#find us alive body code

[panopticon-dweller]

Have this really big page of me trying and failing to learn the body code. This is all definitely wrong

[imaginable-horror]

Discovered today that the body code from SCP: Find Us Alive is actually a fully realised thing, fully described on their website, so obviously I immediately had to mess around with it because like. It's so cool!!!! Big things happening here

I don't believe in rulers so honestly we should all be impressed by the janky mostly-straight lines I managed

The translation (assuming I did it right lol):

This code is really fun to do, actually, because you can play pretty fast and loose with the rules of it and change the sizing and layout pretty much however you want to make it look cooler. The phonetic spellings are a little tricky to figure out sometimes but this one wasn't too bad. Took me forever when I was trying to figure out how to spell out my own name though :p.

And here's me messing around with it trying to get everything to be done right and also look nice, just because I think it's silly and fun. Feel like the first half of the phonetic spelling is mega British and the latter half is Dracula-esque but shhhh it works if I say it does:

[arthur-lesters-childbearing-hips]

hi folks

have some probably wrong use of the code but it’s perfectly fucking fine

[red-hoods-left-sock]

I finally put my mediocre sewing skills to good use and this is the fourth thing I have ever made with a sewing machine

[anonymous-cringe-y-art]

my,yyy,,,.. baag :)

[raine-draws]

i wrote my username in body code and put it on my shoe

[stressedanimal]

just received +25 psychic damage by relating song lyrics to the treatment of demigods in pjo

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[nightingale-prompts]

Health Code Violation- DC x DP prompt

"Hold on there. You're not permitted beyond this point." The floating teenage boy said as he tucked his clipboard under his arm.

After a battle with another world-ending villain Superman was killed in action and after a short debate the decision to revive him using the Lazarus Pit was made. However, the league members who were carrying his body to the pit didn't expect it to be blocked off with caution tape. A teenage boy with stark white hair and wearing a hard hat and orange construction vest.

"What are you doing out here kid? And what is with the tape?" Barry asked shifting Clark's heavy ass body from crushing him.

"I'm here to take a look at the leak." He said pointing a thumb in the direction of the green pit.

"The leak?" Diana echoed in confusion.

"Yeah, your planet has a leak. A few actually. Our realm hasn't been managed well and now that the old king is gone we need to fix some things. Right now the leaks need to be sealed." He said. "Also what's with the dead guy?"

"We were bringing him to the Lazarus Pit to revive him." Barry said blankly.

The teen shook his head in astonishment almost dropping his clipboard.

"You are what?! With the what?!"

"The Lazarus pit...?" Hal laughed nervously his face in a half-quirked smile.

"You call it a Lazarus Pit? Guys this is a pool of contaminated ectoplasm. Basically sewage. This thing is full of dead people juice. All those leftover emotions and obsessions are stewing in there. You toss that body in these pool and you'll make a revenant full of anger. It doesn't even have an ecosystem to cleanse it. It's like stagnant water." The teen said waving his pen around before pausing "Wait a minute....you people have been using it? No wonder it's so polluted! What is wrong with you?! Are you trying to contaminate your planet? Do you want zombies?"

It was kind of weird to be scolded by a kid, for everyone but Bruce. He thought of a more pragmatic approach. He didn't like the pit but he acknowledged it's usefulness.

"I understand. But we do want to save our friend and the only way is to use the pit."

"That's a big ask. The pit is one thing but bringing back the dead willy nilly? ...But I guess that's my domain now.. "

The teen mumbled to himself before sighing.

"Look, I want to help. I really do. But the pit is unstable and there are many more on this planet with the same issue. We can't risk an apocalypse and the chance they get into the wrong hands. This is for the safety of your planet." The teen said as mannerly as possible as he dismissed the heros.

"Come on, please. Our friend is dead. You don't want our friend to die." Barry said pleadingly.

"Very mature of you. A bit of shame might help you...alright fine but don't badger me again." The silver-haired being said taking out a small syringe and taking a sample of his own blood.

"It's diluted compared to the pure stuff but 10x stronger than the stuff in the pool. It's safer and once he's kicking again it'll drain out of his system." He tossed the needle to Barry and returned to taking samples of the pit. "This biohazard requires an ecologist. I'll have to import some blob feeders to clean up the toxins. Then either seal this up or link it to the network. But these dumb mortals are just going to keep dumping bodies into it."

The teen mumbled to himself as he tried to find a solution.

A week later all the Lazarus pits had disappeared. The Al Ghuls were scrambling as the source of their powers dried up.

Clark was alive and feeling better than ever. No pit rage at all.

Eventually the boy returned.

"I had a talk with the ancients and they agreed to let you have one ecto pool. Only one thought and it has to be managed by me. As long as you don't try abusing it by going into it while alive or not asking permission I'll allow you to use it. Also, be mindful of my cleaning wisps, they work very hard to keep the natural flow of the ecto cycle going." The teen said holding up a green little ghost blob and petting it.

[pikkuisesti-paskaa]

A demon twins au that I have been thinking about for a while

Danyal and Damian find out that Ra's intends to have them fight to death for the title of heir so they decide to have a duel during a mission and fake the loosers death. This way the stronger one gets to have the title, just like how Ra's wanted, but they wouldn't have to kill eachother. They don't want to disobey their grandfather, but surely this would have the same result without unneeded tragedy.

Damian wins so he claims that he killed Danny for being weak. They promised to never try to contact eachother so the league would not find out. They wouldn't know eachothers situations from the outside after all. They couldn't risk it. After years Danny knows that Damian is Robin in Gotham but doesn't know if hes out of the league or not. Damian has no idea where Danny is and never told the batfam.

Then some magican tries to kill Robin by summoning his dead brother to exact revenge. Damian is sure that the summoning will not work because Danny should be alive and well, only to be devastated to see the ghost of his brother appear from the summoning circle.

Additional thoughts. They have their own code made up of sign, gestures, and body language they can use to communicate hidden meanings behind their words or just completely different things. They have mastered the art of having a private conversation while to outsiders it looks like they're verbally ripping eachother to shreds. I can see them using this to figure out how to deal with the situation while keeping up the ruse. Maybe the bats come in and deal with the mage while Damian and Danny are "arguing" and "antagonizing" each other. While in reality Damian is convincing Danny that the bats can be trusted and Danny is debating if the risk of revealing everything is worth it, and if its already too late not to. And when they agree on dropping the act the bats get whiplash from the arguing turning into a tight hug in a second.

[multific]

Nothing About This Is Pretend

Yelena Belova x Reader

Warning: soft smut

Summary: You agreed to the mission. You didn’t agree to fall in love.

“You're late.”

Her voice cuts through the briefing room as sharp as a blade. You don’t even flinch.

“I had to make sure my fake passport matched my fake wedding ring,” you say coolly, flashing the silver band you’ve been told not to lose.

Yelena looks at it. Then at you.

“You'll need to be more convincing than that,” she mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. “Afraid I won’t make a believable doting wife?”

She smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Afraid you’ll catch feelings.”

You laugh once, short and hollow.

“Right. Because you never do.”

The villa is gorgeous.

A little too gorgeous, actually.

Light pours across the marble floors, the sea is framed perfectly through sheer curtains, and the bed is one, singular, frustratingly large bed.

You toss your bag onto the armchair and glance at Yelena, who hasn’t moved from the doorway.

“You taking the left or the right?”

She doesn’t answer.

Just walks past you, shrugs off her jacket, and throws herself across the mattress like it’s the only battlefield she can’t control.

“Whichever side lets me keep a weapon within reach,” she mutters.

You watch her from the corner of your eye.

The hard lines of her face. The tension under her skin. The way she never seems to breathe fully.

You remember the girl she used to be.

Before the Red Room chewed her up. Before you escaped it and left others behind.

You wonder if she remembers you.

The mission kicks off with a gallery dinner hosted by your target, Malikov. You wear a red silk dress that clings in all the right places. She stares when she thinks you don’t notice.

