#Multichap

[ksficrec]

Run with the Hares (Hunt with the Hounds)

By: @brighteuphony

Link: Ao3

Words: 9k | E | tw: -- | Ongoing

--

ANBU masks are passed down. Some are so notorious they never see the light of day, and some are better off staying buried. Kakashi finds himself faced with the past when the Hound is assigned to his guard detail.

🌸 I am so excited abt this fic!!! Brand spanking new, I am beta for it, and it's going to be so much fun!! tysm to brighteuphony for writing this and indulging with me hehehe, join us on this journey

[lapseinrecs]

Coran's Guide to the Care and Keeping of Earthling Humans

By orphan_account

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; 44,394 words

Summary: It turns out there a fair number of cultural differences between Alteans and humans. Confusion and hilarity ensues. (Based on some of those "humans are weird" or "take a human" posts I've seen floating around tumblr)

My thoughts: Love the human are weird fics.

[reyrdemils]

In Plain Sight | Part 1 of 3

Words: 1,200(ish) | Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings: Mild canon-typcial violence Relationships: Matt Murdock (TV)/Original Female Character (Unnamed) Misc: roughly fits major MCU/DDS1-2 2015-16 timeline but tbh no DD canon plot points included Summary: It's easy to go unnoticed in New York. Most days.

This was written as part of Amanda's 2.5k Writer Challenge hosted by @mattmurdocksscars! This part features the prompt "How do I look?", the first of two I assigned myself. Thank you again for letting me take part and congratulations on 2,500 followers! I intended to write this as a oneshot compilation of snappy vignettes but. Well. Click here to read Part 2.

Intervention hadn’t been part of tonight’s plan. She had been specifically directed to avoid it, in fact, unless the situation took a turn such that not engaging would result in serious injury or death. And while she’s yet to earn her girl guides combat expert badge, the sudden appearance of multiple automatic rifles suggested that turn had been fucking taken.

A little embarrassed, she took a minute to breathe through the pain in her shoulder and appreciate the good fortune that she was laid out on the grated metal of a suspended walkway with merely a few fresh bruises, rather than bullet holes. But for all her bruised pride, she couldn’t help feeling a bit of satisfaction knowing she had kept him alive.

She lets her head loll to the side, watching as he stalked around the ground floor, rummaging inside boxes, rifling through various drawers, even searching the pockets of the men strewn about the floor. Whatever he was looking for wasn’t her business. In all honesty she hadn’t spared a thought whose operation they had just torn through, merely hoped that he might produce zip-ties from somewhere to bind their hands and feet. People never stay unconscious as long as movies portray, and her best hope of a safe exit relied on slipping out un-followed, and more preferably, unnoticed.

Of course hope isn’t something often rewarded in Hell’s Kitchen, and when it becomes clear that he’s stopped to stare up at the unconscious body she’d tied to a nearby support beam she realizes his goddamned diligence will likely send him climbing up to search this guy as well, and probably look for whoever restrained him. If she stays down he might trip on her, if she means to get up she’ll need to move silently—any knock against the metal will ring in the now quiet night air.

She assumed his distraction would be enough cover to sit up while he examined the many cargo pockets of the would-be henchman. She hadn’t assumed he would bypass the man entirely.

In fact, after he free-ran his way up a pile of equipment and swung over the handrail, landing on the metal platform with barely a tamp, his only acknowledgment was a brief once-over and a scoff.

When something in her back twinged, her breath catches—and his full attention turns to her. It’s impressive that he heard what amounted to a puff of air, but there’s no way he can see her. She’ll wait till he brushes it off and goes about his punching.

And then he crouches in front of her—and she gets to do something she’s so rarely allowed in the field.

“How do I look?” She says, deadpan.

“You’re bleeding.”

Oh. That’s never gotten an answer before.

She looks down to where her hands should be, turns them over, feels her arms and legs, checking for damage to her suit. She feels pain throbbing in multiple places, but can’t find where he’s specific— “Right shoulder.”

“Oh fuck—” Sure enough, her fingers touch a wetness and a raised edge of fabric just at the base of her neck. “Ow, yeah.”

“Who are you?”

She looks back to him, eyes narrowed. It’s still unusual, seeing grown men in their color-coordinated hero costumes, let alone one sitting in a deep squat three feet from her.

“I know you knocked this guy out. Who do you work for?” He seems annoyed by her silence, but she has more pressing concerns at the moment.

“How can you tell?” She tries to keep her voice steady; if he can see her… “How- how do you know I’m bleeding?”

His head tilts. “How did you not know?”

“I asked you first.”

“And I asked who you are.” His voice is cold, void of any amusement. No fun.

But she can’t give her name; all he’ll get is a pained smile, and a half shrug. ��I’m just a friendly ghost.” She clasps the handrail above her head and maneuvers up to standing; he follows, looking ready to tackle her at any sudden move.

“We’re really gonna do this the hard way?”

“What—you’re gonna beat the shit out of me? Don’t you have pockets to search?”

A smirk crosses his face, “I have— get down!”

She ducks an instant before a shot pops and a bullet clangs off something far too close for comfort and when she looks up he’s already leapt off the walkway and landed with a roll onto the pavement below.

It’s the best opportunity she’ll have to bolt, so she does. His shouted “Hey!” as she ran out of the building must have been directed at her but she wouldn’t stop for two blocks. No footsteps follow her, and no further gunshots are heard in the 15 minutes that pass while she catches her breath, realizes she probably couldn’t hear gunshots from so far away, and starts to double back.

But her shoulder is screaming now after the exertion. It would be so quick to get stitched up. He’ll be fine, right? He does this every night. He’ll be fine. It’ll be quick. No one has to know he spotted her, that it seems like can see her. She’ll just make sure he makes it back to his building, mostly alive.

In an hour's time she’s stationed on one of many ledges of a gorgeous stone building, holding a small pair of binoculars. It’s going to be such a pain if it turns out he bit the dust between then and now, she’ll never hear the end of it. Luckily it’s barely ten more minutes before she spots him—noticeably limping but otherwise fully mobile.“Thank god,” slips out in relief.

He freezes, only through the binoculars can she see that his head turned toward her. She understands then.

“Oh. You can hear me.” He steps to fully face her direction. “I can’t hear you though. And I’m assuming you won’t yell across the street, but feel free to surprise me.”

He stands statue-still, ostensibly staring at her. She lowers the binoculars to mirror his stance, hoping he might actually start shouting, trying to gauge what he might be thinking, waiting for, calculating.

“I’m sorry if no one else has told you, but it’s very obvious that’s your building.” There’s something amusing about speaking so softly, so late into the night—communing with a silent god who wears low-rise tactical pants. “I won’t tell,” she can’t help smiling, “but worse people than me will probably figure it out. Someone’s always watching in New York.”

No answer. No movement. No acknowledgment.

She makes a show of looking down the street in either direction, surveying the area as though she hadn’t stood here multiple times in the last few weeks. “Hm. Shame you can’t see Stark tower from here.”

No response.

“Well...” She shrugs. “See you around.”

When she reaches the ground level she spends a few long moments in wait, looking up, scanning the ledges and overhangs for any sign of him and—seeing none—disappears into the night.

[azaleablueme]

For those amazing people still reading In Search of Hermione

The next edited chapter is up on AO3 Chapter updated but full story available on FFN (Chapter 23 : Entangled)

[turnupswritessometimes]

Visions are Seldom All They Seem - SoRiku Fanfic - Chapter Two

First | Next

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63723232/chapters/163368439

Summary:

“C'mon, Sora - I thought you had more fight than that,” he said. Smiled, just like a hero. He still sat on the floor. Staring at this saviour. This saviour, who looked at him, as though he was expecting a reaction. There was something, he thought – he knew – but he couldn’t remember. It was like he’d forgotten his lines for a play. The boy frowned a little. Still offered his hand to help him up. “Thank you,” he said. “Sora,” he said again, but this time he was fizzy around the edges. The image was starting to fade. Sora was already becoming aware of the pillow below him. He burrowed into his sheets, trying to hold onto the dream for a little longer.

Riku is Sora’s Dream Eater. He manages to reach him in his dreams - it comes with unexpected consequences.

Word Count: 3,414

Chapter Two

“Tell me another story,” Sora said.

It was amazing that his mind could come up with stories within dreams, he thought. Supposed they were fragments of bits and pieces he’d heard throughout the day becoming a narrative. But when that happened, usually it didn’t make any sense. The stories Riku told in his dream did. Riku did. He’d never known anything like it.

He loved these dreams.

They were outside the castle, now, on a balcony. When Riku had found him, standing against the monsters and yet unable to wield a key of his own, he’d led him from the lobby. He’d reached out his fingers, as though he was going to take Sora’s hand, but hesitated.

Sora had followed, for a moment, before he slipped his fingers into Riku’s. He knew he wouldn’t have the courage to take a pretty boy’s hand in real life, but it was easy to do it in a dream. It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t real.

Riku started. His fingers tightened. He hadn’t let go. He’d continued, across the room, until he came to the huge double doors. He placed his other hand on the deep, dark wood. Sora saw him take a deep breath; it made his eyelashes flutter. Then, he pushed.

He revealed the outside of the castle – of Hollow Bastion.

It was stunning. All white marble flagstones, with a matching, intricate fence. All of it glowed amber and rose in the twilight. The castle was high enough that it seemed level with the horizon. The soft clouds were painted by the setting sun, stained saffron and gold.

Sora felt like he was flying. When he stepped up to the marble fence, he discovered the castle really was high in the sky, more courtyards spanning below, all the way to a town in the very distance, practically hidden. Of course, the castle was in the sky. It only made sense.

“Be careful,” Riku had said, as though Sora would topple over the edge – as though it would hurt him, anyway. He had laughed, and Riku rolled his eyes, like he expected that. Like he knew Sora.

He looked beautiful in this light too, with a halo twined in his silver hair. The evening made his eyes look dark, more like moss than opal; his pale skin like the marble around them.

He joined Sora at the rail, though he didn’t seem to see any of the splendour, and Sora had asked for a story. Riku paused. He wore fingerless gloves, Sora noticed, because he fiddled with the edge of one now. Ran his fingers underneath.

“Once upon a time,” Riku started. His eyes flickered to Sora’s face, and away. “There was a princess, who lived in this castle. She didn’t have any parents any longer, but she did have a grandmother who loved her dearly. The princess was very pure of heart. Then, one day, the darkness came.”

Riku paused, like he was thinking.

“The grandmother made the princess flee to safety – they were after the light inside her, after all – and the princess had no clue where she was going. She washed up on the shore of an island. She made friends there, and grew to like it just as much as the castle. It became her home.”

