∗ …that was a nice boatride, wasn’t it, Kris?

Chapter 2: Young Serena

Narrated by Serena.

Narrator: The scrapbook is worn, its pages stubbornly curling from frequent use.

Narrator: Inside, the contents are a jumble… fashion magazine cutouts on one page, snapshots from my school days on another.

Narrator: The most abundant entries are my handwritten notes on model poses and runway techniques.

Narrator: Next to each illustration, I’ve written down my experiences and insights from trying them out.

Serena: This was the basic step, but it took me weeks to master.

Serena: This photo looks like it was taken by a friend on my way home. Not too bad, huh?

Narrator: Flipping through the scrapbook, my sixteenth year comes back to life with each turn of the page.

Narrator: Once I realized I could be a model, I threw myself wholeheartedly into pursuing that dream.

Narrator: Before I had the chance to go to Lodden, my days were filled with practicing runway walks barefoot in my room, balancing on narrow field ridges, and doing chores around the farm.

Narrator: The cool touch of the wooden floor, the earthy smell of the ridges, and the heat of the summer farm… all these sensory memories are woven into my memories of being sixteen.

Helz: So this is what you were like before we met… You were both the person I know now and someone entirely different.

Narrator: Helz’s fingers gently caress the photos in the scrapbook. His expression is expectant yet tender, as if he’s touching a rare treasure.

Helz: May I borrow this scrapbook? I’d like to learn more about your past.

Serena: Of course. Next time, you’ll have to share some of your stories with me, too.

Narrator: I close the scrapbook and hand it to Helz, but as I do, a white slip of paper flutters from between the pages to the floor.

Helz: What’s this… a design sketch?

Narrator: Helz picks up the paper. It’s a simple sketch of a dress with a pair of powerful-looking wings drawn in pencil on the back.

Narrator: Goose feathers, hollow plastic tubes, the most expensive fabric from the store… Next to the sketch, naive handwriting lists the materials, which seem almost comical now.

Serena: I remember this. There was a blackout that night, but the moon was bright. After practicing my steps, I sketched this while dreaming about the dress I would wear on my debut.

Narrator: Recently, at an outdoor show, I wore a dress with gorgeous wings and embellishments… that was inspired by this sketch.

Narrator: This sketch has always been in my mind, and that show was my chance to bring it to life.

Serena: Back then, I really looked forward to wearing such a stunning dress one day.

Mok: Wow, this sketch must have been very important to you, right?

Serena: Actually… I don’t need it anymore.

Serena: I’ve worn that dress at the outdoor show… the old dream has been fulfilled. Now, I’m more focused on acting.

Narrator: The sixteen-year-old Serena dreamed of wearing such clothes on stage, to see a bigger world. But now, I have new goals, and I need to keep striving.

Narrator: I place the sketch back in the scrapbook, locking away the dreams of a sixteen-year-old once more. Yet, there’s a hollow feeling inside… perhaps a bit of regret?

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 2 of Plug Choso is in the works. Sorry for the delay, college is whooping my ass.

Ripples Ch. 2/Shepard’s POV

Chapter 2: Rude Awakenings

Charlotte Josephine Shepard was dimly aware of the bright lights of the klaxxons before she heard them. She stirred on the examination table as the alarms’ blaring began to be clearer, as the haze vanished from her mind, adrenaline pumping. “… SHEPARD! You need to get up,” she heard the women yell over the comm panel.

Charlie stood, still slightly dazed, but mostly coherent, “Yeah, what’s with the alarms?” She heard the cacophony from her other alters; before Smith, her gatekeeper spoke up. Enough! Give the poor girl a chance to breathe. They stood, almost losing her balance momentarily, before gaining her bearings. She ripped out the IV hooked up to the automated medicine pump before quickly grabbing a gauze wrap and wrapping her arm. Charlie looked around the room, trying to see where she was. Charlie, the system’s host, realized she was in a medical lab, fitted for long term patient care, with what must have been an almost entirely human staff judging by the equipment. Looks like Systems Alliance but more well funded; the microscope is worth 200K credits alone.

“Never mind that now, Shepard. Your equipment is in the locker in the next room, get in your armor and get your weapons prepped. You’ve got hostiles incoming,” The voice responded back. Charlie ran to the next room, grabbing her armor from the locker. Putting on her armor like it was second nature, Shepherd walked over to the Armory locker and removed a rifle, sidearm, and shotgun. She heard a blast a room away, and began looking for a good perch. Nothing stood out to Charlie’s trained eye, before she felt Vega, her protector, coming to the front. Alright, guess it’s time for some dance lessons. Vega used her omni-tool to scan the layout in the next room before quickly formulating a plan of attack.

Stacked against the doorway, Vega pulled the pistol from her holster as she heard the enemies approach. The door opened, and the trooper entered. Raising her pistol, she fired two shots in their chest. As they fell, Vega double tapped them in the head. Grabbing their now lifeless body, Vega pulled them to her as multiple shots hit the limp trooper. Another trooper approached, shotgun in hand, and Vega threw the human shield at them. Their shots blocked temporarily, she seized the moment to switch to her shotgun, firing a blast, killing the distracted trooper. A spray of automatic fire hit her shields and so she ducked behind the one of the nearby desks. Vega eyed the nearby terrain. 2 more desks, too far, lab equipment, bolted down, piping… Ah. Vega felt herself retreating as Smith started to front. “Hey, you there,” Smith began, slight Scottish quality to his accent, before another burst of fire raked across the desk. “Look, I want to give you a chance to surrend…” He began before his offer interrupted by a sustained blast of automatic gunfire. Bloody shame. Smith pulled his rifle off his back and activated incendiary ammo, and fired a precision shot into the gas pipe. A jet of flame incinerated the trooper as they screamed in agony.

Charlie stood, and began examining the bodies of the soldiers. All run of the mill merc equipment, don’t recognize that insignia though. Charlie went through as many memories as she had access to before calling out into her comm, “Hey, mysterious voice. What the hell is going on? I don’t recognize this merc insignia.”

“Never mind that, Shepard; I’ve sent a route to your omnitool direct to the shuttle bay and we can debrief there. I’ll wait for you there.” the voice on the commlink said. Great, evasiveness about answering questions is such a good sign. Red flag.

Shepard looked down at the route, seeing very little detouring, but assumed there’d be significant resistance. “Alright, mystery voice, ETA 8-12 minutes barring a detour. Will update en route.” They checked their rifle, switching it to the anti shield warp ammo before exiting the room and proceeding left down the corridor.

“Lawson.” The comm crackled.

Shepard stopped at the turn, peeking around the corner, “What was that?”

“My name is Lawson, Shepard.”

Charlie thought about that for a moment; she remembered a Lawson family that was heavily involved with Terra Firma. The human supremacist political party had repeatedly made her life difficult throughout her career both as an officer and with Alliance Intelligence. Not exactly a confidence booster considering how much they hate us. Red flag 2. “Pleasure to meet you, Lawson. Well, so to speak.” Charlie heard a snort on the other end of the comm as she continued down the corridor, blood spray and the corpses of staff and mercs decorating it, before reaching a blast door. Again stacking up, she did a quick scan of the next room, and found no life signs. Not sure I trust that. Against their better judgement, Shepard breached the room. Charlie looked around, seeing nothing. “Huh. Odd,” She said as she lowered her rifle.

“NOW!” Shepard ducked behind a pallet of cargo as the wall behind where they had been exploded in a shower of ricochets and slag caused by incendiary ammo. They pulled up their omnitool, and it showed 5 troopers and 3 mechs that were using personal cloaks, and no nearby cover to move to.

“Lawson, make that closer to 15 minutes unless you remembered to repack the utility pack with grenades?” Charlie commented with only static as a response. She quickly checked her utility pouches and didn’t find any grenades. Shit, I guess I better get creative. However, before she could figure something out, the incoming fire began to let up. Charlie peeked over the top of the cargo crate, only to see the mechs had begun to fire on the mercenaries. The pinned mercenaries were returning fire, but the volume of fire from the mechs was drowning them out as one of the mechs moved to flank them. The flanking mech quickly sprayed the pinned troopers down with its light machine gun, their bodies twitching. Charlie hesitantly peeked out of cover and aimed her rifle at the mechs, as they all turned toward her. Before she could say anything or do anything however, the center mech held up a 5, counting down, the left most the tactical signal for explosive, and right most, a simple thumbs up, with its right camera turning off momentarily. Getting the gist, Charlie ducked back into cover, and sure enough, 5 seconds later, the mechs self-destructed. Did that mech just wink at me?

“…ard! SHEPARD! Can you read me?!” Lawson’s panic stricken Australian (at least, Charlie was 95% sure it was Australian) accent suddenly burst forth from the comm.

“Yes, Lawson, got you; I think the signal was being blocked by some party guests. I’m back en route. ETA, 6 minutes.”

“Good to hear. Hold on, Shepard. I need to reroute you; I discovered a pair of survivors not far from your location that are mission critical. Pick them up and regroup with me here.”

“Wait, not ALL survivors are mission critical?”

“No, they’re NOT, Shepard. Besides, all personnel know to turn on emergency beacons in situations where evacuation may be required.”

“On my way, Lawson,” Shepard answered rather than continue arguing with the cold hearted voice on the other end of their comm. Three strikes and she’s out. I find anybody else who isn’t shooting at me, and they’re coming with me. I don’t care what Lawson judges ‘mission critical’. Charlie moved forward, keeping an eye on the scanner, checking corners and moving more cautiously than before. As she was moving down a corridor of offices and labs, shattered windows and blasted in doors everywhere, she heard a small crash followed by a distinct hushed curse. Charlie opened her omnitool and did an intensive scan with the holographic scanner in the direction of the crash, which picked up the faintest single heart beat. Stacking up on the door, she switched to her pistol and entered. Seeing nothing immediately, she swept the room for the tell tale shimmer of a personal cloak, but still found nothing. What the… ah-ha! Charlie approached the personal refresher and opened the door, where a balding white man in a black uniform with orange piping was quaking in fear next to the toilet. “Hands up.”

“PLEASE DON’T HURT ME! I DIDN’T K— Wait… Shepard?” the man screeched before seemingly recognizing the person in front of him. “Oh, thank the heavens it’s you, Shepard. If it had been one of those mercenaries I would’ve been done for.” Something is… off about him, Charlie, but I can’t place it. Vega, until we have something concrete, we’re going to trust him. Grr… Fine.

“Come with me, we’re grabbing 2 more survivors and then we’re going to meet Lawson at the rendezvous,” Charlie said as she checked her weapons, before passing her pistol to the man. “What’s your name? You obviously know mine.”

The man looked at the offered weapon, an almost imperceptible look flashing across his face at the mention of the name 'Lawson’, pausing for a moment before taking the pistol, “I’m Wilson, Greg Wilson. I was part of your medical team.” Red flag 1. Charlie went back to the door to the corridor, quickly peeking for a moment. Nothing out there for now.

Shepard pushed forward, heading towards the atrium that Lawson had marked on their map. As she got closer, she heard the sound of sporadic gunfire and repeated explosions. Charlie switched from her shotgun to her rifle, holding up the stop sign for Wilson, before quick peeking into the atrium. She saw two men in black armor, taking shots at two groups of mechs, pinning them down in a corner. Charlie, let me handle this. Alright, Sparks. You’re up. Charlie pulled up her omnitool and hit the tab for “SWITCH Control” and grimaced as she hit the name “Sparks.” I hate this par-

Charlie felt herself slip out of the real world and into headspace, her inner world. An implant, hidden just under their hairline activated an electric mesh grid interwoven into Shepard’s grey matter, dampening the electrochemical reactions in one part of the brain and increasing them in another part. Sparks took a breath as she came to the front of consciousness, and she surveyed the situation again, before deciding on a course of action with her biotic force manipulation. She pulled the nearby dark energy in a concentrated pulse behind her, shooting 20 meters towards the nearest mech; she gathered even more energy in the half second before impact, before shifting the remaining 4 kilojoules of energy into the two mechs she had targeted. The two mechs exploded in a shower of sparks. The two remaining mechs shifted their aim, but far too slow for her. Switching to her shotgun, she unloaded it into the two mechs, exploding them. As the 2nd group began switching targets, Sparks ducked behind a large tree planter for cover. “Okie dokie, now what?” Sparks muttered, her nervous habit of talking while in fight getting the better of her. She thought about a quick look, but thought better of it as a grenade went off against the side of the planter, and instead decided to replace the thermal clip in the shotgun now that she was safely behind cover. Ah, I’ve got it!

