#echo dot specs

[echodot18]

Unleash the Magic of Connectivity with Echo Dot: Your Gateway to a Smarter Home

In a world where technology continues to redefine the way we live, Amazon Echo Dot emerges as a beacon of innovation, seamlessly blending cutting-edge functionality with effortless convenience. More than just a smart speaker, Echo Dot represents a gateway to a smarter, more connected home, where your every command is met with swift, intelligent action.

At its core, Echo Dot is a testament to the power of voice control. With just the sound of your voice, you can summon Alexa, Amazon's virtual assistant, to play your favorite music, answer questions, set alarms, control smart home devices, and much more. But Echo Dot is more than just a voice-activated assistant; it's a true companion, ready to assist you at a moment's notice, whether you're cooking in the kitchen, relaxing in the living room, or getting ready for bed.

One of the most compelling features of Echo Dot is its ability to connect seamlessly with other smart home devices, allowing you to create a fully integrated ecosystem that works together to enhance your daily life. From smart lights and thermostats to security cameras and door locks, Echo Dot serves as the central hub that puts control at your fingertips. Imagine arriving home after a long day at work and simply saying, "Alexa, turn on the lights," as Echo Dot springs into action, illuminating your path and welcoming you with open arms.

But Echo Dot isn't just about convenience; it's about empowerment. By harnessing the power of voice control, Echo Dot enables individuals of all abilities to navigate their surroundings with ease, regardless of physical limitations or challenges. Whether you're visually impaired, living with mobility issues, or simply juggling a busy schedule, Echo Dot empowers you to take control of your environment and live life on your own terms.

What truly sets Echo Dot apart is its humanizing touch. Beyond its impressive array of features and capabilities, Echo Dot becomes a trusted companion, a familiar voice in an increasingly chaotic world. Whether you're sharing a laugh with Alexa, listening to your favorite podcast, or setting reminders for the day ahead, Echo Dot is there to brighten your day and make life a little bit easier.

But perhaps the most magical aspect of Echo Dot is its ability to adapt and evolve over time. With regular software updates and new skills added constantly, Echo Dot grows alongside you, learning your preferences and anticipating your needs before you even realize them. It's like having a personal assistant, confidante, and tech guru all rolled into one sleek, compact device.

In a world where connectivity reigns supreme, Echo Dot stands as a shining example of what's possible when technology is harnessed for the greater good. Whether you're a tech enthusiast looking to embrace the latest innovations or a busy parent in need of an extra hand around the house, Echo Dot is here to simplify your life and enhance your daily routine.

So, why wait? Join the millions of satisfied users who have already unlocked the magic of Echo Dot and experience the future of smart home technology today. With Echo Dot by your side, the possibilities are endless, and the future is brighter than ever before

[castlebyersafterdark]

🌈REVELATIONS ⛪️

Safe. Out of breath, but out of sight.

They locked the doors to the church and strained and struggled but pulled together to drag one of the pews in a barricade against the doors. Just as one extra precaution. They'd lost the demodeer herd a mile back but adrenaline kept them on a steady bolt, overly panicked as their reconnaissance mission failed and turned into one of survival and waiting.

When in danger, find shelter. Blockade. Stick together. Stay quiet. Wait for the next signal. Hope your radio didn't die and you reminded unseen.

"I think we're alone now. We're fine. We're totally fine." Breathless, and braced against the side of the nearest pew, Mike gave himself reassurances out loud while Will crouched down and focused on level breathing.

"Yeah. Safe," Will repeated. Not something he'd accurately felt in years. Couldn't remember.

"Hey. Hey come here."

Mike pulled Will to his feet and held him close. Chest to chest. Arms wrapped around Will's back. Big hands cradling skull and shoulder blade as Will sucked in a shakey breath and held on just as tight.

"I got you. We're good. We're safe."

"Sure," Will disagreed, voice a dark laugh and cheek a wet stain as he reluctantly pulled himself away from Mike's neck.

Mike had been doing that a lot recently. Hugging him. Touching him. Going out of the way to make sure he was doing alright. Keeping him safe.

It made Will nervous. Liking it as much as he did. He shouldn't.

"...and out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations: and he shall rule them with a rod of iron. And he..."

Will stopped in his tracks. What -

The lights.

(continued under cut)

Will stepped closer to inspect the electric candles, one built into each side of the pews. He leaned in to listen to the preacher's words, softly echoing from the other side in the scattered, floating particles of light. In the right side up, church was in session.

He stepped away and walked slowly along the rows of wooden benches towards the front of the church, catching snippets of the passage being recited to the gathered congregation with fire and brimstone fury as he walked along the trails of light, which flickered as he went and distorted the voice like an in between radio station.

"...and with him the false prophet that wrought miracles before him, with which he deceived them that had..."

Will stopped in front of the altar after ascending the set of stairs. Back in reality, where vines did not cover the church and perpetual night time covered the land, golden sun would wash down through the stained glass and bathe the sanctuary in a kaleidoscope of light and color. Blue, gray and the danger of red comprised Will's current palette - this world he'd help to shape.

He braced his hands on the altar and took a deep breath. Almost thought touching the wood - the mimic, the doppelganger of that thought to be sacred table - would burst him into flames.

"Will?"

He spun at the sound his name and turned to Mike. The glittering specs from the lighted pews lined the aisle, suspended in the damp, dark, stale air. Unmoving like a starry night, unlike the few specs that had clung to Will as he'd walked by. A magnet for the tiny dots of energy.

"Are you ok?"

"...which is the Devil, and bound him a thousand years and cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, that he should deceive..."

Will brushed off the specs of lpreaching, pixie dust preachings, warnings for the eternal soul. Look where he stood. A mockery. Back in Hell again. Willingly, this time.

"This is where they held my memorial service. When I, you know..."

He said it nonchalant, a pained smile on his face as he leaned back against the altar. Casual. Whether he belonged there or not.

"When they found that fake body."

"When I died. Before you all buried me."

"But you didn't."

"Most of you didn't know that."

He'd heard it, some of it. The preacher's voice just like today as his younger self took solace in the safety of the church. A voice that praised his poor young soul. Prayed for his salvation. All for a dummy stuffed with fluff. A rubber boy in a facade of a casket with needless tears dropped on the lid.

He remembered his grandmother, his father's mother, had tried with him and Jonathan. Forced them certain Sundays, forced his father to sit uncomfortably in the pews beside his boys, not so dutiful but trying. Joyce never went. Always worked Sundays.

The attempts were abandoned even before Lonnie ditched them all.

"But I knew. I never gave up on you."

"...and I saw an angel come down from heaven..."

His pale face shone in the blue darkness and dim light. Determined. True.

"I know."

Will waved a hand over one of the wax candles on thin iron stands that dotted the raised platform of sanctuary. It lit without spark or match or touch. He did it again to the others in his vicinity.

The things he'd discovered he could do terrified him.

Mike watched his best friend in awe.

"Kind of hard to believe a boy like me is hiding in a place like this. If I tried this on the right side..."

"What do you mean?"

"Mike..." Will took a steadying breath. Fearful. Terrified. Suddenly brimming with truth. When better than following a moment of life-or-death, in a place that glorified confessions. "Don't make me say it. Please. Don't make me. You know what I am."

"I don't-"

"Mike."

And Mike fell to his knees.

Hands covered his face. Shuddering breath. Crumpled before the altar, before Will.

Will descended from his place on high and rushed to Mike. Kneeled in front of the love of his life. Begged to understand.

"I've lied to you. I've lied to everyone."

"What-"

"I'm sorry. Will, I'm so sorry."

"...and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain..."

Mike took Will's hand in his own, and raised it, in worship, in love, in benediction to the boy he'd been devoted to since life had begun to fill memory. He kissed the knuckles, smelled the scent of smoke on skin from otherworldly fire. And let go. And made a decision.

And kissed Will.

And kissed him and kissed him. And was kissed back.

He didn't have to say it.

Gasps of breath. Hands grasping at shoulders, arms, faces, frantic. Mouths seeking their counterpart. Over and over.

The faintest sound of yelling. Candles burning bright. The lights that lined the aisles flashed and flickered, in tune with the sealing and slide of new lover's lips.

"Mike."

Foreheads pressed together. Mike's hands cradled Will's face, more force than intended but secure, a lifeline. A promise.

"Mike, is this real? It's... it's not-"

"It's real. I'm real. He's not here. You don't- you don’t feel him, right?"

Will felt Mike's pulse. His heartbeat.

Visions lacked either, they'd all found. On rare occasion when they were able to get close enough to check.

"Are you... are you like..." Are you like me? Abominations together. Unholy beings. No. Not a mistske. How could something that felt so right and good and beautiful be evil. "I thought I was so alone. Are you-"

"I don't know what I am. I'm working on it. But not... not how I feel about you. I think it's always been you, Will. Always you."

Will's smile could split the sky, could light up the entire dismal dimension. It belonged to Mike. All for him.

"It's always been you too, for me. I'm in love with you."

Another crashing kiss.

The lights flickered and surged.

"...stay calm, everyone! Join me in prayer. Together we will stand against this evil. This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer! Join..."

And the lights burned brighter yet, flickering in a circling rotation, then random, surging with power. All while two boys seeking refuge in a tainted and tarnished place of worship expressed pure love and devotion to one another.

Darkness, after the lights all burst on the other side. A final echo of yells rang out from the lingering specs of light until they also faded away until all that remained was the conjured burning candlelight surrounding the altar.

Mike stood, and took Will with him, never parting as they kissed and stumbled to the nearest pew...

(to be continued...)

🖤🖤🖤

[itsactuallycorrine]

inertia

buddie; 1K words; feelizings realizations; s08e06 spec

If Buck still had his math superpowers, he’s sure he could’ve told everyone how statistically unlikely it is for them to be on a second call where a kid fell down a well.

Even without the powers, he has an inkling: really, really, really fucking unlikely.

And yet here they are, staring at another kid stuck in a pipe, and icy cold dread ties Buck’s stomach into knots the minute Eddie opens his mouth.

Bobby says something about Eddie not fitting, and while Eddie, Bobby, and Chim are brainstorming solutions, Buck knows he needs to get his head back in the game, needs to be here, in the moment, doing his job.

Instead, his mind is cast over four years back, his eyes watch the sky for signs of a storm, his ears ring with the memory of a deafening crack, and his heart beats desperately against the cage of his ribs, pounding and pounding like it’s looking for an escape, any way out. 

“You good?” Hen murmurs to him, sliding him a solicitous glance and nudging her arm into his. 

Mouth dry, he nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he manages, and it convinces neither of them. 

Hen doesn’t call him out on it, though, just raises one brow. “He’s not going back down—he’s all right. No cut lines today.”

Buck’s still nodding, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. An object in motion and all that, Newton’s first law, he vaguely remembers from one of Christopher’s science assignments last year. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I know.” Nodding, nodding. 

She frowns, brows drawn low in concern, before a small smile pulls at her lips. “That was the first time I suspected, you know,” she says, quiet and teasing, and it’s so unexpected, he’s finally able to force his head to stop, to tilt it her way instead.

“Suspected what?”

“That maybe you weren’t as straight as we all assumed.”

It’s even more unexpected. He gapes at her. “What? Why?”

That skeptical brow goes up again. “Really?” she asks, bone dry. “You can’t think of any reason why someone might have seen you that night and suspected that maybe, just maybe, you felt a little more than friendship for your coworker?” When he stares at her, lost, she softens, grasping his arm as if to steady him for the next blow. “Buck, you were wailing and clawing at the ground like you’d just lost the love of your life.” 

Her words strum at something, buried deep down inside him, and its sonorous echoes bounce within the boundaries of his skin, making his head ring. He inhales sharply through his nose, casting his gaze away, from her, from the team, from the call. It’s not like he doesn’t remember that, remember Bobby bodily hauling him up from ground, holding Buck as he sobbed. Remember them talking to him in their gentle hysterical-victim-handling voices, assuring him that no one had given up on Eddie and they were doing what they could to get him out. Remember the heady relief of Eddie showing up on his own, cracking jokes like he hadn’t almost died, radiating cold and hardly able to stand. 

It had felt like a miracle. It still did. They’d all had their share of them, before and since, but that had been the first time it’d happened for Eddie, to Eddie, since they’d met. The first time Buck had to sit with the idea of losing him, of being left behind in a very real and permanent way, one from which there was no coming back. 

Fully-realized, post-therapy, semi-mature Buck can admit now that he’d never given himself the time or space to process that. Instead, he’d just put it away, on to the next thing. There had been Red, and then Abby’s return, and, in retrospect, an obvious dotted line that connected all three of these events, drawn in tears and sweat and blood and abandonment issues. 

But that didn’t mean what Hen was insinuating. He shakes his head. “It was Eddie,” he says, helpless. “I didn’t—I’m not… I can’t. Hen, I can’t.” It’s the last thing he needs on top of everything going on between him and Tommy, and Christopher still being gone, and all the other ripples finally calming in the wake of last spring. He cannot afford an ill-timed revelation right now.

Her lips part as she stares at him. “Buck, I didn’t mean—” she starts, only to be cut off by Chim’s urgent call of, “Hen, need you over here.” But still she hesitates until Buck gives her a nod. “We’ll talk more later,” she promises, and there is nothing Buck wants less, so he ducks her the rest of shift, and doesn’t even change out of his uniform before he takes off the next morning. 

In his loft, he struggles to keep his mind blank as he showers and changes, but as soon as he lays down, sleep eludes him and the floodgates open.

He closes his eyes against it, the childish thought that if he can’t see it, it can’t hurt him. But it’s there, and real, spilling out and touching everything, an unstoppable rising tide, and Buck curls up into a ball as it picks him up and carries him along, gasping for breath as it buffets him from every side. He wants to fight, wants to push it back, but it’s too much, years and years of moments big and small, touches, looks, words, deeds. 

It’s You can have my back any day and There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you and You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong and You don’t have to be anything for anybody.

It’s fond eye rolls and soft smiles and secrets shared and fears unburied and shoulder touches and the right kind of teasing. 

It’s fear and joy and laughter and tears and friendship and grief and comfort and…love. Always love. 

Hen was right; he had been acting like the love of his life had been buried alive, because he had. Because that’s what Eddie was—is—for Buck. 

Fuck.

ao3

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Linked Universe Lethal Company AU: Experimentation Pt 2 (3/19)

Time and Twilight go inside. Twilight's first day on the job doesn't exactly go as planned, however. Tw: none for this chapter. Mind the tags for the series. Credit to @across-violet-skies for coming up with the AU. Check the series out here on ao3, or read it below! No previous knowledge of the game is necessary to understand this AU.

The door swung inward with a low, ominous creak. The rush of air that followed shifted the undisturbed dust clinging to the grated metal floor, sending it swirling up in the air. The sunlight snuck in through the open door and flashed like glimmering dancer’s ribbons against the flying specs. Twilight stepped inside, basking in the coolness of the shade and breathing in the musky scent of abandonment as he peered cautiously into the halls beyond the main room. 

Time pushed the door closed behind them firmly, and the room was cast into shadow once again, illuminated only by the flickering lights overhead. Twilight wondered where the electricity to power them came from, since all the light poles outside were knocked over and in disarray. He wondered who maintained them. He opened his mouth to ask, but—with a glance at Time, he swallowed the questions on the tip of his tongue and distinctly tried to appear like he was not questioning things.

“So,” Time began, turning to face him. He planted his shovel between his feet, leaning his weight onto it as he rested his arms atop. “Every facility will have the same layout as this one. Door here—” He jerked his thumb back towards it “—fan overhead—” He pointed up “—and two or three hallways leading from this exact spot. This room will look the same. Always. Well.” Time slung his shovel over his shoulder, his impromptu lesson done. “At least until you get to higher moons, but no need to worry about that.... C’mon, let’s get this day started..” 

Time started off down one hallway, gesturing for Twilight to follow. Their footsteps echoed with dull, metallic thuds against the catwalk beneath their feet. Beneath it, between the metal sheeted walls on either side, was a yawning abyss. Twilight stared down at the bottom of it—so far, the fall would surely be fatal—unnerved as he tailed Time. What kind of facility had rooms with a big old pit leading to nothing? 

The radio at his lapel buzzed, and Twilight jumped with a bit of panic, almost worried that somehow his mind had been read, and even his questioning thoughts were about to be scolded by Time. Time, however, merely stopped with him, reaching for the radio on his own chest.

“Sky,” a tinny voice called. “Two pieces of loot, two doors down on the left. Proceed with caution–-there’s a red dot at the end of the hallway to your right. Looks like a snare flee. Over.”

“Understood, Four.” That must have been Sky, answering, his voice equally static-filled and crackly. “Thank you. Over.”

“Our job here.” Time spoke as soon as the transmission was over. “Is to find scrap. It’s simple, really. You’re going to tap right here on your helmet,” he said, raising two fingers to the side of his visor, “push in the button, and scan your surroundings. The scan will catch hazards, enemies, and most importantly, any scrap that might be within your vicinity. You’re going to want to scan every new room that you encounter before you enter it, every corner that you go around, every door that you’ll walk through. This scanner gives you any information that you could miss. Try it now.”

Twilight nodded quickly, still afraid of being scolded if he didn’t obey Time quickly enough, and he fumbled to find the spot that he’d indicated on the side of his own helmet. His gloved fingers found an indented button, and he pressed down. A flash of blue over took his vision with a chirp. It raced in a wave down the hallway, tracing the walls, the walkway, and the ceiling, until it disappeared into the shadows beyond. Twilight let out a belated gasp, stumbling back; Time began forwards again, his shoulder slung over his shoulder as he motioned Twilight onwards. 

“Pretty good technology, for the Company. And remember—information is your first defense. Four may not always be there to let you know about things ahead of time, and this scanner will bridge that gap of knowledge—before relying on Four. Not bad, after all these years.” Time tapped the side of his own helmet. “It doesn’t often fail me. Don’t use it in substitute of your own eyes, but it’s quite the reliable piece of machinery.”

They continued to trudge down the catwalk. It was eerie, Twilight thought, to see the ground drop beneath his feet through the grated walkways, guarded only by thin yellow rails and illuminated by the low, flickering lights.  Twilight sighed with relief when they reached a stone lined hallway that, at least, had solid footing. Time, however, grew tense, his shoulders setting and his paces growing stiff. 

“This area of the facility is the maze, or as some people call it, the labyrinth. Low visibility, and a higher chance for an entity to sneak up on you, given the number of vents.” He kicked at one, a little metal cover in the wall, as they passed. “Stick close.”

Twilight gulped, pressing in closer to time. It really was unnerving, the hallways, with their footsteps echoing in the deafening silence around them. Twilight was struggling to hear any sign of the “entities” that Time had spoken of. Time raised his hand to the side of his helmet, scanning the hallway every ten steps. Twilight followed suit.

“Sky? Halt where you are. Over.” The radio at his chest gave out in a blurt of static, and Twilight jumped into the air with a yelp. “Turrets to your right, I’ll guide you through it in a moment, there are a few items beyond.”

“Really, you gotta get used to that thing.” Time scoffed. He came to a stop with Twilight to listen to the rest of transmission.

“Time, an item in the room to your immediate left. No detected entities. But Sky’s run into a few more turrets on his end. I’ll be keeping a loose eye on you guys, but you’re going to be on your own for a little bit when it comes to loot.” A pause. “Tell poor Twilight to calm down, he’s gonna make himself sick looking around so fast. I can see him turning circles on the monitor. Over.”

Sky’s good-natured laughter rang over the radio. Time tipped his head towards Twilight, and he knew that the bastard was sporting a shit-eating grin underneath the helmet. 

Twilight flushed beneath his own. “Uh… thank you, Four. I’ll do that.”

And Time threw his head back and guffawed. “Hit the button on the side of your walkie,” Time told him. “You’re just talking to the air, nobody heard you.”

“Oh.” And Twilight wished, then, to sink into the floor and die. He grabbed awkwardly for the switch. “Thank you, Four,” he repeated.

“Over,” Time prompted. “Always let someone know when you’re done talking. The radios have a delay—don’t want everything to get all jumbled up.”

“Uh. Over.” And Twilight flicked the receiver off. The radio went dark.

“No—Twilight, hang on.” Time reached forwards and turned his radio back on. “You only have to let go of the button to stop transmitting your voice. You just turned your radio off.”

Wishing to combust upon the spot, Twilight muttered some affirmation and let Time fix it for him. Time just laughed again, and, shamefaced, Twilight followed him left, down another darkened hallway, as Four had directed, and into a wide open area with lockers and a balcony. 

“It’s rare to find scrap in the hallways of the facility, and even rarer in those labyrinth hallways back there. Most of it’s going to be in rooms like this,” Time explained as they stepped inside. He raised his hand to the side of his helmet. “Four said there’s one item in here—use your scanner to find it.”

Twilight copied Time, raising his hand to the side of his own helmet, and pressed down the button. That same line of blue raced away from him across the room, until—

A ding. A green circle took up the corner of his visor, centered around one of the lockers on the other side of the room. 

“Over there!” Twilight started forwards in excitement. Wedged underneath a broken shelf was a sheet of metal that the scanner named a ‘cookie sheet.�� He picked it up, holding it out in front of him, and looked to Time for approval.

Time merely nodded. “Good job. Scan it again, see how much it’s worth.”

Twilight did. His visor again lit up with that green circle, and a number appeared beside it. 24 credits. 

“That’ll go towards quota,” Time said, sounding pleased. “Carry it with us, let’s keep going.”

“No, wait.”

Twilight hit the scanner on the side of his helmet. It lit up with a green on another item, wedged in the corner of the broken cabinet and covered with debris. Twilight fished out a delicate ring. 87 credits. Twilight held it up to Time with a grin, preening.

“Good find,” Time grunted. He took it from him, dusting off its dirty surface with the edge of his thumb, lingering just a wistful second too long. “Wonder how something like this got in here…” He tucked the ring into his pocket, took a final scan of the room, and then continued out into the corridor, waving Twilight wordlessly along after him. Twilight, his celebratory mood dampened a little bit by Time’s muted reaction, followed. 

“Red dot behind you, Sky,” crackled over the radio suddenly. “Approaching quickly. Movement’s similar to a Bracken. Over.” 

Time halted in the middle of the hallway, signaling for Twilight to do the same. The radio on his chest spat out a sharp crack.

“I don’t, uh—OH GOD!” Time leaned closer, his brow set behind his visor. A cold sweat broke out across Twilight’s body at the sound of true fear in Sky’s voice. “Y–yup, there’s a Bracken all right. Over.”

“It’s retreating. I’ll keep an eye on it for now. It’s nearly 4:00—I suggest that all parties start heading outside. Over.”

“Understood. Over,” Time barked into his radio. “We’ll be pushing a little further.”

“Alright Time,” Four said, “Then you’re gonna want to head back the way you came, then continue to the left. Looks like you’ve got a warehouse ahead, with about 5 items scattered about. Could be a good haul, but be careful. Over.”

“We’ll watch our backs. Over.”

They walked down to the dimly lit warehouse, gathered up the items they found there—an engine, a large axel, and a few other knick knacks. Time’s head was on a swivel the entire time—and with one last cursory scan, he declared it time to go. So they headed back, following the signs they’d left behind on the wall. Twilight broke a bit ahead as Time stopped to cross out the signs behind them, signifying the hallway as searched.

And then, out of nowhere, something shrieked, and a heavy weight landed on Twilight’s head.

[thelogbookproject]

The Unity of Skovlan, Entry 13: Gaeyl

The Unity of Skovlan is an upcoming unofficial supplement to Blades In The Dark about the fall and rise of the Skovlander people. This series explores what it is all about in the leadup to its September release.

Gaeyl, she/her, is the rookie of Alx Squad. Written as “yet to prove herself on the field of battle,” it is notable that Gaeyl managed to get assigned to an Independent Unit like Alx Squad, who are kinda the spec ops groups of the Skovlan military without any real battle experience, but they’re no less capable than anyone else — mostly.

Gaeyl’s biggest contribution to the group isn’t numerical: she’s idealistic, almost visionary in her ideas for what Skovlan could be in a post-Imperium world. It was critically important to me to have a character like that in the Squad because this War, as I feel like I occasionally need to remind people, goes on for 36 years. That’s a staggering amount of time for a near-modern war. World War I lasted five years, WW2 seven. The Napoleonic Wars put together lasted only 12 years. Insurgencies can last a lot longer, and there have been longer wars (the Caucasian War comes to my mind) but usually the aggressor either has other simultaneous wars or there are regime changes, neither of which is particularly true during the Unity War. Holding up idealism and a vision for the future through that much trauma is impressive, and it’s why Gaeyl is here.

Mechanically, Gaeyl actually lacks any dots in direct-offense Actions (Hunt, Skirmish, Finesse, Wreck) but has all four Resolve Actions, making them resilient and giving them a sparkling voice to create advantages with. Still, it’s probably a good idea to make a dot (even just one, it only costs 2 Valor!) in one of the direct offense Actions. As a war story, The Unity War is more likely than base Blades to force players into violent moments, and while Gaeyl can try to Command her way out of trouble, it is very much in every player’s favor to give her a violent outlet. Of course, even zero dots is only 1 Stress away from being 1d6 through Assisting, so she’s certainly not helpless.

This is Lucky, one of Gaeyl’s possible Abilities. An extra mid-Mission way to use Valor, it’s very strong, but Valor is not plentiful and easy to come by. If you’re in a desperate situation though, and you’re rolling enough dice to expect a different outcome, Gaeyl can do anything. It’s also any roll, Resistance and healing included.

This is the unique Gear that Gaeyl can spend Load on. That’s right, Heavy Armor is only for Gaeyl. It leans into the theme of being able to shrug off consequences that Gaeyl has going on, between a re-roll ability, an Attribute of 4, and the regular Armor anyone can pull for 2 Load. Gaeyl is very hard to take down, the force of their spirit too much for any one foe to conquer.

A thing I like about Gaeyl is that she’s pretty canonically quite young. Of all of the Soldiers, Gaeyl is the best-suited to continue play in Fractured Unity if you wanted to remake them into the Echoes. Consider that these characters join Alx Squad at the start of the war, and while I don’t specify an age for anyone, I like to imagine that Skovlan doesn’t do child soldiers, so after 35 years of fighting, no one is less than 50 years old. Again, that’s a staggering thing to imagine. If you get Calibri, Fane, Garm, Kelld, Maela, or Tillery through to Doskvol and they still have enough fight left to serve, good for you, but Gaeyl has the never-surrender idealism to be the cornerstone of the Echoes, and their youth puts them in position to still be ready to fight a long fight. Gaeyl can also wind up in almost any playbook in Fractured Unity, depending on the course of the War for them. They’d be a weird Ground (as would any member of Alx Squad), but becoming a Chronicle, Cutter, Hound, Slide, or Lurk are all pretty easily in reach, and the Mend, Leech, Spider, and Whisper aren’t that tough to get to either.

