#i am beyond repair and beyond reproach

[timelorddarthswagger]

These bad book adaptations have thrown me so far of my center. Uprooting the rage in me has been a year long process. I need to get back to reading. Far too long have feared a new foray into the literary world. I made small offering by way of new editions into ongoing series.

But even that was a preventative measure to avoid spoilers. The fear of reading something new. Immersing my self in that world as a form of detaching from reality to soothe my mind. Only to be thrust back into the chaos of a bad adaptation is crushing. I'd rather not read a book at all then to be disappointed with an inevitable adaptation. I'll avoid both. And we'll each be poorer for it.

One bad egg doesn't ruin it for the whole class. This is a mold that sits among the strawberries. I know how quickly it spreads.

[sixofpomegranates]

Rain in California - Act 1 - Fame

🥀Mini Series “Rain in California” Act 1 - Part 3 - Fame🥀

✨My Main Masterlist✨ | 18+ | AO3 | Wattpad

🥀Soundtrack🥀 | ✨Aestethic Trailer✨ |  🥀Masterlist🥀 | Words: 6.4k

🥀click here for the previous chapter🥀

TW: ANGST (LIKE REALLY),  mention of loss/death/addiction/sobriety/murder/abortion/miscarriage, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, depression, addiction, substance abuse, drugs, alcohol, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of OD, PTSD, Self-Harm/Cutting, religious trauma, past physical/psychological abuse on child/teen, abusive parents, teen pregnancy, murder, injustice, withdrawal symptoms,

Songs in this Chapter:

Heartbeat - Don Johnson

Seven hours and a Gastric Suction later, [y/n] felt like hell.

Her throat hurt and the medication they´d given her didn’t work. Now she laid in her hospital room, in her uncomfortable bed and was mostly angry at herself. [y/n] didn’t know why she had acted so stupid…well, probably because she had been high as hell. Not feeling able to control herself, when taken more than usual.

 She didn’t want to be so erratic, but when she was high, it just all seemed so easy. Saying the things she thought, doing things she normally would never even dare thinking of, not being hurt by others...On drugs she felt free. Herself.

Although she didn’t even know who she was anymore.

 When Spencer was holding her in the bathroom?

That was the first time somebody had said something to her about her addictions, except for ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’, ’It´s not that bad.’, ‘We´re here once you´re ready.’ and ’She´s just having a rough time.’.

It was the first time somebody really seemed to see through her and literally forced her to look at herself in the mirror. To care for her enough to show her tough love. Leroy, Hank and Tom had tried it, but given up on her, sure they supported and cared for her still, but for them she was already too far gone. And they were probably right about it.

 But the dog? He still had wanted to help her, even after she tried being her ugliest.

 She had gone too far, still remembering his face, the terror in it, when she cut her wrist, when she had taken all her pills at once. [y/n] had wanted to hurt him like that, her mind, her stupid junkie mind, had her convinced, that doing it would be a great way to get back at him.

Because she felt hurt, being rejected by him.

 Most likely she had scarred him for life. And now he hadn’t come in, since she was allowed to have visitors, and probably would never come back.

 She has successfully driven away the only one that had still cared enough.

 Now, mostly sober, she felt like a monster, aware that she was a wreck beyond repair.

 Of course she had, in the beginning, thought about stopping. But the drugs were the smaller evil to her, since they calmed her mind and made her forget the pain. She would stay alone forever, unworthy other people´s love, her mind should at least be allowed to be numb.

 *****

 “I came as fast as I could. What happened?”, Philip handed Spencer a duffle bag, filled with [y/n]´s clothing. He had asked him to bring it, since Spencer didn’t know how long she would stay.

“They pumped her stomach and had to stitch the wound on her wrist.”, he stated, making the short manager´s eyes go wide.

“Are you insane? What if they hurt her vocal cords?”, the tall one tried to remain calm, but had to really force himself to not hit Philip.

 Why was that a priority?

 “I didn’t wanna let her die. She could´ve OD´d. What would you have done?”, Spencer asked slightly aggravated.

“Carry her to the bathroom and force her to throw up, until nothing´s in her stomach anymore. Then I usually take her to bed and give her water every hour and feed her soup until she´s better.”, the manager explained and Spencer felt like that had to be a joke.

 “That has happened before?”, he asked baffled and Philip nodded. “Yeah, a couple of times, but she always either took something or cut herself. Never both at the same time. Where you two fighting again?”, he asked reproachful and Spencer felt the guilt sink into his heart. “See, agent Prentiss? This is why I said, [y/n] didn’t need a bodyguard.”

“I´m sorry, but I don’t think that this is the result of having a bodyguard. It´s much more one to them not getting along and [y/n] being highly addicted to a couple of substances.”, Emily stepped in for Spencer.

 The manager just ignored the her obvious insinuation of the rockstars declining mental help, before going into [y/n]´s room. The agents then just looked at each other before going in too.

 *****

 This was the first time Spencer saw [y/n], since they got here. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to be alone with her before. She was laying in her bed, bandage on her left wrist, looking directly at him when he came in. They had taken of her make-up, making Spencer realize, that she was prettier without it. Her jet black, dark hair in a ponytail. To him she looked calmer and softer like this. The real girl behind the façade. Philip was already all over her.

 “[y/n], you look awful.”, he said, shaking up the pillow as she got up a little, to sit.

“Feel like it too.”, her voice sounded a little raspy.

“Poor girl. How is your voice? Do you need anything?” “Fine. My throat´s just a little sore. Can you check me out of here? The faster, the better. That way I can go home without the media knowing.”, Spencer and Emily shared a look.

“The paparazzies showed up an hour ago.”, Emily stated, making [y/n] nod.

 She leaned further back in her pillow and looked at Spencer, like she wanted to say something.

 “C-Can you still check me out, Philly?”, Philip nodded.

“Of course. I´ll be back asap and then we´ll take you home so you can pack.”, he walked outside and [y/n] looked at Emily.

“Can – I don’t know – you maybe go with him?”, she asked her friendly.

 The dark haired woman shared a look with Spencer, who nodded at her. Signaling, that he was okay being alone with the singer again. Emily then nodded and walked after Philip, closing the door on her way out. For a second Spencer thought about leaving the room too. To, no longer, have this black-haired demon take hits against his sanity, but then her voice cut into the silence of the room.

 “I´m sorry.”, she said and Spencer wondered, if she was being honest.

“For almost killing yourself?”, he asked her sarcastically and she shook her head.

“For how I treated you.”

“I´ve been through worse. You´d need to be trying way harder, if you want me to break.”, he answered her cold and she began looking at her hands.

“I´m sorry, I tried pressuring you, to take drugs.”, Spencer shrugged at that. “You were high. If I didn’t relapse after the love of my life was killed or when I was put wrongfully into prison, I won´t relapse because a pretty girl is offering me drugs.” “Doesn’t make it better or okay. I saw the token in your room, when I was looking for my pills. I knew and still did it. You must really hate me.”, [y/n]´s voice sounded like she was about to cry.

“I don’t hate you.”, he said gently, sitting down on her bed. [y/n] let out a self-degrading laugh and looked at him, tears filling her eyes. “No, it´s okay. I deserve it.”, she looked over to her IV drip bag, filled with clear liquid, and hit it slightly. “That stuff makes me sentimental.”, she tried saying jokingly, but sounded just sad.

 Spencer looked at her for a while, thinking about what he could say. He hadn’t thought she would apologize for how she acted and he had meant what he had told her. He didn’t hate her. Yes, she was emotionally draining to be around, it wasn’t all bad though.

 Spencer remembered Philip and how he had talked about the two sides of people.

 “That´s no medication, [y/n].”, she looked at him confused. “You lost a lot of water so…Yeah. What you´re feeling is the drugs wearing off.”, he cooed, holding himself back with the rambling. “Nice. That´s what every junkie loves to hear.”, both chuckled a little. “Hey, I give you ten thousand dollar, if you get me some pills, my head hurts like hell.”, she said it in a joking manner, making Spencer chuckle and shake his head.

“No chance. I´m not bribable.”

“Makes you one of few in Hollywood.”, the sound of rain made [y/n] look to the window. “Can you open it?”, he nodded and got up. “Thanks. I love the sound of rain. People always portrait it to be so sad when it rains, but I think it´s nice…cleansing.”

 He opened the window and sat next to her bed on the chair. They listened to the sound of raindrops hitting the streets for a while, when he decided to take the shot and ask [y/n], what had been on his mind for the last hours.

 “Why are you doing it?”, she looked at Spencer, making a questioning noise. “Cutting yourself, taking drugs.”

“The pain makes you feel alive and the drugs help you hide the side effects of being it.”, Spencer chuckled a little.

“So melodramatic.”

 High, she would have probably devoured him, but now she only smirked and rolled her eyes. By now a certain realness tried finding its way in both their voices.

 “What was your reason for taking them then?”, she asked, leaning in his direction.

 Spencer thought a second, honesty was earned and he wanted her to be honest with him. So he gave her a trust bonus, reviling a bit of his darkness.

 “I wasn’t giving the chance of choosing to take them. I was kidnapped and my tormentor, at least one of his personalities, thought he would help me handling the pain.”

 He could´ve sworn to see empathy in her eyes, but instead of showing it or whispering words of condolences, like so many others would do in this situation, she just smiled.

 “And there I was, thinking you´re just a hypocrite.”, he shrugged. “Well…I am one.” “How?”, [y/n] asked, a little frown appearing on her forehead. “Because you were right. I think you are attractive and maybe my motive wasn’t all just about protecting you at the concert.”, he could feel himself blush.

“I´m sorry for acting out, after…you know.”

“It´s okay. Would you feel better, knowing that I really hated making the decision, to not sleep with you?”, she nodded.

“A little.” “Good. Cause it was. But it was the right thing to do.”, she smiled a little and began focusing on her hands again.

“You see, I get it now and I´m glad, at least one of us, has made a right decision tonight but…I don’t know how I´ll be to you, when I´m high again.”, her concerned voice made him take her hand. Being afraid of your own mind, no longer being able to control it, was something he was very familiar with. “Then don’t be. We could get you into rehab.”

 [y/n] chuckled and took his hand with both of hers, caressing it with her thumbs. She seemed to be thinking. Making Spencer believe she may be taking his offer. But the longer she thought, the more obvious it became, that she was losing to something dark inside her head.

“Would be a waste of time.”, she whispered, her playfulness gone, as if reality just slapped her into the face.

“But if you continue like this, you´ll be dead soon.”, [y/n] gave him a gentle smile.

“You always say that, like I don’t plan on dying with twenty-seven.”

 For a second he tried reading her, hoping she was joking, having made those suicidal jokes a little to often in the last days. When he didn’t like the answer, he prepared himself to hear it from her.

“Do you?”, she nodded. “I´m going to join ‘Club 27’ and then drift into oblivion. My songs and everything I did, only becoming an relic from the past.”

 The way she said it, made it sound like she had already made peace with that decision. It frightened Spencer, making him think of how to make her re-think it.

“What about your friends?”

“There´s only the band…and I started pushing them away from me, a long time ago. I saw how it will end for me and decided not to have it hurt them, like it hurt me, when I found my mom.”, he shook his head. He refused to accept this as an answer.

“And what about yourself? You can’t just feel like dying is the only option.” “It´s not. But it´s the most relieving one.”

 The calmness in her voice and body language showed him so much. What had driven her into that state? A state were death was seen as a relieve, because everything else hurt too much. Depression. She showed signs of it. Many people with addicted use it to cope with their mental problems. What had happened to her? His mind traveled back to the day before, to the only moments when she had let her façade slip.

 To the silver bullet that would kill her.

 “What happened to your baby?”, he asked her stern and she looked at him defeated.

“Oh, I see…I´ve been profiled. What do you think happened?”

“You lost it.”, she nodded, but he continued, carefully watching her body language. He wanted answers, but would stop when she would get too uncomfortable. “Probably because of your abusive father.”, she nodded again, seeming a little numb to his words. “Was he religious?”, the black-haired girl chuckled and answered him a little sarcastic.

“Depends on how religious you´d call a reverend. Why?”

“Religious trauma or trying to shock people. Your music, I mean.”

 For a second [y/n] let go of his hand, making him rest in her lap. Spencer refused to pull it away, if she would start talking, he wanted her to know that he was still there. He had, by now, enough pieces of the puzzle, showing him a dark picture of her past. A reason, why she tried to be high so often.

 Reality was a sharp knife and its cuts couldn’t hurt so bad, when you numb yourself.

 “My father was always hitting my mom, but when she then took off, there was only me and him. He forced me into the mold of the perfect, religious daughter and when I wasn’t as obedient as he would´ve liked, he´d make me read the bible for hours and beat me senseless.”, she started gesturing to her stomach and chest area. “Of course only hitting me in places, nobody would see the bruises. When I was fifteen, I got caught trying to smoke for the first time, by a teacher. As they notified my father, he locked me into the dark broom closet for a week. Out of spite, I then started smoking regularly and met a boy through it, Daniel.”

 Spencer watched [y/n]´s face light up for a second. She looked like JJ or Rossi, when they were talking about Will and Krystall. Like he probably did, when he was thinking about Maeve.

 “He went to the same school as I and his abusive parents were addicts, like my mom had been. We kinda bonded over that and would sneak out at night, spending hours together, talking about the stupidest things. Thinking we were so deep and intellectual. He, at one point, started stealing his parents weed, so we could get high together. Made getting beaten easier. The time with Daniel was the first and last time I ever felt those butterflies. You know? This childish feeling of love?”

 She smiled at him as he nodded, remembering those butterflies too, but then the smile darkened and she took Spencer’s hand again. As if to try and hold onto him, shielding herself from the dark memories creeping up.

 “I got pregnant with sixteen. A shame. I managed to hide it for a few weeks and Daniel and I came up with the childish idea of running away together. We thought, we could just get jobs somewhere else, buy a home and become a family…Like foolish kids.”, her self-degrading laugh broke Spencer’s heart, as she tried swallowing her tears.

“And it didn’t work.”, he whispered and she only laughed, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Of course it didn’t. A woman from church had overheard us talking and the rumor of me being pregnant was already out there, since I threw up so often at school. So she thought she would help me, if she told my father.”, Spencer squeezed her hand a little. “You wanna know what he did?”, he shook his head.

 “What?”

“He waited for us to meet at night. As I crawled out of the window, he stormed outside with his shotgun and confronted us. After I admitted to being pregnant he hit me, making Daniel step between us and start fighting with my dad to protect me and the baby…and my dad- he-…he then just shot him. In-…In cold blood, just pulled the fucking trigger.”, [y/n] voice was filled with disbelieve. Like she still wasn’t able to believe what she had seen.

 “My father then grabbed me by the hair and tried getting me to go back into the house. I, obviously shocked about him just shooting my boyfriend, refused to and so he started beating and kicking me, till I stopped fighting back…Needless to say, I lost the baby after that.”

 As a few tear ran down her face, she let go of Spencer´s hand and wiped them away. Letting a cynical laugh follow.

 “That’s not even the best part of the story. Nothing happened.”, Spencer looked at her frowning.

“What do you mean with ‘Noting happened’. He shoot a teenager. Weren’t there any repercussions?”, she shook her head.