She wears a black suit, tie loosened just enough to look dangerous. Everyone watches her. You pretend not to care.

But when her fingers slide along your waist in front of the guests, when she leans in close and murmurs “Smile, Detka,” into your ear like it’s a promise, you forget the mission entirely.

You smile. Too easily.

And that’s when you know.

This isn't fake. Not to you at least.

That night, after the party, you try to sleep. You really do.

But the air in the villa is too thick. Her presence is everywhere, her scent is everywhere.

You notice the hallway light under the bedroom door.

You find her on the balcony, barefoot in a tank top and joggers, hair damp from a shower, beer in hand. She doesn't look at you when she speaks.

“You were staring at me tonight.”

You hesitate. “So were you.”

A beat.

Then, a whisper, a plea. “I wasn’t pretending.”

You step closer. “Neither was I.”

She turns to face you. Her jaw clenches. Her eyes, those gorgeous eyes, burn into you.

“We shouldn't,” she says, voice low, uneven.

You nod. “We already are.”

She kisses you as if she’s drowning.

Like you’re the only thing keeping her alive. Her hands cradle your face, then slip down to your waist, then hold you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

Clothes fall away slowly, deliberately, each layer dropped like a secret finally released. She doesn't rush. Not with you.

The bed is cool under your back, but her skin is warm, burning where it touches yours.

Her mouth trails down your neck, over your collarbone, and moves lower. She whispers your name like it hurts like it’s a prayer.

And when her fingers are inside you, forehead pressed to yours, her breath shaky and reverent, it feels like something holy.

You’ve never felt so wanted. Not just for your body but for you.

Later, tangled together in silence, she brushes her knuckles along your cheek.

“You scare me,” she admits.

You take her hand and kiss her fingers.

“Good. I scare myself too.”

The final night of the mission comes faster than either of you want.

You get the codes. Malikov dies.

The moment you’re told the cover’s no longer needed, something in your chest sinks.

Yelena doesn't say anything. She just stares at the wedding ring still on your hand.

You pull it off slowly, set it on the windowsill, and then look at her.

“Was any of it real for you?”

Her eyes are unreadable. “Every moment.”

Silence stretches.

“Come with me,” she says softly. “No mission. No lies.”

Your breath catches. “You’re serious?”

She steps forward, hand brushing your cheek.

“I’ve done enough pretending for ten lives,” she murmurs. “But I wasn’t pretending when I touched you. I wasn’t pretending when I kissed you. And I sure as hell wasn’t pretending when I-”

You cut her off with a kiss, deep and slow, and everything inside you says yes.

You leave the villa the next day. No longer undercover. No longer playing a role.

Her fingers are laced with yours.

The ring isn’t on your finger anymore but somehow, it feels more real now than it ever did.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Is he mine? Fucking obviously.

also btw I color code my titles I don't pick them like this for the aesthetics of it

Barbie dolls: Touya Todoroki x gn! reader

Word: 6.5k

Summary: Touya almost died on national television and disappears from from the public's eyes with no way to contact him you decide to keep your pregnancy a secret from him

Warning: You get pregnant! idc of its m!preg or abo or magic or just bareback fucking that got you there I'm just telling you you got pregnant, you keep the baby btw, your son is named Kaito (which according to name berry means sea so there), your son refers to you by Ren and Rena which is a gender neutral term for parent it's like mom and dad essentially, you fuck dabi at one point it's not smut it's just mentioned, Touya goes to rehab and so if he's ooc then it's rehabs fault not mine, I am kidding but he is definitely not exactly dabi core dykwim, you grieve Touya even tho technically he's alive it'll make sense when you read it but you cry a couple times just fyi, idk man, mentioned once that you wanted children before w Touya, 'crotch goblin' used I j feel like that's some shit dabi would say but I digress, Elmo reference tell me if you find it, possible allusions to Kaito being autistic but like boo fucking hoo idk, mention of blunts, SIDs mentioned once, also mentioned that you may or may not have anxiety especially over your son, yeah okay lmk if you any blue words I didn't do that on purpose

part two

Before the war, you knew Dabi. You knew Touya, as well. When he was watching over you from the shadows during the day, he was Dabi. When he was buried in your arms hiding under your sheets, he was Touya. You kept him close to you, there wasn’t another way you’d like to live. You hated to say it but you needed his eyes and hands on you. You didn’t care what he did during the day or even at night as long as he wandered back to you through your door. You didn’t care if you both sat on the couch and stared at the TV or if you ripped his clothes off with greedy hands, as long as you could feel the abnormal heat of his body on yours. Maybe that made you morally questionable, you didn’t care. You knew who you were and you knew who he was. You knew your lungs would collapse if you couldn’t see those blue eyes again. 

After the war that all changed. Watching your lover almost kill himself on live television made you feel sick to your stomach. You had to leave the building entirely, only to find it broadcasted all over the screens of passersby’s phones, billboards, and the small television behind the counter of every convenience store. You hid under your sheets, hoping when you woke up they would smell like him because he was lying next to you. 

You heard of his whereabouts through coworkers' gossip, news articles, and murmurs from the public. None of whom knew you had kissed him goodbye the morning before, having no idea what was to come. You read every article you saw. You eavesdropped on every conversation. You bought every magazine that even slightly mentioned the Todoroki family. You knew the only way you’d know if he was okay was through the third-person retelling by a reporter. 

He was in severe recovery. He was in one piece, technically. His father was paying for his bills. He was likely to be alright. 

Really that’s all you needed, yet somehow it still wasn’t enough. You needed to see him and hold him. You wondered if he was eating solids or if he was on a tube. You wondered if he needed you to add another row of staples. You hated when he asked that of you, you couldn’t turn him down when he looked up at you with his pleading eyes. It made you feel sick to your stomach but you were the only one, besides himself, he trusted to do it. What you would give up now to groan and complain about having to replace his staples. 

Slowly as time pulled along, Touya made the news less and less. You took fewer magazines from their rack, his face didn’t make it to the television, and you felt his image slipping away from you. 

Your sheet smelled more like you than they did him. His clothes had been through the wash multiple times now. You kept tossing them into the dirty hamper straight from the dryer because you couldn’t bear to throw them away or hide them in a closet. Your stack of newspapers and magazines stayed stacked at the corner of your desk. You cried when you had to sweep up the dirt from his boots by the front door. Then you cried for crying over that.

You felt pathetic the way you started to hate him for all this. You wanted to slap him and jab your finger in his face. You wanted to call him a selfish bastard.  You cried in your kitchen when you realized you accidentally bought his favorite foods as second nature. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he had just slipped from your life like that. 

He was alive, yes but alive in the same way a relative across the world was. You knew they were out there but it’d be a cold day in hell before they were in your living room. 

You slowly pieced yourself back together. His clothes were folded and put away on the shelf of your closet. You stopped looking at them when you started to get ready for the day as time went on. You stopped buying his food. You threw out most of the newspapers, only keeping the pages that really mattered. You folded them all up and shoved them into a drawer in your desk. You stop seeing him everywhere in your home. You stopped seeing him in your mind. 

Just as you were getting back on your feet, the world played a sick trick on you. You found out you were pregnant. After some thinking and a lot of it, you made your decision. You were keeping it. Yes sure it came out of nowhere. Yes sure your baby would be raised in a single-parent household. You always wanted this. You thought of asking Touya about it sometimes but you always chickened out. Now you wouldn’t be doing it with Touya, but you could have the life you wanted. A child. You were ready, you felt it in your bones. 

You had the baby. For months before the due date, you had scoured for name ideas. You wrote down names you heard over conversations in cafes. You read every article. You considered naming your baby after Touya. You scratched that idea after realizing you’d like to have his consent for that. You thought of him on your couch over seven months ago. He would’ve said ‘Hell no. Don’t name one of those crotch goblins after me.’ You bought books on the very subject. You slapped post-it notes to your fridge when you found one you liked. Yet all that came crashing down when you finally had your baby in your arms. 

