#Like with flesh?? the human husk that rots and dies? just be good to yourself and be good to others

[pianokantzart]

Given the objectively correct results of the Smash Bros. Sexyman contest, how do you think Luigi(and Mario too, why not) would go about rejecting someone? I think it’s time to start being realistic with myself and accept that both bros would visibly wince at the mere sight of me 🥲

Nah, Mario and Luigi have encountered some of the wildest looking freaks conceivable. If I know anything, it's that they are not going to wince at the sight of someone who isn't conventionally attractive.

But as far as rejection goes, I think Luigi would go about it very carefully. He appreciates the sentiment, but would feel the need to gently explain why he doesn't return the feelings, taking every precaution to ensure whoever's crushing on him walks away with as few hurt feelings as possible. He would then proceed to feel bad about it all day. Mario has less tact. He wouldn't feel any pressure to explain himself, but he would make it clear the entire time that– though he doesn't return the romantic feelings– he still highly values that person as a friend.

[zet-sway]

THE FROZEN SEA CHAPTER 2

I've literally never done a chapter 2 to anything before. It's boring but whatever, I wrote it. Hopefully I can find the stamina to continue. Longfic is so difficult (╥﹏╥)

Word Count: ~3000 Rated: "T" AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea - Chapter 2" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: "When they finally disembark, she beelines for the elevator with a painfully stiff spine and heavy footfalls. In that moment, Thane can see the weight of her two missing years more clearly than ever before, her humanity practically seeping through the cracks in her hardsuit."

- - - - - - - - - - -

It's shortly after breakfast when Shepard appears in his room unannounced. Fresh mug of coffee in one hand and datapad in the other, she takes the seat across from him without a word. Her eyes are glued to the screen, worried, but focused.

"Shepard, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her mug hits the table with a soft thump and her eyes flick up at him from under her lashes.

"What do you know about the collectors?"

Curious, he leans in, hands folded. "I've encountered them before, although not directly."

Shepard raises an eyebrow.

"My work has taken me to some less than desirable reaches of the galaxy," he says dryly.

"Ever killed one?"

By now he's unsurprised by her direct questions, but it's enough of a hint for him to understand there's definitely something afoot. Thane shakes his head. "No, I've only watched from afar. The Collectors have a reputation for black market dealings."

The datapad flickers off as she sets it down and takes a sip of her coffee. Then she summons an image of a planet he's never been to on her omni-tool. Horizon, a human colony.

"This morning I received an emergency directive from The Illusive Man. It's very likely we're about to go head to head with Collector forces for the first time."

Ah, that would be why she's here so early.

"How much longer until we arrive?"

"Sixty minutes. Tell me what you know."

He pauses to consider what might be most valuable to the mission. 

"They fly, like insects."

Shepard visibly chokes on her coffee. "That's different." She transfers the planetary data to his omni-tool. "Suit up and meet me us upstairs in thirty."

With that, she gets up and walks out.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

They load up into the shuttle. Shepard is nearly silent but Garrus seems to be in good spirits.

"So the Collectors can fly? Is that right?" the turian asks, checking the safety on his rifle for the 6th time.

Thane nods in his direction.

"I guess we're about to find out. We'll give em' hell, Commander."

Shepard merely hums her approval. Her mind is elsewhere.

When the shuttle touches down, she's the first one on the ground, motioning for the others to hold position inside the shuttle until she gives her signal. It's not until she's confident that Mordin's protection against the seeker swarms is effective that she allows them to press forward.

While she forges ahead to clear the proverbial brush for them, Thane wonders about the duality of her. Kalahira's messenger, making every attempt to prolong their lives. The goddess does not take life for the pleasure of it, she needs them for the battle ahead. 

He wonders if she, too, will be swept up in the coming tide. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Fighting the Collectors makes her skin crawl. 

The drone of seeker swarms and collector wings never seems to fade out from her mind. Their flesh is… wrong, somehow. Filled with fluids, too soft, with unseeing alien eyes. Garrus bolts one on her flank and its head bursts like overripe, rotting fruit. She cringes and presses forward, Thane by her side tearing down barriers. He’ll have biotic burns after this mission if she’s not careful.

They’re armed with particle weapons - unsurprising given their intel. The air singes in the wake of each shot as they move from cover to cover. The deeper they move into the colony, the more horrors they unearth.

