got the better of you, you'd admit, but this was a different sort. It was anxiety bubbling away in your stomach, a knot so tight and horrifying it urged you to just go and follow that ominous trail - it was fear gnawing away at your bones...

So you followed with a frown.

A can here, a can over there... until you saw it through the flash of lightning. A silhouette of a man face down, teetering on the edge of the cliffside, surrounded by empty cans.

You could barely feel your throat vibrate when your chest constricted, letting out a terribly frightened yelp. Your feet charged aimlessly towards the scene, your heart rampaging inside your chest. You collapsed next to him, hands gripping onto the drenched blue rugged jumper as you begged for him to show you any signs of life, "Shane- come on Shane wake up!"

There was a sudden shift, and you felt yourself flopping back onto your knees with wide eyes and a slack jaw, hands now buried into your lap.

"...Y/n?" Shane barely managed to wheeze out at you, jaw clenched and eyes shut firmly. He stifled a sob, "I...I'm sorry..."

You found yourself silent and unmoving, as if you had a complete understanding of the situation and knew what to do: let Shane speak his truth. Regardless, you couldn't make much noise from your voice box through the shock anyway.

The man let out a drunken hiccup and barely managed to take in another breath as he continued, "M...My life... it's a pathetic joke."

Your eyes, heavy with sadness, caught sight of the tears that escaped his ducts. Even with such heavy rain, you could just tell that those droplets sliding down his cheek grew more heavy than the downpour itself.

Shane continued, "Look at me... why do I even try?" Sobbing again, much harder this time, Shane recoiled into himself. He felt his hand slip over the edge of the cliffside and narrowly opened an eye to take a look out into the horizon, "I'm too small and stupid to... to take control of my own life. I'm just a p... piece of soiled garbage flittering in the wind..." He jerked, having almost thrown up the incredibly high amount of alcohol he had consumed prior, and felt himself nearing the edge some more, eyes now focusing on the border of the cliffside, "I've been coming here often lately... looking down... here's a chance to finally take control of my life... these cliffs..."

You could have sworn you felt your heart shatter. You knew Shane was struggling but not like this... it had you completely broken listening to the pain in his voice. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you continued to listen.

"B... but I'm too scared-" Shane jolted again, forcing his mouth shut, "... too anxious. Just like always..."

You felt Shane's attention focus on you this time, "Y/n... all I do is work, sleep and drink...t... to dull the feelings of self-hatred." He was now angling his head towards you, deep green eyes focused on your own as you silently gasped with a visible flinch, "Why should I even go on? Tell me... T... Tell me why I shouldn't roll off this cliff right now."

A moment of clarity finally hit. You knew this was your time to speak. Shane gazed at you expectantly, deep purple hair clinging to his drenched face.

You took a deep breath, barely holding back a sob of your own, before steadying yourself to speak with a broken expression,  "The decision is your own. Just know that I'm here for you."

Shane remained silent for a moment, and another roaring crash of thunder echoed overhead. The storm should surely pass soon.

Finally, he answered, a small glint of hope now shining through the dark shadow behind those eyes, "... Thanks. I appreciate that. I really do."

Your head tipped to the side, a sad frown formed upon your face as you attempted to place your hand upon Shane's, but ultimately pulled back. Shane let out a gurgled cough and groan before attempting to lift himself, though he barely managed a few centermeters before collapsing back down, "Y/n... I think you should take me to the hospital now."

Your eyes widened, and you barely had time to even think before you were on your feet and gently scooped Shane up, letting him wrap his arms around your shoulders to keep him upright, "It's gonna be a long walk... but I'll get you there. Just don't give up Shane. Stay awake. Let me know if you need to stop or anything, okay?"

Shane whined out in pain but stabled himself against you, wincing in pain as he barely managed to stand straight. He nodded, gripping onto you as if his life depended on it- which it did, of course.

You gave him a squeeze for comfort and began your perilous walk, "I'll get you there Shane. I promise..."

***

White hospital lights hummed overhead. You found yourself waking from a short nap, head against the pearl-coloured sheets of a bed, but not your own. As you rose to sit upright, your tired eyes caught sight of Shane. He was tucked neatly under the sheets, hair now mostly dry and fluffed up, sticking in all different angles but mainly falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell softly in such a way that at long last showed relaxation for such a mentally exhausted individual.

A sigh of absolute relief escaped your lungs, finding yourself gazing at the man's face in awe of how peaceful he finally seemed.

"How are you Y/n?" The voice that jolted you upright was none other than Harvey, the town doctor and one you knew well. He came to stand bedside your chair, looking down.

You offered Harvey a reassuring smile, "I'm doing okay, thank you Harvey. Just a little cold."

A small nod from Harvey reaffirmed his content with your own wellbeing. You hadn't come down with a fever, nor a cough, so you were going to be fine. He then turned his attention to Shane, "I've pumped his stomach and re-hydrated his body. He's going to be okay."

You gave Harvey a slow nod, sighing in the process as you frowned softly, eyes locked onto Shane's face as he slept. You felt the warmth of Harvey's hand meet your shoulder to offer some comfort as he spoke, "It's good you brought him in, though."

A wave of concern washed over Harvey's face as he spoke, "Too much alcohol is terrible for the body, but I'm more worried about his mental health..."

Me too... you wanted to speak that out loud, but something stopped you. For now, you just wanted to remain silent.

"Once he comes to," Harvey continued, "I'll have a chat with him about his treatment options. I know an excellent councelor in Zuzu City."

Ha... something that concrete jungle is actually good for...

You felt yourself shudder. Shane seemed so peaceful now... so content. You could hardly believe that you could have lost him tonight. If you hadn't made your way back through Cindersap, who knows what would have happened... Harvey's hand squeezed your shoulder to bring you back round, and you gazed upward to meet his eye.

"Life can be painful, sometimes..." Harvey spoke with a spark of confidence, "But there's always hope for a better future. You've got to believe in that." With that, Harvey removed his hand and gave you a smile before exiting the room. You heard the audible click of the door as it shut and felt your gaze drift back over towards Shane.

Your head tipped to the side, and with a small smile, you placed your hand upon Shane's. He stirred slightly, fingers twitching, before he too began to smile ever so slightly. You felt a jolt within your chest, a warm fuzzy feeling that completely shrouded each nerve ending within you. Tonight's events... the way you felt yourself gazing so protectively over the man ahead of you, and the idea of almost losing him had your head spinning until finally you felt realisation dig its claws into you.