“But it wasn’t her home,” Sora said. “Didn’t she ever make it back to the castle?”

Riku paused, again. It was one of those long silences, where his eyes lingered over Sora’s features, as though he had a lot more to say – as though Sora should know the answer. Eventually, he settled on, “She did.”

“And did she meet her grandmother again?”

“No.” Riku turned away again. The wind lifted his hair, and it obscured his features. Sora leant over the railing to catch them; to see Riku frowning like he was in pain. He often made that expression. “When she returned, everything had changed.”

“Well, did she take the throne?”

“She wasn’t that kind of princess.”

“What do you mean?”

Riku finally looked at him, then. Just for a moment, and in it, he looked tremendously sad. It was in his eyes. The way he bit his lip. Then he turned further away. “It’s – complicated.”

“How?”

Sora leant further across. Couldn’t stand Riku turning away from him like that – wanted – needed – him to look at him. Needed him to tell him more – tell him everything – to not hold back.

His hand slipped on the marble. He numbly felt his chest hit the rail, and then he was toppling over. He flailed—

Someone grabbed his hand, just as his body swung all the way over. He hung, suspended, clutching the wrist that had saved him. Riku. Riku, holding him tightly, catching hold of the railing himself. Sora looked up at him, feeling his heart racing. Not at the danger – there wasn’t any, here. His heart raced from the expression on Riku’s face.

“I told you to be careful,” Riku said. He slipped, slightly, bracing himself against the railing to stop Sora dragging him over too.

“I’ll be fine!” Sora called back. “It’s only a dream!”

“Sora!”

Riku was losing his grip, and Sora was loosening his. He’d wanted to stay longer. Wanted to talk to Riku longer, but he could feel the dream fading; sensed that he couldn’t let Riku fall. That it would ruin this.

So he let go. Started falling—

And woke with a start. He woke with a hand outstretched above him. It ached. When he drew it back down, it prickled with pins and needles.

Sora sat, kicking his blankets away; they’d tangled up in his legs; brushing his hair from his face. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Riku’s face. Panicked, wide eyed, calling for him.

His heart still raced. He still remembered how easily they’d held hands, and it made his cheeks warm. Which was ridiculous. It was ridiculous that he’d dreamt up a crush, and kind of sad he was apparently lonely enough to. And now he dreamt about Riku most nights. It felt like he did know him, now, even if he was only a figment of his imagination.

Sora sighed into his palms. They were wonderful, vivid dreams, but he had to remember that was all they were.

Then he pulled his hands away from his face, and saw the mark on his wrist. Already fading, but unmistakable. A red mark, just where Riku had grabbed him. He told Strelitza about it at breakfast. The mark had faded completely, but he knew it had been there.

“Maybe you did it yourself,” she said. “You said that you were reaching out, maybe you also grabbed yourself.”

“I don’t think so,” Sora replied. “Otherwise, I’d have woke up like that.”

She shrugged, helplessly. “Then, maybe you slept on it. I’m not sure, but I think you could just be seeing a coincidence where there is none.”

“Well…” He wanted to argue more, to say that he’d felt Riku’s hand. Couldn’t dream up someone like that. It wouldn’t help his case. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy to be obsessing over dreams so much,” she continued. “You’ve got to come back to reality.”

Reality was boring. A mundane job that paid just enough for him to afford rent and food every month and a degree a didn’t have any passion for? It was an endless, unescapable cycle. Sora would rather take the dreams. The beautiful castle and the beautiful boy who didn’t think twice about saving him. Who saved him, every time, and still looked at him like Sora was the amazing one.

Sora was painfully normal.

“I’d better get going,” he said, as a way to avoid further conversation. To avoid reality a little longer, and daydream on his way to work.

Yet, and he couldn’t explain why, there was something in those dreams – something that felt more real than his apartment and his job.

*

“Here.”

Riku pressed the handle of his keyblade into Sora’s palm. His fingers felt heavy, like they didn’t want to take it.

Sora tried to shake his head. “It’s yours.”

“Just hold it a moment.” Riku waited, then closed Sora’s fingers around it himself. He kept his hands over the top. Sora could feel his nails against his skin. He looked up, into those teal eyes. They stared back, intently. A strand of silver hung over his nose.

Sora did. Slowly, Riku draw his hands away, letting him take the full weight of the keyblade. He almost dropped it. It was heavier than it looked, like it was made of solid metal. He supposed Riku had the advantage of those biceps; he was clearly strong.

He pulled the keyblade back up, his body taking on a fighting stance. Another weird dream quirk, that he knew how to do that, that it felt familiar and easy.

The weight in his hand disappeared.

He watched the keyblade reappear in Riku’s. He caught it, effortlessly; held it effortlessly.

“Now you remember how it feels to hold one,” Riku said. “Try summoning yours.”

Sora tried. He held out his hand and concentrated. There was a flicker of something in his chest, he thought. But it didn’t work. Nothing appeared.

“I can’t,” he said. Smiled, ruefully. “I’m not like you, Riku.”

Riku’s green eyes stared at him, for a long moment, before they went back to his keyblade. He loosened his fingers, and the weapon disappeared. “No, you’re not like me.”

“I’m just – normal.” Normal job, normal apartment, normal life. There was nothing remarkable about Sora.

"No.” Riku stepped forward. “You’re wrong about that.”

Sora opened his mouth to argue, but stopped short when Riku’s hand pressed against his chest. His fingers were splayed, and it felt like he would leave a handprint there.

“Your heart, Sora,” Riku said. His voice was low and passionate. “It’s special.”

Sora’s heart was racing like a rabbit’s. He stared, fighting for something to say. It was a dream, a small voice in his head persisted. It was a dream telling him he was special.

“And you’re a better fighter than me,” Riku continued, and it seemed he was half in his own dream. “It took me a long time to see it.”

They were close. Their faces and chests were close, and Riku’s hand was still over his heart. Sora covered it with his, tentatively.

“What do you mean?” he whispered.

Riku blinked. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

He tried to pull away. Sora tightened his grip. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s only because you don’t remember.”

“I want to.” And Sora meant it. He wanted his mind to unlock this dream. It was all in his head, he just needed to create more of it.

Riku gently tugged his hand free. His hair hung, to hide his face. “I can’t.”

“You can tell me.” He was asking his own subconscious to create this fantasy for him, but it had before.

“Maybe.” As though Riku didn’t want to – couldn’t – tell him. Maybe he couldn’t. “But I can’t make you remember."

Sora wasn't sure how any of it worked. He wondered if maybe Riku could make him remember, just by telling him. After all, he’d never remembered his dreams at all until Riku appeared in them. There were the one which felt familiar.

"I suppose not."

"But I can protect you," Riku continued.

Sora felt his cheeks warm. Pressed back against the bookshelf. "You're very good at it."

It made that expression cross Riku's face again. He turned away, and wandering to the closest shelf. He trailed his fingers across the top of the books. It shifted dust into the air, like a flurry of butterflies.

"Not always," he murmured.

"When didn't you?"

Riku shook his head, slowly, as though he could see through Sora’s ploy of trying to get Riku to tell him more. Or to just stay. He wanted to stay. He stepped forward, looking at the books too. Just when he thought he could read the titles, they slipped and merged into each other.  The more he tried to concentrate - the more he thought he'd done this before - the more the dream tried started to slip away.

He woke up to the sound of rain pattering against the window. Sora took his duvet with him to the window, pushing the curtains to watch the drops run down the glass. It was still dark outside, the streetlights distorted in the rain. If anything, they were getting more vivid. He saw Riku almost every night now, and he remembered most of it. Remembered the castle - Hollow Bastion - and the story Riku told about it.

Remembered thinking there was more to that story, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sora felt vaguely ridiculous doing it whilst awake, but he held his hand out, like he did in the dream, trying to find that hitch in his chest that he felt before.

Nothing happened. Of course.

Maybe Strelitza was right.

He needed to reconnect with reality.

*

Riku woke to the taste of blood.

Ienzo, as always, helped him out of the bed, and as always, Riku felt as though he hadn’t slept a wink. He’d go back to the room Leon was letting him stay in and hide under the covers until the smell of Aerith’s cooking pulled him downstairs. It was exhausting, reaching out in his dreams.

As usual, Kairi was waiting at the side of the bed. She jumped up and caught his hand. And as usual, asked, “How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Riku murmured. There was blood on his tongue. He swallowed it, and tried not to open his mouth too much, in case she saw. “He still doesn’t remember.”

He didn’t dare tell them Sora couldn’t wield a keyblade, currently. He didn’t want them to know; didn’t want it to get back to Yen Sid. Sora was important to them because of his keyblade. Without that, he worried Yen Sid would tell them to stop the search; that it wasn’t worth it.

“He will,” Kairi murmured. “I know he will, eventually.”

Riku smiled, close-mouthed. It felt strange. Something was wrong. He was getting tired of the same conversations; the same reassurances. Nothing seemed to be changed. At least, it didn’t seem to be changing Sora.

He escaped back to his room downtown as quickly as he could. When he looked in the mirror over the desk, he saw just how exhausted he was. His skin was as pale as his hair, and there were dark rings under his eyes. He could still taste the blood. Riku took a shaking breath –

Then opened his mouth.

His canines had grown. Not by much, but they had. They’d sharpened to a point, enough to cut the inside of his mouth.

Fear twinged in his gut. This was different. This was because of how often he was diving into Sora’s dreams. From fighting those heartless. From eating his nightmares. He knew that he should tell someone. Not Kairi – she would only worry, and stress that she couldn’t be of any help. Ienzo, though, probably. He might even be able to tell him what was happening.

But he might also tell Riku to stop. And he couldn’t – wouldn’t – do that.

So he kept it to himself. Ate carefully, but even when he spoke, no one seemed to notice the change in his teeth. As long as it didn’t noticeable, he would be alright.

He wondered just how worse it could get.

He returned to Sora’s dream. To the nightmare Hollow Bastion. He fought the heartless, and pretended he didn’t notice Sora’s longing stares. The way his deep, blue eyes drunk in every part of Riku; how he looked at Riku like he was a hero. Stood close to him; let their hands graze at every opportunity. It made him feel like he’d been hit with thundara; like he was electric. And yet, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve those gazes, and he couldn’t take advantage of all this.

They sat on one of the many balconies of Hollow Bastion again, looking out over the setting sun, and Sora’s shoulder nudged his.

“Will you tell me another story?” he asked, softly. Like he used to, when they were small. When they were small and still on the island and Sora thought Riku was the best person in the world.

Riku wasn’t much of a storyteller. Hadn’t been, even then. If he told Sora any stories, they were meant to scare him. Tales about the kraken and other sea monsters, about the ghosts living in that hollow tree.

