#i do think green does try to talk to and/or mimic beckons. but all he can hear is 'wawa'

[i3utterflyeffect]

anyway here's an image of me and my new son

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 13

Summary: in which you find something in an unexpected place

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 3,013

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

*

Chapter 13: Little Acorns

The clothing shop is small and warm out of the wind, and a bell rings as Loki pushes the glass door open. As they make their way inside, In-Hvassa hands him back the green paper money and he runs his fingers over the folded edge of the wad. He isn’t entirely sure how much they’ll need, how much the clothing and whatever else they’ll require will cost. As much as he had enjoyed the petty crime of acquiring it, as much as In-Hvassa had as well — and wasn’t that a surprising turn of events — he doesn’t want to make a habit of stealing for funds. More chances of being caught. He had taken as much as he had thought he could get away with, but he didn’t want to leave the man penniless either. Even when he turned out to be as wealthy as Loki had suspected. But for now, they have enough for a few changes of clothes, and a pair or two of shoes.

They’re greeted by the shopkeeper and soft music. The place is crowded with shirts and jackets hanging in neat rows and stacks of pants on shelves. On the far side to the left, there are dresses and scarves and colorful clothing under a sign that says Ladies. To the right is the men’s clothing, and with a nod at Loki, she leaves him to browse the myriad of fabrics in grays and blacks and neutral blues while she makes her way to the clothes for women.

Loki isn’t impressed with the Midgardian attire, isn’t overly fond of the too-saturated blacks and somber colors, the flimsy fabrics and coarse textures. But he finds these things do not bother him overmuch at the moment, far too pleased is he, still caught in the undertow of adrenaline and the giddiness of success. He glances at where In-Hvassa is stroking the fabric of a strange, short dress with a pattern of small flowers. For all her complaining, all her reluctance at first, she had shaped up to be quite adept at her distraction, the truth of her aim hidden beneath the polite words and innocently inquiring appearance. She has claws. Delicate and retractable as a cat’s, but just as needle sharp as well. And that Loki is impressed with.

***

Loki steps out of the washroom wearing the new clothing he’d picked out and holding the wrap bandage in his hand loosely. The front of his shirt — a dark blue shade that doesn’t particularly suit him, you think but do not say. It makes him look quite pale, like he’s been rinsed free of the color in his face — is unbuttoned and hangs open. As you look up at him from your spot in the armchair, already dressed and comfortable, he catches your eye and beckons you over with a shake of the bandage. You set aside the book you had been trying to read, which hadn’t been very good in the first place, and join him in sitting on the side of his bed.

“This might be a bit easier if you take the shirt all the way off,” you tell him, and then fight back a blush at how audacious you’d sounded. “My prince.”

You fidget with the bandage in your hands as Loki shimmies out of the shirt, carefully not looking at him in some semblance of privacy.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly, prompting you to turn to him, a confused frown on your face.

“Do what?” You look between him — well, his face — and the bandage, wondering what in the world you had been doing that he wants you to refrain from.

“‘My prince,’” he mimics, even though his imitation of your tone is probably laced with far more respect than yours has ever had.

“You told me to,” you say hesitantly, not really wanting to contradict him, but, well, he had.

“I shouldn’t have,” he admits with a tiny, sheepish smile. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Pardon?”

He tips his head at you, eyes narrowed likes he’s studying you, searching for something. Whatever it is, you can only hope you measure up. It makes you feel a bit awkward, the scrutiny, and you’re still just holding the bandage uselessly and trying not to look away from the bright green of his eyes.

“You have never once meant it,” he decides, although it is said with no heat. You don’t know what to make of that, don’t know what he’s thinking, or what to do about it.

Because he’s right. It’s not that you’ve meant any overt disrespect, or to discount his rightful title, but you do find it a challenging habit to form when he does not, in short, act like a prince. He is persistent, yes, and used to a fair amount of things being the way he insists, but then, so is a willful horse. But he does not measure up to the tales you’ve heard of Asgard’s other prince, the ones that exemplify such a word, your reference point, all chivalry and brazen ferocity. No coward is he, but where Thor shines, Loki... Loki embodies the shadows, subtle and obscure, hard to define around the edges. It is hard to muster up respect when you don’t even know what it is you are respecting. But you think maybe you are starting to see.

“Apologies,” you mumble, and you do let your eyes fall then.

Loki huffs a breath, and you see it as well as hear it, see his chest expand and deflate with the movement of it. But Loki doesn’t sound angry. He sounds... amused? Resigned? You do not know.

“They look better,” you say, just to say something, to change the topic, to make an excuse for staring at Loki’s chest, which is exactly what you realize you had been doing, unintentionally. “The bruises.” And it makes you feel better too, more confident and less like you’re going to unravel, to direct your focus to one specific goal, one uncomplicated, easy target. You look back up at Loki, who seems more relaxed, looser at the shoulders, and still hasn’t lost his grin, although there’s a spark in his eyes that makes you think he knows exactly what you’re doing. You swallow. “Do they feel better also?”

Loki nods his head, still pining you with that uninterpretable look.

“Much better, actually. Thank you.”

And it’s the second time he’s thanked you, and while you don’t doubt he meant it the first, this time rings with a certain sincerity that the other had not had. It occurs to you, like a sudden dousing of cold water, that Loki is trying to test the waters, to befriend you, you would imagine, actually trying to be kind and, and honest, too, which you don’t imagine is something he’d do for just anyone. You must have gained something major then, just by being his cohort in thievery, just by laughing with him, to make the resentment bleed out of him like that. Because it has. You think he doesn’t hate you still.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, and mean it.

You lean over to start wrapping his chest with the bandage, and it’s becoming easier with each repetition, your hands fining a rhythm at the familiar movements. You hadn’t lied. The bruising does look much better. The swelling has gone down a lot, and the bright purple has toned down to a healing greenish tint.

When you finish, you let your hands drop and slide back across the mattress to give Loki space, but you don’t get up. He doesn’t move, though, just sits there, leant back and propped up on his wrists, caught up in some thought.

“Do you have any idea how this happened?” you ask, tentative, because it feels sort of like poking at a nest of bees. “What Bǫlverkr and Lyngvir did to suppress your magic?”

Loki shrugs, which must mean that he truly is feeling a bit better, since he’s able to, and sighs.

“I do not. I was... not conscious for a majority of the time I was in their charming company.”

The sarcasm is familiar, and something of a comfort. It reminds you of your brother, that underhanded way of stating something, saying it without saying it, and it warms you to Loki as much as it sets an ache in your heart. You miss him, vehemently. You wonder if Loki misses Prince Thor, if they were as close as you and your brother. From what you’d seen, they seemed to get on relatively well, have some care and regard for each other. Loki has always appeared so strong and self-sufficient, it’s hard to think of him as being lonely, as longing for his own family as you long for yours. But you’d seen first hand that he is not quite so untouchable, that he can bruise and bleed as easy as anyone, and you’ve long known that he’s pretentious and proud, and fills in the cracks as soon as they appear. You hope that whatever this sudden ease is that’s settled over you like a a warm blanket, it’s the truth, and you find yourself wanting it to last. You could use a friend.

“Yeah. Right,” you say, and gesture toward his temple, where he’d been struck, where the injury is hidden in his hairline. You’d nearly forgotten.

Loki looks away, but nods. He seems... embarrassed. Ashamed. Like him being taken off guard was his fault, like he shouldn’t have let it happen to him. Which is ridiculous. There are much more deserving shoulders to rest that blame on.

