#and last session they had a very soft encounter with a little kid that nearly killed me

[quitefair]

dont talk to me, i'm shifting into corinth mode.......

[skellebonez]

14. With a possessed monkie kid? (Doesn't have to be my au, i just crave possession stuff rn fbsbfb)

Oh you gave me so much power. I have too much power. I had to write this ASAP before Friday, I did not want the idea I had to be tempered by what happens in the finale. Since this is supposed to be set a couple weeks after what could possibly happen. Spoilers if you haven’t read the summary for S2E10.

This may not be in your Possession AU, but it takes a little inspiration from it because I love it!

Warning: vaguely described injuries, blood. Reminder that I think Macaque can be severely hurt but is immortal to the point he can heal any injury.

Am I scaring you?

“Hey- don’t scream it’s just me- You guys seen MK around?”

Despite Macaque’s request, Pigsy and Tang continued to scream. It wasn’t surprising, really. It wasn’t every day that an enemy your friend/person you see as a son just revealed to you a couple weeks earlier had attacked him twice in ways that had left him pretty messed up and questioning his choices and abilities just pops their body from the shoulders up out of the shadows on your wall without warning. Doubly so when very shortly after learning all this that person does a heel face turn and joins your side without technically joining it against everyone’s will and is still kind of an asshole.

The immortal monkey needed to work on that last bit. Maybe he could upgrade from “asshole” to “jerk face” in the eyes of Team MK if he brought drinks. He didn’t really care though, he just wanted to make his own life easier. At least Wukong had been... somewhat open to letting him stick around, given MK convinced them to talk when they were too exhausted after the giant mech battle to actually fight each other, and that made their joint training sessions with MK much easier. That still took getting used to.

"Has MK been acting... off to you lately?" Macaque asked after Tang and Pigsy stopped screaming and levied him with unhappy glowers at the intrusion. One more note to add on the ‘things he should probably stop doing if people want to not hate him’ list, announcing himself better. "I know I'm kinda knew to this whole ‘technically not being a bad guy and caring a bit about other people’ thing and all but he seems..."

‘Not being a bad guy’. Nailed it.

"Dead inside?" Tang deadpanned. "Yeah, we kinda noticed."

“A little more blunt than I was gonna put it but yeah,” Macaque stepped out of the shadows fully, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly as Pigsy grabbed a wooden spoon and held it. A warning that he would not hesitate to chuck it at him at the first excuse he needed. “He’s been acting odd around both me and Wukong. Which, you know, given everything that happened I get it, but he hasn’t come to his last three training sessions at all.”

This, unlike everything else he had said, seemed to make the two men pause.

“What do you mean?” Tang asked, pushing his glasses up and looking at him oddly. “He’s been leaving for those on time like normal.”

“Ah, well, you see,” Macaque chose his next few words carefully. Being honest, truly honest without theatrics or planning in advance to help him, was a new undertaking for him so he stumbled through it. “The first time it happened Wukong astral projected to him and they talked and he seemed ok enough, like he just needed a break. The next time it happened I kinda... followed him? Just to make sure he was ok, no evil shadow business! He just kinda wandered downtown the entire time, looking like he was lost without being lost. If that makes sense. But yesterday he did the same thing so I did the same thing and I found him just kinda... sitting in front of the entrance to DBK’s old hideout?”

Instead of making the two men more concerned, this seemed to make them both deflate.

“Yeah...” Pigsy said softly, lowering the spoon just a bit. “He’s been doing that. We, uh... we had Mei follow him a couple times on deliveries because he was acting off. He did the sitting thing a few days ago too, just while he was on break or if he finished his deliveries early. He’s been doing that a lot lately, like he wants to get things done fast so he can do whatever he’s doing.”

“But he isn’t even doing anything!” Tang said, gripping his hair with one hand. “It’s like he’s just... sitting? Like he just wants to be alone maybe? Sandy’s been talking to him, trying to help him with the cats and everything, but he thinks he needs to see his therapist instead... I think he’s right.”

Macaque frowned for a second before forcing a wide smile on his face. “I thought so. I think Sandy may have the right idea too, you should talk to him. OK BYE-E!”

Before the two men could react he fell backward into the shadows and dissipated. He had somewhere to be.

~

Just sitting... no. Macaque was sure of it now as he watched MK sitting in front of the hole that still had not been filled since DBK had left the Flaming Foundry, cloaked in shadow behind littered debris. His conversation with the Monkie Kid’s elders confirmed the immortal’s suspicions.

MK was waiting for something.

And that meant something was deeply wrong.

He hadn’t lied to the duo in the noodle shop, but he hadn’t told them the full truth either. Macaque had been following MK for the last week, already knew about Mei himself, partly out of curiosity at first but also out of Wukong’s own insistence. He was worried for his successor and knew that Macaque could keep a quieter eye on him than he ever could, and Wukong... Wukong and MK, despite their renewed training, were not on the best of terms right then. Not after he learned what the vacation really was, not after he learned that his mentor knew about the White Bone Spirit the entire time. They were still close! Closer than MK was to Macaque when he trained him at least, just. Strained.

Watching his two teachers finally talk for once and work out what actually happened all those centuries ago, showing that Wukong wasn’t just an unflappable hero but a person who made mistakes and had worked to better himself and would continue to do so because he was a person, probably softened that a bit. He was still upset but much less so in the week after the defeat... but this last week it was like all that had been undone too quickly. It started slowly, but after four days it was like they were back to the day he learned the truth but so much worse.

For the last three days MK was so quiet, reserved, completely unlike the loud and excited guy Macaque knew and like he just wanted to be left alone to sit and not interact with anyone. Tang said he was acting like he was “dead inside”.

That... wasn’t an entirely incorrect descriptor. It was like he was hollow and just going about the motions. Or like he had closed off everything inside of himself for some reason.

Wukong was terrified. He’d been talking to MK every day he didn’t come to the island to train via astral projection, and Macaque had just watched another conversation between the two end half an hour earlier. Macaque tried the same thing but didn’t get nearly as far as Wukong had been, and talking to him like this seemed to make him less likely to just up and leave (the few times Wukong had just come to MK instead made it clear how uncomfortable he had been, ending the conversations with a quick jump from the staff before Wukong could convince him to stay, so they decided to go with what made him more comfortable to find out what was happening).

So that was how they operated. Macaque watched MK. Made sure he was at least physically ok. Wukong talked to MK, didn’t force him to come to the island and wouldn’t show up unannounced. But despite them communicating more than they ever had it was like he was telling Wukong less than he ever had before. The one thing they didn’t tell him was what Macaque was doing.

“Am I scaring you?” MK suddenly said, loud enough for only Macaque to hear. His tone was... wrong. “You’re not nearly as sneaky as you think you are, Six-Ear.”

“What?” Macaque shot up and out of the shadows, eyes wide. MK had never called him that before.

The man before him stood, back to him and headband and coat oddly still in the blowing wind.

And then he jumped.

“MK!” Macaque reacted without thinking, diving down the hole after his Wukong’s student. He knew that he would be just fine, he could handle being thrown into a mountain so he could handle jumping down a giant hole, but the sight was too sudden and horrific for him to remember that at the moment.

Except he wasn’t there. When Macaque landed, the crash of his boots hitting the rocky ground echoing through the artificial cavern, he was alone.

Something was even more deeply wrong than he could have ever imagined.

“MK! Kid! Kiddo!?” He called out, all six of his ears out to catch any hint of movement. “Come on, you told me off for calling you Kiddo just last week, get angry at me so I know you’re ok! Tell me you’re a Monkey Man or something!” Macaque tried to keep his tone light, words lighter with an awkward laugh at the end of his sentences, but it only served to make the sinking feeling in his stomach worse. The opposite effect he wanted to accomplish. “Say something damn it!”

Silence. Everything was... silent. The only thing Macaque could hear was his own breathing, his own heartbeat, the rushing of blood in his ears... but nothing else.

Then a laugh. Low and soft and wrong and Macaque’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

He knew that laugh.

He also knew the feeling of the staff. He felt it during their first battle, when MK pulled every ounce of lingering power to defeat him. He felt it during that climactic encounter with Wukong, when his eye was damaged beyond repair.

He felt it now, as it jutted through his stomach without warning. Covered in blood.

Huh... that was kind of new, actually. He hadn’t felt a new sensation like that in so long.

The staff was pulled back and out of him quickly, driving him to his feet as he held the new wound and listened and nearly imperceptible footsteps made their way around him. How had he not heard... no. No he knew now. Now it was obvious what had happened.

Why did his wound burn like that? Why couldn’t he stand? He should be able to move, he wasn’t this weak!

“He beat you,” He groaned out, coughing as he tried to stay upright on his knees. “You should be-”

“Dead?” MK asked, voice his own but tone completely different. The black on his shoes were blue. As Macaque looked up he could see most of the color on his outfit had faded to white with blue accents. His eyes, the only think about him physically to be different, a brilliant blue to match. His headband was gone from around his head, instead used to help slick his hair back and out of his face. “How can you kill what already isn’t alive? No, I just waited in this body until I was able to influence him enough to make him... compliant. Much easier that way, actually.”

Either his vision went fuzzy or the world around them did, MK moving closer at a speed that shouldn’t be possible. His hands were grasping Macaque’s scarf tightly... this felt far too familiar.

“If you had been the dragon girl or anyone else I might have just killed you, you know,” MK’s voice said as he tilted his head to the side, an almost playful smile on his face. “But this is much more fun, and preferable. You can relay the message for me, once the poison I coated the staff in wears off and you heal anyway.”

Macaque was dropped unceremoniously onto his back, letting out an agonized yelp as he hit the ground. MK stomped on his wound, earning another scream.

“By then myself and this body will be long gone,” MK chuckled, stepping over Macaque completely to walk further into the foundry. “I must thank you, you played into my hands so much better than I ever planned on. Getting you all to work together to ‘beat me’ was just far too easy.” He stopped, turning to smirk at the immortal shuddering on the ground.

“I haven’t had a body this powerful in centuries,” the White Bone Spirit said with a laugh before vanishing in a fuzz of his vision and a wisp of cold air.

[booksonablog]

Self-Defense - Johnny Lawrence Imagine Part 1

Summary: Johnny finds out you know a little bit of self-defense, but learns you don’t know enough as you should when trouble ensues when he’s not around.

Author’s Note: I’m in the middle of writing part 2 so stay tuned and enjoy this first part! (Also I tried very hard to create my own gifs and only one managed to work for some reason so bare with me)

It was nine-fifteen in the evening, you were counting the minutes till you could clock out. It’s not that you hated your job, but it surely wasn’t the job of your dreams. It was something to pay the bills while you worked on your career. It was a trendy hipster bar and restaurant, so it wasn’t the worst. The other employees weren’t too bad, really the worst part of the job was the sleazy men that drowned themselves in liquor and harassed the customers and workers. Your manager had his fair share of jerks he had to kick out, but the past couple months remained enjoyable.

You handed the drink menus to your last table, two young men on a guys night out. You headed back to the bar when you caught eyes with a handsome blonde walking through the doors. He nodded to the hostess, pointing at your direction with a grin on his face. You blushed, making your way behind the bar. He claimed a seat directly in front of you.

He smirked, “Hi beautiful.”

“Hello handsome.” You leaned on the bar.

“I know you get out at nine-thirty but I couldn’t wait to see you.” He winked.

You blushed, flashing him a flirty grin. From the corner of your eye, you caught the men at your table staring at you. You held up your index finger at Johnny.

“One sec.”

He nodded, not-so casually checking you out as you made your way to the table. He returned his attention to the bar, signaling the bartender.

“Sorry about that, what can I get ya?”

“I’m not sure-” One of the men hesitated, the drink menu still in his hand.

“Well, if you’re looking for something strong, I recommend the ‘Shift Drink.’ It’s mixed with a little rye whiskey and ginger syrup, it’s a classic cocktail. But if you’re looking for something sweeter, I’d recommend ‘The Blood and Sand.’ It’s mixed with both orange juice and sweet vermouth. Or the ‘Peach Blood and Sand,’ replacing the orange juice with peach flavoring. Do you like peach?”

“Well -” the man started, completely ignoring your spiel.

“I do.” His friend added, his hand grazing your butt in admiration. You jumped at the touch, though you weren’t the only one. Johnny had turned right at the moment the man put his hand on you, causing him to jump out of his seat, making a beeline towards the table. Meanwhile, you had instinctively grabbed the man by his wrist, pulling it up and towards his back, slamming his head on the table. The commotion shook the restaurant, everyone now staring. Johnny had stopped in his tracks at the scene.

You bent down to the man’s ear. “If you ever lay a hand on me again I’ll break your fucking arm.” You whispered with gritted teeth. Your manager tapped your shoulder, you whipped your head, still in fight mode. He gave you the signal to take off a few minutes early. You released the man’s arm, turning back towards the bar. Johnny gently reached for your arm as you passed him. You looked up, completely oblivious to how close he was to the scene.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Just gonna get my jacket.” He nodded back, walking towards the bar as you made your way to the backroom.

He reached for his wallet, paying for his drink and tipping the bartender while he waited. You were slipping your arms in your jacket as you made your way over to Johnny. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket, you slipped your arm between his. He peered down at you with a small smile before the two of you exited the restaurant.

***

Throughout the car ride and on the way to your door, the two of you had joked about the situation at the restaurant.

“Who would’ve thought that the sweetest angel in the world could break a man’s arm.” The two of you laughed, arriving at the front of your door. You turned to face him.

“But seriously babe, where did that come from?” He grinned with intrigue.

You shrugged. “YouTube I guess. Ever since I got this job, I thought it would be crucial to learn self-defense, even if it’s just a move or two.”

Well,” He started with a teasing smirk plastered on his face,  “I wouldn’t wanna fight you, you’re pretty feisty.”

You blushed with a laugh, pushing him playfully before pulling him into a kiss.

***

- Several Weeks Later -

“Have a good night!” You hollered to the clerk, the door closing behind you with a ring. You had made a quick run to the mini-mart for some milk, it was only a few blocks away from your apartment so you chose to walk rather than waste gas. It was late, pushing nine o’clock. You quickly realized it may not have been the best idea to walk alone at night, especially in such a dimly lit area. You pulled your phone out of your purse to call Johnny, his voice alone made you feel at ease.

Back at the dojo, Johnny was wrapping up with his students.

“Fight!”

Before Mitch could take a second step, Hawk had kicked him halfway off the mat. In the backroom, Johnny's phone vibrated on his desk, the screen illuminating your name.

You sighed, pulling the phone away from your face. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you. You listened closely, your eyes wide. The sound matched yours, same pace, same route, with the exception of the weight the sound carried. You redialed Johnny’s number.

“Alright now I don’t wanna hear any bitchin’ or moanin’ about feeling sore in the morning. You’re here to work hard and be badass.” His phone continued to be ignored as he wrapped up his session.

You held the phone to your face, hoping it would appear as if someone was on the other line. You dared to turn your head only to find no one behind you. You slowly turned your head, eyes wandering over the environment behind you. You turned - smack - you collided with the chest of a tall man towering over you. You quickly backstepped. Two heavy hands wrapped around your arms from behind you. You jumped with a shriek, the screen of your phone cracked as it hit the ground, the carton of milk exploded over the concrete. The man in front of you grinned before taking his steps towards you.

Miguel was the last to leave the dojo, like most nights. Johnny made his way to the backroom, closing the door behind him as he changed out of his clothes. He placed his belongings in his bag, grabbing his phone. The device illuminated, exposing two missed calls from you. He dialed your number, pressing his shoulder to his ear as he gathered his bag and locked the back room. He walked across the dojo, your voicemail playing in his ear. Beep

“Hey babe, sorry I missed your call, was wrapping up with the kids. I’m on my way out, I’ll swing by your place -” He shut the lights to the dojo off, locking the door behind him. “I’ll see you soon.” He hung up, opening the door to his Challenger.

***

Johnny had knocked on your door for the second time.

“Babe?” Silence. He sighed, shifting his focus to the outside hallway. He dialed your number again.

Nothing. He pulled his phone down and stared at it. It was past ten, he knew you didn’t work late.

He walked down the steps, starting to feel the heat rise in his chest as he grew to wonder where you were. He figured you’d probably call him by the time he reached his place.

***

He stared at his phone on the kitchen counter. He took another swig of beer and nearly choked at the rapid knocking on his door. He sped to the door and opened it to see one of the most heartbreaking sights he’s encountered. There you were, trembling at his door. Tears had stained your scratched cheeks, a dark bruise covered your right cheekbone, blood peaked behind your hair from the corner of your head. Your lip, cut, quivered in humiliation and terror. Johnny pulled you in his apartment, as if the action would protect you from further pain.

He turned to you, his throat drying up. He swallowed, “Who did this to you?” He asked in a low but stern voice.

“Johnny-” You choked.

“Babe - please, just tell me who and where the hell they are right now.” He demanded, anger rising. He didn’t bother to ask if you were okay as you clearly weren’t, he thought the quicker he learns about what happened, the faster he’ll get to catching these guys.

“I-I don’t know, I was walking -”

“Where??”

“The Mini-Mart-”

“You were walking to the Mini-Mart?!”

“I needed milk.” You said sheepishly, your voice started to crack.

“Why didn’t you just tell me!?”

“I didn’t want to bother you - you were working!” You shouted back, tears starting to form.

“And look what happened!!”

“Johnny please-” You started to cry, your hand covering your mouth.

His heart shattered. Realizing he was making everything worse he pulled you into his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed your back. Having you cry into his chest made his eyes start to water.

***

Once the tears had settled, Johnny had led you to his bathroom where he helped clean you up. He had you lean on the counter as he dabbed the blood off your face with a washcloth. You sniffled, hiccups still lingering. You watched as he focused on rinsing the cloth. He bent down to you again, moving his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him so he could plant a kiss to your forehead. He looked you in the eyes as if to ask how you were doing. You nodded, unable to muster a sympathetic smile. He showed his instead and kissed you gently on the lips. He left to his room, returning with his Zebra shirt, your favorite. You accepted the offer and sat up as he removed himself from the bathroom.

You were folding your clothes, crossing over to his bedroom when you caught him by the front door, putting on his black leather jacket.

“Where are you going?” Concern in your voice.

He walked over to you, sympathy written over his face. He gently wrapped his calloused hand over your soft ones.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” The two of you knew what he was planning to do after you were calm enough to describe the men and everything that happened.

“Johnny-” You shook your head with worry.

“Babe-”

“No!” You squeezed his hand, tugging them towards you.

His face fell, watching your emotions untangle once more.

“Please Johnny-” You shook your head, voice breaking as tears started to fall. “Don’t leave me.” You hiccuped.

To hear the sincerity and fear in your voice was all it took to convince him to stay.

He looked down, partially ashamed. He nodded, looking back at you. He stepped forward and gently swiped his thumb over your cheek.

“I’m not gonna leave you.”

***

You were sound asleep in Johnny’s bed resting your head on his chest. He, on the other hand, was wide awake. He caressed your hair and continued to stare at the ceiling. He was trying not to grow too angry as he thought about what you had told him. The thought of someone violently harassing you and to learn it was two men, boiled his blood. He wanted so badly to slip out of the apartment, find the men responsible and kick their ass. But he couldn’t betray your trust, he told you he would stay, so he will.

Hope you enjoyed this part, stay tuned for part 2! 💕

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

“I’ll Be Here”

Title: “I’ll Be Here”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Warnings: Nightmares, insomnia, mentions of past trauma (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 4,800...because I have no self-control 

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been sleeping well, can Bucky find out why?

The first time I noticed Y/N's insomnia was during an early morning training session. 

She was off to the side, sparring with Natasha as I worked on strength training with Steve. The two women were on the mats, wrestling with one another. I should've been paying attention to the weights in my hands -- something Steve would no doubt scold me for soon -- but as usual I was more interested in watching Y/N. Not because I was totally infatuated with her or anything, just because she was acting a bit off. 

Right. 

Usually Y/N and Natasha were well matched; the two assassins typically sparred for nearly the entire session with neither one getting the upper hand for more than a few moments at a time. Today, however, Y/N was lagging. Natasha managed to pin her in just a few minutes. What's more, Y/N took a few seconds longer than usual to get back on her feet -- normally she was quick to hop up on the off-chance that she was knocked down, but today it seemed like she was moving in slow motion. Confusion rippled through me at the sight of the usually confident and collected assassin lying on the mat looking defeated and tired. Y/N and Natasha exchanged hushed words briefly before Y/N stomped off, grumbling to herself. 

I wasn't tired in the least -- namely because I hadn't even really been working for the last few minutes -- but I felt my curiosity slowly getting the best of me. I stalked off under the guise of getting some water, eyes trained on Y/N's hunched form. I sidled up to her as casually as I could manage and grabbed my bottle. She nodded curtly in recognition of my presence but didn't speak. 

I felt my eyebrows crinkle together in confusion. Y/N wasn't like the rest of the team -- impossibly chatty and self-assured, she was never crabby or tired during training. Realizing I hadn't kept up the act well at all, I sipped from my water almost robotically. While I sipped, I tried to subtly study her face, wondering what could possibly be causing her to act so out-of-character. I noted with concern the deep, purple circles under her eyes and the far off expression on her face.

I opened my mouth to question whether or not she was alright, but was abruptly cut-off by Steve's shout to get back to training. Rolling my eyes, I flashed Y/N one last look of concern before jogging off towards my friend. I'd have to file this encounter in my brain for later. 

After that I began to watch Y/N more closely, trying to figure out what it was that troubled her. She seemed to bounce back by the time I'd seen her later in the day, and I all but forgot my concerns. It wasn't until a few days later that her lack of sleep entered my consciousness once more. 

It was movie night in the tower, and I was bored out of my skull. Everyone had gathered in the tower's massive living room for the weekly event -- Sam and Tony were arguing over which movie to watch, Wanda and Vision were sitting practically on one another's laps as they chatted idly with Nat, Steve sat scribbling on yet another mission report, and Peter was hanging upside-down from the ceiling as he patiently waited for the movie to begin. I was sitting furthest from everyone else, keeping to myself and idly observing the various conversations, when Y/N wandered into the room. 

Though I still internally thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, it was instantaneously clear that something was wrong with Y/N. She looked similar to that morning in the training room -- large bags underneath each eye and a somewhat pained expression splayed across her features.  Maybe it was the way she seemed to move more slowly across the room or just her general aura of dishevelment, but whatever the case she just seemed off somehow. I felt myself growing more concerned by the moment. 

She plopped down into the spot next to me, and I instantly felt my heart rate pick up at the proximity. Heat flooded my face as my mind became a jumble, and I was suddenly thankful that the only other people with super hearing in the room were currently busy at the moment. I tried my best to stifle the stupid little flutters raging inside my belly as I murmured a 'hello'. Y/N rubbed her face tiredly before mustering up a smile and muttering a half-hearted greeting. 

"You doing okay doll?" I asked concernedly. She chuckled lightly, shifting a little in her seat so her head was leaning against my flesh arm. She settled into the position with an ease and familiarity that both warmed my heart and sent me into a panic all at once. 

It was strange, the effect Y/N had on me: on the one hand, she had this ability to calm my entire body with just a single touch, but on the other hand it also made my mind race with over-eager thoughts and feelings. Even now, the feel of the soft skin of her cheek through my shirt sleeve was enough to send tiny pricks of electricity throughout my entire body. But it wasn't the harsh, painful sensations my mind seemed to expect -- Y/N's touch was always gentle, welcomed. Even so, my mind raced with thoughts of why on earth she felt so relaxed around me. Was she just like this with everyone? Did it mean anything? 

"Just fine Buck," her half-joking reply broke me out of my mental musings. "Why, do I look ugly or something?" 

I immediately began floundering, shaking my head quickly and stuttering out apologies so fast I almost missed the soft giggles eminating from Y/N. Even though I was pretty sure she was kidding, I continued to ramble on, unwilling to let her think for a second that she was anything less than gorgeous. Thankfully, she only let me panic for a few moments before lifting her head fractionally and smiling at me. 

"S'okay Buck, I know what you meant," she chuckled amicably before settling back into my shoulder. "I'm alright, just tired as always."

If anyone would've asked, I would've sworn my face was on fire. I hummed lightly in response, not trusting my voice at the moment. Thankfully, Nat saved me further embarrassment by rolling her eyes and laughing. 

"Of course our little insomniac is tired," she quipped good-naturedly. "When's the last time you actually slept Y/N/N?"

I frowned down towards Y/N in concern. She just snickered at Natasha's question, flipping her off as she smiled sweetly. Nat chuckled once more, letting the subject drop and turning her attention back to her previous conversation. Evidently Tony and Sam had finally agreed on a movie, and the lights dimmed as the main titles began to play. 

"You're not sleeping?" I softly questioned. Even though she hadn't been moving before, I could still feel the way she stiffened at my question, and my concern grew. She recovered quickly however, turning her head just enough to look me in the face and shooting me a wary look. 

"Do any of us?" she questioned back. Her face was illuminated by the soft glow of the screen, eyes darkened with a look I couldn't quite place and features as vulnerable as I'd ever seen. The sight of her, so close to my face and so open all but took my breath away. I opened my mouth to respond --

"Hey lovebirds, can you quiet down over there?" Sam interrupted loudly. I tore my gaze away from Y/N to find the entire team looking over at Y/N and I with amused and expectant expressions. Y/N buried her face into my arm at the attention, clearly embarrassed. Unconsciously, my arm wrapped around her frame and pulled her deeper into my side. I glared at Sam and flipped him off with my free hand. He and the rest of the team chuckled before turning back to the movie. 

After the intrusion I was too distracted by the feel of Y/N being tucked into my body to question her any more. Also, she did end up falling asleep during the film, head resting gently across my chest and expression serene. She managed to sleep through the entirety of all 3 movies Tony insisted we watch. Normally I would've left part way through the first, but I would rather die than disturb Y/N as she peacefully slept. She clearly needed it, and the fact that she was cuddled up to me as she did it was just a happy coincidence. 

I chalked her lack of sleep up to a generational difference. Maybe millennials had just learned to get by with less sleep? I wasn't totally up to date with the ins-and-outs of this new generation, but I was fairly sure that insomnia was a common problem. People could say what they liked about them, but I was honestly blown away by the amount of shit that people in this age had to deal with. College cost more than a house would've back in my day, employers were getting pickier and pickier about who got a job, and there was a near-constant threat of some kind of world-wide disaster at any given moment. Not to mention the fact that apparently the arctic was melting? Global warming disturbed me to no end, especially since it was one of the only reasons Steve had been found in the first place. Of course people slept less easily these days, why would Y/N be an exception? 

Currently, we were on our way back from a routine mission. We were the only ones on the Quinjet, sitting across from one another as we flew home. Neither of us said much, both happy to decompress from things silently. 