He didn’t want to scare him now.

“Once upon a time,” he said, because that was how all stories started. “There were two boys who lived on an island. They were best friends. Until one grew jealous of the other, not because he was a better fighter, but because he had a better heart. A good, honest heart. So, because that boy was a better fighter, he turned on his friend. He made a deal with a witch to get more power. He took his friend’s weapon away, leaving him to fight the monsters by himself.”

His hand was on the cool marble. He felt Sora’s little finger nudge his. Riku knew he should probably pull away. He couldn’t bring himself to. His stomach was roiled with guilt and a self-hatred he thought he’d conquered. It was a dream.

“Does this one have a happier ending?” Sora whispered.

Riku nodded. Almost smiled. “I said his friend had a better heart than the boy did. That was true. He confronted the boy, and with the strength of his friendship, won his weapon back. He – brought the boy back from the darkness he had fallen into. He saved him.”

“And then what?” Sora pressed. He was so close that Riku felt his breath on his cheek. “Did they live happily ever after?”

Riku thought about that. He ran his tongue over his newly sharp teeth. “For a time.” He paused. Thought about the fact he would be waking up and not knowing where Sora was at all. That after fighting so hard for each other, they were apart again. “I’m starting to think that ever after doesn’t happen. Trouble crops up.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sora replied. “My life doesn’t have much trouble at all.”

Sora didn’t even know he was trapped in unreality, whatever that meant. Didn’t know that he was in more trouble than he’d ever been.

“Well—” Riku took a breath. “You have a lot of bad dreams.”

It made Sora laugh. A bright, happy sound. He leant against Riku to steady himself, and Riku twitched his shoulder to try and push him off. Sora stayed, stubborn as usual, against him.

Riku, despite his better judgement, let him. Sora was warm, and he missed this. Missed him. Missed the fluttery feeling contact between them gave him.

This was Riku’s dream too, he told himself. He could indulge a little. No one would know. Sora might not even remember this dreams, when he returned; it wouldn’t be the first adventure he completely forgot. Then it could be Riku’s secret.

“But I have you,” Sora murmured. “You’ll keep me safe, Riku.”

Riku’s stomach twisted. His arm moved by itself; now that he’d decided not to pull away, it was easier; he put it around Sora’s shoulders, and tugged him closer. Sora’s head fell onto his shoulder. It felt natural. Easy.

“I will,” Riku said. “I promise, Sora.”

Sora’s fingers traced over Riku’s, finding the shape of them, before he took his hand properly. It had been a while, since they’d done that. Riku had tried to minimise their physical contact, since the feelings were only getting harder and harder to push down. Since touching Sora made his heart race and his stomach flutter, and he knew he loved him, and also knew he couldn’t act on it. Sora saw him as a friend. Sora loved Kairi. Because he was a prince, and she was a princess.

But this was his dream too. He could allow himself this, in a dream. When Sora needed to be held, and he was there. When he was warm, and the sun was kissing their skin.

He sat with Sora, looking over the dream version of Hollow Bastion and Radiant Garden.

And would keep that promise, as he always had.

[heroescore]

Book 1 - Heroes

Intro

Chapter 1 - They're Back

Chapter 2 - The Interview

Chapter 3 - Heck of a Ride

Chapter 4 - Another Live Fossil

Chapter 5 - Ship

Chapter 6 - Between Head and Heart

Chapter 7 - Luck

Chapter 8 - Catfight

Chapter 9 - A Storm is Brewing

Chapter 10 - Throwback

Chapter 11 - Chain of Command

Chapter 12 - Rollercoaster

Chapter 13 - Mad Hatter

Chapter 14 - Amon

Chapter 15 - The Lost Boy

Chapter 16 - Shot

Chapter 17 - Wendigo

Chapter 18 - Carol

Chapter 19 - The Found Boy

Chapter 20 - All for One (Part I)

Chapter 21 - All for One (Part II)

Chapter 22 - One for All

[mousiekosmos]

HI IM ALIVE IM BACK I DIDN'T COMPLETELY DISINTERGRATE FEAR NOT !! i wish i had a better explanation for my prolonged vanishing off the face of the earth but unfortunately literally anything i could say boils down to 'busy :((' bUT WHATEVER WE'RE HERE NOW AND THATS ALL THAT MATTERS !!! HERE PLEASE TAKE THIS FINAL CHAPTER OF RAGBROS BULLSHIT I ADORE THEM DEARLY VOILA ENJOY!!!! :DDD

Summary:

'A Cavalry Captain walks into a bar and immediately slams a few thousand mora on the counter.

“Give me however much this’ll buy,” he says, and quite frankly, he looks horrendous. So much so it’s a bit strange, actually, Diluc thinks as he bends to pick up the coins that’ve toppled onto his feet in the process.

For one, he smells something between a ditch and a river. Probably both, given he also happens to be half caked in mud and various splatterings of bruises, and the lot of it seems to purple under the warm tavern lamplight as he smacks his forehead against the wood, "I don't care what, just make it strong."

The bottle of dandelion wine goes clunking back to the shelf, "Fire-water mixer?"

"Perfect."

or

kaeya has a habit of ending up at angel's share. not that it's deliberate, of course'

[jilyarchive]

hi i am looking for a modern non magic au jily fic that was based off of dash and lily where james and lily communicated through the notebook when they were kids and then james moved away but they reunited when they were out at a club and there was something about them both being in twelfth night

One of my faves!

Title: ‘Tis the Fucking Season

Author: thequibblah

Rating: M

Genre(s): Muggle AU, Fluff, Angst

Chapters: 7

Word Count: 31,297

Summary: Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans’s holiday season. Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

coffee at midnight

a hotchniss grumpy x sunshine fanfiction

Coming 12th October.

[lapseinrecs]

And the Scene Slips Away (To the Evenness I Fake)

By Kirazalea 

On Archive of Our Own 

Status: Complete; 37,015 words

Summary: One mistake is all it took to force Jason back into the wonderful world of the Wayne family. Now publicly and legally alive once more, he’s forced to spend the next two weeks of his life stuck in the Manor with the whole family. This leads to several strengthened relationships and the realization that maybe he’s missed a few things over the years. Things that he’s now determined to get to the bottom of. 

My thoughts: Warning. This does go into sensitive topics, and while YMMV, it does talk about noncon, specifically Tarantula and Mirage, sexual harassment, and racist comments, so read at your own discretion. Personally, I really liked this work because it goes into each character pretty well. Plus I’m a sucker for H/C with Dick. This author also wrote a similar fic I recced here.

[reyrdemils]

In Plain Sight | Part 3 of 3

Words: 2,100(ish) | Rating: Mature (non-explicit sex imo) | Warnings: Mention of canon-typical violence Misc: roughly fits major MCU/DDS1-2 2015-16 timeline but tbh no DD canon plot points included, writing a happy Matt Murdock feels like he's OOC Relationships: Matt Murdock (TV)/Original Female Character (Unnamed) Summary: To be loved is to be changed.

This 3-part as a whole was written as part of Amanda's 2.5k Writer Challenge hosted by @mattmurdocksscars, and part 3 specifically is also written as part of Bella's 4k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge hosted by @bellaxgiornata. These two challenges were posted so close together, I had the thought of making one cohesive piece to fulfill both. It's been years and years since I've actually finished a writing project I've started, so I'm hoping it hits. Part 3 can in theory be read as a standalone but personally I think there's a bigger payoff starting from Part 1. This work features three prompts: "How do I look?" and "Is that my shirt?" from Amanda's challenge, and "Take it off slowly and turn around." from Bella's challenge. I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this. (This part tested my dialogue tag/action/punctuation formatting patience and I will say, I did stop caring a little bit.) Click here to read Part 1. | Click here to read Part 2.

Being grounded to New York had been initially a curse, and later became a blessing. Literally, depending on who was asked. Work on her refractive armor had been shelved for more pressing priorities and international assignments had been restricted across the board. But she still had a suite in the tower, money she could access, and it turned out there’s more than enough goings-on in the state of New York to keep an “Enhanced Individual” busy without risking federal consequences by crossing state lines. In fact, it’s become evident that there’s enough happening within the city itself to keep her busy without leaving Manhattan.

He pushes open the bedroom door and for a moment seems to consider the scene before him, but only a moment, before moving to sit on the edge of his bed, laughing softly, “I know you’re awake.”

Once she understood how he managed to see through whatever kept her invisible to everyone else, she’d been set on finding a method short of death that might evade his heightened awareness. “One of these days it’ll work.”

“Keep telling yourself that. How’re you feeling?”

She turns over to properly answer him. Even after months of seeing under the mask she’s still struck by how expressive he truly is, how he can regard her with such tenderness. “Better than yesterday, thanks to you.”

It’s the truth, he knows. Her neck wasn’t as stiff, her arm wasn’t throbbing, and there hadn’t been any shooting pain through her ankle yet this morning. A marked improvement over yesterday, when he heard her limp onto his roof and nearly collapse a few feet from the access door.

He wasn’t thrilled, to say the least, that most days her work sent her to parts of the city where he couldn’t keep track, supposedly looked after by a tactical team but still unable to avoid being injured by God knows what. She’s told him the upgraded jumpsuit currently draped over the back of his couch had recently been confirmed as bullet-resistant, and he hasn’t noticed any blade wounds since the night he discovered her bleeding on a metal catwalk. Despite this, all his faith in her abilities and intelligence, and her confidence in the technology, he finds himself anticipating the day some secret agent shows up at his apartment with news of her death.

But he tries not to allow his worry for her to become anger at her. He knows she worries over him as well, and has her own moments of doubt in what she does. He won’t judge her for risking her health and safety, nor would he ask her to stop, especially not with a healing cut on his neck and a sore jaw—he just wishes he could prevent her injuries, rather than offering ice packs and acetaminophen while she’s lying in pain in his bed.

Though, he can’t say he minds her lying in his bed, currently in a tank top and underwear, until she tries to get out of it.

“Ap—” He pushes down on her shoulder, gently, to prevent her from moving further. “Where’re you going.”

“To the bathroom?”

“Not walking on that ankle.”

“I’ve walked further on worse.” She scoffs, one eyebrow raised.

“Not today, come on.” As he says this he shifts along the bed to sit facing away from her, his feet flat on the floor, hands resting on his thighs.

She has to laugh, “What are— what?”

“Come on,” his hands lift up as though it should be obvious why he’d turned around. “I’m giving you a ride.”

“No way,” she laughs again, shaking her head. “There’s no way!"

But, to her surprise, once they accounted for the injured areas, she was carried to the bathroom without incident. Though before he could carry her back, and after she took a moment to appreciate the full view of his bare legs as he leaned against the wall with his arms folded, she felt the need to clarify something that had caught her attention on the walk there.