“No. Because he told the police, that he came outside to me screaming, because Daniel was beating me. Angry at me, for being pregnant. He stated that he just did what he had to do, to protect me.”, he shook his head in disbelieve.

“Weren’t you questioned? Didn’t you tell them what really happened?”

“I would try telling, but nobody believed it. Because the reverend, a pillar of our community, would never do such thing. They thought I was just lashing out and framing my father, because I was high and angry at him for shooting my boyfriend...Daniel´s parents didn’t even care, too high to get what had happened. After that, I wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore, in fact, I wasn’t allowed to do anything anymore. My father taught me at home and every Sunday I was allowed to go to church and pray to have my sins being forgiven.”

 Spencer nodded at the amount of information she had just given him.

He felt bad for her, started to understand her, started to hate her father and the cruel injustice she, Daniel and the baby had suffered.

Why had they only once, tried to get her into therapy?

The amount of suffered trauma had to end in a situation like this, left untreated.

It was eating her alive, suffocating her, and everybody who saw it, just slapped the ‘She´s gonna be okay’-Band-Aid on this gashing wound, moving on with their own life´s, while she was losing the battle inside her head. He got up and sat on the bed next to her, she scooted a little, giving him some room to lean back too. As he lifted an arm, [y/n] rested her head on his chest.

 “Then how did you get…viral…?”, he looked at him and the confused spoken word, smiling.

“You know about that?”

“Luke.”, he answered and she nodded. “I wasn’t allowed to have a phone, but I was allowed to use our computer once a week for an hour. I would record myself singing and playing guitar on our shitty webcam and started uploading it, not thinking anybody would ever see it. With eighteen I got in contact with this guy, he said he was in the midst of establishing his own record label and he would love to pay my flight to LA, taking me under contract. I accepted and just ran as fast as I could, before my father could get me.”

 [y/n] again laughed cynical. Seemingly a coping mechanism of hers, to play down the pain and severity of things and situations.

 “When I arrived, he then offered me to stay with him, if I´d be…you know…nice to him. He earned a shit ton of money with my music, while I got nothing…But everything was better than going back home again.”, she sat up a little, so she could look at Spencer, again with that sparkle in her eyes.

 “At one point, when I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, I had to work at a pizza restaurant to afford rent. There I met Leroy, Tom and Hank at the Open-Mic-Night. I told them a little about what was going on and Hank sued that guys ass. He didn’t want anything in return…just happy to help me. If you think Hank is scary now, you would have shit yourself, seeing him in court!”

 Both chuckled. Spencer could, thankfully, only imagine how terrifying the fifty year old biker could get.

 “After winning the case I asked them if they were interested in becoming a band and we made some demo tracks with the money I had gotten. The label took us under contract and introduced us to Philip, who became our manager.”

 “But you weren’t into anything but marijuana. How did we end up here?”, she sighed.

 “The label has a lot of expectations surrounding me. One of them was for me, to go out and be publicly seen with their other artists, for the image. They were taking a lot of stuff and I always said no, sticking to weed. But somewhere along the line, I wanted to know how it felt. If my mom was right, for choosing it above me. And I think I get it now. Everything I told you before? My dad, my baby, Daniel? They´re gone. I´m able to standup for myself and not letting me being pushed into something I don’t want, like when that creep wanted me to whore myself out to him, just so I´d have a roof over my head. Life is just easier that way and thankfully shorter too.”, Spencer pulled her closer.

 “I like you like that.”, he almost whispered. “Depressed?”, [y/n] snickered and he chuckled, shaking his head. “Real.”

“Only fair. I´ve been a real bitch to you, the whole time.”, he shook his head again. “Not that bad.”, she hit his chest gently, while giggling. “Oh, please. I can handle it. Come on.”, he sighed playfully, admitting the truth. “Okay, yeah. You´ve been a bitch.”

 They laid there for a while, [y/n] seemingly thinking, before she talked again.

 “You´re gonna pass on babysitting duty for me now, I guess?”, she asked hesitant, making him chuckle.

“Nope. I´m gonna stay.”, [y/n] sat up and looked at him, like he had completely lost his mind.

“Why in the world, are you doing that to yourself?”, Spencer shrugged. “Savior complex.” “I´m not worth it.”, he shrugged again. “I know. But the sober girl inside you is. You know? The one that knows my name, speaks French with me while playing Mozart and puts a blanket over me when I fall asleep while reading.”

 Then she asked him something that hit too close to home. Revealing a reality he liked to ignore.

 “You can’t save everybody. You´re aware of that, right?”, he nodded as she laid back into bed, her head resting against his chest again. “But I can try.”, Spencer whispered against her ear.

“Would you mind just watching TV with me? Withdrawal headache´s a bitch.”

 Spencer grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. After many attempts of finding something interesting, [y/n] stopped him from switching the channels. They had come across an 80´s music special. Something with the name ‘Heartbeat’ by Don Johnson had just started playing. Although [y/n] didn’t move a lot, Spencer could tell she was excited. Moving her lips along the lyrics.

  “I don't care what you say

You can give it away

 Your money don't mean much to me.

I've been out on my own

Gonna got it alone now

 'Cause that's the way it's got to be.

Ev'rybody tells me how I can beat the odds for now.

Well I've been standing by the fire

But I just can't feel the heat.”

  “That’s a great song.”, Spencer shrugged, again not feeling too much connection to the music. But it did sound nice. At his shrugging she hit him a little and put on a badly played face of disbelieve and shock. “Show some respect for the classics!”, he laughed at her words. “Respect for the classics? You called Beethoven a deaf bitch.”, now [y/n] shrugged. “Touché.”, she giggled, laying her hand on her head as if to ease the pain.

  “Looking at me

It's easy to see

 You think you know just how I feel.

If you do to me wrong and it won't take me long

 Before my restless heart will heal.

I'm looking for a love

Love like mine”

  “That was good music back then.”, she whispered against his chest. “Heart break, real emotions…love that stuff.”

“Why don’t you play more of it then?”, Spencer asked, Luke in his mind telling him about their music just no longer trying to hit the feelings. [y/n] giggled a little. “I´m guessing…Luke told you?”, he nodded and she let out a sigh. “Remember when I told you about the label having expectations? Every song I make has to go through them first, before being released. At one point, I had nine songs, completely done and they only greenlit one of them. Told me the others ‘weren´t my style’, ‘not exactly my genre’ or ‘wouldn’t speak to my audience enough’. So I just stopped looking for the deeper emotions. Still love the music I make, but the feeling´s dead. My lyrics helped me coping at the beginning, but the restrictions the label set me, ended that.” “Why don’t you just write those songs again? It doesn’t matter if anybody hears them.”, he suggested to her chuckling in response.

  “They tell me it's so hard to find

But I can feel it in the rhythm of the heartbeat in the street.

 Heartbeat - I'm looking for a heartbeat”

  “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound, mon amour?”, Spencer looked at her for a second, flustered by the realness she let him see.

“Yes. For me it would.”, he told her, making her giggled. “I probably lost my ability for stronger emotions anyway. But thanks, Spencer.”

 His heart skipped a beat as she said his name.

  “Heartbeat - I'm looking for a heartbeat

Beating like mine.”

  As the door opened Spencer quickly jumped up, Emily looking at him with a lifted eyebrow.

 “Uhmm…Hello?”, she asked, more meant as a ‘What´s going on?’. Philip walked in right after her, not having seen the both of them more or less cuddling in the hospital bed.

“Oh no, it´s raining again.”, he sighed as he closed the window and stepped aside for the nurse, who took out the IV from [y/n]´s arm. “Okay. I got you released from hospital, [y/n]. I have the papers and ta-da.”, he handed her a white little paper bag. “Your pain medication and antibiotics for the arm.”

 “Thanks.”, she answered and passed it over to Spencer. “Ca-Can you…so I take them correctly?”, he looked at her confused.

 “You sure?”, she nodded and Spencer smiled at her. Baby steps. “Of course.”

“I thought Dr. Reid would stop his bodyguard duty, now that you´re going to stay with me?”, [y/n] shrugged.

“I- I don’t know.” “You know, I can protect you too.”, Philip insured her. “Yeah…but I would feel safer with my guard dog around.”, she looked at the tall man. “Only if you´d be okay with that, Spencer.”

“More than okay.”, Spencer smiled at her, making her smile back.

“O-Okay, that´s fine. That´s gonna be fine. Dr. Reid can sleep in my office. Now get dressed, so we can pack your stuff at home.”

 Philip handed [y/n] her black duffle bag, Spencer had put on the floor next to her bed. She opened it and pulling out some jeans and a black sweater. When she tried to get up she was a shaky on her legs, but managed to go to the bathroom. Spencer stayed close to her, being able to catch her in case she´d fall. When she closed the door behind her, he looked at Philip and Emily.

 “How many paparazzies are out there?”, he asked and Emily held her breath, shortly thinking.

“Too many. Just checked before coming in. You guys better think of a plan, if you don’t want [y/n] to be seen by them and become five o'clock news.”, both men nodded and then looked at each other.

“Okay…so, Philip? Where do you park?”, Spencer asked. “Outside, visitors.”, he nodded and looked to his friend.

“Me too. Emily, you?”

“Car park.”, she answered and Spencer handed her his key.

“Okay. We trade. I take [y/n] home in Emily´s SUV. Emily takes [y/n]´s car and you, Philip, you just drive to the mansion. Maybe we can make them think she´s still in medical care, that way.”, all of them nodded to each other, not really knowing what more there was to tell. Not knowing if the plan would even work.

 *****

 When [y/n] looked in the mirror, in the tiny bathroom of her hospital room, after washing her face, she felt okay. Horrible, but okay.

 Feeling kind of stupid, having given Spencer her medication. It had felt right. But she didn’t know why. Did she want to make him happy? Well, he certainly was. But honestly? Nobody just stops being addicted for one person. Having your addiction tendencies being bound and under control solely for another person than yourself probably never works in the long term.

She knew she would have to stop for herself and that just wasn’t worth it.

She just wasn’t worth it.

Spencer would leave again, he was just another person in her life that would vanish, never to be heard from again. Her life would move on, just like it did now and that was it. It was okay like that. There wasn’t much to be expected anymore and she had made her peace with it. Having lost the will to try years ago.

 Somehow she had decided however, to enjoy the few moments she would still have with this man. A man she barely knew, but yet, felt so interest in. A man that either lived his best boomer life or just simply lived in a cave without Wi-Fi, giving his lack of knowledge by simple words like iconic and viral.

 Maybe it was his lack of interest in her Rockstar persona, that intrigued her. She had heard him and Philip outside of her room. Spencer had not given a single fuck, that her voice could´ve been ruined by having her stomach pumped, as long as she didn’t die. That was nice. Being more than an expensive voice. Being counted as a human.

 She wanted to know more about him, had given him her silver bullet, as a sign of trust. Now she wanted his or however much he was willing to give. Being high would ruin it, being high would maybe have her forget something. [y/n] knew she would still need to take the bare minimum of her drugs, so the withdrawal wouldn’t kill her, but for now she would like to be semi-clean. The headache and the freezing being acceptable.

 She had put on her fresh clothes, liking that they didn’t smell like cigarettes, wondering why she even smoked, when everything just started to reek and ruin the nice smell of her lavender perfume. Was it still out of spite, because her father didn’t like it?

Maybe she would quit…on the other hand…maybe just reduce them a little. For now, she didn’t have any, anyways. She would probably need some chewing gum.

 When she walked out of the bathroom Spencer smiled at her, stepping closer and his hands cupping her face.

 “Hey. You okay? You´re a little pale.”, she quickly nodded, her heart beating as fast as it always did shortly before a concert.

“Yeah, just not wearing any makeup, so…”, he shook his head, thumb stroking her cheek.

“Uh-uh. You weren’t pale like that before. You feeling sick?”, actually yes, she did.

“A little.”

“We´re gonna get you something to eat later and then you should take a nap. Philip is going to drive in his car and we´ll meet him at your house. Emily already left.”, [y/n] nodded, quickly stepping away from Spencer. She hadn’t even noticed Philip still being there, while he smiled at them.

“I´m gonna leave now and you guys just go to the garage and wait a few minutes. When something happens you call me, okay [y/n]?”, she nodded, Spencer taking her duffle bag as Philip hugged her and then left.

 She and Spencer went to the car park, her having the hood from her sweater pulled into her face, hoping nobody would recognize her. The last thing she wanted was a media scandal, so shortly after the her teen-pregnancy was brought to light. People talking about the ‘out of control’-Rockstar almost dying due to an overdose. Not that they were completely wrong, but still. She hated when strangers acted like they knew her, only because they read one of those crappy articles.

 When they got into the car Spencer turned on the seat heating, without saying a word, only smiling at her. Why was he so nice? Was it his savior complex or did he just have a great personality?

 Driving to her mansion in silence, they were met with an array of paparazzies in front of it. Spencer parked across the street. [y/n] quickly fixed her hair, should they notice her and start making photos.

 “Tinted windows, they don’t see you.”, he told her, making her relax.

 For a second she thought about how much she hated this. The flashes of the cameras pointed into her face, only inches away from it. Asking her inappropriate question, because fame cancelled out the right of privacy. They were always waiting for her to do something, to be put on a blast for.

 Maybe she could just, a little longer, be a no one. Like she seemed to be, alone with Spencer.

With Philip, she never had even five minutes to herself. Yes he was nice, but he was so in-your-face sometimes. Smothering her with care.

 “Spencer?” “Hm?”, he turned to her. “Would it be okay, to just go undercover?”, Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Undercover?”, her cheeks flushed a little.

“Yeah…get a hotel room and some junk food maybe…” “What about Philip?”

“I´ll text him…I- I´d just like to be alone.”, he nodded at her words, already starting the car again. “Oh, sure. I get that.” “Alone with you.”, was that sentence too bold? “I know. Already thought so.”, he put a hand on her thigh, gently squeezing it. She smiled at this gentle gesture. “Any hotel okay?”, he asked her, as she laid her hands on his, wanting to make sure it stayed there. “Sure. But you´ll need to get the room. I tend to attract attention.” “Really?”, he asked in a playful voice, as he pulled into the main street. “Yeah, apparently I look like this one singer from a rock band.”, she answered, giggling, even though it killed her head. “Huh, weird. Wouldn’t have noticed.”, he almost whispered, seeming to have noticed it.

“Maybe we should get me some nicotine patches too.”, she smiled, making him look at her surprised.

“Stopped smoking?” “Yeah, thought I´d try it. Maybe you can smell my perfume better like that. Lavender.”, Spencer chuckled. “Sexy. Kissing a smoker only seems good in the movies.” “You know movies?”, she said, playfully mocking him. “Russian and black-and-white ones.”

“You´re a little nerd, huh?

“Hope that’s not a deal breaker?”, she looked at his little worried, almost insecure look.

 Yes, the junkie who just ruined his night, by having a mental breakdown, would think a nice, smart guy that liked watching ‘Dr. Who’ was a dealbreaker.

“It´s actually kinda cute.”, he let out an adorable giggle and for a second she could feel her heart skip a beat.

 *****

 Spencer had gotten them a hotel room in a small hotel with individual, private entrances. Definitely not as classy as [y/n] was used to, but private enough, not to be seen. Before, he had bought her nicotine patches and gum and they had gotten some pizzas.