Next time, we’ll discuss the ace sharpshooter of the Squad, Garm.

The Unity War releases for PWYW on September 1, 2023. Check out https://tinyurl.com/tuos-details for the rest of this series! Sign up for my Patreon at https://patreon.com/thelogbookproject for a preview, and full early access to the game! See you Wednesday!

[smartgadgetsblog]

Amazon Echo Dot (4th Generation)

The Amazon Echo Dot is one of the best smart speakers on the market, and it is the smartest choice to make your life easier at home. Meet the all-new Amazon Echo Dot (4th Generation), which comes with a compact design that perfectly fits in any room.

The Audio features a 1.6 built-in speaker and helps with voice feedback. It also has a 3.5 mm Stereo Audio output for external speakers (audio cable not included). The device delivers powerful bass. The simple setup of Amazon wifi enables customers to connect smart devices to their wifi network in a few easy steps.

Meet Alexa, the brain behind Echo Dot. They are designed to protect your privacy. The Amazon Echo Dot (4th Generation) has privacy features like Wake Word Technology, streaming indicators, microphone off button, the ability to view and delete your voice recordings, and more.

The Bluetooth connectivity has Advanced Audio Distribution Profile (A2DP) support for audio streaming from your mobile device to Echo Dot or Echo Dot to your Bluetooth speaker.

The price of the Amazon Echo Dot (4th Generation) in India is just Rs. 3,999/-.

Get your Smart speaker from Poorvika and get it delivered with our Same-Day delivery option during hours permitted by govt regulations. Our delivery experts make sure all deliveries are Safe and Sanitized.

[digitaltariq]

Amazon Makes Conversations With Alexa Seriously Smart And Echo Speakers Are Cooler Than Ever Before Amazon Echo smart speakers and the Alexa assistant has received the yearly dose of goodness. Amazon has introduced its new line of…

[arcadejohn127-9]

It's okay, I'm here, I'm real

indulgence and vent based on a event that has happened to me somewhat recently but it's been long enough that I've gotten over it but still sucks that it happened - reminder, just because there are bad experiences with weed doesn't mean it's evil, just means be careful and smart about where you get and much you take - how you feel whilst doing it can heavily influenced what kind of trip you'll have

Be smart and responsible, know your limits and always have someone you trust with you

Mammon is irresponsible as always and Lucifer is there to comfort him. Big brother is going to make sure he's safe and okay whilst he goes through a bad drug trip because no matter how much they argue and insult each other they will always have each others backs

Angst/comfort

Warning: weed, bad drug trip, angst, sudden panic attacks, detailed descriptions of trip, drugs, taking too much drugs, heavy dissociation

It wasn't supposed to be like this; he thought it would be fine. He forced himself to breathe. Slowing his sudden gasps as his heart spiked. He could feel his mind blur as the weed finally kicked in. It hit him all at once and his skull pounded; the left side of his face was buzzing like a hive.

He mentally cursed at himself for being reckless but they were such small brownie slices! He didn't expect it to hit this hard.

He wanted to break down and sob his heart out but he had to stay calm; he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Meanwhile, Lucifer was marching down to his younger brothers room. Snarling to himself as he knew he was going to confront mammon ONCE AGAIN this week; he really wished that he would just be responsible for once.

The eldest demon threw open the door.

"Mammon, I said keep your habits in your own room! I had to stop Beel from eating every single brownie you left in the fridge-"

His lips immediately flew shut; his eyes landing on the rigid form of the younger demon. Eyes screwed shut and Barely keeping his breathing steady. Lucifers eyes landed on the plate beside him; already able to connect the dots.

Lucifer slowly approached, trying not to stress mammon even further. Mammons eyes opened once again; they were glassy and obviously he was holding back tears. The whites of his eye already turning red.

"how- how long has it been?"

"What do you mean?" He sat down beside him, watching closely to the males expression.

"I heard you coming and I closed my eyes and now you're here- how....how long did I have my eyes shut for...?"

Lucifers chest clenched; he always seen Mammon get hurt or in an unpleasant situation but this was breaking his heart. Mammons hands were shaking as he was trying grasp the world around him; nodding to himself as he was gripping to any spec of reality he could get.

"only for a few moments, mammon."

"seriously?! It felt like hours." He laughed, leaning back on his bed, still dazed.

"How many did you take? You're obviously not having a good trip, I haven't seen you like this since you first started."

"it was only 4! And they were tiny! Did you see em?"

He did, in fact see them. That was the whole reason he was even here; because he saw a pile of mini brownies all wrapped up and stuffed lazily into the fridge. He announced his annoyance just seconds ago but he can't blame his brother for not processing it all; he wished he would be more careful.

"I did....I did see them, let's get you comfortable."

He helped mammon take off his jacket, shifting to grab a nearby hoodie. He sniffed it to make sure it was still fresh through he was mammon didn't care at this point. After putting mammon in the hoodie he guided him to lay on the bed.

Mammon felt another sharp spike of panic seeing his brother leave his side. Weakly grabbing out to him as tears rolled down his cheeks, Lucifer patted his hand. Softly reassuring him he's not leaving. Lucifer pulled the blanket over his brother before taking off his coat, neatly placing it on the chair.

He mumbled sweet 'im here' as he came back to his brothers side. Crawling on the bed on the other side of him and laid down. He embraced mammon from behind, the other male gripping his brother's arms as he let out shaky sighs of relief.

You see, mammon was so relived. Why? Because Lucifer felt real. He was real. His clothes, his hold, his arm - it all felt real. He desperately clung to his brothers arms as he got comfortable in his bed. Lukcily, it was big enough for the both of them but it was still somewhat a squeeze.

But right now that didn't bother Mammon. He just needed to feel something solid. The world around his was weightless; false. All just a blurred background to trick him. More tears came out; curling into himself as he mentally reminded himself that it'll all go away. This feeling wil go away.

"I hate.....I hate feeling like this again....it's been centuries since I've had one this bad- I hate it - I hate it so bad...."

"I know, I'm here, just get some sleep - it'll make it go away faster."

Lucifer leaned his forhead against the back of mammons head. Giving him a gentle squeeze. For a moment Mammon panicked; Lucifer sounded like how he did in his dreams. Those dreams never ended well for him. He always got hurt.

Together, they breathed in and out. Slow steady breathes coming out if the both of them.

"I know but- whenever I close my eyes I feel like I'm dreaming - I can't - I can't tell the difference..."

"I'll tell you how long it's been, just rest."

"it's been an hour, Mammon, go back to sleep."

Despite his reluctance, he nodded. Mammon closed his eyes, trusting his brother. He laid there; unable to tell when he was finally asleep. It was strange because he wasn't tired at all and yet it was effortless. Or maybe it wasn't; he had no idea. It was all just darkness within darkness. He could sense the world shifting as he kept his eyes closed.

Finally, he awoke. Feeling more refreshed and for a few moments - sober. He felt fine. Normal. Grounded. But those feelings weren't going to last. Lucifer noticed his awakening, patting mammons arm and sighed tiredly.

"it's okay, I got you." Lucifer always had him, no matter what.

"an- an hour-?!" His voice squeaked, pain coming out as he let the words echo in his head in disbelief.

Was eternity really only an hour? Was this how it was going to be? He'd wake up every hour still experiencing this awful trip and unable to tell if he was even actually awake.

Mammons tried to go back to sleep; his legs suddenly twitching and jerking. He couldn't remember when that happened. But he was being persistent; sleeping was going to fix this. He was sure belphegor would be amazing at this.

Next time his eyes opened; they immediately went for the clock that's by his bed. He was vaguely aware of the time before he closed his eyes; but at what time did he close his eyes? Was it the first time he closed his eyes or the most recent? When was the most recent?

He whimpered and groaned to himself, moving his hair out of his face. He was able to see through his fringe but it felt odd - it was like looking through a TV screen. Everything behind his hair was far away but yet, he could still see it if it was up close. Being free from his hairs tricks he got to have a another moment of being sober.

Lucifer was sleeping. He spend the past couple of hours just staring at the wall, not wanting to disturb mammon. Soon enough he always went to Dreamland; bored of waiting. But somewhere in his brain he could still sense the world as If he was conscious; sensing mammon was once again awake.

"It's been 3 hours - it'll be over soon." His voice was groggy but mammon was thankful the change didn't make him panic.

He is legs kept twitching and moving. He couldn't stop it. His body was just moving on his own. Lucifer moved one of his arms much to mammons dismay; grabbing a water bottle Asmodeus left not too long ago. He handed it to mammon.

"Drink, you'll need it."

Mammon was in no position to say otherwise. His mouth dryer than a dessert. He chugged down the water until he felt satisfied; closing his eyes once again and let himself drift through sleep and uncertainty.

Next thing the both of them knew was Mammon was keeping close to the edge of the bed. Mumbling about falling off the edge. But he couldn't move; he kept hunching like was going to throw up. He kept taking large gulps of water as he his mouth kept drying up in moments.

Lucifer rubbed his back, trying to keep him from throwing up. That would only cause the poor demon to have a panic attack and he didn't need to be struggling to breathe mid way through barfing.

Thankfully; time flew by at last and it was the next day. Both brothers still snored as they held onto each other. The other brothers checked in to make sure they were okay, mammon had plenty of water and Lucifer has some snacks to eat.

It was going to be okay

He was okay

Thank father it's okay

[theamberwriter]

OKAY SO OMEGAVERSE- can I please have Todoroki, Bakugou and whatever other characters you wanna write for when their omegas nest gets destroyed by something (maybe a friend, a parent, whoever) and they’re really sad about it? I just need some protective alphas rn. (Thank youuu)

Pairings - Alpha!Todorki x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Bakugo x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Kirishima x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Yaoyorozu x Omega!Reader, Apha!Ashido x Omega! Reader

Word Count - 9722

A/N - Wow, this took waayyy longer than I thought it would to write. But it’s also kinda long, lol Anyway, I really hope you like it! I had lots of fun writing it! Also, I’m going to apologize now to Denki lovers for the last one!

~*~

SHOTO TODOROKI

Todoroki was a force to be reckoned with, especially where it came to his mate. 

Nobody got to fuck with them.Much less his own father.

Endeavor had made it painfully obvious he didn't like his son's chosen mate.

Especially since they were a seat higher in hero ranking than Shoto.

He couldn't believe his own son had been outranked by an omega.

Shoto didn't mind, in fact, he was very proud of you.

He may not have known you in school, but your mother had embarrassingly boasted a laundry list of your accomplishments when you introduced him.

She also gave him a very detailed rundown of every single step of your hero training. Starting from a young age.

You could've died of embarrassment.

Shoto listened intently, taking in every single detail.

He firmly decided that you deserved your seat, maybe even a higher seat than that, and he made sure you felt proud of your ranking too.

Since your position pissed off Endeavor, Shoto always found a way to wedge it into conversation with him.

Anything to make the old crackpot flame.

It made family gatherings rather awkward and difficult.

Usually the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

As hard as Fuyumi tried to make things chill and normal, Natsuo and Shoto made sure Endeavor knew they liked you more than him.

So to say that your relationship with your future father-in-law was nonexistent was an overstatement.

Endeavor couldn’t stand being in the same room as you. Shoto refused to allow you to be in the room with him, especially alone.

The two of you were basically strangers connected through a mutual.

Honestly, it was stressful.

He was going to be at family gatherings, he would be at your wedding the following year, he'd be grandfather to any pups you raised - no matter what, he was always going to be there.

You couldn’t escape him. So you might as well make peace, right?

You had a bad feeling, but you couldn't keep walking on eggshells.

You made sure Shoto didn’t know what you were up to. And waited until you had a day off and Shoto was at work.

You already knew he’d disapprove of the olive branch you were trying to extend.

You and Shoto lived in a lovely house on the outside of the city where his agency was.

Shoto wanted it built as an early wedding present. You'd only been there for about six months.

It had large, beautiful gardens, a good amount of land, and a pond. It was your own personal wonderland.

Having this little spec of gloom in your personal paradise wasn't ideal. But you had to put a truce on this.

It was noon on the dot when a knock came to your door. 

You were still not mentally prepared to handle this on your own. 

You smiled as best you could and opened the door. “Enji.”

“[Name],” he said in disdain.

 You bit the inside of your cheek. “Thank you for coming. Come in, the tea just finished.”

He glared at you for a long moment but then walked into the grand foyer.

Enji glanced around blankly. You couldn’t tell if he liked the house, or if he hated it because it was yours.

“Shoto designed everything,” you noted. He nodded at that. “Uh, the dining room is this way.”

You led him through the library and down a hall.

You opened the door, allowing him in first. He entered without so much as a glance at you.

“Take a seat.” You gestured to the two chairs where your lunch and fresh tea was laid out. 

Endeavor sat stiffly in one, and you in other.

“The cooks Shoto found make the best food I’ve tasted,” you noted awkwardly. 

Shoto had hired some staff to help since you two were so busy.

“For you, I’m sure,” he grunted but picked up his utensils anyway. “Thanks.”

You two ate in tense silence for a minute. Your heart pounded in your chest, it nearly made you gag with nerves.

You should’ve waited for Shoto.

You cleared your throat and took a sip of tea.

“I’ll be frank, Enji…” you started. “I asked you here to extend an olive branch.”

“An olive branch. Really?” Enji seemed more annoyed than ever.

“When Shoto and I get married, we’ll be family. - I’m not saying you have to like me. Or that we have to talk to each other. All I’m saying is that I want to make a truce. So we can be...civil?”

He grunted. “Does Shoto know you’re doing this?”

You shook your head. “He’d probably disapprove. But I thought I’d try. So if it doesn’t work out, he’d still come around. You know how he can be. He’d be even more furious with you, and probably wouldn’t go any family functions for a while.”

“You seem to know my Shoto well enough,” Enji noted.

You shrugged, laughing uncomfortably. “We’ve been dating for five years, engaged for almost two. So I’m hoping I do.”

After another few moments of silence, he asked, “May I use your facilities?”

You nodded and gestured. “Through that door, make the left, follow it down the hall, and it’ll be on your right.”

You cursed under your breath when the door finally shut. It was a relief being out from under those eyes. Away from his alpha stench. It was burning your nose, and making your eyes water.

You didn’t think anything of it until fifteen minutes had passed.

Had he gotten lost? Definitely not, right?

You left the dining room, going down the hall to find the bathroom door open and the room empty.

You followed the hall down and around and finally back to the foyer.

That’s where you smelled it. The undeniable scent of smoke.

You followed it up the stairs and down one wide hall and then another. 

Your heart felt like it snapped in half as you watched smoke pour from the door with a sign (lovingly made by Momo) that read Nest Sweet Nest.

You launched yourself into the doorway. Sure enough, Endeavor was slowly lighting item after item on fire.

“What the -” you started, walking into the room with a sleeve over your face.

“I will never make peace with you,” he snapped. “Extending a branch without so much as consulting Shoto. How degrading and insulting to your alpha. And being outranked by an omega of all people. It’s disgraceful. Shoto deserves that spot you occupy. As well as an omega stronger than you.”

You felt something in you snap. And then you were consumed by overwhelming energy. 

Your quirk had activated, and you hadn’t done it consciously.

The energy surge lifted you up, engulfing you in the form of a bear that barely fit in the room. Luckily the energy could be phased through objects if you wanted. 

The translucent white-blue bear roared and growled at Endeavor.

“Get. Out!” you snapped from where you controlled the bear from within.

Endeavor shot fire at you. But the bear stopped it from entering your energy form.

You took the bear’s massive paw and swatted at Enji, pinning him under it.

Your bear leaned down, shifting into the form of a lion. It snapped and snarled at his face. 

Endeavor showed no fear. Though you could smell it through the lion’s nose.

You picked him up in the mouth of the lion. Putting just enough pressure to pin and threaten him. But not enough to crush.

The lion and you squeezed through the door, swept down the halls, and back to the front door.

Your butler stood, waiting with the entry open. “I’ve instructed the others to put the fire out.”

You nodded at him, then squeezed out to the front path. The lion grew even larger, dwarfing the house.

“Consider this war, Endeavor,” you snapped, voice echoing through the lion. “All branches have been burned. And I will be telling Shoto.”

The lion tossed him out into the middle of the front lawn.

You watched as he hit and rolled across the grass. When he stopped, he pushed himself up and glared at you. Then he lit up and readied himself.

As soon as he launched into the air, he was caught in a flow of ice. 

Only one person could do that.

Walking up the drive was no other than Shoto, home early. 

You’d semi-lost your mind to the beast. A struggle you’d been having since your quirk emerged. Only rage made you lose your mind now.

The lion roared at Shoto, stalking up to him. But he showed no fear. You couldn’t even smell it on him.

He placed a hand on the lion’s snout, staring at it as blankly as ever. The lion sank into a laying position. 

Shoto climbed up on it and forced his way into the energy field. Like you’d showed him, just in case.

He was pulled to the center, where you were. Immediately, he took you in his arms, cradling you against his chest.

You struggled at first. But calmed down at his cinnamon scent.

He rubbed your back and kissed your hair, pumping out comfort pheromones.

You felt the energy draining and you wrapped your arms around him in turn. With a sigh, the two of you settled to the ground.

“Shoto,” you yawned, your quirk completely deactivated. “You’re home early.”

“Got a call about a fire,” he grunted. “I can see why now.”

Shoto released his father, who hadn’t bothered melting the ice on his own. The two just stared at each other, then Endeavor left without a word.

“What happened? What was this all about?” Shoto asked as he hauled you off the ground. 

You were worn out. Rage energy was much harder to control. It was much more draining than how it was when you did hero work. At least you had control then.

You explained the situation to Shoto. He was not happy, to say the least.

“What were you thinking? You should’ve waited -” he started to scold.

You couldn’t help the tears that flowed. “That’s not even the worst part. - Come see.”

Tiredly, you pulled Shoto up to the charred room that once held your nest. 

Fond tokens of love and memories were burnt to ash. The blankets and clothes and pillows you’d hoarded were all gone now. Nothing was left of what was except the charred Nest Sweet Nest sign on the door.

“He...he burned everything,” you wheezed, wiping furiously at the tears on your cheeks.

“That bastard,” Shoto cursed under his breath. 

He held you closely, glaring into the blackened room. He wasn’t going to let his father get away with this. But, for now, you were his priority.

He got you changed into clean clothes, then took you down to the entertainment room. 

Shoto put on your favourite movie, had tea brought down along with snacks, and cradled you in his arms until you zonked out.

He’d never seen you like that. He had to admit, it was terrifying.

Honestly, he never thought he’d have to use the emergency maneuver you’d taught him. You were so good with your control.

Of course, Endeavor would be the one to break it. Natsuo and Fuyumi were going to hear about this. 

However, revenge was for another time. 

Right now, his omega was the most important thing.

~*~

KATSUKI BAKUGO

God, you were just too cute and you didn't even fucking know it.

Katsuki smiled to himself as he cast one last look at you in your nest before going off to work. 

He'd bought you a body pillow cover of himself as Ground Zero as a joke. But here you were, curled up with your face stuffed in it and a leg thrown over. Drooling like a kid.

He'd scented the entire thing for you. There was no getting rid of that smell for a while.

He never thought he'd find this with anyone. He was so caught up in work, romance was the last thing on his mind.

But one chance encounter changed everything. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

With that, he left for work. Unaware of what would soon transpire.

All of Katsuki’s friends loved you. In fact, there were times they preferred you over him.

But not all of your friends loved Katsuki.

The shallower ones of the bunch were jealous you’d nabbed a hero. But they were all concerned about your safety. Not just from villains, but from Katsuki himself. 

They found him too brash, too rowdy, too aggressive. And they were worried that would turn on you. 

Not that they’d ever tell you as much. But you could tell they weren’t fond of him.

They’d never seen the side of him you had. Or even the sides of him that his friends got to see.

He was usually busy when you hung out with your friends.

Even when he was home, he didn’t like to get in the way of your friend time. Which was becoming fewer and farther between. No matter how much you wanted him to hang out with you all. 

They weren’t exactly begging for him to come along either.

Your friends had seen him in the media. Seen the way he acted in battle, the way he talked to the press and yelled at the paps. How he bullied even fellow heroes.

They didn’t trust him as far as they could throw him. 

It was the weekend and you were having them over for the day while Katsuki was out on patrol.

You had everything ready by the time they arrived for lunch.

There wasn’t really much to do. Katsuki kept the house tidy, while you did laundry and dishes. You took turns giving the dog a bath, and that was that.

Your dog, an Amstaff named Pooki - a name she came with, much to Katsuki’s chagrin (he did try to change it, but she wouldn’t respond to anything else) - barked when a knock came at the door.

Behind it, stood your main little group of six. They all seemed on edge, except your best friend of the group - Haruto.

He grinned and hugged you immediately.

“I’m so glad you all could make it! - Did you all find it okay? I know we’re a little out of the way,” you said and moved so they could enter.

“Uh, yeah. We found it fine,” Akari, Haruto’s sister, said.

Haruto was already baby-talking the dog. 

“Is he -” started Sota, a friend you’d made in middle school. Your other friend, Mei, nudged him.

You shook your head. “No - my boom boy won’t be back until this afternoon. He’s out patrolling.”

Misato, the most serious and mom like of the group, came and put a hand on your shoulder. “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your spunk.”

“What’re you -?” you started, then shook your head. “Nevermind. C’mon, I have a game loaded for us to play. I promise you’ll love it.”

You led them to the living room. It was a decent size with two chairs, a four-person couch, and a loveseat. Katsuki had a gaming station set up around the electric fireplace.

Your friend Yuto pushed his way to the front of the group. “No way is that -”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he was talking about. He wouldn’t shut up about it in the group chat.

“But that hasn’t even come out yet -”

“Katsuki got it for me,” you laughed. Tension in the room spiked. “It was a thank you from the company. He saved their building from being destroyed, you know. This game never would’ve been released, if it weren’t for him.”

“Remind me to thank fireball later,” Yuto noted half-heartedly. He perched in one of the chairs, grabbing a controller. The others followed.

You were squished in between Haruto and Akari. Pooki took up residency on your lap. You were going to have to put this dog on a diet.

“Help yourselves to the snacks. Made them fresh just before you got here,” you noted.

It didn’t take long for them to dive in.

The day was going nice for the first few hours. What you didn’t expect was another knock at the door. 

Pooki shot off your lap, racing to it. You were surprised to find Katsuki’s friends.

“Mina, Eijiro, Hanta, Denki - what’re you guys doing here?” you asked, letting them in.

“Here to see you, of course.” Eijiro hugged you tightly. The others followed.

“Besides, Katsuki said he wanted to chill today, anyway! Just so happens that we all had early patrols,” Mina explained.

“Katsuki won’t be home until later -” you started, moving with them as they made their way to the living room.

“We like hanging out with you, ya know?” Denki said, rolling his eyes.

“Who’s this?” Haruto said, looking over the back of the couch as you all entered.

You glanced between the two groups. “Uh....well, this is awkward….Guys, these are Katsuki’s friends. Eijiro Kirishma, Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido, and Denki Kaminari. - Everyone, these are my friends. Haruto and Akari Ito, Yuto Watanabe, Misato Yamamoto, Mei Nakamura, and Sota Sato.”

Katsuki’s group said their hellos. But your friends all stared in tense silence until Misato spoke up. “Hello, it’s very nice to meet you all.”

Pooki nearly knocked Denki over jumping on him.

“Sorry, she’s gotten fat since you saw her last,” you laughed.

“Still cute as ever though, aren’t you girl?” Denki replied, baby-talking to her.

Eijiro’s eyes moved to the screen. “What’re you all playing?”

“Remember that gaming company that Katsuki saved the building?” you asked.

Denki’s eyes lit up. “Really?! That one!”

You grinned. “Mhm. Someone can take my spot. - I’ll go get chairs.”

“Don’t worry,” Eijiro chuckled, patting Pooki. “We can get them ourselves. That’s the manly thing to do.”

With that, the four of them left. You laughed under your breath, rolling your eyes after them.

“How long are they staying?” Sota asked snidely.

You shrugged. “Until Katsuki gets home, I suppose. Trust me, you’ll like them -”

“I doubt that,” Haruto said, slumping back into his seat. 

You settled awkwardly back between Haruto and Akari, your legs crossed under you.

That’s when the others came back with chairs. Well, at least Hanta and Denki anyway.

“I’m just gonna sit on the floor,” Mina said with a shrug. She came and sat in front of you, leaning her back against the couch. 

Eijiro sat on the floor across from you, leaning against the coffee table to pick at the snacks.

“Here, Denki,” you called, tossing him your controller. “I know you’ve been dying to play it. Just - don’t zap another controller, please? I thought Katsuki was going to kill you last time.”

“Awesome!” he cheered. “[Name], you’re the best!”

They started the game back up. It was Denki, Yuto, Mei, Sota, and Haruto playing.

“So,” Misato started, clearing her throat. “You all have been here before?”

“Oh yeah,” Eijrio laughed. Pooki begged him for a cracker. “We helped them move in. Pook here was just a pup then.”

“And you come even when - Bakugo - isn’t here?” Haruto asked grouchily.

“We come here all the time when they’re home alone,” Mina noted, scrolling through her phone. “We love hanging out with [Name].”

“Katsuki thinks I need protecting,” you chuckled. “So he sends in the heroes.”

“You do!” Hanta interjected.

You rolled your eyes. “From what?”

“From -”

“Pooki’s too cute to be handled alone, it’s dangerous!” Eijiro interrupted. He was wrestling with her now.

“You’re going to break something.”

Eijiro grinned. “Nah, besides -”

Pooki chomped down on his arm. A few of your friends gasped.

“Pooki!” Akari scolded. “Let him go -”

“It’s fine, she does this all the time. She thinks I’m a chew toy, see -” Eijiro hardened up his arm and moved to show the one in Pooki’s mouth. “She can’t hurt me.”

“Wait - you’re Red Riot. Aren’t you?”Akari realized. 

Eijiro laughed. “You caught me! Guess my secret is out.”

“None of you are exactly hiding,” you stated, rolling your eyes. “Besides, I told you guys Katsuki was friends with heros.”

“All of you are?” Mei asked, glancing around. 

“Chargebolt,” Denki announced, throwing a thumbs up and grinning.

“Pinky!” Mina laughed and held up a picture of her in costume.

“Cellophane,” Hanta said, beaming.

“Are any of you heros?” Eijrio asked.

You shook your head and smiled. “No. - We were put in the ‘Useless Quirk’ club.”