You were fucking worn out. Your hands felt like they were going to cramp from all the squeezing you did to the handrails and your poor nurse. Your hair was sticking to your face. You felt like you stinked. Your lungs felt heavy and your ribs felt tight. With your little ‘crotch goblin’ in your arms you felt a smile grow on your face. 

His face was scrunched up in a cry, a tiny fist pressed against his cheek. You gently rubbed the side of his face with your finger, trying to calm him down. His cry settled as he pushed his face toward you. You whispered a hello. You were fully encapsulated by him, your son, you paid no attention to the doctor still between your legs. Your baby let out a coo as he opened his eyes, staring up at you.

You knew babies could really see at this age, he was probably just looking in the direction of your voice. Whether or not he could see you had no effect on the color of his eyes. You knew them. They were the same ones who would stare at you from across your room as you got ready for bed. The same ones that would plead you for new staples. The same ones that sat across from you during dinner. The same ones that reminded you of the cold and freezing sea. 

“Kaito.” You muttered, earning a coo from him. You nodded. “Yeah? Do you like that name?” he huffed and pushed his nose towards your arm. You hummed. “Kaito it is, then.” 

A year and a half went by before you ever heard from Touya again. You were doing some cleaning while Kaito was at daycare, hurrying so you could still have time for relaxation before you had to go pick him up.

You loved him dearly but a toddler was a lot to handle. Especially alone. You found a daycare nearby that you trusted, and your mental health picked up drastically. A few hours of silence on the weekends and time to work from home without a toddler trying to lick a socket was all that you seemed to need to feel whole. As you were throwing his toys back into the large basket on the other side of the living room, you heard a knock. You paused before throwing the toy truck. You moved to the front door, peeking through the peep hole. 

A woman with white hair and streaks of red, glasses, and a blue sweater was waiting at your door. You pulled away from the door, unlocking it and swinging it open. She smiled at you once she saw you. 

“Hi, can I help you?” You asked, smiling but feeling terribly awkward about the whole thing. She nodded. 

“Hi, I’m Fuyumi. My brother, Touya, was finally released from his mess of operations and hospitals. And he-“ Your smile fell when you finally registered the name. Yes, you heard it but you just didn’t think you’d ever hear that name again. It had just floated over your head. You realize this was his sister standing in front of you. You closed the door so you were squeezed between it and the frame, smiling like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. You couldn’t let her see the tiny rain boots, light-up sneakers, and brightly colored toys on your floor. Fuyumi glanced at you over the frame of her glasses, a slightly confused look passing over her face before she schooled it. She pulled her bag from her shoulder, rummaging her hand through it. 

“-is finally in rehab. They’re letting him have pencils now after strings being pulled by our father. Anyway, he-um- gave me these letters. He told me I needed to find you. He said he wouldn’t trust anyone else to give these to you. He considered our mom, but he said-“ 

“Letters?” You repeated, watching her hands as they dug through her bag. She nodded, looking up at you for a brief second. 

“Yes. here they are, finally.” She pulled a stack of three letters from her bag, sticking them out to you. You quickly took them from her, taking the top one. You shoved the other two into your back pocket, tearing open the envelope. You yanked the folded paper from the envelope, unfolding it as fast as possible. You skimmed over the words, trying to move your eyes along the lines faster than you could. 

‘Love -don’t care- I haven’t stopped thinking of you- wish you could come to see me-I need to see home- your bed- do you think of me-I’m not sure how much longer-I can’t add you to my visitation-I miss you.’ You paused, staring at his signature at the bottom. ‘Yours, Touya’ was simple but he didn’t talk of his feelings. Ever.

You were lucky if you found out he liked dinner. You traced over his name with the tip of your finger. You stopped, looking up at the woman in front of you. She was watching you intently like every move was being cataloged. You slowly straightened your shoulders up and pushed the letter back into the envelope like you didn’t care at all. You put the envelope with the other two in your pocket, pretending you weren’t itching to read the other two. You cleared your throat, staring at Fuyumi like a child caught misbehaving. 

“He tried to get your name on the visitation list but they wouldn’t allow it. You had to be family.” Fuyumi said, giving you a soft smile. You nodded, feeling Kaito’s finger painting on the fridge staring holes into the side of your face. 

“Might’ve been for the best. I don’t know I’m really the same person he…liked before.” You said, squeezing the door a little closer to you. Fuyumi shook her head. 

“I’m not sure if that’s true. He’s told our entire family about you. I don’t think the change would keep him from you. However, I don’t really know you, do I?” Fuyumi said, clasping her hands together in front of her. You nodded. It’s a bit weird knowing that she had a nephew a few blocks away and she didn’t even know if you and her brother were really dating at all. Well, you weren’t now but were you ever? You snorted and shrugged. 

“It’s a lot of change.” You said, watching her closely. She hummed, pulling her bag closer too pher. 

“Well I have to go, I have lunch with Shoto soon. Just, think of sending him back a letter. I think it would be good for him to hear from you.” Fuyumi said before walking away from your door and heading for the sidewalk. You watched her go for a moment, feeling stuck in your place. You felt like you were watching Touya walking away again. You sighed before going back inside to finish reading the letters. 

You read the letters over and over again for a month. You read them so much you didn’t need to see the paper to think through his words. You spent your free time staring at the handwriting. You dissected the word choice, punctuation, and tone. You need to know every thought that went through his head. Kaito asked you what they were, in the words and format of a 1 ½-year-old would. You redirected him to his toys and started reading them only at night when you were alone in your room. You sat up in bed most nights, staring at his clothes on the shelf of your closet and picking at your nails. 

You thought through your two options. 

You could break his heart and tell him you couldn’t be with him. You had changed, you were someone new. You couldn’t see a future. You moved on. You had a new partner, one that didn’t have their face on the news. Whatever it would take to get him to move on. He needed someone else, someone not like you. Someone without a kid. 

Your second option was to tell him. Everything. He had already been through what a year or so of medical operations? That’s what Fuyumi said, wasn’t it? Now he was stuck in rehab, they just gave him access to pencils. He was slowly rebuilding himself. He was obviously making progress in the right direction, communicating. That was a big word for Touya. It was over paper but still. He used the word love eight times in those letters. Kaito would have to get adjusted to his family growing up. Change is hard for young children. Change is hard for you. You‘d be forcing this responsibility onto Touya. He’d either support Kaito or not. Either way, he���d have that thought in the back of his mind. Touya was barely standing on his own two feet right now. Most likely figuratively and literally. You couldn’t add a new stressor to his life. He’d throw a table or something and get his pencil rights taken away again. 

You made the mature decision to break his heart instead. You wrote it out carefully and edited it. You made sure it came off the right way. You sealed the envelope and addressed it using the information from the back of his letters. Maybe it wasn’t something that would make you liked by any of the Todoroki family, but it was better for them. You knew it. You told him it was the change. You had changed too much. You listed all the ways you weren’t the person he thought you were anymore. Of course, you jumped over the child-sized elephant in the room. 

You couldn’t bear to think of him crying over your letter. You wondered if his tears were still bloody. Most likely, that didn’t seem like something that was healable. You ignored the ache in your heart, pulling your son closer to you in a tight hug. You couldn’t think of Touya stuck in a sterile rehabilitation center. You couldn’t think of him reading your letter more than once. You couldn’t think of Touya at all, so you focused on Kaito instead. 

You didn’t get a letter back. You didn’t get any of his siblings at your door. Instead, you took Kaito to daycare, worked, took Kaito home, and went to bed ready to repeat. You and Kaito went on little adventures on the weekends, going to the park, play dates, swimming lessons, zoos, and museums. You couldn’t love your son and life more.

He was getting bigger. He was developing his own personality now, such a sweet boy he gave you cavities. Kaito was so bright. He was the smartest kid you knew and you weren’t biased at all in saying that. He was so beautiful and tiny. You wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and keep him in your pocket forever. Some days he would run through the living room like a plane and all you could remember was when he fit in the crook of your arm. He was so curious he asked you about the world every day. Some days he came home from daycare with a fun fact you never knew. 