You'd fallen for him. You had fallen in love, and you'd almost lost that all in one night, but here you were with your hand against Shane's own.

Now you were just thankful you had taken the long walk home.

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 12: Working Out

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Working Out - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan is determined not to slow down the team again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pushed his body to the limit.

Logan slipped through the locker room door just before it clanked shut, closing in three dozen or so students in the musky, humid air. "Watch it!" he warned a knot of augmented juniors as they chased past, jostling his safety glasses. His cry went unnoticed over their excited laughter.

He sidled close to the only other full Traditional he could spot, a tall, muscular sophomore. The boy may not have been born with Powers, but he’d certainly clutched a winning genetics lottery ticket on his way into the world.

“Hey, Lo, check it out!” Andrei cheered, lifting his shirt to reveal a translucent implant above his right hip. “Look what my parents got me for my birthday!” Nodding, Logan watched the lights flicker, micro-adjusting his hormone and electrolyte levels. “No more charley horses for me, huh?”

“Indeed,” he murmured. No more leg cramps, no more muscle fatigue. And with a daily boost of somatropin, he’d grow at least another foot and a half before he graduated. “Congratulations.” Logan forced a smile, adjusting his now-fogged eyeglasses. “You will certainly—”

“Alright boys, listen up!” The wrestling coach stepped up onto a nearby bench and whistled. Two freshmen with new hearing augments winced and covered their ears. He waited for the din to lessen and tapped his wrist, activating the ceiling's vid projector. Thanks to Title IV of the Powerds Integration Act, blah blah blah,” he rolled his eyes and two of the older Powerds glared at him. “We’re down to one boy’s team this year with space for five Traditionals.”

Five? Logan's stomach dropped to his feet. There had been fifteen Traditionals in last year’s team plus four alternates. He scanned the room as the coach called out the new team’s roster. Jake and Kirthi high fived behind the coach, reaching nearly his height now with the summer’s growth injections taking effect. Ben stood in the corner, dark shades covering new eyes.

Logan's mouth went dry when he realized he was the last of the Traditionals team who hadn’t yet been augmented. Tim wasn’t there, of course, though Logan saw him from time to time between classes, slouched in his motorized chair, waiting for the school’s singular elevator.

“And… Sanders,” the coach finished. Thirty four sets of eyes whipped over to him and Logan tried to stand a little taller. And tried to ignore the other student’s murmurs.

“It’ll be a good year, Coach,” he said.

Coach Roberts nodded, eyes fixed at a spot just above his head. “Suit up, boys. I want you all out and sparring in pairs in five.” 

Logan kept his eyes trained down and focused on his own preparations as the locker room exploded in activity. Laughter and slamming doors rattled his teeth, the usual scramble to shed street clothes and don stretchy singlets—or, in the case of several boys, trade in for the next size up—no longer lending him its usual energizing buzz.

The day wasn't finished with him yet. With an odd number of Traditionals on the team, it was a simple matter of the math not mathing to require a Traditional to that be paired with a Powered.

Coach Roberts patted Logan’s shoulder as he stepped up to his side of the mat. “Look, Sanders, do your best out there. No-one expects much more than that from you.”

Logan looked up into Coach Robert’s camera-ringed irises. “Y—yes, Coach,” he nodded and turned to face his opponent. The coach had at least tried to give him a chance, matching Logan with a Powered in the same weight class.

But how much did weight class really matter when your opponent’s muscles powered a skeleton stronger than titanium? When your opponent could sense your thoughts, predicting your every move?

He managed to stay on his feet for the first round. Until, at least, his sparring partner grew bored and stopped tamping down on his other abilities. In seconds, Logan was down, face jammed into the mat. He struggled but his opponent countered each twist, each desperate attempt to break free. Finally, Logan tapped out.

The Powered—a new student Logan hadn’t even learned his name—loomed over him. “Good job.” He tonelessly repeated the team’s end of match phrase and looked around for his next partner.

Logan pushed up to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Best two out of three.”

~

“Time?” Logan panted, controller shaking in his grip as he brought the mech's hands together in the ready signal. He’d boosted the suit’s stabilizers, so from the outside, at least, his durasteel arms moved smoothly. But Logan knew. 

“219.8 seconds. Better,” V smiled encouragingly but the flatness in his tone and the twitch in his eyebrow said it all. Logan still took entirely too long to properly suit up. 

He deflated, leaned to one side in the mech’s cavity. Logan pulled in a shaking breath, fighting to slow his panting, and nodded. “Indeed. Better.” Better but not enough.

"Get your bearings and we’ll go again,” V suggested, still smiling as he passed him a towel. It was only then Logan noticed he was drenched, sweat dripping from his hair and soaking through his shirt.

Logan smiled his thanks—tried to, at least, and V nodded again, a bottle of electrolyte ready. His smile grew, just a bit. He hadn't yet exhausted V's patience. Logan would keep going for as long as he was willing to help him.

V looked up when Patton approached from the kitchen, hugging a large crate to his burly chest. The scents of strawberries and fresh bread and chocolate chip cookies intermingled in the air as he stopped. He shifted the box to one arm to wave at them. “I’m headed, ah…” He waggled his head vaguely toward the hall and Logan’s brow furrowed before understanding struck.

“Is he…” V frowned and swiped across his tablet, searching. Trying not to be obvious, Logan peeked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of The Muse’s hallway on the screen.

“No, he—nothing’s wrong. Just…” Patton shrugged and looked down at the crate. “After yesterday, I…”

Hesper’s cryptic words from last night filled Logan’s mind. “What makes you think I didn’t trigger your alarms so I could have a little company… just like Re used to?”

“Can I help?” Logan blurted out before looking down at his useless half a hand, his broken body. His face burned, stomach knotted in shame at his utter uselessness.

Patton’s smile was gentle. “Um, that’s okay, Kiddo. I got this.” He didn’t bother to ask how precisely Logan thought he could help in a room he couldn’t reach in his mech. In a room he couldn’t even enter without assistance. Still holding the giant crate of food with one arm, he gently squeezed Logan’s—not the mech’s—shoulder. “But thanks. I’ll let you both get back to your drills.”