“I dunno, your quirk’s pretty cool. I’m surprised you didn’t work for the police,” Mina said. 

You shrugged. “Wasn’t really into law enforcement. I’m happy running a shop.”

“[Name]’s right, though. None of us could ever make it as heros,” Haruto said. He seemed a little warmer to them now. “I can turn small objects into cubes, Akari can change her skin into whatever material she touches. Misato can make a flower sprout wherever she touches. But only one flower at a time. Yuto can change the color of his eyes, nails, hair, and teeth at will. While Mei can turn anything she touches red. And Sota, well -”

“Just say it,” Sota snapped. “I don’t have a quirk.”

It was tense and silent a moment. You wanted to hide. This was not going well. 

Didn’t Katsuki tell them that your friends were coming over today?

Misato interrupted the quiet. “[Name], where are the facilities?”

“Uh - oh.” You were snapped out of your stupor. “That way and down the hall on the left.”

You couldn’t wait for Katsuki to come home.

Everybody rotated controllers. Each leaving on occasion to get water or use the bathroom.

Pooki followed everybody in and out of the room.

Everything seemed fine until Pooki started barking in the living room doorway.

You got up to see what was wrong, supposing it was just a delivery man you hadn’t heard ring the doorbell.

Instead, you followed her to the upstairs hallway. She stood with her nose pushed against the door to your nesting room.

“What’s wrong with you, silly girl?” you laughed. “If I show you there’s nothing wrong will you take a nap?”

You were not expecting the sight when you walked in. Torn blankets, charged clothes, broken pictures and knickknacks. Everything was ruined. Nothing in the room had gone untouched, except one pristine Ground Zero body pillow. 

Pooki growled at your feet.

You stared. Your chest becoming a hollow cavity. So much had happened in this room. And all the fond memories held in the items were all ruined. You couldn’t stop the sob in your throat. Pooki rubbed against your leg.

You wiped at your tears. You didn’t even notice someone special had crept into the house.

“There’s my omega,” Katsuki’s voice said. 

You flinched, eyeing him at the top of the stairs.

He halted in his pace when he saw your wet face. “What’s wrong? Who’s ass am I kicking?”

He came and wrapped you in his arms. You gestured to your room. As soon as he laid eyes on it, his scent became threatening, murderous.

“Yo man, you okay?” that was Eijiro, the only one brave enough to face Katsuki in this state. He was coming up the stairs. 

Katsuki glared him down. “You and those idiots better not have done this.”

“Done wha -” Eijiro stopped short, staring in the room. “What happened? We’ve been downstairs all day.”

“You better not be lying -”

You stopped Katsuki. “It’s okay - alpha - I, I got this. Do you mind, Eijiro?”

Eijiro nodded. “Do what you got to.”

“Look me in the eyes.” 

Eijiro did as he was instructed, and you activated your quirk. Your irises swirled with the whites of your eyes. Hypnotizing him.

“Tell me, Eijiro,” you started. “What was the purpose of your visit today? Was it to do this?”

“No,” he said robotically. “We came today because Katsuki invited us. He was worried your friends were up to something, so he sent us to watch over you. I had no part in what happened to your nest.”

You nodded and blinked, releasing him. 

Eijiro blinked too, rubbing his temple. “I forgot how weird that felt. You haven’t done that since I told you Katsuki was going to ask you out. - But see. We were just here to watch out for you. Nothing more. We’re your friends [Name]. And it’s totally uncool to do this to a friend’s nest.”

Your heart sank. That meant only one thing then.

“I can go -” Katsuki started.

You shook your head. “They’re my….friends….I’ll do it.”

You took Katsuki’s hand and went to the living room. His sent still smelled like death walking.

“Everything okay?” Misato asked. “Hello, Bakugo.”

You nodded, then went to sit back between Akari and Haruto. Katsuki grunted, leaning on the doorframe with Eijiro beside him.

You waited a moment, then flinched and rubbed your eye.

“Ow - I think I have something in my eye. Can you look for me Haru?” you asked, and turned to him.

He twisted to face you. “Sure.”

You caught his eye and he realized what you were going to do. You activated your quirk before he could turn away.

“I really hate to do this. But - tell me, Haruto,” you sighed. “What was the purpose of your visit today? Was it you all who destroyed my nest?”

Mina gasped. “Wait, what?”

“Shit,” you heard Akari mutter under her breath.

Katsuki’s friends were tense, ready to tackle the first person to move and break your connection.

“We came today to see you. But also to wait for Katsuki to get home. We were going to destroy your nest, but frame him for it. That way you two would argue and break up. When his friends came, we decided to make it look like they did it. Then you’d break up with him because of his awful friends. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy anything, though. So I told Pooki to get you.”

“Wait, you ratted on us?!” Sota yelled.

“Why would you do that?” you asked, tears beginning to flood your vision.

“Because,” Haruto continued. “We wanted you back. We don’t see much of you. And Bakugo is too violent for you. He’s going to hurt you - like he does to the paparazzi and all those villains.”

You sobbed and hid your face in your hands, breaking the connection.

“We were just doing what was best for you -” Misato started.

“What would you know about what’s best for my omega?” Katsuki snapped, the thick scent of burnt caramel nearly suffocating. “Do you think hurting them like this was the best way to tell [Name] your concerns? Wouldn’t it have been better to sit them down, like normal people?! Also - you all are a bunch of fucking dunces if you think I’d ever hurt them!”

“Katsuki may have a temper, but you didn’t know him before he met [Name],” Eijiro said. 

“But -” Haruto started.

“It’s true,” Denki countered. “He was totally different.”

“We didn’t even meet y’all before today, and we’re here a lot,” Mina noted. Katsuki uttered, too much under his breath. “So you obviously haven’t even made the effort to hang out with them both. And see for yourself how he is.”

“I think it’s time for you fuckers to leave,” Bakugo growled.

“We were only trying to help!” Mei shrieked.

“You were trying to solve a problem that didn’t exist!” you cried. “Just - leave. Please.”

“[Name]....” Haruto pleaded.

“Haru just - just go,” you sighed, watching as tears dripped onto the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and then got up. 

Once they were gone, Katsuki changed into lounge clothes and sat next to you on the couch. 

Mina and Eijiro moved from the floor to a regular seat. Hanta and Denki put the kitchen chairs back and went to occupy the empty spaces.

You curled up into his protective grasped, watching as they played the new game.

Your heart, though sad with your nest being ruined, felt full knowing that you’d always have Katsuki and his friends on your side.

~*~

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

Your mother hated the fact that you were an omega. She thought, with your parentage, you should have been an alpha.

Imagine her disgust and disappointment when you showed as an omega. The only in blood family to be. 

Her rage grew when you met a hero named Red Riot once you joined an agency. An alpha with a musk like strawberry cream. He was just as sweet as he smelled.

Your mother had hoped you'd grow to be an alpha. Your scent changing, and your behavior.

Or even that you would take on alpha characteristics, even while biologically being an omega.

But you were still the same at twenty as you were at twelve when puberty hit and you emerged as an omega.

You may have been more adult in appearance and a little more patient. But you were just the same in many other aspects.

You'd taken to Red Riot right away. Although you tried not to be the clingy omega everyone else typed you as.

You didn't think he was into you. Even as he'd pat your head, and stand just close enough to rub a little scent on you.

 He was Red Riot, after all. His face was all over the news, even as a first year in high school!

And you were...well, you.

Little did you know that he was just as taken.

But it wasn't just with your scent. You were gorgeous to him. And you were so kind with a smile that melted him. You'd made him so nervous the first time that he could only blurt out random facts. You found it endearing.

But none of this mattered to your family, especially your mother. 

Some forgave your nature due to picking up a top hero. At least you were bonded to someone with status.

Your mother, however, had been furious when she met him. Hero or not, there was simply no way your family could be the type to be owned by someone.

It didn't matter how many times you explained that Eijiro didn't own you. She pitched fits, started arguments. Banned him from the house. She even started to lock you out!

Eijiro tried to apologize, and break it off with you. For your own good. But an explanation on the matter made him understand that nothing he did was going to help.

Not to mention, you were already so in love with him and he with you that he was quick to move you in with him.

His roommate, Ground Zero aka Katsuki Bakugo, didn't mind. As long as you "cleaned your shit up and didn't fucking bother him". 

Getting your stuff was a different story.

You had to break into the house while everyone was away.

Luckily, the neighbors liked you and didn't call the cops.

Katsuki, Eijiro, and a few of your collective friends had you all moved out in a matter of hours.

The rest was history.

You knew your mother had been trying to find you for months. But you'd changed your number and gotten a new phone. Your hair was different now, and Eijiro bought you clothes you actually liked. 

You were everything you wanted to be. Everything your mother hated.

But Eijiro loved you more every day. Watching you grow and become the person you were meant to be. 

You were helping him grow too. And Katsuki, not like he'd ever admit it. But he did like you. And didn't mind having you as a roommate.

The trouble came a day in late autumn, both the alphas of the house were out. You were home alone, taking a week off for the impending nesting that was coming. 

Katsuki was at work, and Eijiro had taken the day off to be with you. He'd run to get some groceries and supplies to keep in your nest.

With you smelling like heat, he was afraid you'd get harassed if you when on your own.

You'd been meticulously fiddling with your nest all day. Trying to get it just right, and make it big enough for two.

You'd thought nothing of it when there was a knock on the door. You'd ordered food for when the guys got back.

But, instead of a delivery person, there stood your mother. Her face unreadable.

You tried to slam the door in her face but she stuck her shoe in. She shoved the door back open, and invited herself in. Pushing you back into the apartment.

"I finally found you. You gave us all quite the scare there." Her voice dripped with the same venom you'd heard villains shout at you with. "What the hell are you wearing? And look what you did to your lovely hair!"

"Get. Out." you growled. "You are not welcome in my home."

"Home?" she laughed. "Smells like a brothel in here. You little whore. I can smell more than just your…hero...here. Look what that little red rat has turned you into -"

"That's his roommate! He already lived here when I moved in! It's not like that!"

She started to open all the doors. "Right. That's what you say now, at least. You are just a needy little omega. Just a bitch in heat. And, sooner or later, you're going to want any alpha you can knot you. Maybe even a few of them at the same time - This your nest?"

Your mother shoved open the door to room that homed your nest. The scent of Eijiro flooding out. He'd gone a little overboard with the scenting.

"It looks warm...cozy... it'd be a shame if someone ruined it all."

You stood in the doorway glaring her down. "Don't you fucking -"

"Then come back home," she snapped, narrowing her eyes at you. "Drop that sickeningly sweet alpha. And move. Back. Home. We can teach you how to be an alpha. How to let people not push you around. Look - you let me walk straight into your apartment. And you haven't laid a finger on me!"

"That's because I know you. I use my quirk and you go to the press about your abusive hero child. You'll blacken my name."

"Would I ever -"

"Yes! You would! I remember when you didn't like uncle's second wife! You smudged her name, destroyed her reputation so much she went into hiding! - I'm not going to let you do that to me."

"So you're moving back, good. Pac -"

You took a step towards her. "I'm not moving back either!"

"Fine!" your mother shouted. "Be the pathetic, useless omega you are!"

Your mother had an air quirk, she could make tornados. She kicked one up in the small room, sending objects flying. You ducked as a poster Eijiro bought you flew towards you in its metal frame.

It landed and broke somewhere in the living room.

You dove, hiding behind the couch. More things came flying. You heard clanking and shattering. You covered your ears and pinched your eyes closed tightly, a sob welling up in your chest.

You didn't hear the front door open. You didn't see them come in. You didn't notice as it went quiet. 

Then a hand was on your arm. You screamed, the waves sending the person flying across the room. 

"Hey," the person coughed. "Hey, [Name], it's okay! I-I-It's me!"

You opened your eyes, spying Eijiro standing up from the kitchen floor.

"Eiji!" you yelled, launching yourself into his arms. That's when the big tears began to flow and the sobs started. "Sh-She - and I - omega - useless - nest -"

"Hey, easy, I'm here now," Eijiro cooed. He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should've been here. It wasn't supposed to take that long. Wasn't very manly to leave you alone for so long. But I got mobbed by fans at the store. Katsuki came home early and called me, he's dealing with her...I've got you."

Eijiro rubbed on you, scenting you with the comfort pheromones pumping out of him. 

"You fucking bitch!" Katsuki roared. "I'll fucking kill you. - Doesn't matter if they aren't my mate. - You trashed my fucking house!"

You chuckled into Eijiro's chest. The pheromones finally starting to work.

"Get moving!" Katsuki yelled. You watched as he shoved her out the room towards the front door. He had your mother in power dampening cuffs. "I'll take her to the police. You're going away for vandalism and destruction of property. You crazy bitch!"

"This is your fault [Name]! I'll ruin you all. You'll never be 'heroes' again -" your mother shrieked.

Katsuki shoved her. "Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before. - Move!"

When they were out the door Eijiro chuckled, "And I would've gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for you meddling kids."

You chuckled, relaxing into Eijiro's embrace. But the damp, sad scent coming from you was undeniable.

"We'll fix it -"

You pulled away. "But she ruined everything. Come look."

You took his hand, guiding him to your nesting room. The tears came again as you looked around.

The pillows had stuffing bursting from them. The blankets were nothing more than shredded fabric and batting. Trinkets he bought you were broken and embedded in the walls. Picture frames were cracked, the glass shattered. Clothes were just tatters now.

You weren't getting that security deposit back.

"Everything is gone," you wheezed. 

Eijiro wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. He held you tightly.

"I should've been here to stop this, I'm so sorry. - We'll fix it, I promise. We'll make it better."

~*~

MOMO YAOYOROZU

Momo was the kind of alpha every omega wanted. She was kind, patient, and overly nurturing.

Momo went a little crazy when it came to your nesting. She had an entire fucking treehouse built, and had dozens of the lushest blankets and pillows imported.

She was a spoiler.

Your happiness and comfort was her number one priority. Even if you begged her to stop spending so much on you. 

But Creati's love knew no bounds. Neither did her spending habits.

So it pained her when, after a lovely day together, she had to sit you down in your nest and break a bit of bad news.

"[Name] you know I love you, right?" Momo asked. You were curled up under her chin. Nose against the rose-scented gland in her neck.

You hummed, squeezing her tightly. She gently pushed you away. "Mocchan, what's wrong?"

She smoothed a hand through your hair. "I'm having some old classmates over for some really important hero business tomorrow."

"Oh," you muttered. "You don't want me around."

"It's not that I don't want you around!" she panicked. "It's just really important and top secret, and you...can't know what's going on. Not yet. And unless it's super important, we can't have any interruptions."

You nodded, a little sad. But you understood. It was crucial hero stuff. "Okay, Momo, I won't bother you guys. I'll stay in my nesting tree."

She smiled, wrapping you back up again. Momo was going to make sure she gave you extra love tonight. To make up for the following day.

The next morning, it was starting to get cloudy when Bakugo, Kirishima, and Todoroki showed up at Momo's door. 

You two had just finished brunch, so you went to hide in your nest. You had everything you needed to keep occupied in there.

Momo took the group to the dining room and shut all the doors. Then drew the curtains. If they were so sure their agencies were bugged, she didn't understand why they were having this meeting at her house.

Then again, it didn't really matter. Todoroki was a close friend, but it was more than that. The four of them went through hell together in high school. They'd go through hell together now.

They locked down, ready to plan for whatever was coming.

Momo made sure she sent food out to you. Cause she knew you'd forget to eat. While she had the house make tea and snacks for her and the guys.

They sat for hours, mauling over all the information they had.

The sky outside got darker and darker.

Before you knew it, it was thundering and lightening. The rain was sheeting down. The winds howled frighteningly outside.

It was dark out when you fell asleep. You didn't know what time.

Your tree rumbling and groaning woke you up sometime later though. Trinkets vibrated off the walls, crashing to the ground. 

You panicked, wanting it to stop. You didn’t know what was happening.

Then there was a huge CA-RACK and you along with everything in the room flew towards one wall. 

Before you knew it, you were covered by pieces of wood, glass shards, and ripped pillows. You could see the grass under you.

You groaned crawling out from the debris into the rain. Something sharp caught your calf and cut you all the way down. You hissed.

You stumbled into the open. The treehouse was in shambles. The tree split in half. And your darling nest and building were scattered all over the yard.

Nothing was salvageable. You would've cried if you weren't pumped full of adrenaline.

"Does this qualify as important?" you wondered aloud. But the stinging in your leg gave you the answer. You didn't want to look down at the cut. Too afraid of what you'd find.

You trailed blood, rain, and mud through the marble halls as you found the dining room. 

You could hear them inside, but couldn't understand what they were saying.

Your heart was pounding. You felt bad interrupting.

"Are you alright? - The mistress will want to know about this. I do believe that needs stitches," said the butler outside the door. His eyes were wide, staring at the gash on your leg.

You nodded, swallowing thickly. Then pushed open the door to pop your head in.

"Uh, Mocchan…" you muttered weakly.

Todoroki turned to you. His mouth settled into a hard line. His forehead creased in worry.

You smiled at him weakly and waved.

Two pairs of eyes watched you from the other side of the table. You didn't really know them, but you knew who they were.

You waved at them too.

Her back was to you. "[Name], I told you -"

Momo stopped as she turned to you. Her eyes grew wide at the blood trickling down your face.

Momo pulled you into the room. You whimpered at the sick pain shooting through your leg. She moved the papers around and sat you on the table.

"Are you okay? - Well obviously not. - Why do you look like this, [Name]? What happened?! I thought you were in the treehouse -"

You were caught off guard by a sob in your throat. "It's all gone."

"Gone?! What do you mean it's gone?!" Momo began to make gauze, a towel, and wipes for your leg. You hissed as she sopped up some blood then wiped the cut down. But she kept fumbling as she tried to wrap it. 

She couldn't take her eyes off the puddle of blood that had dripped on the floor.

"I - I don't know. The tree just...broke? And everything just…" You made an explosion noise. "It's all gone…"

The adrenaline pumping through Momo made her shakey. The gauze was just not wrapping.

"Dude, I think you should go to the hospital!" Kirishima said.

"Can I?" Todoroki asked.

He gestured to your leg, then glanced between the two of you. You both nodded. He put your foot on his stomach and began to wrap the cut up tightly.

Momo held your hand, not wanting to be away from you.

"Sorry I'm muddy," you muttered.

Todoroki shook his head. "It's fine, I wash. But you really should get to the er."

"But your meeting -"

"Screw the meeting," snapped the blonde behind you. "The three of us can stay here. Ponytail, get your omega to a doctor."

You pouted. "But Momo -"

Momo wrapped you immediately in her arms as Todoroki stepped away. She squeezed you tightly, her face pressing her face into your neck. "No, you're going. They're right. That looks bad. And we need to get your head looked. You could have a concussion."

"I'm sorry I got blood on the floor."

Momo laughed sadly. "Stop that. It's fine."

You wiped at the tears on her face as she pulled away. But it didn't help when you were wet from the rain.

Momo began wiping at your face too. She tried to absorb the blood trickling down your forehead.

"Let's get you a hospital."

Momo hauled you up on her back and piggybacked you out to the waiting car, although you offered to walk. 

She was tense and silent for the whole ride. Gripping your hand as though you might slip away from her.

You arrived and were quickly put up in a room.

When the doctor came in he checked you over, confirming the need for stitches on your leg. 

They simply cleaned up the cut on your forehead and used a bit of liquid stitch to keep it from bleeding again.

After your leg was stitched up, you were taken to be scanned and examined. 

"You're lucky," the doctor said, looking over your results. "No internal bleeding or injuries. No broken bones. No concussion. Just some strained muscles. You can go home tonight. Make sure you keep your leg clean, the stitches can come out in four to six weeks. I’ll caution you against strenuous activity in the meantime, you don’t want to tear those. We’ll send you with some pain medication, you can take it as instructed."

You weren't surprised at the verdict of nothing being broken. That was your quirk after all - indestructible bones. 

They were made of light but durable material with complex structures that made them very hard to break.

That didn't do much for your skin or organs though.

You and Momo thanked the doctor. The relief was visible on your alpha’s face.

She piggybacked you to the car again.

"You can sleep with my tonight, if you want to,” Momo said once you two were settled. She put an arm around you to tug you into a side hug. “I'm sorry you went through that alone. That must've been scary."

"We couldn't know that would happen," you whispered, hugging her back.

She kissed the top of your head. “We can rebuild, make everything better -”

“I’d rather have a room in the manor to make my nest. If that’s okay?”

You couldn’t see it, but Momo was crying again. “Of course. I want to keep you close.”

When you arrived back at the manor, you waited briefly on a couch outside of the dining room. Momo was catching up with what the guys had come up with.

They wished you well before leaving.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up.” Momo guided you to her bathroom and ran a bath in the large clawfoot tub.

You undressed and climbed in, then Momo did the same. You leaned back against her, her chin on your shoulder. 

The warm water untensed all your knotted muscles.

Momo held you closely. “I promise, I’ll never leave you alone again.”

~*~

MINA ASHIDO

Mina loved Denki to death, he was one of her best friends. But he just did not treat his poor omega right.

Mina thought she could do it better.

She'd wanted to court you long before Denki did. She was just too nervous. 

What if you didn't want a female alpha?

Honestly, she seared with jealousy when you came into work freshly scented like him.

You were happy. So that made her happy.

But your rose colored glasses didn't last long. Mina saw through your facade immediately.

You didn't smile as brightly whenever Chargebolt came in.

You didn't happily call him "alpha" as you'd done before.

In fact, you nearly hid every time you saw him.

And it didn't take long before Mina saw why - Denki seemed to think omega was equal to pack mule who bends to every whim.

He made you carry his stuff, then would pat your head and baby talk you.

He was always having you get stuff. And brag about how good you were. But complain that you were whinier than he'd expected.

Mina hadn't heard you complain about his actions once!

She didn't think it was her place to tell you to break up with him. But all the hints she tried to slip Denki about how he was treating you went in one ear and out the other.

She wasn't the only one to see it either. But she was the only one who bothered to help.

It pained her to watch you. To see you struggling to keep a smile on.

"I don't think it works like that," you told her when Mina finally told you to cut it off. "I don't think omegas can break it off with alphas."

"You are a strong, independent omega, [Name]," Mina scolded. "You need to stand up for yourself. You can do whatever you want. You're still your own person."

Honestly, you hadn't really even wanted Denki as your alpha. But no one else had shown an interest in you. Especially not Mina. Not in your mind, anyway.

Mina had been the one you wanted to court you. But Denki came along first. And he was kind of pushy.

So you accepted. It didn't take you long to regret it.

Nothing about it felt right. You felt like a maid, not a mate. You were pretty sure that wasn't what an alpha was supposed to make you feel like.

Denki couldn't even relax you. He didn't seem like he wanted to help you with your issues at all. 

In fact, he made it all worse.

Denki had even invited himself and his friends to your apartment. Only giving you a day's notice.

He wasn't going to help with food or cleaning. He laughed and said that you could figure it out.

You were at your wits end.

You were Starlight, one of the top heroes in your agency. Not a doormat.

Still, you scrambled to clean. Mina came over to help. You tried to get food and snacks together. You updated your gaming system. Pulled out any movies and board games you could find.

Your house was visitor friendly by the time the weekend rolled around.

You'd never actually met three people who came. But you knew of them. Each being heroes that were in class with Mina and Denki during high school. 

You'd also run into them when you were out with Denki. But he didn't have the courtesy to introduce you.

They introduced themselves as Bakugo, Kirishima, and Sero.

"Are you sure you're cool with this?" Kirishima asked, lingering in the doorway. Denki was already being loud with the other two.

"Would you shut up? We just got here," Bakugo snapped.

You shrugged. "I guess I have to be. Right?"

Kirishima's face twisted up into something between disapproving and pitying.

He hesitated before going into the living room. You saw him speak briefly with Mina. Their eyes flicking to you every now and then.

"I didn't know you had all these, Denk," Sero noted, flipping through your game library.

Denki shrugged coolly. "Yeah, you know -"

"Don't let him fool you," Mina interrupted. "Those are [Name]'s. Denki doesn't even have the newest generation console."

"Yeah, Denki's is an old brick," you joked.

"Baabbbee," he whined.

The guys chuckled, and you caught Denki's face flush red.

"Whatever, it's not that impressive," he huffed and stalked off to the kitchen.

You watched quietly after.

"You guys can play whatever you want," you offered. "I don't get to very often. So don't worry about copying over any saves. - Denki did that on the one game I did play…"

You trailed off awkwardly, earning you weird looks. 

"I'll get snacks." 

Mina trailed after you when there was a crash. 

Denki was standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the plate of food he dropped.

"Uh, sorry. You mind cleaning that up? Thanks. Oh and don't forget to bring out some sodas for everyone. Love you!" Then he ran to join Sero and Bakugo in the living room.

"I'll help you," Mina said, and you pointed her to the broom closet.

"That was super unmanly," Kirishima noted, grabbing some paper towels. "Does he always do this?"

"Uh, n -" you stuttered.

"All. The. Time," Mina groaned quietly.

You sighed, taking a few paper towels. "Mina, don't -"

"But you don't deserve to be treated this way!" She aggressively swept across the kitchen.

"Mina's got a point, dude. He's my friend, but it's super uncool of him -"

"The hell happened here?" Bakugo grunted. 

"Denki." You three said in unison.

Bakugo rolled his eyes. "You got anything to drink?"

"I was going to - I can -" you started, beginning to stand. You hissed as a piece of plate cut your palm.

"I can get it myself, just tell me where it's at. I'm a grownass adult."

Mina stood carefully. "I'll get you a band-aid. Bathroom cabinet, right?"

You nodded at her, then pointed to the fridge. "Whatever I have is in there. Sorry it's not much. I wasn't sure what you all liked and Denki refused to go to the store with me -"

"He's kind of a crappy alpha, isn't he?" Sero asked joining the party in your small kitchen. "Don't worry. He's watching a tutorial on how to play the game."

"You know, if you're not happy with him, you can dump his dumb ass," Bakugo noted. He tossed Sero a soda can. "Just because he's an alpha doesn't mean that he gets to decide everything."

Kirishima stood and dumped the paper towels of food you'd both collected in the trash can, before washing his hands. "Yeah, it's your relationship too."

He then grabbed the broom and began sweeping.

"He's our friend but he's being an idiot, we're on your side." Sero gave you a grin and a thumbs up.

"Uh, thanks, guys," you muttered.

"I finally found you a bandage," Mina announced. "Let me see your hand."

You stood and put your hand in hers, palm up. The touch put you at ease.

"It doesn't look too bad. Let's clean you up."

You let her lead you to the sink and wash your hand. Then she dried it and put antiseptic ointment on it before sticking the band-aid over it.

