#like I get if he was in his steel state for a while he'd probably be cold but if he was just flesh then would he be warm still?

[karmaphone]

question for the X-men comic nerds (affectionate) is collosus' metal form cold? like if he was in his human state and flipped his skin to steel would it be skin temperature still or would it be cool?

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

TDPtober

Day 2: Love

Let the record state that Rayla had done the impossible many times before. She’d start listing, but that would take hours.

She could probably take on the Katolian soldiers armed with every kind of weapon under the sun surrounding her, especially with Runaan’s help–despite his newly-awakened pacifist side, which she couldn’t really blame him for–but that really wouldn’t look good, not when she’d been arrested before and Runaan was the elf who’d killed their king.

“When I give the signal, we’ll run,” she whispered to Runaan. She could change the plan; get him to the Silvergrove, and by the time she got back, Callum would surely be here, able to order the Crownguard to stand the hell down.

“What’s the signal?”

“Me screaming really loud.”

“Good signal.”

“Thanks.”

Rayla crouched, readying her already-unsheathed blades and stepping in front of Runaan. The soldiers closest, wielding swords, began to rush her, and she leapt into the air. More started to rush a newly-exposed Runaan, and Rayla opened her mouth to give the signal despite the wind being knocked out of her lungs, when a trumpeting horn and galloping hooves cut her off.

“Stand down,” a familiar masculine voice boomed. The troops parted for General Amaya in all her shiny-armored, muscular glory, her face set as she signed furiously while dismounting Aegis. Commander Gren stood to her side, watching and interpreting. “If anyone touches a hair on this elf's head, answering to me will be the least of your worries.”

Bows were hastily un-notched, swords sheathed, and postures at ease.

Rayla stumbled back to shield Runaan, but then held still as Amaya and Gren approached her, trying not to look suspicious regarding Runaan. Y’know, because he'd killed their king and all.

That wouldn't be a great icebreaker.

“Callum’s back in Katolis,” she started, too uncomfortable with the silence. “He went there and I came here. We, um- we agreed.” If you ever hurt my nephew Callum again, I will kill you.

“King Ezran went back, too,” Gren informed her, glancing back to Amaya's racing hands. “They'll likely have met up. We have to assume the best.”

“I thought it was ‘assume the worst’?”

She cracked a smile.

“Optimism is necessary, too, Rayla.”

“Listen,” she started. “I'm doing my best to keep him safe. I'd never-”

General Amaya crouched down to make eye contact, gripping her shoulders in a way that was probably gentle to her, but objectively the exact opposite. Rayla stiffened, bracing for her to make good on her promise. But-

“Are you alright?”

She blinked and would've stumbled back in surprise if not for the death-grip. “What?”

“Are you alright?” Her signing was careful and delicate, at least to Rayla’s untrained eyes, and Gren’s voice equally soft and soothing.

She forced herself to look into those dark brown eyes, holding so much love and patience and concern. The way Ezran and Callum looked at her.

Rayla looked away, suddenly choked up, and wiped at her face with her arm. “Yes. I- I’m okay.”

“Good.”

She looked back, just not at the general. Just at the very interesting grass between her steel-toed boots. “You're really not…” Mad? Furious? Disappointed? Upset?

But the latest queen of New Aurea didn't punch her, didn't sign-yell at her, didn't anything other than shake her head and promise, “There's been way too much fighting and anger lately. You're my niece and I love you, and I'm so glad you're okay.”

That… It wasn't what she'd been expecting. For Callum or Ezran, definitely, but for Rayla…?

But, yeah, it was on-brand. One word she'd use to describe Callum's entire family was loving, and it never seemed to stop extending to her.

She sniffed, reaching a tentative hand out. “May I…?”

The response she got was being lifted off the ground in big muscular arms, warm and hard but soft at the same time, scooped off her feet and held tight.

She sniffed into the crook of a soft padded tunic not covered by gleaming armor, burying her face in that little pocket and fruitlessly trying to glue that dam back together.

Amaya gently settled Rayla back on her feet, but didn't stop hugging her tightly, beginning to sob, too, not at all hindering her iron hold.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and cried some more.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 62] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

If your drill sergeant back and basic training had seen the state in which you'd left your quarters, he'd probably have you running the mile until noon. That dress you'd spent so much time searching for lay in a shrivelled mess across the bedroom tile, a single stiletto in your bathroom, another just under your bed. To your shock, your pearl necklace was still clinging to your throat, leaving lingering pink dents from a haphazard night's rest. Last night was a blur, but precious few memories that do flicker in your waking mind make your stomach flutter. You have to get up, even if sleep-deprived muscles make their protests known with every movement. 

It's nice to know that the barracks are quiet once again, seeing as most of the exalted generals and commanders have fucked off to whatever decorated offices they'd spawned from. Although, as comforting as the architecture might be in this stunning vista, it'll never ring as comfortable. A solid sleep being a consequence of sheer exhaustion, not a peaceful state of mind. Familiar halls steered you toward the common room where you'd previously found your colleagues lounging on other mornings, so you'll likely find them there. An odd sense of self-consciousness washed over you, not quite guilt per se, but a sense of abashedness that made your eyes flicker to make sure you're stepping through this wooden threshold with all your clothes on. No lingering glances, or even a glance at all; Soap was weaving blades of long grass into twine for whatever reason, and Gaz and Price were enthralled with their soccer on the grainy screen. 

"Cricket," Price grumbled; it made you flinch. "Good morning."

"Morning," you called, rounding the corner to find Ghost seated beside Soap's weaving station at a table by the window. 

"Seeing as you're excused from training today, I thought we'd get you out in the field to compensate," his piercing blue eyes saw through your soul when he turned to look at you.

Getting out in the field. That only means one thing. It's hard to say if Ghost's words with Price mentioned your aforementioned lack of participation in the practice. It might be Ghost's way of including you in an activity that distracts your mind from your cancelled training, or maybe he's trying to punish you for abandoning your post at the gala. Or, maybe it's just as simple as Price including you in rucking because you haven't accompanied them in a while, and that's the whole of it.

"Yes, sir."

"Get kitted. We'll be out and back before the afternoon sun cooks us," he grumbled, taking another long drag of coffee from one of those white mugs. 

Unluckily for you, this time around they had no intention of stopping in a pub on this excursion. No, it's for real this time, evidenced by a single twenty-pound pack of equipment slung beside four other kits laid up against the stucco wall by Soap. Still 'babying' you, as Ghost so uncharitably put it, as their packs looked to be easily fifty pounds, not counting the layered jackets and denim pants you're expected to equip. The military-grade jeans could probably stop a bullet at the right angle, starchy and heavy, finely woven to catch serrated blades in their place. It's easy to forget how weighty this armour and steel-toed boots feel once you've got them all equipped, but that's the purpose after all. And that purpose is to make this tactical equipment feel like a second skin, teaching harsh lessons of endurance and self-discipline with every agonizing pound. Buckles and velcro pull at unusual locations, grounding themselves in the sensitive flesh of your inner elbow and thigh, even with a thick barrier separating them from your skin. Eventually, you're all kitted up, only making your teammates wait about five extra minutes, despite only needing to apply half as much equipment. 

White sunshine made your pupils burn at the change in brightness, but pushing through the strain, you could barely make out Gaz's raised hand ushering you to the mode of transport. Of course it's in one of those trucks. And not just any truck, either. It's the same fucking one from the night before. At least you were wise enough to collect all of your garments before you left, or rather, most of them, but the thought still made your blood run cold. Soap gestured for you to slip in before him, oh-so-gentlemanly using saying 'ladies first' as an excuse to give you the dreaded middle seat in the back of the vehicle. The universe seems to have an odd sense of justice though, as only seconds later, after he'd assumed his position on your flank, Gaz's seat kicking backwards stripped him of the extra legroom. Ghost sat in on your other side, effectively sealing you into a horrifyingly claustrophobia-inducing situation. A front passenger seat had been dragged forward so far that only someone like you could've been seated there, but nobody bothered to question. That's weird. 

Chilled morning steam contrasted with warm breath created the most mortifying sight. A sight that even Ghost didn't initially spot until he followed your mortified gaze. Perfect imprints of sweaty palms and dragging fingertips imprinted on glass perfectly choreographed a sinful scene. Soap was contentedly distracted enough by arguing about soccer with Price and Gaz in the front seats, seemingly insulted by his opinions being intentionally disregarded. The Englishmen have banded together in an unsteady alliance, rejecting the inputs on the sport from the resident Scot. The distraction was enough for Ghost to think on his feet, rolling down the windows to drown away the scene on the glass. Fresh air didn't hurt either, and it felt like a crisis averted. Still, the stress is enough to make you forfeit your breakfast right then and there. 

Eventually, the vehicle came to a halt, and Soap's door swung open before Price even had the opportunity to take the keys out of the damn ignition. It came with fantastic timing because the sense of surging claustrophobia was just reaching a new high. The Captain had steered your hike through a lightly wooded scape that dramatically dropped into a sheer cliff that sloped into the rocky sea below. Kicked pebbles scuttered into freefall, the ensuing splash only barely audible over churning waves, white peaks of crashing saltwater lashing at the cliff face down below. 

So long as Price is satisfied with how exhausted you are, all while bearing it with a stiff lip, he'll relent his grip and let you shed this cruel equipment. You have to look tired, but not too tired. Dirty, but not too filthy. You have to keep up, but not enough to look like your equipment isn't a significant burden. At least the view is nice, where the morning sun had a way of making the late-night mist sparkle on the lush branches of proud cypress trees. Salty air sucked away simmering heat from under your jacket, where cool air breathed across the sweet spit that pooled over your tongue as you heaved. Rucking is exhausting and mentally draining in a backward sort of way, where you're in a constant state of willing creeping thoughts of weariness to silence. 

A fluttering bird over the horizon caught your attention, soaring and drooping with sleek wings, slicing through the air and stopping on a dime with a flash of flared tailfeathers. An osprey, probably. The speed at which it tears through your vision makes it difficult to identify it beyond a blur of brown and white until it deems whatever fish it'd spotted as an unworthy cause, instead flattening angular wings to catch the calming gale. Not delicate and demure like a sweet songbird, those seem to be plentiful in this patch of birch. It seems like every other branch is dotted with a spatter of yellow feathers, contentedly harmonizing with the next branch, little beacons of sunshine in their tiny bodies. 

But a trill, slicing through the air above crashing waves and thundering footsteps, enraptured a swivelling glance from all five of you. That osprey, commanding respect. They could be described as meek when held up to the mighty eagle, but they are independent and fierce, especially in their native environment. They don't have to fight for attention or prove themselves. Their worth is effortless, natural. But you couldn't get too lost in thought because every once in a while, you'll catch the tail end of cheeky banter between Soap and Ghost that sounds more like a married couple's squawking. Soap'll push Ghost's buttons about something menial, Ghost will have some stony and grim response, and Soap will cut the tension with some intentionally obtuse quip. It's like fire and ice with those two; it's easy to forget they're both career killers. 

In your eavesdropping, you'd uncovered the trivia that Ghost sometimes plays the drums, surprising as you'd always pinged him as a bassist. Soap used to play the bagpipes, but he'd apparently never graduated beyond playing the reed and not the full bagpipe, a detail he was fiercely defensive over when Gaz pushed for more information. Price glanced back at you as if to posit the same question of preferred instruments, but your heaving gasps seemed to communicate that you don't have the breath to contribute. And the assumption was entirely founded, because your lungs were burning in your chest just by keeping up this enduring pace. 