“I didn't run away, you know,” you tell him, belatedly realizing that the connection from one topic to the next had taken place entirely in your mind, and Loki would have no way of following that trail of thought. But still, Loki is willing to try to be nicer to you. You can try as well. “When you found me, I mean.” Loki turns to you listening, actually listening, face soft and without that defensive snappishness ready to rise on his tongue. He looks almost friendly, and it’s... you could get used to that look. It gives you the courage to continue your tale. “I didn’t run away, I was... I was on my way home. I, I shouldn’t have been alone, I guess, that was, perhaps, a bit foolish of me. I...” It is hard to talk about regardless. You look away, and fold your hands in your lap, hoping to keep them still, to hide your restless nerves. “He was so big. So much bigger than me. Bigger than Prince Thor, even.” And you risk a glance up and give a half-hearted chuckle at the joke. “Stórr. That was his name. He grabbed me. Caught me by surprise. That’s how I ended up with Einvald. I... I couldn’t fight back.”

Unexpectedly, Loki leans closer, wraps his fingers around your wrist and just lets them rest there, gentle.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, voice low and earnest.

You look him in the eyes, fierce and determined and willing him to understand.

“I know.”

Loki doesn’t blink, but there is something in his face that you know has heard you, has recognized the truth for what it is, and his throat works. He squeezes your wrist and lets his hand fall away.

“Do you...” you start, the beginnings of a sudden, crazy idea forming in your mind, borne out of the desperate need to change the topic before it gets even more awkward for both of you. “That is, it is just you that they did... whatever it is they did to, right? They didn’t do anything to me. I should still be able to use magic, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to. You know how?” He sounds surprised.

You shake your head.

“I have never practiced before. But maybe... maybe you could show me? Or explain it, anyway. I could... I could at least try. It wouldn’t hurt to try.” And hope has lit a blaze in your chest, warm and wild, and maybe, just maybe, there’s something you can do.

Loki opens his mouth, and shuts it again, a dark cloud befalling his countenance.

“Heimdall,” he whispers, sounding for the life of him like that one word is a puzzle he cannot solve. “There’s no reason he should not have answered you.”

And no. No there isn’t. The flame in your heart withers, but the ember won’t go out.

“He must not have seen.” But it doesn’t change anything, because by all rights he should have seen. “You don’t think something has happened to him, do you? If Ülle diverted the attention of the servants and guards, she might have done something to him too. She didn’t say anything about it, I swear, if I knew she was planning to harm him I would have done... ” what would you have done? “Something.”

“She could not have done so without my father’s notice. Heimdall is fine, I’m sure, but you are hidden here. And that I’m not sure of.”

It’s a long moment of silence that follows, a long moment spent contemplating, chewing up and spitting out half-formed ideas that hold no water, that have flaws as quickly realized as the thought had come. Loki puts his shirt back on. You trace a path over the rug, back and forth, the steady creak of the floorboards sounding in time. There has to be something you are overlooking. At the very least, you have to try, and keep on trying, as many times as it takes until you can grasp the answer in your hands and know that you are going home. For Prince Thor. For your brother. You glance at Loki. For him, too, and yourself. Home. It’s a goal to orient yourself toward, to aim for, fixed in flight like a moth to a flame.

“Are you certain that he cannot see us?” The thought comes out of nowhere, as haunting as it is sound. It makes sense. It makes a bit too much sense. “What if... what if he’s just not responding?”

“While the gatekeeper and I often do not see eye to eye,” Loki says, with enough rancor embedded under the words that you recognize this as an understatement, “Heimdall is not one for neglecting his duties. He would not leave an innocent person stranded on another realm.” And Loki would know Heimdall better than you, and he speaks with absolute confidence. Unfortunately, it does nothing to tamp down the worry that’s starting to grow and writhe.

“But what if I’m not?” It bursts out of you more forcefully than you had meant, and it’s probably not fair to Loki to make him bear the brunt of it, but now that the thought has caught hold, has wriggled little roots in your mind, you can’t dislodge it, and it has the shape of truth, cold truth, and you shiver. Loki hesitates, unsure, confused, frowning. You clarify. “I mean, if he thinks I’m not. If he thinks I did this,” you whisper, and you wish the thought didn’t sting so much, but it does. Oh it does. Because it’s just so unfair, so opposite to who you are, what you would do. And this... you would never do this, not to Loki, not to anyone. But you had unwittingly played right into Ülle’s hand, hadn’t you?

Loki steps forward, giving you another one of those long looks. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to say, and that’s because there isn’t much to say.

“You know how this has to look, don’t you?” You stare out the window, at nothing in particular, arms coming up to wrap around yourself. “I was there. I was right there. Wrong place, wrong time, and there’s no one to say that I was only trying to help! I even all but said that I was there to hurt you, and they wouldn’t even have to lie to let the blame fall to me. I showed up, claimed to be about vengeance, and we both disappeared right as I touched you! It couldn’t look more like my doing it I tried. I’ve given them exactly what they needed, haven’t I?” The last is said through a sudden thickness in your throat, and you cover your eyes, because you really don’t want to be crying right now, but it’s all so much, and it’s so frustrating, and you can do nothing about it because it just is. One big mess, all because you were trying to do something nice.

There’s a light touch on your shoulder, a steadying hand laid there.

“Hey,” Loki says, gentle for the second time today. “Are you alright?”

You look up at him, a bit dewy eyed and shaky.

“Yes. No.” You laugh, a bit too wet for real levity, but it’s funny, how not funny it is. “Is any of this alright?” Loki smiles crookedly in answer. His hand has not left your shoulder. “Remind me,” you say, clinging to wry wit to keep you afloat as you drift through the whole whelming imbroglio. “Next time there’s some huge, treasonous plot astir, to find someone apt at doing something about it, instead of trying to fix it on my own?”

Loki laughs, a startled sound, wrung out of him by the absurdity of there being a next time, of the absurdity of this time.

“You’re assuming there is someone apt at such a task,” he says, and he sounds so serious too, but there’s that gleam of wickedness in his eyes, for once not aimed at you, but shared. If you’re not careful, you might end up liking him, you think, as you press your lips together to fight a smile.

“Loki?” you say, the name sounding a bit precarious on your tongue, but somehow more sincere than ‘my prince’ had been. He looks at you. “Thank you.”

And you mean it.

Part 14 ———————————————————————

*feel free to ask to tag/untag*

@steve-rogcrs

[neroli9]

APJFM update, and two snippets

Sorry it's taken so long! Chapter 37 is out to my beta readers, and I hope to have it posted within a week or two. It's one of those chapters which used to be one chapter, then it turned into two. That means that chapter 38 shouldn't take all that long -- all I really have to do is rewrite a sex scene.

The APJFM Discord server is all kinds of fun, with several channels where we talk about APJFM, writing, cats and how much we hate Jerren. (Yes, except for @kenyaketchup, hello, I see you.) We did some writing prompts recently, thanks to @peonylanterns: the first one was "write an unsexy sex scene" and the second was "write a scene that includes an awful cosmo sex tip." So, under the cut, my contributions... if you want to read any from other writers, or join in the fun yourself, you'll have to join my discord server!

As Sans and Reader look over the prompt, Sans chuckles. "unsexiest sex scene my bony ass. all of our sex scenes are sexy. even the ones where you fart.” 

"I— I haven’t farted in our sex scenes," Reader stammers. 

"sure you do. you just think i don’t notice if you’re halfway across the room. but..." Sans taps the bone next to his nasal cavity. "magical senses, remember? i notice. and it’s like..." He shakes his head. "whew. concentrated dose of humanity, right there." 

"But you’re into humans," Reader responds with some acerbity. "Do you get off on that?" 

"we went over that in chapter 37, dont’cha remember?" 

"They haven’t read 37 yet." 

"then they’re dying for a sex scene with us, aren’t they?" He reaches for Reader and places her in his lap. "you know what they say, give the people what they want."

"But they want unsexy. How do you propose we do that?"

"go fetch me some whiskey."

*************

You’re sitting on the couch with Sans, straddling him and leisurely stroking his cock. He leans back, growling with pleasure. He’s several shots of monster whiskey into the evening, and you’re on your second glass of wine. Now feels like the right time to ask something you’ve been curious about. You lean forward, trailing your fingers down his cheekbone. 

"Can you, uh... can you make it bigger?"

