#anyways. that hoodie will get damaged in some way shape or form and one of them will die. horrifically

[st4rstudent]

sharing is caring or however it goes.

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part  2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice. 

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” 

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse. 

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back. 

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up. 

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done. 

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards. 

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution. 

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile. 

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?” 

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously. 

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them. 

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight. 

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?” 

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction. 

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app. 

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family. 

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message. 

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food. 

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought. 

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie. 

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.” 

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath. 

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game. 

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile. 

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red. 

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking. 

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?” 

“Swimming?” I tease. 

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree. 

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me. 

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more. 

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game. 

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties. 

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them. 

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again. 

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting. 

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate. 

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply. 

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.” 

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim. 

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven. 

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast. 

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing. 

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins. 

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand. 

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain. 

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head. 

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed. 

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him. 

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes. 

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there. 

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness. 

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy. 

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder. 

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me. 

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?” 

“You bet.” 

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him. 

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own. 

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined. 

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books. 

A/N:  This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus.  Be safe.  Be healthy.  Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Ch. 13

Read on Ao3

“Wake up.”

Chloe ignored the voice. She’d learned a while ago it wasn’t real, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the company. She tried not to dwell on that too much. She’d deal with her trauma responses once she was no longer experiencing the trauma.

But it was persistent today.

“Chloe,” it came again. “Wake up”.

This time, she felt something touch her shoulder. That was new. How many days had it been since she’d eaten now?

“Dammit, Chloe, I’ll carry you out of here if I have to, but I really don’t want to.”

She laughed at that, a choked rasping sound that scraped from her parched throat - another thing she was trying not to think about. “Liar,” she whispered.

“Please,” the voice begged, closer this time. Cool hands touched her wrists, her cheek. “Please, Chloe. Get up.”

That caught her attention. The voice had cajoled her, berated her, taunted her, but it had never begged before.

She cracked an eyelid, squinting against the soft glow of the sun lamps that lit the space. “…Felix?”

A rough laugh, like rocks scraping together. “Yes.”

“You’re here?” Chloe asked, coming more fully awake. She felt like she couldn’t pull the scattered pieces of her mind together long enough to form a thought. “You came?”

“Of course I came,” he said as he helped her slowly sit up. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

“Thought it might be…a waste of your time,” she breathed. She didn’t mean to hurt him; his last words were the only thing she’d managed to hold onto, and the only thing that came easily now. She felt her eyelids slide closed again, but she was too tired to do anything about it.

“That was a lie,” Koira said quietly. He was close enough she could feel the warmth, the realness of him. “A lie that I told myself so I wouldn’t get attached.”

Chloe frowned, dragging her eyes open long enough to seek his face. It was close, closer than he’d ever been. “Attached?”

“I would love to have an at-length conversation in the ways I find you completely captivating,” Koira said as Viperion rounded a corner, “But now is hardly the time. We have to get out of here.”

“I’ve tried,” Chloe said, trying to ignore how much more awake she felt now - and how hard her heart was pounding. “Gabriel didn’t just settle for taking my Miraculous.” She tugged on the reinforced steel chain and manacle around her left wrist.

“Nothing Chat Noir can’t take care of,” Viperion suggested before his transformation wore off and Zazz reappeared. Five minutes already. Hopefully Alya wasn’t having any trouble keeping their illusions lively. “Here you are.” Luka pulled a pack of goldfish crackers from the pocket of his hoodie and opened it for his kwami.

Zazz hadn’t taken more than two bites before a scream tore through the room.

“NO!”

Luka was already running, calling on his transformation as he went, but a dim light went off in Chloe’s head: whatever it was, it was already too late - Viperion’s timer had run out.

“Doesn’t sound good,” she said, willing herself to alertness.

“It never does with this bunch,” Koira muttered. “Either way, time to go.”

He didn’t give her time to brace herself. In a matter of seconds, Koira had raised his hammer over his head and brought it down in a shining arc to where the chain was attached to the wall.

“Huh,” Koira said, examining the nearly unmarked metal. “Gabriel’s talents are wasted on supervillainry.”

“Got a plan B?”

“That was plan B.”

“So now what?”

Koira’s face was grim. “Back to plan A. Chat Noir!”

But it was Ryuuko who took shape out of thin air, brandishing her katana. “We’ve lost him.”

Chloe blinked, unable to make sense of the absurd statement.

“Lost who?” Koira said with a frown.

“Chat Noir,” Ryuuko ground out. “Akuma.”

“You brought him here?” Chloe demanded as Ryuuko’s words finally clicked. “You brought him here?!”

“Do you think that anything short of Gabriel’s magical manacles would have kept him away?” Koira growled. “Is there a better way to find out your father’s a supervillain?”

“There might have been a better setting,” Chloe snapped. “Preferably one where I’m not chained to a wall.”

“I’ll try to make other arrangements next time,” Koira snarled before looking up at Ryuuko. “What are we dealing with then?”

“It’s hard to…he looks the same, but in white.

Chloe’s brow creased. “So he’s…Chat…Blanc?”

“Unlimited cataclysms,” Koira murmured. “Sounds fun.”

“Don’t mock him,” Ryuuko snapped, her fingers tightening on her katana. “He’s in pain.” And then she was gone, darting back into the fight they could still hear carrying on.

“Yeah, well, we’re all going to be in pain if he gets his hands on us,” Koira muttered to no one in particular.

“We need the Bee Miraculous back,” Chloe said, tugging weakly on her chain. “If I can just incapacitate him - ”

“Are you joking?” Koira demanded, rounding on her. “You’re in no condition to fight.”

“I’m not in any hurry to die, either!”

“KOIRA!”

Viperion’s shout was the only warning they got. Koira seized it. Instead of calling his power like he wanted to, he yanked Chloe to his chest and pressed them both up against the wall. He pulled her chain taut and whispered a prayer to whatever god might be listening. For the briefest moment, he felt Chloe curl into him, her body warm and real and whole against his.

Then the explosion sent them both flying in a shower of stone rubble.

He didn’t loosen his grip on Chloe once, not even as he landed on his shoulder hard enough he heard something crack. He grunted in pain as they skidded across the stone floor.

“Felix? Felix!”

Koira shook his head clear and realized Chloe was struggling against the grip he still held her in. He forced himself to relax, his muscles aching with the strain.

“Ok, not as much fun as previously anticipated,” he gasped out as he hauled himself into a sitting position.

“You idiot!” she shouted, grabbing the fur ruff at his neck. The tail of the chain still attached to her rattled against the floor. “What did you think you were doing!”

“Plan A,” Koira managed, “With some modifications.”

“He nearly took my arm off!”

“As if I would let you get hurt,” he said, wrapping his fingers around her free wrist.

You already did. Chloe finally blinked as her left hand drifted back down to her lap, the words waiting on her tongue. She didn’t need to say them; she could see that he knew it, too.

“They need help,” she said instead as another blast rocked the room. “Go. I can take care of myself.”

Koira made a face, his gaze darting pointedly down to the manacle still on her wrist, but didn’t mention it as his fingers slipped from her skin. “Do I need to tell you to get as far away from here as fast as you can?”

“I’m dehydrated, not stupid,” Chloe snapped. Koira just gave one last exasperated shake of his head before he stood and darted into the fray.

No, he did not need to tell her to run. It would have been a waste of time - she wasn’t going anywhere. Miraculous or no, she was still Queen Bee, and she owed Gabriel for his hospitality.

Chloe remained in a crouch as she scuttled forward towards the sounds of the fight. Her joints ached in protest and every beat of her heart begged her to lie down. She ignored them.

She paused when she was close enough she could see shadows dancing just on the other side of the table she was behind. If she remembered correctly, they were battling it out in the atrium where she’d first entered.

Ryuuko was talking. “Koira, if you use Full Counter - ”

“No!” Viperion gasped as he dodged a cataclysm. “He’s too powerful like this. It’ll kill him!”

Chloe shivered. How many times had Viperion reset their timer already? How many of them had died?

“I’m open to other ideas,” Koira said.

“We’re running out of time!” Ladybug shouted over the din. “I need to figure out my Lucky Charm.”

“Go,” she heard Viperion say. “We can keep him busy for a few minutes.”

Before Ladybug could respond, a horrible laugh echoed through the room, quiet at first, then manic. “You’ll keep me busy? I’m going to tear you apart!”

Chloe’s heart thudded in her chest. Adrien. She had never heard him sound like that before. Akumatized or not…something had broken in him. No wonder Hawk Moth had seized this opportunity. No wonder Adrien hadn’t been able to fight back. Perhaps she’d been wrong about the setting. Maybe keeping him contained in this basement cavern was for the best.

Suddenly, Ladybug was there, rolling into a crouch after vaulting over the table.

“Chloe!” Ladybug blurted, her eyes going wide. “What…you’re ok!” She frowned. “You need to get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

Even as she spoke, Chloe didn’t miss the way Ladybug kept fiddling with her Lucky Charm, a pair of bolt cutters, or the wild, haunted look in her eyes. Abruptly, Ladybug zeroed in on the chain coiled at Chloe’s feet.

“You! That’s why I couldn’t figure it out.”

“Me?”

“These must have been to free you from the wall,” Ladybug said. “We need you to win.”

Chloe couldn’t meet Ladybug’s eyes as she said, “Koira and Chat Noir kind of already took care of it, but, Ladybug…Hawk Moth took my Miraculous.”

“It’s still you, Chloe,” Ladybug insisted, leaning in to lay a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “I don’t know how exactly, but - ”

“Ladybug!” Chloe interrupted. Ladybug’s sudden closeness had given her a view of the heroine’s ears.“Your earrings! You’re going to detransform.”

Ladybug grit her teeth in frustration. “That’s ok. It was time for a new Lucky Charm anyway. Miraculous Ladybug!”

Ladybug sent the Lucky Charm skittering away from them across the floor. It burst into thousands of glowing Ladybug’s that swept the room, repairing the damage done. Chloe heard the surprised gasps of their teammates as their injuries were healed.

No sooner had the ladybugs finished a final sweep of the room then did Ladybug’s transformation itself dissolve. Yards of pale pink fabric spilled out around her, and Chloe was surprised to see she had her hair down for once.

“You dressed up for a rescue mission?” Chloe whispered as Marinette caught an exhausted Tikki in her palm.

“Gabriel’s charity auction,” Marinette said by way of explanation. “Seemed like the best time to sneak in. We were supposed to be ghosts.”

Chloe thought on it. “I’ve been here for four days then.”

“I’m sorry. We only found out this morning. The teacher’s said you were down with some kind of flu - I guess a lie from your father,” Marinette said bitterly. “Koira’s the only reason we knew to look.”

“Koira?”

“I guess he got your message the next time he finally transformed,” Marinette said as she watched Tikki finish her cookie. “He was manic. I’m surprised he even bothered to tell us first.”

Chloe tried to ignore the way her heart stumbled at that. Even after their fight, he’d kept his promise.

And then the table vanished.

Chloe flinched as it exploded against a nearby wall and shrapnel went whipping through the room. She felt some of it bite into her arm and leg. A white-hot line scored her cheek where she was sure another piece had narrowly missed her eye.

“Hiding, my love? That hurts.”

He was the most horrible thing Chloe had ever seen, a twisted replica of her friend. The only bit of colour in the sea of white were ice-chip blue eyes that were devoid of anything but rage. He was Adrien, but not. Adrien never got angry. Adrien was never violent. And Adrien had certainly never looked at Marinette like that - like he would devour her whole.

“Run!”

Marinette had grabbed Chloe by the arm and was sprinting back the way Chloe had come before she could even fully understand what had happened. Her chain clanked noisily on the floor as they ran, seeming to urge them to go fast, faster.

“Go,” Chloe panted, dizzy with the exertion. “I’m just slowing you down. You need to transform, not run.”

“I can do both,” Marinette huffed. “Tikki - !”

An explosion rocked the floor before Marinette could finish, sending both girls flying. Chloe felt the air rush from her lungs as she hit the floor and was left gasping, in too much pain to breathe in again. Her lungs squeezed.

She screwed her eyes shut, focusing on slowly taking a deep breath through the pain, even as her ribs protested. Again. Again. Again.

When Chloe could finally breathe through the worst of it, she pushed herself back up and opened her eyes to what she instantly knew would give her nightmares for weeks to come:

Marinette in her beautiful pink gown, the ribbon trailing from her hair, caught up against Chat Blanc with her back to his chest, his hand cupping her cheek, and no one to help.

[olivinesea]

Off Souls, pt. 2

Part 1

a/n: I won’t deny it, shit is dark. Would it make it better if I told you there was a little light at the end? Like a candles-worth. There’s violence and drinking but I don’t think it needs any major warnings. ~4.8k (idk why they keep getting longer)

Everybody feels bad.

Hotch tried but couldn’t get back to sleep. Frustrated, he rolled over again, punching his pillow as if that was what was keeping him up. His mind was stuck, spinning on the image of Emily standing outside his door. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned up worse for wear, excited to show off her battle wounds. He’d never turned her away before and the lost look on her face when he had earlier filled him with guilt. He worried he’d done the wrong thing. He’d been told that boundaries were healthy and asserting his needs wasn’t an act of vengeance. But maybe that didn’t apply to their relationship. Where did he set a boundary on someone who felt like an extension of himself?

As soon as he saw the sky fading from black to gray he got up, showered and went to find her. She didn’t answer and when he opened the unlocked door he saw her unmoving form on the bed. A spike of fear seared through him before he noticed her breathing through a slightly open mouth. She was just passed out. He grimaced and left her alone to sleep it off.

Later in the morning he brought her coffee and a bagel. She again didn’t answer when he knocked. He opened the door and found her still in bed. Curled on her side, she had the covers pulled up over her head, only her face exposed. At first he thought she was still asleep but saw her blink as she stared at a spot on the floor.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he entered the room. He sat down opposite her on her roommate’s bed and held out his peace offering. “I brought you some breakfast.”

She slowly looked up at him, her eyes dull. He wondered just how much she’d had to drink last night. He didn’t think he’d seen her this hungover before. He waved the coffee enticingly, hoping the smell would help.

“Hazelnut oat latte. Triple shot,” he coaxed.

She stared at him for a beat before closing her eyes and rolling to face the wall.

“No thanks,” she muttered.

He frowned. He had been sure she’d come around with a little food and caffeine. She always had in the past. Maybe he had made a bigger mistake than he realized. He dropped his hands to his lap and tried to think of what to say.

“I—I’m sorry about last night. It’s just—“ he fumbled for the words. He hadn’t been mad at her exactly. He understood falling back on a familiar crutch. He also had spent too much time trying to fix problems with alcohol. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t yet figured out it wouldn’t work. He was just exhausted by it. He didn’t know how to explain that her late night appearances brought him back to other nights, less friendly, more damaging. Nights with a different pair of fists banging on his door, seeking him out for a different purpose. Those nights had left him feeling small and broken, his only coherent thought a wish that it would be over soon. Every time she startled him from sleep reminded him of his life before, when the only peace he could imagine was death. He couldn’t say any of that to her.

“I was just tired.” He knew it wasn’t enough. He knew in different circumstances she would be pushing him for more. Instead all he got was silence.

“Emily?”

“It’s fine, Aaron.” Her voice was muffled by the comforter and hard to make out.

“What?” He heard but he was not sure he understood.

“It’s fine. Just go away.”

That one he understood like a slap in the face. Still, he hesitated.

“Leave. me. alone.” Her voice was flat but the words were crisp. He’d really done it. He pushed her too far and now she was done with him. It was a bitter thought but he felt secretly relieved to discover there wasn’t a bottomless well of forgiveness after all. His worldview now resettled, he found the next steps were easy. He got up and placed the rejected breakfast on her desk, not stopping to push papers into piles for her like he might have the day before. It wasn’t his job to make order from her chaos anymore. He looked at her briefly before he closed the door. She was just an irregular figure under the dark blue covers, still and silent. He didn’t hear her start to cry as the latch caught behind him.  

Emily spent the day in bed. She spent the next day in bed as well. The entire weekend she subsisted on water and a few energy bars stolen from her roommate’s stash in the bottom of the closet. She wasn’t really hungry anyway. It took energy to be hungry and she barely had the energy to keep breathing. As she lay there staring at the wall, she couldn’t stop the images from the party filtering through her mind. What started as only flashes of memory crystallized into a damning portrait. Soon, she knew exactly what had happened and how she should feel about it. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead she felt numb.

The few times she got up, she found dark bruises forming on her arms and thighs. They made her feel nauseous so she covered them with long sleeves and sweats. The scrapes on her hands and knees weren’t anything special so she ignored them after picking out some gravel. There was one injury she couldn’t cover or ignore. She had thought it was dirt and scrubbed at the purple spot along her jaw before hissing in pain. She looked at it again and saw it was a thumb shaped bruise. Turning her head slowly she found matching marks on the other side of her jaw. Her stomach dropped as the memory of it overwhelmed her.

She understood that she wasn’t going to get away, that none of her limbs were taking direction from her anymore. So she did the only thing she could think of—she spit in his face, her only remaining defense. He grabbed her roughly and squeezed until she cried out, promising to break her jaw if she did it again.

“Wouldn’t that be a waste?” he had whispered, mouth far too close to her ear.

Emily stopped looking in the mirror after that. It didn’t matter what she looked like anymore.

In a way, everything that had happened at the party was only a confirmation of the person people already believed she was. She had been intentionally reckless, willfully making all the wrong decisions every step of the way. She had been mad and she had done what she knew would piss Hotch off the most. She understood why he turned her away like he did. She had actually been a little surprised when he showed up the next morning. It was only as she was listening to him try to form a stunted apology that she remembered he didn’t know what she had done. He might have seen the broad strokes but she was sure if he knew the details he’d blame her as much as she blamed herself. She didn’t want to see the disappointment and disgust he was sure to feel upon learning. Better to push him away. She didn’t deserve a friend like him anyway.

By the time Monday came around, she was completely convinced of her irredeemability. It was okay though. If she was worthless, she didn’t need to bother trying. She rolled out of bed and pulled a dark hoodie on over her leggings. She shoved her feet into her sneakers, hooking a finger behind her foot to pull the heel tab up. On her way out the door, she swept whatever was on her desk into her bag without looking and headed to class. When she got there she sat in the back and didn’t even pretend to take notes. She picked at her fingers and half-listened to the lecture. When the professor started prompting discussion she slid down in her chair, hoping to disappear.

Normally on Mondays she met Hotch for lunch before their shared afternoon class. Out of habit she walked towards their favorite dining hall only to stop short when she caught sight of the back of him. He had missed a spot when brushing his hair that morning, a big chunk of it sticking up. She would have loved making fun of him for it but she hung back, letting the distance between them grow. She felt her heart beating quickly, a wave of fear constricting her chest. If he saw her, he would try to talk to her. If he talked to her, he would ask what was wrong. And if he asked that—well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen then. She had been meticulously building a wall around the details of the party. She might not be able to escape what happened but she could bury it. It was too soon though, everything was still too close to the surface. A concerned look, a gentle question from him could easily bring it all back up. She would rather be friendless forever than have him know how badly she had fucked up.

He looked for her. Against his better judgement he found himself hoping to bump into her in the hallways or on the way to class. He knew she was done with him but a small piece of him held out hope that she might change her mind. He didn’t deserve it. He had been selfish. He had always been selfish. Always asking for more understanding, more forgiveness than he himself was willing to give. All schoolchildren learn the golden rule: treat others the way you would like to be treated. He thought he’d like to be treated kindly but for some reason he could never make it work. He was always upsetting people, making his mother cry, making his father angry. His very existence seemed to be an insult to order. He broke everything around him—rules, dishes, his mother’s heart. She had whispered that to him one night, after the storm of his father’s attention had passed.

“Please, won’t you try harder? You’re breaking my heart.”

He had been eleven and knocked over a glass of milk at dinner. He had just started a growth spurt and his limbs were suddenly long and difficult to keep track of. He hadn’t responded, only bitten his lip to stop from crying while she splinted his broken fingers. He did try harder but it was never enough.

He was an adult now and could rationally view the things that had happened to him as just that—things that were done to him, that he had no control over. He knew now that he hadn’t caused the drunken rages and hostile silences. He knew it was wrong that the only affection he had gotten at home had been the twisted love of a soft hand wiping blood from his face. He knew in his mind that it wasn’t his fault. But he believed, in a deep, unreachable place in his heart, that it was. So he hadn’t been surprised when Emily turned her back on him, finally tired of his weakness.

He spotted her in class, seated in the back, hood pulled up and face pale. She stared vacantly at the board at the front of the room. Her fingers twisted in her lap, nails digging roughly into skin. He willed her to look his way but it didn’t happen. He desperately wanted to undo the past few days. He wanted to tell her about the blueberry scone he tried that morning. He wanted her to laugh at him when he mispronounced the German terms in their psychology textbook. He almost walked over to sit next to her but he was too afraid she would tell him to go away again. He sighed and headed to a seat on the opposite side of the room. Class began and he did his best to pay attention to the review for their upcoming test. The next time he risked a look in her direction, her seat was empty.

Days turned into weeks. She got better at avoiding him. She arrived later and later to class. Sometimes she didn’t make it to class at all. She started eating in a different dining hall. Not as good as Powell; the food here seemed like it sat under a heat lamp for too long. She wasn’t hungry anyway. Nothing tasted right and she’d started feeling sick most mornings. The vodka she drank every night probably wasn’t helping. She was vaguely aware this was a bad habit to indulge but she wasn’t able to sleep without it. Each time she laid down, the images she’d been working so hard to push away returned to taunt her. They played in her mind like a movie and she screamed at the foolish actress to be smarter this time but it never changed. However, if she could get enough liquor in her system, she fell asleep too quickly for the movie to get started.

One day she sat at one of the tables in her new dining hall ignoring a cold slice of pizza in favor of iced coffee. She considered whether she should start spiking her coffee. It would be a risky move. She didn’t interact with anyone closely enough to worry about getting caught but she also didn’t want to completely flunk out out of school. Doctoring her midday drinks seemed a short road to disaster. The only thing she could imagine that was worse than what she was doing now was going home to face her mother, a college dropout and certified failure.

Still, the idea was alluring. It would soften the edges of having to be around all these people. She’d become jumpy, shying away from any contact or attention. She was always on guard, searching the crowds of students for danger. Though she'd watched that night replay over and over she wasn’t sure what he looked like. Now any medium-tall, blondish-brunette, dark eyed man could be the one. She hated the feeling and was upset with herself every time she froze like a rabbit before a wolf.