By now, Shepard is accustomed to the knowledge that husks were once people. But two years gone has brought frightening new context to that idea when she sees what other horrors the Collectors have in their arsenal. Grotesque amalgams of... things. People. Other creatures. What is she even supposed to call this four legged thing with a mass of human heads below it's carapace? Is this what the Collectors are doing with these people?

They manage a small number of survivors. Too few. But among them is Ashley Williams - a fucking sight for sore eyes if Shepard’s ever seen one.

"Ash, it's good to see you," she says, face splitting into a grin. It takes all her self control to not throw her arms around the soldier. 

Ever the professional, Ashley stands resolute among her Alliance compatriots. She's grown into a strong soldier, and Shepard beams with no small amount of pride.

"I didn't want to believe it was you. It really is you, right? Shepard?"

"It's me, in the flesh." Shepard says, arms outstretched in a proud gesture.

Ashley looks incredulous, her expression is hard to read. "And you too, Garrus - what happened to your face?"

Garrus flares his mandibles in a characteristic turian smirk. "Just a scratch, really. A rocket to the face will do that."

"Jesus, Shepard..." The way Ashley's tone trails off immediately makes the air turn sour. Her smile twists away into nothing. "You're really with Cerberus, then?"

"It isn't what it looks like, Ash." The words are thick in her throat. Even if it's true, the phrase sounds utterly hollow.

"I thought you died. I… we… had a funeral for you. People don't just come back from the dead,” Ashley says, eyes like daggers.

"I didn't believe it myself until I saw the final report. You can read it if you like," Shepard’s face scrunches up in discomfort. The photos still haunt her. "Meat and tubes, Ash.”

"I'm disappointed you'd even let yourself believe that." Her voice is rising, eyes narrowed in accusation and contempt. The look on her face is every bit as painful as her words.

Shepard chews on her lip, trying to think of something to say, anything at all, because after everything they’d been through, Ashley is one of the last people she’d have expected....

“Cerberus,” she mutters. “Shepard, I trusted you.”

Shepard loses focus rapidly after that, her mind forcibly shrouding the words in a fog if only to get through the moment, second by agonizing second. Some days it's like she's been resurrected into a living nightmare. The sting of rejection after two lost years burns like her lungs in the vacuum of space. 

"I woke up on a Cerberus operating table," she interrupts, loudly. "They told me the station was under attack, so I grabbed my gear and got the fuck on with it. And then they told me I'd been dead for two years." She takes a step back, eyes flicking out across Horizon's dull gray sky. "I didn’t ask for this. For all I know, The Illusive Man put a fucking chip in my head set to blow the minute I disappoint him."

She can feel their eyes on her. Garrus looks lost, Thane is stone still and motionless. The heavy silence threatens to crush her heart into a hundred cybernetic pieces.

"I'm just as confused as you are. But I'm trying to stop this ," she gestures around at the disquieting emptiness of the colony, the grisly remains of slain Collectors. Her heart is racing, her head seething with the heat of indignation. She can taste the bitter words that sling past her teeth, regretting them the moment they hit the air.

"I wish you the best, Ash. If someone ever undeadifies your fucking corpse against your will, I’ll try not to hold it against you."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

No one speaks as they board the shuttle back to the Normandy. Shepard's eyes are glued to the floor, her shoulders slacked in an uncharacteristic display of upset.

Thane and Garrus exchange glances but neither dare to break the silence.

When they finally disembark, she beelines for the elevator with a painfully stiff spine and heavy footfalls. In that moment, Thane can see the weight of her two missing years more clearly than ever before, her humanity practically seeping through the cracks in her hardsuit. Garrus looks just as worried. They part ways at deck three. Shepard's eyes are distant as the elevator doors snick closed.

When she doesn't appear for dinner, Thane tries - and fails - to knock loose the worry. It's certainly no business of his, and if she wanted his counsel she'd have sought him out by now. Still, he's compelled.

He fixes a fresh mug of coffee, and a mug of tea for himself, before boarding the elevator.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

He finds her sat on the couch, smushed into the corner with a datapad in her hand. Eyes ringed with fatigue, she looks so much smaller than she had on the battlefield. This close to the hull, her cabin is colder than the rest of the ship.

"You didn't show for dinner. I brought you some coffee. May I sit with you?"

She heaves an audible sigh, as though reluctant to accept. "Sure."