Your wandering mind made it possible to submit to your hiking, finding the same winding trail through tall birch and cypress trees reversing before you. You'd survived another session of rucking. Though this only counts as the second, and a half, rucking outing with these guys. Even still, it's enough to make you comfortably surrender to the fact that you're not cut out to be in the Special Forces. Conversation was easy whenever you found the breath to participate. Of course, it was easy for these guys; it was more like a leisurely stroll, swatting damp branches and kicking pebbles into the turbulent sea below. It felt like everyone was just contentedly avoiding the elephant in the room. It made your skin crawl, and your skeptical eyes dart to Ghost up ahead, on the vanguard of the trail.

Just as the afternoon sun was becoming unbearable, honing in on dark equipment, the cool wind from the opened windows in the truck gave you the comfort your slippery skin was begging for. You were getting dangerously close to heat exhaustion, but you'd never admit that. And Price would never knowingly put you in a situation he didn't think you could handle. Or so you hope. The sweet smell of manufactured coolant from the air-conditioning sang through your system, breathing life into dragging joints. Just as the rest of the gang was eager to unwind tense muscles and shower, you caught Ghost on his way down the hall, glancing for company before skipping to catch up. 

"What did you tell them?" You pressed, forcing him to halt his rigid pace. 

You knew he'd know exactly what you meant. Not a peep of concern and where you'd disappeared off to in a huff after just over an hour at the gala, never to be seen again. Nobody's asked where you and Ghost slinked off to, inconveniencing the lot of them by hijacking their ride. How did they even get back? Maybe they caught a ride with Laswell, or maybe they hiked back in the damp night, suits and all. Not exactly a hero's welcome, in spite of their medals and ribbons. 

"I told them the truth," he pledged with a cold and unabashed tone. 

Your heart plunged, frigid blood crashing through your system. The truth? He told them about your time at the park? 

"And what's the truth?" You croaked, feeling your forehead crinkle in abrupt concern. 

"That you're struggling to understand why you're not getting any recognition," he replied simply, edging on a challenging tone. "I said that I explained it to you, that I gave you a pep talk, and that it won't be an issue anymore."

"And you were the wise and valiant hero that wrangled me from that ledge," you scoffed, redirected horror manifesting into creeping agitation. 

"Yes," he replied arrogantly. "And I have the trophy to prove it." 

"A trophy you plundered from another. That's very British of you," you chirped, sealing your pack shut with a satisfying zip.

"Funny," he snarled flatly. 

It took the willful command of every muscle in your body not to swing your palm to smack him, striking that snide look off his face as he looked down at you. Yet, a sneaking sliver of yourself found discomfort in his initiative. He'd taken agency of your mental health, capitalizing on it to get you out of a sticky social situation. But at the same time, it's not like you had the willpower, nor the rank, to bring up those concerns to the Captain on your own anyway. And it's not like you weren't eager to take any opportunity to conceal a sneaky link on company hours. A part of you knew that he was aware of your dilemma. You'd given your trust to him, wholeheartedly laying your soul bare. But you came out of a willful disobedience of orders scot-free. Hell, if anything, he's the one who's under the magnifying glass now, seeing as his objective was to retrieve you from fleeing the gala, a mission he'd failed. Appearances that would've been damaged were saved by charisma and probably a handful of white lies. Effectively wriggling you free of a scolding from Price or Laswell, bringing up your concerns that you'd have to silently bear otherwise to your superiors, and permitting you to selfishly imbibe in another encounter with this coworkers-with-benefits relationship. Well played, Simon. 

"Lieutenant, sergeant, pack your things. We're in the air in thirty," Laswell called in your direction, already disappearing in a flurry of steps down another connecting hallway. 

"Do you know where we're going?" you posited, glancing back over to your colleague with a sudden surge of energy. 

"Berlin," he began. "You should really start paying attention to the news."

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Master List

[queenlua]

Phoenix Wright / Kristoph Gavin "What the fuck are we even doing together?"

The disbarment hits the papers, and suddenly every Tom, Dick and Harry that Phoenix has ever met is blowing up his phone.

Amazing how many of them there are.  There's his aunt Jessie, whose sole previous communication with him these past ten years has been a dutifully-sent annual birthday card.  There's Gary from that internship Phoenix did his last summer in law school, calling from five states over.  His barber, for some reason.  And a bunch of guys that he hasn’t talked to since 1L.  Like a freaking class reunion in his phone, except through one-way glass, so he can't get a look at them.  It'd only be fair, after all, if he could judge them right back—judge them for whatever biglaw job they burned out of, or how much weight they've put on, or how divorced they are, or whatever it is people henpeck at those sorts of things—

And it's amazing how many of them won’t even admit why they’re calling.  Hey Phoenix, it’s been a while huh, just wondered how you’re doing these days, well if you get this call me back—

Right.  As if.

He plays the voicemails back every night, after Trucy’s asleep, sitting alone with a bottle of cheap swill, and he lets the voices wash over him until he’s comfortably numb.

When Maya calls, two weeks later, he recognizes it right off because he’s got the Kurain area code memorized.  And he stares at those digits a long while, deciding—because, hell, he owes Maya an explanation, doesn't he? Edgeworth, Larry, it's whatever, but Maya didn't ask to get mixed up in any of this—

Then he swipes the call straight to voicemail, and stops listening to the voicemails altogether.

Which he should’ve known wouldn’t be enough to put her off.  So he shouldn't be surprised when Maya shows up at his apartment a week later, banging on the door and hollering for him to come out, Nick, it's me—

His apartment looks like shit.  He knows that already, from the look the pizza guy's been giving him this past week, every time he opens the door.  He doesn't need to see that look on Maya's face, too.

“Do you mind,” he says, blocking the entryway with his shoulders.  He says some other things, probably.  He already had a good buzz going before she got here.

She squares her shoulders and shoves past him.  Then she barges into the nearest closet, roots around until she finds the swiffer and some wet wipes, and starts going at his place with the same vigor he used to have when he was cleaning up the office.

So it takes some doing, getting her to leave.  He stands in a corner and says nothing while she's sweeping and scouring and chattering.  I had to find out in the paper.  The paper!  You KNOW how slow news is to get to Kurain, Nick, you could've called—

You weren't here, he snaps.  He says it like an accusation, as flinty and sharp-edged as any he's ever flung in a courtroom, stares her down—and she's not a hardened criminal, she's barely an adult, she isn't steeled against this sort of thing.  She just blinks and stares back at him like a kicked dog.

It's a low blow and he knows it.  She's got a life in Kurain, she's got Pearl to take care of, and everything that went down with Godot was just two months ago, and he kept saying he'd go visit her in Kurain but he hadn't done that so who wasn't there for who, really—

But it does get her to leave.  Which is what he wanted, after all.

The next morning, he pulls up the call history on his phone, for the first time in days.  It’s a wall of missed calls from the very same number, that familiar area code.  He flips over to the voicemails, and ventures a click on one of them at random—Nick, I’m on the train down, I don’t know why you’re not answering your phone or why you didn’t just tell me what happened but I'll be there soon—

And he almost takes it back.  Almost calls her back, I messed up, Maya, I'm sorry, I'm messed up—

Except then, that night he’s at the Borscht, he's sitting across from Kristoph, right.  Kristoph, the only guy who's seemed normal about all this, whose sympathies are tinged with the comfortable chilliness of professional courtesy, who's been kind-but-not-too-kind.  Halfway through the first course, Kristoph mentions seeing a young lady at the train station this afternoon, he just happened to be passing by—and she looked just like that assistant of yours, Phoenix, wearing that most unusual garb—is it a spirit-channeler custom, or just a current fashion, do you know—?

All the hairs prickle on the back of Phoenix's neck.  Kristoph smiles like he’s describing nothing more consequential than a strange, alluring bird at his backyard feeder.

And that's when it clicks, when Phoenix realizes the thing he can't prove yet, the thing that'd make him sound crazy if he tried—that he's being watched, that he's been set up, that this Kristoph is a wolf waiting by his door.

Phoenix forces his best shit-eating grin.  How about another glass of that wine, Kristoph.  How about this dessert menu, Kristoph.  Like those birds that draw other, bigger birds away from their nest by flashing their wings just so.  Better that Kristoph have Phoenix in his sights than anyone else.  Better that he does this alone.

[braveclementine]

I'm Not Okay

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC Elizabeth Lightwood. I do not condone any copying of this.

"Hey." Sam said, when Stephen finally answered his call. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm just about to pull out of the garage." Stephen answered, slightly lying as he attached the watch to his wrist and looking at himself in the mirror. It was the watch that Sam had given him for his birthday and he treasured it, though he rarely told Sam that. "Do you want me to pick you up."

"I'm already here." Sam answered and now Stephen could hear the sounds of the party behind him. "You know you're the one receiving the award tonight, right? You should be on time to these things."

"I'm the one that tonights for." Stephen smirked as he grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage now. "They can afford to wait for me."

He heard Sam sigh on the other side of the phone and he said, "Cheer up. I'll be there before you know it."

"Drive safe." Sam said in that warning voice of his. Hanging with superheroes was definitely making him goody two shoes.

"I'll do my best." Stephen said. "See you soon."

"Yeah." Sam said and hung up.

Stephen jumped in the car and sped out onto the streets.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

When Stephen woke up, he felt a soft, warm hand on his shoulder. But that was the only warmth. Everything else was either numb or in pain. He could only open one eye and he opened it to see Sam sitting in the chair beside him.

"Hey." Sam's voice was rough and Stephen knew that he'd probably been crying. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

He looked at his arms, which were resting in slings. There were needles in his hands and what felt like a thousand stitches. "What d- What did they do?"

"They rushed you in a chopper. But it took a little while to find you." Sam's voice was shaky again. "From what little I understood, the golden hours for nerve damage went by while you were in the car."

"What did they do?" Stephen asked again, his voice croaky. It hurt to talk but he was horrified with how his hands looked. His once perfect hands.

"Eleven stainless steel pins in the bones." Sam finally answered him. "Multiple torn ligaments, severe nerve damage in both hands. You were on the table for e-eleven hours." Sam cleared his throat, looking down so Stephen didn't see the tears that were probably falling from his eyes.

"Look at these fixators."

"No one could have done better."

Stephen groaned in pain, looking over at his soulmate. "I could have done better."

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

Sam paced outside the hospital doors, dreading going in. He could hear Stephen behind the door, telling the doctors that they had ruined him. Sam pushed his palms against his eyes. They saved his life. What more could he want?

Sam knew Stephen's career was over, but that was okay. Sam had plenty of money saved up. It wouldn't be enough to keep Stephen's multi-million apartment, but they could get a slightly bigger house than the one Sam was staying in right now. Especially if Sam took care of Stephen's hospital bills with Stephen's money and then took in the rest of Stephen's net worth.

He wished he had thought to control Stephen's money spending better. Watches he didn't need, expensive suits, expensive cars, money blown instead of saved.

And then, Stephen blew more money on an expensive surgery to try and fix his hands. Then money on physical therapy.

Sam felt useless. Stephen wouldn't let him help him. Sam walked in on Stephen trying to shave, before letting the Razor plop into the water, growling in frustration.

"You want me to help?" Sam asked.

"No." Stephen snapped, glaring at him and Sam swallowed thickly. He was done crying over his man every time he hurt him.