He gave them another little wave then headed down the hall. Listening to the elevator door open then swish closed, Logan finished his drink and passed V the empty bottle.

“Ready?” he asked, switching back to his timer.

“Yes.” Logan lowered the mech to a crouch and began to climb out. But Patton's arrival broke the dam on the flood of questions from last night. In his distraction, he nearly fell out of the cavity. “Well… wait.” He met V’s questioning glance. “What did Hesper mean… about The Prince as a little boy? Did he… Did Hesper know him back then?” V scowled down at his tablet but Logan pushed on. “Is that why he called The Muse, ‘Re?’”

Tapping at the screen, V started to speak, then his jaw clamped shut. He let out a slow breath before looking back at Logan. “It’s not really my story to tell. I…” He sighed again. 

For a moment, Logan feared V would try sending him to The Prince with his questions. “Yeah,” V said at last. “Yeah, there’s… there’s a history. You…” V winced and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Maybe ask Silvertongue… um… later, though.” He nodded like it was obvious why he should wait. “You know?”

Was there more to Silvertongue’s outburst last night, too? “I’ll wait,” he promised. “Thank—thank you.” 

“Yeah.” V blew out a short breath and returned his attention to the tablet. “Ready for another go?”

Logan dropped the last foot or so, hitting the ground with a barely muffled groan. He climbed up into his chair, replicating his starting point. “I’m ready,” he said, looking up at the suit.

V stared at him for a long moment. “You know, maybe…” He looked away when Logan tried to meet his eyes, tugging at his sleeves.

“Maybe what?” Logan prompted, bracing himself for what passed for yet another bit of ‘constructive’ criticism.

“Maybe you just need to work on your strength a bit,” he said with a little shrug. “If you want, I could show you how to modify a couple of the machines in the fitness center to—”

“Show me.”

That was how Logan ended up strapped to the pull-up machine in the team’s fitness center, the bright automated trainer chirping out his reps into a sweat-proof earpiece. “And twenty. Good job! You’ve finished your workout—”

“Again!” Logan snapped, tugging at the bar as the platform lowered him to the floor.

“You have completed your recommended three sets of twenty, Logan,” the interface chirped back. Though its tone never changed, Logan couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of his own name. Constructed from heavily modded tech ‘borrowed’ from Abracadabra, the interface sounded just like the old assignment program back at the distribution center. 

“I don’t care. Again!” He batted at the controls with the end of his left stump but the panel went dark.

“I am unable to comply with your request.” The artificial voice switched over to the main speakers when it ended his session, like it wanted a witness. “Please try again tomorrow.”

“You’re better off arguing with the refridgerator, Tin Man,” the Prince chuckled from the corner.

“How long have you been watching me?” Logan snapped, face warm. While the automated trainer didn’t record his strained grunts during his workout, the Prince was the absolute last person he’d want to hear him struggling to do a simple pull-up.

The Prince lifted a barbell packed with 300 pounds on either side. The weight floated up to his chin, before he raised it up above his head and back down to the floor in one perfect, flowing motion.

The weights didn’t even clank when they touched the mat.

“Long enough to see you max out your reps,” he said, barely pausing for his own weight routine. “Hit the showers or something.”

“I’m not done,” Logan muttered, pushing himself off the platform. Fatigued muscles trembling under the strain, he dropped faster than he’d planned, landing with a pained grunt as his hip grazed the base of the pull up machine. 

“Don’t tell me it’s leg day for you.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Logan muttered, hiding his face until he could control the shameful quiver in his chin. “With wit like that, it’s little wonder you’re the brains of the team. Oh, no, wait—You’re not.”

The Prince shrugged and spared him any further conversation, instead loading on another 100 pound plate to each side of his dumbbell. Shaking his head, Logan pulled himself into his chair and moved to the far corner of the fitness room, keeping as many weight machines between him and The Prince as he could.

When he’d found a suitable place, he lowered himself to the floor again, taking it slowly this time. Laying flat on his back with his chair in front of him, he wedged his thighs between the front and back wheels, bracing his lower body for crunches.

It worked well. For a while, at least. To remain steady, Logan had to tighten his abductors with each crunch, pushing against the wheels to keep them—and himself—from rocking with the movement.

He pushed on, the chair straining against its emergency brakes with each rep. Finally, the brake snapped free and the chair flipped back.

“Fuck.” Logan pounded his fist and the back of his head against the mat and lay back, eyes closed, as he gathered the strength to push the chair upright. With any luck, the Prince had already finished his strongman routine and left the gym.

Logan was not a lucky man.

“Need a hand?”

Logan glared up at him from the floor.

“Oh, shit, yeah…” He shuffled closer, ears tinged pink as he avoided looking at Logan’s stump. “I—I didn’t mean that one. I swear.” He gestured at the overturned wheelchair. “Can I help?”

“I’ve got it,” Logan muttered, pushing up and wiggling closer to the chair. He rolled onto his belly then wormed his way into the gap between the back of the chair and the floor. Once he’d gotten most of his body underneath it, he wedged his right hand under his chest and pushed up sharply.

It took two more tries but finally the chair tilted forward and Logan twisted with it, grabbing the strap criss-crossing the back of the chair to steady it before it tipped completely forward.

“Damn,” the Prince murmured.

“You’re still here?” Logan leaned against the seat back, panting, and in no way ready to either resume his crunches or climb into the chair.

The Prince shifted his weight from side to side, one foot pointed toward the door, the other toward him. Finally, he dropped to the floor and sat about two feet away. Jerking his chin toward the chair, he shrugged. “What were you even doing to knock over that beast?”

Logan eyed The Prince and considered ignoring his question. If he really was that nosy, he could just as easily pull up the security footage and that might be worse than simply hearing about it. Sighing, Logan let his eyes fall closed. “I was using it to brace my… legs for abdominal crunches. The other machine's not built for me.”

The Prince made a little choked sound in the back of his throat. Not a laugh, but…

Eyes still shut, Logan wiggled back into position and prepared himself for another set. If he could increase his core strength, maybe the one-armed pull-ups would get easier faster.

Logan’s eyes snapped open when he felt movement next to him. The Prince had moved closer, knelt on the floor only about a half-foot away, hands laying open on his lap. His expression was unreadable.

