#give me the power to sleep and feel regenerated tomorrow

[lulue-xie]

When you have idea but no energy

[waywardwriting]

Hello, I'd like to request a rowena x platonic with some girl power moment, like they screwing the life of a woman abuser.

Girl Power || Rowena x Platonic! Reader

Yes god I love this so much , Rowena would absolutely kick ass for you and is so empowering, I love her 😌

The reader and Rowena get back and the readers awful ex boyfriend

TW! Abuse, Stalking

Y/N knocked at Rowena’s door frantically , she was wounded , her ex boyfriend was stalking her , he had treated her awfully throughout their relationship, cheating on her , hitting her , and she was sick of it, she left, but he followed , and he was angry, angry at her for leaving and trying to have a better life away from him, so he found her, stabbed her multiple times and hit her in the mouth before she even had the time to defend herself , her shoulder was dislocated also, tears streaming down her face as she called for Rowena , she somehow had lost him running down various alleyways , the door swung open and the redhead gasped “Dear? What happened oh my goodness” she helped her inside quickly and laid her down across the couch , quickly putting a spell to work to heal her wounds before she bled out , her skin beginning to regenerate as Rowena spoke soothingly, the wounds closed up and Rowena was quick to pop Y/N’s shoulder back into place it was easier to just do it without counting down , sudden , quick and easy , she placed a hand on her face healing her wounds there also . Y/N took a deep breath and sobbed , hugging Rowena tight “thank you… he … he found me, I tried to leave and he wouldn’t let me, he kept hurting me Ro” was all Y/N could sob out , and Rowena rubbed her back softly, anger flaring in her face “it’s okay lovely… you need to rest okay? We can sort this tomorrow …” Rowena spoke as she lead her to her room , and laid her down , using a spell to help Y/N sleep peacefully with no nightmares , she suffered terribly with them after the trauma of that relationship.

Rowena sat up late , pondering on how she would get her revenge for Y/N , drinking a cup of tea she closed her eyes , she cooked up a hex bag, she would make him die a painful death for what he did to her best friend . The next day came by, and Y/N was out for revenge too , she was sick of living in fear , after conferring with Rowena , she decided to give her ex a message “meet me at 23 beach lawn, let’s give things another try…” Rowena and Y/N made their way to the street, and so there he was , standing all smug and happy , she was crawling back to him like always he thought, he could walk all over her and she would always come back, Rowena had cast an invisibility spell on herself to not blow the plan, Y/N’s ex hated her , thinking she was letting Y/N know how he truly was she couldn’t be seen or it was over , Y/N approached him and gave him a hug “hey… sorry about yesterday… I was , not good but I’m better now… and I love you… I’m sorry…” she whispered shakily, placing the small hex bag in his coat pocket letting him go and standing back , he smirked “ah it’s okay… you know how it is with us-“ he stopped , blood pouring out his nose , he coughed and blood spurted from his mouth also , he yelled as his teeth began to fall out also, now it was Y/N’s time to smirk, he had made her suffer so much, stripped her of all her confidence and now it was her turn to take back her power . Y/N’s ex began to choke on the blood , there was no saving him, passerby’s called an ambulance but by the time they would arrive he would already be dead. Rowena grabbed Y/N’s shoulder and teleported them to her home once more . Rowena gave Y/N a big hug and Y/N cried tears of happiness now “he’s finally gone … I finally feel safe … thank you Ro” Rowena smiled “anything for you, that scum never deserved someone as radiant as you… now Sam Winchester on the other hand…” Rowena joked and Y/N blushed laughing, she did like Sam , maybe she could give it a go. They sat and had a glass of wine in celebration, one more abuser off this earth.

[polaroid15]

With Great Power...

Chapter Three: With great power comes a great inability to sleep

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30579050/chapters/75545900

TW: panic attacks

------

As requested by Peter, Tony parks two blocks away from the school lot.

He idles his car and waits for the kid to appear with a careful eye in the rearview mirror. It’s just shy of five o’clock. Peter should be out of decathlon by now. His fingers itch to reach for his phone, to send the kid a flurry of texts until he materializes and puts him out of his low patience torture.

But with a righteous amount of self-control, he refrains. After what seems like decades Peter appears at the passenger door. He raps his knuckles against the window before slipping inside. Tony smiles at this, a warm fondness growing in his chest.

“Did you just knock on my car?”

Peter freezes in the middle of securing his seatbelt. “Uh, yeah? It’s polite.”

“Last week you and Thor had a competition to see who could down a two liter of Diet Coke the fastest.”

Lips quirking, Peter shrugs. “Your point?”

“That wasn’t very polite.”

“I won, didn’t I?”

“You sure did kiddo.”

Peter finishes buckling his seatbelt and shoves his heavy backpack down between his legs. The setting sun shines through the windshield into his eyes and Peter winces against it, reaching up to shield them. His hand shakes in the air and Tony’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You alright kid?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah Mr. Stark. Totally. Long day is all.”

Unconvinced, Tony peels out onto the road. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

Sighing dramatically, Peter settles further into his seat. “I patrolled before school. Stopped a mugging. That was cool I guess. Then I took a couple exams. Decathlon, obviously. Oh, and I totally failed the beep test in gym-”

Tony raises a brow. “You failed the beep test?”

“On purpose!”

“Why the hell would you fail a test on purpose?”

“Because Peter Parker isn’t exactly a track star, Mr. Stark.”

God, this kid. Tony hopes the admiration doesn’t show on his face. “I see.”

“Anyways,” Peter plows on, caught in a yawn. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

“That’s a terrible answer.”

“Well it’s the one you’re getting.”

Peter scoffs. His eyes droop against the gentle rumble of the car. “You’re just as bad as Happy.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

Peter only smiles in response, eyes closing all the way. Tony lets the silence sit. He’s read enough of Karen’s reports to know that the kid hasn’t been sleeping well.

And good god can he relate.

They only make it through three Black Sabbath songs before Peter’s head dips down towards his chest. The momentum must shock him back into the waking world because he gasps, flailing out and landing one hand on Tony's arm and the other on the window. Immediately flushing, Peter yanks his limbs back into his chest. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“You can sleep. It’s okay kiddo.”

“No,” Peter says all too quickly. A chord of worry strikes in Tony’s chest. “I mean, I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be polite.”

“Pete, if you say that word one more time I swear I’ll set DUM-E on you.”

“Polite, polite, polite, polite-”

Something floods in Tony’s chest. It feels as if he’s being warmed from the inside out and for a moment, his concern for Peter’s health takes a place on his mind’s backburner. He cracks a smile. “Be sure to remember this moment Pete. You asked for it.”

-----

“Dr. Banner!” Peter drops his backpack heavily on the ground, skipping and stumbling into the lab and towards the man in question. Bruce is sitting in front of a laptop, the buttons on his shirt secured incorrectly and glasses sitting crooked on his nose. He smiles widely when he sees them. “Hey Peter. Tony said to expect you. How’ve you been?”

“Oh you know,” Peter says, giving Tony a pointed look, “the usual.”

Tony snorts as Peter pulls up a chair beside Bruce, propping his chin up on his hands and staring intently at the screen. After a few seconds his eyes light up. “No way! Is this skin-cell regeneration technology?”

Looking surprised, Bruce nods. “How did you-”

“He’s a smart cookie,” Tony interjects, walking up behind them and ruffling Peter’s hair. Peter swats him away, though he’s smiling.

“Is this what you and Mr. Stark are presenting tomorrow? At the conference?”

“Yep. Though procrastination hasn’t really done us any favours-”

“I’ll help!” Peter blurts.

Bruce looks to Tony like he’s a parent to grant permission. Trying to ignore the implications behind it, Tony concedes with a grin. “Oh what the hell. Where do we start?”

“Yes!”

----

The hours blur and melt together. So engrossed in their project, Tony doesn’t really notice Peter losing steam until he’s gripping the counter so tightly Tony knows it can only be to keep himself steady. Only now does he see the deep rings of purple under the kid’s eyes.

The nagging in the back of his mind pulls harder but he lets it go. Peter is running Bruce through a genius theory on how to approach increased somatic cell growth that he would be an idiot to interrupt. Not for the first time, watching Peter work is like looking at a mirror image of his younger self, fresh-faced and enthusiastic at MIT. It’s enough to distract him, a small smile morphing his exhaustion into something softer.

Piggybacking off Peter’s ideas, Bruce proposes his own theory concerning the role of red blood cells and Tony loses track of time in his own contributions. The next time he comes back to himself it’s nearly two in the morning.

And Peter looks dead on his feet.

Bruce must notice when Tony does because he closes the laptop, though with some reluctance. “Well then. There’s history. Or, the start of it at least.”

Laughing softly, Peter rubs at his eyes. He sways and Tony resists the urge to grab him. Bruce stands and squeezes Tony’s shoulder. “He’s a good kid,” he says quietly, privately. Then, louder, “see you both tomorrow.”

And he leaves.

For a moment him and Peter simply stand in silence, relishing in the exhausted high of their scientific breakthrough. Then Peter yawns and it snaps Tony into action. He uses one hand to grab Peter’s elbow and the other to collect his backpack from the floor. They walk in silence from the lab to the elevator and miraculously make it to the outside of Peter’s door.

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly, his words slurred on their edges. He takes his backpack and sinks a few inches into the ground at the weight of it.

“Straight to bed, capiche?”

“Mm. Yep.”

“Goodnight, kid.”

“G’night.”

Tony should’ve known it was too good to be true.

-----

Pepper’s out of town. His bed is big and empty and cold.

He can’t sleep.

He thinks of Peter.

“Hey FRI? Is the kid asleep yet?”

“It appears Mr. Parker is doing calculus homework.”

“Of course he is.”

Tony sighs long and deep. It carries out into the empty room and dies. It’s nearly three in the morning now. He debates getting up and telling Peter off for his wakefulness, but deep down he understands it’s not really his place.

“FRI, let me know when he falls asleep.”

“Of course.”

Tony waits and waits. The alert never comes.

Finally, his eyes droop.

It doesn’t last long.

FRIDAY’s voice jars him back into wakefulness. “Boss, it appears Mr. Parker has fallen asleep.”

“Mm. Good.”

“It also appears that Mr. Parker’s heart rate has risen significantly along with his breathing. He seems to be in distress.”

Damn it.

“Boss-”

“On it, FRI.”

Head rushing from standing too fast, Tony just barely manages to catch himself against the wall as he stumbles out into the hall. Even in the dark he knows the route by heart. One door, two doors, three doors-

“Pete?” Tony stops and hits his palm against the entrance. He’s reminded of Peter knocking on the window after decathlon and his heart seems to twist. When there’s no response, he cracks open the door.

“Peter?”

He expects to find the kid in bed. Instead, Peter is slouched over his desk, his tense face pressed into the pages of a heavy textbook. He’s whining and twitching in his sleep, a look too similar to physical pain for Tony to be comfortable stealing his expression.

He’s at Peter’s side in seconds. However, once there, his own heart rate seems to accelerate. “Uh FRI?” he whispers. “Any tips?”

“Start by waking Mr. Parker up.”

“Right, right. Good plan.” Hesitantly, Tony digs his fingers into Peter’s shoulder. When he doesn’t stir, he opts to shake it instead. “Pete? Hey. You with me buddy?”

“Please. St-stop-”

“Peter!”

“Stop. Stop-”

In a flash of worry, Tony shakes Peter harder. FRIDAY’s warning voice fills the room but it’s too late. Peter wakes up with an earth-shattering gasp, flying back in his chair. It would’ve been funny under different circumstances. But it’s not, because Peter is too pale and covered in a cold sweat. His young eyes are wide and terrified, a weak hand reaching up to wrap around his throat.

Then Tony understands.

“Breathe,” he instructs. “Peter, can you hear me? Look at me. Breathe.”

Peter makes a horrible strangled noise in the back of his throat, his eyes trying and failing to lock on Tony as his chest works overtime to pull in nothing. Tony grabs the boy’s hand away from his throat and places it over his own heart. He uses his other to direct Peter’s face more intently on his own. “You can do this Pete. You’re having a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but you have to focus on getting in some air, okay? I know you can do it.”

Peter tries.

“Listen to my breathing. Try and follow it.” He takes in an exaggerated breath and feels tears bite at his eyes when Peter manages to copy the behaviour. “Good. That’s really good Pete. Keep listening.”

“‘M-m-”

“Don’t try and talk. Focus on breathing. I’m right here.” I’m not going anywhere.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. It’s the longest ten minutes of Tony’s life, but eventually Peter’s breaths even out. Exhausted, he slumps forward into Tony’s shoulder, shaking horribly. “O’side.”

“What was that kiddo?”

“Out-outside.” Weakly, Peter tries to push himself up. His unfocused eyes land on Tony desperately as he continues his struggle. “Gotta- gotta go outside. P-please.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tony nods. He helps Peter stand, grabs a blanket from off the kid’s bed, and with combined effort they make their way out into the hall. Tony keeps his hands planted firmly on Peter’s shoulders to keep him steady.

As soon as the fresh air hits Peter visibly relaxes. It must not do wonders for his balance because he lists heavily to the side and Tony is too caught off guard to fully catch him. They end up in a tangled heap on stairs. Peter inhales deeply through his nose and exhales out of his mouth, holding his breath in a careful pattern. “Thanks,” he murmurs eventually. “Better now.”

Feeling threateningly close to tears, Tony drapes the blanket he had grabbed carefully around Peter’s shoulder, fussing with it until it’s secure. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks softly.

Looking weighed down, Peter shrugs. He looks up at the night sky, at the stars, and turns up his lips in a sad smile. “I still dream about it sometimes.”

“About what?”

“Mm. The warehouse. Being stuck.”

Tony frowns, his insides turning to ice. Peter’s face is relaxed now, but in the dim light Tony can still make out the underlying exhaustion. The stress and the fear. God, he’s just a kid.

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

“I know it’s dumb. But I wake up and I can’t breathe and-” Peter frowns. “It’s just not worth it.”

“It isn’t dumb kiddo.”

“I’m just- I’m so tired, Mr. Stark. You know?”

Overcoming the paralysis in his limbs, Tony scoots closer to Peter and pulls him up against his chest. When Peter leans into the gesture he runs his hand through the kid’s hair. “I know Pete. I’m sorry. This never should’ve been you. I hate that it’s you.”

Peter sighs. The usual glint in his eyes is gone. “Occupational hazard, right?”

It isn’t fair, but it’s true. Tony wishes he could fix it. He’ll work his whole damn life trying. “Yeah kiddo. I guess it is.”

Tony shivers. Peter notices and shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. We can go back inside. I’m okay now. I promise.”

“Pete-”

“No really.”

When Peter stands without toppling over, Tony caves and stands too. For a moment they stand still. It’s safe, quiet. Crickets and frogs can be heard from across the dewy lawn. “Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah kid?”

“How- how do I make it stop? The nightmares, I mean.”

It feels like a sucker punch to the gut.

“You can’t stop fear,” Tony says, and it takes a lot of effort to keep his voice even. He thinks of Afghanistan and the Battle of New York, of finding Peter collapsed on the Cyclone after bringing his plane out of the sky. “Every single person on this damn earth is scared of something Pete. It’s part of being human.”

Peter nods, then smiles weakly. “Well technically Mr. Stark, I’m a superhuman.”

“True, but that still doesn’t make you exempt.”

“I know.”

Tony is quiet. The world is quiet. “Talking about it helps too,” Tony says finally. “There are lots of people who want to help Pete. You just- you just have to let them. You have to let us take some of the responsibility too.”

Peter looks at his feet. He rubs a tired hand over his eyes.

“Come on kiddo. You good to go inside now?”

After a slight nod, they walk back into the warmth of the compound. Peter lingers before closing the door and Tony stares at his small shadowed frame. He swallows down a rush of emotion and clears his throat. “How do you feel about a movie?”

Again, Peter seems to relax. Only then does he close the door. “Only if it’s Back to the Future.”

“I’d accept nothing else.”

Peter smiles. For the first time that night, it’s genuine. They sit side by side on the couch and even before the opening credits finish Peter is snoring softly into his ribs. Tony relaxes against the kid’s even breathing. He takes some of Peter’s burden and shoulders it gladly.

He’ll take as much as Peter will give him.

[f33itan]

💛⚜️Pᴀʀᴛ 1: Tᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs Gᴏʟᴅᴇɴ⚜️💛 (From my Wattpad)

A/N: Ok, this was something a mutual of mine said here on Tumblr, and I decided to write a oneshot about it. Might be very VERY slight angst, nothing bad enough to actually be put under that umbrella though, anyways, enjoy this, and ty for the reads! :)

CW: MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEGRADATION, AND MORE FOUL WORDS THAN USUAL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

B/N: Your Mother's boyfriend's name

M/N: Mother's name

꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂

"Oi, Y/N! Go get me another pack of beer from the store!"

"Yes father!" Damn that pig looking bitch. I'm just some fucking girl, trying to protect her mom from this demon of a person! Heck, he's not EVEN a person! He's the devil himself!! Man, I wish dad was here...

When you were in about 7th grade, your real father got killed in a massacre a couple cities over. He was not only a police officer, but a great father and husband as well. He treated you and your mother amazingly, and you thought life couldn't get anymore perfect, but soon that all went down hill. After his death, your mother's health depleted and she felt empty inside. She needed somebody else to make her complete. She decided to call an old friend from high school, and next thing you know he moved in. He seemed like a nice guy at first, but soon enough he was beating you guys mercilessly, enough to leave large bruises and scars whenever you didn't do exactly what he asked, in your eyes though, it was more of an order. You hated being ordered around, but you hated your mother getting beaten around even more. It seemed like a blessing that he hasn't tried to rape her, but god knows what he'll do, he's unpredictable

With all of this happening, you decided to tell him you were doing some "extra curricular" classes in college, but what you were actually doing was taking the Hunter's Exam and learning nen. Your biological father was kind-hearted and fun to be around, but he was also strict and sometimes a bit harsh, though he always meant well. Before his passing, all three of you would go out on the weekends to train, exercise, or do something that would enhance your body power and brain power. Because of this, all of you were exceptionally smart, and bodies all well toned. Sometimes your excursions would be going to a park and practicing a sport, driving to the snow and sledding, skiing, snowboarding, and every once in a while going to another state to zip line, try animal encounters, or take a family friendly class in that state's heritage and customs.

Since you were accustomed to hard core training and events, you thought the Hunter's Exam was quite fun, and was a test to your skills. After that, you were scouted out by a strong nen user by the name of Biscuit Krueger. You and her had lots of fun training, and with her pushing your limits to the utmost best, you turned out to be a specialist.

(Whenever I imagine myself in Hunter x Hunter, this is always my nen type and stuff LMAO)

Your power was called, Black shadow. You could have up to 10 weapons on hand, completely subjected to doing your bidding. These weapons were linked to you through blood, and they were surrounded with a substance that appeared to be black mist. The weapons you most preferred to practice with and use were your katana, blood string, and scythe. You could also make a weapon yours by cutting a fingertip and letting the blood drip onto the weapon, altering the appearance then gaining that black "mist", showing that it was now yours. The downside to this technique was that those "shadows and mist remnants" were your sleep. The darkness in your mind and the shadows all around you were taken and used for that power. In turn, you were always tired, yawning, and had bags under your eyes. Another plus side though was that you had a nen created chamber that had every weapon you owned. A girl can have some fun toys, can't she? You had tools for torture (whenever you took an opportunity to try it), many varieties of weapons, and of course, more snacks. But unlike B/N, you didn't have just fatty snacks. You had regeneration potions, healthy snacks, and special nen created "snacks" to help with different things, which all of these you had collected through pulling some strings. Your mother was worried, but you said it was all just college things. Yeah, just college things..

Ill make that pig bitch pay for what he has done to my mother!

Feitan POV -or whats going on with him- :

"What time, is it.."

"8 AM Fei!"

"Shut up, green eyes, too loud."

"Oh Fei don't be rude! It's mean!"

"That's, the point."

"Oh wait, Shalnark, what this?"

"What do you mean?"

"This... gold string?"

"OI SHALNARK, FEITAN, COME ERE' REAL QUICK!"

"Phinks, what, do you, want-" Phinks just ignored his question and pointed to the TV.

This is Channel 12, reporting live from York New City Town Square. People all over the city are claiming to be seeing a string tied to their left ring finger, leading them to some unknown destination! What is this string? Who put it there?-

"AY AY IM ON TV! THE STRING THINGY JUST LEAD ME TO THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND NOW WERE DATING! SUPER AWESOME!"-

I apologize for the interference, but this string appears t be leading people to.. partners? Soulmates? Find out tomorrow morning, this is Amy Starwick from Channel 12, signing out.

"What. The. FUCK."

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOODNESS HOLY SHIT FEITAN YOU HAVE A SOULMATE!!"