The day he manifested his quirk was on the weekend in the backyard. You were on the back porch, watching him run back and forth through the oscillating sprinkler. You sipped your tea slowly, easing your anxiety about him slipping.

Kaito flung his hero doll through the water. It thunked in the grass, face first. Kaito yelled that he was coming to save the hero. He pressed his wrists together, jutting his hands out like a stream of power would rush through them. He jumped up, pushing his hands out again and giving himself a sound effect.

As he passed through the water you saw sparks and flames envelop his hands and fly straight to the ground toasting the ground next to his doll to ash. Kaito landed in the burnt grass, freezing and staring down at his hands. You jolted up onto your feet, setting your tea down and rushing towards him. 

Kaito slowly turned around towards you, a scared look on his face. You scooped him up, wrapping him in a hug. Kaito pressed his nose into your shoulder, holding onto your neck tightly. It’s a bit scary to see fire shoot out of your hands as a three-year-old. You stared at the ring of burnt grass, thinking back on the fire around his fingertips.

It wasn’t blue like his father’s, it was red like a campfire. A part of you was happy, he wouldn’t have to struggle to control a quirk as hot as his father’s. Another part of you was sad, you kinda liked the idea of your son growing up to be a hero and showing the world his blue flame was still hero material. Maybe Touya could find it out that way. You didn’t even know if Kaito wanted to be a hero. Maybe he’d do something simple. A third part was scared, fire is easily destructive. Kaito was new to it, he didn’t know how to control it. Your house could be in ashes in days. 

Touya would’ve been worried if he had been on the porch with you. Hellfire, like his father. Like the father he tried so hard to destroy and landed himself in the hospital and rehab. What made his father like that? A father like Enji fathering Enji? That’s how it works isn’t it, like passing sand from hands to hands, the trauma follows you in a terrible circle. 

Well, your son would have less sand, he’d love who he is. You pulled Kaito away from your neck, leaning your head back to get a full look at his face. His eyes were glistening and he was pressing his fist to his cheek. The image of him as a newborn in your arms passed over you. You wiped at the tears on his cheeks, kissing them afterward. 

“You got your quirk, Kaito. Isn’t that so exciting?” You said, smiling widely to settle his anxiety. Kaito pulled his hands from his face, looking at you confused. You bounced him on your hip and started spinning around, squealing about his quirk. You rested your hands on his back, dipping him down so he hung upside down just a little. You passed his head through the sprinkler, making him laugh loudly. You pulled him back up, dancing away from the sprinkler and the burnt grass. Kaito shook his wet white mop of hair out, drizzling you with water. 

Two and half years pass before Kaito starts school. He’s settled into the routine. He knows the time you give him breakfast, the time he gets dressed, the time he brushes his teeth, and the time you leave. Kaito would rather burn all his toys than be late for school. He’s made plenty of friends there. He’s already been invited to two birthday parties in the few months he’s been there. You wonder if daycare was that beneficial to him. 

Kaito walks his clean plate to the sink, standing on his tiptoes to gently set it in the bottom. You praise him before finishing your own. Kaito heads towards his room, ignoring your words entirely. Every morning he was on a mission to get to school at exactly the right time. Once he tried to get you to force him to go to school while he was sick. He whined about his perfect attendance before you told him he could watch TV. He dropped the subject after that. A knock sounds at your door. You look over your shoulder before concluding it was the mail. Sometimes they needed your signature. 

“Kaito, you better not forget your jacket! It's cold out!” You shouted so he could hear you through his door. You stared at his face peeking through his door as you swung open the front door. You pointed at him sternly, earning an eye roll. Damn you, Touya. You turned to face the mailman, face falling at the man in front of you. 

His hair had grown out and the dye had long been gone. Touya’s scars looked… healthier. Healed a little, paler and a little more moisturized. His staples were removed. You assumed they had been replaced with stitches that had healed over a million moons ago. Half his piercings were gone, a stud in his nose and two in each ear were all that he had left. Or at least was wearing today. His clothes were more put together, relaxed but not in the scrambled way they were a few years ago. Touya stood bolder now like he found something inside himself during rehab that made his chest puff out. His eyes were all the same. You thought if you ever saw him again, you'd only see Kaito in his eyes. You only saw Touya. 

“I finished rehab.” Touya finally said. Your silence stood in the air, like a confession of everything. You realized he could see into your home, slowly moving towards the door frame and holding the door tightly against you. Touya watched you with a look you'd only seen once before. In the middle of the night in your dimly lit living room, a movie in the background as the two of you kissed for the first time without sexual intent behind it. 

“Evidently. You look good by the way, rounded, healthy. Um, what exactly are you doing here, though?” You asked, leaning back inside to look at the clock. Three minutes before Kaito left his room. Five if he was having wardrobe malfunctions. You leaned forward again, pretending you weren't on a time crunch. 

“I know you sent me a letter. I know you said you didn't think I'd still care for you because you've changed so much but I think it's pretty obvious I've changed too. I just wanted to ask if you could give us a second shot we could try again as the new versions of ourselves. Every day I was in there I've been thinking about you. I haven't been able to-” You leaned back again, one minute, three with malfunctions. You put your attention back on Touya, nodding to signify him to continue. He paused, pulling his hand from his coat pocket. “-Am I interrupting something?” He asked. 

You froze, dragging your eyes away from the clock. You met Touya's eyes, staring at him with wide eyes. You weren't getting out of this, you wouldn't be able to. You sighed, pinching your brow. 

“No, I'm sorry Touya. It's very sweet and genuine of you to ask this but I really think there's just a big-” you waved your hands between the two of you. “-hurdle between us that we'd have to get through. I just think you should find someone else to love and cherish or whatever it is people say.” You threw your hands down, looking at his face again. He looked cold, he looked like the man who would show up at your door almost six years ago with blood staining his clothes. Touya shook his head, a new look meeting his features. He furrowed his brows. He stared at the step in front of him. 

“I just don't understand. I feel like this came out of nowhere before the letters, everything was fine, and then all of a sudden you were too different-” Touya said. Your heart dropped to your stomach when you heard Kaito’s door open. 

“Rena! Can you help me button my pants? The button is hard.” You could hear the pout in Kaito's voice. It reached Touya’s ears. You know it did. He froze, eyes glued to the ground. You didn’t bother trying to hide the wreck of a child’s home behind you anymore. The cat was out of the bag. You kicked the front door back, revealing all the toys and children’s books thrown across your living room. Kaito ran up to you, holding his pants up with both hands. You squatted down, pulling his pants together. As you slipped the button through the hole, Kaito greeted Touya. 

“Hi! I’m Kaito. Do you have a quirk?” Ever the extrovert, Kaito wanted to be friends with everyone he met. You zipped Kaito’s pants up. You turned back, pulling his sneakers from the shoe rack. You might as well while you’re already on the floor. You glanced up at Touya to see him staring open-mouthed at Kaito. Kaito was unaccustomed with this reaction, gripping onto your shoulder. 

“Touya. My son asked you a question.” You said, pulling Touya from the depths of his mind. Touya dropped down to his knees, getting on eye level with Kaito. You pulled Kaito’s sneakers on, tying the laces and pulling over the Velcro strap. Usually, he put his own shoes on but with the new friend, you thought you should do it. 

“Hi. My name is Touya. Yes, I do have a quirk.” Touya responded slowly. Kaito was his, there was no way Touya hadn't realized that. It wasn’t frequent that you ran into someone with those eyes, that hair, and that smile.

You looked at Touya as you pulled Kaito’s other shoe on. Touya moved his focus from Kaito to you. His mouth was still a little agape, staring at Kaito with eyes that only you could understand. Kaito squealed, he loved showing off his quirk. You pulled back, leaning away from him, watching his hands. A whoosh came with the balls of fire enveloping his hands. Sparks flew around the edges. He grinned down at his ablaze hands like a crazy person. You smiled at his excitement, looking over to Touya. He stared at Kaito’s hands, face unreadable. 