Deep in thought she didn’t hear anyone approach. She only noticed their presence when a hand ran across her shoulder blades, lingering a moment before the owner sat in a chair opposite her. The recognition was immediate. She wondered how she couldn’t remember his face before now, the details were all so familiar. She stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

“I thought that was you.” He smiled as he said it, as if they were friends meeting each other casually.

She didn’t say anything, barely even breathing. She could hear her blood rushing around in her ears, unclear on where it should go to escape this nightmare.

His smile grew though his eyes were hard. She could see now that they were blue. A dark blue that looked black in the shadows.

“It’s the silent treatment, is it?”

She wondered what he expected. He must have been unaware of the rage burning inside her or he wouldn’t be so relaxed. If only she could make herself move.

“Well, pout if you want to. I don’t mind a little attitude.” He reached out his hand and tilted her chin up, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip. She wanted to bite him. Her brain was yelling at her body to react, but just like with the girl in her memory, it was useless. Fear had taken over.

He smiled again as he let go. “I’m glad I found you. You left without saying goodbye. Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” It was a threat and he looked into her eyes to make sure she understood it. She glared back but it was too obvious who held all the power. Satisfied he stood up and started to walk away.

“Oh,” he stops, “you left your shoe. Come by whenever you want, Emily. I’ll make sure you get it.”

With that he was gone, passing through the doors and out of sight. She barely made it to a trashcan before throwing up. She hadn’t eaten much over the past day so it was mainly bile, painfully burning her throat. When she straightened up there were people staring at her, disgusted. One girl turned to her friend and made a rude comment that Emily could hear just enough of to know they thought she was drunk. She flipped everyone off and stalked away. She didn’t bother to clear her table, grabbing her bag and heading out a different exit.

Hotch tried his best to remain focused on school. He knew she was avoiding him and reluctantly did his best to make it easier on her. He spent more time in the library (a place she would never go without him) and was careful to sit towards the front of classes they shared so she could hide in the back. He didn’t venture to her side of the dorm building though he had been tempted to ask her roommate how she was doing. From what he could see, not well. It hurt his heart to ignore her but he wanted to respect her wishes. She told him, very clearly, to leave her alone so he would. Classes kept him busy enough and he fell back into old habits—forgetting to eat, staying up all night studying, not talking to anyone for days at a time. He was too young for them to be called frown lines but his face was developing permanent grooves around his mouth and between his eyebrows.

He was walking towards the library when he saw her. She moved quickly, head bent, hair flying wildly behind her. She was visibly angry and people moved out of her way on the path. As she got closer, he thought about stopping her, insisting on offering whatever comfort he could provide. She was past him before he even finished his thought. She didn’t see him standing on the side of the walkway.

She didn’t see anything through the all-consuming rage driving her forward. She wasn’t sure where she was going but she knew she needed to hurt something. She could see his smug face floating before her and she wanted to break it. If she could, she would kill him without hesitation. But she couldn’t. She was too weak. Too weak to even say anything to him when given the chance. This unpleasant thought slowed her down. She was reminded that all this had happened because of her. There was no point in hurting him when she would still be the same person who was naive enough to let this happen. The only worthwhile person to hurt was herself. She was the real problem. With that realization, she changed direction, heading back to her dorm and the bottles she’d hidden there.

It took talent to maintain a level of inebriation that kept her just beneath the surface of reality without destroying her physically. Here she couldn’t feel enough to care, every responsibility and unwelcome emotion just slid away. She could walk to class (when she bothered to go) without feeling people’s eyes on her, oblivious to their judgement. Sometimes she got tired on the way and laid down on a bench or under a tree instead. Occasionally she fell asleep and was out until the chill of sunset woke her. Part of her knew this would be the end of her but if she was being honest, that was probably for the best. The world didn’t benefit from her presence, it certainly wouldn’t notice her absence.

Even in the permanent fog she had been cultivating, Emily could tell something was off. She didn’t want to believe it. She had been desperately hoping it wasn’t true. She was late all the time. The word ‘stress’ didn’t even begin to cover how she had been feeling. There were a dozen explanations that didn’t involve this. Please, please, she begged, anything but this. On the sixth week she caved to her paranoia and bought a test. When she asked for a pack of cigarettes to go with it, the clerk gave her a disapproving look.

“Hoping for the best!” She tried to sound cheerful and gave the sour woman a wink. Inside, she felt all her organs turning to stone.

She found a gas station with a single stall bathroom. This kind of thing couldn’t be done in a dorm bathroom shared by half a dozen girls. Not unless you planned on letting everyone else know too. She paced as she waited, ignoring the knocks on the door. When enough time had passed she took a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes and sending one last plea into the universe. When she looked down at it everything went black for a moment. She steadied herself against the graffitied wall, breathing through her nose before looking again.

Positive.

She bit down on the back of her fist to keep from screaming. Whoever was at the door was knocking again.

“Fuck off!” she yelled back. She looked at herself in the mirror. Get a grip, Emily. She had to get out of there. That was the first step. She would figure out the rest of it after that. She realized she was still holding the plastic test, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. If only she was strong enough to crush it, pulverize it until it was only a harmless powder. She wrapped it in several paper towels, shoving it deep into the trashcan so no one would accidentally see it. Not that it mattered. Did anything really matter at this point? She felt a wave of hysterical laughter threaten to consume her. She had to move faster.

She slammed the door open, making the impatient knocker jump. That gave her some small satisfaction as she sped through the convenience market and out the door. She had gotten the cigarettes open before she got to the end of the block. It took a couple tries to get one lit, eventually having to pause to be able to coordinate the necessary movements. She felt a thin chemical relief immediately begin to soothe her. She was never a big smoker but she’d always found them comforting in times of crisis. The smell reminded her of summer nights and the burning of the smoke in her lungs helped distract her from the thoughts that were trying to consume her.

She walked rapidly back to campus, chain smoking the whole way. She couldn’t focus enough to come up with a plan. She could barely wrap her mind around the reality she was now facing. She felt her skin crawl with the knowledge there was something growing inside her. Something unwelcome and alien. Horrible, undeniable evidence that all her memories were real.

She reached her dorm building but wasn’t ready to go inside. She felt trapped already, she couldn’t bear the idea of being surrounded by walls and people. She collapsed onto a ledge running around a planter beside the entryway. Switching off between worrying her fingers with her teeth and taking drags on her cigarette, she tried to reason her way to calm. She leaned her elbows on her knees and examined the concrete between her feet, trying to remember what people did with problems like this.

“Emily?”

As soon as she looked up into Hotch’s worried face she started crying. She dropped her head into her hands, nearly burning herself. He was the last person she wanted see. She had been working so hard to stay away, to keep her failure to herself. There had been many times over the past weeks she had wished she could find him and beg for his friendship. She’d fantasized about lying, creating elaborate stories to explain her behavior. But she had been too afraid he would see through her. Now he was going to find out anyway.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” He knelt down in front of her, placing his hands cautiously on her knees. “Hey, talk to me. Please?” He pulled the half smoked cigarette from her fingers and crushed it on the ground beside them. She was still sobbing even though she was pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to hold the tears back by barricade. He waited, staying very still and watching her closely. She slowly calmed down enough to take a few shaky breaths. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and avoided his eyes, looking instead at the hole forming in the toe of her sneaker.

“Emily.”

She shivered involuntarily.

“Look at me.” He gave her knee a little shake of encouragement. The look on her face drove a knife through his heart.

“I really messed up, Hotch.” There was no point in trying to hide it now.

He waited for her to say more.

“I—I—“she stuttered, starting to panic.

He got off the ground and sat next to her, pressing against her side the way she had done to him so many times before. He took her hands between his much larger ones, holding them gently and hoping he was doing the right thing.

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.” He tried to sound encouraging and not let the fear he was feeling show in his voice. He was truly alarmed seeing her like this. She was so strong, so fearless. Whatever was going on was not going to be easy to deal with.

His solid presence helped ground her and she relaxed against him a little. She closed her eyes, unsure where to start.

“There’s…a lot.”

He squeezed her fingers encouragingly.

“You remember the night I…when I woke you up?”

She felt him stiffen and she stumbled on quickly before he could change his mind and leave.

“Something…happened. At the party. I was being stupid and I—“ She starts crying again. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her, trying to read more between the phrases she was giving him.

“Oh Aaron. I’m pregnant.”

She folded in on herself again, too ashamed to look at him. The pieces finally fit together—the way she had looked like someone had dragged her down a street, how out of it she had been the next day. He felt a piercing self-hatred realizing it had taken him so long to understand. He had failed her and he would never forgive himself for it. But right now he needed to focus. He didn’t know what to say so he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her upright and gathering her to his chest. She wept into his collar while he smoothed his hand over her hair, again and again.

“It’s going to be ok,” he said, gritting his teeth and praying he could make that true. His mind raced ahead with possibilities—the top of his list was breaking the neck of the asshole that had done this.

She pulled back a little to look at him, finally calm enough to be wary. He looked at her evenly, ready to accept whatever justified anger she was going to direct at him. She only bit her lip and looked away.

“I’m really sorry, Em,” he said, his voice tight. “I should have been there.”

“Do you hate me?” She spoke so quietly he almost missed it.

“What? No, of course not. Why would I hate you?”

She sighed. “You’re mad.”

He put a hand on her arm. “Please, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

She looked at him closely to see if he was lying.

“I’m not mad at you Emily.”

Mad for her maybe. Mad at himself, definitely. Furious with whoever did this to her. But not at her. The thought that she believed he would be angry with her for being attacked made him sick.

She didn’t look completely convinced but he’d never lied to her before. Accepting that he meant it, she leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She’d take what she could get. She was too tired, too afraid to question him further.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he added fiercely.

It was so easy to make promises at nineteen. He didn’t mean to lie.

~Part 3~

[totempestsfromwhispers]

To Tempests, From Whispers

[Prologue: Arrival]

It was early in the morning in Lumiose City as the sun hasn't risen up and a grey cloudy sky loomed over the airport. A Lucario in flannel and baggy pants looks toward the horizon then back at a Meowstic wearing a simple buttoned-up shirt underneath a bright blue hoodie and trousers, they're both smiling as an announcement is heard from the lobby that the flight will start shortly.

"Looks like you gotta go. Are you sure you're gonna be fine, Cipher?" The Lucario asks, addressing the Meowstic in a cheerful fatherly tone.

"I'm gonna be fine, dad. I'll call as soon as I get settled in, alright?" Cipher answers back holding his luggage with his right hand as he looks toward the plane bound for Sinnoh. "I'll remember our training too and- …"

He was interrupted mid-sentence as the Lucario hugged him tightly, holding back tears. "Have a safe trip, son. Promise me you'll do your best?"

Cipher just hugged him back as his voice breaks just a little. "Sure, dad … I gotta go now. Wish me luck." He wiped a little tear from his eye and proceeded to take his flight, as he turned back he saw his father waving back.

"Go get 'em, hero."

~~~

"Hello, Jubilife! Today … a hero will be born."

I breathed a sigh of relief as I went outside of the plane, greeted by the bright sunny day of Jubilife. The flight surprisingly took a few hours from my hometown of Lumiose but I guess they're just doing their jobs as usual.

I had my suitcase in tow as I made my way towards solid ground, it was a large wheeled suitcase that I had a bit of trouble carrying by myself which I didn't really mind. After all, I didn't really come here for just a vacation … I came here to apply to my dream school, the ever prestigious Stella Academy, a place that has honed the skills of the best heroes to have ever lived, from what I've seen at least.

It really took me a while to choose what academy I wanna go to. I could have just attended a simple hero academy back at Kalos but my father insisted I go here, he did graduate here after all and now he is one of the well-known heroes of Kalos. I still remembered what he said to me during one of our training sessions.

"If an aura tells you something, you best be listening to it. It never lies."

I took a measly stroll around the city just to see what I can expect here. After some time, I decided I should probably find an apartment somewhere to settle into. This luggage of mine is already putting a bit of weight on me considering I just been on a plane and I'm still feeling a bit of jetlag. Now that I've mentioned it, I was told there would be someone who's gonna help me settle in here and I have yet to find this 'mon.

Having nothing else to rest on, I just sat on a nearby bench putting my luggage next to me as I figured out where I should be heading next. Of course, I can't just run around the entire city just to find a single 'mon, not to mention this is the first time I've been here.

While I seemed to space out for a bit, I felt someone tap my shoulder. Turning around, I see a Lucario wearing a pastel-colored tank top and a black skirt who seemed to be inspecting me up and down. "Umm … can I help you?" I asked as she responded with a smirk.

"Are you, Cipher by any chance?"

"I … I am. Why do you ask?"

"Ah! Yes, yes … I was expecting someone to arrive here in Jubilife and was tasked to accommodate them." She extended her hand towards me and gave a hearty laugh. "Lucia Ferros. Hope we'll get along quite well!"

I instinctively shook her hand and smiled back, a bit confused and dumbfounded as to why she was here. But I can't really complain … at least I can finally settle down. I let go and stood up from my seat, clutching my luggage with me.

"Pleased to meet you, miss. Now … where to?"

"Ohh right, follow me and we should get started settling you in."

"Okay …" I just followed her as we walked along some apartment buildings and alleyways. I don't see any standalone houses and bungalows which were the type of housing I was used to so living in an apartment would be something new for me.

While we walked, I saw her looking around the buildings and taking a sharp turn as we seemed to come across the entrance to an apartment. She seemed to be leading me towards the backyard when she suddenly stopped walking with her back turned away from me.

"Think fast!"

I was going to question where and why did she take me here when she suddenly threw something at me, what looked like a Bone Club on fire heading straight towards me. Her eyes were glowing blue as her body was now covered in aura. Panicking a bit, I let go of my luggage and readied an attack.

Uh … umm … come on, Cipher … think!

"Energy Shockwave!"

I can feel my ears activate as I let out a pulse of Grass and Psychic energy while I closed my eyes. After seeing whether the attack hit her or not, she suddenly wasn't there in my line of sight. I can, however, sense her presence and it was too late for me to react as I turned around and got knocked back almost instantly.

"Aura Blitz!"

Dammit! Why is she so fast …

"Come on, give me your best shot! We aren't gonna be here all day …" She exclaimed back at me as I was standing my ground and not letting myself get knocked over. I attempted the same attack when she grasped my right arm and raised an eyebrow. "Too predictable … surely you had something else on your sleeve ..."

The grip was surprisingly tight, so tight that I can't even move my arm. This whole ordeal was happening way too fast for me to keep up and I needed a way to counterattack. Luckily, I still have my other arm as I sneakily readied an arm behind my back. Combining my Thunder Wave and Energy Ball, I managed to barely materialize the attack from my hand and sent it out.

"Paralyzing Shock Ball!"

Luckily, Lucia seemed to be taken by surprise as she shuffled back and let go of my arm. "Not bad, not bad … now can you handle this?" She was smirking rather than being annoyed that I hit her with my attack as she activated her aura again but this time her paws seemed to be on fire now.

I just braced myself as I am starting to get a little fatigued from having to manage two attacks while still feeling a bit of jetlag. I opened my ears again as I activated my aura as she dashed toward me still with quite an impressive speed, maintaining my form and getting ready to counter any of her attacks.

"Pyro-Combat Strike!"

I just managed to barely dodge it as the flames grazed through my right cheek, leaving a small burn mark as I grabbed her arm and used a weaker version of my Paralyzing Shock Ball with my free hand. "Still had it charged this whole time …" With that, I brought her down to one knee and I stood back to see if she's gonna attempt another attack again.

"Looks like I've seen enough … we're done! Impromptu training is over for now." She smiled as she strained a little while getting up to her feet. "Sorry about that, I just needed to make sure you were the one trained by Dominus himself."

"Well yeah … I'm his father after all …" I scratched my head and chuckled nervously. Father was a hero back in Kalos but I didn't know his legacy would also be known as far as Jubilife of all places.

Her eyes seemed to light up as I said that and immediately held both of my shoulders in awe. "Wait a minute … you are his father? What an honor! Now I feel really bad that I made you do all that … Ok how about this after we get brunch after I get you settled in? Just to make it up to you …"

I just stood there, blinking in disbelief and a bit dumbfounded. Who knew being the son of a well-known hero would be a big deal? I just came here already and I am already having some adoration. "Please … you don't have to do that …"

"I insist! It's all on me anyways and hey, I want to get to know you a bit more and have a little chat if that's alright with you."

"Alright, if you say so …"

"One more thing … Welcome to Jubilife, I'm sure you're gonna love it here!"

"I sure hope so. Still a little nervous about all of this you know …" I immediately grabbed my luggage which surprisingly wasn't damaged and was just a bit dusty from the battle earlier. "Should we head to an apartment now?"

"Yes, yes of course! I'll lead the way. Come on, let's get you finally settled in."

"Right behind you …"

~~~

"Cipher! Glad to see you've finally settled in over there! I hope Lucia wasn't too much for you…" It seems dad had immediately called back just as I rang his phone. I was just on my living room couch when I decided to call him and it was already afternoon by the time I had just finished setting all of my stuff here.

"No worries about it, dad! She was pretty dynamic but she's alright for the most part." I had just learned from her that she used to do some hero training under dad too to prepare herself in studying at Stella Academy. She is now in her third year and is one of the top students already, no wonder she was darn fast with her attacks…

"I'm glad. I just want to make sure you're in good hands … okay, I should be doing my work. I'm currently en route towards a flash fire and I don't want to slow myself down. Goodbye for now, son!"

He immediately turned off the call just after he said that as I stared blankly at my phone screen just to reign in all of what had just happened today. Entrance exams for the academy are tomorrow and I want to make sure I'm in my best shape for that so I'm going to do some training for the big day ahead.

"Don't you worry, dad. I'll make sure mom's gonna be proud of me too from up above. I’ll promise that…" I left him a voicemail just as Lucia was waving at me by the window to start my training.

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 8

Its been five years. Alma and Bruno are all grown up! Its the year 1999, but it is still some time before Bruno’s 19th birthday.

“Arms above your head.”

Bruno obeyed the prison guard’s orders. The guard ran her hands down his body: starting from his shoulders down to his upper thighs. Satisfied with her search, the guard allowed Bruno to pass through.

“Wait one moment.” A male guard said.

“Is something wrong?” Bruno asked.

“Another man is currently visiting Polpo. You’ll have to wait until he gets out.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow. Polpo did not notify him that he would be seeing someone before him today. It couldn’t have been Fugo. Bruno ordered him to meet him at Libeccio’s later today to discuss the information he would be receiving from this summons from Polpo. He also had some other business to discuss with him as well. I wonder who it could be. Bruno thought. His question was answered when the door to Polpo’s cell unlocked with its usual loud, unhinging sound. A man who towered over him stalked through the door. He had a powerful muscular build and wore a long, black lapless coat that crossed his bare chest in the shape of an x. He also had on black and white striped pants. But his most notable feature were his eyes. The whites of his eyes were jet black-similar to Polpo’s, but his pupils were scarlet. A scarlet that burned with rage. The man chilled the air around him.

After his body check, he marched past Bruno without looking at him. Bruno stared at his retreating figure for a moment. Polpo must have said or done something to invoke the man's anger. Bruno considered the affairs of other members of Passione none of his concern. He brushed off his thoughts about the mysterious man and entered the cell. The dark hallway became illuminated with green lights. Bruno’s steps echoed through the hall. He stood in front of the wide glass that separated him and Polpo’s room. Polpo sipped his wine, the fat on his neck rolling as he swallowed. He lowered his glass and greeted Bruno. “How are you Buccellati? Would you like some wine? It's a good year.” Polpo said, offering him an empty glass.

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

“More for myself then.” Polpo responded. He emptied his cup in one gulp. He set the glass down and stared at Bruno as if he were examining him. “You're favoring your left arm? What happened to it?”

Bruno clutched his arm. “It got hurt in a scuffle the other day. Nothing too damaging. Anyway, why did you call me here?”

Polpo rested his head on his hand, tapping his finger on his cheek. “Some of my men have been indicted. Ones that were supposed to be under the protection of a politician on our payroll.” He huffed, annoyed.

“So you want me to speak with him?”

Polpo nodded. “Find out why he defied the organization. Then kill him.” Bruno disposed of multiple politicians that did not hold up the ends of their bargains with Passione. If politicians didn’t create policies or bend the rules for the organization, they were killed. There was no mercy for them.

“Understood.” Bruno said. Polpo waved him away with a cheeky smile. Bruno internally smacked his teeth.

Bruno exited the prison and headed for Libeccio’s. As he walked the streets, shopkeepers greeted him, restaurant owners asked him to eat lunch with them, and civilians waved at him. After Capra got promoted to capo two years ago, Polpo gave him his former territory. With it, Bruno quickly earned the trust of the people and Polpo, which allowed him to make a name for himself within the syndicate.

He pulled the door to the restaurant open, the bell chiming. A waiter took one look at him and hurried to service him. Bruno lifted his hand and asked, “Is Fugo here yet?”.

“Yes, Mr. Fugo is waiting for you in your usual area.”

“Thank you.” Bruno dismissed the man with a polite smile and wave. He made his way to go sit with Fugo.

“Buccellati. How are you?” Fugo asked.

“I’m fine Fugo.” Bruno pulled out a chair and sat down. He scanned the menu while engaging in light conversation with Fugo. The two of them never discussed work without their meals on the table.

“Mr. Buccellati. May I take your order.” The same male waiter from earlier asked, filling his glass with mineral water.

The man was not the bubbly server he was expecting. The one who refused to let anyone else wait his table when she was on shift. “I’ll have the spaghetti alle vongole, please. That will be all.”

The waiter bowed and left to deliver his order. Bruno’s eyes trailed after him and into the seating area. He searched the restaurant for a sign of Alma. I guess she isn’t working today. He thought.

“Is there something wrong Buccellati?”

Bruno pulled himself from his thoughts, returning his attention to Fugo. “No, everything is fine.” Fugo eyed him with suspicion, but dropped it. Bruno and Alma had a strict rule: never act like friends when he is with members of the gang or working. However, they had slip ups every so often. Their mistakes weren’t noticeable to the average person, but they could not escape Fugo’s perceptiveness. Fugo perched an eyebrow at him and Alma’s restrained grins, forced down jokes, and lingering glances. Bruno assumed Fugo pieced together the connection between him and Alma, but would not ask about it until he felt the need to.