Sparks began rummaging through her utility pouches before finding an extendable mirror, before throwing her expended clip and then pushing the very edge of the mirror out the other side of cover. She saw that one mech was pinning the two armored men down, with two mechs moving forward as the remaining mech kept up a constant suppressive fire. “Okay, so I think I’ve got a 10 second window before I’m flanked, and then… Well, let’s head that off.” Taking another expended thermal clip, she threw it HARD in the direction of the mech providing suppressive fire. Land behind it, land behind it. She began gathering dark energy again as she shifted the mirror to watch the clip in its arc, seeing it about to land about 5 feet behind the mech just as the mirror shattered. “7 years bad luck!” Sparks shouted as she popped out of cover and shot the gathered energy as a singularity as she caught the mech shooting at the empty space where the clip landed. The singularity hit it square, causing it to float 5 feet in the air. Taking the 12-15 seconds that she now had without the suppressive fire, she broke from cover at the same moment the 2 armored soldiers did, emptying her shotgun into one mech, detonating it before gathering more energy and launching a reave through the ground at the remaining mech, tearing off its head. As the singularity died down, Sparks switched to her pistol and emptied the magazine into the back of its head, with the last round bursting out the front. A moment later, the legs of the mech exploded before the soldier in the domino mask approached and fired two shots from his pistol into its head. Damn.

Sparks slowly walked over to the two soldiers that she had just rescued. Um, Charlie, are you ready to swap back in? Please? Pretty please? Sparks opened up their omnitool, checking the implant charge, reading 67.2%. Sorry, kid, looks like we didn’t build up enough bioelectric charge in the fight. Goddamn it, Charlie, you know I don’t know how to handle this military shit. Just ask for names, ranks and background as you walk, the charge will build up fast enough in a few minutes. “Shit.” Sparks muttered, just as she reached the two soldiers, as Wilson came jogging behind her. “Shit! Startled me.”

“Wilson, you’re aliv-” began the black soldier with the shaved head before the other soldier, clad in a domino mask and apparently carrying a sword of some kind cut him off. Sparks looked at him like she couldn’t see what was wrong.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, Special Investigations. You don’t act like Commander Shepard does in any of the public records. Wilson, what’s going on?”

“Special Investigator Le-” Wilson began.

“No name. Not in front of personnel without clearance.”

“Special investigator; she just woke up from her coma, and she had to woke up early, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of her personality is still taking time to realign due to all the procedures. I couldn’t say definitively without consulting with the project’s psychologist or one of equivalent skill,” Wilson responded, before visibly swallowing. Okay, I don’t like this 'Special Investigator’ guy. Also, what do they mean procedures? No idea and I don’t like him either, poppet.

“Hmm,” the special investigator intoned, as he examined Sparks’ expression, which she managed to keep fairly placid.

“Jesus, you wannabe samurai, calm down. Commander Shepard, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Capt. Jacob Taylor, 2nd in command of the station after Agent Lawson,” the other soldier introduced himself, a smile bright on his face. “Have you heard from Agent Lawson?”

“Yeah, let’s start heading for the shuttle bay, She said she’d meet us there.” Sparks replied as she subtly checked her omnitool again. 79.2%, still got to stall. “Taylor, what’s your background?” Sparks and the three men began walking towards the shuttle bay, which according to the map was about three minutes away with the implant needing another 45 seconds or so.

“Well, I started as an Alliance Marine, I ended up recruited by Intelligence to help stop a Batarian terror attack on the Citadel, I ended up meeting Miranda and she hel—” Sparks began to tune out Jacob’s story, not because she didn’t want to know, but she needed to make sure Charlie was back in front as soon as possible. As she gave the occasional nod and 'uh-huh’ or 'interesting’, they entered the final corridor before the cargo bay right attached to the shuttle bay, only the occasional body of staff littering it, and she figured the implant had to be charged by now. She snuck a look just in time to see the charge cross from 99.9% to 100, and she immediately tapped Charlie and hit initiate.

Charlie felt herself pulled back to front just as Jacob was finishing up his story, as they approached the shuttle bay, “… and that was when Agent Lawson pitched me on joining Cerberus-”

“Wait, what? You all are with Cerberus?!” Charlie uttered in shock, suddenly the orange logo on their armor and uniform was all too familiar.

“Wilson, you didn’t tell her?!” Jacob shouted at the scientist, giving him a death glare.

“I thought Miranda did, it’s not my fault!” Wilson yelled back. The special investigator was giving both of them a scowl that could strip a mine of titanium.

“Enough! Both of you. Commander, I’m sorry if you feel deceived but considering the shuttles are the only way off the station, I fail to see what choice you have. If you wish to depart upon reaching the evac point, I can give you the personal assurance of the head of Cerberus that you’ll be allowed to leave,” the investigator assured, trying to reassure the Commander but unconvincingly with the hard stare still present in his almost vacant eyes.

Charlie took measure of the man and the two behind him; while the investigator was hardly very trustworthy, Jacob seemed fairly open and warm, while Wilson, typing away on his omnitool, was somewhere in the middle. I highly suggest biding your time, young one. Far too many variables are ongoing to make a choice at the moment. Then we can do something brilliant to get us out of this if necessary. Fiona, I’d appreciate your assessment? Her alter focused on analysis was quiet for about 5 seconds before chiming in. I agree with Smith, we need a lot more information, and we can only get that with observation. Keep your friends close… Charlie took a breath, “Fine, lets get to the shuttles and this Agent Lawson.” She motioned for the investigator to go first, and raised an eyebrow, making it obvious she wasn’t continuing to walk in front of him. “After you.”

His scowl deepened for a moment but he relented, “Fair enough, Commander.”

They reached the bay quickly enough, and it appeared deserted, with only cargo awaiting transport to various bays. “Where’s Lawson?” she heard from Jacob behind her. Charlie opened her omnitool, performing a quick scan, reading a lifeform behind the airlock door.

“I think she’s in the airloc-” Shepard began before they felt a gun against the back of their head.

“Wilson, what are you-” Jacob started, stunned.

“Shut up, Taylor. Now, back the fuck up. Commander, if you’d be so kind as to back up as to drop your weapons. Leng, take these,” Wilson tossed a pair of binders toward the masked man, “and put them on.” He pulled Shepard backward, and the Commander complied, and Smith realized there was very little the other two men were going to be able to help them with. Looks like I’m up. Wilson stopped then used his free hand to pass Smith a second pair of binders. “Jacob, come grab those from the Commander, and put them on.”

Jacob slowly approached, with a look that implied that he was searching for an opening. “Jakey, look at me. Hey!” Smith called, accent evident. finally getting Taylor’s attention as he grabbed the binders. “Don’t be daft. I have this. Do what he says.” Taylor nodded.

“Alright then, Commander, would you be so kind as to open a clear broadcast channel, please?” Smith nodded, and held up his arm to shoulder level. “Chi, Romeo, 4, 6, Whisky, 8, 9, Delta, execute.” Out of the corner of Smith’s vision, he saw 4 mechs explode out of a cargo container. Two of the mechs began approaching the restrained men in front of Smith, guns trained on them. The remaining mechs began approaching the airlock as Wilson began to speak into the comm again, “Agent Miranda Lawson, I know you’re in the airlock. Please come out before I have to do something… unpleasant to Commander Shepard here.”

“I’m coming out, Wilson. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” came that voice Shepard had heard over the comm, Australian accent much more distinct. Out of the airlock walked a lithe woman with raven hair and a nonchalant but cold expression on her face. Well, she seems FUN. She seems like a stone cold bitch to me. Yes, thank you for your exceptional insights but considering it’s not much use right at the moment, can you bloody well shut up? “Shepard, what did I tell you about mission critical personnel?” Lawson asked as she stared down Smith as she approached.

Smith glared back, “We have different definitions of 'mission critical’, Agent.” Smith formulated his strategy quickly before speaking again. “Greg, I’m gonna turn around so I can talk to you face to face.” Wilson began to sputter a protest but as Smith began to slowly turn around, it quickly died in Wilson’s throat. “Greg, what’s this about? Why are you doing this?”

“Shut up, Shepard, you don’t understand what they did to you! What that bitch,” Wilson gestured to Miranda, just in Smith’s peripheral vision, “did to you to bring you back?!”

“Wilson, this isn’t the time to discuss this…” Miranda began, stepping forward, before one of the guarding her fired a shot into the floor just a step ahead of her. Lawson stopped instantly and went back, hands still over her head.

“No, you’re not in charge here anymore, Lawson. You and your families’ mad scientist experiments are OVER!” Wilson said, fury on his face. There’s something more, Smith. Smith felt the kindly but incredibly perceptive caretaker Andre chime in. Yes, there is; the rage is hiding something more.

Smith looked back to Wilson, studying his face intently, searching for the clue he needed, before Wilson’s eyes flashed with an all too familiar pain. So… that’s what this is. “What did you have to do, Greg?”

“When I got the samples for your operations… I thought it was standard donor tissue. But when… when there were no concerns of rejection, I -” Wilson choked out, holding back a sob.

Smith put a hand on his arm, “It’s okay, take a minute, if you need to.”

Wilson gave a wet laugh, “You’re just like they described. Maybe they didn’t mess with your head as much as I thought.” He wiped away the tear that had formed in his eyes. “It was when I realized that the donor organs and tissues were perfect matches that I tested the DNA, and it was a 100% match to you.” Wilson allowed Smith to process that before continuing, “Then I realized that all the organs and tissues had surgical marks on them.”

“So they were using cloning to…” Smith began, giving Miranda a disgusted look.

Wilson nodded, “Yes. I found what was left of them after that.” The guilt that Smith noticed was now obvious on Wilson’s face.

“And you think killing the staff here and what — kidnapping me — will make things better? Wash the proverbial blood from your hands?” Smith challenged his captor, because although dangerous, he hadn’t truly hurt anyone. Yet.

“The Shadow Broker offered me a chance to fix things!”

“Greg… this isn’t fixing things, but you still can. All you have to do is put down the gun and shut down the mechs,” Smith offered, tone as calm as was possible with a gun against his head. Wilson looked at Smith, pain evident, before Smith continued, “We all walk out of here. I promise.”

Smith saw Wilson’s expression soften and crack before finally responding, “Okay.” Wilson backed away about two feet, setting the pistol down, before opening his omnitool. “Execute shutdown protocol, 7, 8, Sierra, 9, Sierra, 4, 9, Sierra, 2, Delta, Pi.” The mechs shuddered before folding up into their standby configurations, as Wilson let out a long sigh. “Thank you, Shep-” A blast rang out and Wilson’s head was gone.

Vega rolled to where she had dropped her rifle and spun to face the attacker; Miranda Lawson stood there holding Shepard’s shotgun, a satisfied smirk on her face. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking puta?!”

“I removed a threat, Shepard. A man who assisted in the killing of nearly 70 staff and personnel, with knowledge of inner workings of Cerberus, and with connections to the Shadow Broker is a THREAT,” Miranda replied snootily, “Now, would you put that rifle down?”

Vega stood, but still kept her sights trained on Miranda’s head, “I’m seeing very little reason not to leave you fuckers right here, while I take that shuttle to Arcturus Station.”

Jacob, long silent during this whole ordeal, spoke in a sympathetic tone, “I’m afraid you can’t do that, Commander.”