 Now her arm was plasters with some of the patches and they sat on the bed, eating pizza and watching ‘10 things I hate about you’, making him see just how quirky [y/n] could be. Singing along to every song, telling him how much she loved watching it, secretly at a friend’s home, as a teen; giggling like crazy when something funny happened and gushing over things she thought to be romantic. Spencer had given her her medication and the withdrawal, at least in the moment, seemed to be manageable.

 After the movie she had insisted on him picking something, making him extremely nervous. He didn’t think that any of his picks would have her enjoy the next two hours, but she didn’t let him say no. So he put in an old black and white movie called ‘La Dolce Vita’, about a week in the life of a philandering tabloid journalist living in Rome. He laid down in bed and signaled [y/n] to come closer. She had quickly cuddled up beside him, seemingly touch starved by the way she held him close. A very familiar feeling for Spencer.

 After he had begun stroking her hair, she had fallen asleep faster, then he had fallen for her.

 Seeming to like every side of her, every part, no matter how damaged or ugly. Spencer had pulled the sleeping girl a little closer, gently kissing the top of her head and smiling to himself. What he had smelled two days ago, had been lavender. He drifted of as well, only waking up half an hour later, when the credits woke him.

Turning the TV off, before laying close to [y/n] again, now spooning up behind her, face buried in the crook of her neck, arms wrapped tightly around her.

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To be continued...

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Give me your feedback [also anonymous!]

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Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

[planetsam]

“Look if you don’t want her she’s going to the pound,” Wyatt says, “she’s too fat to be of any good on the farm.”

“Do you need to think of the most dickish thing to say? Or does it just naturally come out of your mouth?”

Wyatt’s face screws up but Alex snatches the leash from him before he can say anything. He’s done listening to assholes with the last name Long. On the other end of the leash Buffy regards him with a mix of wariness and disgust. It’s more tempting than Alex would like to admit to shove it back at Wyatt, but his grip tightens on the leash.

“Glad you got a souvenir,” Wyatt sneers and storms off.

Alex tries not to rub the most recent addition to his scar collection and instead looks down at the dog. Buffy whines loudly and the sound matches whatever’s going on his recently repaired gut. Emotionally at least. Physically he’s been given the almost all clear, which for him is good enough. He kneels down and looks at the beagle who backs away.

“Yeah, I get that,” Alex tells her, “do you remember me?” He holds a hand out for her to sniff but she turns her snout up, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He straightens up. Buffy looks in the direction she came from but Wyatt’s long gone. Alex has no idea what to do with a dog, much less a beagle who seems to like him about as much as her owner actually did, but standing in the road with her leash he realizes they’re in the same boat. Both left standing there, wondering what the hell they’re supposed to do now. When he glances down again, Buffy is looking up at him. She’s still reproachful but she hasn’t run and Alex is at a point where he’ll take what he can get.

“You wanna go home or should we go to the pet store first?” He asks. She perks up slightly at that, “pet store it is,” he says, “come on.”

* Since losing his leg Alex has been in several hand to hand situations, gotten kidnapped, discovered aliens and blown up a handful of buildings. He’d say he’s good with his prosthetic. Some days he uses his cane but it’s far and few between. He’s good but he hasn’t had a consistently strong pressure yanking his cane arm walk after walk. And there have been so many fucking walks. Buffy is overweight and though her diet is the main thing, walking helps. It helps one of them at least.

“Buffy, come on,” he says, “heel.”

Buffy huffs, lowers her body and digs in her paws.

Her blatant disregard makes the military man in him seethe. He doesn’t know how one beagle is more difficult to control than than a group of soldiers, but here they are. Buffy does not respect the chain of command. Or maybe she just doesn’t respect him. Alex thinks he’d be used to the universe ignoring what he wants but the manifestation of it in an overweight beagle left behind by a man who manipulated him so openly is a fresh wound on his ruined ego.

“Buffy,” he says.

Buffy puffs herself up and erupts into her signature barks. How such a loud noise can come out of such a small creature is beyond him. Buffy spends a lot of her time napping and laying on her back, but when she gets going it’s impossible to stop or ignore. Alex is used to people staring at him on the street. He’s learned to dismiss the judgement about things he knows he can’t change. For the first time though he gets it. He’s pretty sure he’d cross the street too if he saw what was happening.

“Buffy—“ he starts. She keeps going crazy, “Buffy come on,” he’s got nothing else so he scoops her up again. Immediately she stops barking, “seriously?” He sighs, “you know we’re both supposed to be walking,” Buffy looks over her shoulder at him, “God, fine,” he shifts the weight in his arms and starts walking, “I need the workout anyway.”

“Aren’t you both supposed to be walking?”

Alex turns around to see Michael standing there looking confused. He’s not close enough to hear what he just said, but the fact that it’s the first thing that comes to his mind makes Alex’s chest tight. Buffy gives Michael a look of complete disdain. Michael raises his eyebrows at the dog’s reaction, though Alex is fairly certain Michael is just glad to have an excuse not to look at him. Not that he can fully blame him, not with everything that’s happened recently.

“When did you get a dog?” Michael asks.

“A few days ago,” Alex says, “it was me or the pound,” he explains, “I wasn’t looking to get one.”

“Right,” Michael says slowly.

“Her name’s Buffy,” Alex volunteers. Michael finally meets his eye, arching his eyebrows at him.

“You sure you weren’t looking to get a dog?” Michael asks. Alex looks at him questioningly, “if I had to guess what you would name a dog, Buffy’s pretty high on the list—“

The truth smacks him across the face. Buffy squirms in his arms and he’s all too glad to put her down, even though that means he’s forced to figure out something else to do with his hands. Something that doesn’t involve punching things. All he can do is laugh bitterly at how stupid he is. Laugh and pretend that he doesn’t see the alarm on Michael’s face.

“You okay?” Michael asks. 
“I’m good,” Alex says, shaking his head, “I just realized how much of an idiot I am,” he looks at Michael who looks confused still, “Buffy was Forrest’s dog,” he explains, “he left her behind,” he sighs, “I thought the dog was real.”

“She looks real to me,” Michael says.

“He named her Buffy,” Alex retorts. Michael winces, “like I said, I’m an idiot.”

They both look at Buffy who gives them a look back that says they are both idiots. Alex doesn’t think either of them would disagree after the things that have happened lately. But realizing that there’s a good chance the dog was adopted just to manipulate him is salt in that wound. Not by Forrest necessarily but by someone in Deep Sky.

“Your dog seems to agree,” Michael points out.

“Shit,” Alex mutters looking down at the beagle, then he looks at Michael, “what do you know about microchips?
 “What do I know about what?” Michael asks blankly. 
“I need your help,” Alex says.

It’s got nothing to do with what just happened but Michael goes serious and nods. Alex tries not to be affected by it. Or by how Michael seems committed to being open after months of them lying to each other. 
“Whatever you need,” he says.

There’s a weight to his words that lasts a moment before Buffy decides right there is a good place to go potty.

* “Up you go,” Alex says and gets Buffy onto the table, “good girl.”

Buffy huffs at the compliment but when she spots Kyle she immediately starts wagging her tail. Because Kyle has that effect. He grins and scratches her ears as Buffy rolls onto her back. Alex looks over at Michael who seems surprised by this turn of events. 
“Good thing he wasn’t trying to seduce you,” Michael says, “she’s already fallen for it.”

Kyle looks at him sharply and Michael realizes his mistake with a swear but Alex waves him off. Whether or not there were genuine feelings is an issue for another day. Or another lifetime, if he gets his way. Thankfully neither Michael nor Kyle have made the mistake of suggesting he get rid of the dog in case Deep Sky is spying on him with her. Kyle picks up the device and scans Buffy as best he can until Alex reaches out to help hold her steady. They find the first microchip easily enough. It’s just surprising how easily they also find the second one.

“They put a tracker in the dog?” Kyle shakes his head.

Alex agrees. It seems stupid with all the messed up shit they’ve done, but looking at Buffy with her upturned nose and disdainful glares and imagining her being picked out and named and then used like that makes him ache. Especially if it was in the pursuit of him. It’s not the only thing that’s wrong but Alex has always had a soft spot for animals and it’s the first thing that makes his throat tighten.

“We have to get them out of her.”

“We will,” Michael says, “first lemme make sure they don’t work.”

“It’s not going to hurt her, is it?” Alex asks as Michael reaches out.

Kyle and Michael trade looks and Alex knows his voice sounds odd but the dog’s been through enough. Especially on his behalf. A part of him thinks giving her away might be best but if Deep Sky is still using her then who knows. He could give her away and bring more people into this.

“Alex,” Michael comes around the table and stands next to him, doesn’t say anything when Alex shifts back, “look, it’s not gonna hurt her. I’m going to just disable them. We’ll figure out how to get them out of her after.”

Buffy rolls over and gives Kyle’s hands a lick before she reluctantly belly crawls to Alex. She doesn’t look thrilled about having to come to him, but she sits in between him and Michael and looks at Michael with her usual disdain. It’s not full on affection but Alex appreciates the defense all the same. He looks up at Michael.

“Okay, do it,” he says.

Michael puts his hands on Buffy’s shoulders and focuses. Alex waits for her to yelp or do anything but she just glares at Michael like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever been subjected to. He pulls his hands back and blinks rapidly, going a little pale. It’s one of the effects of whatever they did to him, his powers are there but using them takes more effort than it did. No-one knows when they’ll fully return.

“Kyle get the—“

Kyle gets the bin just in time for Michael to puke in it. Buffy flattens her ears and decides she’s done enough comfort one day. She trots back over to Kyle and flops on her back, bracing a paw against his arm so he has maximum access to her belly. Before Alex can think about what he’s doing his hand settles on Michael’s shoulder as he heaves. It’s another sign of how badly he’s fucked up and Michael consenting to it under duress doesn’t make him feel any better. But he forces himself to hold onto Michael’s shoulder as he empties his stomach.

“Shit that sucks,” he mutters, unthinkingly wrapping his hand around Alex’s elbow. Alex doesn’t let go of his shoulder as he wipes the back of his mouth. He looks up at Alex and gives a quick, shaky smile, “I disabled the chips on both, they’re dead,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Michael nods, looking more relieved than Alex is comfortable with at the words. He tears his eyes away to look at the love fest going on between Buffy and Kyle. It’s honestly hard to say whose fallen more for who. Alex pulls away and tries not to focus on how cold his elbow and palm feel without Michael’s signature heat.

“Now we just gotta get them out,” Michael says.

Kyle seems to be aware they are all looking at him intently. He opens his mouth to reject whatever they’re going to say and Buffy whines for him to continue the belly rubs. It’s written all over his face that of all the ways he saw his life going, this definitely wasn’t one of them. He looks down at Buffy.

“Am I still gonna be your favorite?” He asks her.

Buffy huffs.

“I think that’s a yes,” Michael says.

* “Your back hurting?”

Alex winces at the question, he thought he had done a good job of hiding it. The concern is there in Michael’s voice and it’s not well hidden at all. Alex looks over at him, seeing the guilt in his eyes.

“It’s from picking up Buffy,” he says, “she’s having trouble getting on the furniture.”

It’s almost laughable how furniture is so complicated in his house. Alex never thought the height of a seat could make such a difference in someone’s life. The perfect height for him though is apparently too much for his still overweight beagle. His best solution is to pick her up but for all her laziness Buffy isn’t good at staying put. It’s not overly painful but it’s not ideal while he’s still healing.

“Oh,” Michael says.

“She’ll get better,” Alex says, “she just has to lose some weight,” he rolls his shoulder, “and I have to heal.”

“She can’t stay off the furniture?” Michael asks. Alex glares, “just asking!” Michael says holding up his hands, “I never had a pet. I had a foster home where I wasn’t allowed on the couch once, it sucked.”

Alex doesn’t know how Michael can stand to be so casual about things like that. Mentioning something so devastating hasn’t even interrupted his rhythm in eating his fries.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says quietly. Michael acknowledges it with a quick nod, “I want her to be able to go where she wants,” he explains.

“Except maybe the bunker,” Michael points out.

“Okay maybe the bunker,” Alex agrees.

“What about stairs?” Michael asks, “they make stairs for dogs right?” His brow furrows, “your furniture is custom heigh though, right?” Then he perks up, “I can make her stairs.”

Alex almost chokes on his water. Michael’s response to everything was to throw his tools in his bunker and seal it up. Alex isn’t even sure he has the materials to build dog stairs. But it’s the first time he’s seen Michael look excited about building something.

“Are you okay with that?” He asks, “I can pay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael says, “if it gets Buffy to stop constantly stink eyeing me we’re good.”

“Just tell me how much they cost,” Alex says after a moment’s consideration.

He texts Michael the asked for measurements.

Michael doesn’t want to be alone with him and Alex can’t blame him. He doesn’t really want to be alone with Michael either. Not yet. It’s not until he hears the truck in the driveway that he even thinks more about it. The truck pulls in, parks and Michael gets out before Buffy starts going crazy. Alex feels a rush of affection for her.

“It’s Michael,” he says, “and he’s already almost inside.”

Buffy still puffs up like she’s done her job and Alex scratches her ears before he opens the door. Michael is standing there with two stairs in either hand and a black bag slung over his shoulder.

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says, his mouth dry, “of course,” he says, “come in.”

“Thanks,” Michael says. Buffy looks at him and howls. Michael glares, “the hat isn’t negotiable,” he tells her firmly, even as he takes it off and sets it aside.

Michael puts one of the stairs by the couch and hands Alex the other for his bed. Alex puts it down where it is and follows Michael to the back part of the house. Michael drops the bag and picks out a few tools before moving to the trap door.

“What’s all of this?” Alex asks.

“Eh I could tell you didn’t mean it when I said Buffy wasn’t allowed in the bunker,” he says, “so I put something together.”

“You built her an elevator?”

Michael shrugs and goes pink around the ears.

“Yeah I mean I want her to feel welcome,” he says, “and if you gotta hide I know you aren’t leaving her behind.”

Alex looks over at Buffy whose stink eyeing the stairs like she’d prefer to be carried. He wouldn’t leave her behind. He wouldn’t leave Michael behind either but just being alone in the same room is a lot. He doesn’t want to push this. He doesn’t know if Michael feels that as well.

“Can I get you anything?” He offers, “I have lemonade?”

Michael hesitates for a moment. Alex wonders if he’s read this wrong before Michael nods and Alex finds he can breathe again.

“That sounds good,” Michael says, “thanks.”

[mortalghost]

Your words are enshrined in mystic eulogies,

As fire rains from the sky. Purgatory, divine.

Hell, which has been forged within these

Darkened halls, awaits no minute moments

Of salvation from the light that you encapsulate.

Disperse these solemn songs, await no sudden

Storms that wash away all of the past. Mistakes

Are made, and corrected, while as a Phoenix

You arise, arrive at Nirvana, spread your wings,

Healing breaths of endless fires, burn the lies

Away. Kneel before no one, while the Rapture

Begins before us, Serpents arise from the

Shadows to strike! Beware the tear that's spared

Beyond repair, ensnared within these spiderwebs

Of hate, delusions, intrusions, substituting

Ridiculous collusion between incisions and

Collisions of heart broken, dramatic words,

Written by victims of victimless crimes, while

They stab, and tear, rip and shred a character

Who holds no peace...

No anger...

