ana | Asgard all-powers threesomeverse (connor, sophie, pyro)

The war was over but Asgard was incredibly loud all of a sudden. Connor cracked a bleary eye to check the clock… it was still dark as if it was the middle of the night, and sure enough, 2:41 in the morning. What the hell. He didn’t think much of it at that moment, just rolled over to crush the pillow over his ears or burrow into Sophie’s neck or something that would allow him to get back to sleep.

But Sophie wasn’t there.

That itself would not have been cause for alarm; maybe she went to the bathroom, she was allowed to urinate. What was alarming, and thus caused Connor to bolt upright and stumble out of bed in terror, was the fact that Sophie was a black amorphous lump that was flopping off the other side of the bed. He’d seen it before, in the other world and in nightmares since, but this wasn’t a nightmare. He knew because falling off the bed hurt, and the thump of his side on the floor was so incredibly loud he felt like it would blow out his eardrums. He cried out in shock and pain, and that only made both worse.

Pressing both hands over his ears Connor struggled to his feet, speaking as loud as he could manage. “Sophie? Sophie?!” Fuck, it was so loud. So loud he could hear his heartbeat through his hands and see every thread of their sheets even in the near pitch black of their room and was what he thought was happening actually happening? Desperate now he lowered a hand to the blob, grimacing as it squished down under his hand, and shook. “Sophie! John! John!!!”

Threaded | Flat

John snaps awake at the screaming, bolt upright and half out of bed before the shift in his mind becomes evident, then almost overwhelming. It's happened once before - twice before, if he counts his life before this place. The information flooding through his head, temperatures and heat signatures and combustion rates, like data from infra-red goggles pouring right into his mind and getting computed at an astounding rate.

Where's his lighter? He doesn't keep close enough track of it anymore, damnit. Climbing out of bed, still aware of Connor's screams but suddenly not all that disturbed by them, he fishes in the pocket of the jacket he wore last night and finds it. Flicks it open and lit. Holds his hand over the flame.

Slowly, like a waterfall running upward, the flame climbs up and into his palm without so much as a tingle of warmth.

"Holy fuck," he whispers, eyes going wide as both power and fear surge through him at once. He remembers last time all too well, what a harbinger of danger these powers were and how horribly they warped his mind after too long without them. But at the same time, they're back - he's whole. He's a mutant. No more question in his mind.

Letting out a shaky breath, he finally runs down to the room Connor shares with Sophie. This is probably what's upset him, and who knows how a shapeshifter could be glitching out right now. "Connor, are you - whoa, shit."

Okay, that's how she's glitching out. Gross.

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