Studying her face as we sat, I felt the familiar feeling of concern bubble up in my chest at the sight. Her eyes were almost bloodshot, lids weighing heavily as she leaned against the side of the jet like she was fighting to keep them open. The purple bags that I'd first noted all those weeks ago had only seemed to have grown, now sagging low on her face which seemed paler than usual. Her expression was flat, mouth and brows drooping into a very uncharacteristic frown. 

Though I was worried, I wasn't willing to break the comfortable silence Y/N and I had created in the jet. I watched as her eyes fluttered shut and snapped open for a few minutes before she finally succumbed to her tiredness and fell asleep. I breathed out a sigh of relief I wasn't even aware I'd been holding in as I watched her struggle. I wasn't a religious man, but I was suddenly thankful to whatever god listening that she was actually getting some sleep. 

Settling back into my seat, I watched as she slept and internally planned a way to bring her out of the jet without waking her. Seemed simple enough -- she'd slept soundly enough all those weeks ago at movie night that I was able to gather her up into my arms and bring her to her room without waking her. It wasn't exactly difficult to convince myself to help her once more. Outside of the fact that I was legitimately becoming concerned about the amount of sleep she was getting, I would be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having Y/N in my arms once more. Last time she'd cuddled into me so tightly, like a kitten curling up on your chest. If I concentrated hard enough I could practically still feel her warm body against my torso. The mere thought raised a light blush to my cheeks and made my legs start to lose strength. 

I seriously needed to get a grip. 

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost missed the sounds Y/N was making. The soft whimpers reminded me almost like the sounds dogs make as they dream -- small, high-pitched noises that squeaked from her lips as she slept. Her body was still slumped against the metal frame of the jet, but with one glance I could tell her posture had definitely tensed. Her fists were clenching and relaxing over and over, eyes squeezed closed tightly, and every now and then her whole body would jerk around. Fear and guilt pooled in the pit of my stomach as I realized what was happening. 

Y/N was having a nightmare. 

I froze for a moment, unsure what to do, until Y/N let out another cry of pain and terror, louder this time. My body was instantly by her side without even checking in with my brain first before moving. I pulled her onto my lap gently and began rubbing soothing patterns around the expanse of her back with my metal hand while the flesh one delicately cupped her face. She was trembling all over and her fists immediately wound their way into the fabric of my shirt and clenched as she hung on for dear life. 

After a few moments I decided I had to wake her. Whatever was going on in her head was clearly causing her immense fear, and it felt like my heart was breaking with each jerk of her body or whimper of pain. I began softly calling her name, hands still moving gently across her skin as I tried to rouse her. 

It didn't work. 

My gentle prying hadn't woken her in the slightest. In fact her movements had become even more erratic -- she was now thrashing in my arms, futilely trying to fight off whatever she was facing in her dream. Mind whirling, I gripped her tighter and began calling her name louder. 

She woke with a start. Her bloodshot eyes flew open and she instantly attacked me. Her fists flew quickly and landed solidly against my jaw as she scrambled off my lap. She jerked away, back landing against the farthest wall of the jet and posture defensive. Her eyes were wild with a kind of dangerous fire I recognized all too well. 

 I raised my hands up in surrender, not moving an inch from my place. 

“Y/N, it’s me. Bucky. You’re safe, it was just a dream,” I explained slowly. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes darted back and forth for a few seconds, and I could practically feel the realization seeping through her. The fog of terror from her nightmare was slowly fading from her face, giving way to a look of vulnerable confusion. 

“Bucky?” she breathed. Her chest was still heaving with each breath she took and her voice was small. Y/N’s eyes were wide as she searched my face for an answer, and I felt a wave of sympathy roll through me at the panicked, bewildered emotions that were written all over her face. I nodded slowly and began to lower my hands. Y/N sucked in a breath as the final flash of recognition crossed her features and she let out a sob. 

I was up in an instant, arms winding around her shaking body and lips murmuring encouraging words into her hair. I could feel her tears starting to soak through my shirt as she clung against my chest and sobbed. A deep, unsettling weight made it's home in my belly as I listened to her cries. I pushed the feeling down as I comforted her, trying everything I knew to end her anguish. 

Eventually her sobbing slowed, and the jet was silent once more, save for a few hiccups and sniffles every now and again. My hands were still absentmindedly rubbing against her back, but I took her silence as a good sign and I pulled my head back marginally so I could look at her more fully. 

The sight of Y/N's face almost broke my heart in two. Her normally clear skin was now tear-stained and covered in red and pink splotches, and the area under her eyes was puffy. Her mouth was set in a deep pout that didn't suit her at all. Worst of all was the look in her eyes -- her Y/E/C irises looked like a storm cloud, pain and despair swirling within them in a way I was all too familiar with. They looked like the way I often felt during my more dark moments, and the idea that she was feeling anything close to that twisted the rock-like knot even deeper into my lower belly. 

"Y/N��" I murmured emphatically. She sniffled, pulling one of her arms away from its place entangled in my shirt to rub some of the errant tears away from her face. I guided her gently back to one of the benches and we both sat without detangling ourselves from one another.

"Sorry," she whispered almost robotically. "I just...I had…". 

"A nightmare?" I supplied quietly. She nodded, body beginning to lean away from mine as if she was going to pull away. My grip on her tightened marginally, unwilling to let her go just yet. She seemed appreciative at the silent offer of support, and her head rolled back into the crook of my neck easily. 

"How long?" I asked evenly. Though I couldn't see her face anymore due to our position I could feel the way her body tensed at the query. My hands began running up and down her back once more, almost of their own accord. After a few moments her muscles relaxed a bit under my soothing touch, and I breathed a silent breath of relief at the progress. 

"Since Ultron, I guess," she whispered so quietly I almost missed it.  I felt my brows furrow even deeper at the admission -- Steve had filled me in about what had happened in Sokovia, but if I was recalling correctly that was almost 2 years ago. Guilt flooded my chest at the sheer length of time Y/N had been struggling without any help. 

 “I watched...there was a kid, and he…I couldn’t”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I cut her off quickly. Her only response was to burrow deeper into the crook of my neck, seemingly grateful to be spared the task of reliving the nightmare. Though the feeling of the soft skin of her face against my neck was enough to send those embarrassing flutters through my body, my mind was still working in overdrive to try and figure out a way to reduce Y/N’s pain. 

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I...I want to help". 

I felt Y/N's small smile against my neck and I shivered at the gentle movement of her lips. 

"I know you do Buck, but there's nothing to be done," she mumbled regretfully. Almost immediately afterwards she yawned and began stretching her limbs like a cat around my frame before settling back into my embrace. I couldn't help but chuckle fondly. 

The only sounds that filled the jet now were the soft whirring of the engines and the sound of the air passing by the outside as we flew. For a moment I wondered if Y/N had fallen asleep again, but the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the quiet yawns she let escape every now and again told me otherwise. After a few minutes of silence I quietly spoke up once more. 

"I get them too you know."

Y/N's face turned upwards just enough so she was looking me in the eyes. Her expression was guarded, but I could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes. 

"Really?" 

Even though her tone was nonchalant I could easily tell that she cared more about my response than she'd like to let on. I nodded, swallowing thickly and glancing away from her. 

"Yeah. I used to get them back during the war, but they really started up bad after everything with HYDRA," I explained as calmly as I could manage. I could practically feel the holes her eyes were burning into my face as she watched me intently. 

"I still get them sometimes but not as much.”

“Wh-what did you do to make them better?” she asked curiously. I shrugged. 

“I dunno. Therapy and time I guess,” I supplied. Her hopeful expression faltered slightly and guilt fanned through me. “Sorry, I know that’s not exactly what you probably wanted to hear.”

Y/N shook her head, yawning. 

"S'okay Buck, you're just being honest," she mumbled against my shoulder. "Wasn't exactly expecting an answer anyways."

She let out another huge yawn. My hands paused briefly on their circuit up and down the expanse of her back as a thought filtered through my mind. 

"You should sleep doll," I murmured softly against her hair. "I can tell you're exhausted."

Y/N yawned once more and shook her head stubbornly against my chest. 

"S'fine Buck. I've been worse." her soft voice filtered up, slightly muffled by the fabric of my shirt. I frowned. 

"Y/N…" I warned disapprovingly. 

"Seriously, I'm fine!" came her sleepy, half-hearted protest. "Besides, if I do it'll just…"

She trailed off, but the weight of what she was alluding to covered the air in the jet like a thick, wet blanket. The tension in my brows relaxed marginally as I was hit with another wave of sympathy. I tightened my grip on her body into what I hoped was a comforting embrace. My heart lifted and those damned butterflies erupted into a frenzy as I heard her sigh contently. Not even a beat later I felt her burrow herself even further into my arms and I couldn't help but smile at the feeling. 

"It's okay doll. I'm not going anywhere, I'll be here if it happens again," I ventured quietly. After a few moments of contemplation Y/N lifted her head from my chest, and I felt a flash of fear tear through my body. Maybe I'd crossed a line? What if she didn't appreciate my nagging, or thought I was overstepping the boundaries of the tentative friendship we had? I opened my mouth, poised and ready to spew apologies for intruding, but closed it seconds later as I caught the look on her face. 

Her Y/E/C eyes were wide, unshed tears lining them as she looked up at me. Her expression was one of pure adoration, full of hope and cautious optimism. The sight of it almost knocked all the breath out of my body. 

"Yo-you will?" she breathed, voice small and hopeful. Warmth filled my chest and I smiled. 

"Promise." I vowed. Her face split into a lopsided grin and her cheeks flushed with the most adorable pink splotches I'd ever seen. She held my gaze for a few moments longer before her face disappeared into the confines of my chest once more. I settled back into the side of the jet with Y/N's form still gathered closely in my arms, utterly content and pleased with the way things had turned out. 

In no time at all I heard her breaths begin to even out and the beating of her heart slow as she fell back asleep. I sat back, hands still absentmindedly running along her back as she slept with my mind racing as it tried to process the last few minutes. Normally after even the briefest interaction with Y/N my brain would be riddled with self-doubt and anxiety, over playing each second over again and internally cringing at my reactions. But it was hard to form any thoughts that were semi-coherent with her cuddled peacefully against my body. Instead, my mind was occupied by scanning every visible inch of her form, working desperately to try and commit the sights, sounds, and feelings to my memory. 

It didn't take long before the jet landed back at the tower. I paused momentarily before carefully gathering Y/N in my arms and walking out. I made a beeline for her room, ignoring or silencing any of the team we met along the way with a single glance. After the struggle on the jet I’d be damned if one of them woke her. Not that they really tried -- everyone backed off pretty quickly once they noticed Y/N’s sleeping form, irritatingly smug smirks plastered across their features. If it weren't for the sleeping beauty in my arms I was certain that any one of them would've had a litany of teasing comments at the ready. Especially Tony. Poor guy looked like he might have an aneurysm if he didn't get to spit whatever sarcastic jab his brain was cooking up out soon. 

Eventually I made it to her room, and settled her gently into her bed. 

It wasn’t easy. 

Even asleep Y/N was still one of the most stubborn people I knew. She grumbled petulantly in her sleep, and I practically had to pry her off my chest to get her onto the bed. Once I'd successfully detangled my shirt from her fingers' iron grip, I removed her combat boots and brought the covers up over her curled up form. She'd pay hell in the morning from Tony for sleeping in her dirty tac-gear and ruining the sheets, but I sure as hell wasn't about to wake her to change. After I was sure she was settled, I took one final glance at her peaceful face before turning to leave. I made it all the way to the door, finger hovering over the light switch, before I heard her. 

"You said you'd be here."

Y/N was sitting up in her bed, eyes half-lidded and palms rubbing against them tiredly as she piped up. I smiled unconsciously at the sight of her sleepy expression. 

"That I did," I chuckled softly. She raised an eyebrow curiously. 

“So stay here...” she murmured. “Please.”

I nodded, crossing the room once more and dragging her desk chair with me as I went. I set it down next to her bed and settled in before motioning for her to continue sleeping. She blinked a few times, amusement and exhaustion lacing her features. 

"No, you old man," she giggled quietly, patting the empty space next to her. "I meant here as in here."

Now it was my turn to blink in confusion. 

"O-oh," I stuttered. "Is that -- I mean if you want…"

Y/N chuckled again, clearly as amused by my floundering when half-asleep as she was when she was awake. 

"Just get in here Buck."

No need to tell me twice. I shucked off my boots and crawled into Y/N's bed beside her. I paused as I pulled her blankets over my body, uncertain as to what to do next. 

I mean, she seemed like she liked being in my arms back in the Quinjet, but maybe it was different now that we were in her bed? It certainly felt different -- even though the space between us couldn't have been more than a few inches at most, it felt like there was an entire country between Y/N and I. Things were too close, too intimate. I was powerless to make even a single move under the crushing weight of the implications thick in the air. And yet my fingers were twitching against her mattress as they fought the urge to wrap her up in my embrace once more. 

Evidently, Y/N noticed the distance between us. 

She rolled over to her side so that she was facing me. Though she still looked like she was having some trouble keeping her eyes open, there was a glint of mischief and some other emotion in them as she surveyed my frozen form. I glanced down at her briefly, muscles completely stiff and immobile as I silently wondered what the hell I was going to do next. 

Y/N giggled once more, the sound sending the butterflies in my core crazy. She mercifully closed the space between us as she settled into my side. Her head nestled against my chest and her arms threw themselves around my frame like I was a pillow. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, muscles relaxing considerably as I wound my arms around her and pulled her flush into my side. 

"Thanks," she murmured sleepily. Her eyes were already closed and I could feel her heartbeat slowing as she fell asleep once more. 

"Anytime Doll," I whispered fondly, nose nuzzling into the hairs atop the crown of her head. I yawned, suddenly extremely aware of just how tired I was. I leaned my head down against Y/N's and closed my eyes too, sure that for once I'd be guaranteed a good night's sleep. 

[lost-in-time-marie]

Into the Shadows: Chapter Five

The rubber soles of my red converses patted softly against the linoleum hall of the school. I wandered absently through the maze-like, white halls of the red, brick building. I was supposed to go to the office to drop off some papers for a teacher, one of many chores from Teacher Assisting. Instead I was enjoying my favorite pastime. I loved the cold; October had a nice chill to it. In the older halls of the building with poor insulation, I could gaze out the large windows to watch the red and orange leaves fall softly to the awaiting ground while enjoying the chill of October as it seeped through the walls of the school. I was enjoying such a moment on Tuesday when I heard the softest tinkling sound. I ignored it at first, wondering if perhaps I imagined the sound. It persisted and I took notice of a melody. Music. Somebody was playing music. Unable to resist, I followed the noise.

I pushed open a pale, wooden door that led to the balcony of the auditorium. On the stage below, a man sat at a beautiful, black grand piano, I squinted in an attempt to get a better look, but it was simply too far. The most beautiful melody poured over me, hanging in the air. It seemed to wrap around me, embracing me, cooing at me to stay for a while. Gathering all my effort, I left the balcony, quickly sprinting down the stairs at the end of the hall. I wanted to be surrounded by the music again. Quietly, I pushed open the lower auditorium door and walked swiftly passed rows and rows of uncomfortable stadium seats to the bottom of the stage. I gazed up at the boy as he hunched over the piano, hands flying gracefully over the keys. His curly dark hair hung in his face, unable to hide his evident happiness and peace. A pang of envy shot through me, I wished I could play the piano like that. It took me a moment to recognize the song; it was one of my favorites, Maybe by Yiruma. I laid my head on my pale, folded arms and closed my eyes. The music wrapped comfortingly around me, I lost myself in the melody and beauty of swift twinkling notes.

“Kristin?” A familiar voice questioned. I hadn’t noticed the music stopped, I quickly snapped open my eyes and instantly recognized James peering down at me from the piano bench. His dark eyes stared down at me in confusion; I thought I detected the faintest blush painting his cheeks.

“Sorry,” I apologized, blood rushing to my cheeks, “I didn’t mean to intrude, I heard you playing from the hallway upstairs and that’s my favorite song.” The red of his cheeks deepened and he stared down at the keys. It was refreshing to see his easy-going, charming mask come off.

“It’s just a hobby of mine, helps me think. I’m skipping class right now actually,” He said with a laugh, studying the piano keys.

I smiled, “As much as I frown upon skipping, I’ll let you pass this time because that was absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, annnnnd I’m skipping too,” I joked with a laugh. James smiled and patted the space next to him on the piano bench. I hoisted myself on stage and sat beside him. We were so close I could smell the sweetness of his skin and when he inhaled our shoulders brushed.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” I asked, breaking the silence, trying to focus on anything other than how good he smelled right then.

James brushed his fingers gingerly over the keys, almost longingly, before turning to look at me, “It’s just something my father taught me. I’ve loved to play since I was a kid, it clears my head, lets me escape from the world for a while,” He shrugged, faking nonchalance. It did not escape my notice that, for the first time, he answered my question honestly.

“I can see that it’s important to you, I think it’s great, everyone needs to escape now and again. I like to read and watch movies to escape. Everyone has their own things,” I smiled encouragingly, nudging his shoulder lightly with mine. His dark eyes softened into that liquid brown that melted my bones and he gave a small, sad smile.

“Is everything okay, James? You’ve seemed so down and distracted after your first couple of weeks at school here. I hate to see you this way,” I said, worried. I placed my hand over his on the piano and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for worrying about me. Things have just been difficult with my dad. I don’t really want to talk about it,” James explained, his deep brown eyes clouded with sadness.

“Okay, I understand,” I gave a small, comforting smile, “Just know that I’m always here,” I offered.

“Thank you,” James smiled, this time it reached his eyes. He clasped my hand tightly in his and began to play a soft, slow melody with the other. My heart beat erratically and my hand felt strangely warm where he held it. I tired to keep my thoughts in order. James was finally opening up; I couldn’t waste this precious opportunity with foolish girlishness.

“Do you live with your dad?” I asked, staring at his peaceful face as his fingers danced over the keys.

“Yes, my mom died when I was very young, it’s just been the two of us for as long as I can remember,” James replied, still staring at the piano, never faltering in his tune, even as he talked. I let the subject go then, somehow it seemed wrong to take advantage of his sudden vulnerability to feed my own curiosity. I enjoyed his beautiful music, happy to have learned a little something about his mysterious life, always kept so secret.

 “So do you want to hang out after school today?” Natasha asked, plopping her backpack onto her desk next to me. The rest of the morning had passed quickly after my encounter with James, probably something to do with our interaction running on repeat in my head, hopelessly distracting me for the rest of the day. I had nearly forgotten my own impending doom. I sighed and bit my lip.

“I, uh, can’t…” I trailed off, “I have a tutoring session with Ryder Grim at the library.” I whispered in a rush.

“You have a tutor?” Natasha choked in surprise. The people at nearby desks turned their heads and gave us weird looks.

“Lower your voice!” I huffed, smacking her arm in cadence with my syllables. “It’s not exactly ‘tutoring’, we have to study together for the AP exam, Mrs. Gold is making us,” I sighed rolling my eyes. A sour taste filled my mouth just uttering the unfortunate circumstances that would bring Ryder and I together this afternoon.

“Oh man,” Natasha laughed, “That really sucks, talk about irony.”

“Yes, well, I’m glad one of us is amused,” I glared at her.

“Seriously though, you’ve been hanging out with the kid a lot between tutoring and partnering up with him for this project in Psychology, I think you liiiiike him” Natasha teased in a sing-song voice, nudging my shoulder.

“I could literally kill you right now for even thinking that!” I seethed, “And I did not partner up with him! It was an accident, I explained this last night on the phone. Luckily, James got to class late and had to join our group, so I won’t be stuck with Ryder alone any longer than purely necessary.” I muttered, mentally thanking whoever was responsible for that. Natasha laughed and I pouted at my own rotten luck. Before long, Sinclair swept into the class right after the late bell, as usual. Class passed quickly, mostly Sinclair discussed the project further and answered questions. Sooner than I would have liked, sooner than seemed fair to me, the bell rang, and we were released. I was suddenly envious of my peers that had their freedom this afternoon. I took upon the air of a woman marching to her own funeral, begrudgingly gathering my things, placing them in my backpack so slowly a turtle could outpace me. Ryder briskly walked to my desk and waited impatiently for me.

“Are you ready?” He asked severely while I shoved my binder into my backpack.

“Do I look ready?” I retorted, refusing to look at him, my dark mood making me ruder towards him than I usually allowed. I quickly zipped my backpack as he reached for the strap.

“What are you doing?” I asked, again harsher than I intended, pulling the backpack away from him.

“I was going to carry your things,” He answered blankly, raising a questioning brow at my sudden severity.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it,” I mumbled and slung the pack over my shoulder. I swore the tiniest smile graced his lips from the corner of my eye, but it was gone so fast I must have imagined it. Our altercation at the elementary school had done nothing to change our relationship; his mood swings left me so confused I was experiencing vertigo.

Natasha, Ryder, and I walked together to the parking lot. We were an unusual trio to be sure and our ensemble gathered more than a few stares as we made our way across campus. Natasha would drop me off at the library for the tutoring session while Ryder rode behind us. The plan was for him to tutor me for an hour and a half, then James would join us, and we’d work on our Psychology project for another hour and a half. Finally, I would be free to take the subway home and die of exhaustion.

We walked silently to the student parking lot. I realized I hated walking through school with Ryder because the stares always followed, if there was one thing I disliked more than Ryder himself, it was being the center of attention. Before long, Ryder veered off to his own car, while Natasha and I piled into her Prius. We circled around the lot and finally found him. When we did, I stared open mouthed, not even trying to conceal my shock, as he climbed, always graceful, onto a hot red motorcycle.

“He drives a motorcycle, too!” I exclaimed too loudly to Natasha. Natasha nearly doubled over laughing. “He’s too perfect, god damn it! There has to be some kind of limit to this thing. One guy cannot be inhumanly beautiful, graceful, smart, and ride a sexy as hell motorcycle. I mean, it’s just not fair!” I fumed. Natasha was practically crying from laughing now. I crossed my arms and sulked in the passenger seat while Natasha composed herself and drove to the library, Ryder following directly behind. I pouted with my arms crossed in the passenger seat, boring holes in him through the side view mirror the whole way there. Ryder could get me agitated like no one else, a fact that only made me despise him that much more. The more time I spent with Ryder, I remained confused as to how he could get me so worked up, compared to the usual indifference I felt to just about every other male at our school. Perhaps it was, as I described to Natasha, his inhuman perfection, or his constantly changing mood that was impossible to keep up with and the refined “I’m better than everyone else” air he kept about himself. Regardless of the reason, I found myself very much dreading this evening and every Tuesday and Thursday evening for the next weeks to come.

After a few minutes, we pulled up to a modest brick building with sliding glass doors and a sign that read “Public Library” in silver block letters. I slowly, grudgingly, gathered my things, wishing I wouldn’t have to get out of the car.

“Have fun, play nice!” Natasha called with a laugh before speeding away. I grimaced at her retreating car before trudging into the library. The doors slid open in welcome and I automatically breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of books. Rows upon rows of them stood before me, divided straight down the middle by a sea of tan tables and chairs, in the very back a blue counter sat for check out, an older man worked studiously behind it. The peace and quiet was a welcome reprieve from the mess of school, I paused for a moment longer to enjoy it. It had been a long time since I sought the solace of this building. I couldn’t quite drift in the allure of the books around me, knowing the chore I had before me. I saw Ryder pulling out books and papers at a table and slowly walked toward him. I imagined killers took a faster approach to the firing squad. The chair scraped too loudly against the wood floors as I took a seat beside him.

It was a little awkward at first, as we began studying. Neither of us said very much as we busted open AP study books and textbooks and diagrams. I had to give him credit, he was a good. He never got annoyed or exasperated, just easily answered my questions and explained core concepts without any emotion. After an hour I felt much better about the subject than I ever had. I leaned back in my chair and sighed.

“Okay, my brain hurts, I need to take a break before I implode,” I insisted, pushing the books and papers away from me. A small smiled teased at the corner of his lips, but it never reached his eyes.

“Oh, come on!” I exclaimed. Too loudly, because the man at the counter threw me a dark scowl and shushed me, as if my outburst was sure to ruin the integrity of his carefully curated atmosphere. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him like a child.

Ryder looked marginally surprised by my outburst. “What?” he asked, the slightest hint of shock coloring his tone.

“You never show any emotion. You sit in class all the time, completely unmoving, like a stone statue,” I explained, exasperated, demanding an answer. I attempted a poor replication of his unafflicted expression for his benefit.

His pale pink lips quirked up into a small smile. “Is that why you called me a stone statue a couple of days ago? You disapprove of my lack of expression?” He asked, clearly bemused at the thought.

“Yes,” I answered softly, heat steadily crawling up to my cheeks without my permission, “I guess I just sort of made that nickname for you in my head, but come on, it’s totally deserved. You’re emotionless and rude,” I explained bluntly, only slightly embarrassed by revealing my true thoughts. I used my hair as a thin veil, unwilling to expose my blush.

He grinned now. “Ahh, but you do think of me, don’t you?” He teased with a breathy almost laugh.

I rolled my eyes, “You wish.” I turned my gaze down toward the table, attempting to hide the grin that spread across my face without any prodding from my brain to have told it to do such a thing, in response to Ryder no less. I shifted my hair to sweep across one side of my neck, further obscuring my face from his view, clearly I couldn’t be trusted around him to keep my composure.

We didn’t say much else after that and it wasn’t very long until James arrived. We started on our psychology project without any interruption. Ryder seemed tense working closely with James, and though I tried to draw the fun, carefree side of James out, he remained as stiff and humorless as Ryder. I wondered what could possibly have transpired between the two of them to force such a reaction. I was glad when we finished our project fifteen minutes early; the tension was palpable in the air. Ryder left with a curt goodbye, while James stayed behind to walk me down the block to the subway station.

“Have you heard the news lately?” James inquired, as we paced quickly down the street.

“No, why?” I asked intrigued by the turn our conversation had taken.

“Supposedly, a string of break-ins has occurred in the city at medical labs,” He informed, playful suspicion coating his words.

I laughed, “So? Crime is hardly unusual in New York. It’s probably a couple of lowlifes looking to score,” I shrugged.

He laughed too and changed the subject. “So are you excited for the haunted house our school is putting on for Halloween?” He asked, waggling his brows.

“Ugh, no. I don’t really do scary or adrenaline,” I replied, smiling sheepishly.

“You know Natasha is going to force you to go,” He chuckled, pausing before the entrance to the subway.

“Oh, I know,” I laughed, “But that doesn’t mean I’m excited or going to enjoy it,” I finished before turning and walking to the subway. James caught my elbow to stop me.

"Hey, Kristin?" James asked, showing a rare moment of hesitancy.

"What's up?" I replied, instantly concerned by the change in his demeanor.

"Will you go out with me sometime? Just me and you? I know this sounds a little strange and forward because we're only friends and all, but I have this feeling like I want you to know me, really know me," He explained sheepishly, averting his eyes. I swore there was the slightest pink in his cheeks.

"James, I would love to. I don't think it's weird or forward at all. I would love to get to know you better," I beamed. I had been so curious about James since he arrived, if he finally wanted to give me the opportunity to pick his brain that sounded just fine to me.