“Is that my shirt?” She pointed at it, balancing on her good foot.

He pinched the fabric at either shoulder, clearly unable to hide the smirk that gave away the truth. “What, this old thing?”

“’This old thing?’ You— whoa!” In the span of a two seconds he had all but leapt forward to pick her up—unsurprisingly avoiding any sore spots—and started marching back toward the bed.

“Your ankle does sound better than last night, we should get some heat on it today.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and couldn’t help smiling herself. “I love that you didn’t change out of it when you had the chance.” The risk of throwing off his balance was the only thing that stopped her from trying to steal a kiss. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice your one oversized, oddly long t-shirt?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sets her down on the bed from just enough height to ensure a gentle bounce, and she immediately clambers up on her knees to face him, grabbing the bottom of the shirt to walk him closer.

“No, no, hang on.” She pulls around the seam to further examine the length, looks up to find him fighting to look serious, “You really tried tucking it in. Look at this, It hides the goods!”

“The goods?” He breaks into laughter, now holding his arms out.

She lets go and gestures toward where, sure enough, the fabric has fallen past the edge of his underwear. “Near criminal, completely antithetical to the cause."

His brows lift up as he puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, so it’s ‘near criminal’ for me but on you it’s ‘comfy pajamas’?”

A hand flies to her mouth, “An admission of guilt!” She shakes her head, disappointed. “Your honor, I have nothing further.”

“And what sentence are you recommending?” The soft affection on his face nearly melts her resolve.

When she leans in to whisper in his ear, he bends forward to lessen the distance, holding her close with his hand on her lower back.

“Take it off,” she presses a soft kiss to his cheek, “slowly.” His low hum follows her as she shifts to kiss the other side, “And turn around.”

It takes two promises: that she’ll let him keep his one oddly oversized shirt for as long as he wants, and that she’ll push the issue of her-compatible splinting and a proper helmet to whatever R&D Stark has these days. It then takes a persistent bit of mouth-to-skin persuasion, a reminder that they had been separated for three weeks, Matt’s version of a full body scan, her apology for calling it a “DD Scan”, an additional reminder that she might have an assignment upstate in a few days, and an agreement that if he notices so much as a hint of pain from her they’ll stop immediately.

She’s also not allowed to be on top—today.

But once he’s gotten comfortable between her legs, she can’t help feeling more than a little proud when he quickly forgets his previous caution—when he doesn’t hesitate to push harder at her request, and digs his nails into the leg he’s anchored around his waist. And when his teeth pressing into her shoulder feeds back to him through the clenching and shaking of every muscle in her lower body and the fingers woven in his hair, his stuttered groan of approval into her neck ratchets her so quickly back to the edge that she’s stuttering out her surprise into the top of his head. And if she ends up straining her already sore neck because of it, well.. he has a whole thing about forgiveness.

“Come on,” she hears, feels his lips somewhere near her heart. “One more, it’s right there, give me one more.”

“That’s— I don’t. Oh my g—” Her breath cuts short as he finds a particularly sensitive spot. “Matt, I don’t think—”

“I got you, come on.”

Honestly, she might not have had the presence of mind to look again after the fact, had she not opened her eyes at that moment, taking in a giant gasping breath just before the second orgasm seemed to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and snap, and ignite first her hips, then her stomach, rippling aftershocks down to her toes and up through her spine to tingle her fingertips. If anything, she certainly hadn’t let go—her leg had tightened around him to the point her hamstring was seconds from cramping, and the hand in his hair was now unintentionally but firmly pressing his face into her clavicle.

It took the sound of his muffled laughter to bring her back to awareness, and only after something touched the back of her other hand did she realize she had sunk her nails into his forearm.

“Sorry. Sorry.” It was little more than a sigh as she catches her breath, lets one hand fall to the mattress, releases the other from his hair to rest over her eyes.

“Please, never apologize for that.” He was smiling, she’d say he sounded appreciative if she could remember what that meant right now. “You okay? Need a minute?” She slowly becomes aware of a gentle drifting of fingers up and down her side. When she doesn’t respond he laughs, “Feeling any pain?” And when he drops a kiss on her chest and the slightest pinch just below her ribs, her hips jolt up so sharply that his whole body rocks on top of hers, nearly punching a groan out of them both, and she remembers to look around.

Her eyes blink open, “I… appear…” she grins at her phrasing, “to be on the visible spectrum.” She moves her hand this way and that, admires her fingers as though they were a modern marvel. “But I’m not doing it.”

“Is that so?” He hasn’t bothered to move, save for the hand now wandering along the length of her thigh.

“And this seems to have happened,” with him so close she can watch the tip of her finger meet the tip of his nose, “…in the last few minutes.” She traces, so softly, up to his brow bone, then across his forehead.

“Mm. And has this—” he picks that moment to shift and press further into her; rather more a roll of his lower body, as there’s no real empty space between them at present “—happened before?”

She wants to explain in greater detail, but with his hips moving and his mouth on her neck, and the wonder of seeing her legs without needing to focus on visibility, the words aren’t coming to her. “Not—not to my knowledge.”

“Interesting.”

Then something pings in her mind and questions start popping up: what if it’s not her body? What if it’s her vision that changed? What if this affects how he can see her? “Wait, Matt, how do I look?”

“Never better.” He sighs, his face almost behind her neck, wrapped around her as he is.

“Come on, I’m serious!”

“So am I! Okay, let me…” He lets out a grumpy huff. “I can’t…” She’s jostled a bit as he sits up, and she almost squirms at the abrupt loss of him, but otherwise stays still as he looks her over for the second time today. A bit more thorough this time, his hands smooth over every part of her he can easily reach. “Maybe? It doesn’t— well…” he trails off into a chuckle.

“What, what could be funny?”

“I was going to say that you’re warmer than usual, especially in certain areas, but, I think there’s.. mitigating factors at play there. Other than that, no change I can measure.”

“Nothing?! Fucked me visible. Came so hard I saw a ghost.” Both hands come up to cover her face. “And no evidence.”

"I'm sorry." There’s a hint of laughter in his voice that he can’t quite stifle. "I wish I could be more help. Y'know, you've always been visible to me.”

“No no, don’t apologize, it was great.” She drapes her arms onto his shoulders as he moves over her again, lets him guide both legs up around his hips. “I’ll have to tell someone about this, for research, which I’m sure won’t be humiliating at all.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” And he starts by bringing her into a kiss that almost made her forget she had a body at all, much less one she needed to constantly monitor. “How do you feel about re-heated breakfast?”

She smiles. “Could I get another orgasm and some old coffee?”

“Sweetheart, that’s the least we can make happen.”

[azaleablueme]

To each one of you following, rereading and commenting/reviewing In Search of Hermione - Thank you 🧡 for once again being a part of this journey. Edited Chapter 17 is now up on AO3 Full Story on FFN

[turnupswritessometimes]

Visions Are Seldom All They Seem - SoRiku Fanfic - Chapter Six

First | Next (Coming soon)

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63723232/chapters/163368439

Summary:

“C'mon, Sora - I thought you had more fight than that,” he said. Smiled, just like a hero. He still sat on the floor. Staring at this saviour. This saviour, who looked at him, as though he was expecting a reaction. There was something, he thought – he knew – but he couldn’t remember. It was like he’d forgotten his lines for a play. The boy frowned a little. Still offered his hand to help him up. “Thank you,” he said. “Sora,” he said again, but this time he was fizzy around the edges. The image was starting to fade. Sora was already becoming aware of the pillow below him. He burrowed into his sheets, trying to hold onto the dream for a little longer.

Riku is Sora’s Dream Eater. He manages to reach him in his dreams - it comes with unexpected consequences.

Word Count: 4345

Riku woke with the taste of blood in his mouth. He ventured out with his tongue to find it was his own teeth; they'd cut him in his sleep.

His head felt twice as heavy; with a pounding in his temples. There was the same pounding on his back. He lay there, staring at the ceiling of his room. There had been a big change. He knew that. He'd known it in the dream too, had felt the wings on his back. Had felt, dimly, Sora's touch at his temples.

He knew, but it was different to feel it when awake. Different to know it was a permanent change; he'd damaged himself, and he didn't know how to change back.

Riku took a breath. He raised his hand, gingerly, until his fingertips found the horn. A curled horn, coming from his temple. It was hard, and he couldn't feel his own touch. He hadn't felt it, when Sora had touched it.

He yanked his hand away, his stomach twisted. He felt sick.

He felt it again, just as slowly, struggling to catch his breath. The skin around the horn was tender; sore; and he couldn't bare to touch it. He pressed his hand to his mouth, instead, and felt the fangs again.

Riku felt that surge of fear again. He fumbled to sit up, feeling the wings drag behind him. That made his stomach twist in fear again. He closed his eyes, swallowing down the metal taste, and concentrated. He could move the wings. They twitched at his command. He folded them in, neatly, against his back.to sit up, and felt the weight of the wings behind him. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes and focused on them, and managed to pull them, so they were flat against his back. They shuddered.

It felt like he was bursting out of the seams. As if there was something huge and monstrous inside him that was clawing its way to the surface, not caring if it destroyed him in the process. It hadn't felt like this, with Ansem - Xehanort. That had been slow, creeping; he hadn't even been aware of it until it was happening. It hadn't been painful, it had been like slipping into a bath, not realising he was numb until he couldn't feel anything at all. Until his body had stopped listening to him. This was the opposite. He was too aware of his body; of each minute change.

He opened his eyes, slowly, taking a breath. He felt his wings shift with the movement. They were heavy, as he slipped off the bed to look in the mirror.

Stared. He was still himself; he could still recognise that, and yet; not. Something else. Something with curling horns and fangs. Something animal.

He'd felt animal, when he'd been protecting Sora. When he'd fought off the heartless, and saw Sora stood there, where he had been those years ago, looking lost. Looking just like he did, when he'd put the keyblade through his chest.

He'd wanted to protect him from the heartless, but he'd also wanted to protect him from himself. From the memories. The hurt. He'd wanted to protect Sora from everything.

He supposed that was why he was in this mess now.

He didn't come out from his room. He listened, hard at the door, and when he heard the murmur of voices at breakfast, he stayed inside. Wasn't sure how long he could do that, when everyone was already so worried about him, but it would at least buy him a couple of hours.

He knew Leon would say there was a solution to this. Yen Sid probably would too. But surely, they didn't know that. This was unprecedented, and Riku's transformation more so.

Not to mention, they would want him to stop. He couldn't do that. Not now that he as so close - now that Sora was actually starting to remember. Remember him, and what happened.