“Lay your legs against mine. I’ll brace you,” he said, patting the tops of his thighs and glancing down at where Logan’s legs ended. To the Prince’s credit, the usual mix of pity and disgust flashing over his features didn’t last long.

The Prince waited, holding his gaze until, finally, Logan nodded. He moved a little closer, but let Logan be the one to move close enough to touch and set his legs in place. “May I?” he asked, holding his hands over the tops of Logan’s thighs.

“Go—” Logan cleared his throat, the vulnerability of his position seizing the muscles in his neck. If he'd wanted to, The Prince could pick him up and fling him against the wall and not even break a sweat. “Go ahead,” he finally croaked out. With flat, open hands, The Prince pressed against his legs, holding him in place.

“I’ll let go the moment you tell me to,” the Prince said, then fell silent as Logan resumed his crunches.

He loathed to admit it, but focusing on only one set of muscles made the crunches almost enjoyable. Almost. “This helps,” Logan grunted. “Immensely.” He forced himself up for another two crunches. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” The Prince replied, repeating his own words back at him from last night's skirmish with Hesper.

Logan pushed out the last of the set and lay back, counting down a thirty second rest period. He lifted up again and silently worked through another set. He slowed as he neared the end, muscles screaming in protest. “Why…" The temptation to ask The Prince about his history with Hesper—and about Re—was great. He shifted to the next question bubbling in his mind instead. "What are you helping me, anyway? I thought… I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t—” The twitch in The Prince’s jaw told Logan he very much did. “We’re a team,” he shrugged at last. “If you’re stronger, we’re all stronger. C’mon, Iron Man, that all you got?" Did Logan only imagine a smile behind his eyes? "Gimme three more.”

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Trapped (Final Part)

Credit to @idiotwithanipad for her art and always amazing oc. 🥰

"Gone? As in..." the Georgian woman clenched her fists as they held the heavy folds of her dress.

The Captain nodded, somberly; "Moved on, Kitty. Just like Mary."

"And Annie." Added Humphrey, to his left.

Kitty immediately began to sob, one hand moving up over her face as the tears fell. Pat rushed to her side and put a kind arm around her shoulders, his other hand finding the one at her lap, giving it a paternal squeeze.

He hushed her with gentle words and patient reminders of what they had apparently talked about the last time this had occurred, long before the newest ghost had choked on her energy drink, long before Button House Hotel even existed.

Meanwhile, Amy sat beside Kitty at the foot of the king-size bed in Higham Suite, displaying the polar opposite reaction. There was no sobbing, no tears, not so much as the tremble of her bottom lip. Her eyes were fixed, hard, on Robin, her brow furrowed, as if she were trying to decipher some secret he was keeping from them.

Humphrey watched his adopted daughter, eager to keep his head attached to his body for what he knew to be a heavy moment. One where she would need him to be whole.

"Poppet. You okay?" He asked, softly.

His hand itched to reach out and touch her shoulder. But the past few years of bonding with the odd but sweet young woman had taught him enough to know when she wasn't in the mood to be coddled, as Pat was doing with Kitty.

Amy ignored him.

"You saw her go?" She asked Robin.

The caveman was standing, rather uncertain, his shoulders slightly hunched and his right hand stroking across his furs with his knuckles. Humphrey also knew his friend after many centuries to know when he was feeling guilty.

Robin shook his head.

"I go to her last night. Hear her cry, me think from bad dream." He recounted, "By time me got to bed, Moonah girl no longer scream...Moonah girl no longer on bed. She go..."

He gestured his paws up to the ceiling.

Amy blinked; "How do you know that?"

Each word was enunciated with the most bitter cynicism.

"I...Where else she go?" Robin shrugged; "Me search all around land, Stompy, and every corner of house. She no here. Me can't smell mushrooms or funny herb."

"You're sure? A thousand per cent?!" Amy persisted, "You can't smell her at all?!"

"No. Well...except on bed, but-"

Amy pushed herself up and began walking briskly towards the door, her stern expression that of a girl on a mission.

"Amy, love, hold on a sec." Humphrey dared to try to take her hand.

Predictably, she pulled away.

Before reaching the door, she paused.

"When did this happen?" She asked, not turning around.

The others all looked to Robin.

"...Last night. Eleven dongs on big clock."

"And when did you tell the rest of them, except me and Kitty?"

"...I..."

Cap stepped forward; "Robin informed us at around three a.m."

Amy pointed a finger at the digital clock on the bedside table that read six thirty.

"And you waited another three and a half fucking hours to tell us?!"

"Poppet-"

"Don't 'poppet' me! Our best friend disappeared and you thought that was news that could wait until morning?!"

Kitty was too upset to be angry, by the looks of things, assuming she even felt such emotion. Heartbroken sobs continued to leave her as Pat kept his arm around her back.

The men all seemed to retreat an inch at the sharp rise in Amy's tone. Fanny, Thomas and Julian were absent from the room. Were they grieving in their own way or simply didn't care? It wasn't Amy's top concern right now.

"It didn't seem right to wake you so early for you to get upset-"

"We're not children, for fucks sake!" Amy protested; "Doesn't matter how all you wise old dads - that you seem think you are - look at us like we're silly little girls-."

"That's not-." Humphrey tried to protest but Amy shot him with a look so piercing that it came close to decapitating him a second time. He dipped his head; "...It was wrong of us. I'm sorry. It just seemed like the kindest thing at the time. That's all I can say."

There was more that Amy could say to chastise them for that. Temptation tried to convince her to launch into an anti-patriarchal rant on her pagan friend's behalf.

But the sight of all four men hanging their heads in shame softened her anger, just enough. Especially the sincere exhaustion on Humphrey's face. She'd awoken to find him sat in a chair beside her as she awoke, waiting for her to rise, gazing down at her with a mix of paternal affection and sadness.

There was no way she could stay mad at him.

The other one though...

"I knew something was wrong when you didn't wake me up by shouting 'mornies' in my ear like a fucking bullhorn." Amy snapped towards Robin.

He continued to stare at his boots.

"M'sorry."

For the lack of her usual alarm clock or the awful news he delivered? Or something else?

"I need to go to her bed." She explained, "I have to...see it for myself, y'know, before I can...You can come with me or not, I don't care-."