He chuckles. "c’mon sweetheart, that’s easy," he mumbles, his speech slurred. "bigger, she says. like ‘s hard or something." His cock under your hand grows longer and larger around, and you feel a tight, slick feeling in your vulva as you imagine it being forced into you.

You tighten your fingers around it and start jacking him off quickly. "Oh God Sans, that’s so—"

"bigger," he mumbles with a contemptuous air. "you’ve got— you’ve got no fuckin’ idea—" The cock under your hand continues to grow, and you squeal and scramble off his lap as it becomes the size of a baseball bat. "took so much damn work to make it right. t’ do the thing where it’s all hard on the inside but kinda squishy on the outside." He slaps his hand over the gigantic cock and starts shuffling it up and down. "t’ give the head the right kinda springy, squishy feeling. y’ever really just felt the head? s’ perfect.”

You give the head a tentative poke. "It really is perfect. Uh, can you go back to..."

He doesn’t seem to be listening. "an’ the hardest part was redirecting my normal orgasm response through this fucker so it comes out like—” He mimics a splurt of semen coming from the tip of the penis. “i had to practice so it was automatic, ‘stead of just all through my magic like usual. ‘s a fuckin’ weird feeling. never gets any less weird. so y’know what? just making it bigger, that’s nothing. hell, i can go bigger than this.” The cock balloons until it’s the size of a tree trunk. Its base covers his whole pelvis, and he has to sit with his legs spread to accommodate it. Its tip bobs above your head. He folds his arms behind his head and looks on with satisfaction. “now THAT’S a cock. like to see anyone else make a cock like that. c’mon sweetheart, take a ride.”

"Uh, Sans, that is not going in me..."

"here, like this." He beckons you to him, pushing his cock down to make room for you to sit right on top of it, your ass against his spine. It springs back up when he lets go, bopping you in the nose. "shit.”

You rub your nose. "I, uh, I’m ok..." And thank God for that. You couldn’t live with the indignity of having your nose broken by a gigantic magic cock. "Here... like this?" You adjust yourself over the cock, placing both hands on it.

“fuck. that’s good.” You give the side of his gigantic cock a tentative stroke, and he shudders. “that’s REALLY good.”

You slide your hand to the base of his cock, stroking it up and down. Then you lean forward, settling your weight against it and holding on with your thighs, and give it a hug. "It’s kinda like a big stuffed bear," you mumble. "Or a missile. You know, like that movie—"

"’s anachronistic. don’t think ‘bout it too hard, you’ll hit the fourth wall."

"Ok," you reply, giggling drunkenly. "How ‘bout if I..." You bring your lips to the gigantic shaft, kissing it delicately at first. Encouraged by his groans, you run your tongue up a few inches of shaft. Although you’re only licking a tiny part of the gigantic cock, his response turns you on, and soon you’re pressing it all the harder between your thighs, your tits and belly resting on it as you stroke it up and down the shaft with both hands and lick it with all your energy.

Sans groans underneath you, giving your ass a good spank from time to time. You giggle, and he mumbles "what’s so funny?"

"It’s like trying to seduce a telephone pole," you mumble between kisses.

"lemme tell ya babe, you’re something to phone home ‘bout.”

"I got your number," you giggle, giving the underside of his cock an affectionate pat. 

"fuck... too damn right ya do," he groans, holding your ass with both hands and squeezing as you continue lavishing affection on his gigantic cock. You rub your hands from the base all the way to the tip, stretching to run your fingers over the slit, then focus your attention on licking the shaft, covering a portion of the outsized cock with saliva. "oh god, you dirty little human," he mumbles, his body tensing up. Cum spurts out of the gigantic tip and down the shaft, soaking your hands and landing on your head.

His grip on your ass slackens just as his cock vanishes, and you tumble to the ground, falling on your face in front of him. Damn, you forgot that detail! Your knees and palms feel raw from rug burn, and you make a show of groaning as you get back to your feet. 

He doesn’t even notice. He’s slumped against the couch, perfectly still, with a blissed-out smile on his face.

**********************

Snippet #2...

Sans and Reader scroll through the list of sex tips.

"donuts? kid, i'll go buy you a dozen donuts right now if you promise never to put any on my dick."

"Seriously? Sure, I promise," she answers, laughing. She continues scrolling as Sans vanishes. "Pepper under his nose... Does Sans even sneeze? Now I'm curious, but I don't think I want to choose the moment right before he comes to find out. Doing yoga, now that's anachronistic as hell... twist his cock? Am I reading that right?"

Sans pops back, holding a box of donuts, and Reader opens it up and takes one. "Thanks for getting me donuts for promising something I'd never do anyway."

"anytime." Sans takes over scrolling. "blindfold myself... hell no, i like the view. caviar --"

"No caviar," Reader says between donut bites.

"no caviar," Sans answers with a shrug. "how 'bout this one?"

Reader's eyebrows go up as she reads the tip. "Rhinestones and body glue...?" She looks down at her breasts and winces.

"can't imagine how that's any more attractive than whatcha already got," Sans answers. "i mean, they're tits. tits don't need improvement." He continues reading, squinting at the screen. "like you're opening a jar? that just sounds painful."

"I could try it," Reader says, her mouth full of donut.

"or not," Sans grumbles. "bedroom burrito..."

"That one was actually cute in that one story," Reader says, her eyes lighting up.

"good, then we don't have to do it too. beer facial? no thanks."

"What, you don't want to make your skull nice and soft?" "sounds like a nightmare. cook topless... hey, that has possibilities."

Reader leans in to read the entry, then shudders. "Yeah, nothing's sexier than burning my nipple off with tomato sauce. Except maybe smacking you all over with a fork." She reaches for another donut. "See how I'm devouring this donut? That's how I'm going to devour you," she says in a comically high, breathy voice.

"wow. just wow."

"Do I get ice cream, too, if I promise never to feed it to you in the dark?"

"if ya want."

"Maybe next time," she says, scrolling down. "Aw, this one is kinda cute, quizzing you on... what you know about me..." Her voice trails off, and the two of them look at each other blankly.

"you, uh... you like movies..." Sans offers. "and sweets. and opera. and, uh... you got a green soul, an' five letters in your name."

Reader raises an eyebrow. "Two hundred forty-six thousand two hundred and forty-one words, and we're still basically acquaintances."

"you like to draw, right?" He shakes his head. "who am i kidding. ya do that game with me and i'd be so covered with wax you could draw a thread up my spine an' make me into a candle."

There's an awkward silence. Reader takes another donut and bites into it as she scrolls down. "How about I just slap your dick around instead?"

"that sounds infinitely less awkward."

*******

Thanks for reading -- and if you want to see the bedroom burrito snippet referenced, you're going to have to either join the server or petition @beaubartley!

[rex101111]

Made You Look

Chapter 1: Grab and Run

Words: 4961

Rating: T for violence and language

Summery:  Heroes sometimes act without thinking. Izuku more then others. One act of reckless heroism has more far reaching consquances then he can imagine.

Cross posted on AO3

Co-written with: @chapelseed

“It’s an embarrassing topic…I don’t want to talk about it out in the open…could you follow me this way?”

The Yakuza turns on his heels to face the alleyway, beckoning them both to come with him, Izuku feels the young girl in his arms clutching his costume even tighter, feels her shiver in uncontrolled fear against his chest, his heart beating faster in response. He wraps his arms around her, as if to cover every part of her, as if to make sure as little of her is visible to Chisaki.

“If anything happens,” He hears Mirio whisper beside him, cautious and on edge, “Let me handle it. We’ve got no choice but to get her away from him.”

As he gets to his feet and feels Eri curling up closer to him and putting her arms around his shoulders, he couldn’t agree more, “My thoughts exactly Togata-senpai.”

The muscles in his legs coil, the rushing fire of One For All ready to ignite.

Something in his voice must have given him away, because Mirio stiffens ever so slightly, “Midoriya don’t you dare-”

“What’s taking you two?” Overhaul turns his head to look at them from behind, his eyes still calm and composed as ever, but cold bleach coloring his tone, “I hope, for my daughter’s sake, that you aren’t planning on doing anything stupid.”