Just a soul that has been reborn inside

A madhouse of Helter Skelter, dramatic

Interjections, judged before a council lead

By lies. While the blood runs from torn flesh,

Sliced wrists, and whipped back, sweat runs

Down a worn face, across a crooked smile,

Which she devours and envelopes, covets every

Tear drop, shuns away all of the falsehoods to

See the man behind the words, the storms

Beyond the surf, tornadoes blow illusions

Into brittle moments of past desires and relief.

You alone shall hold the reason, placed heart

Into your shredded hands, while you whisper,

"It is over...I am yours and you are mine."

Let the malice of the world, the tyrants fall

To their knees, beyond reproach, just past the

Place beyond the pines where we congregate

To breathe. I am whole, once again, discarded

Pieces fallen away and disappearing at one

With particles upon the breezes, across the

Fields and lost in the plains. Nothing shall

Hold us back again. No world shall come between

Us and cover your eyes from my eternal loving,

Grateful gaze. I am your servant. Paint me in

Any of your technicolor night forms,

Dream worlds, and cityscapes. Man of the people,

Soul of the grave, touched by the sun that hides

Wounds caused by religion across dried lips.

God has a special place for those lost and refound.

Prodigal son, reliving youth, Hell bound.

For, if the Devil doesn't fear your name...

Have you truly lived and are you ready to die?

With the passing of tides and time I breathe you in

While you paint the skies. You sing to me...

"Love is pure, ours divine,

No memory shall escape this life.

No matter what the past has brought,

I am yours and you are mine."

Close your eyes...

-H. Murcia 9:46 PM 9/20/2020

[davidlynchschreibner]

It seems I come bearing another topical bouquet of fluff rather than the fic I am actually trying to finish. This one is Actual Rubbish and ran away from me a bit. But I’ve always wanted to see closeness and health in Matteo’s repairing relationship with his mother. I do not excuse what we know of the parenting problems that led Matteo to distance himself, however, this is meant to be a positive--- perhaps even sappy--- take. (Should I write one about David’s godmother too? Let me know because I have some thoughts.)

A note: Parts of this belong to a list of headcanons I started before the pandemic hit and as such imagine a world where we don’t have that reality. Is that out of line with the real-world spirit of Druck? Yes. Am I coping with life by writing about what this year should have been? Also yes.

Most Radiant Suns And Sons

For all that he lacks certainty about if he wants to go out with the boys tonight, what mood he will be in the following week, where he will live the month after, and what career he will pursue in the coming year, there are a few things that Matteo is sure of. One of these is that he loves his mother. Even in the stifling mineshaft of his depression he had never fully divorced himself from wanting to be near her. Indeed, if he did not love her with the strength he does he would never have grappled with their relationship and stressed over her reaction to certain elements of his person. Instead would have simply excised her in all but name from his life as he had his shitty father. Not every person is given to this kind of bond to their mother and there was nothing whatsoever requiring him to welcome her back into his life. But no matter what bitter edge his references to her had acquired in past painful periods, it was only the gritted teeth tone of an injured person and never real resentment.

That was the hardest part of it all, really, that he was so overwhelmed and exhausted he had to withdraw for his own sake. He had needed to be free of the sucking drain of his mother’s downward spiral. It was impossible to be there when his own developing depression rendered him inert by spreading numbness from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t care for another person, should never have had to, as he slowly surrendered to the weight of shovelfuls of damp earth burying him alive. Yet in the same breath that dismissed her he sighed with missing the lightness of Mama’s laugh and the slow flow of her hands carding through his hair. He pushed her away, cast his eyes to the ground, but could not tell her to stop calling him. However many congested streets and neglected texts he positioned between them there remained (in dim corners he avoided examining) a craving for tenderness and acceptance.

Their reconciliation was a soft-spoken and understated process. It came as the slow creep of dawn, a gentle spilling of light into the dark expanse of a troubled time. There was no reproach nor tense conversations. They spoke little of the past estrangement, save for the day Mama drew her son into the safe harbor of her arms and whispered her apology into his open ear. Matteo blotted the tears that came to his eyes on her shoulder and murmured back in kind. There was no need to unpack and pick through each mistake and no blame to assign. Proceeding amends were made with time spent in building a more stable place for their bond to live. Bricks of mellow afternoon visits, insulation of long hugs and kisses pressed to Matteo’s brow, wires of smiling conversations, carpet of revisited memories from happier periods of childhood. They came to each other as new and bettered people with a long future ahead.

On the opposite side, David didn't anticipate ever having a relationship with his boyfriend's mum beyond polite interest. He had no intimacy and little contact with the woman whose body had sculpted him and his godmother’s affection was backed by a lifetime of filling that void. The potential for rejection had been in his mind as the dull ache of a yellowed bruise when they went to meet Matteo’s Mama. She greeted him by clasping his hand in her fine-boned fingers and telling him she wished they had met sooner. Her voice was soft like a lullaby and she regarded him with eyes that promised multitudes of care. Perhaps he should have expected she would step over the threshold of his increasingly populated bunker and plop herself onto the bare floor the same way Matteo had. She never treated him like a stranger; instead she still looks at him with the same saltwater-blue wave of fondness that her son does. 

After months of getting to know and trust her David felt it was safe to explain the part of him that provided context to stories of the rocky start to his relationship with Matteo. Though her inexperienced confusion showed in the wrinkled skin around her eyes and a halting request for clarification, she received his explanation without resistance. Her reassurance that this would not change her perception was the kind of compassionate acceptance he wished his own mother had offered. Never once did she make him feel any less than he had been when she thought he was cis. She affirms him by treating him exactly the same as her son, aside from the little opportunistic affirmations she includes to make warmth swell inside him. He can see the protectiveness coiled in her shoulders when he mentions his past, a readiness to defend him from the whole world if she has to. There is a space kept for him in the circle of her sun-freckled arms. He well and truly loves her.

When the pleasant weather of 2019 began to fail everyone unconciously clustered closer together as if to keep warm. Filled by a renewed craving for home and closeness Matteo and David set aside one night each week to have dinner at Mama's new flat. It doesn't matter which day it is, or who is cooking, or how any one person is feeling. If Mama is not well Matteo cooks, or if he isn't able then she does, and on rare occasions it's up to David to rally his skills at reading recipes in Mama’s looping hand. But no matter what the mechanics are they make the family ritual work. Their attentive support of each other will catch whoever is sinking to the ground. What began as an effort to reconnect becomes an irreplaceable cornerstone of their lives. It's an opportunity to look after one another that the three of them need after that cold period of feeling so alone. In the humid, fragrant air of a cozy kitchen their wounds scab over, heal, and fade. 

It was actually his mother that convinced Matteo to seek therapy. David never pressed the issue with expectations or made his boyfriend feel broken for the recurrence of foggy moods and anxiety attacks. Not even when they stumbled and slogged through another major depressive episode. All around him people were prepared to meet Matteo’s needs as best they could determine. But braving the elements without a map or proper gear would find everyone in desperation at the end. He came to his decision not through any coercion or frustration but by observing his Mama. Counseling and medication helped her so much and she spoke candidly with him of her mental health struggles as she had felt unable to when he was younger. They have a better relationship now than over the many years of her dipping condition and inconsistent functioning. Matteo wanted to have those coping skills, too, so with the faithful support of his loved ones he sought the resources to help him. 

As spring began to swell buds and moods Mama rediscovered gardening. Her therapist prescribed something meditative with a tangible positive result, and she at first floundered unmoored until Matteo reminded her of the small plot she once tended so skillfully. To gently encourage her confidence he and David picked out a houseplant to gift the next time they visited and the smile she received it with was incandescent. After a few weeks of devout indoor care she broached the subject of planting a small and uncomplicated bed. Matteo grinned with all his teeth when she asked if they would help her. Being plant-lovers themselves the boys took pleasure in joining Mama there. Matteo found a profound connection to his body and its proximity to the people around him with his hands thrust into the crumbling earth. Sometimes they worked in the companionable silence of three introspective personalities. Others, they spoke about deep things as people only do while working. The garden is a good place. There they are putting down a lot of roots and not all of them belong to plants.

Mama has always been a fan of the outdoors, as Matteo recalls from sticky summer picnics and the rich smell of soil on her hands when they cupped his sunburnt cheeks. Not all his childhood memories are happy but the silhouettes of wild grass and lake shores come through a golden soft-focus lens. When Mama discovered David’s athleticism she joined forces with him to plan hikes, swimming trips, and numerous walks. Matteo was not sedentary by nature but he was then getting more exercise than he had since he was a child.  At first he wheezed and dragged and had to be motivated by David’s cunning tactic of turning everything into a competition. (It worked, mostly, save that time they were overly ambitious enough to try hiking in the Grunewald for an entire day and Matteo was so tired he sat down right in the center of the path.) Yet he didn’t mind the way his limbs were like ungainly cannons as he towed them up the stairs following a day of walking. At odds, his chest felt light and well aired out. 

When the summer set in fully Matteo found himself more often outside, be it jogging slowly after David while he ran in the morning, tending the garden with Mama (he discovered he finds pulling weeds cathartic), or engaged in some activity with his friends that required him to move more than his heat-softened limbs would like. He would once have complained of the insidious sunburn that always seemed to find cracks in his suncream application and pools of sweat that made his clothes clammy. But that was another time and another Matteo, one younger and less conscious of how special his relationships are. He loves all his people with the deceptively muted fire of a star, no matter what it is they ask of him. When they set themselves up for a day in the park the world seemed to roll wide before him. There was nothing on it he loved more than seeing the happy flushed faces of his favourite people glowing in the sun.

It was a surprising revelation that Matteo gets his sense of mischief from his mother. She has the peaceful face of a fresco saint and speaks quiet like they're in church but her son has her heart. David was thrown at first by her playful, teasing, impish side. It flickered up like bright sparks and the first few times Matteo seemed to cringe away as if he too was surprised. But over time he rediscovered a long discarded rapport and began to play back. David watched with laughing eyes and raised brows when she and Matteo got going at each other. And it wasn’t long before Mama started teasing David too. For such a kind person she could be a bit of a menace. It was completely endearing and welcome. She stuck soapy hands in her son’s hair to make horns and Matteo squawked then retaliated by swiping bubbles under her nose like a mustache. It was the kind of absurdity David had never imagined such a quiet woman could perform. He thought it fantastic.

She had met them briefly when Matteo moved in but it took time and meditation on the prospect to invite Mama into life at the WG. It was not a matter of shame regarding either party. He wasn’t certain of a friendship between a relatively conservative older woman and the youthful wildness of his flatmates. But he knew that to bring his mother fully back into his life this important part of it needed to be shared. He needn’t have worried. Mama loved Hans, who learned quickly that he need not don a costume to earn her respect. They spoke to one another with the soft intimate tone of kindred spirits united by their common depth of caring and love of one particular boy. Victoria flitted around like a bright bird that made Mama smile warmly and rest her hand upon its head. Though she was not over often due to being easily tired the WG was happy to tuck her into its embrace. With his Mama, David, and his flatmates arranged on furniture around him Matteo felt completely and contentedly at home.

Matteo had never experienced the sort of profound faith his mother enjoyed. Church was more a cultural experience than a religious one. Whenever she felt up to it Mama read stories from the bible to him before bed but he never did internalize them as divine truth. He enjoyed the reverent music and beautiful architecture as a child but felt always a little drained after service. The one thing he had an affinity for was choir, though he abandoned that activity when he was old enough to be concious of how uncool it was. Church was not something which he would attend alone but did so on occasion to spend time with his mother. She took immense comfort and pride in sharing her sacred experience with him and he in turn felt a modicum of satisfaction when she beamed at him over the pages of her choir book. Sometimes David joined them. Those services were the best, when Mama radiated joy on the right side of Matteo and he had David’s warm hand curled in his left.

Mama once him that he is the light in her world. She tips her head back to look at him like a person enjoying the sun after weeks of overcast weather. So he tries to show her his brightest face. He knows she is proud of him regardless of what he does in life. When he is slow to make decisions or arrange important sentences she tells him that he cannot disappoint her. Whatever gives him nourishment is what she dreams for him. It’s a comfort to know he doesn’t have to strive to make sweeping changes to the world and lofty successes to be valuable. It is possible to be wholly a sum of his many individual parts, imperfect as some are. Mama admires the gentle halo of his warmth, the wicked tilt of his smile as he sweeps mischief onto unsuspecting moments, the clever snap of his tongue and his restless fingers, the immeasurably gentle way he clasps close those who are struggling. He is her beautiful boy and she would want no other.

He is proud of his Mama, too, for taking the difficult steps that had moved her from the bottom of the hill to climbing its side. Sometimes she stumbles, slides back, even has to stop and sit for a bit to give her lungs rest. But she always digs her walking stick into the ground and begins the ascent again. Her legs burn with the strain but she does not let it stop her. Once Matteo had experienced deep dread that he was just like his mother. It had seemed to be so when he lost all interest in participating in the world. He sees now that it was true in its way: he is like his mother. But she passed on to him more than her sadness. Like an ocean of kindness she washes into him, their borders delineated by landmasses and temperature but ultimately comprised of one great expanse of water. They are not the same, he would not have it so, but he is no longer afraid of how they are alike. He has joys and and struggles and fears and victories the same as she. And Matteo loves his Mama.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 36)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5

Part 37: Here

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Content Warning: (chapters got some light descriptions of blood right out of the gate. So watch out for that.)

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Mystery POV:

Blood splatters, leaving a long trail which arcs in a circle around him. Mystery flings Lewis’s arm, now containing the cursed abomination, across the ground. It bounces twice, skidding to a stop several feet away. He bares his teeth, snarling, fanning out his tails so he occupies as much space as physically possible. It is a warning to anything that would dare challenge him. The forsaken creature twitches and spasms pathetically, helpless without a proper host. Only his sworn oath not to pursue holds Mystery back from ripping it into smaller chunks and burying it in the desert.

The disembodied limb flips itself upright and, at the centre of its palm, is one green eye marred with gold flecks. Lighting flashes accompanied by rolling thunder which amplifies his growls so they shake the ground as his anger grows. When he concentrates, he can feel water collecting in the clouds, the static in the air and the arid land, anticipating rain.  Mystery cannot channel the full might of the storm, that is beyond him, but he can still funnel some of its latent natural energy into the space around him. The air crackles.

Rightfully, the creature inhabiting Lewis’s arm immediately about-faces and scuttles off, disappearing behind a low-growing shrub. Oh, how he longs to give chase and punish it for threatening what is his.

“My…Mystery?”

Vivi’s voice pierces his rage, slicing it apart like a knife. Mystery tears his attention away from the challenger, looking over his shoulder. Vivi's eyes are wide, face pale, breath shallow and rapid. Lewis is unconscious, blood pooling under him. The human’s aura dims as his body fails, connection to the physical world weakening.  

“Help me.”

If there were ever a moment that Mystery had felt true shame, this would it. Hastily, Mystery spits the blood collecting at the back of his throat onto the concrete. It tastes like iron and broken promises, conjuring unpleasant memories. He is beside Vivi in one elongated jump, examining both Lewis and Arthur. Both are dying, Lewis faster than Arthur. In his attempt to save the human, he may have inadvertently hastened his death.