"Nope-"

"YESS YOU DOOOOOOO"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CHEERY BITCH-"

"No❤️" Since Feitan was on his last nerve with Shalnark, he decided to stomp over towards Chrollo in the main room, but Chrollo just chuckled.

"Wanna go find your soulmate? See if that things real?" Feitan just stared at the ground, lightly shifting his feet.

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Just, doing it, out of, curiosity."

"Mhm, curiosity, go find them." And with that, he was dismissed. Feitan wanted to say it was curiosity, but deep down he had this feeling there was something else, but what was it? It made his stomach tingle and he didn't like it one bit. He tried to ignore all of this, and just shrugged it off...

꧁꧂꧁꧂TimeSkip to Next Day꧁꧂꧁꧂

Your POV + some Feitan POV:

"Alright, today's the day, he'll be at his work, and on his break, i'll set the plan in motion.." Both me and mom don't like him, and I don't know about her, but I sure hate him, every ounce of him. The plan is simple: 1. Capture mom's boyfriend, 2. Take him to an abandoned building, 3. Torture him and get all of the answers I need, and 4. Kill him. His break is at 12, and he usually goes to get takeout every other Friday, what a pig. I'll give him a taste of his own medicine.

Time: 11:30 AM

Ok, I have everything ready. Fully energized to the utmost extent, Elixirs to bring him back in case he passes out too early, and- what? He's leaving for lunch early? PERFECT! You ran behind some buildings and hid in a two-way alleyway, waiting for him to pass by...

Here we go..

One..

Two..

THREE!

You covered his head with a sack, and took his phone out of his back pocket. Before heading over to your post, you laced the inside of the sack with some sleeping powder and pressed it against his nose and mouth. Within moments he passed out, and you typed in what you hoped to be his password, which was correct. Around 12:30, you were going to text one of his coworkers that he would be "going to a restaurant across town, and ditching work for a day, not wanting to see his stupid good for nothing girlfriend or his dumb daughter." You knew he called you both this because of going through his text messages when he wasn't looking or when he was sleeping. Little did you know that somebody was watching you from afar.

"Hmm... So, she, my, what do people, call it.. soulmate? Seems, interesting..."

Time: 12:00 PM

"Jesus, I new he was a fat ass but I didn't know he weighed this much!" You were tugging him from his legs through the back ways of York New. You wanted to find a secluded area, where once you were done with him you could just toss him somewhere for the birds and maggots to eat. After walking for what seemed like hours, you came across a set of abandoned buildings, specifically the one you laid out some extra things. A couple extra weapons, some towels, a change of clothes, a chair and some rope, a couple of flashlights, and of course, some snacks. Lucky for you, the douchebag you've been dragging around like a rag doll was still out cold, so you picked him up and tossed him on the chair, tying his wrists, ankles and neck to the chair.

"Maaannn, this is boring!! When the hell are you gonna wake up?!" As if on queue, you saw his eyes start to flutter open, and you immediately grabbed your box cutter. It wasn't a weapon used by your nen, but it was quite effective.

"What.. who.. wait- Y/N!? WHAT THE FUCK?! UNTIE ME NOW BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!!" you didn't notice it, but Feitan was watching from the building over.

What, the fuck? Why she kidnap him? That pig? Why? Confusing, gotta keep, watching.

You shoved the box cutter into his left cheek, and you bathed in the glory of hearing his screams of pain.

"How does this feel, you bitch? Everything you've done to my dear mother, everything you've done to me, and heck, YOU WERE PROBABLY BEHIND MY DAD'S MURDER DURING THAT FUCKING MASSACRE!!" B/N noticed the tears in your eyes, and took this to his advantage.

"So what if I was? Both of your parents were pathetic anyways."

"NO THEY AREN'T! YOU'RE THE REASON WHY MY MOTHER'S LIKE THIS NOW! YOUR THE FUCKING REASON FOR EVERYTHING SHITTY THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!!"

"Heh, hehe.. hahaHAHAHA! YOU KNOW GOD DAMNED WELL THAT ALL OF YOU ARE PATHETIC! WANNA KNOW WHY I GOT WITH YOUR MOM!? BECAUSE SHES HOT. AND SHE HAD GOOD MONEY FROM YOUR FUCKING DAD. YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS GONNA DO?! YOU KNOW WHY I TOOK OFF EARLY TODAY?! I WAS GONNA RAPE YOUR MOTHER AND MAKE YOU WATCH, THEN KILL BOTH OF YOU AND RUN OFF WITH ALL OF YOUR MONEY!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S IRONIC?! I DON'T HAVE ONE. SINGLE. FUCKING. REGRET. IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR DAD, YOU SOULDN'T HAVE HAD THE NERVE TO DO THIS, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABORTED!!"

You couldn't handle this anymore, tears were falling down your face rapidly as you grabbed the duct tape and closed his mouth shut.

"I don't give a fuck about what you say.. I'm going to kill you here. This is your grave. Someday, I'll join you in hell, and when I do, I'll torture you again, and the Devil will laugh. You just watch and ducking wait you, you.. PATHETIC WORTHLESS PIG ASS SLOPPY ASS NASTU FUCKING BITCH!" With that, you grabbed a couple super worms in each hand and shoved them into his ears. Even with the duct tape, you could hear his screams of agony as the worms dug deeper into his ears. You then got our your katana and slashed him across the stomach, and shoved even more worms into that open wound of his. Quickly, you poured a large bottle of the elixir you had brought over him to keep him from dying so quickly. Box cutter still in hand, you carved small lines all over his arms and legs, then ripped off the tape to hear his desperate cries. You imagined he wanted to be dead, but you didn't care. His pain and you pain mixed together and you just started laughing. You through your head back and let yourself laugh. all of the pain this man has caused you and your mom will be repayed today.

But the pressure and stress was too much to handle. Your laughing of victory soon turned into screams and more tears, as you let yourself fall to the ground, not even noticing you didn't hit it hard, something had caught you, or someone..

What the shit am I doing?

Am I really going to kill him?

What's wrong with me?

What will mother think?

What would dad do?

What am I doing with my life?

You soon snapped out of all of those negative thoughts though, as you noticed something caressing your face lightly.

"Rest, now. He, won't die, so quickly. I'm, Feitan." You were a sniffling and crying mess, so all you could do was rush into Feitan's chest and cry. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. He had no idea what he was doing, for he had only seen this kind of skin on skin contact in movies. So, he did what those people in the movies did.

"Don't, worry... It's all, going to be.. okay."

Word Count (Including author notes, etc) : 2251

-Wrote February 3, 2021-

Unedited sorry about that lol-

Part 1...

[kaminarisimp9000]

movie night

A/N: bruh the movie night trope is my f a v o r i t e and it’s 100% because ahem netflix and chill has caught me off guard one too many times. n e ways i barely know how to use this website nd this is the first post on the Blog and i totally did not write this because this concept is living rent free in my mind so i hope you enjoy??

pairing: bakugou x female!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: strong language

summary: You get really cold during the Weekly Class 1-A Movie Night™ due to your quirk and it’s up to Bakugou to warm you up

You rushed down to the common room, arms full of snacks, taking care so as not to spill anything. A smile bloomed across your face as you took in the scene before you. The common room was a mess of blankets, sleeping bags, couches and the like, as the students of Class 1-A worked together to set up today’s movie night. These movie nights had been born out of a collective need to relieve stress, and by now, had sort of become a weekly thing that you looked forward to. Your smile only grew wider as you realized that today, even Big Bad Bakugou had shut his mouth for once, opting to actually cooperate with his fellow students. 

Bakugou. 

You couldn’t ignore the subtle heat that rose to your cheeks as your thoughts lingered on your best friend for just a beat longer than necessary, when you were abruptly shaken out of your second of stupor. 

“Sweet! Y/N’s got the snacks!” Kaminari yelled, as he plopped down on one of the couches, ready to begin this week’s installment of Class 1-A’s Movie Nights™.

“Hell yeah I do. You’d better help me set this up, though, unless you’re not getting any!” You retorted. 

Kaminari waved you off with an alright, alright and headed towards the kitchen to find some bowls, while Tsuyu and Midoriya helped you set everything down. A few moments later, you were all but surrounded by an array of colorful bowls filled with all sorts of movie-appropriate treats.

Satisfied with your hard work, you scanned the common room for any available seats, letting out a chuckle as you realized that the only empty one was that which was next to your probably half-pomeranian half-human friend. 

(There was actually another space empty, but it was next to Mineta, so we’re not going to talk about that for obvious reasons.)

“Scoot over, Katsuki, I’m gonna sit here”

“Fuck off, Y/N,” Bakugou replied, moving to the side nevertheless.

“You wish,” you mused, gently sitting down next to him, “So, what’re we watching today?”

“As if I care.”

“Ugh, would you stop being so emo for once and answer the question?”

“Fuck, I dunno, it’s some shit about a cooking rat, or something.” 

“Was it that hard to say Ratatouille? I swear to god, Katsuki, you’re so fucking difficult sometimes.”

“I’d wager the poor boy just doesn’t know how to pronounce Ratatouille, Y/N ☆,” Aoyama interrupted from across the room.

You let out a laugh, “You’re probably right, Aoyama. The boy’s ~uncultured~.” 

Your relationship with Bakugou was comfortable to say the least. Sure, you did have a tiny crush on him, but above that, he was one of your best friends at UA. It’s anyone’s best guess as to how that even happened in the first place, with the boy’s hostility shining through in his ever-present frown, but here you are. Perhaps it’s because you were one of the only ones in the class who could actually put up with his less-than-desirable behavior, or because of the numerous times you practically begged him to spar with you (to which he gave in after a full month of persistence). You didn’t really have much of a crush on him in the beginning, but as time passed, and as the two of you grew closer, you felt your heart beat that much louder for him with every frown he sent your way. 

Sometimes, when you looked at him, you even felt breathless. 

But now was not one of those times. Hell, you were too distracted by the movie to give too much thought to the fact that you wanted Katsuki Bakugou to pin you against the wall of your dorm and kiss the living daylights out of you. Yes, you liked Bakugou, but you loved Ratatouille. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your Ratatouille-induced bliss was fairly short-lived, though, for midway through the movie, you began to feel a bit chilly. Moving your arms to hug your sides, you tried to ignore it, but you knew where this was headed. Your quirk, Body Heat, converts your temperature into pure energy, which does make you quite powerful in the training arena, but also requires a great deal of cooldown time for your body to reset to its natural state. This usually happens quite painlessly, but sometimes, especially when you’ve overused your quirk, your temperature severely drops, as your body attempts to regenerate what it has lost. 

In other words, if you didn’t find a source of heat soon, you would be shivering as if there were no tomorrow. 

As your body began to shake, you searched the room for Todoroki, who usually helped you when you were like this, using his left side to warm you up until you were a functioning human again. You found him rather quickly, only to see that his eyes were closed, chest gently rising and falling through a peaceful slumber. 

Of course he’s fucking asleep, you thought to yourself, shivers intensifying, I’m so stupid! It would have taken me literally two seconds to grab a few blankets and now I can barely fucking move I’m shivering so bad. 

Reluctantly, you resigned yourself to this fate, deciding that you would just let your body do what it needed to do to regain your natural energy, and bear through the cold, when you felt a sudden shift to your side. 

Through your peripheral vision, you saw that Bakugou had gotten up and had started walking away. 

Probably cause I’m shaking so violently, you thought, rolling your eyes as much as you could, Can’t blame him, though, even I’d be annoyed. 

He returned quickly, though, throwing a plush blanket over your curled-up form. 

“Stop fucking shivering,” he whispered angrily.

“S-hut t-t-the fuck up you b-bitch, y-you know it's b-because of my quirk” You replied, with great difficulty.

“Where’s that half-n-half bastard? Isn’t he the one who gets rid of this shit for you.” 

“He's s-sleeping r-right n-ow—stop! d-don't wake him up h-he's probably t-t-t-ired.”

“Jesus Christ you can’t even fucking talk, can you,” Bakugou deadpanned. 

You shook your head as vigorously as you could, the blanket doing little in the way of warming you up. 

“It’s-it’s fine, ‘T-Tsuki, this’ll b-be o-o-over soon.” 

“Yeah, but it’s damn annoying.” 

“Then d-do something ab-b-bout it! I d-d-don’t know wh-what to t-t-tell you, I literally c-can’t m-move!” you snapped. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Bakugou maneuvered himself until he was under the blanket that currently surrounded your shivering body, pulling you into his lap so that you were facing him, your cheeks growing hot in response to your compromising position. 

“K-Katsuki—”

“Shut your mouth.” 

You obliged, as he brought his hands up to your face, palms glowing orange as he carefully activated his quirk just enough to warm them up, but not enough to create an explosion. He figured that your inability to talk was currently the most annoying thing about you, so he decided to stop the incessant chattering of your teeth first. 

Meanwhile, you were, for lack of better wording, dying on the inside. You knew Bakugou was hot, but shit, you’ve never seen him like this before! Were his eyes always that fucking beautiful when he concentrated? Was his skin always this smooth? Did his nose always look that kissable? 

As you began to regain feeling in your face, you really hoped that Bakugo couldn’t sense your heartbeat running at a million miles per hour, as his hands left your cheeks to run down your arms. 

“Thank you for this, Katsuki, you really didn’t have to,” you sigh, basking in your newfound warmth, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

“Tch,” Bakugo grunted, as his hands softly grasped yours, lingering until their natural warmth returned. 

You stretched your arms out, enveloping your friend in a tight hug, suddenly feeling a wave of tiredness wash over your body. 

“Yeah~~ I can finally use my hands again~~ What would I do without you, Kacchan?” you giggled, as his cheeks grew red in response to the cutesy nickname. 

His hands moved down to grip your thighs as he warmed your legs up, while you settled your head into the crook of his neck, cuddling into his warmth as you finally let sleep consume you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the other side of the room, Kaminari’s eyes were glued to the television screen, thinking about how Remy was able to control Linguini’s cooking so accurately with a few simple tugs to the hair.

I mean, maybe that’s just his quirk, but like—does this mean that he has a hair pulling kink? Imagine your girlfriend having to marionette you in the bedroom. Would that be embarrassing? Would any of the girls be down to try it? he wondered. 

He reached into his lap to retrieve a piece of popcorn, sulking when his hand hit the bottom of the empty bowl. Sighing, he tore his eyes away from the screen, reaching for a refill, only to freeze at the sight in front of him.

“Yooooo, what goes on” Kaminari whisper-screamed, elbowing Mina in the side, gesturing towards you and Bakugou. 

“No. Fucking. Way.” Mina replied, mouth agape, “Are you kidding?! They’re so cute!!” 

“Damn. Would have never thought. Like?! I knew they were friends but I didn’t think Kacchan could pull a girlfriend!” 

“Are they actually dating though?! I’ve never heard Y/N talk about him like that even once! When did this happen?” 

“I don’t fucking know and I don’t fucking care. I swear to god I’m never gonna let him hear the end of it.” 

“Can y’all pipe down? I’m trying to watch the movie here,” Jirou whispered, annoyance written all over her face.

“No I cannot pipe down Jirou, just look over there and tell me you aren’t shook,” Kaminari fired back. 

“Holy fuck.”

“Right!!!”

Eventually, Kaminari’s whispering spread around to the entire class, as they, one by one, turned to take in the events that had unfolded right underneath their noses. Even Todoroki had awoken from his sleep to gawk at the both of you.

“Awww, they’re so adorable,” Uraraka squealed.

“They really are quite cute,” Momo remarked.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have seen this coming. I had no idea the two of them had feelings for each other,” Midoriya wondered. 

With every passing line from his classmates, Bakugo could feel himself getting angrier and angrier. 

What the fuck do these damn extras think they’re doing? Shut the fuck up and watch the movie!! Bakugou thought, blood boiling.

“Y’know, Bakugou, I didn’t think you of all people would know how to treat a woman right,” Tsuyu chimed in. 

That’s it, Bakugou got up violently, This fucking ends here. 

Being careful not to drop you, Bakugou shifted you onto one arm, as he picked up the blanket that was once covering you both with the other. He headed out into the hallway, pressing the button to call the elevator, and brought you up to the fourth floor. 

He pulled out his keycard as he reached the end of the hallway, stopping in front of the door to his room for a moment as he unlocked it. Pushing the door open, Bakugou made his way over to his bed, and set you down gently.

Or, at least he tried to.

As he lowered your unconscious body to his soft, black sheets, you let out a quiet groan, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, making it clear that whatever happened, you weren’t going to let go.

Fucking great.

He shook you, trying to wake you up, but to no avail. The most he could get out of you was a soft Kacchan, let me sleep, as you snuggled impossibly closer into him. Sighing, Bakugou defeatedly peeled back his comforter, sliding both of your intertwined bodies under his sheets, tucking both of you in to the best of his abilities. 

As his head hit his pillow, he couldn’t help but stare at your soft features as they were illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through his window. He couldn’t help but admire the way your long eyelashes fluttered over your cheeks with every breath, the way your H/C hair seemed to perfectly frame your face, the way your lips��

The way your lips looked so damn kissable. 

Bakugou didn’t want to admit it to himself, but, as he lay there, eyes drinking in your every feature, he could feel himself falling harder and harder for you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, synchronizing his breaths with yours, until he too fell into a deep slumber. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awoke gently, groaning in response to the sunlight hitting your face. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you attempted to sit up.

Huh? you thought, I can’t get up. 

You opened your eyes, and immediately realized that something was wrong. The walls, the ceiling, the window, they looked unfamiliar to you. This was not your room. Looking around, you noticed some neatly organized school books on the desk, black t-shirts on the back of the chair, All Might figurines, and—wait, was that shoujo manga on the nightstand? You suddenly notice an arm wrapped around your torso, possibly the reason why your efforts to sit up failed earlier.

And then you realized that that arm was connected to a very certain spiky-haired blond. Who happened to be your best friend and your crush. And who was currently holding you in a death grip. With his face very close to yours.

You felt your cheeks burning up. 

holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck

[marlinspirkhall]

Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 07: “Not A Single Friend”

Content Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter Word Count: 3,799

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Further CW: Major Character Death

 Light streams through the window, and Jim rolls onto his side with a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he hums.

Spock watches him intensely, and it’s only when his eyebrows raise slightly that Jim realises he’s trying to communicate.

 “The bond?” He croaks, pushing himself up on his elbow.

 Spock shakes his head. “It didn’t survive…” His brow furrows. “The planet’s restorative abilities did their job too well.”

 Over the next few days, Spock becomes more withdrawn. It doesn’t worry Jim, exactly; Spock always does this whenever they reach a new obstacle. Perhaps he blames himself. Hell, Jim’s been inside his mind; he knows he blames himself.

 Jim throws himself back into research. He scours every archive he can find, reading the names of wanted smugglers in this sector, anyone who could have disappeared here, anyone who could have a clue. If getting out of here is the only way for them to retain their bond- and their bond is the only thing which will make Spock happy- then he needs to find a solution.

 Jim sits near the guardrail, his legs dangling over the edge of the Veranda, and hears soft footsteps behind him. He turns, with a sad, slight smile.

 “I was thinking about Earth,” Jim murmurs. “Being trapped here almost makes it easier to cope with. Do you find that?”

 Spock gives a hesitant nod. “Earth was similar to this planet in many ways-”

 A huff of laughter. “No, I mean- I can almost pretend that being trapped here is the only reason I won’t see it again,” Jim whispers.

 Spock nods, and joins him beside the guard rail.

They sit in silence for a moment. The dark leaves of the forest rustle all around them; the first warning of the oncoming weather, and Spock wraps his arms tighter around Jim. When the first drops fall, they barely feel them; too lost in one another’s mind.

 With storms like these, eternity is hard to weather. Jim tries to keep track of time, but, if it was hard before, it’s impossible now. He would have thought Spock’s own, immaculate sense of time would keep him in check, but, instead, he wonders if he’s rubbed off on him.

 ‘Or perhaps I was never as good at keeping time as you thought.’

 ‘Well, spending time trapped in a time-loop will do that to a person,’ Jim comments.

 Spock massages his temples, as if dispelling a headache. ‘Perhaps we should practise your ability to block certain thoughts. It’s not necessary for me to know your every thought.’

 ‘Ah, but you love it.’ Jim kisses him.

*

 Once it’s repaired, they take the shuttle for a short test flight over the forest. They don’t dare take it further until they have a more concrete escape plan, but Jim stays in the front seat a little longer once they’ve landed, double checking every part of the controls. There’s a lot about this shuttle he doesn’t understand- it’s got features he’s never seen before: some are experimental, some are prototypes. There’s an abundance of suspicious and dangerous-sounding subroutines. A large file size piques his interest, particularly because it’s nestled within a list of comparatively smaller files.

File Name | size

 11292254qDefp.mp4 | 28.5TB

 11302254RsTwy.mp4 | 22.23TB

 11312254Ghtf2.mp4 | 58.334601151 PiB

 12302253lCmdp.mp4 | 21.56TB

 He stares. 58 pebibytes of information. It must be using all the shuttle’s available memory space. He searches through its parent folders.