And then, Stephen was trying to contact doctors and that was how Sam found him one night. He walked into the loft and saw the computer smashed on the floor with the papers.

"He won't do it." Sam stated.

Stephen shook his head slowly and then stood up angrily. "He's a hack. But there is a new procedure in Tokyo. They culture donor stem cells and then harvesting them and then 3D printing a scaffold. If I could get a loan together-"

"Stephen." Sam said.

"A small loan, just two hundred thousand dollars-"

"Stephen you've always spent money as fast as you could make it." Sam said, trying to reason with him. This was a rabbit hole Stephen was going to drown in. "But now you're spending money you don't even have. I don't have. Maybe it's time to consider stopping."

"No," Stephen dropped the computer and raised his arms. His hands shaking violently and Sam just wanted to take him into his arms and kiss him. "Now is exactly the time not to stop, because, you see! I'm not getting any better." He got to his feet.

"But this isn't medicine anymore." Sam argued. "This is mania. Some things just can't be fixed."

"Life without my work-"

"Is still life. This isn't the end. There are other things that can give your life meaning." Sam protested.

"Like what?" Stephen turned, "Like you?"

Sam felt as though he had been slapped across the face. He wanted to retort. Wanted to demand an apology.

Instead, he turned and tossed his keys on the table, put his hands in the pockets and left, making sure to slam the apartment door behind him

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

You were falling asleep at your desk at the new S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. You had been staying up late, working on one of the new training protocols, but you were slacking as you started to fall asleep.

A hand touched your shoulder and you jolted. Steve was there, holding Everleigh in his arms, who was whimpering, clutching Steve's hair tightly in a fist.

"I think she's hungry." Steve said apologetically. "And you should get some sleep."

"Yeah." You yawned. "Thanks Steve. I'm sorry if she was bothering you."

Steve chuckled. "I'll just lock my bedroom door next time."

You giggled and then said, "I don't suppose you want anything to eat as well, do you? I'm hungry and I'll probably make something large anyways cause Tony needs food too."

"Sure, why not." Steve shrugged.

The two of you walked towards the kitchen in silence. You set Everleigh down in her chair in the kitchen which had a booster seat tied down to it so she was at level with the table. She was five now and very nosy, going into every room she could. She also loved eating and she hated sleeping, as all kids seemed to.

"How about home made skyline?" You asked Everleigh in excitement.

"Yes!" She said happily and you looked at Steve. "Do you want yours in a form of spaghetti or hot dogs?"

He looked like a deer in headlights. "What's skyline?"

"It's a meat sauce and you either put it on spaghetti or hot dogs. I prefer spaghetti but she loves it with hot dogs and Tony. . . well he combines the two, the menace he is." You laughed. "Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Tony is still awake right? Ask him if he wants Skyline."

"Yes Mrs. Stark." F.R.I.D.A.Y.s voice replied.

"Um I guess the hot dogs." Steve said uncertainly.

You put six hot dogs in a pan to boil and then started boiling a pan of water for your spaghetti. You hummed as you worked, opening up a can of skyline meat sauce to put into another pan and heat that up.

"Mr. Stark says he would love Skyline, Mrs. Stark." F.R.I.D.A.Y.s voice came in. "Also, Mr. Wilson just entered the building, would you like me to let him know where you are?"

"Sure." You said, surprised. Steve looked just as surprised as you. Sam hadn't moved into the building yet, there was some trouble with his soulmate or something like that. A car crash, though he hadn't explained the details. But he had seemed rather upset lately and his training had taken a turn for the worse.

You grabbed hot dog buns for Steve and Everleigh, sliding their hot dogs into each one, before drizzling the sauce over them. You topped them with large amounts of thin shredded cheese and gave them to them.

You put spaghetti in the pan, now that the water was boiling and waited, grabbing a bowl for your own meal. You also grabbed oyster crackers from the cupboard and gave each of them a cup of them to dip into the sauce.

"Napkin Everleigh." You said to the small girl who was messily eating her hot dogs. You cut Tony's hot dogs into pieces to mix with the spaghetti after the noodles were done, dripping the sauce on it and then topping it with cheese. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. let Tony know his food is done."

Sam came into the kitchen as you finished making your bowl of spaghetti. "Hey Sam!" You called over your shoulder, grabbing cups for milk. "Are you hungry-" You cut off as you saw his face.

Steve turned and looked over his shoulder and got to his feet immediately. "Sam? What's wrong?"

You quickly put everything you had in your hands on the table. Everleigh, understanding something was serious, stayed quiet.

Sam sat down heavily in his chair, looking at the table. He cleared his throat. "Stephen. He um, I think. . . I think he rejected me."

You and Steve both froze and then you moved to Sam's side, putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "But. . . why? Why would he do that to you?"

"Because he values his work more than me." Sam said thickly. "Said it right to my face. I'm not worth it to him. Wasting money, chasing rabbit holes."

"Oh Sam." You whispered and wrapped your arms around him. Sam hugged you back tightly. "It's going to be okay."

You didn't let go until Sam relaxed against you and only then did you pull away slowly and ask, "Do you want something to eat?"

"Got anything chocolate?" Sam asked, clearing his throat.

You went to the cupboard and brought back chocolate covered pretzels, pouring him a bowl. "Here."

"Can I have some too?" Everleigh asked.

"After you finish your dinner." You said, even as Sam sneaked her one under the table with a smile. You pretended not to notice as she quickly shoved into her mouth and smiled broadly at Sam. Steve covered his own smile with a hand.

"Hey birdbrain." Tony said, walking in. "Hey angel." He kissed the top of Everleighs head. "Cap." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Pumpkin, thank you for the meal." He kissed the top of your head, grabbing his own bowl.

You smiled up at him.

"What are you doing here so late Sam?" Tony asked now.

Sam hesitated and Steve answered for him. "Moving in."

"Nice, I'll have a room ready for you in like, ten minutes." Tony said, pulling out a tablet.

"Thanks." Sam said thickly and Tony looked up to analyze him. Tony looked at you.

'Later' you mouthed at him and he nodded.

"Okay that was really good." Steve said when he finished off his hot dogs.

"The spaghetti is just as good, want some?" You asked, showing him your plate that you were only halfway done with.

"Um no." Tony said in a teasing voice. "No Lady and the Tramp here. Get your own plate ice cube."

You giggled and a small smile came over Steve's face.

"I'll get your plate." You said, getting up and making a bowl for Steve. You pointed to the untouched crackers, "Those are also very good if you dip them in the sauce or even just by themselves."

"I don't really like oysters. Not a huge seafood fan." Steve said, eyeing the crackers warily.

You giggled, Tony let out a guaff, and Sam actually let out a laugh. "Don't worry, they're just crackers. They're only called oyster crackers because of their shape. Go ahead."

Steve popped one in his mouth and then ate the rest of them, a faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks.

Everleigh was starting to fall asleep and Tony took her off to bed. Sam and Steve said they'd clean up the kitchen, so you wished them a good night, hugging Sam one more time, and then followed after your husband and daughter.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

Sam knocked on Steve's door around two in the morning. He wasn't even sure if the blond super soldier would be up, but he felt so alone. He almost never had to sleep alone, and even if he was sleeping alone, he had always had a conversation with Stephen where they knew they loved each other.

Steve opened the door, looking a little sleepy, but not to bad. "Hey Sam. You want to come in?"

Sam stepped into the bedroom. The room was a little sparse and the bed was completely made. He smiled a little, knowing Steve had probably been asleep on the floor.

He cleared his throat and asked, "I'm not here for like. . . like I. . ." He hesitated and said, "I just wanted to sleep next to each other. But I'm not asking for you to ch-"

"I know." Steve said softly, drawing the covers back. "Go ahead. I'm a pretty peaceful sleeper. I won't kick you in your sleep."

Sam smiled a little, his heart still heavy as he slipped into the bed. Steve's warmth radiated from him so that Sam didn't even have to be touching him to feel it. Sam closed his eyes, feeling the tears coming. He missed Stephen so much, already, it felt like he was being stabbed in the gut with a hot knife.

"I miss him." Sam sobbed.

Steve's strong arms wrapped around Sam's shoulders. Sam expected there to be some sort of sting, something to remind him that he was cheating, but there was nothing. Maybe Stephen really had rejected him completely.

"I know." Steve choked out. He cleared his throat. "I. . . I miss him too. We'll get through this together Sam. I will always be here for you."

Sam closed his eyes again, burying his face into Steve's chest and fell asleep.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

You were in the kitchen, trying to put together a dinner. Sam was attempting to help you. You called out the different spices that you needed and he would find them in the box and hand them to you.

Suddenly, his phone which he had put on the counter started to ring. He flinched when he heard the ring tone.

You looked over at him and saw him just staring at the phone. "You want me to answer that for you?"

Sam blinked and you swiped the phone, putting it on speaker. "Y/N Stark speaking."

"Where's Sam?" The hoarse voice of Sam's soulmate came through the phone. Stephen, his name you remembered.

"He's occupied in training." You lied smoothly.

There was silence on the other side of the phone. "I need to talk to him. I need. . . there are things I need to tell him."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, his back to the phone. You had no idea if he was crying. You picked up the phone to speak into the phone. "Look. . . I'm pretty close with Sam and he's dang cut up. I know. . . I know we all say things in the heat of the moment. I know that you're going through a life changing moment. It cannot be easy for you to lose your work like that, especially being as successful as you are. But Sam loves you. And speaking as someone who is married to another egotistical, narcissist asshole genius husband, sometimes we- Sam and I- have to overlook some things. However, that being said, Sam loves you."

Sam's shoulders shook and you decided to speed up the conversation. "I'll tell Sam that you called. But I am not going to let him call you. I think both you and him need to work out some things for yourself before you try and be together again. Maybe you can't do everything on your own. I know you can't. But Sam deserves the best and I need you to become the best for him. Okay?"

There was silence and then he said, "There's this place called Kamar-Taj. It's in Tibet. I was. . . apparently they healed someone that had the same nerve damage there. But I have to set out right away. I was. . . I thought. . ." He cleared his throat. "I can make the journey on my own, I was just hoping Sam would come with me."

It was your turn to be silent. "That's not my choice, no matter what. I'll tell Sam after he's done with training and the two of you can work that on your own. Good-bye Stephen. I hope everything works out for the best."

You hung up first and handed the phone to Sam before turning back to the boiling Chili. "Like I said, it's up to you."

Sam hugged you from behind. "You're the best Y/N."

You smiled a little and then swatted at him with the wooden spoon. "I know. Now either help or scoot."

Sam chuckled, flipping the phone in his hand. "I think. . . I think I'll go with him. Maybe a trip together is something we need."

"Okay." You said softly and then gestured to the phone. "But I'd wait a few hours. You're training, remember?"

Sam nodded and then walked out of the kitchen.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

Sam left with Stephen for Kamar-Taj the next day.

"Is he going to be okay?" You asked with a frown as you, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, and Clint sat down for dinner. Tony was in his lab and Vision didn't eat.

"I'm sure he will be." Natasha said. "Soulmate relationships are hard, especially when the people in the relationships are complete opposites."

Clint chuckled, "Know how the two of us met?"

"No." You said, looking between Clint and Natasha. "How did you meet?"

"She was still one of the black widows even though she was an animal." Clint explained. "A fox could easily slip in and out of small holes and steal information. And she actually still made a good darn assassin as a fox."

You looked at Nat in surprise who was blushing just a little bit. Then you asked, "What about the soulmate line? The one that would lead you to Clint?"