Now that he was this, and Sora still pressed close to him. Still treated him softly, and looked at him as though he wasn't a monster. Made Riku believe that, too.

He paced, and tried to get comfortable with the additions; the feeling of fangs in his mouth and the wings on his back. Experimented with twitching them, even though they still made him shudder.

After an hour, there was a knock at the door. Aerith.

"Riku?" she called. "Are you awake? Breakfast is ready!"

He knew that. Also knew he couldn't go downstairs.

"I-" He swallowed.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't feel well," he replied, speaking carefully.

There was only half a moment's pause. "Then I'll bring you some soup."

"No," he said. Pressed against the wall, as though that would make a different. "No - that's alright. It's - I don't feel up to eating. I'm just going to sleep a little more."

A longer pause this time, as though she didn't believe himm. What had Leon told her?

"Well, okay." Her voice still singsonged. "But you call if you need anything, yeah?"

"Sure."

He waited. She seemed to, as well. It was a few seconds before he heard footsteps in the hall and down the stairs.

So he'd brought himself some time. The morning, at least.

But he couldn't stay in here forever. Couldn't keep Leon at bay forever - he was already suspicious.

Riku sighed, pushing his hair from his face. His sharp nails caught his skin - caught on the horns - he ended up catching hold of them with either hand, stopping to take a breath. His heart hadn't stopped racing all morning. THIS wasn't a dream. THIS wasn't going away.

He looked between the curtains, helplessly. Even from here, down in the slums of Hollow Bastion, he could see the castle. The brass pipes shone in the sunshine, the turrets reaching towards the sky.

The same place that he kept returning to, in his dreams with Sora.

Riku stared. Heard the murmur of voices downstairs, no doubt discussing him and his PROBLEM.

He couldn't stay here. That came to him, as he listened. He'd have to leave.

His fingers were unlatching the window before he could think about it. It was a warm day; the breeze lifting his hair, the thin wings on his back.

Couldn't stay, but couldn't leave looking like this. Part of him wished he'd still kept that black coat; that black coat was good for hiding things.

Still, he could make do. He had a blanket that would work as a cape; that hide the horns, and the wings, and that was the worst of it.

Riku hovered, on the windowsill. He knew they were trying to help; that they wanted what was best for him; but he couldn't do it. He was too full of fear and nerves; he always was.

And he could fix this, he thought. If he pushed forward, kept going, perhaps he'd find his own solution.

So he clamboured out the window. Landed nimbly in the alleyway below, and stuck to them, as he made his way through the backstreets of Hollow Bastion.

There was only one place to go.

The castle itself.

*

Sora slept late. Slept through his alarm for work. He only knew because they called him, halfway through the morning, and the ringtone pulled him out of his slumber.

He fumbled, half-dropping the phone, struggling to answer. Struggled to remember the name of the manager calling, and doubly where exactly he worked.

"I'm sick," the lie came smoothly. "I'm sorry, I'm really sick with a fever."

"Then next time, call! We're already short-staffed!"

"I'm really sorry," he said, and repeated, until the call cut off. Then he stared at the phone, and tried to remember work. A shop, maybe? Not like the shops set up in the ruins of the castle, he thought. They didn't sell useful things like weapons and supplies.

He shook his head. That was more absurd. Yet, he'd had a flash of potions with stars trapped inside them.

It must have been part of his dream.

The word made everything snap back into focus. Work, in a coffee shop. College. That was his life. The potion shop and the castle was a dream.

Riku was part of that dream. Riku, who'd transformed into a Dream Eater. Who'd shielded Sora with his wings as he'd felt that intense pain. Who'd told him the story of the two boys and the princess.

He stared at the floor, his eyes out of focus. But he HAD remembered things. That's what it felt like. Remembering real, solid things, and now that he was awake, the feeling didn't fade, not like it usually did.

It was a struggle to sit up. His head felt heavy, pounding at his temples. Other details came back to him; the feeling of Riku's lips, his fangs, against his own. Of hands in his hair. Of how softly Riku had looked at him.

They were getting more intense. It wasn't normal.

Perhaps what he'd told work wasn't a lie. Perhaps he really was sick. It was the only explanation for how absurd it all was.

He picked up his phone again, and searched for Strelitzia's number. Sent her a text, asking if she was home - if she could come home quickly, because he had to talk to her. It was important.

Strelitzia did. She burst through the door in a rush, her hair falling out of its style and her eyes wide.

"What is it?" She asked, dumping her bag by the door, and rushing to where he sat on the sofa. "Are you sick? Are you hurt?"

He did actually have a cut on his lip. He'd noticed when he'd sat there, waiting for her to come home. It must have been from Riku's fang. He pressed his tongue there now.

"It's...about these dreams," he started.

Strelitzia blinked. Then she gave a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the floor and brushing her hair from her face.

"Sora, we've talked about this."

"I know, but – they're getting worse," Sora said. "They're so vivid – they're so real – I couldn't remember anything this morning."

"That's not so unusual from a deep sleep."

"Strelitzia, I slept through my alarm." He shifted forward, to the edge of the sofa. "I didn't even remember I had a job to go to."

Her lips twitched, as though she was going to laugh. She shifted, to kneel on the floor, adjusting her dress around her.

"It's not funny," Sora said. His voice cracked embarrassingly, but at least that made her look up. Her crystal blue eyes searched his expression. "There's something wrong."

"Alright." Strelitzia's voice softened. "I see that you're really worried. Maybe you should see a doctor. I mean, if you're really struggling to wake up."

It didn't give Sora the same comfort that he'd thought it would. Because he knew she still didn't really believe him. Believed, at least, that maybe there was something wrong with his sleep schedule. There was an imbalance somewhere that was causing him to sleep more and struggle to wake up. Maybe sleep apnea.

But it was something. He had to take the something.

"I am," he said. "Really."

So Strelitzia sat next to him on the sofa, and looked up sleep study headquarters nearby. Read, out loud, the various things that could be wrong with Sora, but none of them sounded right. He was sure he didn’t have narcolepsy.

But he couldn’t say it was magic.

So he hummed and hawed and said maybe to a lot of her questions, to try and seem credible. To try to convince her. It worked enough. She called them, and actually, they had space to book Sora in that evening for a sleep study. They’d monitor him in the night, and try and find the root cause of his problems.

He agreed to be booked in for the study. Called into work, and said he was so sick that he’d be off again the next day. Sora put the phone down, and leant against the wall by the balcony. Stared out over the city. It was a grey day; the rain came down in sheets. People hurried down the pavement below, huddling under umbrellas.

“I…thought you’d be happier,” Strelitzia murmured.

Sora glanced back to see her perched on the edge of the sofa. She fiddled with a stray thread, her rose-gold hair falling over her face.

“I…am.” Though Sora didn’t feel it. He felt nervous, about sleeping away from home. Wondered if he’d be able to get through the Riku, again, if he was sleeping somewhere else. That maybe this would ‘fix’ the Riku problem altogether, and he’d never see him again. He didn’t want that. Knew that would be wrong. He was so close to something. “Just – haven’t you ever had that feeling in a dream? Or – a dream that keeps coming back.”

“Yes, but they’re just dreams,” Strelitzia shot back.

Sora turned, his stomach twisting. “Really?”

She froze. Even her fingers did. As if she hadn’t meant to say it. Sora watched her fingers flex, as she took a deep breath.

“I – do,” she admitted, in a small voice. “I have lots of dreams about the same town. It’s not here. It’s – a fairy tale town. And I dream about—” She shook her head. “Well, not about a handsome guy saving me from monsters, alright?”

Sora blinked. There was a bite to her voice when she was usually so calm. He’d never seen her angry, like this.

Strelitzia sighed, and brushed her hair from her face. She stood, and seemed to be careful not to make eye contact with him.

“I have to get to class,” she said. “You should pack a bag.”

She left, leaving Sora turning that over in his mind. A fairy tale town. Would that be the town under Hollow Bastion? Or a different place entirely? Could what she was seeing be as real as Riku?

It seemed much more awful. How could he ask her for more now, when it clearly upset her?

But, he also wondered, if she believed they were only dreams – then why did it upset her so much?

*

Hollow Bastion seemed emptier than ever.

It had been abandoned since the battle there. He supposed the Hollow Bastion restoration committee and Ienzo’s team went in, if they needed something specific. If they needed the computer, and TRON. The rest, though, had been left alone to rot.

Riku passed through the halls, wings catching a faint breeze. He’d gotten strangely used to them, now.

He retreated into the castle, finding his way up familiar stairs. It was concerning, how it all came back to him. How he remembered being here, with Maleficent. Remembered how the darkness took her and consumed her.

Remembered Sora telling him about how she’d transformed into a great dragon.

His stomach clenched. He wouldn’t think about that. Wouldn’t think about where this would lead.

He managed to find his room. His old room. It seemed big. The bedsheets were covered in dust. He shook them out, his fingers clumsy with the claws.

Caught sight of himself in the small mirror on the wall.

He looked like a monster.

Riku threw the blanket over the mirror. Struggled to catch his breath. Found himself crawling onto the mattress and curling into a ball. His wings covered him. He couldn’t risk asking for help; couldn’t risk them taking him away from Sora.

Might lose himself, if he continued like this.

He stared out at the room around him, the dim sunlight making its way through the window. That was different, to how it was last time. Last time, he’d been so confused. Had been so angry with Sora for leaving him; so angry that he’d found other friends; that he hadn’t thought Riku was cool, anymore. Had fought against him. Had won.

Had been confused about how fluttery that made him feel. How he was also proud that Sora was strong. How he felt torn apart because he didn’t want to be different. Not to truly fight like that.

How Sora said Kingdom Hearts was light, but he seemed to be the light, himself.

Still seemed to be.

Riku was happy to be a creature of the dark, then, to preserve that light.

*

Sora stared at the ceiling, and tried to ignore the machines around him. Tried to ignore the cables taped to his temples.  The everything about this place. It was cold and clinical and what if there was something very wrong?

What if there wasn't?

He closed his eyes, feeling his heartbeat through every part of him. He tried desperately to focus on Hollow Bastion. On the castle. On Riku. Forced himself to relax.

Eventually, broke through. Found himself back in that chamber, the one Riku hadn't wanted him in. Found himself stood in front of that metal frame. Remembered stepping through it, into the unknown.

For Riku.

He didn't like looking at it. Didn't like being here. He made his way down the stairs, shadows flitting in the corner of his vision. Heartless.

Riku stood at the entrance. Riku, with his wings and horns and fangs. His hair seemed like starlight, catching in the breeze. His expression was solemn, his green-blue eyes flashing in the sunset.

"Does it hurt?" Sora asked. He couldn't help raising a hand to one of the curved horns. Like ram horns. It reminded him of something; something else he couldn't place.