Maybe he’s invading her privacy, but there’s something about the way she looks that’s more vulnerable than he expected. Her hair is mussed and she’s wearing a black sweatshirt. The zipper is pulled low enough for him to see her dog tags glimmering against the bare skin in the valley of her chest. If she notices his wandering gaze, she doesn’t seem to care. She's tending to her own needs - without the requisite to prove a damn thing to anyone, least of all him. 

He seats himself in an adjoining chair and passes the mug to her. At least she seems to enjoy the warmth in her hands, bringing it close to her face to inhale the scent of it.

"About what happened on Horizon-" he begins.

She sits up to face him. "Thane, I know you mean well. But please don't concern yourself." 

He can see the pain etched into her features, though. It's hard to imagine, but if he looks close enough, she’s there. This unguarded human, the same woman who put the fear of god in him just days ago. He decides it’s better to respect her boundaries, and stands to depart.

"I understand, Commander. I’ll leave you be.”

“Wait,” she says, tiredly. Thane pauses, waiting on her next words. “Sorry, it’s just been… a long day.”

Slowly, he eases back into his seat to wait in silence while she gathers her thoughts. 

"Did you hear about Eden Prime, two years ago?"”

“Yes, a Prothean beacon was destroyed there,” he nods.

“Yeah. That’s where I met Ashley,” she sighs, leaning back against the cushions. “A lot of things happened on Eden Prime. Video feeds caught Sovereign just before touchdown. We lost Jenkiens within minutes of landing, and Nihlus not long after. The Geth were there, Saren was there. The beacon exploded and knocked me cold.” Life changed pretty fast after that.”

The way she recalls the memory is disorienting. He reminds himself that it probably is confusing for her - and she’s probably better off for it. Sometimes life without perfect recall sounds like a blessing.

Shepard takes a tentative sip from her coffee before continuing.

“Ashley was with me when we stopped Saren. She’s a great soldier, and a good friend. The things we saw together, the people we lost... I never expected her to be so cold.” Another sip, and she closes her eyes. “Shit hurts.”

“I see,” he says, two nearly meaningless words in the storm of his own memories. He thinks of Kolyat, so small all this years ago. Somewhere, he's now a man with accusations and hurts of his own.

Thane shifts in his seat, refocusing his attention on Shepard. “What changed?”

“Cerberus,” she frowns. “She’s angry, and she has every right to be."

"The way you spoke on Horizon gave me a different impression."

"You're right, and I regret what I said to her. But I..." Shepard chews on her lip. "I don't want to... talk down on other soldiers. But I'm not surprised she doesn't see this the way I do. We didn't see eye to eye when Kaidan died, either. There's a reason we aren't all special forces."

Kaidan, Jenkins, Nihlus - Thane hasn’t heard these names before, but he decides now isn’t the time to pry. Instead, he asks, "You believe her military rank cheapens her understanding of what happened?"

Shepard shakes her head. "Not her rank. Her training."

That piques his interest. Thane sets his elbows on his knees and leans in. "You're both Alliance, how was your training different?"

Shepard stares at the ceiling as if searching for the words. Idle fingers trace her dog tags against her chest, holding them out to him. 

"This symbol, N7," she begins. "It's from the interplanetary combatives training program. N is special forces, and 7 is the highest rank of training. The duties and privileges are different, but N7 is... kind of like the Spectres, in terms of a kind of exclusivity."

She lets the tags drop against her chest, and this time she zips her sweatshirt, like she wants to forget about them. 

"You had to be selected?"

"Yeah, for candidacy." She stares into her coffee and downs the rest of it before lacing her fingers behind her head, eyes fixed firmly on everything but him. "No one leaves ICT unchanged. I thought it would be like a fucked up version of boot camp. It kind of was, but that's not what made it so hard. We were thrust on to the front lines, thrown into impossible situations. There were people who…" she leans down on her elbows and sighs, restless. "People die during these promotions, Thane. People depend on you for their lives and you-” she laughs, sort of, "You depend on them not to be stupid.

"You don't feel proud of what you've done. You just... you change how you look at the world. Every wink of sleep, every moment of rest, whatever. It has to be earned. They give you a mission, and you can't go home until it's done. Sometimes you know you're sending good, honest soldiers against fatal odds. It's fucked - it really is, but you're the last line of defense for that mission. And it has to get done, or even more people could die. So you fight - dirty, if you have to - anything to complete the mission without losing more of your men. Sometimes that means…" Her mouth twists into a lopsided half-smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "...the enemy of your enemy is your friend.” 