/I am here./ Mystery reassures even as he desperately sifts through several centuries worth of memories and experience for a solution. Healing others and repairing damage had never been skills under his preview. Healing was the domain of different, more benevolent, entities. Ask him to erect a protective ward or cast an illusion and he could do so in a heartbeat, but foxes weren’t healers.

Vivi is now breathing hard, glancing from where she is holding Arthur and over to Lewis, lying prone. Dying. 

No. Not good enough. Perhaps a spell to slow decay and put both humans into a stasis state would work. Once upon a time, he had held enough power to speed or slow the growth of whole rice fields, matching them to weather patterns. Acres upon acres grew or failed at his command. He hasn’t been able to call on that ability since his oath to the Yukino family replaced his oath to Inari. But…he knows the theory behind that sort of time-based magic, and even without divine help, he should be able to accomplish something similar on a smaller scale. It would just require personal sacrifice.

He glances back at his seven tails. The physical manifestation of his skill and experience. One tail for each human should do it. Two hundred years’ all up. Mystery has never willingly given one up, let alone two tails at once…but it would be more than adequate payment for the ritual he wants to perform. A spell to extend their lives by slowing decay. 

Why is he even hesitating?

/ I will save them./

Carefully, he reaches for the intricate web natural energy which makes up the living world, feeding in his own power. Behind him, his tails still, then sway in a very particular pattern, weaving a dome-like structure which tightens around Lewis and Arthur.

Time slows.

So focused is he on the task, that he barely hears the car pull up or see how the area around him lightens in its headlamps. It is not until Vivi speaks, voice scratchy, that he registers a second presence.

“Dad…”

Touma Yukino drops beside him, flustered yet determined. Mystery has never been gladder for the human’s presence. In this trance-like state, both Yukino’s glow a bright, fluorescent blue. They seem to be moving doubly fast now that Mystery has detached himself from the regular flow of time.

“You’re doing fine honey. Keep holding that down,” Touma says. More footsteps and louder panicked voices sound behind him.

“…heard gunshots? What’s happening?”

“I need the lights on.” Touma yells, “Quickly!”

The building’s lights flicker on and there is a low gasp and more commotion. Mystery closes his eyes and concentrates, attempting to block out the humans panicking and yelling.

“No…keep the girls inside…bring the medical kit.”

Alongside the yelling is the scent of fear, thick, almost overwhelming now Lewis’s parental figures have joined in assisting Touma.

“Lewis…calling the hospital… need an air-lift...only way…”

The sounds fade. All the chaos drops away becoming a soft silence.  Mystery inhales and exhales, opening his eyes to examine the faint transparent outlines of Arthur and Lewis’s auras, no longer weakening.

“I was beginning to think I would fade to nothing before I had this chance to talk.” 

The oddly familiar voice comes suddenly, causing circular wrinkles to form mid-air. Mystery’s eyes dart up, searching for the source.  The sound disperses, ripping away in all directions. He cannot move far while in the middle of this sort of ritual. If he is interrupted now, the consequences would be catastrophic.

“Over here.” The air shimmers and a second Kitsune, wearing a set of eye-glasses and sporting suspiciously familiar black and red fur, appears.  Judging by the human’s lack of reaction, Mystery is the only one to see it.

/This is a trick./ He growls, suspicious of the creature mirroring his appearance. /What is your business here?/

His snarled question is met with a dismissive tail wave. A single tail wave. This Kitsune only has one. “Only to give a warning, late as it may be.”

The other fox flickers, losing transparency, like it is not wholly there. The very act of speaking seems to be weakening it.

“In my timeline, between now and two years into the future, Lewis, Arthur and Vivi die. It was, in no small part, due to my inaction. With help, I sort to send Arthur’s soul along with this echo to act as a guide. I had hoped to avert the disaster. I thought my death would be payment enough for this transgression against the Natural Order. “

Mystery narrows his eyes. /Arthur’s aura./ He interrupts, /That was you. What did you do?/

“Mid-way through attempting to merge the older and younger soul I was interrupted. I am sorry.”

Before Mystery can snap another insult the other continues, “When I initiated the ritual someone or something intervened and I was trapped, helpless, watching history repeat itself. It is just as well that Arthur and Lewis’s fates are not solely reliant on my ability to act or everything would have all been for naught.” It looks somewhat reproachful now, fading so it is barely visible.

“Shiromori is coming and I fear that, in reversing time, I have put you all in greater danger. But ..." Now there is a clear note of hope in the other's voice, "at least I have managed to give this warning. Protect them and do not make the same mistakes I did.”

The echo disappears completely, leaving Mystery cold with fear.

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When Mystery completes his stasis spell, he immediately shifts to his dog form. Even the small transformation leaves him wholly exhausted. He feels the fatigue in his bones, and in his head, fuzzy and distracting. Quickly, he staggers out of view, so he does not accidentally trip one of the many humans who arrive and begin to prepare Lewis and Arthur for transport. The loss of two tails, two hundred years’ worth of experience, is disorientating. It is like having his insides scooped out and replaced with empty space. His memories swim around, disjointed, as he attempts to stitch them together. He hopes he has not lost anything too important but only time would tell.

Uncomfortably woozy and lightheaded, his thoughts turn to the warning.

The other Kitsune had talked of an alternate future and oncoming danger. Fretfully, he scans the horizon.  All he sees are clouds and a wall of rain coming towards him from across the desert. The taint left behind by the demonic abomination is faint. Most likely, it is attempting to put as much distance between itself and Mystery before sunrise.  As it should. Mystery growls. There is one final flash of lightning and the downpour reaches him, falling in a thick sheet, drenching him in seconds. A wind picks up, turning the droplets into tiny needles.

Shiromori cannot have escaped her seal. It was guarded by the Yukino main family. Touma would have heard word of it breaking and informed him. Surely, this was a trick or a trap. No sane creature went against the Natural Order.

Mystery tries to shake the image of the faded Kitsune, painfully weak, its single tail curled over its paws. The creature had spoken like someone mourning the loss of a loved one. His kind are not meant to love. Mystery stares down at his dog paws and his vision blurs, water running into his eyes. He feels himself shiver, growing cold. This form had always been one of his weaker ones. A poor choice of disguise. He blinks the exhaustion away, staggering to his feet, having to brace all four paws.

Vivi. He should find Vivi. He owes her an apology and an explanation. Whatever otherworldly dangers may be approaching, it was useless to fret without properly examining Arthur first. He could start panicking once he had confirmed the existence of time-travel.

Slowly, he trots around to the door of the Pepper’s diner. Whereas moments prior the driveway had been alive with commotion, it is now empty. All that is left of the evening’s chaos are two puddles of blood being quickly washed away. Would Vivi still be here? She might have followed Lewis and Arthur to the hospital. He sniffs, and finding the rain too heavy, searches his connection to the Yukino family.

Vivi is, indeed, inside the diner. He scratches at the door, hoping to be let in.

Vivi answers, looking down at him with a blank expression. Then she turns and walks away. Silent. Mystery waits for a beat before following, shouldering the door closed to shut the rain behind him. The many times he has been in this building, it has always been awash with colour and activity. He could barely walk two steps without getting petted and pulled in various directions by Lewis’s younger relatives. Not that Mystery had minded, the younger ones always reminded him of when Vivi was small and would follow him around attempting to grab his tail. Concerned by the room’s unnatural stillness, he listens. Several feet away he can hear the mummer voices belonging to the Pepper patriarch and the three smaller humans.

Satisfied that the family seams safe, he continues into the next room. Vivi has moved to sit on the large family-sized couch. She is balled up in one corner, knees drawn to her chest. Before her, resting on the low coffee table, is a cup of flowery tea with steam slowly rising above it. Her clothes are clean, and her hair is damp, smelling of soap and shampoo. From his position of the floor, in spite of the rooms low lighting, Mystery can make out how the skin on her hands and face is red like she’s scrubbed them a little too hard.

/Arthur and Lewis?/ Mystery asks, because, after setting his spell in motion, he had been too tired to see its aftermath.

“A helicopter picked them up. Dad and Lew’s mom are on their way to the hospital. Apparently, I need to stay here and ‘get some rest.’” Vivi falls silent after a sarcastic imitation of what Mystery thinks is Touma. Rain pelts against the window, rattling the glass, and wind whistles around the building.  

He sighs, sits, and waits. There was nothing more for him to do. Last he had seen, both Lewis and Arthur were stable enough physically. They should live with proper care. 

Vivi is the one to break the elongated silence, “That demon, the body snatcher, is it…”

/Gone./

“It’s not in Lewis?”

/No. I removed and sealed it to the best of my ability. It will not be possessing anything for a long while./

“I see.”

Vivi falls silent and glares at him, eyes accusatory. Tentatively, he tries wagging his tail. He knows it is far past too late to continue the dog act, but Vivi always loved when he wagged his tail. A small part of him hopes it will make her smile.

“You lied.”

Mystery winces.

“All this time. You were lying. You were all lying. Dad, gran….did mom know?”

/She was aware, yes./

Her expression darkens, stricken. “Why? I thought dad was just a paranoid stick in the mud. Maybe, if you’d told me the truth, I could have actually been useful.”

/I believe the reasoning was that you were safer not knowing./

“Well, congratulations you failed.” Vivi stands, stomping out of the room and to the kitchen sink, dumping out her tea. She paces back and forth for a minute before turning to the door.

/Where are you going?/

“I’m not waiting here. I'm driving to Milton...I'll sit outside the emergency room all night if I have to.”

/It is raining./ He points out helplessly, following on her heels as she picks up a jacket which is coloured purple and several sizes too large.

She spins and glares again, “Does this look like the face of someone who cares?"

Mystery hesitates, pausing to watch her pack a bag and have a brief discussion with the elder Pepper. The short man escorts Vivi to the door, visibly tied and worried, giving Mystery an expression of acute unease. The faint smell of fear collects around him.

“Are you coming or what. It’s a forty-minute drive. Plenty of time for you to start explaining things.” Vivi orders, facing away, freezing at the door, silhouetted in the frame.

Mystery skirts in close. Despite her brash words of action, Vivi remains still, eyes fixed on the pavement just visible through the rain. The blood from earlier has all but washed away, soaking into the ground. The faint red streaks remaining have Vivi transfixed. Tears are dripping down her face, falling in time with the rain. Her hands tighten on the jacket. Mystery watches and aches. Many myths and stories caution against becoming too attached to humans. Mystery thinks of his failure to save Arthur, and the forced decision to pick Lewis instead. His inaction had almost killed them both, and it should not have affected him as much as it has. He can still feel the echo of rage and fear. A decade ago, he would have simply chosen the route with the greatest chance of success and thought of it no further.

Now, all he wants to do is stop Vivi’s crying.

/I am sorry./

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NOTE: Mystery joins the angst party. The next part is either going to be a Lewis or Arthur POV. Since they’re interchangeable, which would people rather read first? 

ALSO:  I realised as I was editing. I accentually cut the foreshadowing for echo-Mystery out for some reason. It was supposed to be in part 22  but I think that it was before I decided to add several Mystery POVs to the fic so it wouldn’t have made much sense back then.  Might add it back in at some point. I should really keep better plot notes. 

Part 37: here

[imagine-loki]

Exhausted

TITLE: Exhausted CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-Shot AUTHOR: ckoehlrbm ORIGINAL IMAGINE: You are too exhausted to take a shower and just want to lay in bed, but Loki won’t allow someone dirty in clean sheets. RATING: General NOTES/WARNINGS: None

Things had changed since the Asgardians had settled on Midgard. Where in the first year of residency, Anaya had been on-duty for forty-eight hours and then on-call for twenty-four, but allowed to leave the hospital…. By the last year of her emergency medical residency, she was on-duty for seventy-two or more hours, kept awake and alert by the provisions from an Asgardian Healer that was stationed with her. Every major city had at least one Asgardian Healer on staff at their trauma center. New York had seven.

Anaya stumbled into her apartment, yawning as the last surge of energy and clarity from the Kaf-Pow she had been injected with began to fade. She couldn't remember the name for the substance now, but all of the residents called it Kaf-Pow, as you could be half asleep and one shot would have you ready to run marathons.

There was her bed. Freshly made with black cotton sheets that she knew would be softer than a baby's breath. She shrugged off her lab coat and let it hit the floor with an audible, if slightly wet, thunk as she began sneaking towards the bed. She ignored the yellow stain (was it mustard or fetal fluid from a Vanir? She couldn't remember.) on her scrubs. Her knee touched the bed and she began to fall forward-

And an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back and away from the bed. "Darling, a shower first."

She whined in thwarted, exhausted fury. Words were beyond her now. She had been so close to being in the literal heaven of her bed and goddamn Loki's OCD was kicking in with a side diagnosis of germaphobia.

"What was that, darling? Did you ask for me to wash you?"

The whine was replaced by a curious groan. Would he? Would it be cruel when she was too exhausted from work to reward him with sex? Would it be rude if they started and she fell asleep in the middle of? Not wanting to insult the god himself, but she really didn't see how she could stay awake for the time required to properly worship him.

She didn't notice as he began magicking her clothes away with a disgusted sniff at the scrubs and the coat. No doubt, there would be new ones awaiting her before her next shift. Her feet stumbled and suddenly she was floating towards the bathroom where her tub was now easily the size of a large Jacuzzi.

Anaya groaned as she was lowered into the citrus-scented water, bath oil making her skin glisten. It should be a sin for something to feel this good. Maybe this was what the womb felt like to a baby- a warm, comfortable space where aches disappeared. There was a murmur of sound as Loki slipped behind her and drew her back so she lay against him.

Her head rolled back and she looked up at him. He groaned when he saw her eyes and she felt him prod the small of her back. "Darling, you cannot look at me like that when you are like this. It makes me want to forget I am a Prince. A consummate gentleman beyond reproach."

She snorted and closed her eyes as a soapy washcloth began smoothing over her skin, lightly scrubbing at a mysterious spot that turned out to be a bruise. His lips pressed to her shoulder, moving in silent words and she knew there would be no bruise when she left the bath.

"I know, darling. I am possessive. I do not like marks on you but the ones I make. Of which there are precious few right now. We will have to make up for your absence, my love. My sweet Anaya."

The cloth dipped down, cleansing her skin in soothing circles that smelt of fresh oranges and zesty lemons. Time became meaningless to her as her body took comfort from her lover taking care of her. He spoke in low tones of what he had seen on the news and how he had realized much of it had been directed to MedGen when she ignored his texts and calls. How he was sorry she had caught such a rough time that she was nearly two days late from all of the extra work and surgeries. How he admired her for the skills her tiny Midgardian hands held in repairing lives and bodies.

She was more asleep than awake when he slipped from behind her and magicked her out of the tub, wrapping a large towel around her. His arms came around her body and she started to protest him carrying her weight when she was not exactly lithe. Her body was as generous as her heart. He shushed her and she fell silent as he knelt on the bed, placing her away from the door and closing the blinds. The sheet came up and covered her as she reached blindly for him with a sigh.

"I am here, my Queen. Rest and know you are protected. None will disturb you tonight, not even I."

[sserpente]

A/N: Okay, I know, I know I said there would only be Christmas Imagines before Christmas but I just couldn’t help myself. I’m still not over that movie and I’ve been getting so inspired, so… here you go!