Riku shook his head. "Not as much as you'd think."

Sora traced the shape of the horn, leaning closer. Felt Riku's hands against his waist.

"Good," Sora murmured. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't worry about that." Riku still wasn't holding him, not properly. As though he was worried Sora would break. "I'm here to make sure nothing hurts you."

How could it, in a dream?

If it was a dream.

He wasn't even thinking about the sleep centre, anymore.

"Let's go," Sora murmured. He let go of Riku's horn, and took his hands instead. It felt right, to lace their fingers together and try to lead him away from the chamber.

Riku resisted. Stepped into the shadows.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm…"

Sora stepped forward; keeping hold of Riku's hands. "A monster?"

"I didn't realise how terrifying I looked."

"You don't." Sora stepped closer again, looking up at Riku's eyes. His pupils were dilated. The horns curled over his temples. "Not to me."

Riku didn't pull away, though he did close his eyes. His lips twitched, and Sora saw a flash of fangs. It didn't look terrifying. It sent a spark of excitement through him.

"Well, you're weird," Riku murmured. "You've always been weird."

Sora squeezed their hands, leaning closer. Smiled back at him. Here felt familiar, and easy.

"On the island?"

"Yeah." Riku looked away, over the balcony. Sora brushed his hair behind his ear, to see his expression. To see that he was smiling and his eyes were soft. "You'd always be sleeping on the beach, whenever we were meant to be working on our raft."

Sora let his hand fall, and rested it on Riku's chest. "The beach?"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been to the beach. Had he ever been? Why couldn't he remember? If he thought too much, then his head hurt.

Riku nodded. "On the island."

"And we were building a raft?" Sora murmured.

"We wanted to get away." Riku's hand covered his, gingerly. As though he was expecting Sora to pull away. "Away from our normal lives. We wanted adventure."

Sora pressed closer. Placed his other hand on Riku's chest too, and felt his breath hitch.

"I want that," he said. His voice was soft, and low. "I want to escape."

They were so close that he felt Riku's lips graze his forehead. Sora sighed, and let his weight fall against him; felt Riku support him. He ran his splayed hands up Sora's back, and he felt like a cat being petted. Arched into it, and didn't mention that he could feel Riku's claws. That as his own hands shifted to Riku's back, he could feel the start of his wings. They'd opened, slightly, as though they would envelope him again.

"I wish I could build you a raft," Riku whispered into Sora's hair. "I wish I could save you, from wherever you are."

Sora looked through his lashes to see silver hair. "Reality."

"Unreality."

Sora half-laughed. He pulled away, just enough to look into Riku's cat-like eyes. "I don't know, anymore."

They softened. Riku's wings twitched again, and he noticed that time. Flinched, and went to pull away.

Sora tugged him back. "Don't be scared."

"I should be saying that to you."

"Well I'm not." Sora ran his fingers over the edge of one wing. It was soft, leathery, and fluttered at his touch. "These are a sign that you protected me. They're for protecting me."

Riku almost smiled. His mouth moved enough for Sora to see his fangs.

He reached up on tiptoe, and kissed Riku. Felt the fangs graze his skin, when he did, and felt that rush of danger, but also safety. He was safe here, with Riku.

Riku rested his forehead against Sora’s. “I’m scared, though.”

Sora kept his eyes closed. His fingers traced through Riku’s hair, until  they found the root of his horn. He paused. “Of what?”

“That this will get worse.” Riku pulled him closer, hands on his hips. “That if I keep coming here, fighting like this, I really will become a monster. Something – uncontrollable.”

Sora pulled away, still following the shape of Riku’s horn. He wondered if it hurt; if he was in pain; supposed it would be scary, for his body to change like that.

His body had changed like that.

It came to him, then. A memory of being in a body that wasn’t his own. Being small and empty and hungry. Of seeing the world in blacks and greys and only the occasional pulsing red that he was drawn to. That he knew would satisfy that hunger, if he went after it. That he knew would save him.

“What’s wrong?” Riku asked. He caught Sora’s hands, as he stepped away.

“Nothing,” he lied. “Let’s find somewhere else to go. Somewhere quieter.”

Riku’s cat’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. He let Sora lead him through the maze of Hollow Bastion. Through the empty rooms, and when a heartless did appear, he still fought it. Effortlessly. It seemed like he was getting stronger.

They settled in the library, on a sofa pressed against the window. It looked out over the town below, they’re hands entwined.

“I’m here,” Riku said.

Sora looked at him; he was staring out the window, silver strands over his face. “I know.”

“No, I mean—” Riku took a breath. “This is where I hid, when I woke up this morning – like this.”

His grip tightened, and Sora felt his nails again. They were sharp as claws. How long would it be before he didn’t need the keyblade to fight? Was that what scared him?

“I’m sorry,” Sora said. “It’s my fault. It’s just, that boy said that you were hiding something, and I was stupid enough to think he might be right.”

Riku leant forward. Brushed a strand of hair behind Sora’s ear. “What boy?”

He shrugged, tilting his head into the touch. “The boy at the coffee shop. He’s got silver hair, like you. His skin is darker, though.”

“And his eyes?” There was a sudden tightness in Riku’s voice. “Are they amber?”

“I guess so.” Sora turned his head, kissing at Riku’s palm. It was soft, and warm. “Why, do you know him?”

“He’s dangerous.” The tightness turned to firmness, and Riku’s fingers cupped Sora’s chin. Made him look up, at him, and he saw that his brows were furrowed; eyes intense. “You need to stay away from him.”

Sora’s heart thudded. He hadn’t seen Riku so serious before. “Alright.”

Riku kissed him. Perhaps a little harder than before. A little more desperately, and Sora surrendered to it. Let himself slip onto Riku’s lap, twining his arms around his neck, and laying his head on his shoulder. He could feel Riku’s heartbeat. Steady and even. It was so familiar.

“You won’t lose control.”

“I have, before.”

Sora didn’t know if he really remembered, or if he just remembered Riku’s story. He shifted, to kiss his jaw, and Riku made a soft sound in response. “And you got it back. You’d get it back this time.”

“Maybe.” Riku sighed, and his wings fluttered. “As long as I have you to believe in me.”

Sora hummed. He kissed Riku’s cheek again, and again, his wings fluttered. He reached out, tentatively, as though they were their own creature, and had to be approached with caution. He touched them. They were leathery, a deep mauve.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured. Riku didn’t reply. His fingers traced a circle on the small of Sora’s back. “Can you fly?”

“I haven’t tried.”

“Would you?” Sora stroked the top of them, and it stretched out for him to see. “Here?”

Riku took another deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“I’d love to fly.”

“Maybe, then.” And the wings shifted again, so they were around Sora. So that he was shielded. Sora closed his eyes. Thought about him and Riku soaring through that sunset sky, and how wonderful that would feel. How he’d feel just as safe as he did here.

It was selfish, he knew, when Riku was so distressed about them. When he was scared of transforming more.

Sora kissed him. Didn’t flinch when he felt Riku’s fangs; when they nicked his bottom lip, and he sucked his lip to hide the blood.

He would find a way to help Riku. To get him back to normal.

But they would fly first.

After all, he thought, as he heard the distant beep of machines—

It was his dream.

[resident-gay-bitch]

FIC REC! FIC REC! FIC REC! FIC REC!!!!

omg this is one of the first marauders fics i read after atyd and i Loved it so fucking much. it’s so cute and definitely deserves a read!!!! <3

[ksficrec]

To Build a Home

By: RedPowder

Link: Ao3

Words: 80k | E | tw: Major character death (happens before the story) | Ongoing

--

Sakura and Kakashi are assigned a mission that will change the path of their lives forever.

Arranged Marriage AU

--

Submitted by anonymous

[heroescore]

Heroes

Intro

<prev | masterlist | next>

It’s a small world. Seven billion people on this earth, and every small moment, every interaction, leads to greater consequences. Some bad, some good. Name it what you want. The butterfly effect, chaos theory— It’s a law of nature. Now imagine a world with such a chaotic law, where roughly the same percentage of people who are left handed...have superpowers. That’s roughly ten percent of roughly seven billion people and counting. That’s a lot of superpowers.

Superpowers have been around for centuries, but it is only recently that it rose to that ten percent, raising many questions and answering some. There hasn’t been a lot of research yet, but so far the following rules seem to apply to all super humans.

You are born with your powers.

Your powers don't show their full potential until you reach or pass puberty — some don't show at all until that moment.

Nobody messes with Neptune.

This all made perfect sense for a long while, until a homeless young man found a magazine on the sidewalk and later gave it to another young man in an abandoned sugar factory they were both squatting in to read, and on the other side of New York City, a lab exploded.

Aiden Carter was a promising teen. He’d always been a fast learner, and could probably enrol in an honours programme within a week of attending. However he was home-schooled due to a mysterious illness, and now he was a homeless runaway. Scraping by on shelter meals and purely the kindness of others.

He came from a small town in south-east Kansas with a romanticised image of the Big Apple, but when he arrived at the ripe age of fifteen,  he soon found reality was much, much better.

Sure he could probably use a roof over his head, and some more frequent meals, but the anonymity of a fifteen year old in the big city was amazing. Nobody knew him, nobody was looking for him, and nobody cared. Except for that nice old lady that would give him a meal or some fresh clothes whenever he did a chore for her.

Sometimes all she needed was some company, which was easy to provide. All the cookies he could eat in exchange for listening to her very interesting stories. Sometimes he helped her with her shopping and she would buy him his favourite candy bars as a thanks.

She even convinced him to go to church, where he found the sermons weren’t as bad as at home, and finding he got on rather well with the suspiciously young pastor, he ended up attending every Sunday, and eventually, the old lady’s funeral.

Thomas Claude, or Father Tom as he preferred, always felt like he was a little in over his head. His church was small, the majority of his flock had one foot in the grave, and they hardly respected him because he wasn’t just rather young, he also looked very young. And they weren’t too keen on his new-age ideas. His church had been accepting and recognising the gays, lesbians, aces, trans, and everything in between, but their elderly members...not so much.

Father Tom didn’t worry about them. They were probably just there so they could keep their reservations on the church’s graveyard. No he was more worried about the youth of his church, and the rapidly declining number thereof. He struggled to form a connection with them, and most of them stopped showing as soon as their parents allowed them a choice.

So he was extra delighted when a new young man showed up. He came in with his grandmother, he thought, but at her funeral the family claimed they didn’t know him. But he kept showing up. Always sitting at the very back of the church, listening, yet seeming rather absent at the same time. He usually disappeared right after the morning sermon, but one day, Father Tom found him sitting in the last pew, after everyone else had already left.

“Is this seat taken?”