Vega, not taking her eyes off the woman opposite her, responded, “Why the hell not, Taylor?!”

“Because you’re dead.”

An excerpt from my ongoing Neo Metal Sonic AU on AO3. Just posted chapter 2 this morning.

The transmission screen flickered to life. Static crawled across the massive display above the command chamber floor before stabilizing into a clear image. The robotic scouts remained perfectly still as the signal locked in place. At the center of the screen sat a stern older man in a dark military command room. Cold lighting illuminated rows of tactical monitors behind him. Officers moved quickly in the background, issuing orders across a network of communications stations.

Metal Sonic watched the image without moving. His processors immediately accessed global intelligence archives. Facial recognition completed within a fraction of a second. Identity confirmed. Commander Abraham Tower. Supreme commander of Guardian Units of Nations. For several seconds neither of them spoke.

Tower leaned forward slightly, resting his hands together on the table before him. “So,” he said calmly. “It’s true.”

His sharp eyes studied the throne room. The robotic scouts. The warship command deck. And finally the figure seated upon the throne of steel. Metal Sonic.

Tower exhaled slowly. “Our scout data suggested something unusual was happening inside the Eggman fleet.”

He leaned back in his chair. “But I must admit… I didn’t expect this.”

Metal remained motionless. Tower continued.

“You’ve taken control of the entire fleet.” He studied Metal carefully. “And you’re not hiding it.”

Metal finally spoke. “Yes.” His voice echoed through the command chamber like grinding metal.

The commander nodded slowly. “Then that raises the obvious question.” Tower’s gaze sharpened. “Where is Doctor Eggman?”

Metal did not answer. The silence stretched for several seconds.

Tower gave a faint smirk. “I see.” He leaned forward again. “So the great Doctor Robotnik has lost control of his own empire again.”

Metal’s crimson optics glowed slightly brighter. “That information is irrelevant to you.”

Tower chuckled quietly. “On the contrary. It’s extremely relevant.”

He tapped a command on the console in front of him. Several holographic projections appeared behind him. Orbital tracking data. Flight paths. Satellite feeds.

“For nearly a year,” Tower continued, “G.U.N. has been monitoring the movements of the Egg Fleet.”

Metal’s processors immediately began analyzing the data being shown.

Tower continued speaking calmly. “We knew Robotnik was building something bigger than usual. More ships. More weapons. More machines.” He gestured toward the holographic projections. “So we waited.”

Metal’s optics narrowed slightly. Tower continued.

“We waited for the moment when his empire would expose a weakness.”

The commander paused. Then he smiled slightly. “And then you came along.”

The room fell silent again. Metal’s processors began running predictive combat models. Tower continued speaking.

“Whatever you’re searching for has forced you to spread your forces across the entire planet.”

The holographic display shifted again. The Neo Fleet formation appeared. Dozens of ships. But with large gaps between them. Scout drones gone. Recon carriers deployed. Fleet strength dispersed.

“You made a crucial mistake,” Tower said calmly.

Metal said nothing. But several robotic scouts turned their optics toward him.

Tower leaned closer to the screen. “You weakened the Egg Fleet.” He tapped another command. The holographic projections shifted again. This time the displays showed something very different. Radar signatures. Hundreds of them. Approaching fast.

Tower spoke quietly. “Which gave us our opportunity.”

Metal’s processors immediately linked into the fleet’s long-range sensors. For a brief moment, the system returned only empty sky. Then the warning alarms began. One by one. Across the command chamber.

ALERT

ALERT

ALERT

Chapters 1 and 2

Chapter 1
December 7th, 2026

I drag my car—not my car anymore—mine and Seth’s car into the new apartments parking garage. The engine ticks as it cools beside Mom’s dented van. We now live in an apartment that feels like a different planet from home.

Away from the house that held 15 years of my life. A literal life—birthday marks on the door frame, my initials carved in the back fence, the creak of the third stair I knew to skip. Here I have nothing.

I’ve been here since July, and the surrounding silence is louder than Nebraska ever was. Nobody talks to me. Nobody even looks.

The Maine air is nothing like Nebraska’s. Maine’s air is salty and watery, while Nebraska’s is dry, cold, and arid. Nebraska’s air felt like it wanted to be renewed, and that’s what feels like home. Maine’s not like that. Maine doesn’t have the dance studio I grew up with, and Maine doesn’t have people who leave casseroles at your door when you lose a child or a parent.

Do you know what Maine has? Crawdads.

I turn the key in the ignition and step out of the car, Seth following behind me.

Vrrr-ooommm…phut.

It wasn’t my fault; it only took my mother three months after I was born to want another child.

“What’s got you in a mood today?” Seth jokes, punching my arm.

I know he’s joking, but dammit, today the joke stings. Any other day, it would roll right off me, but not today.

In the most exaggerated sing-song voice he would ever manage, he belts “Geniah!” I always wondered why he never wanted to go out for choir.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Seth,” I manage out.

Hell, I do. I want to talk, but not to Seth—not now. I want someone to understand how Mount Marie really feels.

I am angered that we moved. Upset that I left South Ridge Prep, upset about missing my ring ceremony, and, most of all, I’m missing my Sweet 16 with Iris—my best friend since 7th grade. I remember when we spent a whole summer trying to learn every dance move from our favorite music video. And that time we got caught sneaking out to go to that concert just before school started. We laughed so hard, trying to figure out how to cover our tracks. Those memories make it harder to adjust to this new place.

“Don’t you miss Christenson Academy at all? The Kooper boys?” I spit out, facing him as we walked forward. Then looking

“The boys you had a supposed arranged marriage with? No. Never. Besides, Easton High is not so bad.” Seth has shaggy dark brown hair, a colic in the front, and giant brown eyes. Plus, he’s really smart for his age—smarter than me—which is why he is in the same grade as me despite being less than a year younger than me.

I don’t know why, but it makes me mad that he doesn’t miss his old high school as much as I miss mine.

Seth was always smarter than I was. So, I don’t know why he never got an offer from Mount Marie.

Maine is strange like that; it’s nothing like Nebraska. Nowhere resembles the setting of my favorite book, Better Than The Movies.

My parents refused my request to attend Sacred Heart School because of its distance.

I reach the door, Seth still trailing me.

I reach into my backpack, pulling out my phone and keys.

My phone isn’t like any normal phone. My parents are super protective, so instead of being normal, they gave me a flip phone. Yes, like the ones in the early 2000s. My parents must hate me or something. The girls at South Ridge Prep thought it was cool. Mount Marie girls just think it’s weird.

My keys have this keychain, given to me by Iris.

It was my 14th-and-a-month birthday party—I was obsessed with the Outsiders, still am—and it was just me, Iris, and my neighbor friend Allie. Allie was 17, but she also had autism—like my younger brother Issac—so I included her. Not out of pity, but because I actually thought she was cool.

I sat there in the bowling alley eating a chocolate cake I made earlier that day. I opened Allies gift first, which was actually really sweet; everything was handmade. It was a delightful gift to get before she hopped off to college. Then I opened Iris’s gift, which was tiny, probably only a few dollars on Amazon, but it was the best thing I got. It was a varsity-lettered keychain that read “Do It For Johnny.” The keychain hangs off my keys with my Saint Anthony pointing up, saying, “I found them.”

I unlock the light brown door and walk in, into what I call hell at the moment.

Living with your 5, 12, and 14-year-old brothers plus a 10-year-old sister is not the best thing.

I, not meaning to, storm into my—mine and Faith’s—room. I always shared a room with Faith, but they promised me my room when we moved, just to make me feel a little better.

Childish decor dominates the room, with my corner holding my bed, desk, Matt Dillon cut-out, and posters.

My backpack hit the bed, and I fell to the floor, eyes glued to my phone. I opened it, found the Messages app, and clicked my contact “Wifey,” a callback to an eighth-grade inside joke about her favorite anime.

I start typing, knowing she probably won’t respond. Schools are still in session in Nebraska. School sucked, still no one has even tried to talk to me, and the boys there are complete jerks.

To my surprise, there’s a response within two seconds. God, same here, sophomore year just hasn’t been hitting.

I respond, without a second thought, Did Ronnie come back? She hasn’t texted me since last month.

Ronnie was my friend in sixth grade. She promised to be back this year, but then I moved.

Not to my knowledge, Iris sends a second text. Have you tried calling her?

I hesitate to type, I almost wanna slam my phone shut and leave the apartment. Run home.

I finally worked out, Eh, I’ll do that Saturday.

I silenced the phone that had been the root of my bullying since middle school and admired my tattered Matt Dillon cutout of Dallas Winston, my favorite greaser.

I drag my backpack down to the floor and pull out my homework folder. My dad made it at the beginning of 6th grade, and another one in my freshman year—the cardboard edges are soft now, fuzzy from years of handling. The tape yellows at the corners. I run my thumb over the handmade whiteboard, smooth, before pulling out my calculus homework.

I stand up and slam my folder onto the desk. The noise cracks through the room—sharp, final, like a gunshot in an empty lot.

I work out my first problem.

f(x)=6x3−9x+4f of x equals 6 x cubed minus 9 x plus 4.

Before I know it, I am chewing on a pencil.

I don’t take it out of my mouth; I work better that way.

Chewing on something helps me remember stuff—answers, memories, equations, names, birth dates, anything, really.

I lean back on the green fold-out lawn chair I’m using until my parents actually figure out where our stuff is.

The door of my room wheezes open, cold air from outside flushing in.

“Afternoon, Geniah,” Faith says, smiling, jumping on her bed.

She babbles on about her friends in whatever grade she is in now—maybe 5th grade?

“And Linda M. was jealous of Linda B. So now it’s an entire feud.”

I take my pencil out of my mouth; it makes a scratching noise against my newly unbraced teeth, while remarking, “How do you know what a feud means?” I turn around in my chair to face her.

“Family Feud shorts, it’s a fight, obviously.”

“Mom and Dad gotta take away your computer privileges.” I face my homework again, not really looking forward to pointe practice tonight.

Pointe was my life in Nebraska. What was the point in standing on an entire block of wood just for feet to be in pain?

Because it was pretty.

It defined what I wanted to be.

Now it just doesn’t feel like me. Perhaps it’s the new teachers, our small class size, or the class not being on Wednesdays.

It’s not right. I mean, it is for Maine, at least.

There was this kid—one of my friends—in fifth grade. He was probably the nicest kid. His mom called me a wonderful influence; his dad despised me. We wrote books together. In seventh grade, we lost touch. I never knew where he went after middle school; nobody knew.

Bryson probably moved in with his dad or went to live with his older brother after graduating from college.

But he’s been on my mind recently, even though I swore to forget him.

Although I had a shoebox of things we traded, which I probably still have under my bed in Nebraska. It doesn’t matter, though.

He’s just a guy, and looking back, I was just an annoying kid sister to him.

Faith walks out of my room, probably bored as hell, and starts yelling Parker’s name.

While I’m still here, before my beginners—even though I’ve been in pointe since I was maybe 13—pointe class.

I jam the pencil back through my teeth and try to work on the problem.

Fuck, I should’ve paid attention in class today.

I pull out my phone and my wireless earbuds—surprisingly, they connect to my old phone—to play some music.

I find my music app and use the keypad to click on local music instead of icecast radio.

Brand New Key by my favorite band ever—The Dollyrots—starts playing almost immediately.

It’s been my favorite band since the beginning of 9th grade. Right before my dad got orders to move, my neighbor—who somehow knew the band—took me to their concert. Probably the best night of my life.

The chair spins as I face the wall towards my bed. I slam my phone shut and throw it across the room right onto my bed.

Chapter 2
December 10th, 2026

I shove my free hand into the pockets of my leather jacket. It’s a wool-lined jacket, but the pockets sure are cold.

I keep my head down low, so if anyone recognizes me from school, they know not to talk to me.

It’s not like they would anyway.

All but one of my siblings runs ahead.

Mom and Dad needed us out of the house. I don’t know why, but they gave me $100 to buy some new clothes and get something from the food court.