 ‘Overseer Protocol: Active.’

 Curious, he selects it.

 ‘Admin override required.’

 He inputs Leland’s password, but the system refuses to accept it. Whatever the overseer protocol is, it was clearly intended to keep Leland in line. It takes Jim a couple of tries to override the system without the password.

 There’s a bleep.

 The video files load in their raw form: dates, followed by a series of timestamps.

28 Oct: 24:23:09

 29 Oct: 25:00:00

 30 Oct: 19:30:03

 The screen flickers, and freezes for a moment as the numbers load.

 25:56:03

 An error sound.

 625:56:04

 5625:56:05

 31 Oct: 45625:56:07

 He exhales. The seconds keep ticking up. His heart pounds in his ears.

 He chooses the file from October 30th, and picks a timestamp towards the end. The screen pulls up two videos, side-by-side. Two cameras. One of them displays the exterior of the shuttle, the other, the interior. The int. screen is pitch black, and the ext. is extremely dim. The only sound is the faint rustle of the trees, battered by the wind. He rolls the video back, and lands on footage of the three of them on that first day, unloading the shuttle. He clenches his fist as he watches the early relationship between Leland and Spock, and he considers just how far he’s come. In some ways, it’s a miracle he ever got away from Leland at all; and a cynical part of him wonders if, perhaps, he never did. Jim glances to the entrance to the basement with an uneasy feeling.

 Spock has moments like the other night- flashes of affection- and then seems to draw back in on himself. Granted, Jim never expected it to happen all at once, but he almost believed that would be it- one final mind meld, and he would be able to save Spock. He’d forgotten, of course, just how many times Spock had melded with him before. It could be that first times- all the times which were erased from Jim’s memory- are easier than the second.

 He assured Spock that he’s not trying to get him to behave more human, not holding him to Vulcan stereotypes or standards, or a strict section-31 regimen, as Leland would have. But, still, there are days where he cannot reach him.

 He watches as he and Spock enter the forest, and Leland begins to move the crates of power packs towards the entrance of the basement.

 Jim clicks the video off, and chooses an entry from the 29th. More of the same. Leland, crashing the shuttle through the Martian dome with barely a scratch.

 As for that final entry…

 The shuttle must have continued recording the whole time they were in the time-loop. The internal clock is programmed for the Martian 25-hour standard, perhaps because Mars Colony was the last chartered place the shuttle landed on, though the days aren’t nearly as long on Heirin- they’re perhaps nineteen, twenty hours maximum.

 There are perhaps six Earth-years’ worth of footage crammed into this one device. He wonders how many recordings there are of himself or Leland dying, and his stomach turns. He doesn’t really want to know, but the monitor could have other uses. He ends the recording manually, and switches to a new recording. He waves his hand in front of the screen experimentally. The interior camera appears to be built right into the screen.

 He disconnects the monitor carefully, and weighs it in his hands for a moment. It’s small, and relatively weighty. He considers showing it to Spock, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he drags it into the server room. He’s not sure if Spock would want to be reminded of how long he’s spent here. Not yet.

 He plugs the monitor into the console, though it appears to have some internal, backup power-source. The video files have disappeared- no doubt stored in the shuttle, as the monitor’s internal storage is comparatively smaller. Jim leaves it by the consoles for now.

*

 Jim is attempting to balance on one leg.

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m trying to see if I can build up-” Jim falls over with a cry. “- Muscle,” he hisses, rubbing his hamstring with a grimace. He stands back up, and resumes the position. “We still don’t know if our bodies are entirely replaced each morning, or if it only happens when one of us is injured.” He poses. “How does my butt look?”

 “The same as usual,” Spock says, dryly.

“Well, it’s early days,” Jim shrugs.

 Spock hesitates, then steps a little closer. “I doubt it’s possible for you to gain much more… ‘muscle’ in this particular area,” he says, tactfully.

 Jim shoots him a glare over his shoulder, and promptly overbalances. “There’s that Vulcan tact, I see.”

 “This could help prove it, once and for all.”

 “It is futile to attempt to prove something which runs so contrary to the laws of physics-”

 Jim grabs his hand, and, with one sharp tug, Spock lands in the mud beside him, and they bump heads.

 “Law of gravity,” Jim says, sheepishly, as he rubs his nose.

 As far as he can tell, their bodies seem incapable of going through any kind of change. Gaining/losing weight, scarring, telepathic bonds- none of them seem to stick. They really do seem to regenerate each morning, without exception, though the rest of their surroundings wither. And we’ll never age. It’s practically immortality, Jim thinks.

 If only we weren’t stuck here.

*

 The next time Spock melds with him, a bond forms almost immediately, as it did before.

 ‘I guess that means we’re exceptionally compatible.’

 Spock tilts his head. ‘We know each other well. A bond is an inevitable side effect.’

 ‘That’s what I said!’

 Despite its futility, Jim convinces Spock to bond with him again. And again. It becomes a strange sort of game, a dance; to go to sleep each evening aware of the other, with the ability to broadcast their every thought into the others’ head, and renew it each morning.

 ‘Are you familiar with Greek mythology?’ Jim asks. Spock appears in front of him, stern and disapproving.

 ‘If I were not, I could get the information from your mind.’

 ‘Right,’ Jim laughs. ‘At first, I thought we might be living the life of Sisyphus, cursed to roll the same boulder up the hill every day. But, every time I look at you, the story of Tantalus comes to mind.’

 Spock’s eyebrows twitch. The landscape shifts, until Jim is standing neck-deep in water, watching ripples on the surface of a great lake. Spock stands on the shore.

 A large willow tree looms over Jim, its leaves a delicate, olive-leaf green. Something flutters across his face, pale pink and soft. A single petal. Jim smiles serenely, and glances at the underside of the tree. Improbably- and, perhaps, illogically- it is covered with cherry blossoms, the like he hasn’t seen since Earth.

 “Which am I, Jim?” Spock says, in a booming whisper. His voice echoes all around him, syllables melting into great, crashing waves. “The water you can never stoop to drink, or the fruit which is just out of reach?”

 Jim focuses on the falling petals, their delicate red hue looking less familiar by the moment, and contemplates their similarity to the rocks on Heirin. Everything about this planet is overpowering: drenching, seeping into them, even in these stolen moments of serenity. Jim knows better than most how easily alliances can be shattered by violence, and, reaching out, he touches one of the petals.

 “Neither,” he answers. He takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re scared of- that I, like Leland, view you as a prize to be won- but I don’t.” He considers for a moment. “But, I do need you. You are only like the water because I need you to sustain me. Only like the fruit because I’m willing to wait for you to fall. This… Time loop, this trap we’re caught in- I wouldn’t be able to survive it without you. You’ve demonstrated that, time and time again.”

 As he’s talking, the water level shrinks to his waist.

 “I don’t want to be trapped here, but there is one benefit- it gives me time to wait.”

 Spock blinks. “For what?”

 “You.”

 Spock reaches out, and catches a falling petal. “You could be waiting for a long time.”

 The echo of laughter. “As far as we know, we have eternity.” He holds his hand out, and Spock appears next to him. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and kisses him slowly.

 They’re so deep in the meld that it takes daybreak to pull them out of it. Jim wakes up in bed blinking in the light. Spock is curled on his side next to him, his hand outstretched towards Jim’s forehead. It’s almost easy to believe that he fell asleep this way.

 He reaches out, and cards a hand through Spock’s hair. For a moment, he allows himself to pretend that they’re just two lovers, lying together on a lazy Sunday morning with no responsibilities, and nothing else to do. But, it isn’t Sunday, and, somewhere below them, Leland is waking, too.

 He kisses Spock’s wrist. He twitches in his sleep, his brows pulling together, perhaps sensing Jim’s troubled thoughts. Jim rises, and hurries downstairs as quietly as he can without sacrificing speed.

 Leland’s “rise and shine” doesn’t have time to fall from his lips.

*

 Jim spends a pleasant morning with Spock before returning to the server room for his usual dig through The Klingon archives. His Klingon has gotten really good recently, and he’s sure there must be something he’s overlooked in the top-secret war files. As he goes to input the now-familiar sequence, something catches his eye in front of him.

 ‘Mars-Colony gang members reported missing […] with the exception of T’Gar Taag, who was apprehended last Tuesday-”

 His eyes widen, and he leans back in his chair, eyes darting around the printings and clippings laid out on the walls.

  ‘Crash-landing results in bloodbath […] sole survivor, Lewis McAllister-’

 Sole survivor. Jim reaches forwards, bringing up the scribbled translations of the Klingon tomes he was able to piece together. It’s only legend.

 A time loop, sparked by the spilling of innocent blood.

 A hazy memory from that first night. Perhaps it’s so hazy because it’s the last thing he remembers before he was murdered: Leland, sitting opposite him in an unknown cave, firelight painting his face, and the walls, a deep, intense red. “When the battle ended, there wasn’t a single enemy left.”

 “And not a single friend, either,” Jim had joked.

 He’s not laughing now. He sits in the server room for a moment, hands trembling as he contemplates his next move. Then, he rises, tears the clippings from the wall, and heads for the door. On his way out, he doubles back, and grabs the monitor which he tore from the shuttle, hugging it to his chest as he runs through the beginnings of rain.

 He enters the stronghold through the main entrance, and enters the central hall. Spock is upstairs, meditating. After a moment’s deliberation, Jim stashes the print-outs under the cushions of the sofa. As for the monitor…

 He grabs an axe from the wall, and steps into the downstairs bathroom.

 The shower runs. It provides an interesting background to Jim’s conversation with himself. The green light paints his face a sickly sheen, and he looks almost… Undead. It’s not entirely inappropriate, he thinks grimly, as he sets the axe and the monitor in the tub, and hits record.

*

 Spock wakes up alone, which isn’t entirely unusual, but he feels strangely uneasy.

 Downstairs, Jim sits at the dining table, papers laid out all around him, as is customary for one of their escape-planning sessions; although it’s been a while since they’ve had one. The change in their surroundings is immediately apparent.

 “You’ve redecorated,” Spock observes, lightly.

 The remaining knives, weapons and tools have vanished from the walls, and Jim gives him a strange smile. “I thought we could use some… Variety.”

 Spock lifts an eyebrow, and settles in the chair opposite him. He only needs to study his face for a moment.

 “You’ve found a way for us to leave,” he realises.

 “No,” Jim closes his eyes. “Not us, exactly…”

 Jim points to one of the headlines, then the others, and begins to explain. As he listens, Spock’s heart begins to pound in his chest, and he struggles to remain outwardly calm. He feels every bit as trapped as he did that first night, when Leland had pointed a phaser at him.

 He remembers the clatter as the power pack had fallen into the gap in the ceiling, and his eyes dart, momentarily, upwards.

 “- But,” Jim catches his breath, “There’s another option.” He swallows. “We could stay here, together. I know I’ve said it before, but- we don’t need to eat. We don’t even, technically, need to sleep. That’s paradise, to some people. Maybe as close to it as we’re ever going to get. We’d never get old, and we could live our lives in relative comfort, until one or both of us was ready to…” He swallows. “Leave.”

 Spock’s face twitches. The idea is almost tempting. Except...

 “Rise and shine, campers!”

 He turns to the door. “There will always be Leland.”

 “A small price to pay for paradise,” Jim says.

 Spock purses his lips, and begins to rise from his seat.

 “No.” Jim pushes his chair back, and places a hand over Spock’s. “Allow me.”

 Spock slumps, and watches as Jim exits onto the Veranda.

 Footsteps, quickly, down the stairs.

 Voices. A scuffle.

 A body hits the ground.

 Outside, Jim drags Leland’s body towards the forest, and Spock watches them until they’re out of sight.

 He sits. He sits and contemplates, for how long, he does not know.

 He considers everything that Jim had told him. With his strength, it would be easy to kill Leland with his bare hands. But, Jim? If the man turned on him, he would certainly have the physical strength to defend himself, but there are other factors to consider.

 “Theoretically, if we’re here long enough… Axes will blunt. Knives will wear down.”

 They would have to kill Leland with their bare hands, day after day after day. And- if ever Jim got bored of him, as humans are wont to do- he would have to rid himself of Spock in the same, clumsy way. Vulcans are patient, Leland had said. But, he was raised by humans, and he has murdered his fathers too many times to cling onto any concept of remorse. For surely- surely- somewhere, after years of two-person solitude in this desert of companionship, Jim will tire of a world where the only person to quench his thirst is a Vulcan. Spock can foresee it with almost-perfect clarity: a day where Jim will bore, and he will only be able to repay him in blood.

 As if moved by some external force, Spock hurries upstairs, and retrieves one of the empty phasers which Leland had left in the third drawer of the nightstand. Then, he returns downstairs, and pushes one of the dining chairs to the center of the room.

 He climbs onto it. Blindly, he reaches into the gap in the ceiling, searching for the power pack which Leland had lost, yesterday and so many years ago. After all this time, there’s no guarantee that it will still work, and a part of him hopes that it won’t.

 So much has changed since that first night. In many ways, they have become complacent of the danger Leland poses to them, a danger which is very likely to return.

 And, there are so many ways that it could go wrong. If, one day, either one of them forgets to kill Leland, he could kill one or both of them instead. They have already been clumsy too many times. If it happens again, and Leland succeeds in killing one of them by mistake, they would lose their memories. Even if a mind meld could partially restore them, it would put them at a dangerous disadvantage.

 And Leland need only be lucky once.

 There are other things, too. Spock appreciates an adherence to routine; he does not know if the same is true for Jim. And, when one takes into account the enormity of eternity, it may not even be true for himself.

 A part of him longs to put it to the test. To see how many eons they could go on thriving in this remote place. Never growing older, even as the stronghold around them was eroded by the winds of time. They could repair it, to a point, but, eventually, they would have to rebuild it from the woods that surround them. Fashioning their own tools as the old fell to ruin. That would certainly speed up the daily ritual of what must be done.

 A small price to pay for paradise.

 But, truly, how many times could they bear the stain of Leland’s blood? The man isn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but, if there’s any truth in the terran concept of “purgatory”, has enough time elapsed to pay off his debt? At any rate, they’re not dealing with a world of terran invention, but it can’t be a Klingon one, either: in this instance, The Last Man Standing would be without honour.

 How long before the ravine to the East becomes full of identical corpses, as the clearing in the woods was once overcrowded with Jim’s? And, in truth, is still overcrowded. There’s no room to start a life together on a planet littered with one another’s bones.

 Mining the planet by hand if they had to. Perhaps they would even uncover the buried Time Crystal which keeps them trapped here, and a way to destroy it. But, even as he allows himself to dream, he knows it’s impossible. If there is any pattern to his life so far, any truth in the instruction given to him by Leland, it is this:

 Vulcans are patient. Humans are not.

 Most importantly, any exceptions aside: James Kirk is not. Jim, the man who bet the late Christopher Pike that he could graduate in four years, and have command of his own ship in five. Jim, the man who cheated on The Kobayashi Maru.

 Still, the test was designed to be unbeatable. And, perhaps- perhaps- if Jim Kirk was willing to sit an unbeatable test three times- he may not be so impatient after all. Perhaps, somehow, through the combined stubbornness that’s sustained them so far, they will find another solution-

 The door opens behind him. Spock swings round, still balanced precariously on the chair, and Jim stops dead in his tracks.

 Without breaking eye contact, Spock slots the power pack into place, and levels the phaser at Jim.

 Jim stares at him, open-mouthed. Spock steps down from the chair, and Jim settles into a grim smile. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.

 They stare at each other like exhausted children, waiting for a drawn-out game of make-believe to finally end.

 Humans are impatient, Spock assures himself. He waits for Jim to make the first move, but he doesn’t even twitch. Conceivably, they could both stand here forever.

His fingers find the trigger.

 He is impatient.

 He fires.

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

[pb1138]

Fictober Prompt 8: Frail, feat Josephine and Asena

I’m going to try to finish this up either tomorrow or the next day. I really didn’t want this to become some big long project but here we fuckin are I guess. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3      AO3

Gemma stayed just long enough to be sure that Asena was going to be fine. She said nothing else to Josephine about what happened, nor indeed much of anything except to leave instructions for treating the wounds before she left. Asena did not try to ask if she was alright. It was written clear enough upon her face and the way her hands shook and she kept her distance. Rather than insult her and try to explain it away, Asena resolved herself to silence, and within half an hour had dozed off to sleep, leaving Josephine alone with her thoughts.

She found she couldn’t stop staring at Asena’s hands. The hands that had on so many occasions caressed her, stroked her, brushed her, brought her to peaks hither-to-before rarely explored to such glorious fruition with another. What else were those hands doing? On those long nights at work, who else were they touching? And how? The blind eye Josephine had turned proved to be much stronger than she intended, because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she’d purposefully ignored the bruises, the cuts and scrapes and the bloodied knuckles. Worse still, the handful of times The Iron Bull came to their apartment, he was usually sporting more serious wounds himself. And the realizations snowballed from there, until the woman lying upon the sofa no longer resembled the suave, soft, gentle giant who was capable of bringing her to her knees with a single look. Frail though she was at this moment, as Josephine stared at her lover, she found she no longer recognized the face that slumbered away. Not the proud nose, the full lips, the sharp cheekbones, the neat eyebrows. None of it. The mask of gentle beauty had slipped away, and the woman underneath it scared her.

“Who are you?” she found herself whispering.

But still Asena slumbered on, and the nausea and pin-prickling discomfort growing with Josephine became too much to handle. Still, she sat there for a good hour, struggling to come to terms with this new reality, with having the veil forcibly thrust open upon the status of her life, but ultimately, she caved. Decisively, she jumped from the chair and busied herself with packing a bag, her hands trembling as they stuffed it with anything and everything she could think of—clothes, toothbrush, shoes she wasn’t entirely sure matched, her favorite doll. Her hands paused over the framed picture on the night stand, the one Asena had asked a passerby to take of them when they’d traveled to the beach for a week. They looked so happy together, Asena’s arm dangling proudly across her shoulders and a brilliant, proud grin stretched across her sunglassed face, both of Josephine’s arms wrapped about Asena’s bare midriff, her face frozen in a laugh. The picture called to her, begged to be taken with her, but the pain, the pure longing for those days was too strong to ignore.

With a glance towards the couch, Josephine hefted her bag upon her shoulder and stepped into the elevator. And as she looked up just before the doors slid shut, her eyes met Asena’s from the couch, watching her go with heavy, unshed tears.

Xxx

The doors slid shut, and Asena was alone, truly alone for the first time in ages, and that loneliness echoed all around the room in a cacophony of mocking. Asena Adaar is a strong woman, prided herself on her ability to press down any negative emotions and never ever cry. But seeing Josephine leave, seeing the pure fear in her eyes when they locked across the room, that brought her to her fucking knees. If she weren’t a good smack from having one foot in the grave, she might’ve gotten up, stormed around, destroyed the apartment, screamed with her agony. Instead, she stared unblinking at the elevator for some time until the tears spilled over, and she laid herself back down on the couch and wept silently until she dozed into sleep once more.

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Josephine always suspected. They both knew that. But denial is a powerful motivator, can drive a person to think the sky is pink. Josephine never asked. She knew that if she did, Asena would be forced to lie, and a lie of omission is better than a bold-faced lie. She wasn’t even sure she could lie to Josephine like that, not really. Giving her the whole spiel about high level contracts she isn’t allowed to talk about was technically not a lie. It wasn’t the entire truth, but not a lie. Her organization does take high-end contracts, and if Asena had told her about it, it would’ve put Josephine in danger and so she would not allow herself to do that.

Sitting alone in her bigass apartment, looking around at all the pictures, all the personal touches, Asena had to wonder if perhaps she should’ve just been honest. Wouldn’t losing Josephine early on have been better than losing her now, after 16 months together?

Her first instinct was to say, “Yes. Of course it would’ve.” But the more she looked around, the more memories that popped into her mind, she knew that it was a lie. Meeting Josephine Montilyet had undoubtedly been the best thing to have ever happened to Asena Adaar.

And she’d let her walk out the fucking door.

Xxx

Days came and went with no communication, not even so much as a “Hi.” Every morning Asena awoke and eagerly opened her phone, only to have the same familiar wave of crushing defeat roll over her when the only notifications she had were from coworkers and her boss. Josephine needed her space. She needed to have the chance to come to terms with what had happened, with the truth of it all. But Maker, Asena was not a patient woman.

Days turned into weeks with still no word. The silence was beginning to wear on her, though she tried not to obsess. Her bosses insisted she return to work despite her unhealed injuries. She wanted to tell them no, to tell them to go fuck themselves on their horns, but she was now in debt to them. Asking for help with the House of Repose had cost her more dearly than she would ever let Josephine know. Thankfully, Asena had many friends within her organization, friends who have proven their loyalty to her many times before, friends to whom she can go and ask for help, for protection for Josephine. The contract may no longer have been in the House of Repose, but that didn’t necessarily mean Josephine was completely safe.