"Of course we'll come." Said Humphrey.

And this time, when he attempted to link his hand with hers, she allowed it.

Frank and Jeff, the groundskeepers, were just starting to prep the golf course before it could be opened up for use. They went about their daily work, watering the grass and picking up lost balls and discarded rubbish without any awareness of the dead girl in headphones and heavy black boots moving across the lawn, hand in hand with a Tudor Knight in a billowing red cloak.

Robin, Kitty and Cap followed close behind, Pat having gone to speak to the others about trying to get in contact with Alison. Most likely to arrange a memorial.

A memorial? Really? It seemed too soon. Barely eight hours. If no one saw her go then surely it was jumping the fucking gun, no scratch that, jumping a whole arse tank, to just assume she had moved on!

The hand around hers gave a squeeze.

"Listen. It's okay to feel angry, or in shock, or anything you're going through-." Humphrey tried to console.

"I'll go through all that shit and more when I know she's gone. Trust me."

He gave a nod, lips tightening beneath his beard. Christ, did he just think she was in denial? Maybe she was. Maybe it all seemed to happen to quick, and it was only two weeks ago Silver had wished them all a cheerful good night before Robin escorted her to the woods. There had been no sign, no big revelation or change upon her, nothing to hint that...

A niggle of accepting the possibility that her friend is gone begins to poke it's way in and she suddenly feels ready to puke. Fuck, what she would do for a cigarette right now.

All she has instead is Humphrey's hand, which took her long enough to realise she was almost crushing with frustration.

"Sorry!" She bit her lip, loosening her grip.

Humphrey smiled and winced; "S'what I'm here for, Poppet."

She's not prepared for the emotions that hit her like a ton of bricks when her eyes gaze upon the empty bed. Just as Robin had said. Her balance went off kilter, just for a second, causing her to sway on her feet.

Humphrey's hands on her arms steadied her.

"It's all right. I've got you." He reassured her.

Amy sniffed. No tears, not yet. But the threat was rising ever slowly upward from her chest.

"I'm okay." She let go of his hand and took a step forward.

Just an empty bed. It didn't mean anything. She'd looked at it hundreds of times like this when Silver was awake and chattering away at her side.

But everything about how it appeared this morning felt so grim. All the flowers and statuettes and fake candles, along with her plaque, but no sleeping girl in the centre, made it seem all the more like a gravesite.

"See? She gone." said Robin.

"I just can't believe it...We should have all been here." Kitty wept into the back of her hand, "Oh Silver, sweetheart, I'm so sorry you went alone..."

"I'm sure it was peaceful, Katherine." Cap soothed, patting her arm.

"Robin said she was screaming." Amy pointed out, bluntly.

"Amy-." warned Humphrey, lightly.

"Well, he did!"

"Uh, I say she was screaming, then she stop!" Robin clarified, "We no know if she happy or sad before going up."

"Given that everyone you've seen has looked at peace when they left, I think it's safe to assume the same can be said for Silver." Cap pointed out.

"Assuming she's even gone." Amy mumbled, intentionally loud enough for them all to hear.

The rest of them shared weary looks between them while the ebony haired girl continued to stare at the bed.

"Stompy. You smell like me able to." Robin approached her, carefully; "I smell her upon bed but no where else. There no vapor trail she leave if she move somewhere else."

"Maybe you're just losing your hunting skills in your old age." She quipped back.

Robin appeared knocked for six at that remark. Humphrey couldn't help but snort, as technically the ancient furball was only a few years older than his charge.

Amy began to inch towards the bed, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the scent lingering around the bed. Robin was right, Silver's distinct aroma of sage and boiled mushrooms lingered like an invisible fog over the bed. It always reminded her of the New Age shop in her town where she'd sometimes pop her head in. She might not have had an interest in the occult like her friend, but there was often some cool alternate clothes and junk to be oggled.

Another sniff. There was something else, not a smell her friend usually carried with all her witchy scents.

"What you got, love?" Asked Humphrey.

"...Salt? I think?"

"That sweat." Said the caveman, "Not Captain mornies joggy sweat-"

"Hey!"

"Nightmare sweat. Fear." Robin clarified, ignoring the disgruntled soldier.

Amy sat on the bed, glancing at the old lavender pillow decorated with stars that Alison had placed there for Silver's head years ago. Her callous mind conjured the image of her friend writhing and shrieking in unseen torment, all alone in the dark, while they'd all been cosying up in Higham Suite for the evening. While Robin, Fanny and Julian had gone down to watch the comedian, she and Kitty and Humphrey and Thomas had remained in the room. It had been the poet's turn to pick what to watch and, with no Julian to change the channel once he'd set it up, they all had to endure watching the latest season of Bridgerton.

Even Kitty, who lapped up romance like a cat to a saucer of milk, had grown tired of the show as her 'ships' never seemed to get together. Kitty and Amy had both quietly sniggered while watching Thomas and Humphrey get far too invested, before they both fell asleep.

"You should've been with us, dude." Amy spoke to the unused pillow. Never mind if she'd been asleep and unable to join in. No one should die...or move on alone.

Feeling the weight of acceptance begin to grow ever heavier, Amy moved to rest her head face down on the pillow. The scent of her friend, and the emotional torture that had plagued her in those last moments, was thickest there.

The hand that rested on her shoulder blades was soft and slender. Kitty sat with her on the bed, the two friends silently mourning their third musketeer.

I'm here, her mind screamed. I'm right here.

They're barely two metres from where she stands, trapped inside the thick, old trunk of the tree.

One word. One sound. That's all she would need to alert them of her presence.

But the hand of the creature has pressed itself so firmly over her mouth that it's elongated fingers have begun to fuse with the skin on her cheeks. The clamp of its fist around her arm, pinning it to her side, had almost melded into a shared limb.

"Mine. Mine."

Any longer and they'll be nothing of her left.

It has taken a few hours but she's figured out the demon's intentions. The desire is not to own her, but to become her. To make her body its own, perhaps to replace the skeletal, pale and blind one it currently inhabits. Had that once been a person as well, healthy and whole, only to have its spirit drained to the point its physical form resembled the stuff of folklore horror?

Was that her fate? If the creature succeeded in stealing her ghostly body, would she go on to stalk those inside the hotel who suffered the same night terrors?