(The way he says daughter makes Izuku sick to his stomach. The same way one would talk about a prized car or an expensive piece of jewelry. An object to be owned not a person to be cared for. This makes the muscles in his legs coil even stronger.)

He places a calming hand on Eri’s shivering head as he puts on a viciously innocent smile, “Of course not sir,” He says, the quiet but flashing burn of his quirk streaking through his limbs, his voice calm but determined, “What I’m about to do isn’t stupid…”

He lifts one of his feet of the ground by just a few inches.

“It is reckless though.”

He stomps his foot on the concrete, sending a cloud of debris up into the street and into the alley, the civilians around him scream in a panic and begin to flee, falling all over themselves in the process.

(At this point he isn’t sure who’s going to kill him first, Nighteye or Aizawa, but right now that is of little consequence.)

“Follow me!” He yells out as he starts sprinting in a random direction, once again feeling the fire going through him, scorching his heart and engulfing his soul as it cowls him, “Hang on Eri-chan.” He whispers before he shoots across the pavement, not bothering to see if Mirio is on his lead, though hoping he has.

(if he had focused on some small corner on the back of his mind, he might of heard the voice of a woman laughing her approval, instead all he feels is One For All flaring more brightly then usual.)

“That was idiotic, Midoriya!” Comes the voice of his senior, tinged with new found anger, “You’re lucky he didn’t kill us both!” Despite his words, his mouth is twitching upwards, he’s somehow keeping pace with him using his quirk to sink into the ground for momentum, “Let’s hope this works! Or Nighteye will kick us both off the internship!”

Only now does the thought that this might spell the end of his hero studies occur to him, although the weight in his arms, that hasn’t stopped sobbing between fits of crying out either “I’m sorry” or “Thanks you”, stops it from slowing him down.

“Let’s deal with that later!” He says with a worried half smile, “Besides! You’re not trying to stopping me!”

Mirio visibly struggles with what to say next before shaking his head, “Where are we going anyway!?”

“Don’t know!” Is Izuku’s immediate response, he can feel Mirio shouting at him before he hears it, “Either UA or the office! Whichever is closer!”

“Or for the love of-you first years keep getting crazier! This way then!”

With that the two zip through the crowd, bounding their way to safety with the little girl in tow.

Behind them, still back at the alleyway entrance, sits the bird faced criminal, his eyes following every move they make, staying in place until they vanish into the horizon, he lets out a deep sigh, “This complicates things…”

His voice is calm, but his left arm twitches before flying up to swipe the nearby wall, the brick work expanding and then popping outward, pieces of it raining around him as a few more masked men follow out from the alley.

“Boss! I’m sorry they just flew out of nowhere and-!”

What ever that man would have said is lost beneath the crushing and rotting grip of  Overhaul’s palm, “Shut your worthless mouth and after them!”

The rest take little time in heading his shout, as they run off he takes a deep breath, slowly cleaning the blood the henchman left on his pal while Chronostasiss coming up behind him, hands twitching in uncharacteristic panic, “If they get away-”

“They won’t.”

“Our plans will be worthless-”

“They won’t get away.”

“We’re so close we just needed-”

“I said they won’t get away!” He bellows, taking one more deep breath before once more looking in the direction the young heroes ran off to, “It appears we have a terminal case of “Hero Syndrome” on our hands…sadly, such things only have one cure.”

He turns on his heel, the darkness of the alley way swallowing him whole, “Bring him to me when you catch him…alive,” His voice turns jagged and sharp, “I want to make an example of him, in front of Eri, let’s see her try and escape after that.”

As he sulks off in the direction of his hideout, Izuku and Mirio continue their escape, Eri safely tucked under the first year’s arm.

“I’m sorry…” She says one more time, voice wet and hoarse from her crying, her tears soaking Izuku’s costume all the way down to his undershirt, “I’m sorry for making you do this…”

“Don’t be.” Izuku says without hesitation, eyes trained forward but arms strong against her frame as they hold her to him, “This is what heroes are supposed to do!” She clutches her head to his chest, her one horn digging a little into his shoulder before he moves her a little so she’s more comfortable, “Just keep holding on Eri-chan, we’re almost there…”

She’s quiet before doing as he says and tightening her grip around his shoulders, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He says, voice cracking just a bit at her renewed tears as he speeds up, taking her further and further away…

Deku held the girl tightly against him as he followed Lemillion bounding across the city skyline. His breathing ragged yet even as One for All coursed through his muscles.

Izuku’s eyes lit up in relief as he saw Sir Nighteye’s office come into view. “Don’t worry, Eri-chan. We’re almost to safety.”

The small child shuddered closer to him as the two landed on the roof of the building. Mirio led them down the stairs to one of the offices, encountering a slender well dressed man with an unnerving insectoid head.

Mirio didn’t miss a beat. “Centipeder, get Sir Nighteye and Bubble Girl back here. We have a situation.”

Centipeder nodded and left while Izuku sat down with Eri still in his arms.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. You don’t have to fear that man anymore…” He whispered to her gently. He felt Eri tense again before she looked at him with tearful eyes, trembling her lips as she managed to stutter out a single word.

“Why?” Her voice cracking in stunted emotions.

Izuku felt his chest swell up and eight echoes in his mind of words that surpassed generations before him.

“Because I am here.”

Overhaul reaches his hideout, every inch of him rattling with rage, his minions clear a path for him, scurrying away in the same manner rats would from a rabid wolf, his eyes scour for the small form of Mimic, one of his hands twitching on top of the form his phone makes from the inside of his pocket, waiting for the report that would make him stop wanting to murder someone.

“Boss?” The Yakuza turns his head towards the sound, finally landing on the tiny form of his general manager, who was holding a phone in his hand, somehow looking nervous from behind his mask, “I got a call for ya…another time?”

Overhaul opened his mouth to tell Irinaka to shove that phone down his throat, but a thought in the back of his head stops him, best know who it is first, “A call from who, Mimic?”

“I-it’s Shigaraki boss…it’s about the offer we gave him a while back…should I tell him to call back?”

Shigaraki? Now? On top of everything else? Now?

Overhaul sees his well constructed plan flashing through his head, every piece of it slowly crumbling to nothing the more he thinks about the fact that he let his most important piece get taken away by some green haired little shi-

“B-Boss?”

“Give me the damned phone.” He hisses, he needs to selvage something from this train wreck. The little man quickly complies, Overhaul taking a deep breath before he puts the device to his ear, “You have impeccable timing Shigaraki.”

“Cut yourself shaving Overhaul?” The raspy voice on the other side says, a tint of amusement filtering through, “You seem to be in a shitty mood.”

“Hero society does that to me, as I’m sure you’ll relate, I just need to kill someone and I’ll be right as rain.” He takes another breath, “I was told you wanted to talk about the offer I so generously gave you a while back?”

“Go fuck yourself, generous my ass.” Shigaraki drawls elegantly, his rasp somehow completely calm, “But yes, I want to talk to you about that, in person though, not through the phone,” Overhaul could hear his dry lips curling over his teeth, “And on my terms, not yours, I’m saying that right now.”

“All in good time Shigaraki,” Overhaul says, more calm now that at least one thing is going his way, “And I’ll arrange a meeting don’t worry, I just need to take of a few-”

“B-Boss?”

Overhaul sighs, “Hold on,” He looks behind him to see some no name minion shaking in his boots as he worries his hands, “You have five seconds before you need to be cleaned up from these walls.”

“W-We f-f-found the ones who took Eri s-sir.”

“And?”