"Couldn't." Nat explained. "They kept a very good eye on us that were animals. But as Clint got closer, I knew he was getting closer."

"They sent me to assassinate her." Clint chuckled. "And I could tell she wanted out. She pretty much ran into my arms."

You let out a surprised laugh.

"Anyways," Nat smirked, "The point is, soulmate life is hard. Sam and Stephen are more than completely opposites. They're practically on different worlds. But they love each other. And Stephen went through something life-changing. That changes a person. It was natural to lash out, I just wish he hadn't been so harsh with his words."

"So don't worry." Steve said, sounding a little wistful. "Everything will work out."

And everything did.

[bells-of-black-sunday]

3-5 Things Your Muse Can Easily Be Identified By.

colors

Red- deep maroons and dusty fabric that's clearly been worn by time

Black- deep as the night or so pale it's grey

Iron- both rusted and pristine, there were times when he'd have the energy to polish his armor to perfection and other times not so much

Blue - pale cornflower like his eyes

Brown- both from his hair and the pale tans of his linens

scents

Steel- steel has a scent when it gets closed and polished especially when exposed to the elements it's something that while not often clinging to him is unmistakable when you maintain armor and blades

Grass/dirt- generally just the smell of dirt, he does a lot of manual labor and likes to relax in the grass and fields when he's done that and a common form of antiperspirant during the period was literally just using dust and some scented oils to cover the smell

Blood- something unmistakable after sparring or after battles, he's never one to care for his body so he gets various cuts and scrapes a lot

fashion

Tunics/kirtles- very simple and common clothing for men in the period, it was basically just a big blanket of wool to protect yourself from the elements while still being light and breathable they could be laced or just be a complete panel

Braies and hose - basically a pair of undershorts that'd be covered by a pair of long socks called hose or even a pair of chausses, not too uncommon to see him lounging out like that in the shared living space he has

Great helm- a very common helm throughout most of the later medieval period, it's what his helmet is on his actual model even if his hair really shouldn't be poking through it

Cloak- a big basically blanket of fabric to keep yourself extra warm or the rain out, definitely something warn quite a bit on long marches

objects

Great Swords- self explanatory

War banners- again self explanatory, with how he was granted the nobility title of knight, he was a very privileged man and thus was probably the one to carry the banner of the lords he's worked under

Genuinely probably the only two things that can be associated with him in particular, unlike a lot of the other killers: his add ons aren't really personal belongings or things relating to him specifically. Mostly just the company he was enslaved under and from when he'd eventually betray Vittorio. Which just goes to show he probably didn't really have many personal belongings.

body language

Tensed muscles- When isn't he tense and irritable? he's not really used to people talking to him without wanting something or, because he pissed them off in one way or another.

Glowering- his natural state of being is be almost deadpan, but also looking like he'd kill you if you looked at him wrong

Folded arms- protective and comforting as it is intimidating

aesthetics

Corrupted religion- this man fetishizes religion so hard because he does not care about it, but he will treat Haru like he's the virgin Mary herself and worship at his lap

Medieval- he's from that time period it's a given

Dogs- he's got massive abused dog/guard dog energy, he is tame in the way a flock protector is when it guards its sheep from wolves

Flowering meadows- when isn't he talking about how he just wants to return to the earth when he dies?

Tagged by: @steel-and-fire (thank you!!) Tagging: uhh I got to this rlly late just steal it from me

[sarahdogoc80]

Part 2. The Doctor Behind the Epidemic

I know I said I would talk about the women but I forgot I should probably talk about the doctors first. I don't want them taking attention away from the women victims.

So doctors how come some people don't look at what the doctors where doing during before and during it? Well it depends on the doctor honestly. But I know three doctors who handled this whole thing differently.

Doctor A. He had no problems putting his patients on oxycodine for the money. He was my mom and Dad's doctor up till recently. He has know me since I was on chemo and my brother in a baby carrier. After a car accident he had my mom on 2x 80mg Oxycotin and 2x 10 Percocet a day after 6 months of her starting a pain management plan in 2008. When she showed some hesitation he lied to her face and said they were less addictive then oxycodone. She was still on edge so gave her free samples and the pen and notepad with the Oxycotin name. He gave her enough to get addicted and she came back and started her "treatment".

Doctor B. Was a more chill with giving out Vikes and Percocet but did have some skepticism about oxy products. But if you really wanted them he'd just write you a script. He was brought in as a doctor for the local steel mill workers in the 60's. He was bought in so he could write the company's employees pain pills. He retired in 2015 just in time for the Crisis to hit. Dispite the factory closing in the 90's he stayed and in town was know as a writer.

Doctor C. Is a distance family members. He's like my mom's second cousin but I still was able to talk to him. He went thought a joker moment while studying to be a cancer research doctor. He did this because he had to watch his mom slowly and painfully die of lung cancer. Turns out they could have probley saved her if only his family could have afforded the treatment. Realizing the system is more corrupt then a Russian politician. He went into family medicine and decided to help as many people as he could within the corrupt system. He'd tell the family/ trusted patients any new regulations coming so they could get around them. He taught us a trick to clear our system for drug test. No I will not say what he did. As it's dangerous if you don't wrong and can cause your kidneys to shut down if done wrong. He would write opioid scripts for anyone in the family who asked. He also (as long as it was weed and not something hard) would tamper with drug test so family and patients alike wouldn't fail. He was focused to retire due to getting caught tampering with the state drug test. Or they threaten to destroy his reputation and arrest him. He choice to retire. He seen thought oxycodine ploy so wouldn't write scripts for those. But Percocet and Vikes were fine.

These three all contributed to the problem in different ways. For different reasons. The Oxycodine company was pushing all doctors who could to get people on this drug. Combine this with the 2008 Recession and we have the factors to make a storm. People my age would probably be surprised to find out their mom/dad went on oxycodine or other opiate products to sell for them to have food money, pay bills, get them that shinny new X Box 360, etc. Some took them but there were plenty who refused to take the medicine and just sold them. Thought I don't think this makes them villains dispite them feeding into the coming crisis. Because for a lot of these people it's how they had to get by. Do SOME of you forget that this happened between the transitions from Bush to Obama. And that Bush was harsher on social services. Some families couldn't get food stamps or any of the government assistance because they made just a little too much. These family weren't thinking of the ramifications of don't this. Alot of them didn't even realize their oxycodine was being used in he production of heroin they just wanted the money. Jobs became limited so if one parent had a job they were lucky. And some of these women haven't worked for a couple years to take care of the children. So not many people wanted to hire them. So alot of women easily got pain pills to sell.

Some doctors took full advantage of this. Getting them on as much as they could so they could get those juicy payouts. I'm unsure to what extent doctor at the time knew their patients were selling but as this problem got worse they did little to step in.

Doctor A. Witnessed my dad drag my mom in by her hair and told him to take her off oxycotine. Which he did for a week then she came in like normal and had no problem getting her script. He could care less about any of this and just wanted them pushed. He didn't care my dad was abusing my mom over these pills. Just as long as she still paid for them he didn't care.

Doctor C. Was doing what he thought was right. Because he realized having people on pain pills them cutting them off cold turkey would cause them to go to the streets. He kept the feds at bay for as long as he could. But was eventually caught and had to leave. I would hardly call him bad. While he was going against the law. It was to help his patients. He had a good reputation and was well liked. One thing he did was if you didn't need the pain pills anymore he would help tapper you off pain pills rather then just cut you off if you didn't need them anymore. And if you had a addiction he would ask why and usually recommend you to therapy (wow what a concept people with addiction need mental help not just help off the drugs). People in his town did genuinely like him and it's hard to find someone who hated him.

Doctor A and B worked within the law all the way though and what do you know most of their patients went to her street because they didn't care to help them. They just covered their own ass all through this. Because oh no taking accountability is scary and they could loose their licenses.

I want to note back then alot of doctors got their pain management license from a class they took every 6 months. Rather then now a days of having people who know about these drugs dealing with them they let any one get their license. Guess who would pay for these "classes" that right the Oxycotin company. Now a days for example there are so little pain management doctors around because now they have to actually know about what they are prescribing. For example my pain management doctor is a anesthesiologist which is related to PM. So she you know, knows about these drugs very well. And she also has her own system to watch for early addiction. She has a little record of your life. If you have a job, your position, stuff like that. Because if you come in disheveled and lose your job that's an early sigh of addiction and she can catch it. Fun fact about PM I'm her youngest patient at 24. When the state drug tested came in to piss test me first thing she said was "Oh wow your just a baby." I just simply replied that "Yeah I was when I had cancer." She wasn't being mean she was just shocked to see someone my age. And didn't press me after seeing my scar on my foot.

Pain management now a days is far from good though they just over regulated like they did in the 70's. Thought the way the system is set up it's screwing over the people who need it most. I would walk someone in my building's dog and she was 87 and could barely get around. They cut her off pain pills for three months because she couldn't pee in the cup. She tried just telling them to take blood or a catheter but they refused and fought her on this for three months. Till they eventually agreed to do a blood test and called her in a months with of pills so she could you know test positive for them. My grandma also won't entertain going because of the hassle and because of something I want to talk about when I talk about the women victims.

Again as a said. Doctor's knew to an extent that them being extended release was BS. It was as addictive as Oxycodone. If not worse because of it's extended release. How are people listing to their doctor the wrong ones in this situation. The Doctors knew these substances were addictive. And rather then try and help them if they went off the deep end they either didn't care and kept writing or cut them off then acted surprised when they turned to street drugs. None of this had to happen. It was greed on the part of the doctors. They took advantage of people not knowing much about Opeits and got them hooked. The ones who did know they lied to their faces and parrot that horrible lie that it's extended release it's less addictive. They didn't care about the families they destroyed they just blamed the addicts because who will defend them they are just junkies. They were just trying to help them, getting thousands from the Oxycodine company was not related what so ever./S I hope the ruined families and lives where worth their new floors, or expensive vacations. I hope victim blaming their victims keeps them up at night. They knew what they did. The blood is on the Oxycotin company and the medical system.

[thedawningofthehour]

Ok, I was going to post this earlier but got distracted.

I don't know much about fallout, everything I know is thanks to geek osmosis. In fact, at first I didn't even know fallout was a video game, the first time I heard about fallout was because of this massive My little pony fanfic called Fallout Equestria (you have to be massive to get a physical hardcover release and an audio book).

I've never played a fallout game, I'm more of a JRpg/platformer person, But I'm still very interested about a Fallout ROTTMNT AU.

What I mean, is that you can use this question as an excuse to spill all your ideas, come on, let's ramble.

I know about Fallout Equestria, but I was never into MLP so I've never really dipped into it. It's kind of a meme in the Fallout community.

I haven't really thought about it much lately, I've been kind of busy the past few days. One thing I did think about is that Donnie would absolutely want to join the Brotherhood of Steel, except they hate mutants. So maybe he just goes off and creates his own Brotherhood. With mutants and hookers. (but he keeps the chivalry nonsense and flightsuits that make everyone's asses look great) He probably steals Liberty Prime. Not even for any specific purpose, just to annoy them. And to say he has a giant robot.