Fuck...What if it was currently eyeing its next victim?

"Mine. Mine."

Tears continue to fall down her cheeks. It's the only action her body is permitted to do. Cry and be silent. Be still.

Hope, the cruellest jewel of Pandora's box, had blossomed inside of her at the presence of Amy. Amy, her best mate, who wasn't immediately weeping and looking sad like she was gone. Amy, whose brow was furrowed in scepticism and uncertainty. Twenty-first century kids don't buy so easily into bullshit as people think.

But even Amy, now, was kneeling on her bed as if visiting a grave. Her and Kitty were consoling each other, while the men hung back, not making a sound. Silver looked to Robin, whose expression she'd never seen so vacant and lost. While Captain and Humphrey's focus was on their respective surrogate daughters, Robin didn't seem to know where to look, swaying a little as if there was nothing left to ground him to the earth.

Oh it would be the most painful fucking irony if he was taken up at this moment. She'd curse Hermes, Thanatos and Hades for the rest of her miserable existence.

Silver knew he was waiting for them all to leave before he could allow himself to break down. He'd already visited the site again, after having done a sweep of the grounds for her scent, letting out the most pitiful of howls before leaving to inform the others.

Professional hunter. Trained to track and stalk since he was four. And yet he couldn't see what was right in front of him.

What other hope could she have? If the two ghosts who had the ability to smell couldn't detect her then what...

"Fight."

It's not the creature who speaks. It only knows one word, the same one it's been repeating possessively in her ear for the past eight hours.

That voice. It can't be.

"Darling girl, you have to fight."

Silver blinked, and there she was. Translucent, image flickering like a candle ready to be blown out by the wind. But it's her.

"Mary?"

Her own voice echoes out from her mind, her lips still sealed by the demon.

"How...How can you be here?" It wasn't possible. Robin said that no one ever came back after they moved on.

The older woman smiled, reaching out to cup her cheek, past the firm claws of the monster. Her calloused but warm and tender touch contrasted with the cold moisture of the hands imprisoning her within the tree.

"I's promised you, didn't Is? I dids say I woulds not leave you alone. Don't you recalls?"

Of course she did. Every night, whenever she looked up at the stars, to her star. She remembered that promise.

"But you did. You left me." And here she was, alone and trapped.

"No, little'en. Just because you cans no longer sees me, don't mean I be not with you, always. You should know that." That cheeky twinkle lifted the corners of her ashen lips; "Just look at yourself. The livings can no longer look upon yous, yet you doth walk beside them, making me proud by cursing the menfolk."

Silver wished she had the ability to nod. The creature didn't seem to acknowledge Mary's visitation, if it saw her at all. But it still held on tight, constricting her slim body like a hungry Boa.

"And do you doubt the presence of your heathen gods because they be invisibles?"

No. She doubted them when they failed to hear her prayers and left her to endure shit like this.

Unless...this was them answering her.

"If you're really here...then help me. Please." If it was really Mary, her Mary, then there would be no power on heaven or earth or beyond that would stop her from trying.

"I can't get you out, lovely." She said, apologetic.

Silver whimpered internally. She knew it. She knew it wasn't real.

The creature snarls, chilled air wafting against her ear.

"Mine. Mine."

"The only one who can get yous out...is you." Mary told her. "Yous has to fight."

Fight? How the fuck can she fight?!

She can't even move her pinky finger. She can't even utter the smallest squeak. She's fucking useless!

"Now you listens to me, Silver Ravenstar." Mary's tone hardened, as if she'd heard every bit of Silver's self-loathing rant without a word being spoken; "You wills not think of yourself as useless, be that understood?! You is free to choose whatever name you wish to carry, but to me you is as my own child. You is Silver Guppy. And I will nots have you giving up and letting some slimey toe rag of a demon keep you in the dark!"

Silver Guppy. The very name struck a match deep within her. It sounded ridiculous and adorable. A pretty fish.

But that's all she may as well be now, speared on the hook of this creature.

"But how can I fight him?! Tell me!"

"Tosh and flaps, little'en. I thought you be a witch!"

She is. Or was. But it's not as if she has the ability to cast a spell by decorating a candle or drawing a sygil or burning incense. Fuck, she should have asked Alison to pour salt around her bed, at the least.

"You once told me that magic be nought but prayer 'cept 'cooler'. You don't need any wands or cauldrons or idols." Mary pressed her fingers to the pentacle on her neck; "All that ye need is inside you, darlin'. We might nots share blood, but that fire that burned within me is in you too. Pray, believe, whatever you needs. But you find that power and you weild it with all your strength."

As Mary's image began to fade all the more, Silver felt another tear fall.

"Are you...just in my head?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Mary smiled; "If that be the truth, then so is he. Do with that what ye will, daughter o' mine."

Mary dissolved before her. Through the tiny hollow of tree, her friends remained sitting in silence, oblivious to her struggle for her afterlife. Her freedom.

One finger slipped between her lips and met her teeth.

"Mine..." It whispered again.

Silver bit down on its slimey digit. No fucking way. It released a shriek of pain, inaudible to her friends. All in her head. Just a dream.

She was still asleep.

"Leave me the fuck ALONE!" She visualised that magic, that energy granted to all women by the Goddess, as a beacon within her chest. Its heavenly light threw the creature off of her, its fragile skin far too sensitive to bear the holy brightness.

Free from its hold, Silver inhaled a deep breath.

Artemis, Eos, Athena, Hera, Hecate, Demeter, Hestia, Persephone, Nyx, Circe, Aphrodite, Eris, Gaia...

She chanted the names within her without rhyme or pattern, calling upon each or their gifts and strengths, petitioning them to look down upon her and lend their powers to her. Just for a second. Just for one tiny moment.

That's all she would need.

Fight, Mary's voice repeated in her head, fight. Free yourself, before he comes back. Don't give him a chance. Don't let him win.

Already, in the corner of her mind, she can feel the hairs on her neck rise up. The creature is skuttling back towards her, ready to pounce. Ready to trap her once more. This time forever.

Fight. Fight, Silver Guppy, fight!

Amy thought the sound to be another of Kitty's sobs at first. A tiny, high-pitched squeak.

But when she looked up at her friend, her sobs seemed to have subsided, her devastated face rather still as she rubbed Amy's back. And then it came again. Behind her.