“…They’re in the Nighteye office…by the time we got there it was already surrounded by police and other heroes…there was nothing we could do…”

“Nothing you could do? Is that right?” The minion nodded, shivering, and all at once Chisaki explodes. He forgets the phone he was still holding, and stomped his way to the henchman, screaming down his face, “I DON’T CARE IF YOU NEED TO DRIVE A DAMNED CAR BOMB INTO THAT BUILDING!” He grabbed the grunt by the throat, his quirk already taking effect, as he started screaming at every one within ear shot, “ALL OF YOU ARE GOING BACK THERE AND GETTING BACK ERI ALONG WITH THAT GREEN HAIRED PEST OR YOU’LL ALL WISH I LEFT YOU IN THE DITCH I FOUND YOU!” All at once everyone, except for Mimic who had taken refuge from behind a corner, ran off without comment, leaving Chisaki to huff and sweat as he looked at the pile of blood that was a person not a moment ago, “AND SOMEONE CLEAN THIS SHIT UP!”

“Did you say green hair?”

Overhaul twitched, finally remembering the phone in his hand, grumbling as he took it back to his ear, “What?”

“I said did you say green hair?”

“…yes.”

“Was it a kid? Did the shit have freckles?”

“…someone you know?”

“Someone I want to kill,” Was the casual reply, Shigaraki’s voice gaining something…tricky as he continued speaking and stopping Overhaul’s rage in its tracks, “Someone who is giving me trouble, someone who’s head I would very much like to see flying off his shoulders.”

Chisaki could hear a smile forming, “Which, if by some chance that would happen, and I happen to see his head on the meeting table when I come for our little talk,” Overhaul was dangerously calm by this point, that fact hidden by his mask, “…I might be more open to…compromise.”

“...That so?”

“Call me when you aren’t screaming your head off.” And like that, he hang up, leaving Overhaul to consider exactly what to do next, his mind racing about, bouncing between all the ways he could use this to his advantage…

Mimic finally poked his head out from the corner, leering cautiously at Chisaki, “B-Boss?”

“Irinaka,” He started, his trademark deadpan back in place, “Get me Rappa.”  

“Let me reiterate what you just told me.” Nighteye stated in an even tone as he loomed over Izuku holding Eri in his arms. After surveying the complex, Bubble Girl had told him that Toogata and Midoriya had returned with reason. “You encountered Chisaki, spoke with him, and recklessly took his terrified daughter with little understanding of what your actions could very well cause.”

“Y-yes, s-s-sir.”

“But we have some proof of his actions, Sir!” Mirio stated to the side. “We know he’s been doing something to his -”

“Toogata-senpai, please!” Izuku halted Mirio’s defense as he felt Eri huddle in closer, shivering like ice. “It’s going to be okay, Eri-chan, it’s going to be okay…” He rubbed her back as he whispered to her.

Sir Nighteye looked at the scene with an analytical gaze. The press would have a field day over this if they saw face value, and the public would naively follow like a herd of sheep, bleating for falsified justice that would be cooked up. He crouched down to the child’s level and waited for her to turn around. After some encouragement, Eri shakily looked into Sir’s intense gaze. They only locked eyes for less than an instant before she curled into Izuku again, but it was long enough for Sir.

Nighteye saw two futures for this girl, a fission split down the middle. One had a lighter tone with the girl safe in Izuku’s hands, light silhouettes of others surrounding the two, the girl looking content.

The other… dark, mangled. A lone withered figure standing on a pile of bodies, a bleeding knife in its hand as it held Chisaki’s bloodied mask in the other. It fixed the mask on its face before it turned its gaze behind. An older, twisted woman looked back, eyes pale and hollow, a bronze horn coiling in her hair.

Nighteye reeled back and clutched his head as he panted, Bubble Girl at his side to keep him steady. After a moment Sir stood tall and looked back at Izuku. “What you did was incessantly arrogant, but your actions could have done much worse.” he stated, keeping his breathing eased. “The world is not so kind that you can always save others through will alone. Today was a fluke, but in the long run it may have made things easier for us all.” He turned away, but said one last thing.

“I’ll contact Aizawa about this development, as well as other offices about teaming up to stop Chisaki. In the meantime, Deku…” Sir gazed back with a calculating eye. “She’s your responsibility.”

“I said let me pass you piece of shit!”

“And I said get lost! What, you Yakuza have a hearing problem!?”

Outside the Nighteye Hero office was a massive commotion. Around the main building was a protective ring of security, both civilian and police officers along with more then a fair share of sidekicks stood shoulder to shoulder, preventing a rather large group of intimidating men in suits from entering the office.

“Our boss’s kid is in there! What, Did heroes start kidnapping little kids whenever they felt like it!?”

One of the younger sidekicks clenched his teeth and took a few steps forward, about ready to knock a few teeth out before he was stopped by one of the older policemen, who then motioned with his head to the growing crowd of bystanders, and worse reporters, that was slowly closing in on them.

The civilians were getting angry, some were shouting for child services to step in.

The reporters looked ravenous.

The yakuza did not miss this, turning on his heel to shout towards the news crews, “Hey! These assholes are holding a little girl captive!”

“Wh-wait one second you bastard-!”

“We’re trying to get her out but they won’t let us through!” And on he went riling up the crowd, shouting and bellowing until everyone within ear shot was chanting and screaming for them to let the girl out, the reporters catching everything on camera.

Just before everything went out of control, both the sidekick and the officer felt a thin hand on their shoulder, belonging to one Nighteye, who walked into the middle of the chaos with nary a hair out of place, “I am here to answer any questions and to clear up any confusion.”

With that the chaos honed in on him, the reporters swarming him with question while the general public tossed out insults his way, the barrier of sidekicks and police barely holding them back, and finally one reporter managed to raise his voice above the rest, “Sir Nighteye-san! Is it true that you are currently holding a child in your office!?”

“A small child is currently under the custody of the Nighteye Hero office, yes.”

Another pushed ahead, jabbing a microphone as close as he could to Nighteye’s impassive face, “And what connection does this child have to this group of yakuza!?”

“These gentlemen are all under the employ of a man by the name of Chisaki-san, who is under investigation by both the police and my hero office for several criminal activities,” Nighteye stopped to measure his next words, “The child is Chisaki’s.”

Yet another reporter stabbed a mic in his face, to no reaction, “Does the child and your custody of them have anything to do with these allegations!?”

“No,” Was the cold and cutting answer, “The child’s existence was unknown to us until two of my interns ran into them on the street, covered in bandages and scared out of their wits. My interns then decided that the best course of action would be take bring them back here.”

“Which interns!? Are they from UA!? Are you accusing Chisaki-san of child abuse!?”

“All I can say on the matter is that it has been decided by both the police force and the government that until, and if, all the accusation against Chisaki-san have been cleared, that his child will remain under the custody of my office and UA academy.” He then directed an ice cold glare across the crowd, focusing on every yakuza there, “And as such everyone here that isn’t a police officer or a hero is trespassing,” All the previously shouting civilians quieted and all the yakuza clenched their fists but did nothing, “So I would ask all of you to cease this racket and leave, and know that we have the right to detain anyone who refuses.”

It took some time, but soon the crowd dispersed, leaving only a few select yakuza behind…including one with a white bird mask.

He and Nighteye locked glares for one tense moment before a buzzing in the masked man’s pocket made him break it, taking out a ringing phone which he answered. After a quick talk the man gave one last look towards the hero before turning on his heel and leaving, the rest of his companions following suit.

Nighteye patted the back of a few police and sidekicks, “Keep up the good work, you will soon receive assistance from other hero offices, stay watchful until then.” He waited for the round of nods before he went back inside his office, the first thing he sees being Bubble clutching a phone worriedly.

“It’s a call sir,” She said, gulping loudly, “It’s Chisaki.”

“What? Well then why don’t you give it to-”

“He wants to speak with Midoriya.”    

A stilled silence enveloped the room before Nighteye plucked the phone from Bubble’s hand and placed it near his ear.

“You honestly must have a fair amount of confidence to contact my office and demand an intern, Chisaki-san, or would you prefer Overhaul?” Sir said.

“Chisaki, please. I’m calling about the welfare of my daughter.” Chisaki said far too calmly. It send a dull chill down Sir’s spine. “Now get me that green brat or things will get… inconvenient.”