[slashhinginghasher]

Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 4: Half A Ghost

Summary: When things don’t go to plan, you change the plan.

AKA a nice helping of backstory with a side order of Jesse being a horny freak.

This story is on Ao3!

None of this was going the way he’d planned.

Granted, the plan was fairly light on details - most of which revolved around turning the bitch into a human Picasso - but it was still a plan, god damn it, and none of those details involved him sulking in his office and pretending the ache in his balls was just from her well-placed kick (lucky hit) and not the lingering taste of her blood in his mouth. For someone who was all skin and bones, she was surprisingly strong. Put a little meat on her and she’d probably be a tiny terror. And despite how scrawny she was, he had to admit she’d looked positively fucking edible like that, all pink-flushed and trembling (even if it was just heatstroke). Small wonder he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her--

Fuck.

There were already rumors floating around the organization that he was going soft, thanks to that cocksucker Preston. Some quick knife work had easily convinced the man to drop the subject, but whispers had a way of... lingering. The organization was still recovering from the Miami debacle a couple years back. It had taken more money than he’d liked to make that particular police investigation disappear.. Between the amnesiac hooker melting his face off and Veronica blowing her brains out in FBI custody, the last thing he needed was to be seen slavering over yet another piggy like a horny teenager.

Fucking Veronica.

She was the last time he’d taken work home with him. The mind games had been fun at first, and having clean pussy on demand was a definite plus. But he’d grown tired of playing at domesticity, of making blatantly false promises (of course I don’t touch the other girls, baby, only you). Boredom led to stupid choices. A kid? Jesse was a man of many talents, but fatherhood was not one of them, especially with a simpering little ex-piggy as the mother. Veronica’s suicide was probably the only good thing to come out of that mess.

But he hadn’t thought of Veronica in over a year, and the fact that he was now just served to piss him off even further. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. He had half a mind to storm back down to the basement and snap the bitch’s skinny neck, just to be done with all of it. He was almost out the door when his computer chimed with an email notification.

From: agallagher@chrom.net Subject: Found her Attachment: marpol.zip

And just like that, boiling rage gave way to an intense, almost electric curiosity. After the initial encounter, he’d sent a picture of the girl to his team with orders to dig up everything they could about her. Now, it seemed, they’d hit pay-dirt. With a slight quiver of anticipation, Jesse eased himself into his leather desk chair and opened the email.

Name: Marena Polunochnaya Age: 23 (alleged) DOB: Unknown Place of birth: Unknown (native Russian speaker) Relatives: Unknown Education: Unknown

What the fuck? That was it? Jesse snarled, ready to throw the laptop across the room and put A. Gallagher’s head on a pike. He clicked open the attachment with a little more force than necessary and was surprised when dozens of files, arranged chronologically, appeared on the screen. The earliest file (a brief police report about an altercation outside a south Miami bar) was dated from four years ago. Before that, nothing. 

Little miss Marena Polunochnaya, it seemed, was half a ghost.

And the other half was a little hellion, he thought, scrolling through what seemed like an inordinate number of police reports. Theft, both petty and vehicular, vandalism, street racing, underage drinking, trespassing, assault and battery, minor arson, justifiable homicide…

Wait, what?!

He couldn’t open the file fast enough. Apparently, the girl had been the victim of an attempted mugging three years prior. According to the court reports, she had killed the mugger in self-defense, sustaining a stab wound in the process. And there was video footage: a security camera outside a club caught the entire thing.

Click.

The footage was surprisingly high-quality for a security cam, although the low light still made the picture a little grainy. A familiar little dark-haired figure walked into the alley and was grabbed by a larger figure with a bandana wrapped around the lower half of its face. The mugger pinned the girl to the wall with his forearm and pulled out a knife. There was no sound, but Jesse didn’t need dialogue to enjoy the show. The girl was making placating gestures with her hands, likely promising cooperation. The idiot eased his hold on her and was immediately gifted with a frankly beautiful left hook. His knife hand lashed out, he staggered back, and the girl was doubled over with the knife buried in her rib cage. By body language, the mugger seemed shocked; he probably hadn’t been expecting a fight or planning on actually using the knife for more than intimidation. The girl stumbled forward a step, hand held out as though pleading for help.

And then.

God.

She pulled the knife out of her chest and slammed it home in the mugger’s throat, ripping it open in a glorious arc of arterial spray. The mugger dropped, convulsed a couple times, and was still. The girl leaned heavily against the wall and pressed a hand against the growing dark patch on her side, presumably staying there until the cops arrived on the scene.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

If he hadn’t been hard before (he had been), he sure as fuck was now. Jesse watched the video again. Again. Again. He dragged a hand over his growing grin, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness of his slacks. He was only about a quarter of the way through the files, and curiosity won out over arousal. He kept scrolling.

After the failed mugging, the girl was admitted to some do-gooder program for “at-risk repeat offenders” under the sponsorship and care of one Dr. Linda Malloy. The program’s website sported pictures of gleaming dormitories and spacious gardens, along with promises of education, vocational training, and therapy for “reintegration into society.” The whole thing was disgustingly optimistic and upbeat, and Jesse almost laughed at the thought of the scraggly wildcat in his basement sitting in one of those plush offices.

Dr. Linda Malloy kept extensive notes. Two and a half years’ worth, to be exact. Many of them were dense with psychobabble and medical jargon that Jesse didn’t have the patience to decipher, so he skimmed them, letting his attention fall on whatever caught his eye.

“...shows clear signs of PTSD - insomnia, night terrors, mistrust of authority, violent reactions to unexpected or unwanted physical contact, frequent dissociative states - but refuses to share any information about the events which may have caused her condition…”

“...had to be sedated after refusing to sleep for four days straight and threatening a staff member with dismemberment…”

“...locked herself in the maintenance shed and was found trying to sharpen her teeth with a screwdriver and a metal file…”

“...continues to meet all overtures of friendliness with aggression or by resolutely ignoring the other party…”

“...refused to speak English the entire session. Later translation shows she was parroting my questions back to me in Russian….”

“...did not move, speak, or make eye contact for the entire session…”

“...regarding her habit of ripping pages out of her journal and burning them after writing on them. I asked her about it one day, and she said thoughts cannot return once they’ve been turned to ash. I asked how she had discovered that, and she simply replied ‘Hana.’ When I asked her who Hana was, her eyes widened, as though she had made a mistake, before her entire manner turned cold and she walked away….”

“...had to lock her in her room at night to keep her from breaking into and sleeping in the walk-in freezer…”

Jesse had never been one for novels - couldn’t see the point in spending hours reading about fake shit - but he could’ve read this shit all day. Amazing how so much fucked-upness could fit into one tiny person. He wondered how she’d ever conned her way into getting discharged until he read a little further and saw that funding for the program had been cut, forcing the “residents” out into the world despite the many protests of the staff.

Information was light after that. She paid for a shitty studio apartment with cash that she must’ve gotten from an under-the-table job. Her run-ins with the police were few and far in between. Jesse didn’t blame her for keeping a low profile after escaping Mayberry Asylum. He wouldn’t want to be stuck in a hellhole like that either. (Of course, now she was stuck in his basement, which probably seemed like another hellhole to her. Oh well.) The final file was dated from three weeks ago.

It was a warrant for her arrest on charges of quadruple homicide.

Jesse inhaled so sharply he nearly choked on it. His eyes darted over the preliminary report. Girl seen entering a penthouse apartment with four men. Noise complaints from downstairs neighbors around 4 am. Police arrive on scene to find three corpses, one almost-corpse, and no girl. No one had seen her leave.

There were pictures. Jesse’s hands were practically shaking with excitement as he opened them.

The first corpse had been pushed down the stairs, his neck bent at a terrible angle and blood seeping from his crushed skull. The second had been stabbed repeatedly with a broken bottle until his face and throat looked like raw hamburger. The third was a mess of chemical burns. The coroner’s report said he’d been drowned in a bathtub full of cleaning chemicals. The fourth man had been bludgeoned with a wooden baseball bat, half the vertebrae in his neck and back shattered. He’d died in the hospital two days later.

Oh, someone has been very, very naughty.

The urge to cleave her little skull in two was rapidly being replaced by the urge to rail her until she forgot her own name. It probably wouldn’t take long, he mused. The name was bigger than the girl. He pulled up the video feed from the basement and was greeted with the sight of her retching miserably over the grate in the floor. Right. Head injury. Drugs. Dehydration. She probably wouldn’t survive the fucking she had coming to her in her current condition, and Jesse now had a very keen interest in keeping her alive. He sent a quick message to his medical team before reopening the footage of the failed mugging.

The best way to regain control of the situation, after all, was to admit that the situation had changed.

The relief he felt as he freed his aching cock was nearly as powerful as an orgasm. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he was this hard. He ran his thumb over the head, letting out a shuddering breath as he gathered the precum beading on the tip. He began to pump the shaft in slow, firm strokes and let his imagination run wild.

He’d tie her down, of course. No way his devious little doll would remain still long enough for him to fully enjoy her. He’d trace his tongue over every goddamn scar on her body, over her hardened nipples and the sharp points of her hips and that handy little panic button carved into her neck. Then he’d turn his attention to her tight little pussy, keeping her on the edge until she was writhing and swearing and begging for it. Then, only then, he’d make her taste herself on his lips as he slid into her tight, wet heat, fucking her hard and fast until she screamed herself hoarse.

Jesse came with a silent groan and the first real smile he’d had since Princess Fuckin’ Gemstone obliterated his face.

Marena Polunochnaya.

He rolled the name over his tongue. It tasted like blood.

[shooter-nobunagun]

Quarantine UST 7

//About to reach the climax (hah)...Apologies for the delay (gasp) but I took some time off and then when I came back work piled up so...this chapter took longer. Also, it went very differently than what I’d originally planned, so...I’m not sure if I’m 100% satisfied with the direction, but when the muses want something, there’s not much I can do about that. I think it turned out all right, I hope it feels natural and not too...’perfect fantasy’ scenario.

Warning, some mature content this chapter (masturbation) but not super explicit.

She stared at the text on her screen, debating if she really wanted to send the message, or simply relegate it to her ‘unsent drafts’; where it would join the hundreds of other ramblings that never made it to Asao.

[Sio]: I’m screwed; I seriously think I’ve got more than just a ‘crush’ on Adam...like, I literally spend all my time obsessing over whether or not he LIKE likes me ??? and even if he does, what if we get in trouble? >__<||||

“Ugh...mendoukusai...why do I always make things more complicated than they need to be...” Sighing, the sniper looked mournfully at the message, wondering if it was a good idea to spill the beans. Even though Asao was her best friend and had been a godsend this entire time, somehow just declaring it—even in text form—seemed to cement it somehow, instead of remaining this nebulous fantasy that she could always dismiss if things got too tricky.

For sure though, as the third week passed through, Sio noticed a definite change in Adam’s attitude towards her. He rarely made sarcastic or snide remarks anymore, and even his quips about her inexperience felt more like gentle teasing instead. No, there was something there, for sure...the real question now was whether it was a cozy, platonic friendship, or the stirrings of something deeper and more passionate. Shaking her head, she took one last look at the message, then hit ‘send’ before she could change her mind. She half-hoped Asao wouldn’t see it until the next day; if she responded now, Sio wasn’t sure she could sleep without another all-night rant session.

In the meantime, if she needed a way to wind down and get sleepy... Sio glanced at the phone one more time, before turning off the lights and pulling the covers up. With a practiced hand she casually slipped off her panties, preferring to touch herself directly. If she was feeling particularly horny and wanted to spend a little extra time stretching it out, then she kept them on, teasing herself through the fabric until she couldn’t stand it anymore and then plunged her fingers straight into her core. This time though, it was more a nightly habit than anything else; a little ‘me time’ and a good way to relax before bed.

She sighed as her fingers slipped through her curls, reaching that warm, secret spot. It usually took a bit of friction to coax her sensitive little pearl out from its hiding place, but that could definitely be helped along by just thinking about a certain tall, white-haired e-gene holder. “Mmn...A-Adam...I bet, your hands would feel pretty good, t, touching me down there...” Just the other day he’d put his hand over hers while helping her lift correctly, and the difference in size, along with those calloused, but gentle fingers, did not go unnoticed. Her own slim digits rubbed the outer hood, Sio shivering as she felt her folds getting moist from the stimulation.

‘Seriously, I don’t know how much longer I can keep it a secret...’ There was only about another week left on their quarantine, and Sio was simultaneously excited and depressed about it. On one hand, she couldn’t wait to return to some semblance of normalcy, but on the other, what if they went back to acting as if this time never happened? Boring as it was (save for a minor skirmish that did occur, and where Adam actually admitted her aim had vastly improved), a part of her was genuinely sad that there might never be another time where they would all be like this: acting like close friends and maybe even a family.

But most of all, what if these feelings she was developing for Adam never went anywhere? Or what if they faded, after things went back to normal? The twinge in her heart hit harder than expected, and her arousal dropped a little, to Sio’s frustration. ‘Ugh, just stop overthinking things, Sio...now’s not the time for it, anyway.’

She focused on her fingers instead, on the physical sensations this time rather than her mental fantasies. It was surprising how quickly she’d become familiar with her own body, and where it felt good for her. Her breasts, for instance, weren’t as sensitive, but it was still nice to massage them gently, and when she got really horny her nipples were nice to tweak with. Given that she was masturbating on a near-daily basis (and sometimes more than once a day), it was easy to experiment with different areas and techniques. After a while, she’d even worked up the courage to stick a finger inside, which wasn’t nearly as difficult or even painful, unlike most of the gossip she heard. It just felt a little weird, except the few times her fingers managed to brush a particular spot—though it hadn’t happened very often. Mostly she just like rubbing her clit, and it usually only took her a couple minutes to reach a satisfying climax.

“Nng...” Sio bit her lips; for some reason it seemed like she wasn’t really in the mood today. It was taking her longer than usual to reach an orgasm, and despite her fingers it felt like she was stuck at the plateau phase. ‘Maybe I should just call it quits and go to sleep...but argh, I’m already more than halfway there...’ She couldn’t decide which was worse: working towards a half-hearted orgasm, or trying to sleep while still tense and aroused. Taking a break she laid on the cool sheets, running a hand up and down her thigh, enjoying how smooth and soft the skin felt. 

Funny how she couldn’t really remember when or what cause her feelings for Adam to change. Since the beginning, they’d always had this weird, almost love/hate thing going on, possibly since their first encounter in Taiwan. Sio knew she respected his skills on the battlefield, though his manners towards her could’ve used a lot of work. Even then, even back when he was all sorts of abrasive and prickly at her, she still couldn’t outright hate him. Be annoyed and upset, sure, but there was always a part of her that wished she could know him better, to find out what kind of a person he really was.

‘Adam...’ Just thinking about him, whether it was his physique or his interactions with her, filled her heart with a sense of longing. What kind of person was he like before DOGOO? Who were his friends? Was his ‘tsundere’ attitude just a facade to protect his true self? She wished she could just work up the courage and confess her feelings, consequences be damned, but she knew it’d probably never happen in a million years. But oh, how strong those feelings were, sometimes...to know him beyond his e-gene and touch his true soul... Slowly, her finger gently prodded her insides, Sio imagining what it would be like if he held her tight in those strong arms; whispering sweet nothings into her ear while brushing her hair soothingly, telling her how much he cared about her and admired her, how cute she was...

“Hnn...! Oh!” To her surprise her body started jerking, Sio so caught up in her romantic fantasies that she didn’t notice her orgasm until it literally shook her out of her reverie. “Hah, hah...A-Adam...I wish, I wish we were real...” Suddenly reality came back, and the sniper remembered where she was: in her own room in a borrowed house, in the middle of a foreign city, waiting out a quarantine with her teammates in the hopes that they wouldn’t get infected and die. Panting, she pulled her sticky fingers out, wiping them down before putting her panties back on again. Now that the euphoria was fading, she felt an almost crushing sense of defeat. 

‘Hah, who am I kidding; there’s no way I can ever tell him...I just can’t! Not to mention, what if he...really doesn’t feel the same way? I don’t wanna make him feel awkward, not when we’ve finally established some kind of friendship...’ Yet the thought of taking this secret to the grave made her heart feel even heavier, and despite being physically exhausted, Sio sensed the beginnings of insomnia—and groaned.

Suddenly her phone lit up. She must’ve forgotten to silence it—but the sniper immediately snatched it up, scanned Asao’s reply, and hit ‘call’ without even bothering to text first.

“Moshi moshi? Sio-chan? Is everything alright?”

“Asao-san! I’m sorry for calling you so suddenly, but...I really need to talk to you!” Sio half-wailed into the phone, trying to keep her voice down.

“Oh my, of course Sio-chan. But calm down first, what’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep now?”

“Well, I was...but I just can’t fall asleep.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s about...Adam. And well, you probably already saw my text, but...” her friend hummed in understanding on the other end, “and well, you know! I just don’t know...what to do about this!”

“I see...” Her friend replied seriously, Sio so worked up she was on the verge of tears at this point. “How do you know it’s forbidden? Do you know for sure that fraternization among DOGOO members is illegal?”

“W-Well, no...I mean, I don’t know for sure...if it is, then I haven’t heard of it,” Sio admitted, “b-but even then, like, what if...what if he, doesn’t like me back...!”

“Okay, let’s take this one at a time,” said Asao gently, trying to get Sio to calm down. “Let’s not worry about whether or not it’s against the rules or whatever— I’m pretty sure even if it is, it wouldn’t stop your feelings.” Sio grunted in response. “As for whether or not Adam feels the same...I mean, what do you think? What’s your instinct tell you? I’m not there, so I can’t say anything aside from what I’ve heard from you—but it doesn’t seem like it’s completely impossible, right?”

“I...well, I mean...” Her instincts, huh? More than once the others had pointed out how Sio sometimes just seemed to know things, yet be unable to explain how she knew afterwards—except that it just came to her, like an instinctive pull. “I...feel like he’s aware that there’s something more than just, friendly camaraderie between us...I-I mean for sure, I’ve noticed he’s changed how he acts towards me and speaks to me...s, so, that’s a positive sign, I guess...”

“Mm hmm, that’s good.” Asao encouraged from the other end. “So he’s definitely not avoiding you or anything.”

Sio shook her head. “No, if anything we’ve actually been spending a lot of time together, lately...heh, who would’ve guessed,” she gave a small laugh. “But, I guess it’s just...I just can’t be sure, right? Who knows if he likes me like, that, or what if it turns out he’s just a really nice guy, underneath all that Jack the Ripper e-gene crap?”

“...Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? At least you know he’s a decent guy then,” offered Asao, but that didn’t seem to console the sniper much, if at all.

“I know, but that’s not what I want!” She lamented, even though she knew how lame it sounded. “I know I know, at least he is a good person, and for sure, I am really glad that he’s not the asshole I thought he was. Trust me, if all we did end up becoming was just good friends, then I guess I’ll accept it, but...” Sio sighed heavily, scrunching up on the sheets.

“...I really like him. Like, I...want to be with him, for real,” she whispered, surprised at the sudden wave of emotions it triggered in her. “I-I mean, maybe it’s too early to say this, but...i-is this, what it means to...fall in love?”

“Ah...Sio-chan...” Even Asao seemed to be at a loss for words, Sio clutching the pillow to her chest as she tried to get rid of this heavy ache. “...If you have such strong feelings for him, then, I think there’s really only one thing to do.”

“What?”

“You should tell him,” was Asao’s response, Sio having frozen at the blunt suggestion. “I’m serious, Sio-chan. I know you, and the longer you keep holding it in, the worse you’ll feel.”

“B-But, but...what if he—argh—doesn’t...like me back?!” The poor girl nearly sobbed into the phone, still caught up in her emotions. “I just don’t know if I could handle that kind of rejection...”

“Now Sio-chan, you’re stronger than that,” her friend’s voice took on a stern tone. “Even if he rejects you, so what? Life goes on; trust me, if that happens it won’t be the end of the world. You’ll encounter a lot more challenges later on, after this. You can’t let this one thing dictate the rest of your life.”

Sio sniffed and wiped her tears, knowing Asao was right. “...I, I know... You’re right, Asao-san...I-I mean, I’m already half-resigned to just remaining friends anyway, so...” She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “...You’re right. The worst part about this is just not knowing the truth. If he really isn’t interested in me, then fine; at least I can say I tried, and hopefully we’ll still be friends.”

“Sasuga, Shio-chan. I know you can do it.” Sio smiled at her friend’s encouragement. “Now you should be getting some rest. Tomorrow’ll look a lot better through fresh eyes.”

“Hai...oyasumi, Asao-san.”

“Oyasumi nasai, Shio-chan.” --------- “Mornin’ Ogura. You sleep alright?” Adam greeted the girl as she came down the stairs, a huge yawn tearing from her mouth. 

“Hnn...ohayou, Adam-san...” She rubbed her eyes, Asao’s words from last night still turning themselves over in her mind. Tell him... hah, as if she could just blurt it out. If only she could plan it out beforehand, but no; experience told her that whenever it involved her and Adam, nothing ever went according to plan.

“Sunny-side up eggs alright with you?” The sniper nodded in thanks, before wandering over to the cupboards to fix herself some tea. “...Everything alright?”

“H-Huh? Wh, what do you mean...” She nearly dropped the cup, but caught it just in time. “I’m just, tired...stayed up too late talking to Asao-san again...” Adam’s perception was incredibly sharp; she’d have to watch herself to make sure she didn’t give anything away.

“...I see. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Eh. Same as usual...from the sound of it, Japan’s doing okay, except they’re not in school right now so she says it’s kind of boring staying inside all day.” Before she knew it, she had somehow automatically made two cups of tea, even though Adam usually drank coffee in the morning. “Oh, ah...I forgot, you usually drink coffee, don’t you, Adam-san?”

He glanced over at the mugs just as the eggs finished and he slid them onto a plate, alongside the bacon, toast, and other trimmings. “Sure, but I don’t mind tea, either. Remember, I’m British,” he winked at her, “and we take tea very seriously.”

Sio found herself blushing at that playful wink, and before she knew it her lips curled into a small smile. Every time he did one of those little quirks towards her, she felt herself growing warm. As they ate their breakfast in a now-comfortable silence, she thought back to what she’d told Asao last night. About how she was resigned to just remaining friends, and accepting it, if he didn’t feel the same...

‘...But is that really true? Could I really be satisfied with just staying friends?’ That was what she’d claimed, but thinking on it now, and especially with the two of them like this already... Biting her fork, Sio was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to settle for anything less than going all in. If she was rejected, then fine--that would be something out of her control, but to not even try...

“Say. You got any plans today?” She looked up with a start at Adam’s question. Why would he be asking her this now... Pretending everything was fine (when it was definitely not), she gave a casual shrug.

“Not really. I-I mean, aside from the usual stuff...was probably just gonna try and finish my FF7 file, since we’ve only got like, a week left...”

He nodded. “Yeh; seems like time was slow and fast all at the same time, didn’t it?”

“Heh, yeah it did; oh man, I remember when we first got here, and I was complaining about how I was gonna survive a month with everyone...but, now that we’re almost at the end, I’m actually gonna miss it...” She gave a melancholy smile, stirring the leftover bits of eggs.

“Well, I was thinking of just going for a drive along the shoreline. Maybe get out and walk along the beach...” For a few seconds there was only the sound of forks scraping the plates, as Sio’s heart started to pound in nervous anticipation, while Adam turned away so she couldn’t see his blush.

“...Is it, just...you?”

“...Well, that depends; you wanna come with?”

Their eyes met for a second, and Sio was sure she was probably redder than a tomato—but the strange thing was, Adam was also oddly pink, with an expression she’d never seen before. Later on, she would realize it was a sign that he’d been just as nervous as her, but in the heat of the moment, all she could think of was how to not make a fool of herself.

“U-Uh, I—I um, I...I’d like that,” she heard herself saying, though the voice seemed to come from somewhere outside her body. “If it’s...okay...”

“Of course; it’s definitely more than ‘okay’.” He got up to clear their plates, Sio grateful he couldn’t see her smile. 

‘He’s actually taking me somewhere...just the two of us...! Wait, is this like a...date?!’ Her excitement was suddenly replaced with a bolt of fear, as Sio’s mind finally realized the possible implications of this. ‘Oh no, what do I do...! Maybe I should change—but into what? It’s not like I packed anything nice since all we’d be doing was lounging, not going out—’

Luckily she was saved from indecision by Adam announcing that he’d already written a note for the other two, and it would be easier if they left now before they woke up. They packed some water and of course, the usual masks and hand sanitizer; then Adam was easing them out of the driveway and onto the hilly streets, Sio finally sitting shotgun for once.

The car was awkwardly silent, Sio wrestling internally with wanting to start a conversation but not knowing what to talk about. In the end, she simply turned on the radio, and the two listened to whatever the latest hits were as the car wound its way out to the coast. At least the breeze was nice, Sio enjoying the fresh air while she subtly watched Adam shifting the gears; somehow, just watching his fluid actions, and trying to understand how everything worked, was quite interesting.

“Huh...so you have to shift in order...” she muttered to herself, unaware of actually speaking it out loud.

“Eh? You interested in drivin’, squirt?”

‘Ah! I did it again...speaking my thoughts...!’ The sniper tried not to panic, instead pointedly looking out the window.

“N, No, it’s just...I’m curious as to how you, uh, drive. Y’know, with the gears and all.”

Adam shrugged, navigating with one hand as they drove along the highway. “Mm, you learn it with practice, like everything else. Why, you want a driving lesson before this is all over?” He teased, shooting the girl a small grin. “Personally I’d recommend starting with an automatic, if you’ve never driven before...”

“No no, it’s fine; I highly doubt I’d need to right now, anyway...” Sio commented dryly. “...By the way, is it true? What Jess-san said...”

“About what?”

“That, you...also owned a motorcycle.”

So. She remembered. “...Yeh, it’s true. I do have a bike; it’s not here right now, though DOGOO has offered to ship it to one of their bases...” The sniper’s maroons grew wide at this piece of news, and inwardly Adam cursed at not having the foresight to having it shipped over. ‘Perhaps we could’ve gone for a ride on that instead...’

“Whoa...that’s so cool...” Sio mumbled, cheeks flushing. “Man, you’re like, perfect...you can do so many things, like—how do you even know all this stuff? And be good at them?”

To her surprise Adam started laughing. “Oh ho, perfect now, am I? That is definitely not the case...and if I really were perfect, then how come I still have trouble with speaking my mind or not being an arse?” He eyed her with a glance and the sniper’s cheeks turned pink, to his pleasure. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that was not your impression of me when we first met.”

“W, Well, still...I just feel so...I dunno, useless next to you—and everyone else, for that matter, sometimes...”

Adam didn’t respond, instead pulling the car into a space as they finally made it to their destination. Sio wasn’t sure if he was exasperated at her whining, or something else.