Part of it also depends on if we're still basing them in New York or not, there's a big divide between the games set on the east and west coasts due to the physical distance between them and the lack of easy travel/communication in the post-apocalypse, not to mention to discrepancy in recovery and development between the areas. (the East Coast was very heavily targeted during the Great War, with some accounts stating that New York was entirely reduced to a smoking crater, while the West Coast had a number of successful control vaults and thus had a large population of unirradiated people ready to repopulate and had the education and technology to reestablish a functional society) Assuming we base our AU in the 'current' Fallout era, (Fallout 3 and 4 take place in 2277 and 2287 respectively) the Brotherhood is operating in the northeast and almost certainly passed over NYC to get to Boston from DC. The Enclave is pretty much destroyed in 2277 but there are still remnants around. The Railroad is operating as far south as DC, so New York is well within their range. The Institute could be doing their nonsense. The Minutemen I think has a bit of a range beyond Boston proper, (I don't think Preston lived anywhere you can visit before the Quincy Massacre, he doesn't seem overly familiar with any area besides the places he mentions having passed through on the flight to Concord) Fallout 3 factions are all pretty small, due to the intense tribalism. There's the Children of Atom, I guess? I could see them being obsessed with the boys.

...Leo would probably join a radiation cult, that sounds like the kind of dumb shit he'd get into.

[peachesancreams]

Death of Angels and Devils

ok so i'm going to be going in the same order so pls bare with me, I am going to try to make it shorter then the last ones as they felt long

Nvm I’m splitting them up again, I tried to make this smaller an brain said no❣️

V to Vox, Stella to Strella

When he died it was a regular day for Strella, the maid had left a while ago and the cook had left not minutes ago. Strella had been writing new songs, tapping out beats and humming vocals when the knock came. She'd pulled on a robe and headed to the door, simple silk and she tied it tight. God forbid V drank himself to oblivion again and had been brought home by his staff. Again.

Laughing and shaking her head she had opened the door to a pair of policemen standing at the door. Looking at them they'd both been remorseful but with a undercurrent of eagerness? She had first thought, 'Oh V why did you have to get caught?' to 'Oh god no' as they explained why they were knocking at her door.

She was a widow now. It was clear that someone had murdered him, his head had been put through a television set multiple times. They had a list of suspects but had wanted to know if their was anyone she could personally think of that could've done it. Strella rambled off a few names, knowing her husbands enemies but feeling like they we're speaking to her underwater.

Was he really gone? Her V? She touched the set of pearls he'd given her, a wedding present one among many from him but her personal favorite. It grounded her enough to finish answering their questions. Apparently having noticed her state, they had at one point directed her to the living room where she now stood looking at the fuzzy carpet they'd bought together. It started to hit her then and tears quickly fell.

She didn't fall to her knees but collapsed onto the couch, staring at the far wall. He....he was gone. She had to make so many plans now. Not even just plans on what to do with his body, but funeral arrangements. Its when a flash went off over her shoulder she'd felt a sense of apathy take over.

Of course the insects would swarm to get a look at the new widow, probably more flies had been sent to the scene of her husbands murder itself. Standing her summons her spine of steel and marches to the window, making sure to give those paparazzi the coldest look she could muster at the moment. It worked great given they didn't raise their cameras for a shot of her as she closed the bind.

Strella had gone through the motions, calling in a funeral home for him, arranging for more coworkers to come then any family members. Strella didn't really talk to her brothers so no one from her side came but a cousin of his had came. Then later had tried to pick the house clean of his items, claiming family should hold onto them.

She doesn't know what had pissed him off more in the end, the fact that V's will made it so she got everything or that she also got his life insurance. Not that she did anything with it really, she'd known a decent charity fund for gay people(i wanna say it lead to the funding of some organizations).

She sold the house, not wanting to be surrounded by memories of their life together. Downsized to a smaller space, kept the maid on payroll but needed her less frequently now. She drank more, wrote many songs but....they were sad. About heartbreak and despair, loss and grief, death and those left behind. She only did songs once in a while on the jubilee show he used to run.

Strella had been walking down a side street when it happened, she'd gone out and left earlier then usual. Friends trying to distract her grief with some parties, but even that had lost its charm.

No one made snide comments with her about other party goers, or drink themselves silly together laughing openly at others by then. It all hurt too much, and too little time has passed.

Strella was dragged into an alley as she'd past it, the person demanded her money, a gun digging into her side. She'd stammered out that it was in her purse, and they'd thrown her to the way side. Strella thought it was over, tried running away when she'd heard the bang.

She'd fallen onto that dirty alley floor, confused at first before the pain really hit her. It was also getting harder to breath too...coughing made blood come out and she knew then she was a goner. When had her pearls broken? She could see them glinting, shiny iridescent pearls. Strella had complained that they hadn't reached the 30th year mark and he had insisted she deserved them. That was what made tears come up, not the pain but knowing she won't be able to leave this world with her favorite item from V. Closing her eyes she gave into the blackness creeping in on her.

Ah...at least she'll be with V again....

Opening her eyes to pearly gates had not been the plan. It wasn't even what she had wanted really. Nor was becoming fuzzy with ears and a tail but no one guessed heaven was so....furry. Apparently she should have horded her wealth instead of feeling like it was blood money, and maybe not have left a will donating anything left behind to charity. She didn't plan on having children, not without V at least and being he was dead well. She didn't want it to go to a bank or something, yes it could have gone to her family but they would have denied it. Pride can be detrimental sometimes.

Strella had taken a step back for a few years, mourning the loss a second time. The Head Seraphim, Sera had scolded her about it saying he had earned his place and so had she in heaven. Sera did not like it when she had told her the only reason she is here is because of her husbands money, if he hadn't died she wouldn't have donated a cent of her wealth. So really he had secured her place.

After that a questionnaire system had popped up, angels of lower ranks deal with the 'winners' inquiry about anything. Strella had to stop herself from laughing because all this because lil ol' her? She was just pointing out the flaws and hypocrisy that seemed to have flown under the radar. It had taken a few months to really see it, she'd been guessing mostly but when politicians started coming through the gates like posturing peacocks and none of her God fearing familia? She knew.

One thing she hadn't seen coming was fame. The songs she'd written in her heartbreak and a few originals she'd sung on the show V ran, got attention after she'd passed. Apparently when going through her things after her death, they'd found her songs. Unable to have them donated to anything, her old band got together once more and published her songs, playing the music with a strand-in for her. A stand-in, like she'd be able to sing on the mortal coil ever again.

More covers made, and really the gays won't let someone who have helped the community go unnoted. It was in the 80's that a producer approached her, they wanted her on their new show for entertaining heavens masses. A sort of jubilee show to be exact! When she'd asked about slots that is when he corrected her.

He was looking for a Host, and had the thought of having Estrella be that Host. Not only having a woman host would spice things up in the industry, but well Estrella always knew how to get peoples attention. When naming the show he had suggested Stellas Show, which had been Meh to her.

So she suggested another name. Strellas Spotlight.

She would have one performance and a small interview portion afterwards. However once a year, she'd pick a day to sing and do a full performance, sometimes inviting popular guests a second time, this time to conduct a interview on Estrella herself.

People started to note that the songs, while not her typical songs, were obviously for someone. One of her guests finally asked and she revealed herself, these songs were for V. Her demon husband.

Honestly she doesn't know what people found more scandalous, the fact she claimed they were still married or the fact she was so openly in love with him. She'd done a segment of just interviews after that, many winners had family and loved ones down in hell and nowhere to actually talk about them without literal heavenly judgement. Feelings are complicated, and even their wonderful afterlife they can mourn in some way for those not with them.

She actually had to stop running the show for a while, her producer under too much pressure from The Seraphim to cancel the show. The only reason it was a hiatus and not a full cancel is because of the roar of protest from winners, new and old. Apparently her bold claim to love got attention, but it was really the follow up of interviews, that softened a decent amount of winners. Not that demons are good of course, but some of them are still loved despite being in hell.

Now its the modern age and the show has adapted along with it, when it comes to music they still do live shows, they just made them more like a concert experience. Strella loves when they add her, like Christion Dior! Lovely man, she hosted him then they did a fashion show to show his new heavenly designs! He even let her keep the dress she wore to open his show with!

Strella does still do a song every year for V, but has a submission period where folks can dedicate songs to loved ones in hell. A way to grieve for them, she would bullshit to whomever would ask. Really she just needs to keep her show on the air and being a goo goo eyed Old Hollywood starlet has these kids eating out of her hands.

The TV head man stared at the screen, the words reflected back on his face. Strellas Spotlight Hour. He didn't move, but the screen before him started to play a lively intro that went into more playful piano. You could hear the live audience start oooooing already, the Host entered through a false door walking down some steps and opening a false closet, taking off her coat and pulled out a cardigan sweater. It was cream with light pink edges and collar. Finally after placing her sweater on, curls cut short in this one so no need to fix them he noted, she turned towards the audience.

"Hello all neighbors!" Squeals of excitement, making the hostess laughing showing pearly fangs, "Yes yes no secret here folks, you loved him in life so please give a generous welcome to everyone's favorite neighbor! Mister Rogers!" An older man steps out of the fake door with steps. He’s an Irish wolfhound, in a red sweater? Sweetly smiling and waving. Strella shakes his hand then guides him over to her hosting area with the enthusiastic crowd following. As they started the introduction he leaned back in his chair, his digital grin dripping red.

In the room itself different screen light up around the room, all with Strella as the focus point. One had her dressed to the nines, singing with a sad expression. Another she’s leaning across her desk to hold someone’s hand, consoling them. Her figure on replay shimmying sensually out of a large coat to start Christian Diors fashion show. Her screaming but also laughing, climbing on top of her desk as some Australian brings in a live crocodile. Her slowly looking at the camera, eyes wide in shock, a secret revealed only in the afterlife.

Too bad he can't sit and watch her shows all the time, ok that’s a lie he had that shimmy on a loop in his processors. Thank whoever let heavens network occasionally send down a few episodes, like that stupid cherub commercial. They never got the newest stuff down here, that reserved for up top unfortunately. Standing and adjusting his coat he turned to the elevator platform, the screens all winking out but one. The audio plays as the elevator starts to move upwards.

“And I am Estrella Torres de Abbot and thank you for staying tuned! Have a wonderful day my dear-“ Vox sighs, pinching between his brows. Ugh. He has to fix that cut, too short, doesn't sound like her.

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 1: Blackthorn

enter through the alleyway past the invisible door and all the way down the escher staircase in the underworld it’s not the same as before

Six months later

Stetson was small for a university. “Intimate”, the brochure called it. Roman always assumed that Virgil, had it been up to him, would have preferred a sprawling campus where his dark, brooding, emo self could get comfortably lost in a sea of students. But Logan lived in DeLand, and Logan had been Virgil’s only option for staying hidden from his former faery master, Deceit.

So, after Deceit was dead and Virgil decided to finish his art degree after all, he’d come back to the one place he already knew. He was familiar with Stetson’s campus, on good terms with his teachers, and friendly with the local solitaries.

Roman understood that. He didn’t have to like it.

He cut the engine on his motorcycle and yanked off his helmet, flicking back sweat-damp hair. The campus seemed unusually empty; most students had probably gone home for spring break already. His bike was one of only five vehicles left in the University Hall parking lot.

Roman hung the helmet from the handlebars, stretched his arms, worked out the stiffness from his legs. Maybe biking all the way from Pennsylvania wasn't such a great idea. He told himself he'd ridden the bike so he could come and go on his own terms...but truthfully, he could have taken a bus just as easily. He’d brought the bike to show off, to possibly persuade Virgil to take a ride with him while he was here…

But he was getting ahead of himself, as usual.

Roman eyed Virgil’s dormitory in the deepening twilight, scrubbing a hand through his hair again.