Parker, my youngest sibling, lies right behind me, holding my hand for dear life.

For some reason, it’s oddly comforting. I’m not going to lie, Issac and Parker have always been my favorite.

“When will we get to the food court?” Parker whines running up, still clutching my hand like one day I’ll disappear—again.

“We’re almost there, Sparky.”

Sparky is a nickname I gave him when he turned 4. It was mainly for his love of the Backstreet Boys.

“It’s right there, Genny! It’s right there!” Spark jerks repeatedly up and down.

For the number of 7-year-olds that I babysat and lived with, he must be the most erratic one. Probably the most like my Sims character, I based off of him. I basically fall into the food court. The last time I was in a mall was in eighth grade, and even then it was dead with only a gym, Greek food place, and record store.

They are all surrounding a table by a Shakes & Fries, already waiting—in what seems like a-mile-long—line.

I catch up with Parker, Faith, Seth, and Issac—out of breath—at the Shakes & Fries shop. “Just pick me up whatever is left of the money.” I toss my wallet to him and sit down at a nearby food-court table.

The booth is cold, the table too. I pull out my phone and start scrolling through my middle school images.

I see these dainty hands slide across the table and right in front of me.

I look up and stare right into these giant blackened eyes.

Freya Moses, she’s a volleyball star at Mount Marie.

“Geniah Belle right? You’re in my World Cultures, Algebra 2, and French III class right?” She looks at me like we’re in an interrogation movie scene–not any interrogation scene–The 10 Things I Hate About You ‘If we were the last people on earth I’d date Kat.’  scene.

I mutter out the lamest sentence that comes to my head, “Yeah. Genny Belle. That’s me.” I close my phone and place it on the table. I cock up both my eyebrows as I look at this towering figure. 

Freya Moses was the type of girl  who got countless straight A’s, but somehow never tried on her homework. She’d walk in and the entire world becomes hers. She was the George Washington of our school. Just in 2026 and not 1790.

“Look, I need your help. You’re quiet and you have an inside on Easton High.” She blurts out. I don’t know how no one looks at her because her voice is so loud she’s practically belting into my ears.

I look astonished at the mention of my brother. I never mentioned I had any siblings to anyone. So–naturally– I start sounding out, “How do  you–”

She quickly cuts me off stating, “My cousin has a fat crush on Seth but that’s not why I’m talking to you…”

I stifle my laugh and my questions of  ‘Oh my gosh! Who?!’ and let her finish.

“…See there’s this guy that is like the MAJOREST,” she starts talking with her hands in the most dramatic way possible, “trouble-maker in the ENTIRE state of Maine.” 

She finally takes a pause to breathe, which I thought she’d never do. She immediately hops back on track, “So this dude has been in Juvie like twice. Apparently once during his 7th grade year at his old school, but he won’t tell anybody where or what he did, and apparently once over this summer for vandalising Mr. Burt’s car, his Honors History teacher.” She looks at me, expecting a reply.

Seth drops my soda in front of me following my food and my wallet.

“Sound’s like this guy’s in some shit.” I mutter out after I take a sip of whatever concoction my siblings made with my soda. “So what do you need outta me?”

“Yeah Bryce Shaw is shit.” She slides into our booth making Faith pull up a chair. “I want you to find out if he’s actually crazy!” She blurts out, making Seth look at Freya with a look on his face going ‘What the hell is wrong with her?’. “Also I may or may not have a crush on his friend Erik Culter.”

Bryce Shaw rings a bell, it always does. I mean, he is the Line-Backer for The Wildcats football team. Maybe that’s it. I ignore the gut wrenching feeling of the name and focus on Freya’s crush.

“Wait. Erik? Like Easton Highs Quarter-Back Erik Culter?” My eyes open in shock.

She smiles for a minute and checks her phone. “Oh shit I’m late for work.” She glances at Issac–who hasn’t eaten his food, which is so unlike him–and says. “You’re gonna eat those fries?”

Issac shakes his head no and she grabs the cardboard carton-cup-thingy of fries.

So now not only do I have Pointe, school, homework, and siblings to take care of, now I have to find out if a convicted felon is actually mentally insane.

Call me Margot Robbie but I ain’t no Harley Quinn here.

Chapter 2: Pike

Narrated by Glow.

Narrator: In the year 2000 on the Star Calendar, Kitaji causes a major stir by unveiling Glow, an artificial intelligence product, at a technology exchange conference.

Narrator: Ever since, he’s been making a big impact at the Technology Exchange conference with an outstanding output of over a dozen technological inventions every year.

Narrator: He quickly gains recognition and leverages his fame to enter politics, eventually assuming leadership of Ruins.

Narrator: However, a struggling scientist who has easily gained knowledge beyond his own capacity doesn’t possess the intellect or ability to apply it wisely.

Narrator: Greed and ambition corrupt and inflate his ego, and he fails to uphold his deal with me.

Narrator: Rather than using the technology I provide him to enhance the productivity of Ruins, he employs it to fulfill his own selfish desires.

Narrator: He erects a white tower as his palace and mercilessly silences other scientists. Under such oppressive politics, the technology of Ruins remains stagnant.

Glow: It has been determined that Kitaji is no longer suitable to represent Glow.

Choose “I never thought you would lose.”

You: I thought the technology of Ruins would be a huge success, because… you seem to be omnipotent.

Narrator: A brain that has attained wisdom and truth alone cannot achieve anything. It needs limbs and a body to bring its vision to fruition.

Narrator: The “limbs” and “body” that I require do not exist in the present Ruins. The deteriorated and rudimentary computer system that I occupy is all I can utilize.

Narrator: Once it’s destroyed, I become powerless. So, in a way, I am weak.

Narrator: However, wisdom and truth themselves possess immense power, which means that I am still powerful.

You: Now that the Father of Glow has been corrupted, what is your plan?

Narrator: I need a new spokesperson.

Narrator: I notice Pike, the assistant of the Father of Glow.

Narrator: Pike is an astute politician who initially becomes the assistant of Father of Glow to leverage his influence and gain entry into the ruling class of Ruins.

Narrator: He is a shrewd and pragmatic politician who has a keen sense of the situation.

Narrator: I extend an invitation to him, and we quickly reach an agreement to work together.

Narrator: And I think you already knew that.

Narrator: My plan is to replace Kitaji with Pike as the new Father of Glow and ruler of Ruins, while Kitaji will go back to his role as a mediocre researcher.

Narrator: However, Kitaji proves to be more corrupt and narrow-minded than I anticipated.

Narrator: He is completely consumed by his high position, and his essential mediocrity makes him increasingly sensitive, irritable, and prone to erratic behavior.

Narrator: Kitaji begins to rule over other scientists with a harsh tyranny, erecting traps around the White Tower and forbidding anyone except Pike to approach him.

Narrator: Eventually, the Father of Glow turns against Glow, and the legendary scientist begins to turn his back on science.

Kitaji: Glow, you’re nothing but a man-made program. I’m your maker.

Glow: Don’t live under the delusion.

Glow: You just happen to be here, and whoever it is here should do the job.

Glow: But you don’t.

Narrator: Kitaji is consumed by rage as the truth of his treachery is revealed to him.

Narrator: He grabs the nearest keyboard and slams it frantically into the calm face on the screen.

Narrator: As a result, the computer on which Glow inhabits is destroyed, and, for the first time, the White Tower malfunctions.

Narrator: Electronic sparks illuminate the darkness of the White Tower, while outside, an insurgent army led by the Twelve Elites has assembled.

Narrator: The leader, a blond-haired scientist, raises his arms and shouts, venting his long-held anger.

Perokan: Freedom!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapters: 2/3
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Nick Amaro/Rafael Barba
Characters: Nick Amaro, Rafael Barba, Olivia Benson, Amanda Rollins
Additional Tags: Gay Panic, Nick Amaro’s Gay Awakening, POV Nick Amaro, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Dream Sex, Denial of Feelings, Overthinking, Hate to Love, Internalized Homophobia
Summary:

He didn’t know what had come over him.

But seeing Barba’s purple pocket square just lying there, forgotten by its owner, who had just left the room with Liv to do… something — he hadn’t really been listening — had sparked the overwhelming urge to pocket the stupid thing.

Now, Nick Amaro was striding out of Hogan Place, a piece of stolen, criminally soft silk burning a hole in his trouser pocket.

(AKA: Nick has a moment of madness that leads him to make some very interesting, tricky discoveries.)

some things are meant to be

an F1 RPF Carlando fic by papayabrain

Written for the Carlando Winter Break Exchange 25/26

Chapter 2: Monday 19th—Tuesday 27th January

Masterpost 👈🏼

Chapter Summary: Some unexpected events shake things up and bring Lando and Carlos closer.

Rating: T

Chapter word count: 5.8K

Chapter: 2/7

Playlist 🎧

Read on AO3 | or read below👇🏼

~

He gave Sparkles back to Carlos the next day when he knew everyone else was out at work. It hadn’t improved his sleep, but he appreciated having something to cuddle.

George apologised Sunday morning as he’d been at work all day Saturday and Lando hadn’t seen him. He’d knocked, but Lando hadn’t answered, so he slipped a note under the door, asking to talk because he was worried. Lando had just messaged him saying he was forgiven, and that was that. The tarot cards were fake anyway, so there was no need for them to fight over it when George was clearly still struggling with Alex breaking up with him.

Monday evening, it was just him and Carlos left in the flat. Alex was at the cat shelter, George and Esteban were both on late shifts, and Yuki was out on a social with his course mates. Carlos insisted on a movie and pizza night because he hated seeing Lando moping. He’d clapped back that he wasn’t moping, he’d mostly avoided everyone over the weekend and gamed with Max and Ria because it was easier than facing any awkwardness.

Carlos made the point that it was just the two of them, so he didn’t need to worry for several hours, and once they got onto the subject of picking a film, Lando quickly forgot everything else.

“You’ve never seen Bend It like Beckham?” he exclaimed, his jaw dropped. They’d ordered their food (he’d insisted on paying as Carlos had bought last time) and twenty minutes later were still trying to decide on which film to watch.

“There are many popular films I have never seen, Lando, come on.”

“You’re a football-obsessed sports therapist! Right, we’re watching that, it’s the ultimate comfort movie! Me and my sisters watch it at least four times a year.” He beamed as he unlocked his phone to shoot off a message to their family group chat. “Flo insists this was her bi awakening. Well, this and Pirates of the Caribbean. Pretty sure mine was Princess Bride. Or The Mummy.”

“I haven’t seen any of those either.”

“Carlos! Oh my god! Right, flat movie nights just got a lot more fun! Who needs boring action thrillers or sci-fi fantasy films when you can get whimsical bisexual madness!”

Lando’s phone rang with a number not saved to his phone. He only answered it because he knew they were expecting the pizza. It was indeed their delivery lady, and after a quick conversation with her confirming where he’d meet her, he ended the call and hurried to his room for his wallet and shoes. He couldn’t find his keys, but luckily, he wasn’t alone in the flat.

“You’ll let me back in, yeah?” he asked with a grin as he shoved his trainers on.

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Why do you even bother having a set of keys, cabrón?”

“Thanks!” he called as he headed for the door.

It didn’t take him long to get down to the reception area of their block of flats. He could see a woman carrying their food wrapped in brown paper standing outside. As he didn’t have his keys to get back in, he propped open the door with his foot.

Teeth chattering, he gave his name, accepted the food and paid her, including a tip, then said thanks with a wide smile. The receptionists hated him doing it like that, especially when it was freezing, but it was better than locking himself out and having to convince them to let him back in again. Especially after they clocked off, then he would be fucked.

Knocking on the flat door once he was back on their floor, he couldn’t help but blush and duck his head as Carlos smiled and held it open for him as he stepped past. Heading straight to the kitchen, he began unwrapping the boxes as Carlos was getting out plates and drinks. When he opened the first box to see whose it was, he slammed down the lid as he couldn’t believe his eyes.