Words: 1332 Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE LAST JEDI

Pain. Stinging and scourging pain was all you felt when you lifted another metal pipe to store it away, the strength in your left arm dropping as fast as the object you had lifted. A loud clatter echoed through the room and drowned your antagonised hissing as you grunted at the agony tormenting your mangled body.

This was the third time this week you almost broke your bones while attempting to do the work your engineer colleagues were supposed to get done. You were all but weak for heaven’s sake—but those pipes weighed more than eighty pounds each. Lifting them high up over your head was almost impossible and yet, you tried, again and again, fearing that if you refused, your generous colleagues would get you suspended.

You needed this job as much as you needed that cot you had been given upon your arrival on the Finalizer. Against all reason, it was the perfect place to hide from the First Order—doing dirty work for them while they kept searching the cosmos for force-sensitive individuals that would train under Kylo Ren himself, your new Supreme Leader.

You didn’t know the details and you didn’t want to. It was bad enough you were one of those individuals, not wanting to take sides or train under anyone for the sake of ruling the galaxy. The power it gave you, you enjoyed. At night, when everyone else was asleep, you would secretly practice levitating objects, revelling in the feeling of what you liked to call magic. Outside of your quarters—a tiny room resembling a prison cell rather than an actual home—you forbad yourself to use the Force; not if you wanted to remain undiscovered and safe. Of course, training under Kylo Ren wouldn’t be the worst—quite on the contrary. You had always admired his strength, even if the temper tantrums he threw once in a while scared you shitless. Still… he was intimidating. His sheer presence was intimidating.

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you took a deep breath and lifted the pipe again. You didn’t even manage to move it off the ground this time. Instead, the same pain like before, more prominent and dizzying this time, shot through your body like hot needles.

Fine. You definitely needed to pay the infirmary a visit after this but first… you had to get this done or your colleagues would rat you out by talking to Hux. Another man who intimidated you, scared you even. Perhaps this wasn’t the right place for you after all.

Staring at the pipe as if it were some nasty insect, you pondered. No one would see… you were alone in here. Just… this once? Quickly? You nodded to yourself, biting your lower lip before taking a last, thorough look around you and then, stretching out your arm towards the pipe on the ground.

You concentrated, focusing on doing the exact same thing you kept doing to the metal drawer in your room—you levitated it and then, simply brought it up to where it belonged.

There. All done.

Kylo Ren stopped dead in his tracks when he sensed it. The Force, used by… someone other than him. He clenched his gloved fists, his head tilting ever so slightly as he came to a stop next to an open storage room, watching your weak form standing confidently before a pile of metal pipes and… hovering one of them high up in the air with nothing but your mind.

“You,” he started, the confusion in his voice clearly audible. He had been relinquishing wearing his helmet lately, for whatever reason. Without the voice modulator, it sounded smooth, dark… intriguing.

The first time you had seen his face was while fixing a gas pipe. You had almost broken it beyond repair when he walked by, his freckled face framed by dark hair, complimenting a pair of brown eyes and full lips. Heavens…

Spinning around, alarmed and anxious, you were met with his scrutinising, almost taunting and reproachful gaze. His broad form, covered in black clothes and a cloak, took up most of the space in the threshold, blocking your only exit and escape.

“C-commander, I-I… I-I w-was just… uh…” What had he seen? How much had he seen?

“I believe it is Supreme Leader now.” He corrected you sternly, his dark eyes still locked with yours. You swallowed thickly, nodding when you realised your mistake.

“Y-yes, of course, I’m-I’m sorry. Supreme Leader. I was just, um…”

“You are using the Force.”

“No!” You replied a little too quickly. “I wasn’t! How would I? I mean…”

“You are force-sensitive.” He repeated, stepping closer to you. His right arm outstretched, his mind invaded yours, sending a pulling pain through your skull. You grunted, forcing your eyes shut.

That’s it. You were done for. He knew. He’d know everything now.

When he retreated, leaving you weak and spent, you stumbled, propping yourself on the pile of metal pipes. Sweat was covering your forehead and glistening in the dim light of the storage room.

“You are quite clever, aren’t you? Hiding right under my nose.”

“I-I m-meant no disrespect, Com-Supreme Leader.”

Kylo frowned. “Then what else did you mean by pretending to be a mere engineer, using the Force behind my back instead of approaching me, telling me about your abilities?” He asked, unbelieving and almost bored by your pathetic excuses.

“I-I… I am an engineer, I… self-preservation?” You might as well take that custom-made lightsaber from his belt and stab yourself. Self-preservation. Did you want him to kill you right on the spot?!

“Please, I’m just… I’m really weak, I can hardly do anything. I couldn’t be what you want me to be, I…” But there was only one other option. If he didn’t take it upon himself to train you… he would have to kill you to make sure you didn’t end up joining Rey and the Resistance. You wouldn’t ever, he must know that! For Fuck’s sake, he had just pried your mind open like a nut!

Would you be able to do that too? Instantly, you wondered what it would be like to read people’s minds… knowing what’s going on inside their heads…

“You’re stronger than you think. And you know how this will go. You need a teacher.”

You shook your head, backing away. “There is a reason I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t want anything to do with this. The Jedi, the Sith… that undying war between them…”

“You think I do?” Kylo interrupted, taking yet another step forward. He was so close now you could almost feel his body heat radiating off him… or was it the Force? Were you able to feel it surging within him?

“Then don’t.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t. I will create a new universe, a new galaxy. No Jedi, no Sith… only power. Join me, (Y/N).”

Your heart skipped a beat. How did he know your… right. Mind reading. Surely, he knew everything by now.

“I…”

“Join me.”

“I’m just an engineer!” You exclaimed, still unsure of this whole situation. Here he was, Kylo Ren, doing what you had dreaded and… anticipated? He was offering to train you. Show you the ways of the Force, teach you so much more than just levitating objects in your quarters.

“For now.” He replied calmly. “But you can be more.”

“W-what if I refuse?”

Kylo frowned. “Will you?”

You swallowed, meeting his brown eyes again. Your heart was in your mouth when you answered.

“No.”

So when he hold out his gloved hand for you to take, you obliged, the sensation of the warm leather against your fingers sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine.

“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured barely audible, the Force cursing through both your bodies like electricity, your powers combined, intertwined like ivy.

Your fate came crushing down on you that day. From now on, nothing would ever be the same again. Kylo Ren would make sure of that.

A/N: Maybe there will be a Part II? Maybe Hux will make an appearance? ;-)

[opheliaindigo]

The sinking ship imagery mixed with post nasal drip reality and it all comes crumbling down in one swift kick mentality. All i thought we were is nothing close to what we are, an illusion at best in a mirror shattered beyond repair. A blur of paint on a canvas, lost cog in a wheel. Driftwood dreaming of sailing the ocean, catching the breeze and a deep blue chill. I an anchor, you an urchin turning in the tides. Opalized and cresting waves consume me. The seaweed binds me in bitter reproach. I am walking the plank over and over to avoid this, the shark's raveny less frightening than reality, his teeth not quite as sharp as your tongue. My skirts billow and bawl, my eyes remain fixated on the horizon as i take the plunge into darkness. Throwing caution to the wind, sick and tired and ready for release. The sea spray pulls me in, closer to home than I've ever been, these feverish frenzies just that. A delusion, an enemy, a looming battle with a boss i could never defeat. And so i sacrifice my feet, and pray for fins to guide me far away, deep in the fray of the ocean floor.

drowning in despair,

🌸 ophelia indigo

[gabriel-solares-blog]

( he/him ) why the fuck would [ OSCAR ISAAC ] want to live in sunset court? oh – i guess that’s just [ GABRIEL SOLARES ], a [ THIRTY FIVE ] year old [ COMPUTER ENGINEERING MAJOR ] from [ CARLSBAD, CALIFORNIA ]. i’m pretty sure he’s been in los angeles for [EIGHT YEARS ] and in [ 4D ] for [ TWO YEARS ]. i heard he’s in los angeles because [ HE WORKED TO PUT HIS LITTLE SISTER THROUGH SCHOOL BEFORE STARTING HIS OWN MAJOR ] and that he’s been [ WORKING MULTIPLE JOBS ] so he can pay his rent while he’s chasing his dreams. pretty wild, right? anyways, i heard that he’s [ HUMOUROUS ] and [ CHARMING ], but can also be [ SARCASTIC ] and [ NON CONFRONTATIONAL ], so watch out. ( Mouse, CST,  She/Her )

Hello all my name is Mouse, and yes that is my ACTUAL NAME not an alias because my mom is a weirdo- my siblings’ names are Carlton and Joyanna though, so I figure I got off easy. I’m 24. I was a homeschooled jungle freak (if… you could Kansas as the jungle… which… you shouldn’t….) and thus I have no social skills to speak of, which is honestly preferable to living out in this shit state as a gay raised by gay moms. I just started college because I’m a trash child with anxiety and am currently living in a shitty apartment near campus with my wonderful girlfriend and our three chihuahua mutts. I like to do lame things like cross stitch and write poetry. (And yes I totally did just copy/paste this from Kiara’s intro post ayyooo)

This goober is Gabe and he’s a sweet bun of a man, dare I say the only straight man who has never disappointed me??? Perhaps. 

BACKSTORY

Gabriel Solares was born to childhood sweethearts Matias Solares and Gloria Perez. Both children of immigrants, they grew up in the same neighborhood, started dating in high school, and had Gabe shortly after graduating college. They were very happy, if a little codependent, and soon (how soon depends on who fills my wanted connection wink wink nudge nudge) they had a little girl whose name is up to player.

When Gabe was ten, his mother had a sudden brain aneurysm after dropping him and his sister off at school- and his father absolutely fell apart. He stopped taking care of himself or his children, started drinking, disappeared for days- even weeks- at a time, and it was largely left up to Gabe to take care of his sister. He knew that if the school were to find out how his father was neglecting them they’d be taken away and more than likely separated, so he did all he could to attempt to make sure that no one knew. He learned through trial and error how to do laundry, scrounged for change to buy sandwich materials when his dad failed to buy groceries, and when there was no change to find, he stole food or went hungry in order to keep him and his sister fed. He has a vivid memory of feeding his little sister canned vegetables for dinner because there was nothing else to eat, ignoring the growling in his own stomach by reminding himself he would be able to eat breakfast at school. 

In the end, people started noticing little details that clued them in. Child Protective Services showed up on his father’s doorstep a year and a half after his mother died and and instead of getting his act together, Matias relinquished his parental rights to the state. Gabe and his sister were placed in foster care and over the next six years lived in over twenty foster and group homes- facing a variety of abuses. They stayed together most of the time once their case worker figured out that putting them in separate placements largely lead to both of them running away and living on the streets until local law enforcement managed to catch up with them, normally somewhere around a week or two later.

Anyone who had to deal with Gabe quickly realized that he wasn’t a bad kid. He was intelligent, witty, and generous- quick to crack a joke to diffuse a tense situation or offer a helping hand. His schoolwork was always beyond reproach, and while he resented being made to help with anything, if left to his own devices he would normally offer to take over household chores. However, he was extremely protective of his sister and his possessions and wasn’t afraid to become physical in defense of either. He ended up in a group home for troubled boys for fighting with other foster children, and at sixteen Gabe found himself in handcuffs after a foster father hit his sister hard enough to warrant stitches and he put himself in between both of them and punched the other man.

He finished school early a year later and applied for emancipation, filing for custody of his sister and working multiple jobs to pay their rent. To Gabe, it felt like the first time he was able to take a full breath since their parents died- finally he didn’t have to worry about where they’d be shipped off next, or if they were going to decide to separate them again tomorrow. He should have been able to relax, but found it wasn’t quite in his nature. He’d spent so much of his childhood worrying about him and his sister, it wasn’t something he could turn off- but now at least he had a little time to spend on himself and his own interests- starting several side businesses in addition to his multiple day jobs ranging from teaching guitar, computer repair, yard work, and dog walking and training. When his sister graduated high school, they moved to L.A in order to be close to her college choice, and he continued on as he had been, only now he gave all his spare money to her to help pay for school. I imagine they argued long and hard about her going to school before he did, but Gabe would have been insistent. 

After she graduated, they found Sunset Court- which was significantly cheaper and nicer than their current apartment and moved in a few weeks before Gabe’s classes started. He had a lot of misgivings going to school so late in the game, and I imagine that sometimes he’s very self conscious about being the ‘old man on campus’, but he wants to finally be able to relax and enjoy his life a little more- something he can’t do when he’s constantly scrounging for money. 

PERSONALITY

THIS BOY IS A G O O F. I mean seriously, he’s like if Eric Foreman, John Dorian, and Jesse from Pitch Perfect had a love child. Awkward humor af, constant finger guns, being so charmingly annoying you can’t even deal with him. 

On the one side of things Gabe is a very intense, hardworking person. He truly gets antsy when there’s nothing for him to do, and he’s prone to finding something when that happens. (It’s normally something very nerdy and/or unneeded home improvement, tbh.) He has a lot of trauma from his childhood, and while he jokes about it often it’s only something he’s really just now starting to acknowledge. He’s SO INTENSE about money and finances, his monthly budget is something of legend and he’s the kind of person who will loan you money if he can, but don’t expect him to ever forget about it. His space is very much HIS and he cannot deal with anyone upsetting anything in his room, and he hates clutter in the main area- though he’s normally too tired or worn out to worry about it enough to clean it. 

On the other hand he’s very much a laid back boy next door type. He plays video games, collects guitars, sings ridiculous made up songs to himself while he works, and shakes his butt to Cardi B songs while he makes cereal. Just a goofy goober through and through honestly, and I can’t wait to see how he interacts with other characters here.

PLOT IDEAS

Your character hears Gabe singing and playing guitar on the balcony and either comes out to listen or tell him to quiet tf down

Your character was a foster kid around the same time Gabe and his sister was and they maybe lived in the same house for a little

Gabe repairs your character’s computer/walks their dog/teaches them guitar/etc and they become friends

Gabe falls asleep somewhere weird because he’s a little overworked narcoleptic and your character happens upon him like ???? (ngl every time I play Gabe I cruelly throw him in weird situations by having him fall asleep somewhere weird and wake up to something odd happening around him lmaooooooo)

Or if you have an idea, hit me up! I’m hype to get started!!!

[scriveyner]

shining like the stars p96

“That's the fourth patrol in the last half varga,” Ilianya said, holding her hand over her eyes as she stared up at the night sky. The dark arrowhead shapes of the sentry patrol flight were visible against the backdrop of Eaphus, casting dim illumination across its many satellites. “They're narrowing down the search grid. We can't stay here, we'll be discovered before long.”

“If we move Yellow that'll bring down the entire fleet on us,” Hunk said. “And, uh, not going to lie here – I'm not exactly the best fighter pilot in the whole galaxy.”

They had long since put out the campfire, letting the creeping not-dark of night on the moon of Eaphus overtake them. The wings of Galra sentry drones had been sweeping lower and lower as the night wore on, the brief hum of the engines marking the passage of time. Ilianya retreated from her vantage point back underneath the belly of the Yellow Lion, as it was now crouched as low to the ground as it could. That still left more than enough room for them both to walk upright. “We can't stay here,” Ilianya said again, and didn't sit.

“Are you suggesting we abandon Yellow?” Hunk said, affronted.

“It is preferable to being captured.”