Maybe I should find a motel room first. He fished his phone out and slung his backpack over his back. Just so he doesn't feel like he has to offer his space. Just so it's not awkward. 

He could use a walk after all that travel, anyway.

By the time he crossed the dark campus, he'd successfully booked a room. His finger then hovered over Virgil's number. A warning would be polite, especially when it came to Mr. Doesn't Like Surprises. Roman had initially come unannounced so Virgil couldn't talk him out of it, but Roman also didn't want to ruin the progress they'd made since Logan's and Patton's engagement party.

He scuffed his foot as he walked, thoughts swirling like gnats in the streetlights.

He wanted to believe earning that art degree was the only reason Virgil left Philly and returned to a state he admittedly hated, to the one middle-of-nowhere town where a certain former crush happened to live. Sure, Virgil transferring schools in his junior year would have been a needless headache. He’d elected to live in the dorms instead of moving back into Logan’s and Patton’s apartment. He called Roman nearly every week, keeping him updated, claiming he’d been too busy to see anyone except classmates and coworkers.

At the very least, Roman knew Virgil believed his own words. And if I'm not over Virgil, after all this time, he thought bitterly. What right do I have to complain if he’s not completely over Logan?

“Changeling,” a voice murmured in wet-sounding Faery.

Roman realized his wandering had carried him to the fountain at the center of Stetson’s campus, lit up against the growing darkness. A long-limbed naiad lounged on the edge, watching him. She wore black clothes and fishnets like an ordinary human, but Roman’s changeling eyes picked out her waterfall of dripping white hair, bluish skin, and solid black Fae eyes.

Virgil had never mentioned any solitaries around the Stetson fountain. Roman casually brought his backpack around, unzipped it, and curled a hand around his sword hilt.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The naiad arched back, letting her hair spill into the water, where it undulated in the current like pale snakes. “You won’t use that.” She gestured languidly at the bag.

Roman gripped the sword harder. “Maybe I would. You don’t know.”

“Your steel has spilled our blood, but in moons long past. I can smell the difference. You brandish it now for bluster.” She sat up and grinned, showing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “You do not frighten me.”

Fucking enigmatic solitaries. He hated the way they saw straight through any human lie, no matter how carefully constructed. What did it say about him, that she could tell he hadn’t had the stomach to hunt their kind for months? Roman reshouldered his bag and walked on, determined to ignore her.

“Beware pixie territory,” the naiad added as he passed.

Roman stopped but did not turn. “What?”

“Summer in the air. Death in the water.” She grinned again as he turned, eyes narrowed. “Watch your words.”

“What in the Arcadian hell are you talking about?” Roman snapped, fighting a chill.

 But the naiad slid into the fountain with an eerie lack of splash and lay underwater, ignoring him, and Roman knew he’d get no more from her. He scoffed and trudged toward the edge of campus.

Virgil maintained that the solitaries on Stetson’s campus generally liked humans—which, in faery terms, meant the pranksters were mostly harmless and the rest kept to themselves. Plus, solitaries didn’t normally pop out of the metaphorical woodwork and talk to Smile hunters, even lapsed ones.

“Summer in the air. Death in the water. Watch your words.”

She’d meant to warn him.

Pixie territory. The hair on his neck lifted. Could she mean Painter’s Pond?

He bit his lip. This sounded like a hunt.

He considered going back to Virgil’s dorm first…but Virgil wasn’t Smile, and Virgil didn’t know he was here yet. Roman didn’t want their first reunion in months marred by faery drama. No, he would investigate the park and take care of the problem liked the damned hunter he was supposed to be.

Roman walked the few blocks to Painter’s Pond, slowing as he approached, his heart heavy with memories. Logan used to bring Virgil and Roman out here with Nic, and after Patton entered the picture, it became the four of them. He remembered chasing the dog and the pixies, Virgil laughing from the sidelines—when they weren't at each other’s throats. He could almost hear Virgil's low, gravelly voice saying "idiot," could picture him shaking his head with that maddening half-smile. 

It occurred to him that Virgil might not necessarily be in his dorm; he could be at work, out prowling around downtown, or—Roman's heart skipped at the thought—right here on these familiar paths somewhere. Virgil's relationship with this park might be complicated, but surely he still visited his pixie friends from time to time.

Roman took a step onto the grass; his skin instantly prickled. The air felt…wrong, like the trembly hesitance he got before touching a staticky doorknob.

Oh, hell. That naiad did know something.

Roman had been a Smile hunter long enough to never ignore his gut. Faery magic was both insidious and nebulous; it wanted you to dismiss it as nothing, as imagination, as too much stress or not enough sleep. Arguably the most important lesson in faery hunting was learning to ignore that "reasonable" voice in your head.

The park looked empty, streetlamps spilling orange light in pools along the paths. But at the end of the park's low wall, one dark streetlight made a cradle of blackness, bordered by clusters of tiny, bone-white shrooms. A Court circle. Ambient streetlight glimmered off the white, white mushroom caps, especially when he looked out of the corner of his eye.

Roman stalked to the near end of the wall and ducked behind, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders. He opened the main flap and eased out his sword and scabbard, making as little noise as possible. He didn't draw it, yet—he didn't know what he was facing—but he did tie the scabbard to his belt loops.

He then drew in a careful breath and focused inward.

Roman’s old master, who only permitted his changelings to call him Sir, used to hang beaded curtains around his cave lair: intricate patterns picked out in thousands of minuscule beads, strings of fist-sized glass balls that bruised when one crashed into them at a run. Their clacking featured prominently in Roman’s nightmares; some of his earliest memories involved running and putting curtain after curtain between himself and his master’s cruel experiments. That Unseelie had fancied himself a scientist…if careful butchery and elaborate torture could be considered science. And Roman happened to develop the one power guaranteed to drive such a master to unhinged fury: luck.

Roman learned to slip through those beaded strings like a ghost, disturbing them as little as possible so they wouldn’t clack and betray his passage. He often wondered if that stealthy sidestep he’d cultivated led to him gaining the ability to touch something as ephemeral as possibility. Drawing on his power felt like running through Sir’s lair, each bead in each curtain representing an outcome. Every decision, every movement, even his thoughts parted the strands in different ways. The trick to manipulating luck, he discovered, was to find the beads you wanted while not disturbing the rest.

Know where you’re going.

Sidestep.

I need to know what is going on, he chanted silently.

Keep the rest quiet.

I need to see and to not be noticed by unfriendly eyes.

Pass through.

I need to know. 

The back of his neck tingled, hairs rising as the familiar warm sensation of possibility slid glassily over his skin.

“What are you doing here?” a voice chimed in his ear.

Roman startled and found himself face-to-face with a soot-skinned, flame-haired pixie, whose tiny eyes were round o’s of surprise. She landed primly on the hand he instinctively raised.

“Tourmaline?” he hissed. That was fast.

“I am not displeased to see you, Roman Princey,” she said. “But it has been some time.”

Roman hid a cringe. He knew she only called him Princey because Virgil did, but now that particular nickname reminded him a little too much of Johnny Prince.

“I got a weird warning from a weird naiad and came to investigate.” he said, gesturing at the mushrooms. “What’s with the Court ring? I thought DeLand was still unclaimed.”

Tourmaline’s face grew pinched. She had always been more polite and serious than Virgil’s favorites, Wren and Wrassey. Roman suspected that was why Logan preferred her company.

“I believe this is the work of a single Court Fae working alone, though I have not seen them. The ring grew several days ago, and of more concern, many of my clan have since gone missing.” Her chiming voice dropped to a soft echo of itself. “I cannot penetrate the mushroom barrier myself, but I suspect that is where my sisters are.”

Well, that didn’t sound good at all.

“Can I help?” Roman asked.

She cast him an appraising look, her gaze lingering on his sheathed sword. “Your appearance is auspiciously well-timed.”

“You know me,” he said with a wink.

“It so happens that my purpose in coming to the wall tonight was to seek the help of…ah.”

Her wings carried her over Roman’s head, and she buzzed hard enough for them to glow like a beacon. Roman followed the line of her gaze.

Oh, luck.

Logan Ursae, his straight-backed posture unmistakable even in the low light, crossed the grassy park and made a beeline for Tourmaline’s glowing body. Oddly, neither Patton nor Nicodemus were with him. The half-faery slowed as he noticed Roman crouched in the shadows.

“S’up, Nerdy Wolverine?” Roman shot him a jaunty salute.

Logan opened his mouth, shut it again, and sighed.

“In the interest of saving time, I will not ask the obvious question,” he said in his low, resonant voice. “Clearly your luck has carried you along as it usually does.”

“Nice to see you, too.” Roman rolled his eyes.

Just as well I hadn’t called Virgil yet.

Logan knelt, adjusting his glasses and peering over the wall. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his teeth.

“It’s still here?” he said to Tourmaline.

“You don’t sound surprised to see a Court ring in your stargazing park,” Roman commented.

“I have been monitoring it for several days now.” Logan scowled. “Normally, I would leave such things alone, as I try to stay clear of Court matters. But, if I have interpreted your message correctly”—he glanced at the hovering pixie— “Wren and Wrassey are now among your missing kin?”

Tourmaline nodded.

Roman’s heart sank; she’d meant “sisters” literally. “Does Virgil know? Those are his friends. Has he been here to see the ring?”

“I do not know.” Logan’s voice gave nothing away. “I have not seen him since he arrived in DeLand.”

Good, Roman’s mind supplied nastily, prompting a pang of guilt. “What are we gonna do?”

“I meant to attempt a crossing tonight,” Logan said. “Tourmaline, am I correct in assuming solitary Fae are still barred?

The pixie settled onto Logan’s shoulder and nodded.

“And any human would just walk from one side to the other like it wasn’t even there,” Roman added.

“You know how Court-laid rings work.” Logan shot Roman a contemplative look.

“May I remind you that I’m a Smile hunter, Pain in the Nexus Instrument?” Roman snarked, grinning when Logan pulled a confused face. “Earthside Courts love their little magical pockets where they can lure in unsuspecting humans, or do their dirty work unobserved.”

“Or merely live their lives, safe from humans and Arcadian kin alike,” Logan added with a frown.

Roman waved that off. “Whatever the reason, it never occurs to them that a barrier like this”—he gestured at the mushroom ring—“designed to be inaccessible to Fae and invisible to humans, might still be vulnerable to us. Most of the time, Smile changelings can slip right in.” He stood and drew his sword in one swift motion. “Which is what I’m gonna do right now.”

Blackthorn: boundaries

[stormcried]

ABILITIES.

Something that I would love to Headcanon about Drake in his demon form is that he's in a way got a double edge sword. He really can't be killed from the neck down. Bullets. Knives. They would just shoot into essentially a magma body, and melt the steel. Of course, that doesn't save him from blessed bullets / blades, and dump a bunch of water on him and he'll cool off, more then likely become into a coma or death. But, let's be real, water isn't exactly the most COMMON thing in Hell. Most people use Alcohol, soda, drugs, whatever. I mean, water is probably mostly for richer folks. Drake has a normal brain and eyes from the upper neck up, so he could also be shot in the ehad and he'd be dead. Only his lower neck area is safer.

Also in my HC he needs to find a recharge station every so week to a week and a half. Essentially, he has to find a lava pool and soak in it. Via his arms or a total lava bath. If he doesn't he starts to cool off and begins to grow incredibly sick, and isn't able to move well. So; he'll become hard like a rock until he does find one which make's movement harder. So he probably would have to rely on someone to help him dump his body into the lava lake.