"What is that? Did you hear it?" She frowned, looking up at the tree.

"Probably a mouse or a squirrel." Kitty answered.

Not even the suggestion of a squirrel to chase piqued Robin's interest.

It hadn't sounded like an animal to Amy. She sniffed again, moving closer to the tree.

The scent was stronger there than the pillow.

Salt hung in the air around the trunk as thick as the ocean breeze.

"...She's in the tree."

"What?" Captain asked, all of them frowning at her. Even Robin looked up.

Were they deaf?

"She's in the fucking tree!" Amy repeated.

"No...No, tree living thing. Ghost can't be inside, it be too painful, like when human walk through-." Robin tried to explain, because there's no way he would have missed something so blatantly obvious.

"Painful but not impossible?! Like, if someone wanted to be a complete masochist, they could try hiding inside the body of a living thing? Man or animal or plant?!" Amy asked, rounding on the caveman.

Everyone turned their heads on him for an answer.

"Well...guess so, but...how would Moonah girl get inside tree when she no wake?"

"Maybe someone fucking moved her, it doesn't matter!"

She slid off the bed and stood before the tree. It would be uncomfortable, just to test this theory out. But a few moments of intense nausea would be worth it, a thousand times over, if she happened to be right.

"Silver? Dude, are you in there?"

Silence.

And then, again, the smallest of cries. A single note cut through the air.

Peering into the tiny hollow, barely larger than a single eye, she caught the glimmer of an unnatural sapphire iris, shining with tears.

"Shit." She threw her hands forward, into the tree bark.

"Amy!" Humphrey called out.

They all darted forward, either to stop or to help, she didn't care. Gagging, stomach churning painfully, she resisted the urge to pull back as her hands felt the thin fabric of a familiar overshirt.

"There you are." She sighed, discomfort conquered by relief, "She's here! Guys, she's here!"

A suddenly reanimated Robin all but shoved her aside and into Humphrey's arms as he practically dove into the tree, wrapping his arms around the body of the girl within and hauling her out.

He knelt to the ground with her immobile form cradled in his arms. The emotions he'd been keeping a tight lid on before seemed to erupt with this twist of fate as he beheld her, paws caressing her face. Amy and Kitty moved down on the floor with him, gazing over the friend they thought they'd lost.

Those blue eyes stared up at them without blinking. Skin paler than normal. Were it not for the tremble of her bottom lip and the tiny cries she was uttering, tears still leaking from eyes, she would resemble a corpse.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're here! You're all right!" Kitty beamed, reaching to touch her hair, to check she wasn't a figment of their imagination. "Wait...she's not all right. Why isn't she moving?"

Amy leaned in a little, studying her unfocused gaze. Her short, shallow breaths.

"Silver. Mate, if you can hear me, blink once for me, yeah? Can you do that?"

Those pupils darted towards her.

With great effort, her friend just about managed to shut her eyelids, only for a brief moment before they snapped open again.

"I think it’s sleep paralysis." She said.

They all stared at her as if they'd never heard such a thing. To be fair, Amy was only aware because of a classmate who suffered from them experienced one while they were on a school trip. It had freaked out the whole form group as they thought she'd died in her sleep.

"It's kinda like sleepwalking except the opposite. You're kinda half awake, half asleep, but instead of moving around, you just...can't move, I guess." She wasn't exactly an expert; "Girl I knew said she also saw a lot of freaky shit when it happened. Like waking nightmares."

"That's why she was screaming before Robin found her." Kitty concluded, "Do you think she's still seeing them now?"

"I dunno. Maybe." She knew it wasn't wise under normal circumstances to touch someone when sleep walking or having some kind of night terror.

But these were hardly normal circumstances, as she sat in the woods with a Georgian, a WWII soldier, her adopted Tudor dad and a Neo-Pagan from the early naughties.

She squeezed Silver's hand tight.

"We're here, dude. We've got you, okay?" Amy reassured her. "You're not alone."

Another squeak, tears leaking as Silver's eyes focused on Amy. There was a tiny strain in the corners of her lips. Was she trying to smile?

Kitty stroked her hair back; "Just relax, poppet. Nothing can hurt you now. We'll look after you."

"When we're not assuming you've left us, that is." Amy muttered, apologetic, giving Robin a side eye.

The caveman seemed too overwhelmed with guilt to respond. He was still gazing at the girl in his arms as if struggling to believe she was really there.

"Has this ever happened before, Robin?" Captain asked.

The caveman shook his mane; "...She only have nightmare on new moonah. Never go on walkeys. Never wake up, not even little bit..." His voice broke with sorrow.

"New moon? You mean this happens every month?!" Amy frowned.

Robin then explained the rhythmic nature of the moon's connection to Silver as she slept and how the lack of its reflected glow stopped the comfort of her usually pleasant lucid dreams.

Amy punched him in the shoulder.

"AND YOU DIDN'T THINK TO TELL ME THIS BEFORE?!"

"It my respons-a-billy, Stompy! My promise to her, to Mary!" He defended, "One night, just one, I be an hour late-."

"Well maybe if you ditched the fucking savior complex and stopped treating me and Kitty like dumb kids, we'd have been able to help and be there for her!"

"Everyone, please, hush! Let's not do this now, look at her." Kitty reasoned, nodding to Silver's pained expression.

Amy felt Humphrey's hand squeeze her shoulder as he stood behind her. She looked to Robin and the two nodded in a truce.

"Sorry, mate. It's not exactly helping you to chill out, is it?" She smiled, giving her hand another squeeze.

Silver could only hum slightly.

Robin leaned in to press his forehead to hers; "Me so sorry, my Moonah girl. Robin big sorry."

Amy could feel the tension in Silver's fingers against hers start to loosen, her ramrod body beginning to go limp in Robin's arms.

"That's it, sweetheart." Kitty soothed, noticing the change; "Go back to sleep. Let this all just be a bad dream."

Silver's head rolled into Robin's furs as he held her close to his chest, her eyelids falling naturally, the muscles starting to slacken in her cheeks as the panic melted away. With any luck, she wouldn't remember any of this, just as she always claimed her dreams became a jumbled mess of emotions upon waking.