Nighteye glared slightly at the phone before he walked through his office to get to Izuku, who was finally able to get Eri to release her grip on his suit, even if she reattached herself to his arm as Sir came in.

“It’s him.” Nighteye stated, gauging the reaction as both tensed, Eri more so as she began to shiver again. Izuku looked to her before his gaze hardened and reached for the offered phone.

“Hello?” Izuku gulped.

“Finally. I was wondering what was taking Nighteye, or if he was stalling,” Chisaki said, calm, but Izuku felt he was sitting on a time bomb as he continued. “You’ve really tested my patience today, boy. We should have had that pleasant chat in the alley. Now listen well: I want Eri back, and you will return her to me. Simple, right?”

Izuku felt Eri’s grip tighten as she continued shaking. A quick glance to Mirio had him at her side rubbing her back to calm her as he responded. “Why is she so important to you?”

Chisaki grunted at the question. “She’s my daughter. Why else would I need her back?”

“The way you acted around her says otherwise.” Izuku felt his blood boil as One for All instinctively coursed in his head as he deliberated on everything he could think of. “Contrary to what you did, any parent would have immediately apologized to his or her child. Instead, you tried to get her and us away from public view. Meaning that you don’t want anyone to know of her existence.” The Ninth Bearer was mumbling in his head on reasons for why. And then he realized the one thing that made sense.

“That’s absurd.” He heard Chisaki respond. “How I raise Eri is no-”

“It’s her Quirk, isn’t it?” the room and line went quiet. “Her Quirk is something that you or your organization needs. Eri-chan looks to be four, maybe five years old, and no news has shown recent outbreaks in Yakuza activity, meaning that it only recently manifested and you’ve been doing something to her to use it for your own means.” Izuku felt his hand clench around the phone. “And considering your own Quirk… that’s two charges of Quirk abuse, tripled on the use of a minor. And on the likelihood Eri-chan isn’t yours, that’s another count for kidnapping and possible murder all wrapped in child abuse.”

“You…!” He heard Chisaki seethe. “You’re a case of Hero Syndrome that’s rare; coupled with an internal bleeding heart. I was going to make it simple and quick, but now I’m going to be sure to go as painstakingly slow as I can. Shigaraki may just beg for it to end.”

“Shigaraki!?” Izuku felt his breathing stall in his throat.

“So you do know him.” Chisaki chuckled. “And here I thought he was just a head case. Oh, speaking of heads, do you know how long the brain can survive on a normal human after decapitation?”

Izuku grit his teeth as he glared furiously at the phone.

“Twelve seconds. But thanks to my expertise, I’ve managed to extend it to… oh, about thirty minutes. Shigaraki was more than open to have your head on a platter for our meeting. And you know what the best part is?” Chisaki rasped in a harsh whisper. “I’m going to make Eri watch every agonizing second of your suffering, so she will never escape from me again.”

Izuku bolted to his feet as One for All swirled in his core. “You will never get near her. You hear me!?” His fist crushed the phone in his anger.

That anger quickly washed away as he felt the small shivering hands on his own. Looking back to Eri, her tears shed anew. He heart clenched and he picked her up and comforted her. “It’s going to be fine, Eri-chan…” he whispered to ease her whimpering, before looking back to Mirio and Nighteye. “We need to get to UA. No offense, Sir, but your office might not be structurally sound enough to withstand a potential raid.”

“Your assumption, while crass, holds merit, Midoriya.” Nighteye nodded. “My employees specialize in Intel, though several can and will hold their ground.”

Mirio nodded, standing tall. “And Recovery Girl can check Eri over, just in case.”

Izuku sighed as he began to feel lightheaded. “Good… that’s… gu-” he began to collapse on the ground, the world going black around him.

Chisaki held the phone in his hand, listening to the dull ring that signaled a lost connection with a lazy gaze. If he had to hazard a guess, judging by the boy’s tone of voice and the last thing getting through the call being the sound of plastic cracking under pressure, he’d have to say the boy crushed the phone in his grip in response to his words.

So, he found a weakspot, good.

With a lazy twitch of a finger he hang up from the call, before tapping a new number in, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the table as he waited for the call to connect.

It took two rings before Chronostasis picked up, “Yes Boss.”

“Any movement to report?”

A quick pause followed, “More police cars showed up. About twenty. Two armored.”

Overhaul continues drumming his fingers on the table, humming absently, “Hero support?”

Another pause, “On the way, about five minutes. Reports say either the Fatgum or Ryukyu offices.”

“Your take?”

“Both.”

“Anyone leave the building?”

“Not y-Wait.” Overhaul’s fingers stop, “I see a few people heading towards the armored car…I can’t see them very well, hold on…” A charged silence followed on the line, “…Eri is with them, and they’re moving her.” A shuffling sound could be heard through the line, “I can send a few grunts to slow them down, went to send some Expendables over?”

“No.”

“Sir? They’re probably taking her to UA! If they get her there we won’t-”

“Anyone we send in won’t be able to accomplish anything before the other heroes show up,” Was the measured, calm response, “And losing too many men would put us at a disadvantage during the meeting with Shigaraki.” He leans back on his chair, “Let her go, we’ll get her out of there, along with the green haired brat, don’t you worry.”

“…You have a plan boss?”

Overhaul threw a glance at a file on his desk, no name on it or any other features to see, “What kind of question is that?” He cracked his neck at the sound of someone entering his room, “Just get back here, I’ll give you the details.”

With that he hung up, slowly putting down the phone and looking up to meet his guest, the broad muscular form of one of his Eight Expendables, Rappa.

“So, wanted to see me boss?” The large man crossed his arms and looked down the large nose of his mask at Overhaul, not an ounce of respect to be found on either his posture or voice, “I’ve been wanting to have another go at you.”

Chisaki could hear the manic grind of the man’s teeth moving against eachother to form a grin behind his mask, he absently rubbed the scar on his forehead in response, “Not today Rappa, I have a mission for you.”

“I wasn’t asking!”

A few things happened. First, Rappa threw a punch directly at Overhaul’s head. Second, Rappa lost his head. And thirdly, he got that head back. The sudden rush made him stumble back, clutching his skull in pain.

He was vaguely aware that he was missing a tooth, “Motherfucker.”

“As I was saying,” The yakuza boss went on with only the slightest edge of annoyance coloring his tone as he casually flicked aside what looked to be a molar, “I have a mission for you Rappa,” He reached for the folder and stretched out his arm to give it to the larger man, who was still clutching his head in pain as he took it, “You might have heard that Eri was stolen from us.”

Rappa laughed as he opened the folder without looking at it, “Yeah, made my day, heard some brat caught ya’ with your pants down!” Rappa looked down at the folder, his laughing stopped dead, “…the fuck is this?”

“My daughter was taken from me,” Overhaul started, calm as a corpse, “My family, you could say,” He leaned back on his chair again, threading his fingers together, “And since my family was so cruely taken away from me, held captive where I can’t reach…” Something rotten crept into his voice, “It’s only fair that I repay in kind.”

Rappa looked over the folder, inside was a single file, a few details about a person, along with a picture.

The picture was of a middle aged women with green hair, pulled into a tight single bun. The file gave the picture a name:

Midoriya Inko.

[shantal-pellington-blog]

Trapped

A JCDC award-winning short story

There was no time. No space. No earth underneath me.

My body was a quivery mass of bones and blood and water. My heart, rock-hard behind my breasts, pulsated with such ferocity I feared it would tear the flesh of my chest open. I stood there trying to command my body to run...to move, do anything but stand there staring into the beaming lights aiming towards me. My eyes burnt. I didn’t think I had blinked in the eternity-moment I had stood there like a deer in the middle of the road.