“I can't do that!” Hunk put his hand flat against the Yellow Lion's leg. “I'm not going to just let the Galra haul Yellow off like … like some sort of trophy!” The thought of that was actually so distressing it caused a knot to form in Hunk's chest. “There's got to be a better plan.”

“Unless you feel confidant that you can pilot us through whatever barricade the Galra fleet has constructed to ensnare us,” Ilianya said, her voice taking on a cold edge, “I see no other option. I am not waiting around to be taken prisoner.” She turned away, staring out at the dark landscape.

“Well, the Galra can't come down to the surface of the moon itself anyway,” Hunk said, folding his arms. “They can only send down the sentries.”

“What?” Ilianya half-turned to look at him, a frown on her face.

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “Allura told us that there's something in the atmosphere here that makes it difficult for the Galra to breathe. Some sort of chemical that's already present in the atmosphere and yet doesn't affect the rest of us oxygenated beings.” He leaned forward, arms still folded and shoulders slumping. “But I bet they could just wear their masks and be fine, like in space. But … why haven't they done that already? When we were here earlier” he kept talking, more now to himself than Ilianya, working out the problem verbally. “We didn't see a single Galra in any of the cities. Even though the waystation in orbit is a refueling point and entertainment arena. Why is that? Why wouldn't they bother to come down to the surface?”

“It isn't worth the risk?” Ilianya said. “I don't see how that's relevant.”

“But why isn't it worth the risk?” Hunk said. “Zarkon would have been here. The temples are connected to Voltron and he knows that.”

“How would the Emperor of the Galra know that?” Ilianya said, and Hunk gave her a weird look.

“Because he was a Paladin?”

“Of Voltron?”

Hunk blinked at her. “You didn't know that?”

Ilianya shook her head sharply. “We knew that Zarkon was a close friend of King Alfor, and that he betrayed Voltron leading to the death of its Paladins, but...” Ilianya covered her mouth with one hand. “To think that there was a non-Altean Paladin prior to your team...”

“Preeeeeetty sure that Alfor was the only Altean, actually,” Hunk said, and Ilianya stared at him. “Okay, um, but we'll deal with that later.” Hunk snapped his fingers suddenly. “The temples!”

“I'm so lost,” Ilianya said.

“The temples house the memory cores,” Hunk said, moving with determination toward the head of the Yellow Lion. “They're connected to the Lions somehow. By quintessence, probably.” A hatch in the underbelly of the Lion opened, above Hunk's head. He waited a moment, looking at Ilianya, and then when she didn't move he made a step with his hands gesturing with his head toward the hatch well above their heads.

It took another embarrassingly long moment before Ilianya got it, then she smiled at Hunk, put her foot in the step he created with his hands, and jumped up, hooking the edge of the hatch with her hands and effortlessly pulled herself inside. Hunk followed a moment later, thanks to the boosters in his Paladin armor.

Once in the cockpit, Hunk situated himself in the pilot's chair. “Okay,” he said to Yellow, resting his hands on the flight controls. “Can you bring up all systems with no exterior running lights? Zero. We don't want to help those sentry patrols at all.” The interior systems all lit live in shades of gold and Hunk grinned at the readouts. Nothing showed red, the Yellow Lion's self-maintenance systems had repaired all issues in standby. Thank goodness for Altean tech. “So the memory cores are connected to the Lion's quintessence,” Ilianya said, standing beside Hunk's flight chair. “I don't understand how that can help us.”

“The memory cores are some weird and unfathomable bits of Altean technology,” Hunk said, and then winced, glancing over at Ilianya guiltily as if expecting reproach. “I mean, I think they're Altean. We never did figure out who made them and Allura wasn't clear on it, but the tech is insane and it might as well be magic. I mean, it pops us into memories. So I hear. That's some crazy stuff. But, if they're connected to the Lions by quintessence, maybe they're just, like … some weird off-site hardware backups.”

“Like a computer,” Ilianya said, and Hunk nodded his head sharply in agreement.

“Exactly! Like, an external hard drive or something. Pidge was able to hook her computer up to it, even if she wasn't able to make sense of the readings.”

“Okay, great,” Ilianya gestured at the Yellow Lion's console. “So how do we use that?”

“I have no idea.” Hunk lifted his hands from the flight controls and folded his arms, staring at the console lit gold in front of him.

There was silence for a moment. “What do you mean you have no idea!?” Ilianya braced her hand on the back of Hunk's chair. “Can't you get the Lion talking to the memory core?”

“This whole quintessence thing? That's magic too. Magic, is like...” Hunk wiggled his hand in the air. “It shouldn't be a thing but it is. It shouldn't. There are laws to physics, you know, and frankly this whole quintessence thing-”

“Hunk.”

“Magic is science we just don't understand yet,” Hunk parroted, and then made a pained expression. “Sorry.” He looked at the display, then leaned forward to access the console. “I'll figure something out, I guess.”

Ilianya looked to the radar that showed the flight of Galra sentries, flying even lower this time. It wouldn't be long until they were discovered. “Hurry,” she said.

“Man, I wish this thing came with an instruction manual,” Hunk grumbled half to himself as he hunched forward over the console, squinting at a display that had popped up above the gold-tinted holographic keyboard. As he spoke another display popped directly to his left, scrolling quickly and chock full of lines of text in that squiggly Altean script that Pidge was still picking at learning. “In English,” Hunk specified, and the display closed just as abruptly as it opened.

Scanning for weird energy signatures took, well, energy, and he wasn't even sure what kind of energy signatures that the memory cores put out – if they even put out any at all. What he wouldn't give for a direct line to Pidge at the moment, he wished he had paid attention more when she complained about her research into the monolith they'd dragging into the training room. “Can you scan for quintessence?” he asked aloud as he typed, because Yellow seemed to like it better when he actually talked to her.  The Lion seemed almost to purr in response.

The forward viewscreens lit, showing the dark landscape of the moon's forest stretched out below them. Now, however, there seemed to be a filter over the viewscreen, and there were faint color trails underneath the rocky terrain and glittering slightly as they moved. A rainbow array of energy signatures. “Huh,” Hunk said, surprised that had actually worked.

“It's beautiful,” Ilianya said. “The quintessence.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said softly, a little awed. “It is.”

They watched it in silence for a few moments, until the tell-tale rumble of a low-flying Galra sentry seemed to snap Hunk back to business. “If only we could figure out how to pick out the memory core's signature from that mess,” he said, hand hovering above the holographic keyboard. On his words the other colors on the filter faded out and thin golden strands, fainter than the others, became visible underneath the dirt. They looked like gold veins with the filter overlaid on the viewscreen, and they all seemed to flow in one direction, toward the mountains that Hunk knew lay beyond their view.

“All right,” Hunk said. “Looks like we're headed back to the temple of Empedocles.”

#

The Yellow Lion was, by a certain margin, the slowest of the Voltron Lions. It had to do with the sheer amount of mass, the weight of the thick, heavy armor bogging the Lion down – but that being said, she could still haul ass when needed, and haul ass she did well. Hunk kept them as low to the ground as he dared, the Yellow Lion hurtling through the unoccupied, unsettled wilderness of the moon of Eaphus knowing full well that the sentries would pick up the brightly-colored Lion sooner or later. It was only a matter of time, but he could still do his best to keep them off the radar for as long as possible.

It was still night on that side of the moon, where the temple of Empedocles lay in partial, sand-drenched ruin; however it didn't seem like night, the veins of gold running under the surface glowing brighter and bright until they converged underneath the temple, glimmering bright as day.

“I can't believe that worked,” Hunk said, as the Yellow Lion landed in a crouch with its belly close to the ground. “Scan the temple, Yellow, we've got to figure out how to get that memory core talking to you.”

The golden glow through the filter pulsed, and that drew Hunk's attention to the viewscreen. “Oh,” Ilianya said, and Hunk realized at the same time that all the internal systems; the holographic displays and everything that traditionally ran golden in the cockpit had begun to glow even brighter than before.

“It's like the energy is overloading,” Hunk said, pulling the diagnostics up immediately, checking to make sure that that the internal systems weren't about to go sideways on them.

The Yellow Lion shifted without Hunk's input, standing fully upright from its crouch, before letting forth a full-bellied roar.

“Uh,” Hunk said, raising his hands as half a dozen new displays, all tinged with that brilliant shimmering gold, started popping up in the air around him. “That's new.”

There was no response from Ilianya, and Hunk glanced over to her only to find her absent. He twisted halfway around, looking behind his seat in case she was pulling a Lance and picking the absolutely most inopportune time for a practical joke. “Ilianya?” There was no response. Hunk turned back toward all the displays and waved his hand through them, looking for the local low-baud comm, but as he waved his hand the displays did not react to him dismissing them. Instead, the viewscreen of the Lion went dim, but not completely out.

“What the heck,” Hunk said, and waved his hands at the displays again. “Ilianya, where did you go? Yellow, respond, I need to figure out what's-” abruptly, even more so than before, the cockpit of the Yellow Lion seemed to vanish around him. “…happening...” Hunk said in a small voice, into the void.

#

The golden light through the forward viewscreen filter pulsed once, bright as day, before the Yellow Lion lifted the filter from the viewscreen and showed the temple of Empedocles as it was; old and ruined, half-buried in the desert sands. Ilianya had been slightly blinded by the pulse, raising her hand on reflex to block the light, but the moment it faded she realized that all the interior displays of the Yellow Lion had gone from their original gold to a brighter, glimmering hue. “Amazing,” she said, as Hunk hunched forward over the flight controls. “You did it, how?”

Hunk did not immediately respond. Ilianya reached forward to touch his shoulder when suddenly Hunk yanked back on both flight controls simultaneously. The Yellow Lion launched off the ground in a single movement, violently shooting straight up and into the air. Ilianya was flung backwards, totally unprepared for the sudden acceleration, and slammed back against the wall, jarring her injured shoulder hard. She swore violently in Altean, grabbing a handhold on the bar that ran at head-height along the inside of the cockpit and yanking herself forward against the force of gravity even as the Yellow Lion broke out of the lower atmosphere of the moon.

“What the quiznack are you doing!?”

In low orbit the interal compensators kicked in and the g-forces fell off; so Ilianya was able to lunge forward and grab the back of the pilot's chair without having to worry about going tail over teakettle a second time. The Yellow Lion hung in orbit for a moment, the scanners pulsing a bright yellow as several sentry craft rose out of orbit as well, marking their position. There was no time to be angry. “We've been spotted,” she said, and curiously Hunk again did not respond but instead the Yellow Lion seemed to shudder all over and around them before letting out a large, mighty roar.

The cockpit's noise dampeners kicked in very quickly, thankfully. Before Ilianya could react again the Yellow Lion leaped forward and dove after the sentries.

There were four of the craft to a flight, and Yellow tore through them like lizznik paper. Hunk flew straight into their midst and the sentry drones, having zero in the way of particle barriers, simply impacted against the head and chest armor of the Yellow Lion, disintegrating on contact. The other two veered off in opposite directions. “Hunk,” Ilianya yelled, hoping her voice hadn't gone high. Hunk seemed to ignore her, turning Yellow and darting after the first of the drones trying to escape. “Escaping, remember? We have to find the Castleship, can you maybe use the boost from the memory core to break through the long-range comm jammers?”

Hunk lifted his head finally but didn't look back at her. His face in profile looked different, somehow, but Ilianya was too focused on the displays to realize it right away. He didn't respond at all to her voice, but he did pull the Lion out of the pursuit of the drone ship, instead looping the Yellow Lion around and aiming it toward the closest of the Galra battleships, already large enough to see with the naked eye on the viewscreen.

Okay, now she was panicked. “Hunk, no,” she said, as the HUD started to show a mass of red blips spilling from the battleship. The Galra would try for capture first, and they would easily be overwhelmed in moments. “We've got to get out of here!”

This time, when he didn't respond,  Ilianya grabbed him angrily by the shoulder and yanked. It took a moment for the action to register, and when he turned his head to look at her blankly Ilianya's heart froze in her chest.

His eyes were solid gold.

Ilianya's fingers curled, tightening on the pilot's chair. The voice of authority spilled out of her without thinking. “We have to get back to the Castleship,” she said, voice tight. “That's an order, Paladin.”

For the first time the words seemed to properly register. Hunk's head snapped back around to the viewscreen as the first pair of sentry drones from the battleship reached them, doing a flyby. Their linked plasma blasts making the Yellow Lion shudder when they impacted against the armor. Hunk twitched the Lion aside, delicately avoiding the next set of plasma blasts and twisting in the same motion so that the Yellow Lion's tail laser strafed the entire incoming flight, then inverted. Ilianya watched the entire starfield spin dizzingly fast as Hunk ran the Lion parallel to the moon's atmosphere and realized that the drag on the Lion from the outer reaches of the atmosphere was creating a burn that would blast static across the offense's radar, playing havoc with their sensors while still building up enough energy for the Lion to slingshot around the moon and head for the outer reaches of the system.

“Get us home, Yellow,” Ilianya said, as the entire craft shuddered hard at the constant stress of the upper atmospheric burn. The engines rumbled and complained loudly as they broke free of the atmosphere again and using the acceleration boost to blast past one of the Galra battleships faster than it could bring its turrets to bear. The delaying tactic had confused at least half of the drone craft but there was still a cloud of red blips on their tail, and the exit vector that Yellow had picked apparently was the same one that one of the other battleships was hanging out in.

“The entire solar system, and you picked this exit vector,” Ilianya said, when Hunk's hand flung out suddenly and slammed atop one of the holographic consoles. The Lion started to slow, and several Galra sentries that had been about to catch up with them either had to veer off or actually impacted with the Yellow Lion, causing several sensors to the aft to turn red.

In front of the Yellow Lion, between the Galra battleship and them, a wormhole opened.

“The Lions can make wormholes?” That wasn't in the textbooks. Although to be fair, it did look like a highly unstable wormhole, so maybe there was a reason that the Lions didn't regularly make them. The wormhole was already shrinking fast despite the fact that they were still approaching it,  so the Yellow Lion accelerated, leaping forward in space and sailing into the wormhole just ahead of some of the sentry drones. Ilianya didn't look at the rear sensors to see how many made it through the jump with them, concerned more with them making it through the wormhole, all the way.

They spilled out into empty space, the Yellow Lion at half speed now, and the wing of a sentry drone ricocheted off the head of the Lion, making Ilianya jump. There were no active red dots on the HUD, and as the Yellow Lion drifted at half speed, more debris shot past them. “We made it,” Ilianya said,  and then smacked Hunk's shoulder. “If you knew that the Yellow Lion could wormhole, why didn't we just do that from the start?”

His head slowly twisted to look at her again and she had forgotten just that fast. Blank expression, gold eyes. The terror that had sat in her chest suddenly drowned in her anger, and Ilianya grabbed Hunk's face by the chin, jerking his head slightly forward. “I know you're in there,” she said sharply. “You got us out of there, Hunk, c'mon, you can fight this too!”

No response, no expression, and he didn't even try to pull his head out of her tight grip. Ilianya made a noise of anger and tore the helmet to his Paladin armor off his head. He clearly wasn't expecting that, although he didn't fight back, and he expected it even less when Ilianya kissed him.