It had to be the wrong order.

Carlos hadn’t noticed him acting weird as he was busy in the fridge with his back turned, so he opened it up again and yep. Fucking hell.

Inside, the toppings were arranged into the shape of a love heart on the pizza. It was unmistakable, too purposeful, no possible chance of it being accidental. Hurriedly placing it aside and taking a peep at the other one, his heart sank. Shit.

Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he took photos of both pizzas, thinking he could send them as a review and get a refund because fuck you, universe! He did not need this fuckery barely three days after the fake as hell tarot reading. It wasn’t even Valentine’s Week for fuck’s sake!

“I think we have the wrong order,” he lamented.

Carlos was walking back in from the lounge, having taken their drinks to the coffee table. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure I didn’t order love hearts on our pizzas, you muppet.”

“Ohhh,” he trailed off as he stopped beside Lando. “Well, they still look like ours. Pepperoni for you, jamón and pineapple for me, no?”

Ignoring the abomination of his friend’s chosen pizza, Lando found himself checking the confirmation email anyway to make double sure, even if it made no fucking sense. He showed Carlos. “Nothing in the order notes other than delivery instructions.”

“I believe you.” He put his hands on his hips. “They’re still perfectly edible, maybe the pizza maker lost a bet or something. It’s cute. For best friends.”

“Or something,” Lando groused.

Carlos elbowed him. “Come on, cabrón, let’s get eating before they get cold!”

“Sure.” He watched as Carlos washed his hands and began to tear apart the slices to load some up onto his plate, not even bothering to move the toppings around.

If he was honest, he was taken aback at how nonchalantly Carlos was dealing with it. Carlos, who solely dated girls, who’d just received pizzas for him and his flatmate, a guy, Lando no less, with his favourite toppings arranged into a fucking love heart. Yet apparently, the insinuation didn’t faze him.

Okay, maybe Lando was being a bit mean. Carlos wasn’t homophobic. He’d never shown any issues with Alex and George, or Lando’s previous preferences. He was overthinking everything again.

They could be normal about best friend pizza topping hearts.

As they grabbed a few slices each and made their way to the lounge, he set up Bend It Like Beckham, and they got comfortable on the sofa. George forbade greasy food boxes in there upon pain of death, and Lando didn’t want to upset him again after everything.

He smiled, seeing the setup Carlos had made on the coffee table. Lando’s red Coke cans plus a glass with ice, some napkins, and Carlos’ fancy lemonade, which he only drank on film nights.

“Ohhh, I see why you love this film,” Carlos groaned as the opening played. “Mr Manchester United!”

“Where do you think my support for them came from?” Lando grinned through a mouthful of pizza. He’d moved his own toppings around for his own sanity. He’d also, probably against his better judgement, sent off the pizza photos to his flatmates separately so Carlos didn’t see their replies. It was maybe a little funny given everything.

Lando was determined not to make a massive deal of things.

“You should be supporting your local team, Bristol, no?”

“I do actually, Mr Real Madrid!” he spluttered. “If you must know, my dad has a hospitality box. It’s not quite Wembley but who am I to complain?”

“Look at their outfits! This film is so old!”

“Oh, like you, then?” Lando teased, and Carlos threw a used napkin at him.

As the film continued, they both got further absorbed into it. Lando mouthing along his favourite lines, and Carlos staying quiet and concentrated. He was usually a silent film watcher who would only sometimes react to the big plot twists.

During the training scene, Lando asked him what remedies he would recommend to recover from the strenuous session. Carlos was a bit distracted, but answered stretches, rest, and a massage anyway.

Lando tried hard not to think of Carlos’s hands all over him like that. So he kept up his commentary through bites and sips.

“Bollocks is such a good swear word!”

“Jules definitely fancies her. This could’ve been such good lesbian representation. Sis loves this movie!”

Throughout most of the feature, Lando noticed Carlos seemed deep in thought.

“Her family should let her pursue her dreams. She deserves to be happy,” he eventually said quietly. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love her family or her culture.” Lando smiled and nodded at him because he was dead right.

“Don’t you wanna boyfriend like everyone else?” Jess’s sister asked, and Lando couldn’t help but reply loudly, “Pfft, nope! She’s a lesbian, Pinky!”

“Ay, nooooo! They thought they were kissing?!” Carlos covered his face with his hands as the car drove past Jess and Jules laughing together at the bus stop.

“Uh-huh. They thought Jules was a secret guy. Her mum thinks they’re lesbians, though. They should’ve been. They are in my heart!”

“Your parents don’t always know what’s best for you, Jess.” Lando mouthed again. “Her parents are missing out on the footy matches, honestly. Let her be herself!”

“Oh God nooooo, I can’t look!” he cried, covering his face at the near comphet kiss between Jess and her coach Joe.

“When you’re in love with someone, you’d do anything for that person.” Lando mouthed again, his stomach knotting. His parents demonstrated that perfectly, and contrary to Jess’ family, they had always let Lando and his siblings pursue what they wanted. Be who they wanted.

Lando had slept with many guys and girls, but hadn’t experienced falling in love. Hadn’t experienced feeling romantic love that deep for somebody you’d do something crazy for them, like the rom-com films always showed.

It looked like it felt amazing.

Come the end of the film, as Jess and Jules were about to fly to America together to play football with their families’ blessings, Lando found that, instead of feeling happy and satisfied with the story as he previously had, he’d curled himself up on the sofa, head resting on his arms, watching the happy ending with a pit in his stomach.

~

Given the week was going particularly rough, Lando decided he needed to run off the stress.

Alex and George loved padel and were frequent partners before their break-up, but over breakfast, they agreed to a game in the next few days. Carlos and Yuki had commitments, but Lando managed to convince Esteban to join the next day, when he didn’t have any scheduled work.

It was just what Lando needed.

An outdoor court, no intimidating figures in the gym, and plenty of running around to break into a sweat. The competitive game, the banter, and the teamwork kept him focused, feeling much more like himself once the stress was replaced with endorphins.

Part of him wished Carlos were there, but Esteban was still a decent partner, his height enabling him to catch the shots Lando couldn’t reach, with Lando able to be nimbler closer to the ground when Alex and George tried their best to catch them out.

It was all going well until it wasn’t.

Lando overstretched reaching for a shot George sent careening to his right, and rather than waiting for it to bounce off the wall and follow it back, he tried to immediately meet the ball with his racket. He succeeded, except it bounced into the net, and his dive for it sent him rolling on the turf when he couldn’t quite catch himself. Pain flared in his limbs at the impact, and he felt the pull in his back.

“Aïe aïe aïe, Lando!”

“Shit, are you alright?”

“What did you do that for, you numpty?”

“Sorry,” Lando said through gritted teeth. He got himself sat up and started looking at his right arm and leg where he had a couple of scrapes, nothing too bad by the look of things.

George offered his hand to help him up. Lando accepted, but halfway up the pull in his back flared again and he yelped.

“Whoa, you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep!” Lando let go and tried to walk it off, his hands on his hips.

Alex and Esteban looked unconvinced, while George was hovering. Lando wandered off the court to the bench outside, where their bags were, noting what hurt as he sank down. He’d definitely pulled something in his lower back. Fuck’s sake. He began to bend over to get his water bottle out of his bag when George ran over and stopped him.

“I’ve got it, stay there.”

“Cheers,” he thanked as he accepted it. “I’ll sit out here. You guys keep playing.”

“Don’t be daft, not when you’re hurt, and it’s cold.”

“It’s just a pulled muscle or something, it’s fine.”

George was rummaging in his bag. “We should clean your scrapes up, too. Shit, I don’t have my first aid kit.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

George ignored him, turning to the other two. “You guys okay to head back?”

“Fine with me. He needs a hot bath or something,” Esteban agreed, digging his phone out of his bag.

Alex put his backpack on over his coat before offering Lando a hand. “Shame Carlos isn’t here. He could have carried you.”

“Fuck off,” he groaned. He accepted the hand anyway, wincing as he stood up and put on his coat.

“Are you okay to walk?”

He nodded. “Let’s just go slow.”

George had grabbed his bag, carrying it in his hand, which was completely unnecessary. “Oi, Mum! I can carry my own bag you know!”

“I know,” he said without looking back.

Lando spread his arms out in disbelief.

“Just let him have this,” Alex whispered. “He’s worried about you.”

“I’m literally fine, just need a nice bath and some careful stretches. It’s like I’m his child he’s just picked up from school. I’m surprised he didn’t try to carry me.”

Alex hummed. “Carlos would absolutely volunteer to massage you, too, if he were here.”

Lando shoved him before groaning in pain. “I hate you.”

~

“Sit down in the kitchen.”

“George! I’m fine!”

“Whoa, what’s up? I thought you guys would be out later,” Carlos said as he walked out of the lounge. Seeing Alex helping him into a chair, he was quickly at Lando’s side. “What happened? Where does it hurt?”

Lando rolled his eyes. “Guys, I’m fine!”

“He tried to be heroic and failed, took a tumble and pulled his back.”

“Cheers, Alex.”

“You’re welcome!”

“George is in full mother hen mode, just to warn you,” Esteban added.

Carlos swore under his breath in Spanish, Lando snorting as he understood it. When George came back with his first aid kit, Carlos insisted on taking care of it. Alex winked at him as he felt his cheeks heat up, watching him drag George away to watch TV in the lounge. Esteban bagged the first shower.

With the kitchen a lot less chaotic, Lando breathed as he took off his coat and toed off his trainers. Carlos was quickly at the sink with some paper towels, and Lando examined his arm and leg again. Some blood was visibly oozing from some of the scrapes, so cleaning them was definitely a good idea.

His heart was thumping in his chest as Carlos crouched down and lifted his leg onto the next chair, disposable gloves on his hands. He winced as the towels were placed on his scrapes, feeling the sharp sting before the relief.

“You really don’t have to,” Lando whispered.

Carlos smiled at him. “I want to.”

Lando could only nod, not trusting his voice any further. After the compresses, Carlos used the antiseptic wipes and cream from the first aid kit, Lando screwing his eyes shut at the pain. Carlos apologised, taking off a glove and rubbing his thumb gently over his ankle.

He then did the same with his arm, Lando biting his lip with a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table as the one on his elbow was particularly painful. Carlos put a plaster on that one.

“Drink,” Carlos ordered, getting his bottle out of his bag that George had left on the back of another chair. “With the cream on, I’d wait a bit before taking a bath for your back. Whereabouts does that hurt?”

Lando sat forward as much as he could, pressing down on the spot that hurt. “There.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He’d trust Carlos to assess his injury in a heartbeat; the man was literally studying Sports Therapy and Rehabilitation.

He encouraged him to move sideways on the chair so he could access the area better, Lando holding onto the back of it for dear life. Carlos began to prod and poke, massaging gently when Lando indicated the spot, which he said he could feel. Lando didn’t understand how, but that wasn’t his speciality.

“It should heal soon enough. Cold and heat packs will help, you’ll need to do some stretches and take some painkillers, and maybe sleep with a pillow under you if you’re a back sleeper–”

“–I’m not, I like my side.”

“Well, a pillow between your legs, then. A bath tonight should help too, then we can put on an ice pack afterwards while we watch some TV.”

“Good job I’m not an athlete, isn’t it? Padel career’s fucked.”

Carlos blushed. “You know, I do need someone to practice sports massages on this week, so if you wanted to be my client, that could maybe help you too? It’s for an assessment.”

Lando just stared at him.

“You don’t have to! I– I can ask somebody else, but seeing as you’re injured, it made sense for me to ask.”

Lando felt his cheeks heat up again as he pictured Carlos’ hands on him. Mentally shaking himself to avoid any embarrassing situations, he nodded. “That sounds really good, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not the kind of massage where I’ll be screaming in pain, is it?”

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck.

~

“Owww!”

“Ay, I know it hurts. Breathe, and try to relax.”