Your whole body filled with heat as she kissed the back of your hand. Then she grinned at you.

The guys could feel and smell the shift as soon as Mina started taking care of you. 

It was unvocalized but unanimous - you needed to dump Denki for Mina.

Once the kitchen was clean again, everyone crowded the living room. 

"Hey, babe, it's kind of chilly. You got any blankets?" Denki asked.

You shook your head. "No."

"But I'm coollldd," Denki groaned.

"I haven't washed blankets in a while."

He groaned, but conceded as you sat close to him. 

After a bit, your body heat didn't seem to be effective enough for him.

Denki got up and disappeared. You didn't think anything of it.

No until he came out into the living room a few minutes later with a pile of pillows and blankets. Special ones. 

Your heart stopped. "D-Denki...where did you get those?"

"These? Oh - the second bedroom. So much for not having any clean -"

You bolted to the spare room. You couldn't believe your eyes. You sank to the ground. He'd ruined the carefully crafted nest you'd been building for years.

"Hey, [Name], are you okay?" Mina asked softly behind you.

"My nest," you uttered. Tears welled up, threatening to spill. 

Mina put a hand on your shoulder. Getting immediately what you meant.

"Hey, babe, can you -" Denki started.

You shot him a glare. He stopped in his tracks.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked incredulously.

"You ruined their nest, idiot!" Mina snapped. A glare beaming from her dark eyes. "What the fuck is your problem, Denki?! You have like...the most perfect omega, and this is how you treat them?!"

Your heart leapt, heat rushing into your face at the words.

"What're you talking about? [Name] is happy to -"

"No," you sobbed. "I'm not. I'm not your maid. I'm supposed to be your mate. But…"

"You treat [Name] like garbage!" Mina kneeled to wrap an arm around your shoulders. 

"But you're my omega -" he started, a little desperation in his voice.

"No!" you yelled. "Not...not anymore. We're done. Just - get out!"

"But -"

"Out!" Your eyes flashed a deadly shade of blue-white.

You leaned into Mina. She sighed, and held you tightly. She was pumping out comfort pheromones.

You eased right away. Nothing like this had happened with Denki.

"Fine. C'mon guys, let go -" he started.

"Not them," you sniffled. "Just you. They can stay if they want."

Denki held a smug face until he realized no one was going with him. "Oh come on guys!"

"Sorry, dude," Sero said awkwardly.

Kirishima shrugged. "But you did kind of treat them like dirt."

"You're a dumbass," Bakugo snapped, not even looking up from the game. "You fried your brain one too many times."

Denki looked like he wanted to say something snarky.

"Denki, dude. You fucked up," Mina said over her shoulder. "Just...leave. You already ruined [Name]'s nest."

"Fine!" he pouted and slammed the front door as he left.

"Can I see your phone, please?" Mina asked softly. You handed it to her, just in time to have Denki call. He was too predictable. She rejected the call and blocked his number. 

“I guess I can always rebuild it,” you muttered. “I need to wash everything. It reeks like him.”

Mina nodded. “I’ll help.”

You and Mina spent the day washing all the sheets and shirts and blankets that had been in your nest.

You were more content around her than you’d been in a while. You hadn’t realized that she didn’t mind you being glued to her side.

Even when she made sure to stay late into the night so you could finish your nest. 

You didn’t even question letting her in, it felt like the most natural decision in the world.

~*~

[sidespromptblog]

Just Move

Making his way quickly up to his bedroom, Logan just barely refrained from slamming his door shut behind him before pressing his ear against the thick wood listening closely to the sounds coming from downstairs. There was laughter, the sound of playful arguing as the others were trying to decide on what movie they’d pick to watch for lunchtime, on any other day Logan would go down and join them. He’d stay for around half of the movie before venturing back up to his bedroom to do work, and then he’d go back down once he was done to watch the finale with them before he started dinner. But today wasn’t like all of those other days, today was…

Different. 

Clicking the lock of his door into position Logan flopped onto his bed, kicking off his shoes as he did. 

The stiffness that seemingly permanently resided in his body and shoulder practically bled out of him as he scooped up the pile of CDs on his nightstand. Sifting through them he felt a strange kind of eagerness take over him as he discarded each one, before finally settling on the one that matched his mood for today. Right now, he could hear their movie echoing down the upstairs hall of his bedroom, so they likely wouldn’t be able to hear a single thing of what was going to happen. They would be utterly clueless as to what he was going to do, and that.. that was exactly how he wanted it to be. Honestly, he’s not entirely sure what he would even do if they happened to stumble upon him doing his thing. 

He’d be completely and utterly mortified. 

Nevertheless, he didn’t waste a single second getting the CD into the stereo system, and he wasted even less time summoning the old worn-out ballet slippers that he looked as if they had seen hundreds of years of use and not a single day of repair. Winding the ribbons over his ankles felt almost like an instinctive muscle memory at this point, with the only thing he even needed to focus on was the starting thrum of the music that he could feel building up in his chest. He didn’t need to remember how to tie the knot, how to position his feet, or even how to stand while wearing these shoes. 

His body already knew. 

He loved this little ritual of his, where nothing on the outside world even mattered anymore. He didn’t need to worry about the others finding out about his frivolous dancing routine that Roman would almost certainly take offense to, stealing something that clearly belonged in the creative category. He didn’t need to worry about Virgil wrinkling his nose at the music, while it seemed to be classical had a deep bass to it that was undoubtedly punk in nature. And… he didn’t need to worry about Patton making a million puns, that would trip him up and make him look like nothing more than a big joke to everyone who saw him dance from there on out.

He could just move, and move he did. 

 Closing his eyes, Logan allowed himself to sway and move his limbs to the deep guttural sound of the music. His muscles were used to the taxing movement that he was demanding of them, and with his eyes closed his bedroom seemed so much bigger than it was before. Now feeling like a grand stage that only he was privy to in that moment, a stage where only he could twist and spin his body around in the most instinctual of movements. 

Sweat dotted his forehead, slicking his hair down with each precise movement and his chest burned as he took in only the slightest of breaths. 

“Just move,” Logan softly coached himself, raising his arms loftily above his head as he spun yet again. “Nothing else matters… just move. It’ll all be okay.” 

But the music was coming to an end, and soon enough he’d have to take off these ballet slippers and tuck them back under his bed so that nobody but himself could know that they even existed. Soon enough, he’d have to put back on his normal adult shoes so that he could go downstairs and join the others for the rest of their movie without a word of what he was doing up here. Soon enough it would all end, and he’d have to wait until tomorrow for it to start once again.  

But that was okay, he would be okay. 

Just has he had been before, he will be now.

“Just move,” He patiently and rather gently whispered, as if he were talking to one of the other sides instead of berating himself, “It will be okay.” 

He dipped once, and the music finally ended leaving the logical side’s knees trembling as if he had just run a race rather than an intricate dance of his own creation. 

The moment that he music cut out, Logan felt his aching and tired knees give out sending him crashing to the floor only able to rest his sweaty forehead against his bedpost as he gasped for air. It took a long time for his strength to come back to him, or rather… it only took a few minutes, but each minute felt like years passing him by. When he was finally able to situate himself back onto the bed, Logan peeled his slippers off chucking them back into their hiding space right under his bed where they would wait for tomorrow’s recital. 

Again. 

 “Hey Logan,” Roman exuberantly waved over to Logan the moment that he saw him shuffling his way down the stairs. “You’re just in time for the ending to Lilo and Stitch!” A smile that Logan shot at him was small and just so very… Logan, and yet something in the logical side’s eyes wavered. As if he was on the very verge of something that none of them could see, “You okay there Specs? You look a little out of it, you’re not working too hard are you?” He couldn’t help the worry that bubbled up inside of him like the icky bubbles of a nasty potion in a cauldron. “You know that you can talk to us right.” 

The movie on the TV screen continued to play, and even so Logan couldn’t help the near-silent huff of laughter that escaped him. 

“Of course Roman,” Logan patiently smiled, “I’m okay, my work is just… moving forward is all. It will be okay.”

An exhale of relief practically oozed out of the creative side before him, “That’s good… now sit down already.” 

Without another word said, Logan did just that Roman’s worries now entirely forgotten.   

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Bookkeeper – Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Midnight Forest

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety) words: 4011 chapter warnings: mild swearing, nihilism, references to death (familial, romantic), brief implication of homophobia  chapter summary: everyone loves a good love story.

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

< previous chapter 

—

Roman hummed softly to himself, his voice echoing against the walls of the library. He tapped the edge of his notebook with his pencil and furrowed his brow. 

The words were there. He knew they were there. 

So why couldn’t he find them? 

He sighed, standing up and gathering his books and papers in his hand. Perhaps tonight was not the night for writing. 

Roman turned around, ready to leave the table, before he felt himself collide into someone. He let out a small yelp as he tumbled back, hitting the floor. Everything in his hand spilled out of his hands. 

“Good grief– hey! Watch where you’re going, you–” 

And then, Roman looked up. 

Stood above him was, Roman swore, an angel. The person wore a black frock coat with a quill tucked into the pocket. He held a book under his arm. His hair was pitch black apart from a light dusting of purple. Grey eyes met his. 

The angel spoke up. “You…?”

“Uhh...you...person!” Roman sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “You...person, heh.” 

“...Right.” The person outstretched a hand. “Well, I am sorry. Let me help you with that.” 

Their hands touched, and Roman felt his heart explode into fireworks. 

“Yes! Yes, thank you.” Roman pulled himself up. He dusted himself off and couldn’t help but glance at the book in the person’s hand. He caught sight of the title.

“ ‘The Will to Power’ by…” 

The angel pulled the book to his chest, almost defensively. 

“It’s by Friedrich Nietzsche. He’s a German philosopher.” 

“Right! I...well, I never heard of that book. And I usually know all the books around here…” 

The person raised an eyebrow. “You know all the books here?” 

Roman laughed. “I do a lot of reading, starlight.” 

The nickname rolled off his tongue before he could catch it. The person’s face burned bright red. 

“The book’s rather new here. I have read it before, but have borrowed it again for my own research.” The words came out softly. Then, a cough. “And my name is Virgil.” 

Roman grinned. Virgil. The angel had a name. 

“Well, Virgil, I am clearly not getting any words on paper tonight — so perhaps you could read me some! I would hate to not be caught up with the newest books…”

A pause. Virgil stared at him for a few more moments, as if dissecting the offer—or Roman—piece by piece. But eventually, the walls caved even just a little, and Virgil nodded. 

Roman beamed, sitting back at the table. He dumped all his books on the surface without much regard and pulled a chair out for Virgil, who hesitantly sat beside him. 

“Do you write a lot?” Virgil asked as he thumbed through the pages. Roman nodded.

“Yes! Well, I usually write a lot. Tonight I’m stuck with rhymes.” He reached to his side to pull out the notebook he was writing on. “It’s a song about a forest rendezvous between two lovers in the night.” 

“How romantic,” Virgil said flatly. 

“I know!” Roman sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to go anywhere, but I still want to finish it, ya know?” 

“Not really. If there’s nothing left for you to write, I think it’s fine to leave it behind.” 

“Every story is worth telling, starlight. Even the small, not-as-great ones!” Roman leaned back in his chair. “Besides, I’m just stuck on the final bit. The words are just not coming to me. ‘Notice how I kiss you here, an angel lifted, then earthy heels in dirt adrift…’ ”

A pause. Roman shrugged, ready to close the book when he heard Virgil speak up softly beside him.

“So now, when you return here, my love, I will never be missed.” 

Suddenly, something in Roman’s heart—the deepest depths not even he could reach—clicked in place. Virgil’s smile burned right through him and carved a space for itself in his chest. 

“That’s perfect,” Roman whispered, looking up at Virgil with wide, starry eyes.

…

(And it was perfect, even now. It always was.)

— 

Logan opened his eyes. 

Dark shades of blue and yellow flooded his vision. He tilted his head up, squinting at the downstream of light. Lanterns, millions and millions of them. They moved slowly, passing as if someone was pulling their strings towards the moon. 

Logan lowered his gaze back to earth. Trees surrounded the ground they stood on. Woven through their shadowed branches were small dots of light. He could even pinpoint a few fireflies in the bushes. A light mist and the scent of previous storms wafted through the air.

And it was quiet. Truly quiet. 

Except for the sound of a guitar. 

Logan looked at Patton, still holding his hand. Patton shrugged.

“Do you think that’s…?” 

Logan nodded, keeping Patton’s hand in his own as he followed the music. An acoustic melody led them through the forest until they reached a dimly-lit clearing. 

Logan broke into a soft smile. 

Sitting on a log was Roman, legs crossed with a red guitar rested on his knee. A thin trail of red floated from the strings and carried the tune into the air. Logan could hear Roman softly humming under his breath. 

“ Roman .” The words were exhaled, as if out of relief. 

The red guitar dissipated in an instant. Roman sat still, not looking up. He sighed. 

“Goddammit, Pat,” Roman finally said. “I thought you could keep a secret.” 

Patton grinned, going over to sit beside Roman. 

“I’m just happy to see that you’re okay!” He patted his shoulder. Roman reluctantly floated over to sit on it, a small smile growing on his face. 

Logan stared at the two of them, but couldn’t keep his eyes off of Roman. Out of the entire masterpiece that surrounded him, his presence stuck out like a sore thumb. 

He took a few uneasy steps forward, looking over to an empty spot on the log. Roman huffed. 

“Good grief . Just come over here, Specs. You look like you want to talk.” 

Logan nodded, taking a seat besides Patton and Roman. 

“I’m glad to see you, Roman. I…” Logan cleared his throat. “I missed you.” 

Roman’s aura glimmered a soft pink. 

“I missed you too, Lo. I know it was a bit hard to find me, but...but I’m glad you did.” 

“I wish I knew about this place.” Logan looked up towards the circling dots of light in the air. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Roman’s smile fell. “I...I don’t know. There are a lot of answers to that.” 

“Okay, let’s start somewhere else then. Why did you leave?” 

A beat of silence. Logan watched Roman tilt his head up to the sky as well, exhaling softly.

“I needed to rest.” Roman’s voice was hushed, more than Logan was familiar with. “Between the stress of Virgil’s book nook and the past few weeks or so–” 

“Weeks?” Patton cut in. “Wait, what happened?"

Roman just shrugged, though Logan could feel the guilt of his words before he could even say them. 

“My magic has always been tied to the books, as was the case with the magic of Logan’s grandfather. Since I am now Logan’s familiar, my magic was fuelled by Logan’s belief in the stories. And...well, his research didn’t really help with that.” He turned to Patton. “Granted, your presence in the shop helped quite a bit, but it’s Logan’s spark that really drives me.” 

Roman added quietly, “It’s just a shame that by the time Logan’s spark ended up growing, he...he was never around.” 

Logan could feel Patton’s heart drop from beside him. Without really thinking, his hand found his way to Patton’s. 

“I...I didn’t know how much my presence meant to you, especially in regards to your magic.” Logan’s gaze fell. “Then again, I suppose I didn’t know a lot about magic in general. I...I’ve really been pushing it aside, huh?” 

(The word ‘you’ hung off his lips.)

Roman laughed quietly. “Yeah, heh. But I can’t blame you for that.” A quick glance at Patton. “There’s much more to this world than just magic.”

“But there is nothing that matters more to me than you, Roman.” Logan looked at his familiar with a sad smile. “You mean more to me than I make apparent. And I am sorry for neglecting to show you that.” 

“You shouldn’t have to apologize, Lo. It...it made me happy to see you in love; to see you happy. And I wish I had made that happiness more clear.” Roman sighed. “I truly was supportive of you both. After all, you have always been one to bounce against the walls of that shop, absorbing yourself in one thing or another. So I loved seeing you so far away from the darkness you chased.” He then looked back at Logan. “I just...I wish I could’ve given you something to do that. Somewhere to rest, perhaps.” 

Logan fell quiet for a few moments. Roman’s words settled in his chest with a heaviness Logan wanted so badly to outrun. 

“But yes, that’s a long winded way of me saying that I needed to take some ‘me time’.” Roman smiled, looking out to his surroundings. “Time moves differently here so...so it was good that I rested here for a bit. I got what I needed.” 

“Well I am glad for that, Roman. You deserve the rest. I have been...a bit much, heh.” 

Roman’s smile widened. “Wow, now it’s Logan that’s a bit much? Who would have seen this coming?” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “And here I was trying to be sentimental…” 

Roman laughed, and Logan found himself joining him. Patton leaned against him slightly, and Logan eased himself into the touch. 

“So what did I miss?” Roman finally asked. “I mean, you were able to come here without me, so I have a feeling I missed something big…” 

“Oh, it was so amazing, Roman!” Patton squeezed Logan’s arm. “We were just talking about Logan’s work and Logan said something that caused an explosion–” 

“An explosion?” 

Logan felt his face warm up. “It was actually for the best that it happened. The shop was a mess.” 

“How did an explosion fix that?”

“It was, like, a reverse explosion!” Patton tagged in.

Roman grinned. “You’re never living this down, Specs. First it’s your drama, and now you’re making messes… ” 

“ Anyway, ” Logan continued. “To be brief, I may have stumbled upon my magic’s origin.” 

Roman perked up. “Oh?” 

Logan nodded, feeling his magic swell in his chest. 

“My grandfather always told me that magic manifested in the things that brought him joy. For him, that was books. For my father...I am not entirely sure, but there was a hunch that it was me. And for myself...I believe it is knowledge. Or rather, the pursuit of it.” 

Roman’s eyes lit up in sparks. 

“I knew you would get it eventually.” 

Patton looked over at Roman. “You knew?” 

“Of course I did, padré!” Roman waved his hands in the air, a trail of red following the motion. “I’m magical, after all.” He then shrugged. “Plus, it wasn’t very hard to piece together. The answer was right under your nose.” 

“I am curious as to why my magic’s presence fluctuated so much, especially as of late. Would you have any insight to that?” 

Roman paused. 

“Well, there are an infinite amount of answers to that. I have a few theories though.” 

Roman waved his hand in the air once more, though this time his magic shot out of his hand and floated in front of them in the air. It sifted into the image of a young boy, holding one hand out. He held a notebook in his other. Behind the boy was a taller man and a small, fairy-like figure floating beside him. 

“Logan’s magic blossomed at a very young age. But it did not only blossom — it thrived. Logan was learning so much—from his grandfather, from me—and he sought any and all knowledge about magic almost daily. His magic, as expected, was stronger then.” 

Another wave of the hand. The scene shifted to an image of the boy—Logan—all grown up and sitting at a desk. Piles of books stacked high beside him. Roman’s bright red magic dimmed ever so slightly. 

“After Logan’s grandfather passed, that spark for new knowledge dimmed, alongside his magic,” Roman explained. “He found Virgil Aries’ book by cruel chance, and his current research made his magic a bit dull — it was bleak and finite. And while he was still trying to find knowledge to some extent, he wasn’t opening himself to any new opportunities to question what he thought he knew.” 

Logan felt his heart ache. For a brief moment, he remembered what Roman had said during their magical duel, back where it all started. 

“Live a little.” 

Roman waved his hand once more, and the image changed to Logan standing in front of a cloaked man, sitting in a chair. Roman’s red magic darkened even more, edging towards darkness. Logan turned to face Roman and realized that Roman seemed to not want to spend too much time here either. 

“And Virgil’s book...well, that was the dead end of knowledge. Virgil, framed in this bleak state of mind, claimed there was nothing, truly nothing. And if there’s nothing…” 

A wave of his hand, and the image dissipated in the air. Logan gulped. 

“Right.” He frowned. “But my magic was strong before we went into that book nook, I felt it almost everywhere I walked.” 

Roman smiled.

“Well you can thank Pat for that. The art-ventures, his presence in general — sure, you pursued knowledge on your own, but Patton always urged you to go out there to find it in the first place.” Roman looked up at Patton with a nod. “I don’t know how deep the two of you go, but I do know that you must be the tether to Logan’s pursuit. And I can admit that I was so swept up in the idea that Logan’s interest in magic only blossomed with you because it prevented me from seeing that you are the connection I knew Logan needed. I couldn’t give that to him so...so thank Patton.” 

Patton returned Roman’s soft smile. “Everyone’s magic starts somewhere, though...right?” 

Roman glowed a little brighter. Logan felt his heart swell with warmth as he carefully took each answer into his very being.

“I have a question, actually,” Patton spoke up. “You...you don’t have to go too much into detail, but you mentioned that Virgil—or, the Virgil we met—was framed in a bleak state of mind. But I know you knew him when you were alive so...so was he any different before he died?”

Roman’s smile fell. Logan caught sight of a few floating lights going out in the blink of an eye. The forest grew darker. 

“I...I told you that I wasn’t always a familiar, right? When a wizard is born, they draw familiar magic from the astral plane; where souls go after their life ends. But I...I never told you about my life, have I?” 

Roman waved his hand once more, but this time, his magic wasn’t just red. Between each spec of red was a thin fibre of purple. 

Roman’s magic shifted into a scene similar to one earlier; a young man sitting at a desk, writing, surrounded by books.

“I used to love writing. I would write songs, poetry– even a few stories here and there. I wrote every second I could in a town I loved and knew like the back of my hand.” 

Roman then smiled, flicking his wrist. 

“But I soon realized I didn’t know everything there was to know.” 

A purple spark caught onto the stream of red coming from Roman’s hand, running along it and bursting into the scene. Logan drew back at the brightness, shielding his eyes to see what happened. 

The scene didn’t change notably, except for one new addition: a purple figure stood behind Roman, still writing, but now with a noticeable smile. 

“I met Virgil in the town library, and we hit it off right away. He had just moved to America to visit family and was staying at a nearby inn. After a few days of getting to know each other, I offered to house him for free. Needless to say, he stayed a lot longer than either of us expected.” 

Roman lifted his hand, and Logan watched in awe as the magical image of Virgil and Logan lifted out of the scene that soon after dissipated, turning into spirals of red and purple. They weaved around each other and circled the clearing, weaving through trees and making the lights flicker on once more. 

Eventually, the two hovered back to where they had started. The spirals took form into Virgil and Roman once more, now lying down in the air. Roman pointed to the sky, and Virgil’s head was tilted upwards to follow. 

“I learned so much about Virgil during our time together,” Roman said, staring wistfully at the airbound image of him and Virgil. “I learned about his thoughts, his dreams — who he was, and who he wanted to become. He became so much lighter around me, and I couldn’t help but follow in that light. We would spend nights in this forest together, writing in each other’s embrace. We...we loved each other, truly and wholly, for as long as we lived.” 

The image slowly trickled out. Logan could feel Patton squeeze his hand. He squeezed back. 

“I never knew Virgil had a lover,” Logan murmured.

“No one knew back then.”  Roman shrugged, though his shoulders were weighed with the cruelty of that time. “Secrecy was the default.”

“What about his book? Did he ever talk to you about it?” Logan found the courage to ask. Roman’s aura dimmed once more. 

“Virgil started writing that book before we met,” Roman explained quietly. A few surrounding lights flicker back out. “And...well, love is not an instantaneous merging of perfectly matched souls. It took a lot of time for us to be comfortable with each other, and even longer to be comfortable with ourselves and our own existences. We grew with each other, as love tends to help you do.”

Roman closed his eyes. 

“Virgil grew ill a year after we met. I stayed with him every night at the hospital. On one of his worst nights, he shared a draft of the book with me. Up until then, he had never even told me about the book. When I asked why, Virgil explained to me that he started writing that book during a very dark place in his life, but he never returned to such a dark place to finish it.”

“You were lucky to have each other,” Logan finally spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

“We were.” Roman sadly smiled. “He was my hope, even on the days he was without it.” 

“There’s one thing I don’t understand though,” Patton added on. “Why did he not recognize you in the book nook?” 

Roman paused. 

“Virgil...Virgil passed away much earlier than I did. And by the time I died, someone found his manuscripts and published them posthumously. But as soon as I discovered Eric Fray and the powers I would come to inherit, the first thing I did was open a book nook to Virgil’s book. But I realized that since our time together was spent in secrecy, that book was all that was left of Virgil’s soul—of his purpose. So when I visited him...he wasn’t the same.” 

“Framed in a bleak state of mind,” Logan echoed back from earlier. His heart ached. “Roman, I...I wish you told me.” 

“It was a cruel enough coincidence that you knew him.” Roman averted his glance from him. “But it was more cruel that you only knew him like that. And as time passed, I realized that I was the only person who truly knew his story. So...so I hid his story away. It broke my heart to see him the way I did; irreversibly and infinitely. I couldn’t bear the fact that his legacy was forever scorched by the cruel flames of time, but it was a burden I wanted no one else to carry.” 

Roman sighed. “It was for the best.” 

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when Roman fell quiet. He instead focused his attention to his surroundings; to the lights that were slowly returning; to the silent forest that he never knew of. 

“Roman,” Logan finally said. “How...how do we get him back?” 

Roman let out a soft sob. Logan could hear Patton begin to sniffle as well, watching as Patton gently scooped Roman off his shoulder and cradled him in his hands. 

“I...I don’t know, Specs. I haven’t figured it out.” Roman wiped his eyes and looked up at Logan. “But I know what I would do if I did find the answer.” 

“And that is?” 

“I would tell him thank you,” Roman murmured. “I would thank him for creating the forest I find solace in now. I would thank him for all the love and time he gave me. And...and I would thank him for inspiring me everyday. He turned everything I created into a show of passion, which I grew to understand was the greatest weapon against the life of nothing he once wallowed in. He taught me that there was meaning everywhere, but one would need to be passionate enough to find them. And...and he swore to me that if I was successful in that pursuit, my passion would reverberate across generations.”

He then smiled at Logan. “But I suppose I don’t need to tell him any of that because...well, I can always just tell you.”

Logan broke out into a small smile. He tilted his head back up towards the swirling lights surrounding Roman and Virgil’s midnight forest; lights filled with centuries worth of longing, but an infinite amount of time to hope. 

— 

Time passed slowly in The Midnight Forest, but it eventually came to a point where it was time to leave. Logan and Patton had braced themselves as Roman whisked them back to Fray and Far Fables, which basked in heavy moonlight. 

“Thank you for coming back with us, Roman,” Logan said earnestly. Roman smiled, floating up to nudge Logan’s cheek. 

“Of course, Specs. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

Logan rolled his eyes, but returned the smile. 

“It’s getting real late.” Patton let out a small yawn as he leaned against Logan. “I think I should start heading out home.” 

“Stay the night here,” Logan blurted out. Patton looked up at him with a small frown. Logan took Patton’s hand into his own once more. “ Please .” 

Patton broke into a small smile, bringing Logan’s hand up to kiss it. A million flowers blossomed on his skin. “I’ll meet you both upstairs in a little bit, I promise.” 