The enemy of their enemy - Cerberus. The entire ship understands this, but Ashley had not. Polarizing moralities, indeed.

"By the time I was promoted,” Shepard continues, “I got why every N7 I've ever met never stays in one place for long."

"I think I understand,” he says quietly.

A moment of silence passes before she glances at him, curiously.

"Was training like that for you too?"

Thane shakes his head. "Not quite. It was intense for different reasons. But I never knew anything else. Our entire lives were training and discipline. I rarely socialized outside of our…" he pauses, thinking. "I think the closest word would be 'monastery.'"

"Monastery?" Shepard asks, finally meeting his eyes. "Was religion part of your training?"

"No, but the… asceticism of our lives bore resemblance to a monastery." He holds her inquisitive gaze with a smile. "I started going to services just to get away from my studies, but eventually I found comfort in them.” 

The memories are pleasant, actually. Stealing away from the others for prayer service was like a special privilege. 

She smiles. "That's kind of nice, I guess."

He recalls the scent of incense, the chanting, the faces of trusted mentors, and when he speaks there's a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

"The priest became like a father to me, in some ways. At least, I thought of him often when..."

The words almost slip his mouth, but he catches them, freezing them in his throat.

When Kolyat was born. 

Slammed with the realization that he hasn’t felt this glib with another person in years, he fidgets uncomfortabltly. It’s a disquieting change in how he’s used to conducting himself. 

"Another time, perhaps,” he says. If he's lucky, she won't bring it up again.

Shepard raises an eyebrow, but there's no judgement in her gaze. She wrings her hands where they hang between her knees. "I get it. Some things are too painful."

Painful isn't quite the word he would use, but it’s close enough. In truth, the guilt is what withholds him. Like the more time that passes without his son, the less he deserves the memory of him.

"Sorry for all this. Honestly I... It's been two years for everyone else, but a few months for me. Sometimes it can feel isolating.”

He offers a kind smile, standing and collecting her empty mug. “I can relate. Those of us forged under extreme circumstances seldom find others who understand us.” 

She smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. "Thanks for thinking of me, Thane."

"You're quite welcome. I enjoy your company, Shepard," he says, his voice warm. "I'll let you rest."

"Likewise." She stands to see him out, bidding him goodbye with a grateful hand on his arm. She seems more like herself. "See you at PT."

He leaves, back to the silence of his makeshift quarters to mull over their conversation. The ghost of her handprint lingers on his arm until sleep claims him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is the biggest fanfic yolo I've ever done. Send help writing is hard lol ┐(‘～`;)┌

[jessikahathaway]

Crash Landing Part I

Oh henlo frens.

I did actual medical research for this fanfiction. Please, do not attempt any of the medical procedures in this work of fiction. If you are suffering any sort of medical disorder or injury, please contact your local physician.

I do not own the photo.

Pairing: Taehyung X Reader

Genre: Alien!AU, Sci-fi, Romance, Smut (Future), Adventure.

Warning: There are descriptions of medical procedures, please be aware of this when reading.

As a medical technician in study, the opportunity for practice never gets past you. You’d go to the local shelters and offer advice on small colds or even lacerations. Your village wasn’t very large, and a majority of the people who lived here, worked in the closest city or town.

You were a strong believer in natural remedies and searching through the forests to gather plenty of herbal painkillers and mint oils for recurring headaches. Rarely did you send away people to go to the closest clinic, because people around here weren’t rich.

Money wasn’t abundant in your modest village. People shared and took care of one another. Lived off of what nature gifted them with and relied on their own two hands to achieve stability in their humble lives.

Everyone you’d grown up with had either left in pursuit of the flashy lives and new exploits of the cities... People and booze being a strong pull to stave off the boredom that could creep into everyone’s bones.

However, you were an exception. You hated the city, the loud sounds and crowds only serving to scare you and giving you a massive headache. But, you were a self taught medical student hoping to head for the same city you loathed. As much as you loved and preferred herbal remedies, sometimes the knowledge gained from professional medicine is better than your salves. When you gathered enough money from helping the people locally, you planned on starting some classes. Staying in town to help of course.

People around you supported your decision, even though women weren’t generally accepted into the medical field. You were determined to make a difference. Cause a ripple in the pond of the cosmos and see what new things were to be discovered.