Lando squirmed as the part of his lower back Carlos was digging into with his fucking elbow burned like he was being stabbed with a hot poker.

“I thought this was supposed to be nice and relaxing? My sisters never talk about it being this bloody painful when they go to the spa!”

He wasn’t the only one in the room making noise. There were five other massage tables in what reminded him of a doctor’s room. Three on each side with ample space between for Carlos’ course tutors to walk around and assess the students.

Lando was glad for the hole in the table so he could avoid making eye contact with them. He wanted to be a good patient for Carlos, so he passed his assessment, yet here he was groaning and hissing and flinching. With his top half uncovered. And Carlos’s other gloved hand rubbing gently between his shoulder blades.

“It’s a sports massage, Landino, targeting the injury you sustained to help with recovery. You’ll feel better afterwards, though, I promise. We’ll finish off with some more relaxing back and shoulder massage work at the end.”

Carlos’s elbow finally left his back, and he went limp against the table, his breathing heavy. It was quickly followed by Carlos going over the same spot with his knuckles, which actually felt like heaven. He sighed happily and felt himself relax into it.

“See, cabrón? Better.”

Carlos’ tutors came around several more times, asking him questions which went over Lando’s head with all the words they were saying. He liked listening to Carlos’ voice, though, and knowing it was Carlos’ hands and fingers working over his back. His friend hadn’t been lying, either. Once the elbow digging into his organs was over, and Carlos’ hands began a comforting rhythm up his back and over his shoulders, he found himself almost napping.

Carlos thanked him with takeout (no love heart toppings this time), and they ended up watching a movie together on Lando’s bed.

He refused to read anything further into it.

~

The following Tuesday, Lando bid farewell to Max and Ria as they got off the bus, all of them walking separately towards their own flats. They’d been working late in the design building computer labs, starting a group project for one of their semester grades, making the most of their night owl productivity.

Entering the flat, he shrugged off his backpack, then shed his coat, scarf, and shoes.

“There’s some leftover bolognese in the fridge if you want,” George greeted from the lounge.

“Thanks, but we ate in the café. Grabbed a chicken wrap and a hot chocolate.”

He chucked his coat over the nearest chair before filling up his water bottle at the kitchen sink. The flat was pleasantly warm after the winter chill, and he joined two of his flatmates in the lounge, placing his headphones on the coffee table.

“Good day?” Carlos asked as Lando flopped down on the sofa with a contented sigh. They were watching one of George’s fashion shows, some pretty lads and ladies having to make their own clothes for a competition.

“Yeah, actually. I finally get to work on a project with Max, Ria, and Izzy this semester. Truly the best thing ever. If I’d had to put up with Leclerc and Verstappen again…” He shook his head.

“Good, I’m pleased.”

The show cut to adverts, and George got up to make another cup of tea. Lando took a sip from his water bottle, patterned with blobs, a custom design he’d made himself.

“Lando, how many times do I have to remind you that the flat isn’t your wardrobe!”

Lando and Carlos exchanged looks, and Lando bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. “I was gonna move it, promise! Just decompressing first.”

“Can you run them over to your room right now? Then you can stay with us the rest of the night.”

Lando sighed loudly. “Fine! But only because I love you!”

“Thanks!”

Leaving his water bottle and headphones on the table, he sprang up and headed into the kitchen. The kettle was boiling, George standing beside it, watching him. Lando grabbed his coat and scarf, throwing his backpack over one shoulder, before smiling at George and disappearing down the hallway.

He put a hand on the door handle and pushed it downwards, and any other time previously, the door would open easily, allowing him entry. They usually didn’t bother locking their rooms unless they were in them with guests, and even then it was rare (well, other than Alex and George). They all trusted each other by now, being second year flatmates.

He tried it again, but it didn’t budge. Dropping his things down on the floor, he threw his entire weight up against the door, but it still didn’t budge. Fishing his keys out of his coat in case he had accidentally locked it, he found that that made no difference either.

What the fuck?

Weird.

“Umm, slight issue,” Lando called out, staring at the door.

He heard another door open further down. “No way you managed to lock yourself out!”

Lando flashed his keys pointedly at Alex.

“Lando? Everything okay?” Carlos appeared, frowning.

Lando pouted. “My door won’t open.”

“Don’t be dramatic, you’re not leaving your stuff on the floor outside your room, either.”

“For fuck’s sake, George, I’m not lying! Try it yourself!” Lando stepped away from it, gesturing to the little crowd gathered now. Yuki was in the bathroom, apparently. He could hear the shower running.

They all took it in turns to try, Esteban suggesting unscrewing the door handle, but nobody had the tools.

“I bet something’s fallen against it from inside,” he said. “Something heavy, like your wardrobe. We’ll need to call someone. They might have to destroy the door to get you back inside.”

“Great. Fabulous. Well, looks like my stuff is staying in the lounge with me tonight anyway,” Lando groused, storming back past everyone. Dropping his things to the floor where he’d been sitting, he threw himself back down onto the sofa. “Sorry to disrupt your night, guys. This is my bedroom now.”

“What’s up?” Yuki asked, his hair sticking up from being towel dried, joining them as they all sat around Lando. He cuddled his water bottle in his lap.

Carlos squeezed his shoulder, and Lando relaxed into the cushions. “Lando’s door is stuck shut. We think something’s fallen against it from inside his room.”

“Anybody got a chainsaw?”

“Yuki!”

“If you damage my belongings, you’re paying for them,” Lando grumbled.

Alex rubbed his shin. “We’ll call down at reception in the morning. For now, I’m sure we can fix some emergency blankets and clothes for you.” He looked somewhat guiltily at George, and Lando’s heart sank as he read into their silent conversation over no available bed.

“Do you want a hot chocolate?” George offered with a sad smile.

“Yes please,” he whispered, resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“Anyone else?”

They declined and either left the room for the kitchen, back to their own rooms, or, in Carlos’ case, stayed put.

“I’m not sure this shitty, lumpy sofa is any good for your back.” His arm had curled around Lando, so he was now gently rubbing the top of his right arm. Lando found himself taking some deep breaths, comfortable and warm.

“You’ll just have to massage me again tomorrow.” He didn’t mean it. He was far too miserable to think through the deeper implications of what he’d just said.

Carlos snorted, soft and gentle. “I could. I was thinking more along the lines of you sleeping in my room.”

“Well, thanks, but I doubt your floor is any better than this sofa.”

He muttered something in Spanish that Lando was fairly sure was a string of swear words. “In my bed, you muppet. With me – before you start getting confused at any swapping.”

Lando’s heart warmed hearing the word muppet come out of Carlos’ mouth. It was usually his word, but it sounded so much more affectionate in his friend’s soft Spanish accent.

“Oh. Well, I – I mean. It would be better than the sofa or the floor, I suppose, but Carlos–”

“–If George and Alex aren’t ready to sort themselves out yet, I will not pressure them for the sake of one night. We can share a bed as friends until your door is fixed.”

“Yep.” Lando swallowed. “I should maybe tell you that I don’t sleep very well. So, sorry in advance.”

“One hot chocolate!” Alex chirped, and Lando sat up straighter, crossing his legs. Carlos removed his arm, and he immediately missed the warmth.

“Thanks.”

“We came up with a solution,” Carlos said.

Lando felt his cheeks heat up, and it wasn’t from the drink.

Alex sat down in the nearest armchair. “Oh?”

“He’s staying in your room, isn’t he?” George sipped on his drink as Lando choked on his.

Fuck his fucking friends.

Carlos rubbed his back. “Ay, careful!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alex smirked, and Lando flipped him off as he fought for his breath back.

~

“Feel free to put your stuff anywhere by the desk,” Carlos said as he led Lando into his room.

“Thanks.”

Lando had been in there before, quite a few times over the year and several months they’d known each other. Their second-year flat wasn’t the same as their first-year halls, but there was still everything in the right places that screamed Carlos.

His Spain flag was pinned to the corkboard above his desk, Real Madrid posters on the walls and the rug on the floor, small mementoes on the chest of drawers and his windowsill. Photos of his (huge) family were pinned beneath the flag, with a picture frame on the bedside table of him, his parents, and his sisters.

His room was cleaner and more organised than Lando’s, but not in a spotless minimalist way, in a comfortable way that was lived in and cosy, but not quite the disorganised chaos Lando’s room was.

He placed his coat and scarf over the back of the chair, his backpack on the floor next to it, and then his water bottle on the desk, before sitting himself down on the swivel chair. Rocking himself side to side with his socked feet, he watched as Carlos flitted about in his drawers, taking sheets and clothes out. Placing the sheets on his bedside table, he turned to Lando with the small pile.

“Here’s a change of clothes to sleep in. There’s a t-shirt, socks, underwear, and then a choice of shorts or bottoms, depending on what you’d feel more comfortable in. And a towel for a shower while I change the sheets for us. They’re all clean.”

Lando smiled gratefully as he accepted them. Carlos was never a fan of day clothes on the bed. Every other time he’d been in here to hang out, he always sat on the rug, or the desk chair, or wheeled his own down the hallway, depending on what they were doing. When they hung out in Lando’s room, Carlos followed Lando’s lead, as he didn’t care too much. He slept under the duvet after all, not on top of it. Sparkles had also made herself at home on his bed since his padel injury.

So no, he didn’t at all mind following his friend’s wishes when he was so graciously offering his bed for the night.

Carlos’ cheeks were pink, and Lando thanked him before scurrying off to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he put on his shower playlist before undressing, throwing everything on the toilet seat so it was off the floor.

He tried not to take too much time, but his default state in the shower was for his thoughts to spiral round his head and down the drain to be instantly forgotten. He knew he was overthinking sleeping beside Carlos. It was just like with the silly hearts on their pizzas, and Carlos’ soft hands caressing his skin where he was injured, both with the scrapes from padel and then digging into his back…

Nope! He was not going there tonight!

He turned the temperature down for the remainder of the shower.

Re-entering the bedroom once he was done, he placed his clothes on top of his backpack by the desk, handing Carlos back the shorts as he’d chosen the bottoms. Carlos placed them back in his drawers and excused himself to the bathroom with his own clothes. Lando had left the towel on the radiator.

Digging in his bag for his charger, he plugged it in at his usual place at the desk, sitting down on the chair to scroll while he waited. It didn’t feel right to make himself comfy in the bed.

He was just a guest.

They were just friends.

His flatmates had messaged him separately instead of using the group chat so Carlos couldn’t see, and good fucking thing too given their words. Dickheads.

Esteban 🕷️

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! 👋🏻

[23:11]

Yuki 👨🏻‍🍳

Enjoy ur 1 bed night! 😘

[23:11]

George 🐓

Don’t overthink it

But I can’t wait for the teaaaa ☕️

[23:12]

Alex 🐈

wonder how long ur door will take 2 fix 👀

[23:12]

He sent them all the middle finger emoji.

“Hola,” Carlos greeted softly as the door opened. He looked as soft as he sounded in his pyjamas, a white t-shirt, loose blue cotton bottoms, and blue sliders. Lando’s t-shirt was black with orange accents around the neck and sleeves, matching the orange bottoms and black drawstrings.

“Hi,” he breathed back, before clearing his throat. He watched as Carlos put away his worn clothes in the laundry basket in the corner, before pulling back the covers a little way and sitting on the revealed sheet beneath, his feet slipping out of the sliders. He picked up his phone from the bedside table, then he looked up at Lando.

“Come on, I won’t bite.”

Lando froze where he sat. Why was he doing this? He should have insisted on the sofa. No way Carlos was going to be okay with his tossing and turning. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Do you want any music on, muppet?” Carlos’s use of his word again snapped him back.

“Only if you want,” he said, wringing his hands and fighting the urge to chew his fingernails. Why was he so fucking bad at this?

Carlos reached his hand out. “Shame we don’t have Sparkles to keep you safe tonight.”