“You’re seriously writing, Specs?” 

Logan laughed lightly, beginning to make his way to the front counter. 

“It won’t be anything too serious. I...I just wanted to write something down for me to remember in the morning.” 

Roman shrugged but nodded, floating up the stairs. Patton went over to kiss Logan’s forehead, then ran up the stairs behind Roman. Logan smiled as he watched the two of them disappear, knowing that they were here , both of them. 

Logan took a deep breath, sitting down in his chair. His copy of Nihilism and the Death of Art sat next to his notebook. His smile fell slightly, but returned when he caught sight of a brown, leather-bound to the other side of his notebook. 

He picked it up with careful hands, flipping through the pages until he found the excerpt that brought him to the forest. 

Logan read the words a few more times. He could feel himself glow, as if he brought a bit of that light back with him.

Logan then set the book down, opened to a new page in his notebook, and began to write.

—

next chapter > 

[today-only-happens-once]

Scutum

Title: Scutum

Word Count: 9424

Summary: Sci-Fi AU. Roman sees the weapon first. The rest is just instinct. Found family. Platonic Logince, Platonic LAMP/CALM. Features Cartoon Therapy characters + Remy/Sleep.

Warnings: cursing (a lot woops); whump/angst/hurt/comfort; violence a la sci-fi/sci-fi weapons; science stuff that’s like 10% research and 90% made-up; sci-fi colonization stuff; passing mention of drunkenness; poison/being poisoned; feelings of guilt and misplaced blame and stuff like that; talk of death and dying; Elliot is briefly a little bit of a jerk but they’re anxious/traumatized and also kinda young so they’re doing their best; injury and blood; let me know if I forgot any.

A/N: Have some sci-fi escapist found family hurt/comfort. This took forever, wow. Several weeks and three drafts later and here we are. Glad it’s done! My huge, undying thanks to @creativenostalgiastuff for all of her help as my beta for this fic and answering my many, many questions and dealing with my general self-doubt. First time writing sci-fi. Would love to know what you think! <3

…

Captain Logan Sanders scrubs a hand underneath his glasses and leans his head back against the glass of the circular window. The metal of the spaceship—affectionately coined Foster by the ship’s medic, Patton Hart—creaks with a dull groan. The captain usually uses the window in the ship’s armory when he needs a moment alone, as its size allows Logan to comfortably lean up against the glass and look out into the “void of space”, as their pilot—Virgil Shea—tended to describe it.

Their relations officer and navigation coordinator, Roman Prince, usually hated looking too long at it. Logan had the feeling it made him feel lonely, or homesick. Maybe both.

Logan doesn’t mind it, though he also wouldn’t have necessarily called it a “void”. Billions of stars and the occasional swirl of color meant a certainty of life that existed out there. The universe is always teeming with it, and Logan finds a greater comfort from this distanced reminder than the crowded, bustling bazaars that Roman seemed to thrive in.

Logan hears the door swish open, his head swiveling over towards the sound. The light that floods into the room illuminates the dusty iron walls and the shelves of weapons—phasers and guns lined up beside one another, boxes of ammo on the shelf above—and Logan sees a familiar figure silhouetted against the light.

“Hey, Captain,” Kai Dwyer greets, unfazed by the sight of Logan sitting in the window.

“Kai,” he replies, pushing himself up to his feet off the window ledge. He grimaces slightly as he stretches his back, having forgotten how stiff the metal makes him when he sits too long.

Kai grabs a clipboard off the wall adjacent to the door. “Thought I’d do a quick inventory check before we dock.”

Logan frowns. “Are we close?”

“Virgil said we were still a few hours out. But I wanna be thorough. Make sure I know everything we need before get on planet.”

Logan inclines his head, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering stiffness before he crosses towards the door. “Acceptable. Carry on.”

Kai gives a small mock-salute. “Roger that, Cap’n.” The door slides shut behind Logan.

Foster is an old ship. Even to someone unfamiliar with the schematic, it’s evident in the grated flooring, the worn metal walls and beams that hold it together, the way the pressurizer hummed on occasion. Newer models tended to be sleeker, more streamlined, and generally brighter than the dark iron walls that adorned Foster’s interior.

Logan would never admit it—even to his own crew—but he trusted Foster more than he trusted other ships. Logically, he knew it was ridiculous. In the vast majority of cases, Logan believed that newer generally meant improved. But when it came to Foster, Logan had never even considered trading it in for a newer model. Instead, if something needed fixing on the ship, then Logan would consult Virgil and their engineer, Remy, to give Foster the needed updates. The ship was as much a part of the crew as any of the rest of them and it had gotten them through it’s fair share of close calls. As far as Logan was concerned, Foster had earned the loyalty of the crew.

But of course… that an inanimate object could earn loyalty didn’t make logical sense. So Logan kept that particular sentiment to himself.

Logan hears a familiar sound of the door swishing open down the short pathway and sees Roman duck out of his room. The relations officer is wearing his white and red armor suit, and Logan arcs an eyebrow when the officer meets his gaze.

“Hey, Specs.” Roman gives a small salute that echoes Kai’s a moment ago. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Greetings. Might I inquire as to why you’re wearing armor? My understanding is that we’re about to dock for a benign venture.” Logan pauses. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

“What? Oh.” Roman glances down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “Sorry to disappoint, Logan. Patton wanted to check the monitors in the suit, so I’m supposed to wear it around for a little bit. Make sure the readings are all right.” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ve gotta say, Kai’s upgrades to the armor are pretty cool. Check this out.”

Roman stretches an arm out to his side, and Logan has barely registered that his palm has started to glow when something bright shoots out from it and Logan throws an arm up to protect his face.

A moment later, Logan lowers his arm to see a glowing hole through one wall of the ship. Through that hole, Logan sees the med bay and Patton staring out at them with wide, startled eyes. Picani is standing on the other side of the med bay, a ukulele in his hand, having just startled out of the chair he was sitting in. Logan clenches his jaw, turning a frustrated gaze at Roman before he hears the metallic clang of footsteps climbing up the ladder and the unmistakable voice of the ship’s primary engineer.

“Girl, you better not have busted a hole in my ship again!”

At the end of the hall, Remy García’s head pokes up with a glowering look as he pulls himself up onto the top layer of scaffolding. His dark goggles are pushed back into his hair, and he’s got streaks of grease smudged across his forehead and along his cheek.

“Your ship?” Logan asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His comment goes ignored as Remy stalks down the pathway and Roman starts stammering out either an apology or an excuse.

“You’re lucky you didn’t punch a hole straight through the outer shell or we’d all be dead.”

The intercom announces its presence with a familiar click and faint static before Virgil’s voice chimes through, echoing slightly off the metal walls. “Yeah, Remy and I might’ve fixed the damage from last week but we’d rather not test it while we’re floating through the great abyss of space.”

Roman’s holding his hands up in surrender. “It was an accident!” He glances through the hole in the wall. “Sorry, Patton. Sorry, doc!”

Patton waves. “It’s okay!” he calls from inside the med bay.

Picani chuckles and waves as well. “Nobody’s hurt!”

Remy sighs and looks to Logan. “That won’t be the cheapest fix, Cap, and we maxed on the budget for ship fixes last time we docked. That pirate gang did a number on Foster.”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Roman, it’s coming out of your pay.”

Roman opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it before nodding. “No, yeah. That’s fair.”

Remy gives Roman one more glare before turning and heading back towards the ladder that descends to the lower deck. Logan is about to head to the bridge when he hears Roman say, “I mean… you gotta admit that was pretty cool.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Logan replies dryly as he heads in the opposite direction of Remy. “At some point, I’ll have peace and quiet on my ship again.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that!” Roman calls after him brightly.

…

“We’re probably about 3 hours out from docking, Captain.”

Elliot—Virgil’s co-pilot—makes the announcement as the door to the ship’s bridge swishes open. The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks slightly, always impressed by Elliot’s ability to know who was coming through the door without looking. Anytime Logan asked them about it, they merely shrugged.

Foster’s bridge is relatively small. Green, red, and blue dots of lights cover both walls above a row of seats with harnesses for emergency cases. Each dot of light was information about how Foster was functioning, and Logan scans both walls quickly. Everything seemed to be operating efficiently.

“Understood,” Logan replies to Elliot.

A few feet past the emergency seats along the walls are the two pilot chairs, occupied by Virgil and Elliot. Virgil flips a small metal switch, then glances over his shoulder at Logan. Virgil had been the last person to join his team when Logan was first recruiting—Picani, Kai, and Elliot didn’t join until a few months ago. Logan had been uncertain when someone whose call sign was “Anxiety” responded to his flyer in search of a pilot. But word on the street had been that Virgil was the best of the best, and Logan was running low on potential candidates that measured up to his expectations.

Virgil had more than proved the rumors. Logan owed his life to him and his piloting skills more times than he cared to admit. The entire crew did.

“So why exactly are we docking in Vannaheim?” Virgil asks. “Not that I’m not, like, totally jazzed to be going to a planet that’s 99% desert.”

Logan crosses the short distance to stand between the two pilots chairs. “Vannaheim’s dune pattern is being impacted by gravity shifts that they can’t explain. We’re there to take some observations and perhaps help their scientists develop a solution.”

Elliot glances at Virgil, then snorts at the look on his face. “You’re just mad because you can’t wear your hoodie.”

Virgil points a finger at them. “I can, and I will.”

“You will do no such thing,” Logan interjects with a pointed look. “I will not have one of my best pilots suffer heat stroke.”

“It’s my aesthetic and I like to suffer.”

Logan shakes his head, looking out above the ship’s controls to the window that spanned in front of the pilot seats. It was a similar view to the one Logan had been enjoying a moment ago in the armory window, with the addition of Vannaheim in the distance—a small, red and orange planet that was approximately half the size of Earth. Hot and dry, but slightly higher oxygen levels than were present in Earth’s atmosphere.

Logan had been to Vannaheim six years ago when an old friend of his, Corbin Wright, had requested his help with developing vegetation alternatives given the arid biosphere of the planet. He’d been concerned at the potential ecological ramifications should they introduce flora and fauna that were not native to the planet. Instead, he and Corbin and a few other scientists spent a few weeks researching the native vegetation and fauna and determining what options were most compatible with human nutritional needs.

The effort had been met with some resistance from a minority of the colonists on the planet. They formed something of a resistance group—called themselves the ‘Retribution’, which Logan still thinks is a bit excessive—that started with some minor disagreement at community meetings, but quickly devolved into accusations that their ‘way of life’ was ‘under attack’. Which was ridiculous. Logan left as things continued to escalate, knowing that his presence on the planet was likely to only heighten the tensions. It was Logan’s original idea, after all.

When Corbin reached out about the gravitational shifts, he’d said tensions had remained after Logan left—even reaching moments when Corbin worried it would turn violent—but that things seemed to have mostly settled down in the recent weeks. Logan had asked if Corbin was sure that Logan returning wouldn’t have an adverse effect on the peace in the colony.

One way to find out, Corbin had replied dryly. Logan didn’t find it particularly comforting.

…

Two and a half hours later, Logan is passing by the med bay when the click through the ship’s intercom perks his ears.

“Heads up. We’re T-minus 27 minutes until we’ll be pulling into dock.” Elliot’s voice is distorted slightly by the static hum.

It clicks off in the same moment that the doors to the med bay swish open. Patton steps out, looking down at a chart that’s projected flatly from the gauntlet on his wrist. He glances up and smiles.

“Heya, Cap.”

Logan arcs an eyebrow. “Greetings. Everything satisfactory?” He inclines his head to the chart Patton had been looking at.

“What, this?” Patton glances back down. “Yeah. Just going over the charts from the new suit readouts. I was gonna have you try yours on before we docked, but Roman’s little… surprise earlier did some damage to the chest plate as I was downloading the software.” Patton laughs. “Kai said he can fix it, but not before we dock. I did manage to salvage your helmet, though. Ya have a minute?”

Logan follows Patton through the entryway into the med bay. Perhaps “med bay” was a bit of a gracious term for it. The room was relatively small, with two gatch beds fixed to one wall, and a variety of medical equipment and read-outs that Logan only vaguely understood how to use. The room was well-equipped for as small as it was, but Patton was also the only medical doctor on the ship.

On the left gatch bed, Logan sees black armor with blue accents—and the half-melted chestplate. It resembles, in style, to the white and red armor Roman had been wearing earlier.

“I updated the heartrate monitor display, plus the one for oxygen intake,” Patton is saying behind Logan as he minimizes the chart he’d been looking at and moves to a monitor on the far wall. “I also added a body temperature gauge and a toxin sensor since you can never be too careful, y’know?”

Logan nods, lifting the new helmet and inspecting it. The exterior of the helmet looks the same as before Logan had turned it over to be updated. A dark visor shields the face, the rest of it black with dark blue accents. It matches the damaged suit that sits in pieces on the gatch bed.

“Ya like it?” Patton asks. Logan looks over his shoulder at the doctor, who had stopped what he was doing on the monitor to look expectantly at the ship captain.

Logan glances back. “It appears to be the same helmet.”

Patton grins. “Looks that way. It’s cooler now, though. I also added in some ecological monitors. Simple stuff, at least for now. Atmosphere make up, surface temperature. Working on some other stuff, but that seems like enough for a prototype, don’tcha think?”

“I suppose it does make sense to limit variable additions when testing new technology.”

“Try the helmet on for me? Oh, and you should probably take your glasses off. Kai made sure the display will adjust for your vision.”

Logan obligingly slips the dark armor helmet over his head. He reaches up to his temple on the outside of the helmet and presses in. There’s a high-pitched blip and Logan’s vision goes from dark to a bright, staticky blue. Logan instinctively shuts his eyes against the blinding onslaught.

“Yikes!” Patton yelps, and Logan senses him suddenly standing beside him. A slight pressure on his left temple, a quiet blip, and Logan’s vision goes back to black. “I’m sorry, Logan. Not sure why that happened. I’ll have Kai take a look.”

Logan slips the helmet back off. “Not to worry, Patton. I’m confident in Kai’s engineering capabilities.”

Patton gingerly takes the helmet from Logan’s arms and sets it back on the gatch bed in front of them. “Yeah, but still. We were so close to all of you getting to try the new suits!”

Logan rakes his fingers through his hair to pull it back under control from its disheveled state. It was always a mess when he took his helmet off. He slips his glasses back onto his face. “Nevertheless. Roman and Elliot’s test runs on Vannaheim should still be adequate in assessing whether the new software you’ve developed will serve its functional purpose adequately.”

Patton gives Logan’s helmet a sad pat. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, thanks for giving it a shot, Cap! Good luck down there.”

“Your luck is unneeded, but appreciated. Thank you, Patton.”

…

The blast of arid heat stings Logan’s eyes slightly as Virgil lowers the ship’s docking track. Logan smiles politely at Corbin—slightly aged from the last time he saw him, but unmistakable regardless—and the two other individuals that stand with him. Roman and Elliot linger closely behind him as Logan descends the ramp and shakes Corbin’s hand.

“It’s good to see you, Logan,” Corbin greets with a faint smile. “Allow me to introduce you. This is my partner, Sloane. And this is Valerie.”

Logan shakes both of their hands, thinking idly that Sloane’s evident excitable energy rivaled that of Patton’s. Valerie has her dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail, which isn’t necessarily a surprise given the heat. The orange and yellow sands stretch into rolling dunes in the distance, unheeded by the small colony network they’d docked in. A bright blue sky stretches above them, and Logan sees Elliot slip on a pair of sunglasses out of the corner of his eye. Roman squints and brings up a hand to shield his own vision.

“Rainwall’s gotten bigger,” Logan remarks as Corbin leads them from the dock and further into the colony.

The last time Logan had been here, it had barely been a few temporary settlement structures—really just glorified tents, in Logan’s humble opinion--cohesive enough to call a colony network but only barely. The structures look more permanent now, and there are certainly more of them. Pathways between them are not paved but are certainly worn enough with foot and vehicle traffic, and Logan is pleased to see that they put his prior suggestion of solar panels to use. The roofs of nearly every building—most of them white and domed structures of varying sizes—are covered with them.

There’s a gust of wind, kicking up the sand and dust at their feet. Logan turns his face into his shoulder to keep from inhaling. Roman coughs behind him. “Oh great,” he says with an air of drama that makes Logan roll his eyes. “This planet is going to ruin my hair.”

“You get used to it,” Valerie says.

“I definitely do not want to get used to it.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks. “We could return to Dal’tera, Roman.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of Dal’tera again.”

“You and Virgil agreed to never speak of what happened on Dal’tera again. I made no such promise.”

Although Logan doesn’t turn around, he can feel the way Elliot’s gaze flickers between Roman’s face and the back of his head. “What happened on Dal’tera?”

“It was four years ago—”

“Which is why we are leaving it in the past!” Roman cuts in insistently. “Unbelievable. The lack of trust. First, Kai disables the cool blaster-thingy on my suit, now my own captain is betraying my trust.”

The accusation is empty and with a certain familiar affection underlying the dramatics, but Logan holds his hands up in mock surrender regardless. “To Kai’s credit, you did damage the ship less than half an hour after having the technology made available to you,” he says, and Roman makes an affronted noise behind him.

“It was an accidental—”

Elliot interrupts him, sounding amused. “Did you just call it a blaster-thingy? Really?”

Logan glances over his shoulder in time to see Roman look down at his armored hand. “I don’t know the name for it.”

“It should be named something cool.”

“Yes, I agree. Perhaps we should come up with some options to run by Kai when we return.”

As they pass one of the vegetation fields, a pair of colonists wave at them from a distance. Logan sees Sloane wave enthusiastically in return out of the corner of his eye. Corbin lifts a hand in a more subdued greeting. A pair of children cut out between the buildings in front of them and barely dodge Logan and Corbin at the front of the group, shrieking with laughter.  Behind him, Elliot and Roman chat about potential names for the new technology that Kai had inputted into the suit.

It’s a familiar thrum of background noise as they make their way through the settlement. The excitable chatter and increasingly ridiculous suggestions for naming technology makes Logan vaguely grateful that Kai tended to name his own tech rather than leave it to those two. Regardless, Logan is content to let them chatter away. Especially if it kept their attention occupied as they navigate through Rainwall.

As much as the colony had grown since Logan had last seen it, it doesn’t take them too long to reach the far end of the small town. They’re led to one of the white domed structures at the far end of the network of buildings and worn pathways. Corbin inputs a four-digit code into the keypad beside the door, and Logan hears a lock click before the door swishes open.

…

Logan feels the beanbag hit the back of his head for the fourth time and doesn’t even bother to turn around.

“Sorry, Captain!” Roman says, also for the fourth time.

Logan, Corbin, and Valerie had been pouring over data spreadsheets, charts, graphs, and notes regarding the anomaly in Vannaheim’s dune pattern for the past three hours. Roman and Elliot both had tried to assist for the first hour and a half, but while they were extremely bright and intelligent people in Logan’s opinion, neither were particularly practiced or well-versed in theoretical physics or planetology. Elliot’s understanding of piloting had been helpful briefly in identifying some smaller anomalies in the gravitational shifts in the planet’s atmosphere, but that was about the extent that their expertise could help.

The pod—as Sloane had been calling the one-room building they were in—was small and simple on the inside, but certainly functional. The couch and table towards the front of the pod had been pushed against the wall to make room for the game that Roman and Sloane had started with a beanbag that Sloane happened to have handy. Towards the back were several computers, and a few chairs. Corbin sits in one, scanning over the contents of the most recent read-out, and Valerie sits in the other. Logan stands and paces in the space between them and the game of beanbag. There were a few unpacked crates blocking part of the pathway, having previously housed brand-new computer parts.

Roman sheepishly jogs the short distance between himself and the beanbag at Logan’s feet, snatching it up. Logan opens his mouth to say something when Elliot cuts him off, sitting up a bit from where they’d been lounged against the couch.

“Did you guys hear that?”

Logan frowns, but it’s Valerie who speaks up, looking up from the tablet in her hands. “Hear what?”

But then they do hear it. It’s distant, but rapidly getting closer. Shouting. Someone screams. And—

“Was that phaser discharge?” Sloane asks, his face draining of color. Elliot scrambles to their feet, crossing towards Logan and further away from the door.

“Corbin, take Sloane and get out of here,” Logan says immediately. “Valerie, you too. Get somewhere safe.”

The shout is right outside the door. Corbin grabs for Sloane and yanks him back behind him as the door swishes open, fumbling to pull the phaser out of the holster at his belt.

Logan barely has time to register that the strangled cry from Roman is his name before he feels a weight slam into him, sending him crashing to the floor just as phasers go off. Logan doesn’t know who fired first, his ears ringing slightly and Roman, a heavy weight, on top of him.

“I knew he’d come back!” a new voice—grating and sharp and a little hysterical—shrieks. “I knew fucking Logan Sanders couldn’t keep his distance! You’ve ruined our way of life one too many times you fucking piece of—” Corbin fires his phaser, a streak of green light slamming into the figure’s chest. Even through the chaos, Logan can see the switch set to stun.

“Roman,” Logan grunts as he shoves his relations officer off of him, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Roman rolls off him with a tight grimace, an arm wrapped around himself. He doesn’t answer and he doesn’t sit up, and it’s only then that Logan sees the skin of Roman’s waist—a sickly green and black—exposed between his fingers and broken armor.

Logan’s mind kicks into overdrive, the shouting between Corbin, Valerie, Elliot and the intruders overlapping with exchanges of phaser fire fading into background noise.

Logan goes to reach for his comm at his belt before he realizes that it’s been shattered into pieces. Parts of it are melted, apparently having taken some phaser damage. Unusable. Logan changes tactics immediately, pulling the identical equipment piece off Roman’s shoulder and clicks in.

“Foster Crew,” Logan says, clipped and urgent. “Come in. We have a Code Black. Repeat: Code Black. We need immediate assistance.”

“Fucking shit,” is Virgil’s instant response, muffled from static. “What’s your location?”

Logan looks to Elliot on his left, who is staring at Roman with wide eyes having heard the call go through the comms. “Elliot,” Logan says. “Send our location.”

They blink quickly and nod, pressing a button on the gauntlet on their armor before firing another round of their phaser. It cracks against the wall. Elliot ducks back behind the create as the corner of it splinters into shards with a ricocheting crack.

Logan reaches for the wound on Roman’s waist, but Roman won’t move his hands. He’s pale, already with a thin sheen of sweat, and when his eyes flutter open, Logan doesn’t miss the glassy look in them, nor the way that they don’t seem to focus.

“Roman. Hey.” Logan taps his face, then pulls Roman’s hands away. “Look here.”

“Cap?” Roman’s voice is distant. Hazy. Confused.

When Logan yanks Roman’s hands away so that he can better assess damage, Roman makes a noise in the back of his throat that doesn’t sound fully human.

Logan doesn’t respond. The wound isn’t just phaser damage, from the little Logan can see. Phasers didn’t generally turn skin into that green-black mottled mess. There appears to be several tiny puncture wounds. Toxin, Logan thinks, and reaches for Roman’s comm again. He helps Roman sit up and lean against the crate behind him.

“Patton. Come in, Patton.”

Corbin is shouting something from where he’s taken cover against the wall on the opposite side to Logan’s left. He fires twice more.

“Roman’s vitals are all over the place,” Patton answers without having to ask what Logan needed to know. “Toxin levels are elevated and climbing. What’s happening down there?”

“Virgil, what’s your ETA?” Logan says instead of answering. He’s on autopilot, his mind racing. He can barely keep up with his own thoughts. Flashes of green phaser fire streak overhead and leave scorch marks on the white walls of the pod.

“Two minutes but it looks like you guys are pinned down. We’ll do what we can. Might be two and a half before you guys can get out.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Logan asks to the open air.

“Not yet,” Corbin replies, ducking as another round of phaser fire hits overhead. “They’re Retribution though. No mistaking that.” He aims again, fires a few more rounds. Logan hears something heavy slump to the ground. Roman grunts and leans his head back against the crate he’s propped up against. His breathing is fast and shallow.

Despite himself, Roman gives Logan a pained smile. “I got pretty good reflexes, huh?”

“This situation hardly classifies as a testament to your reflex speed.”

“Virgil always said….” Roman grimaces. Shudders. Tries again. “Virge always said he was fastest but I could give ‘im a…. a run for his money.”

Logan frowns. “Your speech is slurring.”

“Sorry.”

Roman starts saying something about the last time he was drunk—Logan was there; they’d been celebrating Virgil’s birthday—but Logan has mostly tuned him out. His mind is still spinning. Toxin-equipped phasers were new technology to Logan. He’d heard there was potential for it, but he hadn’t looked much into the tech or its development. For it to be possible, then they’d need access to existing natural toxins. Synthetic ones wouldn’t pair as well with the phaser tech and would risk overloading or overheating the weapons. What natural toxins existed on Vannaheim?

More than one, from Logan’s memory. It had been a subsection of his research when looking into native vegetation options from the planet six years ago.

“Logan? Come in. Logan?” Patton’s voice over the comms not only interrupts Logan’s sprinting thoughts, but also causes Roman to cut off his slurred, barely coherent speech.

Logan grabs the device. “Here.”

“Roman’s getting worse. I think he’s panicking, ‘cuz his heartrate is through the roof, but that could also be the toxin. Do you know what it was?”

“I don’t. If I were to guess, based on the damage and situational factors, I’d probably assume it was a hemotoxin or necrotoxin but without more information or the ability to run tests, I cannot be certain.”

Virgil’s voice cuts into the conversation. “T-minus one minute.” Even distorted from the static, Virgil’s voice sounds strained in its own right. “Fuck, I’m going as fast as I can, Logan. Tell Princey he’s not allowed to die before I have the chance to kill him myself for being an idiot.”

Roman scoffs, but it’s weak and pained and sounds a lot more like a cough. “An idiot?” he demands incredulously.

“Message received,” Logan says dryly before setting the comm down. “Roman, take a deep breath.”

Roman sucks in a breath—shaking and thin—and winces. “Ow. Shit.” Roman’s arm wraps around his torso and he tosses a shaky smile to Logan. “I can’t believe I’m really gonna die having never beaten you at chess.”

It’s Elliot that answers him first, their voice tight and strangled and desperate. “You’re not going to die.”

“You’re not going to beat me at chess,” Logan adds. He can still hear shouting outside the pod. Roman gives a breathy laugh before his eyes unfocus again, blinking owlishly. Logan sets a firm, grounding hand on his shoulder. “Focus. Roman, tell me five things you can see.”

“Tell me five things you can see.” Roman blinks hard, then looks around uncomprehendingly. “Where… am I?”

“Vannaheim,” Logan replies smoothly despite the way his chest clenches. He cannot panic. Logan takes a breath.

