Shmd

♪It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life for me, yeah♪

New chapter, new arc !

Happy reading,

With love, Sh'.

PS : A friendly reminder that a press on the like button cost you nuthin', and warms my heart lots !

 

Chapter 28 : It always starts with a training montage (Taking stock of what you have)

 

The Thompsons’ home guest room Aria’s bedroom, The Thompsons’ home, Forest Hills, Queens, New York, 26th of January, 5:37

 

I wake up with a startle, jolting myself into a sitting position, instinctively pressing my back against the wall as my eyes shift around my room, my heart hammering in my ribcage as if it wants to just. get. out.

 

As I try to quiet my panicked breathing, my body once more sticky with sweat and my bed sheets creased after what had to be one of the worst agitated and restless sleep I ever had, Iris oozes out of my chest, slowly and gently coming in a hug.

 

She says nothing as I shakily attempt to gather my calm back, exhaling great gulps of air, my head getting pulled into her soothing embrace.

 

Given enough time, I finally start to come down from my nightmare induced panic, my arms coming around my blood-sister, returning her gesture with appreciation as I let her more positive feelings wash over me, [Care] above anything else, on our mind-link.

 

“Nightmares ?” She softly asks, but it’s only for the benefit of the conversation since she knows it to be the case.

 

“Yeah,” I croak, my throat still raw from yesterday’s crying, “Yeah, nightmares.”

 

Iris says nothing as she makes little soothing caresses on the high of my back while my breath starts to get even.

 

“I was putting down that purple arsehole once again,” I finally admit after a beat of soothing silence, “but Marie was here, and she saw all of it. And when I tried to explain to her why I did it, she started to shake violently in fear, turned back and ran away and I…”

 

I gulp as my emotions rise up once more, tears pearling at the corner of my eyes.

 

“I took off after her, but no matter what I did, what I said, she never stopped and I never caught onto her…” I end, a lone tear trailing the length of my cheek.

 

“It was just a dream, sister.” Iris softly says with her star-filled voice, “It was just a bad dream.”

 

I blink, drying my tears with the palm of my hand as I answer mechanically, distorted recollections of my nightmare still flashing through my mind.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Just a bad dream.”

 

***

Aria’s bedroom, The Thompsons’ home, Forest Hills, Queens, New York, the same day, 6:00

 

Needless to say, I wasn’t really keen on the ‘going back to sleep’ idea after that, so, once I managed to calm down sufficiently, I decided to do something constructive instead of sitting on my ass.

 

But, first, I needed clothes.

 

Stretching a bit forcefully to get rid of the last dregs of sleep in my mind, I levitated myself and the still hugging Iris out of my bed, the bed sheets pulling and straightening behind me.

 

One glance over my shoulder confirming that my bed was done, I made my way toward the bathroom upstairs, still not touching earth rather than risking waking up the rest of the household.

 

It is not because I’ve difficulties sleeping that I have to be an arsehole about it, after all.

 

I only alight us once the bathroom’s door is closed behind us, my eyes shifting toward the bathtub, considering.

 

I technically do not need to take a bath because Iris tends to be a bit of a clean freak, one of the reasons why my skin never felt so smooth since the beginning of the week, previous body included, but I do feel like it.

 

Taking the measure of the disaster that is my face after that night, I decide to indulge, gesturing at the faucets vaguely with my hand.

 

The water starts to fall immediately.

 

“What are you doing, sister ?” Curiously ask my symbiotic half, halting her impression of a dozing koala clinging to its tree.

 

“Taking a dose of relaxation mixed with normality.” I answer her with a little smile, my hand losing itself in her tentacly hair for a beat.

 

***

The Thompsons’ bathroom , The Thompsons’ home, Forest Hills, Queens, New York, the same day, 6:32

 

As I rise out of the bath to step onto the pink plushy mat, Iris oozes all around me to get me rid of the moisture.

 

Surprisingly, she didn’t enjoy the experience, barely hanging on for five minutes before retreating to my bloodstream while I half-floated in the water.

 

But I certainly did. My shoulders are far less tense than they were yesterday’s evening after all the stress I had experienced in a single day.

 

It won’t solve my many issues, but it is certainly the start of something, and I can almost put behind me the fading memories of my nightmares.

 

I didn’t stay idle though, taking the time alone to experiment with a little something.

 

“Iris, would you like to clothe me ?” I gently ask her on our mind-link.

 

She’ll do it anyway, but politeness is a mark of respect, and respect is a pretty low mark to describe how I feel about her.

 

A fluttering feeling of [Agreement] travels our mind-link, and Iris puts on her show.