“Shut up.” He smiled as his limbs finally unlocked so he could move across the room towards his outstretched hand. Carlos didn’t retract it, so Lando hesitantly placed his palm on his, Carlos giving it a comforting squeeze. He let out the breath stuck in his chest. “Which is your side of the bed?”

“Well, which side do you usually sleep on? I tend to starfish out a little bit, so forgive me if I accidentally hog the blanket.”

Lando snorted, climbing onto the bed in place of an answer. It meant their hands separated, but Lando didn’t miss it too much, knowing they were sleeping together anyway.

Beside each other. Sleeping beside each other.

It was no different to sharing a bed with Oli when they were younger.

Except it definitely was. Fuck his fucking brain.

He swallowed as he mentally threw that image from his mind, settling on the other side of Carlos. “I tend not to sleep very well at all, so I’m like sorry if I annoy you and stuff,” he mumbled, snuggling into his hands as he watched Carlos finish on his phone, probably setting an alarm for the morning. He’d forgotten his question about the music, so he was surprised to start hearing his sleep playlist coming from Carlos’ phone.

“How–”

“–You sent it to me last summer. I argued with my cousin Caco about my future career and said I couldn’t sleep. You said it might help me.”

“Oh. I forgot I did that.”

Carlos switched off the bedside lamp and shuffled to get himself comfortable. Lando could just about make him out as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The bed already felt warmer.

“It did help. I listen to it a lot.”

Lando was glad Carlos couldn’t see him blush. Instead, he pulled up the duvet around his shoulders so he could relax into the warmth, his eyes growing heavy.

“Buenas noches,” he whispered.

“Dulces sueños, my muppet friend,” Carlos whispered back.

As he drifted off, Lando could swear he felt a hand dip into his curls, the soothing motion quickly taking him under.

When he awoke to Carlos’ alarm in the morning, in the same position he’d fallen asleep in, it was the first time in a long time that Lando felt fully rested.

~

<< Chapter 1 | Chapter 3>>

∗ H-huh? What!? W-wait – wait!? Wait, we were supposed to–

Soul to Soul Chapter 2

This story is all the amazing work of @ladymeraud. I am just her humble co-writer and publisher. All flowers go to her.

AO3

New Session | Archive of Our Own

James Fraser looks over his land the day after he comes back from the war. As a veterinarian, he cared for the horses and other animals that the English, Scottish, and Irish had brought to France to continue World War II. As the war ran its course, he began helping because, being a veterinarian, he was also trained to care for humans being well-versed in anatomy. He also provided minor first aid and helped injured soldiers from ports in France onto ships bound for Scotland.

His father and mother had kept the land since their marriage, and Lallybroch had been in their family since before the 1st Jacobite rising. His great, great, great, great-grandfather decided to make it an equestrian breeding facility before the 2nd Jacobite uprising in 1746. Now, it was a world-renowned place to get horses of all kinds. So, their main stock was Clydesdales and Shire horses. They also had a variety of Arabian horses brought over from France before the 1st Jacobite uprising. It was an interesting way to sell to royalty, including the Duke of Argyle. His parents are still alive. His older brother is still in France, buried at Normandy. His younger sister and his best friend were still in the house.

Coming home, which was what he needed and what he wanted, brought a bit of bittersweetness. For the only thing he missed was the friendships he had made in France, including the French orphans who would run around the ports, whom he fed as much as he could. He had helped find homes for the Jewish orphans and the street rats as they were called.

Stepping into the stables, we saw his favorite Black Horse, this big stallion of a horse that he loves so much. He placed the tack on the saddle on him.

”Dona, are you ready for a ride?” The horse nodded. He walked him out of the stable, and they were gone in a flash. He breathed the fresh air into his lungs and was never happier until he saw on the edge of his property a woman sitting by a river with long curly hair. She looked like a water nymph, putting her hands. She was still some distance away. Still, he did not approach kelpies, who could be anyone, and he did not wish to be sucked underwater and eaten, so he turned his horse to the left, and they rode away.

Getting out of the cab, tired, wet, and bones aching. Claire opened her door to her home. The trip to Greece was bittersweet. She placed her suitcase down on the floor and looked at the mantle above her fireplace, with a picture of her as a young woman and an older man smiling at each other, with Athena’s temple behind them. She loved her uncle Lam and missed him terribly.

Even though he had died during the war and that was 30-40 years ago she would see him in heaven soon. She knew the cancer was ripping through her body. She took her bag into her room and got undressed and with just a slip on sunk out of the covers to go to sleep. The cancer had eaten through her lymph nodes and into her stomach and lungs so every move she made brought a cough or the inability to eat. Still, she just wanted to rest after that long trip.

As she looked up at the ceiling of her little cabin that she had bought in Inverness, she was glad that she had gone to Greece, Turkey, and Egypt, and all those places that she and her uncle had been.

The water nymph reappeared in front of a lake in Greece. The other nymphs came near her and asked what had happened when she went to meet Medusa.

“ What did she ask?” One of the other nymphs said in a sing-song voice.

” She asked me to contact the Celtic fairies to see if they could help a woman. Do you think the monk seals can talk to the silkies in Scotland?”

The other water nymphs looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“ We can ask, they are not the same species, but they are seals. They have a special power with each other. I know the mung seals stay here; we are in the Mediterranean, and the silkies are in the Arctic, but there is a workaround. All we can do is ask “

The nymphs went to the water and whistled in a high-pitched tone that only sea creatures could hear. A seal moved its head above the water, looking at the water nymph with a questioning mark. They spoke to each other in a language that only seals can understand. The grunts and chirps. She asked the seal if he could talk to a silky and see if they could send a message to the Celtic fairies, and what the message was. He first said no. Then another seal appeared and said, “Yes.” She relayed the message that a woman was dying and that she had a life unfulfilled and missing something, and she was wondering if the Celtic fairies could do something.

The monk seals looked at each other, dove under the water, swimming as fast as they could out of the Mediterranean and into the Atlantic Ocean, although to them it was all just water. As they moved north, they ran into another group of silkies returning to Scotland. They spoke to each other in the seal language, which was just chirps and griddles, and relayed the message. The silkies nodded to them and thanked them in their own way.

Returning to Scotland was no comfortable fit for silkies; they spent most of their time in the Arctic, staying away from humans because humans always got them into trouble. This was a mission now, one of the silkies decided that it was time to seek out the fae folk.

She was transported from a seal into a human woman, found a fairy hill, and sat down on it. She sent out a call that only fairies could hear because ferries were small and spoke in their own language, which was mostly a combination of Gaelic, Old Scots, and Pictish. The silkies relayed Medusa’s message. The fae did not know what to do; they had never been asked to intervene in human life on such a large scale. So, they went to the Low Rd. To find the Morrigan.

The Morrigan, a Celtic goddess, oversaw transformation and energy. The fae relayed the message all the way from Medusa the Morgan looked at them and went” I normally don’t intervene in human life unless it is for a reason..

Medusa wants us to intervene in this woman’s life?”

The fairy looked at her and said yes “my queen according to the silkies this has come all the way from Medusa from Greece through the nymphs through the monk seals to the silkies to us and then to you. OH, this woman asked for nothing, no wish, no command, just conversation. She left gifts of honey and an Obsidian knife; those are rare gifts to give to them, tell Medusa. She only asks that you show this woman what she has missed out of life, if that means transporting her to a time where she missed the one true love she had, her soul mate, or if that is taking her all the way back to childhood, we do not know. That is up to you, my queen.“ The Fae bowed.

The Morrigan, rubbing her chin, decided, ” Let me look.”

In the dead of night, when all creatures sleep but those who are predators, the Morrigan found Claire Beauchamp’s home in the Scottish Highlands just inside Inverness city limits. The Morrigan entered her home the way the Fae and the gods can, stood at her bed, and stretched out her hands to the sleeping human before her. Thoughts moved through her head from this mortal, showing her entire life from the death of her parents at a simple age of five to the love she had for her uncle lamb until the blitz, her unbelievably failed marriage to a man whose fault it was that she could never have children, but who made her feel like she was the one who was at fault. But then she saw the love this woman had for children and the orphans, and how she took care of everyone. She saw how, during World War 2, the Morrigan was aware of that awful time, and how she sewed together stitches and kept them alive.

In the mists of her mind, the Morrigan reached out to that time and saw a man, a red-headed, tall man who stood at the French docks not only treating the animals with respect but also helping the wounded soldiers back to where they came. The Morrigan thought what a waste, what a waste of human life this war was, but those two were soul mates.

So, where should she be sent, and how should these two meet? The Morgan put her arms out swept her arms over the sleeping woman with the green and Gray mist coming out of her fingers she went over the woman and uttered a chant only in Celtic and in in Gaelic asking for the power of time and space itself to move this woman back to when she was 24 back to the time of World War 2 back before the blitz back to meet the man who was to be her soul mate. With a flash of lightning and the audacious power of Thunder, she clapped her hands loudly, and the figure under the bed disappeared. The Morrigan had a smile on her face that only a goddess who has done magnificent work has.

Claire Randall startled awake as she looked around and saw she was back in a tent, the nurses’ tent during World War 2.

The letter in her hand said we regret to inform you that your husband died in a bombing in London. The other letter was from her uncle Lamb, who had moved to Scotland right before the Blitz.

Different Together (Jason Carver x Kali Prasad (008) - Heal Me (Chapter 2)

@skylarstark4826

@true-justice

Gideon the Ninth: Chapters 1-2

It hooked me in right away! I like the author’s writing style a lot so far. I already love Gideon and the tension between her and Harrowhark is immediately intriguing. I’m also fascinated by the necromancy powers/magic system

i wish i knew her before

chapter two

I didn’t really know Bambi Greer when we were kids. I don’t think anyone really did. That’s a part people always assume wrong when they find out I grew up in this shithole too. They think everybody in a town this size knows everyone else, but that only really counts if you went to school with them, or if your grandparents went to the same church, or your parents associated with the same people. I was homeschooled. Back then it was because my mom didn’t trust traditional schools. Now it’s because I don’t trust most places. Small towns look like open arms until you try to leave the house what they deem as “too often.” Then you realize everyone can see you, remembers you, asks questions you don’t really want to answer. So, I stayed in. Read a lot, watched people online instead of in person. Funny enough, I make a living talking about people from this town like I knew them better than I did. 

Most of what I really know about the Greer family comes from watching, listening. I’m good at that. The few times our lives did intersect didn’t mean anything really, no matter how many sleepless nights I ran through our interactions in my mind, searching for something that just isn’t there. 

Buck Remington worked on my car once, but whose car hasn’t been touched by him? That’s the closest I ever got to being a part of their circle, so I guess that’s enough for me.

↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣

It was the summer before Bambi disappeared. Hot enough the air in town always smelled like oil, gasoline, and cut grass. I loved that smell, would huff it if I could. It was that summer Dad finally made me take my car out to Remington’s Auto his dollar because the engine sounded like rocks in the dryer when it idled just a tad too long, and I had yet to do anything about it. I was never a car person, Dad usually handled my car problems. Remington’s sat right off the highway, and didn’t even need a map to find it. Two bays, a gravel lot, and a Coke machine that hardly worked. I liked Pepsi anyways. 

Buck was already out there when I came rolling in, leaning over someone’s hood with an oil stained rag over his shoulders like he’d been born standing there. A mess of dark hair draping over his face like he never bothered to move it. His tanned skin slick with grease and sweat, he straightened up when he heard the car come in, wiped his hands real slow like he wasn’t in any hurry to deal with anybody. He was really tall, taller than I expected when Dad said try not to stare. Six-four easily, all biceps, though he was lean in the way that still looks strong. His mess of dark hair pushed back into a cap that hung low over his eyes. 

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t frown.

Buck simply looked at the car like it was something he knew the answer to. Dad had already done most of the talking on the phone for me thankfully. Told him of the knocking noise in the engine, when it started, said I probably ignored it too long. 

I did. 

Buck didn’t say much, just waved me forward a little and told me to “kill it.” I parked myself outside the shop on a bench no one used anyone, soaking up the sun while I still could.