By the fourth week, the idea that Josephine might never come back had begun to plague Asena’s thoughts. It filled her with an ache worse than her mending injuries, an emptiness echoed by the apartment. It was time to move, she decided. Even if Josephine were to come back, this place would forever be tainted for them. For the time being, Asena moved into The Iron Bull’s building. It was an old fire station done up rather like a college dorm, with separate sleeping quarters but shared living spaces. The Chargers lived there with him which meant that it was crowded and cramped. Precisely what Asena needed.

The Iron Bull, Krem, Gemma, and Blackwall came to help Asena move. Her wounds were healing nicely, almost needing no more bandages, but heavy lifting was still off the table. She’d gone around the apartment beforehand, loading stuff into boxes, and very quickly she’d realized how much of it was Josephine’s. Packing Josie’s things hurt, hurt far worse than she’d expected it to. It was just stuff, after all. Wasn’t it? 

She divvied up the stuff they shared in Josephine’s favor. The books, the movies, the pictures, most of it would go to her. Asena kept all but two of the photos for herself, the one of them at the beach, and one of just Josephine, standing beneath the Wintermarch lights, looking up at them in wonder as they illuminated her large eyes and colored her soft skin. This one, she removed from the frame and tucked into her wallet, to be kept on her person at all times, she decided. 

Bull helped her load Josephine’s things into her car and went with her to deliver them. “So what’s the plan, Boss?” 

“Plan?” she said, glancing over at him as she drove. 

“For droppin’ the stuff off. You gonna talk to her or what?” 

...Oh. She... She hadn’t thought that far ahead. What would she do? Could she handle speaking with her? Would she turn her away? Could she handle that rejection? “I... I don’t know,” she admitted weakly. 

Bull regarded her for a long moment. Asena could practically feel the wheels turning in his head as he analyzed her body language. Likely, he could tell exactly what she was thinking, could see the dozens of questions rolling across her face. Bull was freaky good at shit like that. Then, gently and carefully, he reached over and put his hand upon her shoulder. “I got your back, Boss. You know that.” 

She smiled weakly at him and patted his hand. “Mm. I do. Thank you, Bull. You’ve always been such a good friend to me.” She need only feel the missing fingers beneath her hand to know how true that was. Though she’d known Gemma longest out of all her friends, The Iron Bull was Asena’s closest friend in the whole world. To think of how they started that friendship made her laugh. From day one, neither of them trusted the other. They’d protested working together, begged their boss to give them a different partner for that job (truthfully, Asena had quite forgotten what that job had even been by now.) All through planning the job to getting to the goddamn location, all they’d done was bicker. One insisted Plan A was better, the other told them to go fuck a duck. The job went... not well. But The Iron Bull had saved Asena’s life, tackled her out of the path of a fireball she’d not noticed coming. The fire had caught the edge of his hand, burnt his fingers so badly that the nerves would never regenerate so he’d had them amputate them. (”Eh, never liked those ones much anyway,” he’d said.) And, well, Asena never needed worry about his allegiance ever again. Even when she’d been promoted over him, he’d been genuinely, insurmountably pleased for her. (The fact that she let him start his own sub-division in the gang only added to his pleasure.) And here they sat together after all this time, no longer just as coworkers but as friends, genuine friends. 

The rest of the drive to Cullen and Leliana’s house was spent in companionable silence. Though Bull could undoubtedly tell every block made Asena’s anxiety rise, he didn’t press, didn’t insult her by trying to calm her down for which she was grateful. As they pulled up to the house, she had to pause to take a quick breath. Josephine’s bike and Cullen’s car both sat out in the open, which meant at least the two of them were home. The Iron Bull waited for Asena to put her cool face back on, ever patient. “We’ll, uh… We’ll unload and then I’ll knock.” She nodded, more to herself than to him. “Yeah.”

Bull nodded in agreement and hopped out of the car. “You got it, Boss.” They made quick work of it and took special care to arrange it neatly on the porch. Once it was all arranged, Bull went to wait by the car, giving her her space to do what she needed.

She had to take another breath to steady herself and cursed her weakness. No other woman had ever made her flounder like this. It was embarrassing. Asena Adaar does not get butterflies, god dammit. Yet here she was. No, best to get it over with quickly. Without thinking about it, she knocked three times on the door and took a respectful three steps back, her hands clasped in front of her.

The door swung open, and Cullen stepped out, blinking up at her. “A-Asena. Um. Hi.”

She looked him over once then peered easily into the house. “Is she here?”

“Josephine? I… um. Uh, no. No, she’s not.”

Oh. How could such a simple statement invoke such a sense of relief and sadness all at once? “Oh. Well, I’m moving in with Bull and the boys, so, I brought her things to her. Could you please see to it she gets them?” She gestured towards the boxes on the porch.

Cullen looked over at them then back at her, blushing furiously. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, of course, but… You know she moved back home, right? T-To Antiva City.”

She… Clearing her throat, Asena shook her head. “I was not aware of that, no.” What the fuck were the people watching her doing if not their jobs? She should have been informed.

“She uh… She left two days ago, as a matter of fact.”

“Well. I apologize for the imposition, Cullen. I’ll have a friend come by and… I guess ship these to her or something. Um. Excuse me.” Turning on her heel, she stalked off the porch quickly and beelined for the car. Bull was already waiting in the driver’s seat, ready to go.

Asena Adaar is a strong woman, prided herself on her ability to press down any negative emotions and never ever cry. But as Bull weaved his way through traffic, Asena wept.

[dixiedingo]

Found Dog Chapter 2

Balea gets somewhat acquainted with the X-Men and Piotr apologizes for knocking them the fuck out.

TW: abuse mention, minor gore mention

Their head snapped up. They were in a room with blinding lights. It was all white. They were bound to a metal chair. They shifted in the chair, head groggy as they came to fully. They looked around the room before finally, their eyes landed on a bald man in a wheelchair.

“You’re awake.” He smiled.

“And you’re creepy as hell.” They frowned.

“That’s no way to greet someone, my dear. My name is Professor Charles Xavier.” He said, smiling softly as he rolled around.

“And why do I care?” They frowned.

He rolled towards them carefully. Being strapped down like this in a room with a guy like that… brought back terrible memories for them, causing them to thrash a little.

“Because, we need you, Balea.” He said calmly. “... Good mutants are dying, and you’re the only way we can help them.”

“Why the hell should I care about good mutants?” They growled.

“... I bet you were a good mutant at some point. You must’ve been hurt terribly to be acting this way.” He said calmly. “Tell me, why would you be involved with something as… cruel and gruesome as a gang?” He was sipping his tea. The sound pissed them off.

“Because that cruel and gruesome gang gave me a roof and food when no one else would.” They snapped. “That gang… I owe them my life.” Despite how bitter they felt, it was true. It was honest.

The beating Tracks would give them when they got back scared them.

“What if I did that, then?” He said. “Pardon?” They frowned up.

“What if I gave you a room, food, and a family. It’s what you want, no?” He said.

“Are you… are you fucking bribing me? With love???” Their face twisted in disgust.

“I prefer the word negotiate, but yes, if you’d like to call it bribing then… guilty as charged.” He sipped again.

“.... what if I say no…?” They said softly.

“Well, according to Logan, as unpolished as you are, you’re quite the formidable opponent.” He said. “If I let you go, knowing you’d use your powers for bad… well, in short, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you’re making a bad name for mutants like yourself. You’d be locked up in jail of course, for your crimes. But not before we make you help us, that is.” He raised his brow.

“... are you positive you guys are the good guys?” They scowled.

“Sometimes to do good, we have to do things others may not agree with.” He admitted.

They sighed. “.... I-If you catch them… promise me you won’t hurt them, okay?” They said softly.

“We won’t. One hundred percent-- I’m a man of my word.” Xavier rolled forward.

They sniffled softly. “... I-I’ll help you.” They said quietly. Xavier smiled as their shackles were undone. They rubbed their wrists, curling up in a small ball.

“Lovely. It’ll be nice having you at the school, Balea. I’ll interview you later.” He began to roll out. “Oh-- there will be someone waiting outside for you. Just come when you’re ready.” He coaxed them. They nodded before sighing, trying to calm down as he exited.

They confirmed it-- old white guys are evil. All of ‘em.

Eventually, they gathered their guts and composure and exited, Logan outside waiting for them. “Ah, you survived.” Logan joked lightly. They silently glared at them. “... I hate you.” Their voice was bitter.

“I love you too, cupcake. Now come on, I got a lot to show and tell today. I won’t like it anymore than you do, but the quicker we get this shit done, the quicker we can have dinner and go sleep.” He beckoned them to follow him. They looked around-- the size of this place was fucking amazing. A whole manor. 

As they looked around at the smooth, polished oak, they saw the various mutants walking around, associating with each other. They saw the blue-eyed boy again in the living room, talking to the blonde. They caught each other’s eyes before he looked away, flustered, his freckled cheeks pink. They took note of that as they continued to follow Logan. 

Once they got their tour, they were taken to the dining room and were given a small, hot meal. They ate gladly, Logan beside them just so they wouldn’t be lonely. He’d feel kinda bad then. 

“So, where you from?” He asked.

They stayed quiet as they chowed down. Logan felt like he wouldn’t get an answer so instead, he just stayed quiet himself until finally they spoke up.

“Rocheschur’--” They said, mouth filled with food.

“Nice. What brings you down here?” He asked.

“They put me down here after some shit went down just outside the island.” They muttered. He sat there quietly. “What kinda shit?” He asked.

“Ever heard of Jacob McComrick?” They asked.

“Yeah?”

“Heard from him in a while?” They asked.

“... n-no?” Logan’s brow furrowed, and he was left disturbed when they didn’t add anything else. 

When they finished, Logan lead them to Xavier’s office and closed the door behind them. He began to record as they sat down, pressing a red button on a tape recorder. They snickered.

“What year is it, 1938?” They asked. “I’m afraid not, my dear. But tell me about yourself. Your hobbies… your likes and dislikes…” He suggested. They sighed, almost annoyed.

“My name is Balea McComrick. I’m really into music n’ stuff. And art sometimes. I like sushi, my favorite instrument is the piano, and I also like hiking.” They started. He nodded quietly. “Why did you end up in the place you’re in?”

“Are you kidding me?” They smirked. “My last name ring a bell? You remember McComrick? I fuckin’ killed him.” “Right, he was an anti-mutant politicist. But do you know anything about his death?” Xavier looked at them intently.

He knew it wasn’t that simple.

They squirmed a little. 

“Balea, it’s easier to frame yourself as the villain than it is to see someone in a bad light. It’s okay to say you hated him.” He said. “... he hurt you, after all, didn’t he?”

“... yeah.” They sighed. “... yeah he did.” They fidgeted with the button on their coat.

“What did he do to you?”

“.... he’d adopt mutant kids and uh… experiment on them. I have a regeneration ability that’s effected by salt so… he’d open me up…” They swallowed hard, looking away. Their hands were shaking now. “... h-he’d open me up and then uh… he-- he’d pour salt everywhere and… I… he’d just… dissect me and… test stuff.” Their words gradually got more breathless. Logan’s face cringed visibly. 

“How long did this go on for?”

“.... too long.” “And so…?” “He killed someone important to me so… I… I fought back and… I killed him.” They trembled. “... and that’s when you must’ve been arrested. Because according to what we could pull up regarding you, you’re supposed to be in Manhattan’s local orphanage for mutants.” He concluded.

They nodded quietly. “... I didn’t mean to kill him. I would’ve killed myself if I’d gotten the chance. I didn’t want anything to do with any of this.” They said softly.

“... and yet... You’re in Stray Kids?”

“The orphanage is just a loony bin with a ‘for kids’ label on it. The mistress neglected us half the time… so one day… the leader of the Stray Kids found me and… he gave me what they couldn’t. He gave me love and… that’s all I needed.” They swung their legs in the chair.

“Are there others like you?” Xavier asked.

“... Some, yeah. Not the same story but similar circumstances. You got kids from broken homes, kids who wanted a second chance cause they got dealt a bad card. We’re called the ‘Stray Kids’ for a reason. Each gang territory has an age group, and the oldest you can be in Stray Kids is 25. It’s… quite literally comprised of children.” They explained.

“... I see.” Xavier’s face darkened a bit. “That’s quite morbid. What happens when you get too old?”

“You gotta move somewhere else. You’ll be less likely to sell if you’re not as young as your customers. You just look like a weird junkie then. You’ll be better suited in the other three territories.” They said.

“And where were you going to go when you reached 25?” He asked.

They stayed silent for a long while.

“... I… I dunno.” They said. Tears slowly rolled down their face. Xavier pushed a tissue box towards them. “You don’t know?”

“... I can’t die, so dying is out of the question. Um… I can’t… I just don’t have good luck. I have shitty luck. I’d prolly find some hole to crawl into and disappear.” They chuckled breathlessly. 

“... well, it’s not a hole, but you can stay here and live your life out in peace.” He smiled softly at her. They looked at him warily with their teary eyes before wiping at them.

Maybe he wasn’t that evil. 

“Logan will show you to your room. Your responsible for keeping it clean. There’s a uniform in your room as well. We’ll design your costume as we get to know you better. Tomorrow we’ll be looking at all your powers, and you’ll be helping us draw up a plan for our plan of action.” He said. They did a half bow as they walked out. Logan followed them quietly, looking at them. 

He lead them to their room. Before they closed the door though, he stopped them. “... look, I know it ain’t much. I was probably twice as angry as you were when I first came here. But… it’s not as bad as it seems. You ain’t had a family before but… You’ve got one now. Stray Kids wasn’t your family.

We are.”

Balea looked at him quietly before nodding, trying not to cry. They closed the door and curled up on the bed. They cried softly to themself.

They were such a disappointment. 

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours before there was a knock at the door. They opened it…

It was the metal boy! Piotr?

“H-hi?” They sniffled. “Ah-- was I… harming? No no-- interrupting!” He corrected himself. “No, you’re fine. What’s up?” They asked.

“I-I want to apologize!” He stammered, fidgeting with his pajama button.

“... apologize?”

“For punch!”

That was right. He did punch them, didn’t he!

“It’s fine. It’s better than stabbing me or breaking my neck.” They shrugged, a soft smile on their face. His face got pink again.

“Um! You are! Very pretty!” He started. They snickered. “T-thank you???” “... please stay with us. You’ll be safer.” He calmed down, getting a grasp on his words.

They paused for a second.

“.... did you think I’d escape?” They said.

“... It didn’t seem unlikely.” He looked away a bit. “... Wade said he would not have blamed you.”

They nodded quietly, rocking on their heels.

“But! But. Please stay! Be my friend! We will be good guys together!” He smiled triumphantly like he did something there.

That made them giggle softly. “Sure, Pete. I’ll stay. We can be friends. No hard feelings.” They pat his shoulder. He smiled and pat their head.

“Great! I’ll see you in the morning, buddy!” He walked off, giving them a thumbs up. They giggled a little more.

“See you in the morning, pal.” They waved at him, feeling a bit better having talked to the awkward boy. They felt up to a shower now, and once done, they curled up in bed and closed their eyes.

They forgot about the Stray Kids and the horrors of the world for just a night.

[ur-mom-kayn]

Loyalty Chapter 32: Shadowplay

Zed Pov

"Please fuck me Zed." For a moment Zed's heart stopped. His student wanted to be fucked out of nowhere and Zed was just unprepared. Unlike Kayn, he had never had intercourse with a man before. He did not know what he had to do, but that was not important. It was pitch black. They were surrounded by shadows and could not even recognize their front man. Zed only felt Kayn. Not more. And so did his student. Zed took advantage of the environment and formed his clones from the swaths. One thing was certain. He will not refuse Kayn his request.

Kayn Pov

Actually, Kayn did not want to submit to Zed but meditating changed his mind. As he formed the shadow clouds with Zed, he became aware of something. Kayn had succumbed to the shadows years ago. He served him all these years and proved himself worthy of him. Zed was the master of the shadows. He was the human embodiment of the shadow. Sleeping with Zed would be something honorable in the sense. Kayn loved the shadow and he loved Zed. He needed physical closeness to him. To his true master. In the eternal darkness, Kayn pushed his master onto the bed and leaned over him. As Zed's shadow stimulates his body from top to bottom, Kayn searches for his lips. Quickly found, he immediately asked for admission. Zed granted it to him and greeted him with his tongue.

The contact with Zed's tongue was just electrifying. Quite different than in slight light. Kayn took everything ten times more intense than usual. It was probably in a trance state, which is why he was so deeply relaxed. That was not important. Much more important was where Zed's hands moved. Carefully, a pair of hands brushed down his pants and boxer, and another pair of hands stimulated his nipples. "Ahh ... Zed ... Do you really want to do this?" Kayn struggled to concentrate on the sensory overload. This was only the beginning.

"If you want that, I'll do it. I'm just asking you to be quiet. Especially if you are in pain, you should inform me. I do not know what to do. So ... " "You have to prepare me. Always finger one after another in my ass and stretch me. Preferably with lubrication gel." Kayn already had the worry that they did not have gel, but Zed also found a solution. While the one shadow hands kneaded his cheeks, Zed put a shadow finger in his entrance. At first, Kayn jumped startled, then relaxed quickly. As a precaution, he had fingered himself some time ago. The strange burning was nothing new to him. Nevertheless, very unusual.

"Does it work, Kayn?" "Yes ... please use two fingers." Zed accepted his request and introduced him to it. In pain, he distorted his face, which fortunately was not visible to Zeds. He did not want to stop under any circumstances now. Using three shadow fingers, Zed stretched the entrance of the young acolyte. He met unintentionally on his prostate. Then a dark moan left his lips. If his fingers had such an effect on him, then he did not want to imagine what Zed's cock does with him.

"Are you ready for me?" "Yes, Master."

Zed Pov

Zed did not like it when Kayn spoke privately to his title. "Call me ..." "I do not care about shit! If I want to call you master, then I'll do it again and now fuck me at last. I can not stand this torture any longer. Please let me come, Master." Kayn said just dead seriously. Only good that Zed had undressed before and with his own shadow prepared. Nothing new for him. He always stimulated by a clone. He quickly reached for his nightstand and got out 2 condoms. Security also occurred with a man.

Kayn Pov

While Zed covered a condom, Kayn felt something on his cock. "What will that do?" "Cover you with a condom. What else? I do not want to change the sheet when I'm done with you. I hope it does not hinder you from coming." "Think that's fine. As long as you help with the hand." After Zed slipped on the condoms, he swapped position with Kayn for his master to be up. Now it got serious.

"Kayn, you know me best. Which sex position do I love?" Kayn hesitantly positioned himself on his knees and held out his butt to his master. "Please do it, Master." Before Zed finally introduced his penis, he circled his rosette with his finger. A shiver passed through his entire body. His patience was at an end, but Zed did not stop teasing him to the torture. His shadow hands stained Kayn all over. His mind parted and Kayn only pushed his butt harder. "So impatient? I'm surprised. Where's your discipline?" Kayn did not care, but he liked the teacher-student relationship in the bedroom. Kayn discovered a side of him that he had not met before.

"Forgive me, Master. You may also be a bit rude to me. I do not deserve it any other way." Kayn heard a slight chuckle. "You would like that ..." And how he would like that. Luckily, Zed was so kind and finally introduced his cock. The size was more than just getting used to. Still, he suppressed a hiss. He did not want to show weakness before Zed. As a man, he entered the room and as one he will leave it again. A deep groan was fine for him, but Zed will not hear more from him.

After Zed had introduced his full length, he stopped for a moment. After a short settling-in period, he started with a light bump. The burning was hardly bearable, but still, there was no reason to give up now. Instead, he tried to meditate a little and hide the pain. The more Zed picked up the pace, the less Kayn could hide the pain. "Kayn ... if it hurts, please let me know. Can I help you? You're so tense." "Yes ... pump me faster. Or do something that distracts or stimulates me even more." Zed complied, pumping Kayn's cock faster. He took Kayn's ponytail and pulled. Suddenly the situation changed. It was no pain for Kayn. No normal at least. He felt a sweet pain. A liberating pain.

As if a switch had switched on him, he suddenly demanded more. He also moved and raised the pace with his butt. He practically fucked himself. Zed realized that, clenching his fingers in his buttocks and accelerated the pace again twice. "So you are one. You want salvation, right?" "Please Master. Grant me my orgasms." Zed slowed, leaned forward to Kayn and licked his ear. He breathed briefly in the damp place so that a cold shiver spread over his whole body. "What's my name?" He whispered to his student. "Zed ..." he replied in a low, low voice.

"Fine." Before Zed went back into his position, he bit Kayn lightly in the earlobe. The measurement was definitely full. His cock was exhausted to the end and he just wanted salvation. Shit if he could not walk tomorrow, he finally wanted to get to the point. Zed proved to be a good friend and mercilessly fucked Kayn out of his brain. He set the pace so high that only the clapping of the skin could be heard. Not only Kayn was exhausted to the end, but also in his butt, it became noticeably tighter. Only two or three strokes and it was over. With relish, he got into the condom and tried as much as possible to enjoy this moment. An indescribable feeling of freedom came over him. He grinned broadly and did not know why, with a heavy heart. Any self-control had left the room half an hour ago.