“C’mon Ogura, let’s go for a walk, yeh? Think that’ll clear your head a bit.”

“Ah...” She put her mask and silently followed him, right along the waves crashing against the rocks. The day had been cloudy for a change, and Sio shivered slightly, even with a jacket. It seemed San Francisco’s weather changed as often as her moods; sunny one day, and chilly with fog the next, sometimes in the same day. 

“Brr...it sure is cold here,” she rubbed her arms, the wind piercing through her thin sweater. “Isn’t it supposed to almost be summer?”

“Hmm, reminds me a lot of home, actually. Well, granted it’s not nearly as cool, but, the overcast fog...” Before she could say anything else, Adam was shedding his jacket and gently laying it across her shoulders. “Here, this better?”

“Ah, uh...th-thanks...” There wasn’t much she could say, without revealing her true feelings—instead Sio simply nodded, hugging herself as she slipped her arms through, the fabric still warm from his heat. ‘Mmm...of course it smells like him...it’s comforting, somehow...’

“Don’t worry about me, squirt,” Adam answered before she could even ask. “The cold doesn’t bother me much; in fact, I find it rather refreshing.”

“O-Oh...w, well, if you say so...” She didn’t even need a mirror to know her cheeks were pink at this point—in fact her entire head felt like it was on fire as they walked in silence along the trail, despite the sea breeze. In an effort to distract herself, Sio took in the sights: the grey-tinged clouds, waves that broke along the rocks, and the occasional seagull brave enough to dive into the water. The air smelled briny and cold, similar to Tokyo Bay—but again different. It was mesmerizing to stare out at the waves, how they grew, then crashed, receded and then it started all over again. A few joggers and bikers were out, but it seemed most folks chose to stay indoors when the weather turned.

They hiked to an outlook with a few benches, Sio taking a water break as Adam leaned over the railing, taking in the view himself. She desperately wanted to break the silence, but at the same time, she didn’t know what to say. Even if Adam had other reasons for asking her to come with, somehow, it felt wrong to force the question.

“You doin’ alright, Ogura?” Adam turned around, nodding at her newly-acquired jacket. “Let me know if you’d rather head back. Wouldn’t want you t’ get sick.”

“I’m okay, thanks to you...” She hugged herself again, as if to remind herself this was real. “U-Um, A-Adam...” he turned around slightly, and Sio felt her heart rate speed up, but she couldn’t stop now. “Th, this place...um, s-so...why did you ask me to...come with you...”

“...Hn. That is a good question.” He wasn’t looking at her directly, but she knew he was paying close attention. “I can’t say I really know why, myself...just, I thought you might like some fresh air, for a change.” He shrugged casually, and Sio felt her heart drop a bit, even though a part of her was also relieved.

“And, well...truthfully it’s because, I guess I’ve come to enjoy spending time with you, is all.”

The sniper froze again, at that comment. ‘No way...it can’t be, is he really serious...is he, really saying what I think he is...!’ She wasn’t even sure what to respond, how to respond—to anybody else perhaps, it would’ve been plain as day that Adam was admitting he liked her, and yet, her insecurities wouldn’t let her believe it.

“A-Ah, y-yeah...um, I, I do...like being out of the house, once in a while...” She was stuttering and trembling, all limbs going numb because there was just no way this could be real, it couldn’t be what she’d really wanted, all along...

“Well, that’s...good to know.” He was coming over now, hands tucked inside his pockets as he sat down next to her. “By the way, I apologise for being blunt, but...I hope I’m not botherin’ you, dragging you out like this. It’s just...well, you often seem so glum about your inexperience and such, I...wanted to see if I could take your mind off that. Y’know, you’re doing quite well, for a rookie. ”

“Eh? N, no, not at all...” Sio wasn’t quite sure what to make of his words; of how he wanted to try and cheer her up, and to know she wasn’t doing as poorly as she constantly thought... “I’m, glad to hear that...b-but, if I’m doing so well, then how come you’re still teasing me about messing stuff up? And don’t even get me started on before...you used to yell at me all the time, or complain about this or that...”

To her surprise he began to laugh slightly, Sio feeling her cheeks burning in a mix of indignation and embarrassment. “Heh, you aren’t wrong; I admit communication isn’t exactly one of my better skills...and here you were saying how I was perfect,” he turned towards her at last, a small smile on his face. “But spending time with you, like this...has changed my mind.”

“Um...” Her voice quivered before she knew it, Adam quirking a brow at her sudden nervousness. “U-Um, I, y, you...” There was no way she could weasel out of this one, now. They were literally sitting next to each other, Adam had all but confirmed that he liked her and didn’t think she was a mere ‘half-baked squirt’; so why was she still trying to deny it?

“Y, You...probably shouldn’t say things like that,” she uttered quietly, picking at the sleeves of her borrowed jacket. “You don’t have to baby me, you know...I can handle the truth...”

Now it was Adam’s turn to look astonished. “...Beg pardon? You think I’m just buttering you up for something?” There was slight cough, as if he couldn’t quite grasp her logic. “I meant what I said, Ogura. I wasn’t joking around or talking shit just to make you feel better,” she winced slightly at his words. “If there is one thing I wish you would improve, it’s your confidence. And I’ll admit, I haven’t been conducive to that, especially in the beginning...but surely you don’t have that low of an opinion of yourself? After all you’ve accomplished in such a short time?”

“B, But, I...it can’t...” The sniper shook her head, frustrated because she knew Adam was right. Even before DOGOO, speaking up for herself and having self-confidence was always hard for her. Even if it caused her loneliness, it was easier than stepping out of her comfort zone, dealing with those awkward looks and moments where people never seemed to know what to do with her. “I...how, how can someone like you see that in me?”

“...What exactly do you mean by that?” His gaze was piercing, but not cruel. “What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?”

“Y-You, you’re...you’re the leader of the Second Platoon, you can do pretty much anything you want—cooking, cleaning, killing EIOs without breaking a sweat, driving, riding a bike, video games, keeping us on track...” She was rambling now, she knew, but Sio couldn’t stop. “How can I...possibly be good enough?”

“‘Good enough?’ For what? To be a part of this platoon?” She didn’t need to see his face to know Adam was upset. “That’s certainly not the case—you really think you’d still be here if you weren’t good enough—”

“—I know that! That’s...not what I’m talking about...” How was it that someone who was so smart could also be so dense? Did she really have to spell it out for him...!

“Then what are you talking about?” Adam sighed, starting to become irritated with her half-answers and nonsensical words. “Can you not just say it straight, Ogura, for once?

“—How can a hanninmae like me possibly be good enough for you?!” She burst out at last, not even thinking about anything else other than what she had to say, at the moment. She felt the man next to her instantly stiffen at her words, the sniper herself too emotional to look. 

There was a seemingly endless stretch of silence after that, Sio squirming with embarrassment but knew she couldn’t turn away, not after all those words. It seemed like forever before the man next to her moved, Sio staying frozen in her spot.

“...Y’know, you really are something else, Ogura Sio.” She didn’t dare look at him in the face, not yet. “It’s funny that you say that...feeling that you’re not good enough for me...when I’ve...been wonderin’ the same about myself.”

“Eh...?” In one moment she forgot she was supposed to be avoiding his eyes and turned around, only to be met with a strangely bashful and...nervous Adam? “What, you...about me?”

Huh? Huuuh? The sniper’s mind flew into a frenzy, suddenly overwhelmed by the revelations—namely that Adam actually ‘like’ liked her, and he was insecure about himself? “A-Ano...wha, but you, I...”

“Need me to spell it out for you, squirt? Alright then, I’ll just say it straight: I like you, Ogura; a lot. And it’s not just friendship. You’re no fool, you know what I’m talking about. But I don’t want to force you into something if you don’t feel the same way. Least of all if you’re uncomfortable with the fact that we’ll be continuing to work together after all this.”

He was right. Technically, as members of DOGOO they still had a duty to work together, professionally. Rules aside, she knew that if they committed to a relationship with each other, it could potentially make things very messy. And yet...

“...I, I...don’t care about that. I-I mean, yes, I know it’s probably not the smartest or most logical idea, but...” She finally glanced up, trying not to let her tears fall. “I can’t change my feelings...heh, I think even if there were some kind of rule in place...it wouldn’t change my heart. ‘Cause I, I...really like you, Adam...a lot...”

“...Well, let’s be real, since when were either of us good about following the rules, anyway?” With that one statement, the tension seemed to crack, and Sio couldn’t help but burst into giggles, Adam following suit as the two just laughed.

“You’re pretty when you smile, you know that?” 

“Ah—I, uh, mmm...” She blushed as Adam wiped her tears with a tissue. “Y, You should smile more, too...you’re much less scary when you do...”

Adam quirked a white eyebrow.  “Oh? You found me to be intimidating? Well, I guess that’s another thing I’ll have to work on, huh?” 

“We should both work on it. How to smile better.” The sniper screwed her mouth into a smile-grimace, which only caused the white-haired holder to laugh harder. “H-Hey, I’m trying...!” But she couldn’t help but laugh, too.

It felt like forever since they’d come here for their original purpose of hiking, but as Sio checked her watch, in reality it’d only been about half an hour. And yet everything before that point was now completely different; her feelings, perspective, and most of all what she and Adam were to each other, now...

“U-Uh...Adam-san...? Does, does this mean...well, what are we, now? Does this mean we’re...going out? Like dating?” Her face still flushed as she stumbled over those words, unused to saying them out loud.

He smiled at her, before gently taking her hand for the first time, Sio squeaking in surprise as his fingers closed around hers. “Sure, I suppose...I mean, I don’t really know much myself...but if that’s what you want, then I’m fine with it. Which means...guess I’ll be your boyfriend, from now on. Or lover, partner...” Those fingers brushed against her palm and she shivered; at last she could feel him in an intimate manner, but when it actually happened suddenly she felt very shy, even though it was nothing close to what she fantasized about.

“Mmm...I, I want that. Th-then, I’m...your girl...friend, now,” she nodded to reassure herself, squeezing his hand tightly in return. “Though, I’m not sure I want to tell everybody about it, yet...you know, like Newton and Gandhi...I, I’m sure eventually I’ll be okay, but just, for now...”

Adam nodded, rubbing her shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Same; frankly, it’s none of their business, and knowing what gossips those two are...” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’s bound to come up, sooner or later...but for now, let’s just have this be our little secret, yeh?”

Sio couldn’t help but smile as they walked back to the car. “Hai! Oh, and uh, one last thing...” Adam gave a quizzical look as they got in. “U-Um, it’s okay to call me...’Sio’ now. Just ‘Sio’.” 

Something warm bloomed inside her chest as she said that, more so when Adam’s cheeks turned pink (he was so cute when he blushed), before he nodded. “Of course...Sio. But that means, from now on...I’m just ‘Adam’, too.”

“Okay...Adam.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

ngl josh reading to kids in his spare time sounds really cute, i bet he'd be a good dad

I made this a little sad but yes, Josh would definitely be a good dad :')

Enjoy!!!

---

[[MORE]]

When he first came across a child model Josh didn't know what to say. He knew there were androids meant to simulate human offsprings but he'd never actually thought he'd meet one himself, or any child for the matter...

As a norm PJ500s did not exist in spaces where humans bellow the age of 16 or 18 congregated. They weren't programmed to teach bellow college program levels and thusly had no social protocols for children. Even privately owned tutor PJ-Series were meant to help with advanced studies on topics like socioeconomics and physics.

Talking to a child wasn't rocket science so Josh had failed terribly at it, if the look Simon had given him was anything to go by.

He'd sounded robotic when he spoke to the poor girl, and frankly he had felt ashamed that he not only frightened her but also couldn't find it in him to be welcoming towards her.

Simon had definitely been very upset with him for upsetting the poor thing...

The second time he met a child android was a little less awkward than the first. He'd practiced with Lucy's help. Loosened up a little on the whole teacher-student relationship protocols that tried to force their way into his general demeanor, and helped Simon settle in a pair of YK500s who had been on their way back to the shop after their mother (their owner) had perished on the ride back home from an evening at the bar. At the time he'd played it off cool, but something in the back of his mind had nagged at him that leaving two small children completely alone (even if they were androids), felt like negligent and reckless behaviour from someone who was trying to be a parent...

Josh had felt somewhat satisfied that he'd managed to work out how to talk to little kids. And some of them liked history, so it had fed them little tidbits of historical trivia he knew. The stuff that was age appropriate and non-violent of course. Simon would be furious if he divulged the need behind inventions like the guillotine or a trebuchet.

The third time he meets a child android isn't a moment he likes to remember. In fact, it's perhaps one of his most darkest moments...

He'd been roaming the streets in the late evening, marveling over the little privacy he got from sneaking out and hiding in plain sight. His model wasn't common and he rarely had left campus, so no one thought to look at the big tall guy with the baseball cap and the ratty jacket. He was just another figure walking through the crowd.

It felt like freedom, even if in the end he was just hiding behind a facade.

Josh had nearly missed it himself as he walked. The tiny figure laying in a heap of trash, completely ignored by those who walked right past him.

He looked like a child, but was met with no kindness or sympathy from the humans who'd grown apathetic towards android-kind. The moment they saw blue staining bellow the boy's nose they'd simply turned a blind eye and carried on marching, as if in an assembly line.

Josh had been revolted by this.

Had been so horrified and disgusted that he'd nearly let his anger boil over.

He'd taken the poor YK400 to Jericho, fueled by a gutteral seething rage that would have incinerated those around him if it had come off of him in waves like pure energy.

He'd taken care of the boy himself, the dark look in his eyes having deterred Simon and Lucy from advancing in his direction.

North hadn't bothered him that day either. Instead she curled up with him when he finally came out from behind the blinding veil of rage against humanity.

He cried like a baby that night, and he'd cry again for every single little boy and girl that came crawling into the derelight freighter that should have otherwise terrified any child.

Anything looked like sanctuary when the adults that promised to love and care for you suddenly decided you were not wanted anymore.

Josh starts teaching the YK-series not long after his third encounter. He does his damn hardest to not go onto the advanced topics right away, instead gradually evolving their classes so that the children can naturally adjust to the level changes.

They're eager learner's, especially Ezra who Josh has grown incredibly attached to since rescuing him. The poor boy attends his classes, but his thirium pump malfunctions cause him tremendous discomfort that require him to take short breaks.

That's all fine, because afterwards Josh will sit with him and tell him bedtime stories he's learned from Simon. He watches over Ezra as he sleeps and feels a comfortable warmth in his chest.

---

The day they leave Simon behind in Stratford is the same day Josh has to say goodbye to Ezra. It was a matter of time before his pump shorted out and Lucy had been watching out for the signs.

She finds him browsing through children's books he'd "borrowed" on his last secret excursion to the outside world, trying to forget that his friend is likely dead and gone by now, when the heavily damaged KL-series pulls him towards Ezra's corner.

The boy is terrified and in terrible pain, begging for his short little life. Josh doesn't cry. He holds the boy tightly and hums softly to him before he shuts down for good.

Lucy tries to comfort him but Josh doesn't look at her and doesn't speak. When North returns, crying over androids she hadn't known for more than a minute, he nearly loses his mind with anger.

He feels like she's betrayed him in some way, but he doesn't voice this. Instead he feeds into the growing argument between the both of them and gets out of dodge when Markus tells them to stop.

He only cries when Simon returns, blue blood splatters on his face and a slight limp to his tired geit.

He cries so hard his processor begins to stall.

Simon hums to him, just as Josh had done in Ezra's final moments.

It doesn't feel fair that children had to be in the crossfire of their fight against human oppression. Sadly life was rarely fair.

---

After the revolution Josh continues to teach the android children at the tower. They're all fond of classes, eager learners that they are, and they especially love the extra curricular activities Simon sets up for them, and Josh's bedtime reading sessions.

He wasn't meant to teach kids but he loves it so much he can't bring himself to give up on his teaching sessions with the YK-series. Even in the heat of political tensions.

The humans couldn't make him hate his profession before, and they certainly couldn't do it now either.

He reads to them as a form of healthy enrichment and childish indulgence, but also to honor the little one he'd lost back in Jericho's ruined carcass.

The one he likely would have adopted as soon as the law permitted, if it weren't for the circumstances that took him away from him.

"You're a big softy, you know that?" North chuckled as soon as she caught him at the end of a reading session. The children had all left to go to bed and he'd finished another chapter of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' with them.

"You'll find that I have no padding to allow for that." He joked, tapping on his chest and stomach to emphasize on the hardness of his chassis. "Simon's the better hugger."

"You say that because you've never genuinely hugged Markus. His tits are super soft." North grinned mischievously.

"I'm not exactly interested in gropping anyone's... Tits..." He let her drag him away by the arm, smiling as he waved goodbye at some of the stragglers. "The kids are doing good in classes... And they're really liking the book so far. We have a lot of little boys and girls who want to be like Hermione Granger."

"Ever consider adopting?" North suggested.

"If we ever get that far, yes. Cyberlife is fighting us every step of the way though, and some of those politicians are adamant that androids don't need familial units..." He glared angrily at the implications. "Because obviously the YK400s and YK500s don't need parents..."

"Assholes... Well between you and Simon, the kids are good on parents. They've got their big nerd dad and their mother hen."

"What would that make you and Markus?" Josh asked.

"... Cool mom and cool dad?"

"Wow, you suck at this."

"Shut up..." She punched him lightly on the arm.

Josh snorted and carried on walking towards the elevator. He considered North's words and couldn't help smile to himself, a hint of longing in his eyes.

He wouldn't mind a few sets of little tiny feet running around the house...

[lovecraftian-druid]

Pactborn - Part II

NOTE #1: This is a chapter-long post of a character’s backstory, so hit your Keurig for a warm cuppa and curl up under a blanket, cuz this isn’t a quick scroll sort of post.

NOTE #2: I’m changing this submission up from the second person tense of the previous post (the one I used when talking to my PC during her zero level session) to the first person tense, just to shake things up and try on different styles. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed experiencing it!

I wake up to the warmth of the morning sun on my face and the smell of bread baking downstairs: normally, this would feel like any other morning here in Khaadeehava, but this morning feels different. Maybe it’s because today the annual celebration of Al’adwa, the festival of Solune where everyone eats street food, plays games, and watches the solar eclipse; or maybe it’s because of the amazing dream I had again of the nice man with the shield who takes me flying over the city and the ocean (sometimes, I like to pretend that the big ships I see in my dreams are Papa’s); or maybe it was the weird feeling in my stomach when I woke up: I thought – no, felt – like someone was watching me…

Regardless, I throw my legs over the side of the bed, glancing over at my outfit for later, as Mama calls up to me, “Kal’ya, darling, a letter is just in – I think you know who sent it!” With my gangly form, I sprint like a whirlwind down the stairs to see Mama fixing breakfast in the kitchen and a letter waiting for me on the supper table – on it is the seal I’ve come to recognize and love: the insignia of the Felgran Fleet, the royal navy of the next region over from Ghaan. Papa joined the navy when I was five years old, and his work has kept him away at sea for sometimes months at a time for the last three years. It’s so exciting to read his notes when he can write though! He tells me stories of all sorts of different people, different types of weather, and strange sea creatures he’s had to encounter. I carefully tear along the side of the envelope to pull out his message to me – it reads:

                                              ~ Wayfarer’s Tavern ~

Savita 22nd, 410

My little cinnamon stick,

I hope this letter finds you well - my journey has taken me around the coast again into the frigid waters of the Gheaţă Ocean to a region known as Chladny (have you read about this place in your studies?). It never ceases to amaze me how we are only a mere 30 days apart and yet, where hot sand lies beneath your feet at home, frozen snow lies beneath mine as I stand here on the Zamuerzat Wharf. How I wish I could bring you with me! Perhaps when you are 10, then we will sail around the entire continent of Baenomir. Until then, I hope you will enjoy this trinket (called a “compass”) I picked up in one of the shops in the port - it is Dwarven made and is said to be able to tell you which direction you travel. May it direct your paths until mine direct me home to you. I know I have been gone longer than usual, but I may be home within the next month.

Give your mother my love and save the best of it for yourself,

Papa

I miss Papa so much! And I want to go sailing so badly! Sometimes, when Mama sends me on errands, I’ll go to the docks down in the Lahira Marina just to watch the ships go in and out of the port. I’d give anything to sail a great big ship like one of those.

Before my mind can wander far, I remember the part in the letter where Papa mentioned a trinket – my eyes scan the table for a package and quickly find it and unwrap it: it’s a…metal box? I study it more closely. Dad has told me before about dwarves – that they’re a little shorter than most humans but are very, very smart and can make the most incredible things out of metal! As I turn the “compass” over in my hands, I see that the bronze casing holds some notches and a couple dials behind a thick piece of glass. I spin around the room and watch the needles whirl around, and it makes me giggle. Rubbing my thumbs over the front of the compass, I feel the cold, shaped metal shaped into the four points on the device – they are of four faces, and all have tiny little red gems fitted into their eyes, ears, and foreheads. A couple of the faces look a little creepy, but one looks like a tiger and another looks like a grumpy version of Sultan Hunab! The top face, nearest the “N,” has a large hat like the sultan wears, and it’s around this hat that the cord of the compass is wrapped and tied.

Excited to show Mama, I run into the kitchen with my letter and trinket. “Look, Mama! Look what Papa sent!” I slap both down onto the table, eager for her to read the letter and to marvel at my new treasure. “Papa says he got this for me and that it shows me where I’m going! Look!” I shove the compass closer towards her face, obscuring her vision for a moment as her head jerks backwards in surprise.

“Hold on, Ka’lya, hold on, let me read your letter first!” she says as she chuckles warmly with shared enthusiasm. She finishes reading the letter then extends her hand to examine my gift before laying eyes on the grimacing faces, letting out a short gasp, and nearly throwing the compass as she recoils from it. I scramble clumsily to catch it before it hits the ground, barely getting a grip on it before it clambers to the floor. I know the look I give her is one of confusion and frustration, and she quickly tries to regain control of herself. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what came over me…” she says as she wipes her hands on her apron and goes back to scrubbing out a bread pan.

Mama is usually a pretty tough lady: she does everything for Jida, Jido, and me. She might not be an adventurer like some of the people in the stories Papa tells me, but she still is kind of like a hero – she cooks and cleans and makes things for Jida and Jido’s stall down in the bazaar sometimes. Mama told me once that she even saw a dragon, but she doesn’t like to talk about it; she said it makes her sad when she thinks about it. Maybe this reminded her of something that made her sad once…

I don’t bring up the compass again as I quickly gulp down the delicious breakfast Mama made and, after putting my plate in the sink, I run upstairs to get ready for the day. Mama saved up some extra silver to buy me a new outfit for the Al’adwa celebration tonight – a new pair of pants with a nice tangerine and turquoise shirt. When Papa comes home, he brings home lots of coin to help support us while he’s gone; but the longer he’s gone, the more we have to do what Mama calls “cut corners.” She says that sometimes you have to do difficult things to get by. But for tonight, she must have put that aside, because as I look in the mirror, holding the sleeveless, silky-soft shirt up to my torso, I feel like it is much too nice for me to ever wear out of the house.

Carefully pulling the shirt over my head as though it could tear at any moment, I smooth it down over my long waist then begin to brush my long, tangled black hair. I look up for a moment to comb out a knot, and I meet my own glance in the reflection – I’m not much for prettying myself up, so looking in the mirror is a rare occurrence and seeing my two different color eyes always catches me off guard. My right eye is a dark brown just like Mama and Papa’s; but my left eye is a pale blue. Jida says that that is where an angel must have kissed me before I was born. Mama tells me that it’s unique and something to be proud of, but the other kids in town usually just make fun of me over it.

I must have been upstairs for a while now, because I’m surprised when Mama yells up to me that it’s time to head into the market district for the festivities. Before leaving my room, I brush a long section of hair down over my left eye. Joining Mama on the veranda, we walk hand in hand to the bazaar. “Your cousins Ravi and Baru will probably be here, you know – you’ll have to try to find them so that you can play together,” Mama encourages me, “just be sure to meet me back and Jida and Jido’s stall before the eclipse makes it get too dark, alright?”

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. Even though the nice man that visits me in my dreams tells me that my blue eye is a gift, I still don’t know if I like it. I wish sometimes that I were just a normal kid, nothing special. Then maybe I would fit in better.

We meander slowly down the dusty downward slopes of the residential district to the Central Bazaar, and Mama coaxes me to run off while she visits with her friends. I wander aimlessly through the sandy streets for a while, picking up a few dropped pieces of copper and finding myself a food vendor where I buy a kabob – I eat it cautiously, almost leaning forward with each bite, careful not to drip any of the spicy sauce on my new outfit.

As I continue my half-hearted search for my cousins, a foot shoots out from behind a street booth, tripping me and causing the rest of my kabob to go rolling down the path, getting coated in dirt and dust. I look up, surprised, to find two other children pointing and laughing at me – Sai and Danikka. Sai, a scarlet-skinned fire genasi, is a notorious bully, and Danikka, a blue dragonborn, simply runs with him because she’s the tallest girl in our small little school and all the other kids are afraid of her.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, weird eyes?” Sai goads me.

“AAAAWWWWWW, you gonna cry?” Danikka whines as she chimes in, making me feel that much smaller as she towers over my body, now covered in dirt and kabob sauce. A fire begins to burn deep within me, and my ears and neck start to flush with anger as I pick myself up off the ground. “If you can’t watch your step with those eyes, then maybe you only need one of them!” Danikka threatens, and I barely get my fists up in front of my face in time to deflect her right fist as it comes sailing towards my left eye. Relief floods my system for a moment, and I let my guard down too soon as her opposite hand shoots out with a parry, hitting me square in the eye socket. I stumble backwards in pain, holding my left eye and trying not to cry; disoriented by the thumping of blood as my face begins to swell, I trip again – this time on myself – and fall backwards into a vacant market booth.

I scramble, nearly bear-crawling part of the way until I can properly erect myself, as I watch Sai closing in on me, a cruel grin on his face. He grabs for my ankle as I right myself, only catching the fabric on my loose, baggy new pant leg instead, causing the seam to split as I wriggle out of his grip. I dart off into the streets, my left eye wet with eye-watering pain, and I can hear the two of them giving chase as I dart like a gazelle in and out of alcoves and alleyways, trying to lose them.

After toppling a basket-weaver’s display stand to slow them down, I zigzag my way to a side street and duck beneath another empty booth where I crawl inside the booth’s sliding compartment door beneath the countertop. I wait here for what feels like forever, hearing them find my route, search briefly for me, then move on, still calling my name in unnatural sing-songy voices. I emerge from my hiding place, looking about feverishly for any signs of them, before an altogether different voice takes me by surprise.

“Why do you run, child?” asks a deep, velvety voice from behind me. I jump and turn with my fists raised in reactive terror. Rather than Sai or Danikka though, I see a tall tabaxi man, striped black and orange with a white neck. He stands from his stool behind the merchant booth next to mine, and I can tell there is no way he works at the bazaar: his clothing is much too fancy-looking to be a merchant. He steps forward to share my booth with me, his striped tail flitting back and forth gently from beneath his jade and gold colored brocade robe.