The young man looked up, blinking a bit as he looked around and found himself alone with the pastor. Taking his silence as a no, Father Tom sat down next to him, pretty much blocking his way out, but with no intent to harm him of course.

“You know...when I suspect someone is homeless and underage I’m supposed to call social services,” Father Tom slowly said, “but something tells me that’s not something you need…”

“I’m good, thanks,” the teen said, “I should get going.”

He got up, but Father Tom didn’t.

“I just want to make sure,” he said, “if you’re in any trouble, in any need of anything...I live in the house right next to the church. If I’m not in here, I’m usually there…”

“I’m okay, but thanks for your concern, mister…?”

“You can just call me Tom, or Father Tom if you’re one for formalities. And what might I call you?”

“I’m Aiden,” the teen said, “Carter, if you’re one for formalities...I really need to get going now.”

“Of course, I apologise,” Father Tom said, getting up to let him out, “will you be back next Sunday?”

“Um...I’ll try, thanks,” Aiden said, inclining his head politely before taking off.

There was a chill on the streets. Aiden wrapped his jacket around himself as he hurried back to the abandoned factory he squatted in. If he didn’t arrive in time to claim his usual spot, some nasty crackhead would probably take it.

He hurried along the sidewalk, nearly tripping over a magazine that the wind blew at his feet. He stopped, picking it up to throw away when he noticed a certain picture. A small group of people in rather silly outfits. ‘SUPER HEROES’ it said.

He raised a brow, slowing his pace as he skimmed through the article. It was about the six supers that had began to use their powers to watch over New York City. Aiden heard about them before he arrived there, but this was his first time actually seeing an image.

Their outfits ranged from a 50’s detective to tribal and spandex. Aiden shook his head as he closed the magazine, but he didn’t toss it, bringing it with him as he hurried to his temporary home.

The wind howled ominously through the structures of the empty building. Great halls once filled with massive machines now stood empty. The warehouse had a couple tents built by other squatters, and one had to be very quiet walking past them, as the paranoid and violent slept there.

Up a rusty staircase, through a door, were the offices, which was where the addicts shared bongs, straws and needles, where they exchanged r-rated services for a score, or overdosed on faulty product. Aiden made sure to sneak past them too, making his way up to an attic. An empty space above the warehouse that was probably never used until now.

Iron support beams and sheets of cardboard created little cubicle-like spaces that one could claim for the night. It was an unwritten first-come-first-served rule, but some people just usually had the same spot. Even Aiden. He’d found the perfect spot where one could sleep without being bothered by a draft, or the stench of someone burning trash downstairs. When the sun shone it didn’t turn into an oven, and when it rained you stayed dry. It was one of the few spots where you could have all of the above, and when Aiden finally got to it...it was already taken.

Philip Baron was the youngest son in a prestigious family of lawyers. He grew up never wanting for anything but his parents’ approval as he competed with his brothers for as much as five minutes of their attention. Unfortunately his talents didn’t match his parents’ tastes, and when he was about thirteen he realised it wasn’t worth the effort and decided to move out.

It took about a day for him to realise the rest of the world didn’t agree to that plan, as the police or social services tended to bring him straight back home. A year later he managed to avoid that simply by using a fake name. Social services didn’t seem to care enough and brought him to a home, which he easily escaped from and started living on the streets instead.

He didn’t have it too bad, surviving off of the cash he had stolen from his brothers’ piggy banks. He could’ve blown through it in a day, but instead with careful planning and cheap shopping he could afford about two meals a day for the next year or so.

That year, however, had passed, and he was beginning to run out of cash, so he picked up a newspaper and found a quiet place to scour the job vacancies page, when someone suddenly blocked his limited amount of light. He looked up, finding a young man, not much older than himself, seeming rather disappointed to find someone occupying that spot.

“Sorry pal,” he said, reaching a hand into his bag. He had a small knife in it, grabbing hold of it just in case.

The young man nodded. 

“It’s okay, I’ll just uh...go somewhere else…”

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” Philip asked, detecting a rather southern accent.

He looked the young man over. He didn’t seem very threatening.

“Kansas,” he just replied, “you?”

“Home turf I’m afraid,” Philip replied, “but um...we can share if you want? There’s plenty room and I don’t like to sleep alone in these places.”

“A-are you sure?”

“Yeah, take a seat Kansas. I’ll trust you if you trust me,” Philip said.

“You don’t trust me,” the young man replied, “you’d just rather keep your enemies closer. Also don’t call me Kansas.”

“Well pardon me, you didn’t give me a name~”

“You didn’t give me yours.”

They stared at each other for a long while, before Philip finally caved, though he did use his fake name. Not for any reason in particular, except that he simply liked the sound of it more.

“Phil Winter,” he said, offering a hand to shake.

The young man shook his hand, before moving to sit down next to him.

“Aiden Carter,” he said.

“What brings you to New York, Carter?” Phil asked.

“Freedom,” Aiden said.

Phil raised a brow, looking around.

“Some freedom that is…”

“I can’t explain it any better,” Aiden said, “what about you?”

“Similar, I suppose,” Phil said, “also just trying to prove a point to my parents that I don’t need to surpass any of my brothers in the exact same field that they all work in just to be considered successful.”

“I wish I had brothers,” Aiden said, “then I wouldn’t feel so bad about leaving home.”

“So an only child, are we? Did mommy get too smothering over her precious little treasure?”

Aiden didn’t answer right away as he thought of his mother, sobbing behind a closed door while a man in black robes chanted strange words and his very soul felt like it was burning—

“Hellooo? Did your mind go back to Kansas buddy?” Phil asked, to which Aiden blinked and looked over.

“Sorry, you were saying?” he asked, rubbing his eyes a bit.

“Dude you were way gone for a couple minutes, did I say something wrong?” Phil asked.

“Mh? Oh I must’ve dozed off for a bit,” Aiden said, smiling innocently before repeating himself: “You were saying?”

“Just wondering why you left Kansas and feel bad about it.”

“Let’s just say my parents wouldn’t harm a fly, but...we just didn’t get along,” Aiden said, rubbing his wrists a bit.

Phil couldn’t help but glance at them, noticing some old bruising.

“That must’ve sucked,” he said.

“Only on bad days,” Aiden said, “unfortunately there were many…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Phil said, “but...you’re gonna be okay now. It might seem bad now, but...all you need to make a living is a job, right?”

“I tried that,” Aiden said, “but I’m either too young, too inexperienced or...not myself.”

“How so?” Phil asked.

“I...I can’t tell you,” Aiden said, “but if I ever do something weird or mean...it’s not me.”

Phil raised a brow.

“You bipolar?”

“Lord I wish it were that easy,” Aiden said, “don’t worry about it. In a couple days we’ll probably never see each other again.”

“Right,” Phil said, “that’s your right to privacy I guess. Anyway, you got any food on you?”

“No, sorry,” Aiden said.

“Don’t apologise, I don’t mind sharing,” Phil said, pulling out what seemed like a pre-cooked lasagne. “I know you’re supposed to heat this in an oven, but it’s just as good cold, and cheaper than those nasty sandwiches.”

He grabbed a package of plastic forks and gave one to Aiden, so they could share the cold pre-cooked meal. While they ate, he asked about the magazine Aiden was carrying, before enthusiastically raving about the heroes in the article.

“Yeah they say Rasputin is descendant from ancient giants, that’s why he’s so big! And Absolute Zero can not only lower the temperature, but also raise it! And this guy here, in the leather, he’s almost two hundred years old!”

“What? No way!” Aiden said, “what about the weird tribal dude? Carnivore?”

“It says right here, he gains power from consuming other creatures. He eats a piece of steak, he’s as strong and fast as a bull for a while.”

“That’s silly,” Aiden said, “so if he eats chicken he can lay eggs?”

“Pfft!” Phil snorted, laughing a bit, “I don’t know, but I know he can breathe under water after eating fish— I know, I know, you have to see it to believe it.”

“What about the guy in the hood? You can’t even see his face,” Aiden said.

“That’s Ranger, he can summon and control any animal!”

“It says here he doesn’t control them, just communicate with them,” Aiden said.

“Same difference,” Phil said, waving his hand dismissively, “anyway this older guy is Brain and he can read and control minds~ But he hasn’t been very active lately…”

“It says here frequent use of his powers gave him terrible migraines, so they only call him for big emergencies,” Aiden said, reading the text next to Brain’s image.

“I guess that makes sense,” Phil said, “who wrote this article? Did they interview them?”

“No, it says here all information was gathered from news reports and eyewitness accounts,” Aiden said, “I don’t think superheroes do interviews.”

“One day they will,” Phil said, “and I’ll be the one to do it~”

“You wanna be like a journalist?” Aiden asked.

“Yeah, you see, I have a plan,” Phil said, “I get a job, I find a guy to get an ID, I enrol myself in high school, followed by college, and everything will turn out just fine.”

“You need an ID to go to high school?” Aiden asked.

“Well, not necessarily I think,” Phil said, “just need to...not be connected to my parents in case social services comes. I had a fake ID that got me into a home, which are much easier to escape from since...well, nobody cares about orphans.”

“...some people care,” Aiden said, “I met this old lady a while back. She...she cared.”

“Oh that must’ve been nice,” Phil said.

“Yeah...it was,” Aiden said, “then she passed away.”

“Ouch,” Phil said, “recently?”

“Couple weeks back.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s okay,” Aiden said, “part of me feels like I only talked to her because she gave me food and clothes.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Phil asked, “you’re only talking to me because I was in the spot you wanted, then I offered you food.”

“You think I’m taking advantage of you?” Aiden asked.

“No, I’m just saying, sometimes you need a reason to talk to someone, then after talking...there’s friendship.”

“You’re...asking to be friends?” Aiden asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Phil said with a shrug, “you seem like a good guy, honest…”

“I’d like that,” Aiden said, “I...I could use a friend in this place.”

“I think we both can,” Phil said, smiling, before pointing at the magazine, “can I have that?”

“Sure,” Aiden said, “you seem to like it more than I do.”

He picked up the magazine and handed it to his new friend, right before they heard a rather loud rumble in the distance.

“That don’t sound like thunder,” Phil said.

Aiden stayed quiet as he heard another sound. Sirens, probably because of the rumble from earlier.

“I don’t think it was,” Aiden said, “oh well...I’m sure we can read about it in the morning paper. I wanna get some sleep in.”

“Fair,” Phil said, “good night, friend…”

And a friend he found.

Phil wasn’t joking about his plan, and he dragged Aiden in with him. They found a high school so overpopulated they didn’t quite care where their students came from.

Phil scraped together enough money so they could get a PO box in the right area, in which they received important mail. They easily faked random signatures since the school never met their parents either, and they kept a low enough profile to never be noticed.