“What were the orders you got from Polpo?” Fugo asked.

“One of the politicians working for the organization has gotten some of Polpo’s men arrested. We’ve been ordered to find out why and kill him.” Bruno said.

“Why would a politician want to betray the organization? It’s-”

“a surefire way to get a hit put out on you.” Bruno interrupted. “I was thinking the same thing, but there has to be a reason. I wanted to know the reasons for why you think he would.”

Fugo placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “I doubt it’s because he suddenly wanted to do honest work. Passione pays too well for that. That man is too corrupt to even consider losing a paycheck. Either the government is cracking down on him or he found a better money outlet.”

Bruno nodded at his answer. “We’ll question him tomorrow. For now, I want you to look into the issues the baker is having with that thug.”

“Understood.” Fugo said.

The waiter brought Bruno his food. He enjoyed casual banter with Fugo as he ate his meal. On he and Fugo’s way out of the restaurant, Bruno took a small, red puzzle piece out of his pocket. He tossed it on the table. Maybe she will come in later today.

Bruno parted ways with Fugo and went to the hospital keeping his father. During his walk, an art shop appeared in the corner of his eye. He gazed at the quirky little store for a few seconds. He shrugged his shoulders and stepped inside. The store clerk welcomed him. “Hello sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I do need some help. Do you have any-I believe charcoal pencils? I have a friend who works on a lot of black and white art projects.”

“We do.” The store clerk said, motioning for Bruno to follow her. She led Bruno to a random aisle that had a overwhelming ink smell. The smell was strong enough to make Bruno slightly lightheaded.

“Sorry for the smell. We had a couple of ink bottles spill.” She grabbed the pencils and brought them to the checkout desk. Bruno glimpsed at the pink dahlias near the checkout.

“Are those flowers for sale?” He asked.

“Yes, they are. Would you like for me to grab some for you?”

“I would appreciate it, thank you.”

She plucked a bundle of the flowers from the shelf. The clerk rang them up along with the charcoal pencils. She bagged the items and handed them to Bruno. He waved goodbye to the clerk before leaving the store to continue his walk to the hospital.

Bruno knocked on the door to his father’s room. There was no answer. His knuckles were about to beat against the door again, but he stopped at the childish giggles from behind the door. Tilting his head, Bruno cracked it open. His eyes glowed with joy. He didn’t need to leave the puzzle piece on the table. Alma’s beautiful snorts mixed with the deep rumble of his father’s laughter. The sound bounced off the walls in glorious harmony. Isabella cuddled next to his father, rambling about some random topic.

He skimmed Alma's body. She wore a coral, cropped hoodie that showed off the elegant curves of her waist and back. Her black leggings hugged her thighs in a way that Bruno liked more than he should have. He forced his eyes to not travel up any further. Alma turned her head towards the door. Her goofy smile widened upon seeing him. Bruno couldn’t stop the grin forming on his face in return.

“Come out of the shadows you creep.” Alma said. Bruno laughed as he walked towards the bed. His father tipped his head to him while Isabella stood up on the bed. She wrapped her tiny arms around his middle. She glanced up at him, her vibrant red eyes shining at him with youthful innocence. Her eyes were like an angel’s compared to the demonic red ones he saw earlier today. Bruno rubbed the top of her head. “Where are your brothers?”

“Soccer practice.” She answered, letting him go to return to his father’s side. He faced Alma. Her features only matured over time, making her grow into a beautiful woman.

“I don’t think you can creep in broad daylight.” Bruno said.

“You would find a way.”

“Everyday, more of Angelo is rubbing off on you.”

Alma put her hand on her stomach and pushed her tongue out like she was vomiting. “Never compare me to him.”

Bruno placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s an action he would do.”

Bruno’s father threw his head back in laughter. He choked out through his snickers, “I’ve never met Angelo, but you two talk about him a lot. He seems to be a very interesting boy.”

Bruno spoke up. “He is. But since he went to college, the restaurant has been very quiet.”

“You mean peaceful. He still works there, just not as often. It’s mostly to help out if anything. But I do miss hearing him and Marco argue.” Alma said. Bruno had to admit he also missed their daily bickering. At times, it was the highlight of his meals at the restaurant.

“From the sounds of it, he would make an interesting best man at you and Alma’s wedding.” Bruno’s father stated, playfully.

Isabella perked up. “There's gonna be a wedding? Can I be the flower girl?”

Bruno and Alma’s cheeks burst into flames.

“I-w-we are not getting married. We're not even dating. We’re just friends.” Alma nudged him with her elbow. “Back me up here Bruno.”

Bruno shook himself out of his daze. “Y-yes. We do n-not have that kind of relationship.” Bruno stammered. Did he struggle to tear his eyes away from Alma's body sometimes? Yes, he did. Did he stare at her lips too long for comfort? Once. But he left it at that, a physical attraction. Alma was meant to be just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Isabella pouted. His father patted her head and whispered something to her. She giggled into her hands and whispered back to him. Bruno was tempted to ask what his father told her, but he decided against it. He could live without the embarrassment. Bruno stuck the flowers he bought into a vase on the table next to the bed. He passed the rest of the bag's contents to Alma. She peered inside of it and gasped. “How did you know I wanted these?”

“You’ve been dropping hints for the past week.”

“No I haven’t.”

Bruno gave her a knowing look. “Just the other day, you were flipping through your sketchbook saying, “If only I had charcoal pencils to shade this drawing.”

Alma scratched behind of her ear. “I was hoping you would pick up the hints months down the line for my birthday. Not for today.”

“Consider it an early gift.” Bruno turned to his father. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling better these days. Nothing to worry about.” His father answered. The doctors told Bruno his father was very lucky to survive his complications after all these years. Bruno was not religious, but he thanked whatever God was out there for allowing his father to live this long. He sat in the chair adjacent to the bed and grasped his father’s hands. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I have to live long enough to see you happy. And maybe, see my first grandchild.” His father’s eyes flashed to Alma.

Alma covered her face with her hands. Bruno’s face started to match the color of Isabella’s eyes. He fumbled with his words. “Hopefully. Bu-but not like-with, nevermind.” Bruno rose from his chair. He, Alma, and Isabella waved goodbye to his father as they left the room.

Bruno’s keys jingled as he unlocked the door to his house. As it creaked open, lavender incense flooded his nostrils. He breathed deep and let the sweet scent calm him. “You clean the place Alma?”

“Yeah. I figured you probably forgot again. But conveniently, you never leave much of a mess.” She and Isabella stepped inside the house and removed their shoes. He followed in after them. Bruno’s home was fairly plain. He had gray silk couches, a television, white walls, and hardwood mahogany flooring. His father’s torn fishing net was the only thing that hung on the walls. But when he gave Alma his spare key, he soon noticed the growing collection of decorative furniture, paintings hanging on the walls, and a different incense scent always burning. However, the occasional drawing on the wall from Isabella he could go without.

He dropped onto the couch with Alma plopping down next to him. Bruno grabbed the remote and asked Isabella, “Do you have something you wanna watch?”

She stopped playing with the stuffed animal on the floor. “Nickelodeon.” Bruno clicked sixty three on the remote. A cartoon about a blonde boy with a strange shaped head popped onto the screen. Isabella crossed her legs and was absorbed into the television. Bruno picked up the laptop on his coffee table. He flipped it open and scrolled through the two open tabs. One contained details about available apartments and the other was about the University of Naples’ art program. “So you really are determined to move out of Mr. Calamaro’s place?” He asked Alma.

“I am. The only issue is trying to figure out how I am going to raise the rascals while I go to school. Miguel is old enough to watch over Emilio and Isabella, so I don’t have to rely on Sophia all the time. But they’re getting older, so school is getting more expensive. I can try to work more hours at the restaurant during summer and push more art commissions. Maybe I’ll get more commissions when I go to college.”

“I told you not to str-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I told you how I felt about you and Marco paying for my stuff.” She interjected, holding up a finger.

“Because you need the money. Stop being so stubborn and take it. If you don’t, I’ll just sneak it into your account.”

Alma dropped her hand in her lap and sighed. “Fine. But I’m gonna pay you back one day.”

“I don't need you to pay me back. You should also stop stressing yourself over this school. Angelo got in. You can too.”

Alma pushed herself into the sofa. “He may not act like it, but Angelo is actually smart. I’ll cry for a whole week if I don’t get into this school. They have one of the top art programs in the country.”

“And you will get in. Your drawings are amazing.” Bruno moved his arm slowly to close the laptop. The bruise on it still ached. He prayed Alma did not notice. She did. Whereas Polpo observed Bruno’s injuries out of curiosity, Alma did it out of genuine concern. Her features softened as she reached for his arm. She stroked her thumb on his forearm asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a small bruise.”

Alma got up and fetched the first aid kit. She rolled up his sleeve and applied the cool, soothing salve to his bruise. Her delicate fingers wrapped the bandages around his arm with care. Her eyes were downcasted and she said nothing. Bruno hated the slight trembles of her lips, the cracks in her voice, and her worried glances when she treated him. He cupped her chin. “Talk to me.”

She swallowed. “You don’t have to tell me, but I know you're moving up in the organization. That means you’ll be in more danger. I don’t know Fugo that much, but I don’t want him or you getting hurt.”

Bruno swiped his thumb along her chin. “I’ll be alright. Mmkay.” He whispered.

“Mmkay.”

[deamstellarus]

In Viata Asta (2)

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Uhm…language and hurt/pain?

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

“-ue! Damnit.”

Everything hurt. That much you were certain. The burning, throbbing pain all over gave you the heads up you weren’t dead. At least you hoped you weren’t dead. Your body felt strained and tight, a distinct pressure in your head. You could feel how your body twisted in a weird position, but trying to move your limbs was futile. As far as you were concerned, they were made of lead and took too much energy to even think about moving. It felt as if your head was underwater. Captain America’s voice cut through it all, followed by… a car horn?

“Blue, open your eyes!”

It took everything in you to obey. You blinked rapidly against the sudden brightness. When your vision cleared, distressed blue eyes met yours. He breathed a sigh of relief when you obeyed.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“That’s a helluva mouth you’ve got, Captain,” you croaked. Your throat hurt.

“Don’t believe everything you see on TV,” he sassed. “We gotta get you out of there. They’ll be after us in a minute.”

You nodded, or tried to. The seatbelt cut into your stiff neck. You were upside down hanging from the seatbelt that probably kept you from flying through the decimated windshield. You looked back at Steve, realized he was outside the car, kneeling at your window. Slowly, you unhooked your seatbelt and slumped to the ceiling of the car, his hands softening your impact. You tried to reach out to take his hands to pull you, but your left arm wasn’t responding as normal and you realized your shoulder must have been knocked out of place in the crash. 

“It’s dislocated. I can’t pull myself.” You took in a sharp breath. It hurt, but you didn’t have time to waste.

“Hold still and brace yourself. I’ll get you out.” 

You locked your arms the most you could before Steve’s strong grip pulled you out of your destroyed Jeep swiftly. The rain was full force now, the trees doing little to shelter you as raindrops pelted your skin. You heard shouting a ways behind you. You groaned and got to your feet with the help of Steve. 

“You have to push it back in,” you yelled to Steve over all the noise. Fuck, this was going to suck. But you were out of options, and realistically you couldn’t do much if you didn’t have full motion in all of your limbs. You slowly pulled your soaking wet hoodie over your head, gingerly guiding it down your injured arm, leaving you in your t-shirt. Which wasn’t the best move considering the weather but it was necessary to give him access.

“Right now?” Steve looked hesitant.

“Yes!” You leaned impatiently on your flipped car. You didn’t have time for second-guessing. “You have done this before right? Just brace your arm on the- FUCK!”

Steve’s execution was swift, taking advantage of your running mouth as a distraction. The breath was knocked out of you. With your arm in place, however painful, you started forward, stumbling on slightly wobbly legs. Steve caught you by your waist.

“Thanks,” you muttered. The rain came down hard, visibility was shit now. You would be surprised with the sudden change in weather from the morning but with the events of the day so far, it seemed fitting. Mother nature's cruel joke.

“I would say anytime but…”

“Yeah yeah.” You weaved between trees, putting distance between you and guns that were thankfully doing more damage to the trees than you. “There’s a river up ahead. We can probably lose them at the bridge that goes over it. Maybe even ambush them? Wish I still had my gun...”

“Sorry! I wasn’t planning on losing it.” His apologetic expression morphed into a smirk. “Just like I wasn’t planning on being attacked in a small town general store.”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “You probably drag the trouble with you everywhere you go.”

“Now you really do sound like Bucky.”

“I’m going to have to meet Mr. Barnes then. Apparently we have so much in common.” The river was directly in front of you at this point, the wooden bridge a little ways north. The rapids were in full-force now though. It would be a real bummer to fall in, so you made sure to keep a decent distance away from the edge of the ravine, where it was usually pretty slippery with mud.

Steve was not as lucky.

You heard a yelp, then were immediately yanked down with him as he tumbled down the muddy slope. You saw his hand jut out to try and slow your descent but the effort was futile. Soon enough, you hit water and the current dragged you under.

You were knocked around, your feet trying desperately to find purchase on something, anything, to possibly slow down. Your lungs burned at the effort to hold your breath but you were going to have to get some air soon. For your first time back in a body of water since the incident, it could be better. The only thing that kept you mildly sane and slightly out of panic was how Steve was still holding your hand. His strong grip tricked you into feeling marginally safer. Because he was Captain America. You normally prided yourself in knowing what to do in emergency situations, but you were only human. If anyone knew how to get out of a sticky situation, it would be him. Your head broke the surface for a brief moment. You gasped, inhaling water and air simultaneously. Your lungs burned and you started coughing.

“Try to get to an edge!” Steve’s voice was almost swallowed by the roar of the water. “We need to get to shallow water if we even have a chance of getting out!”

You agreed, but you didn’t want to open your mouth for how much water was sure to flood your body if you did. So you squeezed his hand tighter, hoping he would understand its meaning. You felt a tug and then his grip loosened. Too much. You gripped as tight as you could as you fought your way above the rapids. You could barely make out Steve’s face. His eyes were closed, and there was red on the side of his head. Fuck. His head must have hit a rock. 

You moved without thinking. You struggled but eventually got the majority of your body under his, barely able to keep his head above the water, your body struggling under his weight. You wrapped your legs around his torso best that you could, and kept an arm around his chest from behind, lifting a bit under his armpits. His massive form blocked you from seeing anything besides the cloudy sky above you and the water whipping past your face. 

You felt a shift in the current, the water seeming to speed up. Against your will, you were rushed over a series of cascades. The thing nobody really thinks about with rivers is how many sharp rocks are involved. You let go of Steve with one arm to wrap it around the back of your head, trying to protect it, lest you too get knocked out and you both drown to your deaths. Natasha would be pissed. For every bump you went over, your back and arm were scraped and slashed by the daggers under the water. At one point, you almost let Steve go, the continuous sharp pain becoming too much. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. 

One final rough scrape over an edge and your bodies went airborne briefly. 

Then you were in smooth waters. You poked your head above the surface, finding you were in a natural pool of sorts. You unlocked your legs from around Steve’s body. You kicked toward the edge of the water where you could see a natural entrance to the pool. Your foot grazed the rocky bottom and you've never been happier to have touched something even remotely solid. You dug your heels in and dragged Steve to the edge but you realized your problem when the water only came up to your waist and you almost collapsed under his weight. He was over six-foot-three and very much all muscle, and very wet. And you hadn't worked out consistently in… years. Without the water to help float and carry his body, you struggled to pull him to land.

You got out and gripped him under his shoulders, dragging him across rocks, albeit smoother than the ones under the river. It was like pulling a truck across sand. Maybe you were a bit dramatic, but his body was that heavy. Your muscles screamed at you, your injured shoulder felt like it was on fire, until you made it far enough up the bank so his feet were barely touching water, laying him down as gently as you could before dropping in exhaustion beside him. But you couldn't rest yet. You panted as you crawled to hover over Steve's body. Two trembling fingers to his pulse relieved you to know he was alive, but his light breath in your ear confirmed it. 

You gingerly laid next to him on your side. The slight brush of the stones to your back made you wince. As an afterthought, your hand flew to your neck, fingers searching for your necklace. You found the thin chain easily enough, but you didn’t relax until your fingers grazed the oddly shaped pendant. Your thumb smoothed over the center gem a few times. 

As the adrenaline faded, the reality of your situation set in. You gulped the air, your body shivering as it went into shock. Just like all those years before, you were practically paralyzed in fear. So you did what you could at the moment. 

You closed your eyes and waited for it to pass.

__________

It was warm. That was your first thought. It felt like a decade had passed since you were warm or dry, but now you were both. The rain had stopped; the sky was still overcast, but now it was definitely less threatening. A few feet away, Steve poked at his watch, now off his wrist and in his hand. His brows were furrowed, his lips formed a grim line. You rubbed your eyes, the motion catching his attention.

"Hey, glad to see you're awake." His eyes softened as they landed on you. You went to sit up but the action was immediately shot down.

"No hey, you probably shouldn't do that." You tried to anyway. Your back felt on fire from the effort, the pain so bad you were sure you looked like a fish with your mouth gaping open and shut. "Or at least let me help." 

His firm but gentle grip on your shoulders guided you into a sitting position. Your vision spun at the motion and you pressed a hand to your forehead, a hood falling from your head. You realized you had his hoodie on, which probably kept you from freezing out here except…

"Aren't you going to catch a cold like that?" He was down to the borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants. While the rain had stopped, March in Washington state in the mountains wasn't exactly t-shirt weather.

"I run a bit warm. I'll be alright." He smiled, sitting down beside you.

"Stupid super soldier serum." His arm went around your shoulder, pulling you into the warmth of his body. Maybe not so stupid after all. You savored the warmth, curling into him a bit more. He stared at his watch again, looking thoroughly annoyed. And you… you were in pain, but stubbornly ignoring it, before you'd have to inevitably move again.

“Got somewhere to be, Cap?” You broke the silence. He looked at you confused, so you nodded to the device in his hand. “You’ve been glaring at that thing for a while.”

"Stupid watch,” he grumbled. “It’s Stark-tech I was hoping it would either show us our location or at least let me get in contact with someone. But it got messed up on the way down here.” Sure enough, the screen is cracked and dark. “I'm not gonna lie, not quite sure where we are. Nor do I have the desire to come back the way we came."

"Yeah, our best bet is to head downstream from here," you said. A creak forked off to the side of the natural pool; you bet you'd find at least some trail signs to get you back on track to somewhere. You’re sure you’d find a road to a town eventually. Either way would take too long. At the very least, those men weren't following you anymore. A bright side to a rather cold and dim reality.

Abruptly, Steve's arm left your shoulder and he got to his feet, taking the warmth with him. 

"We should get moving. I realize we're just sitting ducks here. Who knows who could be watching us, or what animals we might run into," he said, glancing around. "This seems like a prime drinking spot for wildlife, and I'd rather not be eaten by a bear."

You rolled your eyes. "A bear is not going to eat you. There are hardly any more bears in this area at least; they've become an endangered species. There's a crazy low population that still reside here." It was true, though you had seen a lone bear on the farthest point across the lake behind your cabin just before the winter hit. Not that you were going to mention it to him. “Besides, it's the moose that you need to look out for." 

Steve's eyes were wide when he answered. "Moose eat people?"

"What? No!” you snorted. “But they're huge, and you'll be scared shitless if you come across one unexpectedly.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He held out a hand for you. “Need a hand getting up?”

“Sure, thanks.” You held on as he hauled you to your feet, the power behind is pull stronger than necessary, as the momentum kept your body going and your hands flew up to brace yourself for impact and stumbled into his chest. His very big, broad, warm chest. This close up you could see the flecks of green in his eyes. 

Pretty. He was much too pretty.

You tried to take a step back and almost fell on your ass but the hand to your waist kept you from falling. There was a pain in your ankle you hadn’t noticed when you first woke up. It was going to be a struggle to climb over the rough terrain with a bad ankle. 

“Are you okay?” Steve’s gaze was intense on yours.

“I’m, uh, well my ankle is messed up. I don’t think it’s broken though?” It came out more as a question.

Steve dropped down on a knee getting a closer look at your leg. You leaned on his shoulder for support.

“It’s probably just a sprain, but definitely not something you should be walking on in this area.” You figured as much. “I’ll just carry you down.”

You nodded. “Wait, what?” He turned in front of you, still crouched, but now his back was to you. “You want to give me a piggyback ride? Am I five?”

“Not with that mouth of yours.” He smirked. “This is the best option. If we get going now, we have a better chance of making it to any location with a phone before it starts getting dark.”

You sighed. He was right.

“Are you sure? I won’t be too heavy?”

“Blue.”

“Okay, okay.” You slowly positioned yourself over his back, your arms over his shoulders. As he stood, he gripped your thighs on either side of his waist, keeping you securely attached to him. “Thank you.”

“No problem, doll.”

You were glad he couldn’t see your face or you were sure he’d notice the redness forming on your cheeks from the nickname. 

Steve set off down the rocky side of the river, stepping over stones until he reached more level ground to set a steady pace. You were thankful he suggested carrying you, as much as you hate to admit it out loud. Not only were you exhausted, but even just the slightly jostling of your body from your current hike rubbed your back the wrong way. It was ridiculously sore, and if you thought about it too hard, you were sure your entire body would just be pain. You glanced at your injured hand over Steve’s shoulder, the large gash gory and reminiscent of B-list horror movies now covered by a strip of the material from Steve’s t-shirt. You wondered if it was going to get infected before you could get some help.

“Hey,” Steve gently squeezed your thigh, grabbing your attention. His head turned a bit toward yours. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just wondering if my whole body looks as bad as my hand. Or at least as bad as it feels.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain, Blue.”

“It is what it is. I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

“True.” He was quiet for a few paces. “I never thanked you for saving me back there.”

“Eh, it was nothing you wouldn’t have done. Besides, I couldn’t very well let you drown back there.”

“But still, I feel bad. I’m sure you could have avoided all the injuries if you hadn’t been stuck with me.” His eyes were downcast.

“Don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but I don’t consider myself stuck with you. Up until those dipshits at the general store, I was having a lovely time with my new friend.” You poked his cheek. The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile.

“Same here, Blue.” 

__________

You continued through the forest, keeping an eye on the river to your left. Your body felt stiff, but you had to deal with it until you could find help. You leaned more into Steve’s back, soaking in as much warmth as his body had to offer.