“Okay, Kaito. That’s enough. No quirk in the house, you know that.” You said, wafting his hands with air. It never put the flame out but it made Kaito laugh. He put his fire down, a few disgruntled sparks flying after. After an unfortunate incident involving your arm and his quirk, you both learned that Kaito needed a few minutes to cool off before he touched something again. The scar was still on your upper arm, a tiny handprint the size of a three-year-old. You didn’t mind it as much as you thought it would. It only reminded you of your son. 

“Hands up.” Kaito held his arms above his head as you pulled on his laces. You looked at Touya as you tied them. Touya leaned forward and held his hand up, all fingers down except for his pinkie. Almost like a pinkie promise. You and Kaito both stared at his hand as his pinkie caught aflame. It looked like a little blue birthday candle. Kaito’s eyes lit up like his hands, a giant grin pulling at his cherub cheeks.

”Woah! Do you have fire too? It’s blue! That’s so cool!” Kaito said, his little hand reaching out for Touya’s. Touya and you both moved faster than light. Touya shot his hand away, the fire extinguishing, and his arm held far away from curious hands. You pushed Kaito’s hand away, sending it back to his side. Kaito looked confused, facing you. 

“His fire is very very hot, Kaito. It’ll hurt if you touch it.” You explained, pulling the Velcro strap of his shoe over the top of his foot. Kaito hummed, fiddling with his hands over his stomach. You stood up, Touya following. Kaito looked over your shoulder at the clock and then down at the graph you had under it with a picture of the hands and what step in your routine it meant. Kaito gasped, rushing away from you for his bedroom. You smiled awkwardly towards Touya. 

“Is he mine?” Touya whispered, his tone unsure if he was ready for the answer. You watched Kaito pull his jacket on before slinging his backpack on. His coat was just a little too big for him. It kissed the tips of his knees and every time you saw it you thought of Touya and his jacket hanging on your coat rack. 

“Yeah, he's yours.” you wanted it to come out with strong conviction.

‘Yes, Touya he's yours what are you going to do about it.’

‘No Touya he's mine but he's genetically related to you, yes.’

‘What do you want from this information, Touya'?

‘Get off my property Touya. Kaito isn't your problem’

All those months you spent planning how you'd beat him to pulp when you finally saw him again fell apart the second you looked into his eyes. Maybe that was Kaito's effect on you or maybe it was just the effect Touya always had on you. 

Touya nodded like he was accepting his fate, watching Kaito run up to you with your shoes. Usually, you didn't have your baby daddy standing on your front porch and you could get your own shoes. You pulled your shoes on quickly, keeping an eye on Kaito as he ran out the door towards the car. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Touya asked, following after you as you locked your door and joined Kaito at the side of the car. 

“Not right now, I have to get Kaito to school so he can keep his perfect attendance.” You said, reaching over to pinch Kaito's cheek. He groaned and pushed you away, throwing his backpack into the backseat. Kaito pulled himself into his booster seat and buckled his seatbelt. You smiled at him, pecking his cheek and muttering praises to him.

Touya stood behind you, watching the whole ordeal and wishing he hadn't lost the first five years of his son's life. He didn't get to watch Kaito grow from a carrier that locked into the base to a car seat with a back to a booster seat. He didn't even know Kaito's favorite color. He didn't know anything about him. So with all that stirring in his mind, he whispered the one full sentence he could piece together. 

“Can I come too?” You pulled away from Kaito, looking back at Touya. He looked scolded. His shoulders were slumped and he was clasping his hands together at his stomach. He stared at you with wide eyes. You remembered when you grounded Kaito for trying to sneak out of the house at night. He wanted to go to the park, you had to explain that the park was something you visited during the day. He was sad at being grounded. 

“Yes! Rena, can he come? He can tell me at his fire! And his scars, they're so cool!” Kaito kicked his feet, thumping them against the back of the passenger seat. Your heart stalled at the mention of Touya's scars. 

“Kaito. Don't say-” you scolded only to pause when a warm hand rested on your shoulder. You had forgotten how warm Touya was. You missed not needing to pull your space heater from storage. You stared at Touya, eyes wild with concern. He shook his head, lips pressed in a tight line. 

“It's fine.” He muttered. You looked back over to Kaito who looked more than joyous to bring his new friend to school. You sighed, shrugging and moving for the front seat. 

“Get in.” You said, sliding into the driver's side. Touya quickly shut Kaito's door and slid in on the other side of the back seat. 

The entire drive you felt strange. You didn't like having your back to their interaction. A part of you worried Touya was teaching Kaito how to roll a blunt. Or maybe how to set your fire in your sleep. Maybe he was still bitter from the letter and all this was an act. 

The moment Kaito laughed so hard he started wheezing you took back all the negative thoughts you had about Touya. Kaito leaned over into Touya's lap, patting his leg as he wheezed. Touya chuckled with him, a relaxed smile on his face. He gently patted Kaito's back, turning his pat into a rub. Kaito sucked in a gasp of air before it quickly danced behind his teeth and transformed into another laugh. Touya panicked, a new worry that he was doing this all wrong, already turning into his father. His eyes shot to yours in the rearview mirror. You didn't catch them, focused on the road. He saw your smile and small laugh and felt his shoulders relax. 

Kaito had a hard time saying goodbye to his new friend in the school parking lot. Kaito complained and quickly latched onto Touya's arm, pressing his cheek into his scarred flesh. Touya patted his mop of white hair and wished him a good day. Kaito seemed to accept that, launching himself into the front seat to hug you goodbye with his arms around your neck. Kaito glanced over at the clock on the screen in the center of the dashboard. He muttered something and rushed out of the car, jogging towards the crosswalk. You and Touya watched as he was walked to the door by one of his teachers. 

You both sat in silence and stare at the door even after Kaito is long gone. Touya left the back seat and plopped himself into the passenger side next to you. You wanted to pull yourself out of your head and face him, but your eyes were glued to the door. 

It's been a long time since he was a baby. The first few months were hell on Earth. Everything sent you into an anxious spiral, his breaths were one second too long apart. You worried he was getting too much tummy time. You worried he wasn't getting enough tummy time. You worried about his diet. You worried about the sound of his cries. You worried about his number of cries. You worried about the cradle cap. You worried about SIDs. You worried sick over your son. 

To make matters worse, you worried sick over his father. The first year and then some you wracked your brain thinking about him. Where was he? What was he doing? How was he feeling? What state was his body in? Could he still feel? What was he feeling about you? Had he already moved on, found a cute doctor, or something? Was he too far gone and close to death that he didn't even have the time to consider things like that? Why hadn't he said something to you yet? Would he even like you still? Would he even like your son? Would he even want to know if he has a son or would ignorance be bliss for him?

By the time you had finally settled your anxieties over your son's father, Kaito taking up all your capacity for worries, his letter arrived at your door.

You stared at the door to his school, the brightly painted sidewalk making you feel warm. Touya was next to you now, staring at the same school. You knew where he was, what he looked like, the state of his body, his thoughts on you, and what he was doing. You could hear his breathing in your silent car. You knew it all and yet, you still worried for him. You wanted him to touch you again. His hand on your shoulder sparked something that went dormant after five years. 

“He is so…” Touya's voice fell like he wasn't sure the word to choose. You knew how the man from five years ago would respond. 

Annoying. 

Gross. 

Snotty. 

Clingy. 

Sticky. 

Have you had him tested yet? for anything because that child is just- 

“beautiful.” Touya finished. You felt the air in your car slip out the window. You dragged your eyes from the school door, looking at him. He wasn't looking at you, staring at the school. You furrowed your eyebrows. That word you had not expected at all. You thought you'd have to drive Touya home in silence and fully cut contact this time. 

“What?” you said, staring at the side of his face. Touya looked at you, finally meeting your eyes. Your shoulders sank. He unfortunately always had this affect on you. 

“Your son is so beautiful. He’s just like you. I look at him and all I see is you. Kaito is just…” His eyes traveled back to the door Kaito had disappeared through. You wouldn't see him again for a good six hours. 