They attended all their classes, they kept their grades up, they did their homework in the school library, and used the showers in the gym’s changing rooms to remain presentable.

They washed their clothes in a laundromat, using change the owner gave them when he took pity on them. He also let them pick new clothes from the lost and found. 

But something never sat quite right with them. They never read about the mysterious rumble in the morning paper. Phil even tried to track down the site, but the streets had been wiped clean, and one building was conveniently under construction all of a sudden. And when he tried to peek inside, he nearly got arrested. Though, he soon forgot about the mystery when a new one occurred.

The odd behaviour Aiden warned him for when they first met began showing. He seemed agitated and scared, and any question Phil asked got his head bitten off, in a manner of speaking.

“I’m not attacking you, dude, but maybe it’s schizophrenia? Leaving that untreated can do whacky things to a person,” Phil suggested after they dove into an alley to get Aiden out of a crowd.

“It’s not schizophrenia!” Aiden growled.

“Are you sure—”

“I’ve been tested for everything in the book since I was three years old Phil!” Aiden yelled, “anything you can think of now, that’s not it!”

“Then what is wrong with you?!” Phil asked, “or should I ask who?”

“What did you say?” Aiden hissed.

“You talk in your sleep, you know?” Phil said, “who is Amon?”

“No one,” Aiden quickly said, rubbing his eyes as he could feel a migraine coming up, “he’s not real.”

“Denying a problem isn’t going to make it go away, dude,” Phil said, “don’t you trust me? Talk to me…”

Aiden pulled his hands through his hair, turning away from Phil, before he softly spoke up.

“A-Amon is...i-it’s me, I think…”

“....what?” Phil said.

“I-I don’t fully understand either,” Aiden admitted, “but...th-there’s this voice in my head and he’s been making me do terrible things since I was young.”

“Jeez, like a split personality?” Phil asked.

“No...n-no I don’t think so,” Aiden said, “I...they tested me for that too.”

“Did they ever find out what it was?” Phil asked.

“...a demon,” Aiden softly said, “after what feels like millions of tests...Pa decided to...ask the church for help.”

“Is this story going where I think it’s going?” Phil asked, looking a little pale.

“It worked at first,” Aiden said, “the voice would go, and the things he made me do...but he always came back stronger. The church’s treatment, as they called it, got more intense, more painful...I just had to get away before he would make me hurt someone I care about.”

“And...how are you doing now?” Phil asked, “is he...telling you to do bad things?”

“Not really,” Aiden said, “but I have the strongest urge to stab you right now.”

“Oookay, well just hand me your bag just to be safe, I know you keep a knife in there,” Phil said.

“No, I...I just need to be alone for a bit,” Aiden said, “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“I’d rather you hurt me, than any randos out there,” Phil said, pointing at the crowded streets, “so take a deep breath, please ignore that urge of yours, and...whatever you need I’m here for you, alright?”

“But—”

“No buts, buddy, I got you,” Phil said, “what else are friends for? Now come on, let’s get you someplace quiet...do you know any place quiet?”

“...no,” Aiden said.

“Okay, just sit down right here then, take a deep breath—”

“I’m not giving birth, Phil!”

“Don’t snap at me or I’ll snap back, so sit your ass down!” 

“Fine!” Aiden sighed as he sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the wall.

Phil decided to give him a moment, not saying anything unless his friend did. After a good few minutes, Aiden nodded.

“It’s getting less…” he softly said.

“That’s good,” Phil said, “just let me know when you good, okay?”

“Mhm...thank you, Phil,” Aiden said, “sorry...if I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” Phil said, “we all have our demons— I heard that as soon as I said it.”

“It’s okay,” Aiden said, “it’s actually my favourite expression...makes me feel less alone.”

“That makes sense,” Phil said, “come on, let’s find a place to sleep, you look exhausted.”

Aiden nodded, letting Phil help him up before they tried to get in with one of the shelters.

As night fell over the city, heroes rose up to watch over her. Though they left petty crime for what it was for now, as they had other things to worry about. They gathered in a coffee shop, just after it closed, the owner actually being one of them.

William Ecker, better known as Brain to the rest of the city, seemed like just a regular middle-aged man trying to keep his business afloat. But in reality he was one of the most powerful supers currently on the planet, able to monitor the thoughts of everyone in the city if he wanted to, but he could hardly stand it, so he only did so if he really had to. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was just trying to make ends meet. Business wasn’t going too well, but he had a fresh pot of coffee for his closest friends, free of charge.

The first one to arrive, was his oldest friend, literally. Douglas Slade, no alias, was famous for being the oldest man on the planet, yet he barely looked a day older than twenty-five. They hadn’t made the national news yet, but it was only a matter of time. Until then, local citizens knew something was about to go down when they spotted the old young man. But now, he was just looking over some notes and old files while smoking a pipe.

“Could you put that out? You’re poisoning the air here,” Brain said while he poured his coffee.

“It helps me think, lad,” Slade replied.

“That’s what I told my wife, and you know how that ended. Put it out. Before Ranger gets here.”

“Why him specifically?” Slade asked, though he did use one of the empty cups to douse his pipe.

“He’s got some news you might wanna hear,” Brain just said, pouring his coffee before taking the remains of his pipe away.

Sure enough, at that moment a rather excited young man burst in. His dark complexion helped hide his face in the shade of his hood, which he threw off as he approached Slade’s seat.

“You’re not going to believe this, old man!” he said.

“I can’t believe you just called me old,” Slade said calmly, “have a seat, take a deep breath, tell your story.”

“So you know that woman we saved from the explosion in her lab?” Ranger asked, ignoring Slade’s request and diving straight into the telling part.

“Who miraculously had no injuries, what about her?” Slade asked, “she a super?”

“No, but also yes,” Ranger said.

“Don’t talk nonsense, lad, get to the point,” Slade said, sounding both patient yet very impatient.

Ranger sat down across from him, lowering his voice a bit.

“She wasn’t a super before the explosion…”

“You’re saying...the explosion gave her powers?” Slade asked.

“Yeah, I mean, she had all kinds of chemicals—”

“Lad, this isn’t a movie. Getting random chemicals thrown over you won’t give you powers. It’s a genetic thing.”

“Then how come she isn’t on your list?” Ranger asked, tapping the files Slade had been looking over.

“I’ve been present for the birth of many supernatural children, but not all of them,” Slade calmly explained, “I didn’t deliver you yet here we are, aren’t we?”

“Okay then,” Ranger said, “she told me she didn’t show any powers during puberty either. Explain that.”

“Some people are late bloomers,” Slade said, “like William and Devin.”

“I still think you should talk to her, man,” Ranger said.

Slade sighed.

“Arite, if that puts you at ease...I’ll talk to her.”

“Can I come with?”

“No.”

“But—”

“You have your area to watch over, I’ve got mine,” Slade explained, tapping his files again.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Brain said as he joined them with a coffee for Ranger.

“Thanks. What is?” Ranger asked.

“All this time we’re pretty much alone, then all of a sudden left and right kids are showing up with powers?” Brain said.

“Not just the kids, the parents too,” Slade added, “some mothers find me to ask about giving birth to a super since they, or the father, or sometimes even both have some form of powers or another.”

“What powers do the kids show?” Ranger asked curiously.

“I dunno,” Slade said, “besides some flickering lights during the birth, there’s usually not much to go off from, and they don’t show any powers until puberty when hormones start flying everywhere. Although there was a baby that had my equipment flying everywhere and unfortunately...the mother took all the hits before it stopped.”

“Ouch,” Ranger said.

“Yeah,” Slade slowly said, “it takes a lot to make a man cry, but that sure did it...speaking of children, William, has your lad Hamish been showing any powers yet?”

“Besides the cracks in the very fabric of reality when he was born?” Brain asked, “no. But his mom’s been trying to turn him against me.”

“I told you she wasn’t the one for you,” Slade said, “the way she made the wedding all about her, like you were just an accessory.”

“It’s been three years, you can stop telling me ‘I told you so’ thanks,” Brain grumbled.

“He didn’t say it yet?” Ranger said.

“But he was thinking it,” Brain said, tapping his own head while Slade smirked a bit.

“Arite, are Zoe and Devin going to show up today?” he asked.

“Not that I can hear right now,” Brain said, “and I’m not gonna scan for ya, I’ve had a long day.”

“Oh Zoe had a date,” Ranger said, “but we can call her for emergencies.”

“Let’s hope there aren’t any, she deserves a night off,” Brain said, “what about Rasputin? I can’t understand his thoughts even if I could hear them.”

“You can call him if you need him,” Slade said, “otherwise try searching the pubs.”

He began packing up his files, since they didn’t quite need him to plan their nights anymore, and he had other business to take care of than to run around as decoy or human shield.

You see, Slade wasn’t just historically old, he also had the regenerative ability of a hologram. Any cut, bruise or broken bone could heal in an instant. More complicated injuries took more time, but in the end he would always get back up.

Thanks to this, he had the tendency to catch bullets for his team, which they had grown so accustomed to, if they had no other means to defend themselves they tended to pull Slade in front of them. Not that he minded, but he would like to spend an evening without pain for a change.

“Arite, don’t burn the city down tonight,” he said, “I’ll try to contact the scientist from that lab. If she has developed powers due to the explosion, or anything before that, she’ll need guidance above all.”

“Don’t freak out if you see extra pigeons, I sent them on recon,” Ranger said.

“So long as they don’t shit on me I can handle pigeons,” Slade said, “also...good thinking, lad. You’ve really grown to be a good hero.”

“Thanks,” Ranger said, seeming genuinely happy at the random compliment.

Slade smiled, thanked Brain for the coffee and headed off.

However, he was never able to speak to the scientist, for only a week later, five of the six heroes disappeared. Only Ranger remained to pick up the slack, but he refused to answer questions about where the others were, and avoided the media like the plague.

He had big shoes to fill, and the city was too big for one hero to look after. Realising this, a movement started, and new heroes rose up left and right to help protect the city.

To prevent unchecked vigilantism, the mayor set up a special police force; a number of detectives and officers in every precinct whose primary concern was anything to do with supers. They all belonged to their own precinct, but officially they were the 124th.

Their assigned commanding officer was a former detective at a relatively small precinct, but she turned out to be perfect for the role with a strict but fair mandate for her officers and detectives. She also insisted on cooperation and open communication with supers, making them an important link in crime fighting and other moments of crisis, and further popularising the job of super hero.

However, where there is good, there is evil, and where there are many heroes, a villain will show up sooner or later. And in the span of only five years, both super heroes and super villains were a common occurrence in the Big Apple.

<prev | masterlist | next>