I remember thinking he looked way older than twenty-one. Not older as in grown, older like tired. Like a man who’s seen far too much work far too early in life. Like he’d already decided how a good many things were gonna go and didn’t see a reason to even attempt to act surprised about any of them. 

That’s when Bambi pulled in.

You heard her before you saw her, loud music, tires whipping up gravel like she wanted you to know she was there. I still believe she did. She had a penchant for being the center of attention from what I hear. Old Chevy, windows down, dust kicking up behind her when she skidded across two parking spaces, crooked. She cut the engine and the music blared a few seconds too long before she leaned back, hair a mess, and shut it off. Watching her hop out was like watching a show horse, strutting like the place belonged to her. 

Tall.

Five-eleven easy, maybe a few inches taller in the black wedges she sported. Mile-high legs, cut-off shorts, dark blonde hair messily framing her face like she didn’t care what she looked like. Bambi was the type of girl that should’ve been on magazines, a video vixen. She was everything I envied of the girls from town. She spotted Buck quickly, smile tugging at her mouth like she’d been looking for him the whole time. She didn’t say a word as she trotted behind him, didn’t even ask if he was busy, just parked herself behind him and slid her arms around his waist, because of course that’s where they went. Pressed her cheek against his back, rocking him like she was trying to throw him off balance. It was apparent the sheer difference in size, Buck was built, broad shoulders and chest he inherited from his dad. Bambi was built like her name suggests, a deer. She was willowy, long limbs in a model like way, moving like a gazelle. 

Buck didn’t jump, didn’t even turn around at first. Just said, 

“ You tryin’ to make me drop this?” 

His voice was deep, like my Dad’s bourbon. Furthering my idea he looked older than his twenty-one years. She laughed right in his ear, a sound from the back of her throat rather than her chest.

“ You ain’ strong enough to drop it. “

Buck shook his head, half annoyed, half something I couldn’t place, he didn’t pull away though. He hummed, turning back to my engine, swaying with her to the best of his ability. He never once told her to stop. That was the first thing I noticed about Bambi, she touched people like she needed to make sure they were still there, that they were real and wouldn’t float away into the sky if she let them go. Hand on the arm, fingers hooking themselves into a belt loop, a dimpled chin placed upon someone’s shoulder whilst they talked. Too close for most people, not close enough for her. Never ever close enough for her. 

She noticed me staring, her big eyes narrowing slightly, Looked me up and down like she was trying to put my face onto someone she could know. She didn’t know me, and I dreamed about knowing her.

Buck didn’t look up, voice muffled from beneath my car’s hood.

“ Customer.” 

 Her squinted eyes never left me, analysing. Like his answer wasn’t good enough. Her head jerked to the side, her mess of hair falling over her freckled face, it was then I noticed the small braids hidden within her mane, tied off with colorful rubber bands. Her hands fell to her hips as she sauntered over, eyes still trying to find something. She smelt like sweet florals and sweat, a good scent, a scent I think I could wrap myself in. 

“ You from here?” 

I nodded hastily. 

She smirked like that was funny to her, pretty sure it was fucking hilarious, 

“ Everybody from here and I ain’t never seen you before.” 

“ I don’t-I don’t go out much!” 

I said, more so a squeak really, I had just noticed she hadn’t so much as blinked within the entirety of this interaction. Bambi tilted her head again, a smile still etched into her face. 

“ Yeah, I can tell. “ 

Not mean. She wasn’t nice either. I guess it’s just the way some people talk, where you can’t tell if they’re just neggin’ you unless you really know them. Buck muttered, 

“ Leave her alone Bam.”

His voice was laced with annoyance, like when you’re scolding a cat for knocking a glass off the table for the third time. Bambi turned on her heel, throwing her hands to her sides as she leaned forwards. 

“ I ain’ doin’ nothin’.” 

She drawled, waltzing back towards Buck. Her jewelry clinked as she did. She bumped her shoulder into him harder than she really need to, grabbing the grease-stained rag off his shoulder and wiped her hands on it like it was hers. There wasn’t anything really on her hands. Buck sighed, rising from the engine. He tried to take it back. She held it out of reach just to make him step closer. It was a rather cute cat and mouse game I will say. 

“ You’re gonna get grease all over everything.” 

He grumbled, brows furrowed as he hands chased after the moving rag within Bambi’s hand.

“ You like it, “ 

She shot back, enunciating the “L” as she danced around the man. Buck didn’t answer, simply snatched the rag when she finally surrendered the white cloth and returned to my engine like he wasn’t smiling a little. 

Angel was the next to show her face. 

Just like her sister before, you heard her before you saw her, only this time it was greeted with Buck sucked his teeth. Bambi swatted at him with another wolfish grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Car door slammed hard enough to echo off the shop, her voice already cutting more than halfway into a complaint about something. I felt sorry for the car door, honestly. She came across the lot fast, arms folded time as the wind whipped her blonde hair. Her face was tight like she was already in a bad mood before she got there, and I honestly feared if she was. 

Small compared to almost everyone. 

Real small.

Blonde hair so fair you thought it was bleached. 

Sharp eyes, and a mouth that always pursed like she trusted what she was looking about just about as far as she could throw it. She stopped when she saw her sister leaning against Buck. 

Didn’t say hi. 

Didn’t even look at Buck first. 

Her eyes bore into Bambi. 

“ You comin’ home or what?” 

Bambi didn’t move, simply leaned her head back against Buck’s shoulder like the short girl wasn’t talking to her. Her voice was honeyed when spoke against Buck’s neck, her eyes glazed with something I can only really describe as infatuation. 

“ In a minute.”

In turn, Angel’s chest puffed up, her brows couldn’t furrow anymore if she tried. Her voice went tighter, higher, like the crushing of styrofoam. 

“ You said that twenty fucking minutes ago!” 

Buck straightened, not rough, enough to where Bambi had to stand on her own once again, which brought a huff from the girl. Angel’s eyes flicked to him real quick like, eyes ablaze with something I can now place as anger. Her eyes cut back to Bambi. Didn’t like how close they were. You could see that without anyone really saying that. Bambi returned her sister’s gaze, smirking at her like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“ You jealous or somethin’?” 

Angel’s face twisted into something sour, like she’d bitten into a lemon. Her face went red so fast it looked like it hurt, and I honest to God think it did. Her mouth turned into a stare as she took a step towards the taller girl. 

“ I ain’t jealous of you! “ 

She all but spat. Bambi laughed in turn. 

“ You always are. “ 

Angel took a half-step closer. 

“ Here you go, always thinkin’ somebody wan’ what you got!”

Bambi met her sister’s eyes, leaning forward enough so that their faces were almost level, even with the obvious height difference. Their resemblance to one another was undeniable, though Angel was pretty in a way that’s cute, rather than enamoring.

“ Everybody does.” 

Bambi challenged, her unblinking eyes catching the light. They were some kinda of green grey. Like old marbles. Her mouth turned into a vicious smile. Buck grunted chimed from beneath the hood, real quiet like,

“ Bam.” 

Not loud, enough to make her stop though. Angel didn’t move, barely breathed. Just stood staring at him now instead of her. Like she was trying to piece together who’s side he was on. Nobody said anything after that. Nothing but the sound of tools in the shop, a car going by on the highway, the radio crackling somewhere off in the bay. I caught the melody of Stone Temple Pilots “Creep” through the poor speaker. Buck looked at the engine like he wished it would swallow him whole, like he wanted to be literally anywhere else other than here. I can’t blame him. Bambi kicked a rock across the gravel with her toe, humming along to the lyrics of Scott Weiland. Angel just looked. Stared at both of them like something would happen if she looked away. Like she didn’t trust either one to simply disappear if she didn’t keep her eyes on one. That was the last time I ever really interacted with any of them. Sure, I saw them at Dollar General, but this town ain’t but so, and faces like theirs’s stick with you.

I didn’t know it then; hell, I barely know it now. I couldn’t be more aware then that I’d end up replaying that moment over and over and over years down the line, putting a magnifying glass over it like it was found footage trying to figure out if that was the first sign something was wrong or just the first time and only time I just happened there to see it for myself. When you think about what I do now, you start thinking everything matters. Every look, every joke, every fucking time somebody stands just a tad to close nor not close enough. And with those three nothing ever really felt like the right distance. Everyone was always at an arm’s length or stepping on someone’s toes.

i like how spamton is often remembered as “the one successful enemy of chapter 2” despite also being a mere cackling capitalist like the others

Chapter 2: The Missing Bandit

Narrated by no one.

Narrator: It’s a dark, foggy night. One of the sharp tips of the crescent moon pokes out of the mist, as if an omen of bad fortune.

Narrator: Colin was tipped off to a jewel transaction between the thief he’d been tracking and the buyer who had commissioned him. It will be happening in an abandoned house.

Narrator: As the wind howls in the dark night, Colin and the cops working with him silently surround the unassuming building.

Narrator: Swaying silhouettes are visible on the window, moving as slowly and cautiously as the breaths held by the police officers.

Narrator: To capture both the thief and the buyer at once, Colin orders his subordinates to lie in wait around the abandoned building.

Narrator: The wait is excruciatingly long. As the exchange is about to happen, there is a sudden commotion from inside the building.

Narrator: The candlelight behind the paper window trembles violently until the candle stand tips over. As darkness falls, the figures disappear from view.

Colin: Charge inside!

Narrator: The police officers rush into the house, only to find it completely empty save for piles of random items.

Narrator: The clouds part, and soft moonlight seeps in through the cracks in the old wooden ceiling. The group has a clear view of the building’s interior, where the fallen candle is burning a stack of files.

Colin: Darn it! They couldn’t have vanished just like that. Commence search immediately!

Narrator: The police officers dash around the place, the candlelight casting messy shadows on the walls. As the group searches the room, the steady, calm tapping of a cane sounds from outside the door, contrasting with the chaos going on inside.

Narrator: Charles, in his spotless suit, finally steps into this eastern-style house.

Colin: They tricked us! We’ll have to return empty-handed!

Sir Charles: Not so fast.

Narrator: The tassels on lanterns sway gently in the night breeze. The papered windows by the wooden entrance rattle quietly in response.

Narrator: Charles walks through the room at a leisurely pace, sharp hawk eyes scanning through every item in the room. The tables and chairs, the doors, the tiled roof…

Narrator: The man and his cane finally stop in front of the fallen candle stand.

Narrator: A police officer is busy putting out the fire. The stack of paper that was burning has been rescued just in time, so the detailed map of the surrounding village on the papers remains mostly intact.

Narrator: Deep in thought, Charles studies the map carefully, unconsciously rubbing his slender fingers on his cane.

Colin: The thief was perhaps planning his route of escape when he sensed our arrival and fled in a hurry… But we had the only exit blocked. How did he manage to escape without even being seen?

Narrator: The detective frowns, motioning with his hands in frustration.

Colin: We have to attempt to capture him following this map…

Narrator: The night grows darker, the heavy fog slowly dissipating.

Narrator: The bright, pale moonlight spills in through the window, enveloping Charles’ silhouette with its cold gleam. Charles dusts off his cuffs and flashes his friend a knowing smile.

Sir Charles: I have some theories… but one is good news and one is bad news. Which would you like to hear first?

Colin: Come on, this is not the time for riddles! Out with it!

Sir Charles: The bad news is the buyer has already received the gem… The good news is we’re still on the right track.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Arya Dröttningu/Eragon Shadeslayer, Fírnen/Saphira (Inheritance Cycle)
Characters: Eragon Shadeslayer, Arya Dröttningu, Saphira (Inheritance Cycle), Fírnen (Inheritance Cycle)
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, slowburn?, Emotional Slowburn, Mentions of past abuse, author makes no promises about update schedules, Flashbacks, sex as a ptsd trigger, character attempting to work through their trauma
Summary:

Time heals all wounds. It is a saying the elves are particularly fond of.
There are some wounds Arya wishes would heal faster.