“I can't explain it but he's just so perfect. I just don't understand how such a sweet person could have anything to do with me. Which is how I felt about you all those years ago. He is a carbon copy of you, you know that?” Touya said, a small smile playing on his lips. He sighed and stared at you, watching your face. 

“He is beautiful.” You paused, keeping your eyes on Touya. You stared at Kaito some nights when he was asleep in your bed from a nightmare and only saw a chubbier and less scarred version of Touya's face staring at you. 

“He looks like you,” you muttered, starting your car again. Touya sat back in the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt down.

“I have photo albums at home. Would you like to see?” you asked as you pulled out the school driveway back towards your home. Touya rubbed at his face. He quickly nodded. 

“Yes, I would,” Touya whispered, looking out the window. 

part two

[arthur-lesters-childbearing-hips]

hi folks

Even more body code

except this time its my honorary mutuals(you show up in my notifs more than once)

sunkistbutbetter you can ignore the “honorary mutual” part we are friends now we are mutuals

[red-hoods-left-sock]

It’s a little hard to read but it is the beginning of my refined body code bee movie script

[anonymous-cringe-y-art]

not finished but im making a patch of my name in the body code! there's also gonna be the rift (scp 6320) and the foundation logo!

[never-rxne]

─── where did you sleep last night?

sevika x stray cat coded reader. || 4.8k words

summary: there is no one sevika can trust, really trust. no one that she can't read. until she meets someone she simply can't seem to riddle out. someone who reads her instead.

content warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, also fluff...depending on how you read it

notes: written for the aroace-spec reader, and sevika is aroace coded. but the relationship is open to interpretation.

"my girl, my girl, don't lie to me tell me where did you sleep last night?" — Nirvana. "Where Did You Sleep Last Night (Live Acoustic)"

Sevika doesn’t know this, but the first time you ever saw her was not, in fact, on that rainy evening when she found you in the alleyway behind the gambling parlor downtown. 

The first time you ever saw her, she did not see you. 

You watched in silence from the rooftop as she killed two men. 

Watched as she fought them, seemingly tireless. 

Watched as she grew cooler the more desperate the men became. 

Watched as the Shimmer plunged into her system, time and time again. 

When she finally had the first man pinned to the wall, she offered no mercy. No parting negotiations. One swipe of her deadly mechanical hand, like a lion lazily dispatching a mouse. And the man was not a man anymore. He was a mass of flesh on the ground, lying in the quickly spreading pool of his own blood. 

The other one had tried to run then. Crying out hoarsely for help, he tried to crawl away and flee for his life. Sevika was faster. You watched as she grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back to her, laughing. She forced him to look up at her as she pulled back her mechanical arm, the Shimmer capsule rising from the shoulder, preparing to lurch into her system. You watched her strike. 

You didn’t doubt that if she had seen you, she would have killed you, too. 

But you were never one to run from things that interested you. And this woman did. 

You watched as she threw the body aside, then leaned against the wall, heaving for breath. You watched as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette, put it in her mouth and reached for her lighter. Her hand shook as she tried to light a flame. The spark flicked on and off, but never caught. On the fourth or fifth try she lit up. You stayed until she had smoked it down to a nub and crushed the filter under her boot. Then you turned and left, before you could see her leave. 

—

Sevika watches you. 

Water slides over the metal crevices of her arm, drips from the end of her nose. She stands as if made from stone, her breathing barely showing beneath her cloak. 

She can’t tell if you’re dead or alive. 

You’re hunched on the ground against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest. Your face is hidden in your arms. You don’t seem aware of the rain streaming through your hair, drenching your clothes. All that seems to matter is making yourself as small as possible. You seem to be trying to disappear into the wall, melt into the brick. 

She could just walk away. 

You could mean any number of troubles. You could be a decoy, pity bait. The second she stoops over you, she might find herself dealing with a band of your people waiting for the right moment to strike. 

But the coins from her winnings at the game weigh heavily in her pocket. 

Sevika is not a bad woman. 

The truth of this sits in the pit of her stomach and rears its ugly head whenever she needs most for it to lie still. 

It would have been better if she had been like Silco—if she had learned to drown herself in the filthy river, if she had been able to wrap her one good hand around the throat of the girl she used to be and wring the breath out of her, the girl who had known hunger and fury but also…also something deeper. Softer. A wound that never closed, that wept fresh blood no matter how much time passed.   

Did she see herself now? 

As she hesitates, you raise your head. She hasn’t moved from the shadows, but you turn your face and look straight at her, as if you knew she was there all along. 

You are not as young as she thought you were. Nor do you look as destitute. Your eyes are clear and piercing on her, and she is reminded of the hungry cats who prowl the dark alleyways at night, whose lonely cries from the rooftops sound hauntingly like human wails. 

“Are you here to kill me?” you ask her. Your tone is so calm, so steady, it sounds as casual as if you were commenting to her about the weather. 

Sevika parts her lips. Closes them again. She finds that her mouth has gone dry. 

“I don’t even know you,” she says at last. 

You give her a small, unreadable smile. “No,” you say. “You don’t.” 

Sevika curls her lip. If you are not sick or dying, if you are just an odd little stray full of riddles for her, there is no reason for her to waste her time here with you. Something about the way you look at her, as if you see something beyond her hardened exterior—unnerves her. 

But it is also strangely comforting. 

She doesn’t know how long it’s been since someone has looked at her without fear, without loathing. 

Perhaps she’d gotten used to seeing her own people recoil from her, their eyes full of mistrust as if she were a Topside enforcer. Seeing your smile was an odd, inexplicable change. A change not entirely unwelcome. 

She turns and walks away into the rain. You watch her go without comment. 

Ten minutes pass and she returns, holding a paper bag. It is stained with grease and a warm, rich smell emanates from it. She sits on a crate nearby and offers the bag to you. When you look into it, you find a hot custard bun. 

Sevika leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. 

“What do you know?” she asks you in a lowered voice. 

You hold the hot bun between two fingers, as if assessing it, before you take a big bite. 

“Why did you think I was sent to kill you?” she presses. 

Instead of answering her, you pose her another question. “Do you always buy food for people you want information from?” 

She scoffs. 

You turn the last morsel of bread over slowly in your fingers before slipping it into your mouth. “Did you get this for me, then,” you say as you chew, “because you thought kindness would unravel me quicker than pain?” 

She narrows her eyes at you. She can’t understand what you’re getting at. Where your motives are. Usually she can tell at a glance, from the first word that comes out of a person’s mouth, whether they’re anything worth her time or not. 

“Who do you work for?” she asks. 

“Me?” you crumple the empty paper bag in your fist, then throw it with surprising strength into the depths of the alley. You hear the squeaks and scrabble of the rats as they tear the bag apart, searching for a trace of the bun it once held. You stand up and turn your back on her. 

“I work for Zaun.” 

By the time she makes up her mind to follow you, you’re nowhere to be seen. She looks up and down both ways of the alley. It’s like you were never there at all. 

—

She tries to catch you again, she finds herself looking for you as she walks through the marketplace, as she makes bargains at the harbor, as she runs errands for Silco’s collections. 

But you only seem to appear when you want her to see you. 

It’s been weeks since she encountered you behind the gambling parlor, and she glances up by chance and sees you standing on a bridge several landings above her. The neon signs of the store behind you make you look slightly unearthly, like a hologram. You glance down as she looks up, catching her eye. 

She looks away for just half a second, distracted by a passing automobile. 

When she looks back you’re gone again. 

—

It’s late. 

Sevika all but stumbles into the apartment, every joint in her body droning with a dull, bone-deep ache. She had been up since the crack of dawn running negotiations across every corner of the Lanes. Keeping the Chem-Barons pacified with their shares until they could figure out what was going on with the growing number of Shimmer supply robberies happening in the fissures. 

This would have been resolved sooner if Silco hadn’t had his head stuck in the clouds for the past months playing family man. She’s damn sure of it. 