I keep my fists raised, mostly out of mind-numbing fear, as he walks softly on padded feline feet. “Don't allow those hooligans to cause you any despair - I can tell that you are strong and will go on to great things,” he reassures me with a wink, slowly and cautiously bringing one hand up to dust off my shoulders while the other hand lifts a pipe to his mouth. Squinting with my one good eye, I do a double-take before realizing that there is something off about this man’s hands since they look like they are on the wrong wrists. I catch myself staring and quickly – and likely obviously – try to avert my eyes. He doesn’t seem to either notice or care as he continues, “Oh, where are my manners, I suppose I should tell you my name so that I'm not a stranger: you may call me Gilgapaka. And what is yours?"

I swallow a hard, dry lump in my throat before looking up into his large, golden, vertical-slitted eyes – “My name is Ka’l,” is all I can get out. My whole head is now throbbing with pain, and I feel too dizzy to run even though my mind is telling me I should; even so, he seems kind enough to feel bad for me. My eyes, his hands…maybe we’re not all that different after all? Maybe he knows how I feel? Wishing Papa was here, I break down in tears and briefly sob into the tiger-striped man’s side before quickly pulling myself back and rubbing my eyes dry.

“My, what a lovely name that is,” the tabaxi gentleman says as he gently brushes my hair from my face, tucking some of it behind my left ear, “could you write it down for me?" He pulls from his pocket a large piece of parchment covered in lots of beautifully-written words, a lot of them pretty long. I feel bad writing on the paper as it looks important, so when he offers me his piece of charcoal, I try to squeeze my name down in the bottom section that doesn’t have any words on it. He holds it up to the waning sunlit sky as the moons begin their encroachment upon the sun, slowly closing in on both sides of it with each passing moment leading up to the midday eclipse that is to take place in a mere matter of hours. I look up at the parchment, too – I feel a small amount of shame at the sight of my penmanship, shaky with leftover adrenaline coursing through my body like a frightened mouse. He seems pleased with it though since I see him smile at it before saying, “Thank you – I hope we meet again soon, young Ka'l. If I see those nasty children again, I’ll be sure to teach them a lesson for you…and remember: you’re very special. Don’t go forgetting it."

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. He takes one more long puff from his pipe before leaving me alone in the abandoned booth and striding off into the street. I rub my eyes again, but when I look back up, he is gone altogether from the path. Suddenly curious, I rush out into the street, looking this way and that way for any sign of him among the other people milling about in the bazaar, but there is no sign of him anywhere. I don’t even hear the voice of Mama calling out to me as I look down at my clothes…there is not a stitch out of place nor stain to be found.

Quick credit to my amazing cousin (and - coincidentally - the person behind this PC) for helping me with the amazing photos up top.

If you’re interested in keeping up to date with posts on our story’s characters and their origins, let me know (and thank you to all who already have interest)!

Ye Olde Taglist: @serenewrites​, @mayvinwrites​

[hexhux]

My Eighteenth Birthday

Friday, May 3rd, 2019. 

An open letter to everyone who has ever loved me. A recap of the year. 

Today, I turned eighteen years old. I can’t help but feel incredibly lucky to be here. I’m sure many others who suffer from long-term mental illness can relate, but it is not always a given to make it this far. I have so much farther to go, but because this is such a milestone, I wanted to take a moment to step back and give my thanks to those in my life who have offered their hand to me. This life has been as joyous and wonderful as it has been cruel. For all the times I have sobbed my heart out, grieving and ashamed, I have found an equal amount of pure, forgiving laughter. To everyone, thank you so much.

One of the most important things I have learned so far is to appreciate the small things. To the setting sun, to the flowers called weeds, to the soft sheets, to the warm baths - thank you. To the moon, the stars, the midnight sky - thank you. To the emotional movies, to the memes on the internet, to the books I’ve read a thousand times - thank you. These are the things I have cultivated and loved, even when I thought the sun wouldn’t shine on me any longer. To quote one of my favorite movies of all time, Swiss Army Man, “Everything everywhere matters to everything.” It truly does. Forever. Always.

Grandma: you are the most important person in my life. From the very day I was born, you have been there. Through every stomach ache, nightmare, and painful thought, you have pieced me back together. You taught me what love truly was. Dedication. Sincerity. Empowerment. On all the days I could not love myself, you loved me twice as much. I found true friendship with you. You are the most generous, forgiving, and wholly enveloping person I know. Regardless of whether or not I am happy or sad, your face is the one I want to see. You match me in passion, pride, and persistence. I cannot tell you how much I love you because words do not come close to the feeling inside my heart. Thank you for being my best friend, for the advice, the comfort, and all the times you thoroughly read my fanfiction. You have supported my art and my dreams since the beginning. Thank you, mama.

Ethan: Firstly, let me ask a very, very important question, little brother. Do you have a mic? I’m kidding (lmao). I could not have a better brother. You were my first playmate, my partner in crime, and the person who was always by my side. Never once have we stopped playing. Every moment with you is one of belly-aching laughter and jokes. You bring an incredible light to the life of anyone who knows you. You’re level-headed, compassionate, and the funniest person I know. We’re so similar, but even in our differences, we’ve supported one another fully. You are my other half and I love you so dearly that it’s nearly laughable. You’re an absolute buffoon sometimes, but I’d take you over anyone else any day.

Collin: Ah, yes, my stupid woke best friend. You are the sweetest, kindest person I have ever met. The only person who asks retail workers about their day, even if they clearly hate their job. Nobody else has ever made quite such a dedication to getting to know me. You know the most about me, even if admitting that is embarrassing because the vast majority of my secrets are odd and cringe-worthy. We have been through so many challenges, but we have always made it through because we have a connection unlike no other. You are such a beautiful, encapsulating human being. The bond we have is incomparable to any other, and I cannot thank you enough for being my friend. It isn’t often you meet someone who wants all of you, not just the good parts. You have loved me through the misfortune. And I want you to know that I will forever be there for you. It is an honor to know you, Collin.

Nits: We may have met by chance, but there is nothing accidental about our friendship. I have never encountered someone like you before - someone so bold, strong, and gorgeous. That summer we spent every day together, entangled by movies, music, and a growing fondness that would last forever. To be loved by you is such a gift. Nobody deserves you. I have never so desperately wanted to see someone succeed. We are intertwined and will be forever, I truly hope. You have held my hand and helped me through the bad times, just as I’ve held yours. You are an enigmatic, wondrous, and hopeful soul. Thank you for seeing me for who I am, even when I myself didn’t know who that was at times.

Kiesha: Your comfort and reassurance is never-ending. You have such a warm, broad presence. We have known each other for such a long time and have managed to grow in the same direction. So much love, laughter and acceptance has been cultivated between us. I cannot thank you enough for all those nights spent talking on the phone late at night. For all the times you answered my calls when I was crying after a bad dream and needed another person to exist with me. For all the beta-reading, spelling checks, and long-reading sessions. Thank you for being there and for being the Wade Wilson to my Peter Parker.

Nova: I have never met another person so similar to myself. You’ve given me so much comfort in my identity and existence. You are a lovely, sugary sweet human being, even when you’re badass. You have such a fierce and generous energy, which has enraptured me since the moment we met. We met through hard circumstances, but I believe it was worth it because we found each other. I would relive it a hundred times if you were still standing at the end of it. Our love for one another is so nurturing and wholesome, and I wouldn’t give it up for all the money in the world. Thank you for your friendship, generosity, and patience. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you. Probably throw a fit.

Nikki: You are seriously one of the most interesting people I have ever met. You’re so hilarious, so intriguing, and so sincere. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. Your presence is one I’ll never forget and hope to never live without. I will always hold my hand out to you because I know you’d do the same for me. You’re such a supportive, kind, and affectionate person. You don’t give yourself enough credit for how fuckin’ amazing you are. I’m very glad to call you my friend, and I can’t thank you enough for being mine. You matter so much to me. Thank you for all the playlists, passion, and crude jokes.

Cierra: You are such a beautiful, darling person. We have grown so much together and I could not be happier to call you my friend. Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of having a friend like the teenage girls in the coming of age movies. The type of friendship where you gush about boys, share all of your dreams and uplift each other to the highest degree. I feel so much happiness talking to you, even if it's about nothing at all. You have supported me so thoroughly and have always been such a gentle, soft girl. I am so proud to call you my friend. For all the times we gushed over Tom Holland, thank you.

J: From the very moment we met, we’ve had intense and bold chemistry. You’re so funny and so wise, even if sometimes I want to beat you with a stick. Your love and dedication for me have been such a pleasure. I love that we can spend hours on the phone - talking about everything and nothing at all. You’ve always been there to support me, even in times when I felt too weak to go on. Your love for me has been so enveloping, and I hope you know that I love you just as much. Thank you for giving me the courage to remove toxic people from my life. Thank you for remembering the little things about me. And most of all, thank you for also indulging in my love for oldies beach music. You’re wonderful.

Aisu, Amanda, Sky, and Reez: My wonderful squad! You guys are endlessly supportive, hilarious, and fantastic human beings. Never in my life have I felt so brave and safe with a group of people. It is truly an honor to log onto Twitter and talk to such honest, fantastic friends. No matter what I’m talking about, you guys are always there to encourage me. Through all my writing, my artwork, my strange fantasies - you guys have been there. For all the support of my Kylo Ren fetish, my love for Slenderman, and random infatuations with villians, thank you so much. From the bottom of my heart, I love y’all.

To myself: You’ve made it this far. I know that some days you succumb to the pain, the insecurity, the anguish, but you have truly been so brave. Every time that you’ve fallen, you’ve pushed yourself from the ground and stood on your feet once more. Against all odds, you have made it to eighteen. You are strong. You are smart. You are brave. Even on the days when you wished you were someone else, or gone completely, you have bandaged your wounds and taken care of yourself. I am so proud of you. For once in my life, I am happy to be who I am. I am happy to be you. To inhabit this body. Thank you for never once giving up on yourself, even when you so desperately wanted to. Thank you so much.

I learned so much during my year as seventeen. It hasn’t been easy by any means; there were so many times when I wanted to let go of it all. Recovering from severe depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder has been a long, arduous process. I’ve been in therapy for nearly a full year now, and I’ve come so far in examining my trauma and understanding how to live with it. This year, I’ve done my best to step out of my comfort zone and allow myself to flourish as much as possible. This life can be complicated and heartbreaking, but it’s worth it all. For all the happiness, the love, the sweetness.

Finally, I’d like to list the songs that I’ve played a billion times and have been the biggest comfort. 

1. Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey

2. O Superman by Laurie Anderson

3. Allentown by Manchester Orchestra & The Front Bottoms

4. I’ll Still Have Me by CYN

5. Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd

Thank you to everyone. For everything.

“Knowing at last what I am, recognizing it, admitting it, confronting it,” - Anaïs Nin

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Strawberries

@post-itpenny

Since your boy Atlas is in this and he has an awkward encounter

Strawberries…

Really?

He didn’t want to say it in front of Ula, but Atlas thought that was just so darn strange.

Strawberries. Milkshake. Schrader…

Oh shit, this was bound to be weird. Awkward. Hopefully, not hostile.

Atlas gave a sigh as he trotted along a sidewalk in front of a parking lot. He followed the path down until finding the front of a restaurant, causing him to sigh deeply as he looked up at its entrance. The first and last time he went in there, things did not end very well.

However, Atlas put this aside as he held his breath, opening the door as a bell run above him and he entered to eventually walk up to the employee who assigned seatings.

“Table for one?”

“Actually, could I hang out over there by the counter?” Atlas pointed to the mentioned area, so the employee nodded before allowing Atlas to escort himself to the counter. He sat down on one of the stools, placing his hands on the counter as a man approached him.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“Uh, I don’t think so.”Atlas slightly shook his head, but the man wagged a finger at him.

“No, no, no. You look rather familiar.” the man insisted, examining Atlas who gave a shrug. “Nah, maybe I’m just imagining things. I’m an old geezer you see.”

“Don’t look that old.” At;as gave a soft chuckle. “But uh, is...what’s his last name...I never learned it…is Schrader here?”

“Schrader? Why, sure he is. Just serving up some customers before he goes on break, whether he like it or not, hehe. What do you need him for?”

“I just need to ask him for something. When does he get out of work?”

“Well, that boy…”the old man shook his head somewhat disappointed, giving a deep sigh. “That boy never takes break, starts early in the morning and tends to finish early in the morning. Sometimes he never eats. If he keeps that up, he’s gonna look older than me! Already has dark circles under his eyes. Anyways, I’ll go call him over for you.”

“Cool, thanks.” Atlas waved to the man who walked through the side opposite from Atlas, eventually disappearing as the deer clown played with his fingers. Maybe he should have gone to buy the strawberries first, it would be a lot more awkward if he came for Schrader and then said that he needed to buy some fruit, Schrader coming along...damn. Well, that was only if he actually came along, he learned more about this guy thanks to Ama.

“What are you doing here?” 

Speak of the Devil.

Atlas broke out of his thoughts and looked back up to where the old man had previously been, spotting Schrader who stood with crossed arms, holding a rag in one of his hands.

“Um, hi.” Atlas awkwardly cough, adjusting his glasses before looking Schrader in the eye. He could sense some kind of tension going on in between them, but it was best to talk as cautiously as possible to not repeat the other night’s happening.

“Schrader, hi. How have you been?” Atlas now cleared his throat as Schrader gave an apathetic stare. “Okay, I hope everything is going well for you then-”

“Get to the point, I’m working.”

“Right, right.” Atlas nodded, then glancing at Schrader once again who’s expression did not change in the slightest bit. “I need...a bit of a, favor? It’s not necessarily tha-”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, a favor?” Schrader interrupted as his expression now changed into an odd one with a hint of confusion. “After everything that’s happened between us. I thought that helping find Ula would be en-”

“That’s precisely the point!” Atlas quietly exclaimed as he leaned in closer towards Schrader. “You see, this is about Ula.”

“Ula?”Schrader frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s really good that you still really care about Ula because I trust you enough to not tell anybody about this. Ula woke up today and...she was acting a little, ‘off’. She...have you seen that scar on her back?”

“I was her boyfriend Atlas.”

“Alright then, the point is, that scar on her back hurts. That scar hasn’t hurt her ever since she got it basically and I checked the stitches. The wound looked somewhat ‘fresh’ and the stitches like they had been reapplied just recently.”

Schrader gave a weird face at everything he was hearing, then leaning in as he propped his elbows on the counter Atlas also leaned against.

“And you see, this is probably not important but even Cordelia found it to be very weird. It was even weirder with how she practically demanded it.”

“Demanded what?”

“Ula...had this desperate craving...for strawberries.”

“Strawberries?” Schrader turned to the side, pondering at that statement for a moment. “This sounds too familiar.”

“Familiar? What do you mean?”

“One time she came to visit me here late at night. She always orders a peanut butter milkshake but on that night, she specifically asked for strawberry.”

“So...do you think it’s normal then?”Atlas was clearly worried and  hoped that it sure was normal. “Because both you and I know Ula doesn’t like to eat fruits and veggies, so, maybe this is just some random craving she gets once in a while?”

“No, it can’t be.” Schrader shook his head while still thinking to himself, eventually turning to Atlas. “Ula doesn’t like the taste of fear on her prey, what makes strawberries any different? Her mother and siblings hate fruits and vegetables as well, and it’s not normal for her to suddenly have a need for something she hates eating.”

“Well her mom did crave mangoes when she was pregnant-”

“Trust me, that’s not the case and it has nothing to do with hormones. I know. Don’t ask.”

“Okay then...well, I do have to ask one thing though.” Atlas leaned in even closer to Schrader who scrunched up his face, not liking such proximity. “The day you brought in Ula, neither you or Ama mentioned where you found Ula.”

“So?”

“Please Schrader, I need to know. We all searched for Ula for a week or so and found nothing, not even a clue. But you, we tell you she’s missing and you find her the next second!” Atlas pleaded to Schrader who really didn’t want to give an answer. “Please Schrader, it’s pretty damn concerning to see an old wound of hers that nearly killed her just hurting all of a sudden and literally showing that somebody stitched her up again.”

“The lighthouse.”

“What?” Atlas was now the one with a scrunched up face, confusion written all over it. “No, that can’t be-”

“There’s a spot on the island that Ula never showed you or Ama, only me. We found her in there with vines wrapped all around her.” Schrader gave a sigh while running a hand through his hair, feeling ashamed for telling. “She was unconscious and it took her a while to wake up. She was surrounded by some glowing flowers…”

“You need to take me th-”

“No.” Schrader firmly said, even startling Atlas a bit. “Ula swore me to secrecy, so you can’t even mention that place. You pretend you never even heard me say these things to you. I’ve already upset Ula enough.”

“Schrader, who’s this young man?” the pair turned to the side where the man from before came, standing next to Schrader. “I met him a while ago, he’s the one that sent for you of course.”

“Oh, Sonny-”

“Schrader!”

“Relax, this guy’s one of those too.”Schrader shrugged off the old man’s concern. “This is Ula’s boyfriend, the guy who came by the other night with Ama.”

Atlas saw as the old man turned to Atlas, his kind expression taking an immediate turn to a glare which surprised Atlas.

“So you’re the-”

“Sonny.”Schrader turned to him, giving a shake of his head. “It’s alright.”

“But Schrader, this is the kid who-”

“I said it’s alright.”

Sonny gave one last glance at Atlas before patting Schrader’s back, walking away as he still wasn’t alright with the interaction taking place.

“Is that your dad?” Atlas took a peek at the man who had now gone off to serve others sitting by the counter.

“Here, let me give you the details so you can figure that out yourself book worm.” Schrader gave an annoyed look, holding up a finger for every thing he said. “We look nothing alike. He’s a deadlight. I literally called him by his name. And I don’t have any parents.”

“What?”

“At least not a decent one. The one parent I do have is the fucking worst.”

Atlas stared at Schrader in silence, not knowing in what other way to react. It was a real surprise to hear that, but then again...maybe that was why, from what he could tell at the party the other day, his brother was so involved with him. He scratched behind his neck at first, looking around at anything other than Schrader due to the awkward mood that was now set. So the, Atlas reached a hand out to Schrader, gently patting  his shoulder in a comforting manner.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Schrader made a weird face before Atlas retrieved his hand, looking away somewhat flustered as he replied with a small shrug.

“Look, Schrader...maybe you don’t have such a great parent, but you’ve got your brother who seems pretty okay and all. And...and you’ve got cool friend who care about you too, even that guy who was ready to plummet me into a hole.”Atlas shrugged yet again. “You don’t have to go through things alone.”

“What is this, a therapy session?” Shrader plainly stared at Atlas before heading towards one of the milkshake stations that was right by. “Look, you came here to tell me about Ula and that’s it. Now what does she need?”

“Well for starters, strawberries. Like, she just badly wants some.” Atlas coughed, trying to forget what had just happened. He then saw as a box of strawberries was plopped right in front of him.

“What else?”

“I could have gone to bu-”

“What. Else.”

“A strawberry milkshake.”

After some time, Schrader then placed a strawberry milkshake in a disposable cup in front of Atlas who started to take out his wallet.

“Don’t pay, just tell me what else.”

“But I ins-” Atlas started, noticing Schrader’s expression that made him nod before speaking again.”This might sound a little weird but...you…?”

Once again, Schrader gave Atlas a weird look. This guy pretty much had that face reserved for Atlas.

“She asked about you, wanted to see you and I...said I would...bring you over to her…” Atlas explained with a nervous chuckle. “So, um…”

“No.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I’m not going.” Schrader crossed his arms. “Besides the fact that my shift isn’t over and won’t be anytime soon, I don’t want to be going back there or around any of that family. Fuck, I didn’t even want to be aroud you.”

“Well, I can understand that...but, is that really more important than Ula?”

“Look, you don’t understand what goes on in my life. Like I said before, I’ve already upset Ula enough and you know what’s happened between you and me. I don’t want to bring anymore trouble, it’s best I stay away from everybody. Especially Ula.”

“What trouble? None of what happened was your fault.” Atlas was now the one making a weird face at Schrader. “I’m pretty sure we both know how Davey is with his sister’s suitors and-”

“This isn’t just about Davey. It’s everyone.”

“Dude. Can I call you dude?”

“No.”

“Okay. Schrader, if you’re saying that nobody in that family wants to see you, you’re completely wrong.”

“Highly doubt that.”

“Schrader, look, I have to admit.” Atlas gave a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “Everyone in that family from what I can tell, they all love you.”

“That’s not-”

“Jelly and Lennie, Ula’s parents, literally treated you like a son! They were there asking if you needed anything at all. Your band friends, all over you. And don’t get me started with the kids...they were clinging onto to you like you were Santa Claus about to give them all their gifts before it’s even Christmas!” Atlas exclaimed, making a few people turn to him before he quieted down. “Look Schrader, you don’t see it, but we all do. And hell, if you don’t believe that any of those people care about you...at least believe me when I say that Ula does, and she really wants to see you right now.”

“I agree with him.” the pair looked over to see Sonny once again, patting Schrader’s shoulder. “I suggest that you go and see your...friend, Ula.”

“I have to work.”

“Don’t worry about it, you know I always cover for you if not pretend you’re still here. And besides, you need a break, so I doubt the bosses will mind.” Sonny smiled at Schrader who gave a sigh, then turning to Atlas as he picked up the strawberries and milkshake.

“Alright, let’s go.”

[pinkobsessedfreak]

Epidemic (Dr. Claire Browne x Dr. Neil Melendez) [The Good Doctor]

word count: 11,706

Dr. Claire Browne was stuck. She was stuck mentally, emotionally, and physically. Her research and all the intelligence in her brain still couldn't spit out a cure. She'd been reading for the past couple hours, after going through an orientation session and then being forced into this cell, and still, nothing jumped out at her. All she had managed to get from this research were 3 papercuts and even more questions than what she had started with. The mutation was acting differently than all its derivative viruses, and Claire had not even the faintest of the idea why.

She was at an emotional crossroads, as well. Over the past few years of her time as being a surgical resident, she had developed certain “feelings” for one of her colleagues, feelings she was adamant in believing were unrequited. She didn't know whether to finally admit them, on the small probability that they wouldn't get out of isolation alive and on the even smaller chance that they might have been requited, or to just keep the unneeded and unwarranted feelings to herself.

Claire took a soothing deep breath and looked at her fingers, their bronze tone in stark contrast with the overbearing white of the plastic desk she was at. She inhaled deeply again, trying to relieve some of the anxiety she was getting from being locked up in a box no bigger than an OR. That was the physical aspect keeping her in captivity. She was stuck in a small, stark white room that smelled too strongly of disinfectant and had way too many lights and so little recreational space. The beds were so close together, too. She had never liked sleeping in the same room as other people, even though she had done it an innumerable amount of times. Deciding to take the smallest of breaks in an attempt to alleviate her nerves, she tilted her head to peer over at her colleagues.

Her hazel eyes skimmed over the tiny capacity of the room, landing on the only other female in the room and one whose company she didn’t particularly enjoy. Dr. Morgan Reznick, a woman with one of the coldest of personalities she had ever encountered, was skimming over an article about a certain species of an avian vector of Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever. Morgan was a realist, competitive and somewhat cynical. She was the opposite of the stereotype associated with her blonde hair color, her intelligence taunting anyone who dared step in her way. But Morgan was mildly compassionate, and had her moments of exhibiting tendencies that could be interpreted as “nice”.

Dr. Alex Park, the ex-cop who was 17 years her senior and around 17 times less mature than her, even with the 15 years of being a law enforcement officer, was comparing texts from two different analyses she had already read. Alex was observant, his experience in the police force giving him better conclusion-making abilities and analyzation skills. He was also more-or-less of a paternal figure to her, giving her advice in many aspects of her life and helping her with her fair share of problems.

Next to him was Dr. Shaun Murphy, the only resident Claire had gotten very close with, even to the point that she would even call him a brother. He was sweet, kind-hearted, blatantly honest, and one of the greatest people she had ever met. He was scouring over the genetics of the mutated strain, then took a moment to gaze upwards, probably doing a comparison to the known hemorrhagic fever strains. Shaun was excellent at doing vivid medical recall, thanks to his excellent visual-spatial intelligence and Savants syndrome. He was also autistic, just to state it. It wasn’t a detriment to anything that he did.

Lastly, adjacent to her was her attending, Dr. Neil Melendez, one of the greatest cardiothoracic surgeons she had ever seen and probably one of the best ever, period. On first meeting him, you would title him as arrogant and self-righteous. Claire could tell you first hand about how that would seem to be the truth, well, at first. Under that thin exterior of cockiness, however, was the most compassionate person she had ever met. Neil was very tender and caring, as well as humorous and maybe even a little bit intelligent. Just kidding; Neil was one of the smartest people she had ever encountered, although she hated to admit it. His intelligence, or declared lack thereof, was a type of running gag between the resident and the attending.

Currently, Neil was writing something down, his connected and hasty calligraphy proving difficult for her to read. What Claire managed to interpret was in a shorthand that she loosely understood, and what she had decoded didn’t make the least bit of sense to her. She kept up an unintentional stare at the opaque navy ink that flowed from Neil’s pen as he wrote, her mind working hard as she went off and scoured the millions of tangents she had either previously elaborated on or elected to ignore. The random thoughts might be of some help as their research progressed.

The need for all of this research, for all of this isolation and pandemonium, was because of a terrible mutation of filoviral hemorrhagic fever viruses that had escaped a lab in Utah. In a matter of days, the pathogen had infected nearly the entire West coast. Flights worldwide had been canceled, borders had been shut down, and ports were closed off. People showing symptoms of infection were sent off to CDC quarantine stations, where they went to become guinea pigs for treatments and cures. Soon after, they'd most likely die as not many of the treatments had worked. Even with the CDC’s neverending work and superb medications, the mortality rate was still 80%.

No known treatments were working, no matter if they were allopathic, osteopathic, or even homeopathic. Many medical doctors all around the United States; without consideration of their age, current occupation, or specialization, were called in to research. Everyone was working on trying to find a treatment, to find a cure. Books upon books on filoviral hemorrhagic fevers from libraries all around the globe were flown in. Articles with even the slightest mention of a hemorrhagic fever were being carefully analyzed by doctors nationwide.

Claire refocused on collecting her deliberations and began penning them in violet ink when the intercoms blared and paused everyone's work.

“The CDC has declared that the virus has reached an epidemic level. No overseas cases have been reported yet. Everyone remain in your groups and continue working.” A voice boomed over the speakers, one Claire quickly recognized as the director of the board of directors, Allegra Aoki. She could feel the worried tension in the room increase tenfold, no one uttering a word as they tried to refocus on the research they were doing, the only sound being pens scratching on paper and pages being turned.