Roman makes a face. “I hate Vannaheim.”

“Because the wind messes up your hair. Yes, you’ve told me.”

The door swishes open and Logan grabs Roman’s phaser from its holster and fires a shot. It cracks against the wall of the pod slightly to the left of the intruder. Logan had left his phaser on the ship. An oversight on his part. Deal with it later, Logan tells himself firmly.

“A prince has got to slay,” Roman says, his words slurred. He takes a breath that seems to tangle in his lungs, and wheezes out a cough.

“You’re wearing a uniformed suit of armor,” Logan finds himself saying. Wasn’t enough to protect him, something hisses in Logan’s mind. Logan shakes his head quickly. He’d deal with that thought later. “If you’re that worried about your appearance, wear the helmet.”

Logan estimates that it’s been about twenty seconds since his last communication with Virgil and Patton. They hear the door swish open. Valerie fires. There’s a startled cry and the door closes.

“I like the—” Roman cuts himself off with a clench to his teeth, his body visibly shuddering. He curls around himself, his head nearly pitching straight into Logan’s chest. The captain catches Roman’s shoulders, holding him steady until the trembling is back to a more manageable level a second later. He guides Roman to sit back again.

Roman’s head leans back to thump gently against the crate, his brow pinched. “Logan… you’re shaking.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replies distractedly, trying to tune in to the conversation Corbin and Valerie are having on the opposite side of the small pod given the lull in combatants. They can still hear the fight raging outside. Someone screams. Pounding footsteps.

Sloane is typing frantically into one of the computers. A second later, there’s a click by the door. “Doors are locked. Should at least slow them down,” he says.

Corbin glances back at Logan, his chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. His jaw sets when his eyes flicker to Roman slumped against the crate.

“You’ve gotta get out of here,” he says. “Valerie and I will cover you. As soon as Anxiety gets here, make a break for it. They’re not here for a war. They’re here for you.”

Logan opens his mouth to reply but Roman’s strained, slurred speech interrupts him. “Logan… give m’ th’ phaser.”

“Why?”

Roman’s brow furrows together like he thinks the answer should be obvious. “Figured I’d take a few of ‘em down with me while… while you two…” He grimaces again, but Logan gets the picture.

“No.”

Roman levels a look that would be a glare if his eyes would stay focused on Logan. “Be logical, Captain.”

Logan doesn’t deign the challenge with a response. He just stares at Roman—the sheen of sweat, the shallow and rapid breath, the way Roman can’t seem to support the weight of his own head—and then looks back at Corbin. “If we flee and they’re here for me, it’s not impossible that they’ll give chase.”

“We’ll ground as many as we can,” Valerie says, quickly adjusting some calibration on the phaser in her hand.

“Captain,” Roman insists, but Logan ignores him.

“Virgil will just have to shake the rest,” Logan says grimly.

“T-minus five seconds. Incoming.” Virgil’s cracked, staticky voice breaks through the comms on Elliot’s and Roman’s shoulder.

“Speak of the devil.”

“Let’s move,” Logan says, crossing back to Roman.

He figures that offering a hand to help Roman stand up wouldn’t be enough support, given that Roman seemed barely capable of holding up his own head. A fireman’s carry? Seemed excessive, at least for the time being. Perhaps Logan would default to that should Roman lose consciousness.

“’m gonna slow y’ down.” Roman’s voice is quiet, and it takes Logan a moment to decipher what he said given the way the words run together.

Logan crouches down and takes Roman’s arm, wrapping it around his shoulders and bracing one hand against Roman’s armored chestplate. “Think you can stand up?”

“Not lis’ning.”

“Answer the question, Roman.”

Roman swallows. Shudders. His arm tightens around his waist. “Yeah.”

“Three. Two. One. Up.” Logan stands, bracing most of Roman’s weight into his side. Roman nearly pitches into the floor, but he manages to get his legs underneath him and though Logan can feel him shaking with the exertion of effort, Roman is standing.

Progress.

“I’ll wait to unlock the door until you guys are right in front of it,” Sloane says and if there’s a bit of strain to his voice—if he casts a long glance at Corbin—well, Logan doesn’t say anything about it.

“Logan,” Roman says. “Lemme… lemme st…” Roman spasms, and nearly pitches right out of Logan’s grip. His hand on Roman’s chest is the only thing that keeps Roman from tumbling to the floor.

Logan goes to take a step with him—he can see black bleeding up through Roman’s neck like spilled ink and it tightens something in his chest—but Roman doesn’t move. Logan gives Roman a sharp look, opens his mouth to explain that they didn’t have time to waste, but there’s something fiery and bold beneath the haze of pain and poison that clouds his gaze.

“’m not worth—”

“It’s not your decision!” Logan cuts him off sharply. Furious. His gut twists against what he knows was the rest of Roman’s sentence. Roman releases a breath that would sound annoyed if there wasn’t a bit of a hitch to it.

“Doors opening in three. Two. One.”

Corbin and Valerie duck out first, and it’s a mess of dust and wind as Foster’s engine roars overhead, touching down as close as it reasonably can. Logan hears the reverberating pops of phaser fire exchanged somewhere in the cloud of dust. Streaks of green light criss-crossing in the sand-clogged cloud around them. Corbin yells for them to go. Elliot fires off a few shots of their own, sticking close to the two of them to fill in the gaps of phaser coverage left between Corbin and Valerie.

They run.

Or, as best as they can manage. It’s barely a loose jog, really, with Logan having to support most of Roman’s weight. But Roman manages to put one foot in front of the other and from his strangled breathing and how hard he’s shaking, Logan knows it’s about all Roman can manage to do.

Logan estimates that the distance between the pod and Foster is about a hundred or so meters. At the rate they’re moving, it should take them about twenty seconds to reach the docking ramp that Virgil lowers as soon as they touch down. Maybe less than that, if they can push the pace a bit more.

It takes ten seconds before Logan feels bright heat rip through his upper right bicep. Warm liquid spills down his arm.

“Captain!” Elliot yells, alarmed, over the chaos.

“I’m fine,” Logan grits out. “Go! Go!”

Patton meets them on the docking ramp, his eyes wide, and takes Roman’s other side to help Logan get him the rest of the way up. Elliot fires their phaser twice more as the ramp closes before ripping their comm unit off and calling into it.

“Virgil, punch it. We’re gonna have tails.”

“Fuck. Everyone accounted for?”

Logan grabs Roman’s comm. “Affirmative. Get us out of here.” Logan braces himself, and Roman, for the shift as Virgil lifts them off and takes off.

Roman sways.

Patton reaches for his wound. “Ro—”

The navigations officer collapses. Logan grunts as he and Patton both catch him before he crumples entirely, the effort tearing at the wound in Logan’s arm. Bright, hot pain ripples down his arm and up through his shoulder. Logan clenches his teeth against the sharp cry that tries to tear up his throat.

“Roman!” Elliot steps forward, but Logan holds up a hand, trying to get his breathing back under control from the fresh wave of pain.

“No, Elliot. Pilot with Virgil.”

“But I want to help!”

His arm is throbbing and Logan glances down at it, noting with a certain level of detachment that it just looks like a normal graze. No sign of toxin damage. “Help Virgil,” Logan tells them firmly, leveling a steady gaze that leaves no room for argument.

Elliot’s expression darkens before they turn and head towards the cockpit.

“I gotta get Roman to med bay,” Patton says quietly. “And get you patched up too.”

“I’m fine,” Logan says, helping Patton hoist Roman up from his half-collapsed state on the floor. “Just a graze.”

“But still.”

“It’ll heal, Patton.”

“Logan.”

Logan’s jaw snaps shut. He gives a single, stiff nod in return.

…

The next several minutes are frantic.

Patton and Logan carry Roman to the medical bay and Patton immediately pries Roman’s suit off him to get a closer look. It’s a flurry of movement as he hooks Roman up to various machines to read off information about his vitals, extracting some of the toxin from his system so Patton can run different tests on it separate from Roman’s body, all of which is made more challenging by the frequent shift in g-force as Virgil and Elliot try to lose the ships that had followed them off Vannaheim.

Logan is still on autopilot. He doesn’t stop moving. Logan helps Patton as much as he can, and it’s not until Patton is very gently helping Logan into chair to bandage his wounded arm after Roman has been fully equipped that Logan realizes the warm liquid that he’d felt down his arm was his own blood. Logan stares at Roman on the gatch bed with numb detachment and lets Patton clean and wrap the wound in his arm. It’s while Patton is tying the knot on the bandage wrapped around Logan’s bicep that Virgil clicks on over the intercom.

“I think we’ve shaken the last of them. Status update on Princey?”

Logan and Patton exchange a glance. Patton offers a sad smile and slight lift to his shoulders. Logan stands from the chair and walks to the intercom on the wall. He presses the button, waiting for the click before he speaks.

“No change. Did we take any damage?”

It’s Remy’s voice that answers him. “She’ll hold together, but Foster’s warp drive is out of commission until we can dock and I get some parts. What the hell was that all about?”

Logan swallows and leans his head against the wall for a moment. A damaged warp drive meant that getting to the next planet would take a bit longer than originally planned. He glances over at Patton, whose lips press into a grim line. Logan swallows before he answers over the intercom. “It appears that some prior work I did on that planet in an effort of sustainability warranted a minority of individuals harboring some… hostility.”

Behind him, Patton is peering at the monitors with Roman’s vitals. “Seems like more than just some hostility.”

“And we’re sure Wright is gonna be fine down there?” Virgil asks.

“Reasonably,” Logan replies. “Their hostility was directed predominantly at me.”

“And yet Roman—oh, wait. Hey, Cap, you might wanna come up here. We’ve got a message inbound from Vannaheim.”

Logan sighs. “I’ll be right there.”

Logan isn’t sure what to expect. He can’t fairly say that he is surprised. It made sense that they would attempt contact, especially given that they had successfully evaded their trail. And expecting the message to wait certainly wouldn’t have made sense—they’d be out of signal range within a few minutes. Logan considers, briefly, letting the message go unanswered. But there couldn’t be any harm in talking, right? Perhaps Logan could even appease them enough to quell some of the hostile action that could—had, did—put innocent people in harm’s way.

His arm throbs. Logan looks over his shoulder at Roman, prone on the gatch bed. Pale, except for the side that got hit being a smattering of mottled green and black. The black bleeds in curling tendrils across his chest, up his shoulder, his neck.

Patton catches him staring and gives him another one of those sad smiles. “I’m doing what I can for him, Captain.”

Logan swallows and nods. He squeezes Patton’s shoulder on his way out.

He tries very hard to not look at the hole through the wall that Roman had blasted earlier today. Instead, he focuses on the weight of his measured, calculated footsteps against the grated scaffolding. The very faint and yet oddly familiar, comforting scent of iron that lingered on the inside of the ship despite Patton’s best attempts to fix it. He counts in his head how many steps it takes from the door of the med bay to the cockpit.

The answer is eighteen.

The door swishes open and Virgil cranes his neck around. Elliot doesn’t even show signs of having heard the door opened at all.

“Ready, Captain?” Virgil asks, his finger poised over one of the buttons in front of him.

Logan steadies a hand on the back of Virgil’s chair and nods. “Yes.”

The screen in front of them blips on and Logan stares in surprise as Corbin, Sloane, and Valerie’s faces fill the frame. “Hey, they made it!” Sloane says brightly. Logan can still feel tension pulling his shoulders taught.

“Barely,” Elliot says, so quietly Logan almost doesn’t hear it. Logan sees Virgil glance at them, his brow furrowing.

“How’s Roman doing?” Valerie asks.

“We’re working on it,” Logan says.

“You mean Patton’s working on it,” Elliot cuts in.

“Yes,” Logan acquiesces. “I do mean that. Our ship’s medic, Patton Hart, is doing what he can. How are things there?”

“Our earlier assumptions proved accurate,” Corbin replies with a shrug. “They followed you. The ones that didn’t were angry, but hostility tapered off once they realized they were outnumbered and that you were gone.”

“I apologize for bringing you under some fire. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not like you could’ve known,” Sloane says with a dismissal wave.

“We’re about to lose signal,” Virgil says quietly.

“Hey, keep us updated about Roman, will you?” Corbin asks.

Sloane and Valerie both nod. “We’re just as worried about him as you are!”

Elliot mutters something under their breath that Logan doesn’t quite catch, but from the suddenly furious look Virgil shoots them, perhaps it was better that he didn’t. Logan assures them that they will let them know as soon as there’s any change to report. Virgil cuts the feed and flexes his grip around the ship’s controls.

“What the hell was that?” Virgil demands suddenly. For a moment, Logan frowns in confusion before he realizes that the question was meant for Elliot and not himself.

“Forget it,” Elliot replies with a quick glance to Logan.

“Bullshit,” Virgil shoots back. His grip on the controls look too tight to be comfortable. “You’re not good with confrontation. Fine. But you don’t get to sit there and make passive-aggressive jabs at our captain after the shit-show we just dealt with. One that he got you out of, I might add. What’s wrong with you?”

“Okay—” Logan says, placatingly, but Elliot interrupts him.

“What’s wrong with me?” they demand, waving a hand towards Logan. “What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t seem phased in the slightest! Roman was shot trying to protect him and he just acted like he didn’t care—”

“Because that’s his fucking job!” Virgil turns a glowering look onto Elliot.

“Virgil,” Logan tries, bewildered at the argument, but they both seem to have forgotten that Logan is even there.

Virgil continues, tearing his gaze back to the stars stretching in front of them. “He’s the Captain, Elliot. It’s his job to make sure shit gets done, and that is especially true when one of us gets hurt. Logan doesn’t fall apart during a crisis but don’t you dare suggest that means he doesn’t fucking care.”

Elliot is silent. Logan doesn’t know what—if anything—he should say. Virgil heaves a sigh and rakes a hand through his long bangs. “I mean, shit. Look, I know today has been a lot. The past two hours have been a lot. And you haven’t been with us very long. But if you don’t know anything about our Captain, know this: Logan speaks how he cares in his actions. All you have to do is pay attention.”

Logan blinks. He forgot sometimes how closely Virgil watched other people, including himself. He’d noticed it in the beginning when Virgil had first joined, but Virgil had mostly dismissed it and said it was an “anxiety thing”. Logan didn’t know that he believed that, but over time, Virgil’s steady, watchful gaze had become less unsettling and more comforting. Until Logan forgot entirely just how much Virgil paid attention to the people around him.

Elliot sighs. They don’t look up, but Logan hears their words regardless. “I’m sorry, Captain. I was… unfair.”

“It’s understandable,” Logan replies, surprised at being suddenly addressed. His mind is still reeling. Too full of information that is racing through his mind to fully process the argument that just ensued.  “Take a breath, Elliot. Get some rest.”

“I…” Elliot looks like they want to argue, but they seem to change their mind. They stand up and look to Virgil. “Are… you good?”

Virgil glances at them, and something softens in his expression. “Yeah, kid. I’m good here.”

Elliot nods absently, then disappears through the cockpit doors. Virgil glances over his shoulder at Logan. “You should get some rest too, Captain.”

“I’m fine.”

Virgil sighs. He doesn’t press him.

…

Days go by. Patton manages to get Roman to stable vitals and Logan thinks he can hear the collective sigh of relief across the ship when the announcement comes over the staticky intercom. But Roman doesn’t wake up, and Patton tells them that he isn’t sure when—or if—it’ll happen. Logan spends most of these days in the med bay, doing what he can with his scientific knowledge to assist Patton’s tests on the toxin. Kai joins them for short periods of time, putting his knowledge of weapons and tech to some use in the long hours.

They manage to come up with an antidote somewhere around what would be a little past two in the morning Earth-time of the second day. It cleanses Roman’s system of the poison, but damage had been done. It was difficult to ascertain exactly how much.

Logan doesn’t sleep much. He thinks Patton notices, but whenever the doctor tries to bring it up, Logan shrugs him off. His usually rigid circadian schedule had been disrupted by bad dreams that echo with Sloane’s pale face and Elliot’s shaking hands and Roman’s strained words. The last words he’d gotten out. I’m not worth—and every time, Logan wakes up before Roman can finish the thought. So Logan gets enough sleep to function, and he spends the rest of his time in the med bay and around the ship making himself useful.

All the crew find time to stop in on occasion as the days press forward. Virgil and Elliot take shifts. Picani makes sure that Patton and Logan are eating, and sometimes sits and talks to Roman’s unconscious form. Patton does that too—talk to him. Whenever he gives Logan an update with a new chart read out, he speaks as if Roman can hear him.

When Logan eventually asks him about it—if he thinks Roman can hear them—Patton lifts a shoulder and replies, “I don’t know. I hope so. And it helps me to talk to him anyway, y’know?”

Logan tries it when Patton goes to bed that night. He sits in the chair that Remy had grabbed and set beside Roman earlier that day and listens to the way the silence of the ship at this hour seems to echo against the old metal walls and bracing. Foster had been quieter in general in the past several days. Less laughter. Less teasing. Less… vibrant.

“That’s your fault, you know,” Logan says quietly, looking at Roman. “As much as I always complain about your insufferable noise level, I’ll admit I had grown… accustomed to it.”

Roman’s face is still startlingly pale, but it had lost the sickly sheen of sweat. He breathes evenly. Regularly. Logan listens to it for a moment, grateful that it at least wasn’t the shaking, shallow wheezes it had been on Vannaheim. The black-and-green stain on Roman’s skin had mostly faded. He’d have a scar, Patton said, on his waist where the initial hit happened. But the rest of it should go back to normal in a day or two.

“Now the quiet just seems…” Logan sighs. He listens again as the ship groans. “It seems heavy. Though you’d probably mock me for the use of the chremamorphism. Ordinarily, I’d qualify it with literal or figurative, as I know that silence cannot carry a physical weight, but…” Logan breaks off. It feels like a literal weight, hanging over the ship like a fog and darkening the iron walls. Weighing on the shoulders of those who move within the space.

Logan sighs. Scrubs a hand across his eyes under his glasses with exhaustion. “There’s something that has been bothering me, Roman. Something that I need to say to you.”

Logan leans forward. Bows his head. “You tried to tell me that you weren’t worth the risk of getting you to safety. Which is, honestly, bullshit. I don’t leave my people behind, Roman. You, of all people, should know that. And you… you shouldn’t have taken that shot. That was meant for me.”

Logan wonders, now that he’s said it aloud, if the weight on his shoulders from the silence is really the weight of his own guilt. Poised over his head like a pendulum on the verge of snapping.

Bearing Roman’s weight on Vannaheim had not felt this heavy. Logan realizes suddenly that his hands are shaking. He clasps them together in front of him between his knees.

“I’m the Captain,” Logan says. “It’s my job to keep you all safe, and I let you down. That’s on me. And… I am sorry, Roman. I am sorry for my shortcomings as a leader and as a friend. Because if you felt unworthy of being saved, I’m afraid I have failed in both responsibilities.”

A voice from the door to the med bay startles Logan. “It isn’t your fault, L.”

Logan looks over his shoulder towards the sound and finds Virgil leaning against the entry way. Logan blinks in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the doors open. Virgil just watches him with a quiet, unwavering gaze, even if there’s something a little softer in his eyes than Logan is used to seeing.

“Virgil,” Logan greets, pushing his glasses further up his nose and standing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Virgil shrugs a shoulder, glancing to Roman. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check in on Princey.” He pauses, his gaze flickering back to Logan. “And you, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“He doesn’t blame you for what happened,” Virgil says, stepping further into the medical bay and letting the doors swish shut behind him. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his purple plaid-patched hoodie.

Logan shakes his head. “But I do. I should have been more vigilant.”

“Weren’t you the one who taught me that dealing with ‘I should have’ is a dangerous and unproductive thought pattern?”

Logan hesitates. He can’t argue with that. He remembers the conversation from years ago. “Roman shouldn’t have been put into that situation.”

“He did it to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“But—”

“Logan,” Virgil cuts in, tossing his hands up in exasperation, “All of us? On this ship? We’re a family. You didn’t ask for that, but it happened. You are not the only one who cares about other people on this ship.”

“I know that.”

“Then know that any one of us would do what Roman would do if meant protecting you. We look out for each other.” Behind him, the door swishes open again but Virgil doesn’t even turn around. “We protect one another. All of us. You protect us, we protect you. That’s how this shit works.”

Patton steps into the med bay in a cat onesie. His pajamas. He pads quietly into the room, tugging the hood off his head. “Virgil’s right, Cap. We’re a family here. Like it or lump it.”

“And while this may be your ship,” Virgil says as Patton crosses to the monitors on the wall. “We don’t plan to go anywhere any time soon. You’re stuck with us.”

Despite himself, Logan cracks a faint smile.

“Yeah,” croaks a voice from the gatch bed that makes Logan whirl around. “Couldn’t get rid of us if ya tried, Cap.”

Roman’s eyes are open and glinting with something that Logan can’t quite decipher in the dark. Amusement, but something softer too. Patton gasps and rushes over, helping Roman sit up a bit more and grabbing the glass of water with a straw that he’d been refreshing each day for this very event. Roman takes a grateful sip and leans his head against Patton in silent gratitude. Patton smooths his hair with a gentle pat before helping Roman lean back in the bed again.

“How do you feel?” Virgil asks.

“Like I was shot.”

Virgil snorts.

Patton asks him a series of questions that are a bit more pointed—“Any dizziness, Roman? Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are? Are you feeling nauseous?”—and adjusts some of the machines to accommodate for an awake patient. Roman is a bit slow with his answers, and a bit slower still for the orienting ones, but he answers them accurately and cracks a few jokes in the meantime, and Logan just watches, feeling some of the tightness in his chest ease a bit.

When Patton makes a joke and the ship hears Roman’s laughter for the first time in almost a week, Logan thinks maybe he’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.

 ...

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t

[thekadster]

santa fe (prologue) (a newsies songfic)

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types)

Word Count: 1,975

Trigger Warnings: None!

❝He yelped as his foot slipped off the ladder, one of his hands luckily grabbing hold of a metal rail. Jack quickly rushed to him and pulled up his arms. “You wanna bust your other leg too?!”

“No, I wanna go down!” cried Crutchie.

“You’ll be down there soon enough! Take a moment!” replied Jack. “Drink in my “penthouse”, high above the stinkin’ streets of New York.”❞

also read it on ao3!

Crutchie didn’t know what time it was when he woke up. Was it two, three, four in the morning? He didn't know, and it didn't matter. Even if the sky was definitely still dark, he stood up from his blanket, shaking away the heavy weight of sleep. He put on his vest and his cap.

“Hey- where you goin’?” a voice softly called. “The mornin’ bell ain’t rung yet; go back to sleep.”

Crutchie looked down and found familiar eyes sleepily squinting up at him. “I wanna beat the other fellas to the street,” he replied, straightening his collar. He glanced at his crutch that stood in the corner. “I don’t want anyone should see I, uh, ain’t been walkin’ so good.”

“Oh, quit gripin’,” the voice groaned, gathering a few papers scattered around the floor. “You know how many fellas fake a limp for sympathy, right? That bum leg a’ yours is a goldmine.”

Crutchie sat down at the entrance of the fire escape, legs dangling off the edge. “Well, if someone gets the idea I can’t make it on my own, they’ll lock me up in the Refuge, for good,” he said. “Be a pal, Jack; help me down-”

He yelped as his foot slipped off the ladder, one of his hands luckily grabbing hold of a metal rail. Jack quickly rushed to him and pulled up his arms. “You wanna bust your other leg too?!”

“No, I wanna go down!” cried Crutchie.

“You’ll be down there soon enough! Take a moment!” replied Jack. “Drink in my “penthouse”, high above the stinkin’ streets of New York.”

Crutchie chuckled as he stood up. “You’re crazy.”

“What, ‘cause I like a breath a’ fresh air? ‘Cause I like seein’ the sky and the stars?”

“You’re seein’ stars, alright.”

Jack leaned on the railing and looked out into the early-morning city. There were hundreds of buildings, probably thousands, if he counted. It was a magnificent skyline he knew well, and yet it was one that he was getting rather tired of.

“Them streets down there sucked the life outta my old man,” he sighed. “Years of rotten jobs, stomped on by bosses…And when they finally broke him, they tossed him to the curb just like yesterday’s paper. But’cha know what? They ain’t doin’ that to me.”

Crutchie paused, watching his best friend’s downcast eyes. Jack never talked much about his folks, and when he did, it was only between the two of them. “And yet everyone wants to come here.”

“New York’s fine for those who got a big, strong door to lock it out,” he responded, shaking his head. “But I tell ya, Crutchie - there’s a whole other way out there, somewhere that ain’t like this.”

His eyes were distant for a brief moment. “Y’know, my old man always wanted to go to Santa Fe."

“Your dad?” asked Crutchie.

Jack nodded. “He wanted to take us there, me and my Ma; wanted us to start new out west.”

“You been there before?”

“Nah,” replied Jack. “He probably heard about it in the papes or somethin’, but he always said it was real sweet.”

He pulled out a folded postcard from his pocket. The edges were slightly worn away with time, but the picture in the middle was still clear. Crutchie leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at it, but Jack quickly pulled it away.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

Crutchie gave him a look. “What?”

Jack repeated the phrase. “Why?” Crutchie tried snatching the postcard from his hands, but Jack already shoved it into his pocket.

“Just do it!”

“Why?”

“I want you to see it,” replied Jack.

“Then gimme the postcard!” exclaimed Crutchie.

“It’s just a piece a’ paper!” he explained. “I wantcha to see it. Really see it.”

Crutchie stared at him strangely. He still didn’t understand what the other boy meant, but he figured that the conversation wasn’t going to get any further if he didn’t comply. He rolled his eyes and smirked. “Fine, fine.”

“No peekin’,” Jack added.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

When Crutchie didn’t flinch when Jack waved a hand in front of his face, he knew that his eyes were shut tight. Jack put a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay so,” he began. “Imagine a place, somewhere that ain’t like New York. Imagine a city made of clay, but there ain’t no tall buildings like what we got. A place that’s clean and green and pretty, where there’s clean air and deserts and mountains. At night, you can see the stars, but it ain’t just a handful; there’s thousands of ‘em! Thousands! You don’t even have’ta go up high; you just walk out into town, and there they are.”

A smile began to creep on Crutchie’s face. Jack carried on.

“Nobody’s out hawkin’ papes,” continued Jack. “You can see people plantin’ crops, splittin’ rails, even swappin’ tales around a fire. Oh, ‘cept for Sunday, ‘cause nobody’s up workin’.”

“Nobody?” asked Crutchie. “Nobody works on Sundays?”

“Yeah!”

“Then what do ya do if you ain’t workin’?”

Jack paused. “Nothin’,” he said.

Crutchie raised his eyebrows. “Nothin’?”