“So, ah...” Steve started, sounding conflicted.

“Hm?”

“What’s your real name? Feels kinda odd to only call you by a nickname when I don’t know your given one.”

“Ah, well… that’s the thing, Cap. I don’t really have one.”

“What do you mean?” His pace slowed.

“I mean, I’m sure I have one, but I don’t remember what it is. I haven’t since I woke up in a warehouse in Russia in 2011. That’s where Nat and Clint found me.” You sighed, closing your eyes. The scene played out in your mind. “I was sixteen or seventeen I think, at least that’s about the age the doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. came up with. It was February, and so, so cold. I remember waking up to voices, quiet bickering that echoed in the space. When I finally opened my eyes, they were standing above me, wide-eyed. Which is fair, looking at it from their point of view, I would’ve thought I was dead too. 

“Lying on the concrete in an abandoned warehouse, with the bare minimum of clothing and a necklace… I remember my fingers were so cold, they were purple and I couldn’t move anything. When they,” you paused, your voice wavered. You hated thinking about this. “When they asked for my name, I couldn’t remember it. I couldn’t remember anything. Not how I got there, or where I was from. Nothing.” You sniffled, glad you couldn’t see his face.

“Oh, doll.” His thumbs rubbed circles on your thighs. 

“I think Clint felt bad for upsetting me. He gave me a nickname, Blue Moon. Said I could have a new name now, that my memory loss was probably temporary and just from the shock, and would most likely come back once I was warmed up and had calmed down.” You sighed. “It didn’t come back. Obviously, but I’ve accepted it. It’s been seven years and I turned out okay. Even pretended I was a badass with S.H.I.E.L.D. for a few years, so you know, could’ve been worse.” You chuckled,  sounding weak even to your own ears.

“Well, you seem pretty great to me, Blue.” It sounded so sincere coming from his lips, even after only knowing him for a few hours.

“Thanks, Steve.” 

“Hey look at that.” Steve pointed up. “The sun finally decided to show itself.”

Sure enough, soft pale yellow rays were peaked through the leaves of the canopy. The light reflected off the water droplets that clung to the trees and leaves, making the whole forest glisten. 

It was beautiful.

__________

“So jelly beans or gummy worms?” You asked at random. You were bored. As beautiful as nature was, this wasn’t a normal hike where you were mentally prepared to let your mind wander and keep everything peaceful. You needed to keep your mind from thinking too much on your situation.

“What?”

“What’s your preference: jelly beans or gummy worms?” Because even though you knew he was a national icon, the image of the Captain America doing anything besides punching Nazis still seemed a little surreal to you. Even if that meant eating snacks meant for kids.

“Hm, I guess jelly beans?”

“Eh. I guess I can’t hold that against you. You probably ate them as a kid.”

“Oh is that how’s it’s going to be?” He chuckled, the rumbling feel the rumbling in your chest.

“Yup.” You popped the ‘p’, grinning when he glanced back at you. 

“Well in that case, pretzels or popcorn?”

“Popcorn, duh. Pretzels are okay, I guess. But I prefer the giant soft ones to the crunchy snack-sized ones.”

“That’s fair.” He nodded.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done for a mission?”

He thought it over.

“I went undercover with Nat and Barton once as Renaissance reenactors.” It was said so casually you almost missed his answer. 

“Really?!” You’d pay to see pictures of Natasha dressed in medieval clothing. 

“Oh yeah. Barton really made the whole ‘Robin Hood’ thing come to life.” You bet he did. “The clothes weren’t all that uncomfortable, but chainmail is awful.”

“With your broad chest and big arms, not to mention all that blonde hair, I bet you looked like a true knight and had all the maidens falling at your feet.”

“Yeah, well Romanoff got enough blackmail to last for years.” He shook his head, a smirk on his lips. 

“I’d love to see those.” And then a thought occurred to you. “Did Natasha wear a dress?”

“Leather pants and one of those corset vests.” 

“Of course she did.” She probably also carried around a sword and dueled anyone who belittled her. 

“It wasn’t the worst undercover mission I’ve been on.”

“What was?”

“Have you ever been stuck in a single room with Clint after a night of Mexican food and cheap tequila?”

You grimaced, because you had, and you wouldn’t wish that on anyone. __________

Steve was quiet for a long time after that. There was clearly something on his mind but he had yet to say anything. You weren’t going to push him. The sun was directly above you now, warming your back, and with Steve’s heat on your front, a nap was starting to look a good option.

“Why a cabin?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Well, it wasn’t my first choice, but it’s nice out here. Quiet. Peaceful.” Not a lot to keep you looking over your shoulder.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to live in the city?” 

“I did the city life, for a couple years after I left S.H.I.E.L.D. A few months in the U.S., a few in Europe. London was nice, L.A. was too warm. I settled in Bucharest the longest though. I usually never stayed longer than a few months in a new place, but I spent six months there.” 

“What was different about Romania?” He was curious. You couldn’t blame him; you didn’t think you were going to stay there for long either.

“I met a friend.” More like a neighbor that you annoyed into companionship. “I met him at a little farmer’s market. My bag of plums broke, and he helped me with them. Looking back on it now, that was probably so out of his comfort zone. He always kept to himself and didn’t speak too much at first. He was perpetually grumpy.” That was an understatement.

“Yeah, I know someone like that.” He chuckled softly to himself.

“I called him “Sunshine” because of that. I think that was the first time I got more that a grimace out of him.” You missed your grumpy cat, but it’s been so long if you even saw him again, he probably wouldn’t even recognize you.

“Sounds like a decent enough guy. Why’d you leave?”

“One day I went by his apartment and he was gone. Disappeared without saying goodbye.” Not that you were super close, but it still hurt a bit. You laid your head on his shoulder. “After that, I was too paranoid to stay in the city by myself. I felt like someone was always watching me. Too many people, too many faces. So I called Clint and he said he had a place for me with a low population count and a beautiful view. And the rest is history.”

“You’ve been alone all this time?” He sounded shocked.

“Almost two years.” 

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Yes. You were notorious for spending too much time in your head and with no one to break up that isolation, it’s taken a toll on you. You longed for some company.

“Yeah, I suppose so. I miss hanging out with Clint and Tasha, but with as busy as your schedules get, it’s hard for them to get downtime to visit me for very long.” You missed cozy movie nights with an endless amount of pizza, and archery lessons even though you knew a bow and arrows weren’t your thing. You would deny it, but even sparring with Natasha was something you found yourself missing, even if she still knocked you on your ass more than half the time.

“Well, it’s settled then. You’re coming back with us officially, once we get out of here.” His tone was so confident, you couldn’t tell him no if you wanted.

“Sounds like a plan, Cap.”

“On one condition.”

“Shoot.”

“You’ve gotta start calling me Steve, doll.”

“Will do… Steve.” 

He stopped abruptly. 

“What’s wrong?” You mumbled, your eyes droopy where you rested your head.

“You weren’t lying…” he whispered. “That thing’s huge!” 

Your head popped up to look over his shoulder. Sure enough maybe two hundred feet in front of you, standing in the middle of a ray of sunlight, was a moose. Majestic as all hell, like he knew he owned the forest, with massive shoulders and wide, bold antlers.

"Should we… do we need to find a different way around?" Nervousness clear in his voice. 

"Nah, just give him a wide berth and go around. They're gentle if you stay clear of them." It wasn't your first encounter with a moose, several have stumbled upon your cabin, but most of the time they don’t want to be bothered. 

“You don’t see something like that in the city.” A childlike wonder graced his face.

“No, I suppose you don’t.”

___________

It felt like it’d been days since you’d seen a road or trail of any kind, when in actuality it had probably only been a few hours. You were starving, but ignoring your discomfort was becoming your new normal. With Steve's metabolism from the serum, you couldn't imagine how much worse off he was, so you couldn't complain. When you finally saw a trail sign directing you back to the nearest town, Steve picked up his pace. 

“Shouldn’t be too long now,” Steve said. You were sure he was tired of carrying you all this time, but he never mentioned it. He was too kind for that.

"Do you think Nat found a way to track us?”

"Did you doubt me, zvezdochka?" Natasha's silky voice may have spooked you, but Steve almost dropped you from how high he jumped. Natasha's gaze scanned your forms, taking stock of your injuries. She smirked. "You look terrible."

"It's good to see you too, Tash." You stuck your tongue out. "Tell me, does he always attract this much attention everywhere he goes?"

"Unfortunately, it isn't an uncommon occurrence." Natasha glanced at her watch, pressing a button before she spoke. "I found them. Heading to the clearing now. ETA twenty minutes. Medical assistance needed." 

Her voice was tight but she kept her cool demeanor in place, a facade of nonchalance. However, her small relieved smile said what she didn't. [Part 3]

__________

In Viata Asta Taglist: @rvgrsbrns​

[fundeadasylum]

Cold

More Micoverse because I love Micoverse. Cody-centric this time. The best boy deserves some love. Hurt/comfort. Very mild compared to my usual stuff.

------

It had already started raining by the time they'd picked their way back down from the upper floors. It was a cold, heavy spring rain that chilled the air and made their breath come out in puffs of steam. Thunder grumbled in the distance, threatening worse than a simple rain storm.

"We should get home," Cody peered through an empty window frame by the stairs, squinting to try and spot some lightning, maybe count the distance in mammals.

"But we didn't check out the basement yet!" Milo gestured to the heavy steel door, warped on its hinges and coated in rust.

"I told you, we can't, it's blocked off," Cody huffed out a cloud, rubbing his hands together, "And the stairs are supposed to be collapsed."

"Lame," Milo said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, "What were we supposed to find in this place anyway?"

"Mm? Oh, I dunno. The ghosts of the owners, I'd hoped," Cody tugged his cellphone from his pocket, frowning at the screen as he pulled up his notes, "Um, this used to be a bed and breakfast kind of place, off the beaten track, ya’ know. But then it was robbed and after that there was just a string of bad luck and the whole place went under. It's been untouched for ages. Nobody's even been murdered here but everyone says there's supposed to be ghosts in it."

"Aw, they say that about any abandon place," Milo kicked at the floor, making it groan agonizingly under his sneakers.

"Yeah, but there's supposed to be a curse on this place." Cody shot back, "Like, the longer you stay, the worse your luck gets until the house just. Kills you, I guess."

"My luck's already rotten," Milo sniffed, sullen and pouting now. He scrubbed at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie and sniffed again. The house creaked against the wind as it settled further into its grave.

"Well I'd rather not push mine, thanks. Let's go."

Milo got the first syllable of a witty reply out when the boards under his feet cracked. He cast a terrified look at Cody and they both made a run for the door. The floor creaked, cracked, groaned and then, finally, buckled underneath them. Milo toppled forward as his legs flailed in the air and there was a sick thud as his skull cracked against the edge of the floorboards. Cody saw a flash of bright red before he was falling, the light from his cell phone spinning and strobing dizzyingly around them as they plunged into the darkness below.

Cody’s back hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing and wheezing, spittle dripping out of his mouth as he tried to breathe again. The broken pieces of wood splintered on the floor around him, flinging pieces into the air, the sounds muffled by the ringing in his ears. By the time Cody had recovered enough to breathe properly and take in his surroundings, the only thing that could be heard was the steady downfall of rain and the rush of water leaking in from somewhere off in the dark.

"M-Milo...?"

No answer. Cody wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and sat back on his knees, readjusting his glasses and trying to peer through the dark. He could make out dark shapes from the light still filtering in from the hole they'd fallen through and one of them looked distinctly like a crumpled and alarmingly still body.

"Milo! Milo, wake up!" He hurried over but hesitated, shaking hands hovering over his friend’s body. He remembered it could be dangerous to move someone who'd been hurt, could make things worse, could kill them. But he had to be sure Milo was okay, he had to check, and it would be better if he was flat on his back, right?

As gently as he could, Cody rolled Milo onto his back. It wasn’t pretty. Milo was out cold, blood leaking from the deep gash in his head, and he already looked ashen in the thin light. Cody pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand and pressed it against the cut before he looked up and around for something that could help. His bag was upstairs by the front door and who knew where his phone had landed when they’d fallen down into what could only have been the blocked off basement. Which meant they were trapped.

Panic started to sink its teeth into Cody’s chest and he tried to keep a cool head, taking deep breaths and focusing on the chill already seeping into his bones from the cold around him. There were other options, there had to be other options, he could get them both out of here, he just had to think about it.

Milo! Milo had a cellphone!

Using his free hand, Cody pawed at Milo’s jeans pocket and managed to tug the phone free. He pressed the home key, eyes already narrowed as he expected the light of the screen to blind him. But nothing happened. Cody frantically hit the button again and again, eventually holding the power button to see if it had been turned off. The logo showed up and he felt a brief surge of hope. Only to have it come crashing down in a wave of icy panic as an empty battery symbol flashed on the screen before the phone went dark again.

“Miillllooooo,” Cody slumped over his friend, sending an exasperated look at the other boy’s slack face, “Why don’t you ever charge your phone, man, come on!” He cast about for his own missing device again, chewing on his lip, “Shoot. Okay. I—I gotta try and find my phone, okay Milo? I’ll be—I’ll be right back, I swear. I just gotta—we need to call for help. I’ll be right back.”

With a grimace, Cody peeled his jacket sleeve away from Milo’s head. The wound still looked raw and nasty but the bleeding didn’t seem as bad. Cody shook his sleeve out, wincing at the sticky feel on his skin, and darted off into the dark to try and find his phone. He dropped to his hands and knees, peering at the ground, patting the cold cement under his hands until his fingers went numb. The basement was getting darker, the rain coming in harder, the thunder getting louder as the storm rolled in over top of them. Cody’s frantic searching increased, his breath coming quicker as he fought down the panic trying to overtake him. His eyes burned and he blinked furiously, refusing to cry, his hands shaking with cold and emotion as he tripped over his own feet, struggling to find his way.

He was only a few feet away from Milo when he splashed into icy water.

Cody jerked back with a yelp of surprise, the knees of his pants and the sleeves of his coat already soaked. The rain must have been leaking into the basement, forming puddles across the floor. With another frown at his circumstances, Cody turned back the way he’d come and continued his search for his phone.

It turned out to be resting face down in a pile of wood in the other direction. Cody tugged it free and thumbed the screen, heart pounding in his chest. The weak flicker it gave him in return did little to boost his confidence but it still worked, it still turned on.

The screen was shattered.

It barely registered his touch and he swore he could feel splinters of glass slicing into the tips of his fingers and thumbs every time he tried to press on it. Or maybe that was just the cold taking up residence in his flesh.

The cold.

If he was already this cold, then Milo must have been freezing. He was laying motionless on the cement, exposed to the droplets of rain already pitter-pattering through the hole in the floor above. Cody stuffed his damaged phone into his pocket and hurried back to his friend. Milo still hadn’t moved, his breathing shallow, his face smeared in red. Cody hesitated again and then crouched down, hooked his hands under Milo’s arms, and heaved, dragging him backwards across the floor until his back bumped into a cold wall. Then he settled down, legs outstretched, and awkwardly positioned Milo on top of him so that his friend’s head was in his lap and his body was resting mostly on Cody’s legs and off the floor. It wasn’t much and Cody was sure his legs were going to fall asleep but it would have to do. He had to take care of Milo until help could arrive.

Leaning back against the wall, he pulled his phone out again and set about trying to navigate through the broken screen. It was frustrating and laborious and more than once he wanted to scream at the difficulty of it. His fingers were sore and the cold was making him shiver by the time he managed to get to his text app. The rain was a heavy drum beating relentlessly against the building. Cody could hear something splashing deeper in the dark of the basement.

It took even longer for him to type out a message to his dad,

Sent (3:27pm): sos Sent (3:29pm): trap in home 7561 steer dr Sent (3:32pm): floor broke n milo bleed Sent (3:33pm) sos

He took a moment to collect himself, swallowing tears past the sticky rock of fear and helplessness that was choking in his throat. He rested a hand against Milo’s neck, felt his friend’s pulse under his sore fingertips, watched the shallow rise and fall of Milo’s chest. Blood had oozed down the side of Milo’s face and stained Cody’s jeans. That was the least of his worries.

Bracing himself for another arduous task, Cody picked up his phone again and navigated to the dialer. His hands were shaking as he pressed the numbers into the flickering screen.

“Nine-one-one operator. What is your emergency?”

Cody drew in a shuddering breath, his free hand clutching at Milo’s signature hoodie, “M-my friend and I are--are stuck. Trapped.” He choked. Saying it out loud was somehow so much harder than just texting it to his dad. His eyes burned and he tried to blink the tears away but they fell this time, hot against the cold skin of his face, “W-we’re stuck. P-please, the f-floor broke--we can’t g-g-get back up. He’s hurt--I can’t--”

“It’s all right. Take a deep breath. Can you tell me your name?”

“Cody. C-Cody Bridges. A-and Milo--my friend is M-Milo Sumney J-Junior.”

Okay, Cody, can you tell me where you are?”

“S-s-seven--” His voice hitched and he took a couple of breaths to try and force the words out. His back was starting to hurt where he’d hit the cement floor, “Seven f-five...seven five six one, um, Steer D-d-drive. The--the old h-house--B’n’B--the f-floor broke, we were just--we were--” He hiccuped, tears running faster down his face. Because in all the times he and Milo had poked around abandoned buildings, of all the splinters and bruised shins and scraped elbows, they had never been stuck like this before.

“Cody, take a deep breath for me. Let it out slowly. Good.” The person on the phone was calm, centered, grounding and Cody latched onto their voice like a lifeline, “Keep breathing, Cody, you’re doing a good job. Help is no its way to you now. I need you to stay on the line for me, okay? Can you do that?”

Cody nodded, remembered the operator couldn’t see him, and let out a breathy, “Yeah. Yes. I can do that.” He looked down at Milo, tears smearing his vision as he sniffed, “M-my friend--Milo’s knocked out. Please h-hurry. He hit his h-h-head really hard.”

“Is he still breathing?”

“Yeah. I m-moved him th-though. It was t-too cold on the floor.”

“Milo sounds like he’s lucky to have a good friend like you.”

Cody was about to respond when something wet and cold soaked into his jeans. He worried for a moment that maybe he had been hurt after all and was only just now noticing the injury. But when he looked down, the panic that had been slowly easing in his chest sank its claws into him all over again, ripping open his racing heart and letting a cry of fear escape him.

“There’s water!” He shouted into the phone, trying to shift away from the expanding lake lapping against his leg, “Th-the rain is flooding the basement! You gotta hurry! Please!”

“Help is coming, Cody, but I need you to try and stay calm. Is there anything tall that you can climb up on?”

Cody tried to shift around to look but it was too dark and he didn’t dare leave Milo alone when the water was creeping up on them so rapidly. He told the operator so, a fresh wave of tears choking his words, his hands shaking from cold and fear. A crash of thunder, so loud and so clearly overhead that it was a wonder he hadn’t heard it sooner, made him jolt. He slammed against the wall, whimpering as the pain jolted him, and the phone slipped from his numb fingers. It cracked against the cement and went out faster than a candle in the wind, vanishing into the rising water.

A sob choked Cody’s throat and he pulled Milo closer to him, using all the strength in his cold limbs to heave his friend up against him, letting Milo’s head rest on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Milo and drew his knees up, openly crying as the cold seeped into his bones and the rain pounded around them. Another boom of thunder had him ducking his face into Milo’s hoodie, his breath coming so rapidly it made his head spin. Water seeped into his shoes, soaking his socks and nipping at his ankles.

“CODY!”

A familiar voice made him look up. Through the gloom and panic, he could just about make out the figure of his dad, hovering near the edge of the hole.

“Dad!” His voice cracked, “Dad, we’re down here!”

Lights flashed behind Dominic and he looked over his shoulder. There was distant shouting that was quickly muffled by another boom of thunder. Cody was shaking so hard he swore he could hear his own teeth rattling in his skull. Then Dominic vanished from sight, stepping back as flashlight beams swung through the air.

“DAD!” Cody cried, “DAD COME BACK! DAD, DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”

“Cody Bridges?” An unfamiliar voice, an unfamiliar figure. They crouched over the hole, aiming a flashlight down into the basement, “My name’s Lilly Meyer. Me and my team are going to get you out of there but I need your help, okay? Can you come over to the hole?”

“N-no! I can’t leave M-Milo!” He was still crying, gasping in uncontrollable sobs, clutching Milo so the rest of the world wouldn’t tear away his best and only friend, “Where’s my daddy!? B-bring my d-d-dad back!”

“Cody, I need you to breathe, okay honey? Deep breaths. We’ll get you out of there and you can see your dad again. He’s got to stay back for his own safety right now though. My team’s going to come down and get you and your friend out,” Cody couldn’t see it but he could hear the reassuring smile in her voice,

“It’s going to be okay, Cody. I promise.”

And it was. At least to the extent that such a scenario could be okay.

Cody was shivering and soaked to the bone and heaving desperate breaths choked with tears. As soon as the team had pulled him up from the hole, he rushed into Dominic’s waiting arms, burying his face in the man’s chest and openly sobbing. His dad fretted, he always fretted, his hands and voice shaking as he pulled Cody close and ran a hand through his sopping hair. He was warm, in that moment, the warmest, kindest, gentlest person Cody had ever been around and Cody would have given almost anything to make that sensation of safety and security and love last for the rest of his life.

But eventually they had to separate. Cody still held his dad’s hand on the way to the hospital, sniffling in the back of the ambulance while the paramedics checked on the unconscious Milo. He held his hand while the doctor’s looked him over, held his hand while Jake and Dan came bursting into the room looking fit to cry themselves, held his hand until he fell asleep like that, leaning against his dad, the voices and noises of the hospital washing over him.

Milo had a concussion and managed to catch himself a nice little case of bronchitis and a severe scolding from his dads. Cody ended up with a fever and nasty bruises on his back. Both of them were grounded for two weeks.

[kindofwriter]

The first ever AI: or is it?

Is this an alright story? I’ve been told so many times that my taste in literature is so abstract and removed from what other people like that I’ll never be able to write an enjoyable narrative. Before I develop anything I just want to know if this is ok. Not good, just acceptable.

Briefly (or as briefly as I can):

The story starts with a young man taking out the trash. He’s told to take it to a proper waste removal plant, but decides that that’s too far out of his way. He takes a look at what he’s suppose to be disposing of, and is terrified to discover it’s a human body. Upon closer inspection he realises it’s actually a very convincing human-shaped robot and tosses it in a dumpster.