As the minutes passed, Claire found a path in her mind that seemed off. Something about the text she was reading was different than what she could recall about the derivative viruses’ actions on the kidneys. She pulled out an endocrinology textbook to verify when a person in a white HAZMAT suit knocked on the metal door, it’s unexpectedness breaking her from her absorption of information.

“We've got coffees and small snacks. Dinner will be served in 2 hours.” The man informed them as he passed the drinks and packaged foods through the small cubby hole in the door. Claire could smell the baked goods already, her nose eager to inhale an aroma that didn’t have a hint of ammonia or chlorine in it. Deciphering the odors that hit her olfactory nerve, she recognized the familiar fruity fragrances of blueberries, raspberries, cranberries, and a minuscule hint of orange. Morgan grabbed the pastries and coffees carefully, chuckling quietly at the sight of them as she managed to balance them in her alabaster hands.

“They even got our Starbucks orders right.” She remarked despairingly, her tone conveying the melancholic and hopeless feelings that everyone was clearly suffering. Morgan set the coffees and pastries on the large, white table in the middle of the isolation box. Everything in this room was white: the tables, the desks, the seats, the beds, the sheets, the pillows, the lights, everything. The only bursts of color in this monochromatic scene were the people occupying it, and the medical texts that lay littered across the room.

Claire looked back at the textbook, trying to remember what point she was going to bring out before the snacks were dropped off. The “delivery boy"’s distraction had broken her concentration, though, and the mental path she was taking earlier was long gone. She pulled her lip between her teeth, irritated as she tried to regain her important yet lost train of thought, although her attempts were proving futile. At the sound of something being set in front of her, Claire shifted her gaze to the object, recognizing it as her coffee, and then to who delivered it.

“Caramel Frappuccino with almond milk and an extra shot of caramel,” Neil stated as she looked up, small smiles on both their faces. Claire let out a soft chuckle at the fact that he had remembered her order before grabbing the drink and taking a sip. As she drank the sugary concoction, she slipped into a state of calm. The coffee tasted just like it did when she got it from the Starbucks down the road. Sweet relief coursed through her unnerved being as the sensual stimulus brought her back to secure and good memories. Claire wanted to stay in the soothing entrapment of her mind, reminiscing forever, but she knew she couldn't. Her happiness didn't matter now. The happiness and survival of humanity were all that did. Her mother wasn't wrong when she was said she was selfless. Her mother had said that to her the last time they had physically contacted each other.

“Hmm. Still looking after everyone else but yourself, like you did for me.”

That’s what Claire’s mother had told her, verbatim. Her mother was not the greatest mother when she was raising Claire. She was a bipolar, drug-addicted mess that never wanted a child in the first place. But Claire was always there, through all the moments of betrayal and pain, until she legally didn't have to be. She always nurtured her mother when she was too weak to walk, always held her hair back as she vomited in the toilet from alcohol or withdrawal, always treated her wounds when she came home after being beat by one of her abusive boyfriends. Ever since Claire was young she helped others and would continue to do so until the day she died. Her mother knew this, as did anyone who looked at the young doctor.

Someone called her name, although it did sound quite faint at first. That wasn’t part of the memory. Claire severed herself from her trance, glaring at the source of the noise.

“What?” She snapped, annoyed that she had to have been taken out of her relaxed reverie. Morgan was sitting on her knees in front of Claire, and for one the first times since they had met nearly 3 years ago, appeared compassionate. The blonde set her hand on Claire’s leg tenderly, and the look they shared conveyed everything. Their gazes both held so much pain and fear and worry.

“I know that normal Me would never do this, but we’re both in isolation because of fear of contracting a deadly virus, so I think that the circumstances allow it. I’m here for you, alright? At all hours. Just shake my bunk and I’ll be up, alright?” Morgan offered, and Claire’s mouth fell agape in shock. This wasn’t the Morgan she knew; but then again, Morgan had testified that this wasn’t the Morgan that even she knew. After a few moments of contemplation, Claire shut her mouth, smiled slightly, and accepted the generosity with a nod.

“Thank you.” Claire’s graciousness was genuine, as was Morgan’s empathy when she smiled in return. After Morgan turned her attention back to her texts, Claire shook her head to rid herself of any remaining wisps of her daydreaming. She needed to focus, as this disease wasn’t going to cure itself. She pulled out the book from the top of her requested stack, closed her endocrinology textbook, and delved back into her readings. Her ballpoint pen tip skidded over the words as she read, the magenta-inked nib inscribing connections in the margins as she read.

A hollow knock echoed through the box again, splitting her from her concentration once more. Claire peeled her eyes from her book, her aggravation showing in the intense stare she gave the metal hatch as they placed the packaged dinner in the designated cubby. Alex grabbed the food this time, setting it on his desk as the drinks were delivered in boring styrofoam cups; their names written on the side in crude, black Sharpie.

“At least they spelled our names right.” Alex tried to infuse humor into the situation, grabbing the liquid containers and handing them out. Claire took hers and examined the concoction, cautiously taking a sip. When the Mountain Berry flavor of the-Powerade-from-McDonald’s-that-no-one-gets-but-she-secretly-liked exploded on her tongue, she chuckled and took another sip. They’re probably trying to keep the doctors’ electrolyte levels balanced and their energy storages high. There are only two reasons she can think of as to why they would this: to keep the researchers healthy and mentally fit so the research is at the highest level, or to keep the people healthy and their bodies with enough reserve to battle the virus if they were to accidentally contract it.

Shoving the arbitrary ideas aside, Claire inspected her bagged dinner closely. A cup of applesauce, thin slices of what appeared to be ham and cheese, and a stack of Ritz crackers lay inside the brown paper bag. It felt like she was in elementary school again, sitting at the lunch table with her deconstructed cracker sandwiches after begging her mother and her mother’s boyfriend for weeks to let her have actual food, specifically Lunchables, for school. She physically shook the memory from her head and perched back in her seat, setting the food on her desk. Removing the contents of the bag, she began delicately composing the ham-and-cheese cracker sandwiches as nostalgia poured into her circulatory system like it was oxygenated blood.

“Steve and I ate Lunchables when we ran away. Steve liked the pepperoni pizza. I did not.” Shaun declared as he opened his bag, making the same childish connection as Claire did. She smiled at the detail and popped one of the miniature sandwiches into her mouth, the stressful tension in the room beginning to ease.

“Really? I liked the pepperoni pizza.” Morgan responded as she took a sip of her drink, earning a scoff from everyone except Shaun, who only looked at his crackers before eating one.

“The pepperoni pizza one is disgusting. It’s cold and disgusting and just… ick.” Claire argued, and Morgan just rolled her eyes and chuckled. The room went quiet again, the sound of crunching crackers and the occasional straw squeak filling the anxious silence. She remembered one of the big points from the quote-on-quote orientation this morning; “Cooperation is key”. They were saying that group work gave a more objective view of the data and it might lay the foundation to a quicker path to discovering the cure, no matter how cliched it sounded.

Time passed quickly as they researched, dessert being delivered as well as towels and pyjamas. The towels were simple and white after repeated bleachings, designed to entrap water but be easy to clean and disinfect. The pyjama tops for both genders left little to the imagination, but thankfully the bottoms were loose, although short. Claire presumed that they were made by a lonely man in his research, but no choice was given other than to wear them, so that’s what she would do. She looked at the odd, pale purple clothing, noting that it had a similar design to the construction of the towels but still differed. This fabric was made more for insulation, therefore its structure was more tightly woven, but the cloth it was weaved with remained somewhat the same. It was also vastly different from the towels in one major aspect: the clothes were a shade of lilac, rather than the white-hued eyesore that was the towel and the rest of the room. The pyjamas, although they were risque, were a comfort to her tired eyes.

Claire continued researching as her colleagues began taking showers, trying to learn as much as she could before she was forced to sleep. Sleeping allowed the subconscious to collect itself, per say, and maybe reveal some connections and information that hadn’t been seen in the conscious state. She skimmed her finger under a chain of GGTACs that didn’t align with the opposing CCTTG and highlighted it. It was an impossible mutation, something that wouldn’t occur in DNA‒ ever. What did this mean?

Feeling someone’s hand on her shoulder, Claire looked up from the rest of genetic analysis that she was vigorously poring over for another mistake and faced who was disturbing her research. When she saw who it was, her face shifted from one of annoyance to one of understanding and fatigue.

“Your turn to shower. You’ve got around half an hour.” He informed her and she set her tablet to the side, swinging her legs out from under the table and getting up. As Claire grabbed her pyjamas and headed for the bathroom, it took everything in her being not to turn around and catch a glimpse of him in the tight tee that they were given to wear. When had her wants suddenly become such a priority in her mind? Her desires should have been tossed to the side when this dangerous situation presented itself, so why hadn’t they? Concluding that her tired being was what resurfaced her lust, she zipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Turning on the shower, Claire stripped as she waited for the water to heat up to her blazing liking and regrettably glanced at the shampoo. She knew that she would have to wash her hair daily like it was her hands when she was scrubbing in for a surgery. It would ultimately destroy her lovely curls and her natural sebum production, but it prevented a buildup of grime and maybe even lowered the chance of infection. Whimpering at the deduction, she remembered that it was for her own good and stepped into the shower.

As the pleasantly scalding water cascaded down her back, Claire felt the tension ease from her rigid muscles as she relaxed. Grabbing the provided shower gel and scrub brush, she got to work at scraping away her dead layers of epithelial cells and other usual grunge. Although the rough bristles were slightly uncomfortable, they were cleansing and somewhat relaxing as the soap lathered them up well enough. When she rinsed herself off, the suds draining away like her current worries, she loaded her hand up with shampoo and started to wash her hair. Once her scalp was cleaned enough to her liking, she rinsed out her darkened umber curls and shut the water off, padding out.

Claire slipped into the provided undergarments and pyjamas and peered at her reflection in the mirror, quickly running her fingers through the damp coils in an endeavor to untangle them. She scrunched as much water from her hair with the towel and set it in a crumpled heap on the floor, kicking it to the side. She opened the bathroom door silently, tiptoeing to her bunk and sliding under the blanket. Hearing a faint buzzing from a mechanization next to her, she peeked over at it curiously. One of the provided bed lights was on, illuminating its owner and the paper he was reading in a dim, milky white glow.

Claire noticed that the article Neil was reading was a small one she had skimmed through earlier. Nothing seemed too pertinent to her, so she passed it off to Morgan. She guessed that the blond had noted nothing of importance in it either and tossed it into the “unneeded information” pile that was forming around Alex’s desk. Maybe Neil had seen something she and the other female resident hadn’t in the text, or he could just be reading it to occupy his mind before sleeping. She had done that a lot in university, having read tons of fluff pieces when her mind was too tired to retain it but needed the stimulation for her nerves before she slept.

“You didn’t miss anything.”

Claire snapped her eyes up from the paper to Neil’s tawny, content face, confused. “Huh?” She asked. Evidently, in her sleepy state, her mind didn’t run nearly as fast as it was when she was caffeinated and fully awake.

“I saw you eyeing the text. You didn't miss anything in it. I just need something to read.” Neil elaborated, glancing over at Claire as she nodded in understanding. He pondered for a second, before shutting off his light and handing her the article. Claire looked at the piece of writing, then back to Neil, still puzzled.

“I’ve seen you on 36-hour shifts. Whenever you get a break, you grab a magazine, sit down wherever you can, and read it till you fall asleep.” Ah, yes, she forgot she did that. Reading had become part of her nightly routine after a long day filled with education; a necessary part of her learning life before she slept. Claire took the article and stared at it momentarily, before gently setting it down on the white floor and shutting off her light.

“Too tired?” Neil asked softly, almost warmly. Man, how tired was she? She chuckled and nodded, although it was unable to be seen by the other party.

“Mm-hmm,” Claire mumbled as she rested her head on the surprisingly comfortable pillow. Hopefully, her sleep would be as cozy as the mattress she was lying on. Relaxing into the bed, she pulled the blanket past her shoulders and shifted onto her side.

“Night Neil.” She murmured as she began to drift off into slumber. She barely heard the mellow, “Night Claire,” Neil said in response but the sound still brought small butterflies to her stomach before she fully fell asleep.

Claire woke up the next morning at the loud sounds of things humming, sounds she placed as a shower starting and the major lights being turned on. Stretching, she yawned and released a noise that sounded like the mewl of a cat. Scratching her dry scalp, she recalled from the CDC instructions given yesterday morning, at the start of their isolation, that she would have to shampoo her hair every morning and condition it once a day. She had elected to condition it in the mornings so that it would be, at least, moderately presentable during the hours that people could see her.

Hopping out of bed, Claire tugged the blanket over the wrinkled bed cover in an attempt to make the bed and fluffed her pillow. Looking over at the still-sleeping forms of Morgan and Neil, she elected to quietly go to her desk and begin doing some more studying of data she had compiled on the 2008 outbreak of the Lujo hemorrhagic fever virus, her genetic discoveries from the previous night having dissolved from her mind completely. She finally made it to her seat minutes later, having to do a wild dance that brought her back to her elementary school ballet days in order to keep quiet and not awaken the doctors near her.

Shaun stepped out of the bathroom, adorned in the familiar navy scrubs that Claire had grown accustomed to over her residency at San Jose St. Bonaventure these past few years. He went to his seat and began researching as well, although his focus was on the recent Ebola outbreak. He had done an enormous amount of studying on the lesser known hemorrhagic fever virus outbreaks the previous day, so she wasn’t phased at his fixation on the most popular of the hemorrhagic fevers.

After doing a couple minutes of analyzation, the temptation to take a shower and get ready for the rest of the day broke Claire’s concentration enough to where she found herself waltzing into the bathroom with today’s change of scrubs in hand. She turned the water on, placing the lever at her preferred yet hellish temperatures, and quickly undressed. She jumped into the water when it was lukewarm and scrubbed her body clean, hesitantly shampooing her limp ringlets once more. Grabbing the significantly smaller conditioner bottle, Claire squeezed a generous amount of its pink, pearlescent contents onto her hand and drenched her curls in the luscious gel.

She reveled in the fragrance of fruity, tropical calm before rinsing out the roseate conditioner and scrubbing her fingers one last time. Stepping out of the shower, Claire wrapped a new towel around her figure and began to dry off. Once she had fully dried off, she slipped her scrubs on and directed her attention to her dripping coils. She rubbed them vigorously with the absorbent cloth and once they had dehydrated enough, she tossed the wet towel to the side and waltzed out of the bathroom.

A sudden ringing from Claire's laptop broke the long silence, startling a sleeping Morgan from her snooze. Claire sat down and reached over, grabbing her shut laptop and yanking it open to see what the disturbance was. Her Skype was ringing with a call from a fellow doctor at Saint Bonaventure, Dr. Katherine Ellis. Claire hastily answered it and soon her screen was filled with the picture of a petite, white blonde young woman wearing amber lab glasses, a bright white lab coat, and sky blue gloves.

“Hey, Claire! How's isolation?” Katherine greeted teasingly, and the collective groan from everyone on Claire's end causes the girl to laugh. Katherine loved to kid, it was one of the qualities that attracted Claire to her in the first place. After a fellow surgical resident and a close friend of hers, Jared, left a few years ago and her mother decided to swindle her out of more money when Narcotics Anonymous failed to help her, a good, jesting friend was what she needed. And it was what she received, it being in the form of a Harvard graduate with the innocence and humor of an 8-year-old and a medical doctorate specializing in Human Genetics.

“I'm just kidding. How's research?” Katherine asked, being somewhat more serious this time around. Claire gestured to the large stack of books behind her and Katherine chuckled. The textbooks basically provided a painful flashback to the stressing days of university for everyone in the room.

“Why'd you call?” Claire inquired, knowing the only reason couldn't have been to check up on research made by a team of surgical residents and one actual surgeon that doesn't have much experience with this type of work. Katherine’s eyes met Claire’s over the screens and then broke contact as Katherine glanced back down at her analyses, a tiny smile on her face.

“Just wanted to check up on you. Doctor Bridgers is considering bringing up some surgeons and surgical residents to perform his previously-scheduled cardiac surgery. I recommended you. You guys are the best.” She smiled as she looked back at the rest of the team. Everyone shied away from the screen, embarrassed at the compliment Katherine gave. Morgan smiled widely, her change in personality evident in her reaction. Beside her, Shaun honestly denied the compliment with a shake of his head, chestnut tufts of hair fluttering in the motion as he did so. Alex humbly and modestly looked away from the screen and refusing the praise, causing Katherine to giggle. Claire was glowing, a large grin on her face as she emanated delight. Neil just smiled, but it was obvious that the compliment meant a lot to him, and to every single one of them.

“We still have a lot to learn,” Claire interrupted their glee, and Katherine laughed. The blonde’s blue eyes flitted to Neil, who wasn't looking at her or the screen. He was, though, attempting to discreetly stare at the curly-haired epitome of a star radiating happiness that was sitting in front of him. Katherine softly snickered before turning her attention back to the uplifting matter at hand.

“Which is why Bridgers wanted residents in on the surgery too. Have them not lose any education time while researching. So he’ll probably choose you all.” As Katherine responded, the door on her side of the stream slammed open and a panic-stricken doctor was at the handle. Everyone's attention shifted to them, and the frazzled doctor tried to catch their breath.

“Doctor Bridgers is down.”

Katherine immediately stood up, ignoring the loud variety of surprised noises from the other side of the screen. “What happened? Did he contract the virus?” She interrogated, and the doctor looked at the video chat, then back to her, their face a mirror of Katherine’s anxious expression.

“Cardiac episode in the contact room.”

Fear flooded Claire's veins when she heard that, her heart skipping a beat. When a doctor was unconscious, they had no control over what they were doing. Therefore, when in the contact room, they could easily do something extremely dangerous that could result in being infected by the pathogen they're in contact with. Although Doctor Bridgers was in a HAZMAT suit, the risk still rose.

Katherine frantically looked at her screen and then shut off the video, presumably dashing off to the incident. Claire closed the laptop and turned to her friends, who all looked just as worried as she did. No more than a few moments of stunned silence passed before the intercom gave off 3 consecutive alarm noises and a voice filled the room.

“Doctors Melendez, Browne, Reznick, Park, and Murphy, are you willing and able to perform a septal myectomy on Dr. Andrew Bridgers, although he may be infected with the virus?” This voice was different than the dominant and feminine voice of Mrs. Aoki; this voice was gruff but womanly, definitely a professional doctor that rose high in the ranks from her stubborn courage and perseverance. Neil looked at his residents, who all gave a supportive nod, then answered.

"We're willing," Neil responded, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, their metal door opened. Outside of their isolation room was a congregation of people in lemonade yellow HAZMAT suits holding equipment the doctors had only used in medical school during infectious disease emergency training. The usual infectious disease drills that are done at San Jose Saint Bonaventure, and basically any hospital, didn't involve the apparatuses seen in the gloved hands of the grouped scientists.

   Claire strolled out, everyone else on her tail, her leading the line as they got doused in disinfecting chemicals. She reached the end of the conglomerate of HAZMAT wearers, the last person holding a common pair of navy blue scrubs. She was about to grab the scrubs and walk to a room to change, but the individual shook their head.

   "You need to undress here. No other place is available at the moment." Claire rolled in her eyes in contempt, before realizing the pitfalls of that situation. Everyone could see her in the undergarments provided by the CDC, which were again made by a lonely man in research. She could end up seeing the subject of her infatuation in his undergarments. Although the last proposition didn't upset her, it still made her feel like a creep and could make him feel uncomfortable. Claire shook her head and sighed, acknowledging that the event of her getting undressed here was unavoidable.

   Claire shrugged her jacket off before wrapping her fingers around the hem of her scrub top. When a curtain appeared between her and Morgan, having been put up by a considerate, understanding scientist, Claire let out a loud sigh of relief. Pulling the royal blue shirt over her head, one of the workers grabbed the article of clothing from her and shoved it into a plastic bag, closing it up and putting it in a basket of other packaged clothes. Claire pushed her pants off and kicked them over to the scientist, who bagged the pants as well. She quickly slid into the new scrubs and waited for instruction, her toes bouncing against the floor in rapid, impatient succession.

   "Follow me." A new person, dressed in a neon yellow getup that contrasted vastly against the pale yellow of their fellow HAZMAT-clothed colleagues, ordered. The voice was recognizable, Claire places it as the woman who spoke to them over the intercom a few minutes ago. Claire speed-walked, almost being chased by her coworkers to obey this doctor and match their brisk pace.

   They led her to a pristine washroom that was connected to a room she was all too comfortable with; an operating room. Other workers, who were decked out in mint green and held surgical-grade soap and bristled brushes in their hands, greeted them with inviting gestures. Claire walked over to one, who grasped her dusky brown arms and shoved them under a piping hot faucet. They went on their merry way, scrubbing at her arms viciously to thoroughly cleanse them. When they finished, her hands tingled and were raw, but were clean.

   Claire headed to the OR doors, where surgical technicians awaited her with proper safety attire in hand. As she walked, they strapped her gown on and slid her hands into the proper cornflower blue gloves. The last person put on her gloves as well as her goggles and tied her hair back before putting it in a surgical cap. The door finally opened, the air pressure difference chilling her face a little as she strutted in. Alex and Morgan were already in there, as well as Neil, who and turned and looked at her, the seriousness in his eyes putting a lock on her distracted emotions. Her brain immediately tuned into the situation at hand and delved back into her surgical mindset.

   Claire squeezed into the small space between Neil and Morgan, the blonde looking down at her with offense, but not saying a word. The smirk that rose to Claire's face wasn't missed by her attending, who returned the facetious look with one of his own.

“Alex, you've assisted on one of these before with me. How would you like to be first assist?” Neil asked the male, who looked over and nodded. Claire’s eyes flitted to Neil, flabbergasted; she had assisted on two septal myectomies with him before! Wouldn't he want the resident with the most experience in the matter to be his second on this risky emergency surgery? Neil met her stunned gaze with a near-teasing look in his umber eyes, agitating her even more.

“Claire, you'll be second assist.” He added as Claire released an irritated huff of air from her nose. Morgan quietly snickered and the brown-haired beauty eyed her with a look that could slaughter everyone in the operating room if gestures could murder. She shifted her eyes back to Doctor Bridgers’ iodine-laden skin and watched as the patchy, black ink of a skin-safe marker danced over the proposed incision area. Neil and Alex shared a glance before the younger of the two-handed the steel scalpel over.

“You know how to begin.”

Alex made the first incision, his fingers nearly as steady as wanted in this condition; but as his nerves wracked with fear, his hand minutely shook. Everyone was buzzing with unease, emotions haywire in this tense situation. The ebony-haired surgical resident made more cuts through the subdermal and muscular tissue layers till he reached the sternum and rib cage, Claire taking the bone saw from the pan of surgical instruments and leaning over the body. The blade sliced through the breastbone and retractors slid into her hands as she set the deactivated bone saw down. She pulled the sternum apart, dividing the chest in half and exposing the barely-beating heart. Claire gulped, the weak clenches of the muscle paining all who viewed it.

“Morgan, Shaun, you know the drill.” Neil dictated, and the two residents obeyed his unspoken orders. They installed the heart-lung bypass machine swiftly and smoothly, Shaun not generally affected by the dread and Morgan burying hers with professionalism. Neil quickly went in and began the septal myectomy, dissecting the aorta to gain access to the congealed musculature inside.

“Alex, which part of the pericardium should I suture the aorta to?” Neil asked as he punctured the aortic wall with the curved suture needle. The answer was simple; the pericardial reflection. Claire lost the resentment she didn’t realize she was holding when Alex looked into the cardiac cavity, then back to the cardiothoracic surgeon. She shouldn’t be creating a childish rivalry in this time of distress. Her rationalizations kept blaring in her head when she noted that Alex had answered the question correctly. This was not the place to have a running commentary with her brain but since she was second assist, the team wouldn't really need her to do anything else but observe.

Alex slid a ROSS aortic valve retractor in the size of six into the root of aorta till it hovered above the hinge-point of the right coronary cusp, pulling the interior chambers of the heart into view. Neil looked into the ventricle, then at the gleaming metal of the scalpel he was holding in his gloved palm, before turning to Claire.

“Claire, name the size, location, and depth of the first three incisions I am supposed to perform and I’ll let you make them.” He offered, and Claire’s hazel eyes widened as she floated back into reality. Neil had clearly abandoned the established assist ranks he had established earlier. She lightly shook her head, gathering her clustered thoughts as she expeditiously considered the query. There wasn’t much need for thinking, though, as the answered quickly floated to her amaranth lips.

“The first incision is usually 3.5 to 5 centimeters long and is made parallel to the outflow tract. It’s 2 millimeters below the insertion of the leaflet, at the midpoint of the coronary cusp. It’s also 1 to 1.5 centimeters deep. The second incision is 2 millimeters below the right coronary leaflet hinge and begins at the base of the first, carrying it into the sub-commissural area. It’s 2 millimeters deep. The third incision is also 2 millimeters deep and runs parallel to the second, beginning 2.0 mm below the left coronary cusp hinge and in the sub-commissural area. It ends 4 to 5 millimeters from the mitral annulus.” Claire elaborated, and the proud smile on Neil’s face, although hidden under the surgical mask, is shown in his gleeful, umber eyes.

He handed her the 11 blade scalpel, and excitement ran through her body at the touch of the steel against her covered hand. Claire moved to where Neil had stood just moments before, positioning herself above the open heart as she steadied her hand. She placed the scalpel above the extended muscle and, with great poise, began the first incision. The blade precisely sliced where she had stated it would need to, and soon the first three incisions were done. She glanced back up at her attending, whose attention wasn’t at her, but at Shaun.

“Shaun, go in and create the flap.” Neil directed, and the brunette took the scalpel from Claire and then went in. Minutes passed as he made the precise, 2 millimeter cuts into the left ventricle, Claire holding the gradually-growing flap with forceps. After a long while, the flap had reached the preferred length and thickness of 3.5-4.5 centimeters by 1-1.5 centimeters and was ready to be fully resected. Morgan, as instructed by Neil, was standing flush with Shaun with scissors in hand. She cut away the resection, and Claire pulled out the flap with her clamped forceps. She set it into the bowl she didn’t realize Alex was holding, and Neil trimmed away any excess with the scalpel and extended the resection slightly. He placed any scraps of congealed muscle into the bowl as well, before letting Alex flush the cavity with saline.

“Morgan, how should we close up?” Neil asked as he pulled the various instruments out of the healthy-looking heart. When the surgical resident didn’t answer, Neil peered at her with concern. She was inspecting something in the cavity, clearly having noticed something suspicious. As the rest of the surgical team went to see what she noted, a jet stream of bright, oxygenated blood shot up out of the heart. Surprise locked Claire in her place before confusion and curiosity broke her from her catatonia. Did they mess up? Did she mess up?

“He’s bleeding from his right lung,” Morgan exclaimed as she reached in to plug the superficial wound. The rest of the team shared bewildered and accusatory glares, before leaning in simultaneously.