“Yeah,” replied Jack, grinning. “You just lie around all day, I guess. Do whatever ya want.”

Crutchie’s smile began to grow. “And?”

“Oh, and the folks there are real great, too,” Jack added. “As soon as ya get there, everybody’s smilin’ and happy. It don’t matter who you are or where you came from; they’re gonna take you in like you’s one of them. Soon, your friends are more like family, and they’s gonna be beggin’ you to stay.”

They took a moment, drinking in visions of a place that was so different from where they were. For them, it sounded like a dream, like something straight out of a storybook. But as Jack spoke, his wonderful words soared on the chill breeze that rushed by. It was almost like Crutchie could walk through a door in his mind and step into that sunny desert town. It was almost like he was there.

Crutchie opened his eyes, noticing Jack’s long silence. His gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the inky horizon. Amidst the silence that stretched between them, Crutchie could feel the deep, far-off longing that filled his best friend’s eyes, the aching for something greater than the life that he led. It was something that he rarely saw from him, let alone from anyone he’d ever met, but that didn’t make it any less real.

“You got folks there?” he asked, finding his voice.

“Pssh, ain’t got no folks nowhere,” answered Jack, pulled from his trance. “You?”

Crutchie stopped, then turned to the other boy. “I don’t need folks,” he said, gently punching his shoulder. “I got friends.”

Jack felt a warm smile creep on his face and a warmer feeling form in his chest. He turned to look at Crutchie. “Hey, how’s about you come with me? No one cares about no gimp leg in Santa Fe! You just hop a palomino, you’re ridin’ in style!” he excitedly spoke.

Crutchie giggled as Jack playfully galloped like a horse. “Pfff, yeah - feature me, ridin’ in style,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I bet a few months of clean air, and you could toss that crutch for good!”

Crutchie’s face lit up at those words, words he never thought he’d ever hear. “Really?”

“Really, kid!” Jack exclaimed.

The grin on Jack’s face was almost enough to make Crutchie forget that he couldn’t walk on his own two feet. He exhaled, half-laughing in disbelief. “Imagine that…”

Those words, that promise - it echoed in Crutchie’s head for miles. He wasn’t sure if such a thing was possible, but the way Jack spoke about it was more than enough to prove that it was. Never had he smiled so wide when talking about anything else. Never had he talked about anything else with such joy, with such passion, with such hope.

Crutchie knew that people had dreams. Every single man, woman, and child on the street had them. But dreams don’t always come true, he realized. No matter how many pennies you’d throw into a well, no matter how many shooting stars you’d wish upon; no matter how optimistic Crutchie had always hoped to be, he knew that some things just aren’t meant to happen.

Jack looked at him, who leaned forward on the rails. There was no discernable emotion on his face and his eyes now had grown distant. “You okay, Crutch?” he whispered.

The other boy hummed in response, though it sounded like his mind was elsewhere. Jack followed his gaze, ending up at one tiny dot in the early morning sky. “You lookin’ at the stars?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Crutchie.

“Whaddaya see?”

He paused. “I’m wishin’.”

“For what?”

Crutchie took a few breaths, watching the small, flickering light. There were thousands of them out west. “Jack, if ya don’t mind me askin’,” he spoke, quickly changing the subject. “Whatcha said, is it true?”

Jack blinked. “What I said about what?”

“About Santa Fe, that it can fix my leg.”

He paused. “Well, yeah, it’s true,” he nodded. “Why?”

Crutchie looked down and shook his head. “I just wanna make sure that this is real.”

Jack silently stared at his best friend. As much as he always tried to look on the bright side of things, Crutchie wasn’t one to ignore the present. Neither of them were. In reality, they were just two kids living on the street; just specs of dust in the ever-changing world that was New York City. This town was the kind that can beat you to the ground and drain even the happiest people of their last ounce of light. There were even times when they saw it happen firsthand.

And so, Jack vowed to himself that, for as long as he could, he would never let that happen. Not to him, not to his newsies, and especially not to Crutchie.

“Hey,” he spoke, giving a gentle look. “When I leave, you’s comin’ with me, alright? You and me, we’re gonna get on that train and leave this town together. We’s a family, Crutch. We're brothers, and I ain’t never gonna letcha down. You know that, right, knucklehead?”

Crutchie chuckled as Jack ruffled his hair. "Ain't nothin' happenin' to you, as long as I'm around."

"Me too," added Crutchie. "I know I ain't much of a fighter like you or the fellas, but I's gonna watch your back as best I can."

Jack's heart softened. He smiled sincerely. "You's a strong kid, Crutch; as strong as me or anyone else. Probably more."

Crutchie grinned at his brother, his brother with whom he'd just made a lifelong promise. A new hope began gleaming in his eyes. “Who’s gonna take care of the newsies when you’re gone?”

“Probably Race,” replied Jack.

Crutchie smirked. “You’re givin’ Manhattan over to him?”

"He's my second; he’ll be fine." Jack cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. "But if he don't square up, I'm gonna ‘ave to teach him a lesson or two."

Crutchie's eyes grew wide. After a few silent seconds, Jack couldn't hold his composure any longer and the two burst out into laughter. For a moment, they didn't have to worry about the world below or whether they'd make enough money to eat. For a moment, the two of them could just be kids.

Their laughter died down and they grinned at each other. Their conversation was interrupted by a distant, resounding chime that echoed off the city's brick walls. The morning bell.

“Time for dreamin’s done, eh?” Jack happily sighed, and Crutchie nodded. He grabbed his shirt and leaned over the railing of the fire escape, yelling to his boys down below. “Hey, Specs! Racer! Henry! Albert! Elmer! Get a move on - them papes don’t sell themselves!”

[libermachinae]

Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part II: Breathe - Chapter 6: Just Another One

Also available on AO3! Chapter Summary: Ratchet and Rodimus embark. Word Count: 5096

---

They could have left the last stage of planetbreak to autopilot, but Ratchet kept his hands wrapped around the yoke. If there was damage the shuttle’s sensors had missed, he said, better to have someone sentient piloting. Rodimus nodded along with his logic, like he hadn’t been aware the moment Ratchet decided he would do everything in his power to distract himself from… all this.

Rodimus had little room to feel offended. He was trying to dd the same, exploring the shuttle’s interface while background threads worked through anything he might have forgotten in their haste to leave. He hadn’t gotten around to telling the engineers about the ominous blinking panel in engine room 3, and he’d neglected to pick a replacement judge for the upcoming karaoke contest. His consciousness slipped between these background thoughts and exploration and Ratchet’s piloting, both of them trying so hard not to acknowledge the other than they jumped when the alarm went off.

“Frag.”

Rodimus grabbed for controls that failed to materialize in front of him.

“What?” he demanded, looking to the monitors for an incoming projectile despite the answer pooling in his mind.

“Haven’t reached exit velocity,” Ratchet said, punching commands into the console with one hand firm on the yoke. “Forgot how much power it takes to get these old war rigs moving. I’m adjusting the flightpath to buy us time to build momentum.” The alarm stopped. “There.”

Ratchet’s words were echoes of his thoughts, old knowledge by the time they reached Rodimus’ audials. Ratchet didn’t know how to fix that problem. Rodimus hadn’t realized it was a problem. Conversations between them were already a challenge, to add this new dimension was—

They were thinking about each other’s thoughts again. Rodimus rapidly shifted between menu options until the flashing light dragged him back out of his head.

“This sucks,” he said.

Ratchet grunted. He couldn’t keep up with all of Rodimus’ thoughts at once, and even hanging onto one was a strain, so he was trying to create hard divides between them. Right now, he was generating a list of all the medical supplies one could expect to find on a ship this size, basing it on a combination of Autobot guidelines and the kinds of repairs he had seen on POWs. Rodimus’ processor tried to latch on, but the thick jargon kept him slipping off, back to exploring the workings of their new home.

No, was home not the right word? The place they were living? Where they were captive? Their cosmic questing raft? The Decepticraft? The Drifter?

Ratchet withdrew the tracker from his subspace, ignoring the way plinking ideas sunk into his thoughts like lead nuggets into molten cadmium. Autobot and Decepticon tech was not designed to be compatible, but he had performed enough surgeries with parts scavenged from the battlefield to know how to jury rig the connection. As he pulled out a small utility knife, he thought sadly of the universal adapter he had stashed with the rest of his medical supplies, all of it now sailing away to parts unknown. Though he would knock a dent into Arcee if they ever caught up to her, he did hope his kit was getting put to use.

Rodimus wondered how long Ratchet had been preparing for his trip, when the planning had started (at the vote? Overlord?), how he could have missed it. Ratchet recoiled from the blunt curiosity and his list fell apart, dumped out of short term memory as his processor scrambled to pull up the answers to Rodimus’ questions.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Just—stop,” Ratchet said, waving at Rodimus like he could dispel the corrosive thoughts with a gesture.

How do I stop? Does it hurt? You’re so quiet? Are you okay? Does it hurt? What do I do? Rodimus had never had reason to stop his processor before, and the effort of trying to now was making it worse.

Ratchet, though, had a lifetime’s experience forcing himself to focus in stressful situations. He stopped responding to Rodimus’ questions, and the thoughts that did come through were focused entirely on his hands as he stripped down the tracker’s cable. Once a physical connection had been established, he would need to register the tracker as a pilot in the navicomp, then reroute the transceivers in the shuttle’s communications array to increase their range.

His calm confidence guided Rodimus’ focus. The stream of questions would not abate, but they were no longer provoked from panic, nor did they interrupt Ratchet’s process.

Will it accept an Autobot ident?

Some even turned out to be helpful.

“Probably not,” Ratchet said, their connection helping Rodimus pinpoint which of his thoughts Ratchet was responding to. “Not a problem, I can just program a new one… dammit.”

The computer flashed red: outdated codes.

“Who was stationed on this ship they would bother updating their security?” Ratchet wondered aloud, his processor trying to piece together a workaround simpler than taking apart the entire navigation system.

Rodimus hesitated, but Ratchet caught it, so there was no point to staying quiet.

“Prowl passed me some intel before we left,” he said.

“Hm.” Ratchet’s thoughts turned sharp, a phantom pain that caused Rodimus to wince.

“Codes,” he said. “Just in case.”

He hadn’t asked where Prowl had gotten them, though Ratchet’s imagination filled in the gaps. Instead, Rodimus had been doing his best to appear professional and capable before Optimus’ infamous adviser. Prowl’s optics could not bother to emote for how unimpressed he was. That Rodimus had assumed this meeting concerning “galactic relations” would be about culture clash with their closest neighbors had not helped his image.

He had nearly run out of the office when Ultra Magnus commed to say he was actually late for another meeting, stopped only by the datapad forced his way.

“A few precautions,” Prowl had called it. Rodimus downloaded the files and stored them among the events on Kimia, tech specs for the waste disposal system, and other things he could willingly not think about.

Ratchet’s hand, poised over the keyboard, clenched and shook itself out.

“I hope you ran a virus scan on that thing before you plugged it into yourself,” he said, doing a commendable job not bringing up everything this subject of conversation was making him think about.

“No, but I passed it through my antivirals.” And it didn’t feel like Prowl was remote controlling him from the opposite side of the galaxy. He doubted Prowl had the processing capacity to pilot him through multiple rounds of volcanic derby racing, for one.

“Here.” Ratchet retrieved his portable med kit from his subspace and set it on his lap. The lists were moving back in: everything he’d lost versus what he had to work with now. Rodimus found himself sobered and accepted the antiviral chip when it was passed to him. “Load this and run another scan. You might experience a few seconds lag or disorientation; just ride it out and let the chip do its job.” A few very rare cases experienced sensory inversion, but longterm effects were uncommon enough Ratchet wouldn’t bother to mention them.

Rodimus cracked a grin as he popped open a port cover and inserted the chip. He grimaced as he installed the program—invasive medical programs were rarely comfortable to integrate—then ran Prowl’s files through it.

So, there had been a tracking signal that Rodimus’ programs had failed to uncover, but once that had been snipped out the rest were deemed safe. Rodimus tightbeamed the data to Ratchet who used it to finish building their fake Decepticon and finally got through. ‘Galeforce’ finished integrating the tracker and set the system to start searching for Drift’s signal.

“Thanks,��� Ratchet said, a longer pause than normal between thinking the word and saying it out loud. Internal distractions compounded and inevitably led them to crashing into each other, so maybe talking would redirect enough of their attention to stop the spiraling before it could start.

Rodimus chanced a glance at him but could not catch his optic; he was still focused on the controls.

“No problem,” he said. Drift had once wasted a full off-shift failing to teach him how to meditate. The problem had not been Drift’s teaching: it was all Rodimus and his inability to let a thought go once it manifested. It was like they stuck him, coils of barbed wire wrapped round and around, each pinprick demanding his attention and—”How far is it to the outer rim?”

“Depends where we’re going, and if Drift’s on the move,” Ratchet said. The screen of the navicomp blinked, a pinwheel replacing the previous screen. “Might find somewhere to get comfortable. This part’s been known to go for a few hours.”

“Hours?” Rodimus repeated. Anything that could have once been considered comfortable was covered in junk. The captain’s chair had belonged to Ratchet before they had taken off, and the flight deck chairs were too abandoned to feel secure.

“The transceiver on Drift’s speeder isn’t strong enough to send a direct signal,” Ratchet said. “It’s going to have to bounce between Galactic Council transmission planets a bit before it makes it back here.” Assuming Drift had strayed close enough for one to grab his signal. From what Ratchet understood, though, they were almost impossible to avoid these days. “Whatever we get’s going to be a few days old, but it’s a start.”

Rodimus’ processor drew up a cartoonish map, a dotted line zigzagging between planets to show the path Drift’s signal would take. He recoiled from under Ratchet’s scrutiny, but all his haste could add was a backdrop of randomized stars.

“While we’re waiting, I’ve got us on course to slingshot around Scarvix’s star,” Ratchet went on. A note of surprise: Rodimus’ stress had caused his own cables to tense. “By the time the tracker gets us some coordinates, we should be ready to… This isn’t helping.”

Rodimus was distressed and Ratchet was spiraling. How were they going to make it all the way to the outer rim? What would they do if Drift had nothing for them? Refused to help? Rodimus couldn’t keep tying himself in knots, nor could he endure the sting every time Ratchet anguished over a possible future trapped together.

“I distract myself.” Rodimus forced his voice through the fog.

“How?” Ratchet was gripping the edge of the captain’s seat, squeezing until the hard edge reminded him which body was his.

“A lot of things work: racing, fight,” Rodimus said. “Anything that could get me out of my head for a few minutes.”

Meteor surfing, free all skydiving, asteroid spelunking. Any activity that teased the edge of mortality (crafting a spectacle was a bonus) was fair game. The rush of knowing he was solely responsible for the continued light of his spark never failed to wipe his mind of the stress of everything else.

Ratchet could not relate. Nor could he imagine how they were going to fit a racetrack into a ship just a bit larger than Swerve’s. Sparring might have been an option, were it not for the fact that every step risked tripping and landing face first on something volatile.

The idea hit Rodimus and he groaned.

“What about—cleaning?” Ratchet gestured around them. “I don’t want to put up with this chaos for longer than I have to.”

And there was something nostalgic about it. After the destruction of his Rodion clinic, Ratchet started practicing performative minimalism; anything of purely sentimental value had to be kept on his person, out of harm’s way. Prior to that, his offices had been littered with evidence of a life lived mostly within their walls: chickenscratch notes immediately forgotten, used energon cubes, and fond mementos from old friends he would get around to calling one of these days, for sure. Over days and weeks it would pile up, until he was using his lap as a desk and had no choice but to sweep it all back into a configuration resembling tidiness.

Rodimus balked at Ratchet’s fondness of those memories. Cleaning for him was performed on hands and knees, tips of steel wool sticking into his finish as he worked rust out of wash rack corners. Back and forth over the same spot, over and over and over, until boredom pressed down like it intended him to become one with the floor.

“Punishment detail,” he said, though Ratchet had already guessed.

During the war he had bounced between barracks and military vessels, plugging into recharge docks still warm from their last occupant. How could he ever take pride over a cleaned room when neither the space nor the mess belonged to him? He had tried to improve his habits upon moving into the Lost Light, but there were reasons Ultra Magnus refused to meet him at his hab suite.

“It’s not just about the space,” Ratchet said. “It’s an emotional reset. When you have time to clean, it means the fighting’s over for now.” Ratchet’s memories had lost hold of entire days stationed in field hospitals, brought back only as he had wiped down his instruments and organized his remaining supplies. Rubbing cleanser deep into his joints to free them of the day’s residue was one small kindness he could afford himself.

Rodimus shrugged and twisted in the seat so he could rest his chin on the back of it. He scanned the room. It certainly looked like a fight had gone through.

“Right.” Ratchet did one better than him and stood up. “You’ve got decent knees, so you can start by hauling those shelves back into place.”

“Decent knees?” Rodimus repeated, allowing himself to crack a grin. He shoved himself from the chair and wandered out into the swamp, tripping once as he felt something snap under his heel. “Old joint all worn out, doc?”

“Just got them replaced,” Ratchet corrected, “and I’d rather not break them in on a mess that wasn’t even my fault.” First Aid would let him have it, and he was already due for a tongue lashing whenever they got back to the Lost Light. “This can be your penance.”

“Penance.” Rodimus laughed through the word, though he was already maneuvering around the shelves in question, trying to guess which end would be easiest to lift from given the state of the floor around them. “Right, because I’m the one who put you on this ship in the first place.” Neither would have been out here if Ratchet had just asked to go get Drift.

Nor if Rodimus had gone first—not sent him away—prevented Overlord—

“Here,” Ratchet said, clearing some of the space Rodimus had been tiptoeing around. “Let’s start with this.”

They started together, Ratchet picking through whatever was in Rodimus’ way as he heaved the shelves upright, but their tasks caused them to drift apart, Ratchet sorting through his findings while Rodimus shoved the room back into a semblance of order. He drifted into a rhythm of lifting and pushing, occasionally grunting with the effort of returning the room to its previous state. This plan was derailed almost immediately: he’d had other things on his mind when he first rushed onto the bridge, and the placement of the various shelves and crates had missed his attention entirely. Even Ratchet’s memory of the layout was imperfect.

So, he got creative with it, using the shelves to form a divider between the cockpit and what would have been the command zone. He used the crates to fill in the gaps and form uneven benches along the walls, and as he took to shoving the broken pieces and miscellaneous ends into piles, the bridge started to take the shape of a living space. Ratchet, glancing up from his work only to remind Rodimus not to lift with his back, had no complaints about the design choices.

He spoke up again when Rodimus paused before one of the larger crates, considering it carefully.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he said, “but I doubt you’re the first to have it. Why would the Cons waste space with chairs when they’re already tripping over storage cubes?”

“You can’t relax sitting on a block,” Rodimus said, although, he reflected, that was likely the point.

In the end, he settled for placing a couple smaller cubes on either side of the makeshift table, almost adding a third before he thought better of it and slotted it into a space on the wall, finally covering up the loosened panel from which red light continued to trickle. His cables relaxed and he became aware that he had been hearing a buzz (a melody?) in the back of his processor ever since the flare. The silence that swept in to fill the space was just as loud, but slightly less grating.

His optics swept the room; still chaotic, according to Ratchet, but Rodimus thought it was gaining a shape. Noticing that he had accidentally blocked the door at the back of the bridge, he went to clear it, and was surprised when it didn’t open automatically for him, nor did he see a control pad.

“Ident sensor,” Ratchet said. He had noticed it built into the upper frame of the door.

“What, more secret tech stashed back there?” Rodimus asked. Both their minds bloomed with possibilities, but Ratchet shut them down.

“Recharge docks, more likely,” he said. “We had similar systems on some of the larger warships. Kept bots to their assigned off-shifts.” On one occasion, a superior officer had tried to use the same tactic to lock Ratchet out of his medbay when he was supposed to be recharging. After the public fallout settled, no one else dared to try it. “I can rig up our transceivers with a couple more facsimiles, soon as I’m finished here.”

Rodimus grinned and waved up at the sensor. He thought he could feel a brush of radiation as it scanned him, but Ratchet rebuffed the notion; it wasn’t nearly that powerful.

If that was true, what was to stop the Decepticons from lacing their ships with invisible observation devices? What if it had already discovered the intruders and was sending alerts straight to the DJD who were—

Fifteen pounds titanium alloys, ten pounds compressed carbon, eighty pounds halogen…

Ratchet’s thoughts were calm, regular, and purposeful enough for Rodimus to latch on. He glanced around again. He could start clearing the stairs. Or sweeping up glass. He could create a designated pile of useful equipment, or check that all the navigation terminals were in working order, or perform a quick security sweep. So many options. So many ways to prove that he was taking this seriously and was ready to work to stay out of Ratchet’s way.

“Come here, Rodimus.”

Of course, thinking about his options accomplished none of them. Aware he would continue wasting time if left to his own devices, he complied, plopping down in front of Ratchet. He landed in a relaxed sprawl, his position calculated down to the bend of his fingers.

Ratchet glanced up to him, thoughts of energon stock briefly set aside.

“Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to those meditation lessons,” he said.

“Told you, it didn’t work.” Never mind that he hadn’t said that part out loud; it was the defining feature of that memory. Drift had tried so hard, patiently explaining each step and troubleshooting when Rodimus struggled. They had tried different techniques, positions, even locations, and at every one, Rodimus’ thoughts had caught up to him and refused to be ignored. And every time, Drift had nodded with gentle understanding and suggested something new to try.

Because that was who Drift was: patient, calm, nonjudgmental. A forged mentor.

Ratchet’s thoughts hit him like acid rain.

“Did you know your ‘best friend’ at all?”

Of course he did, he wanted to say. All the important bits! Like that he was more regimented than Magnus when it came to his refueling schedule: one cube at the start of duty shift, and one at off-shift, every single cycle. That with his years brought experience untold, solutions and advice always at the ready. That Drift had been, and still was, extremely dangerous.

But when he dove inward to find these answers, he discovered something else: another Drift, sharp, with tattered, ill-defined edges that nonetheless drew and intimidating silhouette. This Drift was cloaked not in radiant light, but wrapped himself in darkness like a shawl, and when he tried to speak it was in many voices, none of which Rodimus recognized.

“Real friends don’t worship the ground you walk on,” Ratchet was saying. “I know your perception’s skewed since you think you have to live up to the very scratches in Optimus’ finish, but that behavior’s not healthy and it’s not normal. Drift is a real person, not some sort of—of fantasy fulfillment for you to drain until your hero complex is satisfied.”

Impatient, masking over constant stress, deeply critical of everyone but wrestling with his own failings: the other Drift’s hand appeared not with a sword, but a gun.

“I’m sorry.”

And vanished.

Ratchet released his death grip on an energon cube and set it aside.

“Not me you need to apologize to.”

“I know,” Rodimus said. “But you’re here, and it means something to you.”

“It doesn’t.” Ratchet’s lie was scratchy, like a frayed wire. “Drift’s made plenty of bad decisions in his life.” You’re just another one.

That’s not any of your business.

Habit kept them civil on the outside, but nothing, least of all self control, could stop them from thinking their truths. Drift had taken his post-war freedom and handed it straight to Rodimus, his dripping optimism like a fresh protoform faith. He had taken every dirty, demeaning job the Lost Light required of him, because he was good at them, because he wanted to help, because it was the only thing he knew how to do, because Rodimus had asked. Rodimus had taken advantage of, given an opportunity to, betrayed, saved, sacrificed—trying his best and couldn’t help that—

“Cleaning,” Ratchet said. ���Cleaning.”

It took Rodimus a second just to find his body, then remember the piles of cubes stacked between them.

“What?” he asked. Even with a mental warning, he startled at the cleaning rag that landed on him.

“Some of the cubes were damaged in the crash, but it’s impossible to tell which when they’re piled together like this,” Ratchet said. He picked one from the pile and nested it in his own rag, diligently wiping away the loose energon before he unwrapped it and held it to the light. “Clean ‘em and check for damage. Get a leaker, pour it into the can with the rest. We can feed them to the ship’s reserve cells.”

The flight time bought by even a full crate’s worth of cubes would be negligible, but that wasn’t the point. Rodimus took a cube off the top of the nearest pile, feeling along the buckled edges. Were it just his own head to deal with, it might have been enough, but Ratchet’s still burning fury would not be so easily shut off.

“He volunteered,” Rodimus said.

Had he? Ratchet hadn’t known that. Rather than calm him, though, the new information made the fire in his spark burn hotter.

“I’m not having this conversation,” he said.

The cube hit the floor with an unsatisfying thud and Rodimus stood up.

“Whatever.” He had a taste of grim satisfaction watching Ratchet freeze.

“Don’t—” Ratchet started, but Rodimus cut him off.

“I get it,” he said. “You hate me. I’m used to it. I get people hating me for who I am way before they find out all the slagged choices I’ve made. But when you’re—you—”

Ratchet was treating Drift like a drone, unable to make any choice beyond its core programming, and Rodimus the cruel engineer who delighted in watching it shock itself. Rodimus could take lashing Ratchet delivered, but objectifying Drift and calling it righteous was a step too far.

“Except that’s not what I’m saying,” Ratchet said. His voice was steady and he stayed seated; he did not try to chase Rodimus. “Of course Drift is self-sufficient. I’ve never doubted that. And I believe you that he volunteered, because it’s the exact kind of glitched plan he would come up with. But the world is bigger than you, Rodimus.”

He knew—

Drift pledging life and spark to a leader whose words struck a thousand furnaces. Cast through self-revolutions of building and breaking himself, each new face patterned after what the last one lacked. Fighting his way up an eroding cliff face of rejection, reaching out…

“It’s more than you,” Ratchet said. “Drift might have volunteered. But I’ve got to check your conductors for rust if you think he wanted to go.”

“I know, but…” If Drift wanted salvation, who was Rodimus to deny him?

“His friend, allegedly.” Though Ratchet seethed with the word, there was a hidden gentleness behind it. Drift needed friends.

Rodimus had never considered that. He knew Drift was not well liked among some Autobots, a target of suspicion if not outright hostility, but Rodimus had always seen him rise above it. Strong and steadfast and as confident in himself as he was, isolation seemed no weight on his struts.

“He’s just a bot like any other,” Ratchet said. Well. Not any other. Neither knew anyone quite like Drift. “He gets slagged ideas, too, and as you’re friend, you’re supposed to tell him that.”

Ratchet had never hesitated to tell Optimus when he was being an idiot. Not much good it had done them all in the end, but memories of yelling at the Prime while elbow-deep in his wiring helped break the tension that had crystallized between them.

“I messed up,” Rodimus said quietly.

Ratchet gestured to the floor on the other side of the cube pile.