Then the proper story begins. It’s ~2235. We have robots, but not AI, that have taken over a lot of manual labour, service jobs, and medical procedures. After a huge population spike a few billion were killed due to global warming, meaning there are huge cities that now have the population of towns. Folding phones and interactive holograms are the norm, but some older tech (3D kindles, wireless headphones) has hung around. In the US the middle and lower classes have joined to form socialist state governments, but the upper classes remain in control of large business and the federal government. Average life expectancy is ~90 years.

Our MC Iris, 19 y/o college student studying coding and robotics and part-time teacher, is walking home. Upon spotting an insanely complex robot just discarded on top of a dumpster she puts it on the trolley with her robotics projects and takes it home.

She lives with her mother who used to be a kind, supportive parent, but began to develop symptoms of dementia nine years ago. Now she’s hostile, forgetful, and abusives. Iris avoids her at all costs, and only stays because of monetary issues. She spends as much time as possible out of the house.

In her room, Iris sets about fixing up the robot. The tech’s a little more complex than what she’s used to, but she adapts. The robot looks horrifyingly like a human man, complete with overgrown hair and blood and tissue, but mimicking this is completely possible with 3D printing tech.

The robot has circuitry in its head, with wires connecting to its spine, a robotic hand, trachea, and voice box, a heart-sleeve, a robotic arm, and a faulty robotic foot + shin. Most other things seem to be printed cells.

Once she’s put the finishing touches on the robot’s head it wakes up, instantly panicking and trying to run away, but its damaged foot prevents this. After a lot of struggling, failed attempts to speak, and a lot of shushing from Iris, the robot becomes tired and ‘powers down.’

While it ‘sleeps’ Iris tries to see what kind of tasks it’s coded for, as it behaved very strangely, but she can’t find anything besides basic bodily functions. She fixes its voice box then goes to sleep.

When Iris wakes up the robot is gone, but she can hear her mom in the kitchen so gets up. It isn’t her mom, but the robot, rummaging through her cupboards and eating as much junk food as it can find.

It sees Iris and apologies for last night, and for eating all her food, and introduces himself as Adam (ahaha, see what I did there? THE BIBLE). He says he’ll be leaving now.

Iris is very confused and wants to know more, so when Adam goes to drink some of her mom’s liquor she offers to buy him a drink somewhere else. They swap his hospital-like attire for a hoodie and one of her mom’s skirts (he’s too tall for the pants, but says he’s partial to skirts anyway).

As they leave the house Adam mentions that he has a family, but the wife he mentions created the code for AI 200 years ago, only to have her designs forbidden and confiscated by the feds. Iris assumes he is the first illegal AI, made by someone who found her plans, and is amazed.

Adam talks to her about working for a dangerous corporation - he doesn’t dare give her the details - and being forced to leave his home. Iris begins to piece together that he was created and coded to act like a regular worker, but forced to work like a non-sentient robot.

She starts to explain to him about AI and Nita Sarcar’s coding, during which he is captivated, but when she tells him Nita died ~150 years ago he looks horrified and excuses himself to the bathroom.

After a while Iris follows him and finds him curled up on the floor, sobbing violently. She marvels at the humanity of the AI, and how easily he can evoke an emotional response from her.

However as she comforts him he tells her that he’s a person and explains where he comes from. Nita Sarcar actually was his wife. They had two children and lived in suburban New York. He was, if he says so himself, an astounding biochemical engineer. His wife was a computer scientist.

A company hired him to create a cure for death. He took the job, but after a few months and some critical thinking he decided it was immoral to develop something that would allow the upper class to evade death. He quit.

But the company wouldn’t let him. They effectively kidnapped him, locking him in a lab until he finished the cure. For ages he refused, but after almost a year he was desperate to see his family, so began work again.

He was forced to test products on himself, and after a while, just to stay alive, he was forced to perform procedures.

As he developed the technology the people at the corporation began to use it themselves, slowly becoming immortal.

Eventually, after what he assumed to be around thirty years, Adam had created a syrum that would cure death in a single injection. He demanded to be returned to his family, but instead the corporation severed the circuitry in his foot, shutting down his entire robotics system, including the brain. Then they told someone to trash him.

He demands that they involve the police, but Iris explains that society is fragile, and the police aren’t allowed to interfere with upper class, federal business. He decides to interfere himself.

Adam and Iris return to her house where she makes him a crutch and supplies him with some tech (some of her own, some that just exists now, like cool future-knives) while Adam used the weird, futuristic hair styler to get rid of his matted hair. He still doesn’t look like a person and it bothers him.

Adam starts to leave and Iris begs him to let her go too. He doesn’t want her to, he admits it’s probably a suicide mission, but she explains that she doesn’t care. There is nothing left in the world for her to do; so far her life has been 19 years of nothingness. Even if it means dying, she’s desperate to get away from home and do something, anything. She also tells Adam that hearing him talk about his family kind of makes her heart ache. She imagines what her life would’ve been like if her parents had loved her.

Her mother hears them arguing and comes to confront Iris, becoming mad when she sees Adam. She accuses Iris of ‘trying to build herself a new mother again’ and tells her to leave and never come home again. Adam instantly agrees to let her come with him and they run.

Iris tells him that when she was eleven she tried to build her mother a new brain and put it in a robot to test it. Her mom found out and accused her of trying to replace her, destroying her project and locking her in her room, then forgetting about her. After a few days Iris had to escape through the window.

They go somewhere: an old mall, an old library, an old camper van - wherever fits the story, and plan an assault on the corporation. Along the way Adam learns that they concrete jungle they’re exploring isn’t actually NYC but rural New York: at some point it become so built up it was indistinguishable from the city.

Now I get to the point in my planning where I know something else has to happen but I don’t quite know what. I know that Adam and Iris have to bond, that Adam has to feel crushed that he missed watching his children (who were 9 and 7 when he went missing) grow up, that Adam has to express extreme emotional and physical pain. Some actions stuff has to happen too. And it definitely needs some side characters at times.

Anyway, before they infiltrait the corp Iris gives Adam a little pass key, explaining that it will completely shut down and destroy his systems when used. He laughs and says something like ‘you’re giving me a suicide opportunity?’ and she says ‘no, I’m giving you autonomy’ in a very serious tone.

Then, obviously, fight-stuff happens. Disabling security, running from robots, meeting creepy cyborg-like people, like Adam but older (probably should’ve mentioned earlier, part of being immortal is preventing ageing. Adam looks mid-late thirties, these dudes are like 60-70. They’re terrifying.)

Adam has no qualms about killing any of these people, and although Iris is all for disabling systems and knocking people unconscious she turns away from Adam’s violent removal of people’s heads.

They corner the ‘main bad guy’ but he locks himself in a lab. Iris begins to disable the systems, but has a better idea. The building, coded to protect The Bad Guys, is gradually getting its remaining defences to Adam and Iris. She logs into the computer’s system and types wildly while Adam panics. She completes the code just in time.

The building’s system wakes up and, remembering all the horrible things it’s been forced to carry out, kills Bad Guy #1.

Iris, having thoroughly, thoroughly studied Nita’s work, has created the first actual AI. She tells it that they’re going to do some great things for the world (here’s where I need some side characters for her to hire. Definitely some people she teaches with etc.)

Iris takes Adam to one of the few non-built-up places in the state and they watch the heavy, dark cloud-coverage sludge around the sky. Adam tells Iris about travelling the world with his family, and the plans he’d had for the future. He apologises that he can’t stay and be like a father to Iris. She says she never expected him to.

Adam tells her he loves her, he’s proud of her, and that getting to know her was the only good thing to come out of his miserable torture.

Iris says he’s given her everything she ever wanted in life, and she can’t wait to start acting like a person herself.

They cry.

Iris offers to leave. Adam asks her to stay. He tells her that he’s not scared; the most frightening thing isn’t death, but feeling dead while you’re still living.

He inserts the chip into the circuitry in his head.

And that’s pretty much it. I’d probably call it something lame like Alive Indefinitely, because that has the AI and the immortality aspect in there.

Thank you so, so much if you stuck it out this long, I actually love you for it ❤️ Obviously it wouldn’t be quite this bad, this is just off the top of my head, but I just wanna know: is it ok? Not if it’s a best seller, or even a seller at all, just it seems like a story.

Thank you, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve made it to the end of this post!

[lefaystrent]

Variants ch.2

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: none

Summary:  Patton was surprised by the mutant robbing the jewelry store one night. It was a “right time, right place” circumstance for Patton in that he happened to be there to see them break into the store. And by break in, he meant that they seeped into shadows and appeared on the other side of the windows without breaking anything at all. 

Chapter Navigation: one

AO3 Link

“Well this isn’t ideal,” Logan muttered to himself before ducking at another gunshot.

Yes he was being shot at. No this was not according to plan.

If he had the option, Logan would simply use his powers to shove the dumpster he hid behind down the alley and at the angry drug dealers currently shooting at him. There was just one problem.

He didn’t have his glasses.

Telekinesis was certainly a useful and powerful ability, when one could see what and where to move things in the first place.

“Wonderful,” Logan growled to himself. “My greatest weakness: the Velma complex. I should reconsider my thoughts on investing in contact lenses no matter how repulsive the idea is. Then again, it is perfectly suitable for one to be squeamish about foreign objects touching their eyeballs, but I digress. Contacts would not be able to be knocked off so easily from one’s face, and with them one would be able to see where to aim a dumpster at. But jinkies, I’ve lost my glasses. And would you hoodlums stop shooting at me! I am trying to rant, please and thank you.”

“Get out here mutant freak!” one of the shooters yelled from the mouth of the alley.

Logan’s eye twitched. “How polite of you.”

With no other options available and Logan’s patience snapped, he chunked the dumpster down the alley anyway. It would leave him exposed for more time than he was comfortable with, but hopefully his pursuers would be distracted long enough for him to run deeper into the alley system and lose them. Also, for lack of a better term, fuck it.

Logan sprinted at full speed, the sound of gunfire blasting into the night once more. Luckily, he rounded a corner without any bullets hitting him. Beyond the huffing of his breath he could hear the pounding of footsteps following behind.

Objectively, the situation was not good. Logan’s heart thrashed so erratically in his chest at the thought that he might just die here. Adrenaline worked overtime to keep him going, but the world had been reduced to a dark blur and his breaths hitched painfully sharp in his throat.

Logan rounded a corner, scrambling against the brick wall he nearly face-planted into. He picked up the pace when he saw that the end of this particular alley led to somewhere lighter, presumably a street. It’d be more out in the open, giving the gun-wielding criminals the advantage, but there was no going back now.

The yells and pounding steps behind him never stopped. The muscles in his legs burned and threatened to cripple him. Logan cursed himself for not practicing cardio more.

As he reached the mouth of the alley, Logan tripped on something, and next his palms were skinning against the harsh surface of concrete to minimize the damage of his fall. On instinct, Logan rolled over onto his back, ready to use his powers on anything that so much as approached him.

But that’s the thing. Nothing happened.

Over the roaring in his ears and his ragged breathing, Logan squinted at the mass of shadows in the alley, unable to make out anything, sight or sound. There were no more yells, no more gun fire.

Any moment now, one of them would jump out to kill him. He couldn’t let his guard down. His body tensed, a live wire ready to spring into action. All of his senses screamed at him that any second now . . .

Any second . . .

Logan cautiously sat up, gaze never straying from the alley. He didn’t dare hope for a second that his pursuers suddenly lost interest and called off the chase. And the longer he sat there, the more he realized the possibility of a surprise attack from them was also unlikely, given their noisy chase. If anything, they would have ran out and shot him dead.

The fact that Logan wasn’t dead right now meant that something must have gotten to them first.

“Hello?” a voice called out from the alley.

Immediately Logan stiffened. His mind buzzed frantically from thought to thought, unable to settle on anything concise. All he could do was wait until something happened.

“Is that you, Logan?” the voice spoke again, coming closer.

The buzzing in his head stopped. That was his name. This person knew his name.

Friend?

Or foe . . .

A figure finally emerged, completely unrecognizable except that his shape was vaguely human. And tall, much too tall-looking from where Logan sat vulnerably on the ground.

He was half a second away from letting his self-preservation win out and throw this person with his powers, but they said carefully, “Hey, it’s me, Patton, remember?” and the world stopped.

“Patton?” Logan blurted.

The jewelry store. The reaper. The bespectacled man who rode in his car, the one with kindness in his eyes that nearly hid the cleverness underneath.

“It’s really me, kiddo,” came Patton’s reassuring reply. “Guess it’s a small world after all.”

Logan barked out a laugh, caught up in both relief and bemusement. He wanted to flop backwards in an exhausted heap, but he had to know. “My pursuers? What about them?”

“The bad guys with the guns? Oh, I gave them a time-out! Firearms are serious business, and they didn’t even have any carrying permits!”

Logan stared at him incredulously. “You took the time to rifle through their pockets to confirm that?”

Patton’s hands flew up to his mouth in a gasp. “Did you just make a pun?”

“What? No, I mean, at least not intentionally.”

“Well shoot, it sure did seem like it.”

Logan really did flop on his back this time. “I just nearly died and you’re partaking in the lowest form of comedy. Unbelievable.”

Patton leaned over him. This close, Logan could discern an apologetic smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m just glad I managed to cut them off in time.” He held out a hand in offer.

Logan took it and was on his feet quicker than he thought he’d be. Patton steadied him. “Your assistance is appreciated. When you say ‘cut them off’, by that you mean . . .?”

“I uh . . . kinda knocked them out? Don’t worry though! They should be okay after a while. It’s just that I heard the gunfire and came running, and when I saw them chasing someone down I knew I had to act fast.”

“Wait, so you just happened to be in the area?” Logan asked, because surely not . . .

“How else would I have known to come help?” Patton responded, eyes bright with a sincerity that Logan didn’t doubt. While Logan was beside himself processing this, Patton busied himself checking Logan over for injuries. He still had hold of his arms and turned his hands over, palms up. “Logan! Your hands, you’re hurt!”

“Just scratches,” Logan murmured absently.

For days on end, Logan had been tracking down the drug dealers, surveying where they operated, finding them to work out of a shabby motel downtown. And here Patton had just been in the right place at the right time?

Of all the odds . . .

“Patton,” Logan cut him off mid-ramble. Patton trailed off and looked at Logan questioningly, worryingly, his eyes warm in the glow of the street lamp.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he stated.

“Indeed. We need to get out of here. Did you happen to drive here, by chance?”

Logan had parked too close to the motel. He had intended to make a quick getaway after putting a stop to the drug dealers. Now it would be a risk to return to it in the event that the authorities had been alerted and were already there (which was highly likely, with that much gunfire giving them away). Thankfully, Patton had parked some streets down in the opposite direction.

“But what about your car?” Patton asked him as they walked at a brisk pace.

“I’ll have to come back for it at another time, when things have quieted.” Logan only hoped that it wouldn’t be broken into or stolen until then. “In the meantime, I shall find alternative transportation to get around.”

“If you think that’s best . . .” Patton conceded reluctantly.

They were traversing through a neighborhood of apartment buildings and homes now. A couple of them had lights on inside, but most were silent and the only other sign of life the two saw was a passing truck.

“So what happened back there?” Patton asked, filling in the silence. “Are you really okay, Logan?”

“Rest assured, I am not injured.” Logan winced after saying that. Now that the adrenaline was easing off, he could feel a throbbing in his head. “Mostly, at least. I had planned to confront those criminals in the motel room that they were running drug deals out of. What I did not account for was the motel manager being involved. They snuck up behind me, distracting me enough that one of them threw something at my head, knocking my glasses off. I could not locate them before I was forced to . . . before I initiated a tactical retreat.”

“You mean ran away?”

Logan scowled and coughed. “While not completely inaccurate, I believe the way I phrased it has better connotations.”

“It’s okay. People waving around guns can be scary,” Patton said, and the way he smiled reminded Logan that he was walking beside someone who probably had worse experiences than what he had faced tonight. With his cheery disposition and his deplorable love of puns, Logan had almost forgotten that Patton was a veteran.

“Quite,” Logan agreed. Curiosity lingered, imploring him to ask Patton about his service time, but he refrained. It would be intrusive.

Resisting temptation, he automatically went to straighten his tie only to drop his hands. While his current attire was more suitable for crime-fighting, he would rather be in his usual business-casual wear than a hoodie and jeans.

He cleared his throat again. “Though your assistance has been most useful tonight, I would typically have been fine managing on my own, if not for my lack of glasses.”

“Wowzers, that must be tough. I can’t even imagine not being able to see well enough to get around.”

Logan looked at him in deep confusion. “What are you talking about? We’re the same, or even if you are closer to twenty-twenty than I am, we are still in a similar state.”

Patton just stared at him with a ‘huh?’ expression, completely lost. Surely he was joking.

“Patton, you wear corrective lenses the same as I do. Therefore, it should not be all that hard to imagine yourself in my situation.”

It dawned on him slowly, the dots connecting one by one. Patton stopped walking and blinked at nothing, eyes wide. Then in a flurry of over-dramatic gestures, he laughed and talked fast. “Oh right! Completely forgot there for a sec, so used to wearing my glasses. Yep, can’t see a thing without them!”

Logan said nothing, but he couldn’t shake the distinct notion that Patton was lying. It would be an innocuous thing to lie about, so why would he? And yet, it reminded Logan of that night they first met when Patton denied being a mutant. There was something about his mannerisms, a vague thing that Logan loathed himself for not being able to pin down. He worked best with concrete evidence, but he couldn’t deny that Patton struck a familiar cord in him.

After all, when Logan wasn’t out patrolling the city at night, he pretended to be an ordinary citizen as well.

The two vigilantes made it out intact that night. To be sure that the police located the drug dealers left in the alley, Logan phoned in an anonymous tip. Patton gave him a ride home. More than that, he gave him his number.

“It’s good to have friends at your back, and we make a good team. Don’t ya think?” Patton offered with a wink and a smile.

They weren’t friends. Not really. Allies would be a closer term to what they truly were. And in this line of business, even those could be a liability.

Then again, if he learned anything that night, his own shortcomings could leave him at risk. And he’d rather not experience such a blind panic ever again.

Patton’s number found a place in his contact list. Logan told himself that this would be the alternative to contact lenses.

Weeks went by, crime in the city ensued, and Logan and Patton faced it together more often than not. As Patton had said before, they did indeed make a good team. While Logan had a knack for tactics, Patton was startlingly adept at reading people. More than once Logan had watched him disarm people by words alone.

“Do you have powers of persuasion?” Logan asked at one point.

Patton laughed as if he had told a good joke. “No, I’m just a dad.”

It frustrated Logan. Because for one, Patton had no biological children to speak of. For another, Patton’s true power continued to elude Logan, leaving nothing but inklings for him to trail clumsily after. When he had initially begun crime fighting, it had been out of a strong sense of justice and the ability to do something about it. Nowadays, Logan chased after the mystery Patton presented for him. If he paid attention, he’d notice when Patton slipped up.

When the time came, it wasn’t so much that Patton slipped up.

Logan had been grocery shopping when it happened. He perused the fresh produce, almost absently answering his phone.

“Logan!” Patton said before he had a chance to greet him. It had only been one word, but it was hurried and frantic.

The produce immediately lost all his attention. This was more important. “What’s wrong, Patton?”

“Hartview Bridge, possible bombing, too far away to confirm yet. I’m almost there, where are you?”

A . . . terrorist attack? Patton sounded as if he were running, running straight to the potential terrorist attack. There had been a potential terrorist attack and Logan just stood there, staring at zucchini, wondering where he fit into all this.

Still processing, Logan answered mechanically, “I’m at the grocery, the Miller’s Fresh Foods on Second Street.”

“Good, that’s not too far. Hurry, Logan.”

Logan shook his head, brows furrowed. “Why? What can we do? It’s the middle of the day. Surely the proper authorities are already handling it. We would just out ourselves—”

“Oh my God,” Patton gasped, cutting him off. Logan knew that it wasn’t because of what he had been saying. Ice prickled in his stomach.

“Patton? Patton, what happened?”

“It’s collapsed, the bridge, I see it,” he responded, voice thick with emotion. “Parts are still collapsing, they’re falling in—”

A rush of background noise filtered through. Then the line went dead.

Logan abandoned his shopping cart without a second thought and booked it to his car. He didn’t even put on his seat belt. He floored it through traffic. Any cops that would have pulled him over for speeding were already speeding themselves. But closer to the river where the bridge crossed, a wall of traffic halted any more progress. Logan couldn’t see much from here, but other people were getting out of their vehicles or running down the sidewalk, some away and some towards the bridge. Logan jumped out as well.

The sun was shining bright, not a cloud in the sky, mocking in its ideality. There were people everywhere, many of them pulling out their phones to record the chaos. There would be nowhere to hide here, not like he was used to during his nightly patrols.

But Patton was up there, and if he waited any longer the police would section off the entrance in a security perimeter.

Pedestrians either ducked out of his way or were pushed through. Logan didn’t have time for politeness. As he neared the bridge, he could see where vehicles had crashed into each other, some of them toppled, some on fire, creating a mess of mazes and barriers. Up towards the halfway point, the overarching steel beams had collapsed where the bridge caved in, making the structure look as if a giant hand had smashed down through the center.

Logan didn’t realize he had stopped running to take it all in. He’d never seen such chaos and destruction. Smoke filled the air and people ran past him in various states of injured. He swallowed roughly, forcing himself to stay composed.

Muffled yelling broke through to him. Nearby, a damaged car sat. The driver’s side door was bent from some form of impact (a collision with another vehicle?), and the woman behind the window beat frantically to get his attention.

Logan ran over to it, stumbling over debris. He tried the handle, but the door was too damaged.

He cursed. Now that he was here, there was no choice.

“Lean back!” he yelled to her so that she could hear him. She did as told, too scared to do otherwise.

It would be too risky to mess with the glass. Logan held his hands up, focusing on the seam of metal where it should open. A wave of blue-green energy washed over it. He balled his glowing hand into a fist and yanked with all his might, forcing the door to open, almost tearing it from its hinges. The woman screamed, covering her face with her right arm. The left one was held against her as if hurt.

“Can you walk?” Logan asked, willing away the light from his eyes so as not to scare her further. She looked at him, shakily nodding. “Good. Here—”

He helped her stand, and once she had her feet under her, she gave him a watery smile. “Thank you,” she said before fleeing as fast as she could off the bridge.