So far, it was going well. You had enough money saved up to no doubt get you through a few semesters at a small college. Your dream of helping people could come to fruition if you just kept going, and didn’t give up...

Until it all came crashing down around you.

A fire.

It had been a regular morning, waking up in your small cottage on the outskirts of the small lake where you’d see fishermen heading out for the morning catch. But, today was different.

You lived just beyond the boundaries of the village, so you wouldn’t hear much at night other than the soft waves from the lakeshore.

And that night you heard nothing either.

No desperate pounding on your door, nothing to elude to danger. But it was because it all happened too fast for anyone to comprehend.

You woke up and started making your coffee, one of the luxuries you could never live without. The local general store always had some in stock in case you were to come in for your fix.

The smell comforted you in the brisk morning. You walked out of your home and sat on the porch, grabbing a medical terminology book you’d been studying and getting a start on the surgical section of the text, when you smelt something... off...

It wasn’t unusual for you to smell bonfire smoke, as many families had one to get together and talk about their lives, to visit and to make memories with each other under the starlight. Warmed by the flames as they made merry.

However, this morning was different. The air didn’t smell of simple burning firewood, it smelt of scorched wood and... the horrible stench of charred flesh tainted with boiling blood. You knew the scent well from having to handle multiple burn wounds from the local fletcher. A kind hearted gentleman perhaps just a bit too clumsy for his own good.

Soon, you were off your porch, your precious book forgotten as you ran through the forest towards the awful smell. You noticed that the closer you got to town, the more the air was thick with fog, perhaps smoke. Heart pounding and feet aching you arrived on the outskirts of your beloved home... And the sight was ungodly.

Buildings collapsed and charred wood bare to the morning haze. You were frozen in your tracks as you gazed upon the scene before you. The entire village was razed, almost unrecognizable to your acute memory. Your favorite bakery sat in shambles, glass shattered about the ground outside.

You remember just the morning prior going to get a few croissants that sat in their box at home, waiting to be eaten. Now, they were a horrible sight to behold. One of the last things Mr. Noble had sold in his life.

They still sat in your window sill, rotting.

Mrs. Allison’s bookstore, gone. The books proved to be an incredible source of kindling. The building must’ve been swallowed in moments...

Your chest ached at the sights before you, and from the smoke inhalation you were subjecting yourself to. Quickly, you pulled out your handkerchief from your robe and doused it in water from the charred well. You applied the cool cloth to your face and kept walking.

The church where you’d helped so many during weekly mass was now a husk of its former comfort. Now, serving as a haunting reminder that God had turned his back on this town in their hour of need... Yet left you standing in the waste, alone.

Next would be where the Fletcher's station should have stood... Yet, there was nothing but chunks of stone and nearly decimated wood framework that sat, still smoldering. The heat you felt was nearly unbearable... You couldn’t imagine how it must’ve been a mere two hours before.

The blaze started here, you surmised, gathering more and more information as you looked around. The buildings next to the fletchers station had the most damage, and what hurt you the most was the fact that everything appeared to be rather fresh. This couldn’t have happened more than four hours ago. Everything was still smoking and bright red ambers showed in the morning dew.

You wandered aimlessly, the ground underneath your feet proving to still be hot as you felt your foot jolt in pain. You noticed that a metal mirror lay cracked in the Earth, no doubt from Emerson’s fine Jeweler’s that was only steps away. Taking your robe off you gathered the mirror and took it with you.

That mirror sits on your bedside table to this day. The cracked glass still serving as a reminder of this night.

Growing more and more desperate for human company, you began to yell.

“IS ANYONE OUT THERE?” you cried, looking from left to right for a sign of life the form from the ashes.

“CAROLINE!” you cried out for one of your close friends, the daughter of the Fletcher who would be turning eighteen in just a few weeks. She was planning on leaving for the city to become fashion designer. Proving to be just as skillful with her hand as her beloved father.

“MR. CEILBAKSKI!” the Polish man who moved in not even three years ago, who made delicious Perogies and started making toys for the children who adored his company.

“MISS SELIA!” you cried, falling to your knees on the wounded Earth below. She was the town’s teacher. She had taught you and realized your potential for helping others. Miss Selia was the woman who gave you her personal copy of an herbal remedies book that had set you on your path to where you stood today.

