#itsaboutsurviving

Not for the first time, Tony had interrupted what was supposed to be her Tony-free morning with an SOS to save him from a meeting he didn’t want to deal with anymore. She stepped out of the elevator onto the 82nd floor and turned towards the conference room, rolling through her prepared list of excuses for which one to throw out this time. 

With barely a knock, she opened the door and stepped into the room expecting to be met with the bland faces of board members or some irritated politician. Instead she felt like she’d been slapped in the face as she took a breath and was overwhelmed by a potent scent. Blinking, she stared around dumbly for a second, trying to figure out what was going on. Whatever the scent was, it was making that part of her mind where the more wolfish instincts hung out perk right up with a mix of curiosity and concern. There was something familiar about it, even though she didn’t recognise it and didn’t think she’d ever smelt anything - or anyone - like it before.

“Darcy..?” Steve called her attention to the head of the room where he was apparently trying to lead whatever the meeting was, and Darcy just blinked at him a couple more times. 

“Uh, sorry,” she said, giving her head a shake. “Tony...needed something.” Her eyes ranged over the people around the table, skipping over the Avengers members (she knew none of them were responsible for this new scent), before she took a couple of steps further into the room, notably sniffing. 

@itsaboutsurviving

It wasn’t Alex’s first time camping, but she knew she was still a novice. She knew she should stick to the populated areas, and not wander off, and not go near the ‘Expert’ trails, and not go walking after dark. She knew all of that, in a theoretical sense. But when she, with her pack of gear and her endless excitement, saw a trail marker that wasn’t listed on the official map, she couldn’t help but follow it.

The path didn’t look any different than the one she’d already been on. Thick woods and just the slightest hint of a trail through the dense foliage, and the slightest feeling like she should turn around. Like she should go back.

She ignored it.

Instead, trekking forward, with a self-surety that she could find her way back if she saw something worrying.

In the hours she wandered, several other hikers would pass the unofficial trail marker, writing it off as a prank at best, or something dangerous. The series of sage green marks jutted off away from the trail, and most experienced hikers knew that no trail worth following would ever use green as a marker color.

But Alex, sure-footed and hard-headed and bright-eyed and curious, pushed forward, hoping she’d find a clearing before the Sun started to set. Even so, she’d expected to see at least one or two other people on the trail, and as the forest shadows began to elongate, she worried that she hadn’t seen another soul on this odd, winding path. In fact, come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any animals, either. No deer, or squirrels, or toads in the midsummer warmth. No bird or bug to chirp or trill at her. Only the off-and-on breeze and the sway of branches and herself--only herself, it seemed.

Ashildr was generally cautious in public. If she drew too much attention, it was only a matter of time before her secrets bred suspicion in others. She found that less so in more modern times, but it wasn’t impossible. 

@itsaboutsurviving

          Sometimes, Caliban forgot how heavy Logan was.

Truthfully, he hadn’t had much experience carrying the older mutant. Most of the time, Logan was able to stumble his way home, grunting and grumbling, but still able to find his bed. Once, Caliban had ATTEMPTED to drag him from the living room to his bedroom, but the couple hundred pounds of metal surrounding his skeleton had prevented that.

With little to no experience, sometimes Caliban forgot. Times like now, when the day’s work was too much, and they needed time to relax. Laura and the other children were in their beds, snoozing their troubles away. Dinner had gone well. Dishes were done. They could afford to sit back, breathe, and watch a few moments of television-- a rare luxury back at the junkyard.

“What do you want to watch?”

“Something mind-numbing.”

“That’s a trend with you, isn’t it?”

Caliban grunted as Logan’s elbow found his side. To his credit, Logan barely tapped him, but between his bruises and the older man’s strength, Caliban couldn’t help but flinch away. In apology, Logan settled on the Game Show Network, and they both settled in for a four hour marathon of Family Feud.

It was because of that four hour marathon that now, less than two hours in, the albino found himself pinned to the couch by a four-hundred pound old man. Stretched out, legs splayed across the unused pillows, Logan had claimed the couch as his own. And his crown achieved, the place where he rested his head? 

Caliban’s shoulder, of fucking course.

His arm tingling, Caliban reached up, to tap his cheek, hissing, “Logan. Logan! You’re-- God dammit, you old man. You’re on my arm.” When he got no response, Caliban grunted, struggling to wriggle his torso beneath the other’s weight. “Move, you bloody idiot.”

Logan shifted, turning his body. But instead of releasing his prisoner, he chose to wrap an arm around his middle, effectively locking him in place. Not even a sharp shove to the back could move a firmly planted Wolverine. 

“This is undignified.”