They waited a few moments, the three of them sitting in silence, cradling her, an obscure recreation of Michaelangelo's Pieta, while Cap and Humphrey watched on. A beam from the early morning sun bathed them in a soft glow while the birds sang above them. Silver's face softened into its familiar look of slumbering contentment.

Despite the tranquility of the current scene, Amy came to a decision.

"How long does a new moon last?" She asked.

"Few nights. It usually only middle one she get really bad, but sometimes more." Robin explained, quietly.

"Then she's sleeping in the room with us." Amy stated, cutting Robin off before he could object; "If the moon isn't around to protect her, then she needs to be with her friends, where we can check on her and make sure she's safe and be close if she needs us."

She turned to the others, throwing her hands up.

"That make sense to the rest of you?"

They all nodded. Had they needed her there to state the obvious? They really were hopeless. No wonder Alison described her life with them as a teacher trying to control a class of idiots.

"Good. Bring her inside then, Robin. We can take her back when the moon is waxing again."

"And she never have to know?" He asked.

"Oh no, she'll know. I'm telling her once she wakes up and if she's pissed off, she can have a go at me all she wants. But we're not doing this secrecy bullshit anymore."

She'd come close to losing her best friend tonight because of one dumb caveman wanting to keep some sacred duty all to himself.

Robin nodded, humbled, and rose to his feet with Silver fast asleep in his arms.

As they returned to the house, Humphrey nudged Amy's side.

"That's my girl. You proper saved the day, didn't you."

"Helps to have more than one braincell than the rest of you."

"Cheeky." Humphrey smiled, putting his arm around her.

She threw a glance back at Silver, that niggle of worry poisoning her relief. Had she gone into the tree on her own? Or had something taken her there? Whichever the case, no fucking way was she going to leave her friend alone in the dark.

[ejzah]

Could you do something where Mama Deeks finds out about Baby Densi and gets all emotional and tells Deeks what a good dad he'll be?

Despite All Odds

***

“And so I just told Ary that I’m not the kind of woman who has time to wait around while he figures out what he wants,” Roberta said as Deeks placed an opened beer in front of her on the patio table. Then he went to join Kensi at the other side of the table. “I’ve got things to with life that don’t involve dropping everything when that man remembers I exist.”

“I thought you went out on a date with him last week,” Deeks commented dryly. He’d decided that it was best to ignore whatever went on between Arkady Kolcheck and his mom for the sake of his own sanity.

“It was dinner at his place, and we were just catching up.” She paused a beat, straightening a glittering bracelet circling her left wrist. “Now, if he wants to give me family heirlooms to make up for leaving me hanging for months, and not even attempting to get in touch when I got back in town, that’s his own business.”

“That’s probably stolen,” Kensi predicted to Deeks in an aside.

“Oh, definitely,” he agreed.

They chatted for a few more minutes while they finished their dinner. After Deeks cleared their plates, replacing Roberta’s beer with a new one, and handing Kensi a Sprite.

“So,” he began, rubbing his hands over his thighs as he shared a nervous look. “We have something to tell you.”

“Oh, here it comes. Alright, who’s dying?” Roberta asked with a resigned air.

“What?” Deeks said in shock, shaking his head. “Why would you say that?”

“You invited my over here for dinner, you made my favorite meal.” She indicated herself and the table, continuing to list off points. “You’re both dressed up, and you’re all antsy as all hell. Clearly, you’re waiting to break some bad news.”

Resting a calming hand on Deeks’ shoulder, Kensi turned to face Roberta. “Roberta, no one is sick or dying,” she assured her.

“We actually have good news for a change,” Deeks said. With an anticipatory sigh, he retrieved a box from underneath the loveseat. “Actually, we thought this was the best way to tell you.”

Roberta took the box reluctantly, eyeing them suspiciously as she tugged the ribbon on top free. “Now, if a trick snake pops out of this, I’m not—” she broke off, speechless for a second, lifting out a tiny light blue onesie" “Grandma loves me,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, fixing them with a look of disbelief.

“Yeah, I’m pregnant,” Kensi confirmed, reaching across the table to squeeze Roberta’s hand as it started to tremble.

“Um, that’s not all.” Deeks jutted his chin towards the box.

She pulled out a second identical onesie. “Oh my god, twins!” Her shut was loud enough to carry over several house, and both Kensi and Deeks grinned. “Oh, get over here, kiddo,” Roberta said, rounding the table to hug them, the two onesies still clutched in one hand.

“Congratulations, you two. You know I never stopped rooting for you.”

“I know. Thanks, mama,” Deeks murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you, Roberta. We’re really happy too.”

Roberta gave Deeks an extra hug, smoothing her hands over his cheeks. He expected to see delight, but instead he saw melancholy in her eyes.

“Mom, are you ok?”

She drew back, avoiding their gaze while she found her seat again. Kensi looked just as confused as he felt.

“You know, when you were a little boy, I was always wished that I could give you a better life,” she began softly. This was a version of Roberta that people rarely saw; the softer, more vulnerable, less more open. “I worried about how it would affect the man you would become some day.” She paused and smoothed her hands over the onesies on her lap, freeing a few wrinkles from the fabric. “I worried I hadn’t done enough. I worried that you’d never find the happiness I wanted for you.”

“Mama…” Deeks said, shattered by the ache in her voice. Kensi took his hand; he heard her sniff quietly.

“But you proved me wrong in all of it. I don’t say it enough, but you’ve made me so,” she swallowed thickly. “So proud. You’re strong, and kind, and intelligent, and a the biggest protector. Always were. And maybe more stubborn than even me when it comes to doing the right thing. Somehow, you defied all the odds and came out the other side despite all my mistakes.”

“Hey, Mom, I’ve said before, none of that was your fault,” he said, needing her to believe him. He couldn’t let this guilt, his dad’s actions continue to bleed into their lives. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You did good. Ok?”

Roberta nodded again, not resisting when Deeks crouched in front of her, and embraced her again.

“These babies are going to be damn lucky to have you. Just like Rosa is, because you’re one hell of a dad,” she said through tears. She reached over to take Kensi’s hand as she gripped Deeks’ shoulder.

***

A/N: I hope this is alright. I wanted to delve into the more emotional and angsty aspects, but also wanted it to be a happy moment as well. I hope I conveyed that.

Thanks for the prompt, friend!