As you sat in the ash, a cold breeze came through the town. You then felt soft droplets of rain begin to brush your skin.

At that moment, you began to cry.

Slowly, the ash and smoke began to settle and the Earth’s wounds were healed by the gift of rain. The wood of the buildings cooled, the metal cracked from the temperature change. You heard the warping of glass and the smell began overwhelming.

You quickly found yourself vomiting into the gray ash that sat underneath you. Realizing that you were now alone in the world. Everyone you’d ever known in your life had been taken from you in one night. The worst part?

No one would ever know either.

People rarely ventured this far into the wilderness, seeing no point other than to trade. But trade was all organized by correspondence, and now seeing as you were the only residence... No one would be coming by at all.

Shame and disgrace drenched your being more than the rain from the heavens. You failed your townspeople. You were supposed to help them and keep them healthy, yet here you were, alive and well while they were all gone... Burned in the night while you slept comfortably in your bed.

The very thought disgusted you, causing another wave of nausea to wash over your body. Dry heaving, you clambered to your feet. You had to get away from here, the disappointment was immeasurable. You’d let them all down. It was your fault.

So, that day you decided...

You’d live in solitude for the rest of your existence, and never practice medicine again. You had no right, after how many died from your negligence.

Accepting your new found seclusion, you went home.

Leaving the village you had once loved so much, as a haunting memory.

* * *

The years that followed were mundane and silent. The only human interaction you had was from travelers that heard of your remedies. You simply told them you were no longer in practice, and they left... Sometimes offering some form of compensation for disturbing you.

You hadn’t much need for money.

You had some saved up from... before...

You sustained yourself and kept yourself alive by living off the land, like the others had before you. It was all very boring, and you longed for some form of excitement, or death. Whichever came first.

And you were living quietly, until one afternoon.

It was near dusk, you were sitting peacefully out on your porch, letting the warm sun bath your skin in light. The day had been wholly uninteresting, the only sort of thrill you had was when a branch fell onto your porch and made a knocking sound.

Travelers had stopped coming months ago.

Leaving you to your isolation as planned.

However, you found that you craved human people desperately. Although every time you found yourself longing, you reminded yourself of your misgivings and reprimanded your whimpering heart that this is what you deserved. You were to be alone, and that was the end of it.

That was, until a ear splitting BOOM echoed through the melancholy forest.

The sound of crunching metal and disturbed Earth ricocheted off the somber trees. You jolted from your chair where you found yourself nodding off, lost in your own thoughts. Ears ringing you rubbed your head in pain.

What in God’s name could’ve caused such a sound?

Your mind reeled at the sudden disturbance as you struggled to think of a logical reason for the sudden disruption. Could it be some sort of natural phenomenon that you simply had forgotten about? Were there hunters in the forest?

No... You’d heard hunters within the months, and none of their methods of capture were this deafening.

Perhaps it was a-

“HELP ME!”

A blood curdling scream reached your ears. Your body went cold. Someone was hurt.

Before you knew it you were on your feet and rushing towards the direction you swore to never venture towards again. Even though you hadn’t traveled the path in years, your legs remembered the turns and sights perfectly.

Turn left as the rotting oak tree, keep going straight for fifty paces.

Soon, you were back in the ruins of your ghostly past. And, right where the schoolhouse rubble used to sit, was an odd looking... something...

It was large, possibly the size of the former proudly standing church. It shone in the blazing afternoon sun. The smell of something foreign reached your nose and you coughed at the weird scent. You couldn’t describe ever smelling something like it before, and approached the vessel with caution.

Coughing, you attempted to speak.

“Hello?” your voice sounded off to your own ears. You had no need to speak in the silence of your life. You got closer to the vessel slowly, nervous to what you would find.

Suddenly, a groan of pain alerted you towards the remnants of Mr. Noble’s bakery. A person was on the ground, in a heap, covered in what looked like soot and other various smudges. You saw that they appeared to be male, however you weren’t sure... Because they were absolutely beautiful.

Their skin was pale and scuffed, but shone against the stark contrast of their bleak surroundings. They appeared to have a metal toned hair color that you’d never seen on a human being before.

“A-are you alright?” you asked, getting closer to their form. You immediately noticed the hiccuped breathing that no doubt was caused by a fractured costal. You bit your lip and tried not to think about it. “Can you hear me?” you asked, placing a hand on the ground next to them, not sure if you should get any closer to the stranger.