But anyway, Drake has a tipping point. He's like a volcano. Destructive. Unpredictable. Catastrophic. Drake's body is a internal boiler. His body is covered by hard rock which essentially keeps him in a humanoid form. But, shoot him? Cut him? Make him bleed? It's all magma inside of him. It'll just pour. Course his body will regenerate like heat and rock would, but it takes a long while. Drake's anger and his rage also is something to watch out for. He can cause a small temperature change to fluxuate in his vicinity and cause massive sweating or possible burns if the heat gets too much.

Drake also possess the ability to cause small magma flows in the arms in his normal state, and lava in the ground in his rage state, letting his power become unstoppable, and just like his main canon stage, there's a drawback. He has to soak in a lava bath for a good few hours to a day, and he becomes unconscious. So; it, again is a last resort sort of thing. Or unless he becomes incredibly pissed off. Drake uses a lot of energy anyway whenever he's off destroying property or just messing around. So he stays near a lava pool area just in case. Because if he cools down, someone could easily up and kill him if they wanted to.

I find it interesting because Drake can eat and drink normally as long as it doesn't get on his lower body, so he has needs like anyone else would. And because his soul is damned, his feelings and bodily needs are intensified in my HC. So; hunger hurts more and his lava baths are pretty obvious. I like the idea that he'll go around and eat whatever but he doesn't leave any waste. It just... melts lol.

[cannibalcoyote]

Balto's Sister Ch.1: The Big Race

Ch.2

"3 mile marker!" Balto exclaims in excitement as he pulls Boris up onto the railing of the balcony we've climbed onto.

_______

Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Luko, I'm a wolf/ husky mix like my brother Balto. I have black fur, and two white patches on my face, one above each eye.

I live in Nome, Alaska with Balto, the whole town seems to hate him because he's part wolf. I don't live with my brother though, he lives too far away, so I live in the town, usually with my friend Jenna, or under a building; no one knows that Balto and I are siblings though, probably because of how different we look.

_______

"Come on Boris, we can cut around the back and watch the end of the race!" I hear Balto voice in excitement as he ignores Boris' complaining.

We both proceed to jump from balcony to balcony until we reach a clothes line, to which I choose to travel by ground whilst Balto continues via buildings. I've never really liked traveling on the ground, but it's safer than whatever the heck Balto does.

Anyways, I jump off the balcony into the fresh, powdery snow, and take off down the alley, dodging the trash on both sides until I see the crowds of people who have gathered around to watch the end of the race. I can hear the sound of a sled team's paw steps eating up the ground as they sprint at full speed to the finish line; I see a flare going off, and someone shouting it's the two mile mark.

Now I'm really excited, I weave through the crowd quickly as I want to see if a different team will win this time; all the other races, Steele always wins, and I'd like to see some change. Of course this is mainly because Steele and his group are always mean to Balto, and that really gets to me most of the time while Balto on the other hand manages to keep his anger in check.

I continue through the crowds and soon spot my favorite human, Rosie, and she's with Jenna. I jump in happiness as I practically bound over to them in joy; they're the only two that don't hold it against me that I'm a wolf, and for that I will always be grateful.

However as I get closer I see two other dogs that both hate me, and they made it clear that they didn't like me when I first met them; so as I try to slowly sink away back into the shadows, Jenna spots me, and barks out,

"Hey Luko! Want to join me, Rosie just got a new sled!" I look over, swallowing my irritation towards the other two dogs, striding over to Jenna with confidence. As soon as I reach them the other two look at me in slight disgust and quickly say a goodbye to Jenna before walking off. I shake my head in annoyance, but I quickly calm down since we're in public.

"Thank God you came to see the race, If you hadn't, I might've been stuck with those two for the rest of the day!" Jenna states in relief as she looks over to me.

"Yah, I'm just glad I spotted you, you looked like you were about to die of annoyance when you were with them." I bark back as I let out a little laugh at the end of my sentence.

"Hey, where's Balto, usually you two always watch the race together?" Jenna voices her confusion as she looks around to see if she missed him.

"Oh, I don't like Balto's method of traveling, so I split off and went my own way." I explain as we sit in an open area near the fence blocking off the street for the racers.

Just as we sit down, we hear the racers make the last turn, I hear Rosie tell us to stay, and as I look down I see Steele once again leading the race. I sigh in annoyance, until I see my brother down the line of the crowd, it seems like he's got a crush on Jenna.

I simply smirked at the thought of seeing him even try to talk to Jenna, it almost made me laugh out loud, he'd try and act tough, but I know he's so shy and sensitive sometimes.

Rosie hurries back, breaking my line of thoughts as she hugs Jenna, she notices I'm here and gives me a hug as well as she says that she's happy I'm here, and that maybe she can get her dad to allow me to join her sled team with Jenna.

As soon as she's done, she immediately turns her attention back to the race and waves her hat in the air as she cheers in Steele, but as she does this her hat gets picked up by a strong gust of wind, and blows straight into the middle of the race track.

I'm looking over as Rosie tries to get her hat, but she is quickly held back by Jenna. I'm about to make a leap for the hat, but I already see Balto in action.

Balto is sprinting after the team, and he catches up pretty quickly seeing as he is already beside Steele; I'm hoping Steele doesn't hurt Balto, but I also can't wait to see if Balto manages to get the hat. I'm soon set at ease as I see Balto have a burst of speed, grab the hat, and slide off to the other side safely.

I visibly relax my tensed muscles as Balto makes his way to us sheepishly with the hat in his jaws. I shake my head and smirk as he drops the hat down and gets bombarded by a hug from Rosie. I hear everybody cheering for Steele, but I ignore it, well, I ignore it till I look over and hear Steele's owner say,

"I don't know, do you think maybe Steele's losing his edge?" I practically almost burst out laughing as I saw how angry that made Steel. He looks like he's about to tear his owner apart; that is until he hears Rosie congratulating Balto on getting her hat.

I see Rosie beginning to put the sled gear on Balto until her father swoops over and grabs her away from him, as well as kicking some snow at Balto as he says for her to stay away from him, and that he's part wolf and might bite her. I can visibly see that he's hurt from the fathers actions, and I would be too. I glare at her father and have to hold back a growl at him. Rosie looks over to me and then back at her father saying,

"See, now you've hurt both of their feelings!" Her father looks at me, and then back at Rosie,

"Listen sweetie, I don't fully trust Luko either, and that's why I always want Jenna with you when she's around. Not to mention Balto is part wolf, he might bite you honey." He picks up the sled and starts walking away as Rosie follows. I begin to follow them, or at least until Steele blocks my path.

"So, you girls enjoy the race." He questions as his tongue glides obnoxiously across his large teeth after finishing his sentence. I walk next to Jenna as she replies. I don't hear her though since I was looking back to see Balto looking even more hurt.

"Hey Jenna, I'm going to go catch up with Balto." I state as I turn around, only to be blocked by Steele.

"You didn't answer my question." He states as he continues to block me. I'm getting annoyed now, so I jump over him with ease, and then start to speedily stride over to Balto.

"So, how're you doing?" I know it's a stupid question, but I had to see if he was alright.

"Oh, I'm doing fine, I got yelled at because I'm part wolf, and then Steele swoops back in and steals Jenna away from me, again!" He explains sarcastically as we continue down an alley-way where Boris then joins us. Boris looks as though he is about to say something, but seems at a loss for words, as am I.

We hear Rosie though, and that quickly perks Balto up as he races through the alley, only to slide right up against Jenna, their noses practically touching. Rosie calls her, and as she looks to them I watch Balto speedily sprint back through the fence and hide. I shake my head as I see him walk out in disappointment after Jenna runs to her people.

"Balto, there's somethings I can't teach you, I'm goose not Cupid." Boris states in exasperation as we walk back through the alley.

Ch.2

[vaiyamagic]

What if Fallout 4... but Skyrim?

I’ve been playing around with this idea for a while, but only seriously considering it for the last week or so. So basically, what if we take the characters, plots and themes and throw them into Skyrim? How would that all work out?

Some things would be an easy 1 for 1 with little change, like... the Brotherhood of Steel are the Stormcloaks. They just are. And Ulfric and Maxson are basically the same person.

Other things would have to change a lot to make it work; for example, Nick can’t be a robot. But, he CAN be an Altmer and a mage, both things that put Nords on edge for similar reasons.

So, here are my thoughts below the cut:

As stated: Maxson is Ulfric. Very little would have to change. Danse would be a Stormcloak of course, but wouldn't have a specific Skyrim counterpart. I have an idea that his "Blind Betrayal" story arc would be finding out his dad was a Thalmor or something like that.

Cait would be a Companion. 100%. She would be one of there werewolves and probably end up wanting the cure, but only after the questline convinces her. I guess her equivilant would be Vilkas. Without a twin tho.

Desdemona is Delphine. (They even share a voice actor!) Not sure who Esbern would be. Deacon would be a Blade and work with Delphine, but more like he works in Fallout than in Skyrim. (Follows you around, popping up in disguise at random important towns.) I feel like he would be the one to take the horn to lure in the Dragonborn, tho. I also like the idea of him being really good at illusion magic so that nobody knows what race he really is. (Maybe Deacon is Delphine and Des is Esburn?? Hmm...)

Hancock would probably be the equivilant of Brynjolf? Haven't actually decided if he'd be in the thieves guild or the dark brotherhood. Not sure what race I'd make him. Tempted to make all ghouls either argonian or kajiit to get the same kind of reaction from general populace. Probably argonian. Maybe G3 synths are kajiit?

X6 would be in the DB. Maybe taking Nazir's role?

Strong would be an orc, obviously, but I'm not sure how we can work his motivation into Skyrim equivilants. Thoughts?

Not sure if Gage would work better as a generic bandit plotline or as like have him be Madanach's equivilant. Maybe then we can get a forsworn questline LIKE WE SHOULD HAVE.

I'm having trouble with Preston and the minutemen. Not sure how they would work in. Maybe have them be the Dawnguard? Not sure.

Don't have much of an idea for Piper, Curie, or MacCready either. Feel like one or more of them should be an elf of some kind for diversity's sake. If I had to pick, Mac would be a dunmer, and Curie would be bosmer. (If we don't follow the synths are kajiit rule.) Mostly because of their personalities.

I have many ideas for Nick, but as stated before, his basic change would be he's an altmer mage. I also have some vague ideas for Codsworth, but that's more plotline than what race or such he would be.

What do you guys think? Ideas? I know I missed a few companions and prominant NPCs, but I'm not sure what do do with them.

What names do you think they would have, since their fallout names don't fit well into skyrim lore? I feel like Deacon and Des can stay the same, but Nick could be like Nicodemus or something.

[eraseur]

@jocundcompany cont. from x

Aizawa reaches his hand up and meets Daniella's where it rests on his shoulder. He squeezes it at first, trying to communicate gratefulness, before realizing it probably feels more like he's clutching to her for support. So he keeps his hand there, but softens his grip to a reassuring firmness that says thank you, I'm here to support you now. He is investing his energy into keeping his body still and calm, drawing steady breaths, being the rock that Daniella will need.