Hunk's eyes went huge and immediately back to normal. Around them both the bright golden displays shimmered and returned to their normal, more muted coloring; and when Ilianya finally released Hunk he stuttered vocally, completely perplexed. “...what?” he finally managed, as Ilianya looked at the displays around them. “What just … what just happened?”

Ilianya leaned forward, her arm still draped over the back of the pilot's chair. “You got us away from the Eaphus system,” she said.

“I … I did?” Hunk said, looking around the cockpit in confusion. “We were at the temple, how did we – Lance?”

Ilianya's head jerked up and she realized that, now freed from the system-wide radio transmission blackout that the video comm channel had opened automatically on the forward viewscreen. Lance's head and shoulders were in frame, wearing his Paladin armor, and along with that he was also wearing the absolutely biggest shit-eating grin on his face, with one hand in absolutely no way covering it. “Why Hunk, you sly dog,” he said. “No wonder you took your time getting back!”

[thrivous]

Not surprisingly, this issue of Pulse is almost entirely focused on the COVID-19 pandemic. Like everyone, I am following COVID-19 news. Some encouraging scientific advances (see below) suggest that therapies and vaccines could be developed soon.

German company CureVac said it could mass-produce a coronavirus immunization from its existing facilities if its low-dose approach proves successful in trials, Reuters reports. Another Reuters story reports the German government is resisting attempts to persuade CureVac to move its research to the United States, which seems to indicate that the company’s approach is considered solid.

But, make no mistake, this doesn’t mean that COVID-19 therapies and vaccines will be available next week. The process will take months, and perhaps - only perhaps - we’ll have cures and vaccines in time for next year’s outbreaks.

What to do in the meantime? Social distancing and personal hygiene can have a significant impact on the scale of the epidemic, as confirmed by a study (see below). Older and less resistant people should stay at home and minimize contact with others. Younger and healthier people are probably not at risk themselves, but should avoid infecting others.

Suggested responses range from strict lockdown for everyone to letting healthier people become infected to achieve herd immunity.

I see a staggering amount of sensationalized disinformation on social media. Much seems politically motivated and only aimed to support one or another political camp, which is beyond reproachable (“criminal” is a better term if you ask me). I only take seriously COVID-19 information coming from reputable and non-partisan sources, and I recommend that you do the same.

Promising Advances Toward COVID-19 Vaccine

Researchers at La Jolla Institute for Immunology and J. Craig Venter Institute have analyzed potential targets for effective immune responses against the new coronavirus COVID-19. The researchers used existing data from known coronaviruses to predict which parts of SARS-CoV-2 are capable of activating the human immune system.

A study accepted for publication in Cell, Host and Microbe reports similarities with a better known coronavirus. The researchers suggest that vaccine development strategies based on these similarities could generate immunity that's not only cross-protective but also relatively resistant to ongoing virus evolution.

ACS Report on Potential COVID-19 Vaccines

The American Chemical Society (ACS) has issued a special report in ACS Central Science. The new report provides an overview of published scientific information on potential therapeutic agents and vaccines for the SARS-CoV-2 virus that causes COVID-19, with an emphasis on patents.

More than 500 patents have been issued for vaccines and for therapeutic agents that could help prevent or treat coronavirus infections. Since SARS-CoV-2 is similar to other coronaviruses, the researchers highlighted therapies previously explored for these other viruses that could also be applicable to SARS-CoV-2.

Median COVID-19 Incubation May Be 5.1 Days

Researchers led by Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health have analyzed publicly available data on infections from the new coronavirus, SARS-CoV-2, which causes the respiratory illness COVID-19.

They have estimated 5.1 days for the median disease incubation period, as reported in a paper published in Annals of Internal Medicine.

This median time from exposure to onset of symptoms suggests that the 14-day quarantine period used by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention for individuals with likely exposure to the coronavirus is reasonable.

Spread and Mitigation of COVID-19

Researchers led by Cedars-Sinai investigators have suggested that, by March 1, 2020, thousands of people in the U.S. may have already been infected by the COVID-19 coronavirus. That is far more than the number that had been publicly reported.

However, the findings reported in a study submitted to MedRxiv also suggest that even moderately effective interventions to reduce transmission can have a significant impact on the scale of the epidemic. These may include promotion of social distancing and personal hygiene, and restricting large-scale gatherings for occasions such as sporting events.

Protein Toolkit May Protect from Aging and Disease

Scientists at the Universities of Sheffield and Oxford have discovered a new 'toolkit' to repair damaged DNA that can lead to aging, cancer, and Motor Neurone Disease (MND).

A study published in Nature Communications shows that a protein called TEX264, together with other enzymes, is able to recognize and "eat" toxic proteins that can stick to DNA and cause it to become damaged. An accumulation of broken, damaged DNA can cause cellular aging, cancer, and neurological diseases such as MND.

The scientists are persuaded that this discovery could lead to a “repair toolkit” of proteins to protect us from aging, cancer, and neurological disease.

Originally published at thrivous.com on March 16, 2020 at 05:34AM.

[clothdesignbg]

Story of a Cazy of Hamadan

They tell a story of a Cazy of Hamadan, that he was enamored with a farrier’s beautiful daughter to such a degree, that his heart was inflamed by his passion, like a horse-shoe red-hot in a forge. For a long time he suffered great inquietude, and was running about after her in the manner which has been described, ‘ That stately cypress coming into my sight has captivated my heart and deprived me of my strength, so that I lie prostrate at her feet.

Those mischievous eyes drew my heart into the snare. If you wish to preserve your heart, shut your eyes. I cannot by any means get her out of my thought: I am the snake with a bruised head; I cannot turn myself.’ I have heard that she met the Cazy in the street, and something having reached her ears concerning him, she was displeased beyond measure, and abused and reproached him without mercy, flung a stone, and did everything to disgrace him. The Cazy said to a respectable man of learning, who was in his company, “Behold that beauteous girl, how rude she is ; behold her arched eyebrow, what a sweet frown it exhibits ! In Arabic they say that, ‘A blow from the hand of her we love is as sweet as raisin.’ To receive a blow on the mouth from thy hand is preferable to eating bread from one’s own band.” Then again she tempered her severity with a smile of beneficence; as kings sometimes speak with hostility when they inwardly desire peace.

Unripe grapes are sour, but keep them a day or two and they will become sweet. The Cazy having said thus, repaired to his court. Some well- disposed persons, who were in his service, made obeisance, and said that, “With permission they would represent a matter to him, although it might be deemed unpolitic, as the sages have said, ‘It is not allowable to argue on every subject; it is criminal to describe the faults of a great personage; ’ but that in consideration of the kindness which his servants, had experienced from him, not to represent what to them appears advisable is a species of treachery.

The laws of rectitude require that you should conquer this inclination, and not give way to unlawful desires, for the office of Cozy is a high dignity, which ought not to be polluted by a crime, you are acquainted with your mistress’s character, and have heard her conversation. She who has lost her reputation, what cares she for the character of another? It has frequently happened that a good name acquired in fifty years has been lost by a single imprudence, “The Cozy approved the admonition of his cordial friends, praised their understanding and fidelity and said, “ The advice which my friends have given in regard to my situation is perfectly right, and their arguments are unanswerable.. Of a truth, if friendship was to be lost on our giving advice, then the just might be accused of falsehood. Reprehend me as much as you please, but you cannot wash the black moor white.” Having said thus, he sent people to inquire how she did, and spent a great deal of money, according to the saying, ‘He who has money in the scales has strength in his arms, and he who has not the command of money is destitute of friends in the world. Whosoever sees money, lowers his head like the beam of the scales, which stoops although it be made of iron.’

[mirelanast]

Story of a Cazy of Hamadan

They tell a story of a Cazy of Hamadan, that he was enamored with a farrier’s beautiful daughter to such a degree, that his heart was inflamed by his passion, like a horse-shoe red-hot in a forge. For a long time he suffered great inquietude, and was running about after her in the manner which has been described, ‘ That stately cypress coming into my sight has captivated my heart and deprived me of my strength, so that I lie prostrate at her feet.

Those mischievous eyes drew my heart into the snare. If you wish to preserve your heart, shut your eyes. I cannot by any means get her out of my thought: I am the snake with a bruised head; I cannot turn myself.’ I have heard that she met the Cazy in the street, and something having reached her ears concerning him, she was displeased beyond measure, and abused and reproached him without mercy, flung a stone, and did everything to disgrace him. The Cazy said to a respectable man of learning, who was in his company, “Behold that beauteous girl, how rude she is ; behold her arched eyebrow, what a sweet frown it exhibits ! In Arabic they say that, ‘A blow from the hand of her we love is as sweet as raisin.’ To receive a blow on the mouth from thy hand is preferable to eating bread from one’s own band.” Then again she tempered her severity with a smile of beneficence; as kings sometimes speak with hostility when they inwardly desire peace.

Unripe grapes are sour, but keep them a day or two and they will become sweet. The Cazy having said thus, repaired to his court. Some well- disposed persons, who were in his service, made obeisance, and said that, “With permission they would represent a matter to him, although it might be deemed unpolitic, as the sages have said, ‘It is not allowable to argue on every subject; it is criminal to describe the faults of a great personage; ’ but that in consideration of the kindness which his servants, had experienced from him, not to represent what to them appears advisable is a species of treachery.

The laws of rectitude require that you should conquer this inclination, and not give way to unlawful desires, for the office of Cozy is a high dignity, which ought not to be polluted by a crime, you are acquainted with your mistress’s character, and have heard her conversation. She who has lost her reputation, what cares she for the character of another? It has frequently happened that a good name acquired in fifty years has been lost by a single imprudence, “The Cozy approved the admonition of his cordial friends, praised their understanding and fidelity and said, “ The advice which my friends have given in regard to my situation is perfectly right, and their arguments are unanswerable.. Of a truth, if friendship was to be lost on our giving advice, then the just might be accused of falsehood. Reprehend me as much as you please, but you cannot wash the black moor white.” Having said thus, he sent people to inquire how she did, and spent a great deal of money, according to the saying, ‘He who has money in the scales has strength in his arms, and he who has not the command of money is destitute of friends in the world. Whosoever sees money, lowers his head like the beam of the scales, which stoops although it be made of iron.’

[resurrectionertugrul]

Story of a Cazy of Hamadan

They tell a story of a Cazy of Hamadan, that he was enamored with a farrier’s beautiful daughter to such a degree, that his heart was inflamed by his passion, like a horse-shoe red-hot in a forge. For a long time he suffered great inquietude, and was running about after her in the manner which has been described, ‘ That stately cypress coming into my sight has captivated my heart and deprived me of my strength, so that I lie prostrate at her feet.

Those mischievous eyes drew my heart into the snare. If you wish to preserve your heart, shut your eyes. I cannot by any means get her out of my thought: I am the snake with a bruised head; I cannot turn myself.’ I have heard that she met the Cazy in the street, and something having reached her ears concerning him, she was displeased beyond measure, and abused and reproached him without mercy, flung a stone, and did everything to disgrace him. The Cazy said to a respectable man of learning, who was in his company, “Behold that beauteous girl, how rude she is ; behold her arched eyebrow, what a sweet frown it exhibits ! In Arabic they say that, ‘A blow from the hand of her we love is as sweet as raisin.’ To receive a blow on the mouth from thy hand is preferable to eating bread from one’s own band.” Then again she tempered her severity with a smile of beneficence; as kings sometimes speak with hostility when they inwardly desire peace.

Unripe grapes are sour, but keep them a day or two and they will become sweet. The Cazy having said thus, repaired to his court. Some well- disposed persons, who were in his service, made obeisance, and said that, “With permission they would represent a matter to him, although it might be deemed unpolitic, as the sages have said, ‘It is not allowable to argue on every subject; it is criminal to describe the faults of a great personage; ’ but that in consideration of the kindness which his servants, had experienced from him, not to represent what to them appears advisable is a species of treachery.

The laws of rectitude require that you should conquer this inclination, and not give way to unlawful desires, for the office of Cozy is a high dignity, which ought not to be polluted by a crime, you are acquainted with your mistress’s character, and have heard her conversation. She who has lost her reputation, what cares she for the character of another? It has frequently happened that a good name acquired in fifty years has been lost by a single imprudence, “The Cozy approved the admonition of his cordial friends, praised their understanding and fidelity and said, “ The advice which my friends have given in regard to my situation is perfectly right, and their arguments are unanswerable.. Of a truth, if friendship was to be lost on our giving advice, then the just might be accused of falsehood. Reprehend me as much as you please, but you cannot wash the black moor white.” Having said thus, he sent people to inquire how she did, and spent a great deal of money, according to the saying, ‘He who has money in the scales has strength in his arms, and he who has not the command of money is destitute of friends in the world. Whosoever sees money, lowers his head like the beam of the scales, which stoops although it be made of iron.’

[livelifesofia]

Story of a Cazy of Hamadan

They tell a story of a Cazy of Hamadan, that he was enamored with a farrier’s beautiful daughter to such a degree, that his heart was inflamed by his passion, like a horse-shoe red-hot in a forge. For a long time he suffered great inquietude, and was running about after her in the manner which has been described, ‘ That stately cypress coming into my sight has captivated my heart and deprived me of my strength, so that I lie prostrate at her feet.

Those mischievous eyes drew my heart into the snare. If you wish to preserve your heart, shut your eyes. I cannot by any means get her out of my thought: I am the snake with a bruised head; I cannot turn myself.’ I have heard that she met the Cazy in the street, and something having reached her ears concerning him, she was displeased beyond measure, and abused and reproached him without mercy, flung a stone, and did everything to disgrace him. The Cazy said to a respectable man of learning, who was in his company, “Behold that beauteous girl, how rude she is ; behold her arched eyebrow, what a sweet frown it exhibits ! In Arabic they say that, ‘A blow from the hand of her we love is as sweet as raisin.’ To receive a blow on the mouth from thy hand is preferable to eating bread from one’s own band.” Then again she tempered her severity with a smile of beneficence; as kings sometimes speak with hostility when they inwardly desire peace.

Unripe grapes are sour, but keep them a day or two and they will become sweet. The Cazy having said thus, repaired to his court. Some well- disposed persons, who were in his service, made obeisance, and said that, “With permission they would represent a matter to him, although it might be deemed unpolitic, as the sages have said, ‘It is not allowable to argue on every subject; it is criminal to describe the faults of a great personage; ’ but that in consideration of the kindness which his servants, had experienced from him, not to represent what to them appears advisable is a species of treachery.

The laws of rectitude require that you should conquer this inclination, and not give way to unlawful desires, for the office of Cozy is a high dignity, which ought not to be polluted by a crime, you are acquainted with your mistress’s character, and have heard her conversation. She who has lost her reputation, what cares she for the character of another? It has frequently happened that a good name acquired in fifty years has been lost by a single imprudence, “The Cozy approved the admonition of his cordial friends, praised their understanding and fidelity and said, “ The advice which my friends have given in regard to my situation is perfectly right, and their arguments are unanswerable.. Of a truth, if friendship was to be lost on our giving advice, then the just might be accused of falsehood. Reprehend me as much as you please, but you cannot wash the black moor white.” Having said thus, he sent people to inquire how she did, and spent a great deal of money, according to the saying, ‘He who has money in the scales has strength in his arms, and he who has not the command of money is destitute of friends in the world. Whosoever sees money, lowers his head like the beam of the scales, which stoops although it be made of iron.’