Demand for Shimmer was skyrocketing as the supplies dipped. Soon there would be a shortage. 

She could rip apart whoever was behind the thefts. 

She doesn’t notice the body crumpled on the foot of the stairs at first. Nearly trips over it, thinking it was a bundle of cloth, or a sack of flour. 

It isn’t. 

It’s you. 

She reaches out, fumbling for the switch for the hallway light. It flickers overhead, throwing into sharp relief your unconscious face, streaked with blood and dirt. Your hair and clothes are matted with blood, and when Sevika presses her fingers beneath your jawline she can barely feel your pulse. 

She can’t imagine how you found out where she lived, how you had even managed to drag yourself to her place. She made a point of making sure no one could tail her to where she slept. 

For now she doesn’t dwell on it. Without a second’s hesitation she gathers you up in her arms and swiftly makes her way upstairs. She throws her shoulder against her door, breaking the lock upon the first impact (she’ll fix it later), kicks aside the empty bottles rolling across the floor, and lays you down on the couch. 

—

You stir slightly. You open your eyes and see her hovering over you, looking over the stab wounds on your torso with a gentleness you couldn’t believe she is capable of. Then you watch her go to the corner of the room and open a small box, hesitating over its contents. You can see a faint pink glow illuminate part of her face. Your eyes close again. The world is peaceful, quiet, filled with a thin buzz. The sharp pain of the past hour has faded into a distant warmth that seems to begin in the center of your body and spread outwards, soft and alive, into your fingertips. 

The woman in the room with you must be a herald of some sort, or a guide. You are glad there is someone to witness you leave. You are glad of this tall, gentle friend. 

Why do people talk of power, you wonder. 

Why do people talk of heaven. 

—

Sevika stares down at the single vial of Shimmer left in the holder. 

It’s all she has left, and there’s no telling when she’ll be able to replenish her supply.

She glances back at you, lying quietly on her couch. Even like this—wounded, bleeding, desperate—there is the same calmness, the same mild curiosity etched in your expression. Even unconscious, you seem to recede from the air around you, try to curl yourself smaller, take up less space. 

Sevika’s body had never lied to her. She’d taken a rain check on its limitations when she had started taking Shimmer. There’s a chance she won’t walk out of the next fight unscathed without any enhancement. 

Her nerve fails her. For the first time in her life she falters. 

What was your life compared to hers? What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things, if she let you die? You are only a stray. You would pass out of this life as quietly as you walked through it. No one would miss you. No one would need you back. You’ve already lost so much blood. There was nothing she could do, really. 

You were the one who came here. You threw yourself onto her, knowing there was everything to lose. You were the one who had chosen to gamble on your life by trusting her. 

She had so much to do. There was so much work to be done. She needed this Shimmer. She needed it more than you. 

Except… You are not only a stray. 

You are a Zaunite. 

A Zaunite like herself. 

She knows damn well that it could just as easily have been her in your place. By some whim of the gods, by some cruel twist of fate, it was her who was able to grow stronger, older, climb out of the streets—but at the cost of so many others. 

Who was she to let you die? What right did she have to hold a fellow Zaunite’s life in her hands, and deliberately let it slip through her fingers? 

Sevika tightens her jaw. She frowns down at the Shimmer holder, as if personally accusing it for putting her in this dilemma. Then she gives a growl of frustration and seizes the last Shimmer vial. 

Kneeling on the floor by your side, she tilts your face towards her and parts your lips with her thumb. She uncorks the vial of Shimmer and tips it into your mouth. Watches the luminescent pink solution disappear onto your tongue. She closes your mouth and pushes back your head, forcing you to swallow. 

Nothing happens at first. 

Then: your eyes snap open. She sees the familiar, hot, mad pink blaze in your pupils. You jolt up from the couch, and a guttural scream of pain breaks out of your lips, echoing through the apartment. Sevika grabs hold of you, keeps you pinned to the couch as you writhe beneath her. 

“Easy,” she mutters. “I got you. Breathe.” 

The Shimmer runs through your system, you can feel the burn racing through your veins—like a million arms of light are reaching down your throat and soaring towards the wounds in your flesh. The healing process begins almost immediately. You can feel the blood collect like rainwater, a curious buzz as the torn skin grows back into itself, as the atoms multiply on their own. 

There’s something else, though. Something foreign, blazing and simmering in your brain, throwing sparks. You see everything in a brilliant, searing clarity. You see a woman sitting near you, feel her strong hands against your shoulders, but you don’t recognize her as a woman. She is something else—something made of flesh and blood, something to be loved, or torn apart, or consumed entirely. You are going insane. This is the pinnacle of insanity. This is the final drop into that bottomless pit you have feared from childhood. You hear a distant, tortured screaming. It takes a second to realize that screaming is coming from you.

Then it passes. 

Sweat soaks through your clothes, shines on your forehead. 

You look down at your bloodstained shirt, the tattered, sunken couch you’re lying on. You look around, and begin to take in the bare walls of the small room, a ceiling stained by water leakage, a basin with a rusty faucet, a chemtech lamp on a splintered coffee table. Unlit. 

Then you look at Sevika. 

She’s watching you intensely, a deep crease between her dark brows—you have the sudden urge to reach out and smooth it out with your thumb. 

“Did you use it on me?” you ask in a shaking whisper. “Shimmer? Was it?” 

Sevika lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You’re alright now. You’ll be okay.” 

You reach up to grab at her arm, for support, for something solid to touch. Your hand closes around cold metal. You look down and find that you are holding onto a prosthetic. You can feel the sharp points of the mechanical fingers that clutch your shoulder. 

The same fingers you watched tear open the throat of that man. 

The same arm that lit up with Shimmer, glowing a violent pink in the night. 

Was it the woman or was it Shimmer? How can one substance be capable of causing so much violence, and at the same time such instantaneous healing? 

How can one woman be capable of so much cruelty, yet so much mercy?

Sevika begins to pull away, but you grab onto her human arm as well. You anchor her to you. Force her to look into your face and see the depth of what she has saved. You know she can feel your pulse racing against the palm of her human hand. 

You don’t ask her why she saved you. Nor do you ask her why she offered you food that night before. You look into her eyes and see the turmoil of a woman beyond them. You know already she will not be able to find the answer in herself. 

—

She never asks you to stay, and you never do. 

Weeks go by. 

You watch her—closely it seems—though she never sees you. 

Inexplicable things begin to happen. 

She’s fixing her mechanical arm one night after a particularly sharp fight, and discovers too late she’s missing a certain type of screwdriver. There is a nail she needs to dislodge to fix a jam in the joint of the elbow and it is too small for the other tools to fit in. After trying fruitlessly with several different tools of her own she throws down the prosthetic with a heavy sigh of defeat. 

The following morning she finds the screwdriver she needed sitting placidly on the coffee table, as if it had been there all along. 

Another time, she had been sent by Silco to silence a couple of conspirators against him. They put up a decent fight of their own. She got tired. One escaped, began spreading a wildfire of rumors about Silco’s right hand. 

He was found in the river within the week. No one could guess who had gotten him. 

Sevika learns gradually not to look for you. She has a name for you made up in her mind, and she holds the word in a place beneath her tongue too tender to reach in the waking day. She never says it out loud, never allows herself to hear it. To say your nickname aloud would be admitting to herself that there is someone she looks for, waits for. 

So she pretends not to notice the smallest, almost unnoticeable gifts that are left on her windowsill, on her table, on the foot of her bed. She keeps the window unlocked and goes home earlier instead of sleeplessly roaming the streets. She clears the liquor bottles from the rooms. A new silence settles in her life, a silence that is not the empty stretch of loneliness, but the silence of waiting. 

—

It wasn’t her you had begun to follow. You tailed anyone who caught your interest, jumped from rooftop to rooftop in search of the little ways you could help the Zaunite uprising. You had searched, for the longest time, for a trace of Vi or Powder—the closest children to Vander, who had disappeared long before you had entered the resistance. 