“Help... me...” they pleaded, their eyes not opening, but you could feel their agony as if it were your own.

“I-I...” you struggled.

You told yourself that you no longer had the right to practice after what occured in this very town years ago. And you hadn’t, other than making minor salves for your own personal use. However, this might be the worst case you’d ever seen.

And, just maybe...

If the Lord would grant you this one success, you could rest easier at night knowing you’d at least help one more person...

Just one more...

Without another thought you reached out and touched their head. They seemed to relax into your touch and you tested their arm to see if there were any fractures to inhibit your moving them

When you saw no reaction from the poor soul and felt no large fractures, you began to pull them up off the ground.

“Ah...” they grumbled in a low tenor... So it was a man...

“Sir, can you hear me? I’m going to need you to stand up, I’ll support you, but you have to try to stand up for me,” you persuaded. The male coughed and flexed his legs in an attempt to push himself up.

That small amount of strength was enough for you to get him up and resting against your side. Taking on the brunt of his weight you could feel how exhausted his body was. He needed to rest as soon as possible.

Interlocking your fingers and securing your hold around his waist you began to walk.

Slowly but surely you made it back to your cottage before darkness had completely encapsulated the world.

Walking into your home you helped the man onto your bed, nearly falling on top of him in your own fatigue. But now was not the time for sleep, there was much work to be done.

Quickly, your mind was set back into your medical knowledge. You rushed to your well outdoors and grabbed the cloths that were hanging on the wire outside to dry. You gathered up your skirts and hurried back inside before too much time elapsed.

Now was the time to make haste. The first twenty four hours after an incident were the make or break moments. It was here you decided if he lived or died.

“Just one more, please,” you begged to yourself as you set down the bowl of water and grabbed the familiar yellow sprigs of witch hazel and put them in the water. Witch hazel has many healing properties for the skin, not just with cleansing and anti-inflammatory. It would help with the bruising he would experience no doubt.

While letting the witch hazel set in the water for potency you ran to your cupboard in search of your peppermint salve. The peppermint will ease the ache of his muscles and help with his respiratory struggles as well.

Coming back to his side you looked at his clothing.

It looked nothing like what you’d ever seen before. Had clothing changed that much in the past years you’d been out of society? Certainly that wasn’t the case. Regardless of his odd attire, it was going to have to come off.

Your cheeks flushed red as your mind wandered to less appropriate thoughts, making you shake your head in frustration. He was your patient, not someone to fantasize about! How dare you think so lowly of someone in need!

You went to the odd metal clasps at the front of his, tunic? Whatever it may be, it opened quickly and you removed it and set it aside, looking at his torso in worry. There were multiple small cuts and scrapes that the witch hazel would cleanse properly, however, there were a few cuts that would need more attention.

Examining closer, you saw there was a shard of glass lodge in his pectoral that would need to be removed promptly. Another worrying discovery presented itself to you soon after.

The result of a collapsed lung showed on his skin. The bluish tint to his otherwise pale flesh made your heart skip in worry. He either was struck on the chest extremely hard, or there was something penetrating him from the back.

Quick to find the cause of his ailment you delicately pushed him on his side, ensuring that the collapsed lung wouldn’t be affected too harshly from the movement. Seeing no protruding injury you decided to make your decision.

You had to perform surgery. And soon.

Desperately thinking back to your medical textbooks you remembered that doing this would be risky, and you had to prepare accordingly. Rushing to your long forgotten medical cabinet you discovered your old, but clean medical tools. Searching for the open holed syringe, you almost cried with joy when it was in your hands.

Clambering over the young man with haste you settled yourself on his hips and gathered your courage. You’d never tried any kind of aspiration before this moment. You whispered a quick prayer for your patient’s safety before gripping the syringe and forcing it directly in the center of the blue twinged area. The man underneath you huffed in pain, but you were quick to begin removing the air that had been caught between the collapse lung and his chest cavity.

Eventually, you managed to get his breathing to ease and watching as the blue hue to his breath taking skin started to lessen as well. Soon, you grabbed your witch hazel infused water and began to cleans all of his wounds on his torso.

You glance at his legs and thanked God that there didn’t appear to be severe damage. Minor scrapes that could be easily cleansed and healed were the majority. A gash peaked out from underneath his pant leg...