“You did,” he said, shaking his head at Rodimus’ ripe disappointment. “What do you want me to do? Say you tried your best and forgive you? You’re right, Rodimus. Whatever your reasons for not acting sooner, Drift’s the one who has to deal with your consequences.”

“I’m scared,” Rodimus admitted as he took a seat again. He picked up the cube he had been checking before and looked it over: no leaks. He put it in the intact pile and retrieved the next. “I liked what we had before, and I’m scared Drift’s going to hate me now that his big sacrifice turned out to be for nothing.”

“What you had before wasn’t sustainable,” Ratchet said. He had moved back into his own rhythm, optics on his hands while he spoke to Rodimus. “Want to talk about objectifying? You treated Drift like a personal worshiper.”

Rodimus ducked his helm. It sucked to feel Ratchet’s scrutiny even without those fierce optics on him, but he knew it was deserved. It had just been so nice to feel appreciated for once. To have someone tell him, without disclaimer or exception, that he was good at something and could help people. Everyone else was always searching for his flaw; Drift had been the first to explore Rodimus with the intention to find his virtues. It was the praise Rodimus missed most, second only to the camaraderie, and even while acknowledging it was for the best, it still stung to know he couldn’t have that back.

Ratchet set down a cube and did not immediately reach for another one.

“I can’t make any guarantees about what Drift will do, but I think you would actually find friendship without aftkissing to be more rewarding,” he said.

But I liked that, Rodimus thought, to his horror. Ratchet rolled his optics.

I’m sure you did.

“Of course,” he said out loud. “And you never doubted it? Never once thought, ‘Hey, this level of devotion from a bot I haven’t shared three words with is a little weird’?”

No. But a few moments slipped in from Rodimus’ memories. When Drift told him about his affiliation ceremony, there were embers of a once blazing inferno glowing behind his optics, a side of the ex-Decepticon that Rodimus told himself was but a lingering echo. Drift had given up that kind of passion on his road to atonement. At least, Rodimus had convinced himself as much.

“He told you exactly what you wanted to hear, knowing you would fill in the gaps,” Ratchet said. “He is a survivalist.” And to have survived so much, only to once more find himself without a home or support was a mockery of justice and everything Ratchet had believed the Autobots stood for.

That was why he needed to leave.

“And you’re getting your new chance because of it,” he said. “You didn’t earn it, but you’re getting one anyway. And if you really meant that apology, you’ll do something different this time.”

Rodimus knew that, could internalize the idea, but when so much of what he did felt like an externally sourced script running of its own volition, he struggled to make it a guarantee. He could intend, with every fiber of every cable, to do better the second time around. But so often the pressure of potential disappointment became its own self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Well, so long as we’re stuck together, you won’t be alone,” Ratchet said. “I’ll be there. I won’t let you do that to him.”

“Okay,” Rodimus said. He had heard promises like that before, from bot who promised to support him only to turn tailpipe once they learned what that meant.

But now he could feel Ratchet’s resolve. Not to Rodimus, to whom his emotions were turbulent and untrustworthy, but to Drift and giving him what life would otherwise conspire to keep away. He thought Drift a fool for the role he had assigned himself at Rodimus’ side, but he would not deny him his agency if that was something he wanted to regain.

The navicomp beeped. They stood simultaneously and Ratchet moved back to the captain’s chair to inspect the screen.

“We’ve got a hit,” he said. “Vitreous.” An organic planet, according to the report. Neither of their databanks could produce any further information.

“A week?” Rodimus’ voice was tight as Ratchet scanned the details.

“Give or take,” he said. “If we need to refuel, that will add a couple days.”

“Sure.” Rodimus was trying very hard not to think about what a week of this would be like.

Ratchet was doing it enough for both of them.

[headcrabs-the-forbidden-hat]

A Deal With The Devil |G-Man/Gender-Neutral!Reader|

pairing: g-man (half life) x gender-neutral!reader 

(I tried to keep it gender-neutral, but you might get the occasional female pronouns; what can I say? I don’t edit my shit)

words: 2,661

warnings: unedited, mild cursing

summary: [y/n], after not having a good day, encounters a strange non-human man, but they aren’t as afraid as they are annoyed with him.

notes: wanted to jump into the g-man x reader bandwagon, and this idea has been plauging me since. enjoy!

During the nights when they can't sleep, [y/n] sits out on the rooftops and stares at the star-splattered sky. For every star their eyes isolate in the navy sky, they give it a name. Sometimes they give the stars names like Glados and Wheatley. Other times, the names the stars get are words, some unique like ethereal or onism. Most of the time, however, the names are just words depending on their mood.

And what a shitty mood they're in tonight.

Their eyes land on one star near the center of the sky. It's smaller than the surrounding stars, thus giving itself the name Inferior.

Bang!

Jumping in surprise, their eyes snap to the dark streets below. They see nothing—probably was an animal, they think in an attempt to calm their pounding heart—but they move away from the edge just in case. After having a terrible day, adding yet another incident with the Combine is not high on their "most wanted in life" list right now.

Their eyes move back to the white glowing dots in the sky, eyes searching until they stop on another star. This one is dim compared to the others; Unremarkable is the first word to come to mind. Pleased with the name, your eyes search the sky again. The mysterious banging forgotten—

Crash!

Okay, sounds like someone's breaking into a window. [y/n], despite her caution, moves to the edge of the rooftop. The breaking glass sounds close, but what if it's just an echo? Swallowing the rising fear in their throat, they back away from the edge. They make sure to grab their pistol as another "just in case" moment. Just in case someone breaks into shelter while they sleep.

The day was bad enough already, comes the thought, this might as well happen.

Just as they are about to climb down through the hole in the roof, a flash of blue catches their eye. They freeze, heart lurching to their throat. Then they turn around, eyes darting from each dark corner on the roof. Is someone here? they want to ask, which is stupid all on its own.

They stand there, frozen, as they continue to scour their rooftop and the other rooftops. Did Combine wear blue? No, they didn’t—they don’t have a stylish bone in their bodies. And all the commotion from earlier meant human, or a zombie, was doing something. 

But headcrab zombies aren’t blue, and they aren’t fast. And what would a human want with this place, anyway, in Combine Central?

They turn and stare down into the hole, and there it is again—the flash of blue. Well, not a flash, but they can see the blue. They squint their eyes, noticing half the outline of a shoulder with a pale hand holding . . . a briefcase?

Something about the sight seems . . . wrong. Why? 

They aim the pistol down, close enough to scare the person away if they pulled the trigger. “Who’s down there?” They ask, voice echoing throughout the abandoned building. 

They hear a faint moan from a zombie in the building over, but no response from the person. “Get out of there before I shoot you,” they warn. Still no response.

Then the person moved further into the darkness, shoulder and briefcase disappearing. 

[y/n] curses and inches closer to the edge. They knock back the hammer and stare into the gaping, black void of the crumbling building. Not seeing anything, not even a dark silhouette, they inch closer. The wood creaks, breaking the tense silence like a jackhammer against concrete. [y/n] holds their breath, praying the flooring keeps.

It breaks beneath their weight.

With a scream stuck in their throat, they can’t even think to brace for impact. The wind whips at their face and their eyes water at the intensity. They curl themselves into a fetal position and move their arms to cover their face. Nothing but darkness as they fall down, down . . . down . . . down.

Halting in the middle of a dark void, [y/n] stares agape at the dots moving past them. As if they were in a spaceship and turned on hyperdrive, though in slow motion. They uncurled from themselves. Their feet touch invisible ground and they straighten their spine. They spin around in bewilderment. Is this Heaven or what? 

Their eyes move from the passing specs of white and stare straight ahead, unable to wrap their mind around this . . . predicament. If they could even call it such a thing—they could be dead and now wait to face judgement.

Well then.

Then they notice two unmoving specs. They don’t dare step closer, unsure if the scene will vanish before their eyes again. They stare right into the white specs, unaware of them moving closer until a wrinkled face pops out into the light from an invisible light source. 

The bright white eyes dim into a human blue. The creature before them—that’s not human, it’s not human! her panicked thoughts blare—contorts its human face into a smug smile. Without breaking eye contact, [y/n] notices the blue suit the man-creature wears, though his briefcase is missing. They know, without a doubt, this thing was trying to get her attention earlier.

Why was he trying to get me to follow him?  

They raise their hand in an attempt to aim their pistol at them, but they lost the gun. Lost somewhere in this . . . void. Damn, it was my only one, too. 

Too unnerved to feel an ounce of hot embarrassment, [y/n] steadies their voice as they demand, “Who—what are you?”

“There are things far more important matters to discuss than who—or what—I am,” he says in this voice [y/n] can only describe as Twilight Zone-esque. Not too deep, not too light, but in between, with the odd emphasis on an occasional word. 

Though they’d never admit it in her wildest dreams, they found his voice enchanting. And I know I’m dead because of that thought. 

They keep their wary gaze on the man as he makes his way closer in a leisure, almost predatory pace. Holy Hell, he’s a giant. [y/n] cranes their neck to keep the unbreakable eye contact, heart pounding in their chest from the proximity. 

“Please tell me what’s important so I don’t stray from serious matters,” they ask in a mocking, deadpan tone. 

Before they can turn around, the man disappears. They frown, annoyance beginning to overtake their fear. If there’s one thing [y/n] hated more than the Combine, it was when people played cat-and-mouse games, or left them in suspense.

[y/n] does a full spin to catch the sight of his blue suit, but no luck. The moving dots mess with their head, giving them vertigo. They stumble back into something cold and immovable. A wall? But as they spin on their heel, the tall man stares down at them with glowing white eyes.

To show they’re not intimidated with his overall appearance and abilities, [y/n] sizes him up. They cannot stop the inappropriate thoughts springing in their mind. 

God Almighty, human or not, I’d flock to him like flies to honey—and I’m definitely going to Hell for that thought.

“You impress my employers, [y/n] [l/n].” Hearing those odd words, they raise an eyebrow. The man continues. “However, I am not quite as impressed.”

Their eyes narrow. “I didn’t realize I was working for your approval.” 

The man gives them an odd look, one that makes the hairs on their neck and arms stand in a—dare they admit it—a good way. He then claps his hands behind his back and circles around her in his predatory walk. “I’ve observed your behavior through various situations. Compared to others I’ve worked with, you are inferior. Your work is mediocre, and overall, unremarkable.”

“Tell me how you really feel, and please, don’t hold back.”

The man chuckles; [y/n] hates the tiny flutter in their chest as they hear it. “Not to mention your lackluster humor,” he adds to his ever-growing list of their wrongs.

They open their mouth to say their defense, but he turns around. The words falter on their tongue as a more sincere grin graces his wrinkled features. “But what if we could do better?”

All [y/n] manages out is a faint, “We?”

“You see, [y/n], my employers call on me to . . . nudge things from time to time, to get them moving towards a prospective future,” he says, stopping to face them. “And you are one of those things.”

They think his words over, but there’s a small voice in the back of their mind telling them no. They shake their head and say, “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

The man smirks as if he expected their response. His reaction irked, if not excited them. “What if I told you I can give you something you never thought you wanted before?”

“Then I’d tell you you’re full of shit,” comes their mindless answer.

He gives them a small, amused smile. Then a sudden white flash blinded [y/n]. Protecting their eyes, they cover their face with their arm and grit their teeth. The blinding light dims, then disappears. They remove their arm from their face, blinking through the black dots clotting their vision.

The man replaced the slow-moving black void with the environment of a small garage. Their eyes move across the workbench, cluttered with various tools and devices they don’t recognize, and to the shelves filled with the other unfamiliar gadgets. 

Then the door of the garage opens, and [y/n]’s eyes snap to the spot. They suck the air through their teeth in a silent gasp as their eyes land on themselves. Well, their future selves. [y/n] takes in their future and decides they don’t like what they see. 

Their future self is not . . . okay. Worse off than they are now. Skin as pale as the dead bodies littering the streets, protruding bones to give an ill appearance. And those eyes. There’s something about those eyes that are . . . of kilter, not right. Like someone tried to remake a replica of [y/n] but messed up somewhere in the process, giving a non-human look. 

Much like the man next to them when he disappears in the darkness and his eyes glow.

“I look . . . pretty much the same,” they lie—it seems like the right thing to do, not only for the man but for themselves.

Don’t let him know you see the cracks through this manipulation . . . whatever it is.

They watch the future them head over to the workbench. They pick up a hammer, and without paying attention, hit at their finger. Cursing, they toss the hammer to the corner and then stick their smarting fingers into their mouth in attempt to ease the throbbing pain. 

“And I pretty much act the same,” they add to their ever growing list of faults, frowning.

They turn and face the man. “I thought you were showing me the thing I never thought I wanted.” They say with a scowl, “Well? I’m waiting.”

His smug smile returns as he comments, “An impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

[y/n] snaps their face around so the man doesn’t see the blush creeping up their face.  

They continue watching themselves. Their future self walks away from the workbench with a similar scowl and towards a blank wall. Tilting their head, they watch as their future self flicks their wrist towards the wall. A black, liquid-looking circle appears out of nowhere, widening enough for their future self to fit inside without having to slouch. 

A portal, a goddamn portal!

Without thinking, you run towards your future self. They don’t notice their past self. It’s a vision. Good, comes the strange thought, I can handle all this, but meeting myself is not high on my list. Standing as close as they can get to the portal, they peer inside the yawning circle but see nothing. Their future self passes through them as if they were a ghost—which, technically, they were —and disappears into the portal. A second after, the portal disappears with them.

[y/n] pulls away and stares right at the man, who already watches her with a curious expression. Like a scientist watching an experiment he could not predict yet. They clear any expression they have on their face, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to be an open book when making a deal with the devil. If there is any deal. 

But on a minor note, Hell yeah, I want powers.

“So, you said your employers call you to nudge things to an ideal future. What exactly do I have to do with this future?” They ask, inching closer to the mysterious man.

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he holds out his briefcase. “All will be explained in due time, once you take this.”

Something—a small voice in the back of their mind—tells them not to take it. Deal with the devil, remember? Nothing good comes out of that. They stare at the briefcase, biting the inside of their cheek hard enough to taste metallic blood. They reach out to take it, ignoring the leering look of the man looming before them.

But then they stop and drop their hand to their side.

They shake their head as they think of their future self’s appearance. Completely the same, but not quite, erring on the side of a conscious zombie. A puppet for this creature and his “employers”, which all but means masters. [y/n] hates zombies not because they’re flat-out terrifying or annoying to deal with, but because they’re zombies. No free-will, not anymore.

And if there’s one thing [y/n] craves more in the world than anything, it’s free-will and the freedom to do whatever they want with it. Authority and slavery can go fuck itself.

“No,” they tell the man, looking up into his wide eyes, “I’m not taking your briefcase. Take me back home.”

Within a blink of an eye, the briefcase disappears and the man takes [y/n]’s face in his cold hands. He bends his back to get as close to their face as he can. “You’re a fool if you haven’t thought this through,” he says in a low growl. 

Though he lost his calm, collected composure, and his growl was terrifying, [y/n] is more shocked by the tingling feeling in their chest than anything else. They grab a hold of his wrists and in attempt to keep his hands from squishing their head.

“I may be inferior, unremarkable, and mediocre. Even downright lackluster,” they spit out, then grin as they say, “but mama hasn’t raised a fool.” They pull his hands away from their face and demand, “Take me back home. Now.”

The blinding white light flashes with a vengeance. They cover their face with their arm and wait until the light vanishes. 

When they remove their arms, they see they’re back in the building they call a shelter. They turn around and take everything in. Never in their wildest dreams did they think it would be a blessing to be back here, among the rubble and garbage. Then they turn to the area where they’ve made a little makeshift workbench and grins.

They walk over and pick up a small screwdriver fit for electronics. They smack the handle against their palm as they think of their game plan. Make a portal machine, then perfect it into a simple device, like gloves or a gun. Shouldn’t be hard, not with all these aliens and their machines hanging around on Earth.

Before they set down and get to work, they spot a flash of blue in the corner of their eye. They angle their head towards the rooftop and see the man stare down at them. His face is unreadable. They wave to him, and he disappears without a wave bank.

[y/n] smirks. We’ll see who’s a fool, won’t we?   

[annoyinglyjovialbird]

Voltron: Next Generation

Dangerous Clashes: I

Word Count: 2203

The crew of the Coeus lounged in their chairs around a round table. Laughing and eating their food, Cake was recounting the incident that earned him the nickname.

"I had frosting coming out of my nose for weeks afterward!" Everyone laughed. Caleb looked off to the direction Kova had headed to use the bathroom. It had been a few minutes and she still hadn't returned. 

"Hey, where's Kova?" He asked the group.  

"She's probably trying to figure out the girl and boy bathrooms," Kenny said dismissively. Caleb shook his head, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms. 

"Kova has been reviewing common words and symbols in alien languages since we started at the Garrison as senior cadets. The first ones she learned were the symbols for the bathroom."

"Then maybe something didn't sit well with her stomach." Kenny was enjoying a specialty from Garrett & Sons. Cake said it was his father's favorite burger. 

"I don't know. She's always back by now." Caleb looked away again, hoping she would prove him wrong. She didn't show in the crowd. "What did you make of Keith's request?" He turned to look at his Dad. 

"I found a few things in his size. Hope he likes them better than the poncho." 

Caleb nodded, not saying much. He looked out at the crowd again. Still no Kova. 

"Dad, track the bracelet." Caleb looked stern. 

"Caleb, Kova is probably fine."

"She would be back by now."

"It was like Kenny said, something probably didn't agree with her stomach. You're worrying over nothing."

"Something feels wrong. Track the bracelet." 

Shiro sighed, opening a screen on his metallic arm. The screen showed two sets of dots. One set was yellow. The other was green. The missing set was red. 

"I broke the connection between Kenny and Kova's bracelets. Unless they're connected, I can't find her." Shiro said. He shrugged and tried to return to his meal. Caleb had other plans. 

"Liz, use the BLIP." 

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

"But the Colonel says she's probably fine. There's also a ton of people here. The BLIP won't track individuals."

"I'll give you the specs to narrow the search. Use the BLIP."

"Caleb, if you won't calm down, we're going back to the ship." 

"Okay, let's go." Caleb stood up from his chair, picking up his tray and throwing his garbage away. He waited by the exit to the food court. 

"Now look at what you did," Kenny said, mouth still stuffed. The crew stood, following Caleb to the Coeus. One by one, the teens made their way to the bridge. Liz pulled up the BLIP system while Allie checked on Keith. 

"Did you see anything suspicious?" Caleb asked the older man. Keith didn't say anything in response. 

"Cake, can you pull up camera feed over the past few hours?" 

"Sure thing." The screen at the front of the Coeus appeared, splitting into four screens. Two at the back of the ship, and two at the front. 

In the front camera on the left, the one closest to the space mall, Kova was seen being walked to a small ship by two individuals about a head and a half taller than her. As the flew past the Coeus, the camera on the right caught them. They were heading towards a ship in the distance. The dark battleship bore a familiar purple insignia, but not one of the former ships. This one had the current symbol for the Fire in blazing purple on the side of the ship, as well as the entire face of the tower. 

"Liz, type search, then enter BLKPLDNBS into the bar that should pop up." She followed his directions. When she went to look at him, Caleb was already out of sight, getting ready for flight on his console. "Send those coordinates to Kova's console. The colonel should be able to take care of the rest."

"Wait, what's going on?" Keith asked, but the crew ignored him as they prepared to follow the Fire's ship. "Hey, don't ignore me!"

"Ken, show Keith back to his room and get into position in the engine room," Shiro ordered as he took his place at Kova's console. He took the coordinates, applied them to a map, and began flying towards Yorak.

———————

Kova was placed into handcuffs. The two aliens that had dragged her onboard were rough. Much rougher than what they needed to be. She was complying. It wasn't like she was going to stab them. 

They led her to a door. It didn't open. Side-eying the aliens, they were just about to poop themselves. This was probably their first time even /seeing/ the Emperor, much less /talked/ to him. Opening it, Kova was pushed through the open doorway. The room was about eleven feet long by eight feet wide. The ceiling sat nine feet above Kova's head. Draped curtains were covering the last wall of the room, enveloping the room in darkness. From a door off to the side, Yorak stood tall. Eyes scanning the room as they met with the pair that had captured her. 

"Kyla." His smile grew wider. He was dressed more like an Emperor this time. Dressed in dark gray and black armor with the Fire insignia in the middle of his chest plate, a dark gray and purple lined cape fell around his shoulders. His dark hair hadn't been combed, but his marks looked darker. Just as she was studying him, Yorak was studying her. 

"Civilian clothes." Yorak went from her clothes to the pair that had captured her. "When I was informed you had captured the one I wanted, I asked if she was wearing armor. You said yes." With slow steps, Yorak's smile never changed, but it seemed to grow darker as he approached the men. "You dare lie to your Emperor?" The pair began to violently shake their heads and sank to their knees. Kova stayed standing, being pulled by the shoulder to just behind Yorak's cape. "Don't look, little Kyla. It will be a little messy." The screams of the pair echoed on the walls, and Kova could only sit and listen. Shutting her eyes wouldn't do anything, so she stared at the floor. Their screams lasted only a few seconds, but they were being put on a loop inside Kova's brain. Yorak turned to Kova, bending over to study the cuffs on her hands. 

"What do you want with me?" Kova asked. She refused to meet Yorak's eyes. 

"You'll see soon enough." He turned to the guards and ordered them to take her to a room close to his. The guards complied, dragging her to the door the Emperor emerged from. She turned back, only a quick glance. The pair that took her were lying motionless on the floor.  The darkness of the room spared her from anything else. 

Yorak's guards tossed her into the most overrated supply closet known to the universe. It was about half the size of the room before and directly across from the ostentatious door that housed the Emperor's sleeping quarters. They uncuffed her and closed the door behind them. Kova stood in the middle of the room, hands balled into fists. Tears pricked her amber eyes, but none fell. When it was clear no one would come through the door, she saw the dirty cot on the floor and studied the shelves. They were all filled with various liquids and cleaning supplies. The top shelf held toilet paper, and a map of the entire ship. 

/Thank you for keeping me in a supply closet/, she thought. The map included a bright red X over her spot and several lines that led to different exits. Score! 

Footsteps on the metal floor alerted Kova to someone moving. She took a few steps to the middle of the floor and pretended to stare at the dirty bed. The door opened behind her, and she turned to sneer at the armor-clad soldiers. 

"Pure or mixed?" She asked them. Two of them snarled at the question. The others stared her down but did nothing. A tray of food was placed before her, and the door closed again.

The dingy tray held a bowl filled with green goo and the cup held dark water. There was no way Kova was eating whatever that was. She kicked the tray at the door, hoping the ringing echoed in the hallway. With quiet steps, she returned to studying the map. 

——————

Caleb was typing away at systems reports, checking over the weapons systems, and was trying to figure out how much power would go into powering more than one system. Kova's location was several days away from the Coeus. Kenny, Liz, and Cake were giving it their all to repair the teleduv with the lenses, but it would still take some time. The Black Lion had been stationary in the bay. 

"You know, it doesn't do anyone any good if you exhaust yourself." Shiro appeared behind Caleb, making the teen jump. With a sigh, Caleb returned to his console. 

"I'm not exhausting myself," He muttered. "I'm just reviewing systems." 

"Caleb, your sister will be fine." Caleb froze. His hands curled into fists on the desk. 

"You didn't see how she reacted to Yorak." Caleb turned to Shiro. "It was like she saw a ghost." 

"That is understandable, given her history with the Fire."

"That's another thing!" The teen stood from his chair and descended the stairs to the floor. "There's no accurate intel on the Fire since the recon mission and the underestimated numbers!" 

"That was no one's fault."

"Kova is on a ship going who-knows-where. Yorak might try to get Kova on his side." 

"And if he doesn't? Yorak could've changed as Kova did over the years." Shiro stared at the teen, who was leaning his head on the glass. 

"How are the engineers doing on the teleduv?" He asked quietly. 

"They should be done soon."

"Good." Caleb pushed himself from the glass and headed towards the doorway. "I'm going to bed." 

Shiro was left alone on the bridge. He was worried, too. Kova was his family, too. Shiro knew better than anyone, though, that if anyone could survive the Fire intact, it would be Kova. 

Down in the engine room, Liz was pushing a wrench. The bolt wouldn't loosen. Cake approached her from behind, and she sighed. Moving aside, Cake rolled his sleeves and gripped the wrench in one hand. One quick push and the wrench moved. Liz hated it when it happened. A yelp from the other side of the room had Liz moving. 

"Kenny?" She called. 

"Here!" He groaned. He was trapped under a metal box. Who knows how he got stuck under there, but at least it didn't seem to crush him. She crouched down and lifted a corner of the box. It must've been made from aluminum because it was so light. At least she was stronger than Kenny. 

"What did you do?" 

"I was checking air pressure." He rolled onto his stomach and crawled away from the box. "It's good."

"I figured." She put the box down as carefully as she could and patted Kenny's head. "Cake and I were replacing some of the lenses and metal panel in the teleduv." 

"Cool." Kenny's voice was muffled, but the thumbs-up he gave was enough.

"Do you want me to grab a wheelchair and take you back to your room?" She asked with a smile. Kenny's head shot up and whipped to glare at her. 

"I dare you to grab the chair." 

"Okay, grandpa." 

"Your dad is older than me!" 

"So?"

"Guys, are you done?" Cake yelled. 

"Almost!" Liz yelled back. She turned to Kenny again. "If you have to, go to your room and rest. Otherwise, stop being such a grandpa and help us." She all but skipped away from the man, now fuming. He stood up, grumbling the entire time about inconsiderate and know-it-all teenagers. Liz rolled her eyes and followed the sound of Cake's voice. He was messing with the code on the screen used to run diagnostics. The code kept giving error codes and didn't allow for changes. 

"Oh, that's why." Liz crossed her arms and looked at the code. She wasn't a programmer. The strings of code were close to unreadable. 

"Are you entering it right?" Kenny asked, lightly pushing Cake aside to enter the code himself. Another error code appeared on the screen. If even Kenny couldn't do it, then who could?

"Kova could," Liz said a little too loud. She had answered her own question, but it was the question the others had on their mind. Kenny glowered. "Sorry, but it's true."

"Rumor says she helped fix the Achlys," Cake said. 

"Really? Was it an engineering or programming issue?"

"Engineering. A small magnetic field was frying the servers."

"Will you stop talking about Captain Perfect?" Kenny shouted. His voice echoed on the walls, silencing the two. 

"C'mon Cake. It's almost dinnertime." Liz and Cake left Kenny alone. His head was pounding. If Kova was Kenny's lost little sister, then why was he still jealous of her? She deserved to be where she was at. Especially after the abrupt goodbye.