The former you found nothing on. Not a single lead. The latter, there were rumors that she had been taken under Silco’s wing. That she had become someone else. 

It was this that interested you. The transformation, the ways a person turned into a stranger to themselves. You wanted a way to speak to Powder—or whoever she had become. Wanted to meet her for yourself, pick apart her mind and look into its contents. 

First you had tailed one of the lackeys, who led you to a closer henchman of Silco’s, who led you to Sevika. 

Dead stop. 

You weren’t too intrigued by her at first. She was too silent, kept her cards close to her chest—so to speak. You discovered early on that she had a penchant for gambling, but besides her weekly rounds with the boys at the Last Drop she kept to herself most of the time. You followed her to the brothel, which she frequented, and watched as she carefully kept the allotted time down to the last second. She spoke in low tones to the same workers. Never once so much as touched them. The only other person she seemed to speak to as frequently was Silco, but you of course had never been privy to their conversations. 

The only times you ever saw her seem to feel anything at all was when she was fighting. 

When she used Shimmer. 

Then something seemed to crawl out of the stone-faced woman. Something primal, something hidden and buried. Something not purely evil. In the seconds before she made the killing strike there was a desperation in the way she yelled out that thrilled your heart. In the sadistic smile that lit up her face you could see the ghost of a small, small child hoping to be someone bigger, stronger. You see her in the bitter triumph, hear her in the empty laugh. 

And after the fights, when the blood has been spilled, when the Shimmer has run its course, where do you go, Sevika? 

Where does that small child weep?

—

The first time Sevika found you sleeping in her bed, she had almost murdered you. 

She had known someone was in the apartment the second she stepped in. Something was off about the air, about the draft in the room. She hadn’t even bothered to activate the Shimmer capsule in her arm. She had the claws at the end of the prosthetic ready, the blunt force of the mechanical limb was enough to knock out any intruder. 

She’d expected anyone—anything—when she kicked open the door of the one bedroom. Anyone but you. 

Yet there you were, curled up among the sheets dotted with cigarette burns and stained by time, as if you lived there. 

The breeze from the open window plays softly over your shirt. 

You raise your head and look at her sleepily as she stands in the doorway, staring at you wide-eyed, her arm still raised as if to strike. Slowly, she lowers her arm. Draws in a slow, deep breath. Tries to calm her pulse racing through her veins. 

“Shit,” she mutters, “you trying to kill me?” 

You sit up and yawn. Then: that same, indecipherable smile. 

“Your window was unlocked,” you say in an explanatory tone. “I was tired.” 

She nods, as if this makes perfect sense. She closes the door behind her again, steps out into the front room. Automatically, she goes to the icebox and digs out a bottle of beer. She drains half of it in one sip and sinks into the couch, the same one where she’d laid you down that night you nearly died in her arms. You are in her bed. You are alive, you are well, you are not some insane figment of her imagination. Yes—that was your face. Your voice. Your smile. 

The disembodied little acts—the screwdriver, the dead goon, your presence, always hovering at the edges of her vision, always haunting the back of her mind. You become very real, very suddenly, and something like terror blooms in her chest. It is terrifying because she has never, in an achingly long amount of time, hoped so badly that someone would stay. 

She wakes up that morning on the couch, and winces from the sunlight assailing her headache. Through narrowed eyes she can see a form standing at the stove in the kitchenette, and the smell of frying eggs fills the apartment. 

Unsure yet if she is dreaming or not, she watches you in silence as you slide the eggs onto a cracked plate. As you hack a knife into a lump of ham and, in fluid movements, cut thick slices and toss them onto the pan. 

As they cook you walk over to her and sit down on the edge of the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Sevika asks. Her voice sounds rough, cutting through the foreign sounds of something good sizzling on the pan. 

“I owed you a meal,” you say simply. 

Sevika sits up. She has fallen asleep with her prosthetic on, and her shoulder is stiff and sore. 

“How do you get those things?” Sevika gestures with her human hand to the screwdrivers, the hunk of bread and meat on the kitchen table. “You don’t need to spend money on me. I look after myself.” 

“Don’t think of them as that,” you say, frowning. 

“As what?”

“Gifts.” 

“What am I supposed to think of them, then?” 

You pause. Then you shake your head. “Just don’t think of them as gifts.” 

—

She leaves the window unlocked after that morning. 

You only ever come in by the window. Never once do you enter by the door. 

Sometimes you stay for the night, and gradually Sevika moves from the couch back into her bed, lying beside you and barely daring to breathe. 

She can’t remember the last time she had lain next to somebody like this, unarmed, utterly defenseless. She listens to the sound of your breathing, feels your warm breath on her human arm as you lie curled on your side. 

Sometimes in your sleep you throw an arm around her, press your cheek to her shoulder and hold her that way. When she tries to detach herself you only cling tighter. 

The warmth isn’t entirely unpleasant. The touch of your skin against hers. There is something in the way you hold her that brings her back to herself, touches a chord deep within her that she has nearly forgotten about. The reverberations you cause in that trembling chord leaves an unfamiliar ache in her chest. 

When had she lost herself? 

When had she lost sight of the Zaun of her childhood, the people she swore she would fight for till either victory or the end? 

She lets her heavy head sink into the pillow. Quietly, she encircles your body with her human arm and pulls you closer to her. With her cheek resting on your head she falls into a deep sleep for the first time in a long while. 

—

She talks more when you’re around. 

On days when you go nonverbal, when you prefer to listen and sit and take in the environment without a word, she’ll sit down beside you to clean her tools or fix her arm. And she finds herself opening the contents of her mind to you. 

You hold her tools and listen to stories of the children she grew up with, those who she lost to the mines or to sickness or to the enforcers—those who ran afoul of the law and ended up carted to Stillwater, those who lived meekly yet were arrested anyway. 

She told you about her father, the contours of him already blurred in her memory, the rough edges of his disappointment in her that eroded her heart. 

There is something about your silence, neither judging her nor commenting on her, that seems to tear her open and reach deep into her soul. She discovers, astonished, the tears that run down her face as the images from her past resurface and resurface again. The memories she had kept carefully locked up in the darkest corners of her mind laid open like fresh wounds. 

You don’t say anything when she goes still, when she suddenly hides her face with her hand and weeps. You sit calmly near her and breathe. You wait for it to pass. Until her shoulders stop shaking, until she wipes her eyes and returns to her work and talks again like nothing happened. 

What counts is that you bore witness to her pain. 

—

It is on a sweet spring night when you climb noiselessly through the window and find Sevika out cold in bed. 

This is rare. 

Zaun is the city that never sleeps, and Sevika is the Eye that never closes. You had never known her to be in bed this early. 

You drop onto the bed, crawl to her side, check briefly for a temperature. There’s no fever, not even the smell of alcohol on her breath. She is simply exhausted. 

You care about her. A lot. You’ve grown to care for her more than you had ever imagined. You care so much your chest aches from holding the weight of it all. 

This will not do. There is too much work to be done. 

You rest your hand on her cheek, and gently push the strands of hair away from her face. You lean down and kiss her—once, twice—on the curve of her forehead. She stirs briefly, mumbles something in her sleep, but doesn’t wake up. 

“Be gentle to yourself, Sevi,” you whisper to her. “You’re a good woman and you’ve suffered enough.”

—

Sevika wakes up from a soft dream. This in itself is unusual; usually she has nightmares that leave her pillowcase drenched with sweat, the sheets twisted in her legs. Or, more often, she never dreams at all. 

This dream was different. Someone had been with her. Someone familiar and kind. 

The cobweb remnants of the dream cling to her as she opens her eyes and finds the bed empty. 

She looks at the window. It is open; a sweet spring breeze wafts in. The moon rises above the building tops of Zaun, clear and brilliant like the eye of a cat.

end note: i hope this fic is found by the people who need it and if so, i hope you enjoyed :) i honestly like how this turned out, but it is also late and i am very tired and will probably hate this in the morning.

anyway~ this one's for me and all the aro/ace-spec girlies who love sevika...