"Everything's okay with you? May I pull out without hesitation? "Completely exhausted, the young acolyte answered: "Yes. But please slowly. I just walk into the bathroom in the Shadow Step. What should go wrong." Theoretically much, but Kayn was in good spirits that nothing undesirable will happen. Just when Zed tried to pull his cock out, he came up with the idea of using the Shadow Step earlier to avoid pain. Kayn dematerialized and retired to the bathroom. Luckily, everything went well and he was able to take a good shower. As Kayn let in the water, he heard a knock on the door. "Hey, may I come in?" "Sure.", He answered curtly.

Zed entered the bathroom and removed the condom from his cock. As he thought, the rubber was well filled. Kayn had already stripped it off so he could thoroughly wash his cock. "May I join you?" Zed asked and immediately opened the cabin door from the shower. His master did not need an answer. His student would never think of pushing him out of his shower cubicle. It was still Zed's room.

As Kayn lathered his hair, he noticed that his hair was still white. Pretty unfamiliar. "When will they get back to normal?" "As soon as you go to such a platform and say you want your 'default skin' again. Then the hologram dissolves. I'll take you to one right away. Even though it would be a pity if you had black hair again." Kayn snorted and shook his head. "You only like me with white hair?" He questioned. "No, but I like our partner look. Look at us." Zed grabbed him by the waist and looked at the mirror in front of the transparent shower stall. "Do not we look like a great couple?"

Kayn glanced over at Zed and could not really follow his message. "What's the shit supposed to mean now? Are you really Zed? That's not how I know you." "I fucked incredibly well too. Then I'm in such a good mood. Besides, I wanted to give you some more affection. I thought you always wanted to." "Yeah ... but not so cheesy." Zed released Kayn and concentrated again on cleaning himself. "Will Rhaast come back today?" "I hope not. I just want to relax. "

Kayn left the cabin and dried himself. In the meantime, he could feel a certain pain in his back. But that was half as wild. He had good regeneration powers anyway. Shortly after him Zed also came out. Both dressed in sleep clothes, with Zed wearing a scarf with a hoodie. "Why ...?" "Forgot? You wanted normal hair again. I'll show you where the platform is. It is also near the lounge." "I did not mean that either. It was more about your outfit. Why not your mask?" "Ah, that's fine. I put on my sunglasses and let's go. The outfit is part of my SKT skins. Accordingly, the others are used to seeing me like this. Let's go."

His Master stepped forward and Kayn obediently followed him to the platform. Once there Kayn had to enter only his ID and his password that he also used for the phone. Once that worked, Kayn could choose his skin. Within seconds, he looked completely normal again. Now he had wet, black hair. A dream.

Once back in Zed's room, they went straight to bed. There he snuggled into Zed's arms and closed his eyes. "How was it for you?", Asked his master. "Nice, or hot. Especially that we had sex in a pool of shade. Unfortunately, my mana is now completely exhausted." "Pff mana. Always these magicians. So my energy is as good as back. By the way, I'm glad that you liked it, but the 'master' did not have to be." "But I wanted. That made the whole thing hornier. Mostly because of your Shadow Double." Zed stroked Kayn's hair as he spoke to him. "Fine, but next time I'll be back Zed." "Next ...? Yes, of course. I will pull myself together. Finally, we'll see each other," Kayn replied. After a long break, Kayn fell asleep.

[auntiejojo801-blog]

Chemo Days 10-14...Signs

It is September 5th and my my hair is still present! I was told by day 10 it would all be gone. HA! I'll count that as a win. I'm not kidding myself, I know it's going to go, I'll just take these small victories as they come.

I am living the life I've always wanted...with the caveat of having cancer. I am off of work and so I have all the time to do things I need to around the house. I have freedom to enjoy the days and go grocery shopping as needed. I can sleep in until I wake up. I have snuggle time all day with my cats if I want. I can greet the mailman every day (I sound like a dog). I can sit outside in my backyard on a fall day and listen to the wind go through the leaves. Etc, etc. So if I really thought about it, other than the 4 inch invasive tumor and lymph node involvement that I have, I am blessed.

I'm feeling pretty good, going into round 2 tomorrow of chemo.

I've always been one to watch for signs and love seeing and connecting them when they appear.

Back in February of this year when the weather was cold I decided to try my hand at jewelry making. I bought some items and charms and got to work. One set of charms I found was bronze discs with a hammered cross on one side and the word "hope" engraved on the opposite side, both have the look of being burned into the metal and I thought they were very cool. I made them into earrings and they have been in constant rotation through the year. Since my diagnosis I have received numerous gifts including some very cool breast cancer rings, all with the word "hope" on them. So before I even knew, I made myself these earrings and have been wearing this theme all year.

I like to draw my Runes every January 1st. It's fun and unusually accurate. It typically makes no sense when i draw them and write them down but by the end of the year when I go back and read what I transcribed it's very cool, almost eery how it matches up with what happened. I remembered them earlier this year, I typically remember that I wrote them down around the holidays, and thought I'd take a peek at what was written for 2018. It's astonishing. The themes are: disruption - event beyond my control, ripping away of the fabric of what I know as my reality, and using my inner strength during this challenge; Initiation - pointing to what is outside of my power, the unknowable, acquiring a broader vision, experiencing a death to let go of everything and a complete renewal of my spirit. Association is made with the Phoenix (bird of mythology); Foundation -- a regeneration down to the cellular level, I may feel I need to retreat and I can do so to voyage inward for centering and balance; Warrior -- letting the will of Heaven flow through me, being a spiritual warrior; And finally Separation -- the benefits I will receive will be gained through something i must give up. old skins must be shed in order for me to be more truly who I am.

Now, when I drew these and wrote them down in January I was completely confused, but I went with it. I wondered if it had to do with work, or my marriage, but never put it together that it would be so deeply personal inside of my own body. I kept telling Tyson this year that I wanted to go to Phoenix, to see the Cubs in spring training. That didn't work out...ha. So I thought that maybe Phoenix in spring of 2019? My cousin whom I'm close with, recently posted a profile picture of a phoenix, and I loved the visual. And then I was watching the 2nd Harry Potter movie and the Phoenix (Fawkes) plays a pivotal role and Dumbeldore tells Harry some cool things about the Phoenix, that it shows up in time of need when you show a great deal of love. Seems like Phoenix is everywhere this year, and maybe this is a sign that I am a Phoenix.

I've been drinking Dandelion tea every day for over a year. I just read that Dandelion tea helps kill cancer cells...maybe thats why this cancer didn't show up right away and my blood tests have all been normal, because I've been fighting it off pretty effectively. I wonder if a Phoenix eats dandelions???

I've had a ridiculous abundance of yellow squash from my garden this year. I looked it up and yep, yellow squash has cancer killing properties. Totally going to be on my menu, I hope my family is ready.

So many more but my head hurts from all these associations :)

Speaking of signs, road signs...Slower traffic keep right...I wish everyone would follow this. On a 4 lane highway, use the left lane to actively pass someone, then get in the right lane. It just helps traffic move better. I am constantly amazed at how many people will drive in the left lane, side by side with a car in the right lane, both going the same speed. First that's a hazard, if one of the cars swerves (i.e. flat tire or a deer running out), now there's a 2 car accident and a pile up coming behind them. Second they can go that same speed in the right lane either in front of or behind the car that's already there. Third, There are people rushing for many reasons, and it's no one's place to judge and make them go slower. They may be late for a meeting and while yes common sense tells us that they should have planned better, but can you plan when your kid pees their pants when you're rushing out of the house and now they need to be changed? Or when a train stops in the middle of an intersection. There are things you can't plan. Such as a child who is sick at a school and we need to get there, a parent who has a heart attack and is being rushed to the hospital, someone who is rushing someone to the hospital to have a baby or due to illness, someone who is trying to make a flight. Ok, enough soap box, just get in the right lane, use the left only if passing.

Signs are everywhere and I am happy that I am blessed right now with the ability to see them all around me. So maybe I was wrong, maybe this 4 inch tumor and lymph node involvement is one of my blessings, and like a Phoenix I will rise from the ashes of this cancer to be a new and better me.

[mardoufox21111]

today i tried to outline did a few scenes and then tried to relax for the rest of the day. d has been average - she just went off at me saying im lazy etc and i was like ok... for no reason, i was eating ice and she just said when was the last time you went for a walk, is it too dificult youre lazy and i said nothing and she goes are you listening to me... no of course not i am deaf. i wish i was deaf when it comes to her. i saw a nice video last night saying if someone was insulting you in another language it wouldnt have any meaning and wouldnt affect you so the only power you give those words is from your own feelings so basically i guess i tried to do that but backfired haha. it hurts to have someone like that in your life who constantly puts you down and regresses any sort of improvement you try to make in yourself. yesterday i had a fairly productive few hours by myself, it was really nice and i felt good about myself. today i struggled to write because i had this impending doom that she would return and she has. i feel very zapped today like i need another 5 hours of sleep. tomorrow we are going out for dinner for my birthday because there were no timeslots for my actual birthday. i hope its drama free. i just want to relax. i cant remember the last time i just let my mind go free and not have any feeling of guilt or shame or some sort of anxiousness within my body because of one/two people. i cant wait to go live by myself, it will be such a relief. to be able to wake in the morning and do what you want, what i want. and have the whole day to do it. not have segmented hours. to be able to repair myself. i really look forward to that day where i do not feel like this anymore, where i can regenerate. i wonder what kind of person i will be. how i will act. will i be more confident [likely]. in my dream world i wake up in the morning and make something for breakfast, a light platter of fruit [lol - if you know me this is an outrageous concept but hey its a dream world]. i would take the morning to focus on myself, i would do a light workout, shower or take a relaxing bath, then get working on some scenes for a script. i would make lunch or go get it. continue to write some more into the middle of the afternoon around 2-3pm. i would then lazily create a dinner or watch a movie or read a book. if i had a pool i would take a dip. i would then have dinner, watch a good show or movie and spend the night feeling at ease. it would be nice. alternatively someone, a man, would come over every now and then. it would be casual but meaningful. he would help me cook, be interested in what i have to say and my feelings. we would have fun together. lately i have been picturing this person but it will never happen. ideally, i dont mind being alone for that. for me the best part will just be being able to be myself and having the space to express what i want. to write what i want. to be who i want, dress how i want, look how i want, eat what i want when i want. watch what i want. have no criticism. i think my life has had enough criticism for the rest of my years haha.  i long to win lotto, to have the ability to get out of here. the freedom i want so badly. maybe tonight will be the night. 

[canitakeyourpain]

Chapter 05:  Sunny Afternoon

It is an early July afternoon; the sun is high in the sky, and no clouds to be seen.  Daniel is in his bedroom, and he is finished making the bed, as he was unable to do it in the morning.  Looking out the window, he decides that he needs more help recharging, opens the balcony door next to the bed, steps out and is able to feel the sun’s power.  He positions a lawn chair to take full advantage of the sun, walks to the edge of the balcony, and looks down, “I need to mow the lawn, but it can wait until tomorrow.  It is a sanctuary what I have here.”  The two houses are the only ones on this block.  He owns the surrounding area thanks to the organization, so no one can build; it is designated as a Nature Preserve.  He turns and takes off his robe, and lies down on the lawn chair.  The sun is warm against his skin; it energizes him, and drifts off to sleep.

 Daniel wakes when he hears a cry.  Susan is calling out to him, “Daniel can you come over here?”  He jerks up thinking the worst, goes to the side of the balcony facing the other house.  He hears Katie moan, sees tears streaming down the side of her face, and her skin is deep red.  She is lying on a lawn chair, and must have fallen asleep in the sun.  He calls down to Susan, “Wet a towel with cold water and place it over her.  I will be down in a minute.” 

 He grabs his robe, slides it on, rushes downstairs to the kitchen, and steps out the back door.  He steps from the patio onto the grass, which is warm and feels comforting.  As he walks over, Katie starts to cry.  He starts by telling her, “Your mother and I told you to put sunscreen on.  Did you do it?  Are you testing me again?”  Katie responds, “No.”  He answers, “Remember last time?  You looked into the sun and blinded yourself.  You had to lead me to the Safe Room.  Well this is what could happen if you keep staying in the sun too long.  You look like an overdone lobster.”  Looking at the skin on her shoulder, he sees some blisters.  Katie asks, “Does Mom need to cry for me?”  He responds, “No, you are doing enough of it yourself.”  He crouches down, gets on his knees up by her head, and gently moves the strap of her swimsuit off her shoulder.  He puts his left hand gently on her forehead and his right hand on the skin of her shoulder.  He concentrates and the skin on his forehead wrinkles with concentration.  He relaxes, and slowly Katie’s skin returns to normal. 

 Daniel looks up at Susan, “Should I leave some spots of red on her skin to remind her?”  She looks Katie in the eyes, “Let me think about it,” but she knows that once he starts, there is no control to stop.  Katie screams, “Don’t you dare!”  He responds, “I could leave Sunny written on your forehead, laughs and then they both laugh with him.  Katie looks at his skin, “Why doesn’t your skin turn red?  You seem to be glowing.”  He replies, “I get power and regeneration from nature including the sun.  Even a light rain shower early in the morning would help.  Nature is nature and can heal many wounds.”

 Daniel stands up and returns to his house, upon returning to the balcony, he takes off the robe, and lies back down on the lawn chair.  A robin he calls Ruby comes fluttering onto the railing, and sits there looking at him.  He reaches over to a jar, takes some bird seeds out, and holds his hand flat with the seeds on his palm.   Ruby hops from the railing and perches on his thumb.  Her head bounces up and down.  He tells her, “Yes, it is yours.”  She pecks at the seeds, her beak poking his hand.  She finishes her meal, bobs her head again and flies off.

 Daniel remembers that he forgot something, gets up, goes to the side of the balcony, and calls out, “Hey, Susan, Katie.”  Katie replies, “Yes?”  He responds, “I forgot to ask, when Richard is going to come home?”  She responds, “He is supposed to be back tonight or tomorrow.  He wants to grill.”  He responds, “Okay, but tomorrow is the Gathering.”  She replies, “I will let him know.  Maybe we can change it to Sunday.”  He knows perfectly well that Richard would change it, as he hasn’t been home in a month and Katie will be over here for a few hours.  Enough time for Susan and him to get reacquainted.

 Daniel turns around and goes into the bedroom to get dressed, “I need to clear my head with a walk.  My mind keeps wandering off to what had happened yesterday.  But first I take a shower.”  He gathers his things, decides to use the shower in the guestroom, crosses the hall, and opens the door.  As he steps in, he gets a scent of Clara, takes a deep breath, and enters.  He fixes the bed and puts the blankets back over the top.  Moving to the bathroom he finds her scent again and it is stronger.  He sits on the edge of the bathtub, and breathes in deeply for a few minutes as his mind wanders.  He opens his eyes, takes off his clothes and enters the shower stall.  Her presence is still in the air.  He lingers in the shower, taking his time, letting the warm water soothe him.  After five minutes he steps out and dries himself off.  He thinks, “I still need that walk.”

 It is Friday, so Daniel decides to take a short walk through the woods, just to see some of his little friends.  Some will be moving closer to the house for tomorrow.  He makes sure that he picks up his backpack, steps out the front door, heads down the stairs, and turns right to the path by the lawn.  He could walk for two hours and he wouldn’t reach the end of his woods.  He calls them woods, in a forest there would be more and larger trees.  In most places the trees are far enough apart to allow the sun to kiss the ground.  He goes slowly as to stop if any of his little friends come, walking the paths, and trails to ensure that they are clear for anyone wishing to wander there.

  Daniel walks to the first clearing; benches have been set up at certain distances for people to relax.  He wipes off a few leaves and he sits, his mind immediately begins to wander, and he thinks of a dream he had when he was around nine.  In the dream there was a tall blonde woman.  He told this dream to his mother who said it could be someone he might meet someday.  He hasn’t thought of that dream in such a long time. 

 Then Daniel is interrupted by a sound, opens his eyes, and from the edge of a patch of trees, Mary, a mother deer and Bambi, her doe, peek out at him.  He smiles, and puts out his hand, placing his hand palm-side up and flat.  He knows that they are still wild animals and that too much handling can make other animals wary of them.  But Katie and Bambi, have been running around together, pushing and playing with each other, ever since they were both small.  The two come closer and he gently says, “Hello.”  They come closer still.  Bambi is getting more relaxed around him.  He takes out some pellets from his backpack and offers them to her.  She looks back at Mary.  She nods her head.

 As Daniel feeds Bambi, he gently touches her head, he sees Katie in his mind.  Bambi is excited about tomorrow and playing with Katie again.  He speaks softly, “I know you want to see her,” speaking this out loud knowing that they don’t understand his words.  They speak together in pictures, he thinks of Bambi playing with Katie, and Bambi sees this in her mind.  He sees the two running around the backyard, Katie laughing while they play ‘Catch me if you can’. 

 Bambi eats the pellets and heads back to her mother.  Daniel gets up and goes to a tree, pulls down some branches with large luscious leaves, places the branches on the ground beside the bench, and tells them that it is okay.  He turns and starts down the path again.  He knows Mary and Bambi will let others know that everything is okay for tomorrow.  His little friends seem to have a sense for things.

 Daniel walks further into the woods, and the afternoon is slowly turning to early evening.  He turns around and heads home.  After getting there, he again looks at the grass, but he’s not in the mood for cutting it.

 That evening goes by and Daniel sits outside reading on the patio until the light becomes too dim.  He goes inside and fixes something quick for dinner.  Not having a dishwasher, he washes the dishes by hand, does a general cleanup of the kitchen, and moves to the living room.  Not wanting to dwell over yesterday, he picks up a historical novel and begins to read.  After a while, he wakes up, the house is dark, and empty.  He slowly gets up, and makes his way upstairs.  The nightlights along the hallway lead him to his bedroom, looking over at the closed door of the guestroom, “I miss her already.  I wonder if she will call.”  Then he realizes, he didn’t give her his telephone number, nor did he get her number, “Maybe this was how it was meant to be.  It will take a while and some sad nights.”  He goes into his bedroom, thinks about reading, but that thought goes quickly out of his head, takes off his clothes, and lies down. 

 Daniel doesn’t wear anything in bed, and the night is warm.  The window is open and the night sounds rock him gently to sleep.  He dreams of seeing Clara’s face, the softness of her cheeks, and the feel of her gentle breath as she sleeps, and he drowns in her eyes.  He wakes up and looks at the clock, it is just past midnight, everything is quiet, he looks over to the other side of the bed and a tear falls from his right eye.  He tries to sleep again, but cannot, rises, goes to the guestroom, and lies down.  The scent of her presence is fading, but it still gives him comfort and he falls asleep again.

 Daniel wakes up, not so refreshed as usual, as his sleep was not deep and a little troubled.  He stretches and goes back to his bedroom, he thinks about it, returns to the hallway, and goes to the small office.  This was his bedroom when he was little and is between the two larger bedrooms.  He goes to the desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out his latest journal.  He has to remember to write all the important happenings into it.  He thinks of Katie, when she is older, she wants to be a writer, and write her first novel about him.  The words come easy as he writes, replaying in his mind the last two days.  But thinking about it makes him a little depressed, and wishing that he could take depression away from others, and himself.  After finishing his journal, he goes back to his bathroom and takes a shower.

 Today like most days; it is cleaning day.  Daniel’s mother taught him to keep things clean, and may be a little too obsessed with it.  Some days he just cannot stop, starting with the windows, it goes on with dusting, then cleaning the floors.  If he’s really depressed he might do it twice.

 Daniel thinks, “Maybe Wayne has some work for me.  It always makes me feel better.  Healing Clara was the first time I have been so intimate with someone I helped.  The time with Sharon was different.  She was my first love, but I had find out it was a setup by Wayne.  I did heal her from her drug addiction; I was always behind a screen with the patients and they kept it as impersonal as possible, but people couldn’t manage to find me afterwards.  In Sharon’s case, I knew it was her from healing her.  I was thirteen and didn’t know how to react.  It turned out good for her.  She is happy now with a husband and children.  I still love her, but now that love isn’t the same.  It hurt then, but that is the past, and I am still alive.”

[themegalodonbitesback]

Mending

After the Previous Seiryuu destroys their camp, Yun sits down to repair the shredded tent. But takes more than a needle and thread to fix some things. (Post ch. 108) 

Keeping his eyes down on the sleeve, Yun said, “Ruin this one and you’ll be forced to wear one of Kija’s extra robes.”

Zeno couldn’t contain a burst of laughter, the boy’s straight-faced joke catching him off-guard.  Yun frowned and yanked Zeno’s sleeve to keep him still.  “Zeno isn’t cut out to be the Hakuryuu,” Zeno said.