 

I almost want to sputter in outrage when she starts with my privates, bringing back a slightly tamer version of the thong she made me wear yesterday for the Ancient One’s ‘examination’, but, despite my cheeks instantly burning rose gold, I cannot deny that the contrast between silky lace, my matte golden skin and my now grudgingly tolerated animated tattoo is a work of art.

 

She leaves me hanging for a while, bare except for my new undies, and my annoyance wars with the beginning of arousal for a second.

 

“Yes, they are pretty and I like them. Can we move on, please ?” I lamely admit aloud, eyes shifting to the side as one of my arms comes to hug my waist in discomfort.

 

A mental chuckle later, she mercilessly attacks the last remnant of my modesty when she fashion me a push up bra.

 

My mind freeze.

 

“Iris,” I start in a monotone, “I’m not wearing a bra with heart-shaped window cuts on my niples. Just, no way.”

 

The result is pretty and sexy, mind you, but I’m trying to protect the last figments of my decency.

 

She oozes and melts behind my back, her own ‘breasts’ and ‘stomach’ the only point of contact, her hand sneaking from behind to grab me under the breast, one of her thumbs flicking my right little bud.

 

A little jolt of pleasure travels down my spine, which prompts me to direct her a look of annoyance through the interposed full length mirror as she rests her head on my shoulder with a cocky grin.

 

“Why though ?” She whispers in my ear, “It suits you so well, sister. And nobody will know.”

 

Her words made my thoughts halt for a second, my eyes drifting to my reflection once more.

 

The bra is made of two different fabrics joined at the middle, the bottom looking like silk and the top like a composite of frilly lace. And the thread of the sewing, the same for both the middle part and the litigious window cuts, is simply marvelous.

 

Feeling my ears almost combust, I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

 

“Firstly, where did you learn that design ? And secondly, what are you doing exactly ?” I mutter, sure that the temperature of my whole face could allow someone to cook an egg with ease.

 

“I thought of some designs that would suit you while you were boring yourself to death back in school yesterday’s afternoon.” She answers shamelessly, “And I’m trying to improve your mood.”

 

Iris turns her head slightly in my direction, looking directly at me.

 

“Is it working ?” She asks, head tilted and a grin on her face.

 

My damned sister knows that it totally does.

 

I choose to sulk silently and she snickers, her show starting anew.

 

Beautiful silky stockings are next, stopping mid thigh and being held by a sexy garter belt made of multiple heart-shaped simili garlands of lace, but I can’t properly focus on those with Iris next move.

 

Leather look-alike pointy high boots, stopping an inch under my knees, with, and I have no idea how she managed, big stocky buckles along them, solid looking, contrasting nicely with the needle like heels they end on, giving me at least two inches of extra height.

 

My mouth flaps open a few times, as I’m hypnotized by the majestic pair of shoes.

 

“They stay if the thong and bra remain.” Teases Iris, knowing perfectly that I'm already addicted to them.

 

“Why ?” I whine aloud, “Why are you so mean ?”

 

Leaving my shameful agreement unsaid, she punctuates her show with the piece of resistance.

 

A tasteful Victorian era look-alike dress takes form around me, with a high collar hugging my neck like a choker above a daring window cut between my collarbones and my cleavage, contrasting with a sort of corset that raises my chest even further, puffy shoulder pads and lengthy sleeves ending in lace. I can feel without looking that the corset is knotted in my back, but those knots are purely for style points and my torso feels barely squeezed tight. The cut stops above my knees on the front, but goes further on my back, ending near the bottom of my calves. The fabric is soft and silky, except for the corset, where Iris visibly took inspiration from yesterday’s skirt, because it gives the illusion of several layers of lace clumped together.

 

The corset in question is, also, rather rough on the skin, especially when it comes resting on my exposed nipples, and I have to refrain myself from whimpering.

 

Add onto that the fact that the new texture actually gives me the impression that I’m only wearing the corset because I can actually feel it contrary to the other ‘clothes’, and I don’t really know how to react.

 

“Iris…” I start hesitantly, but she shushes me with a finger on my mouth.

 

She chuckles before pecking me on my cheek, the bottom of her body melting back in mine as she starts to lay on my shoulder in her favorite pose, one of her arms hugging me gently as the other comes to squeeze my breast, making me shiver due to the new fabric rubbing my little bud.

 

“This way, you’ll focus on those sensations all the time in a little corner of your head, instead of something else.” Iris says with a soft smile.

 

We stare into each other's eyes, my cheeks still burning.

 

“How did you make the corset and the buckles of the shoes ?” I ask, intrigued, and looking for a way to distract me from more discomforting things, like the fact that each of my breath starts my sputtering engine a little bit.