Damn, you’d have to remove the trousers to see the full extent of the damage. You didn’t want to disrobe the poor man without his knowledge, but his health was of your main concern at the moment.

Slowly, you unbuckled his pants and tugged on the fabric gingerly, careful to not disturb any possible injuries lying underneath the material. Once his clothing was removed you found a sizable cut that would need sutures.

Grabbing your witch hazel solution you cleansed his laceration. You sighed and noticed that it was still bleeding badly. You collected your sewing kit and lit a candle. Holding the needle over the flame you watched and assessed its cleanliness. After a few more times in the fire you moved towards your patient. Ensuring that the area was dry and sterile you proceeded.

You sat in the dimming light of night and tied off the sutures and leaned back on your haunches.

It was no doubt closing in upon the witching hour. His survival now depended on him, and his ability to pull through the darkest hours of the night. If he woke to see morning, there was a very good chance of him to see many more days in the future.

You placed a cool cloth with the witch hazel on his forehead to dissuade fever from creeping in on him during the night. Next, you grabbed your garlic oil and placed a few drops in his mouth following with a few drops of peppermint oil to even out the stench.

Next you collected your basil lavender balm and rubbed it on his wrists and on the tender areas of his skin. When you brushed your hair out of your face you noticed his hair was caked with dried blood and a black, slick liquid. Your face turned up in displeasure before you hurried to gather some some and rosemary to clean his hair with. He’d need a bath when he woke, no doubt, but for now cleaning him up would be a good idea.

Setting your items down on the bedside table, you walked out to get a bowl of water for his hair. Pumping the well you thought back to what had unfurled in the past hours...

What was that large, vessel like structure in the town square? Who was the man currently sleeping in your bed and, what was he doing out in this area of the forest? So many questions swirled in your mind that what brought you out of your thoughts was the cold water sloshing on your feet. You’d overflown the bowl of water in your state.

Shaking your head you moved back towards your cottage. For now, the questions didn’t matter. Saving this man’s life what your main priority.

Kneeling beside him you collected the soap into a lather and washed his hair gingerly, making sure not to jostle him too aggressively. You didn’t feel any kind of fractures or tension in his neck. He was lucky in that respect, he could’ve been in a lot of trouble if his neck or spine had been injured. Leaning over his body you watched a shiver go down his form.

Was he cold?

You noticed that he was only clad in some sort of undergarments. You squealed at the realization of you not covering him properly!

“I’m sorry, hang on,” you whispered, rushing to your closet and getting some linens out. Coming back to his side you unfolded a soft sheet that would keep the bulk of the blanket from irritating his wounds. You wanted them uncovered for the night. Giving them the chance to breathe and in the morning you would bind them for recovery.

Laying the blanket over top of the sheet you watched as he seemed to settle slightly, tension leaving his torso. You rubbed your forehead in exhaustion. The day was taking its toll on you. However, there was still things to do.

Seizing one of your towels you dried his silver hair. You inspected the strands and found that they were naturally occuring. Not like that hair changing practice beauticians had began doing in the cities. Next you grabbed your brush and comb through his locks to get out any tangles so he would sleep comfortably. Right now, rest was imperative. His strained muscles needed to relax and keep from any kind of strenuous activities.

Examining your work you placed your hands on your hips with pride. You’d done what you could for him. At this sensation a few tears came to your vision. This was why you loved medicine. Bringing someone from the brink of death back, giving them their years back before they were taken too soon. It was these rewarding emotions that kept you going...

And perhaps, you could start again...

No!

You were only saving him because you were his only chance at survival... That’s the only reason you allowed yourself to aid him. And once he was healed, you’d never touch your instruments again...

But now, there were mundane chores to attend to.

You were efficient in taking his clothing out and dunking them in the lake, submerging them in the water and scrubbing them on your board to ensure all the gunk came out. There were decent slices taken out of the material that you’d have to mend later on...

His injuries shouldn’t take terribly long to heal. The real worries were his collapsed lung and his laceration of the left thigh. Once those were set for recovery, he’d have to leave. You preferred this solitude... Didn’t you?

Taking his clothing back towards your home you hung them out to dry, only then did you let yourself sink back onto the floor next to his bedside. You’d only sleep for a few moments, then you’d get to work on... on...

Sleep became harder to fight as you leaned against your bed. He’d be resting for a while, and so should you...

With these thoughts in your head, you drifted off into your dreams.