“Did we nick him?” Alex asked, but the blonde shook her head in disagreement. The puzzled feeling that poked at Claire’s insides grew exponentially. What could be the cause of this unexplained bleeding? One clear explanation broke through her wall of dumbfoundedness, but she refused to consider it seriously. Doctor Bridgers could’ve gotten infected with the mutation and his organs were already beginning to hemorrhage. The surgery had taken hours, the incubation period was just as long. The more she contemplated the cause, the more reasonable it became.

The words were small and quiet as they flew from Claire’s mouth. “He could’ve been infected.” As soon as she said it, they all backed away, hands up, and several HAZMAT-adorned scientists flooded the room from the observation rooms adjacent to the operating room. They pushed the 5 coworkers into a decontamination room, readying the broiling hot showers and disinfectants. Claire knew the routine, shoving her gown off as more workers came in to undress her. They pulled her gloves off, moving up to her facial adornments soon after. The surgical accessories were carefully placed into biohazardous waste containment units, and as the scrubs came off, they were put into them as well.

A few of the employees inspected her almost naked body closely, but the denotation of it being for her safety made the situation less uncomfortable than it could have been. Scrapings of her epithelial cells were taken, as well as cheek swabs and several bodily fluid samples.

“There is an excessive buildup of sebum here. Did you shower today?” Claire overheard one of the scientists asked Morgan, and the blonde shared a worried glance with the curly-haired woman. They both knew the answer to that, but sebum buildup shouldn’t be a worry. Only three viruses had been transmitted via sebum, but one of them was a hemorrhagic fever virus that might’ve been in the concocted pathogen. Crap.

“No,” Morgan answered truthfully, and the HAZMAT suits shifted as the people within most likely shared a similar glance to the one the two women had shared moments before. The surgical team was then promptly shoved into the decontamination showers and handed scrub brushes, the bristles even tougher than they were in the isolation bathrooms. Claire hastily loaded the plastic hairs with disinfectant soap and scratched it all over her body. She slid the brush under her remaining clothes with discomfort, the wet undergarments sticking to her uncomfortably. Nevertheless, she continued to scrub her bronze skin raw, not wanting to contract this disease in the slightest.

When she turned her steaming water off, Claire was handed a teal salve that would aid in the healing of the raw skin and prevent infection. She spread the alginate over her body and rubbed it in like it was lotion, the turquoise gel being absorbed into her smoothly and leaving no perceptible remains. She turned her head to check on Morgan, but was whisked off to a smaller, achromatic cell before she could. Stupid protocol. She was in her own, separate isolation, to prevent infection in the case she had contracted the virus from Doctor Bridgers. A tablet came in from the cubby in the door, her tablet, wrapped in a thin layer of plastic.

Claire grasped the tablet tightly, setting it on the tiny desk in the room and turning it on. On the screen was a vast library of documents about hemorrhagic fever viruses and the new pathogen. She opened one out of habit and began scanning the paper for details she didn’t already know. Everything was becoming repetitive in the articles, the same painful sufferings and death sentences listed in each one as if it was a mantra. A loud voice boomed from the intercom, one that she wished would never have to blare again.

“It has come to our attention that Dr. Matthew Bridgers, during his cardiac episode in the contact room, had contracted the virus. During his several-hour-long emergency septal myectomy, a surgeon on the team, Dr. Morgan Reznick, contracted the virus as well. Dr. Bridgers died on the table. All doctors associated with either of these incidents has been put into individual isolation. Please, continue your research. Find this cure.”

No. No. No. Damnit. No. Not Morgan. God, no! Claire angrily slammed her hands on the desk, whimpering as hot, salty tears streamed from her eyes. Her Skype lit up with a call, and she answered it hesitantly. Morgan popped up on the other end, eyes already seeming puffy and dismal.

“Morgan! Morgan, please tell me it’s not true,” Claire pleaded, pained. The green eyes of the blonde met Claire’s hazel ones, and a barely visible shake of the head made tears begin to pour more violently from Claire’s eyes. Morgan’s cries echoed Claire’s as they both let their emotions out. This couldn’t be happening. Please, God, don’t let this be happening.

“Hey, Claire, please don’t stop searching. Even if I die, don’t stop. We need this cure and you’re… you’re the smartest doctor I know. Don’t tell Neil that.” Morgan and Claire let out a small chuckle at the last comment before the blonde continued.

“You’ve done amazing research before and I really need you to do it again. For me. For you. For everyone.” Morgan uttered with a labored breath as the doctors working with her yanked the tablet from her palms. The Skype call was ended abruptly, and Claire kept looking at the dark indigo screen for what felt like hours.

Her fingers, as if by their own volition, closed out the Skype call and opened more texts to analyze. Claire delved back into her aimless research, to bury out all the pain she was feeling at that moment. This shouldn’t be happening. Stupid Doctor Bridgers. Stupid contact room. Stupid pathogen. Stupid scientists. Stupid Earth! Claire tried her best to drain those exhultations out of her mind as she studied the work, only a stray tear escaping her hazel eyes every now and then.

It seemed like years passed as Claire examined everything she could find and fitted into the routine of her single room, showering twice and eating thrice daily as she was set to research. She focused on the genetics once again, noting even more discrepancies between the alignments of the nitrogenous bases. There was a repetition of either a thymine that paired with itself or with a guanine or vice versa. She had no clue why.

When a Skype call came in, breaking the silence in the small room for the first time in days, Claire wasn’t hesitant to answer it. On the opposite end was a pallid Morgan, unconscious in her bed as the extensive group of doctors surrounding her looked at the screen solemnly. No, this couldn’t be happening. There had to be some fight left in Morgan’s body. Morgan was a strong woman! She may have been a cold jerk but she was also nice and this? No.

“I’m sorry to inform you four that Morgan’s organs have ruptured and hemorrhaged beyond the point of salvageability. There is nothing we can do but wait.” The lead doctor stated, and the sobs were falling out of Claire before she could stop them. Morgan was her friend, no matter how reluctant she was to admit it. Morgan was a good person. She didn’t deserve this. None of the people infected with this virus did.

“Since you have passed the incubation stage for the virus, you will be allowed back into an isolation room with one another.” She realized, amid her weeping, that the others were also on the line with her. When a sudden beeping, one anyone could recognize as asystole, rang out in the rooms, Claire’s gut-wrenching sobs pulled her from her chair to her bathroom. She dry-heaved into the toilet, nothing coming out of her except spit, tears, and sorrow.

When she collected herself enough to where she wasn’t as overcome with nausea anymore, Claire went back to her tablet. It had landed on her bed, screen still on and streaming with whoever was left in the video chat. As she checked, doctors came into her room, protection suits on but not HAZMAT level. Probably level C, she would have guessed, if she were clear-headed. She walked numbly with them as if her movement was a necessity, rather than an obligement. They led her to a new room, one that was still colorless in decor but had friends in it. Everyone was there; everyone except…

Tears still surged from Claire’s eyes in a torrential downpour as she padded to an empty bed, trying to find comfort in the cozy blankets. All she got, though, was tear-dampened sheets and a deafening chorus of whimpers and cries from her colleagues. Of course, the damned voice of the woman she began to despise came onto the loudspeakers.

“We regret to inform you that, as of 25 minutes ago, Dr. Morgan Reznick died at the hands of this virus. Please continue your research and, with all due respect, find this damn cure.” The woman was cut off quickly after that, and everyone looked at each other with heartbroken stares.

“Morgan would- she would want us to keep researching.” Alex tried to stifle the grief that was strangling them all. Claire doesn’t blame him, for he isn’t wrong. But she deserved her time to mourn; they all did.

“I don’t give a damn what she would’ve wanted, right now. You know what Morgan wanted? She wanted a life. She wanted to get married. She wanted to have kids and take them to waterparks and amusement parks. She wanted to go places and save lives and be the best surgeon she could ever be. But you know what she got? A body bag. So, shut up, Alex. Just. Shut. Up.” The words rolled off of her tongue before she could think. This was all a knee-jerk reaction; almost reflexive. But she’d be damned if what said wasn’t the truth.

Alex seemed taken aback by the statement, but acknowledged its truthfulness with a sigh and a small nod as he wiped his face with a tissue. Claire’s anger diminished as she collapsed into another round of blubbering lamentation. Her knees curled close to her chest as her sobbing started to ebb, fatigue taking over her numb grief. She felt someone sit next to her on her bed, and she didn’t have to look to know who it was. Neil wrapped an arm around her and she rested against his side. They cried together. They all did.

When the sound of the showers automatically being turned on entered the room, turning on as an alert that it was time to start getting ready for bed, no one volunteered to go first. After some gentle nudging by her companions, for it was all the retaliation they could muster, Claire took the first shower. It was a quick but effective one, one she would normally take when she needed to rush out and head to a shift when she had slept in. God, how long had it been since things were normal? Had it barely been a couple weeks? It had felt like she had been stuck here for decades.

Claire dressed in the lavender pyjamas she had grown too accustomed to over these couple weeks, stumbled out of the bathroom, and dropped onto her bed. It wasn’t long before she slept, her few dreams either tormented with loss or simply empty. When she woke up the next morning, the showers were on but no one else was alert. She raced to the showers and cleansed her sleepy body, trying to wash the grief from her soul like it was grunge on her body. When her fuzzy brain began to clear, and the events of yesterday crashed down on her like a meteor, she kneeled on the shower floor and cried again.

She hardly managed to collect herself as she crawled out of the shower, only being able to sit up on her knees as she dried off. Claire threw her scrubs on, progressing to standing and stomping out of the bathroom. She barged right into Shaun, who didn’t seem phased at all. Was he as numb as her? Morgan was a rude person, especially to Shaun, but clearly, her loss had impacted him too. He didn’t mutter a word before shutting the bathroom door and leaving Claire, once again, the only one awake in her room.

She pulled out her tablet, in a motion of habit, and turned it on. The screen quickly lit up, the articles she had read hundreds of times still open on it. The genetic anomalies were piling up, too much for it to fit into the margin of error of the analyzation machine. How come no one had noticed this before? Claire zoned back into her work, only being startled by it when someone set breakfast down on her desk. It was piping hot oatmeal, with dried berries resting in it and the smallest specks of cinnamon and sugar along the edges; her favorite.

Claire took the spoon in the bowl and scooped up a glob of oatmeal, popping it into her mouth hastily. The oatmeal was gone in minutes, the usually chatty breakfast situation having completely diminished every since they were split up. Ever since… God, why did everything she thought had to come back to Morgan? She swallowed down a rising cry and went back to work. Everyone was silent, working just as hard as she was. They wanted a cure equally as bad, if not more, than her. They wanted to save everyone they could, and, as Shaun would say, they didn't want anyone else to “go to heaven”. They already lost Morgan; they couldn’t lose anyone else.

The Skype on Claire’s computer rang unexpectedly, and she answered the call with such swiftness that one could mistake it for a cheetah.

“Claire? How’re you holding up?” Katherine was on the other side, of course. Her eyes were puffy, and there barely evident tear trails on her face. Was that how Claire looked right now? The grimace Claire sent back was enough for Katherine to understand the dire pain her friend was going through.

“You can come up to my lab to research. I see how you all are focusing on genetics. That’s my specialty if you didn't remember. I got the Harvard degree to prove it.” Claire groaned at the haughtiness her friend jokingly displayed, and they both laughed a little. The humor was working to lighten the dreary mood somewhat.

“Might want to tune the arrogance down, KitKat, or I could start mistaking you for Neil,” Claire teased, and the unamused look she received from the man in question was enough to make her start laughing harder. It was another joke between all of them. Shaun had called Neil arrogant several times in the first year of his residency, and Claire had since used it to her humorous advantage.

“Seriously, though, my lab is open to you at all times.” Claire stopped her jubilee to ponder the offer, eyeing her other residents and her attending. She could finally see if the machine was just broken, or there was really something going on with the DNA of the virus. She turned back to the computer, her smile smaller on her face.

“I hope you’ve got room.” Claire’s answer caused Katherine to grin, nodding.

“I’ll let them know.” Katherine shut off the video chat, presumably going to tell the CDC to let the surgical team go to her lab. The stampede of scientists that appeared outside of their room in the minutes following the call startled her, but she had begun to get used to the pale yellow HAZMAT suits that always seemed to be in use around her.

Claire was the last one out of the door, her legs having fallen asleep from sitting for too long. She wasn’t allowed to run and catch up; as any uncoordinated, unplanned motion could somehow raise the risk of infection. When she finally got up to Katherine’s room, her coworkers were already in new scrubs and had filed into Katherine’s laboratory. Claire undressed swiftly, slipping into the bright pink laboratory scrubs that Katherine adored. She started putting the extra accessories on, admiring the fact that the genetic lab had so much protection. It could save so many lives. It probably had, so far.

As she was about to finish tucking her curly hair into the laboratory cap, a loud explosion came from the laboratory. The door immediately slammed shut and sealed with an air-lock as Claire ran up to the window. She could see gas being sucked up by a vacuum and her friends on the ground. The loud cursing coming from the other end of the room was barely heard through the metal door and Claire concluded it to be Alex, but as the room cleared up, she saw that it was Katherine. That girl never cursed. What the hell happened?

“Containment! Call containment! Oh-” Katherine was shouting, and Claire tried to tune out the exorbitant list of obscenities that fell from her mouth. Several people ran in through a connecting hallway, scooping up the bodies of her friends and taking them elsewhere. Katherine wasn’t resistant to their prying arms, and her friends were unconscious. Frankly, what the hell had happened?

Claire tried to get an answer out of everyone around her, but they were just as confused as them. A person ran up with a monitor, and on it was Katherine. She seemed nervous and panicky, her eyes darting quickly around the screen and room. When Claire was put into the vision of the camera, the blue eyes of the geneticist locked on her.

“Claire, the virus. It got out. We’re all infected. Your research is right. Go to the 2nd floor. There’s another lab there. Find the cure.” She was quick with her words before the tablet was wrenched from her hands and an IV was shoved in her arm. Claire was stunned, locked in another catatonia. Neil was infected. Shaun, Katherine, Alex- they were all infected. They’re going to die unless she found that cure. She couldn’t lose Neil. She couldn’t lose Katherine or Shaun. She couldn’t lose any of them.

The doctor that had brought the tablet was quick to take Claire to the second-floor laboratory. She was forced into a neon yellow HAZMAT suit, a color to match the fear coursing through her veins. When she finally entered the laboratory, several geneticists turned to her and seemed to almost kneel. Katherine had a lot of woo over these people, or it could be her knowledge in a direction that may lead to a cure. Claire swallowed down her nerves and her worries, and got to work.

“Run an analysis of the DNA again. Identify the base pairs and run a program to find where they don’t line up.” Claire ordered, and they all scrambled to work. She situated herself at a computer, results already popping up on the screen. As the DNA was read, more and more mismatches were found and marked. As befuddled as Claire was, she kept up a serious face and tried to make sense of the thousands of genetic mistakes.

When the examination of the genetic code was done, there were over three-quarters of a billion misalignments. It was unbelievable. The machine wasn’t wrong, so something in the DNA clearly had been. How had they all missed this? She turned to the group of confused geneticists and read their dumbfounded faces. A stupid idea popped into her head, but all of what Claire had been doing so far was off of stupid ideas, so she’d go with it.

“Isolate these mistakes and determine what the bases are made up of.” The words left her mouth dry and sticky, as she realized how idiotic she must sound. It has to be thymine, guanine, adenine, and cytosine, and nothing else. What was her brain getting at?

The geneticists shared skeptical murmurs and gestures between them, but obeyed her demands anyways. As their maspectrometers and other future-esque devices whirred to life and analyzed the nitrogenous bases, Claire impatiently waited in her chair. When the results came in, in the form of cute whistles and beeps, startled gasps filled the laboratory.

“What? What is it?” Concerned, Claire leaned in between two of the geneticists behind her and looked at their computers. On their screens was a chemical compound she had never seen before. And, based on the gaping mouths and the bold, black “NOT AVAILABLE”s on everyone’s screens, neither had they. When a maspectrometer cannot identify a substance, the machine was either broken, or it was new. Considering everyone’s machines said the same thing, the substance they had found was undiscovered.

“What does this mean?” Someone said. It didn’t matter who, as they were all thinking the same thing.

“I think it means that we found the clue we need to get a cure.” Someone responded, and a break in the tension was almost audible as people began to rev up their brains.

“Well, what are we going to name it? Based on its compounds, I say calimine.”

“No no no. It has more carbon. Carbine? Wait, there’s a foreign element in here.”

“Morons! It should be named bonamine.”

“No, there’s already bonafides. Too close in name.”

The arguing kept increasing until someone barged into the room like a hellhound.

“The naming rights belong to Dr. Browne. She was the one that discovered this. I would expect you to focus more on the cure, though, rather than naming rights. You’re acting like children. Start seeing what could remedy this new base.” It was the woman that had been updating them on everyone’s condition over the intercom. When Claire’s eyes landed on the woman, she recognized her as world-renowned CDC researcher, Dr. Madiline Goven. She was an excellent researcher and, as Claire had predicted when she first heard the voice, fought her way to the top.

“So, what’s the name going to be, Dr. Browne?” Dr. Goven inquired. Claire didn’t need to think long about it.

“Morganine.” Claire’s eyes welled with tears as the name slid off her tongue like a sweet candy.

“Okay. Now, find whatever kills morganine.” Dr. Goven’s reply startled some of the researchers, but it became clear with a little bit of thought. Since this new substance, Morganine, hadn’t been found in humans because their A, T, C, and Gs lined up perfectly, they could find something that killed morganine and administer it. It would kill morganine and essentially the virus, and nothing else.

And so the geneticists and Claire went to work. They scoured over everything they could, things that would combat morganine and neutralize it fully. A night passed, then a morning, then another night, and Claire grew exceedingly worried. Neil and her close friends were rotting away in a medical ward, the cure nowhere near to being found. She couldn’t lose him; she couldn’t lose them. All their research was turning up empty, nothing in the system able to combat and fully kill morganine.

As the sun rose on the second day from the discovery, Claire found it. It started with the geneticist next to her spilling his coffee onto her computer and almost short-circuited it. During that moment of fright, Claire accidentally closed off her tabs and the search engine opened up. Her keyboard got hit a few times when the man went to clean off the monitor and processing unit, and a random word popped up.

“Sefylhdyhtlmi.”

It may look like a string of random letters to you, and, at first, it did to Claire. But as she looked at it, she took out a few letters and suddenly an idea popped into her head. Sefylhytlmi was a fictional place in a book series she had read in university, but it was meant to correlate with a place in Denmark, known as Ronne. It was a coastal city on a tiny island in the Baltic Sea, but recently a meteor had struck down there.

On that meteor was something that had supposedly cured a blind man of his ailment; neovascular macular degeneration caused by a mutated strain of hemorrhagic fever that he had contracted in the Congo several years earlier. Before anyone could visit this meteor again, though, NASA and other organizations had collected it and shipped it off to a top secret place for analysis. The analysis had revealed that there was an alien DNA on there that did absolutely nothing to human DNA and simple viruses.

The alien DNA sequence was released to a select few researchers, one being Dr. Goven. They quickly obtained the sequence and ran simulations of it against the mutated virus. It cured it. Then, they ran simulations of it against other hemorrhagic viruses. It cured them. It didn’t cure any other viruses, but it obliterated hemorrhagic fever viruses completely. The geneticists quickly synthesized the alien DNA, and Claire didn’t hesitate to grab the finished specimens and run to the containment ward. She was sufficiently gowned in a neon yellow HAZMAT suit, of course.

No one was stopping her as she released the synthesis, in the form of an aerosol, into the air of the infected room. The effects were almost immediate, the 4 infected doctors almost simultaneous perking up. Apparently, the virus hadn’t liquified their organs yet, and only made them have the common symptoms of the flu. Katherine gave her friend a wink as she yanked the HAZMAT suit off.

“Knew you could do it.” Katherine’s words made Claire’s ears heat up drastically, the happiness in Katherine’s tone making Claire feel elated. She quickly went over to her friend and hugged her tightly.

“Claire? What did you do?” Shaun’s words weren’t interrogating and rude, but rather, merry and curious. She ran over to his bedside and hugged him as well. She was filled with so much joy at the fact that everyone was okay. Shaun, Katherine, Alex, Neil; they were all safe.

“She found the cure,” Alex answered for her. She walked over to him and gave him a hug too. Alex was a little surprised, but patted her back in a paternal fashion.

“Well, that’s great and all, but, Dr. Browne, you should come back here while we clean everyone up.” Claire hesitantly pulled away from the hug and obeyed the voice. She backed into the adjacent observation room and conversed with the doctors in there, who were all in awe of the work she had done. An innumerable amount of questions, compliments, and flat-out hugs later, she was allowed back into the room.

“Well, how’d you do it?” Katherine asked, almost giggly with happiness. It lifted Claire’s already cloud-high spirits to see everyone she cared about alive and cheerful.

“It’s a long story that I’d much rather share when everyone is healthy.” Claire didn’t want to indulge her friends in the long explanation of how she found the cure that would definitely get a few chuckles from them yet. Another doctor walked into the room and nodded at Claire.

“We’re working on that. Every lab in the world is synthesizing the DNA and administering it as quickly as they can. Congratulations Dr. Browne, you saved the entire human race.” Claire felt tears of joy and some sadness slip from her eyes at the comment. She couldn’t save everyone, but she saved multitudes more than they had lost.

“Well, I’m hungry as a bear, so… Who’s up for pizza? I know a great place around the corner!” Katherine broke the silence, and everyone chuckled. They started getting up from their seated positions on the bed and heading for the door, being interrupted by the doctor.

“Well, Dr. Browne can meet up with you later, as she has a press conference to attend.” Claire rolled her eyes, getting a snicker from Neil and Katherine before stepping out of the door. She got another hug from the geneticist and started walking out towards where the doctor was leading her when she stopped in her tracks. Throwing all cares to the wind, Claire ran up to the group as they were heading away, specifically to Neil.

Without another thought, she pulled him down by the collar of his scrubs and kissed him. He reciprocated the kiss almost immediately, and all her worries melted away as her nervous heart started racing for a whole new reason. Katherine started squealing when she saw it, and Claire pulled away slowly.

“I love you.” The words were soft, meant for the other one only.

“I love you too.”

“FOR FREAKING FINALLY!” Katherine shouted as she started hopping around and clapping excitedly. They didn’t have much privacy at this moment, they had realized, but it didn’t matter. The two doctors rolled their eyes in sync and turned to the fanatical, happily raging Harvard graduate.

This was an amazing start to this new, healthier world. And they were going to enjoy every second of it.

[chalabrun]

busker street, chapter 1

Word Count: 1,583 Pairing: Ignoct, Ignis/Noctis Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: The mainstream music scene is one of the most demanding, carnivorous industries on the planet. When Ignis, a secretary at his uncle’s record label, meets the multi-talented street musician Noctis, it’s in him that he’ll fight for the right for this young man to be his muse.

                                               READ ON AO3

It was in routine that he found security and familiarity, warm and wonderful in the moments before a brew when the air was captivated by his favorite roasts as he prepared himself for the day. Making coffee was like a timer, in a way. Each day was a slightly different brew, sometimes with shots for an Espresso, sometimes not. Variety in an otherwise predictable, placid routine.

Emerging from the swanky apartment complex he lived in, SoCal weather seldom disappointed with its breezy warmth hailed from the Pacific, not yet baring the high heat of noon that often came with the summer season. Late winter by US standards, the temperature was mild but still warmer than other places, such as his native England that had been his childhood home until six years of age. London had its age, yes, but Los Angelos had its vibrancy. Enough color to make the world go ‘round, one might say.

It was fortunate Ignis’ residence was but a short walk from Hollywood, where his workplace proper was located at the border of Hollywood—not very far from the luxuriant Beverly Hills, either. Ignis’ commutes were often interesting, as spying the occasional celebrity and their throngs of devotees and paparazzi was seldom a rarity. But, commonplace in his business.

“Pardon me. I’m afraid I didn’t see you,” he apologized as he almost ran into an elderly Hispanic woman who only chuckled kindly, waving off the indiscretion and his apparent distracted walk. No matter. They’d be able to cross soon enough.

Dappled shade saved his sight from the worst of a gradually looming sun, the softness of the morning fading away into harsh daylight. Well, perhaps not so harsh. Busker Street was a pleasant, idyllic road compared to others in the contemporary, flashy sector of LA. A beatnik’s paradise, stuffed with short, squat, few-story buildings nevertheless full of centennial charm was an artistic epicenter in the city, lined with old trees that took away from the inevitability of the city.

Ignis couldn’t help but cease moving when the twang of a warm-up guitarist caught his periphery, fellow pedestrians moving past him as though he were a stone in the river. Politely did he move from the line of traffic and deviated from the morning commute, walking beneath the shade until he came before a small crowd blocking half of the wide sidewalk.

Street musicians weren’t rare. Far from it, especially here. However, as he peeked over the shoulders of a particularly short man, he couldn’t help but be enraptured. Ignis saw an electric guitarist surrounded by a keyboard, live microphone, as he was establishing the harmony and melody as Ignis had seen several times before at the recording sessions at the record company. Lord knew he’d seen his fair share of acoustic guitarists, but nothing this complicated before. And when he saw the man beatboxing, Ignis’ brows admittedly shot up.

What ensued was nothing short of entrancing. A jazzy baseline, a funky guitar riff; mingling sounds that logically shouldn’t work together did, and brilliantly. Like accidental genius. At times, the musician’s vocals switched between double reverb and normal, a mystical quality to the lyrics. Not conscious of his own staring, when the musician himself turned his gaze over the crowd, their eyes met. Not having seen his face before, it was like electricity when they matched gazes. Undeniably attractive, even beneath the shade of a baseball cap, Ignis felt himself fluster when he remembered himself. Excusing himself from the throng, he continued again on his way to work.

“If I have to listen to another fucking auto-tune pop princess or some greasy hippie boy on an acoustic guitar, I might as well call it quits.”

It was 9 by the time Ignis came to his uncle’s office on the top floor, Citadel Records something of a sheer trek to ascend even by elevator. A major powerhouse in the music industry, it wasn’t without reason. With two mugs of piping hot coffee in hand, Ignis smiled in some odd amusement. “Auto-tune pop princess? I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” he admitted mirthfully as the mugs were set on coasters before the older man’s desk, the elder Scientia raking his fingers through thinning blond hair.

“Yes, Ignis, auto-tune pop princess. You ever hear them without it? They sound like shit, most of them. Get the rare talent, but by God are they rare,” Markus Scientia groused as he snatched for his coffee, face half buried in his other hand while he nursed the Espresso. Looking thoughtful and grim, he seemed to brighten some once he’d drunk the coffee proper, a wily smile spanning. “Least the coffee keeps us sane. The hell do you put in it, anyways?”

“Magic, perhaps. Fairy dust,” Ignis replied with a soft smirk as he sat in one of two chairs before the executive’s desk, crossing his legs and sipping quietly at his own.

Markus snorted. “Fucking hairy dust. Long as it works, I suppose.”