Logan picked his way through the wreckage, yelling for Patton when he could but becoming quickly distracted each time his help was needed. A group of people were trying to move rubble off an unconscious man. Logan moved it with his powers. A car exploding sent shrapnel flying. Logan sent a wave of force to push someone down before they could be decapitated, and at the same time he caught a child before they fell through the bridge’s broken railing to the river below. One of the steel arches above groaned and snapped with a horrible shudder. Logan threw up his hands, wrapping the broken beam in light. The weight of it proved to be too much, but he managed to slow its heavy descent enough and maneuver it to fall safely.

One thing after the other, Logan saved whoever he could and prevented further injury when possible. Surprisingly, the first responders neither feared nor stopped him. In fact, they grasped that he was there to help and soon were directing him to where he was needed next. At one point, a firefighter hopped onto the bed of a truck, waving his arms to get his attention.

“Over here! Mutant guy, over here!” he yelled, and Logan followed. He had been gravitating towards the middle of the bridge all this time, where a sizeable chunk had caved in and nothing but empty space lingered. For the first time, Logan got an unobscured view of it.

The road ended in an abrupt jagged edge, pieces of it still crumbling off. On the other side of the gap, there was just as much disorder and people trying to survive.

“LOGAN!” a voice screamed, jarring him out of his shock.

He looked to his right where a city bus had plowed through the railing. The length of it was almost entirely over the edge, the back of it held up only by Patton himself. He gripped it underneath and somehow kept it from tipping over. His biceps bulged from the effort. Patton’s feet dug into the ground, leaving behind warped tracks as he was pulled forward minutely.

Patton’s glasses were cracked and a line of blood seeped down his face from a cut on his temple. His eyes were pleading. “I can’t hold it.”

However strong Patton truly was (and it was now apparent that it was supernatural), he couldn’t pull the bus up.

Surging into action, Logan held up his hands. His telekinesis, while strong enough to lift a dumpster, couldn’t lift something as heavy as a bus. Not alone, that is. With his powers and Patton’s superior strength, they managed to pull the bus backwards, inch by painful inch, until all of its wheels sat on a stable surface. The first responders dove in after that, helping people off the bus and escorting them to safety.

Both he and Patton were panting from their combined effort, hands on knees bent over as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Not a mutant, huh?” Logan gasped out.

Patton sent him a tired glare. “Lo . . . shut your ever-flapping gob smacker.”

Logan snorted, but agreed that now wasn’t really the time to have this conversation. Not with people dying and everyone starting to look to them for answers.

“Oh, would ya look at that bird,” Patton commented, and Logan stood up straight to see a helicopter hovering in the near distance. A news helicopter, filming everything including them.

He groaned. “You do realize that we’ll never be able to return to our regular lives now, don’t you?”

Patton pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside carelessly. He didn’t squint after, proving that he never truly needed them. He stood there proudly, hands on hips and back straight.

“It’s a little scary, isn’t it?” he grinned, bumping shoulders with Logan. “But I don’t regret it. How ‘bout you, partner?”

“I regret many things,” Logan deadpanned, making the other laugh.

“That’s the spirit!” Patton clapped him on the back. “Handle things on this side, okay kiddo? They look like they could use some help over there.”

“What do you . . .” Logan began in confusion before Patton performed a running leap over the broken gap, launching himself high into the air before landing safely on the other side.

Logan adjusted his tie, disgruntled.

“Incredible. He calls me ‘kiddo’ and then proceeds to yeet himself over a broken bridge. I am a grown man, you know.”

He turned away to get back to work.

tag list: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @merlybird500 @mirror2thespirit (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list) 

[littleindigochildx]

task 18

Timothy sat outside the principal’s office. Blood dripped from his nose down the front of his shirt. It wasn’t like him to get into fights. He was typically such a passive child, but he just couldn’t take his classmate picking on him anymore. He knew he needed to stand up for himself. Savanna certainly would if she was in his position. Timmy was trying to be more like her because he admired that about his sister. She always stood up for what she believed in, whether it be a friend, family member, or something she was passionate about. What Timmy didn’t account for was the outcome of his actions. Not only was he in trouble, but Palm Valley Elementary had a zero tolerance policy when it came to fighting. He would have to serve a three day suspension for punching another student, even if it was in self defense.

“Are ya sure we need’a call my mom an’ dad?” At this point he was on the verge of tears. Things had been rough at home and the last thing Timothy wanted to do was disappoint his mother. She had enough to deal with between Savanna and her bed wetting, David and the custody battle, DC and his multiple personalities, Dottie moving out of Limbo, and Ransom overworking himself… He didn’t need to add anything else to her plate. “Can’t I just…. What if I just come here every day an’ do my work here?” The eight year old tried to negotiate, but Principal Dennison wasn’t having it. “I’m sorry, but you know I can't allow that.” He spoke softly but sternly. “We will discuss the terms of your punishment after I speak to your parents.” The principal told him before he picked up the phone and called Victoria.

—————

“He what?” Victoria questioned with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She was already on high alert because the kids' school was calling. That was never a good sign. Her initial reaction wasn’t that Timothy or Savanna were in trouble, but that one of them got hurt. They were good kids and rarely misbehaved, especially at school. “Timothy... Timothy Thorne?” The brunette was in disbelief because her Timothy didn’t get into fights. Victoria thought Savvy had to be involved in some way, shape, or form.

“What’s goin’ on, Vic?” Declan asked, but she held up her finger to prevent any further questions from him. “We’ll be right there.” She told principal Dennison before she ended the call and turned back to Declan. “Timmy got into a fight at school… Why do I feel like you put him up to this?” She arched a brow. She knew the two had been spending a lot of time together. Declan had been filling the void that David left when he stopped making an effort to be in his children's lives.

“Me? I didn’t put ‘im up ta nothin’. I swear.” DC replied defensively. He tried to hide the smile forming because he knew it would only make Victoria more angry. “If he hit’a kid, I’m sure the lil’ fucker deserved it.” His comment earned him a shove and an eye roll. Whether she agreed with Declan or not, her kids knew that violence wasn’t the answer. If they were having problems with a classmate they were supposed to go speak with a teacher, not punch another kid in the mouth. “I’m glad you think this is funny.” She glared at him as she grabbed her car keys. “Because you’re comin’ with me. Let’s go.” Victoria held the door open for him and made sure to lock up before the two of them headed for the car.

—————

When they arrived at Palm Valley Elementary, they could immediately see Timothy sulking in the corner of the main office. His glasses were broken and his shirt was stained crimson. Did he even get to see the nurse? Why didn’t she clean him up? Wasn’t that what they sent extra clothes to school for?

“Mrs. Deschaine. It’s a pleasure to see you again… I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” The principal told her as he shook her hand, then Declan’s. “...I don’t believe we’ve met.” He turned to extend the same courtesy to Declan. Timmy had yet to make eye contact with either of them. He didn’t want to see the look of disappointment in their eyes. “So ya got us out here… Care to explain the situation, principal?” DC was quick to skip the introductions. “My kid got into’a fight, huh?” His kid? Victoria heard the comment but didn’t correct him. Declan had been more of a father to Timmy in the last few months than David had been in the last year. Where was David now? Did the school try to reach out to him? Did he shrug it off like he did most of his responsibilities? “Please step into my office and I’ll explain.” Principal Dennison showed them the way to his office and Declan caught Timmy’s gaze. He gave the boy a thumbs up and a wink to let him know he was on his side… No matter what.

—————

“Are ya gonna keep wastin’ everyone’s time, or are ya gonna tell us what happened?” Declan asked as he took a seat. The door was closed so Timmy couldn’t hear the conversation. He’d get the opportunity to tell his side of the story soon enough.

“Well, Mrs. Deschaine…” The principal didn’t address Declan directly because, until today, he had never seen the man on school grounds before. “It appears that your son was involved in a fight with a classmate.” Declan immediately scoffed. “Appears? No shit… Ya’ see tha’ kid’s shirt covered in blood?” Victoria nudged Declan to let him know he needed to back off. Of course they were going to defend Timmy, but they needed to hear the whole story first. “As I was saying…” The principal continued. “We’ve spoken to both students and it’s unclear who started the fight, so to make things fair we’re giving three days of out of school suspension to both of them. We have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to violence. Regardless of how this came about, we feel this is the best decision for everyone involved. Perhaps even a change of classrooms so this kind of behavior doesn’t continue.”

Declan was trying to remain calm, but his fists were clenched tightly inside the pocket of his grease stained hoodie. “Yer school has a bullyin’ problem an’ ya think the best solution is ta take my kid out’a his classroom...away from his friends?” Victoria had never seen Declan stand up for Ransom the way he did for Timmy. She couldn’t even recall a time when he referred to Ransom as his son, but here he was doing it for David’s child. David Thorne, a man Declan despised. David Thorne, the man who stole his wife. Now here he was, sitting in the principal’s office, vouching for David’s offspring as if Timmy were Dottie and she was in trouble for fighting in school.

“I ain’t sayin’ what happened was right, but Timmy doesn’t get in’ta fights. If he punched’a kid...The kid prolly deserved it.” Victoria wanted, so badly, to cover DC’s mouth to get him to stop talking, but she had to agree with him. “Glad ya’ got’a nurse down here ta’ look at ‘im.” The comment came out sarcastically. “Good thing I brought one with me.” He was referring to Victoria. She’d do a better job assessing the damage than some underpaid school nurse anyway. “Yer runnin’ a fine establishment here, sir.” Another sarcastic comment earned him a sharp jab to the ribs. “Declan, you’re not helping…” Victoria spoke in a hushed tone through clenched teeth. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

It was different being in the principal’s office when he wasn’t the one in trouble, but it still brought back old memories. “Declan…please.” That was all Victoria had to say for DC to remove himself from the office. Truth be told, he preferred to be in the hallway with Timothy anyway.

—————

Declan removed an unused napkin from his pocket and extended it to the boy for his nose. They would have to tape Timothy’s glasses together until they could be fixed properly, but DC would work his magic with duct tape to make them look good as new. “Is mom gonna ground me?” The eight year old questioned. He still couldn’t look at Declan. He was wallowing in self pity. That was evident. “I didn’t mean ‘ta…. I just... “ It was hard to find the right words when he was on the verge of tears. “I just wanted Dylan ta’ stop pickin’ on me.”

Silence hung between them for a moment. Declan wasn’t used to giving fatherly advice and he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I think she’s gonna be mad ‘bout the suspension, but we both know yer not’a violent kid.” He lifted Timmy’s chin to get a better look at his nose. It didn’t appear to be broken, just bloody. He did have a nice shiner forming under his left eye. DC assumed it was caused by the impact of his glasses. “Tha’ kid really clocked ya’ huh? We’ll have ta’ put some ice on that when we get home.”

“Mom’s not gonna’ make me go live with dad, is she?” Timmy’s question caught Declan off guard. “Why would’ya think somethin’ like that?” He replied with an arched brow. “Cause the teacher said I’m not’a ‘loud back in her class.” The little boy said sadly.

“You listen ‘ta me…” DC began as he placed a reassuring hand on Timmy’s back. “Ya never have’ta worry ‘bout yer mom an’ me sendin’ you away.” A smile formed and Declan leaned in to whisper the next part. “Between you an’ me… The lil’ fu…. kid deserved it. Just tell me one thing….” His voice got softer. “Did ya’ get ‘im good?” Timmy looked around to make sure the coast was clear before he smiled back and nodded. “Knocked his front tooth right out.” Declan seemed pleased with the response and chuckled softly. “Good for you, little man.” He knew there would be some form of punishment when Timmy got home, but Declan was proud of him for finally standing up for himself. It seemed the boy was capable of fighting his own battles after all.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #13: Ouroboros

To call the lighting in the room ambient would be generous. In fact, one could barely see a thing. Still, the dim light did the job, and lit in slight relief a pair of ominous figures shrouded in oversized black hoodies, their faces hidden further by Japanese kitsune masks. They were flanked by a couple more looming forms and the room was laced with wisps of smoke. A wild cackle issued from the speaker of someone’s phone. The smaller figure leaned forward, the hollow eyes of the fox-like false visage disconcerting in the dim illumination. One hand tossed a faintly glinting round object up and down- a gold spray painted apple with the word kallisti carved into one side. They speak, and the voice carries a very familiar thick New York accent. “Oh, Eris, exalted lady of chaos, we have failed you for far too long. The mayhem you have sent us to unleash on this pathetic world remains penned up, the storm still confined to its teacup.” The larger individual folded their arms over their chest but their head slumped in resignation. The voice was also familiar, a dry masculine tone with just a sliver of sarcasm in it. “We are very sorry.” “Yes, we beg your forgiveness! We throw ourselves prostate at your feet! I beg you not to smite us, oh divine smiter!” The General of Chaos clasped a hand on his leader’s shoulder. He whispered ‘prostrate’before continuing. “Not before our golden opportunity surely.” “Yes! We have been put before the Tag Team Champions themselves, those vile, dastardly villains known as NSFW. Surely the pinnacle of the tag division will make a fine appeasing sacrifice for our omnipresent chaotic mistress. Of course, we haven’t managed to beat… more or less anyone, but I swear by the greatest force of discord in the universe we will this time!” The Disciple began to laugh raucously before his second in command interjected with a query. “You mean the Chaos emeralds?” The smaller masked figure held their hands up, one still clutching the golden apple, and tossed their head back, letting out what could either be a long, malicious laugh or a scream. “Victory shall be ours!” “I hope.” “I mean, we’re due, aren’t we? If we keep up this level of performance, Eris will be most displeased. She is probably super hella displeased already. If we keep failing her she may turn her wrath on us. Can you imagine? We would be doomed to never win another match as long as we… oh.” The tall man shook his head disappointedly. “Oh, no. Not her wrath.” “Fear not, my brother! We have a distinct advantage over those flimsy paper champions. Look at them. With their heart. And dedication. And… ugh. Feelings. Can you believe how much those nincompoops actually care about each other, as well as their sycophantic fans? It’s almost as if they don’t believe the world is just a discordant dog-eat-dog pit.” “We don't need fanfare. Or acclaim. Or much of anything - except to know chaos will pervade this wretched company by our hands.” “Yes. EWC will know the true meaning of Discordia as we swap their toothpaste tubes with foot cream, apply IcyHot to everyone’s jockstraps, and turn the doorknobs around the wrong way so anyone trying to open them will be mildly inconvenienced!” Letting out another peal of maniacal laughter, the smaller person looked back to the camera. “Mark our words. By the grace of our Lady of delirium, the tag team titles will be ours! We will melt them down in an offering to her and reforge them into… I don’t know, apple shaped bling chains or something.” Both fox-faced figures leaned closer together, and spoke in unison. “All hail Eris! All hail Discordia!” There was a lingering pause, and the smaller figure spoke again. “That about cover it, you think?” “Yes.” The light suddenly clicked on proper, revealing the truth of their surroundings- a trainer’s room somewhere in the Tokyo Dome. The other figures were nothing but training dummies, and the spooky wisps of smoke were courtesy of a fog machine. Hoods are pushed back and the masks are lifted away, and revealed are NSFW. “We were making a point just then. More on that in a second. First, a note about last week. That… was fuckin’ expected. We knew that for better or worse, that match wasn’t gonna end clean. Sanders has gone full dark side, and that seems to mean he’s forgotten how to fight a fucking match by himself. Well, with a tag partner in this case. You guys are smart, you know what I mean.” John shrugged. “Collateral Damage...” He paused to correct himself. “America’s Most Hated will flounder like every group that has promised to wreak havoc. They’ll turn on each other like animals when they come to the realization that their only purpose to placate Dominic Sanders’ ego. Speaking of havoc.” “Don’t get me wrong. I love me some chaos. Nothing better than taking the status quo and stirring that shit up a bit. I mean, that’s kinda what we’re about. But as we just illustrated, you guys are being all fuckin’ weird and lame about it. I mean, you don’t get to go around calling yourselves purveyors of mayhem or whatever if you don’t, y’know, win. At all.” “Now to be fair, Xander started off the right way but since then …” John held up his hand in the universal 'okay' symbol. “Nothing. And especially where it counts in the tag team division. So on one hand, it is perplexing that you were afforded this championship bout when all of this blustering about sowing the seeds of discord has amounted to being Georgie Nickles’ personal punching bag. On the other hand, we can’t blame management. Someone has to step up. Sometimes we hate being proven wrong but it looks like when your convictions are as shallow as having fun, overcoming adversity is too much to handle. That has always been our perspective.” Mike sighed, shifting her kitsune mask to the side of her forehead. “I mean, I don’t feel that different. Maybe it’s the way we’ve handled things lately and maybe we’ve been a smidge oversensitive and took all this bad mojo out on people who maybe didn’t deserve it. Trying to work on that. But by and large? We’ve always fucking been like this. If you haven’t noticed that we shred people who have it coming, you haven’t been paying any goddamn attention.” “And we’ve been paying attention to Legion…” “...as we mentioned, they’re not the best tag team but hey, we’re not above giving longshots a chance. We did it for those pervy dudes.” Mike paused and rubbed her chin in a pondering motion. “Hold up, isn’t Legion those other dudes? Xavier Reid and his parents? Nah, that’s the Trinity. Oh no, I was right, they were the Trinity AND Legion.” “Legion is one man.” “No, Legion is lots of guys. One fucking dude calling himself Legion makes no goddamn sense.” “I know but he’s one man in this case. Xander Azula.” “OH FUCK HOLD UP I KNOW THIS. Legion is a bunch of fucking demon guys inhabiting one pig.” John looked at her, eyebrows raised. “That’s … part of it. But it’s just a man. And his partner. We talked about this.” “Oh yeah. That dude who looks like Duggan let himself go. Which is fucking saying something. Vag Doll.” John looked directly at the camera. “I’m sorry.” Back at Mike. “Vagn Dahl.” “Vagn Dahl? That ain’t a name, that’s a bad Scrabble hand.” “Anyway. Xander and Vagn. They comprise the Eternal Circle. I think there are others but who knows.” “The internal circle? Like, what, the large fuckin’ intestine?” “Eternal.” “Oh. Well, that’s just fuckin’ redundant, like sayin’ free gratis. A circle IS eternal, it just keeps goin fuckin’ around like a goddamn Ouroboros.” “Like this conversation. But Mike is right. All of that is fair game. The gloominess. The toothless threats. The cult like mentality. It’s laughable. It’s the stuff of fiction. Basing your existence on a petty goddess that was more menace than deity. Or…” He retrieved a paperback from his hoodie pocket. “Or a contradictory rambling diatribe about the illusionary tenants of order and disorder and that there is always chaos. Well, now I can see why you two can’t seem to put it together.” John let Principia Discordia drop to the floor with an emphatic thud. “Xander Azula is one more misstep away from claiming that this is all meaningless and that we’ll all be consumed by the void.” “You really are a philosophy snob, Church. Just saying.” Mike gave a fond snicker, before clearing her throat. “The thing is, it’s easy to give in to thinking shit like that when things don’t go your way. When things get tough, sure, you can throw your hands up, go ‘fuck it’, start giving the world the stink eye, and forgo bathing and shit. And maybe, like I mentioned, we were kind of skirting the edge of that kind of thinking. But. This is fucking Japan. If you can’t find something fun or cute or spiritually awakening here? I feel fucking sorry for you. Besides.” Her eyes lit up, barely disguising her glee. “We’re gonna be having this show in a giant fucking amusement park in England. You can be gloomy as shit if you want, but we’re gonna ride rollercoasters and eat funnel cake before the show. After everything we’ve been through we deserve all the fun we can get.” “But when that bell rings…” Mike cracked her knuckles. “...we’re not gonna get doom and gloom, but we are gonna get fucking serious. See, there’s nothing wrong with playing and having fun. But you gotta know when to lace your boots up and drop the goofy shit for a while.” “And that includes you two. Azula. Dahl. Save your breath. We’ve already did your part for you. Show up. Show us the Eternal Circle is more than just talk.” “Or just a circle jerk.” “We have faced numerous teams that claimed they are on our level. And as predicted, they couldn’t stay together in the hardest of times. Mike and I have been through more collectively than any of you could ever imagine. But that doesn’t define us. We’ve said that since day one. We are here to take what is ours. That means the tag team championships. But also staking claim to being the greatest tag team in this business today. And that means taking on all comers. No matter their perceived lack of credibility. And showing them that we are who we say we are.” “The Number-one Squad in the Fucking World.” Mike picked up the golden painted apple she’d set aside, twiddling it in her fingers like an oversized marble. She glanced at it a bit and scoffed. “No gimmicks or goddesses necessary. Just perfect synch and hard fucking work. Nothing magical or divine got us here. We got us here. And if you wanna knock us off our perch and take these belts from us, you better come at us with more than a fringe religion based around the mother of all trolls.” Setting the apple down on the ground again, Mike rose to her feet, her partner following suit. The fog machine is clicked off, and so are most of the lights. The shot lingered on the abandoned apple for a moment until a single white Reebok sneaker entered the frame, slowly stepping on and crushing the gilded fruit to crumbled pulpy pieces, the picture going completely dark after.

[acequeenking]

5 Times Hannah Shepard Met Garrus Vakarian, 5/5 (Part 1)

Part 1: Part 2: Part 3: Part 4 : Part 5.1 : Part 5.2 (FIN)

Summary: The fifth time Hannah Shepard met Garrus Vakarian, they were both in mourning.

You may remember me saying that I wanted to finish up this fic before Andromeda comes out. It turned out the fifth chapter was easily going to be the longest, more than twice the length of the others. So I’m splitting this into two sections; this is part 1, part 2 will be out Monday.

- - -

5. The fifth time Hannah Shepard met Garrus Vakarian, they were both in mourning. And it was their own damn fault. Hannah, especially, knew better than to even hope that they'd all live through this war.

But once things had swung their way – once the Alliance started scoring some victories, even Pyrrhic ones – it was so easy to think that, with the way the battles were going, they'd be home with their families within a year.

Hannah Shepard knew that there were always casualties. She remembered her husband coming home in a body bag, remembered what it felt like to have cold stone in place of a husband, a piece of metal instead of a heart.

But she found herself hoping anyway. Desperately. And she was not the only one.

She wondered if she should have said anything when her crew talked about their own daydreams. O'Donnell was a damn good XO, but when he made remarks that began with “When this is over, I'll....”, she found they cast a long shadow over the bridge.

As a captain, she decided not to. Reminding him that his family might not be waiting when they got back to the Alliance would only distract him from the mission, and the mission was everything. It wouldn't matter, she thought, if she said anything. Nothing could bring her husband or O'Donnell ‘s   family back – if they were gone, they were gone.