Yun was silent as he worked his way around the cuff. Only the crackle of the fire punctuated the silence between them.  “I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of this,” Yun muttered.

Also posted on AO3

It was long past dark by the time Shin-ah guided everyone back to the camp they’d abandoned in a hurry earlier that day. Yun gathered up the slashed tent and hauled it over to the campfire.  He spread it out, surveying the damage.  The previous Seiryuu had sliced through the tent, but Yun quietly picked up a corner and started mending the tears one by one.

The silence around him was so dense that no one could quite work up the nerve to approach the young boy.  It had taken a while for him to calm down once he had found them in that dark cave, but his quiet now was almost worse.  It seemed obvious to all of them that the tent was damaged beyond repair.  Still, Yun wrenched the needled through the cloth, stitch after stitch.

Shin-ah murmured a string of endless apologies all night for the trouble he’d caused, even though Yona and everyone else reassured him that it wasn’t his fault.  Zeno mused that this was the most he’d ever heard the quiet dragon talk.

Jae-ha approached Yun after a while and gently suggested that they could buy a new roll of canvas tomorrow.  He had spotted a town not far away while scouting earlier. Yun’s head snapped up, “Oh yeah, and how do you plan on paying for that, you rare beast?”  Shin-ah’s litany of apologies grew slightly louder.

As everyone began to realize getting Yun to stop was a lost cause, they began to settle in to sleep.  The hush was only broken by Hak teasing Kija that he would have to get used to cuddling up with bugs again.

Even though regenerating usually left him worn out, Zeno couldn’t quite fall asleep as he lay next to a restless Shin-ah. After a while, tossing in and out of sleep, Zeno noticed a silhouetted figure hunched over the campfire.  The moon had sunk low in the sky but Yun was still where they had left him.

Zeno got up and sat down next to the boy.  The shredded tent was spread over Yun’s legs like a blanket.  He was scrunched over the section he was working on, eyes squinting in the flickering light of the fire.  Zeno could see that some of the smaller rips were repaired but a few of the larger patches had already begun to pull apart again.

“Zeno doesn’t think we’ll be able to we’ll be able to fit many of us under what will be left of that tent when you’re done, lad,” Zeno said gently.

Yun clenched the cloth in his hands and for a moment, Zeno thought he might reopen the tears he’d just mended.  But after a breath or two, Yun’s grip slackened. Instead, he set the tent down and jabbed one hand out towards Zeno, “Give me your sleeve.”

Zeno was confused for a moment but he knew better by now than to question the stubborn boy.  He held out his right arm.  Yun grabbed it by the wrist and brought it closer, inspecting the sleeve’s ragged, blood-encrusted edges.  Zeno had forgotten that he’d sliced through it earlier in order to regenerate and gain the strength to break out of the previous Seiryuu’s cave.  Amidst the commotion of cleaning up their wrecked campsite, he’d only had time to quickly splash off the dried blood on his arm.  

Yun trimmed off the frayed edges and turned the fabric up under.  “This is the only spare robe I have,” he said.

“Zeno is sorry!”  He smiled and half-expected Yun to snap on him like he had on Ryoukuryuu earlier

Keeping his eyes down on the sleeve, Yun said, “Ruin this one and you’ll be forced to wear one of Kija’s extra robes.”

Zeno couldn’t contain a burst of laughter, the boy’s straight-faced joke catching him off-guard.  Yun frowned and yanked Zeno’s sleeve to keep him still.  “Zeno isn’t cut out to be the Hakuryuu,” Zeno said.

Yun was silent as he worked his way around the cuff. Only the crackle of the fire punctuated the silence between them.  “I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of this,” Yun muttered.

“What do you mean, lad?”

Yun kept his eyes down, “I mean that… I stayed up night after night sewing this tent.  Now I’m trying to mend it even though I know it’s hopeless.  But what else can I do?”

“No one will blame the lad if he can’t fix it,” Zeno said softly.  “Besides, everyone has gotten quite used to sleeping outside.”  He glanced over his shoulder at their companions, all fast asleep.

But Yun shook his head, “It’s not just that.  I’m not like you dragon warriors, or the Thunder Beast.  Healing, cooking, navigating – that’s all I can do to help!” Yun yelled.  He looked away from Zeno into the campfire.  His voice wavered when he spoke up again, “You all throw yourselves in front of me and Yona, protecting us.  And you get hurt.  And all I can do is heal you afterwards, to clean your bloody clothes.”

It was so easy to forget just how young the boy was for how much they depended on him, Zeno thought.  Yun performed minor miracles regularly and picked them up after each battle.  But he wasn’t unaffected.

Yun turned back to Zeno’s sleeve and resumed hemming it, his grip tight to overcome the slight shaking in his fingers.  “Even Yona now… even she is fighting and getting stronger.  I can treat your injuries and wash your clothes, patch them up, cook, but in a battle I’m useless.  When Shin-ah… I mean, the previous Seiryuu attacked us earlier today I couldn’t do anything.”

“Lad…”

Yun’s voice was heavy, “I have nightmares, sometimes, about when Yona and I stowed onto Yang Kum-ji’s ship.  When they captured us on the deck, I dream about what could’ve… what would’ve happened if Jae-ha hadn’t saved us.”

Zeno recognized the look of someone folding into themselves, overcome by the weight of memory.  The lad was too young to wear this look.  Yun continued in a whisper, “Kum-ji’s men grab Yona after she launched the firework.  They have a sword right up under her neck and I’m pinned down on the deck and yelling and screaming but I can’t move and I-“

Zeno reached out for the young boy’s trembling hands.  Yun’s head snapped up, the touch releasing him from the endless loop of his nightmares. Zeno kept his eyes down on their upturned hands, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on Yun’s wrists until the shaking subsided.  “Do you remember when the nadai drug lord ambushed us at the hot springs in Shisen? And they attacked the young miss? And Miss Tetora was stabbed?”  Yun gave a small, uncertain nod.

“That wound would’ve been fatal for Miss Tetora. Zeno wasn’t sure she would survive.” Zeno could feel the muscles in Yun’s hands relaxing.  “But when I called the lad into the room, you began treating her without a moment of hesitation.

“You heal like someone who has trained for years, but you’re the youngest of us all.”  By the time they had arrived in Shisen, the Ouryuu knew that Yun was skilled in medicine, among many other talents.  But even after all his immeasurable years, Zeno watched awestruck that night as the young boy worked without hesitation to save the woman. “Miss Tetora is alive because of you.”

Yun was quiet for a moment, considering what Zeno said. “But what about you?”

“Zeno?” he said, surprised.

Yun took a deep breath to steady himself before speaking, “So maybe I am good at healing and can protect everyone in that way. After all, I am a handsome genius.”  He flashed a quick smile.  “But you can heal yourself.  What am I supposed to do then?  Am I supposed to just sit around and watch you get…”  Yun’s words caught in his throat, “Watch you get…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence but he looked Zeno in the eyes, “That’s not fair.”

Zeno couldn’t say anything.  He was so used to silently watching over everyone from a distance, in the world but apart from it, that he was still getting used to anyone being concerned over him.  Eventually, Zeno replied, “Zeno doesn’t mind.  It was hard at first, but if he has these powers then he wants to use them to help the Miss, the lad, everyone.”  He smiled.

“But that doesn’t make it right,” Yun said.  “Just because you have these powers doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to get injured over and over again.”  He hesitated for a moment.  “I can tell, from your face, that it must still hurt.”

Zeno flinched.  The lad was a sharp observer indeed.  “The lad does help Zeno though, just by being there.  And by helping Zeno look after everyone else so Zeno doesn’t always have to… get hurt.”

Yun’s mouth twisted into a frown and he crossed his arms over his chest.  “That’s a crap deal.”

Zeno laughed, “How about this then?  Zeno promises to not get himself injured any more than necessary, so the lad won’t have to worry.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll actually help much,” Yun muttered under his breath.

Zeno was quite for a moment before speaking up again, “Zeno actually thinks the lad is the bravest of us all.”  Yun started sputtering a denial but Zeno continued, “How many times has Zeno seen the lad step in front of the young miss to protect her? If the lad gets injured, his body can’t regenerate.  The lad doesn’t have any special powers.  Not even a weapon.”  Zeno could feel his smile slip slightly.  “But still, the lad puts himself between the young miss and harm.  That is much braver than anything the rest of us could do.”

Yun blushed, unable to look at Zeno. Instead, he just gestured for Zeno’s arm to finish mending the torn sleeve.

When Yun finished, Zeno made a show of examining the mending.  “In return for such fine work, Zeno will help the lad repair the tent!”

Yun sighed, moving to put away his needle, “You don’t need to – you were right.  It’s pointless.”

“Nonsense!”  Zeno chirped. “The lad shouldn’t give up so easily on things he’s put so much hard work into.”  He picked up the section Yun had set down earlier and held out his hand for the sewing needle.  Yun hesitated.  “Don’t worry! Zeno has learned a thing or two about sewing over the years.”

“What a pain,” Yun relented and handed over the needle.

Turning his attention to the mangled canvas, Zeno said, “It’s been a long day, the lad should go get some rest.”

Yun replied, “It’s fine.  I’ll supervise you.”  Zeno chuckled but accidentally pricked himself with the needle.  He could feel the force of Yun’s glare.

Before long, they fell into a comfortable silence.

When the Happy Hungry Bunch finally came to a town a few days later, Yun handed Zeno a purse and swore he wouldn't fix his clothes another time if he ruined them. "I don't want to wash any more bloodstained clothing," he said.

But Zeno knew this was the lad invoking the only protection he could over Zeno. You're not allowed to get injured again. I may not be able to repair you but I refuse to repair your clothes.

Zeno doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

[24x7newscast]

Is Therapeutic Massage better than Deep Tissue Massage?

Our therapeutic massage in American fork can now be combined with deep tissue massage: why is that better? Let me explain!

The new and promising deep tissue massage that went viral here at Utah was designed by our therapists here at Body Balance Massage And Float.

With our new branch – there are new services – but also a new look! Enjoy our salt vapor sauna which is great for the airways and the spa of course also offers a variety of cosmetic massages such as salt treatments, sea gel massage and mud masks straight to the Dead Sea.

To compare fairly our deep tissue massage in Utah has no comparison – we are famous for our classic Swedish massage with deep tissue for a reason.

The therapeutic massage in American fork is truly wonderful and the time just flies away when you enjoy it…

There’s more to do with our amazing therapists or the deep tissue massage that relaxes your body and is just amazing to relieve stress by itself, but after the therapeutic massage you will go to our relaxation room which contains beds, meditative music and interesting tea infusions.

To break all this holistic, we also offer espresso bar and a variety of drinks that are all in one place. Our float spa is suitable for couples but can be enjoyed alone.

You got up uneasily from the bed for another day full of tasks. As soon as you sat in front of the computer the old pains in the joints came to life: again the movement-restricted neck, wrists, and shoulder blades. Maybe I'll finally get a massage to relieve the pain, you think. And I ask - why only when it hurts? Somehow we think about getting a massage only when we come to pamper and then a massage is considered a luxury, or when it really does, but really, it hurts and the body informs us that if we don't take care of it immediately, it will exempt us with a significant limitation on movement, and a lot of pain.

The point of the therapeutic massage in American Fork is to promote the health of muscles and tissues.

While our deep tissue massage in Utah does not work on the bones and / or vertebrae, but it can certainly help with any orthopedic problems, even if it has been a long time since the injury. American Fork is known for our therapeutic massage that will increase the range of motion in your joints, encourage metabolism in the body's cells, and change how the muscle fiber array is organized so that at the end of the massage you will feel lighter and less painful.

Deep tissue massage Utah can respond to disc brakes, ballet, tendon and joint infections, range of motion, post-orthopedic surgery, dislocation fractures, and muscle tension.

By the way, few are aware of the wonderful contribution that a deep tissue massage can make even if it has been years since the injury - even in such cases, still a correct massage can reorganize the damaged muscle fibers and / or the muscles surrounding the damaged bone so that you feel the change at the end of treatment.

 A good therapeutic massage is one that not only helps the body but also encourages the mind: The great advantage of the therapeutic massage is to relieve stress and stress.

It improves circulation and helps the blood flow from the veins back to the heart. This promotes relaxation and relaxation. In our fast-paced, crazy world, it is of the utmost importance to put aside the hardships of the day and devote yourself to breathing and receiving.

Getting a massage on a weekly basis, especially in cases of chronic pain, will help your body regenerate on a regular basis. This is why a one-time massage may not help significantly: You may have calmed down a point, but tomorrow you will rest and continue to hold your body incorrectly, continue to work at the computer or sit for hours. Again, the body will not be given the opportunity to repair.

Getting regular care for your body and mind, on the other hand, can help you to maintain healthy habits when it comes to posture and proper posture. A good therapist may even give you simple stretching exercises for home and office practice. Eventually, your blood pressure will return to normal values, your digestive system will improve, your sleep will lengthen and your quality will go up, your joint pains may disappear and your pelvic pain will subside.

A deep tissue massage then is not a luxury service anymore here at Utah.

On the contrary - deep tissue massage is a must. Try the following experiment: The next time you get a massage here at BBmassageandfloat - look at yourself before and after lying down on the bed.

At the end of the massage can you still see the remnants of your day? Are we going to have a little more power? Does the body look less swollen and tense?

And how do you feel on the inside? Did relief come to heart? A positive answer to these questions speaks for itself. Massaging the body for the mind and vice versa is a matter of breathing air and saturated water.

There are two aspects that are important to consider when treating allergic rhinitis. The first is the treatment of the acute appearance of the runny nose where the acute symptoms that appear should be attenuated and treated quickly, and the treatment between the outbreaks. When the condition is acute, it is recommended to use Chinese herbal formulas and daily acupuncture to treat the symptomatic symptoms. Among the acute performances, the body has to be constitutionally strengthened. Strengthening the immune system is especially important several months before the season that the patient is sensitive to (if it is a seasonal allergic rhinitis). In the treatment of perennial allergic rhinitis, work must be done on strengthening the immune system and organs involved in Chinese medicine before and after the acute outbreaks.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Ghost Ship (Ao3 link) Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: The Oculus spits Len back out into the world, a little over a year after he sacrifices himself.

He finds things different, and not in a good way.

A/N: For @ice-whisper, who requested Len angst that ripped her heart out. Hope this works for you. Happy birthday!

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Len goes to his death with his eyes open, his heart set, and an apology on his lips.

Mick survived without him, after the fire. Thrived, even.

He'll do fine without Len.

Len's sure of it.

What happened next, though, Len isn't expecting.

Len isn't expecting to come back to life.

He isn't expecting to find himself back on the Waverider, a little over a year after he died.

He isn't expecting to find it so very different from what he’d left.

Most of all, though, he isn't expecting to be right.

Because Mick is.

Doing fine without Len, that is.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"There are no strings on me," Len says, best smirk on his lips, and Mick on his mind.

Mick - best friend, lover, husband.

Partner.

Len's body is there when the explosion comes, so sudden and shocking that he doesn't feel pain nor flame nor even hear the sound of it, but his mind is far away, back in a warm bed, the golden light of the afternoon fading. Mick beside him, their limbs intertwined, putting aside his lighter voluntarily, turning back to Len, pressing their lips together -

Len's lips buzz with the feeling -

And when the blue comes and eats away at the scene, eats away at everything, eats away at Mick - not Mick, never Mick - eating away at him like the flames -

Len's lips buzz with his screams -

Screams and screams and screams and screams -

"Snart! Wake up!"

Len opens his eyes.

Mick is standing beside the bed. Already dressed, Len notes with hazy regret.

"You were dreaming," Mick says. His eyes aren't focused on Len, but somewhere beyond him. "Nightmares, again."

Len nods mutely. He lifts a hand, all instinct, for Mick's belt loop, intending on pulling him in, but Mick rocks back on his heels, a minute gesture, but enough that Len falters.

Enough that Len sees the horrible paw, the deformed, misshapen, melted stump that is - that was - his right hand.

Len retracts the hand mutely.

"You're awake early," he says instead, after a few minutes. After swallowing a few times. His throat's gone dry for some reason. "Is there a mission?"

"Thought I heard Gideon calling," Mick says. Vague.

Means no.

Means Mick just wanted up. Wanted out. Out of the bed before Len noticed he had ever been there.

Oh, Mick put a good face on it. He never said he wanted out, never hinted he regretted sharing his quarters with Len now that Len's own had been given away to some fresh-faced puppy who'd never finished growing up.

Len never asked if Mick wanted out. He didn't want to hear it, if the answer was yes.

If.

That's a laugh.

When. That's more like it. When Mick finally concedes that all is not like it used to be. When he finally admits what they had was gone. Admits what should be admitted.

It's over.

It’s all over between them.

Len sits up. "Want me to come with?" he asks.

"You don't have to," Mick says quickly. Too quickly. "You're still recovering."

Len rolls his eyes. "It's been three months, Mick. I'm fine."

Mick is silent for a moment too long.

"...I've lost time again," Len says flatly.

"Only five weeks. It’s been four months and change, since we found you."

"Month and a half," Len says bitterly, getting up. He grabs his jacket, wraps it around himself. He's already got three layers on, but it doesn't matter. He's always too cold. "Hardly nothing."

"You'll get it back," Mick says encouragingly. "You've been getting it back faster each time."

"With holes."

"Better than nothing."

Nothing, yes. That's what Len's wonderful brain has boiled down to. Holes. Nothing.

The blue glow of the Oculus has eaten into his brain until it's all he can do to remember his own goddamn name.

(He always remembers Mick. Even when he wakes up screaming, the whole life of him gone until there's nothing but the terror of opening his eyes into the wide open world for the first time, he always remembers Mick.)

He's cold.

What irony.

He'd been Captain Cold. Leonard Snart.

Finest thief in Central City. Smartest brain. Quickest hands. Toughest gun. Best crew.

Len paid them all to save Mick's life.

He didn’t regret it, no. For Mick, he’d always pay it all.

But he misses them.

He’s cold without them.

He's no thief, no supervillain, not anymore: he gave all that up when he joined the Waverider crew the first time, sold his services for a lark and a promise of adventure.

Gave it up again when he refused to go berth at home, to shelter his useless wreck at Lisa's side. Lisa would never turn him away - that's why Lisa's home, why she'll always be home - but that's the same reason he can't do it to her. Let her be free, his treasure, his Golden Glider leading the Rogues that in another life could have been led by him.

Everything else is gone, too.

No brain, not anymore. What good's a planner who can't even keep track of what day it is? Len trained himself a master with a skillset dependent on his brilliant plans and perfect internal clock. Now, the plans look like Swiss cheese and the clock's gone haywire. His brain boiled in the blue of the Oculus, swimming in nightmares and losing memories like a leaky ship bailing out, and sometimes getting memories that aren't his stuck in places they don't belong. Confusion reigns supreme.

No hands, either. He can barely use the thick paws that curl in front of him to dress himself, much less nick something in the flicker of fingers. His skin didn't burn when the Oculus hit him, oh no, it melted. It oozed like plastic, fusing finger to finger. He didn't even have proper fingernails anymore. Gideon kept trying to fix them, kept trying to think of new reasons why her first attempts at regeneration didn't work, but he screamed at the touch of her rays, the bright blue light that shone down onto him, and when she’d tried, he'd ripped himself free of the medical chair by his teeth in a frenzy of blood spurting out onto the floor. They'd tied him down, only for her next attempt to fail to cure him as well.

No gun. Palmer had taken it. Palmer had -

Len doesn't remember.

No. No.

He will remember. He will. It was his gun, damnit; his, only his, ever since he stole it fair and square -

The plans for the cryogenic cyclotron sit in front of him. They don't know what they had, these stupid labs; they hoped merely to use it to power a new set of refrigerators, but he knew better even though he was no more than a mere thief. He could get the pieces he needs to build it into a gun - to refine it, to fix it, to make it do things its original inventor couldn't even conceive of – not even the Flash could stand in his way with this -

That's not true, damnit. He stole the gun from Ramon, from STAR Labs. It got sold to him in a dirty warehouse by a dirty man who he'd put in a dirty grave.

(He remembers those plans, though, and putting together the gun by himself after all those prototypes. Another universe, perhaps. Another life.)

In this life, though, Palmer had – Palmer -

Wait, he has it; he remembers. Palmer took gun apart to stop a bomb instead of just freezing the fucking thing. He hadn't been there, which is why he doesn't remember it, but Mick told him about it.

Len wants to wrap his hands around Palmer's throat and shout "you're supposed to be smart, you bastard", but he won't. Palmer could swat Len down like a fly, pathetic as he is now, and he doesn't want to display his weakness even more than it already is.

So that's that. No brain, no hands, no gun.

No crew.

That's what's burns the worst. That's the ice that scorches him, the oozing wound in his soul, the hole in the center of his heart that bleeds him dry.