 

“Look closer.” Iris answers with a little smile.

 

I do as she says and my eyes widen.

 

The corset, and the buckles too I suppose, is made from extremely tiny little feathers overlapping and superposed to each other. The level of control needed to pull that off must be astounding.

 

I knew where she found the idea, but I’m still surprised to see it used that way.

 

What looks like a teasing prank suddenly takes another significance when you factor the care and focus needed to make it work.

 

My sister is an endless tease with me today, but she does so because she wants to distract me.

 

“Fine,” I answer, resigned, yet sure of a certain detail, “But I feel like wearing black today.”

 

The whole of the outfit and its tasteful nuances of white, purple and lilac flicker with my touch-TK to take a more somber tone as the white goes matte black, and the seams and lace takes a very, very dark and deep purple.

 

A little satisfied smile flicker on my lips, my bathing time spent experimenting with my touch-TK disguise ending up  successful.

 

My blood-sister perks up, one of her eyes arching, critically evaluating the result in the mirror, her hand still ‘absentmindedly’ gently playing with my breast.

 

Her teasing halts to my grateful relief and she nods, satisfied.

 

“It suits you.” She simply says, eyes roaming my silhouette.

 

“I think so too.” I answer with a little, genuine, smile.

 

“Just remember to cross your legs when you take a seat.” She adds with a smirk and another peck on my cheek.

 

I sputter in indignation as she starts to snicker, [Love, care, mirth] flowing from her.

 

***

The Thompsons’ home kitchen, the Thompsons’ home, Forest Hills, Queens, New York, the same day, 7:02

 

♪I'm giving into the absence that has become my life,

Has become my state of mind,

I'm giving into the absence that has become my life,

Has become what I could find.♪

 

Since I was busy humming ‘Absence’ under my breath while making pancakes, Iris being back in my bloodstream for once, I didn’t really pay attention toward the rousing minds of the household in this early Saturday hour.

 

So I was completely blind-sided when Harrison popped into the kitchen, still a little bleary eyed, but in uniform and ready to commute to work.

 

“Already up, kiddo ?” He asked, one hand coming to cover his mouth to hide his yawn.

 

I quirk an eyebrow up in amusement while looking at him over my shoulder at his statement.

 

“Kiddo ?” I repeat.

 

“Getting into character in case someone swings by the house someday.” He answers with a smirk, “Plus, you definitely look like you’re not even twenty. The baby fat on the cheek.”

 

I mock-scowl at him as my tummy flutters in happiness because I’m young again, and not a lot of people can say that.

 

“I would have you know, sir, that I’m probably never going to look a day over thirty for an extremely long time in a not so distant future.” I tell him grandly.

 

His smile freezes a little at that, expression growing pensive.

 

“How ?” Harrison asks more to himself than anything as he sits himself, one hand scratching his stubbles.

 

It’s my smile’s turn to freeze a little as I turn back toward the pan as its contents start to sizzle.

 

I mull over my thoughts for a beat.

 

“One of the genetic materials I used in the making of this body makes me nearly unkillable, quasi instantaneous regeneration.” I slowly start, “If I cut myself, the blood start to fall, then goes back into the wound before it shut itself.”

 

“That seems handy.” Offhandedly mutters Harrison.

 

“Definitely, and if I can heal myself from any wound, then old age is merely going to be a number to me.” I add under my breath.

 

The both of us stay silent for a while, the sounds of my cooking the only thing occasionally interrupting our thoughts.

 

“Why ?” Harrison questions aloud, “A long life means you’re going to be very lonely at some point…”

 

I sigh, turning myself back to look at him properly, a sad smile on my face.

 

His brows are furrowed and he looks at me like he really wants to understand.

 

“Because I’ve known death once, and I’m honestly terrified to experience it again.” I lamely admit, one arm coming to hug my waist as Iris sends feelings of [Love, care] on our mind-link.

 

He slowly blinks, probably realizing what I went through for the first time since he learnt of my story yesterday.

 

He flaps open his mouth a few times, visibly struggling to put words on his thoughts.

 

“I can’t really imagine.” He admits without shame.

 

I shrug lightly, not really bothered.

 

“I don’t think a lot of people can.” I concede, “Probably less than a hand’s digits around the world can empathize.”

 

He wordlessly nods.

 

“Did you…” Harrisson starts, his eyes widening a little.

 

“I had to use the same genetic material on your son to be sure what I did would work.” I admit with a sad smile, “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no.” He answers after a beat, exhaling slowly, “It’s fine. Better this way. I already nearly lost him once and I didn’t even notice. I’d rather be the one dying on him than the opposite.”