All Hannah could do was fight to protect what was left. Just like Janie.

During the final push, the Orizaba stayed in orbit. It was not where she wanted to be – she would have rather been fighting on the ground team, with Anderson, freeing the land of his youth – but she hadn't held a gun in years. She knew she was not as useful to him down there as she was up in the stars.

So she fought; reaper vs ship, ship vs reaper – a bold dance among ancient, distant stars.

She thought – she wasn't sure, but she thought – she saw the Normandy fighting with her Orizaba before the Crucible fired. But the Normandy wasn't the only stealth frigate in the Alliance's fleet now, and she never had time to dwell on its appearance. She was too preoccupied with protecting her crew, in making sure the ship stayed up and fighting.

Once the Crucible fired, that changed. In sixty seconds, the battle was over.

The reapers were dead. 

And now that the battle was won, finding the Normandy was all she could think about.

The victory cheer coming from Earth over her comm was almost deafening. The cheer coming from her crew as they realized what was happening was even louder.

O'Donnell screamed and actually hugged her, and for once she let the steel facade drop and hugged him back.

Now that it was over, they could both go home to their families.

- - - 

O'Donnell was luckier than most: his family had survived, hiding out in Minnapolis' shelters through a bitter and cold winter.

Hannah Shepard wasn't so lucky. Janie was nowhere to be found. Like the Normandy, she was listed MIA.With the war over, Hannah Shepard suddenly had the luxury of time, and devoted all of it to finding her daughter.

After Alchera, she wouldn't believe Janie was dead. Not without a body. 

Unfortunately, no one seemed to know where Janie was. A few the meager survivors from Anderson’s final assault swore that she was there, on the ground. One even said she ran up into some kind of beam, one that Anderson followed. Others disagreed. They'd seen Vakarian getting evac’ed at the very end, and everyone knew he'd never have left her to go on alone.

Nobody seemed to know exactly where Janie was at the last, crucial moment.

Hannah concentrated on the Normandy. Janie’s ship was also MIA, but the eyewitness reports were more consistent.

She had hard proof that the Normandy's call sign reported in during the final fleet check before the battle. But that was the last anyone saw of it during the fire fight – there were no reports of her going down, no debris fields on earth that would match a ship the size of the Normandy.

There were several eye witness reports who said that it was called in for an evac for her daughter’s ground team. That made more sense, except that the Normandy ground team undoubtedly included her daughter, who had always viewed surrendered as a dirty word.

The only conclusion Hannah Shepard could reach was that the Normandy got pushed off course during the beam firing sequence, and crash landed somewhere. She refused to consider the alternative; that the Reapers had taken out the ship, and Janie too, taken them so fast that no one had seen it. Nobody died without leaving something behind. Not even Jack, who had come home as little more than a bag of meat, had disappeared entirely.

She rallied with other survivor's seeking loved ones on the Orizaba. The amount of volunteers was astounding. Like Janie, Hannah found herself working with a multi-national crew: Asari desperately seeking their daughters; Krogan looking for clan members; even, to her surprise, turians and batarians sought her out. They had all lost too much, and even knowing it was a long shot, they banded together.

And together, they searched the Sol system for ghosts.

She repeated the same call as they traveled.

“This is the SSV Orizaba. We come in peace, looking for survivors. Do you copy?”

For a long while, there was no reply.

And there was so much radio silence. Without the relays, it was eerie, cold and silent in space. They were missing the interstellar traffic that had been, for most of Hannah's life, a regular part of background noise. Not even getting a ping response from most planets was almost heartbreaking.

It was not until they had turned back, passing over the southern hemisphere of Earth to refuel, when she heard it.

“SSV Orizaba – this is the Normandy.”

And her heart broke for all the right reasons.

- - -

A cheer went up through her ship; O'Donnell, who had insisted on coming along with his family, clapped her back and smiled. His expression said what she felt- now she had found her family too. The war to end all wars had turned out to have a bittersweet ending.

“Normandy, do you need assistance?” She asked, and hoped her voice did not tremble.

“Affirmative.” Their pilot said. “We've incurred some damages.” She wanted to ask about Janie – is she with you? Is she safe? - but was too afraid of the answer. She could not fall apart – not now.  

Instead she said “Acknowledged. Initiating docking procedures.” She waited, eyes closed, for the Normandy. She knew it would either bring her face to face with Janie or with her daughter's death.

- - -

It brought neither of those things. The Normandy ground crew gave her more details – yes, they were on the ground in the final assault; yes, Janie was with them. But they couldn't tell her what happened to Janie, except that she was the only one not evacuated.

Which meant either Janie was vaporized, a final casualty or war, or Janie was lying in a field hospital, in bad enough shape to not be easily identified.

At five weeks MIA, Hannah knew which was more likely. So did the Normandy’s crew.

The Normandy crew was clearly already in morning. Spectre Ashley Willliams gave her a salute and her daughter's jailer, Lieutenant Vega, followed her. Their pilot, Jeff Moreau, has red rimmed eyes that spoke of long nights full of tears. Cortez and Traynor spoke fondly to her of a woman they barely knew, yet somehow knew them well. The Asari, T'soni, was more guarded, and Javik even more so – except to tell her that her daughter was an excellent commander. The quarian sweetheart in engineering – Tali?- actually saluted her and thanked her for the dextro rations she had brought.

From her skinny frame, Hannah knew the dextro crew has been on starvation rations.

Vakarian was in even worse state, though. She was shocked by how skinny he was, the way his armor gaped in places. His eyes were haunted and his limbs were shaky. She didn't know a lot about turian physiology, but she knew this wasn't healthy. She grabbed him by the arm, not taking no for an answer when he tried to talk to her about getting the guns online.

The guns did not matter.

She dragged him into the captain's quarters; Janie's quarters. There were reminders of her everywhere here; a hoodie draped over a chair, a hamster spinning at a wheel. Vakarian collapsed into a chair, overwhelmed.

Hannah put her hand on his shoulder.

“Have you been eating?” “No.” He turned his face away from her, scrutinizing a cabin that he no doubt knew well. She watched his back as he shivered, arms folded up into himself in his own type of body armor. ��Dextro processor's down. Tali can't...can't go without.” “I brought some supplies.” They'd taken on an entire shipment of dextro supplies, thrice as many as were needed to feed her dextro-life-form crew mates. At first, she thought it was taking up too much room, but after seeing Vakarian suffering after only a few weeks of malnutrition, she was glad to have it.  “Will you eat with me?” “I'd rather...rather focus on finding Jane.” His sub-vocals were heavy with an emotion that she damn well knew. “I can't...” He shook his head. “She's out there, I know it.” “I want to find her, too.” She nodded. “But you're no good to her dead, or near dead. Look at you – haven't ate, haven't slept. You're a wreck, Vakarian.” “How did you I know I haven't – haven't slept?” She motioned her head toward the bed. “Janie doesn't sleep with turian pillows, last I checked. Bed isn't made – not unusual for Janie, but turians don't leave their sleeping areas open.” That had been a weakness they had exploited a few times on Shanxi. “I haven't seen a lot of turian beds, but every damn one of them has been well made.” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You'd have made a good detective.” She shrugged. “I'm a mother. Comes with the territory.” She stood up and put an arm around his too-slim wrist. He didn't flinch, and she took that as a sign of victory. “C'mon, kid. Let's get your some food. We can work while we eat, if it makes you feel better.” “Okay.” He took a deep sigh. “Okay.”

- - -

Garrus Vakarian had fallen asleep in her cabin.

He obviously had not meant to, but after multiple days awake and barely any nutrition, exhaustion had taken its toll.

She had gone to warm up some dextro rations and when she had come back, Garrus's head was on her table, sound asleep.

She debated waking him, but decided not to, simply placing the rations by him quietly and pulling out her datapad to go through the information the other officers on the Normandy had sent her.

They were towing her daughter's ship now, towing them back toward the fuel depot and hopefully toward Janie. The fact that none of the crew on the Normandy could give a definitive statement as to Janie's whereabouts – not even Vakarian – made her fear that perhaps the second time death had come for Janie, it had claimed her.

“Jane!” Vakarian sat upright and she whipped around, expecting to see her daughter cross through the doorway even though she knew such a thing was impossible.

“Jane!” He repeated, and his voice was desperate; mad. “Don't go, Jane.” He made an odd, awkward noise that was somewhere between a sob and a screech. “You can't...can't leave me alone. Not again.” She bit down on her lip as she watched him thrash in his sleep, debating whether or not to wake him. She knew he needed his sleep, but seeing him in distress over Janie was breaking her heart.

“Jane, please!” He made the shriek/sob again. “You don't understand, she's at the beam! I have to go!” That broke her resolve.

She moved to his side and gently nudged him. His skin was softer than she'd anticipated; not as soft as a human would be, but it felt more like hide than the stone it resembled.

He awoke with a start, pulling away from her fingers. His eyes carefully darted around the room – no doubt looking for Janie – and when he did not find what he sought, his eyes turned to hers. “I must have fallen asleep.” He shook his head. “I'm sorry.” “It's alright.” She nudged the dextro rations toward him and he slowly took a bite.

“Never thought I'd find the day when these tasted okay.” She opened her own levo ration packet and smirked. “You're telling me. You really think that in 30 years of space travel, they'd find a way to make these taste less like ass.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Jane, uh, likes them.” She noted his use of the present tense and approved. Good boy. She would not give up hope for Janie until there was proof, one way or another, as to her whereabouts.  “I always thought human ones must not taste like feet, judging by the way she defends them.” “She's just used to them.” Hannah chuckled. “Janie mostly grew up in the stars. I think this was her normal breakfast, lunch, and dinner all the way through high school.”

“When we get back, I'm going to look for her.” He said, voice unwavering. “She has to be there. She has to be.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

“We'll find her,” she said, and she meant it.

[partyatmyhaus]

Wouldn’t It By Easy To Believe?

The soulmate AU where your bruises/scratches/scars show up on your soulmates skin in different colors. - Matt Peake has never lead an easy life- but it lead to him meeting his Soul Mates.

AO3 Mirror

On his 8th birthday the marks show up. Perfect thin rings of various colors on his upper left leg. Right under the red swirl of a font- where his name is written. When he asks his mother, she gets wide eyes and tells him never to show his father. Matt doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal but promises her anyways.

-

[It’s about this time colors appear on his skin, patches of gold around his elbows and lilac on his wrists. Matt wants to ask his mother- but he remembers how she reacted about his colors, and keeps his mouth shut.]

-

It’s when Matt turns 10, he learns what the marks on his legs are. Matt learns about what soulmates are, and learns about why he gets splotches of other colors on his skin. His teacher explains it to him, about how when your soulmate (or soulmates in Matt’s case) get hurt- their color would appear on his skin- wherever the bruise was forming for them. And that if there was a scar, it would appear on the other- lighter than a bruise would, but it would stay.

And so his teacher explains that the lilac on his nose, comes most likely from his soulmate getting a broken nose.

Matt goes home and when he accidently makes his dad mad that night- he ends up worried he’ll be too broken for his soulmates later on.

-

When Matt turns 12 his dad finds out about how many bands he has. The colors, the fact his son is an abnormality and spends an hour banging on the bathroom door- screaming at him for being a mistake.

Screaming loud enough Matt hear him loud and clear, even with his hands over his ears and his loud sobs.

He hears his father’s voice loud and clear.

-

By the time he’s in the 8th grade, everyone knows him as the freak with 7 other soulmates. Soulmates that must hate having him because he’s always coloring their bodies in bright red- bright noticeable, questionable red.

It’s also about this time, his dad seems to be angry every night. Angry and drunk, everything becoming his mother’s fault somehow. Everything being blamed on her, on one occasion the fact it was raining being blamed on her.

Matt spends most night- falling asleep to the sounds of glass shattering, yelling  and the noise of his own thoughts repeating his apologies to his soulmates.

-

High school starts, and he’s the only one causing colors. The scrapped white knees, and bruised grey palms have stopped. And he tries, he tries to stop the colors- the fighting, the one sided brawls. But his mom left, and Matt is still known as the freak with 7 other soulmates and he’s a small kid versus big football players and a cruel father.

Matt always tries to protect his own face, not for himself but for the 7 others. He tries, but he doesn’t always succeed.

-

10th grade is when he starts to self harm, he’s lost the will to care anymore. He’s heard of platonic soulmates and he knows at this point that’s what the bands have to mean. He’s not good enough to have a romantic soulmate- he knows that.

So he burns, tears, scratches and picks at his own skin. He yearns for some form of control- he hates his father but hates his mother more. He just wants something to be in his control for the next two years that he’s a dependant of his father. For the next two years he’s stuck in this household that makes his freshly washed clothes reek of alcohol and blood.

His arms become a mess, but he carefully destroys the area of his leg where the lines are.

The one night in particular where everything fell apart, and he came to the conclusion that: it was all his fucking solemates faults. If he had one soulmate he wouldn’t have this fucking problem. All these fucking problems. So, he spends an hour or two crying in the bathroom- tearing his leg and sobbing. He just wants it to stop.

He just wants everything to stop.

-

In Grade 11 the his knuckles are turning green and purple- without him doing anything. His solemates fight, meanwhile he lays and takes it. Under his hoodie is worse than ever- his ribs causing him pain at the smallest breath, nothing being able to heal before something new happened.

It’s also in Grade 11, he gets jumped. He goes to a football game on a whim, with a couple of kids from his Spanish class. He ends up getting cornered by a group of kids while he walked home in the dark.

They end up tackling him, ripping his shorts down and one of them crudely cutting into his leg while he cried and screamed and begged.

For the first time in years, Matt silently apologizes to his soulmates for the word that will scar into their skin under the already damaged area of the bands.

‘Monster’.

-

Highschool ends in a blur, grandparents and aunts he didn’t know he had pay for him to go to college and that’s when it starts to get better.

There’s no more marks coming from him, in fact the only colors on his skin come in the form of green, purple and gold. He wonders if green and purple are okay- they seem to fight a lot.

-

College is when he starts to figure out who he is as a person. Away from the fighting and the constant noise. College is when Matt spends the time to figure out that men and women are attractive- and he also figures out that he doesn’t seem to have a type. Too many variations of what ‘attractive’ is, too many shapes and sizes. Too many tones and quirks for him to narrow down.

-

In the middle of college he gets admitted to the hospital. He wakes up with thick bandages around his wrists and up his arms. He spends hours daydreaming about someone, anyone coming to visit him- to worry over him.

No one comes.

-

He’s discharged a week later on the empty promise of calling a therapist and enough fake smiles for no one to worry.

-

By the time college ends, he’s got depression. Massively so. It coming back in a tidal wave of antidepressants, and trying to motivate himself to go to job interviews. He somehow ends up with one, a nice job actually, for a pretty big tv show- but he hates it. Like something about it makes him sit just slightly to the left- like everything about it is just a tiny bit off.

-

[He gets trashed one night and relapses, after 2 years of being clean he relapses and ends up with a new phrase under the still ever present ‘Monster’.

‘I’m sorry’]

-

He gets a job with them, by chance.

Their ad looking for a new editor gets sent to him by a colleague- a friend who knows he’s miserable and on a whim he submits his resume and forgets all about it.

Until a few days later when his phone rings right after he gets home, and it’s some guy named Bruce- asking to set up an interview.

He gets hired a week later.

-

[Bruce is very kind when Matt explains he doesn’t want to shake hands on the deal- that he doesn’t want to touch in general].

-

When he joins he starts to hear about their relationship, learn more about them as people- and the gnawing feeling in his stomach grows everyday. He learns about how Bruce and Adam used to fight in high-school. How Elyse loved to roller blade as a kid- and never wore knee pads. Matt laughs endlessly over how Lawrence loved dodgeball as kid, but did not love how everyone threw harder than him.

[The gnawing feeling explodes one day over lunch when Joel talks about how he broke his nose in the 4th grade- Matt has to leave so he can stop shaking].

-

They all go out for drinks one night, and Matt spends the entire evening making sure his hands are covered by his hoodie- making sure no skin to skin contact can happen.

And outside of him being unable to enjoy his buzz- he does find himself laughing and enjoying the company of his friends.

He’s delighted when Elyse shows up and he leaves the bar that night with a new number in his phone under the contact name ‘Funniest Willems’.

-

It’s after a drunk stream, at the end of their day- that the gnawing feeling becomes just a lump of pain and dread at the bottom of his stomach.

He doesn’t remember who starts the conversation, all he knows is everyone is talking about sole marks (everyone but him of course). And eventually someone outside of their little squad is talking about the worst marks from a solemate and Adam looks ready to wilt away and Adam rambles out,

“Whoever they are- they really hate themselves. And I just wanna help.” He gives a shrug and Matt feels his heart start to beat faster, “They tried to kill themselves a few years back- and I mean technically they did. I’ve never been as scared as I was when their mark went black. It was awful. You remember that night, James?”

Matt feels ready to throw up at the nod James gives- and even drunk James looks so sad. Matt wants to make their pain stop but instead he wills himself to stay still and faced towards his computer, mimicking editing the video in front of him- even as Joel speaks up.

“They don’t want us.” And it’s the way he says it, the defeat and tiredness that should make Matt guilty but all it does is bubble up something he has never felt before in its full form.

Matt feels angry. He feels hot bitter rage, and years of pent of animosity. His hands clench so tight around his mouse that it actually pops the plastic on one side and he’s shaking when he stands up.

It catches Lawrence’s attention and it must be his face or his movements but the other doesn’t say a word as Matt packs up to leave. He does however follow Matt out of the office, and it’s only once they reach the parking garage does he call out for Matt.

“We’re sorry for bringing that up in front of you, man.” And something about the tone Lawrence is using- doesn’t calm him down, it in facts just pisses him off more. Matt throws his laptop bag into the back seat of his car and slams the door,

“Yeah, why is that?” And he huffs out a sarcastic laugh and turns to look at Lawrence. The anger ebbs away when he sees the look on Lawrence’s face.

“Because you don’t have a solemate.”

Matt doesn’t say anything before he turns and gets into his car.

-

The next morning, Matt wakes up and makes the decision. The decision that today he would touch one of them, to see if this was real or just a cruel joke played on him but the universe.

It takes too long for all of them to get into work, but the second the last person is through the door (Sean), Matt has ditched his hoodie and is starting to sweat lightly. This was stupid- there was no possible way these people were his soulmates. But he hoped.

Matt hadn’t hoped for something in a very long time.

So he manages to swallow his nerves somehow and walk over to where Adam and Bruce are standing around Joel’s desk.

“What’s up, Peake?” Bruce asks and Matt suddenly doesn’t have words.

“Uh, I forgot.” And he ends up sitting at his desk berating himself for the next hour for being such a coward.

-

[Matt cries the next morning when he gets into the shower and finds various hand print shaped bruises on his hips and thighs].

-

It’s when his birthday rolls around that their in the office, it is the middle of a Tuesday and they’re all dicking around (Elyse visiting her boys during her lunch hour), and suddenly everyone is planning what to do for his birthday- that he just is overwhelmed by this urge to cry a little bit.

“What do you want for your birthday?” Elyse is giggy as she asks, bouncing on her toes and has her phone already open and Matt just answers the first thing on his mind.

“A hug.” He feels stupid the second he says it, but it’s true.

“A hug? What you’ve never been hugged or something?” James says, elbowing his double hoodie hidden- midsection and Matt sees no reason to lie to them. They’re his friends- his best friends. (His only friends).

“Never had one.” He shrugs as he says it, and instantly looks to the ground afterward. The silence that follows is awful, it makes Matt want to scream.

“Uh, I have a lot of editing to do. Anything you get me will be fine- and you know you don’t, uh, have to get me anything. Birthdays have never been a big deal.” He says it to them, still looking at the ground- before shuffling away and back to his desk.

-

His birthday comes and everyone ends up having a mini-party at the Willems’. Lawrence and Sean get him a support for his work chair- to help with the back pain that comes from editing. Elyse, James and Bruce get him various gag gifts (including but not limited to: a neon blue ball gag, flavored lube, and a 6 foot poster for the movie North), but actually buy him 10 various games, including one he had wanted as a kid but never got.

Joel gets him a Sega Genesis and a refurbished GameCube. And Matt has to blink away a small misting in his eyes.

Adam is the one who breaks the dam. All the other gifts having built up his want to cry- but Adam shatters it. Just breaks his resolve and causes it all to crash around him.

“It’s a lame gift.” Adam hands him the wrapped box with an awkward smile and rubs the back of his neck. And Matt mumbles some comment about how he sure its fine, and once he gets the paper off- he finds out it’s not a box but it is in all actuality a picture frame. A nice black simple frame, with a certificate inside of it.

Matt has to read the words about 10 times before he cognitively understands it, and when he does he just can’t help the tears. He tries to blink them away, but he just can’t.

“Oh God. I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Adam is freaking out, going to place a hand on his shoulder- but pulls it back. They all know how Matt is with touch. He hovers awkwardly, as Matt begins to sob.

Matt feels ridiculous as he sobs on the Willems’ couch, clutching the picture frame to his chest- but he can’t stop.

“This is,” He has to take a breath, “The nicest thing anyone ha-has ever done for me.”

And it takes a few minutes for him to calm down, and after he’s settled- James asks what Adam got him.

“He wouldn’t tell us.” And Matt just smiles and finally pulls the frame from his chest,

“A star.” Matt sniffles, “Adam bought me a star.”

And Adam, God bless him, looks so out of place and is blushing for God’s sake that Matt can’t seem to help himself.

Matt ends up chest to chest with Adam, the bulk of Matt’s 3 hoodies pressing gently against Adam’s t-shirt. And everyone is just dead silent as they watch the two of them. Matt’s still got tears drying on his eyelashes, and his nose is bright red- but Adam is looking at him like Matt is the most wonderful thing in the room- and it takes a moment for Matt to eventually raise a hand- and bring it just millimeters from Adam’s skin.

And they’re so close, they’re breathing each other’s air and it’s been 2 years and they’ve never touched. Matt has never showed any sign of wanting to touch them.

And then, much like Matt is- gent but firm, Matt presses his hand onto Adam’s face. And the smile that comes from the heat on their marks, is nothing short of magnificent.

“Is Matt-?” It’s Lawernce that whispers it, and Matt and Adam are still just staring at each other, Matt’s hand still on his face- even as Adam nods.

“Yeah.”