They were thoughtful for a long moment, until Ignis was the one who broke the pregnant pause. “None of the applicants were promising?” he broached, glancing over the rim of his mug before setting it on its coaster.

His uncle sighed, doing more or less the same. “Much as we’ve got enough talent as it is, you know how it is, Ignis. People always crave something new. Familiar only lasts so long, and if we’re going to break into the damn indie scene, we need new. Really crash in and set a flag in like it’s the damn moon landing. Real different, you know?”

Ignis couldn’t help but reflect on the musician he encountered that morning, it still feeling like he’d walked from a dream. Considering he passed Busker Street every day weather-permitting, it was his first time hearing this one. Those deep sapphire eyes stuck on him like glue, stamped on his memory like the sound he’d made. New.

“Have you considered looking in the actual scene itself? There are many indie artists in the area, as I’ve been made aware,” he suggested, emerald eyes flicking towards his uncle’s.

Markus snorted, nearly spewing some of his drink indecorously. “I want new, Igs! Never before heard, unknown, not fucking bottom feeders everyone’s heard of. Good ones, of course.”

With each passing moment, this mystery musician was becoming more and more appealing a prospect. Though, just as Ignis opened his mouth to speak, Markus waved off the subject. “What about this whole lyricist business? Come up with anything good? Much as we’re about fostering talent and all that shit, I can’t have you dawdling from your duties for some artsy-fartsy nonsense. You’re the best secretary I’ve got, kid.”

Ah, that.

Ignis straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose, remembering he’d left his briefcase by his desk outside. “One moment, uncle,” Ignis said distractedly as he left his mug of coffee at the desk, his uncle’s eyes expectantly boring into his back. Outside, the managing division in all its business yawned before him, hard at work even so early in the morning.

“Anythin’ excitin’ goin’ on in there, Igs?” Cindy ventured in her southern drawl, leaning back in her office chair with a sunny smile.

Ignis regarded the blond with a faint scoff, but smiled warmly back. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see. Perhaps I’ll have news by lunch break, Miss Aurum.”

Finding the right shief of papers and a notebook with ideas, Ignis stepped back into his uncle’s office who clapped his hands once whilst Ignis slid the papers on the older Scientia’s desk. Rumpling some of the documents in hand, he leaned back with a creak in his seat and propped both feet commandingly on his desk, Ignis taking his seat again and waiting quietly as he read through what material he’d brought.

Markus made no articulation of an opinion that Ignis could discern, leafing through before he lifted those similarly green eyes to his nephew. “It’s not bad, Igs, but it sure as hell wouldn’t sell on a mainstream market,” the older man began, sliding the documents across his desk, then smiling puckishly, “but I like it. Think once we found our flagship act, you could be the one who wrote their songs. Guess it’s not such a bad thing your old man made you take all those Honors and AP classes back in high school.”

Ignis’ composure became disarmed by the praise, admittedly first worrying that he’d found some of the songs he’d written to be too esoteric for a common audience. Not that he was incapable of producing for the pop genre, but it simply felt unsuitable. “Thank you, uncle,” Ignis beamed back, Markus laughing heartily.

Just as he moved to collect his things to begin work at his own desk, Markus stopped him. “Oh, once you’re all done with this shit, two things: I need you to go to that exhibit opening party or whatever downtown for me. That’s this weekend. And, uh, tomorrow—I was thinking I could give you a sort-of day off. Do some scouting for raw talent, y’know? Pass out business cards, network and shit like that. Got it, Igs?”

Ignis nodded, papers rolled in his hand and half-drunk coffee in the other, looking a little flustered to begin the day’s work. “I think that should be doable, uncle. I’ll be certain to clear my schedule.”

“Glad I can count on you, Igs!”

[c-rankin93]

SHE'S NO YOU - Ch.3

A/N: This chapter is more about family as you soon will tell. And you get to see a sneak peek into Finns head. --- CHAPTER THREE: SMILE FOR THE CAMERA --- RAE POV: "He did what!" I was currently at my parents house in Hoboken, New Jersey lounging out in the family room with my eldest brother Robert. My parents were playing in the backyard with the grandkids except my eldest nephew Tomas who was in the kitchen with his mother Maria- Robert's wife of 20 years. Robert was the only one of my three brothers that still resided in New York, as a Family Lawyer he took his job very seriously. He help me with my divorce and the custody battle I had to endure during Finn and I's separation. He was (and still is) overly protective of me. He and Finn had been great friends, and over the years we took family vacations together. But the moment I finally revealed what happened between Finn and I, he became even more overbearing, and even vengeful towards a certain someone. I guess he was hurt, a friendship destroyed and a little sister broken. It was a beautiful disaster. Julian the second oldest is currently living in San Francisco with his four year old son Parker. He went through a nasty breakup from his ex-wife Becca 6 months ago after finding out she was embezzling money into an off sore account of her estranged lover. His small doctors practice nearly went bankrupt due to the money loss but our parents stepped in and helped him financially to stay afloat. Becca was currently serving an 8 Year sentence in prison and her mysterious lover disappeared with nearly $500,000. He decided to stay in San Francisco and continue on with the life he built with his son, but frequently visited New York. Mark, the youngest of my brothers was also over the other side of America as well, pursuing his dream in Los Angeles. He packed up and left straight after high-school with the families support to become an actor. Over the years he has done well for himself, after staring in small commercials, then he moved on to TV drama, before getting his big break at 26. He stared as the supporting roll in one of Hollywood's greatest movies. He got noticed, then got famous. He kept to his bachelor life style, and I didn't ask him about the different women he was photographed with. I had just explained to Robert what had happened this morning over breakfast and what Olivia had said to me. To say he was mad was an understatement, he had practically choked on his beer the moment I told him about my uninvited guests. "Yeah well I can't stop him from seeing Josh on his birthday can I? But did he really need to bring her?" Robert understood my emotions. He was the only one out of my entire family that knew what really happened, between Finn and I. "Yes you damn well can Rae! That is your house, your property and if you don't want someone there you can tell them to leave. Invite Finn in sure but kindly remind him to leave his baggage at the door" Robert fumed and I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my lips. "I'm seriously Rae, don't let him walk all over you! That asshole needs to be taken down a peg or two" I sighed knowing that the more I talked about the situation, the more angry my brother would get. So in true Rae fashion I changed the subject. "So anyways! Are you excited about Tomas starting collage next year?" My eighteen year old nephew was a prodigy of his old man. I knew one day he would be a brilliant lawyer and husband, it was just a matter of time. Robert beamed and the mention of his eldest boy. "Of course! The kid got into Harvard for fuck sakes" he laughed, "not even I did that well. I tell you what, I can't wait to see him successfully one day". That was just typical Robert, he was the kindest man you would ever meet but if you messed with his family he would back hand you quicker then a women at a black Friday sale. "You know Elissa and Emery are going to be artist just like there momma" his daughters Elissa, 15, and Emery, 10, were splitting images of there beautiful mother Maria. Both had dark chocolate hair and golden brown eyes, they could never do anything wrong in Robert's eyes because they looked to much like their mother. Who was a pretty well known artist in New York, both girls had talent but in different areas. Elissa enjoyed painting faces and was brilliant at it, she has won numerous awards at school. And Emery loves mixing colour, some would call it abstract but to her it was just pure fun. "I've got my work cut out with them don't I?" Robert mused taking a long swig from his beer bottle before sitting it down on the coffee table. "No, more like you've got your work cut out with Robert junior over there" I pointed wards the glass doors that looked out into the backyard just as the Feisty little 7 year old crash tackled his grandpa with the help of Ruby who was laughing along. "Military school" he mumbled. I laughed, little Robert had always been upto no good, but he did it in the most innocent way. "Come on" I slapped Robert's leg then stood up to stretch, "we better go join the others instead of having our bitch and moan session. I'm sure mom is running around out there with her new camera trying to take photos". Laughing, we reminst about the first few weeks after Karim had brought her the camera, let's just say she went through two 16 gig memory cards, and hundreds of dollars worth of prints. -- I kissed the top of ruby's head, her eyes were already fluttering shut which didn't surprise me. Flicking off the light, then walked out of the room. Goodnight my princess. I walked down the hallway to Josh's room and poked my head in. He had already passed out, soft snores echoed in the room. I quickly tucked him in, kissing his soft brown hair. Goodnight my little man. Today was a big day, after the little spat I had with Finn the rest of the day went off without a hitch. Ice skating was a blast with Chloe, and her kids, Harry and Stephen. It was the first time in years I had stepped foot on ice and having two little humans depend on me to keep them upright was quite amusing. After that we had a nice long walk through central park before dinner and cake at mom and Karim's house. They kids had enjoyed the company of their 4 cousins, and I couldn't help but smile at how close they were. It made me wonder if they were as close with Finn's family as they were mine, especially Finn's 4 year old neice Sophia. I grabbed an ice cold beer out of the refrigerator and possistioned my rear end nicely on my plush couch. I chose to leave on whatever TV show that was already on, and continued watching without paying attention to what was happening. As the credits rolled by I heard a loud knock on the door. Sighing, I took the last few sips of my beer and shuffled towards the door. Gregory was standing there with a dopey smile on his face and a large blue box in his hand. He bent over and gave me a peck on the lips. A smile curved on my face the moment he wrapped his arms around me. We walked back toward the couch, not leaving an inch of space between us. He bent forward placing the blue box on the table quickly and wound is arms back around me. "How was your day beautiful?" Gregory whispered nibbling on my ear lobe. "It was good! Joshua had a great day and passed out as soon as he got back home. How was your day?" I replied choosing to keep my encounter with Finn out of it. "Oh it was fine, sold a penthouse in Manhattan today. It came with a nice fat commission to which I plan on spending on you. Maybe a weekend to Hawaii?" He continued to kiss my neck. "Oohh... well maybe one day we can enjoy that lovely vacation. And thank you again for today! I know you wanted to enjoy Joshua's birthday with us but thank you for letting me have this time with th-". He kissed me softly on the lips to shut me up, no doubt I was rambling on once again. "Its fine sweetheart. I got a sale and you got time with your kids, Plus we have tomorrow. And tonight..." he wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips. My body was dragged upon his and our lips crashed together. It had been weeks since we had last had sex and I was more then ready for him. I needed him right now, I needed to forget for a moment, I needed to feel that earth shattering orgasm. I needed to feel human again. -- FINN POV: I had dragged myself from the comfort of my silk sheets at 5am this morning. Olivia had managed to stick to her side of the bed last night thank God, I hated waking up with her short blonde hair tickling my face. Putting on my joggers and a t-shirt I laced up my sneakers and walked towards the kitchen to have a quick shake before heading to the gym down stairs in my apartment. This was my Daily accurance, I needed to exercise before I sat in my office all day behind paper work and my laptop. Running my own company was hard work, long hours and no sleep. I had been living this way since I graduated college, the only balance I once had in my life were my kids and wife. But now that had all changed because of Rachel. We had just gotten back from Aspen Monday night after I had taken Olivia and her God awful family away for her birthday. I had nearly cancelled after the ruckus Olivia had caused with Rae in front of my kids on my son's birthday, but I knew if I did that the nagging would increase and i wasn't in the mood for that. I stepped onto the treadmill and started off at a walking pace, letting my muscles warm. Her beautiful face flashed though my head, her creamy skin, the hairpin curve of her plump lips, her button nose, her silk like hair- fuck! My body tumbled to the ground hard, I had missed a step which caused me to trip all because I was thinking about her. Not my girlfriend that laid asleep in my sheets, but my ex-wife. Pulling my legs to my body in frustration and leading my elbows on my knees I looked to the ceiling still thinking about her. Over two years since I had touched her intimately, kissed her lips... My heart still ached everytime I saw her, but I couldn't show her how much she ruined me. No, instead I channelled that built up frustration into pure hate towards Rae. I couldn't help it, she took away my kids, my life, my fucking air. I groaned picking myself up of the hard floor and turned off the treadmill. I made my way over towards the boxing bag, forgoing the gloves I collided my fist hard into the bag. Memories of the night my world came apart washed over me, it was a disease I couldn't fight. 'Rae, honey. I'm home' Smack! My fist collided with the solid leather. I felt nothing. 'Rae?' Smack! 'Kids?' Smack! 'Hello? Anyone home?' Smack! Smack! Smack! Then I distinctly remember the words scribbled on a yellow post-it note in Rae's hand writing, along with the divorce papers. 'Fuck you' Smack! --- Grimacing I looked at the paperwork that had piled up in front of me, red tags with sign here scribbled across them poked out. It would take me all day just to read all the new contracts I was taking on in the new year and according to Olivia my deadline was only 4 hours away. "Olivia" I buzzed through the intercom. "Can you ring Archie and tell him to come to my office immediately". "Of course Finny" she replied. A grimace shuttered through me. It was a nickname she had picked up just after we started dating, it was a habit I thought she would break but I was beginning to loose hope. No more then 15 minutes later Archie lazily strolled through the door not even bothering to knock. "I was summoned" he announced grinning. "Yeah, clear your schedule. I need you to help me read through these contracts so I can sign them off. Apparently Liv decided to leave this to the last minute and I have-" I looked towards my watch. "3 hours and 44 minutes to get them done before they are sent to your department to be organised into financial groups" I signed. It was only 9am and I was already exhausted, I had no idea how I was going to finish this in the time frame I had. There was atleast 40 small business contracts to sort through, but if there was anyone I knew that could help me it would be my brother, Archie. "Fuck man! Why do you let her do this shit?" He groaned typing away on his phone, no doubt messaging his assistant Charleene about the turn of events. "Don't start" I growled flipping a page before signing. "I'm just sayin-" "Enough!" I yelled slamming my hands down on my desk. "Christ Arch, I know Ohkay... I know". "Look I'm sorry I shouldn't of said it, but your not happy man. You haven't been since-" he stopped before he finished, no doubt he saw the pain flash through my eyes. Archie picked up a contract and started to flick through it, awkward tension permeated the air. To say my family where welcoming of Olivia was an understatement. They had all adored Rae, especially my parents who treated her like a daughter. When they asked me what caused the divorce all I could do was shrug, I had no fucking idea so what was I to tell them. They took my silence as an admission that I had fucked up somewhere, that I had wronged her but all I did was love and cherish that women. Of course Ma and Archie had tried to contact Rae but she had obviously blocked their numbers, after 4 months they gave up trying just like I did, when bent Olivia over my desk and fucked her. That was the night I finally understood that my marriage was over, the life I knew before was gone and the women I loved more then life itself had left. "Since my wife left me?" "Finn" my brother sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. "Have you even asked her why she left?". I shook my head in honesty. I had tried to talk to her but my pain turned into misery, my grief turned into anger and the only way i could express myself was by yelling at her. "Maybe you should" Archie replied, picking up another contract. "You don't think I have? I tried for months to get her to talk to me. The most I got was a slap to the face and her repeating how vile I am. Fuck, I don't know what happened. I-... It been 2 years and I still love her..." "You have the kids tonight right?" I nodded. "Well when you drop them off talk to her..." Thats better said then done I thought. --- @i-dream-of-emus @milllott @eveerez @lily-pop-2 @arathewallflower @hey1tskat1e @I88cym @mmfdfanfic

[rythyme]

6. Serenade // Nurseydex

« {Part 6 of my Valentine’s collection.} »

a/n: Musician!Dex AU where they both still go to Samwell, but they don’t play hockey. Dex plays guitar and Nursey is a poet. Enjoy!

There were lots of downsides to living in the dorms. Communal bathrooms were one. Then there was the shared kitchen, the drunk freshmen tramping through the hallways at 3 AM, and dealing with roommates. One of the things that Derek didn’t mind, however, was being close to the dorm’s practice rooms.

The practice rooms were small supposedly sound-proof rooms were dorm residents could practice musical instruments without disturbing their neighbors. It was a good idea, theoretically—except whoever had designed he building hadn’t apparently had a very good understanding of acoustics. Not only were the walls of every dorm room deplorably thin (Derek really shouldn’t have this good of an idea of how often his neighbor got laid), but the practice rooms were also not nearly as “sound proof” as advertised.

Derek’s dorm room was right above his building’s practice rooms. There were a lot of people who complained about the noise, but Derek found himself enjoying the quiet melodies that leaked up from the floor below him most evenings. It wasn’t like the sound was keeping him awake—the practice rooms were closed after eleven, and Derek was never asleep before midnight.

Tonight was an unusually quiet night. Someone had been practicing Bach on the clarinet a couple hours ago, but since then the floor below had been silent. It was starting to put Derek on edge. He had two different poetry assignments to finish tonight, and the words just weren’t coming to him. Nothing he wrote down seemed worth keeping.

And then, like a Godsend, there was music—a guitar.

It was quiet, almost difficult to hear unless he was listening for it. He didn’t hear guitars in the practice rooms very often; usually the room was monopolized by band and orchestra kids. Tonight, however, it seemed that someone new had entered the scene. The pleasant harmony of the musician’s warm-up chords was already starting to get Derek’s pen moving.

A choir at his fingertips, each chord a song its own…

The musician eventually transitioned into playing full songs instead of just chords. Even though he wasn’t sure exactly what the names of the songs were, Derek thought he recognized some of the artists—Ben Harper, Ray LaMontange, Jack Johnson, a little bit of early Coldplay. The music was acoustic, soft, slow. It was totally different from the kind of music Derek listened to.

He moved onto the floor, sitting with his back against the wall and his notebook balanced on his knee. The poetry was flowing freely now. Derek felt like he was sinking into warm water, letting the hushed strums of the guitar wash over him in the otherwise quiet room. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the guitarist singing the lyrics.

“I can resist anything but temptation from you, but I'd rather walk alone than chase you around. I'd rather fall myself than let you drag me down.”

Derek finished his poetry assignments in record time and found himself lying on the floor with his laptop, torrenting album after album of acoustic guitar music and trying to find the songs his neighbor below was playing. These songs, they were… nice. More than nice. Derek hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.

And then suddenly, the guitar stopped. The room was quiet again. It was like it had never happened.

Derek decided to go to bed early that night.

He couldn’t get the songs out of his head for the next week. They kept coming back to him during lecture, at lunch, when he was trying to read poetry in the quad. He started to wonder what the musician looked like. He had absolutely no clue, which was infuriating. All he had was a voice.

He began to pay extra attention to the music coming from the floor below, hoping he might hear that guitar again. No such luck. A week and a half of violins, trumpets, and clarinets floated by like a fog, heavy and monotonous. His poetry started to take on a dark, desperate edge, which was always a bad sign. His poetry tended to show symptoms before he did.

Then, finally, ten days later, he heard it—the soft strumming of chords, the warmup set. He put down his homework, spread himself out on the floor, and closed his eyes. All the tension bled out of him in a sigh, and God, how had he gotten so reliant on this musician?

“That green eyes, you're the one that I wanted to find, and anyone who tried to deny you must be out of their mind.”

The music went on for another hour or so before it stopped this time. The moment the quiet started, Derek began to panic a little. What if this was the last time this person practiced here? What if he never heard them again? Before he really knew what he was doing, he grabed his keys and headed out the door, making for the stairs. He took them two at a time and slid in front of the door of the practice room just as someone was leaving, and—oh.

Wow. He was kind of gorgeous.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” the musician said, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder. He had red hair and freckles and eyes that were some kind of impossible shade of amber that left Derek staring a lot more than he should’ve been. “Were you waiting for the practice room?”

“Oh, no, no, not me,” Derek stammered. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to fight back the sudden wave of anxiousness that clung to his throat. “Uh, I just. You sound good.”

“You mean the guitar?” the guy said. Derek nodded. “Oh. Thanks, man.”

“Do you play a lot?”  Derek asked, desperate to keep the conversation going.

“Not as much as I’d like,” the musician shrugged. “I’m a CS major, so, you know. Not a lot of free time for music.”

“That’s too bad. You’re really talented.”

The guy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, not really. Thanks for saying so, though.”

“No, I mean it,” Derek insisted. “Do you ever perform?”

“Huh?”

“You know, in front of an audience?” The guy shook his head. “Well, if you wanted to, I know this coffee shop a couple blocks east of campus. Every Thursday night they have an open mic session at six. It’s pretty chill.” Derek was aware that he was rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking. “I go for the poetry most of the time, but there are always a few musicians. Musicians get the best tips, I think. It’s never a waste of time, you know?”

The guy looked a little shell-shocked. Shit, Derek had talked too much. “That… sounds interesting,” the guy said eventually. “Which coffee shop is it at?”

“Oops, sorry. It’s Annie’s.”

“Oh yeah, I know Annie’s.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thursdays at six, you said, right?”

“Yeah, Thursdays at six,” Derek repeated. “On days when I’m performing, though, I usually try to get there a little earlier, so I’d recommend getting there at about 5:45?”

“You perform?” his guitarist asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” Derek said. He scuffed his shoe on the floor a little. “Slam poetry, mostly.”

The guy was staring at him a little, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Derek tried to stand a little straighter. He and the musician were the same height, he realized. Fuck, that was kind of hot.

“Can I get your number?” the guy asked after a few beats. “Just—in case I have any questions, about the open mic. Um.”

“Sure, of course,” Derek said, a little too quickly. “That’d be—yeah, good thinking.”

“Here, if you want, you can type it into my phone, or—” Derek had already taken a pen out of his back pocket and was holding it poised in front of him. “Oh, I don’t really have any paper besides sheet music….”

“I could write it on your hand?” Derek suggested.

“Oh, sure,” the musician said. He held out his hand, palm up, and Derek took it. The act of writing the numbers on his pale skin was surprisingly intimate. Derek’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he could hear the other student’s breath catch a bit. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one a little flustered by this encounter.

“There,” Derek said when he was done. “Feel free to text me if you have questions. I’m Derek, by the way.”

“Thanks. My name’s Will.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Will,” Derek grinned in what he hoped was a charming way. “I’ll see you Thursday?”

“Yeah, you bet,” Will said. He smiled back, just the slightest curve of his lips, but it made Derek’s heart skip a beat. “See you, Derek.”

“Definitely,” Derek said. Then Will was walking up the stairs, and pretty soon he was gone. Derek was alone in the hallway in front of the door of the practice room.

Holy shit.

Derek slowly made his way back up to his room, his heart hammering fast in his chest. Did he really just give his number to the hot guitar player he’d been obsessing over for the past week? Fuck. This was happening. This was real.

He couldn’t wait for Thursday.

[cantfakethecake]

#1, 12, & 25 for any and/or all of your tagged characters.

Oh geez, I’m SO sorry I didn’t reply to this sooner! I wrotehalf of the answers in a Word document, and lost track of where I’d saved it until now.

1. What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it forthe symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded?

Always my favorite question, and thank you very much forencouraging my dumb Special Interest! Honestly though, for all the thought Iusually put into names, they were all pretty simple.

Rhiannon Partha:

Named after my Inquisitor, Rhiannon Cadash. As with mostnames I use on RPG characters, I didn’t pick it for symbolic reasons. I justhad a name crush, and wanted an excuse to see it written out more often! I hadto put her playthrough on hold thanks to some bugs in my save file, and figuredI might as well reuse it when I started playing the Dragon Age tabletop gameshortly after! I found Partha when searching for Dwarven words. I can’t recallseeing it, but at least one Dragon Age forum said it meant “peace.” Her parentschose their surname when they left Orzammar, and it suited them.

Iris Rowandale:

I just really, really, REALLY like the name Iris, and wantedan excuse to say it out loud. She’s one of eight kids, and they all havefloral/nature names. Her middle name honestly just came from a fantasy namegenerator. I have a major soft spot for portmanteau surnames that aren’t tooobviously high fantasy, and it was one of the few options that flowed well withher first name.

Lana Daymore:

I had about 48 hours’ notice to come up with Lana, and hadvery little backstory planned out when I turned in her character sheet. Therereally wasn’t much of an option to pick something meaningful; it’s just anothername I like. Daymore took me about 6 months to settle on, as nothing’s everreally sounded right/appropriately meaningful for her. I just texted my DM afew weeks back like, “Yeah, fuck it, a surname generator suggested Daymore andI’m using it. It doesn’t clash with her first name, and I’ll count it as a winif I get to make a stupid “one day more” joke at some point.” So much love andthought put into that pick.

Dewi Finn:

I’m on a streak with 4-letter, 2-syllable names, and figuredI might as well keep it going! I’m not usually a fan of the wholeboys-names-on-girls thing (it’s dated as hell and I’m tired of seeing it), butsomething androgynous really suited her. It’s a nickname, and there’s a storyto her full legal name. Beyond that, I’m not comfortable saying much. The peopleI play with follow my blog and I want to let my lying disaster of a bard have afew small secrets!

12. Is there some particular talent, skill, or attributethat they simply could not give up?

Lana collects souvenirs from every new place that shevisits. When she was working more closely with her temple, her bedroom in herchildhood home was absolutely covered in tchotchkes and slightly-more-meaningfulkeepsakes that she’d bring back from every trip. She’s been away for years now,but still sends home a package with a handful of new treasures every now andthen.

Also, she knits. She’s never had much patience for sittingand listening quietly for long periods of time, and her mother taught her tohelp her stay focused during religious sermons/ceremonies.

And for Dewi? Aside from the obvious bard answer of, “wouldrather die than give up her instruments,” she’s REALLY into history. She wasvery much an indoor kid growing up (she has a strength of 6, god help her), andshe always has a semi-useless fun fact handy. Other ride-or-die attributesinclude looking for any opportunity to indulge in extravagant luxuries,spending money like it’s her last day on earth, and lying like her life dependson it at the first sign of any sort of conflict.

25. Is there something traumatic from your character’s pastthat greatly affects them even to this day?

Ooh boy. I wrote Rhiannon’s backstory shortly after gettinginto Critical Role, and my main role model for writing a compelling RPGbackstory was Percy de Rolo. I leaned hard into the grimdark, and there are majorchanges I’d want to make if I ever revisit her. I usually keep details underwraps in case I ever do revisit her story, but eh, why not! The absolute tl;drversion is:

She lost her first adventuring party a year ago. They wereall members of the Carta, and during a routine mission they encountered a trapthat left them cornered by a pride demon. She was the only one with the meansto escape, and when her friends started falling in a single hit, she ran forher life. They had been her family for nearly a decade (she was all-but-legallymarried to one of her party’s warriors, Effie), and she hadn’t even begun toprocess losing them. Some additional Dark Shit happened afterward that led toher spending the last year running from the Carta, but that involves detailsthat take much more time than a tl;dr calls for! Given the chance, I’d verymuch like to leave the pride demon encounter more ambiguous. I’d really like toinclude the potential for at least some of her party to have survived.

Neither Iris nor Dewi have anything that I’d considertypical RPG-level trauma, so I’ll leave them be. Because Lana was a total rushjob, I picked and chose bits of Rhiannon and Iris’s backstories and tried tomake something vaguely coherent to fit the personality of a character I’dalready been playing for a few sessions. There are significant differences, butenough crossover between her and Rhiannon that I won’t write it all out.