I felt the metal crash into me. My eyes bulged out like pink-pong balls suspended from the sockets of my eyes. My body had flung itself against the screen of the car. It broke. I could feel pieces of glass piercing my skin...my arms, my fingers, my face. The pain was so intense I couldn’t even find the energy to cry out like I wanted to. I wanted to holler like a dog in mourning. But instead, only lava-like tears poured from my eyes. The last I heard before I passed out were loud shouts and piercing sirens. The emptiness that awaited me was welcomed...

I could hear my family’s choked cries and hushed whispers. I could hear them telling me how much they loved me. I heard their plea bargains with God, heard them promise me the world in return for my eyes to open. I heard it all and I wanted to assure them of this. But I couldn’t.

Whenever they left I would feel different hands-sometimes chubby and soft, sometimes slender and strong-turning me over in the hospital bed. They wiped my skin to keep it clean. I could smell the soap; once I recognized lavender. I recognized it because it was my favourite scent. For the entire timeI was in St. Joseph’s, shut away from the rest of the world by a coma, my world became a sieve for words and voices and smells.

One day, there was an argument over my head.

“If yuh never bother her to go to the market this wouldn’t happen!’’

“Me?” Mom asked my sister incredulously.

“Yes, you!’’ Sasha cried. “She told you ‘Mamie, I will go tomorrow since it’s Sunday, not so much people on the road on Sundays.’ But no you had to force her to go to the market because it’s Saturday!”

“But she always go to the market for me on a Saturday,” Mom tried to defend herself weakly. She felt guilty, you could hear it in how her voice sounded strained and feeble. I wanted to assure her it wasn’t her fault. She could not have known I would have been hit by a car that day...

“Two big gal pikney I have in the house and none of you willing to go market for me. Sasha you always have school work to do and you Miss Lari …seems like you getting too big to go market for your mother anymore!”

I had got up from the coach and walked into the kitchen where she was making breakfast.

“Mamie, I will go tomorrow. I tell you I hate going Downtown on a Saturday; too many people, man!”

I opened the fridge and took out a jar of juice. I poured some in a cup I took from the drainer. I sipped some and turned back to my mother.

“Ma’ you can’t wait till then?”

“No chile, I want cook some nice pumpkin soup today. I need you to go to the market and get the stuff.”

“Alright, me will go.”

I rolled my eyes.

After eating breakfast I left out for Downtown...

In the bus I felt a vibration against my thigh. It was my cellphone. There was a text from Mark, a guy I had just started to date.

Mark-Hey, babe.

ME-Hey, baby.

Mark-What’re you up to today?

I told him. We texted the entire day, pausing only when I had gone into a wholesale or when I had bent to pick up fruits or veggies from the vendors lined along the streets. By the time I had gone half way through the list Mom had given me, the sun was a smoldering ball of heat.

“Watch weh you going, girl!’’ someone shouted from behind me.

I blushed in embarrassment. I put away my phone for a while, hoping Mark wouldn’t text until I had got into a bus. But he did text. Part of me knew I shouldn’t walk and text, mainly because I didn’t want to have my phone stolen. But I was too excited to get texts from him! I couldn’t resist responding.

Mark-Can I see you later?

I had three bags in my hands at that point. I stopped at a stoplight and placed one bag on the ground to get my phone out of my pocket. I read his message and beamed. I began to respond.

Me-sure

Before I could hit ‘send’ I looked up and saw that people were already crossing the street. The stoplight had already turned to green for a while now and I hadn’t realized. I bent to take up the bag. I figured I could make it across the street before the light turned back to red. I started to cross as briskly as possible but by the time I had reached half way the light had turned to red and a car had begun to drive off. Then something strange happened. My feet started to buckle and I couldn’t move. The car that had driven off was dangerously close to me. Whatever it was I could not tell, but it made me stop dead in my tracks and turn to face the car speeding towards me...

That’s how it happened. That’s how I had ended up in a coma for months and why my doctor had begun to tell my mother I would not make it. It was surreal to hear people speaking over me as though I was already dead. At times it felt so scary I had mental breakdowns that were unfortunately only known to me. It was as though I could not escape myself; could not outrun my thoughts, could not make them cease, nor quiet the scream that hummed in my throat:

“I’m here! I’m alive!”

Sometime later, Mark told me how he had felt when he had thought I just stopped texting him. Hurt, confusion, sadness; the emotions twirled around his head like a tornado. Message after message to me went unanswered. He could not think of why. He tried calling, but always it went straight to voicemail. He had gone into what was almost a depression. It was that bad...he was madly in love with me.

He was sick of it. He had had it with the unanswered questions. He decided to go to my workplace. We had discussed my work at length many times before, so he knew where I worked...

“Gosh, I’m sick of my job and those annoying people who call! They have no sense, Mark! None.”

He chuckled softly. He thought I was exaggerating.

“They can’t be that bad!” he rebutted.

“I’m telling you, a call centre is the absolute worst place to work! And remember you know they are not Jamaicans; they are mostly Americans and some of them have the thickest accents!”

I went on to mimic a horrible Texan accent. He threw his head back and laughed hard. We were sitting on the grass at Emancipation Park. My workplace was a few blocks away. But in my mind it was miles away. I was just happy to be with him; he was too, I could tell. When he looked at me he blushed and looked away quickly. Once when he did it, I held his strong jaws with one hand and turned his face to me. He was an Adonis.

“There should be a Mister Universe,” I said.

He twitched his face, trying to get out of my grip. He was laughing.

“What the hell are you talking about!” he admonished.

I laughed and said, “it’s true and if there were a Mister Universe, you would enter.”

“No I would not,” he said firmly.

“You on the other hand,” he said seriously, “should be Miss Jamaica...my Miss Jamaica.”

We smiled at each other lovingly, then he reached over for my face to plant a kiss.

When we came up for air, he asked, “Does this mean we are officially together?’’

I wanted to be cheeky so I replied, “May be!”

He squinted at me, pretending to be upset. I laughed and said, ”I’m kidding, of course we are!”

I jumped up in glee and ran across the grass. He took the bait and ran after me. Minutes later we were tumbling down on the grass, tumbling down, down, down in love...

“Hi, how may I help you?”

The receptionist greeted Mark as he entered the Call Centre.

“I’m looking for Lari Chambers; she works here.”

“Can you wait one second while I enquire about her?”

“Sure,” he said. He went to sit in one of the armchairs. A few minutes later she beckoned for him.

“Lari is not at work today. She hasn’t been for some time now. Are you a family member?”

He hesitated, all of a sudden a bit shy.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he admitted.

She gave him a puzzled look as if to say “And you don’t know where she is?” Also hesitantly, she told him,

“She’s not been to work because she’s in the hospital. A coma, her supervisor said.”

Sensing Mark’s shock and anguish, she added, “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know which hospital she is in?”

She redialed the person she had been on the phone with.

“He says she’s in St. Joseph’s Hospital.”

“Okay,” he said, “thank you.”

He walked outside and got on a bus. He was unsure what to do. Should he go to St. Joseph’s? But how would he find me? He supposed if he gave the receptionist my name there, like he did at my workplace, they would be able to locate me. He had to locate me, he just had to!

On the drive to the hospital, he allowed the feelings he had been reining in to break loose. Guilt, sadness, worry assailed his mind and made him sick. I was in a coma. How could this be, he thought? I had just left high school; my eighteenth birthday was two months ago. Wasn’t I too young to be in a coma? Weren’t comas for old people?

He got off the bus in Half Way Tree. That was where he had to take another bus-the bus that would take him to me. While he was climbing the steps to get into the bus, he noticed that his legs were shaking. He hadn’t realized that the news of my hospitalization had shaken him up that badly! He tried to keep his legs steady, commanding them to move-much like I hadn’t been able to do with my own legs on the day of my accident.

The ride was longer than it usually took to get from Half Way Tree to the hospital. But wasn’t that the way of time: to move slowly when you’d rather it move fast and move way too fast when you’re having fun?

Finally, the bus stopped at the hospital. He got off the bus, walked inside, found a receptionist and said what he had been rehearsing in the bus on his way there.

“Hello, my name is Mark. I’m looking for the room a patient is in.”