 

I snort good humoredly.

 

“Try not to catch a bullet too early, then.” I quipp back.

 

“I’ll shoot first, already did.” He answers with a wink and a smile that isn’t really one.

 

That makes me pose, as the face of dear Kevin flashes through my mind.

 

I turn myself back to my pancakes.

 

“How do you live with it ?” I ask under my breath after a while, hoping that he has the solution I’m desperately seeking.

 

Harrison doesn’t answer me immediately and the silence stretches uncomfortably between us.

 

“You take stock of what you have.” He slowly starts, and I turn back once more to look at him.

 

His baby blue eyes, the same that I now have, are spearing right through me, calculating.

 

“You calmly look back at the situation and remind yourself that, yes, you could’ve handled it differently, but in the heat of action, you made a choice, a choice that kept you alive.” He carries on, and the steel in his voice is nearly solid, “Your survival instinct and reflexes took over for a beat, and left you the last one standing between them and you. It’s a fact, and nothing will change it. You can lament, apologize or depress all you want, that’s your new reality and it isn’t going away.”

 

He slowly exhales, eyes closing for a second.

 

“Then you remind yourself that if you feel conflicted about it and if it still gnaws at your insides and stops yourself from sleeping at night, it's because you ain’t the worst killer there is.” He continues, his eyes locking with mine once more, “Because some out there don't give a shit when they snuff the light out of someone. It’s not that you’re better or whatnot, it’s just that you still have your morals.”

 

“You take stock of what you have left : your life, your morals and, of course, a healthy dose of guilt because you’re not a sociopathic arsehole. Then, you live with it, and hope that it won’t happen again.”

 

I find myself wordlessly nodding at his words, considering that his point of view, as rough around the edges it is, still holds some credence.

 

His eyes still spears me with the full weight of his attention.

 

“But it will happen again, right ?” He asks rhetorically, “What did you do ?”

 

I can’t stop myself from flinching a little under his gaze.

 

I turn myself back toward the counter, tippy-tapping the counter with my fingers as I mull over my thoughts.

 

“The strange cases of suicides that plagued Manhattan and was all around the Daily Buggle, did you pay attention to it ?” I ask after a while, the wooden spoon back in my hand.

 

“Yeah, what of it ?” He answers curiously.

 

“Mind controller. Confirmed thief, rapist, killer, possibly cop killer. Won’t happen again. Ever.” I clip, not elaborating any further.

 

I hear the sound of the chair scraping against the floor as Harrison rises and makes his way toward the counter, taking a coffee mug on the way.

 

Helping himself with a serving of black bitterness, Harrison ponders for a bit.

 

“The authorities couldn’t have handled it ?” He simply asks after a while.

 

“They could have, but not without casualties. Many.” I answer with certainty, eyes still locked on the counter top.

 

He hmms under his breath, turning himself so he can lean with his lower back on the counter, one arm crossed over his chest as he takes a sip of coffee.

 

“Good riddance, then.” He says with steel in his voice, surprising me a little, “But be careful : you know what they say about fighting monsters.”

 

The validation lifts a little part of the weight that had taken residence in my stomach, despite the gloomy reminder that the path I’d chosen is a very narrow one.

 

Yeah.

 

Good riddance.

 

From her side of the mind-link, I feel a fleeting [Agreement, wrath] flickering in Iris’ thoughts.

 

Shmd

Harrison isn’t stupid. He has a rough measure of Aria after living with her for the past months and knows that she’s doggedly determined when she wants something, her grades and early behavior with him, the same one that pushed him on a better way, are evidence enough.

Taking her age into account, he’s assuming that she had a Very Good Reason not to go to the authorities with that problem, which she confirms.

He, also, lives in a world where Magneto & co regularly kills normies in terrorist attacks, and he has seen the Baxter Building collapse two times already during some of Doom’s stunts against the Fantastic Four.

He perfectly knows that the prison is only a forced vacation for super villains, and the only way, to him, to make them stop piling cadavers in their wake is to put them down.

It also help that, because of the suggestion Aria placed on the household, he can't really talk about it to anyone outside of his family and those in the know.

Iris is taking after Aria, so you can probably deduce a lot about Aria's own status when in a relationship. Aria is also letting her blood-sister do what she wants because of their fusional relationship, and because it tickles her oftenly neglected sub bone, since she's the one in charge the rest of the time.

So, yeah, Iris acting like a teasing dom is because Aria is a teasing dom, in case it wasn't obvious after Chapter 27. She's a bit of a switch, though. But more on that latter. Way latter. I just thought I needed to point it out in case some people starts to rise their eyebrows in disbelief :p