The Waverider has bonded in his absence, the ragtag gaggle of idiot do-gooders turned into a family. A family he has no part of.

Not even Mick is his anymore.

Mick, his partner, who stood by him through everything, who he thought would always be there.

Mick's moved on.

Mick -

Mick only sleeps in his bed by the barest technicality, coming in late and leaving early. Mick goes out with the team on missions that function like a well-oiled machine, while Len stutters and stops and doesn't fit. Mick has jokes with the team, references to things that Len wasn't here for.

Mick can barely look at the mess that's left of Len: melted hands, melted brains, even his pretty face scorched up one side by the terrible flame - a lightning strike webbing his cheek and crawling up his ear. Scars that sometimes glow blue in the dark even where there's nothing blue in the room.

Mick's hands shake when he touches Len, which isn't often. He doesn't want to. Len can tell.

Len doesn't blame him. He's disgusting.

Useless.

Their partnership - their marriage - used to be based on something. Give and take. Len's the brain, Mick's the muscle. Len's the quick thief, Mick's the wall of force. They balanced each other. Fire and ice.

Len's got nothing more to give. He's spent it all.

Mick wants out, Len knows.

And one day, one day, Len will give Mick a final gift, give him his freedom. Len will absolve Mick of the guilt that keeps him at Len’s side and watch him go off to live the life without Len that he should have had, if only Len had never crawled out of death's grip and back here to bother him further.

On that day, Len will freeze the heart that he gave to Mick long ago with the gun schematics that live in his brain now and put himself in the same grave his father lies in. But that’s not important. Mick’s what’s important. He forgot that and left him behind, to the prison system, to the fire, to the tender mercies of the Time Masters. He’ll be paying for that forever. No, Len’s learned his hard-taught lesson. He needs to let Mick go.

One day.

But not today.

"Let me get dressed," Len says, pretending he's not already most of the way there already. "I'll come with you."

Mick nods and heads to the door to wait for him there.

Not today, Len thinks.

Not today.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mick's nails have been chewed down to the quick, a habit that he thought he'd broken years ago when he was just a child, but they still cut half-moons into his palms with how tightly he's squeezing them.

Len.

God, Len.

His beautiful, brilliant Len, his Len, not some Doomworld copy created and altered by the Legion of Doom, the one he loved and he lost to his own terrible stupidity. The one who knows everything he's ever done. The one who took his spot at the Oculus, his self-hating sacrifice, so that Mick could live, because Len loves him. Because Len is the only person to ever look at Mick and see him, really see him, and still love him anyway.

Len.

There's a pit in Mick's stomach, knotted up tight with anxiety and guilt and self-hatred, and it's worse than anything he's ever known. It makes him vomit. It makes him cry like he hasn't in years, bawling like a child with his knees pulled up to his chest in the corner of the restroom in his suite, trying to keep quiet so that Len doesn’t wake up and hear him. It makes him want to light fires, then shy away from that release because wasn't that always the root of the goddamn problem?

Len, Len.

Len, whose face and hands - his beautiful hands, his pride and joy, the part of his body he always cared for most, with gloves and lotions and stretches and careful minding - have been irrevocably scarred, irrevocably ruined, and all because of Mick.

Len, who must hate him, now.

Mick can't see how he doesn't. Mick's failed every test of friendship and comradery, of the love and loyalty he swore to Len. Mick sold him out to the goddamn Time Masters, let them set him up, let them send him as a weapon against him, seeking vengeance. Threatening Lisa, the surest way through Len's defenses; using Len's love for his own self as yet another tool to hurt him. Refusing, even once they were teammates again, to forgive him for so long, so very long.

Spending days and weeks of their precious time together fucking around being angry, because he thought he had forever.

Taking Ray Palmer's place by the Oculus, and that must be the worst of all the reasons Len hates him now, because look at what that caused. Palmer called Len a hero, right after it happened, but Mick knew better. Mick knows better.

Len took that place at the Oculus for Mick and Mick alone, as yet another plea for forgiveness, in the hope that Mick would forgive his ghost the way he'd refused to forgive the man.

Mick's lips are numb with how often he's bitten them to keep from screaming apologies that would do no one any good.

What would it help now, when Len wakes up each night with terrible screams, high-voiced and horrifically unlike him - unless you happen to have heard him as a child, that is? When Len's wonderful brain loses days, weeks, months, years, decades each morning, only to struggle all day to recover?

Mick doesn't even have his partner's cold gun, to which he had been entrusted. No, he couldn't even do that much right.

Len had left it to him, a bequeath from a dead man, and Mick had given it away before he'd even worn his widower's weeds for a full year.

No wonder the Len the Legion had altered had been willing to kill that other version of Mick.

It all makes sense, now. It's all forgiven now, that murder of a man who wore his face and came from the future. Maybe the Legion version of Len, brainwashed as he was, saw the truth, saw what Mick should've seen, that Mick had betrayed everything he's ever loved for -

For nothing.

Just the way he always does.

It all tastes like ash in Mick's mouth.

You'd think he'd be used to ruining everything by now - his family, his life - but it hurts, it hurts so bad. He never thought he'd ruin Len, somehow. After all those years together, he'd let himself think that maybe, just maybe, Len couldn't be ruined, that the job had been done long before Mick ever showed up.

But no.

Mick should have never doubted his ability to destroy.

Len was always so careful with his heart. He gave it to Lisa, to his profession, to his skills. To Mick.

And Mick gave every one of those away: he betrayed Len, he threatened Lisa, and now - in the end - he took away everything else, too.

God, Mick can barely look at him.

He can't let his eyes linger on that beloved frame, lest he see the resentment, the hatred, in those beloved eyes. He doesn't want to see the knowledge in Len's face that this all could have been avoided if only he'd given his trust - his love - to someone more worthy of it.

He can barely bear to touch him, lest he see how Len recoil from him. He sneaks into their bed like a guilty man, waiting until Len is fast asleep so that he can have a few blissful hours with Len in his arms, pretending that things were as they once were, soothing Len through the tremors that wrack his frame each night, hoping only give his sleeping form some moments of peace as Mick hungrily memorizes Len's face - no less beautiful to Mick because of what it has gone through, only different.

He's awake and gone each morning before he can see Len's eyes open, that single moment of contentment and unclouded joy before reality sets it and he remembers.

He remembers what Mick has done to him.

What Mick has robbed from him.

That moment when that joy darkens and fades, when tight-lipped unspoken rage and misery replaces it. Mick's seen that look on Len's face before - all life crushed brutally under heel, no pleasure at all, because all he cares for sits in the hands of a man that could crush him with a gesture. No peace, no, just -

Submission.

Mick doesn't know when he became Lewis Snart to Len, but he can't bear the knowledge of it.

One day, Mick will man up and tell Len that he's free. That he doesn't have to keep up appearances, that he doesn't have to play nice for Mick. That he doesn't have to pretend not to be angry, not to hate him. Mick can take whatever punishment Len wants to dole out, just as long as he lets Mick stay by his side.

Mick wants to promise Len that he'll never hurt him again, that he'll never let him be hurt, that he’ll never choose anyone, anything, not even his own self-hatred, over Len ever again. But that would all be a lie.

He remembers the bruises he left on Len's face, Len's body, when Len offered up his silent apology for leaving Mick behind, while Mick made no apologies for what he'd done. It wasn't the first time, either. Mick can't swear it will never happen again because he's sworn it before. He's sworn it so many times. He's lied, so many times.

How can Mick offer anything to this man, who he loves more than his own heart?

He loves Len more than fire. He knows that truth down to his bones - having been forced to go without both, he knows, now, which one he'd pick. He doesn't want the world to burn any less, but he'll let the flint and tinder slip through his fingers for a single true smile from Len.

But Len will never know that.

Even if Mick tells him, he'll never believe him.

Mick lost Len to the Oculus.

The Oculus gave him back, hurt and damaged and angry, and Mick is so painfully grateful for the smallest scraps of Len's attention - what pity Len has to give him, he will take - because something, anything, is better than nothing.

It's even worth staying here on the Waverider, with all the whispers and the ill looks, the jabs and the cuts, where everyone thinks he's nothing but a dumb thug. Where they all know that he's the piece of crap that Len gave his life for, a lesser thief, an inferior asset, and now they have Len there to remind him of what they could have had if Mick hadn't let Len take his place.

Len doesn't want to go back to Central, so they won't.

They'll stay here, then, as long as Len wants.

Mick lost him once.

He can't bear to let him go again.

Never again.

----------------------------------------------------------------

They say such terrible things, the crew, when they think Len can't hear them. Len can hear - many, many things.

"Snart doesn't even have hands anymore," Jax hisses. "We can't let him go out here; it's way too dangerous."

"Mick says it'll be good for him," Sara says.

Jax snorts. No doubt he knows that Mick is speaking out of pity, out of scorn. He knows Mick well, now. Mick was always fond of him; Jax no doubt knows how trustworthy Mick is, how cunning, how insightful. How skillfully he handles people.

How skillfully he's handling Len.

Yes, Jax's disdain is all for Len. He knows how useless Mick's efforts are. He knows how useless Len is, now. He knows that Mick's only being sentimental.

Len creeps back to his room, silent and unheard.

“I really do think the best place for the poor guy would be at some sort of hospital,” the kid Len can never recall the name of is saying, his hand clasped with the girl who replaced Kendra - what's her name - Amaya. She’s new, too. Len hears them as he passes by the library on the way back to his room. “Somewhere where they can take care of him properly.”

“I agree,” Amaya says. “He may have been one of the team, once upon a time, but keeping him here is just cruel.”

“I don’t know,” Palmer says, sounding like he's frowning. The two of them and him and Stein are all sitting around a table, looking through books. “He said he doesn’t want to go back to Central.”

“Mr. Snart doesn’t necessarily know what’s best for him,” Stein points out. “Especially not with the deterioration of his mental facilities as a result of the Oculus.” He shudders, clearly horrified by the thought.

“Injured soldiers are worse than animals,” Amaya says. “An animal will realize when the fight is done. A soldier will just hurt himself more. There are places that will take him even if he doesn’t want to go. Someone with a damaged mind can be cared for there. It’s best for them, even if they don’t agree.”

“You don’t know Snart,” Palmer says with a snort. “He doesn’t stay anywhere he doesn’t want to be.”

“Even now?” Stein asks.

Palmer is silent.

Len passes them by, going back to his room, silent and unheard.

He takes the long way there.

"Mr. Snart," Gideon says. She speaks to him in a whisper, now. He's asked her to, and she listens to him. Someone still listens, at least. "You need to take your medication."

Len shakes his head mutely. He doesn't like the drugs.

"Mr. Snart, your high tolerance for pain aside, you must permit your body time to heal. It cannot do so if it’s in pain."

The drugs make him fuzzy. Make him not think. Like the first few days before the Waverider found him, all alone on that abandoned ship on that beach, the wreck of the Mary Celeste. Him and the ghosts, where everything was horror and agony.

Like every morning, when he wakes up with a new hole in his head.

"Please, Mr. Snart."

No.

"If you do not take the medication, I will be forced to inform Mr. Rory."

Len falters.

He can't burden Mick more than he already does.

"Fine," he says, tasting bile. "But I want a camera."

"It's yours, Mr. Snart," Gideon says. It's strange, but she almost sounds relieved.

She must hate the idea of one of her crew dying when she could stop it. Mission not fulfilled, or something like that.

The camera lets Len sit in on the mission meeting even when he's splayed out on his bed, shaking and shivering and fuzzy from the drugs he's taken at Gideon's request.

It lets him see what his presence has cost Mick.

"Your services will not be necessary on this mission, Mr. Rory," Rip says, his voice crisp. "It requires a certain subtlety and delicacy."

"Not quite your style, Mick," Sara jokes, punching him in the shoulder.

They all laugh. Mick shakes his head a little in what must be amusement - his back is to the camera, so Len can't tell for sure.

"Mr. Rory's limited capacity for thought is too busy to be concerned with matters of delicacy," Stein says, shaking his head. "This mission calls for intellect."

"So where's that leave you, Gray?" Jax laughs, a tease among friends.

The talk turns to logistics.

Len bows his head. He knows what they really mean.

Mick hardly lacks for subtlety, of course. Mick was Len's right hand man for a reason - he was always better at reading people than Len, even if Len was better at manipulating them. Len's plans, without Mick, were by necessity mechanical, lifeless things, tricks of timing, metal and machine, and what went wrong was always the people.

With Mick, Len's plans were works of art.

Each person accounted for, each contingency planned for -

Together, they were unstoppable.

But now -

Now, Mick has a new crew. New partners. Palmer, perhaps - Mick had given him Len's gun, and Len's seen his old jacket, Len’s old favorite jacket, hanging in Palmer's closet. Or maybe the new partner was Amaya, who stood so close to Mick and smiled at him like she understood everything about him. Maybe it was both of them.

It doesn't matter. Mick's brain and intuition and willpower, his strength and his wisdom, are offered to them, now, the most precious of gifts. Not Len. Not anymore. It's all for them.

Or it had been, anyway.

Len can see the way they tease him, the way they pretend to think that Mick's nothing more than the dumb thug he plays for a hostile audience - jabs that make Len see red and gnash his teeth to keep silent, laughter that rings in his ears long after they’ve left the room. And Mick, Mick nods along with them. Mick, Len's Mick - once upon a time, Len's Mick - says nothing to stop them or to censure them.

There is, Len presumes, some in-joke he is missing. Some secret event that bonded them together, to make this type of humor, which Len’s always hated and Mick never seemed to be fond of, be fine. Be acceptable, when each word makes Len taste bile and rage.

But that was then. Now -

Now they leave Mick out of their planning, and that, too, must be because of Len.

Because Mick's mind is consumed with Len, rather than the mission. Mick is too concerned, too sentimental, about Len to focus adequately on the job at hand.

It happens, sometimes. Len knows how to handle it: let Mick take the time, let him cool off. Let Mick focus on the thing that’s gotten his mind focused – whether it be a fire or the local urban garden or a stray kitten that needs round the clock care – and once he’s worked his way through what he feels he needs to do, he’ll come back. The Legends seem to have learned that lesson as well.

Len never expected to be the kitten in that scenario.

The Legends – the Legends must know Mick so well, now. Better than Len does anymore. Mick's changed so much in the time Len was gone.

Len misses him. There's an empty space at his side that Mick ought to fill, but even when he's standing there, Len knows that he's not there, not really. He's still with the crew.

The crew, who he permits untold liberties.

God, when Mick was Len's, Len would murder anyone who talk to him that way. Hell, he has murdered people who said that sort of thing. He doesn't understand what's changed.

He doesn't understand at all.

If Mick tolerates this, there must be a reason. If they leave Mick out of their discussions, if they don't give him choice part of plans, if they tease him for inadequacies he's never possessed -

There must be a reason.

What's changed?

Only Len.

If Len is keeping Mick back, keeping Mick down -

He doesn't want to do that.

Mick sits out of missions he could have commanded. He defers to Sara, to Palmer, to Amaya, even to Jax or that annoying one Len can never seem to remember the name of. Puppies half his age; men that wouldn't ever make the cut for Len's crew, not even worthy enough to kiss Mick's boots.

Nate and Palmer and Jax talk about fixing the ship, but fall silent when Mick walks in, despite all he must know from his time as Kronos. Despite his intuitive understanding of machines that work on combustion of any sort.

Stein speaks sharply and Mick moves to accommodate him, little gestures that smooth the path in front of him, and Stein's eyes are too busy looking at Len to appreciate the gestures.

Sara speaks with Mick in low voices that Len can't overhear, and Mick's shoulders slump in defeat.

Len is holding Mick back.

As long as Mick is stuck babysitting Len, he can't take his rightful place in the Waverider crew.

It's Len's fault.

He should let him go back to the Waverider, to his chosen crew, where he belongs.

Just -

He can't bring himself to.

Not yet.

But soon.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Len's pulling away from him.

Mick's losing him.

He's losing him.

Mick knew the day would come, when Len would demand a reckoning. But it's too soon, it's too soon.

He can't lose Len again so soon.

He can't lose Len.

Period.

He's never losing Len again.

He doesn't care what he has to do, what he has to give up, but he's never losing Len to anything ever again if he can help it.

He'll fight armies by his side; he'll go up against men who make time stand still and throw lightning; he'll spit in the face of time itself for him. He'll bind them together and beg for Len's forgiveness. He'll walk beside him into death, this time, if that's what it takes.

For that, though, he'll need supplies.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

There's something in the air.

None of the crew, the Legends, notice, but Len does. He always could smell trouble wafting down the way. He has a sense for it.

He remembers Alexa.

Security deposit job. It was a beaut of a job, everything planned out, everything perfect. Len had been younger, then, him and Mick together, and he'd been eager to sign his name to such a job. Mick had already been talking big as to how he'd spend the money when they had it.

And then Len's nose started twitching.

He smelled trouble and he tried to deny it, at first, because the job was that damn good, but that spot between his shoulder blades, his blind spot - it wouldn't stop feeling like someone was right about to slip a knife right into it.

He'd pulled them out.

Mick had bitched for a day or so, moaning about the loss of money, the prestige, all that crap, but a few drinks and a nice fight soothed him soon enough.

And a week later they watched as their former compatriots were marched out in line, handcuffs shining around their wrists. Those that were alive, that was. Not everyone was taken alive.

And now -

Well, Len's nose is twitching and his shoulder blades feel less like an oncoming knife than a full on spear. Maybe that spear of destiny they keep talking about but never explaining.

Len shuffles through the hallways, his useless hands curled into his chest, his eyes darting from side to side. He knows he looks half-deranged, but for once he woke up knowing where he is, knowing who he is, knowing what he is, and what he is absolutely - goddamn -

Terrified.

Something is coming.

Some terrible storm, some knot, some safe that can't be cracked, some last minute change -

Some mystery -

He doesn't know how long he's been there, amid the grizzled hulking mast and the slick wet wood of the deck. He doesn't know how many times the ghosts have come for him, shining blue in his vision.

He doesn't know what shore they've landed upon.

He doesn't even know his own name.

"Mick," he gasps, when the ghosts bring him water. "How's Mick? Where's Mick?"

They pour water down his throat, sore from screaming.

"Tell us your name and join our crew," they whisper in his ears.

"Mick," he begs. "Tell me of Mick."

They put bread to his lips, but pull it back before he can eat it.

"Your name," they whisper. "Our crew."

"Mick!" he calls. "Mick! Are you there?"

They sigh and feed him, and they flee in terror when the Waverider blasts into the sky above the wreckage that holds those who drowned ten thousand men or more.

"Something's coming," Len says, resting his head against the cool grey wall of the Waverider. "Gideon. Something's coming."

"Mr. Snart," Gideon says, her voice smooth and emotionless. "Are you feeling well?"

"Where are the Legends?" Len asks. "Where did they go?"

"They're on mission," Gideon says. "1959. Please return to your quarters, Mr. Snart."

"No. I need to find it."

"What are you looking for?" Gideon asks. "I can help you find it."

"I don't know," Len whispers. "But I'll know it when I see it. It's coming. It's coming for me."

"What is it, Mr. Snart? What's coming?"

Len closes his eyes.

"A nightmare."

"Holy crap, it's Snart," Jax shouts, his arms and head ablaze, blasting through the wild-eyed men who rush at them. Pirates, lured in by the wreck, from every era and every time, ridden like horses by the ghosts that they slowly become as they join the deathless crew. The Legends had tracked a group of troublesome time pirates who stole something that the timeline desperately need to put back to be made right. "Guys! It's Snart!"

"I thought we put him back in his timeline," Sara shouts.

"We did!"

"Then what the hell is he doing here?"

Len starts screaming again as the pain hits again, the roiling pangs that come in as sure as the tide.

"Shit! Something's wrong with him!"

The Legends rip him free and take him to the ship. Mick's there. His eyes are wide and wild, but he's whole, he's hearty.

It's Mick, it's Mick, it's Mick!

"What's happened?" Mick rasps. "What - why is he here?"

"It's Snart," Palmer says unnecessarily, then grunts as Len's flailing arms hit him right in the belly, knocking the air out of him.

"I can tell it's Snart!" Mick roars. "Why is he here? Why isn't he back where he belongs?"

Mick - doesn't want him here?

No, that's wrong.

That's wrong.

"You'd think you'd be happier, Mr. Rory," Stein says snippily as he and Jax split apart. He has a busted lip; that's probably why. "He is your partner."

"One I put back into the timeline after watching him murder another version of me," Mick snaps.

Len did that?

Len did -

"Why is he screaming? What's the - "

They pull his head up, and the bandages the ghosts wrapped around his face fall away.

"Oh god," Mick whispers. "Oh god - oh god - his face – his hands - Len - Lenny -"

"What happened to you?" Sara whispers.

"The Oculus," Len tells them, delirious with pain but strangely lucid. "It was the Oculus."

His eyes are fixed on Mick's face, so he sees his face twist with horror, with some realization -

"Lenny - it's really you -"

And then the pain comes again and wipes out all thought.