“What’s the name of the patient,” the receptionist asked almost before he had finished his statement.

She looked bored and tired. One could see it was already a long day for her. It was only half past twelve. It was that time of day one avoided the sun at all cost.

“Her name is Lari Chambers.”

She looked among the papers on the wooden desk before her. She set her oversized test glasses on her nose properly so she could see through them better.

“She’s in the Intensive Care Unit. Room 23.”

He could not believe he had gotten this information out of her so easily. He walked away quickly to Room 23...

There was chanting in the room. Above the chorus of people, the imperious voice of a Pastor could be heard. He was praying for me. My family had made a semi-circle around my bed, hands clasped with each other. The doctor had said “fifteen minutes”. They had fifteen more minutes with me.

“Lord, I want to thank you for giving us Lari for eighteen wonderful years. She has been a blessing to her family and friends. She has lived a good, righteous life serving you, O’ Lord.”

He went on and on in that haughty way of pastors. He was praying over my soul, praying that it would ascend into heaven like a dove, much like how we imagined Jesus ascended into heaven when he had risen. They had secretly hoped for a miracle like that- a resurrection, a resuscitation. But it was almost three months and nothing had changed. I still lay there stiff and unresponsive.

It was almost time for the doctor to return. The door opened and someone walked in.

“Who are you?” my mother asked.

There was clearing of throat. I heard him speak.

“I’m...I’m Mark...ahhh I’m here to see Lari.”

“Mark? We don’t know any Mark, who are you young man?”

My mother was getting angry at that the fact that Mark had interrupted such a delicate family moment.

“I’m Lari’s boyfriend,” he told her.

There was a slight gasp.

“Boyfriend?’’ my father asked.

“Me never know Lari have boyfriend!”

“Me neither!” Mother echoed.

“Mark Lawrence?” my sister addressed him.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh ye Mom, is Lari boyfriend. She tell me bout him.”

He was happy that he was finally verified.

“Is that Lari?” Marked asked, pointing at the bed.

“Yes.”

“Come in and close the door,” he was instructed.

He walked towards the bed and looked at me. He couldn’t restrain the soft sob that escaped his lips.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“One minute we were texting each other and the next minute she just stopped texting and I didn’t hear anything from her!

“Wait, when were you texting her?” my sister asked.

“One Saturday morning.”

“Oh my god, so you were texting her the day of the accident!”

“I didn’t know...I didn’t realize she met in an accident!”

He was crying.

“So... so you saying that it could be because she was walking and texting she didn’t see the car that hit her!” my father exclaimed.

“Me tell her all the time she too addicted to that damn phone. Mike I don’t know why you got her it you know! And you Mark,” she began to accuse.

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t been texting her she wouldn’t have become distracted!”

“Mom, you don’t know for sure,” Sasha defended.

“You don’t know if is because she was texting it distract her, leave him alone.”

Mark was crying openly. He did feel guilty. He did feel responsible for everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he kept on repeating.

The Pastor got up.

“Let us squash this. It is no one’s fault. He couldn’t have known. Let us take this opportunity to say our good-byes to Lari. This moment is about her.”

My father came to sit by my bed first. He held my hand in his. I felt his mustache against my skin as he raised my hand up for a kiss.

“Lari, Lari...I don’t know what to say...you’re my pumpkin, even though you are no longer a child you were always my little Lari Boo. I going miss you my pretty daughter. I love you.”

My sister was next. She hugged me. I wanted to find the strength to wrap my arms around her. But no matter how hard I tried to will my arms to respond, they didn’t.

“Hey big sis,” she started.

“I just wanted you to know that even though we have had our fights, I love you very much. You have always been there for me, helping me with my assignments and so on. You have been my role model.”

Sasha began to sob.

“I just want you to know I love you so much, and I don’t know how I am going to live without my big sister.”

She was sobbing loudly. My father came for her and wrapped her in his arms.

It was my mother’s turn. She kissed my face and my hands.

“Baby, I sorry this is how you have to go. You are so young. You shouldn’t have to go like this. If there was anything I could do to save your life, you know I would. I would give anything for you to just open your eyes and look at us...look at your family that love you so much.”

She let go of my hand and wiped her face; there were streaks of tears along her cheeks. As she continued to touch my hand, there was something happening inside of me. I couldn’t name it, and I couldn’t explain it properly but it was as though by touching me she was transfusing life energy inside of me. I could feel my pulse pick up pace, could feel my heart pump a little louder.

“I love you so much, Lari.”

I concentrated as hard as I could. If I could respond to her, if I could get out the words “I love you, too” then everything would be okay.

She let go of my hand.

“May I say goodbye to her?” Mark asked.

“Yea go ahead, boy,” my father said.

His footsteps were loud in the quiet room as he walked towards me.

He sat down on my hospital bed. He reached out and took one of my hands. He played with it in his for a moment, almost as if he were trying to remember its feel, remember the very veins in its palm.

“Hey lari...I know we never got to know each other well enough like we wanted to but I just wanted you to know-“

He sniffled.

“I just wanted you to know that in the short time you were my girl, I really liked you.”

He shifted on the bed a little, turning his back to the rest of my family.

He continued, “I wanted you to know that I love you.”

He bent and I felt warm lips on mine.

The stirring inside me that feeling my mother had ignited, revved up . There was a low sigh from me suddenly.

“Did you hear that?” Mark asked in surprise.

“Hear what?” my family asked in unison.

“She made a sound!”

“No she didn’t.”

He sighed.

“I know I heard you in there, Lari. Please let me know you are in there. Squeeze my hand, make a sound, anything, please.

There was no sound from me and I didn’t squeeze his hand. The doctor came in a few seconds later.

“Are you ready?” he asked, as though that were even a question one should ask. Obviously, he was versed in Medicine, and not in the affairs of letting loved ones go.

“I’m going to ask you all to step outside now,” he said.

A moan escaped my lips.

“Did you hear that!” Sasha squealed.

Everyone gathered around me. But no more sounds escaped from my mouth. The doctor explained that sometimes sounds came out of a person in a coma. They often meant nothing, he told them.

Everyone gathered their stuff and started to leave the room. Mark was the last to leave the room. Before he left, he came to me one more time. He bent and whispered in my ear.

“I know you’re in there. I’m sorry.”

Hearing him have such confidence that I was still there, did something to me. It gave me the power to clutch the hand he used to hold me. It was a weak clutch. But a clutch, anyway.

“You see this Doc!” he exclaimed.

The doctor sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yes, I see it!”

He spoke into my ear. “Squeeze my hand some more.”

I squeezed and squeezed as hard as I could. I was aware that I was fighting for my life. I had to let him-them know that I was still there.

I felt Marks lips on mine again. Slowly my eyelids fluttered open. When they finally managed to open-when I finally awoke out of my coma- Mark’s eyes (full and glossy) were the first I looked into. It was as though these months didn’t happen. Like the time between our texting each other and our looking into each other’s eyes at that moment was a matter of mere seconds. I still couldn’t speak as yet, but my eyes were open and that was all the proof of life they needed. The moments that followed as my family re-entered the room was a blur of shock, happiness, relief and love. I had never before been in a room abuzz with so much love.

That experience taught me that love was indeed the most important thing in the world. That and that responding to a text while crossing the streets can wait. Even if it were from the cutest guy in the world...

“Wow, grandma had a miracle!”

“Yes she did.”

Alexandria closed the withered diary and looked at her daughter. They were sitting on the patio, overlooking the Blue Mountains. It was a glorious Sunday afternoon and her daughter Charice, had asked to hear stories about her grandmother. Remembering the diary Alexandria’s mother had when she was alive, she went for it and read one of the entries for her.

“So what did you get from that story?” Alexandria asked her thirteen year-old.

“That you must pay attention when you’re on the road!”

Alexandria laughed.

“That and the fact that boyfriends are a distraction! Don’t have any!”

They both burst out laughing. Alexandria closed the book and they walked inside, hand in hand.