He is shocked and impressed by her independent resolve. When he was thrust into this situation he lost all composure. Screaming, crying, breaking down entirely. He'd say it's because he thought it would be the most logical tactic, but that's untrue. That moment was raw. The rawest, most volatile emotion he has felt or expressed in... well. Ever. He locked down during that initial incident, never allowing himself that ability to scream and mourn. And just then, seeing him right in front of them, flickering in and out of existence but screaming and fighting just as hard as them-- fuck. Focus, focus, before I spiral. It isn't rational to think about this right now. I need to be less selfish.

And she's connecting with him rationally and with composure. Rational employment of emotion, and regulation of its depth? It'd be an understatement to say Aizawa is impressed. Inspired is a better word. But the way Shirakumo screamed back to him, maybe that pouring of desperation is the way? More to experiment with, he supposes.

When Daniella introduces him as her friend, Aizawa feels a piece of his heart soften behind the reinforced steel walls he has locked it in to get through this project. At least he's somehow been able to be adequate emotional support for her. Heh, Aizawa Shota, king of emotional support... tch.

The erasure hero turns his attention to the nomu-- no, the man inside the nomu, now. "Yes. I've met others like you. You aren't the only person to have met this fate. You aren't alone in this. We have a team of dedicated researchers working on understanding this state you and others are in and figuring out how to get you out." Is this false hope, a rational tactic to encourage the man inside the monster, or simply the shaky truth? "That is why I am here with Daniella today. To keep her safe and provide support while we connect with you." It's now that he realizes he has removed his hand from her shoulder, instead finding it clutching his own knee. Seeing his fiancée being touched by another man is not the feeling he needs to evoke from the monster. When this is over he'll have to do some intense training in the woods to work this tension out of his mind body and soul, and reconnect with his physical form, his more comfortable purpose as a human weapon than a human person.

[owen-jackson]

A Safe Place to Land || Jackson & Jude

The night was quiet. So quiet it sent shivers of warning down Jackson's spine, as if something might jump out and try and attack him. The events of the past week had been rough on the human, to say the least. While the physical wounds were healed with magic and he was given a clean bill of health, Jackson couldn't fucking sleep. If he was being honest, it was easier when he'd been concussed and in a blind daze of shock. Now his body was in better shape than its usual state, thanks to a thorough round of magical healing, but the emotional damage remained.

Slipping as quietly as he could down the hall towards the door, Jackson pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and fumbled to get one out. He was both grateful and on edge to be staying at Jude and Magnus' place. Jackson knew that the house was safe, a chance to breathe while the island shifted in new and unsettling ways. But being around Jude so much, with her look that seemed to stare right through him so much like his mothers--it was too much sometimes when your walls were as high as Jackson's.

He was about to open the door when a movement caught the corner of his eye, sending a shot of adrenaline through him, the cigarettes dropping from his fingers and landing with a loud thump in the quiet hallway.

Jackson steeled his expression quickly when he recognized the blonde woman, and had to quickly remind himself he was, in fact, safe, but the look of fear had been there. "Shit, sorry, I uh--couldn't sleep. Was going out for a smoke, figured I should probably go outside." He whispered to Jude, swallowing thickly to try to settle his fried nerves before moving to to grab his cigarettes off the ground.

@heyxxjude

[sleeplessinspace]

two minutes [1/2] - murdock x afab!reader

welcome back to ridiculous thoughts that replace whatever legitimate plans i have. today's ridiculous thought: being roommates with murdock and having no clue he's the serial killer that's been terrorizing the state where you live together for the past year

this is...so much longer than i anticipated jesus, i'm probably going to cut this in half edit: more like two-thirds to be honest asjdkdasd SORRY

warning(s): suggestive, predator/prey kink, mentions of knives, mentions of blood, implied violence (not directed at reader), implied strength kink

for one thing, you hardly see murdock because it seems like he works the weirdest hours possible and leaves for days, sometimes weeks at a time on "work trips"

all he asks of you is that you don't disturb his room or his space down in the basement, which you agree to readily since you have no reason to snoop in his things for now

the arrangement doesn't bother you at all—murdock stays on top of paying his half of the rent and utilities, makes sure to keep your shared space tidy as well as his own, and even brings you back little gifts from his "trips" when he gets a chance

the first gift he purchases for you is done absentmindedly, as he'd been buzzing off the high of his latest hunt that had taken him away from home and you for the past six days. he'd spotted the little knickknack on display in a shitty hole-in-the-wall rest stop and it immediately got him thinking about your smile.

and there's that same bright smile, the one that made your eyes practically glow with happiness when he slides the trinket across the kitchen counter the next morning during breakfast

the high of seeing you smile is almost on par with the one he gets from killing and it's safe to say he's a little...obsessed afterwards, and starts hunting in different locations to bring you a wide variety of gifts. one of these times, a store clerk catches him smiling softly down at a little snow globe that he just knew you'd love and well, he's not exactly proud of the way he tears the poor floor apart for witnessing the private moment but. well. just as he thought of your smile as his, the same went the other way around.

yes, he never learned how to share, how did you know?

this goes on for a few months, the two of you tip-toeing around what was definitely something between you when one day the dynamic changes

for the past two days you'd been coming home from work an hour earlier than usual after a string of bodies had been discovered in the nearby town

the event had put you more than on edge—before most of the reports of the serial killer plaguing the coast had been far from your home, but you shopped in that town sometimes! it was unbelievably close

luckily, your boss is very understanding of the situation and has everyone leave early to get home while there's still daylight out

so when you get home today, you're surprised to see murdock's car in the driveway

he drives a 1970 plymouth road runner, yes i make the rules

after switching out to some comfier clothes, you decide to head down to the basement after not finding murdock in his room or the study the two of you shared, wondering if he'd be up for hanging out and ordering takeout for dinner

the warning about snooping in his space crosses your mind briefly, but surely it didn't apply while he was home, right? you didn't think so

almost immediately after opening the door—god, why was it so heavy, was it always like this—your blood goes cold at the sound of a blood-curdling scream

you freeze at the top of the steps for a moment before another yell has you jolting into action, fearing what you'd find down below as you creep carefully down the stairs

and soon you're frozen again because you found murdock, alright

thankfully, he's not the one screaming but that's only because he's the one causing it

murdock's back is to you and he's crouched before a man tied to a steel chair—a chair that's bolted to the concrete floor of the basement, jesus christ—twirling a knife between gloved fingertips, occasionally stopping to use the knife to accentuate whatever point he's making as he speaks quietly

if you weren't so mesmerized—and it really should be horrified, you should be horrified at the sight of your roommate torturing a man to death in your basement, but nope you were nowhere near as scared of the sight as you should've been—by the sight of his muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his burgundy t-shirt

brain.exe has absolutely shut down at the sight of his bare forearms, you've never seen him in another other than a sweater so you feel almost like someone seeing a flash of ankle in the 1900s and this sight was only amplified by the black leather gloves he was also wearing

you wondered what they'd feel like on your thighs

murdock's victim notices you lingering on the stairs and starts to freak out, yelling incoherently through the duct tape over his mouth and he's probably telling you to run for help

which...you don't do

murdock pushes to his feet and turns around, his gaze finding yours immediately and you can't help but let out a low noise of terror arousal

you will deny making this noise until the end of your days

he smiles at you then, the one that started slow and syrupy and made butterflies flutter in your stomach, your ears growing hot

"You're home early," Murdock notes with a quiet hum, his observation making you step back unconsciously and you jolt when your foot knocks against the bottom step.

You flounder silently for a bit, not even sure where to start because holy shit this explained so much about what you knew of him. It still felt like you'd been blindsided, though. He was just so nice to you, almost soft at times.

You didn't understand, it just didn't make any sense.

Your hand flails behind you to grab for the stair railing and you do not swallow around the fear-sized lump in your throat when Murdock tilts his head, dark eyes glittering dangerously. You clear your throat and say, "W-well, after what's happened this week, my boss thought everyone should head home early. For s-safety."

He hums again, this one sounding more noncommittal than the last and you work up the courage to take a step back onto the bottom step, slowly angling your body to get ready to run.

Murdock leans over to pat a heavy hand on the man's shoulder—the same man you had honestly forgotten about despite his muffled sobs keeping the room from getting silent, and really it's just because you refuse to look away from Murdock's face right now—and gives you a wolfish smile as his hand grips hard enough to make the man scream.

There was probably an injury you couldn't see under there, and yup, when Murdock pulls his hand away, the glove is dripping blood.

"I'm sorry, kitten, I want to apologize on behalf of my friend here," he spits the word out as if it burns him and you try not to flinch at the sound. He sees the aborted movement and there's that smile again, the one you'd swear up and down he did just for you. "It seems like some foolish little dog got it into their head that they could copy what I do best. My art. But unfortunately for that idiotic dog, I don't kill where I fucking live, now do I? That made it remarkably easy to find you, you know."

The last part isn't directed at you and the captive man curses up at Murdock, or at least you assume so. You manage to take another step up the stairs when Murdock turns away from you for a brief moment to—

It's the noise, a vicious wet squelching, that bothers you more than the actual murder, weirdly enough, and when Murdock turns back to you, there's blood splattered on his shirt and forearms, even a few flecks on his pretty face. Which—

Well.

You're discovering a lot of things about yourself tonight, it seems, because the sight of Murdock covered in the blood of someone he's killed, he just killed someone right in front of you—a copycat killer it seemed like, not that that made it better—and he seems to trust you not to do anything about it, which—

You do not like how warm you feel right now. Shouldn't you be running for your life right now?

Murdock narrows his eyes at you the second the thought pops into your head and, again, you do not like the way your body is reacting to this genuine threat, what part of this isn't clicking for you?

Score one for your apparent kink for danger.

He points the knife at you and, "Don't."

You haven't made a single smart decision since you came down here and you sure as hell weren't about to start now.

In an instant, you're spinning on your heel and dashing up the stairs as fast as you can manage and the sound of Murdock's boots thundering up the steps behind you makes your heart race with excitement. You throw the basement door at him, but he's stronger than you are by a wide margin—god, you're getting really tired of discovering just how fucked up you were—and you end up having a standoff in the kitchen, the two of you poised to move on opposite sides of the kitchen island.

The same kitchen island where not even a week ago, Murdock had gifted you with a snow globe that's currently sitting on a shelf dedicated solely to all the presents he's gotten you.

Murdock frowns at you from across the island and lays his gloved hands flat against the marble, leaning in with a disappointed sigh. "Really, kitten? I know you're smarter than this. Do you honestly think you can get away from me?"

"I know I can try," you fire back, a weird sense of defiance running alongside the adrenaline buzzing through you and Murdock chuckles. "It's not funny! You're not as scary as you think!"

"Oh?" He pauses just long enough for you to reconsider your statement and his smile grows a tad sharper. You don't like where this is going. His confidence is beginning to shake your own, but you do your best to stay strong. "I'm going to give you a head start. Two minutes for you to get as far away as you can, or hide if you feel like you can pull it off. Don't even think of calling for help, either. I'll be able to tell and I won't be happy with you if you try it."

You glance around the kitchen and into the adjacent living room hopelessly as you struggle to form some kind of escape plan in your mind, absently wondering when this became your life. Plotting your escape from a serial killer, one that you'd been living with for more than a few months now.

You lick your lips and try not to react when Murdock's eyes track the movement. "Wh-what's to stop me from getting in my car? Or yours."

Murdock gives you that smile, his eyes dark with amusement as he lifts two sets of keys from beneath the counter. You gape at him, wondering when the hell he managed to snag your keeps from the bowl in the entryway.

He glances down at his watch and spins your keys around his finger, taunting you.

"Two minutes, kitten. Better start running."