"I'm telling you," Len insists. "There's something wrong."

"You're sick," Sara says with a sigh, exchanging long-suffering looks with Stein. "Listen, Leonard -"

"Not so sick that I don't know when something's the matter," Len says, keeping a tight leash on his temper. His voice is nasal with irritation. "I'm getting better -"

"Yeah, yeah, getting better every day," she says. "We hear it from Mick." She hesitates, softens. "Leonard. Listen. I'll - I'll do another check, okay?"

"You think I'm hallucinating again," he says bitterly.

"At least it's not as bad as when Mr. Rory was suffering a similar affiliation," Stein says.

Len swallows down his sudden rush of anxiety - Mick hallucinated? When? What? - and focuses on the task at hand. "Where's Mick?" he asks instead. He'll believe me, he'll understand - won't he?

"He's getting some supplies," Sara says. "Just relax, will you? Nothing's going to go wrong. This mission is a piece of cake."

Len stares at her for a long second. "What next," he says dryly. "At least it couldn't get any worse? Cue thunderstorm?"

They stare at him blankly.

"Never mind," Len says, and stalks off as best as he can. His back was straight, his head held high, but his feet still drag and his useless hands are curled in front him protectively and there's nothing he can do about that.

He needs to find Mick.

"No!" Len shrieks. "No!"

"Calm down, damnit!" Stein shouts.

"I've got his arms!" a black woman far stronger than she ought to be shouts in return.

"I've got a leg!"

"Leonard, we're trying to help you," Sara pleads. "It's Gideon - don't you remember Gideon? She fixed your hand."

Len doesn't want to be fixed.

He killed Mick, he hurt Mick - he doesn't remember it, but then again he doesn't remember his own name half the time - and if Mick says it's true, then it must be true -

They force him into the chair.

Len looks up into the light above the chair - blue light -

His scream this time has no words.

Len can't find Mick.

Mick's out, they said at first. Supplies.

Then he misses a check in.

A minor delay, they assure him. No doubt a complication that Mick is handling even now. Or maybe he just went to a bar.

Then they laugh.

But the hour grows later and later. Their smiles fade. Their faces grow drawn and worried.

Len roams the halls of the Waverider like a restless ghost.

A ship out to sea, looking for its anchor.

He can't find Mick.

If something happened to Mick - if he was so worried about Len that he let his guard down -

God, why wasn't Len there?

This is like that horrific nightmare that was their original trip to the 1950s, with the loneliness and Jax turning into a hawk, and all of that concluding with the revelation that while Len had been dicking around, Mick had been at the mercy of the Time Masters, turning into -

Len stops as he hears the door of the Waverider slide open, and he turns to face -

His breath catches in his throat as he sees -

Kronos.

"No," Len whispers. "No."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Len wakes up slowly.

He's in his bed on Willow Avenue, Central City - no.

Cell Block B in Iron Heights - no.

The Waverider - no.

Where is he?

Len sits up.

"I don't know this place," he says, tasting the truth on his lips.

"You didn't make it in here last time," a voice says from the door.

Mick.

Len blinks at him. He's wearing the Kronos suit, but not the helmet, but he's smiling at him.

Smiling.

Len smiles back helplessly. "Mick," he says. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Mick says promptly.

"That's a filthy lie."

"You did," Mick says. "But I think I gave you a shock."

"What am I doing here?" Len asks. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Mick pauses. Licks his lips. "It's for you," he says.

Len blinks again. "What is?"

"It's my old time ship," Mick says. "From when - well. You know. But it's mine. Ours. I want - it's for you."

Len doesn't understand.

"I disabled the Waverider," Mick says, tapping his arm-piece. "It's not unfixable, but it'll take them some time to repair. They saw me come in as Kronos, which will confuse and mislead them, so even if they do start following us, they won't look it in the right direction. That'll buy us even more time."

"Buy us time? For what?"

Mick strides forward, falling to his knees with a clatter. "Len," he says, and he's swallowing like there's something tightening his throat the way it's tightening Len's. "You were hurt. I don't want you to be hurt. We can go back. We can change the past - any time, you just name it - you want us to stop your dad, you want to stop my fire, you want us never to get on the Waverider, we will, anything, anytime. I want you to be happy. I want - I want to be by your side, no matter what. No matter how short a time."

"You want -"

"I want to give you a chance to change history. Your history. Like you wanted to originally -"

"Forget that," Len says, because there was something far more valuable in that uncharacteristically long babble of words. "You want to be - with me?"

Mick's face reflects shock.

Len doesn't know why.

"You're my partner, Lenny," Mick says, his face twitching as he tries to control himself. It was always Len's skill, not his. "You're the best thing I've got. I lost you once, damnit; I'm not losing you again."

"But -"

"I know that you - that you might be rethinking our partnership -"

"Never!" Len bursts out savagely. "Never - Mick - god, Mick - how can you think that?"

Mick's eyes are wide and wild and lost, just as they were when they saw him again that first time.

"I should, I know," Len continues. "I ought to let you go, if I wasn't so goddamn selfish. I'm keeping you back, holding you down - I'm the dead weight you have to carry - annoying - hideous - useless -"

"Who told you that?" Mick says. His voice is very, very flat. "Was it one of the Legends?"

"I don't need them to tell me what I already know," Len scoffs. "When you won't spent a whole night in my bed and can't even look at me - you won't even touch me - "

"I thought you hated me," Mick whispers. "For the Oculus. It's my fault -"

"I make my own choices, Mick," Len snaps. "I always have. Isn't that what you told me, after the fire?"

"But - your hands - your mind -"

"I know," Len says. "I'm useless to you now."

"That's not true," Mick says. "Your mind is getting better every day, and Gideon even says there's hope for your hands to recover mobility, one day. And even if it weren't true, I'd still want you as a partner. As long as you'll have me as yours."

"But the Waverider," Len protests. "You're - you're theirs, now. You listen to them - you joke with them - jokes I don't get -"

"I've lived with 'em for a year longer than you," Mick says gruffly, sounding puzzled. "Bound to be a few in-jokes you don't get. Not a big deal. Not enough to make you back away from me like you've been doing -"

"But you let them say - god, Mick! Maybe it's just my sense of humor that's faulty -"

"He finally admits it," Mick mutters.

"- but I just don't find it funny, you know, when they're joking about you being thick or dumb or brutish or an animal. When they pretend they don't let you help plan the jobs, when they make like they think you don't got skills -"

Len trails off.

Mick's face is white.

Realization comes, months too late.

"They're not joking," he says. His voice is as flat as Mick's was, earlier. "They don't respect you. I left you with a crew that doesn't respect you -"

"It's not your fault," Mick says. "It started - after. After you, and the Oculus."

Len's useless hands clench. "I'll kill them."

"You'll do no such thing."

"They insulted you!"

"Len -"

"They meant all of that crap!"

Mick pulls Len into his arms. "Shhh," he says. "You're shaking, Lenny."

Len is, in fact, shaking.

It's not cold, though, for once.

It's rage.

Unleashed at last.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Len still wants him.

Len - Len still wants him.

Mick doesn't know if he was a saint in a previous life or something, but he knows he's been no saint in this one. He doesn't deserve a second chance like this.

You won't spend a night in my bed - you can barely touch me!

"I spent every night in your bed," he whispers into Len's ears, his arms still wrapped around his partner, trying to distract him from the all-consuming rage that's burning him from the inside. "I took you into my arms, just like this, and I held the nightmares at bay. Best part of my day."

"Then why did you leave?" Len whispers. "In the mornings?"

"Thought you wanted me too," Mick says honestly. "I think I made a right fuck up of it, Lenny. I never wanted you to think I didn't want you."

"My hands -"

"We'll manage. I don't care how. Worst case scenario, we get Ramon to build us some bleeding edge prosthetics and chop 'em off."

Len swallows a laugh, but Mick knows that particular way his shoulders shake.

"My mind -"

"I'd still bet on you against the world," Mick says. "I know I can't help with the planning, since my brain doesn't work that way -"

"What're you talking about?" Len asks, and he sounds almost bewildered. "You always help with the planning."

Mick frowns at him.

"Mick," Len says, and he's staring Mick straight in the eyes and there's nothing of the liar in there, nothing of hatred, nothing of resentment. Nothing that Mick was so afraid of. "I always ran all my plans by you so you could ID the bad stuff. You're good at planning. You're smart. Fuck, that's why I thought they must be joking - you're the best goddamn partner a man can have, and it never occurred to me that they wouldn't see that."

Mick swallows. Kind words, he's missed those. But it's Len saying them - and Len is rarely kind, but always so painfully precise. That means he means what he's saying.

"Look at what you did now," Len urges him. "It was you, wasn't it, that figured out a way to lure them to the 50s, didn't you?"

Mick pauses, but that's all the confirmation Len needs. Len's brilliant, beautiful mind, working in high gear again.

"You got them to the right time period," Len continues. "You found your old armor, and wore it, even though I know how much you hate it and everything it represents -"

That's true.

(The Legends would never have noticed that.)

"- and you got me out in a way that deliberately echoed the first time we did this dance because you knew it'd wreak havoc with their minds."

"It's a smash and grab job," Mick says. He's aware his face is burning red; it's been so long since anyone's spoken of him in an admiring way, and a good word from Len was always worth a thousand of any others. "You don't need brains for that."

"Not brains for machines and layouts," Len says. "That's my job. But you, Mick - you get people. You can read 'em as well as I can pick a lock."

Mick just buries his face in Len's shoulder. He wants to say thank you, thank you for reminding me, thank you for being back when I thought you were gone for good, but he can't. It's not their way.

"When should we go to?" he asks, instead.

He feels more than sees Len frown. "What d'you mean?"

"To change your past. Our past. Do you want to aim for your dad again? Maybe after Lisa was born? Or sometime later -"

Len's melted hands curl around Mick's shoulders.

"The only thing I want to change is the fact that someone wearing my face killed a version of you - any version of you - when I was gone," Len says.

Mick's forgiven him for that long ago, and said as much. He knows that version of Len had been brainwashed by the Legion. But Len still nurses the wound.

"The Oculus - if you hadn't been there, your hands and mind wouldn't be -"

"Mick," Len says. "If I hadn't been there, you would've. You think that's something I'd okay? Ever?"

"We could've left Haircut there," Mick says, but he doesn't really mean it.

"Nah," Len says. "I'm not interested in changing the past. As long as I have you, I'll make the rest work. No, it's the future I'm more interested in."

"You want to go run a heist in the future?" Mick asks. Seems like a Len thing to do.

"Maybe later," Len concedes. "But right now, I want the Legends to pay."

"Len -" Mick starts.

"No arguments," Len says.

"No killing," Mick rebuts.

Len makes a face at him, but Mick knows that’s a concession.

"Besides, what are you thinking?" Mick asks. "I can't fight them in this drone ship. Too small, too weak compared to how Hunter amped up the Waverider. Hell, after all the crap he’s done to her now that he has the whole timeline to pick from, I doubt there’s a ship out there that could stop them."

Len hums thoughtfully. “Hey, Mick,” he says. "You remember that beach where you found me?"

"Sure," Mick says, puzzled. "That old shipwreck that the time pirates we'd been chasing used as their home base. What about it?"

"It's not quite just that..."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wreckage of the Mary Celeste is far more than a wreck on a beach somewhere near Gibraltar.

See, for one thing, the Mary Celeste was never wrecked.

It was salvaged, empty, its crew gone missing – but not wrecked.

Not in anything but the imagination of millions, the queen of the ghost ships, and that has its own type of power.

That’s why here, on this lonely forsaken beach, the wreckage of that ship lives forever.

The ship – and the ghosts.

This is the home of thieves and pirates: from every era, from every timeline, every religion, race, or creed. Alive or dead. It matters not. They mix freely.

Each legends in their own time, or in later ones – men who once walked the earth, men who walk it now, men who will but have not yet been born, men who pulled themselves free of their pages come together equally alongside women with proud smiles and occasional complaints at the gender inequities.

Thieves, all.

In the end, it’s no surprise that this is where Leonard Snart, the thief who undertook to free the sea of time from the confines of the Time Masters, would be reborn.

Really.

It’s the least they could do for one of their own.

And when that thief that was born by their efforts but never joined their crew comes back, his lover standing behind him – eyes wide like saucers – and calls for them, they answer in all their warring legions. The ghosts of the past, the ghosts of the future, the madmen who come to warm their souls by the fires.

Len grins when he sees them, his face still half-melted, his fingers still curled like clubs, but there’s hope burning in his eyes where before there was none.

“Hello, there,” he says. “I’m looking for a ship that can help us hunt down another ship. Figured this was the right place for it.”

The ghosts are silent, staring, considering. Why should they grant such a request, and from a man yet living? A man not yet part of their crew?

“Of course,” Len continues, casual and blithe as if he wasn’t facing an army of the most terrifying thieves in history. “For a job like this, I need the best. So if you ain’t the best, don’t bother to apply.”

The ghosts murmur amongst themselves, the pride in their ships warring with the request from –

Well. In a way, he is one of them.

So maybe it’s okay to say yes, just this once.

Len looks at the crowd before him and his smile broadens.

“Who’s first?”

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Watching Oxygen for the first time

(A bit late, but still, spoilers)

-”Space, the final frontier.”

-REALLY DOCTOR

-YOU HAD TO OPEN THE EPISODE WITH A STAR TREK QUOTE DIDN’T YOU

-IT’S NOT EVEN YOUR OWN FRANCHISE

-well at least the rest of the lines are different

-This reminds me of the movie Gravity

-Okay, if there’s something I did learn from that sorta-scientifically-incorrect movie, it’s that you NEVER EVER pant in space. You end up spending too much oxygen.

what the?

hELL?!?!

FUCK NO WHY

-Okay, lemme just add ‘space zombies’ to the list of horrrible things we have seen so far in Series 10 alone.

Omfg he drew a rocket

-”So how does space kill you?”

-”Don’t hold your breath or your lungs will explode.”  Didn’t Arthur Dent hole his breath or do I need to re-read the book

Oh, he was drawing a skull, oh that’s clever

-Please don’t let it be foreshadowing

-”What’s this got to do with crop rotation?”  “I don’t know, space is great, isn’t it?”

So I think it was pretty much confirmed that Missy is going to be in next week’s episode, which makes me think that it’s pretty much her who’s in that vault.

-”Too much between you and the outside and you might as well stay home. To really feel it, you need the space equivalent of a wafer-thin sleeping bag and a leaky two-man tent.“ “Got any reviews?“ "What?” "You know, like for restaurants. Waiter was a bit handsy, lasagne gave me "Two stars.” "Strangely, no.”

-Maybe the Doctor should be the Campsite Reviewer of the universe when he retires.

-*alarm noises*  “That’s my theme tune. Otherwise known as a distress call.”

-Hahaha, silly Doctor. That’s not your theme tune.

-Your theme tune doesn’t go beep beep beep, it goes dooooweeedoooooooo.

-Either that or the BBC should use the beeping sound as the intro for the next episode.

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

-BUSTED!!

-”I saw through your cunning ruse.”

Rule #1: The Doctor lies.

-Soooo how big is the Tardis’s big-enough-for-a-stroll air shell, exactly? Like one step forward after a certain distance, then you could suddenly run out of air?

-”Space doors are supposed to go shk-shk, not urrrrr.“

I love Series 10 dialogue so much

-Have I told you how much I love Series 10 dialogue

Ah yes the plastic human taxidermy

“Sooooo... Back to the Tardis?”

-Love that part

-The corpse is starting to get to me

-THIRTY SIX DEAD?!

-”OkAY thennnn back to the TARDIS, LoVELy in there, nIcE and cOZY”

-Please don’t let this be Silence in the Library the Sequel

b O N K

a A  A A  A A

l o l

-”Do people ever hit you?”  “Well, only when I’m talking.”

-OH SHIT THEY’RE EXPELLING THE FUCKING OXYGEN

-Why did the Tardis door close though

-Was it to stop additional air escaping from the Tardis

h a i r

*Doomsday flashbacks*

Wouldn’t the Tardis get stuck in the doorway though

-”The Tardis is on the other side of that.”  ”Yes, I was really hoping that someone would state the obvious.“  “Vacuum behind it, can’t open it.”  “Oh, you’re on a roll.”

-”Nothing to worry about.”  “Really?”  “Yes, not for several minutes.”

wHAT THE FUCK

-How did it pull the sonic screwdriver towards it?

-7256403 0 days since you last broke your sonic

-”What if you’re wrong?”  “Well, we’ll be horribly murdered!”

“Walking Dead: Into Space”

-I find myself breathing along with them.

-One thing good about me is that even when I become aware of my breathing, I can divert my attention to something else and become unaware again fairly quickly.

-”Great, we rescued a racist.”

-But if the employees get paid by oxygen, wouldn’t they just go look for another job that actually pays them where they can breathe freely?

-Or are they pushed to the extreme where they’re forced to work or suffocate and doesn’t have any alternative

-THE FUDGE D’YOU MEAN, FAULT IDENTIFIED

-WHAT THE HECK, ARE THEY BREAKING IN

-Every single Series 10 episode so far was a nightmare in some way and so is this one

-They’re really putting in every

-”Please remain calm while your central nervous system is disabled.”  LIKE HECK YEAH I’D BE SO FUCKING CALM IF I WAS BEING BRUTALLY MURDERED BY A SPACESUIT, WHAT A CALMING SENSATION OF DEATH AND ELECTRICITY

-”Don’t throw up in helmet then. Check.”

-...shit?

-SHIT?!?!

-BILL?!??!!?!11one!!?!

-BILL NO DON’T YOU DARE DIE ON ME

-YOU’RE NOT EVEN HALFWAY THROUGH THE SEASON YET BILL

-BILL!!!!!!

-WTF IS GOING ON

-DID THE DOCTOR TAKE OFF HIS HELMET

-WHAT THE EVER LOVING SHI-EEEET

Ah, delicious irony.

-”He died?”  ”He should have done. I don't know how he survived.”  Timelord powers

-Too early for regeneration, yes? Please?

-”He’s in Section Twelve.”  HA GET IT BECAUSE HE’S THE TWELFTH DOCTOR

DAFUQ

-”You’re blind.”  “Oh, that explains the bruised shins.”

-WHAT

-WHY

-TEMPORARY MY ASS  (I got spoiler’d on Tumblr, really, too bad. Could’ve been a good plot twist for me)

-”I think I've got some spare eyes somewhere. They're from a lizard, but I'm sure they'll fit.”

-(How did they do the blurry eye effect? Did they use contact lenses?”

-”What’s happening?”  “Guess.”

-”Great, i get fined for dying.”

Please give the owl his sight back.

-SHIT NO??? IS BILL DEAD?? I THOUGHT SHE LIVED?!?!?!

-Kudos to Peter Capaldi for that blind acting

-Something bad always happens when the Doctor is in a spacesuit.

-Once, he got possessed by an angry planet, shot fire from his eyes and had to be put in a freezer.

-Then, he almost messed up a timeline by pulling a Martian team out of their supposed time of death.

-The other time, he fell from way outside of the atmosphere in a spacesuit, he was okay but had his helmet on backwards.

-He also had something to do with the moon that was actually a giant egg.

-”Are you of your mind?”  "Er, yes, completely, but that's not a recent thing.”

-This is a suicidal plan. And especially more suicidal than his normal plans. It’s really dark...

Oh my god...

-(At least the team gets to live.)

YAAAASSS

How did they do that, again? Also, I thought his eyes were blue?

-I’m just gonna lie to myself and think he can see again

-At least it looks normal again

-”The universe is your crrrustacean.”

-What does that even mean

-”Promise me you’ll be loud.”

-Why is he wearing shades

-”Doctor, why are you suddenly wearing shades all the time all of a sudden?”  “Oh, I just thought it would be cool. I’m definitely still not blind.”

-”You need to be here, and you need to be READY if that door ever opens!”  You mean there’s a chance of whoever/whatever is inside it breaking out?!

-”What if you came back injured or sick? You really think our friend down there won't know that? Won't sense it?“  Whoever’s down there is connected to the Doctor in some way (obviously.)

-99.9% of theories suggest - no, INSIST - it’s Missy down there but I’m still open for all possibilities

-”LOOK AT ME!”  “Nardole, I can't. I really can't! I can't look at anything ever again. I'm still blind.”

-*sobs quietly*

-Okay, that line was delivered really well, and I love how they blacked out the screen when he said “I’m still blind,” as if the viewers themselves went blind as well.

-BUT IMAGINE THE ‘OH SHIT’S I’D HAVE WRITTEN IF I WAS UNAWARE OF THIS FACT FROM THE VERY BEGINNING

-IMAGINE THE PLOT TWIST HITTING ME LIKE A COLD SODA HITS YOUR THROAT

-DAMMIT

-Welp, still looking forward to the next episode (which, I think, comes out later today or tomorrow, depending on time zones.)