-

It takes no time at all for them to allow Matt to gently touch them- and by the end of the night all of their marks are a little darker.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” Matt mumbles, right before he falls asleep that night- tucked into the guest bed, and he feels someone pet his hair.

“This the best your birthday I’ve ever had, too.” And Matt gives a huff of a laugh and drifts off to the sound of Elyse berating James for being an idiot.

-

The next morning, Matt is officially a year older and he wakes up to the smell of he doesn’t know what, but it’s good.

He ends up stumbling downstairs, with bed tousled hair and sleepy eyes. And it earns him a coo from James- who he waves away instantly.

By the time he’s eaten and woken up- he notices that everyone’s stuff is still by the front door. And when he voices that to Elyse, who’s working at the dishes she gives him a sad sort of smile.

“We tried to get them to leave, but after last night they said they weren’t going anywhere without you.” And she’s nodding over the breakfast counter into the living room- the same living room Matt stumbled through half awake.

And he peaks his head over and wants to...He doesn’t know what he wants to do, but his heart does a little jump at the sight of his boys. His idiots.

Adam is on the couch, face pressed into the cushions and snoring ever so slightly, and right next to him, Lawrence is asleep in the arm chair.

It’s seeing Lawrence in the armchair that makes Matt frown and somehow he ends up gently nugging Lawrence awake and leading him upstairs to the bed that is now unoccupied.

Sean wanders down somewhere in the time Matt takes Lawrence’s glasses off and get him under the blankets.

It’s a nice morning. Very domestic and warm.

-

[Matt decides that he loves sleepy Adam, he also decides he does not like sleepy Lawrence as much].

-

They spend the entire day dicking around, and it’s only when Matt stands to help with the dishes that Sean lets out a little noise.

And Matt is stretching- arms reached out over him, and it’s too perfect not too. So sean quickly moves and wraps his arms around Matt. Smashing their chests together, and tucking his head into the space available by Matt’s neck.

And Sean feels Matt go still- and they’re the closest they’ve ever been- physically and emotionally. Sean can feel how fast Matt’s heart is beating. And just when Sean goes to move away and apologize, Matt is wrapping his arms around Sean in a grip that makes it seem like he’ll never let go of him.

They end up sitting on the floor- never once breaking the embrace. Sean ends up sitting in Matt’s lap while Matt hides his face in Sean’s shoulder. Sean’s sure he can feel wetness, but he doesn’t say anything.

No one else says anything about it, they just let it happen. Photos are taken- granted, but they all remember what Matt had told them.

“Never had one.”  

They all remember that up until this point Matt Peake had never had a hug.

-

They all spend the night again together, but this time Adam and Sean end up in bed with Matt- hugging him all through the night.

-

Matt comes to the boys, a few days later, during lunch- with a solemn expression. He sees them start to panic a little so when he speaks, he addresses it to Joel,

“I never wanted you to think, I didn’t want you. I wanted you very much. But…” Matt lets out a sigh and waves a hand tiredly, “You know. M’a little broken.”

And in a much softer voice adds, “Didn’t think you’d want me.”

And Matt won’t look at him, but he knows when Joel remembers what he’s talking about by the little ‘oh’. Matt is determined to stare at the floor, and anywhere away from their faces.

“Matt…” For once it seems as if Joel has no idea what to say but does what Joel does best:

Offer physical contact.

Matt sees the hand come into his view and tug him forward by the arm, and- oh-  Matt could really get used to this surprise hugging thing.

“We want you, Matt. Trust me. We do.” And Joel is petting the back of his head, and Goddamn Matt could totally get used to this surprise hugging thing.

-

Matt tells them about everything a few weeks later, over dinner at Lawrences. They all listen, only stopping to interrupt when it was obvious Matt was getting distraught.

“I didn’t put ‘monster’ there.” He’s crying again but he needs them to know that, “Some kids from my high school...They, pushed me down and did it. That wasn’t me.”

“Okay, sweetie. It’s okay. We believe you.” He ends up being curled between Elyse and Lawrence, mumbling out various words of comfort to him.

-

They move to Roosterteeth, and he follows of course. Matt would follow them where-ever they go.

-

Matt’s dad dies the next fall, and he kind of hates himself for not caring- but he spends the night curled on the couch watching movies with the people he was told he didn’t deserve and the guilt disappears.

-

[[The next time he finds bruises of handprints on his body- he smiles as he see’s the versions he has on himself.]]

[shinichirosbabymama]

Valentine’s Day Imagine (Elliot x Reader)

A/N: So it’s a Valentine’s Day double whammy! (Kind of ironic for someone who finds it ridiculous but hey-ho). Ever since I was a kid I was always fascinated about the idea of being hit by cupid’s arrow so I decided to do my own crazy 2017 spin on it. This is pretty much all fluff but does involve some light drug usage. I was also inspired by the above picture (from the Vancouver riots a few years ago) and quote (Astrophil and Stella, always). Enjoy!

Your phone had been sat idly on your desk most of the day as you mooched around the house. It was your day off from work and you didn’t feel like doing much else as you slowly made your way through your long list of chores.

Suddenly your phone vibrated loudly against the wood of the desk. The sound was offensive to the quiet hum of your apartment and caused you to jump slightly. You quickly snatched up your phone to check the message, immediately feeling a small rush of adrenaline. It was your best friend.

Get your ass downtown now! Anti-Trump march T minus 20 minutes!!

You took a deep breath. Were you really going to do this? It could be dangerous, but you felt like you had to. You quickly dressed into something warmer for the February weather and left the house in the rush. You texted your friend on your way to tell her you were in transit. She was already at the march.

Find me when you get here. It’s big!

She wasn’t wrong, you weren’t even downtown yet and already throngs of protesters crowded the streets. Many of them carried signs, some of them even adorned outfits. Within 10 minutes you’d seen a dozen sad lady liberties.

You friend shared her location with you (thank god for Apple) and you began to weave your way through the crowd, your eyes mostly glued to your phone as you attempted to navigate yourself. You bumped into a few people before you looked up and realised the crowd was a lot more densely packed than you’d first imagined. The atmosphere was absolutely electric, the people moved like the swell of an angry storm, and as you made your way towards the centre the shouts only grew more violent.

As you made your way further in you began to chant with the others. ‘He will not divide us!’ You all roared in unison and you felt your heart soar at the fact people were resisting. That they were making a stand. A huge sign towered over you which read THIS PUSSY GRABS BACK. You smiled. But that was the exact moment things began to go wrong.

You couldn’t pin point the moment that started it. But you all of a sudden you were thrown off your feet as the crowd suddenly opened up in the middle and became panicked. You heard the sound of glass breaking and suddenly felt something warm near you left. The glow that you could see reflected off the faces around you suggested that fire had somehow made an appearance.

You managed to force yourself to your feet, narrowly avoiding being trodden on as you attempted to get your bearings. You could now see that riot police had stormed the square that you and the rest of the protestors were squashed into. It looked like absolute chaos as chestnut riot horses reared and whinnied at the crowd. Riot police bore the brunt of glass bottles and other projectiles as they held their thick plastic shields tight against them.

You knew it was time to make a move, friend or no friend as you tried to make your way out of the crowd. People were so densely packed it was almost impossible to move as you were thrown in different directions. You fought to stay upright – getting oxygen was your priority as held your ground. You noticed how your face was suddenly soaked with a sharp blast of freezing water and wondered how it could get any worse.

Amidst the confusion in your periphery, you spotted a dark shape on the floor with another looming over them. You stood on your tip toes over the crowd and craned your neck for a view when you realised the figure on the floor was being beaten. By an officer with a baton.

You couldn’t truly explain the feeling but seeing that ignited a deep anger within you. In truth, you didn’t know a single thing about the man being beaten on the floor. He could be the worst person on the planet for all you knew but it was an unfair fight and the sight of this man cowering to protect his head as he was beaten time and time again set you off running.

You dodged and struggled your way to the edge of the crowd, it was an exhausting effort but you were determined. Finally you broke free from the crowd and your feet pounded heavily against the concrete and you sprinted towards them.

‘Hey!’ You shouted, hoping to distract the cop long enough to reach them. He either didn’t hear you or ignored you as he continued his assault. As you approached the two of them you raised your hand in hopes you could drag the cop away from his victim.

Suddenly you felt a blinding pain in your side and all of the air immediately knocked out of you. You couldn’t even scream as you were knocked to the floor, the sound lodging itself in your throat as you tried to register what was happening.

I’ve been shot. Holy fuck. This is it. Shit. Fuck.

The winded sensation continued – it felt as though someone had stamped on your ribs as you clutched your side. Distantly in the back of your mind you were aware that there was no blood seeping through your fingers, no slippery warm sensation. Maybe you were already dead.

‘Oh…my god. Fall back, that was not a safe distance. Repeat. Not a safe distance.’ You could hear the office talking nervously into his radio but it sounded miles away. The beaten man was hovering above you now, one of his eyes swelled shut from the impact of the baton.

‘Holy shit.’ He mumbled quietly and you were surprised by the deepness of his voice. He removed his black hoodie and delicately placed it under your head. You noticed that his teeth were clamped down on his split lip and he shook slightly as he moved you.

‘Just breathe. Slowly.’

You gritted your teeth as you tried to breathe, pain flaring up in your side every time you tried. The man winced at your raspy breath, his gaze roaming over you but his body staying stock still.

‘I think your ribs may be broken.’

‘Oh god.’ You moaned in pain. The words had rarely left your lips when the man was tackled onto the floor right next to you by a whole gang of police officers. His head was roughly thrust against the concrete as he was cuffed but he kept his large eyes fixed on you. He looked positively terrified. A few moments later you were being hauled to your feet (despite your yelps on pain in protest) and led towards an ambulance. You looked over your shoulder but the mystery man was nowhere to be seen but his hoodie had ended up clutched in your grip.

The next few hours passed in a blur of artificial lights and pain medication. A chest x-ray and a diagnosis of minor internal bleeding with heavy bruising on your ribs later and you were free to go. Apparently rubber bullets do more damage than you’d realised and will definitely make you think that you are dying for a few moments. But your unfortunate incident had meant that the police had decided to drop any charges against you in favour for all of this to be swept under the rug which you were more than happy to comply with.

You decided to take a long, steady walk home after you left the hospital. The stuffy air of the subway was too much for your sensitive chest right now and you wanted to see the carnage that had been left behind by the earlier events of the day. The mystery man who had helped you was still planted firmly in your mind and you subconsciously wandered towards the closest police station with the small hope you might come across him.

You waited across the street for almost an hour wondering about what to do when you finally saw a familiar face exiting the station. You raced across the road, narrowly avoiding a car as you made your way towards him. The man nearly jumped out of his skin, his eyes bulging out when you approached him.

‘Hey it’s me. From earlier. You remember?’ You asked, studying the man’s blank stare.

‘I do.’ He replied carefully after a few moments of thoughts. On instinct you stuck a hand out to shake but he didn’t take it.

‘Did they release you then?’

‘Of course. I didn’t do anything wrong.’ The man replied defensively.

‘I didn’t think you had I just-‘

‘They mistook me for someone else and thought I was making petrol bombs. But those aren’t really my thing.’ You grinned because you weren’t sure if the man was joking but eventually he broke into a small smile.

‘I’m Y/N. I just wanted to say thank you for earlier. For helping me.’

The man looked uncomfortable, staring down at the pavement as he spoke. ‘I should be thanking you. You got yourself really hurt. I’m Elliot by the way.’

You removed your outstretched hand and held it by your head in a mock form of solidarity. ‘It was the right thing to do, even if I wasn’t expecting to be shot.’ You offered Elliot a small smile at that which he returned in the form of a half grimace.

Elliot’s gaze travelled down to his hoodie which you were still holding tightly onto. ‘Oh god sorry – I almost forgot!’ You thrust the hoodie towards him and Elliot went to take it but hesitated as he watched your shivering form.

‘Keep it on for now. It’s cold.’ He mumbled and you tried to ignore the fact he was only wearing a small grey t-shirt.

‘I wanted to say thanks anyway so do you want to grab a pizza or something?’ You could feel yourself babbling a little as you spoke which was stupid because this wasn’t a date. The man was devastatingly handsome but it was not a date.

‘I dunno it’s like…’ Elliot trailed off and looked around, clearly looking for an excuse. You felt your stomach drop but gave him an understanding smile nonetheless.

‘No it’s fine really! I thought it might come off weird so-‘ You paused when you noticed the pink and red hues coming from the shops around you and felt yourself matching the colours with your embarrassment.

‘Holy shit I totally forgot what day it is - I’m so sorry.’ You rambled as you shook your head, taking a few steps back from Elliot in what you hoped to be a hasty escape. ‘Because asking a stranger out on Valentine’s Day is not totally weird at all.’

Elliot gave a half smile at that, looking at the paraphernalia around him like he’d only just seen it for the first time.  

‘It’s fine I just don’t like being outside that much. We could – we could smoke a bowl or something at mine if you want. Like, if you feel safe and all.’ It was Elliot’s turn to ramble this time and you had to stop your face from splitting into a grin. The two of you weren’t so different.

‘That sounds divine.’ You replied and Elliot nodded shyly.

A few hours later and you’d grown well accustomed to the soft fabrics of Elliot’s sofa as you lay sprawled out still wearing his hoodie, staring hazily at the ceiling above you. An impressively large bong lay discarded on the table beside you as Elliot reclined at the opposite end, happily ignoring the fact that your legs were tangled together and too high to care anyway.

In truth, each drag was just about agony on your chest but you didn’t care. You carefully hauled yourself upright, holding back a groan of pain as you watched Elliot’s baked expression opposite you.

‘What are you staring at?’ Elliot asked lazily, his pupils blown wide as his fingers idly played with the cuffs of your jeans.

‘You.’ You replied quietly, moving forwards slowly until you were almost straddling Elliot whilst still maintaining a little distance. You’d worked out within 10 minutes of meeting the guy that he was not a fan of physical contact. Elliot watched you the whole time, his long slender fingers reach out to grab your wrist slightly as he coaxed you towards him.

‘Can I kiss you?’ You asked barely above a whisper and Elliot gave nothing but that dumb half-smile he does in response and swiftly pressed his full lips against yours. They were soft and tasted faintly of weed which made him all the more intoxicating. You kissed slowly for a while, your overstimulated senses not allowing you to move much further. When you finally parted, Elliot looked the most peaceful you had seen him since your rather abrupt introduction.

‘So how was your day?’ He asked and there was a slight teasing to his tone, mixing ridiculousness and domesticity.

‘Well I rallied against a dictator, got shot and met a guy so I’d say all in all, not too bad.’ You replied in a rush, just wanting to kiss Elliot again already. Fortunately, he did not deny you.

[kalicofox]

Dream 2, 3/23/2017

No, you aren’t missing Dream 1. I forgot it, and it’s pissing me off, because it was cool as hell. Anyway, the dream was actually a lot shorter than this, but I thought it’d make a good story, so here it is.

Mike was being an asshole again. Not that that was a surprise. Mike was almost always an asshole. It was sort of his thing. Most of us were pretty sure that he didn't exactly mean it, but that he just had no idea how to communicate without being acerbic and cutting. Still, this brand of assholery was different. Almost like how he'd been when he'd broken his finger against the pool wall and hadn't told anyone until the meet was over. He hadn't wanted to interrupt it, he'd said. He'd wanted to stay until it was over. But what the hell could he have hurt himself on? The jackass hadn't even gotten in the pool yet today; too focused on delivering blistering diatribes for perceived failures to his teammates. He hadn't fallen, either, and coach would have had his head on a pike if he (or anyone) showed up drunk or hungover, so it couldn't be that either... So what the hell was going on? I finished my lap, then hauled myself out of the pool and stalked over to him seizing him up and searching for a visible sign of whatever it was that was making him act like a bear with a beehive up its butt. There. A wince of discomfort that was accompanied by his eyes flickering, just for a moment, to a flat black. Oh. Well that made much more sense. He was Turning. Grinning widely, I stuck two fingers in my mouth and blew hard, letting loose a shrieking whistle that cut through all of the noise in the echoing room the pool was located in, and getting everyone's attention. Hmmm. There were a couple of Harpies watching. Probably not a good idea for them to stick around. The Dragons, too. He'd be on edge enough with just water-based people around. Keeping air and fire around'd be probably a bad idea. "Can we get some privacy, please?" I called, letting the acoustics of the room carry my voice around, "We've got a new Change happening, and it looks like a water type, so..." Surprised, pleased murmurs sprung up here and there, and in ones and twos, all the non-compatible elements packed up and headed out, shooting thumbs up and broad smiles toward Mike, who just stared after them, confused. The few humans who usually showed up to watch practices were the last to leave, and they actually had to be chivvied out by Frank, who's disappointed frown I'm pretty sure could cow even the Dean. "So who's Turning?" Mike asked, a belligerent edge to the curious tone in his voice. I raised my eyebrow at him. "Really?" "What?" Mike asked, and I sighed, then reached out to poke him in the upper arm. "You are, dumbass." Mike nodded, half turning away from me to look at the pool, then did a double take, whipping around to stare at me. I couldn't help it; I started snickering, the dumbfounded look on his face pure hilarity to someone who'd already gone through her change years ago. "Wait, what? That's not possible!" "Why not?" I wanted to know, and Mike, it seemed, was happy to tell me. "Because I'm human! I've been human for my whole life!" "Uh huh." I nodded, "That's how it works, you're human for your whole life, up until you're not. Then you're something else, depending on your genetics." I paused for a moment, then, "How'd you make it to college without learning this in Bio?" Mike flushed, narrowing his eyes at me, "That's not what I meant, (last name), and you know it. My family's been human for the last ten generations. I know. I did the genealogy as my senior project in high school, and had it independently verified." I shrugged, "Then someone further than ten generations out must have been one of us, and now so are you." The flush vanished. "That can happen? Even so far back? Everyone always makes it sound like you've either got whole lines of Changers going back generations, or you're straight human, or you're half." I shrugged again. "Don't look at me, dude, I'm just the one who noticed you were changing. I don't know the really complicated shit. Now get in the pool." Mike blinked. "What?" Wow, sounds like the Change is really bringing down his IQ. "The pool." I said, as patiently as I could, "Get in." "Oh. Right." He was already in the speedo most of the guys on the swim team wore,  but the baggy green hoodie he'd been wearing over it was shucked faster than I'd've thought possible, and tossed aside as Mike headed toward the deeper of the two pools. "Jesus christ," someone muttered, and of course the others were watching. Mike was ours. I felt like an idiot for forgetting that, but I was mostly too busy controlling the urge to go hunt down and maim whatever had left the myriad of red welts on Mike shoulders, chest, and back. "What the hell happened to you?" I demanded, catching up with him in a couple of easy strides. Mike ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning pink. "It itched." He muttered, "Really bad, all right?" Oh. Oh, of course. That makes sense. There's no telling if he'll be mer or siren, but for both species the first change makes you itch horribly. It's the only way your body has to tell you to get in the damn water. And of course Mike would have avoided getting in. Not only would all of us have seen the scratches, but the salt water would have stung like a bitch. Or at least, if he was human it would have. Either mer or siren, once he's in the water, those scratches'll be, if not completely gone, then at least greatly reduced. For a second, he paused at the edge of the pool, and, without even checking my stride, I reached out, pushed him in, and dove in after him.

As soon as I hit the water, I let the part of my brain that held my physical form to one particular shape relax. For a moment I blurred at the edges, turning grey and wispy and insubstantial, then I exerted my will again and solidified as something very different than what I'd gone in as. More muffled splooshes told me that the rest of the swim team was joining us, and in a very short time indeed the pool was full of brightly colored scales and grinning faces. Mike, meanwhile, had kicked his way back up to the surface and was holding on to the edge of the pool. Someone else, Taylor, judging from the broad grey flukes that bumped gently against the pool wall, had joined him, and for a moment I was tempted to just let Taylor handle it all. Out of everyone on the team, she was the one who had the easiest time dealing with Mike's abrasiveness. She claimed that it came from knowing him so long. That she could tell what he really meant, and what was just him being socially inept, and for the most part, it looked like she could. But no. I'm the one who'd dumped the news on him. I should at least check and make sure he's fine.

I surfaced a couple feet away, finned my way forward a bit, and caught Taylor's eye. "Oh good." The relief on her face was near instant, and my eyebrows jumped nearly to my hairline. "His feet are cramping." She explained, and I winced. The first change is never fun. Your body has to get used to the idea that it isn't always going to be one shape, and oftentimes the second shape is wildly different from the first one. Still, I thought, letting myself slip back underneath the surface, this confirmed it. He's a siren. Mers, a lot of people say, are lucky. They don't have the same bone structure that Sirens do, so they don't have to deal with foot and toe and leg cramps as the bones rearrange and stretch. Sirens, however, say that they're luckier than Mers, because at least they stay warm blooded. It's an ongoing argument, and sometimes it's hard to tell if they're arguing over who's better, or who should feel worse for who. It was easy enough to catch Mike by one ankle, and for a second he flailed, kicking wildly until I could pin his legs both to the wall, my forehead throbbing where he'd nailed me with his knee. When he stopped struggling, I let him go, grabbed the ankle again, and, careful of my claws, started to massage his foot. It wouldn't actually feel good. Nothing would, until the change actually finished, but it would help keep his muscles from knotting up so badly that they got damaged by his bones stretching. Already I could feel his skin thickening, and his feet were longer, and, glancing up to check how much of his legs had grafted themselves, I swore, then let go of the leg I'd been working on and rocketed upwards with one pump of my own tail. "Take off the speedo!" I demanded as soon as my mouth cleared the surface of the water. Mike spluttered, but Taylor looked alarmed. "What?!" "Take it off!" I snapped, "If you don't, your legs won't graft properly, the blood vessels won't align properly, the bones will try to shape around it, and everything will grow wrong. You'll be essentially crippled in your siren form for the rest of your life! Take it off!" Mike's face went dead white, and I have, to this day, never seen someone shimmy out of a bathing suit as quickly as he did, keening softly as he bumped his aching, growing feet against the pool walls. Finally, a sodden lump of fabric thwapped to the rough concrete a few feet away from the edge of the pool, and Mike clung once again to the wall, his face still chalk white and drawn with pain. "Good job." I said, trying to smile reassuringly, and sank beneath the water again. There was the faintest hint of blood in the water, and I tried to ignore the taste as I filtered water through my gills. It was fine now. He'd gotten it off in time. Barely. But still. It was fine, and I still needed to help. Reaching out, I grabbed his ankle again and restarted the massage.